#but at least i wouldn't LIVE with them i wouldn't feel so fucking trapped

[alessiasfreckles]

she's mine (georgia stanway x reader)

inspired by she's mine by eva westphal / life with your adhd girlfriend, georgia

warnings: none

a/n: this is in no way me saying that georgia stanway has adhd (or that she takes medication)!!!!! but as someone with adhd, it wouldn't surprise me if she does. also the bit about pronouncing words differently is word for word what i said to my girlfriend that made her ask me to marry her so

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I love her the days she forgets to text back Her phone is on silent, sometimes I get mad

“I’m sorry,” Georgia says when she comes through the front door. She’s biting her lip and her thumb and finger rub together, the way they do when she’s anxious. 

“It’s okay,” you say simply. You can’t help but feel mildly annoyed, but you know she didn’t do it on purpose, and you know that being mad at her isn’t going to help, it’ll just make her feel worse.

“I just- my phone was on in my bag, and I thought I’d walk home since the weather is so nice for once, and I was listening to music and kind of zoned out and my phone was on silent and-” she rambles, trying to explain herself.

“G, it’s okay, I promise,” you hug her gently, and her body sags against yours.

“You’re not mad?” she asks, and her voice sounds so small, so unsure.

“No, baby, I’m not mad,” you tell her. “I was worried, that’s all. Normally you’re home by 4, but you weren’t, and you know how I get worried. But I’m not mad.”

You feel her nod against your shoulder, still wrapped in your arms. She pulls away just enough to be able to look at you, your arms still resting on her shoulders, hers around your waist. 

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” she says. “I’ll try to remember to message you next time, or at least put my phone on loud so I notice if you message me or try to call me.”

“Thank you, baby,” you tell her, kissing her sweetly. “That’s all I need.”

I love her the weeks she can't get out of bed I love every curl, every hair on her head

“What if I quit?” she asks one day. She’s been having ‘bad brain days’, as she calls them, a lot lately. Constantly flip-flopping between having no energy and wanting to stay in bed, and being so restless she could scream. 

“Quit?” you ask, drawing circles on her back as she lays next to you in bed. 

“Quit football,” she mumbles into the pillow. “What if I just quit football?”

She’s not really asking that, and you know it. She just feels trapped at the moment. Understimulated and overwhelmed at the same time. Her brain needs action, excitement, something to focus on. 

“You don’t want to quit,” you tell her, kindly. “I mean, it’d be okay if you did, but I don’t think you do, really. Do you?”

“No,” she sighs, and rolls over on the bed, starfishing. One arm is draped over you, and the smooth underside of her wrist absentmindedly rubs against the crook of your elbow. “I guess not.”

You can see her brain running a million miles an hour. “Do you want to talk about it?” you ask. 

She shrugs. “I don’t know how. There’s too many thoughts, I don’t know how to put them into words, or how to start.”

“You can just say words. I’ll piece it together,” you tell her, and she flashes a smile at you, grateful for how well you understand her.

She thinks for a minute, quiet, and you wait patiently, knowing not to push her. She’ll start talking when she’s ready. 

“I just want my brain to chill the fuck out,” she says finally, and all you can do is nod and press a kiss to her forehead. 

I love her the nights she complains that she's cold But I'm always warm, so I give her my coat

“I don’t understand!” she exclaims, shivering slightly. “Why does it feel so cold? It’s not like it doesn’t get this cold in England, if anything, it’s warmer here! We’re much further south!”

You slip your coat off. You’ve lived here much longer than she has, you’ve gotten used to the weather. Plus, like any good German (or person living in Germany), you understand the importance of layering, so you usually have enough layers on to keep you warm, even without a coat. 

She blushes when you help her slip into your coat. Grabbing the collar, you pull her in for a kiss, and when you pull away, she’s smiling.

“You know,” you say, tilting your head slightly. “I’m starting to think you just like wearing my coats.”

“Hm,” she hums, leaning forward to kiss you again. “Maybe.”

Oh, I even love her when she's running late I'm always on time so I'll work while I wait

You’re sitting in a café when your phone vibrates. Before you check it, you already know that it’s a message from Georgia. 

sorry i’ll be there soon i promise!!!

If you had to guess, you’d say it was going to be about 15 minutes before she got to the café. You didn’t mind. You went to the café every Wednesday afternoon. She’d meet you there after training, sometimes earlier, sometimes later. At first, it had annoyed you. You felt like she was saying you weren’t important enough for her to prioritise. After a while, you realised how hard she was trying, and that it really wasn’t her fault. Her time blindness made it hard for her to realise how much time had passed, a couple minutes easily turning into half an hour. She would set timers, alarms, reminders, but most of the time her brain would just block them out. You’d grown to enjoy the time alone before she arrived, planning for it, bringing a book or a podcast.

Ten minutes after you received the message, the bell above the café door tinkles as she comes flying in. She slides into her seat at your usual table, the one in the corner by the window so you can people-watch. 

“I’m sorry I’m late!” she says quickly. Her face is flushed and her hair is windswept, still slightly damp from showering after training. She frowns, remembering something the two of you had talked about, about saying thank you, rather than apologising. “Wait, no. Thank you for waiting for me.”

“I’ll always wait for you,” you tell her, and she smiles.

She is funny and clever and kind She says whatever pops in her mind, oh And she's so fucking weird, that when she's with me I'm laughing most of the time And she's mine, she's mine

“Have you ever thought about how weird it is that we pronounce words the way we do?” she asks, and you blink at her, sleepily. She’s sat up in bed, looking wide awake.

“Babe, it’s 7:30 in the morning,” you say, eyes watering as you hold back a yawn.

“Good morning,” she says, kissing you. “Anyway. Have you ever thought about it?”

“Uh, not really,” you sit up, joining her, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. “How long have you been awake?”

“Mh, like, an hour? I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Oof, I’m sorry.”

She waves a hand and keeps talking, undeterred. “Like, imagine if we pronounced pineapple like Minneapolis. Pin-ee-a-pol-is. Or what if Dwayne was pronounced like Kanye. Dwan-ye. Actually, I guess that one doesn’t work. The ‘y’ is in the wrong place.” she says, frowning.

You burst out laughing.

“What?” she says.

“I love you,” you tell her, and kiss her until she can’t even remember how to pronounce her own name properly. 

I love her when she forgets to plan ahead I love her when she repeats what she's just said

“Oh, did I tell you that I’m starting on Thursday?” Georgia says as she rummages through the drawer of her bedside table.

“That’s great, baby!” you say. She starts most games now, but you’re still filled with pride every time she walks out onto the pitch.

“Shit,” she says, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

She holds up her medication bottle, upside down. “I forgot to order a refill.”

“Ah,” you say. You can see her initial frown of realisation turning into one of frustration. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll call and order a new one as soon as the doctor’s opens.”

She nods silently, still frowning.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, gently, and she shrugs.

“Feel stupid. This happens nearly every month,” she says, voice small and angry.

You hug her tightly, staying there until you feel her tense body start to relax against you.

“You’re not stupid,” you tell her, voice calm but serious. “You’re not. I promise.”

She huffs a little, sagging. “But I always do this.”

“That doesn’t make you stupid. It just means that your brain isn’t very good at remembering things like this,” you say, rubbing circles on her back. 

She nods, frustration and anger quickly ebbing away. “Hey, did I tell you that I’m starting in the game on Thursday?” she asks, perking up, and you giggle.

Oh, I even love her when she's fast asleep I'll keep her warm when we're under the sheets

“Chilly,” she mumbles into your pyjama top as she spoons you, holding you tightly.

“You’re just using me for my warmth,” you tease, and you can feel her nodding against your back. You squeal when she puts her cold feet on the back of your legs, and her body shakes slightly as she laughs.

“You’re so nice and warm,” she sighs, wriggling to try and get closer to you.

“You know, you’d probably be warmer if you wore pyjamas,” you tell her, smiling, already knowing what she’s going to say.

“Gross,” she says. “I’ll feel all trapped and sweaty and suffocated. Ugh, and what if there’s itchy tags? No, thank you.”

“You know, you can cut the tags out,” you say, laughing.

She shakes her head against you. “No, thank you,” she repeats, voice thick with sleep.

You wake up during the night to pee, and when you crawl back into bed, you look at the sleeping form of your girlfriend. She’s curled in a ball, the duvet pulled tightly around her. As you wriggle under the covers and wrap an arm around her waist, her back against your front, she lets out a content sigh, leaning into your warmth.

She is funny and clever and kind, oh She says whatever pops in her mind, oh And she's so fucking weird, that when she's with me I'm laughing most of the time And she's mine, she's mine

“Oh, baby, are you crying?” you ask, looking over to Georgia, who’s sniffling, curled up in the corner of the sofa.

“No,” she says, looking at you with tears streaming down her face.

“Darling,” you say, holding an arm out so she can cuddle into your side. “It’s okay! It’ll all be okay!”

“B- but,” she sniffs, wiping a tear away. “He doesn’t know that! He’s just a little baby!” 

She gestures to the TV, where Brother Bear is playing. Somehow, she’s never seen the film, and as it’s one of your favourites, you decided it was finally time for her to see it. 

You look at her, fresh tears welling up in her eyes as she watches the little bear, and you can’t help but giggle, heart overflowing with love and adoration.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asks, but you can hear laughter in her voice, despite the tears. 

“No,” you say, pressing your lips together firmly, body shaking as you try to contain it. 

“You are!” she gasps dramatically, looking at you with wide eyes. “I can’t believe I’m crying and you’re just laughing at me!”

You poke the corners of her mouth, which are wiggling up and down as she tries to keep herself from laughing. She swats your hand away, but it’s too much and she can’t keep it in any longer. You both dissolve into a fit of giggles, and she has to wipe new tears away, but this time they’re from laughing so hard.

“See!” she says, in between laughter. “Now I’m crying again!”

She can’t keep a straight face, though, and neither can you.

When you’ve both finally calmed down, you can’t help but kiss her. “I love you,” you mumble into the kiss, and she smiles against your lips. 

“I love you, too,” she replies, eyes sparkling brightly.

And I see her smoking a cigarette Dancing through fountains you almost fell in You're drinking red bull at night when I can't have my coffee past 12pm And I'm so fucking grateful for every bullet I dodged to get to you Yeah, I'm so thankful for every moment I've got with you

You’re walking through a park in Munich on a summer evening, enjoying the warm air, when you come across a playground. There’s a big rope pyramid in the middle, surprisingly tall, considering it’s supposedly made for children.

“Hey, babe,” Georgia says. “Bet you I can climb up that in 10 seconds.”

“10 seconds?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah!” she nods enthusiastically. “From the start to the top. Easy.”

“Hm,” Pretending to think about it, you squint at the pyramid. “What do I get if you don’t manage it?”

“A kiss.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll get a kiss anyway.”

“Fine, I’ll put away the laundry tomorrow,” she says and you hum, not convinced. Her eyes brighten. “And I’ll do that thing you like in bed when we get home. You know, with the vibrator, and-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” you say, quickly looking around to make sure no one was nearby. “Fine. If you win, what do you get?”

“A kiss. And a massage when we get home,” she grins.

“Deal.”

“Can you time it on your phone?” she asks eagerly, bouncing up and down on her feet, and you laugh. “But don’t start it until I say go!”

“Okay, okay!” you chuckle, and she bounds towards the pyramid. She waits at the bottom, watching you, waiting for you to have your phone out. 

“You ready?” she calls out, and you nod, giving her a thumbs up. “Okay, now!”

You start the timer as she scales the pyramid, reaching the top with 3 seconds to spare. 

“7 seconds!” you yell up to her, and she lets out an excited whoop, pumping her fist into the air. She stands up briefly, then sits down on the rope again. You watch her look around, frowning. “You okay, baby?” you call.

“Yeah, I, um,” she says, running a hand through her hair, and says something so quietly that you can’t hear it.

“What?”

“I- I don’t know how to get down!” she yells, and you can see the blush on her cheeks from where you’re stood.

“What do you mean? Just climb down, like you climbed up,” you call.

“I can’t! It’s too high!”

You watch her frowning, arms folded across her chest, when you have a realisation. “Wait, baby, are you scared of heights?”

“Um,” she says, not looking at you. “Maybe?”

“Okay, hang on.”

You climb the pyramid, and when you reach the top, she clings onto your hand. Slowly, the two of you make your way down together, you telling her where to put her feet. When you’re on the ground, she looks at the ground sheepishly, cheeks still pink from embarrassment. 

“I may have, um, gotten overexcited,” she admits, and you laugh.

“You? Overexcited? No, surely not!” you tease, and she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, not meeting your eyes, and you take her hand and pull her close, kissing her until she forgets about the fact that she needed your help to climb down. 

You are funny and clever and kind, oh You say whatever pops in your mind, oh And you're so fucking weird, that when you're with me I'm laughing most of the time And you're mine, you're mine Mine

#georgia stanway #georgia stanway x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #georgia stanway fanfic #georgia stanway imagine #hannah writes fics

[ivysangel]

BACK TO LIVING WITH ROY AND JASON CUS MMGH.

Like, cooking for them one late evening and they come home, Jason hitting the shower first and Roy just presses against your back, painfully hard in his pants as he traps you between his arms, lips aiming directly for that sweet skin hidden by your hair. Muttering out pleas of having you, grinding weakly against your behind as you cook.

“Not now Roy, ‘m cooking. Roy, stop it-“

And him apologising but unable to not ask for you, one hand moving to feel you up, grabbing and tugging at your waist, tilting your swayback against him. “I know, ‘m sorry.. just need you so bad right now.. I can have you to myself (for once) while Jay’s in the shower.. just let me have a taste, just a small taste-“

And then Jason coming out of the shower just to see you struggling to keep it together while Roy shamelessly eats you out, his back against the kitchen cabinets and ass on the floor, all while you grab onto the counter (for dear life). He can’t help but join in. Certainly don’t hope you expect him to just stand by and watch, no?

IM GONNA COMBUST.

(And no I’m not giggling over you calling me honey, idk what you’re talking abt (yes I am))

i've been sitting on this one and keeping it to myself for days now. this is like...michelin star level cooking.

you made them promise that they'd share, that they wouldn't let you come between them. you made them promise that it was either both of them fucking you, or none of them fucking you. it was fine at first, their schedules were pretty similar given the fact that they worked together. if one was out then that meant the other was probably out too, and if that wasn't the case (which it wasn't often) then whichever was with you would just wait until the other came home to fuck you silly. it was fine at first, until it wasn't.

of course they loved tag teaming you, why wouldn't they??? they loved the sounds you made when they were fucking you in unison. how one would stretch out your mouth or ass while the other stretched out your pussy. how you'd try to hold in your moans so the neighbors wouldn't complain again. how there was fluff peaking out of your tufted headboard from how many times you'd scratched at it when you were overwhelmed by how good you felt. they couldn't not love it.

but sometimes when you're fast asleep between the two of them, both sets of arms wrapped around different parts of your body, and tired beyond belief...they both wonder if they could pull those same sounds out of you all by themselves. if they could tire you out that same way, all on their own. and while they'd never admit it to eachother at least, it plagues them every time they're alone with you that they can't touch you unless the other is there.

(maniacally laughing like the fucking joker over this one.)

#★ dirty laundry ★ #jason todd lover #roy harper lover #jason todd smut #roy harper smut #jason todd x reader #roy harper x reader #★ robin ★

[ddejavvu]

Hii so I absolutely LOVE your best friend with no boundaries James Potter (and all of your works ofc 😚) and wanted to request this but with Steve Harrington? Like maybe you’re both napping in his bed and he has a sexy dream and reader wakes up to him humping her ass and moaning/whimpering her name?? So reader is there grinding back into him and he wakes up mortified but reader rubs over his massive bulge and tells him not to stop, then they have the dirtiest sex of their lives (with spitting and/or choking bc aren’t we all whores for dirty spit sex)

that's a little more than i can fit into a blurb but i've got the meat of it here 😅

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Napping with Steve has always been relaxing. Where some people might push, shove, or kick in their sleep, Steve is delightfully dead, limbs cemented into position until he wakes and stretches him. On top of that, he's nearly warm enough to make you sweat, so if you manage to score a spot in his twin bed, wrapped in his arms to keep you from falling over the edge, you'll be guaranteed at least an hour of cozy, restful sleep.

When you wake it's to shifting on the bed, and you assume he's getting up to get water. He always complains of a sore throat after he naps, but if he remembered to sleep with his mouth closed, perhaps he wouldn't find himself so parched.

"Nooo, Steve," You whine, gripping his forearms where they wrap across your chest and enclose you in his hold, "Don't get up."

You wriggle backwards into his arms, intent on trapping him beneath the blankets, but your unstoppable force meets an immoveable object; not only his hips but something rather stiff between them.

It takes you a couple seconds longer than you'd ever admit to realize what's happening, and why Steve is really trying to get out of bed. Your cheeks go hot and apologies pour from your lips while you shimmy forwards again, trying to free him to take care of business.

His arms tighten around you, and his hips chase yours.

You feel his hard-on grind against the curve of your ass, the same way it had only seconds ago when you'd unknowingly rubbed yourself on him. Your breath hitches, cut short by some invisible vice pinching your throat shut, but Steve doesn't respond to your rapidfire apologies, nor the stuttering that comes after it.

"Steve," You blabber, turning your head when you can't turn your body, "Steve, fuck, I'm sorry- just- I'll let you get up, and-"

He's asleep.

His brown lashes are splayed delicately over the flushed apples of his cheeks, hair endearingly mussed and breath hot where it puffs out in steady streams against your shoulder. He brings his hips forwards again, grinding himself once more into your ass, and you're ashamed to admit that you don't fight to get out of his embrace this time around.

All it takes is a moan of your name, a soft, whimpered 'Y/N' to stop feeling guilt claw at your chest.

He wants this- he wants you.

You're frozen in his hold but you break out of it to turn your upper body, leaving your ass against his dick so that he can keep using it.

"Steve," You croon, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you comb your nails through the soft strands of hair splayed over his forehead, "Stevie, wake up."

"Y/N," He groans again, and after one more call of his name, his eyes blink open. He's mid-roll of his hips, his boner pressed flush to the center of your ass. If neither of you were clothed, if your flesh was bare and his cock wasn't confined by his briefs, he'd have been rutting through the fat of your ass cheeks.

His cheeks flare red even faster than yours heated, and he scrambles to get away, but there's nowhere to go between you and the wall behind him.

"Shit!" He hisses, knocking his head back against the wall in his mortified rush to escape, "Shit, Y/N, I'm- I'm sorry, fuck, I-"

"Don't stop," You mewl, your hand darting from his hair to his thigh, nails digging into the flesh that his basketball shorts have rucked up to reveal. It's milky white but later it will be littered with crescent-shaped marks.

He breathes out, in, then, "What?"

"Don't stop." You repeat, hand shaking as it travels from his thigh to his ass. You press forwards against it and he lets you shift his hips against your own again, breath stuttering as his cock rubs against your ass.

"Are- Are you serious?"

"Yes!" You gush, desperation in your voice, "Please, Steve, I- I want you to fuck me, please."

There's incredulity in his exhale that suggests he'd expected his wet dreams to stay just that; dreams. But here you are, grinding your ass back against his aching dick, begging to be fucked in his bed.

His thick bicep arcs over your face, and his broad shoulders hover over your own as he rolls himself over onto you. You spread your legs so that he can grind instead against the pad of your panties that covers your cunt, and his weight is suffocating where he lays over top of your back.

"Thank you," He breathes, like a prayer that's delivered in a sticky, spit-soaked kiss to the nape of your neck. He grinds down against your cunt, the meat of your ass above his cock as he holds himself over you on the bed, "Fuck, thank you."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one-shot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington hc #steve harrington hcs #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington dialogue #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut

[slasherscream]

Wash Day

pairing:  jordan li x fem black!reader

"You wanna go out to dinner tonight? Know I've been busy this week. Feel like I've barely seen you." Jordan mutters against the shell of your ear. You shiver as he gives the skin a teasing kiss.

Already you're pouting, knowing what your answer has to be even though you wish so desperately that you could give a different response. "Wish I could, Jordan. But my night is already spoken for."

You're spun around by a hand on your hip, playful and fast so that you can't stop yourself from falling into his chest. Your hands grip his jacket for balance, and he reaches up to hold one of them with his own. "You got plans? With who? Cate? Cancel them."

"Brat." You laugh.

How demanding Jordan is would be less cute if they ever asked you to do something they themselves wouldn't. As it stands, with the way they do anything you ask at the drop of a hat, all you can do is roll your eyes and pretend to be exasperated instead of smitten.

"Fine, don't cancel. I'll just come with." Jordan sighs, as if seeing his best friend is a great tragedy (Which it is. Cate being there means you'll smack Jordan's hand away when he tries to sneak it up your skirt at dinner.)

"What if we want a girls' night?" You shoot back, grinning.

Jordan shifts. The hands on your waist are smaller now, but pull you in closer, "You're the one who's feeling bratty. Really have been neglecting you this week, huh baby?" Jordan smirks, in that condescending way she does when she realizes you're trying to get a certain reaction out of her.

"The plans aren't with Cate, and they aren't cancellable." You sigh, deciding not to rise to the bait of her tone, smirk, or the little circles she's rubbing into your skin.

"What are these oh so important plans?" Jordan asks.

"Do you know how many white boys have complimented my hair today, Jordan?" You ask.

"Pardon?" Jordan blinks at what seems to be a completely unrelated topic.

"Six! Six white boys complimented my braids today. I'm about to kill myself, if we're being honest. I must looked fucked up, and you didn't even say anything." You pout.

You've been having a bit of a rough day, to say the least.

"You look beautiful. What are you talking about?" Jordan asks, confused but nonetheless, wanting to make you feel better. "If you didn't look good I'd very politely... have Cate tell you. But you look great! You've been getting compliments all day, you just said it yourself!"

"Wow, you'd throw Cate under the bus, huh coward?"

"Cate isn't interested in making out with you every spare second of the day. I am. You can be mad at her. I've got stuff I wanna do." Jordan's grin is downright salacious. You smack her arm, trying not to smile.

"Ah. You are operating under the same delusions of the white man. I see that now, I'll let go of the anger." You say, sighing and kissing Jordan on the cheek.

"First of all, don't you ever fucking insult me like that again.... Second of all, what particular delusion am I sharing with the white man?" Jordan asks.

"White men only compliment a black woman's hairstyle at two points in time. When it's brand spanking, fresh off the lot new. Or when it's started to look like shit. I've had these braids in for longer than... is your business. So guess which compliment I'm getting right now?"

"I fucking refuse to say your hair looks like shit, and this conversation feels like a trap. You're always beautiful to me." Jordan says.

"Thank you, baby. But we live on a campus where the diversity win photographers lurk around every corner trying to get pictures of 'The Diversity Win Couple' in our most natural state. I need to take out my braids tonight before I talk crazy in the group chat, and Andre sends me a 'this you?' pic that will devastate my argument." You shake your head somberly, already imagining the fate that lies before you.

"You could stop talking crazy in the group chat." Jordan teases.

"You know damn well I'm not capable of that."

The two of you burst into laughter, unable to keep it together. Jordan has always been obsessed with how easy it is for you to make them laugh.

"Is that gonna take up your whole night, though, baby? We don't have to go to dinner early! We'll go wherever you want." Jordan insists, tone bordering on begging.

Whenever they come out of a particularly busy week, they spend the next two weeks glued to you. As if to make up for it. The clinginess is a stark difference from how they acted before you made things official.

"Jordan, look at the braids on my head."

"I'm looking at them."

"Are you seeing them with your eyes?"

"Yes, and my eyes are sending the image to my brain, which I assure you is working. What's your point here, baby?"

"How long do you think it will take me to undo these, detangle my hair, wash it, deep condition it, and then wash it again?"

Jordan squints at you for a long moment, analyzing your hairstyle and the utter displeasure on your face. "I dunno? Maybe... four hours?"

"I should fucking murder you. Just for that, you're helping me with wash day now."

Jordan's face breaks into a grin like sunlight breaking through clouds, "So I do get to spend the day with you, is what you're saying?"

"Yeah, baby, you get to spend the day with me." You click your tongue at them. Pitying them for the ache in their fingers they're about to feel. They complain about curling their God damn hair a couple of times a week. You suspect you'll be ready to kill one another by hour two.

But you also missed them a lot. Or whatever.

"Don't cut too high up, Jordie. " You whine, shifting his grip lower on your braid, to an acceptable cutting length of the hair extension.

"Baby... can I ask you a very serious question right now?" Jordan hums, obediently cutting where you instructed.

"What?" You ask, already starting to unbraid the piece.

"How... long... do you think your hair is?" Jordan, to be fair to him, does ask the question quietly and with the proper amount of hesitation.

"How dare you! Are you calling me bald?" You gasp, stifling a laugh.

"Don't do this to me. You are prolonging the process. We can cut these braids at least four inches higher than what we're doing right now." Jordan says, you can't see his face but you can tell he's also trying not to laugh. Bastard.

"My hair grew!"

"From the top of your head. It did not magically lower itself further into the fucking braid extension." Jordan loses the battle and laughs.

"Jordan Li do not fucking cut off any of my hair or I'll cry and then blow up this school."

"Of course, princess." Jordan kisses the top of your head and gives in to your terrorist demands because you're cute.

"So how am I supposed to do it, baby?" Jordan claps her hands and you smile at how eager she sounds to help.

"You're gonna want to section it off. Do like... eight parts of hair. That'll make literally every step after this easier. Then you're gonna comb the hair from the bottom, 'kay?"

"Got it."

Jordan starts the process of parting your hair, careful and slow. Fingers sectioning off eight chunks of hair that she keeps apart with the silky hair ties you hand her over your shoulder.

"You sure you don't want me to comb it, Jordie?" You ask Jordan.

"I'll be gentle, don't worry. You always say your shoulders hurt at the end of wash day. Which is crazy, because I've seen what you can bench. I've got you, baby." She spritzes extra detangler spray on each of the parts she just made.

You move around slightly, a little sore already from sitting still between her legs for so long, but smiling to yourself nonetheless. A pillow is suddenly shoved into your face and you lean away, confused.

"Sit on this one instead. It'll be better." Jordan says.

You switch out the pillows and tilt your head back to look at her. "Why're you always right? Is that your kink?"

"No, my kink is bossing you around." Jordan smirks and leans down to give you a kiss. Despite the awkward angle you can't help trying to deepen the contact. The feeling of her soft lips sliding against yours, firm but gentle, is always irresistible.

She hums and gives you a playful nip before pulling away. "Don't start something we can't finish."

"Who says we can't?" You shoot back, staring up at her.

"You will be pissed an hour from now if you glance at your phone and we haven't made any progress." Jordan runs her thumb along your bottom lip before pushing your head forward.

"Who says it will take an hour?"

"I do. If we start, I'm not stopping." Jordan's voice dips seductively and a line of tension runs up the length of your spine.

You smack her thigh for teasing you, "Shut up."

"Is this comfortable?" Jordan frowns, staring at the angle your head has to be at to fit in the bowl of the sink.

"No, but this is the best angle this chair can get me to." You say. Usually you just wash in the shower, but since Jordan is helping the sink makes more sense.

Jordan stands, scowling at how uncomfortable you seem. Suddenly he grins, "Baby! Make a chair with your shields. Something that leans."

You were getting a lot better with being able to make complex shapes, with less concentration. You stand up from the chair you'd dragged from the common room. Jordan pulls it out of the way and gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

It takes you a minute, but you conjure a shield that resembles a salon chair and the both of you let out identical cries of delight.

Jordan pushes you to sit down with a kiss on your forehead. "That's my fucking girl. Tell me if the temperature is too hot."

Jordan washes your hair with the perfect amount of pressure and thoroughness. He's nearly rhythmic in his methodical cleaning. You didn't realize your eyes had fluttered closed until you hear him laugh. You open one eye to glare at him playfully, knowing he won't get soap in them.

"What's so funny?"

"You're like a cat. You gonna purr for me, baby?" He smirks.

"If you keep going like that, yeah. Or I'll fall asleep. Please don't make me fall asleep. I'll fall on my ass." You say.

"I'll endeavor to make the rest of the wash as unpleasant as possible."

He does not do that. And at one point you do fall asleep. Jordan catches you before you can actually fall. 'Thank God for Supe reflexes', you both think. You spend the rest of the wash with your eyes wide open and Jordan laughing at you.

"Did we put too much?" Jordan asks, dabbing at another drip of oil and conditioner down your brow.

"No, this is typical. The hair has to be saturated. It's dripping because the oil is you know... getting hot and even more liquid-y." You say, eyeing the episode of Property Brother's you'd both decided on. "Hm. I think that woman should be put to death."

Jordan was keeping vigilant about dabbing at the sides of your face. You'd been in charge of one side, at first. But Jordan seemed to have a sixth sense for when the other side was dripping as well, and kept interrupting you before you could get to any trickles of oil. You'd given up and just started narrating the show for her as she wasn't taking her eyes off the line of your brow.

"Why? What did she do?" Jordan dabs again.

"She wants to put up a fence that blocks the view of the historical house that she did not have to buy if she wanted a fence so bad." You roll your eyes.

"Is the city gonna let her?"

"No."

"Haha. 500k down the drain." Jordan cackles.

"Anti-gentrification win!" You hold out your fist for a fist-bump and Jordan obediently obliges, oil soaked rag still held in her fist.

A comfortable silence falls over you two, besides the noise of the portable hair dryer.

"I really think we put too much, baby." Jordan mutters, dabbing again.

"I have been doing this since I was twelve, Jordan!"

"Play the video again, one speed slower this time." Jordan's eyes are glued to your phone.

You're sitting between his legs again, cushioned by the (superior) pillow of his choosing. You were trying to decide on a simple hair style when Jordan saw a picture of Mini Twists and got excited to see you in them.

("You've already seen me in mini twists, Jordie. What are you talking about?"

"You weren't my girlfriend the last time you wore them though! Now you are, and I get to look at you as much as I want."

So that had decided that.)

"Okay, I think I got it. 'M gonna start with a braid base, without making the parts too big, then start twisting the hair with two strands, and that will make it last longer, right?"

"Right." You smile at how focused Jordan sounds.

They're hot when they're in the zone. You just didn't think they'd get so into helping you with your hair. But you should have known, really. Acts of service paired with their inner perfectionist? You're completely relaxed at this point. You know Jordan won't have you walking out of your room looking crazy, come hell or high water.

"Is this okay?" Jordan shows you a picture of the back of your head, three rows of twists done.

You gasp, snatching the phone, "That's my head?"

"Uh... yes?" Jordan answers slowly.

"The back of my head? The head on my body?"

"Should I start over?"

"Fuck you! These are almost better than mine. Who's hair are you playing around in when I'm not here, Jordan LI?"

"Stop using my fucking government name." Jordan tilts your head back to look at him with a gentle grip on your neck, grinning down at you. "You play too fucking much. You sure they're good, princess? It's okay if I need to redo them."

"I'm gonna give you orgasms that will make you lose brain cells."

"Baby!" Jordan laughs, rolling his eyes. "I'm serious. Do any of them need redoing?"

"The first row is really fucking good for a beginner but the second row is damn near perfect." You say.

"I'll redo the first row then." Jordan kisses your temple before moving you to face forward again.

"I said they were good!" You protest.

"But the second row is better. I want the whole thing to look good. Don't want you feeling self conscious cause I fucked up the style, y'know." Jordan mumbles.

You tilt your head back to look at him, ignoring him sucking his teeth (a habit he picked up from you) at you moving.

"I love you, Jordie. Thank you for helping me today." You coo.

You watch his face go red with a grin. He grins back, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. When he tries to pull away too soon you whine, holding him close by the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Wanna kiss you. You're sweet." You breathe the words against his lips, insistently continuing the caress.

He sighs, smitten, and let's you lead for a moment. Hand finding it's way back to your neck and tightening just enough to make you gasp. Still, he pulls away too quickly.

"I'm gonna fuck you up." You scowl at him.

"The only thing you're gonna fuck up is your neck, brat. This is a horrible angle for you." Jordan's smile is so soft at the edges it's your turn to blush.

"Speak for yourself."

"No, I'm too busy speaking on behalf of your neck."

"Well, I'm speaking on behalf of my-"

"Pussy?"

"I was going to say raging hormones but that's a lot more to the point, yeah. Or maybe I was going to say something romantic. You ever think of that, Jordie? Huh?"

"Were you going to say something romantic?" Jordan hums.

"No."

"Let me do your hair in peace." Jordan turns you forward again with a laugh.

"Turn this way." Jordan instructs, snapping another picture.

"I don't know whether you're worse than an Instagram hair stylist or a Mom." You ponder, words barely audible because your girlfriend is scary.

"Shut up and smile." Jordan scowls.

As if engraved into your genetic code the words make you do just that. You suffer through another 20 pictures being taken before you say enough is enough.

Jordan happily shows you the pictures, as if you hadn't seen yourself in the mirror just a minute ago. Or ever. The grin on her face so wide it looks like it hurts.

"You like it, baby?" Jordan asks again.

"It looks so good, Jordie. It looks like I paid someone honestly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You drape your arms around her shoulders. "How's this angle?"

"For what?" Jordan tilts her head to the side, puzzled.

"For kissing. Since you were so worried about the angle before."

Jordan scoffs, but she's the one to pull you in. She doesn't pull away this time.

A/N: i needed reader to have a goofball vibe because i have a goofball vibe. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anonymous ask saying you enjoyed it! a writers fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

#jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine #jordan li #black!reader #black reader #IVE WORKED ON THIS ONE TOO LONG FUCK IT WE BALL #last few jordan li readers i've written have not had a reader who is a goofball #and if someone acted like this around me (hot brooding and scowling) #i suffer from jester syndrome. i would need to make them laugh

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Hi, would you write about a self conscious reader who is going through a crisis with accepting herself and reveals that to jason todd in an emotional state like the dramatic “i hate myself” thing. Kinda having a moment like that myself and i need to read something that i can identify with

Your door was shut when Jason got there. He could feel the emotional angst leaking through the door. It slid over him like ooze. Over his skin and down his throat.

But he forced himself to breathe. Like last night. If he focused, he could find the edges of what he was feeling and push your influence back. You weren't focused on him.

He exhaled slowly and knocked, waiting. "Y/N? It's Jason" No one was in the hall but somehow it felt like everyone was in the hall. The trouble with living in a house of nosey bitches.

A solenoid disengaged and he pushed the handle. Letting himself inside, leaving the door cracked. Mostly so you didn't feel trapped.

As soon as he stepped into the room, the atmosphere was crushing. Oppressive. A sensation of being cold and humid. Self hatred, grief, and shame. And he can feel you trying desperately to pull those feelings under the surface. Wrestle them into submission.

Sweat prickling on your forehead from the effort.

"You should probably go," you manage.

Jason winces and takes a deep breath, forcing himself into a state of calm. Remembering how he deals with scared little kids and abuse victims. "What can I do?" he asked softly, moving closer. Below you, out your window you're watching everyone else. In the sun and playing outside. Shaking off the night-terrors you'd given them and the stress of patrol with water guns and slips and slides- a home made water park around the pool. Christ. It's no wonder you hate yourself.

"I'm fine. I just. I just-" Your voice is rough with unshed tears and when you break off, resting your head against the glass, Jason smiles a little.

"Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional," he chuckled. "We've all been there. You're just a little more obvious about it."

You make a soft miserable noise and he shakes his head, "No one wants you to stay away, "he murmured, changing tack. "Bruce gives us nightmares all the time. Ask Dick about his party hard days some time. His nudes got "leaked" once as a distraction when I was a kid and all the girls had them. It was gross."

When you huff a soft laugh, he nods towards your book shelf, "Not a lot of heavy lifting going on there," he teased, referencing the romances and young adult novels- a fair number of children's classics he noticed.

"I like happy endings," you murmur. "I don't- I just get overwhelmed. I get tired of being a monster."

Jason nodded. He didn't want to tease you for your books anymore. "You're not a monster, Y/N," he whispered. He'd spent a lot of time watching you. You offered kindness in a hundred different ways. Doing little things to help Alfred. Taking odd shifts for Barbara. Refilling Tim's water. Stocking gear. Taking time to just chill with Cass... he'd probably missed a lot of details. But a monster wouldn't do that.

"I feel like one. All the time. I feel like I'd be better off dead. Like if they would have been too late-"

"If they would have been too late, it would have been for nothing," Jason said, wiping tears off your cheeks tenderly as he knelt to cradle your face in his hands. "Those bastards that hurt you are monsters. You were a baby."

You don't meet his eyes but he can feel pain. A deep fissure that never healed. Like a wound that needed packed and never got it. Rotting and festering this whole time. Inflamed and ready to send you recoiling at the lightest touch. "Got a favorite happy ending?" he asked. "I'll read it to you if you want-"

"Aren't you an Austen snob?"

"Please. As if I could get away without reading at least a couple of Alfred's trashy Romance novels. Some of them are charming... a couple are even pretty decent writing. As long as they don't spend too much time describing the dude's cock."

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #science experiment!reverse

[navybrat817]

“Behave, I wouldn’t want to have to punish you now.”  with Nick Fowler please 🥰

Love this! Thank you for submitting a prompt. Went a little dark with this. ❤️

Snow Globe

Pairing: Dark!Nick Fowler x Female Reader

Summary: Nick thinks snow globes are beautiful, just like you.

Word Count: Over 600

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, NONCON/DUBCON, cockwarming, possessive behavior, Nick Fowler (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Set in the same AU as See Through You and Home Video. And a small submission to @thebasementspouses 's Christmas Challenge with Nick and Snow Globe. ❤️ Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

You peeked up at Nick where he sat on the couch and studied his handsome face. He was in a good mood today. Maybe because he got to sleep in a bit and cuddle with you. He didn't even bother getting fully dressed once he got up. Just put on a pair of boxer briefs and insisted on the two of you staying in.

As if you had a say in the matter.

He chuckled when you let out a hum of confusion. “The snow globe, sweetheart,” he smiled, picking it up from the end table beside him. He gave it a small shake to draw your attention to it more. “See? Beautiful.”

You stared into the snow globe, not at all enraptured like when you saw them in stores or homes. A souvenir like that should have enchanted you with the lightly sparkling snowflakes and glitter. The ethereal vision only served to remind you that looks could be deceiving.

Evil can be beautiful.

Nick Fowler was living proof.

“I thought maybe we could start our own collection,” he continued as he set it down and brushed his fingers along the side of your throat with a soft smile. “Doesn't that sound nice?”

You blinked once. Again, you had no say. You could argue with him, sure. But who knew where that would lead? Nowhere good.

And you didn't want to go down the hard path tonight.

“Fuck, your mouth really does look beautiful stretched around my cock,” he breathed, his fingers drifting along your neck again as he rolled his hips up. “Breaks my heart when you try to fight it, but you aren't fighting now, are you?”

You exhaled through your nose, the urge to gag rising. It was only a few minutes ago when you felt the weight of him slide across your tongue, but it felt more like hours with the slight ache in your jaw. The tip of his cock kept hitting the back of your throat and you willed yourself to stay still and focus on breathing.

At least he was kind enough to give you a pillow for your knees.

“Of course, you aren't. Because as much as you fight it, you love it when I fill you up,” he smirked as you shivered, a darkness settling over your heart. He made you feel good physically every time he took you, but you couldn't let pleasure wear you down. Could you? “And I really do love filling your holes.”

You almost wished he'd stop talking. If he did, you could allow yourself to drift away. You wouldn't disappear into a daze completely, but you could retreat into yourself for a short time and deny that you belonged to him. Which was precisely why he kept speaking.

Nick wouldn't allow you to leave him, even if it was just in your mind.

And with his cock in your mouth, he wouldn't allow you to talk back.

“It’s okay to like being mine, sweetheart,” he whispered.

But why should you like it?

He let out a sharp hiss when your teeth grazed him harder than he liked and gripped the back of your head in a warning. “Behave,” he said in a low voice. “I wouldn't want to have to punish you now.”

He kept you on his cock when you tried to let up, not allowing you any reprieve. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes as you met the burning azure of his gaze, his eyes so dark they were almost black in the dim light. It was like looking into your own twisted snow globe.

You were trapped.

Forever.

I love him. I can't help myself. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Nick Fowler Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x female reader #nick fowler x female!reader #nick fowler x fem!reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x y/n #nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #soft!dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler x reader #soft!dark nick fowler x reader #tbschristmaschallenge #nick fowler fanfiction #nick fowler imagine #nick fowler fic #nick fowler au #nick fowler fanfic #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan

[ghostfanwriter]

💖🧰 Dirty Hands 🧰💖

Part two

🧰 Pairing: Joel Miller x Afab!Reader

💖 Synopsis: Your dads, Bill and Frank, are the only people you've ever met. When Joel Miller comes to visit, you learn about new and exciting feelings.

🧰 Features: 🔞, soft!Joel, kissing, very secluded and kinda oblivious reader. Honestly there's not much, this is mostly just the setting of the story.

💖 Word count: A bit over 5k.

🧰 About this: Timeline's a bit different from the show. Basically their ages are the same from the show, Bill and Frank are older than Joel. But here, they all meet in 2023, after the raiders already shot Bill. The main difference from the show is that here Bill and Frank are not as old in 2023 as they are on the show, I picture then as old as they are when they meet Joel and Tess on the show.

💖 Author's note: She's finally here! I loved writing Bill and Frank ✋🏻🤧 literally my favorite. Writing their dynamics with reader was a joy, loved it.

Good reading 🧰💖

💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰

💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰

You've lived in Lincoln your whole life, but the majority of it was inside the town your dad built for himself right after the outbreak.

He was the only person you knew — or remembered, at least — until Frank arrived.

You were six or seven when your dad told you to lock yourself inside your bedroom and gave you a gun, which he had already taught you how to use. "You only open this door for daddy or to kill whoever is inside that trap, alright, cupcake?" You obeyed, looking out the window and watching him talk and then walk the man past his gates.

You only opened your door when he called you, a couple minutes later, a plate of food in his hands. "This is for you, baby. I'm gonna feed him and he'll go away. He can't see or hear you, so you stay here real quiet. I'll tell you when you can leave."

And you did, but instead of calling you, he came back later, tucked you in and told you not to leave your room for the rest of the night. You had a bathroom and he brought you more food and told you not to worry, so you didn't mind.

Next morning he introduced you to Frank, saying he'd stay around for a while.

A while became forever, and before you knew it, you had two dads. Two very different men who did their best to look after you.

But nothing they did could prepare you for today.

Nothing could prepare you for the man you'd see today.

🧰💖≈

Your dads were having people over for the first time in literally forever. But you wouldn't be a part of it.

"Bill, for God's sake, she would have so much fun! She needs to see people." You heard Frank almost yell from the kitchen.

"I'm not letting them see her! I don't know what got over me to let you give them our fucking location! I won't let them know we have a daughter!" Bill sounded angry and upset, he was afraid everything he worked so hard on building could be destroyed by Frank's "friends".

So the first woman — if you don't consider the one in your faded memories — you've ever seen, and the very first man who wasn't one of your dads, had to be seen from your bedroom window.

When you saw her you smiled, thinking about all the things you two could talk about. Did her hair annoy her as much as yours did sometimes? Did she feel the same things that you did? What would her voice sound like?

Your wandering was cut by the next new person you saw.

Tall, broad shoulders, short and greying hair and beard and a sculpted face. An imposing figure that took over your senses, setting itself instantly as your new favorite sight. He made your stomach feel like it was loose, floating around your belly, but you couldn't bring yourself to look anywhere else.

You watched from your window as they sat down and ate. Your dads clearly having two very different experiences, Frank was laid back and having fun, while Bill sat stiff and you constantly saw his hand reach for his gun.

Your attention was focused on the man, though. The way he sat, how his jaw moved when he chewed on your dad's food, how his eyes were hooded and serious, most of the time holding your dad's gaze.

His eyes were so pretty, from a distance they seemed dark and mysterious, and you stared into them, your brows furrowing with the intensity of his look. You were so lost in them that it took you — way over — a second to realize he was looking right at you. And you only noticed because your dad yelled.

"Frank, not inside!"

You hid behind your curtains. Your chest moving so fast it hurts, and you can feel every contraction of your heart.

Your dad will fucking kill you. They shouldn't have seen you, but now the man has.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to her?" He had barely spoken yet, and his voice sent chills down your spine, pooling in your panties.

"Who?" Bill asked, his hand reaching for his gun. He was ready to kill both of them at any wrong move.

"Oh, shit." Frank sighed under his breath. "Bill, it's okay." He said, resting his hand on Bill's shoulder.

"There's a girl?" The woman asked excited, looking around to see if she could find you.

"Fucking — stay here." Bill told the man and the woman.

Him and Frank walked inside, and you, still hidden behind the curtains, kept looking at the man. Your heart felt like it didn't fit inside your chest anymore.

You stepped away when they walked inside your bedroom.

"Honey, I told you to be careful. Goddammit." Bill said, opening his arms as you run towards him, tugging yourself under his embrace.

"Sorry, daddy. I wanted to see them." Frank invited himself into the hug. "It's okay, darling. We'll take you to meet them, if you want to. They seem like good people, even your dad has to admit." But Bill's face didn't look like he agreed with it.

"Can I?" You looked into Bill's eyes and he looked at Frank, shaking his head no, but looking back at you and sighing.

"Okay. You can come down. But!" He said when you started giggling into his chest, hugging him tighter. "But they think we have others come over, so keep that in mind. And, listen to me. You're gonna stay with us, alright? I want to keep my eyes on you the whole damn time." You nod enthusiastically, hugging Frank.

"Oh, you'll love Tess!" He said and you made a little happy sound.

"I know! I have so much I want to talk to her about!" You say excited. Bill sighing behind you, scratching the back of his neck and shaking his head, a soft smile breaking through his face.

You three reach the front door. Your arm is tangled with Bill's, your eyes wandering around as you walk outside.

"Look, there is a girl. She's our daughter. She's... We wanted to know you first, before you could meet her." Frank said, walking outside first, you and Bill following right after.

You were wearing a yellow summer dress, and you could see the man gulping when he saw you. You were a vision he thought this world would never provide him again.

Feminine and pretty. Colorful amongst all the muted colors everyone was wearing.

Your dress perfectly outlining your curves, your hair looking like silk, falling carefully over your shoulders, your eyes wide; attentive but curious at the same time.

"Oh, look at you! You're so pretty!" The woman said, and you couldn't hold your smile back anymore. "I'm Tess, what's your name?" You looked up, at Bill, who caught your gaze and nodded for you to respond.

You told her your name, and you could see the man's brows furrow behind her when you said it.

"Well, it's really nice to meet you. This is Joel, we're..." She looked back at him, then at your dads, and she seemed uncomfortable for a second. "We're friends. And we're really glad to be here, to meet this place. To meet you!" She finished with a warm smile.

You loved her.

You shook her hand and the man approached you, shaking your hand as well, his eyes sweet but intense, and a soft smile on his lips. You couldn't help the girly smile that stamped your own lips while greeting him.

His hand was big, rough, textured, but also soft and warm, his fingers double the size of yours, distracting you. It made your breath get stuck on your throat, and your mind wonder what it would feel like if he held you the way your dads held one another. If he touched your face or your sides. If he ran his hands up your legs, like you do sometimes at night.

If his rough fingers would hurt you if they touched you on other places, how much further than yours his fingers could go, how much more you'd have to open yourself to him.

You loved him.

You all sat back down at the table, Bill insisting you'd sit between him and Frank. You talked a lot to Tess, about things you had tried to talk about with your dads, but they never seemed to fully understand.

After your dad lowered his guard a little, he let you, Frank and Tess walk around, show her some things and talk. You felt comfortable around her, like she was someone you had always known.

Whenever you looked at the man, though, you felt the same things from when you were watching him through your window. Your stomach felt funny, and your palms dry and sweaty at the same time. The fact that he kept looking at your direction didn't help you, either.

Everytime you were not around him you felt in your guts that you were wasting your time, that you should come back and try to get close to him.

It was like there was a magnetic field between you two. You couldn't stop looking for him, and he seemed to not find interest in anything else after seeing you.

Every fucking time you looked at him you found his eyes already on you. Analyzing you, studying you, as if he wanted to engrave you on his mind.

You were everything he thought didn't exist anymore. You were feminine, your hair was pretty, your skin was soft and you smelled good. Frank had made you a perfume with a few flowers and fruits, and you wore it everyday.

It smelled fresh and delicate, and the smell got stuck on Joel's wrist, coating his mind with a soft but persistent layer of you.

Even more than the smell, the hair or the soft skin, it was you that drove him crazy. The silly smile you had stamped on your face the whole goddamn time, the way you talked to Tess like you could never run out of things to talk about, how delicate you looked.

But also how your dads told the story of the day raiders tried to invade Lincoln, how you and Bill shot them, how you killed the one who shot Bill. Most of all how you told the whole thing with a smile on your face. How not fragile you were, despite your girly figure.

How intriguing you were.

And Joel couldn't keep his mind and his eyes off you.

He knew he wouldn't find someone like you ever again, so he wanted to make sure he had your frame right on his brain.

Having his attention made you feel good, in a different, new way. In a way you've never felt before. But it also made your stomach feel funny, like you were sick.

You went for Bill, who was sitting on a porch chair next to the man, taking to him. "Daddy, is it okay if I go to bed? Not feeling great." You asked your dad, the man shifting by his side.

"Yes, darling, sure. Do you need anything?" He asked, his voice coated with concern.

"No, I'm fine. Think it's just been a lot for one day. Just wanna lay down for a bit." You bend down to kiss his cheek, and he kisses you too, the man's eyes glued to your body the whole time.

"See you, Joel. Nice to meet you." You say to the man, who nods and smiles at you, offering you his hand again, making your cheeks burn at the feeling of them.

💖🧰≈

You wake up with a soft knock on your bedroom door.

You open your eyes to find Frank, who invites himself in, sitting on your bed.

"Hi, darling. How are you? Tired already?" He mentions for you to sit next to him, which you do, snuggling next to him, hugging his side.

"Doing fine. Better anyway." He looks down at you, worried. "Oh, what was wrong? You didn't say anything."

You don't know how to explain, but you try anyway.

"I don't know, I felt weird since they arrived. Felt this thing on my stomach, like I would throw up. But now I think it's gone."

"Oh, sweetheart-" your dad starts, but he stops when Bill and the man stand on your doorframe. The man looks at you from behind your dad, up and down, smiling softly at your sleepy face and hair. "Frank, cover her up, please."

He does it, covering your body — previously covered only by a tight tank top and an underwear — with your blanket. "I'm showing Joel his room. Baby, are you feeling better?"

You nod and smile. "Good, was worried about you. Now, keep your door closed. Locked, please." Bill says as he closes your door and leaves with the man.

You grunt, feeling the same thing again. "Ugh, here it is. Not gone yet. Dad's food never made me feel like this before." You snuggle closer to Frank, who sighs and hugs you tighter.

"Oh, honey pie, you're not sick. It wasn't dad's food." You look at him.

What could it be, then?

"But don't worry, Tess already left and Joel is just hanging over for a while to help me and dad around with some fixings."

You grunt, feeling funny again. Thinking about Joel leaving and never seeing him again makes your heart sink down on your chest.

💖🧰≈

You spend the next day inside your bedroom, watching the man work with your dads, fixing some things on the exterior of your house and helping them with things they can't do by themselves anymore.

Watching him carry heavy things around and laughing with your dads made you uncomfortable. Your body begging you for some relief.

So you give it some. You lift your skirt and touch yourself over your panties. Steady and fast circles around your clit until you cum, the man being the only thing in your mind.

You imagined what it would feel like to have him hold you, his skin touching yours, what kissing would feel like. How he'd hold you on his strong arms, how he'd move you around.

You wondered if he looked like the men from the magazines you found on your dad's car, and what he would to with it, what it would be like, what it would feel like.

As soon as your high was over you heard your name being yelled from outside. It was already dark, but you were close to the window and got worried they may have seen you.

You'd be fucked if they did.

You looked down and found all three of them looking at you. Bill was the one to speak.

"Baby, can you cook us something for dinner, please? We're gonna be here for a while still." You hoped your voice would come out okay.

"Sure daddy, be right down." You answered, Joel's gaze weakening for a split.

"Thanks, love." Frank said and they went back to work.

💖🧰≈

You felt funny while you cooked dinner. Specially since you knew Joel was gonna eat. You couldn't pull yourself out of him while you cooked, thinking about how tired and hungry he must be, and how you'd be the one providing food for him. How you'd be making him feel good after working all day.

It makes you want to do it more, to do things for him, help him feel better after a tiring day.

You're so lost on him you don't notice when he walks in the kitchen, watching you for a while in silence. You drop a wooden spoon on the floor and bend over to grab it, your skirt fully lifting and leaving your whole ass on display.

He chokes on his saliva, startling you, and you get up, looking at him. "You always wear that around the house?" He asks, talking directly to you for the first time since you introduced yourself the day before, his voice a little broken.

"Yes, she does. Because she's our daughter and it's usually only us around here." Frank says out of nowhere. "But I told her she should wear more appropriate things while Joel's around, didn't I, love?" You blush.

He did, but this was literally the first time you had someone over, so you forgot. And honestly "appropriate" isn't exactly clear. You weren't naked, and your clothes were never questioned before.

"Sorry, dad, I'll go change. Can you watch the pans for me, please? Thanks." You say rushing out of the kitchen, avoiding Joel's gaze.

"You back the fuck off, alright? Bill will fucking murder you if he sees you watching her like that." Frank says after a bit, while Joel grabs a cup of water.

"I wasn't watching her, I'm sorry. Just stopped and she dropped it. I just wanted some water. Besides, there's Tess—" Frank looked at him from over his shoulders while he stirred a pan with pasta. "Don't shit me, Joel. Tess told me about you two. I know you're not a couple anymore." Joel shifts on his feet. Tess shouldn't have said anything.

"But she's young, and she's used to only have us around the house. She got overwhelmed by you, and I believe you may be a good man, but not for my daughter." Joel's heart aches a bit. He thinks of Sarah, how livid he'd be if a man ever looked at her the way he found himself looking at you.

"And again, be thankful I was the one to walk in and not Bill. You'd be buried outside by now. If he left anything to be buried, that is."

You walk back in, in a sweater and pants. Bill walks in at the same time, drenched in sweat, panting quietly.

"You're sick, honey? Why are you wearing this?" You look over at Frank, who rolls his eyes. "She just wanted something more cozy, Bill. She's alright." He looked at the three of you, his gaze softening at you. "Okay then, I like that you're fully covered." He says, eyeing Joel for a second before looking at you again.

"I'm gonna shower and then we can eat. Thank you, darling. It smells amazing." He kissed your cheek and went to his bedroom.

"Love the outfit, sweetheart. Don't listen to your dad, this is perfect. Joel, why don't you go take a shower too so we can all eat together?" Frank says.

Joel looks at you, then at Frank, then grunts in agreement and goes upstairs.

"Dad, is it bad that I... Think about him?" You ask, genuinely concerned. Frank turns the stove off and looks at you. "What do you think about him, love?"

You feel your cheeks on fire.

"I don't know." You respond, not wanting to welcome your dad on your daydreams. He comes towards you, cupping your cheeks loosely.

"My love, do you think about him like dad and I? You you think of doing to him what you see us do? Kissing, hugging?" He asks low, afraid somehow Bill could hear them.

"I do." You whisper, pushing yourself into his embrace, hugging him tight and snuggling your face on his chest. "I think about what kissing him would be like. What having his hands on me would feel like. What hugging him would feel like." You say, knowing well that you can't lie to your dad.

"Darling that's perfectly normal. Joel is a beautiful man, the only man you've seen besides me and dad." He waits for a response, but you have nothing to say.

"Just... There's a lot you don't know, okay? A lot we didn't think we had to tell you about. And your dad and I are just afraid someone might take advantage of that." He hugs you tighter, hoping Joel wouldn't be that someone.

🧰💖≈

After dinner, you help Bill with the dishes while he chats with Frank and Joel, who are still at the table. They're talking about construction, cars and resources, and you're just listening to them.

Then you all go to bed and you lock your door, just like your dad asked you to.

Before you could sleep, though, you let the man take over you again.

You insert two fingers inside you and circle your clit desperately, trying to just get some relief so you could go to sleep. Softly, you moan the man's name when you cum, and pray he couldn't listen to you.

Your water bottle was empty, and you had to go downstairs to refill it. "Fuck!" You said, if one of your dads saw you outside your bedroom, they would kill you.

But your throat was dry and you didn't want to grab water from your bathroom. So you had no choice.

You almost fell on top of Joel when you opened your door and found him standing right in front of you.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice high and scared.

"Thought I heard you call me, came to see if you needed my help for something." His voice low and heavy, like his words were thick and hard to let out.

"I wasn't calling you. I don't need help, I was just going to grab some water." You respond way too fast, barely taking breaks between your words.

"Hum, I could swear I heard your pretty voice call my name just a minute ago. Joel, Joel, Joel. Multiple times. Didn't know you did those things, baby." His expression is serious and dark, looking down as he towers over you.

He wasn't going to try anything. But since you were calling him...

Fuck.

"I... I wasn't calling you. I'm sorry, I have to get back to bed." You try to close the door, but he doesn't let you, easily keeping it open with his forearm.

"But you weren't sleeping, were you, baby?" He steps in, forcing you to walk back inside. "I'm sorry. I just... I… I saw you and you were looking at me and I… I shouldn't, you barely even spoke to me, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

He closes the door behind him.

"Oh, I don't mind angel, I'm not mad at you. My name never sounded sweeter. But I can't sleep now. Not now that I've heard it." His arm snakes around your waist, and he pushes you close.

He connects his mouth to yours, and you finally learn what a kiss feels like. His beard makes you flinch at first, scratching and almost hurting the sensitive skin of your face.

You're used to your dads' beards when you kiss their cheeks, but Joel's feels different, it hurts in a way that makes you want to feel it even more.

You moan into it and your body softens under his embrace, your legs give in and you're only standing because he's holding you. Your hands grab his back and his hair, and you moan into his mouth when his tongue opens it's way into yours.

His arms hold you tight and squeeze you, his large hands hold you you firmly, and you feel like that's what was missing for you all along. To be in Joel Miller's arms.

He is intoxicating.

His perfume, woody and different from the ones your dads have, mixed with his natural essence make you dizzy. His strong arms hold you in a way you didn't know you needed to be held. His mouth explores you with such hunger, such passion, and you've only just met.

It makes you wonder what it would be like if he loved you, if he cared for you. How much more of this intensity you'd feel from him.

You deepen the kiss, exploring his mouth with hunger and curiosity, all while doing your best not to drown in saliva.

He breaks the kiss and goes to your jawline and neck, smelling, kissing and biting you, his beard scratching you deliciously, making you moan.

"You smell so good, baby, you're so soft. Been a long time since I saw a girl like you. All pretty and sweet for me like this." He says as he runs his hand through your hair, his rough fingers caressing your scalp, pulling your head back to make more room for his lips.

You feel something hard pressing on your lower belly and you pull away. "Wait, Joel. I think there's something in your pocket." He looks down and laughs, grinding himself on you.

"This, baby?" His voice low and breathy. You nod and he looks at you, his breath heavy, his brows furrowed, now showing more confusion than arousal.

He lets you go abruptly, looking puzzled at you, analyzing you. "How old are you?"

You frown.

"I don't know, actually." You respond.

"What? How… how do you not know?" He turns his head, even more confused.

It was confusing, you'll give him that.

"Well, my dad, Bill, found me on a road a few days after the outbreak. After FEDRA evacuated the town. He said I could walk and speak, but was still really small. So he thinks I was around 2 or 3." He looked at the roof and then at you, doing the math in his head. "So you're 23?"

You nod. "Yeah, probably."

He puts his hands on his hips, looking at you and at the door.

"And... How do you not know what this is?" He asks mentioning the tent on his pants.

Oh... Maybe because you've never seen a man other than your dads, and you've never fucked any of them. Maybe that's why?

"Well, you and Tess are really the first people I see that are not my dads, and, well, the people I knew before them. Y'know, not a lot of friends to have around here." You say moving your arms around, mentioning the empty town and all the emptiness surrounding it.

You get close to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and talking close to his ear, your hands roaming all over his back and hair.

"But I know somethings. Things I listened in songs, read in books. Things I want you to teach me." You say, touching his crotch, his cock throbbing inside his jeans.

But he thinks about your dads again, about you, and how he'd kill the man who tried anything similar with his own daughter.

"Sorry, baby. I can't. Your dads didn't tell me this. They said they had people come over before, just never stay. I thought you maybe got with one or some of them."

"You're the first." You say, not fully aware of all the weight the sentence has.

"I can't be your first one." He says, making you furrow your brows.

He pushes you away, walking towards the door.

"Why not?" you ask.

"Because you don't know me, baby. You're young and you need someone who knows you, and who you know. Someone who'll take care of you like you need." He sounded serious and decided. His voice deep and just slightly above a whisper.

He was kinda into the idea of you being innocent and naive. But when you're this untouched, it feels too much for him.

"But I want you." You say, returning his whisper. "I've been thinking about you ever since you showed up. Sometimes I feel this burn, this ache between my legs, and I used to fix it by just touching it. But today when I did it, my mind kept going back to you." You confess, and he swallows hard, his Adam's apple moving slowly as he did.

You see his eyes wander back around your body, and his gaze get darker again. But as soon as it darkens, he sees your face and it softens.

He turns towards the door, walking towards it.

Noticing how your words affected him, you keep going.

"I was calling you, Joel. I was doing it because of you." His body stiffens and he stops, his hand on the door handle. He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder.

"Please." You say, your voice sincere and sweet.

He turns back around, looking at you like you were tearing him apart. "I'm sorry. Can't do this to you. I don't know if I know how to be gentle anymore, I don't want to hurt you."

"If it's not you then who is it gonna be? My dads trusted you enough to let you inside our house, to let you sleep here with us. That has to mean something." You say, and he moves his jaw from side to side.

He knows he can't, but you're right. Someone could do worse than him trying his best to be gentle.

"Baby, if I have you, I won't want anyone else to have you after. If I'm your first one, I'll be your only one." He said, getting close to you.

"I don't know if I'll want anyone else after you." You respond, walking close to him and caressing his hair with your fingers. "I know I don't regret my first kiss." You whisper, your face close to his, and his eyes go darker, staring into yours.

He was your first kiss too.

"Could've been more gentle?" He asks with an embarrassed smile.

"It was perfect." You respond with a smile.

He looked at your lips, his hand coming to cup your cheek. You snuggle your face onto his hand, enjoying the texture and warmth of it.

"But I mean it. I can't do it. Not right now." You whimper, and he gives you a faintly stern look, his fingers pulling your hair behind your ear.

"Told you. You don't know me. I'll be around for a few more days. We'll be patient and see how this goes." Your face must be the one of a lost puppy by the way he's looking at you.

"Just don't want you to regret it. Can't just sleep with the first man you ever see, princess." He says with s laugh. The nickname makes your knees weak.

He kisses your cheeks, both of them, and let's go of you, grabbing your water bottle. "I'll fill it for you. Don't want your dads seeing you downstairs."

After a few minutes he comes back, finding you sitting on your bed. He places the bottle on your nightstand.

"Sleep tight." He wishes, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" You ask, feeling vulnerable already being so clingy to the man.

He holds your chin, caressing your jaw.

"I'll be here for a whole while, angel. Promise I won't go anywhere before we talk about this, okay?" You nod, getting up to lock the door after him.

He gives you a little kiss on the cheek and leaves, and you go back to bed, letting anticipation bloom on you, feeling like you're gonna melt.

To think that he was indeed also thinking about you, that he wanted you the same way you wanted him, made you feel funny, like you're gonna scream.

It made you revisit all the times you caught his gaze, everytime you saw his eyes go from your body to your eyes when you looked at him.

How maybe he did the same in his bedroom, thinking about you the same way you thought about him.

Just picturing that makes you feel funny, and you smile to yourself. Feeling all special to be noticed by a man like him: strong and resourceful, the things your dads taught to be — and to look for.

Your dads were worried he would take advantage of you. But on his grand opportunity to do so, he said no and told you to go back to sleep.

And that just made you want him more.

🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖

Coming up: You convince Joel he's the right one to be your first, but how hard will it be?

🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖🧰💖

Did you like it? Hopefully yes, I loved writing this so much it hurts that it's finally out. I'm currently working on the part two 💖

More from me 💖

As always, feedback, comments, asks, requests, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated. I love reading your thoughts on my work 🫶🏻

Part two

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #ghostfanwriter #pedro pascal's characters #smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller x you

[nivtee]

: ̗̀➛ COUCH. sam uley

sam uley x gn!reader

fluff ! slight angst !

sam uley may not want you as his imprint, but you sure as hell want him

the words had stung from the moment they left his lips.

it was almost like your lungs were filled with water, like you were drowning in shallow water that you couldn't pull yourself out of. nothing could have prepared you for the way the strings in your heart broke.

sam uley had pulled your heart out, placed it between his teeth and tore through it like a pomegranate.

he was panting, his shoulders lifting and dropping in the same pattern that you'd been infatuated with ever since you'd met, shoulders rolled back and eyes shut so tightly someone might have believed he was afraid.

"i see," you cleared your throat and shuffled slightly. "alright, sam, i'll leave."

you didn't give yourself another second to think, turning on your heel and swiftly making your way back towards the parked jeep at the top of the driveway. if he didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here.

staying away from sam was easy, considering he lived on the reserve and you were on the other side of the town. seeing as how he was the alpha of his pack, you knew his boys would follow his orders.

and so you hadn't expected any of them to show up to your door.

rubbing your forehead, you glanced between the two boys sitting on your couch and sipped at your coffee. your house was a mess, seeing as how you hadn't been expecting guests and you were currently sick with the flu.

blowing your nose into a tissue, you walked back into the loungeroom, taking a seat on the single couch and face the two boys. "sorry," you motioned to yourself, "i would have made myself more presentable but, as you can sick-"

"sam's a wreck." you blinked. "he won't sleep and when he does he wakes up, screams a bit and goes back to sleep. he doesn't eat, fuck, he's a husk." jared cameron may not have been a friend to you but he was a friend to same. your sam.

"im not asking you and him to get together and have a kid or anything, just, sleep near him. on the couch even."

you sighed, "even if it did help, he wouldn't let anywhere near him." you pointed out. paul, who'd been mostly silent, smirked and stood up.

"leave it to me, princess."

despite the fact that you did not like being called princess by paul lahote, you found yourself standing outside the small cabin just after a month of avoiding it. you found yourself trapped between the air of the house and the boys, both ushering you towards the house.

pushing open the door, you took note of the couch that had been pushed against the wall, with blankets and pillows draped over it. you knew that on the other side of the wall was sam's bedroom, not that you'd ever been in it.

you and sam had met only recently, and you had just simply been friends until he started getting somewhat handsy, and you didn't mind, you encouraged him.

and then he had told you about werewolves, vampires, the lot. you may have freaked out a bit, but you'd eventually placed your hand on his leg, and told him that it was okay, that you were still there.

he'd looked into your eyes and time had stopped. for you at least, he was the only thing that you could see, behind him blurring into a flurry of colours and sparks, your fingers feeling as though they were threaded with his skin and your feet no longer touching the floor.

then, he'd torn himself away from you and screamed for you to leave. you'd obeyed, and now you were back. and now you stood in the middle of the slightly run down shack, annoyed at the tug on your heart and frustrated with the boys.

putting yourself onto the couch, the boys promised they'd wake you up before sam saw you, and as much as you trusted them, it didn't stop you from staying awake all night.

that was how your nights went, sleeping on a couch in the room beside sam, getting around four hours of sleep and then being shaken awake so paul or jared could drive you to your workplace, promising to pick her up later that night.

you hadn't heard from sam, but the boys had told you he felt better, he was waking up and going on patrols. they said he was gradually getting better, and they thanked you over and over.

you weren't sure how long you'd been keeping up this routine, at least two months, and somehow it had been kept from sam.

in reality, it had not been kept from sam. he knew exactly where you laid at night, if the boys tried to hide your scent they were doing a horrible job. he could smell your perfume, the shampoo you used, he could see the rings you left in his bathroom and the shirt you'd accidently stolen, believing it was your own.

he would never tell you, he couldn't bring himself to look you in the eye again. he would continue to sit, lie awake at night and listen to your heart beat, your breathing, even your steps.

he knew he wasn't worthy of you, but he would be selfish.

and when you left in the morning, he would sink into the couch and get a final few minutes or rest for the night.

#sam uley #imprinting #angst #twilight sage #sam uley pack #twilight #sam uley x yn #sam uley x you #sam uley x reader #breaking dawn #new moon #stephanie myer twilight

[ittybluebell]

Roommate | Daredevil G/T | Chapter 1

AO3

Next

Matt Murdock didn't have anything against mice. He'd never been personally harrassed by one, but he understood the need to get rid of them. One easily turned into a dozen and with all the mess and digging into food, eviction was necessary. Despite how many rodents he heard daily, it wasn't something he thought about. The only reason mice were on his mind now was because one had moved into the floor, and he could hear it moving around as he laid in bed.

Now, like he said, Matt didn't have anything against mice.

Scrtch-scrtch-tick.

This one, however, was pushing its luck.

It showed up one night, moving in when he was out vigilante-ing and he only noticed the next day. At first, he didn't care. It was alone and hadn't yet realized there was food in his apartment. He had other, more pressing issues than a single mouse. It was a benign little thing - hardly a problem. Most nights, he could ignore the pitter-pattering and scraping or put in his noise-canceling earbuds.

Tonight, the mouse was too loud for earbuds. As he tossed and turned, Matt fumed, wondering what that rodent could possibly be up to. Rearranging furniture? Fuck, it sounded like it. Little mouse furniture.

Enough was enough. Matt threw a pillow at the floor and told the thing to shut up. To his surprise, it did. Matt sighed and finally went to sleep.

From that night on, he noticed a drastic decline in his downstairs neighbor's noise pollution.

How silly it was, Matt thought during a good mood, holding a grudge toward an animal. Especially one that was polite enough to let him sleep in peace.

Oh, how naïve he was.

The mouse quickly reinstated its grudge status when Matt noticed things going missing. It started with the bagels - a hole in the bag he noticed because the scent of bagel was particularly strong. Upon investigation, he discovered there was a complete lack of crumbs. And a chunk discreetly chewed from the middle. From there, things escalated. He smelled the shift in the air, smelled the remnants of another living being in his apartment. Little objects went missing - things even a seeing person might miss. But not Matt Murdock.

The sock was the last straw.

"What's the best bait for mouse traps?" Matt asked as soon as he entered the office.

"Cheese?" Foggy answered, confused. "Why? Do you have mice?"

"One. One mouse."

"How d- nevermind. Let me guess - you can't sleep."

"It's taking my stuff."

Foggy laughed. Karen huffed.

"At least tell me you're using non-lethal," said Karen. Upon his silence, she aww'd sadly. "Matt, no. It's just a mouse. You can't kill it."

"They're pests," said Foggy.

"But they're so cute. It just wants a place to live."

"Karen-" started Matt.

"No, no, she's got a point." Foggy spun his chair around. "Matt, you can't kill it! So cute and fuzzy!"

The lawyer-by-day, vigilante-by-night groaned. "Fine, I won't. Just stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Foggy, I can feel your eyes fake-tearing up."

Matt bought some glue traps and baited them with peanut butter. When Karen told him glue traps were worse - "They're so inhumane, Matt!" - he assured her that he'd know when the mouse got stuck; it wouldn't suffer. As much as the thing annoyed him, Karen was right: he wasn't going to abandon his no-killing rule for one mouse. (One mouse that must have a vendetta against him. He would not stoop to its level.) What kind of hypocrite would he be, huh?

The traps were set. Now to wait.

And wait.

A week passed. No mouse was caught. When he listened to its movement, he realized it was avoiding the spots he'd trapped. Avoiding the usual routes.

Smart. For a rodent. But Matt was smarter.

More traps, different bait. Traps disguised as the food and objects he'd noticed go missing, even the mate to his missing sock. It couldn't resist now.

Days passed.

Evidently, it could resist.

Foggy teased him about being outsmarted by an animal. Karen was on the mouse's side. Somebody must've told Jessica because he got a condescending text offering her services. Traitors, every one of them.

It all came to a head one terrible Friday night. Matt was already in a bad mood when he got home from work but going out, hearing and feeling New York City, pushed him over the edge. He was annoyed, his brain was overstimulated, and he just wanted to rest. The rooftop access door shut behind him and he threw his helmet into its trunk, about to shed the rest when the distinct sound of scratching and plastic crinkling in the kitchen cupboard caught his ear.

Matt stilled. It was here.

He marched with purpose toward the sounds.

That little bastard wasn't getting away this time. Catching it would be a satisfying end to a crappy day.

The mouse started fleeing before he was even close. It was headed for the other end of the cupboards - a hole in the floor Matt wasn't aware of but now could sense the air flowing from within. He'd have to seal that in the mor-

Mice didn't run on two legs.

Matt cocked his head, listening to the pattern of footfalls. He'd never cared to pay attention, but now it was impossible to miss. He knew what scurrying rodents sounded like. Whatever was in his kitchen, it was no rodent. It was bipedal. A bird? No, not with that speed. Not with that gait. He needed a closer examination.

Matt threw open the cupboard door. The first thing to hit his senses was the scent of corn chips.

The second was the heartbeat.

The creature's heart pounded swiftly in its chest. Air rushed from a mouth that was too upright for any kind of animal, a nose too humanlike. Small shoes hit the baseboard as it ran. Fabric rustled the same way he heard every single day in the street - like clothing.

Matt got lower, needing to be closer, needing to examine this little anomaly. How it moved, how it sounded, how uncannily familiar it was.

The living shape that his senses created was so alike to people that he was too shocked to outwardly react.

The little thing escaped into the floor, and Matt Murdock was left crouching there. Slowly, he shut the door. He took off the suit, dressed his wounds, and went to bed, his mind racing.

His body was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. Not when he was tracking the creature's movements. Every scrape, every soft thud of a step, the whisper-

Whispering?

"You're fine. He didn't see you. There's no way…"

Whispering. Okay.

Matt pretended he didn't hear anything and put in his earbuds. That was a tomorrow-Matt problem.

Unfortunately for tomorrow-Matt, another problem knocked on his door first. That problem rhymed with Stank Hassle and didn't like to be ignored. Frank did offer coffee when they left so at least it wasn't a total bust. It was a good opportunity to get Matt out of his head; to get a clear perspective of the night before. Matt decided he was exhausted and hallucinating. The alternative was a tiny person living in the walls of his apartment. Delusion was easier.

Delusion was also what kept the borrower from abandoning the apartment altogether.

Call them stubborn, or stupid, but Finch didn't want to leave. Borrowers could only get so lucky. Landing a decent apartment with an oblivious bean was a rare opportunity, and Finch had no intention of giving it up. They would use this good fortune. Even if they didn't deserve it.

Finch shook off the guilt following that thought.

They spent the first week setting up: finding a place to sleep and tidying it up, living off the rations they packed. They got a lay of the land, surveying the apartment and its infrastructure. The excessively bright billboard directly in front of the living room window, the kitchen, and - most importantly - the bean. Light - or lack thereof - was never an issue for him. Not once did he flip a switch or so much as use his phone, which read texts aloud to him. He hardly looked at whatever claimed his attention. Everything added up to limited vision, but they couldn't be sure. It was safest not to risk any assumptions.

Evidence pointed to some damn good hearing when Finch was carving planks of wood out of the floor's innards. They were minding their own business, content with their repetitive, calming task, when something large and loud impacted the ceiling a dozen paces away.

The borrower nearly jumped out of their overalls, giving a startled squeak.

"Shut up," yelled the muffled voice above.

Pretending their soul wasn't just violently expelled from their body, Finch smoothed down their curly brown hair and exhaled shakily, making a mental note to postpone noisy work till the bean was away.

And they did good on that: when the bean was home, Finch completed the quieter, slower tasks. They thought they'd discovered the formula for living under the radar, satisfied to have found a routine that worked.

Then the traps appeared. Finch cursed their luck. The jig was up. The bean set up gross glue traps in outer access points, a couple even getting to the paths Finch took. Finch avoided them and laid low for a bit, hoping the lack of activity would convince the bean they'd skipped town. But more traps appeared. Smart ones, too - they almost fell for a couple. Now, Finch knew a thing or two about a thing or two. They made new routes and took extra care when borrowing. They even started mapping paths to the apartments below. Despite their small stature, Finch had a lot of room for determination. After a life of sticking their hand in the fire, they learned to take the heat. If the bean wanted them gone, he'd have to try a lot harder.

Night fell. The bean was gone. He followed routines - ones he scarcely strayed from. It would be hours before his return.

Finch made their way to the kitchen. They pushed up the trapdoor and strolled through the cupboard. They still had to be careful: just because the human wasn't home didn't mean they could throw all caution to the wind. Leaving evidence was a massive negatory. Finch didn't care for stupid rules, but the rules of borrowing were locked in their brain. They were already careless with the bagels, something they couldn't afford again. Desperation wasn't an excuse for sloppy borrowing - not when it exposed them.

Finch observed the boxes and containers around them, reading labels and calculating risk and reward. There was no chance of getting into that cereal box, but the nutrition bars would be a good grab. The box was short and already open. Finch pushed a can of tuna against it and hopped on. They began extracting a bar only to realize they had no way of getting something so large home without a sled.

"No, that'd be too easy." With a huff, Finch dropped it and shoved the can back into place. "'cause food can never be-" plastic crinkled under their foot "-easy?" Finch inspected the blue packaging. It was an open bag of tortilla chips. They grinned.

The scent of corn chips filled the space as Finch unfurled the bag. They dropped their backpack and started breaking the triangular chips into smaller pieces. Salt-free, too? Hell, yes. They tested the backpack's weight, put a bit more inside, then pulled the strings tight. They slung the strap across their chest. Oh, yeah, this would last them a good while. Finch fought with the chip bag, trying to roll the top underneath like it was before.

"Come on. Stupid fuckin'-" They tried to simultaneously lift the heavy bag and pull the other end.

Over the sounds of plastic popping and crackling in their ears, Finch didn't hear a door open and shut.

DOOM.

They did, however…

DOOM.

…feel the approaching footsteps of the human bean.

Finch froze. Blue eyes snapped wide open, their head flinching away from the plastic. It couldn't be...

Finch bolted.

He's supposed to be out why is he back-

DOOM.

They didn't need to know why he was back - just that he was and he was approaching at an alarming rate.

DOOM.

Oh, fuck, that's actually really close-

The doors ripped open. The hinges didn't even get a chance to squeak.

Finch stumbled. Air caught in their throat. For a moment, Finch was rooted to the floor. Just a moment. Long enough to see the human's form towering beyond the counter, covered in some kind of dark red leather. Long enough to see boots more than capable of squishing the life out of them.

Legs like fenceposts bent as the human came unbelievably closer. Closer than Finch had ever been to a bean. A giant face suspended above them, features blank and expressionless. Not once did the bean look at them.

Finch ran. They didn't look back. When they reached the hole in the floor, they plugged it up and kept going. Keep running.

Only when they reached the safety of their shelter did they falter.

"Oh, shit," they gasped, resting their weight on a nearby post. If their heart didn't outright stop, they were sure it might burst from their ribcage. Finch felt that exploding was a reasonable response. "He didn't see me." The scene replayed in their mind, over and over like a glitched tape. "I'm fine. You're fine. He didn't see you. There's no way he saw you. Just breathe."

Delusion, like they said. It was a powerful thing. It pulled many tricks on the mind. Like convincing oneself that they weren't discovered.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet, one might even say, if they weren't one Matt Murdock. He never got that phrase. Nothing was 'too quiet'. In his - correct - opinion, nothing was quiet enough. There was always something creaking, breathing, or thumping, even in the smallest hours of the night. But on some front he had to agree: there was a suspicious lack of activity from the critter in the floor lately. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he couldn't deny that it wasn't an animal. Animals didn't mutter to themselves, in full sentences, in English. He wasn't mentally, emotionally, or spiritually prepared to assess beyond whatever that meant. In the moments his mind wandered, however - such as now, sitting and listening to a recording for his current case - he found himself pondering the tiny being regardless.

The peace wasn't an accident. Finch had been avoiding that place, giving themself and the air time to settle. They continued work on their residence, slotting together panels of wood and cardboard to form walls. One room would do for now - they just needed protection from the elements and potential scavengers slinking around. Skies above, if a cockroach tried anything, it was next on the menu. Grind up the little fucker into a smoothie. Finch wished a bug would: it'd be miles better than those godforsaken tortilla chips. Finch gave the wood posts they'd just secured a good push, nodding in satisfaction and moving on to the wall. It would be the last one to seal up their box of a house.

Four days. It'd been four days since Finch was nearly discovered; four days since they stared a bean in the face and got away unscathed. Four days since they got an answer to what they'd only suspected: the human couldn't see. That explained the brilliantly bright billboard, the sensitive hearing, the lack of lights - it explained a lot. Finch had to re-evaluate their approach to borrowing. This human would be extra careful about his possessions - the sock was proof enough - and notice what was out of place. In some ways, this both simplified and complicated things.

But borrowers were nothing if not adaptable.

Finch ventured up to a peephole in the wall and looked out. Nothing had changed except the bean now sitting at the dining table, papers and an electronic box neatly laid out on the tabletop. Casually dressed, he was listening to… a podcast? No, too personal. Finch liked podcasts. There was a crime involved, but this sounded like a conversation Finch would overhear more than something designed to entertain. So this bean worked in solving crimes. A detective?

They listened to the dry as hell audio a scant longer before growing bored and moving on. Hey, at least the bean was preoccupied.

Naturally, they found themself puttering toward the kitchen. Wielding two bent nails tied to their belt, Finch climbed up the cupboard door, using hinges and decorative bevels alike to hoist themself up. Those bagels were good. Were there any left? Nothing but corn chips really wore down a person's capacity to give a damn. They perused the counter, confident that the bean was sufficiently distracted by his work. Finch was disappointed to find the bagels sealed in an airtight container. It was their own fault, slicing up the bag so messily. They pulled a face and resumed their search.

A plate of mostly-eaten pasta sat before them. Fuck yes! Finch scuttled to it, pulling out rolls of tinfoil from their bag. Careful to avoid crinkling, they gathered up all the leftover noodles and sauce that would fit.

Finch squirreled away their haul, licking their fingers clean of evidence and ignorant of the man listening to their heist just a few metres away.

Matt stopped paying attention to the tape some time ago.

The sounds of Hell's Kitchen couldn't drown out the little inhabitant in his walls. A scent had blown into the room, vaguely familiar with hints of tortilla chip. He sat straighter and listened, idly shuffling papers and tip-tapping his fingers on the table. He found himself unable to be anything other than impressed as they scaled his counter like a mountain climber. Whatever was left from dinner became his visitor's latest plunder. That was fine; less waste, right?

He was disappointed when they returned to the walls. He wound back the recording to get some work done, but found himself consistently distracted by his small neighbour's goings-on. This discovery was just so unique, so strange - how could he not be curious? He heard them venture out again, across the apartment now. Into his bedroom. What could they be doing?

Oho, if Matt found any more socks missing-

He turned in his seat, about to rise, when he heard:

"You hafta to be shittin' me."

The voice, quiet in size only and bold beyond that, was the mildly annoyed tone of someone who'd been inconvenienced. Matt had heard it before, in the late hush of the night, when no one else would. Muttered curses and remarks that blended into the creaking and groaning of buildings and chatter and sirens of the city. One voice that Matt Murdock had tried very hard not to think too much about.

"When is enough too much, huh?" the voice griped. "Does he think I'm just gonna lay on one? 'Oh, felt silly today, stepped on the massive rug of glue.' How 'bout I drag this onto your floor, see how you feel walkin' in a minefield?" They growled. "UGH. Beans."

Well.

There was no denying it anymore, was there? A tiny person was living in the walls of Matt's apartment.

Matt leaned back, processing. He'd tried ignoring it - for the sake of his mental health and faith - because it was insane. It was impossible. It shouldn't be.

And yet…

Matt wanted - needed - to investigate further.

He got up, quietly, light on his feet. He didn't make it two steps before he heard a swear and the tiny person retreated once more. Into an electrical outlet, by the sounds of it.

Hm. He couldn't sneak up on them - not this time. They heard him- no. Matt quirked his head, considering. They felt him approaching. Like Matt, they could feel vibrations. Vibrations that alerted them of a threat. It only made sense.

Heh, 'threat'. Regular ol' Matt Murdock was the threat this time, not his alter ego. Wasn't that something?

The next time Matt encountered his new neighbour, he was trying - and failing - to fall asleep. There was too much on his mind for sleep. Frustrated, he huffed and flopped over, restless, his thoughts racing. Sounds of the city were extra distracting tonight. He considered getting up and making a cup of tea - maybe that would calm his mind.

Noises from the kitchen drew his scattered focus. He sat up, listening to the scuffing and tapping that he'd come to recognize as his uninvited houseguest. Three visits in one day. Were they always this proactive? Well, he did interrupt their attempted heist of his bedroom. Matt scooted to the edge of the bed. He would make that tea, actually. As he stood, he remembered sneaking didn't work last time. Right. Heavy-footed. However, he had a hunch that this attempt would yield a sneakier result.

Aided by socks, Matt softly padded through his apartment. Tiny - the name he assigned his little visitor - was fiddling with some kind of packaging on the top shelf. And as he got closer, lo and behold, they did not startle. His theory was correct: the further Tiny was from the floor, the weaker their pallesthesia became. Their ability to detect vibrations just wasn’t as sensitive as his own. Once he stepped foot into the kitchen, Matt dropped the Daredevil act and let himself be known. He grabbed a mug and turned on the kettle. Tiny's pulse quickened; their breath hitched. He gave them time to hide before he opened the cupboard for a tea bag. He quickly realized the box wasn't in its usual spot - his own doing, unfortunately.

"Stupid tea bags," he muttered for Tiny's sake; an 'I'm not looking for you, I swear!' assurance as he searched the cabinets. For extra sauce, he added, "Always misplacing them."

Would he forgo tea? He did start the kettle… as much as he got a kick out of playing the part of oblivious blind guy, causing Tiny undue terror wasn't his end goal. He wanted to test them, their cockiness, not scare them. Tiny may be a thief, but they were just trying to survive. Why else was food their number one haul? Matt dedicated his life to helping people in need. Wasn't Tiny part of that demographic? Weren't they someone in need? Unless small people were running drug cartels and trafficking rings, Tiny was innocent.

Doubt and guilt crept in. Maybe he was pushing the bit too far.

Matt was just about to get up and leave when something square and coarse pressed into his fingers.

He faltered, then pinched it, rubbing his thumb over the material. Its strong, earthy scent gave it away.

A tea bag.

Small shoes lightly retreated. Matt withdrew his hand. He held the sachet of dried herbs, cogs turning in his mind. He tilted his head.

Tiny handed him a tea bag. That…

Matt found himself puzzled and oddly touched. It was for their own good, to avoid getting found, but he couldn't not appreciate the nice gesture. He easily smelt where the tea was, of course. But Tiny didn't know that. Huh.

Maybe he was being too harsh about the sock.

The kettle's bubbling pitch rose to a squeal. Wincing, Matt shut it off. He dropped the tea bag into the mug and poured steaming water over it.

What a strange experience. He wondered what Tiny was thinking. Their heartbeat eased into the fluttering pace that he learned was its resting rate. It was the trait that had him most convinced his roommate was a rodent of some sort, though the way they squeaked when startled was a close second.

Matt threw out the tea bag and took the mug to his room, leaving Tiny to their task.

The next day, he casually slipped questions about tiny people into a conversation with Foggy. (It was not casual and quite random, actually.)

"You mean, like… fairies?" Foggy cautiously asked.

Sort of? Matt didn't know whether Tiny could be considered a fairy. They certainly didn't seem like the fairy type, not with the kind of language he heard them utter. Did fairies say 'fuck'? Would that break some kind of fairy law?

Karen told him about a book series that she'd been obsessed with as a kid: it contained many smaller magical beings. Brownies, for instance. Matt settled on definitely not that one. What favours was he receiving? Aside from the tea bag - an isolated incident - absolutely none.

Matt wasn't convinced they were a magical creature. Really, they just… seemed like a normal person, albeit smaller. They hummed to themself, snickered at their own dumb jokes, and swore a hot streak that would impress even Castle and Jones. Matt was pretty damn sure they'd been building a house under his floor, though he noticed all the loud busywork was put on pause when he was home, most notably when he was sleeping. Another nice gesture that was also for their own self-preservation.

Maybe they were a mutant. Or maybe they were mutated, like him.

When Matt got home, he discarded the glue traps. It felt wrong to leave them now that he knew it was a person he'd been trying to catch. Guilty, he started leaving crumbs in easy-to-reach locations. It wouldn’t hurt him any - his grocery budget wasn’t gonna tank because of some scraps. If chips and leftovers were what they were after, then they had free reign over the countertop. That didn’t stop him from being cheeky about it, though - if Tiny was getting confident, he might as well play along.

He found Tiny’s courage something to marvel at. Roaming a giant’s home? Without fear? His vigilante persona was literally named Daredevil and he was impressed.

However, bravery and foolishness were not mutually exclusive. That’s when the cockiness came in.

Matt was minding his business, washing the dishes, when Tiny wandered out. Brows hitching up, he continued sponging the plate. Surely, they wouldn't-

Oh, but they did.

Unwavering, Tiny climbed up the counter they same way as before. They walked up to the pan on the stove and hooked a leg over. Matt fought hard not to chuffle. This was getting out of hand. Matt remembered an adage about not feeding animals or else they'd grow dependent. Had Matt inadvertently done exactly that? Animals that were accustomed to people often didn't see the danger. Tiny was certainly no animal, but the absence of caution they displayed in the moment was, frankly, ridiculous. It was a massive leap from the times they would flee his presence. He was starting to think he'd played too ignorant.

A smirk tugged at his lips upon hearing the leftover eggs being pilfered. When he turned to fetch the pan, Tiny was already hopping to the floor and disappearing behind the fridge.

Stealing right behind his back. When was enough too much, indeed.

AO3

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#g/t #giant/tiny #goldfinch (oc) #matt murdock #daredevil g/t #giant tiny #the borrowers #borrowers #g/t community #gt #g/t writing #daredevil #marvel g/t #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #daredevil fanfiction

[yesimwriting]

hello! I was hoping for a Joel miller imagine where the reader gets hit on in a bar when she’s dating Joel and he sees this and confronts the guy and hits him because he’s aggressive and is all protective over the reader!

I love your writing and this would be amazing thank you xx

A/n first joel request,, slay

update: watched the new episode, bill and frank, still crying 

i feel like this gives post outbreak joel a little more bc of the physical protectiveness,, but i can't remember if there's much/any descriptions of like literal bars in the QZ,, i've only watched the show and i don't remember seeing details,, like ik there's alc/pills available, but actual bars??

idk it's possible i've missed it or forgot bc i have terrible memory

so enjoy my 'makeshift' bar concept as i try my best to deviate from canon as much as possible

not to shamelessly self promo,, but if you like this fic i have another joel fic with what i feel like is a more developed version of this dynamic (bc it’s longer and more internal monologue centered) here and i’m making a part 2 for it so if you like these vibes and want something similar, it’s there, it exists :) 

----

You're staring again, and trying your hardest to convince yourself that you're not. It's more than pointless, it's bordering on ridiculous.

Joel Miller is not some fleeting crush that’d fit somebody in grade school better than it’d fit you. Not anymore. You know what you are. You've had a talk. The kind of talk that you didn't think existed anymore in this world.

It wasn't exactly the rom-com 'what are we', but after a man Joel was dealing with got a little too friendly, it led to an argument. One you didn't fully understand, especially since Tess practically lived by his side.

Don't pretend, you might come off as all innocent, but you're too smart to be that naive. Men like that only have one intention.

And that had rightfully infuriated you, because after weeks of lingering touches that could be justified with a few words but never were and all the goddamn looks, he had no right to lecture you about another man's intentions with you. His intentions don't matter because that has no affect on me and who I am. Why the fuck does it even matter?

Why does it matter? It had been this subtle scoff of a response that made you take a step back. That made your back brush against the wall of his apartment. Because I don't want other men like that lookin' at you, let alone speaking to you.

The world stopped spinning on its axis and all the air preparing to leave your lungs was trapped with no where to go. Too many implications. 'Other men like that', the inclusion of himself in men that had those intentions. Maybe even more importantly, the implication that he’s some sort of exception.

 Even more deafening, your response: Well maybe I wouldn't speak to them if you didn't entertain ev--

The rest of your sentence, whatever it would have been, was lost to his mouth on yours. A snapping of tension that took its time fizzling down to something less consuming. Something that allowed you both to talk enough to make it clear that Joel was yours and you were his.

It wasn't a magical snapping into place like it might have been in a world without the outbreak. In some ways, it added a new layer of hesitance, and in other ways it propelled you forward. There are growing pains with anything new, and the whole relationship thing is definitely new to you. Especially in this world.

If only you could get past staring. Maybe after Joel secures the whiskey-bourbon-hybrid whatever they're passing as alcohol these days from a less than trustworthy trading contact, you'll get buzzed enough to graduate to handholding, or at the very least, you'll be able to do something besides sit there.

You're starting to feel insane. How is making out easier than the small things? Maybe the setting is more at fault here than you. In the outside world, any form of attachment could easily be twisted into weakness. It’s likely best that you keep some distance from Joel here, especially with the way other men keep looking over at the two of you. 

It’s not like you’re never awkward about the little things when confined safely between the walls of Joel’s place, that’s slowly but surely starting to feel like it’s at least partially yours, as well. But the way you get in public is something else entirely. It’s probably for the best. There are already too many eyes on you. 

Like the guy with red hair that glints oddly in the yellow light of the stranger’s building. He’s swaying slightly, a dark looking glass in his hand that he’s yet to release in the entire time you’ve been here. Every time one of his friends leaves him, his gaze returns to yours. 

Your skin crawls each time, but you keep your expression as stoic as possible. Joel’s getting better at trusting you, better at letting you serve as a sort of backup in the way that Tess usually would. You know that if it came down to it, the man that keeps looking at you wouldn’t be an actual issue, and you know Tess wouldn’t let it get to her. 

Ugh. Another thing you want to get yourself to stop doing. Comparison. It’s ugly and so insignificant. Tess didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms when you first showed up, but you get that. And eventually she warmed a little. You think she’d still trade you for a few ration cards, but she doesn’t hate you. She’s, at the very least, no longer skeptical of you. The other day you caught her hiding a smile over a joke you made.

But it’s hard not to compare. They were the closest thing either of them had to a support system for years before you showed up, and you know that they’ve been together casually. Always casual. Joel stressed that part, but that doesn’t mean it’s an easy thing to know, especially now. 

You bury the thoughts the way you often do and turn your attention back to Joel. Back to staring. At least you’re consistent.

A man peaks out of the closet that seems to be the source of all the alcohol. He gestures vaguely in your direction. “That’s us,” Joel says, voice flat, “Wait here, I’ll be back.” 

Nodding as if to dismiss your own thoughts, you beg your mind to not create imaginary problems by reading into him telling you to stay. He’s walking a few feet away to get some boxes, it’s not the rejection insecurity is making it out to be. “I’ll hold down the fort, keep away trouble.” 

Joel blinks, turning his head in your direction briefly. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, which is more of a reaction than he likes to give when in these kinds of places. He shifts his hand casually, his fingers brushing against yours briefly as he stands. The gesture is small but immediately dislodges the lump in your chest. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” It’s little more than a whisper, but there’s something hidden beneath the roughness of his tone. A pinch of lighthearted humor that’s only visible to you. 

It eases you even further. Joel turns away, moving behind the long table serving as a sort of bar counter. You tap your fingers against the surface without much thought, taking a second to absorb the easiness of it all. It’s rare that getting anything require so little. You don’t think anything’s ever come as easy as sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool. 

“So...” You blink, posture straightening as your eyes flit to the source of the sound. “Guard dog finally left you alone, princess?” 

Okay. Ew. Of course it’s the guy that’s been staring you down since you first sat down. You have to fight to not let your nose wrinkle. There’s no good in reacting, in escalating the situation. “Not a guard dog.” 

You hope that it’ll be enough to show that you’re not interested. “Aw, not feelin’ too friendly, baby.” Ew. You’re torn between cussing him out or actually punching him. Neither is an actual option. Places like these are a minefield and you refuse to be the one to set off a series of explosions. “Maybe you’ll cheer up after a drink, could get you one.” 

Turning your head, you take a breath before replying. “I have enough friends.” The stranger is clearly apart of a group. You don’t know if you could call them all friends, you’re not sure there’s enough casual trust in the world left for genuine friend groups. But they’re at least acquaintances, or work associates, or maybe they met here, equally inebriated enough to accept each other. It doesn’t matter, the point is they were chatting up a storm before he decided to wander over here and bother you. “And it looks like you do, too.” 

“Fine,” he relents too quickly, “Let’s not be friends, then.” His hand shoots forward, landing firmly--and disgustingly--on your waist. “Let’s be something else.” 

You’re unsure if you’re more repulsed by his hand on you or how terrible that line was. Your own hand clasps his, pushing and pulling in an attempt to create a space. He’s relentless, even when your nails start clawing at him. “If you want to keep your hand, I suggest getting off of me.” 

He blinks at your threat and then grins, flashing a smile that’s missing teeth. And then he laughs. A cold chuckle that makes its way beneath your skin. “God, I like them feisty.” 

Shoving your fingers under his, you manage to pry him off of you. Your foot moves, heels smashing into his toes as subtly as possible. “And I like them when they know how to fuck off.” 

His smile broadens, a cynical undertone to the look that makes it worse than before. “Oh, darling,” his hand finds your arm, tugging you forward, “You’re gonna pay for that.” 

“Pay for what?” Relief washes through you before you’ve even fully registered the familiar, even timber of Joel’s voice. He’s speaking in a lower tone than usual, an icy rage that you can feel in your bones and it’s not even directed at you. “Touching what’s not yours, ‘cause you’re the only one doing that.” 

There’s probably something you should say. A subtle warning to not go beyond scaring off the man that is clearly incapable of respecting a woman’s autonomy outside of another man’s claim over her. To not take it too far because it’s not worth it. Because you have it under control. Relatively.

Instead, you’re silent as the man releases you. He takes his time assessing Joel. The stranger is physically smaller and Joel does have that edge that only comes from someone that’s lost enough to be dangerous to anyone threatening what’s left. 

The man holds his hands up in defense, his glass sitting precariously between his thumb and pointer finger. “Easy, man.” You don’t even have to look at Joel to know that that was the wrong thing to say. “I didn’t mean any harm, if you set the price right, I’d be--” 

The rest of the proposition is taken care of by Joel’s fist connecting with the man’s jaw. You hear the audible crack before your mind can make the connection between Joel’s quick movement and the man’s silence. 

Holy shit. Joel didn’t just throw a punch, he threw a punch meant to shatter bone. He barely glances at you, and you’re too focused on the fact that Joel’s standing there, completely fine like he didn’t exert enough force to knock over a grown man. You blink as Joel extends the arm he’s been using to hold the small case. 

You’re too shocked to do more than take the box. The implication of why he’d hand you the box while still standing there doesn’t settle until Joel’s throwing another punch. Each hit is more committed than the last, even when the stranger’s knees give in and he collapses. 

Yeah, there’s definitely something you should say. Now. Like right now. You’d never ask him to hit anybody once, let alone do whatever he’s doing now. But words like ‘stop’ and ‘okay, think he gets it’ all jam themselves so far down your throat, you wouldn’t be able to pry them out with a wrench. 

All you can do is watch. It’s the kind of morbid fascination that reminds you of what it felt like to drive a little slower when passing a car wreck. You’re rooted in place by a realization that’s always been there at the back of your mind, an implied awareness. Joel’s more than just prone to violence when he needs to be. He’s angry. 

It should scare you. Terrify you. Your stillness should be some byproduct of that. But it’s not. Joe’s not a danger to you, he’s a danger for you. 

It’s a level of protectiveness you never thought you’d experience. Your chest feels warm. You hope you’re not messed up enough to consider this some grand display of love. However, there’s a vulnerability in the violence you can’t deny. You’re in a public place, the kind of morally questionable people that are far from above exploiting vulnerability. And yet here he is, announcing an undeniable attachment. 

Joel finishes, chest heaving and hands still curled into fists. The low light makes the thin layer of sweat on his skin seem like he’s practically glowing. His knuckles are already evidently split and swirling in distinct shades of blue and red. You’re mesmerized. 

“You can’t do that shit here.” 

That’s it. The only reprimand. In the world of before, he would have gotten the cops called on him. He would have gone to jail. 

Joel looks up, mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to fuck off. He then looks at you, gestures with a tilt of his head for you to follow, and walks forward. 

You try not to think of what it must look like when you follow, quickening your steps to get closer to him after you’re out of focus. When you reach the door, Joel pulls it open with one hand and reaches for your fingers with the other. 

----

The way your eyebrows draw together when you’re examining an injury is different than the way they pull together for anything else. It’s too focused to be concerned and too concerned to be focused. 

Joel could stare at that expression for longer than he’d ever admit to. He could concentrate on that little line above your forehead and forget about everything else. “I’m fine,” he mutters, knowing that there’s no real point. You’ll do what you’re going to do when it comes to these kinds of things.

You nod absentmindedly, another small sign that you’re not as here as you normally odd. “It’d be awfully sad if you died of something as small as non-fungal infection.” 

He swallows, minding that look behind your eye. Things are still normal, you’ve yet to show any sign of rejection. He kept your fingers locked practically the entire way here and you let him. Never pulled away. 

It’s not like he needs to apologize. Joel did nothing wrong. He even gave you a minute to handle the situation, but the man was relentless. The kind of asshole that takes advantage of a world with little order to prey on women. Joel would do it again. And again. And again. There are no regrets there.

You’re not naive. You know what you signed up for when you accepted him. He’s never hid that from you. That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve always had a pension for forgiveness, a pinch of empathy the world hasn’t managed to snuff. 

“You’re dramatic, anyone ever tell you that?” 

A touch of a smile pulls on the corner of your mouth. “Hm. Think I’ve heard that once or twice from this one guy. Dark hair, dark eyes, cute, but not really my type.” 

Joel smiles, a partial laugh escaping him. “Really?” 

Turning over his hand with a gentleness he still finds difficult to understand, you press a quick kiss to his palm. You move back into your previous position so quickly it almost feels bashful. “I think you know the answer.” You flip his hand so that his knuckles face you again and go back to cleaning them. “You know, you didn’t have to...I wouldn’t have ever asked you to do that.” 

Joel can’t help his partial smile at that. Like there was ever any doubt. “I know,” he manages, “You’re not that.” 

It takes a second for you to understand what he’s implying. That you’re not like him. Yes, you get mad and you have nothing against putting people in their place, but you don’t like hurting people. Your lips part awkwardly, like you want to say he’s not that either, but you can’t. He just proved it to the both of you. 

“Nothing wrong with being like that,” you say, all too casual, “So don’t say it like it’s this big thing.” There is no end to the level of understanding you offer him. He doesn’t deserve it, he never will. “And you’re not like that in the way you mean. That asshole was, you’re not.” 

Joel lets out a low breath. Of course, even this you’d find a way to reframe. “You’d think so.” 

“I’m right.” It’s a quick reply, and the exact kind of response he expected. “You’re not a shitty person just because you beat up some guy or any of the reasons you’re thinking. New world, new morals. Accept it.” 

Your lips pull together into what’s almost a pout in your determination. Always so sure when it comes to him. “Mhm,” he breathes, watching your surprise at his compliancy. You know something’s coming, but not what. Your awareness does little to help you when Joel twists your hand in his pushes you back against the couch. “And what about you?” 

He hasn’t grabbed your hands yet, but you stay still, eyes trained on him. “I am a lot meaner than you think I am.” 

He tilts his head down to hide his amused expression. Your version of mean is fighting back. “You want to prove it?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou #tlou x reader #the last of us #the last of us x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us fanfic #tlou show #tlou fluff

[kodared]

☆ Welcome home Neighbor~! ☆

----------

Human Reader x Welcome Home!

Frank tries his best to guide you, but Home sees all.

Chapter 12/?

Word Count: 6,129 out of 41,493

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 You and Frank sat together on the hard and cold synthetic wood flooring of Homes replica for what felt like hours before Frank was finished removing all of Homes twine from underneath your skin. By the time he finished, you noticed tears had started to stream down your face and your teeth bit down on his bowtie hard enough to give you a headache.

After you were able to control your breathing a bit better, you raised a shaky hand to remove Frank's bowtie from your mouth and set it on the ground, you looked at Frank, giving a silent apology for messing up his tie before he gave a pity chuckle and spoke,

“Don't worry about it. I have plenty of others just like it, Now. What happened Y/N?..”

    His voice sounded warm and comforting as he moved out of his crouching position to sit beside you, his hand resting in the center of your back in a way that told you he was there to listen.

Your eyes tried to look anywhere but him as you recalled the memories of being trapped for what felt like an eternity, hell, it may have been eternity. You had no concept of puppet aging anyways, Frank could have literally spent years looking for you and you wouldn't know the difference.

   “...How long have I been here?..”           Frank took a deep breath and made a pensive face as he thought,

     “If I had to guess I would say a few Hours at least. Why do you ask?” You groaned and pulled your aching knees up to rest your head on them, your arms shaking as you desperately tried to will your body to obey what you were pleading it to do.

                          “Because I feel like I’ve been here for fucking years.”

You could feel Frank's hand stop moving on your back for a moment at your swearing, if he was going to tell you off for your foul language he clearly stopped himself. If you could find the strength to do so you would laugh at his reaction.

“..In all seriousness. Time doesn't feel real here. One minute I was in Wallys' living room feeling my skin seething, and the next minute, I'm here. Stuck to a chair with a body that won't even move when I want it to.”

Your hands moved to hold your head as you repositioned yourself to be turned more to face Frank, you desperately needed his logical comfort right about now, but he even seemed to be at a loss for words.

Frank, however, kept his hand moving in comforting circles on your back despite his lack of words for a minute, before speaking again.

“...So you don't know how you got here either?..”

You removed your hands from your face as you looked up at him finally, only to see his face as a mixture of confusion as he was lost in thought. “If I had to guess, I would say Home brought me here. They said something about making me a part of the neighborhood, and they went to a different room. Then I felt dizzy, and woke up here.”

    You groaned as you kept speaking,

“...But I would also have to guess they left me here as a punishment of some sort. This was the building I originally… broke into.. That made me appear in your neighborhood to begin with.”

You turned your gaze to Frank again, now curious how he got here. “...How’d you get here anyways?.. Did Home send you?”

You couldn't help the way your eyebrows furrowed in slight distrust, while you doubt Home sent Frank to get you, it didn't hurt to be suspicious. Especially given your circumstances. If Frank was offended at your slightly distrustful look, he hid it well, he even seemed angry at the mention of Homes name.

“Absolutely not. I was actually sent on a Rescue mission of sorts for you, And got transported here Somehow.”

His story made sense, especially since he and Eddie were the last to see you before you marched off to Home yourself, what a mistake that was. With a sigh you pushed yourself to stand, your shaky legs not doing you any favors.

“Well, we’re not gonna get anywhere sitting here, I think I'm good to walk now anyways..”       Frank still looked concerned despite you assuring him you could walk, but he let it be for the time being. He nodded reluctantly and stood to his feet, making sure to grab the flashlight he had propped up before leaving with you leading the way.             As Frank expected, when he went to open the front door from the inside it didn’t budge. He turned to face you,

                  “I got in through a Broken window, looks like that will be our Exit.”

        You didn’t have much say in the matter so you nodded and followed Frank out of the shattered window. Your shoes grind against the glass on the floor before hoisting yourself out with Frank's help.

                Once you both were safely out of the Replica Home, Frank quickly shined the light at your hands to make sure you didn’t get scraped before speaking and focusing forward,

          “…So you’ve been here before, any ideas on how to get out?.. Eddie and the others should be waiting for us,”  

You followed closely beside Frank as he spoke, looking around at the scattered papers and various boxes idly to occupy your mind.

                “Well… When I first came to the neighborhood it was like.. I fell?.. It was weird, everything felt like it was spinning and I felt the floor cave in,”

    You left out the feeling of being watched as you felt a shiver go down your spine just thinking of it. Frank seemed none the wiser to your discomfort as he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts before speaking again.     

     “Do you remember where exactly you felt this way?..”

       You thought long and hard before looking at your surroundings to see if you recognized anything, which was proving to be hard to do with Frank holding the one and only flashlight you both had.

       “It would help if I could actually see, and while I'm thinking about it Frank, where did you get that Flashlight?”

         Last time you were here you found no sign of Lights, much less a flashlight. Even if Home could alter and warp memories you feel like Home wouldn't wipe something from your memory as small as a flashlight.

     Frank looked a bit confused from what you could see in the light reflecting off of his face before he had a look of realization cross his mind as he moved to hand you the flashlight.

        “I found it when I first entered, I tripped on a box and opened it to reveal a few others along with it.”

    You gave Frank a hum of acknowledgment and shined the light near a wall instead of in Infront of you where it once was pointing. If there were going to be any clues as to where you where, they would be on the walls. You distinctly remember being in the director's office before you ran and passed out, so that would be what you looked for first.

       You kept a close eye on Frank to make sure he was following you as you walked closer and along the walls of the building, only rarely having to deviate from the path if there was a stray box in front of you.

          Before long your shoes ground against what felt to be shattered glass, which raised suspicion inside of you, making you stop in your tracks. Frank was quick to catch onto your concern,

        “What's wrong?.. Why did we stop, do you recognize anything?”

            …You didn't respond.

     Your memories felt hazy as you desperately clamored for your memories. Broken glass should signal the entrance of the building or at least a window.

       …But there was nothing in front of you but more concrete floors and walls engulfed in a sea of black.

          “…This feels wrong.”

     You finally turned to look over your shoulder to see Frank, his eyes meeting yours as he looked confused as to what you meant, you continued without him having to ask.  

        “..The front of the building, when I entered originally, had broken glass at the entrance. But as we can both see..”

      You shined the flashlight forward once more, only emphasizing the pitch-black space that surrounded you both, and seemed to stretch on forever.

         “There is no exit in sight, hell there isn't even a window or skyligh..-”

    Pointing the flashlight up towards the ceiling you cut yourself off in shock, Frank hadn't seemed to look up yet as he moved to put his hand on your shoulder,

           “Y/N..? Whats..-”

            “Be quiet.”

       You shushed him quickly as you motioned your head for him to look up, the sight making him take a sharp inhale.

   The ceiling wasn't normal, anyone could notice that, especially you and Frank. While there were still studio lights and rafters, it seemed they weren't held on by any old wires or scaffolding left around.

         Red threads were holding them.

     All with varying colors and sizes, they twisted around the broken electronics pathetically. Some looked as if they had rusted around the threads from how long they had been neglected. 

“...We need to get out of here, and fast.” 

You spoke quietly and urgently as you began slowly backing up, your other hand motioning for Frank to do the same. The red threads overtook the majority of the ceiling as you looked repulsed at how they overtook the old lights. 

Homes influence must have spread to this place after you left, or maybe you never left Home at all. In your mind this could all very well be another one of Homes tricks, but if it was why was Frank here?.. 

Your thoughts came to a halt as you were caught up in staring at the ceiling, you failed to notice the threads that now snaked their way to the floor. Successfully tripping Frank and making you stumble. 

Frank suppressed a yelp as he watched the thread that was once pulled taught to trip him wrapped around his ankle like a boa constrictor. 

“Y/N!..” 

Frank didn't have to call for your help for long before you quickly pivoted on your heel to pull him up, your other foot stomping at the thread that came from the ceiling all the way to the floor, aiming to snap it. 

Frank winced as he felt the string merge deeper with his fabric skin before it stopped and finally broke free from his ankle. You held Frank's hand tightly as you quickly ran away from the threads. 

The threads spread through the facility for miles it seemed, with you and Frank stumbling as you both tripped on various strings and papers scattered on the floor. 

Right when your running seemed all for nothing, you quickly felt a feeling of deja vu hit you like a truck as you passed a wall. Shining your light you could see a door that read,

“Directors Office.” 

Without a second thought, you stopped running. Making Frank trip for a second before you quickly pulled him steady, turning around to see the threads that hung from the ceiling, they swayed like loose spider silk. 

“Frank. This is where it happened,” 

Frank looked panicked and confused, his breath frantic as he desperately tried to speak, his hand tugged at yours, beckoning you to keep running.

“Wh-.. What are you talking about?!.. We-.. We need to get away from the threads,” 

You squeezed Frank's hand in an attempt to calm his anxiety, you could feel him growing more and more anxious, but you knew this was where you originally fell into the neighborhood. 

Now you just needed a Spark to get you there. 

Without much thought, you let go of Frank's hand and unscrewed the lens from the Flashlight. The small bulb inside felt warm against your hand as you held the top of the flashlight and dropped to your knees, Frank looked confused and downright sick as he stared at the threads that now snaked their way over to you both. 

You looked up at the strings and grabbed Frank's hand, you readjusted your grip on the cheap flashlight as you slammed the lightbulb directly onto the concrete with a few papers nearby.

A small spark flew from the broken bulb and the glass shattered with a sickening crunch. Thankfully, it doesn't take much for old papers to catch fire. The fire quickly spread to the threads that were now inches away from you and Frank and you both watched as they recoiled and the floor suddenly felt weak. 

“...What just happe..!-” 

Before Frank could speak, the floor released below the both of you. The last thing you saw was Frank holding tightly onto your hand as you both fell and hit something soft. 

…

….

The only sound that could be heard over your ringing ears was your own heavy breathing. So you kept your eyes shut and continued to squeeze Frank's hand. 

…

….

After a few minutes, you finally opened your eyes and you felt Frank's hand still intertwined with yours, and his heavy breathing was now slowed down. You both were calming down and coming to terms with reality. 

Frank was the first to sit up, not that you particularly minded. You kept your tired eyes on the dim sky, it seemed to be nighttime, Frank also was looking at the sky thoughtfully as he calmed down. 

“...So that was.. Your world?” 

You chuckled softly as you sat up and finally let go of Frank's hand, you both seemed to be in a field, much similar to the one you found yourself in when you first arrived. 

“Pretty much, though there weren't as many threads last time,” 

Frank gave a hum of an acknowledgment as he turned to look at you, his frown now being a small smile as he seemed to try to lighten the mood. 

“I don't think I like it as much as my world to be honest,” 

You let out a laugh and stood on your shaky legs, offering Frank a hand as you helped him get up. 

“You could say that again, now, didn't you say Eddie and them were waiting for us?..” 

Frank looked embarrassed that he of all people had forgotten, he quickly began walking in the direction of the neighborhood. 

“Indeed I did, we must tell them you are safe. Wouldnt want to keep them worried.” 

The dim moonlight lit your path as you followed Frank, not wanting to get lost in the forest this late. Thankfully Frank seemed to be quite knowledgeable on how to traverse the terrain, he led you back to the entrance of town with no problems. 

…However, one thing struck you as concerning. 

All of the lights were off. Granted there weren't many to begin with, but Howdy almost always kept the porch light on, even if the shop was closed, as did Eddie. 

But both were off. 

Even Frank looked a bit shocked as you glanced over at him. He stared at Eddie's shop before shaking his head and looking toward his house. 

“Eddie probably just went back to my house for the night. I'm sure he's alright,” 

You nodded and followed Frank in the direction of his house, keeping your eyes averted from Home and sticking ever so slightly closer to Frank due to your anxiety. 

Frank didn't seem to mind. But as you looked over at Home out of sheer curiosity, you saw Homes eyes were shut. Similar to the way they were in your world. 

You felt uneasy. So without much thought, you walked into Frank's house and practically collapsed onto the couch, Frank just stood in the doorway. 

“...Normally Eddie would be asleep on the couch by now..” 

You watched as Frank closed the door and looked at his coat rack beside the door, seeing no sign of Eddie's mailbag or Hat. 

“...Maybe he's with Barnaby or the others,”

You tried to provide any consolation to where he went, you tried not to think or mention how he could be with Wally right now. You both knew Wally was under Homes control. 

Before Frank could respond to you, someone knocked at the door. Making you flinch and Frank even jumped a little before composing himself and opening the door. 

“Ah.. Hello Sally.” 

Frank spoke with a small smile, and as you leaned on the couch to get a glimpse of Sally, something didn't feel right. 

You could have sworn her Blue eye wasn't always open. 

“Hello Hello, Frank!.. I just came to invite you and Y/N to the Play that's happening tonight!” 

Frank's smile slowly drooped back into his usual frown, looks like he also knew something was wrong with Sally. 

“...I thought you normally give a Weeks Notice to your plays?.. Wally scolded you last time for ruining his painting schedule.” 

Sally seemed to stall for a moment, like a computer that lost its connection before speaking through stuttered words. 

“W..Well!.. I just wanted to throw a surprise Play for the new neighbor!” 

Sally pointed in your direction, making you sink further into the plush couch cushions as Frank looked at you and scowled a little at Sally. 

“They’re not staying Sally, you and I both know we have to get them home. Now, if you'll excuse..-” 

As Frank moved to shut his door, Sallys' shoe stood in the way of the door shutting fully. Her eyes wide now with her smile only growing, as she stepped further into Frank's house, you could both see the swirls that overtook her eyes. Your breath caught in your throat as Sally looked right at you and pushed past Frank. 

“Oh don't be Silly!.. They're even wearing the proper clothes for the occasion.” 

You quickly stood from the couch and moved to put distance between yourself and the eccentric theatre fanatic. You knew very well that your outfit was similar to Wallys', you never changed out of the pants Howdy had given you. 

You were starting to feel as if that was intentional. 

You looked at Frank with a pleading expression, silently begging him to help before he grabbed Sallys' shoulder and stopped her from walking any closer. 

“Home. This is no way to go about things.” 

Sallys' breath caught in her throat as she craned her neck uncomfortably to the side to glare at Frank, her smile now looking strained and fake as her eye twitched. 

“Home? How silly Frank. Im, not Home.” 

Frank flinched as Sally slapped his hand off of his shoulder before briskly walking out of his house. Her shoes clicked against the brick porch Frank had. 

“I expect you both to be at the Play in 10 minutes. You wouldn't want to leave the Cast with an empty house would you?” 

At her final words, you and Frank both watched as the door seemed to close on its own. You didn't notice it but Frank did, Frank saw the red strings that came from Sallys' fingers and pulled the door shut. 

Frank now knew where Eddie and the others were. 

“Y/N... We need to get some things from Howdys shop. We wouldn't want to go to the play without Flowers?.. Right?” 

You were confused for a moment before Frank did an ever so subtle wink and opened his front door to go to howdys store, Home was eavesdropping and Frank knew it. 

“Uh... Yeah, I think I remember Howdy getting more.. Tulips and roses in a few days ago..” 

You followed Frank out of the house and walked to Howdys shop, the porch light being off still shaking you to your core. You hoped Howdy was okay. 

Frank didn't say anything as he moved to an aisle containing different scissors and wire cutters. He motioned for you to gather a few items yourself, you of course listened. 

You walked down a few aisles, you felt bad you couldn't pay Howdy, but you guessed helping him out was just as much of a payment as anything else. So without much thought, you picked up a pair of scissors. 

Just as you were about to exit the aisle, you saw something that caught your eye. 

A small spindle of Red thread, one similar to Homes own, just without the sentience attached to it of course. 

You grabbed it and shoved it in your pocket before meeting back up with Frank at the entrance. 

“Are you ready to go see Sallys' play?” 

Frank had a worried look on his face despite his voice sounding confident with a tinge of joyful energy behind it. You could tell his voice was a facade, but his eyes told you everything. 

“As ready as ill ever be.” 

Frank hummed in acknowledgment and left Howdys shop, you followed closely behind as you approached Sallys' house. 

Her studio lights in front of the house were on, you assumed it was a signal there was a play in progress as you heard various laughs and music playing inside. 

Frank looked sick to his stomach as he moved to knock on Sallys' door, Frank's knuckles hadnt even touched the wooden door before it swung open revealing Eddie. 

Eddie slumped over and engulfed Frank in a tight hug as Frank let out a happy gasp, 

“Eddie!.. Why are you at Sallys?.. Your normally asle-..”

As Frank moved to pull away from Eddies hug, he found that Eddie wasn't letting go. You and Frank looked at Eddie as he slowly lifted his head, 

His smile looked strained and his eyes bore swirls. 

Frank's breath caught in his throat in fear as he desperately tried to squirm out of Eddies tight grip, to no avail. From Eddie's hands emerged Bright Red threads that quickly wrapped around Franks arms successfully restraining him like a spider. 

Before you could move to help Frank, you felt two sets of hands on your shoulders and arms. 

You didn't dare to look up before you felt your consciousness fade. 

—------------- - - -  - - -  -   -  - - - -  -= -= - -  - - -

Your head throbbed as you slowly woke, waking with a gasp as you tried to stand from the chair you had been placed in, only to find your arms and legs bound by a tight Red Rope. 

Raising your aching head you could see a large theatre stage in front of you, most definitely belonging to Sally and her play that you had been invited to go see. 

Which posed a bigger question, where was Frank?.. 

Looking around your general area it was hard to see anything but darkness. The room was empty apart from you and the folding chair that you had been strapped to. The dim lights that hung from the ceiling that pointed to the stage provided an ominous hum in the otherwise deadly quiet room. 

Craning your neck back you tried desperately to see if there was any Exit, but before you could even get the chance. A loud squealing of metal was heard from the stage making your attention snap back to the large stage. 

The loud squealing you heard was followed by the wooshing of the large red curtains that hung from the roof on a pulley system. 

In the center of the Stage was the star of the Show. Wally Darling. Who stood bowing at you. 

Wally rose slowly from his bow and clasped his hands together before he walked closer to you at the edge of the stage. His shoes clicked against the hardwood floors and echoed around the dark theater. 

“Welcome Home Neighbor! So happy to see you could join us,” 

You squirmed against the ropes that held tightly against your skin as you lurched forward towards Wally. Your face in a scowl as you practically seethed with anger. 

“What did you do Home?! Wheres Frank!..” 

Wally only laughed at your anger. A soft, melodic, and robotic laugh bounced off the walls and made the feelings of a headache blossom behind your eyes. 

“My!.. You are quite good at jokes Neighbor. Maybe we could use that as your new passion!.. Yes, Yes I see it now! A comical jokester to go beside Barnaby! Oh how lovely,” 

Wallys' words made no sense to you, other than a clear underlying message that you needed to escape and find the others. It was clear you were the only one with common sense and free will... 

…You just hoped you could keep it. 

Wally continued to mumble quietly to himself as he thought, you took advantage of his distraction as you tried to shuffle and see if you could reach your pockets, to no success. 

Wally snapped out of his trance almost as quickly as it appeared, his hand motioning for someone behind you to move as he spoke. 

“Ah well, that can all be settled in Due time!.. For now, We must prepare the next Scene for your arrival! Julie can assist with your Costuming!” 

You felt a familiar hand on your arm as you felt your ropes being loosened, bracing yourself to take off running Wally seemed to think of this before you had the chance to put it into action. 

His hand shoots out towards you and red threads quickly burned into your ankles making your head snap back as you bit back a groan from the pain. Your legs now felt asleep and numb, you assumed you couldn't move them. 

Looking up as your ropes fell to the ground you could see Eddie and Julie, their faces blank apart from the pained smile they had and their blank eyes looking down at you. 

“And of course, Eddie will assist in getting you there. Wouldnt want our new Neighbor running off would we?..” 

Julie nodded as she moved out of the way and let Eddie lift you up bridal style. If you weren't in the current situation, you would say being held by Eddie felt somewhat comforting. 

Eddie carried you out of the main theatre room, taking you to a small dressing room on the second floor of Sallys house before setting you down in a chair, he moved out of the way after he set you down while Julie looked through a few outfits. 

“Julie.. Eddie?.. C'mon, help me out here..” 

You tried so hard to move your legs, but they wouldn't budge. Whatever Home had used in his threading rendered them useless to your own commands. 

Eddie looked down at you, and for a split second, you could have sworn you saw an ounce of guilt in his eyes before it was gone as quickly as it came. 

Julie walked over to you with a few outfits before she moved to pick up a hairbrush and brush your hair from your face. You don't remember it getting messed up but it did come with the whole ‘kidnapped’ territory didn't it? 

A memory of Julie quickly popped into your mind. Your hand moved to grab Julies wrist before she could brush your hair as you spoke to get her full attention. 

“Julie.. Remember the Spa day you, me, and Wally had? Remember how you brushed my hair then too?..” 

Julie's hand froze as she looked at you, her smile dropping a little bit as she zoned out at the memory, if Julie's mind could just break free of Homes grasp for one moment you might be able to free yourself. 

Eddie's eyebrows creased as he moved to put a hand on Julie's shoulder to snap her out of it, but you stopped Eddie's movement as you spoke to him now. 

“Eddie. Remember when you first met me and you had to grab me to stop my Running?.. Remember how confused you were?”

Eddie's hand stayed in the air for a moment above Julie's shoulder before he let out a small, barely audible chuckle. Your spirits quickly rose as you heard Eddie speak too, 

“Ha... You.. Bumped into me.. Was late to deliver Poppys mail..” 

You felt ecstatic. Your plan was working, and it was working well. You just had to speed up the process a bit before Home noticed and tried to put a stop to it. 

“Yes!.. You both remember me.. Why are we here? How did you both get to Sallys?” 

Julies hand went relaxed and the hairbrush clattered to the ground with a resounding clatter as the swirls in her eyes slowly blended into her naturally black eyes. 

“..We were… Looking for..” 

“Y/N…”

You felt like you could cry as Eddie looked at you with small tears in his eyes, Julie looked shocked as her hand went to her mouth. 

“Y/N… Oh my god Y/N!..” 

Julie practically fell on top of you as she hugged you, you tried your best to hug her back. Eddie put a comforting hand on your shoulder since Julie was taking up all the hugging room. 

“Y/N.. Are you alright? What happened? Where we?..” 

You wiggled one of your arms out of Julies suffocating grip as she giggled in delight so you could put it over Eddies. You nodded to confirm Eddie's question, 

“Yeah... You both were under Homes… Spell? Whatever it is. You know what I'm talking about..” 

You let out an airy chuckle as you looked up at Eddie, he still looked worried but he seemed happy to see you were doing alright. 

“...Are the others alright’?..” 

You gave Eddie a sad shrug, 

“I don't know… I just woke up a few minutes ago in a theater with Wally telling me how I had to get ready for… Something?.. He sent the two of you to get my ‘costume’” 

Julies giggling must have stopped sometime during you and Eddie talking because now she pushed herself away from you finally as she spoke,

“...And by Wally you mean Home?.. Right?” 

You nodded, 

“Well, then we oughta go find ‘em... There's no tellin’ what Homes got planned..” 

You watched as Eddie and Julie took a few steps towards the door before glancing back at you, clearly confused why you weren't following, 

You let out a small chuckle, 

“Yeah well… One problem with that… I can't move my legs, Home did something with their thread things and now I can't even feel them..” 

Eddie looked worried as he walked over and carefully picked up one of your ankles, sure enough, it went completely limp after he dropped it to the floor. You really don't know what he expected to happen but it's not like you assumed he knew much about human anatomy anyways. 

“Well, that just won't do… Lemme see if I can..” 

Eddie once again picked you up, this time in a much more comforting scenario than before, and you let him. You would happily take being carried by Eddie over stumbling around any day. These puppets were like big stuffed pillows when it came to hugs and such. 

…How was he so strong though?..

“This should do until we can get those Threads outta ya!” 

You nodded and looked at Julie who was now beside you and Eddie as you all walked out of the dressing room. 

“...Thank you, Eddie” 

You mumbled quietly for only him to hear, it's not that you were shy by any means, you were just trying to be quiet in case Home could hear. 

“.. It's no problem Neighb..- Y/N,” 

Eddie corrected himself once he accidentally called you Neighbor, not that you minded being called neighbor much. If it wasn't for Home being controlling as all hell, you may even consider becoming an official neighbor here. 

…Not that you would ever admit that of course. 

Julie spoke up from the silence quietly, seeming to pick up on the fact that Home could be listening as you traversed down a hallway on the upper floor of Sallys' house. 

“..Where should we look first?” 

Eddie seemed to have an idea as he looked down the upcoming staircase, 

“...We should go back to the Theater, Y/N, You said Home was trying to do some sort of Play?..” 

You gave Eddie a confirming nod and he sighed before continuing to speak, 

“Well then, looks like that's where we gotta go. Keep yer’ eyes peeled for Frank, he knows the most about Homes threads.” 

With one final confirmation from both you and Sally, you all began walking down the stairs before taking a sharp turn and facing the broad doors of the theater she had in her home. 

You could feel Eddie take a shaky breath, and disregarding your wonder about how a puppet can breathe, you also prepared yourself for what lay ahead. 

Eddie pushed the heavy doors open, and almost as if a wire had been tripped the large lights that hung from the ceiling brightened the stage ahead. 

…And in the middle stood Wally. 

The scene that lay behind him looked to be a repurposed Romeo and Juliet set, with a large Moon in the corner that was hung with scaffolding where Sally currently lay atop of. 

Despite your concern for Sally, you focused on Wally and watched as his smile looked wider at the entrance of you and the others. 

“Ah!.. My esteemed guests have returned!.. StageHands?.. Do show them to their seats.” 

Before you could even think about his words, Eddie stumbled forward and you all turned around to see Frank and Poppy ushering Eddie, Julie, and of course, you, inside. 

The doors snapped shut as you all backed up with a resounding boom, only furthering your feelings of anxiety until you felt a few items almost fall out of your pocket. 

Your hand quickly reached to grab them before they fell. You could feel the spindle of thread and your small pair of scissors, Home didn't seem to notice them yet thankfully. 

In the commotion you tuned out Eddies panicked words that he spoke to Frank in a desperate attempt to free him from Homes control. Julie as well looked like she was about to cry as Poppy ushered her inside with a blank face, which was eerie coming from the usually happy mother hen. 

Wally spoke from the stage. 

“Haha, What a lively audience we have today!.. Now. Neighbor,” 

You could feel your wrists burning as you felt something wrap around them from the ceiling. Quickly hoisting you up from Eddie's grip as he fumbled and desperately tried to protect you from Home. His arms however were quickly restrained by Frank.

You didn't have much time to focus on the others due to the fact you were rapidly approaching the stage. Wally dropped you on the stage with a thump before he moved back two steps and bowed, his face looking serious. 

But also ecstatic. 

“I'm positively thrilled to invite you to our Neighborhood, However, I must ask.. Do you have a preferred color?..” 

You moved your hair from your eyes as you looked up from your crouched position. Your legs still not listening to your aching pleas to run. 

“What the hell are yo..- I want to go Home. To my Home.” 

You felt angry. You felt wronged. All you wanted was to go and have some fun with your friends, and now youve been caught in a different world, with a demonic house. 

Home seemed to underestimate your anger issues. 

“Well no matter, I suppose green is just as good of a color as any.. Sally!.. Could you grab the Needl-..” 

Home couldnt get out another word as you quickly grabbed the scissors from your pocket, 

And threw them at his arm. 

The room was silent apart from your panting. You felt so tired. If Home really wanted to try and forcefully make you a part of his hivemind, he would have to learn very fast just how determined humans could be when it came to free will. 

Home stared at you with wide eyes before slowly reaching to grab the scissors that lodged into his arm, pulling it out in one swift motion. Stuffing fell on the floor, and as you looked up you could see that Sally now no longer had her wide smile. 

Turning around you saw Frank and Poppy looking at Wally with a almost horrified expression. It seemed that worked to snap them out of Homes trance. 

You felt a hand on your neck before you could fully turn around. Threads quickly came from the ceiling to suspend you in the air as Home pulled back his hand, and now held a small Build-a-bear type, plush heart. 

“Nice try Neighbor.” 

You clamped your eyes shut and braced for anything. You could hear Frank and the others behind you quickly standing to try to stop Home… 

…You also heard two sets of feet rapidly approaching from one of the side wings of the stage. 

Opening your eyes you were met with the sight of Howdy landing a swift punch to Wallys' face. Sending him to the other side of the stage, the threads seemed to glitch for a moment before dropping you, Howdy was quick to catch you and help you up with his other hands. 

“Don't you dare lay a hand on them.”  ----------

RAAAH ITS FINALLY DONE.

oh my god. this chapter is by far the longest out of this whole fanfic, and rightfully so Theres so much content in this one and im so happy with how it turned out, next chapter is the conclusion you've all been waiting for

As always im on Ao3! I cant wait to write the finales for this fanfic insert devious smile

#whn #welcome home #howdy pillar #howdy pillar x reader #frank frankly #frank frankly x reader #eddie dear #eddie dear x reader #welcome home x reader #human reader #angst #wally darling #wally darling x reader #home #love howdy #welcome home neighbor

[corrodedbisexual]

The Fall

Steddie | T | ~3.4k | AO3 link

I picked my beloved pre-s04 Steddie for @steddie-week day 7: free space 🥰

Prompted by Steve Harrington's tendency to be a health&safety hazard in school corridors. (@sidekick-hero pspsps, it's here.)

Eddie probably shouldn't have been reading his book while walking the school corridors. Faceplanting on the floor in front of his laughing schoolmates and getting a concussion wasn't the greatest high school experience to have. But being then helped by his crush, someone he would never have expected to have a conversation with? Certainly wasn't the worst. Set in January of 1985, after the events of season 2.

In hindsight, Eddie probably shouldn't have been reading his book while walking the school corridors. But he only just got his hands on a copy of the second installment from Guardians of the Flame, and he couldn’t make himself put it down. It was hard enough that he couldn't keep reading it in his previous class, since the teacher discovered it wasn't the textbook he'd been hungrily devouring page after page and confiscated it. 

Besides, he was glad to escape the incredibly dull reality that any school break presented. None of the Hellfire members were in his year; although, if Eddie kept up with his unimpressive academic performance and repeated senior year again, a couple of them would be, so at least there would be some consolation for his misery. But for now, it was a choice between listening to his normie classmates' boring conversations about parties and hookups and homework and college picks, or disappearing into a fascinating world of adventure, magic and dragons. Eddie's pick was kind of obvious.

Still, he could have at least waited until he got to his next class, so he could sit down in the corner and read in peace. Instead, he inflicted upon himself the absolute humiliation of tripping over something soft, yet firm in his way and falling face first, not even having enough time to react and drop the book so he could soften the landing with his arms. His face connects with the floor; pain explodes in his forehead and nose, which immediately starts gushing blood; his arms, too, which are uncomfortably trapped beneath his body along with his book. Cold terror washes over him at the thought that he might have broken his wrists. If he can't play his guitar anymore, might as well keep lying on this floor until he bleeds out to death, or something.

As the initial shock of pain subsides and his ears are no longer full of cotton, he immediately hears it. The laughter all around him, the snarky comments.

Of course. It was probably one of them who tripped him up in the first place, to have some of what in their pathetic fucking lives passed for fun. Wouldn't be the first time. Yet another reason he should have been paying attention to his surroundings.

Eddie's usually very good at nipping that kind of attitude in the bud, laughing right back in their faces, using his creepy gimmicks to get them to back off with a parting, "what a fucking freak ". But he'd have to be standing upright for that, for starters. So he makes the first tiny move to accomplish that, tries to raise himself on his arms - nothing broken there, at least, thank fuck - but his hand slips on something, his own blood, apparently, and his chest once again connects with the floor, causing another ripple of laughter around him. 

And then, when he's seriously considering just lying there until the bell rings and hoping that they eventually find themselves some other entertainment, he feels a hand grip his arm, and a voice standing out of the whole ruckus.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Can't you see he's bleeding?! What is wrong with you people?!"

Eddie turns his head a little, and his eyes widen. Steve Harrington?! 

The rest on AO3

#steddieweek2023 #steddie #fanfic #steddie fic #misha-bawlins fanfic #high school steddie my beloved

[prongslvl]

DATING HIM - tangerine.

PAIRING tangerine x gn!reader

SUMMARY hcs of what's like to date the man, the myth, the legend; tangerine.

a/n: it's my first time writing hcs for a character so i hope it doesn't look weird or something! i merged two requests together to make it easier for me. happy reading! my reqs are open

the start of your relationship with him, even before the dating, was a rough road, to say the least.

with tangerine's secretive personality because of his job, it caused a lot of arguments. this results in lemon jumping in to save the day— honestly, the two of you owe him so much. 

when the two of you aren't talking about jobs, he's usually sarcastic and teasing during conversations. tangerine eventually confessed that he did it to gain a reaction from you. 

he confessed his love for you when you got caught in between the chaos of a job he and lemon had; the thought of you dying made him do so because to hell with a normal declaration of love, right? 

if you were never involved with anything, it would've taken him at least a month or two to even realize what he feels isn't just "person-who-unfortunately-crossed-paths-with-him" type of guilt but actual infatuation.

angry confession, most definitely. as i've mentioned, you two argue a lot, so in the heat of a argument, he'd go;

"can't you see i'm doing this for your safety?"

"i'm a full grown adult, tan, why are you so worried for!?"

"because i fucking love you, alright? and if see any of those bastards lay a hand on you, i don't know what i'll fucking do to 'em!" 

and he wouldn't be embarrassed about it after. you can hear lemon in the background saying, "about damn time!" 'cuz he knows from the very beginning.

tangerine would act differently the next day. "different" means just him being himself with you and finally expressing his true feelings for you openly. 

in your case, ever since you met the man, you've been in love with him. at first, it'd be sexual (have you seen that man's walk?) but after getting to know him better, knowing all the bits and pieces of his actual personality from lemon, you'd catch yourself staring too deeply into his eyes. 

the only reason you fought with tangerine in the first place was your need to get to know him and also let him know you're a person he can trust. as much as you liked every inch of him, secrets and lies left a bad taste on your tongue.

hanging out with them would be a reason for your involvement in their job. it's one of those cliches where the bad guys target the person close to their target so they can trap them. of course, you kept up your own fight.

when tan saw your injuries, he saw red. he didn't even think about the vast difference in your wounds compared to those of your captors. they'd have several bruised patches on their body, black eyes, etc., while you only had a bunch of cuts and a busted lip. lemon did tell you he was the type to shoot first and come with answers later.

in both scenarios, getting captured or in between arguments, after he confesses, you would be too shocked to answer him right away. 

a few weeks into tangerine's unspoken courtship, when you confessed as well, your relationship with him was all like clockwork. 

tangerine finally told you everything about himself, lemon, and the life they lived. all secrets were uncovered— he still kept some details, but it was enough for you.

expensive dates are on the table. as much as you refused to use so much of his money, tangerine would find a way to trick you into a fancy restaurant, saying it was for business, but after desserts with no businessmen approaching him, you knew it was all rubbish.  

tangerine wasn't the only one who could afford expensive things; as a professional pianist, you also had a bit of money to spend on your boyfriend. when he refuses to buy new suits that are actually on trend, you'd go by yourself and buy them for him—he'd have no choice but to accept the bags of new clothes when they're already nearly placed inside his closet. 

you shower him with compliments before he leaves for his job, wearing the suit you bought for him. he'd roll his eyes as he suppressed the smirk on his face. vice versa, he'd give you tons as well on both your looks and performance.

speaking of performances! 

someone give this man a perfect attendance certificate; he's always present at your performances, whether you can ask him or not. he uses his "in a relationship with one of your best talents" ticket to get front row seats. 

you would glance at the crowd to look for him, your eyes automatically scanning the front rows. you'd see him staring at you as if you'd created everything he's ever known. when he does notice your stares, he'll wink with a sly yet proud smirk on his face. 

lemon's beside him, silently cheering you on. 

he's the one you see first after going backstage, engulfing you in a tight hug and kissing your forehead. 

"how was i?" you'd ask, with him answering with no hesitation. "amazing, as always." 

tangerine may or may not have bought a whole grand piano in the middle of his and lemon's house so you can play or practice in their home. 

there would be attempts by tangerine to learn how to play the piano with you. you were a great teacher, he reassures you; his hands weren't just made for all that grace. 

in exchange, he'd bring you to a local shooting range. he brought his own gun for you to use, placing himself behind you as he guided the weapon in your hands. he purposely breathes on your skin, whispering inappropriate words in your ears as you press the trigger— that earned him a knock on the head after the session was over. 

shorter ver hcs !

you didn't like holding grudges, but tangerine was there to hold them for you. 

tangerine hates when people touch his hair, except for you, who give the best messages. he told you it was probably because of your profession that you got so good at working your fingers (several very mature jokes were made after that).

in the beginning, he always had his hair slicked back, but now he keeps his hair naturally curly when he's around you. 

he nicks it, and you put it back. 

lemon refuses to wear a bulletproof vest, saying something about a false sense of security, even with tangerine's scolding. but with you in the picture, he could only grumble to himself as he wore the vest underneath his suit. 

he likes giving you forehead kisses or on your head, saving the intimate ones for private. 

eye contact. unbreakable eye contact. he stares directly into your eyes whenever you talk or are just face-to-face with him. 

your waist as his arm rest. he'd snake his hands around your torso, the proximity between the two of you lessening by the second. 

you like fiddling with tangerine's rings, especially when he's wearing them.

you find it hot whenever he rolls up his leaves, and tangerine is fully aware of it. 

he doesn't like admitting it, but he easily gets jealous. when another person smiles too sweetly at you, his arm will find its way onto your shoulders, using his height to his advantage. sometimes it would be a fan of yours, so you'd scold him for scaring them away.

as for you, you're open about your jealousy. unlike tangerine, it takes a lot for you to get mad at a person, let alone be jealous. but when they were a woman purposely resting her boobs on his arms or a man getting too friendly with him, you'd shoot them the sharpest glare tangerine ever saw you make. he voluntarily removes himself from the person and tries to calm you down. 

when tangerine's angry, he's loud and aggressive. but when you are, you're unnaturally quiet and serious. lemon thinks you're much scarier than his brother. 

#aaron taylor johnson #bullet train #bullet train lemon #bullet train tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine #tangerine x you #tangerine imagine #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine fic #gn!reader #gender neutral fanfic

[lizardlicks]

a thing I noodled up based on @ablueeyedarcher's shifterverse AtLA AU setting. The only needed context is that Zuko's other side is a fire ferret, and Sokka's is a fucking huge wolf.

Ozai hasn't settled into his new.... living arrangements (temporary living arrangements, he keeps forcefully insisting in the privacy of his own mind) for very long. He can't sense the sun the way he used to, can't feel the crawl of time as measured by Agni's looping path, but there is at least enough light that falls through what passes as a window high up on the wall of his cell that he can make a close enough guess. His generous (traitorous) son had the decency to face a Child of Agni to the South. 

It's been a few days at least, maybe even a full week by his estimation, when he's jolted out of sleep by a distinct sound. Keys turning in the lock of his cell door. Ozai sits up, takes a moment to compose himself, smoothing down the plain prison robes he's been dumped into, then rises to meet his loyal subject.

"I was expecting you soon--" his greeting dies on his tongue. Ozai does not find Azula standing in the doorway. Neither is there a general, no dedicated council member or magistrate. Not even a lowly clerk. Instead he's surprised to find the Avatar's obnoxious Watertribe pet. He's leaning against the wall opposite the cell, the door of which stands wide open. The peasant casually flips the key around his fingers as he fixes Ozai with a cold, blank stare.

There's something in his other hand but Ozai can't tell what it is. Metal-- gold, twisted and misshapen. Ozai narrows his eyes. The Watertribe seems content to let him marinate in the uncertainty of their shared silence. Finally Ozai’s mounting intrigue gets the better of his judgment. 

“Did the Avatar send you to taunt me,” he asks.

"No." 

"My son?"

"No."

"Your chief, then."

"Just me.”

He's strangely reticent. A few days ago this boy wouldn't shut up the entire airship flight back to the Fire Nation capital. Now he stands and watches Ozai with an unnerving intensity. There's an open door and a wide gap of freedom between them. Ozai can see that the teen's leg is still well bandaged, though he's not aided by any crutch or cane at the moment. He could bolt and make a bid for freedom easily. This knowledge isn't comforting. Rather, it feels like a trap. He narrows his eyes at the boy and asks, "Why are you here?"

The watertribe answers him by throwing the scrap of metal down onto the floor between them. It lands in the sliver of morning light Agni has painted on the floor, and now Ozai can recognize it for what it is, despite its extremely crushed state: the animal cage that sat on his desk. It had sat on his desk for years and no one questioned it.

"Aang would be really sad if I culled you in your cage like you deserve, so I'm going to give you the fighting chance you never gave him. The way is clear. There's a weapon rack in the guard barracks." The Watertribe's lips peel back from his teeth in what could be called a smile if one was very generous and used the term loosely. Dawn light glints off his large, sharp eye teeth. Ozai feels fear hollowing out his stomach, and adrenaline hits his veins like ice water. "You have a twenty second head start. I suggest you run.”

#sokka #ozai #zukka #mini fic #shifterverse #atla #avatar the last airbender #lizard writes stupid things #thank you transboyzuko for reminding me of this #sokka is going to hunt ozai for sport

[silver-itallics]

Last Light

Warnings: canon typical violence, heavy angst, hurt no comfort, you guys will be mad at me

a/n: I was thinking about when Leigh mentioned in the saw commentary that someone wrote a monologue from Lawrence's point of view after leaving the bathroom and I wanted to write one for Adam

"I'm a liar?"

"I wouldn't lie to you."

Liar, lies. Seems like either way, Adam is getting screwed over.

He sits in the dark, dingy bathroom, his eyes still struggling to adjust. His throat is raw and aching from all the screaming and crying. Not even the hardest sex could have done that to him.

God, he's really gonna die having fucked one person.

All of his relationships were mediocre, even the platonic ones. Scott treated him like shit, the guy probably hasn't even noticed that he's gone.

Has anyone?

Lawrence is someone that would be noticed, he's got a wife and kids for fucks sake.

"I've got a family too, Lawrence! I don't talk to them anymore, that's my mistake. A mistake I'd like to fix."

One of the last things he remembers at the apartment is scribbling "Call mom?" On a crumpled post it and sticking it to the wall. The paper has probably fallen down by now. Forgotten.

Are his parents even looking for him?

Probably not. They probably haven't noticed either.

Everything that Adam does ends up screwing him in the end, just like this. But he can't really blame anyone but himself, can he? Not even $200 was worth being stuck in this bathroom. Doesn't even soften the fact that he'll probably be here forever.

The money was meant to go for his food. Not a camera, not developing fluid, not even that shiny new pokemon game Adam wanted. Food.

A necessity he barely even had.

"Why? Call it my need to eat."

He remembers snapping at Lawrence like it was the most obvious answer. But food is a luxury even Adam can't afford. The guy lives off of ramen noodles and sodas from the gas station. Sometimes he even wonders why he never gained any weight since he ate such shit.

His mom was never the greatest cook, but he'd take soggy meatloaf and unseasoned mashed potatoes any day.

At the thought, Adam's stomach rumbles. His guts ache from hunger, but he's not a stranger to it. That's usually how his day goes.

He can't even blame Jigsaw for trapping him here. But in all honesty, Adam has done so much self sabotaging, that he's probably done worse to himself than the man that left him here.

He's felt worse betrayal than when the dead man stood up, peeled the fake skin off his skull and left him here.

"Game over!"

Dead man. Adam squints in the darkness, trying to make out Zep's corpse. He's not even sure why. The first time he saw a dead body, or what he thought was one, he puked his guts out into the tub. Couldn't even keep down his latest meal.

He'll probably starve even quicker now.

The room smells like blood, and his fingers are sticky from the same substance. Not only is he a voyeur, he's a killer. Maybe his last girlfriend was right: he's too angry.

Adam isn't very good at anatomy, at least the human side of it. But he knows he broke through layers of skin and bone when he'd crushed through the hospital orderly's skull.

"It's the rules!"

Knowing now, he feels guilty. Awful, even. Guy probably had a family too, even if he was a bit of a creep. Where do you draw the line of deserving a family? What's so bad that you no longer are worthy of someone related by blood? Adam's probably the worst person to ask that.

He'd stormed out on his parents after a petty argument, an excuse to leave. One that he'd been wanting to have since he was seventeen. Somehow, he'd convinced himself that they wouldn't accept him, even if they let him drop out of high school and didn't even call the cops when he left. But was that tolerance or pure disinterest?

Maybe he's not a total waste of time, since his mom had called not long before he got his power knocked out the same way he was.

"Adam, your father's not angry anymore."

Lawrence had a home, a family. A good one, too. The pictures he saw of Diana and Alison made him crack a smile. At least before the one with them tied up. He shivers, probably both from disgust and blood loss.

His shoulder aches, oozing blood all over his shitty thrift store clothes. Adam understands why Doctor Gordon left. He has some place to go, people to welcome him home with open arms. Most places Adam went, he wasn't even noticed.

He kicks with his right foot in anger, the chain rattling as he does. The metal bites into his skin and the amount of pain he's in is just frustrating at this point. Adam screams, but his voice is raw and broken.

As much as he hopes the doctor will come back for him, at least he has half the brain to know that Lawrence probably won't make it. The man that he's had the first physical touch from in months is probably bleeding out in the sewers, and there's nothing he can do about it.

He doesn't even have a choice to cut off his foot like the doctor did. Sure, the blood loss will probably kill him, but Adam is sick of waiting around for something to happen. A job to drop, a phone call.

But he can't even do that.

The hacksaw he found in the toilet had snapped in half. A result of his ever consuming anger. Seems like everything he does leads back to that.

"I see a strange mix of someone who's angry, yet apathetic. But mostly just pathetic."

If Adam isn't angry at the world, he's angry with himself. He feels like a waste of space on the good days and a tumor on the face of the earth on the bad ones. At least with photography he felt like he had a purpose, even if it was supplying creeps and weirdos with material. He wasn't really helping anyone, was he? Even Tapp ended up dead.

But Lawrence helps people. Even if he thought the guy was initially a jerk, Adam admires him. Misses the man's blood stained hands as he cupped his cheeks.

"I wanted to be a vet."

That way, he'd benefit the world somehow. Even if he was pulling tennis balls out of dogs' throats or cleaning up puke every day. He'd much rather smell vomit, as he's getting quite sick of the coppery scent of blood.

"That's nonsense. I've seen kids with brain cancer graduate high school from a hospital bed."

"They got further than I ever did."

Adam has been pretty able bodied his whole life. While he'd consider it a nuisance that his body doesn't match up with his own view of himself, that's not a disability.

Maybe his parents wouldn't even mind, maybe they'd help him with the cost of surgery and injections. But he hadn't even told them. His parents barely know who he is. Adam barely knows himself.

"What do voyeurs see when they look in the mirror?"

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

He's like a leech, sucking the energy and luck out of everyone around him.

Now he's left to sit in his own grave- metaphorically and literally. He probably won't even have the luxury of being buried or cremated.

Hopefully someone will come around and put him out of his misery. Like a calf with two heads or a dog with rabies.

But until then, he's left to wait.

#adam faulkner stanheight #adam stanheight #chainshipping #saw 2004 #sawposting #angst #saw #writing #leigh whannell

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Epic Buddie Fic Rec | October 9th-15th 2023

Hey guys!

I'm trying to get back into the habit of making these recs every week. I've been working on a banner and it's not ready yet, but I didn't want to wait for it to be ready before making fic recs because procrastination = bad!! 😆 I hope you enjoy!

If you don't know me from my other fic rec blogs, I rec pretty much all the fics that I've read and that I've enjoyed in these recaps, but I put an emoji next to the ones that I liked just a liiiiiittle bit more 😉 For Stucky, I used blue hearts (💙), for Steddie I used black hearts (🖤), and for Buddie... well the decision wasn't too hard to make 😜

Complete

take me to the edge (then let me fall) by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP | 1K | Explicit): Or, the one where Eddie edges Buck until he loses his mind all the while calling him a good boy.

🔥 but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Post-S6, Time Loop | 28K Mature): He puts his laptop away after a bit, and paces the length of his apartment as he tries to take stock of the situation at hand. One: The date is March 22nd, 2024. Two: It has been March 22nd for 3 days now. Three: Buck is trapped in some kind of time loop that is forcing him to relive this day. Four: Eddie is, apparently, in love with him. And. And. Five: Buck doesn’t feel the same way.

🔥 still by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Post-Season 6 AU, Near Death Experiences | 9K | Teen): “Your guess was correct, Diaz,” the bomb technician tells them, as he gestures to the orange circle. “You’re standing on a large sensor plate, wired to a detonator. It’s incredibly important that you don’t move. Don’t shift. When you put your weight down, it was like cocking a gun - you take your weight off, this thing is powerful enough to take the entire house with it."

to feel the need of your touch by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP, Light BDSM, Post-Season 6 | 7K | Explicit): When Natalia had casually suggested they stay fuck buddies, at least until he got his shit together about Eddie, Buck had seriously considered it. But it just wasn’t what he wanted. So, he had said no and Natalia had understood, and that was that. And now, Buck was miserable. He was so sensitive. His skin felt like a live wire. Any and all touches he received started to feel like a shock to his system. Or, the one where Buck is touchstarved and desperate for Eddie. They fuck but it's also really sweet.

reassure me with your praise by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP, Kinktober, Getting Together | 5K | Explicit): Or, the one where Buck is concerned he might be bad in bed and Eddie has a solution.

bet on it by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP, Kinktober | 4K | Explicit): Or, the one where newly together Buck and Eddie make a bet to see who can last longer without sex. The bet lasts one day.

Something Dumb to Do by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Friends to Lovers, First Time | 8K | Explicit): "Too bad we can't just date each other." Eddie laughs. "What?" "No, I'm serious!" Buck sets his beer down, the better to gesture with both hands, face lighting up, and Eddie just—he really loves the guy, okay. Ridiculous as he is. "It would be so much easier! You wouldn't have to introduce a new person to Chris—he already likes me anyway—and you could tell Pepa so she'll stop setting you up on dates that don't go anywhere—" "And what would you get out of this?" Eddie asks, grinning. - Or: Buck and Eddie try something out together.

hope is a sword by marcato/ @callaplums (Post-Season 6, Near-Death Experiences | 5K | Teen): Holy shit, Eddie loves him so much. He’s been so stupid, telling himself to wait for the right moment. What right fucking moment? It should have been yesterday, three weeks ago– hell, it should have been three years ago when he was telling his best friend about the goddamn will. It doesn’t matter right now, though. The only thing that matters is keeping as much of Buck’s blood inside his body as possible. One can only hope and wish and pray.

🔥 Four Can Keep a Secret by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-Season 6, Secret Relationship | 20K | Teen): When Ravi and Hen accidentally see Buck and Eddie, who are trying hard to keep their new relationship a secret, in the middle of a romantic moment, they try to make them confess without the rest of the station finding out. Shenanigans ensue.

early hours of yearning by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (PWP, Kinktober | 4K | Explicit): “You really wanna go again?" “Yes,” he confirms, gently scratching his teeth down the side of his neck, treasuring the deep moan he gets in response. “God, you’re fucking insatiable," he hears Eddie moan as he tilts his head back, giving Buck more space to work. “Doesn’t feel like you’re complaining."

how forever feels by icesculptures/ @ice-sculptures @athenagranted (Post-Season 6, Getting Together | 8K | General): Or: tired of the growing distance between them, Eddie asks Buck to dance at Maddie and Chimney's wedding, healing more than his own heart along the way.

WIP

Don't They Know It's the End of the World? by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Fallout 4 AU, Post-Apocalyptic | 4/14 | 7K | Mature | Warning: Violence): After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back.

🔥 Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars ("Blip" AU | 8/9 | 24K | Teen | Warning: MCD): In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Demon Buck, Canon Divergent | 2/? | 4K | Teen): Buck is a demon with the power to help with pregnancy, childbirth, and infant health. When the Buckleys make a deal asking for someone to help 'save their baby', Buck leaps at the chance as it will give him what he's always wanted: a life on earth. But demon deals are tricky and neither of them gets quite what they're after. This is Buck's journey as he navigates growing up on earth and remembering how to help those in need.

🔥 for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 10/? | 85K | Mature | Warning: Violence): The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

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