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skoulsons · 1 year

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I’m The Reason You Won’t Come Home

• gif by @maryjanewatscns

• title from Ethel Cain’s song “A House in Nebraska.” aka Joel and Ellie’s song.

Relationships: Joel & Ellie, Joel & Tommy, Tommy & Ellie

Word count: ~8.7k (I did not want it to go on this long)

Warnings: Minor depictions of torture and violence, some blood, death.

Authors note: This is straight sadness. Ever since I discovered tlou2 and his death, this has always been a thought. It’s nearly a year and a half ongoing, so I just sort of spit a year and a half’s worth of thoughts into…whatever the heck this is. I cried a lot writing this, but I’m also a sensitive wimp, so that could be why.

Summary:

The second he’s gone, she starts to break. She just told Joel last night about wanting to try and forgive him. To try and get back on good terms. To try for what they want to be; what they deserve to be. And she almost just lost him. But now, she has the chance to get them back home and to start that journey of reconciliation.

Some extra notes:

If you ship them I might just fill your house with mosquitos on a hot summer day and lock you inside

I wrote this in a combination of game and show canon, so there are moments, callbacks, and descriptions from both

I don’t think there’s anything that classifies as a tlou2 spoiler, but if there is it’s pretty minor

This is more self-indulgent than anything else. If something seems out of character, I apologize. Like I said, incredibly self-indulgent

I love physical touch and that is…very evident in this

Canon divergence from tlou2 in a few ways, obviously. One of them is there being no door at the bottom of the stairs as I genuinely forgot about it and I am….7.9k words in as I write this. so.

(A very big thank you to my beautiful friend @ellie-licious for beta reading and helping me figure out a specific part of this fic <3 and in general for being a great friend to me for many reasons. I love and cherish you very much brother and this is for you)

~~~~

Ellie wakes up on the floor, cheek pressed to the cold basement tile. She can see two blurry figures a few feet from her. One is limp, almost like a rag doll. The other is moving, struggling with the limp one. Sitting it up? She can’t tell. Ellie’s ears are ringing and her vision is blurry; her nose and eyes throbbing as her throat feels like sandpaper.

Tommy is the struggling figure across the room, attempting to wake up an unconscious Joel. Tommy’s working on sitting him up against the glass. Joel has a heartbeat, he’s breathing. He’s alive. But he’s hurt, bad. Tommy’s hands find Joel’s neck and then the sides of his face, tapping him and shouting to try and wake the older. Joel’s face is bloody. He has a slice over his left cheekbone, a gash across his jugular, a chip out of his ear, a broken nose, a cut on his right temple that stretches down to his jawline, fresh blood still coming from them. His hair had an even coating of blood through the strands.

“Dammit, Joel, come on! I need you awake. Come the fuck on, Joel!” Tommy yelled, patting at his brother’s neck for something. A cough, a groan, a twitch of his fingers or a pull at the corner of his mouth. But Joel gave nothing.

Ellie stirs slightly, groaning into the floor as her vision focuses more and her ears ring into her skull. She coughs some blood up, catching Tommy’s attention. He takes his hands back from Joel’s neck, placing steady hands to his shoulders to keep him in place against the glass before crossing the room to Ellie’s side. Tommy kneels on the ground beside her, placing a hand on the back of her shoulder as she comes to.

“Hey…” He says, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Tommy?” She asks, voice slurring as she speaks, eyes still trying to adjust to the man kneeling above her and figure across the room. Joel.

“Yeah, s’me. You okay?”

Reality rushes back to her. You’re gonna fucking die! Let him go. We didn’t think anyone was gonna show up! The hell did you expect? You want what I want, right? His face. The people. Didn’t she cut a guy? Wasn’t Tommy unconscious? She was kicked in the ribs. There’s blood on the glass. His blood. He was groaning. He was-

Ellie started to roll on her side, her vision rolling with her. “Joel….he was-“

Tommy cuts her off. “He’s okay for now. Can't get him to wake up though-“

“Where-“ is he. She places her palm to the tile, trying to push herself up off the floor, her ribs aching at the movement.

“No, Ellie. You need to relax-“

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy. I need to see him,” she bites, and Tommy knows arguing with her will go nowhere. She’s stubborn, just like her father.

She stands up, pushing past Tommy’s instruction for her to stay down. She holds onto his arms as she stands, steadying herself before walking alongside him. Tommy helps her take baby steps across the room, walking through pools of dried blood. His dried blood.

Joel’s back is straight against the wall, head hung slightly to the right. His legs are extended in front of him, both of his hands in his lap. Tommy lowers Ellie on Joel’s left side, Ellie kneeling down beside him, taking his left hand in hers. She interlocks her fingers with his, something that’s felt so lost between them the past four years.

She held his hand a number of times during that Winter. After she went back to him in that basement and they held onto each other, it was easier. And after David, it was almost frequent. When they’d be walking and a twig snapped, she reached for him. When they spotted a rabbit or a deer, she reached for him. Nights around the fire when the images and the words and the actions played on repeat, she sought out his hand. She’d scooch across the snowy ground to his side, sliding her hand in his without a second thought. He’d give her a tight squeeze immediately before letting his hand relax in her grip. She fell asleep like that one night, waking up to her hand still in his while his rifle rested across his lap.

But his rifle was resting against his pack before she fell asleep, at least six feet from where they sat. He had gotten up that night, releasing her hand to get his rifle to keep watch. But instead of staying up and watching over her, he settled back beside her, taking her hand in his again. She didn’t mention it that morning, and neither did he.

“Can-can you find a rag or something for me. And some water, too. He should have some in his pack.” Her hands moved to his jaw, turning his head side-to-side to check his cuts.

Any emotion in her voice is held off completely with Tommy in the room. He can’t see her like how she wants to be right now. She was almost killed. He was almost killed. And there’s a lump in her throat right now that she can’t have Tommy know about. She doesn’t want him to see her like that. She can’t break in front of him, not right now.

Tommy finds an old T-shirt and Joel’s water canteen in his pack and hands them to Ellie, her lightly soaking the shirt with some water as she starts cleaning the cut on his neck.

She pauses for a second, turning her head to the side, still avoiding Tommy’s gaze. “Dina and Jesse are on their way. Can you go watch out for them, please?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Tommy…” she called, turning fully to see him. Her eyes were red already. “Be careful.”

He offered her a gentle smile before heading up the stairs, pulling the door closed behind him. He stops before it reaches the doorframe. “Ellie? Let me know when he wakes, okay?”

“Yup,” is all she manages as he leaves the door ajar behind him.

But he needs her right now, her thoughts don’t. She puts the rag down and grabs his left hand to hold it in hers, crying as she tries to wrap his one hand in both of hers, as tiny as they are.

“Joel?” she asks, her voice cracking as tears well in her eyes.

She hasn’t felt this small in years; especially not since their estrangement. Her voice feels like it jumps an octave asking for him now. She feels small, vulnerable, open. They haven’t been open since the night after they were home from her birthday trip. They watched Jurassic Park, but it wasn’t the same after that. Now, it feels like she’s reverted back to their old ways. Five years ago when they were on the road together, Ellie calling out for him so he could tell her what to do. The name she’d yell when she was scared and needed him to guide her. How she shouted for him against the raging current when they jumped off that bridge and he held her against him, shielding her from the rock face. How she screamed for him to help her when Sam had turned and was clawing at her on that motel floor. His name that seemed to offer so much comfort, protection, and security back then now holds years of heartbreak, fear, guilt, and shame.

“It’s me,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face as she brings the conglomeration of their hands up to her face, resting her lips against the back of his left hand. His hands are cold against her lips as her tears fall, soaking his wrist in salty streams. “Joel…” she pauses. What the fuck do I say? What does he deserve to hear? Will I even mean what I say? “You have to get up. You need to get up, Joel. Please,” she sobs, rubbing her thumbs back and forth over his hand as she struggles to catch her breath.

A few minutes of her crying passes before she clears her throat. She gives his hand a few reassuring squeezes. “I’m gonna clean your face a bit, okay? You’re still bleeding a lot and some of these cuts are bad.”

She squeezes his hand again before reaching for the rag again and dabbing more water on it. She gently uses her left hand to tilt his head up to work on the cut on his neck.

The water was ice cold and he unconsciously flinched when Ellie dabbed the t-shirt to his neck. She apologized every time, hoping he could hear her. She meant it. Even after the last two years of almost delighting in pushing him away and knowing he was hurt by how she was treating him, she regretted that now. She hated it now. Even if this was physical pain, her stomach still churned at the thought of knowing thoughts he’s probably had the past two years and how she hurt him mentally. She’s sincere over her apologies. She doesn’t like seeing him hurt; and now, she hates to be the one causing him more pain and discomfort.

She finishes cleaning the blood off his face, even cleaning some that got on his teeth. She ran the rag through his hair, soaking sections of it and wringing the blood out. He looked…better, but nowhere near good. None of the cuts should need stitches, she thinks, so that’s good. She places the rag and water beside her again, double checking his face over for any spots she may have missed. She grabbed hold of his hand again, carefully running her fingers across the calluses that litter his knuckles.

Tommy appeared at the top of the stairs, voice laced with concern. She would tell him if something happened. “Ellie? Anything?”

Ellie sighed, heavy and deep. Why isn’t he waking up? She cleared her throat, attempting to keep the emotion out of her voice. “No…nothing yet. Sorry,”

“S’not your fault, sweetheart. Just let me know when he wakes,” and Tommy was off to continue his watch for the other teenagers.

When. More like if, at this point.

And that’s exactly when he did. A heavy grown from the older man as Ellie eyes immediately locked on to him again, scanning his face. His hand moved in hers as his eyes fluttered slightly. His thumb rubbed over her fingers as she smiled, holding her tears in case this wasn’t quite it.

But his eyes opened and were trained on her immediately. She squeezed his hand tight again, offering him a small smile as tears dropped from her chin and fell to their hands. “Hey…” she whispered, keeping her voice quiet for him.

“El…” he tried, voice croaking at the attempt. She smiled at him. He’s here. He’s alive.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she confirmed, squeezing his hand again.

Joel immediately started moving and adjusting his position on the floor, but Ellie was quick to lay a hand on his chest, tears still on her face. “No, you’re staying here. You’re…in bad shape, Joel,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled, grabbing at his hand again. “You have to stay here til we can get you safely home.”

Joel’s left hand lifts from her grasp as he brings it up closer to her face, his eyebrows furrowing; uncertain that she’s actually here. She finds it again with her right and holds tight to it, pressing it against her cheek and smiling. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re not hallucinating, I promise. We’re not dead or in some afterlife.”

She was there, too. She was on that basement tile, face forcefully pressed into the ground. Forced to watch. Laid out right in front of him, every fear Joel ever dreaded resurfacing right then; mere feet from him. The fear of her dying again. He wasn’t concerned over himself, it was all over her and what they were doing. They tackled her to the ground, kicked her in the ribs and kicked her head later, giving her a bloody, and possibly broken, nose.

He had every right to think she wasn’t real. Everything told him they died. He had every right to believe he did die and, somehow, the darkness that he thought came after death was just a place that filled in the horrifying gaps. Those gaps being filled by Ellie being beaten and killed, all while he was unable to save her.

But now, hearing her voice and the reassurance in we’re not dead wasn’t enough. He had to hold her. He had to feel her so he could know. His hand to her cheek, fingers through her hair, her tucked away against his chest, or her curled up against his side while his arm drapes across her. That was all for them and he needed it all now to know. To know that she was alive. That they were alive.

Joel frees a finger from her grasp and runs it back and forth over her cheek. Man did she miss contact. This used to be second- no, first nature for them, but it’s been so lost, even before their estrangement. But right now, it feels like it was never lost. “It’s me,” is all she can get out. A phrase from him that always brought her out of dissociation. Two words that grounded her; comforted her throughout Winter and settling into Jackson. Any uncertainty was always met with those two words. It became their thing.

She rests their hands back into his lap before reluctantly letting go. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers, quickly shooting up and running to the top of the stairs, checking behind her every step, the fear that Joel would disappear if she let her eyes off him.

She cracked the basement door open and peaked her head through. “Tommy?! He’s awake,” she called, and Tommy rounded the corner from the front door. Ellie offered him a grateful smile as he struggled to catch his breath, both from running and the realization that Joel was alive.

Tommy rushed downstairs with her, meeting Joel at his side. Ellie stayed a few feet back, letting the brothers have a few minutes. Tommy cleared his throat, trying to conceal his emotion. “Hey, big brother. She cleaned you up real good. How you feelin’?”

“Pain,” is all Joel could manage, though it came out clearer than either of them were expecting. “Fucking sore. Beaten…I was…,” Joel tried, his throat aching with every word.

“I know, brother. I know. But you’re alright now. Jesse and Dina are comin’ and then we’ll have enough people to get you safely home, alright? You’re gonna be just fine, Joel,” he assured, placing a hand over Joel’s heart.

“You were…hit…”

“Nah, it’s nothin’. Clinic at Jackson will get us both up ‘n runnin’ again in no time.” Tommy paused. “Just rest for right now, alright? Once they get here, we’ll get on our way home,” Tommy reassured, grabbing Joel’s hand briefly to offer a comforting squeeze. Ellie pressed a hand to his arm as he passed by, heading back upstairs to watch for Dina and Jesse.

Ellie kneeled back to Joel’s side, gathering his left hand in both of hers again. He brought his right over to them, placing it atop hers, rubbing his thumb in circles on the backs of her hands.

“You heard your brother; you need to rest. We’ll get you up and back home once they get here. I’ll be here the whole time.”

“I can’t rest.”

Ellie looks at him confused. “I know you’re in pain and that it’s probably hard to get real rest right now. You don’t even have to sleep, you can just ‘rest your eyes’,” she joked, freeing her left hand to use air quotes. “You love resting your eyes.”

“No, kiddo,” he said, struggling to form the right words.

The term of endearment strikes a chord in her. There was a small party at the Tipsy Bison one night and both of them showed up. It was a year into their estrangement and Ellie cursed herself every time she gave him the pleasure of even looking in his direction, let alone talking to him. Within an hour, Ellie was pissed. Some comment Seth made about her vocabulary. She cussed him out and rushed out the door, Joel right on her heels.

“Kiddo-“ his voice was gentle, never raised.

“Don’t! Don’t. What the fuck don’t you get? I said I’d come back here, but we’re done. You don’t get to fucking talk to me, especially using names like that. Keep your fucking distance,” she yelled, some Jacksonfolk trickling out of the bar at the shouting as she stormed off towards their his house.

Joel was left in the street that evening, soft flurries of snow coating his hair and beard as he watched her storm down the Jackson streets. He could see their his house from there. He intently watched every step she took, her right hand coming up to her face every so often. She was crying.

He never called her ‘kiddo’ after that. Until now.

“I can’t.”

“Joel, what the fuck are you talking about? Did I miss something?”

She did.

How the hell did she miss it?

The crook between his neck and shoulder; similar to Tess.

He had been bitten.

Her face drops immediately, her mouth slowly falling open as he pulled a fistful of his clothes to the side, showing it better. “I’m…not waking up again.”

Ellie’s breath is rapid now, hitching with every inhale. She’s reached a point beyond hyperventilating. She is choking, coughing, suffocating. Her whole body burns as she pulls her hands away from his, struggling to even know where to put them because she can’t think.

“Joel…” she whispers, almost as a warning. She’s fallen back to sitting on her heels now, an uncomfortable and unsure space between them.

Joel took a deep breath in, preparing himself. “They kicked and knocked you out. I didn’t have any strength…I couldn’t fight them. They pulled me up to my feet and forced me to stand. The guys took turns punching me in the gut…one of them also giving me this cut from my temple to my jaw. They were laughing at this point, like they were playing a game. They…” he paused, collecting his breath. He felt like he was running out. “They kicked you a few more times, they wanted you awake to watch. When you didn’t wake up…three of the guys left, mumbling something about infected.” He paused again to catch his breath. Even recounting it was almost too much for him. The anger in his eyes was raging remembering how they kicked her. “Few minutes later…they were coming back down the stairs with a runner. They had tied a rope around its neck like it was a dog. They teased me with it…threatened Tommy, too. I begged them not to. They…they gave the runner some slack and I tried to turn away, but two of them were holding me up by the arms…I couldn’t go anywhere. I turned my head and…” He motioned to the bite. It was two sets of teeth marks. He was bit twice. “They all laughed and pulled the leash back, shooting the runner in the face. The two guys let go of me and I fell…broke my nose. I’ve been in and out since then. I don’t know why or how I even woke up the first time.”

She waited, collecting what the hell he just told her. “...why isn’t the runner still here?”

He sighed again, closing his eyes briefly. Even in his current state, he’s dreaming of stringing them up by their insides, letting them hang from the cross beams of the mansion. “They knew you were immune. So, I guess in an attempt to…hurt you, they took away the evidence that I got bit. The blonde girl kneeled in front of me…said she wanted you to have hope I’d be okay. That we’d be okay.”

“What the fuck,” is all she could manage.

Joel coughed and her eyes grew wide. “Wait, it’s your neck…” she breathed in with no satisfaction. “You…you don’t…”

“Have a lot of time,” he continued, finishing her thought. “No, baby, I don’t.”

They stayed in silence for a while, unable to grasp what exactly reality was. This was never supposed to happen. She’s supposed to forgive him. They’re supposed to watch Curtis and Viper 2. They’re supposed to go back to Jackson and practice guitar together. She wants to learn to make those little wooden animals he loves spending so much time on, too, and she knows he’ll teach her. They’re both still needed on patrol. They’re meant to have more meals together. They’re supposed to have a future.

“Rehash whatever you need to. I won’t blame you. Do what you need to, kiddo.”

“You’re about to fucking die and you want me to rehash my feelings? You want me to fucking kick and scream and hit you?!”

“If you need to.”

“I’m about to lose you-“ she cuts herself off, a choked sob at lose. She should never have to say that. She never dreamed she’d ever have to say that.

Joel sighed, his eyes closing briefly. Why. Why like this?

She crawls towards him, burying herself against his chest. Don’t fucking touch me. It rings in her ears. It taunts her. She swatted his hand away and told him we’re done. She left him stood at Saint Mary’s, the same hospital he saved her life at. The place where he told her “we’re not done; we have a future,” was now where he was being told that they were done.

But then they talked on the porch. They had hope. He had hope she was coming back. That she wanted to try for them. They wouldn’t have to be done anymore.

And now they were done. For good. There was no coming back, not from this.

She pushes himself as close as she can against him, burying her face in his left shoulder as she clings to his coat and sobs. She sobs for their whole journey. Every moment together she wished she clung to him but didn’t. The nights during Winter when she couldn’t sleep unless she was right beside him. She cried for their nights in Jackson when she woke him up with her nightmares, crawling under the comforter with him. She cried for their quick goodbye hugs before he’d leave for patrol. She cried for when she would cling to his arm when they would meet other Jacksonfolk. She cried for the times he kissed her forehead or lightly rubbed her back when

She cried for their good days of practicing guitar, watching Jurassic Park, and living the life they never thought they’d get. The days she woke up to him cooking breakfast and they had orange juice. How he always gave her the slightly bigger portion so she’d eat more. The days when she helped him with little construction projects around Jackson. The days he’d visit her and Shimmer at the stables, always commending Ellie on how well she took care of him. Sometimes he’d help her out by brushing his mane. He needed the experience, she said.

She cried for their bad days of arguments, disputes, and going to bed angry. She always woke up to a note on her nightstand the mornings after. On patrol. I’m sorry about yesterday. I’d like to talk about it later if that’s alright with you. Be safe today. Love, Joel. They always reconciled, one of them cracking a joke at the end to lighten the mood. It was a miracle they were ever able to reconcile, considering how terrible they could both be at talking about their feelings. But they always managed in their own little way.

She cried for their estrangement. How she’d treated him the past two years; avoiding him at any cost. Glaring at him if he was in the immediate vicinity. Always finding an out if he approached her. She would go through Tommy to find out Joel’s schedule, all so she could work around it. She cried for how her smile faded even seeing him across town. The anger she harbored towards him those years, unable to see any hope or light at the end of the tunnel.

She cried for him. She cried for who he was. Who he is. All he ever did was protect her and ask her to be safe. His care for her was infinite and it nearly drove her insane. No one ever cared for her how he did. Every day, he did everything he could for her. Whether it be out on the road or in the security of Jackson, he never stopped caring. Never stopped protecting or loving. To show her a glimpse into Before; who he was Before.. To show her what having a family, a father, was like. He went above and beyond to give her the life she deserved, all because he wanted her to be happy. It was never about him.

She cried for the smiles she caught. The once-in-a-blue-moon toothy smiles where he truly laughed. His small chuckles or when he’d blow air out of his nose at some snarky remark she made. Sometimes he’d smile during their meals together. She thought it was weird at first when he told her “it’s not because of the food.” He was happy to just be with her. To have a sense of normalcy with this little girl. To escape from the horrors of infected outside the walls of Jackson and be able to sit at a wooden table and eat with proper plates and silverware for a full meal.

She cried over his gentleness. He was a violent man. He killed and tortured men for years and he was effective. But when it came to her, he was nothing but gentle. He always spoke softly, always held her as gently as his calloused, blood stained hands could manage. How any touch was feather-light and didn’t feel like it could come from someone known for notorious violence like Joel. But she was the exception. Her delicate, fourteen-year-old self brought out a side of him that he always believed was buried two decades prior.

She cried for missing his contact. They got so comfortable after Winter. Holding hands, hugs on the harder days, and the general proximity. They’d sit beside each other by the fire, and Joel would wake up with her head alarmingly close to him, some mornings on his thigh or shin. It became more frequent when they moved into Jackson. She was glued to his side any time they left the house; other residents of Jackson thought it was sweet. But, ever since the estrangement and shoving him away, she didn’t think they’d ever be this close again.

And through their estrangement, he was patient. He waited for her those years. He was heartbroken over it and she knew, but he was still patient, not knowing if she’d even come back or try to repair it. He stayed the whole time, still, patiently waiting. And if she never went back, he’d stay anyway, content with the time he had with her. He loved her too much to force it. She was alive, and that’s all that mattered to him.

And she was about to lose that man in mere hours.

She was draped across his lap now, face pressed into his neck as his was pressed into her hair. She sobbed into him, soaking his coat and button-up. His arms were wrapped around her, left arm cradling her head into him as his right was on her back, rubbing and tracing gentle patterns and designs through her shirt. She’d never be held like this again.

“Kiddo,” he spoke, breaking her concentration on the fabric of his shirt. “I’m startin’ to not feel too well.”

Ellie shut her eyes tight, tears spilling over immediately. “No. No, no, no, no, no. No, fuck. How much fucking time do you have? I still need time,” she pleaded.

“Time for what?”

“To just…just…be here. To be with you while you’re still…”

He gave her a look and she knew exactly what he meant. They didn’t have that time. His eyes would close soon enough, and it wouldn’t be Joel to open them again.

She wrapped her arms around his middle, sobbing into his chest once again. She was mumbling incoherences into his coat, wailing sobs coming out of her that didn’t even sound human. This was reality. She hadn’t felt it until now. She cried, she screamed bloody murder into his chest. He was dying. He was dead already.

He hugged her back as tight as he could manage. He was still injured, but injuries be damned if they ever stopped him from comforting or protecting her. She comes first.

“I need more time,” she weeped into his chest.

“I know, baby. But I don’t want you to see me like that. I don’t. I’d rather be gone before I have the chance to hurt you.” He kissed her head quickly once but held a longer one the second time, his eyes closing at the sound of her sobs at the lost contact between them. “Hey…” his mouth still in her hair, trying to keep himself from eating a mouthful of her auburn strands. “Baby…can you call for Tommy? I want to see him.”

She gave his shirt a few more shuddering hiccups before pulling away, stepping to the bottom of the staircase. “Don’t close your fucking eyes.”

She raced to the top of the stairs, skipping two or three at a time until she reached the door. It flew open, Ellie nearly collapsing to the floor as Tommy rushed to her side.

“Whoa, hey. The hell happened?” Tommy paused, his hand held inches above her shoulder. “Did he-“

“He wants to talk to you,” she said, adjusting herself to sit on the floor she just collapsed on.

Tommy rushed down the stairs as Ellie stayed on the first floor of the mansion, her knees bent in front of her as her forearms draped over them, tears spilling down her face. She hugged her legs closer to herself, face burying in the space between her kneecaps. Joel was dying.

Tommy kneeled beside his older brother, seeing the bite immediately from Joel’s clothes still being pulled to the side. Tommy’s face went still, hands flexing into fists.

“How-“

“They tortured me with a runner. Bit me twice.” Joel’s breathing was shaky now. Emotion or the infection taking over, he wasn’t sure. “I’m not feeling well, Tommy.”

Tommy couldn’t respond. There was nothing to say. His big brother was dying. The last of his blood, his companion for life, his construction partner. Nothing prepares you for that, not even the world they live in.

“I’m sorry, brother.”

“Dammit, Joel,” he whispers, turning away to wipe his face. “What…you want me to get her out of here? Head back home like nothin’ happened? Let you run around as some fuckin’ infected and risk seeing you again in that state? Risk her seeing you that way?!”

“No…no.” Joel pulled his revolver from his belt, holding it out to Tommy. “Before she’s back downstairs. Please, Tommy. She can’t do something like this. Please, she can’t. I can’t have her…” he hesitates, unable to finish that thought. “I don’t want her seeing me as an infected, neither. I don’t want you seein’ that. Please, Tommy, you have to.”

Tommy’s response was immediate and sure. “I ain’t fucking shooting you, Joel.”

“You’ve killed hundreds of people, Tommy.”

“Those are hunters, Joel! People we fucking stole from ages ago! People who were the object of our grief! You’re my brother!”

“So do me the mercy of shooting me in the head.”

There’s a silence. A hard, cold, unbelievable silence between them. Tommy paced back and forth in front of Joel, anxiously messing with his hands as he imagines how any of this would play out. Where do I shoot him? Forehead? Temple? Chin? Will Ellie hate me? Will Maria hate me? What if I can’t take it like Joel couldn’t? What if Ellie attempts because she can’t take it?

“Please, Tommy, don’t let me turn. I don’t want you to see that. I don’t want her to see that. Fucking…Tommy, please.”

Tommy faces him head on, his eyes red, expression clear. “Do it yourself,” he bites, turning towards the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, hand gripping the railing. Fuck, that was a bad call.

“I love you, baby brother.”

Tommy’s chin drops to his chest as he pulls himself up the stairs, the sleeves of his coat wiping profusely at his face. His head burns. He opens the door and Ellie is still there, hugging herself on the floor, knees brought to her chest as she weeps in front of him.

Tommy doesn’t say a word, only grabs his rifle from the back of the couch and takes watch at the front door again. Ellie watches him, confused. He’d say something, right? Right?

She fumbles getting up, throwing the door back open as she rushes back down to Joel.

The crown of his head is pressed against the glass behind him, eyes closed tight as tears pool down the sides of his face and into his ears, some falling and dripping off his jaw. She can see his shoulders and abdomen jump with each sob. He has never looked like this before.

He lifts his head from the glass, meeting her eyes as she kneels back beside him. He sought her hand this time, holding it tight. His eyes are red and there are wet streaks along his cheeks and jaw.

They sat there in silence, Ellie attentively playing with his fingers as he occasionally sniffed, trying to push those emotions far away from her to see. Joel cleared his throat and adjusted his back as best he could against the glass.

“Listen-“ he started, a gentle graze of his thumb over her hand.

“No.”

“Ellie-”

“Joel, stop…stop…”

“You don’t even know-“

“I know exactly what you want to fucking say. No.”

He freed his hands from hers, picking the revolver up from the floor beside him. He picked both her hands up again, placing the gun tightly in her grip. “It’s fully loaded. No Russian roulette, nothing.”

“Russian roulette?”

He laughed wetly. “Get Tommy to explain it to you.”

“I want you to.” He’d never get to explain anything to her after this.

He smiles briefly. She’s like a little kid asking to get her way, and he’d be damned if he didn't explain it.

“It’s a…dangerous game. You put one round in the chamber, spin it, place it against the body, and you fire at your own head. Your fate is up to chance.” He rubs his thumb over hers. “But there’s no chance with this.”

She gripped the revolver, staring at it. “…Is that why Tommy walked away? Did you ask him?”

He nodded. “He told me to do it myself.”

Well, why can't you?

And it’s almost like Joel can sense the question from a mile away.

“I’m afraid I’ll flinch again.” His voice cracks on again. “With the infection already startin’ to take root I…”

“Joel…I can’t fucking shoot you. I won’t.”

“I don’t want you to see me like that. I don’t want to feel whatever it is they feel. I don’t know if I’ll know it’s you and won’t be able to control what I’m doin’. I don’t want to give you another bite. I don’t want to give you something else that’ll keep you up at night. When you think of me, I don’t want that to be what you picture. I don’t want to tear you apart.”

Joel succumbs to a coughing fit and nearly coughs up blood as he leans forward, Ellie pounding on his back. Joel heaves as his head hangs above his legs, Ellie rubbing his back gently. It’s Riley all over again. Joel sits back up against the glass and exhales heavily as Ellie brings their hands back together. This is going fast.

Ellie hesitates, absentmindedly squeezing his hand tighter. “What if I forget what you look like? What if I shoot you through the face and that’s all I see from now on? What if I can’t remember your face? What if I try to draw you and all I see is a bullet hole between your eyes? What if I can’t remember your nose or your mouth or your eyes or-“

She was rambling and furiously wiping the tears away from her cheeks now. Joel brought his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks. He rubbed his thumbs across her cheeks multiple times, wiping from her nose to her ear lobes, and spoke. “What color are my eyes?”

She stared at him for a minute, eyes threatening to spill over again. She looked down to the space between them, avoiding his gaze. “Brown.”

“Hey.” He said firmer, forcing her to look at him. “What color are my eyes?”

She stared at him for a minute, keeping the contact. “Brown,” she said, still skeptical.

“Ellie, baby…what color are my eyes?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and exhaled. “Brown. Your…your eyes are brown. Your eyes are brown,” she breathed, almost relieved to say that back to him. “Your eyes are brown and your…your nose has a little arch to it. You have the scar on your temple and the one on your nose, too.” She hesitated for a minute, lightly laughing to herself. “You have these two little patches in your beard where you don’t have any hair-“

“Alright,” he rolled his eyes, smiling back at her. He brought her head towards him, pressing a kiss to her hairline before pulling her away again.

“Your hair is a mix of black and white. Your ears sit close to your head and you have these two little creases between your eyes, too.”

He smiled at her again. This is what he wanted. After how she expressed the fear of forgetting what he looked like, this is what he wanted for her. What she needed. For her to know she could remember him. That if she drew him, if she remembered him, she remembered him, not something else.

She lightly smiled back. “The corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile, too. Sometimes there’ll be three or four if you laugh hard.”

She noticed the small things in him. She had him perfectly pictured in her mind, down to the minute details of his eye crinkles. But she didn’t do it just so she could remember his face; it was because she loved him. Because she loved them- those little, physical quirks he’d nearly forgotten about himself.

He smiled bigger, just for that.

Her smile faded fast, reality coming back to her. “Your eyes crinkle when you smile…” she trailed off, looking down as she took his hands from her face and into her hers, placing them in their laps. She was never going to him smile again.

“C’mere,” he asked and she climbed back against him, contorting herself against his chest as her cheek pressed against his heart. Her right hand had a section of his flannel balled up into her fist, clinging to what she still had left of him. Her left was in her lap, fidgeting with his fingers.

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, Ellie attentively playing with his fingers to distract herself from their fate approaching at a rapid rate. She crossed them over each other, intertwined hers with his, balled his hands into fists, and held his every way she knew how.

The longer they sat, the more labored his breathing became. She could feel him fading; dying. He could, too. It was getting harder to breathe. Deeper inhales were needed for almost every other breath. He was lightheaded; dizzy. His head was dropping more, like his neck muscles were giving out. The infection was getting far. It was a network at this point, vines emerging from his shoulder into his neck and chest; it resembled tree roots. He was sweating and getting hot. This was going way too fast.

“Babygirl…”

“No,” she whimpered into his chest, holding that ball of his flannel tighter.. “No, Joel. Please…stop.”

“Ellie, we’re risking it. I’m…I’m going, kiddo. I can tell.”

She curled herself tighter into his lap, bending her knees and bringing them closer to her face as they fell against his chest. He pulled his hands from hers, wrapping them tighter around her. She’s always been so small, and right now was no exception. She fit into him so easily, completely encapsulated by his embrace.

Ellie was trembling with sobs; a mix of hiccups, hyperventilating, and a wailing that any clicker could hone in on from miles away. She felt like she was falling apart. His embrace is supposed to offer her support and stability, not make her feel like they’re nowhere to be found. Security and protection, and yet she feels open, vulnerable, and exposed.

Her fist in his flannel moved to his arm, her left arm following as she held onto his forearms, trying to ground herself in his embrace and how she should feel against him.

He’s practically dead. Maybe that’s why; it’s barely him at this point. The infection is taking him from her. And that is as much of a reason she needs to go through with this. What feels terrible to her is a thousand times worse for him. He’ll be with Sarah. He’ll be free.

“Baby,” he started. He hadn’t called her that in years before today. And she had already lost count of the amount of times he’d used it within the last few hours. She’s never gonna hear it again. “Hey, look at me, please.” She pulled away and scooted off his lap slightly, her legs still draped across him. His hands found her cheeks, his hold noticeably weaker. He smiled at her.

This little girl. His little girl. He smiled at her; because of her. The little girl who attacked him (and Tess) when they first met. Who did nothing but cling to his side because he protected her. I need something smuggled out of the city. To you, she’s cargo. But then there was Henry and Sam, nights together on the road, car rides, Jackson (a glimpse into their future), a life threatening injury, and her life on the line. And somehow…it became more than a job. She became more than just cargo. Somewhere along the way, the fortified walls built up around him were torn down by her. He protected, provided, and cared for her. He nurtured her. He reassured her. He held her tight and called her “babygirl.” He saw more importance in holding her hand through a night sleep than he did in keeping watch over them.

Eventually, that cargo was hearing him sing and being taught guitar. That smuggler was stringing up lights around her makeshift home in their her garage. Somewhere along the way, two unrelated survivors of the world, brought together as a job, were walking hand-in-hand down the streets of their new home together.

At first, she seemed to just be a replacement for Sarah; her ghost following him everywhere. Those nightmares becoming more prevalent when Ellie entered the picture; a constant reminder of his failure to Sarah. But then Ellie wormed her way in with that terrible pun book, atrocious vocabulary for a fourteen-year-old, and non-stop questions which kept him awake (and annoyed) that did him in. She started to become her own person to him; an opportunity. A second chance at fatherhood. To feel and embrace the love that gave him the greatest twelve years of his life. To continue where he left off with it all. And motherfuckers be damned if anything was going to get in his way of loving his little girl again.

“I love you,” and fuck, he looked heartbroken and in love. This was the first and last time she'd ever hear him say it. Regretful.

She smiled back at him. It was always understood between them; they didn’t have to say it. She wanted to say it before he left for patrol or before she went…anywhere without him. But a quick hug, kiss on the head, and a “be safe,” was his way of saying it every day. For her, it was always a tight hug paired with, “If you die, I’m gonna kill you,” or a similar endearment. They had their ways, and that was enough.

But right now, he needed her to know for sure.

Joel took in another shaky breath. He was falling. “I love you…so much, babygirl.” His hold was so soft as he rubbed his thumb over her cheek again.

His face was enough to tell her everything. They got really good at the whole ‘silent communication’ thing. A certain look in his eye or the way his eyebrows sat was all she needed. And now, his eyes were gentle. He looked like he did when he gave her the tape of the space launch three years ago. He looked like he did when he heard Linda Ronstadt on that tape after so many years. He looked like he did when she’d treat him extra father-like to really sell it to other Jacksonfolk. His expression looked like…the same it always did when he looked at her.

Everything he ever did was for her. Trying to send her away with Tommy, shoving her away from him in that basement, massacring the fireflies, and every decision in between was made because he loved her, and that came before anything else. He didn’t need to expand on any of it; she knew now.

Her anger was palpable during the estrangement. Her trust was broken, she was betrayed, disappointed, and angrier than she knew what to do with. She didn’t hate him, though. She struggled for a long time, but it never turned to hatred. And the realization of that for her is as clear to her now as it may ever be, considering how easily she answers. Like they were never estranged.

“I love you, too,” she responds, the same expression on her face. I just heard him say his last words. He just heard my last words to him.

He pulls her head forward, pressing his forehead to hers. Her hands come up to his wrists, holding on to him. She slows her breathing to match his, earning one last sliver of comfort from him.

She pulls his hands away, placing them in the space between them as she leans to the side, picking the revolver back up. She fiddles with it in her hands, trembling as she grips the trigger. She pulls her legs off from how they’ve been draped across him and tucks them under her, sitting on her heels.

She loosely places the barrel of the revolver against his temple, Joel flinching at the familiar contact.

His right hand came up to her face, bringing her head down once more, kissing her hairline once and resting his lips there briefly. A second one, just for good measure. “I love you so damn much, babygirl,” he whispers, tears from his own cheeks hitting her forehead. He leans back, the crown of his head hitting the glass.

Ellie grabs at his hands in his lap, the two of them fighting for who can hold the other tighter. Both his hands come around her left as she pulls the hammer back. Tears drip off her chin into the mess of their hands in his lap.

He shuts his eyes tight as she exhales.

“I’m sorry. I love you-”

bang.

His body jumps against her, his hands immediately releasing her left as his head falls to the side.

“Joel?” She whispered, watching his face. She dropped the revolver, cupping his face upright. “Hey, Joel. Look at me. Joel, fucking look at me! Fuck..dammit Joel, fucking look at me, asshole. Look at me!” Every other word was a sob. “Fuck��you’re…why did I do this. Why did I listen to you, why did I…” she sobbed, pressing her forehead against his, gripping his neck tight. “Please…please, don’t do this. Come back, Joel. Please, please come back. Please…” she pleaded, tears spilling down her chin into his empty hands. “Joel…come on. We were…I was…I told Dina I was going to invite you over. Curtis and Viper 2…I found it. I was gonna ask you…fuck…fuck…I know you would…you would’ve said yes…” Her throat was burning up. She brought her hands around the back of his neck, bringing his face into the crook of her shoulder as she rested her chin atop his head, her right hand combing through his hair gently. “...We were gonna…we were gonna be okay.” she choked. Were.

The basement door swung open and Tommy stormed down the stairs, his beretta in hand as his arm was extended out in front of him. He was coming back to do it. Tommy stopped a few feet behind Ellie, Joel’s head still tucked into her neck.

“Ellie…”

Ellie was sobbing into Joel’s hair, Tommy at a loss of what to do, if anything, for her. “He was going fast…we…I had to.”

Tommy’s breath caught in his throat as he noticed the wound in his brother’s temple, blood still pouring out. Ellie was drenched.

HIs voice was quiet, completely different to how he sounded barreling down the stairs seconds prior. “I was gonna get my shit together…I-I would’ve done it, sweetheart.”

Ellie pushed past that. Can’t go back now. “We need to…wrap him up. Sheets, towels, something…”

Tommy acknowledged silently, walking back upstairs without another word.

Ellie stayed there, kneeling on that cold basement tile with Joel’s face tucked into her neck. He was heavy now as dead weight. Joel’s hands were still open in his lap, pools of Ellie’s tears still present in the creases of his palms. “You were alive three minutes ago and now we have to wrap up your fucking corpse…” She pulled his face away from her neck, holding it in front of her. His eyes were half shut. She opened his left eyelid slightly, checking for life. She had to be sure. Sure enough, nothing. The eyes that held so much light, gentleness, and love were void of…anything now. No crinkles in the corner of his eyes, and the brown of his irises even felt faded.

She stayed like that, studying his face. The second Tommy is back, Joel will be wrapped up, his face covered and his body wrapped up as he’s put six feet under, never to be unraveled again. She needed this now, to make sure she memorized everything, even through the tear-filled lens of her vision. Those patches in his beard, the arch of his nose, his temple and nose scars, the shape of his ears, the way the front of his hair curls on a good day, the brown of his eyes, and those crinkles she never once took for granted that sat so openly at the corners of his eyes.

She’d never see those crinkles again.

~~~~

Tags: @not-so-mundane-after-all @sentientmasstransit @memelovescaps @tloubraininfection @tlouobsessed @fieldsoftulips @bejeweledmp3 @swol-bear @cassianendor @bluestar22x @elliiewiilliiams @longl0ngtime @dilf-din @therebedragcns @joelxmiller @scootkiddo @astrasomnium @fallenstar07 @novemberrain-writes @hooptedoodley

#I am so unbelievably tired #my eyes are half shut fixing all this into tumblr #so i apologize if soemthing is wrong #I am sos sososo tired #I know in a lot of cases I used a mix of ending some words or phrases in s or es and some in d or ed #which I know is a bit of inconsistency #I can’t remember the actual word #so i apologize #fell asleep fixing this up and then I woke up at almost 7am and finished it so.#hopefully it all makes sense #if it doesn’t it’s bc I was fixing it up half asleep #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller #ellie williams #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #L writes

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h377b7iss · 5 months

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#said it was so it should be my stepmom did I’m sane #this is why I can’t lmao #there’s real hatred inside my mind and outside it’s worse it’s worse cause that hatred comes from a place of feeling but when I think about #things I seriously feel nothing and feel the need to organize my life but everything has so many social implications spark is supposed to he #help with but he doesn’t give a fuck he seriously just looks out for himself and I don’t blame him #im trying to get into that trad kind of role in our towns but seriously he doesn’t want that nobody does im fucked and im not sure what to d #I haven’t committed any serious crimes I don’t think the government can banish me to jail hell without making it worse in the long run im s #seriously just considering all the reasons #half of them are relationship based and half of them are class based and none of them can be fixed by me so seriously I don’t know what to d #do besides give up radicalize #all these fuckinf solutions are so impulsive nobody has time to waste with this shit it’s like there’s deadlines or bets or some shit maybe #maybe im in the dead pool idfc it doesn’t seem that way I mean u could probably bet on babies with spark but if he’s with me then like lol #so many things I can’t even confide in people about bc mfkz are asleep or something I was talking about zombies today and like idk people do #people don’t live their lives knowing things and that’s been my goal since a while back just researching things im interested in #but now it’s like #my peers in the age group I’m in don’t know things and I’ll tell them abt shit and they’ll have a dissociative episode then go to sleep and #wake up all perfect again so like LITERALLY THEIR LIVES ARE SUPPORTED BY EITHER THEMSELVES THEIR PARENTS OR THEIR EMPLOYERS NOBODY WILL SUPP #SUPPORT ME #IDFK #im good it’s good #didn’t #goddammit #I know I’m being controlled pushed down repressed cause it’s seeming unpatriotic to think #it’s a bitch move to not appreciate the things I’ve been given.#it’s a bitch move to not appreciate the man in my life.#gotta take yknow.#that’s not me #sure it’s me but Jesus #hi Jesus #sanity

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angelbarelywrites · 2 months

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♡ slashers scenarios | sharing a bed

♡ fandoms; The Boy, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; very suggestive content, implied smut

♡note; swapped out billy in this one bc i can’t imagine him sharing a bed with someone and not getting literally pornographic

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire

> Once he decides he wants to share the bed, he finds the biggest guest room bed and brings all of the comfiest pillows and blankets he can to make it perfect

> For you more than him, but he doesn’t feel too hurt when you push half of them to the foot of the bed

> It was a lot even for a king bed

> You’re reluctant at first, not used to sharing a bed

> But you find he’s very hard to say no to once you’re in that deep

> He tries to give you space, but it’s not long before he’s wrapped around you, clinging for dear life

> And he almost immediately falls asleep like that, head tucked into your chest

> You sigh and try and relax, petting his hair

> And you fall asleep with your hand still tangled in his black locks, holding him close to you

> You wake up to him nuzzling your neck and practically whining

> “Baby…wake up…”

> You’d ask him what the problem was…if you couldn’t feel it against your leg

> You spend most of the morning still in bed, lazily fixing his predicament

Micheal Myers

> He doesn’t get why you want him to do this

> You know he doesn’t cuddle

> You know he usually gets restless and wanders at night

> But there’s no reason to say no, and even he can’t stand how sad your pout is

> You hum and stretch, tucking yourself in and look at him expectantly

> He takes off his boots and lays on top of the covers beside you, stiff as a board

> You have to coax him to even take the mask off, but he still won’t relax

> You quickly realize he’s used to high security psych ward bunks, not big comfy queen beds full of stuffed animals

> “…do you…wanna sleep on the floor?”

> He pauses.

> Shakes his head and closes his eyes.

> After you finally fall sleep, he sits up, intending on leaving

> But you look so peaceful…he can’t help to stay and watch you. Just for a little while.

> When he touches your cheek, you press into his hand. Maybe a while longer.

> When you wake up he’s still staring at you, hand long gone from your cheek

> But once you blink awake, it creeps somewhere else..

Thomas Hewitt

> He’s almost nervous of the idea

> Y’all are certainly intimate with each other - just as intimate as you would be if you were married like his mama was planning

> But what if the family noticed you were in there? He’d kill Hoyt for calling you anything nasty-

> When he sees you in skimpy PJs, he immediately forgets his worries

> He has a huge bed because he’s a huge guy, so when you curl up in it alone, it’s almost comical

> He’s staring at you as he climbs in after you, cautiously removing his mask

> His shoulders relax a little when you smile up at him, still so amazed you can stand to look at him

>“Hold me?”

> He grunts and takes no time in pulling you flush, spooning you. He’s more relaxed than he’s been in a while, sure he’ll fall asleep in no time

> Until you give a tiny sigh and shift your hips, innocently adjusting

> It doesn’t take much for you to set him off- he’s touch starved and obsessed with you.

> Along with feeling him against your ass, you can literally hear his breathing change.

> “…Tommy baby? Want me to take care of that?”

> It takes another two hours before you fall asleep, both sticky with sweat and sated, your head laying on his broad chest.

Bubba Sawyer

> He’s so happy to have a sleepover- even if you live right down the hall in the same house (I cannot imagine you dating him and being allowed to leave the farm tbh)

> He gives you an updated tour of his room- he’s very happy to show you the collection of polaroids of you he hung up.

> You were wondering where those went

> Finally he drops you on the bed, giggling quietly

> It’s old but comfy, and he has plenty of stolen pillows and blankets, and even some stuffed bears

> He strips right on down to his heart boxers, leaving his mask on for last

> He takes it off slowly, giving you that shy look he always does

> You grin and open your arms and he’s more than happy to scoop you up with a coo.

> By the time you’re settled, you’re curled around his back

> He loves being the little spoon, even if he’s a big brute

> When you wake up he’s bursting back into the room with some slightly burnt toast for breakfast

> It’s a sudden wake up call, but a welcome one

> And you repay him in tons of kisses, all over

Vincent Sinclair

> Like some of the others he’s hesitant

> But you want him to relax, he’s been working so hard- so you take him away from the studio, and into your room

> You’re not even letting him so much as sketch until he sleeps

> He tilts his head and is almost pouting, trying to guilt you - even more so once you help him remove his wax

> Until you coax him into his stomach so you can massage his back, that is

> You’re clumsy and certainly not a professional, but your hands on him is enough to melt away the stress

> He suddenly rolls over and grabs your hips as he hears you yawn

> It’s your turn to pout down at him

> But eventually you relent and let him cradle you close to his chest as he hums a nonsense lullaby

> You keep him trapped in bed the next morning as revenge, again straddling him before he can get up to leave

> But this time, you’re most certainly not yawning

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decayedgloria · 9 months

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sundress szn pt. 2

pt. 2 ft. scaramouche, sandrone, pantalone, and childe

Summer’s finally come, so you decide to wear something that fit the occasion- much to your lover’s excitement.

tags: nsfw under cut, public/semi public sex in almost all of these, I got carried away during pantalone’s, harbingers x afab! Reader (minus signora this time bc I genuinely cannot think of smth for her rn but I can promise in the future that she may be in one of these.), slight ooc maybe? mdni.

word count: ~2.2k, I wrote these half asleep on a nine hour flight these are not going to be proofread

Scaramouche

This was a good idea. Totally. Sumeru’s just much, much more humid than Snezhnaya, which was something you were willing to get used to. You were absolutely fine.

How you wished you were right.

Even in the shade of the Grand Bazaar you could still feel the light sheen of sweat begin to form on your skin as you hastily fan yourself, occasionally observing your surroundings for your boyfriend. As a newly-inducted Vahumana student, he was bound to get busy, so it left you with a lot of time on your hands. Too much time. But hey, it got you a new dress so who are you to complain?

It reminded you of when you were both in the Fatui, the Harbinger and his loyal partner, who were too busy to really see each other until he whisked you away to Sumeru. You assumed it would be different this time, but it had dawned on you recently that it would take quite a while to get there (not that it wasn’t deserved, he had a lot to atone for after all.)

But it still disheartened you. You would be lying if you said that it didn’t. You missed his hugs and his presence, no matter how much you annoyed each other you always seemed to find a way to touch each other. And on nights he would be up in the Akademiya studying, leaving you alone in your shared bed, your thoughts wandered to those scarce intimate moments you shared- nights where his chest was pressed against yours, with that stupid smirk on his face as he fucked you silly. Just thinking about those nights made a familiar heat rise in between your legs, making you curse as your cheeks reddened.

Archons, first the heat, and now this? Scaramouche had better hurry, you felt like you were going to be torched alive at this rate.

Thankfully, you did not need to wait long. Looking into the crowd again, your eyes met with a familiar pair of tired purple ones, much to your delight. You hopped off the bench you sat on and beelined your way to the grouchy purple boy, a smile blossoming on your face as you get closer to him. He doesn’t return the same excitement, content to just catch you in his arms like he always does. You don’t seem to mind, though, as you were too preoccupied with burying your face into his chest.

“Scara…” You whined, pouting your lips. “What took you so long? Do you know how hot it is in here? I almost died.” Expecting a smart retort from him, you were thoroughly surprised at the next words that came out of his mouth.

“What on earth are you wearing?”

There was no malice and spite in his voice, just irritated confusion. Which, in turn, confused you, prompting you to release your position against his chest and stare at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you not like it? I got it a while ago.” You hesitantly let go of his embrace, spinning once to let him see the whole dress. It was perfect for a hot day- light and airy, revealing as much skin as possible without spilling everything out. When you turned back to him, his face had gotten redder, but his eyes stayed on you- more specifically, your figure.

“Aw, what’s got you blushing, Scara?” Your teasing tone was met with a glare, and a pathetic attempt to hide his face by looking away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t like my dress?”

“That’s not the problem.” Suddenly, he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him again, lowering his head so he could murmur into your ear, “I like it too much. Fix it. Now.”

With that, he dragged you to the nearest concealed spot- behind some crates that barely covered the both of you. When you emerged, all that was left of your dress was the tattered skirt that barely hung on to your body as Scaramouche placed his jacket over your top, that same stupid, hot smirk on his face.

Sandrone

Sandrone tried. Really, she did. But she could not help it in the slightest.

The seventh harbinger has a reputation for being a recluse, cooping herself up in her lab toying with her automatons all day. On the rare occasion she did speak to someone, her tone only seemed to indicate annoyance and malice- she didn’t mind since it drove people away. However, things changed the day you were assigned to work under her; suddenly, she didn’t hate the world that much anymore.

Certainly not when you’re dressed like this.

A quick trip to the ruins of Liyue, both as a break and to gather intel, made you a bit… adventurous, with your outfits to say the least. The entire time you had walked around Qiongji Estuary, Sandrone could not help but linger her stare just a little bit longer than usual. Your outfit consisted of a short dress, loosely clinging around your body, but it made you look so alluring in her eyes. A perpetual blush seemed to occupy her face, which you had innocently chalked up to the heat.

As her automatons roam around in search for whatever she had told them to find, Sandrone busied herself under a makeshift tent inspecting what seemed to be an artifact encased in cor lapis, tinkering with the ore as if it were a toy. You were by her side, head on her shoulder, observing your lover with loving eyes. Your subtle touches combined with your warm breathing had already put her on edge, but she continued nonetheless.

However, the last straw came when you stood up a little to grab something on the other side of Sandrone, aptly placing your bosom right in front of her face. So, forgive her for breaking her composure and pulling you back onto the ground, dirtying your dress as she straddles you eagerly while crashing her lips into your own before you could react.

“You’re so fond of distractions…” She said breathlessly, hands all but dying to get your tits out of your dress for her nimble fingers to play with. You moaned in response, a bit taken aback at her suddeness. Looking up at your blushing, desperate girlfriend, you decided to tease her just a little bit.

“I was just trying to help, Sandrone.” Your tone feigned innocence, which only fueled her frustration. She caught your lips with fervor as one hand pinched your nipple, and the other tugged on your hair, all while grinding down on you.

“Shut up and fuck me, please.”

Pantalone

Pantalone was a man of many talents. One of those talents happens to be spoiling you rotten. Too rotten sometimes. But who were you to complain? The richest man in Teyvat was wrapped around your finger, and you couldn’t help but be a little cheeky and take advantage of that sometimes.

What should’ve been a business trip to Liyue to check the Northland Bank’s activities turned into Pantalone emptying out every boutique in the harbor so you can get a new wardrobe for summer. At one particular store, where there were no other customers besides you and your husband, you had decided to try on some dresses that caught your attention. On one hand, you really did want a few more relaxed additions, but on the other hand, well…

You had emerged from your dressing room not long ago, and yet you were already sat firmly on top of your husband, head in his neck as you try to brace yourself against the waiting room’s couch. Under you, Pantalone only gave you his usual, sly grin as his hands firmly hold you in his lap, keeping you in place as you grind on his ever-growing erection.

“I think this dress looks lovely on you dear.” He whispered, taking in the sight of you writhing on top of him desperately. Chuckling, his hand makes it way all the way to your ass, hiking up the long dress before giving it a smack. You moaned in response, hiding your face in his neck, hands raking over his toned chest.

“You simply look ravishing in it.” He continued his assault on your body, propping you up just a little bit so he had a clear view of your chest, kissing you quickly before delving in between your tits. Archons, he was impatient- he made you impatient. You confess, you did think the dress would get a rise out of him, which was why you picked it first when trying clothes on, but to think he would be this roused by it filled you with a titulating thrill only he was capable of causing.

“Ah- Does the dress make you- ngh… this excited, love?” Despite your teasing words, it was clear that you weren’t the one in control as you rocked your hips to feel even a little bit of relief from the growing ache in between your legs. Pantalone didn’t say anything back, rather he took off his gloves and positioned his fingers over your mouth, commanding you in a husky tone.

“Open up and suck them, darling. I’ll have plenty more for you.”

Childe

“Fuck you mean no?”

“You just aren’t going out like that.” Childe deadpanned, crossing his arms. “It’s a pretty dress for sure though.” The contrasting grin on his freckled face made you want to punch him, though it also illicited some questionable butterflies in your stomach.

Nobody quite knew what you and Childe were. On the surface level, one could assume that you two were just close friends; however, if they took the time to observe how Childe’s touch always lingered for a little too long, or how you stared at him with such bold adoration in your eyes as you smiled at him- it would be quite obvious that there were unspoken feelings for each other somewhere there.

It was quite common for you to visit his office in the Northland Bank like today. You really just wanted to show him the new dress you made for yourself, and figured you could flirt with him a little bit- not that he’d catch the hint. He always did treat you just like a good friend, something that disappointed you a little bit.

Because as it stands, right now, with him towering over you with his arms crossed, a grin on his handsome face- somehow, you’re horny because of this smug bastard. You imagine how good it would be to just smash your lips on his just to shut him up because Archons, is it tempting.

“I’d like to show off what I’ve made for myself,” you huffed at him, pouting. “I’ll go ahead and stroll the streets as I please with or without you then.” You try to turn and leave, expecting him to just laugh and go back to work. However before you could even step towards the door’s direction Childe’s strong hands snaked around your waist, pulling you firmly back.

Without much warning, you fell back into his chest letting out a small yelp. Once you realize the position you were in, you froze- your cheeks heating up an unbearable amount as you try to wriggle away from the (much) stronger man. It only became worse when he placed his lips right on top of your ear, chuckling lowly.

“C’mon… I can’t have all of Liyue see my girl this good.” He remarked lowly, trailing his lips down until they settled on the base of your neck, to which he then placed a gentle kiss. “They might be tempted to steal you away from me, and we can’t have that, can we?.” You’d be lying if you said that didn’t turn you on so fucking much, trying your best to hide it by pulling your legs closer together.

“We aren’t dating though? What do you mean-“ You let out a moan as he started sucking at the same spot, his lips forming a smile as they worked. Your hands flew to his arm on your waist, turning yourself around to meet his gaze. He lifted his head, lips puffy and blue eyes glazed over with lust.

“Everyone in Liyue knows that we want each other. Why not give in?” He pressed his forehead against yours, lips deliciously close to yours as he placed his hands on your waist.

“Only if you want to.” Was your sheepish reply, slightly embarassed to be this close to the man you’ve been covering for months. Was it really this easy? Is it just another one of his pranks? You weren’t sure, but at this point you didn’t care much, especially after he launched his lips straight at you in a fervent kiss. His hands lifted you up, haphazardly swiping away everything on his desk and placing you on it while your fingers tangled in his hair.

Both of you fumble with each other’s clothes, but Childe took extra care in taking the sight of your dress halfway off your body, admiring the view. He suddenly brings his hand up to your chest, flicking your nipple. You moan in both surprise and pleasure, burying your face into his bare shoulder.

“Be as loud as you want girlie. I want everyone here to know who’s finally got you.”

pt 2 is finally out yall i can rest

i wrote these on my way to and from london on the plane and i am sick bro i just wanna sleep (jet lag and chugging redbulls prevent me from catching a break tbh)

hope yall enjoy, this did take a little bit longer to make tho so i apologize for that.

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stxrslut · 26 days

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ignore this if it makes zero senses but anyway

how do you think rafe would react if you had like a temper tantrum like an actual baby bc he's all like business man now and has no more time for sex and he always comes home tired but now he's like all fed up and you know

GRUMPY RAFE MY BELOVED!!

Rafe had been having a hard month business wise, and you want to give him a surprise to make him feel better. you’d been planning it for a week or so, and tonight will be the night it’s finally executed. you make sure to do everything perfectly. you set the table, and make the bed, and dress up in the cutest little baby pink lingerie set you own.

when Rafe gets home he’s agitated, his jaw ticking as he makes his way into the kitchen. though he stops when he finds the lights dimmed and two plates of his favourite meal set out on the table.

you bounce up to him, little pink floral dress flowing around your upper legs. “hi Rafe!” you chirp, moving to hug him tightly, cheek smushing up against his chest.

he wraps one arm around you, though he’s clearly distracted “uh— hi, baby. what’s all this for?” when he asks the question you don’t think much of it, just assuming he’s happy with the surprise.

“I made you dinner! so we can have a special night!” you smile, pressing yourself closer to him as you say the last part.

“right… sweetie I can’t right now.” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, looking down at you as you frown.

“oh…” you look down, eyebrows furrowed, “you need to work?” you know the question is stupid, because obviously he needs to work, it’s all he’s needed to do for weeks.

“yeah… uh— look I’ll eat with you, kay?” he does his best to compromise when he sees the disappointed look on your face.

you brighten up slightly, nodding “okay…” you lead him by his hand to the table, sitting him down and pouring him a glass of the wine you’d prepared.

you try to make conversation, but Rafe keeps brushing you off, providing empty answers. it’s not even ten minutes before he’s finished his meal, standing up and giving you a half apologetic look “sorry baby, just uh— need to check on business.” he doesn’t say anything else before he leaves the room.

you wait for him to finish his work, and you’re determined to give him a good time once he is. you light candles in the bedroom, and splay yourself across the bed perfectly in your lingerie.

when he finally comes through at nearly one in the morning, you’re half asleep. “Rafe!” you scramble up to meet him, and he looks a little bewildered when he sees you all dressed up. “surprise!”

all he does is sigh “baby…” your face falls when he speaks, because you know by his expression what he’s going to say. “I can’t- we- it’s late— look… maybe in the morning.. or something.”

normally you’d just comply, but today you’re fed up, and all you want is some time with Rafe, and some awesome sex, that you haven’t had in weeks.

and so your lip begins to wobble, and you let out a petulant whine. you can see the cogs turning in his head as he processes what you’re starting to do.

“do not.” he warns, pointing with his eyebrows raised “do not freak out on me.” but you’ve already got your sights set, whimpering as tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

“why don’t you want me?” you wail, flopping back down on the bed and kicking your legs. the Cameron boy shakes his head disapprovingly, but what could he really have expected.

“right— what… what is going on?” he sits down next to you, bringing a hand down to rest on your thigh which you only kick off.

“what is— what is going on? Rafe— ugh! you’re so annoying!” you sit up to yell, push at his chest, and then flop right back down again.

he sighs defeatedly, “right, I can’t fix this if you don’t tell me what’s going on. you got that?” you nod, avoiding eye contact. “good, now talk.”

you huff, annoyed at the commanding tone he carries, and annoyed that you know you can’t ignore it. “I just wanna have a good night!”

“what d’you mean by that baby?” he emphasises, clearly just as tired and fed up as you are.

“I mean we haven’t actually spent time together for like— weeks! I did everything right Rafe! I made a romantic meal and— and I put music on and I dressed super nice for you! I mean look at me okay I’m sat here with my tits all up in your face and- I wore that stupid sparkly buttplug you like to see. even though it’s so annoying to put in without your help and— I was going to let you do whatever you want to me! but all you’ve done all night is work, and I waited for you and now you just want to go to sleep and that’s fine! but— I just— I miss you Rafe.” by the end of it you’re sobbing, unable to keep your emotions in check any longer.

Rafe sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose before speaking “okay kid, come here. you’re fine” he pulls you onto his lap, pressing a kiss to your forehead to try and soothe you. “s’that all it is? you just want some dick?”

“rafe!” you chastise, pushing your head into his chest, “don’t just want dick.” you whine. Rafe just chuckles.

“but that’s part of it right?” he raises his eyebrows, and when you nod he sighs, shaking his head in defeat “right… well it would be a shame for you to have got this dressed up for nothing…”

#anon #lily writes 🌷#this took me so long to write it’s not even funny #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #outer banks smut

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sprout-fics · 7 months

Note

I think abt this all the time so I need to ask you. // whumpy ask ahead

Do you think simon’s ever afraid to sleep with/near his partner bc he gets violent night terrors and he’s terrified he’ll hurt them trying to ‘defend’ himself during a ptsd episode? I don’t think he’d ever be intentionally violent or scary, but I mean the man has been through a metric fucktonne of shit and clearly has survival instincts that rival a grizzly bear, what if he had a night terror and that self-protection instinct kicked in before he could register that he’s safe, he’s not in danger, that someone he loves is on the other end of his self defence? What if he hurt them on accident? What if he’s really as rotten on the inside as he pretends not to be? What if he shatters their trust? The trust he never deserved anyway? What if he’s a monster?

Anyway this thought consumes most of my waking moments. I love him. Put that man in a Shituation

Dark Vision

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OFC 'Fix')

(Of Shadows and Bones Masterlist)

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 1.5k Tags: Established Relationship, Sleeping Together, Angst, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Second Person POV Warnings: PTSD nightmares A/N: Anon I literally could not resist not only putting that man in a shituation, I will put that man in a shituation with my beloved Fix

He’s talking in his sleep again.

Strange half-mumblings, words with no meaning that you can hear from behind you, curled as you are on your makeshift bedroll. The abandoned cabin on the rise overlooking your RV point does little to insulate against the chill that comes just before dawn. Both your forms are swallowed in darkness as Soap sits outside on third watch, vigilant for any approaching trespassers who may have followed you from the village the three of you had cased for traces of Makarov. Simon had taken the first watch, and you second. By the time you’d come inside to lay down he’d been curled on his side, solidly asleep and clutching one of his blades in a steadfast grip.

Almost as if he was protecting himself not from his pursuers, but from dreams.

“Tommy-”

Your worried frown deepens as the garbled, cracking call from the soldier behind you. You’d situated yourself not far from him, hardly touching except when you’d stretched out your legs. He’d twitched when your boots had grazed against him, and you thought for a moment he’d wake, levy a snarking remark at you. Instead he sucked in a deep breath, released it, and once more fell still. Now, you can feel him twitching in his sleep- little jolts and shudders as he bodily tries to fight off whatever shadows haunt his mind.

You shouldn’t wake him. You know better than that. Simon isn’t one to appreciate coddling, would merely buck you off and be sour for the next day until he forgot about it. Really, you should just go sit outside with Johnny, feign an excuse of sleeplessness and leave Simon to his restless dreams.

“F-Fix-”

You nearly startle at that, eyes blinking as you’re suddenly wide awake. You sit up, twist to look at Simon’s shuddering form, curled around the knife in his hands with a death grip. He arches, groans at some unseen entity, the sound dragging low in his chest. Again, he calls your name, and whatever phantom clutches at him feels as if it bleeds into your own marrow, whispering fear and ruin.

You shouldn’t wake him.

You really shouldn’t.

You feel your heart race as you gently lay a hand on him anyways, a soothing touch to his shoulder that he doesn’t notice.

“Simon.” You whisper softly, gently scooting closer to him. “Simon, love, it’s just a dream.”

The shiver in his limbs seems to abate a bit at that, and you watch as the grip loosens around the blade. You breathe in relief, feeling him grow lax as you continue to whisper to him in reassuring murmurs, trying to ward off his demons that haunt him even in sleep.

“It’s alright, Simon. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

You lean over him more fully now, hesitantly arranging yourself closer to the curl of his spine. Perhaps the proximity is what he needs, the comfort of another’s touch that he’s always so hesitant to ask of you. Nevermind that Soap is outside. Johnny understands to some degree the relationship between you and Simon, and you pray he’ll ignore any murmurs he hears at least until he can needle you about them later.

You’re careful as you quietly press in behind him, your hand on his shoulder hesitant, and then firm as you adjust your weight-

You feel him stiffen a moment too late.

Simon awakes with a snarl, a wild, feral beast in his fear as he twists towards you, rolls you under him in one swift, powerful motion.

You bring your hands up automatically, years of close combat roaring to life as you try to protect yourself from his violent reaction. Fortunately his movements are weighted with sleep, sluggish to some degree, allowing you to block the hand that moves for your windpipe, seize the wrist holding his knife and drag it well to the side.

It’s still sheathed.

Simon struggles for a moment, and you watch as he sucks in air, chest rising and eyes bright as he tries to make out the figure below him in the darkness. His instincts are on overdrive, adrenaline fully fueling his blood before he was even awake. You know he doesn’t see you, he sees a threat, something that tried to rouse him for ill-intent. For all he knows you could be an enemy, an ambusher, someone trying to kill him in his sleep.

You could be Roba, one of his men.

He grapples with you, twists your hands with a little grunt even as you try to shove him off. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, but there’s a part of you that knows that this is Simon. Simon, who has slept near to you a dozen times, who has been in your bed, who has saved your life, who knows your real name, who once smeared blood from your cheek with a fondness that had stolen the air from your lungs.

“Si-” You try as he hauls your hands above you, forcing yourself to go into limp surrender so as to show you aren’t a threat. “Simon, it’s me. It’s Fix.”

His shoulders are heaving as he finally stills, the blade planted on the floor next to your head. You can see his eyes glinting in the darkness, wild and unfocused, slowly dawning with realization at the sound of your voice.

You force yourself to swallow the rush of startled surprise in your throat, trying to even your breathing and show him you’re alright. He tenses as you speak.

“It’s alright, Simon. It was just a dream.”

Simon stares down at you in the darkness, past his mask, eyes wide with shock. There’s a flash of something you can’t name, one that passes over his eyes quickly as it too fades behind the facade of something forced.

“Fix.” He rumbles, voice hoarse.

You summon a shaky smile. “Yes, love. It’s me.”

“You’re-” He starts, before biting off his words, unwilling to finish whatever sentence has poisoned his mouth.

He releases you then, his adamantium grip slowly sliding off your wrists as he braces above you, staring.

“You were having a nightmare.” You tell him in the silence that follows, and it doesn’t truly touch the words you want to say.

You called my name in your sleep. You were afraid. What did you see? Tell me, please, so I can make it better.

He rolls away from you so his back is once again to you, and you want to chase him, press yourself to his spine as if you’re a shield for his peaceful slumber.

“Go to sleep, Fix.” He tries, and he sounds so tired, weary in a way you want to aid. You observe him, the way moonlight catches on his shoulders from the open window, the hunch of himself as he tries to shake the remnants of his forbidden vision.

“Not tired.” You tell him in return, and he sighs- with annoyance or with resignation, you aren’t sure.

You reach a hand for him. He tenses.

“You shouldn’t have woken me up.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He’s silent at that, and even with his back turned you know he’s fidgeting with his gloves, a sign of distress.

“I could have hurt you.” He says, and it’s almost angry. Not at you, but at himself.

You observe him silently, seeing the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his demons chase him into wakefulness.

“You’d never hurt me.” You tell him, and you watch him sink at that, head bowing forward. “Would you?”

“No.” His answer comes quick, and to anyone else it sounds only prompt. To you, it sounds almost desperate.

“Simon.” You murmur, and stretch forward to touch him again. You lay a hand on his shoulder, and he sucks in a breath, pauses, before he gently lays a gloved palm against your fingers.

“It was just a dream.” You tell him again. He doesn’t nod, but he understands, this you can tell.

“You should sleep.” He replies, softer now, tired and tender.

“Only if you try to sleep too.” You offer, and scoot forward so your cheek now rests on his shoulder, feeling him fully relax against your touch. “Just lay down with me. You can stay awake if you want.”

Simon is silent for a moment, and you hold your breath in anticipation. At last, he turns towards you, arranges you in his arms with his back towards the window, his head tucked at the crown of your head.

You rub gentle circles into his hip as he lays your head on his arm as a pillow, curling around you protectively, almost possessively, as if daring his nightmares to touch you.

You don’t speak. There’s little else to say. You know someday he’ll tell you the thing he saw, the vision of you that had him cry out your name from his nightmares. You trust him to carry it until he’s ready, to keep you in his trust until then, and far after. You curl closer to him with a soft sigh, let your eyelashes flutter into a soft doze.

The knife remains in its sheath, beyond his reach.

(Attaching my usual masterlist for this series because why not)

Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @alicesfracturedmirror @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @soapskneebrace @nightingale-ghost-writer @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001 @alittlefansthings @allaboutirem0 @keiva1000 @makariaspresence @achelois-is-here @nightingale-ghost-writer @altered-delta @thetimidsarcasticcat @nestaarcheronss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ghxstyops @whotfislynn @gazs-blue-hat @obi-wansorrow

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #mw2 #cod mw22 #Simon ghost riley x oc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix

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here4kpopfics · 1 year

Text

Put It Out | JJK

just a quick little something to put our minds at ease about that stupid candle. @minttangerines asked and I...I don't know, honestly. Here we are. I'm tired. Enjoy. Thank you beautiful @mikrokcsmos for the edits and being wonderful. 💜💜 also gonna tag @pamzn @minisugakoobies and @sugakookitty bc i can. hi i love you all.

Masterlist | AskBox | Taglist | Coffee? | Patreon

jjk x reader | fluff/stupiness | 1863 words | pg15 but really 13 but really who cares | Jungkook better put that shit out before his house goes down in flames.

“I’m gonna go live, jagi.”

“It’s two in the morning, Koo. Let army sleep.” You turn over in bed to see your boyfriend throwing a shirt on and fixing his hair in the bathroom mirror before turning back to you with a pout.

The dumb pout that wins every argument. You hate it and love it.

“I’m sure some of them are awake! I’ll make it a chill live. Put the galaxy light on and get a candle. They can fall asleep to it.”

“Like any of them can fall asleep to you singing to them.” You mumble under your breath, getting up and grabbing your phone and a charger. “Let me grab something to drink and a snack first.”

“You’re gonna watch?” Dumb bunny smiles with the cute crinkles around his eyes. You want to kiss him stupid but you’re too tired.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything dumb.” You quip, quickly pecking his lips with yours as you make your way to the kitchen, grabbing supplies. You hear his feet following you and smile.

“I don’t do anything stupid!”

“Unholy. Body roll. While not stupid, I'm pretty sure a good handful of people had heart attacks that night.” You grab your laptop off the dining room table, “Boxing. Moaning and groaning while on the floor and out of sight. Stupid only because you were out of sight and that led people to have ideas about things that only I get to experience.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes you were. But it’s fine. I accept that you’re a flirty hoe, it’s who you are baby. Embrace it. Have fun. I’ll be in the room waiting for you to come back to bed.” You take a quick inventory of the room, making sure he moved anything of yours out of view when you spot the candle.

“Why the candle, though?”

“To lighten it up in here…and it smells nice.”

“Baby, you have a ring light.”

“Ring light doesn’t smell nice.”

You groan in defeat, shaking your head and walking past him, back to the room, “blow it out when you’re done!”

“Kay!”

You settle back in bed, charger plugged in and a pillow acting as a laptop stand while you snack on whatever it was you blindly grabbed. You hear the music starting before you get the notification about him going live on Weverse pops up. You pop in your AirPods and get ready for a long night.

You scroll through tumblr and Twitter as he finally appears on the screen, quietly giggling at everyone freaking out over specific songs and him and his hair. You can’t blame them, though. His hair still makes you giddy when you see it.

A few songs in and you realize quickly what playlist he’s going through. The playlist you created together, tossing random shit that either reminded you of one another, was just a fucking vibe, or was just something you personally wanted him to sing because you knew he could.

One of the very few perks of dating him that you participate in.

But he’s doing that thing, that thing you hate. You do it, too. You’re not afraid to admit it. But it’s worse when he does it because he’s singing at the same time.

He gets a little more than half way through a song, either reaching the second chorus or even the bridge, and then just skips to the next song. But not just the song right after, no. The man skips and skips and skips and skips, letting you hear a second of each song and getting excited before he skips to another one, repeating the process. It drives you mad.

Thankfully, it drives army mad as well, so at least you have that to validate your annoyance.

You accidentally laugh out loud when he starts singing along with Leave The Door Open and you pray no one had heard it, watching the chat to see if anyone says anything. Thankfully, no one heard a thing and you relax, but only a little because he’s got the damn candle in his hand and he’s moving the melted wax around and you have to bite your tongue to suppress yourself from laughing again when the flame goes out.

“Serves you right.” You mutter.

He continues on with this “chill night” of blasting his music, getting more drinks, watching Hoseok’s new music video twice without saying a word, accidentally swearing while singing a Charlie Puth song, and unabashedly flirting with army again.

You watch his mood start to dip when he gets to some slower songs, one that you put in when you were feeling insecure about your relationship with him.

He looks exhausted as he talks about the current situation he’d been forced into with ‘fans’ not respecting his privacy and treating him like he’s not human and your heart cracks for him. Part of you wants to run out there, turn off the live and hug him. The other part knows he needs to get it off his chest. Even if he’s tipsy, it’s something that needs to be discussed. You can comfort him after.

But of course, never one to let the mood be sad for too long, he switches to a fun more upbeat song and says he needs to go to the bathroom.

A few seconds later, he’s opening the door to your bedroom and leaning over your little set up and grabbing your face, pulling you in for a deep kiss.

“I love you” the words fall off his lips quietly and you repeat them back without hesitation, smiling when he gives a shorter kiss before bolting to the bathroom. He comes back out, stealing some of your snacks and snickering at your reaction, throwing up a finger heart as he leaves the room.

He seems to have woken up a little bit, but not by much from the way he keeps laying back on the couch for a minute or two at a time.

“I swear if you fall asleep on camera…” you whisper at the screen, glaring at the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“I'm not going to sleep.” He groans, trying to wake himself up, “if I’m gonna sleep, I’ll tell you and get off but I don’t feel like sleeping right now, okay?” He’s whining which you know perfectly well he’s about to fall asleep. He turns into a toddler, confused and upset that his body would betray him like this.

Not even five minutes later he’s picking up the candle again, placing it in front of the camera for aesthetic reasons, you’re sure.

“I’m gonna rest a bit. Just a few minutes. Promise.” He disappears out of sight and you’re sure he’s laying down.

Aw, fuck. He’s gonna sleep on camera.

You wait five minutes and then you hear it, clear as day in your AirPods, the sound of his snoring. It’s so light, but so very obvious your boyfriend has fallen asleep on camera and millions of people are now watching him. Although, not really watching him, because he’s off camera. But it’s close enough!

You quickly send a text to Taehyung, praying he’s still awake.

Y/n: Koo fell asleep on camera. What do I do?

Tae: you have to end it or I’ll see if any of the team can…did he really fall asleep?

Y/n: yes! And he has a stupid candle burning still right next to his phone. I can’t go out there until it’s over.

Tae: oh my god he’s going to get so much shit for this from us, that’s amazing.

Tae: I’ll call and see if anyone can turn it off, but I doubt it since it’s four in the morning. Try to do it in the meantime.

You groan, tossing your phone to the side and looking back at your laptop. He’s still asleep. And that candle is still burning. The chat is yelling about it, tumblr and Twitter are both freaking out about it.

Fuck. You’re gonna have to do something about it. You take out the AirPods, getting back out of bed and throwing one of his sweaters on as well as his sweatpants.

You quietly and slowly open the door, thankful the door can’t be seen from that angle on the stream, and slowly drop to the floor.

Time to mission impossible this shit.

Using the sweater and pants, you’re able to softly glide on the floor that you’re very thankful was cleaned earlier today and Bam wasn’t here to ruin. You make your way behind the couch until you’re on the opposite side of his phone. He’s just off to the side, very clearly out of sight and you sneak up on the floor next to the couch, keeping yourself hidden.

“Baby?” You whisper it as quietly as you possibly can manage, but he doesn’t respond except with a soft whimper of a snore. He’s too adorable.

The sound of the tv going into sleep mode makes you jump.

You can’t wake him up without either making noise or him saying your name when he wakes. So you sneak away from him again, creeping directly behind his phone and reaching around, trying to keep your finger out of sight as you tap where you're sure the end live button is located. You stay sitting behind the camera, grabbing your phone and checking if the live is off, and thank god it is.

You stand up, blowing out the candle and taking it to the kitchen to set it somewhere safe. You turn off the galaxy light and make your way back to your tired and dumb boyfriend, crawling on top of him.

“Jungkoooookie. Baby. Wake up, dumb dumb.”

He groans in annoyance, and as suspected, the first thing he says is your name.

“Y/n? I’m live right now. You can’t be out here.” He whines, but his hands find their home on your thighs, squeezing softly.

“I ended it, you goober. You fell asleep on camera. Snoring and everything.” You grin, cradling his face in one hand and kissing his nose. “Come on, let’s get you to a real bed.”

“Here’s good.” He says, pulling you down to him and flipping you both on your sides.

“Nuh-uh. To the bed, mister. You’ll thank me in the morning.” You reach out, patting his butt and laughing when he bucks his hips once towards yours. “Not that either. Let’s go.”

You climb out of his grip, pulling him off the couch and grabbing his phone, leading him to the bedroom. You quickly remove your stuff and he quite literally flips over onto the bed while you plug his phone into your charger.

You have to maneuver him to get under the blankets, doing so yourself when he’s finally in bed, getting comfortable when a giant tattooed arm reaches around your waist, dragging you to have your back against his chest.

“Goodnight, jagi.” A small kiss on your temple.

“Goodnight, dumb boy.” Your free hand wraps around the hand on your waist and you both fall asleep.

He’s gonna be in so much trouble when he wakes up.

Booga Booga I'm tired

#Jeon Jungkook #Jungkook x reader #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook drabble #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk drabble #kelly posts #kelly writes #drabble requests

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industrations · 4 months

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okay but imagine sirius and lily getting matching butterfly cuts cuz i think they absolutely would

Stop they’d be so cute ugh. I had this headcanon i’m pretty sure i talked to fen about. Where the girls would set up a little hair cutting station and they would make the marauders come by one by one to fix their hair.

Like remus would hate it but he would come because he’d do it for lily and his mullet is out of control

Sirius LOVES going, he likes to be pampered and lily is the only one he trusts with his luscious locks. Plus marls does his nails for him

Now JAMES. James my boy his hair is untamable. He leaves there looking sleep but within half an hour its exploded again. BUT james 100% comes for the juicy gossip. Like they’ll be spilling all the tea and he’ll go "JESSICA SAID WHAT TO HER?!" (He doesn’t even know her) but he’s LIVING for the drama

Peter is just one of those people that immediatly falls asleep when u touch his hair. He goes in and leaves with fresh hair and neck pain bc he slept at an awkward angle

#anyway #this has become a whole headcanon #ask box

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arospecbandgeek · 1 month

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The sillies have consumed me.

Give me your BlaireCrash + FlameBomb Hcs, and DONT hold back.

I haven't even posted abt FlameBomb yet, I guess your Hcs will be the first.

Take a spinning Ramsey as Payment :3333

“don’t hold back” “alr” writes a whole fucking essay worth at 2am

tw: SA, Abuse, Eating Disorders

Blairecrash + Flamebomb HCs

Blairecrash (Blaire x Fred)

The two met through tutoring. Blaire was failing history. Fred wanted to make some extra money.

Eventually some of the side talk turned into actual conversation, befriending each other.

Fred caught feelings first. Blaire was completely oblivious to this.

The two actually got together through a drunken confession. Fred picked up Blaire after she went to a bad party and was too intoxicated to drive.

He even carried her to the front door. Until she confessed. Then Fred dropped her in the grass out of shock.

Fred will make fun of his girlfriend for being “short” even though it’s only by a couple inches.

In reverse, Blaire will make fun of Fred for being less athletic than her.

Fred is teaching Blaire how to draw.

Blaire spoils Fred. A lot. Many of their dates are just shopping sprees.

Fred sucks at dancing. During homecoming, he was completely embarrassing. Blaire would roll her eyes and keep going anyway.

Would 100% fit that “He asked for no pickles!” meme.

Blaire has an entire crying fit whenever the dog dies in movies. No matter how many times Fred has to explain it’s just fiction, she’ll cry even harder.

Blaire’s favorite thing ever is My Little Pony. Any and all generations (Except the 5th one, ew). She keeps this a complete secret. No one knows except for Fred (who probably found out by opening one of her closets and seeing 300 toys)

She feels welcome to talk about My Little Pony, and even wake up early to watch reruns or play with some of the toys.

Fred doesn’t judge her for it. Finds it a bit weird, but loves her enough to go along with it.

Angst

Tanner McCroy is an abusive ex boyfriend of Blaire’s.

She was sextorted by him for a year or so. Blaire essentially did anything he wanted.

After Tanner got “bored” of her, they broke up and she was finally able to find someone else.

When Fred realized what happened, it made him angry. A type of angry that he’d never felt up until that day.

So angry that he got into his first school fight for it, punching Tanner square in the jaw.

The effects of Tanner never fully went away. Blaire developed PTSD from the events.

Fred wanted to do something, but beating up Tanner over and over again wasn’t going to fix the bottom line.

The only thing he could really do was be there to support her. No matter what.

Flamebomb (Flamethrower x Valeri)

less bc i don’t know val like that and i don’t want to get it wrong 😭

Val is a night owl and Flame is an early bird (Due to his practices being so early in the morning). This causes the following to happen:

On Friday nights, Flame will tend to fall asleep doing anything extraneous/ comfy past 1am. This tends to happen during cuddling. Val finds that adorable.

Speaking of cuddling, sometimes Flame plain sleeps on top of his girlfriend. On accident. Not in a cute cuddly way, but taking up half the bed type of way. Val refuses to move, making productive things more difficult. For example her trying to type on her phone would produce gibberish.

They go on mini crime sprees as dates sometimes. The occasional fire starts.

Like Blairecrash, they sometimes also wake up early to watch Saturday Morning Cartoons and rather cereal in bed, albeit different ones.

Angst

Tanner was also an ex of Val. The situation didn’t get as far as Blaire’s, but Val was SA’d.

Flame feels similar about Tanner as Fred does.

When Flamethrower witnessed Valeri’s bulimia first hand, his heart dropped into his stomach.

He tried to stay calm when confronting her about it, staying completely passive and not blaming her for anything. After a couple minutes of her being out of view he completely shut down.

Flame wished she didn’t have to suffer like that. That he could just snap his fingers and make her healthy again. That she’d just be okay. But things didn’t work like that. Things were much more complicated.

Bonus - Double Date HCs

These mostly get planned by Fred and Flame since they’re closer.

Despite being somewhat the opposite of each other, Blaire and Val get along very well.

Their first double date was to a laser tag game.

Everyone got really competitive.

For extra competition, Fred and Flame were on one team, and Blaire and Val were on another.

Fred is actually really good at laser tag, causing Blaire to get targeted and shot multiple times. Because of that, Blaire “swore revenge” on him.

That essentially just means stealing the food off his plate later on.

^ Val actual ended up doing this to Flame. He got flustered and this was all he could think about for the rest of the day.

After, they went to go pick up something to eat.

It took a million years for them to figure something out since no one was craving anything but was also picky of where they wanted to eat.

They ended up choosing a fast food joint. (Taiga Country’s In & Out equivalent)

Blaire ate half of Fred’s fries.

Unrelated to this, I’d like to think they went on another date where Val blew something up. She would go:

“Whoopsies! Well, anyways….”

And then Blaire would stare at the fire like this

#i have some prom hcs but that’s a whole can of worms i’m not prepared to open #epithet erased #ee #epithet erased au #fred donaldson #epithet erased fred #epithet erased flamethrower #blaire katchadorian (arospecbandgeek)#valeri potage (sadsoftserve)#bandgeek oc #bandgeek writings

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greenorangevioletgrass · 2 years

Note

i’m almost scared to ask because this song kills me but i just need to read this fic for blurb week- chemtrails by lizzy mcalpine?

bro i gotta admit... this is killing me too. i cried basically the whole time im writing this, but i hope you like it bc im pretty happy with how it turned out. also! the music here is extra special bc i sang and played it myself <333

warnings: fluff, grief, this is very goose and rooster-centric, im just a big ball of mush guys <3

***

“Man, I forgot how nice it is out here.” Rooster leans back, hands propping himself up as he sits cross-legged on the fresh green grass. The clear blue sky sprawling over his head. Maybe it’s the peace and quiet, maybe it's the fresh air, but this is one of the few places where he can actually…

Breathe.

“We’re nearly packed up now. Found this nice place in San Clemente with a nice deck out, maybe even a fire pit —you’re gonna love it,” he chuckles, resigning with the fact that he’s excited about the stereotypically dad stuff now, like decks and barbecues.

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a drive to North Island, but we wanted a place somewhere in between there and LA.” It was an extensive discussion to say the least. You work in completely different fields with equally grueling and unusual hours —if not days, or weeks, or months. “I thought maybe we should keep our own places, so she can be close to her work and I can be near base, but… I don’t think I’d want it any other way?”

He’s already away from you so much. What’s an extra hour-and-a-half drive if it means he can crawl into bed and fall asleep in your arms? He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Not when it comes to you.

“She’s great, by the way,” he perks up immediately at the thought of you. “She does these musicals that Mom liked, and actions and all these cool stuff —I’ve even taken her flying for one of her movies. She’s, uh…”

How does he even begin to describe you? How you put all your might into your work —whether it’s Top Gun or a romance with one other actor and a piano— without any pretense, emotions running high and mind going a mile a minute at work —a delicate art of letting go and reigning it back in—, and then come home and just be… human with him.

Kind, caring, funny, imperfect, human.

“She’s pretty badass,” he smiles a little. His hand picks at the grass under his palm, suddenly nervous about what he’s about to say next. “I think she might be it.”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. For celebration, having made a very big, grownup step in his life? For comfort, because he doesn’t admit it to anyone (not even to himself) but he’s so scared he’s nowhere near grown enough to do this? Maybe for reassurance, because he so wants it to be true.

The earth below him is warm. Steady. The grass layers as a soft place for his hands to land. For his body to ground. White clouds paint the sky in an array of lines. A gentle breeze sweeps across his face, and the trees nearby whisper in rustles, and Rooster swears he almost hears it.

And so he asks.

“Talk to me, Dad.”

******

His childhood home, a modest two-bedroom with white-paneled front, sits on a quiet street in the suburbs of Virginia Beach. The maple tree out front has cuts and carvings on its trunk from when Rooster got into throwing knives (a hobby his mom had an ulcer over), and a broken branch from when he installed a makeshift swing and tried to get himself and two other friends swinging on it back in 8th grade. He hears the piano playing as he walks up the steps —the old, secondhand upright that’s a little out of tune now.

The sight he finds upon opening the door isn’t surprising —you sat on the bench, fingers working the piano keys, phone propped on the music stand— but his heart catches anyway.

“Still think we should keep it?” he pats the flat surface on the top, leaving his keys and his sunglasses there.

“Oh, definitely. This baby…” you thoughtfully stroke the lacquered wood finish, “She’s a gem. Nothing a little tuning can’t fix.”

He kisses the top of your head and sits next to you. Both of you know there’s nothing special about this piano in particular. Not when it comes to its sound or feel or anything taken into consideration for an instrument.

It just happens to be his dad’s first (and only) big purchase for the house.

“Hey, uh…” you pipe up gingerly, “I wrote something for you. May I…?”

You may be a lot of things, but shy isn’t one of them. At least not with him. He just throws you a funny look. “Babe, of course. What—”

“Okay.” With that you shift into a straighter position, fingers hovering just above the ivories. You’re quiet —hesitant, almost— before you play the first line. Pressing just one key at a time.

“I see chemtrails in the sky, but I don’t see the plane.”

Rooster’s breath catches in his throat.

“I know the feeling, but I don’t know the name.”

A simple melody, floating like a question, and he doesn’t understand how you could explain it before than he himself does.

“I still play with my food, and then I… throw it away.”

An admission so simple, it almost sounds childlike. You pause for a moment, and he squeezes your knee in reassurance. For you and for himself.

“It’s so hard to believe I had to grow up this way.”

The piano picks up, a simple sustained pattern, and he can hear you try to keep the emotions in your voice at bay. A valiant effort that even he fails to do at the moment.

I moved out and I made some new friends

Sometimes when I shout it feels like no one hears it

And there are some days when I that somewhere you’re watching

As I grow up without you

I miss it, I miss you.

Rooster collapses his head on your shoulder, and kisses you there in thanks. For understanding. For seeing right through him and communicating it in the exact way that he would understand.

For letting him know that his dad’s listening.

The childhood home, now bare —save for stacks of moving boxes and an old upright piano in one corner of the living room— sits quietly in the suburbs of Virginia Beach. The boy who grew up there is taller now. Older. Smarter, wiser —or so he hopes. A spitting image of his father —and yet, everything he wasn’t.

Angrier. Older. Carrying a bigger chip on his shoulder.

And yet… maybe, hopefully, he’ll hold up just fine.

“Are you okay?” your hand slips into his, so easily and effortlessly that it just feels like it’s where it should be.

“Yeah,” he answers, heady and dazed. He brings up your intertwined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss there. “I love you so much, you know that?”

“I think I might’ve had a clue or two?” your voice, bright and laced with humor, rings almost out of place in the solemn stillness of this house. This moment.

But it’s not. It falls perfectly in place as life breathes back in, a familiar little laughter shared between the two of you. Warmth in the face of grief and hurt and loss.

He straightens up and takes a good look at you. He’s not sure why, but at the moment, it feels right. And as it falls out of his lips, he doesn’t feel an ounce of regret.

“Will you marry me?”

And he’s not sure whether he should be more surprised by his question, or the fact that you answer so easily, so surely, so matter-of-factly. “Roo… Of course.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“I haven’t even got a ring yet.”

“That’s fine. We can always get it later.”

“I’ll get it, not you,” he corrects firmly, and it makes you laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear, and he finally pulls you in for a proper kiss. It’s not planned, it’s far from perfect, but he wouldn’t ever have it any other way.

#the actress & the aviator #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x actress!reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster imagine #rooster x reader #rooster x actress!reader #ava writes

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heartkyeom · 2 years

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i'm having dino brainrot, ngl

honestly i need to calm down, bc i can't stop thinking about him... but then again, if you can write a sort of fluffy smut situation w/ him then i wouldn't mind. i just need something very soft and cute

something soft + sweet coming right up- thank you for requesting! <3 this is gonna be more of a drabble instead of a proper written thing but hopefully you still like it! dino brain rot is so fun he’s the sweetest 🥲💖

tagging some people that I thought would enjoy this too @mangogyu @thetigeragenda @lavenderautumnx @aurumness

—

it’s suddenly very hot out of nowhere where I live so I’m picturing both of you home during a heatwave, your air conditioner is broken and both of you are kinda miserable.

the maintenance at your apartment can’t come by to fix it until tomorrow so you’re trying to make do with all the random fans you can find around your place, but it’s still not enough obviously- you’re cuddling on your bed to cope, minimal clothing on to reduce heat.

your head is resting in his lap and you’re whining so much like why is it so hot !!! and chan is just playing with your hands, kissing them and just doting on you so much like “i’m sorry sweetheart, I wish I could do more to help” :( but you’re like mmm.. actually yes? you can do more! you ask him to eat you out and he’s like “wouldn’t that just make you more hot ??” you reason with him, telling him if you’re gonna be hot you might as well be having sex.

he laughs bc you’re very silly but he’s very enamored with you so he’ll do anything you ask him to do no matter what! he helps you take your shorts and underwear off, tapping your thigh so you can open your legs. you rush to set up a fan towards his face so he’s not too hot down there and he’s laughing so much, he’s basically cackling like you’re always making these funny moves during sex that he can’t help but love </3

he’s so slow and soft with you, mostly because it’s so hot that he doesn’t want both of you to overheat. the kisses down your thighs, his hands caressing your legs, a sweet lick across your folds, it’s all so considerate and intentional. he knows he can get you to cum pretty quickly, but he wants you to really feel him this time.

you feel his head trying to dive into you even more, he’s practically pushing himself further into you with these deep kisses and movements with his tongue. you run your fingers through his hair slowly as a sweet encouragement and he seems to respond by giving you a soft squeeze on the thigh with his hand. when you feel your orgasm building up, you find his hand again and your fingers intertwine. your orgasm hits soon after, your quiet moans crescendoing to a loud moan. he stays down there for a bit just peppering kisses all over, it makes you giggle and he’s just grinning up at you bc he’s just so obsessed with you. he puts the fan back up on you instead and you both decide to nap the afternoon away, you half naked and him shirtless since he feels slightly more comfortable sleeping that way. his head nestled on you this time with legs tangled between yours with you slowly rubbing his cheek until you’re both fast asleep <3333 waaaa so sweet

#this was so cute I want more requests <3 #dino fluff #dino smut #dino imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #lee chan fluff #lee chan smut #lee chan scenarios #heartkyeom #anon request

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the-s-exy-squad · 10 months

Text

I have so many headcanons about all for the game and the parts of everyone’s lives that weren’t discussed in depth. Also a few oc/canon character interactions yk. (Another post bc I am not adding it to this today)

To start off, things about canon characters.

I don’t think the entire reason Neil stayed was bc Andrew and Exy. I think he decided at some point whether it be subconsciously or not that even if it results in death, he wanted to help the people who treated him the best. He wanted to make sure that they were better so that he’d have the comfort of knowing that in his last moments when his dad finally caught up to him. He was the foxes team captain and lead most of the practices until he left palmetto and got signed to a pro team with Andrew. They lived together and everything.

Nicky still have spurts of depressive episodes around thanksgiving for sure and during random times bc he feels guilty. Andrew wouldn’t have been there if he didn’t ask Neil to get him to go. Andrew snaps at him once about how it isn’t his fault and he didn’t hand him on a silver plater to drake and that even though he wanted him to go, it wasn’t like he KNEW. Which would also mark the first time Andrew openly talks about the shit drake did to him. He eventually goes back to Germany but makes sure to stay in contact with everyone so he doesn’t miss them too much and can make sure they’re staying out of trouble.

Andrew gets better. He still struggles with his feeling and emotional control but it’s gotten to where he knows his limits and the little tells that his body gives him in regards to what he needs to do to calm down. Mostly includes alone time with Neil and Neil touching his shoulders or hair. I also like to believe that one day he forces himself to budge on his touch boundaries. They start off small like one of Neil’s hands on his arm and when he gains a positive association (Neil) with that touch they do another. I also like to think that he goes back to criminal Justice and gets a career as a social services worker or juvenile court lawyer. He wouldn’t want any kid to get some shitty ruling like he had with the meds and he’d be trying everything he can to ensure it doesn’t go that way bc fuck he knows those meds didn’t do shit but make him find stupid shit funny.

Kevin goes to pro obviously and that’s his entire life. He gets traded to a team and agrees to go because it’s the same city Aaron is a doctor in. He missed his college team and despite how he disregarded their well-being over exy, he hopes they’re doing good. He and Neil still stay in contact and occasionally taunt each other on social media that the fans go WILD for. Andrew rarely pops in with some embarrassingly clumsy thing Kevin did in college or a picture of him half asleep during a practice HE scheduled and the fans eat it up.

Aaron leaves the state and goes to a city that was hiring for doctors. During his intern/probationary period, he would work 3- 12 hour shifts a week and usually pick some up as well because he didn’t like having entirely empty days. When Kevin moved to that city to play exy Asron debated letting him stay in his apartment bc he’d have social interaction and he closer to someone on the team again. I read in a fic once and I absolutely love this idea: Neil is still working on fixing their relationship by making them have calls. I edited it a little to be at least 10 minutes once a week instead of however long once a month.

I think Matt would (since he majored in business administration) just go get a job at some big corporate business of some sort. He’d be the funny work friend guy and a lot of people would ask questions about college and how he and the team get during the whole thing with the ravens to which he’d laugh and say something light hearted about the situation. Even though they asked, they still treated him great and never brought up his life before palmetto.

Renee on god I love this so much. Since she’s adopted, I think she’d start a summer camp for kids in foster care and adopted kids so they didn’t feel alone. I feel like it would be the same way a Christian summer camp is but that wouldn’t be the priority at all. She’d mention it a few times as camp Dean and they’d pray before meals (if kids didn’t want to partake that was entirely fine), but the main thing for the camp is to be able to feel less alone and gain some friendships through exy and religion just like she was. I love this idea sm and it is entirely based off a camp I went to when my dad got full custody of me that was entirely for kids in bad homes or in distaste/was in distaste and adopted.

I think Dan starts her own little league exy team and would take the team to the camp. I just don’t see her slipping out on letting her team go to a camp that’s p much CENTERED around Exy but also super fun and nice and also missing out of her friends.

I believe Allison would also work at camp with Renee bc she thinks that if there’s support at a younger age, kids won’t turn to drugs. When the camp isn’t open, She runs a non profit organization for helping families with struggling kids to work through finding ways to support them. (She would very clearly state she is not a psychologist but she does have a thing for helping people see things through their kids eyes and emotions) she runs a small fashion and clothes/accessories business that she uses for funding the non profit that allows for more people to have a chance at getting assistance through her or other programs. A lot of the kids she works with through her non profit go to Renee’s camp since she can send a majority of them through her business profit. The ones she doesn’t send have stated their stance on it and would rather not go. (Usually it was for it being too overstimulated and/or anxiety about being away from home or with a bunch of strangers).

I DEFINITELY want to believe that since Exy is one of the main topics of this camp, Kevin, Neil and the rest of team go visit for a few summers when they can. Matt would even save up his vacation days so he could go. It’s like a annual reunion with the team (Nicky would call and be on call with them every second he isn’t working or something if he can’t go back to the states to actually be there). All the kids that knew of exy previously would be jaw dropped that the entire team that beat the ravens were standing in front of them.

As for Seth, I think he didn’t cross over yk. I think he decided to stick it out until his found family was happy so he can say he’s seen them happy before he goes to the after life. I think he’s been with them since his death and the beginning broke him. Seeing Allison miserable and so broken. I guess he just wanted closure on their closure. Seeing everyone together and smiling as they played Exy with kids left him feeling genuine joy her never thought he would. They were still foxes, the disfunctional, and emotionally stunted college kids that he knew, but they were happy.

This doesn’t really fit into the the previously stated ones but I think when his old teammates going to interviews he fucks around behind them bc cmon. He would. He’s dead nobody’s gonna see him 😂 and always adds in his own two sense about the situation. He’s also joked several times about his death bc what’s gonna happen? Ghost therapy?

#yes these were thought abt for MONTHS #I think Neil and Andrew would also brin King and Sir as esa/mascots for the camp #I refuse to accept anything that counters these in canon as canon #aftg headcanons #After canon aftg #aftg #aftg foxes

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likesunsetorange · 4 months

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her falling asleep on him (in the car? him carrying her up is so good… but also them watching a movie together and he keeps trying to tell her to go to bed bc her head in jerking up and down but she refuses and eventually just knocks out)

all to say him pulling her ribbon out of her hair so she doesn’t sleep in it and wake up with a sore head (something he has experience of doing with his bun) 🤓

i hc mikasa as someone who loves to sleep (if you’ve read dol that girl sleeps like half of the fic LOL) so i can def see her being so stubborn about it if they’re watching a movie!!! she swears she’s not tired but her face is literally jerking forward and eren just stops trying to get her to go to bed bc he’s gonna lose the argument. but she falls asleep on him and he carries her to her room and her hairs all messed up so he fixes it for her and takes out her ribbon and places it neatly with all her others

but also him carrying her upstairs from the car would be cute bc she’d probably wake up halfway and try to tell him she can just walk but he’s like “nah it’s fine go back to sleep” (they make me wanna 🔪)

#bodyguard au #asks

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whumpupthejam · 1 year

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Running For It - pt. 1

// A/N: If you saw this fic the first time I posted it, no you didn’t lol. It needed... fixing. It...wasn’t right. Lol. Anyway, yada-yada, here’s the Marcus boy, back again as I promised! I’m planning three parts to this currently, and parts 2 & 3 are already underway. I also have a few Other Things up my sleeve when it comes to this lil story-verse. I just really want to write for all these guys again, and I had a surprise burst of inspiration, so we’re running with it, bc that’s what you do, right? Thanks for reading, you don’t know what it means to me. :) //

Marcus’s stomach churns with dread. Half his instincts tell him to just go back downstairs--not to try anything stupid. If the Man catches him, he knows he’ll be better off dead than facing whatever he’ll put him through. But the other half of him whirs with hope and excitement. If he stays where he is--just to, what, play safe?--he might never get another chance like this.

If he stays, he’d rather be dead anyway.

He steps carefully. There are a few chairs and a coffee table he has to maneuver around as he makes his way through the living room, silent as a mouse.

He struggles to even out his breaths, but it’s difficult when he’s still in so much pain. Every breath in and out aggravates the wounds he acquired in this afternoon’s session. It’s a miracle he’s even upright.

Evidently, the Man assumed he’d be too broken down to even move for the rest of the night. Either that, or he simply forgot to lock the door behind him, in some bizarre lapse of character. And yet, he had left it unlocked. Marcus had listened for the clank of the bolt, straining his ears as he always did--hoping against hope. But it had never come. And when he’d forced himself to crawl over to the door, using the handle to drag himself up, it had opened for him.

After that, it was only a game of waiting. Of staying quiet and sitting tight until enough time had passed that Marcus was willing to take the plunge in hopes that it was nighttime and the Man had fallen asleep. And when he’d reached the end of the bleak hallway and climbed the stairs, pushing the door open silently at the top, he’d seen he was right.

The house is dark, the only sounds are those of a softly ticking clock, and the structure itself moaning and whining as the wind pushes it about.

When he reaches the entryway of the house, he stands for a couple moments, staring at the door, drawing shuddering breaths and thinking. He’ll have to get this exactly right the first time. He needs to be smart. He draws the curtain aside from the big front window and peers out. The moonlight is gentle on his eyes and on his skin as it washes him. Everything outside is outlined sharply in shadow, and the pane of the window is cold, a halo of fog forming around his fingertip as he touches it. Across the street, there are some thick woods. He can see only one house nearby, but in the distance, he sees that the little road the two houses are on connects to a bigger road. Where that leads, how far it is to the nearest town, he’s not sure.

His eyes narrow on the car parked in the driveway.

Silently, he creeps back into the rest of the house, to the kitchen this time.

He glances around, not wanting to move too much. The floor is made up of wide slats of wood, and he doesn’t trust it not to creak at the worst possible moment. In the kitchen, there are only normal things. A kettle on the stovetop, a tea canister not far away. Nestled into the corner are a few cookbooks, with many tattered sticky notes pressed between the pages. There’s a butcher’s block with a full set of knives. Pans hanging on the wall. Orange oven mitts on the counter. A slowly dripping faucet. Potted plants in the window. There’s even a small circle display case with what look like brownies inside. It even looks like some have been eaten. On the fridge, hanging by a magnet, there’s the beginnings of a grocery list: milk, and fabric softener.

He lets out a low breath. This could be anyone’s home. Any normal person might have collected these things and arranged them in a way that made them happy.

His eye snags at last on a bit of metal glinting in the pale light from the kitchen window. A keyring hangs by the back door. Bingo.

Just to the left of the door is a set of stairs, and Marcus somehow knows they lead up to his bedroom. He imagines he can hear soft snores coming from up there and it briefly reminds him of his father. He hisses through his teeth and shakes that thought loose before it can linger.

The injuries on his front and back pulse with heat as he takes a slow step into the kitchen. Nothing. Silence. He takes another, and it’s the same. He eyes the keyring across the room. He just needs to reach those keys.

His weight shifts and the floorboard suddenly pops loudly beneath his foot, freezing him on the spot. Any heat disappears from his body, his senses flipping into overdrive as he listens carefully.

The clock tick-tick-ticks from the living room. The wind moans against the windows of the house. The only other sound he can hear is a fly buzzing against the kitchen window, desperate to get through the glass. Stupid thing. He has an idiotic feeling of sympathy for it.

Marcus lets his shoulders relax and is preparing to take another step toward the keys when he hears a creak from upstairs.

A single thought is not spared as he spins on his heel, tearing back toward the front door. He would’ve gone for the back door since it was closer, but he doesn’t know what’s out there. At least he’s seen what’s in the front.

“Fuck!” He swears as his thigh slams hard into a chair on his mad scramble through the living room. He doesn’t let it slow him.

He hits the front door hard, fumbling to unlock it. Suddenly, his memory is jogged and he’s thrown back to that night that seems so long ago now, when the Man first took him. He’d been shaking, terrified as he grappled with his keys and groceries. That night definitely did not end in his favor.

The deadbolt unlatches as heavy footsteps now fly down the stairs--Marcus makes a small panicked noise as he hears them reach the kitchen.

Please, please, oh god, let me get out. I have to get out!

“Shit, shit,” he groans, his fingers moving to the lock of the handle and twisting.

The door swings inward and then he throws open the screen door, letting it smack into the side of the house.

And he’s running.

He can’t remember ever running this hard, pumping his legs to the absolute limit. Everything burns. His feet slam into the asphalt, hurtling him toward the tree-line.

Faster. Faster. Faster! Oh, god, oh jesus fuck, is he behind me? Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look!

Marcus hears the screen door rattle against the side of the house again as he passes through the line of trees. He makes a split second decision, switching course and running as far as possible to the right, diving into the first ditch he comes to.

He lies down as far as he can, praying he won’t be visible unless the Man is right on top of him, and further praying that the man will assume he ran forward into the woods, not sharply to the right as he had.

Marcus ignores the way his skin feels like it’s being peeled off all over--ignores the aching chill that has steadily grown in his bones, and the cold sweat that covers him. There’s something wet tickling its way down his body, and he can’t determine whether it’s sweat or blood.

Oh fuck, oh Christ.

Oh please, please, please. Don’t let him find me. I can’t go back--

Not again, not again, not again!

He clasps his hands over the agonized noise that almost leaves his mouth when he hears the Man crash through the trees. He stops breathing and his lungs scream at him. He ignores that, too.

There’s a horrible, sickening moment when Marcus realizes the wind has stilled. The night’s silence stretches maliciously as the Man pauses to listen for him--not even offering the sounds of insects to cover Marcus’s breathing. Marcus bites his lips hard, squeezing himself to stop the shivers that quake through him. Any tiny movement, he fears, will alert the Man to his presence.

“Marcus?”

Marcus’s throat is tight. He can’t breathe, Jesus Christ!

“Well, well. Look at you. You’re not being a very good boy, now are you?” The Man takes a step.

He screams silently, biting down on his own flesh again. The Man’s heavy footsteps through the underbrush send hot skewers through Marcus’s chest.

“I’ll find you. You understand that, don’t you? There isn’t anywhere you can hide from me.”

Is-- is his voice closer now? Is he coming this way?

“Maaarcus,” he taunts. Sticks crack, leaves rustle. “Come out, come out, Little Cricket. You know you’ve been bad, but if you come out now, I might not crush you completely.” He pauses again. “I know you’re not feeling well,” he says sweetly, “So I’ll forgive you. I’ll even do all I can to make you feel better before I have to punish you--and I will have to punish you, you know. Come on,” he says, on the move again. Too close. “Make the right choice, Precious.”

Marcus shakes uncontrollably, doing everything in his power to silence the panicked breaths escaping around his palm. He presses his hand tight on his mouth, tasting dirt and sweat. Silent whimpers fill his throat and he almost chokes trying to swallow them down again.

The Man has to be almost on top of him now. This is it.

There’s a sudden noise further out in the woods. Marcus’s eyes widen. What the hell? It has to be some kind of animal, but it sounds just enough like a person making a run for it, that the Man takes off immediately in the direction of the noise without a word.

Those heavy footsteps fade into the distance. Marcus peeks over the top of the ditch, scouring the darkness for any sign of the Man’s return. He sees nothing.

He wastes no time. The Man has to realize soon that whatever he’s chasing isn’t Marcus and he’ll turn back. Marcus shoves down the pain once again. He can think about it later, he decides, as he pulls himself out of the ditch, forcing himself not to scream as the wounds are aggravated on his stomach. He stands slowly, requiring the help of a nearby branch. He only takes one second to breathe the pain back down before he forces himself to run again.

He doesn’t bother being quiet this time, rushing into the kitchen and snatching the keys from their hook. They’re cold in his fingers, and he’s practically buzzing as he runs back outside and hauls himself into the driver’s seat of the small car.

“Yeah!” He shouts, slamming his hands against the steering wheel as the car roars to life. He bursts into almost maniacal laughter as he backs recklessly down the driveway. Freedom is so close, Marcus can taste it--he can smell it.

There’s a flicker of movement in the rearview and Marcus twists around to see the Man hurtling toward him from the tree-line like a train. “Oh shit!” He spins the car in the right direction and slams the pedal down, tires screeching. The Man's hand makes brief contact with the trunk before the car peels away, leaving him in a cloud of dust and exhaust.

Marcus’s eyes are wide, and he feels his heartbeat in his mouth as he watches his captor grow smaller in the mirrors before disappearing completely. He’s not sure if the Man has another vehicle or not, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to care.

He. . . he got away. Can it be true? Can this moment be real?

A new wave of mad laughter bubbles in his throat. He does his best trying to stay on the road as his body is racked with it. In the end, it all went as perfectly as he could’ve hoped. He flicks his gaze up to the stars, tears forming as he thanks whoever’s up there for his escape.

The stars. When did he last see them? It almost hurts his eyes, how lovely they are. He’ll never take them for granted again. Not for as long as he lives.

He shakes himself, his groan long and low as the pain in his body reintroduces itself with a vengeance. But he can’t slow down yet. There’s too much to do.

He has to get to town, go to the police, report this son of a bitch, find a phone, call his friends. That thought alone almost does him in. The thought of hearing Caleb’s voice, or Jake’s. Or Elena’s. God, how he’s missed them all. They’re all that kept him sane these past weeks amidst the torture, humiliation, and misery.

Marcus turns onto a country road that he’s shocked to realize is familiar to him. He thinks this road is one he remembers leading to a small town he’s visited before but can’t recall the name of.

Holy shit. He laughs again, his head light. He knows where he is--sort of. Strangely enough, now that he’s out on the road, he can see that the Man didn’t take him far away at all--maybe only an hour or so away from home! Marcus has driven these roads before, on trips in and out of town.

He pushes the pedal down a bit further, his heart leaping with the anticipation of going home. Home! He almost doesn’t believe it.

Suddenly he’s startled by a high pitched chirp from behind him, and the interior of the car floods with red and blue light. The lights hurt his head, and he squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes as he slows to a stop on the side of the road. He watches a stocky man climb out of the police cruiser and approach. His stomach is uneasy again.

What now?

Taglist (I know it’s been actual eons, lol so if anyone wants to be added/removed, just let me know!): @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumphours

#Marcus Pearce oc #the Man oc #running for it #he's out there #poor Marcus boy #whump #my writing #captivity #implied torture #escape #failed escape #...maybe

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