#hes. so fucking good. i love him to death

[2hightocare]

DOWN BAD! 02

Synopsis: Despite undeniable chemistry, your guys’ relationship remains undefined, caught between playful teasing to deeper, unspoken longing.

Pairings: bad boy! jungkook x fem! reader

Genre: friends to lovers. college au. slowburn!

Warnings: angst, drug use, profanity, explicit content, talks about abusive home, fighting, arguing, screaming, crying, flashbacks, oc and jk are nineteen (freshmen’s in uni) mentions of death, daddy/mommy issues.

a/n: GOSHHHHHHH! pray for my girl yn😓😓 she’s down bad and she fr ain’t getting up. Left you guys on a cliffhanger hehe. enjoy🤍🤍

01! playlist

"What do you want?" He says, the smallest glint of amusement on his face has Jungkook's stomach recoiling.

"The regular," Jungkook found himself saying, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "I don't have opioids. My supplier said there was a shortage—want to try some new shit?" Yoongi says as he balances his cigarette on his lips, looking into a cabin.

"You've tried snow before, right?" He looks up at Jungkook who stands there. "No, I told you l don't fuck with that shit," Jungkook shakes his head, putting his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans.

"It's on me, just try it," Yoongi hands Jungkook a small bag filled with white powder. "Just snort it and let it do its thing, boy," Yoongi chuckles as he watches Jungkook look down at the drug in his palm. "It won't kill you if that's what you're thinking," he continues, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling.

Jungkook's mind immediately goes to you as the words leave Yoongi's mouth.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” you scream, your hands pulling on your hair as Jungkook watches silently—his heart breaking as he sees the tear fall from your eye. Whatever he wants to say stays stuck in his throat.

“I’ll be fine,” Jungkook finds himself muttering, a loud scoff heard from you as you hold his face in your hands, making him look up at you. “Tell me what’s wrong, fuck! I’ll fix it, just tell me,” you cry out. Jungkook watches as your legs give out and you drop to the floor in front of him.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, his heartbeat stops, and his mind goes blank. He wants to drop to his knees and beg you to not care and run away as far as you can from him, but the selfish part of him wants you to stay.

“Baby,” Jungkook slurs, the drugs in his system not letting him speak normally. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he apologizes again for the hundredth time in the past few days. Jungkook drops beside you, removing your hands from your face as another sob racks through your body. Your eyes red and puffy as tears continue to cascade down.

Jungkook knows nothing about love, but there’s you. The highlight of his days, the only reason he even wants to wake up in the morning.

He hates how he drags you along with him—in every bad decision he makes. Jungkook’s life hasn’t been easy; an abusive household isn’t something anybody wants, but he’s one of the unlucky ones who got it. He knows he’s a legal adult and can move out, but his feet stay glued inside that house because of her, his mom.

God. Jungkook has seen everything fucked up in the piece of shit he calls his house. The blows his mom would take from the man whose blood Jungkook carries. He wasn’t a father to him, that’s for sure. Screams and fighting are the only things his house is filled with. He never heard a bedtime story or got a good night hug. The hug was replaced by a hit on the cheek, jaw, face—or anywhere his dad could get his hands on.

Jungkook blames his dad for the way he is, and every time he looks at you, he imagines the what ifs. Jungkook has done everything he could do to push you away, but instead of leaving, you stayed. It’s scared the shit out of him.

He’s in love with you. Jungkook has never felt anything more in his life than his love for you—it’s almost pathetic how much you make him feel. If your love were a drug, Jungkook would do it every day, every hour, and every minute instead of all the shit he put in his system to forget.

Your love is pure and innocent—everything that Jungkook isn’t. Every time he looks at you, he’s afraid he will break you. He wishes you could realize how unfixable he is and leave—but instead, you’re on your knees begging for him to be better.

How badly did he want to be better; so he could be with you.

“Stop saying sorry and stop doing it, fuck,” you sob, your fist holding onto his hoodie—your knuckles turning white from fear that if you let him go, he’ll vanish.

“You’re better than this. I know you are,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, wetting his hoodie with your tears. “Please stop, you could die.” you beg desperately, like a child would.

“Shh,” he comforts, his hand rubbing your back as you sob into him, “I’m sorry.”

As Jungkook walked, the guilt inside him consumed him more and more. The hurt expression on your face after he disrespected you remained etched in his mind, feeling like someone was poking his heart with a needle with each step he took.

Similarly, the weight of the small bag in the pocket of his sweater sent a sense of panic through his body. He hadn’t planned on taking it, but the moment it was placed in his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to give it back. Instead, he bit his tongue and shoved it into his pocket.

His heart sank as an image flashed in his mind of what your reaction would be if you ever found out. With a shake of his head, he buried the thought deep within him before reaching the main door of his house.

Jungkook’s hand trembles as he holds onto the doorknob. He had nowhere else to go, it was either yours or this. He felt his throat close up as his mind went back to you, his heart screaming for you. To turn around and run back to you—like always, his safe space. The only place where he could let his guard down.

The aching sensation in his chest reminded him of the first time he told you about his dad. You were both seventeen—laying on the carpet of your room, staring up at the ceiling. The broken expression on your face after he confided in you made him feel worse than any hit he had ever taken.

“Did you seriously get into another fight?” you groaned as you examined his face, the purple and blue marks beginning to form twisting your stomach in knots. “Who was it this time?” you frowned, your hand reaching out to touch his bruised cheek.

“Didn’t fight anyone. I actually hit myself with the car door,” the lie flowed smoothly out of his mouth.

“A door?” You raised an eyebrow, not fully believing him. Jungkook had a tendency to throw the first punch after someone lightly touched him—he had more suspensions and run ins with the police than anyone could count. Every time you saw him, there was another bruise decorating his skin, always brushed off like it was no big deal.

“Who was it?” You tried again, your face turning to him.

Jungkook's eyes remained locked with the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. “I can’t tell you,” he mumbled softly into the darkness.

“Why not? Is it a secret?” You quipped, scooting closer to his side—your finger tracing his features as he let out a deep breath. “It’s a really big secret,” he hushed, to which you only nodded eagerly.

“I can keep a secret,” you smiled, your heart beating fast in your chest as you noticed the proximity between you two. You raised a pinky into the air. “Pinky promise,” you bit your lip anxiously, watching him interlock his pinky with yours. “Okay, now tell me.”

“My dad,” he said, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“What?” You stuttered out, hoping you had heard him wrong.

“My dad, he's abusive,” he restated. The color drained from your face, and Jungkook saw it.

Sadness written all over your face. Words didn’t come out when you opened your mouth; instead, an ugly cry replaced the words.

“That’s why I can’t stand someone’s hands on me,” Jungkook says, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to escape the pain in his heart. It felt as if he was being kicked and thrown.

“Fuck.. I always touch you,” you bit your lip, trying to contain your sobs. “Your touch is the only touch that doesn’t repulse me, baby. So if you plan on not touching me, don’t,” Jungkook quickly interjected, grabbing your hand and intertwining it with his.

Jungkook loved your touch; your fingers on his skin felt like heaven. It almost confused him how much he looked forward to it—sometimes he found himself initiating it. You were the only exception with such privilege; anyone else who laid a finger on him sent a sense of nausea and shivers down his body.

“I didn’t know. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Let me help you.. we can tell the police, he deserves to be in jail. Please,” you sobbed, placing your palm on his cheek.

“You think I don’t know he needs to go to jail? For all I know, he should be put on a electric chair,” Jungkook spat out, shoving your hand away from his face.

“And fuck. Yes, my mom knows. She fucking gets hit too,” he rambled, his chest heaving as he tried to look anywhere in your room that wasn’t you, and for the first time, you saw him break down.

As Jungkook crumbled down with a loud sob, his hands cover his face as his shoulders shake as he weeps, you wasted no time dropping to your knees and pulling him into you, whispering reassuring words in his ear.

"She doesn't leave," he cried. "I keep telling her he's going to kill her if she doesn't leave, but she stays." The cracks in his voice mirrored the cracks in your heart as you listened, feeling the weight of his pain, as the double meaning clicks in your head.

"And I can't leave. Who's going to protect her if I'm not there?" he sobbed quietly, his hands tightening around your waist. "I'm scared that if I leave for too long, I'll come back to a house with a dead body in it," he confessed, sending shivers down your spine.

"Baby," you cooed, tears streaming down your cheeks,

"we should tell the police. They'll help you. I promise."

But his response shattered your hopes.

"No," he croaked out, untangling himself from your embrace.

"Listen to me. If you even think about telling a policeman what I just told you, I swear to god yn, I will never fucking forgive you," Jungkook shook, his face contorted with pain and panic.

"I trust you enough to tell you, but I swear if you say anything about this to anyone, we're done. Whatever the fuck we have, it's done. I will never fucking forgive you."

Jungkook pushes the door open, and he’s met with silence. Without thinking twice, he rushes to his mom's room, slamming the door open to be met with her limp body on the bed.

His heart stops beating, and suddenly everything stops—his hand trembles as he makes his way to her. He nudges her once.

“Mom,” Jungkook calls, only to be met with silence.

“Mom,” he tries again. She stirs in her sleep.

“Jungkook?” She croaks, her voice hoarse as she peeks from her lying position. Jungkook's heart picks up again, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Mom, are you okay? What happened?” Jungkook asks, dropping beside her on the bed. His fingers move her dark hair off her face carefully, revealing a bruise on her cheek.

“He hit you again?” Jungkook lets out a growl, his fist tightening beside him.

“I made him mad. It’s not his fault,” she defends, almost automatically making Jungkook scoff. “Mom, that's not an excuse!” He grits his teeth.

“He isn’t a bad man, Jungkook. He's still your father,” she sighs, the look of tiredness clear on her face as she winces when she moves to her side. Jungkook watches dumbfounded.

“You know, you remind me of him,” she shakes out a laugh, the whole sentence feeling like a punch in the stomach for Jungkook. The more he tries to breathe, the more difficult it becomes. “He was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you—it’s like I’m seeing him. He is a good man underneath it all, Jungkook. You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” she continues, and every word feels like a hit in the gut.

“W-what do you mean.. I’m just like him?” Jungkook stutters, his throat drying up and the familiar feeling of tears picking up in his eyes have him clawing his nails into his palms.

“Do you think when I met your dad, he treated me wrong?” She finally locks eyes with Jungkook. The light in her eyes she once had is now gone, replaced with dull, tired eyes. “He was gentle with me, he was sweet, caring, he was everything to me. He’s still everything to me,” a tear rolls down her cheek, making Jungkook suck in a breath.

“What about me?” Jungkook's voice cracks, the knot in his throat tightening as he watches his mom shake her head.

“Am I not everything to you, Mom?” Another tear falls, followed by more.

“It’s more complicated than you think, Jungkook,” she sighs. Jungkook feels his heart crack into a million pieces as he watches the woman who brought him into this life discard him.

“He’s going to kill you one day,” Jungkook speaks, wiping the tears from his eyes before clearing his voice. “He’s going to kill you, and you’re going to let it happen.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” she whispers into the silence.

“He wouldn’t?” A shocked laugh leaves Jungkook's lips as he can’t believe what he just heard. “He fucking wouldn’t? He fucking hits you? Aren’t you fucking scared that one day he throws the wrong punch?” Jungkook shouts, anger taking over.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snaps. “I’m your mother, and you don’t get to fucking talk to me like that.”

“Well, you’re a shitty mother. A good mother would put their child first. The only reason I’m still here is because of you!” Jungkook snaps back, his frustration growing stronger as he watches his mom stay motionless.

“I keep coming back because I’m scared he’ll kill you. But apparently, you don’t give a fuck,” he breathes out, his hand tugging on his hair—feeling almost manic at the lack of his mother's reaction.

“Every hit he took on me, you blamed it on me. When all I did was try to protect you. But you always choose him. So fucking next time he comes in through those doors and has his way with you, don’t come running or yelling my name to come and save you,” Jungkook spits out before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

Jungkook's mind kept racing, never shutting up for a moment, allowing him to think. His brain was filled with repetitions of everything his mom just said. The words "he was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you-it's like I'm seeing him" kept getting repeated in his head over and over again without a break.

Screams of his mom asking for him to save her echoed in his brain, the weight of his guilt and the haunting memories that plagued his mind had Jungkook pulling out the small baggie from his sweater, moving to the small desk in his room.

Jungkook dropped the white powder on the surface, making a line. Without hesitation, Jungkook leaned over, pinching one of his nostrils before snorting.

A sharp burning, stinging sensation spread through Jungkook's nose as he sniffed, rubbing off the remaining powder.

Jungkook dropped onto his bed in a star position as he stared at the ceiling, the feeling of numbness taking over his body. His muscles relaxed as the drug entered his bloodstream, sending a sense of euphoria—a warm feeling spread throughout his body, making him groan in pleasure.

And for once, the voices finally stopped.

It was embarrassing how you found yourself looking for the man you were in love with every corner of the campus. You started with the lockers and hallways, peeking through every classroom, hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the boy who left you standing in your angel costume Saturday night.

You had debated on running after him; the guilt that weighed you down from the slap was intense. Your touch was supposed to be his only gateway, instead, you used it against him to hurt him the same way his dad does. As messed up as his words were, it didn’t compare.

“Have you seen Jungkook?” You ask, poking Dahlia on the shoulder. She turns to look at you, mouth filled with food as she nods without saying anything.

“You have?” Your eyebrow raises as she continues to nod eagerly.

“Y-yeah, he’s ou-outside, in the corner,” Dahlia finally says, swallowing her food. You throw a small ‘thank you’ and rush outside.

As you run to the corner where everybody meets up to smoke, you curse out loud as you trip on the crack of the pavement before changing your pace to walking instead.

Your eyes meet his in an instant as you pass the corner, the lit-up joint hanging from his lips. You look around to see Taehyung and Jimin with worried looks on their faces. As you walk closer to them, Jungkook passes the joint to his friend before crossing his arms in front of him, flexing his muscles. If you weren’t so mad at him, you would find it hot.

“What’s up, pretty,” Taehyung says, trying to break the awkward silence as he takes a hit off the joint before passing it to Jimin, who looks uncomfortable as hell.

“Hey,” you acknowledge them both, giving polite head nods before turning your attention to the boy in the middle, his eyes bloodshot red with a small grin decorating his handsome face.

“What’s so funny?” You snap, crossing your arms in front of you. A loud laugh slips out of his mouth, shocking the boys beside him. “Hi baby,” he says, his eyes dropping low as he moves closer to you. You push him away with a hand on his chest, making him pout.

“Rude,” he playfully scoffs, leaning back onto the wall and reaching for the blunt on Taehyung’s fingers as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“That’s enough,” you say, taking away the joint from Taehyung’s hand as Jungkook was about to reach for it.

“This is our cue to leave. Let’s go,” Taehyung hurries off, pulling on his blonde friends arm, before they both mutter something under their breaths as they disappear around the corner.

“Don’t throw that, it’s some good shit, and I just bought it,” Jungkook chuckles, reaching for it only for you to push him away.

“Alright then,” you pull the rolled-up paper up to your lips and take a drag. Jungkook's face drops, and suddenly nothing is funny. His hand immediately shoots up and yanks the joint out of your mouth before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jungkook roars, watching you cough loudly as white smoke rushes out of your mouth.

“Fuck, what were you thinking?” He panics, rubbing a hand over your back to coax your coughing fit. Your throat and chest burn as you continue to cough.

“Don’t ever do that shit again, do you hear me? It’s not good for you,” Jungkook sighs, his rough hand drawing circles down your back as you finally calm down.

“So, you agree it’s not good for you?” You say, your voice hoarse from all the coughing. “Let’s not do this right now, yn,” he pulls on your arm as he walks you to the parking lot. “You never want to do anything,” you yank your arm from his grip. Jungkook takes a deep breath, trying his best not to snap at you.

“Just get in the car, baby,” he continues, opening the passenger door for you. Instead, you push him off and slam the door shut.

“You’re high as fuck; you can’t drive, asshole,” you snap, throwing your arms in the air in anger. “And you’re not?” he clenches his teeth. “I took one hit,” you shove a finger in his face.

“Yeah, a big-ass one. Before you know it, you’ll be high, so get in the fucking car or I’ll put you in it myself,” he snaps. “You wouldn’t dare,” you spit out, and before you know it, your ass is in the air as he hauls you over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t?” Jungkook mutters under his breath as he opens the car door and sits you down on the seat, reaching for the seatbelt and strapping you in. “Where are you taking me?” You roll your eyes as he sits down beside you.

“To your fucking house,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot of the school and driving you home.

The whole car ride is filled with silence; neither of you decides to utter a word. The moment the car stops in front of your house, you hurriedly unbuckle your seatbelt and open your door before sprinting to your door, unlocking it, and disappearing inside. Jungkook almost screams into his hands, wanting to throw a whole tantrum in this car, but he decides otherwise.

With a loud sigh, he turns off the car, turns to the back seat, gets his sweater, and jumps out of the car. He takes the same route he always did when he showed up at your house, climbing himself over the picket fence before climbing the tree next to your window.

The window is opened as you sit on the ground of your room, your knees up to your chest. Jungkook throws his sweater in first before jumping in.

Then his heart dropped, your small hands hold the tiny bag that was in the pocket of his sweater that had fallen out.

“What’s this, Jungkook?” You voice out, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the wavering of your voice as you finally look up at him. His heart might just have been stabbed by your shocked expression, the betrayal and the pain etched in your expressions send a shooting pain in his heart.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking baby me! What the fuck is this?” You interrupt him, your hand shaking as you think of every possible drug that could be in the bag. Jungkook didn’t reply; the words suddenly died in his mouth.

“Is this a way of pushing me away?” You ask, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, mixing with your anger and heartbreak.

“Did something happen at home again? Why? Fuck, why?” You cry, a soul-crushing sob that comes out of you, which has Jungkook coming back to his senses. He feels like shit, and that word doesn’t even cover half of what he’s feeling.

“Please tell me why? I’ll do anything. Let me help you, just fucking stop doing this shit, baby.” You cry, pulling his body to yours, wrapping your arms around his waist, crying into his uniform.

“Use me, scream at me, tell me horrible shit if that helps. Just don’t ever touch any drugs, Jungkook. I don’t know what I would do if you died.” You whisper the last words as you sob into his arms, begging for him to stop. “I’m never leaving your side, so get that into your head. If this is your way of pushing me away, it won’t work.” You sob.

And that’s where everything clicks for Jungkook. His mind thinks back to his mom, “You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” and his heart drops to the ground. All the walls he took so long to build collapse. He was just like his dad—Jungkook wanted to say he wasn’t, but here he was, hurting you, making you sob into his arms, begging for him to change. The same thing his mom does anytime his father would get drunk.

“I’m not good for you,” Jungkook finally speaks, his hands cupping your face. “I’m not good for you.” He repeats, and you shake your head disapprovingly repeatedly. “Stop.” You cry, your tears wetting Jungkook's palms as he repeats the same thing over again.

“You deserve someone so much fucking better, baby,” Jungkook whispers, dropping his forehead to yours. “You deserve so much better than me. I can’t give you anything, baby, besides heartache and pain.” He continues as you repeat ‘no’ over and over again under your breath.

“Please don’t leave me,” you cry, as he untangles himself from you, pushing your hand away gently when you try to reach for him.

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t leave. Stay the night; we’ll talk about this in the morning.” That was the last thing Jungkook heard as he jumped out of the window and ran to his car, leaving his heart in the hands of the girl crying on the floor, praying for him to be safe.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jjk #bangtan #fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk fic #jeongguk smut #jeongguk #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jeon jungguk #bts fanfction #bts masterlist #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts smut #bts angst #bangtan fluff

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

My girlfriend requested this

Hazbin men trying the period simulator. Somewhat of a follow up to my period post so this is based on the reader having severe period pain due to PCOS/ENDO

Lucifer

The man is sweating before you even attach the simulator. He knows he fucked up. He only agreed to this because he loves you a lot.

He handles the first 3 levels ok. You tell him very few women experience that little pain and that usually 4-6 is the average.

Those levels make him tense. He's uncomfortable, but still pretty able to work and do normal things. 5 has him pausing to do deep breaths every now and then. (If this is the canon timeline where he birthed Charlie he compares it to bad kicks).

6-8 he's pretty much doubled over. If you tell him that's the level you experience, he will cry. Literally begs forgiveness since again, period and labor pain is technically his fault. He is so sorry. If he didn't have issues with his Dad before he does now because this is fucked up. God's fucked up for doing this.

He doesn't make it to 10, he's crying by level 9. This is labor levels of pain. He gets why all you do is sleep. Treats your period like a sacred ritual after that. Preps for weeks. He goes full Bible, sheltering you for the duration of it so you can have peace and quiet. Please never hook him up to this again.

If you wear it at anything from an 8-10 and tell him "It's close, but I've hurt worse" he's gonna sob and then try and fight his Old Man again. He'll settle for offering to have your bits removed for you.

Vox

Once again this man hates admitting he was wrong. And yeah he knows your periods are really bad, especially now he's witnessed it. But it's still a huge knowledge gap for him and he doesn’t really take the time to think about it.

He handles 1-5 well. He's mildly uncomfortable by 5, but thinks that if this is the average experience, then it's not such a big deal. Tell him the statistics on how many people with periods actually experience 6-8 because that's actually the majority, and he's just confused. How is the average pain level not the most common?

6-8 has him gritting his teeth and glitching, but he refuses to stop and keeps trying to work. Is starting to wonder how you went so long working with this level of pain without him noticing.

He makes it to 10, but by then, he's unable to move, clutching his abdomen and sparking and glitching. Tells you it feels like his entire insides are being squeezed. The fact that he can feel it in his groin. He's kind of afraid of period sex with you after that because of how much he felt it. And you said it's caused cramps from your ribs to your knees. He's like... genuinely scared of your period and pain tolerance.

He's going to snuggle the fuck out of you afterwards and apologize for not appreciating how much you still do for him when you're not feeling good. How he didn't see how hurt you were. He does a lot of research after that and not only does he spoil you by buying whatever you need for your periods and giving you time off, he looks into treatment options. Even if that means chopping the useless fucking things out. Sinners can't have kids anyway so who needs ovaries and a uterus?

He's more convinced you should just be rid of the damn things when you wear it and 8-10 is "Yeah, this is close, but it doesn't really cover how much of my body hurts".

Valentino

Is only doing this because he was dared to by Velvette. Or if this an au where he's trying to be a less toxic person. But really I think it's also to prove that you're all being dramatic. It's a perfectly normal body function and his employees are just trying to get out of work.

He gets all the way to 6 before he starts to realize he may have fucked up. Especially when it's explained that this is what most people experience.

By 10 he's gritting his teeth, chain smoking, clawing at things. He refuses to give in, but he can count on one hand the number of things in his entire life and death as a pimp and a whore that he's experienced that come close to this level of pain.

No one told him his dick was gonna hurt. Sitting hurts. Breathing hurts. He doesn't even try to eat. He won't ever admit to being wrong, but he does behave more leniently with his actors when they're on their periods.

If you put it on (and lets say he actually cares about you) and setting 8-10 is "Yeah, this an average day for my cramps. My bad days are like..5 or 6 levels worse" it's gonna rearrange his brain a little. He might be a little afraid of you and some of the other actors with periods because your pain tolerances are so high. It threatens his ability to control you and them. But on the other hand, that's kinda hot???

Alastor

Has never once doubted that people who experience periods undergo serious struggle and has nothing but respect for women (and trans people he just associates it with women more because of the time period and his mama) who work through it.

He is actually the one who heard about the simulator through Rosie and asks you to show him your experience. Just to better understand you. He knows you're the type to try and function through the pain (probably because society ingrained into you that your pain doesn't matter).

Initially, he wants to skip the lower levels and just have you set it to your pain level. You tell him that's a bad idea, and to be honest, you're not sure if this thing goes that high. He asks you to check and you set it to the highest setting and say, "It's pretty close. It's been worse, but this is a rough idea," he's a little frustrated but still tries it.

You agree to set it to 4 and tell him 4-6 is what most people report feeling. He acknowledges it, registers it as unpleasant, but otherwise is fully capable.

7-9 has his ears flat, his smile is more a snarl. This is uncomfortable. Not what he considers painful but certainly irritating. It makes sitting, stretching, and eating feel much more difficult.

10. There's static visble around him. His teeth grind. Actually painful. Not the worst pain he's experienced, but he hates it. He hates the way he feels it in his back and hips as he walks. He hates the way taking deep breaths (which for someone as dramatic as he is and with the transatlantic accent, breathing technique and posture is important) stings. He hates the way it causes his stomach to cramp and churn. He hates the ache in his thighs and groin that make sitting feel stiff and ackward. He can only picture how blood loss would make this worse. Tired, losing nutrients, the headaches, the increased moodiness. It's no wonder you sleep, so much, but he wonders how the Hell you sleep like this? He's snappy and short tempered because of the pain (and again he gets why you would be if you weren't sleeping so much).

How does this affect how he treats you?

Not much. He still expects you to know your body and your limits. He would never dare to presume otherwise. He still helps prepare whatever you need for your time of the month and still meal plans for you, though he perhaps finds ways to ensure you get all the iron and vitamins you need without cooking steak and other big, heavy meals, since he now understands how bad your stomach hurts.

The only really noticeable change is how much more protective of you he is. Your time of the month hits, and Alastor hates being more than a few moments from you. He growls, pins his ears, and his antlers grow when people get too close to you. He's more prone to letting you snuggle with him when you want, trying to comfort you.

Angel Dust

Another who volunteered. His girl besties insist he doesn't have to do this, he's got the pass. He still wants to do it though, for solidarity.

He also starts on 4 and handles it well. He handles all of the levels pretty well, even 10. By 7 it's obvious he's sore, maybe a bit more withdrawn, exhausted, trying not to move too much or eat too much. Just trying to find a comfortable way to exist. The sad problem is, Angel already has to do this after rough nights at Val's.

He's used to sitting being uncomfortable and aches in his groin and thighs, cramps in his stomach from muscles clenching constantly. 10 is the only level where he's visibly ill, hunched over, lower arms curled around his midsection protectively.

He and the girlies all curl up together and nap and chat and snack on easy to digest junk food and granola bars. He's the first one to say "I bet it's even worse for you gals, but I tried".

He gets it. He's one of the girls. Honestly, kind of becomes a favorite when the ladies have period problems. (If you're dating any of the others and Angel is openly your favorite after this it is gonna cause a lot of dramatic pouting, posturing, and tantrum throwing.)

Husk

I'm going full balls to the wall on Veteran Husk. This man has seen some shit and dealt with his fair share of pain. Like Angel he takes it the best, with very little outward reaction. He's used to stiffness and nausea. The pain in his crotch is a little off putting, but it could be worse.

He's more cautious how he moves, rests more, occasionally a cramp causes his ears to pin back or a small hiss. Overall he takes it like a champ.

Offers you endless amounts of supportive words for dealing with this as well as you do, for days on end. Also is deeply sorry you even have to put up with this shit. Offers all sorts of tips on how to do stretches that help with easing cramps and stiffness without pulling something. Tips of foods/protein drinks to keep on hand to make sure you're maximizing how much nutrition you get. Man's a whole ass survival guide.

He only offers advice if you ask, though. He's not mansplaining how to handle your own body. He genuinely wants to help you, and that's the best way he knows how.

When you're on your period and just want something soft and warm he doesn't even bitch about it, he just settles on top of you and purrs, offers a massage, maybe offers a sly grin and a "no man left behind" joke as he helps you through these dark times.

BONUS:

ADAM

Would only do this if you challenged him, he has to prove his masculinity. He is definitely nervous as fuck though because he's seen yours. You and Lute already forced him to sit through a whole PowerPoint on women's anatomy and shit. He remembers how shitty he was to Eve, even if hers were in comparison, not that bad, just scary and new.

You forcing him to learn about and acknowledge female health is making him scared of pussy. This isn't gonna help.

3 and 4 make him whiney. He's uncomfortable. His groin feels weird. This sucks. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS ISN'T EVEN THE AVERAGE?!"

By 5-7 he's actually on his knees, curled over his stomach. He tells you getting stabbed hurt less. This is making him re-evaluate his entire view on women (again he knows about trans people, but because of personal history equates periods to women. Wouldn't hate if a trans person had a period, it would just take his brain a second to process). He whines that you and Lute shouldn't be more badass than him.

"I thought men were supposed to be tougher and stronger. This pain tolerance horseshit is a lie. You guys suck."

He insists on going to 10 because quitting is for losers. He may actually throw up at 10 though. Every time the stupid simulators sends out a pulse and his stomach clenches, he groans. He's in the featal position, there are tears. One hand clenches his stomach the other is cupped around his groin. He's apologizing so much and he doesn't even remember what he's apologizing for. At one point its just "I'm sorry...oh fuck this...sorry about...ugh just...just men?! I guess. Fucking shit ass. Men suck. Women are...fucking great. Aces. You do this shit every month? For like 5 days....what the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck."

You feel a little bad, but Lute is definitely filming this. Afterwards, he tells you you're a badass and any person shit talking people for bitching about period pain (Not that a lot of Winners do, but ya know, obviously they let some questionable people into Heaven if Adam and Lute got by) he's gonna beat the shit out of them. Like "Do you even fucking know, bitch? They're literally so much fucking better than you. Absolute queens. You try doing literally anything when it feels like your dick is falling off and your insides are trying to claw outside your body!"

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel lucifer #vox x reader #hazbin hotel valentino #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel adam

[teddybeartoji]

how cute would satoru look while helping you dye your hair:((( he's soooo focused, trying to part your hair perfectly so he can dye it perfectly.

laughing behind your hand, he locks eyes with you through the mirror and your heart stutters just a little. he has the little brush in between his teeth and colorful blotches adorn his skin. his freckles are painted in your new color and you're really matching with him now. he splutters out a what when you keep quiet while just staring at him with hearts in your eyes.

"nothing." you shake your head, dismissing his question with a smile.

he furrows his brows so cutely that you have to surpress the need to tickle him to death. but then his eyes crinkle at the corners and he's grabbing the brush from his lips.

"am i doing good?"

it's a whisper. he's a little scared to fuck it up but he keeps the concern to himself. he's more than a little scared – he's terrified actually. he doesn't even want to imagine the look on your face if he did it wrong. you know he won't though. he's your perfect boy.

"you're doing so, so good."

pink floods his face in an overwhelming wave. he freezes. he looks like a cartoon character, who's just been hit with a cupid's arrow. his heart thumps in his chest, trying to break free from behind his ribs – it longs to be in your hands instead. another laugh tumbles from you, breaking his little love bubble. he watches you tilt your head back through the mirror before letting his eyes fall down to meet your gaze without any restrictions, without any barriers.

you're upside down and you look beautiful. there's hair dye on your forehead and even a smidge on your nose (but he swears that he doesn't know how that got there). he doesn't mind when you rest your head against his lower tummy, staining a few of his happy trail's hair with your color.

matching. matching. matching.

his hands rise to cradle your face and he's so gentle, he's so delicate. the strongest man and his precious beloved. his lips stretch into a loving smile; dimples appear on his flushed cheeks and you reach out to poke at one of them with your finger. skin to skin, you rest against him.

and then he bites your finger, making you squeal in surprise. but he doesn't let you pull away, not even an inch. his hands are steady on your cheeks, holding you to him as he laughs at your big lovesick eyes.

"apologize. right now."

demanding – you look like a cute little kitten in his eyes. "i tell you that you're doing good and this is how you repay me. wow."

he loves it when you roll your eyes at him, he loves it when you fakingly try to bite his head off. he doesn't waste any time in leaning down and pressing his lips to yours in a soft backwards kiss. he can feel the wet hair dye on his skin, he can feel you on his skin. your fingers crawl over the side of his face, over his warm ears and scratch at his prickly undercut. he tastes like bubblegum, almost overbearingly sweet; he tastes like unyielding adoration.

he giggles into your mouth like a schoolboy – you just make him so giddy and so happy and so excited, he can't help it. he pulls away just an inch before pressing another kiss to your lips. and another. and another. he never fails to bring out the most cheerful, the brightest laughs out of you – it's his job after all.

he hovers above your lips and you breathe him in. "am i actually doing okay?"

your eyes are closed and so are his. a sweet moment between lovers – he wants your praise, he wants your blind reassurance and you will give him just that without a second thought.

"you're perfect."

satoru's lips graze against yours one last time before pulling away. he does it just enough to get a good look at you – his sweetheart, his everything. he'd do anything for you and he hopes that you truly know it. he'd let the world burn and he's thinking about doing so while simply dyeing your hair. he's whipped. he's in love.

he presses another kiss on the top of your nose and then another to your forehead, mumbling an i love you inbetween the simple acts of affection. he needs you to feel it, to know it—

— but luckily, the way you're staring up at him tells him that you do and he couldn't be any happier.

#SOFT!SATORUUUUUU MY BABY BOYYYYY #forgot to put tags hello #oops #angel boy #gojo #gojo fluff #wtf mickey can write #gojo drabble #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk drabble #bf!gojo #gojo satoru drabble #gojo satoru x you #jjk gojo

[eupheme]

— clean slate [into the fire, part v]

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, canon-typical descriptive violence and death, references to blood/gore, anti-ghoul sentiments, physical violence against reader, hurt/comfort, kissing

a/n: please mind the tags! this chapter got twice as long as the others (maybe I didn't want it to end, haha!) and there was a good break, so to keep things consistent, I am splitting it in half! both are being posted today though, so you don't have to wait 💖

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game. But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

(or - they took something from the Ghoul, and he’s here to collect)

The afternoon edges into night, and he tells himself each hour is the last one he'll think about you.

The Ghoul had waited for you to look back. Stock-still in the swirling dust that bit at his skin. A white-knuckled grip around the thick coil of rope. 

You hadn’t. 

His hand still reaches to scrubs at his neck, his jaw. To wipe you away or rub you in, he’s not sure. 

It doesn't fucking matter. 

He's stuck around a long time. Enough to see generations of families grow old and then die. The last few weeks are no more than a blip, in his far too-long life.

Hell - he's spent more time underground, than with you. 

But something prickles at him. Lingering like a bad trip, leaving his teeth clenching and jaw aching as he finishes out the bounty.

It's messy. 

It shouldn't have been. Should have been easy - but he's aching for a fight, something to take his mind off things. He's antagonistic. 

Could've finished everything up from afar, but he ends up in close range. Another scar marring his chest, new splatters streaked across his dark coat. 

It aches, a deep bruise as it heals. 

Still only slightly dulling the itch of irritation.

I haven't lied about anything.  

Didn’t last night mean anything to you?

It's sometime the next morning, after a night of a starless sky closing in around him, that he gives in. 

Heading the way you went without thought, and when he does notice, he tells himself it's only because he needs more chems. That it’d be a shame to lose a supplier as good as you. 

That it's easier, for both of you to stick together. 

Maybe that's why he was careless. Knowing deep down, it would be easier to find a corpse later than to haul around a bounty, kicking and screaming.

The small sliver left of another man, from  another life, knows he was cruel. That anger had turned him into a viper. Had always been good at striking first. Self-preservation beaten into him after two-hundred years - an old, festering wound. 

He doesn’t know how to apologize anymore, but he can already think of a few ways to distract you. 

Maybe you’ll forget completely, if he's thorough. 

The Ghoul is faster than you are. Needs less rest, less food. Has already plotted just how far you can get in a day. Your footprints faded as packed earth leads to woods, but you’re not the type to wander, and there's only a few settlements in the miles ahead. 

Halfway to his destination, when his eyes snag on a patch of rocks. A broken bits of branches on the trees just before it. There's something smeared across the stone - tasting like iron, when the tip of a finger brings it to his tongue.

Something ancient twists in his stomach, awakening from a slumber. 

Backing up, he's able to piece together the struggle. Seeing the flattened grass, the heavy boot prints, melding with the smaller ones. 

Finding a body, fallen off to the side - angling off the rock with the stain. Something familiar about the look of him.

A boot sinks into their side, rolling them over. A curl of a lip - he recognizes them. One of the two bounty hunters they’d fun into. 

He had hated their eyes on you when they blew through that town.

Something had prickled at him then, but he had ignored it. A grit of his jaw - should’ve dealt with both of them. 

There’s a hole in their head - red spilling down their neck, still tacky to the touch. A clean, close shot. His finger sinks in the wound, the same size as your 10mm. 

"Good girl." The Ghoul murmurs. 

The slightest ease of the knot in his chest.

A crunch of glass beneath his feet, the glint of the sun catching the needle. Another shape he knows well - a syringe. Probably a tranquilizer.

Three meeting one, with three leaving. The dead weight of you weighing down their steps, the footprints pressing heavily into the earth.

Easy enough for him to follow, as he slings his gun free. 

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game.

But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

Despite being back among faces you knew, fear had been your only companion since the meeting in the forest. 

Hazy memories flicker through your mind. Being dragged, snippets of light and the heat of a fire. The bright sear of dawn, and the dry embrace of the desert again. 

Waking to the feeling of your arms being wrenched above your head. Coming to, hissing and spitting. Nails catching the face of one of them - Baine, you think - his fist cracking down hard against your cheek in retaliation.

Leaving you dazed, as your wrists were caught again - bound in place. A cruel curl of a lip, as they examined you like a brahmin.

“You look like a Wastelander”. It’s spit out, a wet mark against the floor, “We’ll get you back where you belong soon enough.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed. A day, maybe. Hunger gnaws at you - only a small sliver of comfort in the dried meat and fruit tossed your way. 

Axton, the head of the Reclaimers - those who were tasked with bringing people back - had grown up with you. At one time, was perhaps even more than that. A distant relation of the current Overseers, his blood too thinned out to be of use - but even he won’t look you in the eye. 

You both know how this will go, when you get back home. 

Hope drains from you, with each hour. Eating away at the little flicker of hope in your chest, wrapped tightly around your heart. 

Maybe he’d show. 

But despair clouded your thoughts, soon after. 

“You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

“You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

Maybe he’d been truthful all along, and you hadn’t listened. Read into all those small moments, weaving them together until they had made something tangible.

The looks, stolen breaths and almost-careful touches. All fleeting, but you had caught them. Holding them close to your heart. 

But life isn’t like the holotapes you grew up, back when everything felt safe.

There aren’t cowboys anymore. No heroes on horses - with their silver spurs and a shining, golden badge. 

No one was coming for you. 

The footprints die out, as the bleached trees grow thin. 

Tall grass to packed dirt, dried by the sun. Rolling hills and then mountains, scraping against the horizon. The dipping sun casts him in a red light that bleeds to black at his ankles, his shadow stretching back long and lean behind him.

But these roads aren't wholly unknown to him. 

Spent time blowing through Junktown and The Hub, a couple dozen miles away. The memory hazy, but there weren't too many places folk could stay, once the sun went down and everything wild and unruly came crawling out.

A feeling in his gut has him stopping two miles down the road. A half-dug quarry, long abandoned even before the world went to hell. Threadbare railings and platforms held together with spit and a prayer, framing the rusted building that cuts into the stone walls. 

The tip of his boot taps a loose rock, sending it off the edge. Head cocked as he thinks, until he hears the faintest clatter a hundred feet below. 

Two-hundred years ago, he had stood on a ledge much like this. Valley of the Gun. The final shootout had his guns lost in the dust. Fist-fighting with the leader of the gang, until they both near tumbled off the edge together.

Honorable, in the way he had caught the man's hand. Tried to haul him up, but had to let go when a knife was pulled - keeping him the hero. A satisfying death that wasn't his fault, a way to keep his conscience. 

All movie tricks. Angles and the implication of falling, as the camera focused on his face that swam with regret. 

Comin' after a girl then, too. 

Thinks that's why the old memory has loosened in his mind. 

Funny how things can change, but the bones remain. How he's still drawn back to life he's left far behind. Even if his conscience was buried, a long time ago. 

Some things linger. He could go down. Take one of those ladders, work his way through the tunnels that are sure to wind through the limestone, and up through the back. 

But he's never much liked being underground. 

Another second of considering, before he's heading for the front door.

He used to like a script, but that was back in the day when the worst thing that could happen was a box-office bomb, not the hell he's been dragged through. 

A half-cocked plan already forming. Twisting that connection between them, his own abandoned contract. Get him through the front door and to the man in charge at least, and that might be all he needs. Let years of instinct take over, after that. 

Had already gotten a good look at a couple of them, when he first picked up the bounty. It had made him curious - why there was so much fuss, over so small a thing. Easy caps, he decided, when he had gotten a look at you. 

Picking up that their brutality had been learned from sharpening their teeth against a silver spoon. Hardy - compared to some Wastelanders - with their filling meals and their pristine weapons. 

But they sure as hell don't have the same grit as one.

Not much of anything, really, when compared to him.

The door opens with the push of his shoulder. Hand beneath the swirl of his coat, finger already fixed on the trigger. Not far in until he’s running into one of them - another Vaultie.

The man startles, wide-eyed when he sees him. Green, in his shades of blue and yellow. 

“Here ‘bout a job.” The Ghoul keeps his voice light, in spite of everything.

Knows they’re keeping you alive for someone else, as much as that makes his jaw clench. No need to go rushing in just yet. 

A flicker of recognition, as the man frowns, “How’d you find us?”

His head tilts, that smooth drawl slipping in, “Wouldn’t be much of a Bounty Hunter if I couldn’t, now, would I?”

The Vault Dweller’s eyes are fixed on his face, that familiar look of fear and disgust - dipping down to the pocket of his nose, the curling smile of yellowed teeth. 

It’s strange how foreign it feels, after the hours spent with you looking at him so differently. 

Maybe he’d been a fool, after all. 

Maybe it’s more than your tight cunt that he wants to bury himself in, to claim. Something soft, bitten back behind his teeth. Something he doesn’t even know if he has a name for, anymore.

Something he didn’t know he needed , until he had chased both it and you away. 

“We’ve already got her.” The man manages, after thinking it over, “Don’t think we need your services anymore.”

There’s another flash of teeth at the confirmation. 

“Agreement was to find her. And who do you think rustled her up?” His brow lifts, “Would’ve been half-way to New Reno by now, if I hadn’t herded her your way.”

That sharp edge creeping in, “Think my time’s worth a little somethin ’. Don’t you?”

It’s easy for the guard to leave that decision to someone else. Standing aside, to let him pass.

“Thank you kindly.” The Ghoul tips his hat, a swirl of his coat as he passes. 

Taking just enough steps past them, waiting until the man’s back turns. Spinning on his heel, after. 

The knife glints between his fingers as he twirls it. A hand pressing over the Vault Dweller’s mouth, before the blade sinks into their neck. 

Muffling the dying gurgle. A grunt as the Ghoul yanks the blade free - leaving the body crumpled in the shadows, as he winds deeper.

One down. 

Hold on , he thinks.

I’m coming.  

His whistle echoes in the chamber. 

Half old-world - a long-forgotten leitmotif that fuses with new notes of his own. A part to play until he doesn't, letting the Ghoul guide him. 

Down the half-lit hallway, the lights flickering overhead from the ancient generator. Everything picked clean like he figured it would be - every last piece of scrap ferreted away, leaving only dusty crates behind.

Still playing the part, as the low murmur of voices grows louder. Ears pricking up, listening for hers. Picking out at least three or four others from the layered hum.

A sneer, at the number. He’s faced worse odds. It’s in his favor really - take out as many fuckers as he can. Send bits and pieces of them back.

His intentions masked, an old habit, by the time he enters the warehouse. A wide steel grate floor, opening up to a second level below, scattered with old machinery. 

There’s a table. Cards littering the top - a luxury brought from the Vault, as they bet using caps. Couple Vault Dwellers and that Wasteland son of a bitch from the town. Four total, one lounging on a sleeping pack as if it’s just another night, and they weren’t bringing you to your death. 

It rankles him, teeth set on edge. 

A scrape of chair legs on the floor, at the drawling condescension of his voice. 

“Ain’t y’all a little old for a sleepover?”

Hands rest on holsters, but they don’t draw. The Ghoul focuses on one - a face he recognizes, the one who had sought him out.

The man’s legs spread, as if he’s got something worthwhile between them. The leader of this whole operation. Axton , or some shit like that - it hadn’t been worth his time to remember. 

“Believe you fellas got somethin’ of mine.” The Ghoul drawls, “I’m here to collect.”

There’s a pause at that. 

One of them, a right-hand man by the look of their padded leather armor - not a scratch on it - scowls. A face that tells another story. Pink marks start at their cheek, jagged lines that end at a thick neck. 

His eyes narrow at that, lip curling. A flicker of unease in his belly - fingers clenching where they rest against his hips, close enough to draw.

“You’re too late for payment, ghoul. Heard you were dragging your feet.” His head tilts, towards the Wastelander who had gone still, “We went and got her ourselves.”

The Ghoul grins - a fierce thing, with a flash of teeth. A lilt, in his voice. 

“Now, what makes you think I’m here for caps?”

It gives them pause. His question - the prospect of a ghoul showing up, unannounced.

“What else you here for?” Another grunts - eyes already back on his cards, a comfort in their numbers. 

“Think you know.”

“The girl?” Atmos laughs, and the sound is cruel, “Heard she split from you. Caught her after.”

A tilt of his head towards the armored man and the Wastelander. Taunting then, “Must not be that good, if you let her slip away. What, she get tired of looking at your ugly mug?”

If they only knew the kind of things he’d done to you. What you had done to him, right back. 

The Ghoul is only half-paying attention. Sticks and stones, all their insults falling on deaf ears. Too busy with eyes that flick over the top floor. Then down to the ground below.

Something flipping inside his guts, when he sees it. Cast in shadow near the base of the stairs, but his eyesight is keener than it’s ever been. 

Arms bound, the knot looped around the hook of an overturned crane. A raw, split mark - swollen and bruised flesh - on the curve of a smooth cheek. Just above where your teeth cut into a piece of cloth, tied tightly around to gag you. 

A tilt of your head, and then your eyes are meeting his. Round and blank with fear. Widening, when you see him. 

His girl.

Muscles string tight, eyes narrowed as his teeth clench. You’d paid for what you did, and he’d be there to return the favor. 

His gaze snaps back, and focuses. Whatever plan he had been working up burns, turning to ash. 

“Always heard that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.” The Ghoul’s tone is conversational - although his blood boils, scalding hot, “But if you wanna see an ugly fucker , well… you best look right there.”

There’s a nod of his head, towards the man in charge. As if on cue, their heads twist to look - just as he draws, and then fires. 

The Vault Dweller’s head caves in. Gore splattering against the blue of his suit. Barely a breath before his finger is tugging again, a bullet going through the chest of a second. 

Always too goddamn slow.  

Hesitant to take a life, even with their bravado. 

Something that molted from his skin with the rest of him, over a century ago. He’s already reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder before return shots are fired. 

He can feel the flicker of something miss him, before he’s charging. Ducking under the swing of a knife, the muzzle pressed against ribs.

A hoarse shout that is drawn out by the ringing blast. The knife caught and sent spinning into the back of the Wastelander, heading towards the door. 

Flinching, as something slams into his shoulder, just shy of his collarbone, and out the other side. The turn of a head - an eye fixed on the last man standing.

Padded armor won’t do much to stop him. 

“That your handiwork?” The Ghoul growls, as his head tips towards you.

The man's finger twitches but he’s faster - a shot going into the meat of their thigh. Downing them as they scream, as the Ghoul saunters over to tug the hilt from where he’s buried it in the Wastlander’s back. 

It glints a gleaming red in the light, as he adjusts his grip. Eyeing the scripted tattoos that cross over the man’s knuckles - as they grip at their thigh, near-tenderized from the blast. 

Ones that had struck you. Could send them back, spelling out something obscene. A rough laugh at the thought. 

He’s got someone waiting for him. But, he knows from experience…

That this won’t take too long. 

In the hours since you parted, it’s only now that you can breathe.

For a long moment, you hadn’t dared believe. Eyes drawn to the noise above - the loud pitch of voices. 

One of them - rough and low - draws your attention. Everything dark from your angle, an ache as you had tried to see.

Knowing that shadow. The brim of his hat. 

The burn of his eyes, when they fixed on you. You could feel the fury in them, even from here. A muted sound of desperation from behind your gag, as you watched. 

The Ghoul shoots first - the second his eyes pull away, and it’s all over in a matter of moments. 

Your eyes closing at the sound of gunfire, of screaming - until it finally cuts short. Leaving the warehouse eerily silent, except for the clicking of spurs against metal. 

He crouches in front of you, now - and you can’t help the whine. So much trapped behind the thick binding of cloth. All you could do is tug at your bound wrists - neck craning as you tried to watch from below.

A force of nature. Bared teeth a quick draw. Again you’re forced to admit to yourself how lucky you were to still be standing, after your first meeting. 

He had blown through them like it was nothing. 

“Hold on a minute, honey.” That low tone is familiar, calming you as his fingers hook around the cloth. Leaving a smear of red against your jaw as he tugs the gag free - shucking his gloves after.

“Are you hurt?” It comes out ragged. Tongue heavy in your mouth, throat dry. Eyes scanning the dark leather of his coat - all that red , smeared across it, “Thought you got hit.”

He barks out a laugh, your chin trapped between thumb and forefinger, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Something dark swirling across his features, as he tilts your head towards the light. His thumb pressing at the edge of your bruise, denting skin.

“They got you good, didn’t they?” He murmurs, and you smile through a wince, at the dull ache of pain.

“You got them.”

“Sure did,” It’s distracted, as he cuts at the binds, next. The rope fraying and then splitting, an ache in your shoulders when your arms finally lower. 

“Fuckin’ amateurs.” He mutters again, watching as you wince at the rubbed-raw skin at your wrists. The corners of his lips tipped down, lost in thought.

“Thought you would’ve liked seeing me all tied up.” It’s a weak thing. An attempt at humor, the ache in your heart at seeing him cut by the acidity of your last meeting.

He blinks. Comes back to himself, a hoarse hum of amusement. 

“Only when I’m doing it, sweetheart.” The Ghoul’s eyes meet yours then, a hint of a smirk with the tilt of his head. 

“Can think of a much better way of gagging you, too.”

There’s almost a softness to his tone. Just barely there, tinting the rough edges. Something like hope flutters - delicate, behind your ribs. 

“You… you came, for me.” You need the clarification. To hear him say it. That this isn’t some ruse, a way to take you directly to the source, “You’re not-”

There’s a sigh, as he fixes you with a long look. His head tipping towards the platform above, a lazy flick of his finger towards an arm that dangles from the ledge.

“Well that there man’s the one I got your contract from,” The Ghoul drawls, “Said I was to return what belonged to somebody else.”

Those eyes fixing on you again, “Seein’ as you’re not , and seein’ as that man is now indisposed…”

His words trail off - and you can’t help the small smile, as he finishes.

“I’m thinkin we’re square.”

The look you give him is soft. Admiring. You don’t know how he tracked you down, but he did. 

“You saved me.” It’s hushed, and at your tone his eyes pull from you. 

Fixing somewhere low, off to the side, as he crouches. Uncomfortable with the way you look at him. How you see him. Not used to it, not after so many years. 

You’re not able to resist. 

Muscles stringing stiff when you lean forward. Lips pressed against the leather of his cheek, fingers ghosting against his jaw. 

A huff then, teeth biting into his tongue with the shake of a head. His eyes dark, as you pull back, hovering. 

“Darlin’ if you’re going to be stealin’ a kiss, you best be doin’ it properly.” The Ghoul rasps, eyes flicking down to your mouth.

His head tips towards yours, but it’s your that meets his first. A little sound in your throat as your lips slot against his. Warm and insistent as his knees drop to press into the cement floor.

Tugging at you, as your fingers grasp at his collar. A hungry lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips as you whine, crushing your chest to his.

His fingers at your neck, your jaw. Angling your head, a rough groan as you part for him. Turning ravenous - wandering hands as your tongue slips against his. Panting breaths and a grinding of hips when he yanks you closer. 

“How many were there?” He hums, as you try to sneak a ragged breath.

The curve of a smile when you try to ignore him, a click of his tongue.

“I dunno,” Your mind is too foggy. Too focused on the hands that trace against your waist, “Four? No… maybe five?”

“You don’t seem too sure, sweetheart.” He does smile then, at the little mark between your eyebrows. Untangling himself - a hand reaching down to adjust himself, as he stands. 

“As much as I’d like to take you right here,” He husks, eyes dragging over you, “The last thing I need is a bullet in the ass.”

A tilt of his head, towards the open floor.

“Come on, cowpoke. Let’s do a sweep.”

the last (final, for real this time) part will be up in just a little bit! 💖 thank you so much for reading - this series has become so much to me, and every ask or comment or tag or reblog has absolutely meant the world 💕

#please mind the tags! #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard

[ponderingmoonlight]

Darlin', can I be your favorite?

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: In a world full of death and tortue, wouldn't it be the easiest to seduce a man who is able to protect you at any cost? Ryomen Sukuna definetely is exactly that. Now, the seduction part...

Warnings: no really deep plot, just some teasing and a little bit of spice here and there, language, reader trying to seduce Sukuna with literally everything lol

Inspired by the song "favorite" by Isabel LaRosa

Your mission was clear since the first time you saw him in action, felt how strong he is: Get Sukuna to fucking adore you.

It might sound ridiculous to the untrained ear. Sukuna, the king of curses, the most frightful creature walking on this planet? To even consider you’d be able to warm his heart is worth a laughter. You know exactly how all the others would react when they hear your wild plan to seduce him, to get him to catch feelings for only you.

But what better defense than having the king of curses by your side? This fucking world is nothing but a battlefield and as a jujutsu sorcerer, you’re in the middle of it. Day in day out you risk your life in order to safe others. And even though it might sound tempting to simply haunt after Gojo Satoru, it’s not the same.

No, you want Ryomen Sukuna and no one else.

Your heels click against the floor as you make your way through Shibuya’s train station, Sukuna’s fingers lying in your purse comfortably. What better way to catch a glimpse into his heart than giving him back those? Well, to be exact you don’t have a set plan apart from getting him to like you. After all, love can’t be forced, right?

Well, that skin tight dress paired with those high heels you chose for today might do that, though.

“Now, where are you Yuji?”, you mumble to yourself, eyes darting around the worn-down area.

There is no doubt in the fact that a fight occurred here not long ago. The air still smells like blood and sweat, the wall is still hot from an enormous impact. But who? Was it Yuji? You follow a trail of blood with your hips swinging from side to side. You just need to find him, need to seduce the king of curses. This is your best chance to not croak in this shitty job.

Your heels stop in their tracks.

A tuft of pink hair rests against the entrance of the rest room, so minor that you almost missed it.

Almost.

You walk towards the beat-up boy while casually inspecting him. He’s definitely alive, but barely. Yuji’s whole face is covered in multiple cuts and bruises. Who on earth did he fight against? And where is that other person? No, it’s not your responsibility to think about that right now. With a swift motion you open your purse and reveal those oh so deadly fingers.

“Now be a good boy and swallow”, you purr.

Your hand grabs his neck and yanks his head upwards while you carefully feed Yuji Sukuna’s fingers. Please, let this work. You are tired to the brim of running away, of fighting curse after curse each and every day. How about a peaceful life with Sukuna by your side? Fuck Jujutsu High, fuck Satoru Gojo. You don’t want to die before you were even able to live properly.

“Get your hands off me, human.”

For a moment, your heart skips a beat. Just one look into his red gleaming eyes and suddenly so matured face is enough for you to realize that this isn’t Yuji anymore. No, the person you are sitting on with your hand wrapped around his neck is none other than Ryomen Sukuna.

Finally.

“Oh, you’re awake. That went smoother than I thought”, you reply with a cheeky grin, not moving an inch away from him like he told you to.

“Who the hell are you, brat?”

He has definitely seen you before, you are a jujutsu sorcerer without any doubt. But why are so damn close, why does your hand wrap so delicately around his neck? Your dark eyes rest on his face unpromising, lashes hanging into your orbs seductively. What’s that supposed to be?

“My name’s whatever you make it. But how about wife?”

Sukuna isn’t able to move, let alone speak. Did you really introduce yourself to the king of curses like that? He shouldn’t waste any time, wring your neck the way you deserve it, dissolve you into tiny pieces. Who the hell do you think you are to speak to him like that? You, a puny woman? Not even the fact that you reunited him with a few of his missing fingers is enough to spare your life.

But why…Why does he still sit there like he did before, allowing your hand to rest against his neck? Why is he unable to give you a sharp answer like he always does?

“I am the king of curses”, is the only thing he’s able to press out.

“And I’ll be your girl. Deal?”

He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, eyes scanning your features up and down. You do have a pretty decent face for a human, your delicate eyes keeping him trapped. That confidence dripping from each and every pore of yours, the way your body is so near that he’s able to hear your blood circulate…

“What the hell are you talking about, stupid girl? If I wanted to, I could kill you without even flinching. Now get off me and run for your life.”

When Sukuna finally regained his threatening voice again, he expected your heart to shiver, your body to stumble backwards until you run away. But instead, you move even closer and dare to sit on top of him, gleaming eyes now staring him into the ground while your naked thighs rub against his pants.

“But you didn’t. Think I must be your favorite.”

The fact that he didn’t kill you right on the spot when you disobeyed his order is enough proof that your plan is actually working. Yes, you managed to confuse the king of curses, to arouse his interest. Now the only thing that’s left is seducing him.

“You are annoying as hell. Now get off me, I have some work to do”, he barks back at you.

His hand grabs your wrist roughly and removes your grip around his neck. But instead of simply throwing you off him, he holds your arm in place while keeping only inches of distance.

Oh, his lips are so close that you are literally able to taste them. Just one movement, one innocent flinching of your hips above his and the gap between you both is closed.

“Are you trying to seduce me, dumb girl?”, he breathes out.

He does it so well, keeping himself cool and composed while his mind races back and forth with your intoxicating smell penetrating his nose. In his long life, there was never a woman who actually tried to seduce him. After all, he’s the king of curses, so strong because of the fact that he never felt love or affection for anyone in all those years. He’s heartless, cold, a menace. Why would a woman ever get the idea of showing him affection? He came here to kill, to destroy this fucking city and make that brat suffer.

But now there’s you.

And apparently you couldn’t care less about the fact that he’s the king of curses.

“Actually, I am”, you purr, your free hand beginning to draw small circles onto his chest.

“Why would you do something so fucking stupid?”

“I mean, you’re the strongest, right?”

He has to blink a few times, the way you look at him as if he’s the dumb one catching him completely off guard.

“I’m the king of curses”, he reminds you all over again.

“And with being your favorite, you take me places-“

“What the fuck are you talking about?”, he interrupts you roughly.

You roll your eyes in sheer annoyance, nails now digging into his chest.

“Make me your wife so I don’t die”, you finally blurt out.

Is this the reason behind your questionable action? He could have killed you right on the spot and just one look into your gleaming orbs tells him that you know that all too well. And still, you risked your life for him to protect yours. Were you really so sure you’d be able to seduce the king of curses with a lousy dress and some high heels?

“Why would I do that?”

Enough playing. He should behead you right on the spot before torturing you for the time you wasted. You aren’t even worthy to breathe the same air as him, let alone being this close to his body.

But…Why isn’t he able to simply throw you off, then? Why is he even questioning what you’re up to, replaying your words over and over in his mind?

“Because I’ll let you taste-“

Your mouth is so close to his ear that your hot breath caresses his skin while the filthiest thoughts leave you with ease. His eyes grow wider and wider with each passing second, disgusted but at the same time…

“Enough”, he hisses through gritted teeth while grabbing your shoulders roughly.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Aren’t you at least a little invested? I have a lot to offer”, you reply, ignoring his last question elegantly.

The war inside his head makes him forget that he’s actually out on a mission for a moment. You…you are so different from all those other jujutsu sorcerers, risked your puny life so that he eventually watches over you. How ridiculously brave, how fucking stupid. But still, when your gleaming eyes rest on his face like that, that oh so cheeky grin plastered on your face you make him wonder. A wife, his favorite?

Before he’s able to think straight again, a wave of freezing mist darts towards you at neck-breaking speed. His heart skips a beat, eyes darting towards Uraume who fixates you with hate dripping from every poor of her warped face.

You won’t be fast enough. No jujutsu sorcerer except for Gojo Satoru himself is able to escape Uraume’s powers when surprised. If he doesn’t react, you’ll die. But isn’t that what he wants, that you finally vanish into thin air and leave him alone? You, the girl who just claimed him as her husband only because she doesn’t want to die.

“No.”

His body moves on its own. All of the sudden he finds himself standing in front of you, his hand deflecting Uraume’s Frost Calm with ease.

“Don’t you dare to hurt her, Uraume.”

You can’t believe it, breath getting stuck in your throat. He really did save you. Even though all you did was purring at him, trying to convince him with sugary words, Ryomen Sukuna stood up for you and defended you against one of his. Out of instinct, you push your wobbly legs off the ground, excitement filling you to the brim. With that oh so cheeky smile, you wrap your arm around his and eye the person in front of you up and down innocently.

“But she…she is a human being, Master. She’s a weakling, one of your enemies”, Uraume breathes out.

“Who allowed you to speak to your Master like that? Get out of my sight and do what you were taught to.”

You watch in awe as the person standing in front of you crumbles, their hateful gaze almost piercing through you like a knife until their gone as fast as they came.

“So, I really am your favorite, huh?”, you hum.

“Shut up brat, I’m the only one who can kill you. Now get going, I have a lot of work to do.”

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain 

@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk shibuya arc #shibuya incident #shibuya #jujutsu kaisen shibuya arc #jjk shibuya incident #sukuna jjk #sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen #uraume #ryomen sukuna #daddy sukuna #isabel larosa #song inspired

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Taste of Sugar (Part 1 of 2)

Alastor x reader (Hazbin Hotel)

Part 1 rated M, Part 2 rated E 18+ for adult content

TW part 1: Light jealousy, trauma related to past food insecurity, trauma recovery.

TW Part 2: Explicate smut, see part 2 for details.

Almost 4k words for part one. Ps- Fuck you Nonny, this is what you get for trying to tell me what I'll write

~<3 Love, Kit.

As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

A Taste of Sugar

You found yourself in Hell after a rather uneventful death that made of for its lack of excitement with lasting trauma. Now, sitting in a circle in a hotel that functioned more like a rehabilitation center and refuge than actual hotel, you were expected to recount it to the fellow residents that had become more like friends. 

It was Charlie’s latest grand idea of how to build trust and bonds between the group and process negative feelings that could hold each of you back from redemption. You didn’t think that was how redemption worked but whatever, it wasn’t your reputation on the line and it got you a safe room to sleep in and three meals a day. 

The others had grand stories of murders, crimes and addictions that all landed them in the grave, one way or another, often taking others with them. They had spoken of dark indulgences. 

Now they teased you, your crimes amounting to nothing compared to theirs. Damned for the simple crime of being born poor and attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to survive. 

You had died fairly young, having lived most of your life on the streets only to starve to death, alone, cold and in the dark. The shelters were full and the food banks near useless without somewhere to cook the food. Stealing food could only get you so far when you had little to choose from. You died dreaming of a warm meal, cooked at home. You died begging to world for a simple snack cake to quiet the pain in your stomach. You died alone, cold and hungry. 

The divine didn’t seem to care that you only stole what you thought you needed to survive. Really, not even that considering you starved to death. Maybe you didn’t pray enough. Maybe you didn’t go to the right church. Maybe you didn’t give away what little food you had often enough. 

Explaining that felt like shining a spotlight on every way you failed. You failed in life and you failed in death. Not good enough to get into heaven and yet you were also not bad enough to have a respected place in hell. Weak, unless and fueled by fear of once again going without. 

“So, that’s why you’ve always got snacks?” Angel pointed out, making you blush hard in shame. The trauma of your life hand a lasting grip around your actions even in death. 

“I’m trying to be better about it,” You felt shame in how you tended to hoard snacks in your room, rarely actually doing more than a little nibbling at them. Charlie did a great job of ensuring all residents had access to three meals a day, though someone was almost always missing from one meal or another. “I know I don’t have to worry about starving here, it’s just hard.” 

In the shadows of the hall, red eyes watched the group. A smile stretched in the distance as they discussed how the traumas of life leaked into the afterlife and the ways you could move past your traumas. 

He couldn’t say why he was drawn to you. You were little more than a lost doe and yet you plagued his mind. He wanted to cast you out so you’ll leave his thoughts as much as he wanted to keep you as a little pet for his own amusements. There was time enough to figure out what to do about the conflicting urges. For now, he can simply watch from a distance, from the shadows.

Rosie had told him that in her expert opinion he was ‘catching feelings’ when he had lamented his inability to settle on a course of action. That aggravated him more than anything else, well almost. The utter glee at the concept was more annoying by just a touch. 

He was above romantic sentiments just as he was above the carnal desires of the flesh. Rosie was mistaken, Alastor decided as he also made the decision that he would do nothing about you. There was no reason to let you plague him any longer. Simply look away, move on with his days and it would pass. 

Without the desire to do anything about this strange draw to you, Alastor settled on watching you from across the room. He watched as you ate, as you threw out the occasional small package of snacks.Turns out, he wasn’t very good at looking away from you. 

It didn’t escape him how you would frown, discussing your decision with Angel. You had decided you would no longer hoard snacks and oh, how proud of you the group was. 

You were growing. Healing. Blooming. 

If you’d talk to him, he’d tell you that very thing. Yes, he decided as you gave away snacks that he would tell you just how proud he was of you when you presented him with a part of your stash. 

He watched and he waited as you gave out cakes, crackers and cookies to everyone else. 

But never to him. No, it was always Angel and the other residents you shared your spoils with. Not once had you sought him out to offer him a cracker, cake or cookie. Not that he indulged in processed snacks or sweets on anything but the rarest occasion but that didn’t stop his shadow from bristling in annoyance behind him. 

He wanted to be offered. To be recognized. To be thought of. To be noticed. 

But he didn’t have feelings for you, he told himself. And that’s what he kept telling himself as the purging of your stash came to an end, drawer empty and flow of snacks becoming a trickle, an occasional treat purchased with the intention of sharing.

Oh, how you’d healed. 

~~~~~<3

The first time it happened, you nearly stepped on it. Someone had left a simple plain cardboard box in front of your room door without so much as a note attached to it. Inside were two equally simple cookies. Nothing large, nothing fancy. 

Setting them on your desk, you debated eating them or not. They looked good but when you had asked around, no one knew where they had come from. 

“Guess you’ve got a secret admirer,” Angel had teased you. “If the cookies are good, you should date them.” 

You didn’t know how you’d pull that off without knowing who left them though. Surely they were safe to eat, it’s not like random people came and left the hotel.

What’s the worst that could happen, if they were drugged? You were safe in your room. If they made you sick you had a private bathroom. You were already dead so what’s the harm?

The cookies were good, it turned out. You had nibbled on them over a few days, spreading out the treat. It seemed as soon as they were gone though, a new box appeared at the door. This time with a handful of crackers, some sliced cheese, fruit and sliced cured meat.

This continued for months, treats that were simple, modest and only enough to last for a few days. No matter how quickly or slowly you had consumed the gift, the night you discarded the empty box always brought a new box in the morning. 

~~~~~<3 

You leaned against the counter watching Alastor work. It was late and though you were not hungry, you often found yourself in the kitchen. Just being able to go down and look at the food you had access to had been helping you resist the urge to hoard food in your room when ever you felt that anxiety claw at you. 

It helped too, that you had been able to look forward to the small snack boxes that showed up. 

“Something on your mind, Dear?” Alastor didn’t look to you as he spoke, instead keeping his eyes on ingredients he was measuring out. 

You hadn’t expected to find him in the kitchen. It was late and those who didn’t leave to party were asleep. Husk was even passed out at the bar. 

“Not really,” You said after a moment. 

“The food is all here,” Alastor said with a hum, “If that’s what you’re here to check.” 

“Oh, No! I-”

“We’ve all got our quirks.” Alastor cut you off, pouring water into a bowl and adding yeast. 

“What are you making?” You asked rather than face admitting that he was right about what you were there to do.

“Beignets,” Alastor said, mildly annoyed.

“Those are like donuts, right?” You asked, hoping that you had imagined the sound. 

“Indeed, they’re similar.” Alastor kept his words curt. 

“For breakfast tomorrow?” 

“At this hour, it’s today.” Alastor swallowed his annoyance at the endless questions and lied, “Yes, for breakfast.”

“I’ll go, sorry for bothering you.” You stepped backward as you took the hint, smile falling from your face. 

“No,” He answered too fast, bitter sigh huffing through his always present smile, “I’ll need someone to try the test one.” 

“Oh.” 

You sat, watching Alastor work. He mixed flour into the liquid. This was a way you had never seen Alastor before. It crossed your mind that he probably didn’t let many see him with his coat and gloves off, smile turned soft and flour dusting his dark hands. 

But he was letting you. 

His coat was draped over the back of the chair you sat in, brushing against your skin as you shifted positions. His gloves were folded neatly and discarded on the table. He worked with his sleeves rolled up and a tune filling the air as he alternated between humming and softly singing to himself. 

It was beautiful. You were engrossed watching him work. The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around you, caressing you with warmth. 

You’d never spent much time with Alastor. You knew he was a deer, like yourself but until now, you’d thought his only deer trait had been the antlers and ears atop his head. It hadn’t occurred to you that he would have a little fluffy tail to match your own. 

It should have, you had fluffy ears to match his though with your longer hair, it was more obvious that they were indeed ears. You watched as his red and black tail moved with him as he put the dough in the icebox to chill.

“What now?” You asked, leaning back from him. 

“We wait, my little doe,” Alastor sat front of you across the table, leaning into your space across the small table.

“For how long?” You ask, not sure what to make of spending so much time with him. 

“A while,” Alastor said, “But I assure you the wait is well worth it.” 

“But you don’t like sweets.”

“You know what I like?” Alastor’s dark hand, stained by blood that could never be washed away dramatically rose to rest over his heart with a flourish as he leaned forward even more. “I’m ever so flattered.” 

You stuttered, not sure how to backtrack. Alastor laughed at your flustered stuttering before taking pity on you, pointing a long claw tipped finger so close to you that you swore he was going to stab you with his nail. 

“You, my dear, do enjoy sweets however.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, face warm. He knew that you cared for sweets. You were tired but seeing this relaxed side of him was thrilling. That chased away most of the fatigue, driving you to stay and find someway to push the conversation along. 

“I didn’t know you liked to cook,” You struggled to decide how to fill the silence.

“I’ve always found it rather enjoyable.” Alastor cocked his head to the side as he watched you. “My mother taught me.” 

“That must have been nice.” You weren’t sure what to say, having never really gotten to experience the love of a mother yourself. 

“It was.” Alastor watched as you leaned forward, resting your head on your arms. There was something about you that he couldn’t put down. “Did your mother not teach you to cook?” 

Your ears sagged atop your head at the question, earning a raised eyebrow from the man across from you. “She didn’t teach me much of anything. I was on my own since I was fourteen.” 

“Oh, Dear,” Alastor said as if he didn’t know that already, “How dreadful.” 

“I never really had enough food for learning to cook to be a thing.” You shrugged your shoulders, not lifting your head as you stretched out your arm to use it as a pillow. You shifted, allowing you to face him even as you used the side of the table to lounge on. 

“But you do now.” Alastor pointed out as he sat with you in a kitchen full of food.

“Full of Charlie’s and the hotel’s food.” You said, “I couldn’t risk wasting it. It’s enough that everyone shares with me what they make and,” You shake your head awkwardly against your arm, cutting off the thought.

“And?” Alastor pressed. 

“Someone’s been leaving little boxes of treats at my door. I wish I knew who it was.” 

“Why?” Alastor leaned back now, putting distance between the two of you, “Does the origin of a gift matter?” 

“I-” Your eyes teared up as your voice strangled in your throat. You sat up, not sure why you were being so open with him. 

“You~?” Alastor asked in a sing song tone as a tear slipped from your eye and ran down. His eyes followed it as it cut a path down your cheek. It was maddening to him, what you made him feel. How watching that tear captured his attention, yet he raged at the fact that it was born from pain in your heart.

“I’ve never had anyone give me treats like that.” You said, wiping the tear away much to his disappointment. 

“Never? Surely a suiter gifted you treats while courting for your attention.” Oh, why did saying that raise bile in his throat? 

“I’ve never-” You laugh, not sure why the idea of discussing this with Alastor made you feel uneasy. “There was never any suiters. No boys. No one.” 

“I struggle to believe that.” Alastor laughed as he stood from his chair, “Come my dear, wash your hands and join me.” 

You didn’t know what he wanted but Alastor was a man to be obeyed. While you were both deer, he had far more power than you could ever dream to possess. If he wanted to demand your help, you had little choice but to comply. 

Sure, the hotel offered a sense of safety but if Alastor wanted to squash you like a bug, shared demonic traits or not, there was nothing that could stop him. Well, Charlie would but she was asleep. 

Alastor had the counter floured and a small portion of dough out as you joined him, drying your hands. “Where’s the rest?” 

“That’ll be fried up in the morning, if it passes our test.”

He pulled you in front of the counter before stepping close behind you. It was hard to ignore the overwhelming presence of him looming over your shoulder as he reached around to grab the rolling pin only to pass it to you.

“Roll it out until I say,” He directed as he covered the pin in flour only to place it in your hands. 

As you worked, his hands rested on either side of you against the counter, boxing you in from behind while not touching you at all. It was hard for you to ignore how close he was. 

It was like the man was taking over your mind, something you hadn’t expected considering you hadn’t given him much thought in the months before. The smell of his cologne seemed to surround, making your head light. You weren’t sure why you were reacting to him like this but it left your nerves buzzing. 

Now all you could think of was the way his breath caressed over your ears, the way his hands looked without the gloves, dusted with flour, the sound of his voice as he hummed and the smell of his cologne. 

“There.” Alastor said, taking the pin from you and replacing it with a dough cutter. “Squares, about the size of your fist.” 

Cool air swept around you as Alastor moved away, checking the pot of oil heating on the stove. You’d only just begun to relax under his looming presence and now he was gone and damnit, you missed it. 

There was just enough dough to form two squares with some left over. Alastor scooped them up before dropping them in the oil. You stood next to him, watching as the oil came to life around the dough. 

“How long do we cook them?” You asked over the sound of the violently bubbling oil.

“Not long.” Alastor said from too close behind you once again as inky black shadow imps swept up the flour and crumbs, wiping down the counters.

On the counter, he set a plate with a rack over it and next to that was a sifter atop a container of powdered sugar. You were boxed in by Alastor as he rested his hands on either side of the fryer, looking over your shoulder as he once again boxed you in. 

“Now.” He said softly, “Scoop them out and put them on the rack.” 

You were timid, scared of being burned as you fished for the squares with the spoon made of wire. 

“Hurry, hurry!” Alastor cried, voice carrying a musical note as he only made your nerves worse, “You don’t want them to burn!” 

Finally, you got them out. Oil dripped off the puffed up pastries as they quickly drained the excess oil off. Alastor grabbed the sifter only to put it in your hands. He moved you as if you were a puppet, placing the sifter in your hands over the rack, steam wafting up to caress your hand. You stood still as he poured a few spoonfuls of powdered sugar into the basket. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He teased. “You can manage to turn the handle, can’t you?” 

“Yeah,” You stammered over the word, mind buzzing with the anxiety of having Alastor, the powerful, blood thirsty Radio Demon spending so much time in your immediate space. Your hands shook as you turned the small metal handle, causing the wire bar inside the sifter to spin, agitating the powdered sugar and helping it fall in a smooth, clump free shower over a square. 

Alastor used his hand on your forearm to move the sifter over the other pastry when he had decided there was enough dusting on the first. You didn’t know if there was any science to how much sugar each got or if he was simply measuring with his long dead heart. 

Once both were covered enough for his taste, he plucked the sifter from your fingers and set it aside. 

“What now?” You asked, unsure still of what was going on. 

“Now you try one.” Alastor said, plucking a square up. When you went to grab the other, he roughly shoved the rack out of your reach. 

“What? Why did you do that?!” Your brow furrowed as you looked at the rack, now well out of reach before looking back at the man standing too close to you. “How can I try it if you won’t let me grab it?”

“Open.” Alastor commanded as he ripped the corner off the beignet in his hand. 

“Wha-” Your question was cut off by the soft, warm, sweet taste that invaded your mouth somewhat forcefully. 

It was delicious. 

“Well?” Alastor asked as you swallowed the bite. 

You hadn’t noticed Alastor rip off another chunk of beignet but found it pushed between your lips the moment you attempted to praise the taste. This time, instead of retreating, his thumb rested against your lower lip as you took in the bite. 

His nails were long and pointed claws, not the thick claws that encased the fingertips of his gloves, but still dangerous. The sharp point of his thumbnail poked between your lips as he watched you chew for a few moments. 

You were spellbound by the way he looked down at you. What exactly was happening, you had no fucking clue but the air between you and Alastor was thick with something you couldn’t begin to understand. 

His touch left your lip to rip another chunk off the beignet slowly as you watched him. His dark bloodstained hands were covered in the white powdered sugar and flour, softening their appearance.

“It’s good,” You whispered as he slowly brought another bite to your lips. 

This time he offered it, waiting for you to open your mouth and take what he was offering on your own, knowing full well who was offering it. Somehow, it felt like something far more than a midnight snack was being offered to you but what?

“It’s been you,” You said, not asked as Alastor presented another bite that you took willingly as soon as you spoke. 

His thumb again lingered on your lips, sugar damp with oil and sticky on his skin smearing. 

“Yes,” Alastor said after a pause to toss the remaining portion of the beignet on the counter and wiping the hand that had been holding it on a hand towel on the counter, cleaning it of some of the sugar. Yet his other hand didn’t leave you. His thumb remained on your lower lip, feeling every twitch and breath. 

“Why?” You whispered, his thumb slipping against your lip and coming dangerously close to falling into your mouth. 

“You never offered me anything of your stash,” Alastor spoke softly.

“You don’t like sweets,” You hadn’t wanted to waste his time when you had made the decision to dismantle your stash. It had been a emotionally difficult choice, one that you had made before and never stuck to for long until now. “Or junk food.”

“You ignored me.” Alastor’s thumb slipped, running along her lower lip but never leaving it. “I thought if you had better options…”

“I’d share them with you?” Your voice was coming out so soft now, Alastor’s tall ears cocked forward to better pick up your words. 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I didn’t share them with anyone.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to share them with anyone.”

“Why?” 

“I wanted to keep them all to myself. They were too good to share. I-” 

Alastor’s thumb slipped into your mouth, cutting off whatever you had been about to say. Sticky sweetness exploded across your tongue as his thumb caressed it. You could feel the point of his nail against your tongue, a hint of danger coated in sweet sugar. 

Your mind was numb as you caressed the pad of his thumb, rolling the tip of your tongue under his nail softly. You were not sure what he wanted from you. The idea of overstepping Alastor’s unspoken boundaries was terrifying. This was uncharted waters. A side of Alastor you had never seen or even dared to dream of seeing. 

Alastor watched you as you stood near frozen. “Under some circumstances, I enjoy a sweet.” 

~~~~~<3

See part 2 for the smut.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x reader smut #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor smut

[unreleasedwrites]

I LOVED the gitae fic it was so good😔🙏 We need part two where Maybe he feels pity for us and takes us out to eat or smth, you do the magic im bad at writing lmao 🤧

Thank uuu♡♡♡♡

A Planned Coincidence (pt. 1) (pt. 2)

“Where’s the fun in spoiling it? How about I show you instead?”

summary: You’ve been stuck in the same warehouse you woke up in about three weeks ago, and no matter what plan you would make to escape— it’s no use and you’d only get in trouble. One of the times you did try with Gitae around, he had to clean up after you and the topic of your friends came up and so you begged to meet them. Unfortunately, it didn’t go as planned and you ended up ignoring Gitae for days. Eventually, he decided he’d take you out in hopes you’d finally speak to him.

character(s) included: Gitae Kim x fem!reader

cw: swearing, implied kidnapping, very toxic, same warnings as my first gitae fic (part 1) , yandere gitae, mentions of blood, death, kissing, suggestive, nicknames, cartel mentions, this is FICTIONAL, abuse, mentions of drugs, guns, his axe, implied cannibalism, a bunch of crimes so beware dark and possibly disturbing content

unwrapped on: Tuesday Morning, April 30 2024

wrapped up on: Friday Evening, May 03 2024

published on: Friday Evening, May 03 2024

“You tired of playin’ these stupid fucking games yet, doll?” Gitae said in an agitated tone, as he held your bruised hand and covered it in bandages. Afterwards, he planted a light kiss on top.

You remained dead silent and only looked towards the ground of the warehouse you were trapped in. You accidentally injured yourself in another one of your escape attempts, so here Gitae was, taking "care" of you once again with some condescending mockery.

“Well? Now you’re gonna go and play the quite game with me, huh?” He said with a slightly more irritated expression on his face.

“Look at me when i’m speaking to you.” He said and he grabbed your chin to meet eye to eye with him, and you could tell he looked angry. He tightened his grip on your already bruised hand, causing you to yelp in pain from how much pressure was applied.

“Gitae.. I-I—, I was wondering if yo—” You were trying to speak when a few rounds of open fire suddenly interrupted you. You flinched and a visibly frightened expression was evident on your face. Gitae saw this and took you into his arms to face him, while on his lap so that he could straddle you and stroke your hair.

“Sorry about the noise, little girl. Just part of my men’s duties, I’ll let them know to keep it down though,” he said in a less irritated tone.

“Back to where we left at earlier.. Why do you keep tryna fucking escape?” He said in a slightly more raised tone.

“To leave..? Isn’t the answer to that question already kind of already a given?” You replied.

“Leave?” He scoffed, “and just where exactly would a little girl like you go? If I can recall, the friends you came to Mexico have gone missing.. And technically, you’re now known as a missing person, just like your four other friends.”

“Gitae, I hate to have to ask but— Did you have anything to do with those disappearances by chance? You’re speaking as though you know all about it and from what I’ve seen in the past few days..”

He cut you off and laughed, “did I? I thought that was already a given from when I took you here, was it not?”

“I think I get it now, I’m next.. Aren’t I?” You replied.

“What? When the hell did I ever hint something even close to that? I was talking about your little friends, they’re alive, but let me just tell you now that they won’t be for very long if you keep continuing this bullshit of trying to leave me.”

“They’re alive—? Where are they?! Can I please, pleaseee see them, pretty pleaseee??” You begged with your usual pouty face.

“It’s hard to say no when you say it like that,” he said as he held your cheeks together with his hand, “if you’re good for the rest of the day, I might consider it. How’s that for a deal, doll?”

“Deal!” You exclaimed and he tapped his cheek with his finger a few times while saying, “but first~?”

You then tried to give him a kiss on the cheek but he swiftly turned his head so that your lips would land on his instead, and it worked. Despite your situation, you turned into a blushing hot mess and Gitae simply laughed at your reaction, thinking “how cute.”

A little fast forward into that same day, the sun was finally setting, so you may finally get to see your friends again. You waited patiently in the warehouse, sat on top of some boxes, reading the books Gitae gave you to pass time while he was out doing who knows what.

Some kind of bell or alarm started to ring and from what you’ve been observing in the past three weeks, that alarm means that it’s around 8 or 9 in the evening, where most of Gitae’s “men” go out to do unspeakable acts that you’ve witnessed at some point.

Usually, This was around the time you’d try escaping the warehouse because everyone was way too busy to watch over you and most of the men there have left the warehouse, getting on some sketchy vehicles with all sorts of equipment, weaponry, and drugs. The remaining people were either asleep or high in the clouds.

But when you start to see the men leave, you’d usually start to see the second batch of men arrive with Gitae. You’ve noticed a pattern where half of the men go out with Gitae during the day and the rest of the men go out during the night and what similarity both batches shared was that they all came back bloody, smelling really odd, and sometimes Gitae would bring you what he calls a souvenir,— human flesh from one of his victims. Anytime Gitae would do that, you just ignored him for the next hour or two, depending on just how much his patience is willing to endure from you being a so called “brat.”

But, it was around 8 in the evening when the bell had rang, and now it’s past midnight. Yet you haven’t seen or heard from Gitae at all.

Reluctantly, you finally resorted to asking the men around to which they only replied with stuff like, “just give him another half hour and he’ll be here. He’s probably just ran into some trouble with a gang fight or somethin like that.”

One of the men was nice enough to give you some paper that you used to make little bookmarks for the various books you had.

Gitae usually takes you to sleep with him in one of the compartments of the warehouse that led to a bedroom, but since he wasn’t here and you had no idea on how to get in there, you fell asleep on the floor beside some boxes.

You woke up the next morning when you overheard a bunch of men who sounded like they were arguing. And weirdly enough, you were on the bed in the hidden compartment of the warehouse, with Gitae fast asleep beside you. His breathing was steady and he looked tired so you decided to just look around and take mental notes of what the room looked like. It was very different from the rest of the warehouse and was pretty cozy. Gitae’s usual leather jacket was hung on a chair nearby and you noticed some of his belongings on the table. One of which, was a gun. It had you thinking if you wanted to risk your entire life, jumping off the bed to get the gun which was on his side of the room, and shoot him blank.

But that was stupid, what about all the men outside? Gitae told you he isn’t a fan of silencers on his personal guns. They’ll definitely rush over thinking that you in fact, did something— because they all know that Gitae wouldn’t dare hurt you to such a foul extent.

So, you scratched that thought and looked at the door, where does that lead? You thought to yourself. Before you could even continue thinking as you were sat up on the bed, you heard Gitae suddenly start speaking in a raspy morning voice, “what are you up to, little girl? Shouldn’t you still be asleep in my arms?” You turned over to see Gitae, with messy morning hair, not in his usual state of a few loose strands with his hair slicked back.

“Nothing, I was jus-” You stopped for a moment when you saw Gitae sit up and reach for his gun, “doll, could you riddle me this,” he said.

You nodded in response and he spoke as he loaded his gun, “did you try to escape in any form and at any time yesterday?”

He looked you dead in the eye while readjusting compartments of his gun, you lost focus and started to stare at his hands fiddling around with the gun to which he suddenly snapped his fingers, “my eyes are up here, what did I tell you yesterday?” His eyes narrowed and you responded with, “to always look you in the eye when you speak..?”

“Correct. Now, answer.” He slowly finished prepping his gun.

“I didn’t, you could ask the men out there for proof of that.” You said.

“I already did, they told me you were finding me last night? Is that true, my pretty doll?” He said as he caressed your face.

“Well, you were taking much longer than expected to arrive.. A-and you did tell me that if I was good for the rest of the day, I’d get to meet my friends..” You said hesitantly.

“Right.. About those little friends of yours,” he spoke as he placed the gun on the table and your eyes widened, “what about them..?”

“Hoho, do you wanna find out for yourself?” He said with a smirk on his face.

“Gitae.. What do you mean..?”

“Where’s the fun in spoiling it? How about I show you instead?”

“Fine then,” you replied.

Gitae stood up from the bed and so did you, it was still about 4 in the morning so it was cold outside of the bedroom, which is why Gitae put his leather jacket on you since you weren’t wearing much.

He unlocked the door with some sort of key that he took from a high shelf you couldn’t reach for yourself. Before he even swung the door open after unlocking it, he took a blindfold and placed it on you first, something that typically happens whenever you guys were going to leave the bedroom. From there he just carries you to the main open area of the warehouse to which he then takes the blindfold off once you’ve arrived around the usual boxes you stay at.

“So.. Where are they??” You asked visibly confused, tilting your head to the side as you looked up at Gitae.

“Silly girl, they aren’t here.. They’re at some other location we’ll be driving to,” he replied as he looked at one of the men who usually drove you and Gitae around. To which that man immediately left, starting up one of the cars that were outside.

“Awh, but it’s so early.. It doesn’t even look like it’s 5 in the morning, why would you suggest we go now..?” You pouted as you looked at Gitae, because of how sleepy you were he had to hold you with one of his hands to keep you from falling.

“Don’t worry, sleeping beauty— It’s a few hours to get to where they’re at, so you could just sleep on me in the meantime.” He replied as he carrier you once again and took you to the car.

He positioned you on his lap to face him and you settled your head in the crook of his neck, slowly drifting away. He gave you kisses on the top of your head and stroked your hair while you gently caressed his shoulders. You fell asleep easily and stayed in the same position.

Eventually, the car parked at some hidden area which appeared to be in a secluded part of a forest. You were still asleep when you guys arrived so Gitae started pressing kisses all over you. You started feeling ticklish from all of it and woke up.

Not even sure how you guys got here because you didn’t see a road to drive on but you didn’t question it.

“Good morning doll~ We’ve arrived, would you like to finally meet your little friends?” Gitae asked you, who was still sleepy and had woken up from a good dream, still not processing anything.

You simply nodded and clung onto Gitae’s shirtless body because you were too tired to even try getting up and walking.

Gitae carried you with ease and walked towards what appeared to be a pretty run down building, but what it specifically looked like was a blur to you because of how out of it you still were at the time.

An awful stench was evident from the exact moment you were in the building. A loud screech coming from a girl was heard all throughout the large building, echoing amongst the floors. The voice sounded a little too familiar, almost as if it were one of your friends producing a vile screech, a desperate scream for urgent help. The echo suddenly came to a stop without repeating the rest of the noise. Gitae tried to assure you that was someone else but it was no use, you were in an environment you’ve never been in before, hearing all sorts of things. You were terrified and started to both panic and cry, while you were still in Gitae’s arms. He started to get irritated with how your current state was, he even threatened to hit you if you didn’t stop screaming and crying, trying to get away from him. You ran off into some other part of the large building, hiding from him. At first, he was annoyed but decided to play your little game of hide and seek. But, couldn’t find you and so he started to punch different walls, some of which collapsed in an attempt to find you easier and to get you out.

He couldn’t take it anymore and pulled out his axe, he said that you had exactly 5 seconds to reveal yourself or this wouldn’t end well.

“This is a stupid fucking game, Y/N. 5,” he started his countdown, “4,” and you knew better than to disobey, so hesitantly “3,” you started to leave your hiding spot to reveal yourself, “2,” before he could even reach 1, you were on your knees behind him, sobbing.

“Gi-Gitae, please..” You sniffled, “I already have gotten a good idea of what you did with them, so please.. I don’t need to see it for myself.”

He scoffed, “after you just ran and hid from me? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so.” He grabbed you by your hair harshly and dragged you to the basement floor. And that’s where you saw another nightmare right in front of you, from the scene of the group of men who attacked you, to your own closest friends, all dead.

Except one of them, she was your closest friend in the entire group and she was completely unharmed. But had to closely witness all that was done to the other girls. She was tied up with chains and from what you know, her voice was the noise you heard earlier.

Which had you wondering, why did her screaming suddenly stop? But instead of focusing on that, you looked over to Gitae who has never looked so angry before. His grip on your hair was only becoming tighter as you tried pleading with him.

You were terrified to know that in any second, Gitae could literally crush your skull with his bare hands if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Gitae suddenly let go of the grasp he had on your hair and looked down on you, “I’m letting you know in advance that what happens next is thanks to you being such a brat.” He then struck his axe at your friend, multiple agonizing times while the one man that was there forced you to watch, holding you at gunpoint and purposely turning your head in the direction of both Gitae and your friend.

Gitae looked back at you after he struck your friend with his axe so many times that she’s no longer recognizable, you were a sobbing, pitiful, and distressed mess. You were screaming at him, begging him to stop, all the while trying to break free from the man’s harsh grip on you but it was no use and you couldn’t do anything at all.

I won’t go into too many details but it was extremely gruesome and gut wrenching. By the time Gitae finally decided he was finished, he threw the axe at your direction, purposely missing by just an inch to slightly scar your neck (since you were moving around a lot, it just barely scraped the side of your neck).

You yelped, Gitae then took a part of her flesh, and bit it— but unlike the last time, he ate this entirely and licked his fingers clean. He then spoke out “clean this place up, (insert name of man who was holding you).” To which the guy nodded and finally let go of you, you fell immediately to the ground and continued sobbing, you were twitching at this point from how terrified you were.

Gitae then looked over to you, he’s seen you upset but he’s never seen you this upset before. He looked back at the girl he had just mauled and at the other girls that were laying dead on the floor. That’s weird, he was starting to feel— bad for you?

Gitae spoke with someone on the phone and after, he carried you to the car. You never stopped sobbing and you were trembling as Gitae had you on his lap, facing his blood scattered face and body. He was trying his best to comfort you but you were ignoring him. Eventually, the car started to move and you knew this was gonna be a long ride, but you just kept on sniffing while your head was nestled in between the crook of his neck. He took the hint that you really weren’t gonna talk to him at all, so he stroked your hair with his unstained hand while you silently sobbed, clinging onto him so tightly that it left marks on his body. He also bandaged up the tiny scar you got coming from his axe.

A few days had passed and you still hadn’t spoken to Gitae no matter how many times he tried or how much he threatened you.

He was fed up, but he had an idea that might just work. He decided he’d take you out for dinner at one of the places that had gambling addicts so no staff would care. He hadn’t told you all about his plan yet but he had some guy book a reservation and he went out to buy you a little gift. You didn’t know of any of this because you couldn’t understand Spanish so you were just reading books in the corner.

He went out to buy you some clothes that he was badly hoping you’d like. He bought you more sleepwear and a cute outfit that you could wear on your little date with him. He bought some more things you mentioned you like, like some more books he knows nothing about.

He arrived back at the warehouse at around 5:30 in the evening and asked you to come with him, he blindfolded you and brought you to a bathroom. It was much nicer than the usual bathroom and you were assuming that this was another compartment of the warehouse.

He told you to shower, and you nodded in response. But, he was just standing at the doorway, staring at you. So you just stood there.

“Well?” He rose a brow, “I thought you wanted a shower, what are you doing just standing there?”

You gulped and finally spoke for the first time in days, “d-do you really.. have to watch..?”

He looked you up and down, “either I watch or join you, take your pick.” You remained silent, you didn’t want either of that.

He scoffed and put the blindfold on you once again, you could hear him fiddling with his belt and clothes rustling. After, he started to undress you as well, disposing of your clothes in the trash.

He turned on the running water in the bathtub and while it filled, he was doing some things but you couldn’t see so you had no idea. He took you into his arms and the next thing you felt was pure water, you haven’t showered in a while so this was a bliss. He took your blindfold off and to your surprise, you were on top of him in the bathtub. He gently sunk you into the water, and laid you on his figure, showering your hair with water.

He then applied different products on your hair and massaged your scalp. after he finished washing your hair and body, he started fondling around with your body.

“Your skin is so soft, doll,” he said as he played with your boobs. You lightly moaned from what he was doing and he smirked, “you like that, don’t you?” You subconsciously bucked your hips in response which caused him to twitch down there. You could feel his dick on you and he started aggressively kissing you. Things escalated and you ended up having to take a second bath.

“Doll~, I forgot to mention it because you riled me up so much earlier that I lost the chance to— butt, we’re going out tonight and I bought you some clothes.” Gitae said as he took out some unfamiliar clothes from the shelf and started to dress you while he was still in a towel.

After you were fully dressed, he smiled at you and commented, “you look adorable, just like a doll.”

Afterwards, he got dressed and was finally wearing something other than just jeans. He was wearing black pants and a formal shirt. You thought he looked handsome in his outfit so you commented, “you look handsome, Gitae,” you giggled. He chuckled and planted light kisses on the top of your head.

You guys then went out and arrived at some nice and flashy building. It was weird at first, you couldn’t possibly fathom why he would do this. Either way, you just went it.

“Well?” Gitae suddenly spoke as you were sat across from him, in a nice restaurant.

“Thank you,” you replied as you looked around the secluded spot you guys were sat at.

Gitae sighed, “still not happy?” He frowned.

You simply looked at him, pouting. To which he pouted back at you mockingly.

The food eventually arrived and Gitae wanted you to try some of his rare practically live ass steak, so he fed you some of it with his fork. You made a dissatisfied face and he laughed at your reaction. He loves the way you react to absolutely anything, he finds it adorably irresistible.

“Thank you,” you said as you were about halfway done with your meal.

“I don’t care for words, you silly little girl. How about you just show me your appreciation after dinner?” He said with a smirk.

You didn’t take the hint and so you asked, “how?”

He laughed at your response, “I’ll give you a better idea once we’re in the car, and once were back in bed, you continue wherever we left off in the car.” Your eyes narrowed until you finally understood what he meant to which you looked at him with a pout while you were chewing your food.

“What kinds of food do you like?” Gitae suddenly asked as he looked at your food then at you.

You shrugged, “I’m not really picky, but I do have my preferences and dislikes.. For instance, that steak you’re eating or any sort of steak.”

He looked at his food, “it’s delicious, how could you not like it?”

“We have wayyyy different diets, I’ve seen you eat raw meats of all sorts you bastard.”

“Awh, how am I bastard?” He pouted, but deep inside he was amused and enjoying this.

“Because of your question about food! I suddenly had a flashback about my friend, whom you took a bite of!” You said, somewhat sarcastically because you know how moody Gitae is and you didn’t want him to get angry at you again.

He just laughed, “I remember that, she tasted alright too, I should’ve had seconds.” You rolled your eyes and he was only more amused and said, “but because of your whining and puffy eyes, I had no choice but to leave as soon as I finished the job. Such a pity.”

“Hey, would it kill you to have some remorse?” You said as you picked up some meat with your fork and lifted it up to his mouth.

“I don’t really like this, but it seems like something you’d like.” You said as he was chewing what you just gave him. He would never admit it, but you feeding him made him feel something.

“It tastes good, I thought you said you weren’t a picky eater?”

“I’m not,” you said as you grabbed more of that meat on your fork and fed a bunch of it to him. He was genuinely so happy inside and his amusement turned into butterflies because for once, you weren’t scared of him and he for some reason, cared about that pretty badly.

Your guys’ dinner date went on like normal, exchanging words and actually getting to know each other.

Eventually you felt the need to use the restroom so you mustered up the courage to ask permission to go.

“Gitae,” he turned his gaze over to you and mumbled in response.

“Could I use the women’s room, please?”

Gitae looked around, “I’m trusting you don’t need me to make sure that no stupid attempts of leaving will happen?” He asked sternly.

“Yes, I promise.”

“Fine then, go ahead but don’t take too long.” You nodded in response and excused yourself from the table.

And just as you said, you did go to the women’s room. And just as you promised, you came back right after. While you were making your way back to the table, you saw that Gitae was approached by two guys who he seemed to have known from somewhere.

You got back to the table and the two men that Gitae was talking to looked over to you. They looked to have been working in the casino area of the building.

One of them turned back to Gitae and said, “I see now why a guy like you is brought to a place like this. I’m guessing she’s your girlfriend, right?” You all looked at Gitae who replied with a smile, “yes, she is.”

“Damn, you’re one lucky guy. She’s gorgeous from top to bottom!” One of the guys exclaimed as he placed his hand on your shoulder, rubbing it intensely. Gitae stared at his hand then at him.

How dare he lay his hand on something I own? He’ll pay for even daring to look at what clearly isn’t his. Gitae thought to himself.

“Well, we’ve gotta get going now.. But you two enjoy your night, especially the pretty lady over here,” one of the guys said as he stroked your hair and then proceeded to walk away.

You turned over to Gitae who looked like his veins were popping out of his skull and his aura seemed to have changed. He then looked back at you and smiled, “don’t mind them, I’ll make sure to deal with them some other time. But not tonight, tonight’s supposed to be our night.” He tried to keep his composure.

“Right.. Who were they anyway? And must they be so touchy..?”

“They’re friends with some of the people I know, but they won’t be for long.” He said as he took the final bite of his food and placed his fork down.

It’s safe to say that those two were never seen again, and the police didn’t even open an investigation about the disappearances when it happened. Soon, the news about those two guys went cold and if anything, any trace or information of them was wiped out entirely.

notes: I did more than the request and added way more before the actual dinner date because im gonna be busy in the next few weeks so idk when I can post again, and because i have a bunch of Gitae requests, I thought I might as well and this is long asf, also i’ve got another gitae fic in progress 😭😭

- With or without proper credits, please don't try to steal or claim any of my works as your own

I genuinely appreciate opinions, feedback, likes, and reblogs

Once again, I hope this isn't too bad for a request, and l'Il be doing more characters in lookism so feel free to request!!

#lookism #lookism fic #lookism manwha #manwha #webtoon #anime lookism #lookism anime #lookism fandom #lookism imagines #lookism webtoon #Gitae Kim #kim gitae #yandere gitae kim #gitae lookism #lookism gitae #gitae kim x reader #lookism gitae kim #lookism gitae kim x reader #lookism x reader #suggestive #lookism spoilers #webtoon lookism #manwha lookism #gitae kim x reader lookism #gitae kim lookism #foryou #foryoupage #fyp #unreleasedwrites #dark

[fanfictilltheend]

❤️‍🔥Violent Heart Part 1: ♪All I've ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you ♫ (or the VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Covict!Joel x Afab!you one)❤️‍🔥

A/n: It's here!!!!!! This took me 7 freaking months so you mofos better like, reblog, and comment. This is both my most and least personal fic I've ever written and it is dark and relies heavily on plot (no smut until part 2 but i swear it's worth the backstory!!!!) READ ALL OF THE TAGS DO NOT COME FOR ME UNLESS YOU DID THIS FR FR. This ones for my dark joel fangirlies(guys and NBies) and the daddy issues fam ily ❤️‍🔥 (also not me naming my fic in part after hallelujah by leonard cohen but there is a reason!!!!!!!!!!)

Summary: The story starts with Part 1 where afab!Y/N is a child and Joel is her new stepdad and this story explores their relationship. Themes of abusive family, domestic violence, child abuse, daddy issues, physical violence, murder, stepcest (kinda b/c he is divorced from her mom technically but she grew up with him as her stepdad), infidelity, age gap, and more are explored throughout the fic. PLEASE READ SPECIFIC TAGS (part 2 tags will be added with the release of part 2). Part 2 picks up with Y/N at age 20 and how her relationship with Joel has changed and gets steamier. NOTHING SEXUAL OCCURS BETWEEN Y/N and JOEL until Y/N is 20!!!!!!! Also check out this playlist of music that's in the fic!!!!

Tags (PLEASE READ): Afab!you, stepdad!joel, mechanic!joel, convict!joel, no apocalypse au, Mentions of sex (little detail), mentions of male masturbation, infidelity, domestic abuse/violence, sibling abuse/violence (no one ever talks about sibling abuse but it’s very real), physical child abuse, neglect, allusions to past domestic violence, cursing, brief mention of pedophilia and kidnapping (David), allusions to committing future pedophilia (David), threats, cancer mention, Sarah death discussion, Tommy death mention, murder, prison, mentions of god and religion, fights, general violence, alcohol consumption, using music lyrics to move the plot, daddy issues, use of y/n

Word Count: ~15k

PART 2 (coming soon)

Ao3 Link

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

Joel Miller is not a good man, that he knows like the backs of his calloused hands. 

He knows loss too, feels it burrowed in the hollow cavity of his chest. Sees it in the face of every little girl he meets. 

The memories sting. 

He knows pain, deep in the depths of his character, down to the fundamentals of what makes him something that resembles a human being. The belts, the bigger hands, the harsh words, and then the grief. The recent Bring back my babygirl! The ancient ¡Basta, Papí, por favor, no Tommy, no Mamá! ¡Por favor no esta noche! The indignity of begging, always reduced to begging to a cruel man, an indifferent doctor, a cruel universe. 

He knows hard work, how to work with his hands. He knows the grit and grease of labor. Sees the cogs turning in the engines he fixes, relates to them. Feels like he knows them intimately because he is one too, chugging along day after endless day. But no one dares fix Joel Miller.

Until…

Her name is Erica and she’d like her front bumper replaced, please. She has long eyelashes and a soothing voice. And she has money too, at least more than he, who is almost broke from the cost of Sarah’s medical bills. She comes with baggage, Joel can tell from looking into her eyes, but then again so does he. And he hasn’t been laid in god knows how long. 

She takes him on a date and he lets her. She reveals she has two kids, but Joel doesn’t care. They fuck at her place while the kids are at school and she wants it soft, like her hands, and that’s how Joel gives it to her. 

A week later, Joel has moved in, which is good because his rent was due and he couldn’t pay it. He still hasn’t met the children.

***

It’s Joel’s day off and he’s sitting on the couch in his new home. His back hurts, but that’s nothing new. He’s got an excellent view of their nice, big backyard with a wooden fence. The kind of home he would have liked to have given Sarah. He sighs. Technically, nothing is wrong.

Then he sees it. It takes him a second to realize what is going on. It’s a whirlwind. He sees the back gate open and two tumbling forms fall over the threshold onto the manicured grass. One form is bigger, a boy of about twelve or thirteen beating the shit out of a much smaller form, fists flying. The other form is a little girl, no more than eight, defending herself like her life depends on it. Perhaps it does with the way he’s going at her. 

This must be the son, Aiden, and the daughter, Y/N. 

He’s a good boy, really, but he has anger issues sometimes. He’s been through a lot. That’s what Erica said, but Joel does not see a good boy. He sees a bully. A disproportionately violent one at that. Nothing that tiny girl could have possibly done could warrant the brutality he sees before him. 

Anger is something else Joel knows intimately, and that is what he greets when he runs outside to end the fray.

“Stop that!” he roars, pulling Aiden off of Y/N.

“Who the fuck are you!?” the boy screams, fury and hatred radiating off of his entire being. 

He continues thrashing and punching at nothing as Joel restrains him.

“I’m gonna kill her!” he screams, his eyes bulging.

“What the hell happened?” Joel growls, still holding onto the livid boy–verging on young man. 

“She ripped up my paper!” he bellows. “For no fucking reason! I worked hard on it!”

“It was a lie,” she says with so much conviction Joel almost flinches.

He looks down at the little girl, her nose bleeding, her right eye turning purple. She has tears streaked down her face, but she is not crying. Her shirt is ripped. The first thing he thinks of when he sees her is Sarah. Of course it’s Sarah, how could he not think of her? But this little girl is different, has a different look in her eye. This look is much harder and feels like she’s lived a thousand lifetimes. He thanks god Sarah never looked that way, but somehow he wants to hear about everything this little girl has experienced. Something twangs in Joel’s chest that he has not felt in what feels like an eternity. 

“It was not a lie, you stupid bitch whore!” Aiden shouts angrily, still fighting back against Joel’s unrelenting grip. “Take that back!”  

“No, you take it back! Dad is not a hero. You could’ve picked anyone to write about and you choose him? After everything he’s done?” she screams herself.

The sound of her voice is powerful but desperate. Joel feels himself needing to know more and bury himself deep inside her experiences.

“SHUT UP!” Aiden yells, finally ceasing his movements. 

A tear falls from his cheek. 

“If I let you go, will you stop whooping your sister?” Joel snaps firmly.

“Get away from me, you stupid cuck!” Aiden curses, turning his energy to Joel. “Who the hell are you to me? Fuck you! I’m out of here!”

He wriggles out of Joel’s grasp and Joel lets him go and Aiden storms back out the rear gate, slamming it behind him.

“You alright?” he asks Y/N.

Joel crawls over on his knees, still upright, closer to her. 

“Had worse,” she shrugs, running a hand through her messed-up hair. 

She wipes the tears and blood from her cheeks.

Joel shudders to imagine what she means.

“He always like that?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “So you Mom’s new boyfriend?”

“Something like that,” he nods back. ”’M Joel. Joel Miller.”

“I’m Y/N,” she says a bit mournfully. “Here,” she continues suddenly, reaching out a small hand to his cheek. She wipes blood (hers) gently off his stubbly face. “Didn’t mean to get ya dirty.”

Joel is nothing short of touched. He wasn’t even aware he could still have such a feeling. His cheeks go rosy pink. His heart pulses. He stares at her delicate hands and notices a long, thin scar on her left middle finger. 

“‘S no trouble, sweetheart,” he hears himself reassuring her. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Could even mend your shirt if ya want. Know how to sew and all.”

He reaches out a large hand, but she flinches at the sudden movement. A dull ache wells up in Joel’s chest. 

“Not gonna hurt you, honey. Swear it.” 

He wants with every fiber of his being for her to believe him, for it to be true. 

She takes his hand.

***

That evening Erica is still not home, working late Joel supposes. It is nine o’clock when Aiden slinks back into the house.

Joel stops him from making his way up the stairs. He is more than familiar with the art of creeping.

“Think you oughta apologize to your sister,” he says as gently as possible. Maybe he can impart some manners onto this unruly child now that he’s calmed down some. “You beat her real bad. You’re much bigger than her.”

“I’d do it again,” Aiden hisses, his eyes cold. “It makes me feel better.”

And then, to Joel, the answer is simple. What do you do with a bully who won’t repent? Fight him back. Show him who’s boss, who’s bigger.

He grabs Aiden by the arm in a flash of anger and drags him up the stairs. The boy screams and flails, but that doesn’t deter Joel. He brings him to the room he assumes is his, the walls covered in sports posters and memorabilia.

“Take off your shirt,” he growls, a familiar fury pounding inside his chest.

When Aiden protests, Joel does it for him, ripping the kid’s shirt nearly in half. Rage floods through Joel’s veins and he can’t exactly place why, but the feeling is very real and bouldering through him at an alarming speed. He knows this feeling, feels strangely at home there.

He undoes his belt and brings the leather end down on Aiden’s back, not the buckle like his father used to do. Joel does have some decency buried deep in his chest. And then he loses himself to the unyielding anger.

“You get ten,” he snarls. “Don’t you lay a hand on your sister again. Is that understood? Now you answer to me.”

No response except for a scream.

“I said , do you understand?” Joel roars, bringing down the belt.

Rage consumes him like a drug. He barely registers what he’s doing. The belt goes down again and again. And somehow, through the screaming and the pain, and the intoxicating feeling of being completely in control for once, Joel’s line of vision wanders to the bedroom door. In all the excitement, it was left ajar and out in the hallway, sitting on her knees is Y/N. Joel immediately expects fear, despair, revulsion. When Tommy would watch him take a beating his face would betray the most acute sense of hopelessness and terror and the waterworks would begin. But Y/N just stares at him unflinchingly, at what he’s doing. She doesn’t cry, she simply sees. Too much for a child, and yet, she watches. She does not intervene, doesn’t even try to. And for the tiniest moment, her and Joel’s eyes connect, and he feels a sense of calm, of comprehension, of recognition in that uncannily knowing gaze. Her irises sparkle and Joel feels…something that he cannot entirely articulate. Seen? Accepted? Understood? Joel knows logically what he is doing is an ugly, vile thing — he has never claimed to be a good man. Practical maybe, but never good. And yet, Y/N sees it — sees him — and she doesn’t look away. She cocks her head slightly, and images of Tommy grimacing in revulsion and fear as Joel mercilessly beat up their childhood neighborhood bullies to the point of unconsciousness pop into his mind, of the haunting look in his brother’s eyes. Even Sarah could not stomach his violent heart when she witnessed him beat up some pervert with a camera that had looked at her funny at the mall. Even though it was for her — to keep her safe. She had stared at him in disgust and pity. She had not seen him then at all.

But now, looking at Y/N, for the briefest moment, Joel can swear he sees something resembling a smile flicker over her serious face. And though it goes as quickly as it comes, he feels the familiar sensation gnawing at the bottom of his stomach: primal and untameable, soft and vulnerable, but fierce and loud at the same time. He feels an inexorable, inescapable sense of care and devotion to this child. But most of all, because she sees him, truly sees him, and does not turn away in disgust, Joel Miller feels the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love deep in his chest. For the first time since Sarah died on that hospital bed, weak and unwell from the chemo he could not afford, he feels alive . 

***

Things fall into a tentative routine. Every morning, Joel wakes up in bed beside Erica. They fuck the night before more often than not, but always in that same slow way that doesn’t do much for Joel. It’s enough to get off, sure, she isn’t an unattractive woman, but he’s mostly there for the meal ticket and roof over his head. He goes to work at the auto-body repair shop, Erica goes to her job at her law firm. The kids ride the bus to school. He gets home in the evenings before Erica and spends time coexisting with the children. Usually, he kicks back on the sofa, rubbing his sore back, and watches television, minding his own business. Aiden mostly avoids him, doing god knows what in his room. He bullies his sister cruelly and Joel punishes him when he sees fit. Erica knows what he does to Aiden and either doesn’t care or approves. He never lays a hand on Y/N though. She warms up to him slowly, cautiously. Most evenings she sits on the far end of the couch and Joel on the other, but as she gets used to him and sees that he’s not a threat, at least to her, she scoots closer. 

The children’s father is no longer in their lives from what Joel can tell, which is perfectly fine with him. When Joel’s heart does not feel full of lead, he plays the guitar. Y/N sits and watches him. She is a quiet child, but unrelentingly brave. When Joel lets the TV blare, he rarely cares to pay much attention these days, she stays and watches with him, no matter what is on and never complains or asks to change the channel. Blockbuster zombie apocalypse movie? She watches. News special on America’s most dangerous serial killers? She watches. Documentary on venomous snakes? She watches. Should Joel be letting her watch this crap? Who the fuck knows? He isn’t her father. And plus, he won’t admit this to anyone, hardly even himself, but he likes having some company. It makes everything feel…less. And he likes that she doesn’t try to make him speak. Sometimes there are no words and he thinks Y/N understands this. Unlike Erica who yaps every second of the day. But Joel stays polite and plays along. He has to.

But he will not lie, Aiden gets on his very last nerve. There is something that Joel cannot quite place that makes him feel like he has known this boy his whole life even though they are as familiar as perfect strangers. All siblings fight and rough-house. That is normal. Hell, he and Tommy used to fight rough and tumble all the time. But the way Aiden bullies Y/N is something else entirely. And most times, it is unprovoked. And he is so much bigger than she is, growing bigger by the day. 

Joel’s beatings have not stopped Aiden’s anger and sadistic attitudes, but they do make sure that he takes some kind of physical consequence for his crimes. It makes Joel feel better and he thinks it makes Y/N feel better too. And some days he gets so fucking mad at Aiden that he thinks not even god could stop his wrath even if the boy turned into Mother Theresa herself! Okay, maybe that’s extreme, but another part of Joel thinks maybe it’s not. The truth is, though he is loathe to admit it, some days, he is not in control of his anger. Some days he punches so hard, his knuckles bleed and he has to stop for a second to come back to himself. Others he goes so roughly on Aiden that he causes the kid to become bloody and he feels ashamed of what he’s done. But there are other days, very dark days, where he wishes he could do it over and over again. He convinces himself he’s doing it for Y/N and not some other sinister ulterior motive he does not care to dwell on…

One night, a few months into Joel’s new living arrangements, he walks through the upstairs hallway to his and Erica’s bedroom, passing the closed door to the bathroom that the kids share. He has done this what feels like a thousand times before and doesn’t think anything of it until he stops and realizes he hears Y/N singing. 

♪“ Someday, my pain / Someday, my pain will mark / You…”♫ she sings softly.

He can barely hear it over the crash of the water from her shower, but her voice is beautiful. It pulls at Joel’s shrunken heart, deep inside his long-dead chest. Her voice has an eerie quality to it too, almost haunting. He’s not sure of what song it is, but he finds himself wanting to know. Eventually, she stops, and Joel goes to bed, but her voice echoes in his mind for hours as he lies awake in the dark.

The next day, Joel is sitting on the couch when the kids get home from school. Y/N joins him on the other side of the sofa as usual. They watch reruns of some unfunny family sitcom.

“Heard you singing last night,” he finally grunts unceremoniously.

Y/N goes very still.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be quieter next time.”

Joel looks over at her. He realizes she looks terrified.

“Ain’t no problem with it,” he tries to explain, confused. “Thought you sounded nice is all.”

“You tryna trick me?” she stammers, tears collecting in her shimmering eyes.

“What? Trick you? What you crying for, honey? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel is genuinely flabbergasted. 

Tears trickle down her cheeks. What has he done this time? he wonders. But he is concerned more than anything. Hell, he hasn’t seen her cry like this since the day they met. Not even last week when Aiden slammed her head into the metal oven in the kitchen (luckily it was off or Joel would have really killed him that time).  

She sniffles, looking conflicted, then collects herself as best she can manage.

“M-my dad didn’t like when I would sing. ‘Specially if he was in a depo…I forget the word…deponition? Deposition? When he was on the phone for work, I mean. If I was being too loud. Or too shrill. He didn’t like that one bit. He’d get mad…” she trails off. 

“The way Aiden gets mad?” Joel asks very slowly, not truly wanting to know the answer.

“Yeah,” she nods after a while. “Except he’s a lot bigger. And stronger. He…he broke my arm once. But it was on accident I think. He got me ice cream after.”

Anger, red and hot, pulses through Joel’s veins. What hadn’t this child endured at the hands of angry men? 

“What did your mother do?” he bites out, almost unnaturally calm from trying to control himself.

“Well, most of the time he’d kinda like hit her around, I guess? But the time he broke my arm was the time she made him leave for good and they got a divorce and all. Aiden says it’s my fault he won’t come around anymore. He was so mad. He loves Dad so much. I don’t understand it though because even though Dad likes him a lot more than me, Dad would still be so mean to him sometimes. Mom says I don’t even know all of it...Promise I won’t bother you with singing though, okay?”

“Sweetheart,” Joel says as softly as his blinding rage will permit. Somehow, when he’s with Y/N, he finds he can control himself better. “I’ll never get mad at you for singing. Or being too loud. Or anything. Never gonna put my hands on you. I’m sorry if what I do to Aiden scares you or made you think that I would ever do such a thing to you.”

“It doesn’t scare me,” she shakes her head. “When you get rough with Aiden, you do it because he did really bad, to protect me. It’s like with you there’s rules that make sense. Aiden chooses to be mean and violent so you choose it back to him. With my dad, it was different. It was like I could breathe wrong and I’d get in trouble. Get in trouble for things I couldn’t control or help. Sometimes I did bad, I know I did, but I also know there were other times where I wasn’t hurting anyone and he’d still hurt me so badly. My dad never got mad at Aiden for hurting me though. He thought it was funny, I think. Sometimes he’d kinda like sick him on me. Kinda how you could a dog.”

Joel doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know the right words. He figures he can only show her with his actions who he is and she will just have to learn to trust him. If her father ever enters the house though, he will wring his neck. That’s for certain. Thank God he doesn’t come around for his sake, Joel’s, and the family’s.

“I was just thinking,” Joel finally says. “If ya want, I could learn how to play that song you were singing on my guitar and maybe you could sing it for me sometime?”

“M-maybe we could sing it together?” Y/N asks tentatively, her eyes wide. “Singing in front of other people is kinda scary.”

“I haven’t sung in a while,” Joel sighs. “Might be rusty.” 

“That’s okay,” she grins hopefully. 

Joel wants to take a photo of that rare sight and keep it close for as long as he lives, torn in his pocket or snug in his wallet, he doesn’t care. 

“Joel?” she asks a little cautiously, breaking him from his thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course, kiddo,” he says as gently as he knows how.

“Who’s Sarah?”

His heart stops. His blood runs cold. 

“What? How did you–”

“You were talking. In your sleep yesterday,” she says, shrinking away a little and Joel feels sorry for scaring her again. “When we were watching Dexter . Well, you fell asleep right before. You were snoring and all, but you were also talking and mumbling that name. You sounded sad and scared.”

Joel should definitely not have allowed her to watch that! But that is hardly the point right now. 

His heart squeezes so tight it burns. What was there to say about Sarah – the entire reason his life had had any purpose? His perfect babygirl? The light of his life? 

He could lie. So easily too and Y/N would never know. He could say nothing at all. Hasn’t even told Erica about her yet. Hardly ever speaks to anyone about her these days.

And yet…

“She was my daughter,” he hears himself say softly. “She…got sick. Died of leukemia a while back. She was twelve.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wallet he was just thinking about. Inside is a tiny school photo of Sarah – the last one she ever took. It’s faded a little, but she’s still smiling so big she could block out the sun. He shows it to Y/N.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” she says and she really does look sorry. 

Not the way his co-workers and customers say it – almost as a reflex – to fill the void in the conversation. Her eyes are shimmering.  

“Nothin’ to do about it now,” he shrugs, running his thumb over the photo paper, softened with age. “But she was so damn special. My whole world.”

He has learned to repress the tears, not to show weakness, that is not hard. Not anymore. But the anger that broils up inside him – the injustice of it all – how he was unable to help her. Unable to save her. He feels almost like a child again, powerless in an unforgiving, unrelenting world. He wants to fight back!

He is so angry he begins to shake and his hands clench into fists. 

He wants to flip over the fucking coffee table – fling it across the room! He wants to punch in the glass of the flickering TV screen until his fist is broken! He wants to–He wants–

He just wants his babygirl back…

A sob, small and foreign rises in his throat, but he pushes it down. 

He thinks Y/N knows though. Can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

She reaches out a small hand and touches his fist, pushes it down gently into the soft fabric of the couch so he’ll stop shaking. It doesn’t entirely work, but he thinks he appreciates the effort.

“I don’t know if this is the right thing to say,” she begins a bit skittishly, still not entirely trusting the hulking, raging man above her. “But I think I would have liked to have been her friend.”

And for the first time since Sarah died, Joel sobs . 

Y/N pops up from the couch and Joel’s heart cries out louder in his chest for her to come back, don’t leave me too as he tries to suck the tears back in. It doesn’t work though and liquid gushes down his cheeks. He doesn’t think he can take the rejection, the loss of her. But thankfully, she returns just as quickly as she went with a handful of tissues stuffed into her small fist. 

“Here, Joel,” she offers. “Here. Don’t cry.”

Joel does cry though. He’s ashamed he’s broken down in front of this literal child, and he doesn’t let out much noise, but he doesn’t take the tissues either. He can’t. 

She’s so sweet though, or maybe it’s because she is truly afraid of him now, of his wrath, he’ll never really know, but she frowns and reaches out a little hand, the one with the scar on the middle finger, and tries to wipe up the tears.

The paper of the tissue tickles his cheeks.

“Shouldn’t havta…” he tries.

“Didn’t mean to make you…” she answers.

A pause.

“You didn’t, honey. That was all me,” he assures her finally.

She lets out a sigh of relief and soaks up the last of the salt water from his face, brushes the tissue gently against his nose. It tickles, causes him to snort. He smirks a little.

She smiles back shyly, she can’t help it, he can tell. 

“You know,” he says thoughtfully after a few moments of silence, sighing deeply. “I reckon she would’ve wanted to be your friend too…”

***

A few months roll by. Things are virtually the same except Y/N seems more comfortable around him now. Maybe it’s because she saw his weakness up close and personal, his Achilles heel —— knows how to coax it out of him now if she has to. Or maybe it’s because she truly trusts him. Whatever the case, she sits closer to him on the couch now, still giving him a respectful foot of distance though of course. 

Once in a blue moon, she sings for him and he tries to keep up with the lilting sound of her high voice. She says she likes his low, deep voice just fine, it’s just she still gets nervous singing in front of other people so it’s still a rare occasion. His favorite is when she sings solo and he gets to strum along for her and really listen. Sometimes her voice cracks in a very specific way that some might find to be a flaw, but Joel would never. 

Aiden makes fun of them and calls them the ‘Von Trapp Family Singers.’ Are they a family? Joel wonders.

One day after work, Joel goes to the library to find some sheet music for a song Y/N likes. She treasures the photo-copied paper like a gift as Joel deciphers the notes he can actually read for her. She color-codes each one carefully in magic marker so she can remember the differences between them. 

The next day, Aiden burns it up with a lighter he has acquired from God knows where. Joel confiscates it – the last thing he needs is this particular child setting fires – and It doesn’t end well for Aiden. He limps for damn near a week. But some days, when Aiden is calm, he joins Y/N and Joel in front of the TV if a sports game is on. He doesn’t sit on the couch though, just the floor. He doesn’t say much to them but does get invested in the good and bad plays of each game, gets sore if his team is losing. On one particularly good day, when the Rangers hit a grand slam, and Joel was actually paying attention, he and Aiden actually high-five.  

Things are going…well? Is that the right word? It is a foreign concept for Joel. For Christmas, he gets Y/N guitar, Aiden a book on boxing so maybe he will redirect his anger into somewhere productive, and Erica a spa-day kit for 20% off that he saw at CVS (he never claimed to know what women want). Aiden is neutral, surprised, he thinks, that Joel even got him a present. Erica is actually appreciative and returns the favor with some new socks and underwear. 

“A practical gift for a practical man,” she says, kissing him on the forehead. 

Joel supposes he appreciates the gesture. 

Y/N, though, is thrilled.

“Thank you, Joel! Got you something too,” she says excitedly, bouncing up and down in her red and white pajamas.

“That’s not necessary,” Joel chides, leaning over to pick up the wrapping paper that was strewn across the living room floor. 

But secretly he is curious. He didn’t think she even had any money of her own…

Aiden opens the cover of the boxing book with disinterest, eyeing the new guitar distastefully. 

Y/N jumps up, leaves the room, and returns with a small plastic baggie in her hands. Inside are little, different bits of colored plastic clumsily and haphazardly cut into tiny, sharp-looking, badge-shaped pieces. One he recognizes is from the top of a yogurt container he put into the recycling the other day, another one from the top of a Gatorade bottle. 

“Here ya go!” 

She shoves the plastic bag into his large hands enthusiastically.

“Thank you,” Joel responds, still unsure what he was given.

It reminds him of when Sarah was young and would come home with some sort of abstract macaroni painting from kindergarten and he would nod and smile knowingly when she explained that of course it was Two dinosaurs getting married, Dad. Duh!

“You could try one on my new guitar,” she offers, a little disappointed when he doesn’t have more of a reaction. “You said you lost most of yours…”

Joel immediately feels guilty and then it clicks. She tried to make him guitar picks! His heart clenches with emotion he can not quite identify. 

He pulls a little orange one out of the bag and accidentally nicks the edge of his finger. Because of the way it was cut, no doubt with uncoordinated child’s hands and a pair of scissors, the edges are much too sharp to serve as an actual guitar pick without damaging guitar strings or apparently Joel’s finger. Dumb kid. But he’s beyond honored anyone would take the time to do such a thoughtful thing for him. 

He hisses softly and sucks the blood off his finger.

“Oops,” she says, horrified. “Shoot. Sorry, I–”

“‘S no trouble,” he interjects dismissively. “Love ‘em. Was my fault anyway. I’mma be honest with you though, sweetheart; don’t think the guitar strings can handle these babies.”

“Oh,” she says softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Oh, yeah, okay...”

She deflates, looking down at the carpet.

Joel selfishly lets her be sad for a beat before swooping back in to be the one to save the day.

“But here’s what I’ll do…”

She looks back up at him with an intoxicating kind of hope in her eyes.

He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and slips the orange pick into the photo slot next to the picture of Sarah. He returns the wallet back into his pants. 

Y/N positively beams. Brighter than the sun, even, Joel thinks.

Aiden yawns purposefully loudly and rolls his eyes. Erica looks touched and maybe even a little proud of her choice in men. But Joel didn’t do it for them. The only reaction in the world he cares about is hers.

Y/N is still grinning, bouncing on the balls of her feet again. But then she does something new: she leans in and hugs him, wrapping her little arms around his waist, burying her face in his flannel shirt, pressing against his tummy.

The world stops for Joel. 

At first, he just hangs there limply, awkwardly. Literally forgets what one is supposed to do in such a situation, but then instinct kicks in and he wraps his arms around her too and squeezes ever so slightly. It’s a more cautious hug than Sarah would have given him – she would have squeezed him half to death – but Y/N is still holding him. Someone small and warm is holding onto him for the first time in what feels like an eternity. And just like that his past is rhyming with his present and it is the most beautiful sound Joel Miller has ever heard. 

Joel Miller is not a good man, no, but maybe, just maybe, he thinks he could be one for Y/N. 

***

Joel tries to be good. He does. His first order of business is stop beating on Aiden – especially in front of Y/N. No amount of violence towards the kid seems to do any good anyway – he still hurts her. And Joel is sick of bandaging her up and wiping the blood from her cheeks; something has to change. Not that he wouldn’t do it a thousand times if he had to. He’d do anything for the girl, that he is sure of. And the truth is, Aiden is close to getting big enough to really fight back. And Joel knows if Aiden really lays a hand on him, he’s not sure he will be able to control himself enough to not inflict permanent damage. And he doesn’t want that. Truly.

So at first, Joel thinks about having Erica send him away to a wilderness camp for troubled children or some such program he sees mentioned on reruns of Dr. Phil. She has the money to do it too. But she won’t send him away. She refuses, loves him too much. Protecting Y/N seems as far down on her list of priorities as ever. She is useless at disciplining him, always has been, so it is up to Joel to find another solution. So the next thing he tries is to set the boy up in boxing classes. This is risky since it might just teach him new ways to hurt Y/N, but at least it will be a place to direct his anger.

It works for a while, to his and Y/N’s immense relief, but that leaves Joel nowhere to take out his anger. He tries to ignore it at first and shove it down, but it starts to come out in little ways. At work, he barks at a customer who locks his keys in the car he’s trying to fix. At home, he shouts at Erica for missing Y/N’s school play. The rage leaks out of him, pours off his entire being. He tries jerking off more to increasingly violent porno magazines to calm himself down since Erica is sure not satisfying him. It doesn’t do enough though, not really. Finally, he tries boxing at the local gym himself, but it is not enough either. Boxing has rules. The first sorry sucker he gets in the ring with, he beats to the point of unconsciousness. Two men have to pull him off to get him to stop. They kick him out immediately.

So Joel tries going to the bar after work with the guys from the shop and drinking a little to take the edge off. That actually helps somewhat. He’s careful about it, never comes home drunk, never drinks in front of Erica or the kids. But what helps the most are the bar fights. He’s careful about that too. Only fights the assholes, which there are many of. Switches up the bars he goes to. But some motherfucker slaps a girl's ass without permission? Joel’s on him in seconds, watching like a predator from the shadows. Some dude throws a drink in the bartender’s face? Joel clobbers him half to death. And sometimes? People in the bar applaud him, even cheer him on. It’s probably because they’re intoxicated, but that’s how he justifies it to himself like he’s some kind of goddamn vigilante. Deep down he knows he is something much, much uglier. But at least he’s not doing it to Aiden, a child. And more importantly, at least it is away from Y/N.

***

One day, Y/N falls sick. It starts out as what seems like a cold with a nasty cough. Kids are little germ factories, Joel knows that. He tells himself it is nothing to worry about – that all kids get sick sometimes. The first few days she lies on the couch like a zombie, coughing incessantly into her elbow and sleeping a lot. She snores ever so slightly which he finds charming. Joel stays home from work with her because Erica has to be in court and they watch lots of nature documentaries and daytime talk shows. 

Then the coughing gets worse and Joel’s brain stops functioning properly and he has trouble explaining why. He feels more on edge, more agitated. Erica takes Y/N to the doctor and comes back with a diagnosis: walking pneumonia. Nothing too serious, lots of kids get it. She is prescribed antibiotics and is supposed to drink lots of fluids and wait it out. But when Erica tells Joel the news of what the doctor told her he is holding a glass of water and it shatters in his large hand, cutting the skin of his middle finger.

“Fuck!” he yells. 

And he cannot articulate precisely why, but he feels good that there is a justified reason to yell. 

Erica wipes his hand and cleans the glass up.

“Gotta go to court again today, honey,” she says like everything is fine and normal. “Can you look after her today? Call in sick? She’s in bed. Going through it.”

Joel nods and she is gone like this whole thing is nothing. Like her precious, living breathing child is not suffering in the room above his head.

He climbs the stairs and enters Y/N’s room. He doesn’t often spend much time there. The walls are painted pink and differently shaped dolls and stuffed animals line the white vanity across from her canopied bed. He does not think he has ever seen Y/N play with any of those specific toys, come to think of it, or express any interest in the color pink (no doubt Erica’s secret passion for interior design rearing its ugly head). He vows silently, one day, to paint the walls any color she wants. 

But there she is, sprawled out in her bed coughing a nasty cough. Something shifts inside Joel at the sound. She looks unwell and weak and so small. 

“Hey, honey,” he says softly, almost robotically. 

Something is not right. He sits on the edge of her bed, feels her burning forehead. He takes her temperature gently with the thermometer that goes in her ear. He feels that weird sensation like he’s been here before even though he has hardly ever entered her bedroom. One hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit it reads when it beeps. Joel swallows a lump in his throat that he didn’t realize was there.  

She coughs pathetically. She looks out of it, her eyes far away. Joel’s heart throbs painfully.

Y/N is mumbling something incoherent now. Joel leans a little closer so he can decipher the words.

He makes out something like: No, Dad. Don’t. Stop, please. Please, not tonight. 

Joel stops breathing. 

She must be delirious from the fever. 

And then she’s crying. Quietly, but crying all the less. And this time, unlike every time he has seen her tears before, she sobs. Actually makes noise, her chest wracked with it. 

Then she coughs so hard she starts to wheeze and it hits Joel so ferociously he practically loses his grip on reality.

When Sarah was sick she had leukemia, a blood cancer. And cancer requires treatment. Expensive treatment. But of course, Joel hadn’t cared. He would have sold every item he owned to save his child, would have traveled to the ends of the earth if he had to, done literally any and everything in his power to protect her. So he paid for most of her chemotherapy with high hopes. Desperate hopes, but high ones. It had been her best shot at getting better according to the doctors. And the thing about chemo is, the side effects can literally be deadly. Joel is not a man of science, but the doctor explained that those drugs kill the bad cells that make up the cancer, but also the good ones. It fucks with your immune system, weakens you. Makes you lose your hair, vomit, and or be so weak you can barely walk. All that happened to Sarah. Joel felt like a traitor taking her to those treatments. Logically, he knew they were necessary, but he always felt like he was the one doing those awful things to her. It eviscerated him, left him raw and empty, and helpless like a child.

But in the end, it was the pneumonia that killed her. Her body couldn’t fight it off. She’d died in a hospital bed, Joel at her side, holding her hand, unable to do a single damned thing except scream .

Y/N coughs again, simultaneously pulling him from his thoughts and throwing him back into them. His heart is pounding in his chest to Do something! But there is nothing to be done, nothing he can do! Why can’t he ever seem to protect her?

She looks up just then, notices him for the first time since he entered the room, still crying feebly.

“He hurt me,” she whispers up at him, her eyes glazed over and glistening with tears. She reaches out for a handful of his dark blue work shirt and pulls it tightly to her. “He hurt me. And I couldn’t–I c-couldn’t…”

And then he is holding her, not quite sure how, but he is holding her trembling body to his chest and he will not let her go. Not for the world, not for anyone. He will not lose this child. He wraps his arms around her, holds tight. He will keep her safe, no matter the cost. 

“It’s okay, babygirl,” he whispers. “I got you.”

***

Joel and Erica get married that spring. They agree on a private ceremony in front of a judge with only Y/N and Aiden in attendance. When Aiden hears the news, he throws a fit, He breaks dishes and punches a hole in the TV set which sets Joel’s teeth on edge. But Y/N is overjoyed. In the end, he and Joel adorn what Joel considers monkey suits and Erica wears a beautiful white dress that accentuates her figure. Y/N wears a frilly pink dress and carries a basket of pink roses. Joel never thought he’d be a married man and yet here he is. He imagines Sarah in attendance too and his heart aches. This is his life now. 

He refuses to wear a ring.

***

Time passes. Long stretches of time where things feel–dare he think it–normal.

 Aiden doesn’t beat Y/N, but begins to get into fights at school. Joel saves his violence for the bar scene which he begins frequenting more often. 

Erica starts working later, gets promoted in her job. Fucks Joel less and less, not that he cares very much. 

Joel goes to back-to-school nights and family cookouts. He teaches Y/N to play the guitar and how to fix car motors. In both these activities, she is no natural, but she tries her best and listens well. She smiles more than he’s ever seen. He drives her to sleepovers and Aiden to boxing practice. He paints her bedroom walls orange.

Things feel stable.

Two Christmases pass.

And then things take a downturn.

***

One evening, Joel returns home from work later than usual. When he arrives home in his truck, he notices an expensive sports car in the driveway. Erica has affluent friends, sure, but he’s never seen this particular car before. Something about that doesn’t sit right with him.

He opens the front door with a creak and Erica intercepts him before he can make it to the dining room table for dinner. She presses a hand to his forearm bulking with muscle.

“Don’t freak out,” she whispers urgently. 

Joel stops and hears the sounds of people eating dinner and a man’s raspy voice speaking.

“Freak out about what?”

He makes his way past her to the dining room. He sees a man he does not immediately recognize sitting at the head of the table, Y/N is flanking one side of the table next to him and Aiden the other. He is conventionally handsome and wearing an expensive pinstripe suit. When he looks up, he smirks at Joel. Joel thinks he looks kind of like Aiden if you were to squint. And then he understands who he is.

“The fuck are you doing in my house?” he growls, lunging forward.

“ Your house?” the man smirks again, unflinching. 

He looks Joel over, examining his mechanic’s uniform, the grease stain on Joel’s cheek. 

Erica grabs Joel. She pulls him back out into the hallway.

“Tell him he’s not welcome here,” Joel snarls, trying to get a look at the man over Erica’s shoulder. 

She pushes him backward gently. Instantly, he is worried for Y/N, for all intents and purposes alone in there with the man who abused her and this entire goddamn family for that matter. He catches a glance at her and she looks terrified . Aiden, conversely, Joel sees, looks like he just won the lottery, staring up at his dad in adoration. Joel doesn’t think he has ever seen him look so happy.

“This is important to them,” Erica snaps quietly. “That’s their father. He has a right–”

“Get him out of here or I’ll kill him,” Joel says deadly quietly. “He what? Doesn’t show up for over three years and you think that–”

“I know that he has a right to speak to them. I am their mother and they need a sense of closure. Aiden needs this. So you will sit down at that table and have an amicable dinner or so help me God, Joel.”

Erica never speaks to him like this. He is shocked.

“Fine,” he snarls after a while, his chest heaving. 

He can hardly think straight while Y/N is in there alone with that excuse for a man. Better he be close to protect her instead of thrown out of the house.

He walks back in with Erica, who sits next to Y/N, leaving Joel nowhere to go but next to Aiden.

“I’m Derek,” the children’s father says, leaning over the food Erica has prepared to shake Joel’s hand. 

Joel doesn’t take it.

“And you must be Joe? The new husband.”

“Joel,” he replies shortly.

He looks over at Y/N who is trying to be brave, he can tell, but deep in her eyes, looks petrified.

They eat dinner in tense silence until Derek breaks it and begins bragging about his golf club record, the latest client he’s been representing, his new girlfriend, Sylvia.

“See, she’s helping me become a better man,” Derek insists with a forkful of steak. “I know I haven’t always been…the greatest of fathers or partners, but she really convinced me coming here would be a good thing. That it would be healing. You guys will meet someday, I’m sure.”

Joel leans forward toward Derek, reeling at the idea that this man could possibly be back in the picture of his family’s life, but Erica reaches under the table and squeezes his knee in a death grip and Joel holds himself back.

Aiden hangs on his father’s every word. Erica looks somewhat intrigued after she lets go of her husband’s leg. Y/N screams silently at Joel, who tries his best to communicate without words that he will keep her safe.

“And I know I’ve missed quite a bit,” Derek continues. “Which is why I brought these. Sylvia’s idea, really.”

He reaches down toward his feet and pulls out a fancy golden gift bag and takes out two presents. He hands one to Aiden and the other one to Y/N. Aiden rips his open excitedly. Inside is a hunting knife with a red handle. 

Great, Joel thinks.

Y/N doesn’t move though, stopped like a deer in the headlights.

“Open it, girl,” Derek sneers.

She looks over at Joel. 

“Go on, baby,” he says softly, heat pumping through his blood.

She unwraps the pink wrapping paper and finds a Barbie doll in a clear plastic box. Joel has never seen her play with dolls at all come to think of it. 

“Isn’t that thoughtful?” Erica smiles cautiously.

“Thanks, Dad,” Aiden says enthusiastically. “Can’t wait to show the guys at ROTC.”

“Good for you, son,” Derek grins. “Serving our country is the highest of honors.”

Joel suddenly tries not to think about Tommy blasted to bits halfway across the world in Afghanistan, his body in such bad condition all that he got left of his baby brother was a finger and two bent dog tags.  

Aiden beams.

“Well,” Derek barks, eyeing Y/N distastefully. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he taunts. 

Joel sees where Aiden gets it from. This arrogant, bullying behavior. He shifts in his seat, ready to strike if necessary.

“Thanks,” she says very quietly. 

Derek grins in a kind of satisfaction that makes Joel want to go over there and punch his daylights out. He almost does too until Erica kicks his shin beneath the table and he controls himself. 

Y/N frowns. She looks over at Joel, then back at her father. Something ripples across her face, but it goes so quickly Joel cannot assign any meaning to it. But she looks ever so less scared somehow, more angry almost, but not quite.

And then after about ten minutes of somewhat peaceful eating and Derek making Aiden and Erica laugh with stupid anecdotes from his court cases while Joel and Y/N exchange looks, it happens.

Y/N’s hand reaches forward and knocks against her glass of coke. It goes flying over in Derek’s direction and drenches him in the sticky liquid, staining his suit.

“Sorry, Dad!” she squeaks immediately. “Oh my god, I–”

“You little slut!” he roars in response, almost like a reflex, backhanding Y/N across the face with lightning speed and accuracy. “Do you know how much this fucking suit cost!?”

The force of the blow is so strong it knocks Y/N from her chair onto the ground.

Before a coherent thought can even go through Joel’s head he is on the other man, slamming him up against the wall behind him by the throat.

“Joel, don’t you dare!” Erica yells, but it is too late.

Joel sees red and can’t exactly recall what he does next, but it goes something like this:

He squeezes around Derek’s throat and bangs his head backward against the wall a few times. The other man tries to get a punch in, but Joel ducks and kicks him in the balls. Derek crumples to the ground and Joel gives his chest another hard kick. He whines pathetically. 

Aiden gets up then, but Erica uses all of her strength to pull him back before he can get involved in the mix. He resists, shouts something that Joel cannot make out, but Erica manages to keep him from the two men with a great amount of effort and struggle. 

Derek is on the floor now and Joel is straddling him, landing punch after ruthless punch down onto his head. His nose begins to bleed, but Joel keeps punching. 

“HOW DARE YOU?” he roars down at the trembling, gushing man on the floor.

There is so much blood splurting all over his face, dripping down onto his expensive stained suit, and the floor that Derek almost stops looking like Derek. Joel sees Aiden’s face in his features. And then there is so much blood that it could be anyone’s face screaming back at him for mercy. It could be those creepy, asshole men at the bar. It could be the much bigger kid who always used to beat up Tommy every day in the schoolyard. It could be that damned head doctor who let his babygirl die. It could even be his no-good, bastard, alcoholic papá . 

He turns his head ever so slightly while still delivering punches. Erica has Aiden in a bear hug. She is screaming for Joel to stop. Aiden is bellowing something that sounds like, You bastard, I’ll kill you! Get off of him! I’ll kill you! And then Joel sees Y/N still on the floor from where she was knocked. Her face is still turned in the same direction it was slapped into, but she is not crying or screaming. Her eyes are dancing.

They connect with Joel’s. 

He knows he is supposed to be a good man for her, but she doesn’t seem to mind his deviant behavior. He stops then, though, because otherwise he thinks he will kill the man and he doesn’t want Y/N to experience that. He steals a glance at her again and she looks ever so slightly disappointed, but her wide-eyed expression tells Joel that Christmas has come early this year. She sends him a look of gratitude and Joel thinks that maybe he did act like a good man for her after all in the case of this vile, pathetic person who is supposed to be her father. 

 Finally, Joel stands up. He walks over and reaches out a bloody hand to Y/N and pulls her gently from the ground. Even after she’s standing upright she doesn’t let go of him.

Derek gets up after a while, wiping his sleeve over his face to try to tame the excess blood. Joel thinks that maybe he broke the man’s nose. He feels not a shred of remorse. The other man spits on the ground at Joel’s feet and leaves without saying goodbye to his ex-wife or children, slamming the front door behind him.  

Erica is not pleased with Joel’s behavior. Aiden is shouting and screaming. He breaks a plate by throwing it onto the floor with a loud crash. Joel leans over and grabs the knife his father gave him and sticks it in his front pocket so Aiden doesn’t feel tempted to use it. Y/N’s small hand is still in his. 

When Aiden is coherent enough to listen to instructions and all screamed out, Erica sends the children upstairs to bed. 

Joel tries to walk Y/N up to bed to tuck her in, but Erica stops him.

“ Not you,” she growls at Joel. 

She is livid in a way Joel has never seen before. For a moment, he seriously wonders if this is the end of their relationship. 

The kids scamper upstairs and Erica yells at Joel for ages. 

At a certain point, he stops listening. He doesn’t try to argue back. Doesn’t care to. He is actually calm now, though his chest is still heaving from the exertion, more calm than he’s been in ages. He knows that she will never understand why he had to do what he did to Derek. She lives in another reality where his violence is not acceptable if she has to bear witness to it. She doesn’t care about Y/N the way she is supposed to. Never has. Doesn’t know or see her. Not the way Joel does. Has too big a soft spot for Aiden. Tolerated Joel’s violence toward him though like a coward. Maybe deep down she knew he needed some kind of discipline? But when Joel lays a hand on her scumbag of an ex-husband that’s what’s too far? When he hurt her own daughter? When Joel himself was responsible for hurting her own precious son? Where was her outrage then? 

But he voices none of this. Pushes it down. He cannot lose her. Not this house, not the kids, not the financial security. Never Y/N. 

Erica banishes him to the couch for the first time in their relationship. Joel doesn’t mind. 

Hours later, late into the night, he hears soft footsteps walking down the stairs. He rolls over on the sofa to see who is approaching. He wonders if it is Erica there to apologize because he knows her well enough to know by now that she will forgive him eventually. She will forgive anything it seems. But it is not Erica at all.

“Joel?” a little voice asks quietly. “You up?”

“Yeah, baby,” he replies. “You okay? I’m so sorry he pulled that shit on you.”

Y/N shrugs. 

“Sorry I…I didn’t stop it before it happened,” he admits like a secret. 

She shrugs again.

“‘M sorry she made you sleep on the couch and all,” she replies.

“‘S no trouble. I don’t mind.”

“But it’s my fault you got in trouble in the first place.”

“Y/N, you ain’t done nothing wrong,” Joel tells her seriously. 

It’s hard to see her in the dark, but he thinks she’s grimacing guiltily. 

“I just wanted to say…” she begins hesitantly. “Thanks for like sticking up for me and all that. You…you’re the only one who does.”

Joel hides a smile from his babygirl. Something inside him likes being that person for her, he cannot lie to himself. Likes being the one she can count on. 

“You were like some MMA fighter,” she continues. “But then all the blood was like in The Shining .”

One day, not long ago, Joel had fallen asleep on the couch when The Shining came on and Y/N had watched the entire thing out of her own free will. That movie had frightened the shit out of him as a kid!

“I’m sorry if I scared you, sweetheart.”  

“You didn’t,” Y/N replies matter-of-factly.  “I wasn’t scared of what you did for a second…I know that’s messed up, but I kinda wanted you to…” 

She trails off.

Joel understands. 

“I kinda, please don’t get mad, but I sorta knocked the cup over on purpose,” she admits.

Joel’s eyebrows go way up on his forehead in surprise.

“It’s just,” she babbles quickly in self-defense. “Mom and Aiden were like giggling and hanging onto every dumb thing he said and it scared me. I thought they might let him keep coming around and start liking him again. And I also knew he hadn’t changed too. I could tell on account of how he was looking at me in that same mean way he always did. And I also knew you’d save me like you always do and you had this angry look in your eyes. I knew what you would do. I could feel it in my gut…”

“You little shit!” Joel smirks. 

He has to give her credit where credit was due – that was incredibly shrewd. Dangerous, but oh so clever. She played everyone in that room like a fiddle. Joel is honestly kind of proud.

“You mad?” she asks tentatively, biting her bottom lip.

“Nah,” Joel grins. “At you? Never. You shouldn’t have had to let him hurt you to get him away from you, but you protected yourself and that’s the most important thing. If I had to do it over, I would.”

Y/N smiles. 

She’s a fucked up little girl, but Joel is a fucked up man, and they both live in a fucked up world.

“Got your back,” he grunts. “Remember that. Now scurry along back to bed and get some rest.”

“G’night, Joel.”

*** 

Time passes. 

Erica forgives Joel of course and Derek never comes around again. 

Y/N and Aiden grow bigger. 

They go on camping trips and Joel teaches Y/N and Aiden how to fish. Never thought he would see the day where Aiden was willingly listening to his instructions, but the day comes anyway. Of course, the boy’s favorite part is cutting up the bloody fish guts like Joel’s used to be as a child. Y/N likes the part where you wait for the fish to bite. She sits next to Joel on the grassy river bank, the sun shining down on the lazy lake they are camping by, and smiles softly to herself.

Another two Christmases pass.

All the while, Joel is visiting the bar more and not necessarily to drink. His violent streak is getting worse somehow. He thinks, though he’s no goddamn shrink, that it might have something to do with the fact that he and Erica are not having any sex. Their relationship is still amicable and she is still sweet to him, and he tries his best to be to her too, but in the bedroom is mostly crickets. Joel jerks off, of course he does, but his fist is no substitute for a warm body. 

Joel causes such a scene at the bar he frequents the most, that the cops have to be called. He ditches the place before he can get arrested, but he’s getting worried about his behavior. Something must change.

So then come the women. They practically throw themselves at him. Never has he thought he was that attractive until women literally offer themselves up to him on a silver platter after saving them from some drunken creep. Joel had always declined until now. But Joel is only a man. He fucks them rough and dirty (with their permission of course – Joel is not a good man, and a lot of things, but he isn’t a fucking rapist) in the bathroom stalls, in the alleyways. In the moment it feels good and helps him let off some steam, but after he feels guilty. And it doesn’t satisfy him much more than with Erica if he really thinks about it. One thing that Erica has over these women who let him act out his violent self is the look of devotion in her eyes. That’s always the thing that gets Joel to cum in the end when he does get to fuck her.

 He would leave her, she isn’t that special to him if he’s honest, but she offers him a twofold sense of stability he has never known in his life. The first fold is the financial stability that has evaded him all of his days. The second is the feeling of family . Something so mundane and normal. And despite her flaws, she treats him so well – better than Sarah’s mother ever did. And most importantly, he doesn’t think he could leave Y/N. Not now. Not when she looks at him like he is the universe. Not even Aiden whom Joel has (begrudgingly) begun to see the traces of himself in. 

***

This particular muggy, summer day begins normally. Joel goes to work, fixes a Chevy Impala’s fluid tank. And then he walks in with an old, beat-up Honda Accord. 

His name is David, and Joel has heard of him through murmurings and bar stories and whispers at community barbeques. He’s a notorious neighborhood legend, whose house kids cross the street to avoid. He is the boogeyman at the end of the cul-de-sac. 

The story is, though through the many versions Joel has heard some of the details get muddled, that he kidnapped and raped a twelve-year-old girl (that part all versions agree on). Some say he was supposed to have ten years in prison, others say twenty, but whatever the number he got out in one for “good behavior.” In jail, he supposedly devoted his life to God and became a preacher.

Joel doesn’t want to help him, but his boss hisses at him that money is money and he’s going to serve the man whether Joel likes it or not. 

There’s something wrong with the exhaust pipe, so Joel bends down and takes a look at it. He opens the trunk and sees a box of Bibles next to a plastic bag of zip ties. His blood runs cold.

“The fuck is this shit doing in your car?” he growls, referring to the zip ties.

“The Bible is the word of God, Mr. Miller,” David replies, eyeing Joel’s nametag. “Would you like one? I’m always trying to spread The Good Word.” 

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he spits, looking over to make sure his boss is not watching. 

“If you must know, though it’s none of your business, those zip ties are for my garden to help hold up my plants. They are remarkably useful,” David smiles sickeningly politely. 

And that’s when Joel loses it just a little.

He picks up the ties and pockets them.

“Listen here, you pedophile piece of shit,” he snarls. “If I hear about you stepping one goddamned pinky-toe out of line–”

“Hey, Joel!” A little voice calls.

The breath is knocked from Joel’s lungs.

Y/N bounds up to them holding a brown paper bag out of nowhere. 

“You forgot your lunch! Mom dropped me off so you could have it. It’s tuna though. I hate hate tuna. But you’ll eat anything so I hope it’s good for you at least,” she babbles.

“Baby,” Joel says very quietly, his heart thrumming in his ribcage. “Right now’s not a great time. Why don’t you go on home and I’ll catch up with you later?”

Then she notices David. By the fact that she doesn’t immediately leave, Joel determines she has no clue who he is.

“Hello, young lady,” David smiles, eyeing Joel knowingly. “I’m Pastor David.”

“Uh, hi,” she says.

Joel thinks he might actually kill him.

“Would you like something to take home with you?” he asks.

Y/N blinks in confusion as Joel steps in front of her.

“She’ll be going now, won’t you Y/N?” Joel suggests dangerously.

“Here,” David says before she can respond.

He hands her a black-covered bible.

Y/N takes it, looks at the cover, and laughs. Joel and David both look down at her in surprise.

“No offense, ‘Pastor David,”’ she smirks. “But I don’t believe in that shit. Here, you can have it back,” she offers.

He takes back the book somewhat defeatedly. And Joel grins internally.

“Bye, Joel,” she tells him, still smirking. 

She side-hugs him quickly and returns to Erica’s car. 

“How dare you even look at her–” Joel booms at the sad, pathetic excuse for a man once she is out of earshot. 

His hands are clenched into fists and they are shaking. Every part of him is on fire. 

“I think I’ll be going now,” David interjects lightly. “I can see my business isn’t welcome here. You have a beautiful daughter, Mr. Miller. Quite a mouth on her. Shame if something were to happen to her…Oh, the things someone like me could make her believe…”

Joel reaches back his fist to punch, to pummel, to kill, but suddenly, another hand grabs his and holds it in place. Joel’s boss has materialized behind him and is holding him back. Good thing too. It’s probably the only thing that saves Joel’s career and David’s life. 

David winks and drives away as the boss begins to reprimand Joel who is still shaking and fuming.

All he knows is this: If anyone touches his babygirl he will not hesitate to put them six feet under, no matter the cost to himself. He will not hesitate to get blood on his calloused hands. He will not hesitate to kill. And this time? His baby will not sustain a single scratch . He will not wait for her to get hurt before he acts. 

***

Joel wants nothing more than to go home and spend time with his babygirl and wife and even his step-son if he will allow, but there is blood popping and oozing and broiling and churning under his skin like billowing, bubbling lava. If he doesn’t do something about it soon he will explode worse than a volcanic eruption so he heads to the seediest bar he can think of. He makes his way inside and sits right up at the bar, already occupied by a few people. He orders a drink (his usual: whiskey on the rocks) and waits for the impending opportunity for violence he is sure is lying in wait.

He cannot believe the shit that came out of ‘Pastor-fucking-David’s’ sick, perverted mouth and that he almost lost his job over it. He lets that thought charge him up into a rage, his fists clenched so tightly they are beginning to ache in the joints. He cannot believe that disgusting little fucker had the audacity to say that horrible scummy bullshit in his presence when he would do anything to protect that innocent child. He takes a drink of his whiskey and knocks it back in one gulp. He would do anything , ‘Lord’ only knows. He snickers to himself sinisterly. 

And while he’s on the topic, fuck God! When had He ever done a single damn good thing for Joel his entire miserable life except maybe to give him Sarah and then take her away like she was nothing and not the entire light of the universe wrapped into a small, vulnerable person? Joel doesn’t know much about the bible, truth be told, but he remembers a few things from his Sunday school days. He remembers that people are created in the image of God and the stories he remembers most are from the Old Testament which heavily featured a God of absolute rage. Maybe that is the way he is god-like, built of anger and revenge and wrath and the sick, pathetic hunger for power that lurks inside most people. 

But he also remembers Jesus being meek and mild. Joel never understood that desire until he had Sarah and then Y/N in his care. If Joel could snap his fingers and make himself some fundamentally kind and caring man he would, but he can’t. Joel Miller is not a good man. He tried to be for Y/N, he truly did, but look at everything he’s done in the time he’s known her: he used Erica to get financial stability and roof over his head, he’s cheated on her numerous times, he beat Aiden, a child, and everyday the weight of that guilt grows greater as he begins to truly understand how wrong that was, and he beat his babygirl’s pathetic excuse for a father (but still her father) in front of her. He also beat people in bar fights and that time at the gym. And the thing is: is he even a little bit sorry about any of it – except for maybe what he did to Aiden? No, not even a little. And he’d do all of it again if it could mean getting to spend time with his babygirl, Y/N, again. His babygirl who FUCKING DAVID tried to threaten!

And the problem is: who knows what that fucker is capable of? The police and the judicial system let him out after one year which can only be described as a colossal moral failure and a massive miscarriage of justice. It wouldn’t take much for David to really figure out where they lived and grab Y/N and throw her in his trunk like he did that poor other little girl. Maybe that’s paranoid, but Joel knows better than most that when a man wants to do a dark thing he will find a way to do it. Joel does not want to live his life constantly looking over his shoulder as some horrendous pedophile lives freely. 

And then he turns his head to look down at the rest of the fairly busy bar and he sees him . None other than David himself, drinking a beer. Joel cannot believe his luck. It is like all of the light in heaven has aligned to give him such a gift. A part of him is screaming to not engage because Joel is sure he could kill him for what he said about Y/N. But the rest of him is already standing up and grabbing David by the shoulder and–

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the fuck out of here now ,” he snarls. “Almost lost my job because of you, you sick fuck. You’re lucky I give you a warning and don’t wring your neck on the fucking spot.”  

David turns around, Joel’s fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Proverbs 24:1 and 2,” he quotes calmly. “‘Do not envy wicked men or desire their company; for their hearts devise violence, and their lips declare trouble.’”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means perhaps I will be leaving. I don’t care to spend my time with wicked men such as yourself. And I have many preparations to make for what is to come. How is your daughter doing since we last met?”

Joel’s heart runs cold. 

“Get my baby’s name out of your goddamned mouth .” 

“Hope we run into each other soon,” David grins as he gets off the barstool and dislodges himself from Joel’s grip. “There is a lot I could teach her.”

He turns to leave. Disgusting coward, Joel thinks. He could let the man go. But then what? Live in fear of him? Let his precious Y/N live in fear of him? Joel is tired of living in fear, of resigning to a cruel man in a cruel world, and he will never do that or let Y/N do that ever again. 

And then David leans in so close that Joel can smell the alcohol on his breath and the sweat on his skin.

“Can’t stop thinking about her pretty little hands around my–”

Joel doesn’t let him finish. In that moment he knows what will transpire. He picked this seedy-ass bar for a reason: so that no one will bother to stop him.

He lands the first punch with ease, doesn’t even feel the pain till minutes later. The force of the blow to David’s head is so strong he slams down into the ground. It is so violent that David’s eyelid starts to bleed and the skin around the impact spot becomes puffy and dark. 

David shouts for help, but no one in this place gives a fuck and even if they did everybody knows who he is and what he did so they don’t give a shit two times over. 

Joel continues the assault. Punch after punch reigns down on the other man as blood begins to coat his features. David tries to get a punch or two into Joel’s stomach, but Joel straddles each of his biceps and holds him down so he can continue hitting. The longer Joel hits, the better he feels. This time is different. This time he does not see the features of every man he’s ever hated in the face of his victim. This time he sees only David’s disgusting smirk in his mind’s eye. This time he only thinks about how he is saving Y/N from a lifetime of fear and cruelty. This time Joel will not let his adversary get a strike in first. This time he will be the one to stop the fate of impending devastation that lies in the palms of David’s shaking and broken hands. This time he can save her . 

When Joel is done with his hands, he is panting heavily. He moves on to his feet, kicking the man’s gut sadistically, his trembling hands, his face. Crunch , goes David’s skull. And then he is not moving or breathing.

Joel stops.

A lick of fear trails against the inside of his stomach, but the rage, always the rage warms his stomach like a rush of flames.

So he keeps going. He bends back down and squeezes the man’s throat just to make sure. It’s good he did too because David’s bloodshot, viens-having-burst eyes snap open and David makes a pathetic little squealing noise and Joel squeezes harder, rougher, with more conviction.

In the end, it takes longer than he thought it would. 

Joel only stops when he hears sirens blaring in the distance. He looks up for the first time since the assault started and sees all of the patrons staring at him in revulsion and fear. The bartender actually has the phone in her hand. Joel guesses she was the one to finally call the cops. He guesses he was so sadistic and violent that even this shitty place had seen enough. He thinks to run, briefly, but where would he run to? Everything he has ever wanted in life is now going to be closed off to him. But he saved Y/N and that makes everything worth it. It has to have been worth it.

Joel puts two scarred, calloused fingers to David’s pulse point, as blood (his and David’s) drips down from his knuckle onto the wooden floor and feels nothing.

When the cops handcuff him and take him away, he doesn’t resist. He comes quietly. He cannot ever really be a good man for Y/N, he understands that now, but at least now she and he may know some peace of mind after what he’s done.

***

The time leading up to the trial is a blur. 

Erica pays for an excellent lawyer, but divorces him on the spot. It seems there are some things even she will not forgive, and apparently murder is one of them. She allows the children to see him one last time in cold, sterile police interrogation room. A court-appointed child advocate social worker must be present. They allow him to have his handcuffs taken off for the first time since he was arrested. The kids are told he accidentally killed someone in a bar fight and for legal reasons he leans into the “accidental” part. 

Aiden comes in first. He knew who David was and tells Joel he did the right thing. Joel is surprised. He reaches out a limp hand, dirt caked under his fingernails, and shakes Joel’s for the first time since they’ve known each other and they part ways on good terms.

“You’re not my dad,” Aiden tells him quietly. “But you always put up a good fight to be there.”

And he leaves.

Joel is more touched than he wants to believe.

Y/N’s visit is much more difficult.

“How could you!?” she screams, standing by the door the second she sees him as he sits at the interrogation table, his chair turned toward her. 

At first Joel thinks she means how could he killl another human being. Y/N didn’t seem to know who David was after all. But that’s not what she is mad about.

“How could you leave me!?” she shouts, tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be taken away from me! Mom is leaving you because of this and that means you aren’t like my dad anymore. You’re going to forget all about me and never get to see me again because you killed some dumb man who tried to give me a bible?”

“He was not a good man,” is all Joel can say. 

He can’t be the one to tell her more, hasn’t told anyone how David had threatened her. Not even his lawyer. He doesn’t want to scare her, doesn’t want to admit to anyone he let those words even get to leave that shit stain’s mouth. 

“I don’t care!” she shouts again. “I want you!”

And then she bursts into tears and runs into his chest and Joel holds her against his orange jumpsuit and starts to feel tears trickling down his own cheeks.

“Never gonna forget about you,” he nearly scolds her into hair. “How could you ever think that, baby? You’re my babygirl. I’ll get out one day and come right back to you, understand?”

“But Mom–”

“You’ll be grown by the time I get out and won’t have to worry about what she says. But I’ll tell you this: you might feel different about me by the time your grown up and however you feel I want you to know I’ll respect that. But I ain’t gonna forget about you. Not ever.” 

“Your time is up,” the court-appointed social worker states. 

“No!” Y/N shouts, burying herself deeper into Joel’s embrace. “NO! I’m not leaving! I won’t leave you!”

Joel hugs her back tightly, crying into the top of her head as she sobs softly into his chest. 

In the end, the social worker has to pull her away as she screams.

“I love you, Y/N!” he calls to her as the social worker drags her from him. “Never gonna forget you, babygirl. Remember that.”

All Joel can hear back is a broken wail.

***

Erica attends the trial; the kids are forbidden. Joel’s defense claims it was a drunken accident and goes for manslaughter. Because he killed a known child molester he has no trouble while he waits in jail. He is even considered a hero by some. No one tries to fuck with him and that’s how Joel would prefer it since if he gets into too many fights it will just add to his sentence and he must get out and get back to his babygirl if she’ll still have him. His lawyer tells him not to mention the threats that David made toward Y/N because it will look like more of a reason that Joel would have had to intentionally kill him as opposed to accidentally like the manslaughter plea would have the court believe. Joel listens. He does exactly what he’s told because this lawyer is good and he needs to get out someday for christ sake.

In the end, he gets ten years and his lawyer tells him he could get eight for good behavior.

Eight years, if Joel can manage it.

They take him away to prison in handcuffs. Erica sobs. It is the last time he sees her.

***

Joel always wondered if his temper would land him in prison. Now that he’s here things go surpringly well. He gets a reputation for being the murderer of a child molestor and people respect him, listen to him when he bothers to speak. He keeps things in order and people start to refer to him as the “pod boss.” He also reads a lot in his cell, tries to help people with their cases and appeals if he can. And if someone steps out of line, Joel is more than happy to put them in their place so long as he can avoid attention from the guards, who he actually mostly gets along with to their faces, but behind their backs beats people to a pulp. No one ever dares to snitch on him and he is considered on the right track to get out for good behavior early. 

Time passes — painfully long stretches of time.

He has a lot of time to think, to read. He reads every book in the prison library over the time he is incarcerated. He reads parenting books, self-help books, books on trauma, books on abuse, books on anger management, books on meditation, books on spirituality (nothing sticks in that regard though, he is still furious like God, but less so these days). Somehow his anger has started to simmer down a notch.   

But he worries his babygirl will forget about him, or worse grow to hate him. He’s not sure he’ll survive that.    

Luckily, or he might have withered away and died, somehow Y/N convinces Erica to let her write him a letter once a month and have one call with him on Christmas. 

Christmases quickly become his favorite day of the year. 

Y/N writes him religiously. She talks about how angry she is at him, how she misses him, how she finally fixed the motor on Joel’s old pickup truck, how some boy gave her a love letter on Valentine’s Day, how she thinks of him every day.

Joel never tells her what David said about her, lets her believe he is just some violent, drunken idiot. He writes back how much he misses her, how he read a new book this week, how prison food is shit, how he’d probably greet that boy with a shotgun if he thinks he’s getting anywhere with his babygirl, how his whole heart beats for her.

She’s allowed to send him one photo a year, her most current school photo, and Joel hangs them on the wall of his cell so he can see her beaming at him at his highest and lowest moments along with the tiny picture of Sarah he managed to save from his wallet. 

Aiden even sends him a card each Father’s Day. It never has anything written in it except for whatever stupid pun or text the card came with, but Joel reads between the lines with that one. Each one seems to whisper to him louder and louder, I love you and I forgive you. Joel writes him back, “Thanks, kiddo. -Joel” He hope that conveys the thousands of sorrys he wants to scream from the rooftops and say straight to the boy’s face. He will someday when he gets out. He makes himself promise. He hears from Y/N when Aiden joins the marines. 

When Joel gets to actually hear Y/N’s voice on the old prison phone it’s like the most beautiful sound he has ever heard except for maybe Sarah’s voice. She babbles away about her life and what’s she’s up to and he hangs on every word like gospel. He barely gets a word in, but prefers it that way. Wishes he could hear her singing. Once, when she’s sixteen, and sounds so woefully grown up it hurts Joel’s entire heart, she hums a little absentmindedly and he can’t get the sweet sound out of his head. Her love for him never seems to waver and that is a blessing that Joel will never forget, the only thing he would thank this cruel God for. And of course, his love for her never wavers either. She is the only beacon of light for him in this dark and mundane existence. She is his everything.

***

When Y/N is eighteen and no longer under her mother’s control, she comes to visit him in person. This is the first time they have seen each other in six years. Despite their loving correspondence, Joel is nervous to see her for the first time since her childhood. He worries about how awkward it might be.

When he sees her walking into the dinky little family meeting room, his entire mode of existence changes.

She looks so beautiful, so grown-up. Sure she had always been a cute little kid, Joel always thought that, but now she is a woman. Tears come to Joel’s eyes. When her eyes connect with his, he feels so seen .

He tries to get a word out, but before he can she is running to him, into his arms and Joel has never felt something so perfect in his entire life. He knows he has never felt a love like this before. Not even with Sarah…something about this is different somehow? Joel is not too in touch with his feelings, but he’s trying to be more attentive to them these days with nothing left to do but read about such topics as “emotional regulation” and “mindfulness.” He’ll come back to this thought later though…

Y/N begins to babble into his ear, something about missing him and not wanting it to be awkward, but this is the furthest from awkward Joel has ever felt.

Joel has never been a man of many words so all he can think to say is,

“Missed you, babygirl.”

She grins at that, brighter than all the suns of all the planets in the universe (Joel has been reading about those too) and he laughs for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

She laughs too, wipes tears from her eyes, and says,

“Missed you too, Joel. More than you know.”

Joel thinks that can’t possibly be true for that is all he has known for the last six years and possibly his entire life: missing her.

She comes once a month, drives an hour just to see him, and she tells him about college and later her very own shitty apartment. Her mother has thrown herself into her work and Aiden is serving his second tour. She makes good grades and has a stable boyfriend that treats her well, she swears. Joel couldn’t be happier for her, except the boyfriend business does make him want to crush that little fucker’s head in for some reason.

***

The last time Y/N comes to visit before his release (eight years to the day for good behavior) (she is 20 damn years old already!) something feels different to Joel. When he hugs her to greet her, he’s suddenly very aware of her body, the curves of it, her softness. Her hair smells so good, he doesn’t want to let go of her and then to his intense dismay and shock he feels himself getting a little excited down south. Immediately, he lets go of her, feeling like a pervert, praying she didn’t and doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see any obvious signs from her and the two sit down (Joel rather quickly) at the flimsy, nailed-down table and they talk of Joel’s impending release. All the while, Joel is trying to stay calm. He convinces himself it was just an accident and that he hadn’t been around any women in what felt like an eternity and that’s what  led him to get worked up. But when Y/N leaves to go home he feels a kind of dull longing in the bottom of his gut. A different kind of longing then what he had felt for a younger Y/N. Joel tells himself not to repress for the first goddamn time in his life and let himself feel. And he does. He feels butterflies and yearning and need, a great big need inside himself. And then he knows what else he feels: the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love and beneath that, primal, base, and self-loathing: desire . 

In his solo cell (that he has acquired because he is the pod boss and respected) he jerks off to those thoughts, touches himself to those feelings. When he cums unusually hard, he feels an overwhelming amount of shame. Of this, Joel knows, he will never ever tell another soul. Joel also knows he will not hurt his babygirl any more than he already has, intentionally or not, not ever. But then again, being a good, upstanding man has never really quite been in his arsenal, has it?

Tags (LMK if you wanna be tagged!): @toxicanonymity @motelprincess444 @epicrainbowsheep @anama-cara @sheepdogchick3

@denileisariver @lochnymph @mewantpeepaw @fandomdaydreamer @r3dheadedwitch

PLEASE COMMENT LIKE REBLOG IM BEGGING IM PLEADING IM CRYING

PART 2 (coming soon)

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

#ao3 #fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #dark joel miller #mechanic joel miller #convict joel miller #dark fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #my fic #writing

[bimoonphases]

@wolfstarmicrofic May 4 - prompt 4: Marriage of Convenience [word count 759]

“Mais merde à la fin!” Sirius cursed, failing for the third time to properly knot his tie.

“Here, let me help you.”

James got up from the bed and reached for Sirius, his fingers deftly working on the tie, his own already perfect and a white rose in his lapel.

“There you go,” James forced a smile before he sighed. “I really hate this. I’m supposed to help you fix your tie the day of your wedding to the love of your life, not as you get ready to marry a complete stranger.”

“Yeah, well, blame your fellow countrymen for taking this place out of the EU,” Sirius grumbled. “It’s either this or me having to move back to France and I haven’t lived there since I was three.”

Sirius gritted his teeth. After the exit polls things had gone barreling towards the worst for him quite quickly, ending him up in the position he was in that very day, with only those two options, the second of which he refused to consider. His whole life was in London, he wasn’t about to move. So he had to marry someone with a citizenship as soon as possible before the new laws ended up with him being deported. Thankfully, he hadn’t been alone in that. The London queer community had so many people in his same situation that Lily and her girlfriend Pandora had immediately sprung into action, changing the goal of their charity into something that these days resembled a matchmaking scheme. At first they had had the time to set up meetings between people, but as time ran out and laws were made and protests ignored it had all turned into a text with a picture, a name and date, time and location of the wedding. Since he knew her well, Sirius had been privileged enough to get a call from Lily after she had sent him a picture of a guy in a brown velvet jacket, a book in his hands.

“He’s a good friend of mine, Sirius, and he’s truly a wonderful person. He’s very active in the community and teaches at UCL, I’m sure you two will get along.”

He had thanked her but shrugged it all off. It wasn’t as if they needed to like each other to sign a piece of paper. This Remus Lupin had volunteered to help out, they would both walk into the marriage office knowing it was just for convenience.

“It should’ve been me,” James sighed as he slipped another white rose in Sirius’s lapel. “If you have to marry someone to stay in the country it’d be better if it was your best friend.”

“You’re already doing that for Regulus, James.”

“That’s different, Regulus is my boyfriend.”

“Exactly, and he would murder me if I tried to marry you before he could,” Sirius laughed, then he patted James’s arm. “Let’s go, it would be rude to keep my future husband waiting.”

The ride to the registry office was silent, and when they emerged on the steps of the building Sirius immediately scanned the crowd, looking for the man in the picture.

“That must be him,” James said behind him. “By the main door, talking with Lily.”

Sirius looked up and blinked a couple of times. Remus Lupin was very tall, dressed in a navy blue suit, a white rose in his lapel too and a cigarette in hand.

“God Prongs, he’s hot,” he whispered.

“He really is,” James chuckled. “Come on, let’s go to them.”

They walked up the steps and Sirius had the time to detail Remus’s soft-looking hair, his long fingers and the way his white shirt hugged his torso. He almost didn’t greet Lily when they stopped in front of them.

“Your picture really didn’t do you justice,” Remus smiled at him. “And it was one of the hottest pictures I’ve ever seen all the same.”

Sirius felt himself blush as he shook his hand.

“So you’re doing this only because you find me handsome?” he chose to say.

“Anything to send a big fuck you to this government,” Remus shrugged.

“A real Englishman in shining armour then.”

“Fuck that, I’m Welsh.”

Remus put his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and extended his hand.

“Shall we go pledge our love until death do us part then?”

As Sirius walked into the registry, his fingers intertwined with a stranger’s and his heart pounding he decided he would wait until they had both said yes and then he would ask his husband out on a first date.

#of course Sirius swears in French #also no I never got over the 2016 referendum #so this is my way to say fuck you #also Lily and Pandora matchmaking #I might need to write more about that #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #sirius bl #remus lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #james potter #lily evans #marauders #marauders era #modern marauders #the marauders #the marauders era #just writing (like i'm supposed to live)

[mingtinys]

how flowers bloom and wither

pairing : lee chan x gn!reader , platonic! boo seungkwan x reader

apocalypse!au , exes to lovers , angst , hurt / minimal comfort

warnings : language , death , apocalyptic themes , depictions of wounds and blood , suicidal ideation , this is not a happy ending or story

word count : 6.3 k

requested ? no

a/n : heavily inspired by this juyeon fic that made my cry in my car (p.s. there is a jeonghan ver as well).

Your voice is the first to call his name in months. It's been so long the cadence of it sounds foreign to his ears. Almost like another language entirely. A cry from the distance, barely audible in a way he easily dismisses as a hallucination. Perhaps he was finally going mad.

He knows other survivors exist, he'd seen them in nearly every town he scavenged. Though in no reality had he ever assumed any of them knew his name. The world had not been kind enough to spare anyone who knew and loved Lee Chan. They'd all been swept away in the initial outbreak. And with no one tethering him to his own existence, he was no more than a living ghost amongst the ruins.

But then the voice calls again, this time closer. Behind him. Louder.

"Chan? Lee Chan!"

And even stranger, he knows this voice. Better than he knows the sound of his own name. Could pick it out of a crowd, blindfolded and all.

Though he still can't bring himself to believe it. Not even as he turns and your silhouette comes into view against the setting sun, your elongated shadow reaching out for him. Tattered shoes well beyond their usable years slap against the pavement as you sprint.

"Oh my God, Chan!"

It has to be a mirage. You'll pass straight through him like an apparition and the universe will laugh at him for believing another one of its cruel jokes.

Yet still, his arms open, and seconds later your full weight crashes into him. Like a tide breaking the shore, stirring up memories like loose sand in its wake.

It's the first time in months he's been held. Felt the warm touch of anything living, much less the safety of something familiar. Tears fill his eyes instantly as Chan clings to the one thing from his past he could never seem to bury. To what he can only assume is a pity gift from the universe making up for all the times it fucked him over. To you.

Your chest heaves against his as you ask, "Is it you? Is this real?"

Chan himself doesn't know the answer to that.

"I can't believe I found you," you breathe out once the air surrounding you two settles. You haven't let go yet and Chan doesn't want you to. Worried that when you finally do, he'll wake up back in the crumbling shed he'd used for shelter the night before. With his back against a cold, moldy mattress instead of being held by the warmth of a thousand suns. Alone again.

"Please say something," you nervously laugh. Despite the chill in the air, Chan's cheeks are burning up. He's at a loss, far too overwhelmed to produce anything remotely coherent. Though as you peel away to examine him, concern knitting your brows, one word does come to mind.

Wow.

You're still as radiant as he remembered. A diamond amongst the ruins of the world. It looks, for the most part, the universe has been kind to you. Good, he thinks.

"You're not..." Your expression falls. "You're not sick, are you?"

It's the fear in your eyes that finally prompts Chan to push down the lump in his throat. "No!" He rasps, then clears his throat. "No, I'm not sick. Promise."

"Are you hungry?"

Chan looks back at the reason he'd left his shelter in the first place, the rundown mini-mart about a hundred feet away. The stabbing pain in his stomach brings him back down to reality.

"There's nothing worthwhile in there, we already checked."

We?

Your arm extends to point past the mini-mart. Towards a small abandoned town that pokes out just beyond the darkening horizon. "Our shelter is just about a mile that way. Would you–"

He agrees before you've even finished your sentence.

Chan cannot fathom the hope you hold in your heart in a world like this. Not until he meets Seungkwan. The vibrant boy you've been traveling with thus far.

"You can't go around picking up strays."

"He's not a stray, Kwan, he's an old friend. Besides, you were a stray at one point too." You disappear into another room before the boy can argue any further. Leaving him to glower at his new guest.

"If you start acting strange, I'll kill you." Seungkwan points at Chan, though he's not the least bit threatening. His shiny eyes and round face are far too friendly to ever be perceived as intimidating.

Yet Chan humors the boy anyway. "Virus-free, I promise." He raises his hands in surrender.

"And don't touch anything." He motions around the living room, which is surprisingly homey.

When you mentioned you had a shelter nearby, Chan was expecting something a little less... comfortable. Something like the random sheds or raided stores he'd crouch into for just a few hours of shut-eye, never any longer. Or perhaps even a poorly constructed tent made up of various scrap parts. But when you climbed the stairs to a tiny townhouse, one of the better-looking ones amongst the multiple shells of former homes in the neighborhood, Chan almost couldn't believe his eyes. Perhaps this really was all just a dream.

The outside, for the most part, looked pretty decent. There had been some obvious repairs done; trash cleaned from the yard, wooden boards haphazardly nailed over broken windows, a tattered blue tarp covering a large section of the roof, and Chan could just barely make out remnants of graffiti that couldn't be scrubbed away. But the blue paint was hardly peeling and the stone steps had only a few cracks.

When it came to the inside, one word came to mind. Charming. None of the furniture matches, meaning either the previous owner hadn't cared for aesthetics or you and Seungkwan had at some point scavenged the surrounding houses in search of the least fucked up looking decor. Even then, it was really just the bare essentials. A surprisingly comfortable couch, two rocking chairs that look as though the wood had been chewed by squirrels, a metal center table, and a couple bookshelves filled with various novels, picture frames of strangers, and knickknacks.

Down the short hallway to the left are two closed doors. Of which he assumes is a single bedroom and bath respectively. Behind him, where you had disappeared to, is a door he'd quickly caught a glimpse of the kitchen through.

Most notably, however, against the back wall of the living room is a stone fireplace. Ablaze with such life it fully illuminates the space, providing a much-needed warmth as the brisk night rolls in. Chan watches it dance over the mound of logs, completely entranced until that same lovely voice from before calls his name once more.

"All we really have left from our last supply run is tuna, I hope that's okay." In your hands is a bowl with a small portion of rice and half a can of tuna, along with a glass of water. It's no five-star meal, but Chan's mouth still waters at the sight. And better yet, it's warm. He can't remember the last time he had a meal that wasn't a can of cold mystery mush or a granola bar.

He half expects Seungkwan to gripe about him taking something as precious in this world as food. But the boy snorts and a teasing smile creeps its way onto his lips. "Poor kid looks like he'll start drooling any second, I think tuna is more than okay."

He's right, tuna and rice is more than okay. In fact, it's the best damn thing he's ever had in his life. Even as he shovels spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, it only gets better. It isn't until every morsel of food has vanished from the bowl that Chan finally acknowledges his drink. Gulping the clear, luke-warm, liquid down in a matter of seconds.

"Thank you," he breaths out.

"So what are your plans? Are you leaving in the morning?" Seungkwan promptly asks.

Oh.

A chasm opens in Chan's stomach. Right, he thinks, How could he be so naive? Sure, the two of you knew each other. But it's been what, three years? Three years of the two of you living your own lives, growing, becoming new people. Almost a full one of those years spent fighting to survive. You didn't even owe him a meal to begin with, much less a place to stay. And, not to mention, Seungkwan doesn't know him from a hole in the wall.

He isn't sure why he assumed you'd stick by his side. But he'd sure hoped you would.

You have an equally solemn look on your face. "Right, you probably have people you need to get back to. They'll be worried if you stay too long."

"No, actually, it's just me."

Please. Chan silently pleads. Please don't leave me alone again.

You lock eyes with Seungkwan. A silent conversation between the two of you has Chan's heart pounding against his ribs.

"Can I talk to you?" Seungkwan motions you to follow him down the hall and into the solo bedroom.

Minutes feel like hours; and no matter how hard he tries, Chan can't decipher anything from the muffled whispers. It's just a flurry of back and forth until it stops with Seungkwan letting out a long sigh.

When Chan sees your nervous, fidgeting, figure appear with Seungkwan in tow, he starts mentally preparing for a no.

"There's only one bedroom," Seungkwan states, arms crossed. "So we'll have to rearrange the sleeping arrangements—"

"I'll sleep anywhere," Chan immediately bargains. "I can take the couch—"

"Absolutely not." The older boy jabs a finger at him, his stare menacing. "That couch is the nicest thing we have, if anything it's mine."

That is perfectly fine with Chan. In fact, he'd take the termite-chewed wooden floor if that's what it would take. "Does this mean..?"

"Yes," the boy exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, but the action doesn't feel malicious. More like a brother teasing his younger siblings. "You're lucky, you had a very reliable source vouch for you."

It feels like Chan can breathe for the first time since this whole shit-storm began. The weight that lifts from his chest makes him feel as though he's floating. And as your soft gaze catches him, he sees it. That indomitable glimmer of hope humanity has to offer. A light at the end of a dark tunnel. Security wrapped up in a warm, fluffy blanket.

A second chance to be alive.

Seungkwan, as Chan quickly learns, had dreams of being a singer back before. There's rarely been a quiet moment in the week since you found Chan. If he's doing repairs, he's humming. If he's taking inventory, he's softly mumbling along to some tune. If he's sat by the fire at night, his voice carries beyond the walls and into the night.

It's strange. Chan hadn't realized just how quiet being alone was until now. But you enjoy Seungkwan's voice, and it eases you to sleep on Chan's shoulder. So he enjoys it as well.

"Are they asleep?" He asks, letting his song teeter off, voice just barely audible above the crackling logs.

Chan looks down at the slow rise and fall of your chest. He smiles fondly, dropping his shoulder a tad lower to not strain your neck. By now, he's finally gotten over the disbelief of his luck in finding you— well, more so you finding him. Deciding to no longer question the probability of it all and simply cherish the feeling you bring him.

"Yeah, I think so."

Similarly, Chan has also learned that as much of a tough guy act as Seungkwan puts on, he's got an incredibly soft heart. It's pertinent in his gaze and the discreet ways he dotes on anyone around him. Bickering with Chan to wear something warmer even though Spring is around the corner or fussing at you to take an extra portion of rations.

In an alternate life, Chan likes to think he and the boy could've been life-long friends.

"How long were you out there alone?" He muses, a curious look on his face.

"Since the first outbreak," Chan answers casually. Though, Seungkwan's eyes go wide in horror.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why? How long were you?"

"Three weeks, maybe." He shrugs. "Give or take a few days. We ran into each other pretty early on and we've stuck together ever since. Found this place about four months ago and tried to make it feel somewhat normal."

"Oh, that's nice." Chan forgets that for some, life kept moving. Even as society crumbled, humanity persisted. Some in vain, some succeeding, and others, like himself, not at all.

"Can I ask something else?" Seungkwan pulls him from his thoughts. There's a prying curiosity that's scribbled all over his face. Grinning like a schoolgirl with fresh gossip to tell her friends. Chan decides to entertain his curious mind, nodding.

"How do you two know each other?" He gestures at the two of you curled up on the couch. "Like, what's the story there?"

Chan's heart drops straight into his ass and like a reflex, he glances down to ensure you're really asleep. The two of you haven't exactly gotten the chance to talk about everything quite yet. So as of now, he isn't sure where you stand. He decides the more vague the better.

"We met in our third year of university. Their roommate was friends with my roommate."

Seungkwan squints his eyes, visibly displeased with that answer. "And?"

"And..." Chan toys with the material of his pants. "We dated. Two years. Just... didn't work out in the end."

Chan seriously wishes Seungkwan's facial expressions weren't so telling. That way he'd be able to at least pretend he was getting out of this conversation any time soon. But still, the boy persists, nagging him about the who's, what's, when's, where's, and why's until Chan caves. Explaining everything from the stolen glances that started it all, to the teary-eyed bittersweet end.

He vividly remembers the way regret pooled in his chest the moment your front door shut. Making his chest feel cold and empty, a feeling that stuck around nearly every day after. Reminding him of what he let go of for the past three years. The conversation plays on in a loop in his head, and since then, he's thought up about a thousand ways he would've done differently.

"Are you saying you want to break up?" Your voice was so small it ripped Chan's heart in two. 

"No! I just— I mean, but... shouldn't we?"

"Our lives started growing in different directions faster than we could keep up." He explains to Seungkwan, who's been uncharacteristically quiet. Not once stopping to interject his opinion or pop in another question. "They were offered a really good internship a few cities away. I was given the opportunity to be mentored by a renowned choreographer. We'd both be so busy. It didn't seem fair to hold each other back from our dreams. There wasn't much of a choice."

But that's not true. Chan ripped the bandaid off long before it could prove to stand the test of time because he was scared. He assumed the love you felt for him would slowly wither and die with the distance. Drawn out in a slow and painful process he couldn't bear the burden of. So he ran, like a coward, and left you to deal with the fallout by yourself.

It's funny, how the universe deals out karma.

"Probably the dumbest decision I've ever made."

Seungkwan hums, relaxing back into his wooden rocking chair, seemingly deep in thought. A silence settles over the room, only the sound of dying embers softly crackling fills the air.

You stir next to him, nose cutely scrunched up as you search for a more comfortable position. Chan hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you to fully lean against him, being extra cautious not to accidentally jostle you awake. You finally settle, and he can't help but notice your body still fits against his perfectly. Just like to used to.

And when Chan lifts his head back to meet Seungkwan's eyes, he catches the tail end of a fond smile. He rises from the chair, making his way around behind the sofa.

"You made it back, that's all that matters." He whispers, hand on Chan's shoulder. "You don't get a lot of second chances in life— much less in the middle of the apocalypse. Maybe it's time you stop just trying to survive and start letting yourself live. Whatever that looks like for you."

Spring rounds the corner like an old friend. Marking officially one year since the world went to shit and bringing with it much-needed rain in the form of rolling storms. One brews on the horizon, dark clouds gradually closing in on the afternoon sun. The cool breeze feels refreshing against Chan's damp skin. A pleasant contrast to the heavy bag slung over his shoulder, filled with scavenged treasures from the latest scout.

"You know, I offered to carry it halfway," you tease, significantly less out of breath than Chan on your trek back home. The exterior of the townhouse hadn't fared well with the harsh storms, yet it's a welcomed sight nonetheless.

"Yeah, but that would require him relinquishing about this much pride," Seungkwan laughs while pinching his fingers together, squinting through the narrow gap between them.

"It's not even that heavy," Chan scoffs, and if you clock his lie, you don't make it known.

"Whatever you say, golden boy," Seungkwan snickers, the corner of his lip quirked up in a smirk before veering off to the small plot just to the left of the entrance steps.

Seungkwan, arguably the most excited for Spring to arrive, had taken up gardening. Plowing up the soil with a water-logged wooden shovel and planting various packs of seeds he'd once found on a scout. They were mostly just flowers, anything useful like fruits and veggies having already been snatched up by other scavengers. However, he'd been lucky enough to find one packet of tomato seeds, one of green onion seeds, and another of squash seeds. The boy has a surprisingly green thumb, having created a flourishing garden in just a month.

"It's looking beautiful, Seungkwan. Another few weeks and we may actually have something to eat that isn't out of a can." You praise, admiring the colorful arrangement as well.

Sure, the fruits and veggies are nice, but Chan much prefers the cluster of voluminous purple hyacinths. Their vibrant color reminds him of the rich sunsets he'd use as a child to gauge when to return home for dinner.

He swiftly plucks a single bloom from the arrangement and places it behind your ear. You smile at the gesture, and it somehow shines brighter than the flower itself. A sight he believes is capable of parting the gray clouds stretching across the sky.

"Stop killing my babies, Lee Chan." Seungkwan chastises, annoyance evident in his tone.

"Sorry," he sheepishly grins, remembering Seungkwan's no-touching rule he had applied to the garden.

In the distance, there's a low rumbling that draws your attention to the sky. "We should go in before it starts pouring." You take Chan's hand, tugging him inside while his heart beats out of his chest. You call out for Seungkwan as well, urging him that his babies will be fine in the rapidly approaching storm.

Rain slowly begins to patter against the rafters the second the front door squeaks shut. Crescendoing to a downpour within a matter of minutes. Sounds like the three of you are in for a long one tonight.

It was hard to notice at first. The occasional slip-ups here and there. Easy enough to blame the rising Summer heat on Seungkwan's mood swings. Even if the boy had been more readily agitated lately, his bubbly moments stuck around in an abundance that excused the outbursts.

Though Chan can't quite get over that look on your face the first time Seungkwan snapped at you. Something about his bush of hydrangeas being disturbed despite you insisting you hadn't laid so much as a finger on his garden. But the moment tears slipped from your irises, Seungkwan crumbled. His eyes blown wide in horror as the realization hit. He uttered endless apologies, begging for forgiveness until you assured him everything was okay.

And to his credit, he hadn't had an outburst that big since. But still, you made sure to be extra cautious around his garden from then on out.

The red patches painting his arms are harder to ignore, though. Especially with the incessant noise of nails obsessively itching at dry skin.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks, finally voicing his concerns after watching the boy go at his skin with an inhuman determination for the past half hour. The sight reminding him of a rabid dog infested with fleas. With little care for its own health, left only with the insatiable urge to make the itching stop.

Seungkwan's head snaps up with feral eyes, though they dissolve into cheery crescents quick enough to fool Chan into believing he was just imagining things. Perhaps he'd been a little too on guard around his friend. The sweltering heat surely didn't help his nerves.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "I must've gotten into some poison ivy, it's been driving me mad."

It only got worse.

The scratching.

It keeps Chan awake in the late night hours. That dry sound echoing in his head over and over and over and over. And during the day, despite it being the peak of Summer, Seungkwan wears long sleeves. They do well in muffling the sound and hiding whatever visuals resulted from the night before. Yet, he forgets to scrub the dried blood from under his nails.

There's an unease that settles in Chan's chest and makes a nest there. A feeling that comes in waves, yet never fully leaves him. It consumes his thoughts and taints the air in his lungs until he feels like he may choke on it. Unable to breathe a single word about his worries without accidentally manifesting them into fruition. Because perhaps nothing is awry. Perhaps Chan is the one slowly losing his mind.

After all, you've yet to mention anything. Content with humoring Seungkwan's better moments in spite of his worst.

Perhaps, Chan is still stuck in his mirage.

It happened again.

Seungkwan snapped and this time Chan had to intervene.

Over his garden again.

The once glorious flowers were sad and wilting, through no fault of anyone's, but the elements. The heat was harsh on them and there hadn't been enough rain in a while to revive them. Not to mention, Seungkwan simply hadn't been tending to them as much as he thought he had. He spent most of his days now obsessing over illusions instead.

Swore he saw spiders in the rations. Heard scratching in the walls. Had caught shadows of looters pacing outside at night.

You called it dehydration.

But he'd somehow gotten it into his head you'd been poisoning the soil when he wasn't looking. He swung the front door open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges, yelling obscenities about how you betrayed him. How rotten and horrid you were for killing the one thing that'd given him any semblance of joy. Chan swears he's never seen someone so unhinged as Seungkwan in that moment.

All it took was three large steps in your direction for Chan to brace himself in front of you. However, all it really took to freeze Seungkwan in his steps was his name. Loud and firm. Lighting a clarity in his eyes that's been missing for a few days now. He ushers the boy outside with haste. Too afraid to look back at your crumbling face.

Seungkwan collapses down on the stone steps. He pulls his knees to his chest and digs his palms into his eyes, hard. "I fucked up, didn't I?" He whimpers.

Chan doesn't know what to say. He did. But confirming it when he's in such a state seems cruel. And he doesn't care to twist the knife any further. He just takes a seat next to what's left of his friend and lays a comforting hand on his back.

"I'm scared." Seungkwan's head tips back to the sky. Chan had always been under the assumption that Seungkwan was oblivious to his deteriorating state. But the steady stream of tears down the boy's cheeks says otherwise.

"I can feel my mind slowly becoming not my own."

"Maybe it's not—"

"I already tried telling myself that." Chan's heart sinks as the boy hikes up his sleeves. Revealing the angry red tracks and rust-colored scabs covering a majority of his forearms. Some wounds still look fresh, and painfully deep.

"That's the first symptom, right? Feeling like there's ants under your skin. Being easily irritated. Foggy memories, whole days missing..." He looks ahead at the setting sun. "I'm already seeing things. Was it one or two months the broadcast said the infected have once those start?"

Chan tries to remember back to when his radio crackled to life for the first time. He's pretty sure it's one.

"I can't remember."

Seungkwan pushes a bitter laugh through his nostrils. "Me either."

Chan glances at the sad plot of greenery beside him. He frowns at the way the tulips droop and their petals hang limp. At least those who are still trying to hold on. Desperate to escape the same fate as their counterparts that have already begun decaying into the soil.

He looks back to Seungkwan and wonders what it's like. To have the tulips weep for you. For them to bow their heads and shed their petals like tears. He also wonders if you'll grieve for Seungkwan as gracefully as they do.

"Promise me one thing?" Seungkwan whispers. His eyes already look like they're glazing over again.

"Anything."

He speaks your name with longing. "Take care of them, yeah? I know it seems like they have their shit together, but that's not how it always was."

"What do you mean?" Chan asks, skin crawling. But Seungkwan continues to stare ahead, eyes focused on who knows what in the distance. He blinks slowly, "It's not my story to tell. Just... promise."

"I promise. Don't worry, it's not something you even have to ask."

"The garden, too." His lips lift at the corners. Chan thinks it's a smile, but it's too uncanny to recognize. "If you're taking requests."

He agrees, partly to provide Seungkwan with what little peace of mind he can offer him, but also because he already has been. Chan tries on occasion to care for the sad little plants. Wetting the soil with what little water he can spare.

Part of him naively hoped that maybe somehow, some way, if the garden could be nursed back to its former glory, so could Seungkwan. But deep down, Chan has learned to tell the difference between a dream and reality by now.

And the reality is, Seungkwan reeks of borrowed time.

The world stole your smile when it stole Seungkwan. It ripped his soul from your grasp as Chan held you in his. Kicking and screaming.

Endless tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought to hold you back. Your pleas grew more desperate and wrangled. Mixing with the garbled, wretched, shrieks of your friend. Fingers clawing at his eyes. The virus embedded so deep in his brain he was no longer Seungkwan.

Just another host.

Your voice was the last to call Seungkwan's name that day. Raspy and hollow as you begged for his life. Begged the universe to not take the last ray of sunshine the world had to offer. Begged Seungkwan to fight just one more day. Begged Chan to let you save him despite all hope having set when the sun did. The scratches you'd left on his forearms remained a week after. But the hole Seungkwan's presence left has yet to fade.

Neither of you spoke of the boy in that time. He still doesn't know if that's for better or worse. Chan's terrified you'll shatter if he so much as whispers the boy's name. But to act like he never existed in the wake of it... well, that just doesn't feel right either.

But Chan knows there's no proper way to grieve. He figured that out at the beginning. He'd had damn near a year to mourn everyone he ever loved, you've only had a week. He knows with time, acceptance will come. But it kills him not knowing how to help.

So instead, Chan does the hard stuff.

He buries Seungkwan. Next to his garden, so that next Spring he can watch it grow. He stacks rocks as a makeshift headstone and plucks dried, stiff asphodel from the garden to make it look neat. He rearranges the bookshelf into a tiny shrine of Seungkwan's things. His favorite books he'd read over and over. A silver ring, with some date Chan doesn't know the meaning of carved into it. A liquor bottle that he used as a makeshift vase with the last flowers he picked still in it. Long dead, but the petals somehow still holding on. Replaces one of the bronze picture frames of strangers with a photo he found tucked away in Seungkwan's bag. One of him and two other people he assumes are his parents.

And when he's done, he lights a candle, the flame drawing you out like a moth.

"What is this?" you croak. It's the first you've spoken to Chan since it happened.

"Something to honor him," Chan whispers, keeping his gaze locked on the flickering light. He's too scared to see your reaction. Afraid you'll break down again. Afraid you'll hate it and scream that he has no right to mourn someone you loved for longer. Afraid that if he sees your tears flowing, he won't be able to stop his own.

Because he also knows part of you still resents him for that night. For grabbing your waist and stopping your momentum from hurtling towards Seungkwan. Robbing you of the chance to hold and comfort your friend one last time. Your screams echo in his head as a reminder whenever your gaze refuses to meet his or you shrug away from his touch.

But then your head falls to his shoulder like an olive branch stretching across a battlefield. Your sniffles break through the silence. Chan hesitantly pulls you closer, and when you don't flinch away, he does even more so until your full weight is against him.

When Seungkwan was here, there was rarely a moment of silence. But now, the house, and you, are quiet. And all Chan can hear are the sounds of heartbreak. Never before had he thought it could be so incredibly loud.

The cold air sneaks in sometime around mid-November. Bringing with it longer nights and temperatures low enough to warrant nightly fires again.

You haven't talked much since the night you cried your heart out on Chan's shoulder. Operating more like a zombie replicating past routines from life before. Wake up. Scavenge. Eat. Sleep. So when you offer up the first ounce of interest in something other than your daily routine, Chan nearly jumps out of his skin.

"I miss the ocean," you mumble, solemn eyes looking down at the crackling fire. The tip of your nose red from the chill.

"We can go if you want... If it would make you happy." He says though he'd settle for content. To bring you back, he'd do anything.

You nod. "Yeah, I'd like that."

And Chan makes it happen.

Maps out the closest beach. Rigs up two rusty old bikes he found in a shed. Packs enough provisions just in case. All for the sake of maybe returning with a sliver of the person you used to be.

The two of you easily find the rocky formation looking over the dark sea, waves raging below. It's here, that Chan truly realizes just how much of a shell you've become of your former self. The way you inch closer and closer to the sharp edge is lifeless. Like a magnet being pulled at with no will of your own. It lodges a dagger of dread through the center of his chest.

"Don't go so close, you could slip." Chan doesn't know if you can't hear him over the crashing waves below or if you simply choose not to. But your feet keep moving and Chan's feel cemented to the ground.

"That's close enough!" He calls.

Again, nothing.

Your toes hang over the edge now, hands in your jacket pockets. Raging waves slam against the cliff, reaching up for you. You close your eyes and point your nose to the sky.

Wind rushes around Chan. His shoes slip on the slick rocks below as instinct takes charge of his momentum while his brain remains frozen in panic. His lungs refuse to work until his arm can hook around your torso. Yanking you back with such a force it throws the both of you off balance. It isn't until his back meets solid rock that he finally gasps in a sputtering breath. The dull throbbing is instant, but the full weight of you atop his chest is comforting.

Chan desperately scrambles to collect you in his arms. Pulling your back against his chest so that he can curl around you like a protective barrier from the world.

"I wasn't going to jump." You whisper. But he feels no comfort from your empty words.

"Please don't make me lose you twice." He pleads like a child, rocking you in his grasp. The salty spray from the ocean mixes with his tears until he can't tell what is what. Right now, the only thing he's certain of is the one in his grasp. The feeling of you in his arms, safe, and he doesn't want to ever lose that. Call it selfish if you must. Lee Chan will wear that title proudly.

There's a rush of déjà vu as you crumble, muttering Seungkwan's name between wretched sobs, nails deep in his forearms. Sobbing about how you miss him, how unfair it is, everything you've been holding in since. Chan holds you tighter. Scared you'll slip away like the tide. Like Seungkwan did. Plunged into cold, thrashing darkness.

He prays to whatever merciful forces have forsaken him to please not do the same to you.

It's a silent trip back to the townhouse and you all but collapse from exhaustion the second you're through the door. Dragging yourself over to the couch and immediately curling into a ball. Chan takes the liberty of lighting the fire before sitting down beside you. He opens his arms, and to his surprise, you accept, letting your head fall into his lap. His arm securely drapes over your torso, though you're quick to cradle his hand. Hugging it to your chest so that his palm can feel the rhythmic thumping of your heart.

Chan lets out a long-held sigh, counting each beat like a lullaby. Then focuses on the rise and fall of your chest. Letting the steady swells ease the adrenaline from his system.

For a second, life is okay. Happy, even. Like how it was back before the world ended. Before he broke your heart. When he didn't care about anything except you and passing chemistry.

"I'm scared to lose you." When you say it, it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. "I always thought maybe, because we'd made it this far, that meant we were somehow immune. That the worst was over for us."

You pause to take a deep breath. But Chan doesn't push, simply thankful you've finally decided to let him shoulder the weight you carry.

"But if Seungkwan can die, that means you can too. Then who do I have?"

"I'd never leave–"

"You can't promise that," you drop to a whisper. Compensating for the waver in your voice. And you're right, he can't. Not in a world as cruel as this.

But he wants to.

"I don't believe in this world anymore. Not after what it did to him."

"Can you believe in me?"

Your answer doesn't come in the verbal form. Nor does it come quickly, which makes Chan think he's officially lost you. But then your fingers thread with his, squeezing in a way that he can only describe as feeling like pure hope.

Chan can't remember when the turning point was. All he knows is that today, months after the ocean, life feels peaceful once more. The Spring breeze is gentle against his skin as he lays in the soft grass with your head on his stomach. Surrounded by the aroma of the newly bloomed tulips that far outshine the rest of the garden.

He doesn't have as nearly green of a thumb as Seungkwan did, but he's proud. The garden is lush, green, and full of life. A little chaotic, but beautiful nonetheless.

Chan had even managed to revive the hydrangeas Seungkwan was so fond of.

You point to clouds with upturned lips, remarking on their resemblance to various animals. It's not the first time he's been lucky enough to catch you smiling in the subsequent months. But he knows to cherish each one more than he once did.

There's still a chill to the spring air and Chan tugs at his sleeves. Ignoring the incessant urge to animalistically claw at his arm. At the itch so deep under his skin, it feels like it's in the bone.

#chan #lee chan #dino #seventeen #lee jung chan #chan x reader #lee chan x reader #dino x reader #seventeen x reader #chan x you #lee chan x you #dino x you #lee chan fanfic #dino fanfic #dino imagine #dino imagines #lee chan imagine #lee chan imagines #seventeen x you #seventeen fanfic #seventeen au #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen imagine #dino au #lee chan au #dino apocalypse au #dino angst #lee chan angst #seventeen angst

[snakes-writing-corner]

Mr. Puzzles Fluff Alphabet

Requested by… Me!

Coming out of hibernation ‘cause there is not enough Mr. Puzzles x Reader content out there so I am contributing to the pile because the hyperfixation I have on this man has me in a fucking death-grip.

It is 2 in the morning when I’m posting this so yippie brain-rot!!!

Anyways alphabet under the cut :D

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Very. I mean you are kind of the only person who’s ever bothered to get close to him!

He was extremely clingy when the two of you were just friends, but now that you’re his partner? That’s increased tenfold.

He’s very unpredictable so he’s pretty much a wildcard when it comes to ways he’ll show affection.

Sometimes he’ll gently pull you along by grabbing your wrist, sometimes he’ll nuzzle into your hair or neck, maybe he’ll cup your face like you’re a glass sculpture that might shatter, and sometimes he’ll just pick you up and twirl you around. Honestly? This lovable director will show you any kind of physical affection under the sun.

I do think he particularly would like to hold your hand though. He likes the warmth of your hand in his, and how it’s so small compared to his. It’s like your hand was just made for him to hold!

Overall, any physical affection is fine by him as long as he gets to touch or hold you!

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

I fear having this man as a best friend because that means chaos.

Yes being in a romantic relationship with him would be chaos, but a friendship I feel would be more chaotic somehow???

Will break your door down to get an opinion on a new show he’s been working on, and will absolutely pester you until you comply.

Would probably get you to star in said show and then poke fun at you the entire time. Lovingly of course mind you!

Lots of talk sessions where the two of you just talk shit about other people because this man lives for drama, like wants the tea on everyone.

Would break into your house at 2 in the morning to steal food like a fucking rat (I say this in a loving way).

Anyways being besties with him means say goodbye to your doors because he’s kicking them all down to get your attention.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddling is definitely a must!!! Like he would love to cuddle!!!

This man has no preference to cuddling he just wants to hold you close to him! Definitely big spoon no questions asked, but he also loves having you lay on his chest.

I think his favorite way to cuddle though would be on his side with you snuggled into his chest. You would probably look very small compared to him like his body would basically envelop yours, but hey he’d be very warm at least! Mr. Puzzles would probably just lazily comb through your hair with the goofiest smile on his face, whispering little words of affirmation under his breath as he did so.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they around the house?)

Oh definitely! But, after he becomes all rich and famous! He wants the best life for you after all!

Definitely a housewife though when he’s not busy working on his shows, like this man is a workaholic. I genuinely think he enjoys cleaning and repetitive tasks in general, helps him think.

When working on his shows or stressed? Yeah no the living space can easily become a train-wreck as he gets increasingly more frustrated over whatever he’s working on.

You could probably leave the studio on any given day, and either come back to it spotless or a wreck. There’s like a 50/50 shot whenever you leave.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Nuh-uh, not happening, you are literally stuck with him now, and he is NEVER LETTING YOU GO. :)

Yeah that’s definitely not concerning! Good luck my guy because Mr. Puzzles has some attachment issues, and will not leave you no matter what you do!

But hey! You probably won’t get to leave him either! At least he won’t let you without a fight! (Get this man some therapy or something)

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Very big on commitment honestly part of him wants all of your attention to himself, but he loves you enough to not go that far.

I think he’d be kinda iffy on marriage. On one hand he could throw this big event for the two of you, letting everyone know you’re his.

On the other, he’s fine not getting married at all! As far as he’s concerned as long as you’re completely committed to him romantically there’s not really a reason to get married?

Honestly whether he gets married to you or not would depend on your preference.

Would probably still get you an engagement ring of some kind no matter what your answer is, just so others’ know you’re committed to someone.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Oh my god this man? Gentle as a feather physically. Emotionally? He tries to be as gentle as he can, but that temper gets the better of him sometimes.

He holds you like you are glass about to shatter, like he’s holding the most precious thing in the world.

Cups your face in his gloved hand and just admires you like the most beautiful art piece ever created. Might even lightly bump his screen against your head wondering how he got so lucky.

Most of the time he’s a bit aloof regarding your emotions he likes to tease you after all!

But in serious moments his tone will get noticeably softer as he listens, and tries to help you with whatever you are dealing with in anyway he can.

Now granted, Puzzles gets frustrated easily, and might lash out at you occasionally or straight up manipulate you, but he tries to make up for it.

Just be patient with him.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? What are their hugs like?)

Yes.

Hugs are a constant thing with this man he loves to hug and hold you. Though he will probably pick you up to hold you.

Most of the time he’ll come up from behind, pick you up, spin you around a bit, saying something like “There’s my little angel!”, and then hug you!

Definitely puts his screen to your head and makes a loud “mwah!” sound.

He’s a dork when it comes to hugging he wants to make you smile, that and he just likes having you close to him.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

After you get together?

All. The. Time.

Not in a bad way of course he wants you to know he absolutely adores you! Words of affirmation are part of his love language after all!

Says stuff like “I love you my precious starlight.” or “Gosh you’re just so cute! I truly do love you when you give me that look my dear!”

He is serious every time he says it though, but will not hesitate to fluster you with that phrase.

Can imagine him saying “I love you.” in a low husky voice to make you weak in the knees.

He likes to see you get all red in the face and become a stuttering mess. He’s a tease like that. :)

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Puzzles has attachment issues this man gets extremely jealous very quickly.

If he thinks anyone is getting even a little touchy with you? He’s walking over, putting his arms around you, and talking to the offender with fake enthusiasm and venom in his voice.

The person doesn’t get the hint? Lightly veiled threats start coming out.

Would resort to violence as a last resort.

If it’s a more light version of jealousy he’ll probably dramatically pout in the corner with his arms crossed until you come over and give him attention.

He’s very dramatic with jealously like a dog not getting attention when it wants it.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Uhhhh I mean he has a TV for a head he can’t exactly kiss you per se.

But Puzzles tries to make it work! Most commonly he’ll gently tap his screen to your head or hands with a little electric shock to give the illusion of an actual kiss.

Is not much for you kissing his screen though since he’ll have to clean it afterwards…

But you want to get this man to melt into you? He loves being kissed on the neck, or on the bottom of his TV, might as well send sparks through his entire body. Would definitely love neck bites as well.

Honestly would not care where you kiss him he’s just happy getting your affection.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

I think he’d be pretty good around children at least outwardly.

Probably would be trying to entertain them with cartoons or little puppet shows.

Do not think he’d actively put himself in a situation to be around children though. I don’t think he likes them very much.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Puzzles would get up without waking you, get dressed, get some coffee, and then would make the two of you breakfast.

You typically tend to wake up before he’s finished, but if you aren’t then he’ll gladly give you breakfast in bed!

Would make fun of you for being a sleepyhead though.

Mornings with Puzzles would start off quiet, but get progressively louder as you both wake up a bit.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

I feel like nights go one of two ways.

Either A. Chaotic as hell or B. Actually nice

A chaotic as hell night includes Mr. Puzzles having some sort of mental break which results in him overworking himself and refusing to go to sleep and/or him frantically at a board with a bunch of papers on it trying to come up with ideas.

While this rarely happens it can if his shows aren’t doing as well as he would like or if you’re gone for long periods of time. The best thing to do here is gently talk to him and get him away from his area of work to help him calm down. A nice cup of hot tea or hot cocoa would help as well!

A nice night is more common though since Puzzles does think sleep is important. Probably ends with the two of you winding down by either cuddling in bed or watching TV (an actual TV though not his head he likes being able to hold you) while you two have blankets and/or hot tea to sip on.

Alternatively you two will cuddle in bed and just talk about whatever comes to mind until you two fall asleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s pretty open about his past but not so much about what he doesn’t want you to see.

He shares stories from when he was a kid a lot, mainly about his mom, (I get a huge mama’s boy vibe from him) or his struggles making friends and connections until you showed up.

Also talks about his frustrations about getting into directing shows and how no corporate big shot would give him a chance so that’s how he made his own company! Also loves talking about ideas for new shows or really anything that comes to mind this man has no filter and just says what pops in his head.

He does not talk about things he doesn’t want you to know. Mainly that he smokes but he’s also definitely done some fucked up stuff in the past to get where he is today so he keeps that under wraps.

Wouldn’t want his darling angel to worry about those little hiccups~

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

We are literally talking about the person who sang about how ‘patience is a virtue uttered by fools’ this man has close to none.

He gets very frustrated and angry when things don’t go how he planned them to. He also can get frustrated if you don’t tell him things.

While he never tries to direct his anger at you he tends to lash out when frustrated and says things he doesn’t mean. However, he would probably apologize in the end if he really hurt you with his words.

Would never think of getting physically violent with you though he would much rather cut off his own head again than do that.

It would be very odd hot to see the man who holds you so gently be able to so easily make a sizable dent in a metal object.

Definitely has punched many holes in the walls and covered it up with something.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

My guy.

My buddy.

This man will remember every little thing you have told him about anything you like. He has a little notebook dedicated to writing little details about you so he doesn’t forget.

Knows just about everything you’ve either off-handedly mentioned about yourself or straight up told him.

Has various things written down like your favorite color, food, drink, cartoon, etc. Like literally anything you can think of that you could say about yourself he probably has written down.

Also has a page just describing how much he loves your looks down to the littlest detail but that’s not as important.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

When you two officially became partners.

He was so anxious to ask on the inside but kept the outwardly performance up as he was desperately trying to figure out how to go about it.

He broke one night and frantically made a board full of ideas for what he could do, but none of them were good enough! You deserved so much more than-than this!

You just so happened to walk into this scenario but Mr. Puzzles didn’t notice you as he was too focused on his board. You heard him muttering to himself about how “this had to be perfect” and “no, no that wouldn’t-”.

You eventually got concerned and walked up to him, accidentally scaring the living daylights out of him by the way, and as he tried to stutter something out you realized just what the board was about.

You then looked at him as he was still trying to come up with an excuse and just looked at him with wide eyes as you just blurted “And here I was scrambling to figure out a way to ask you out myself.”.

Puzzles just stared at you wide eyes and shouted “Wait really!?”

Anyways that night ended with you two just watching a movie on the couch and you’ve been together ever since.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you?)

Oh very protective.

Like you get scary tall guard dog partner privileges.

Most of the time if you’re with Puzzles no one would really dare to try anything because of how tall your TV man is, but on the off chance some asshole wants to try his luck?

Well Puzzles most definitely has a kill count.

In actuality he’d probably make threats towards the person, never getting outwardly aggressive as he doesn’t like to be the one fighting, but if the aggressor tries to touch you?

All bets are fucking off.

Despite what his personality may suggest to you if it comes down to it this man can pack a punch if need be. He is deceptively strong for how he looks and could easily beat a man to death if he wanted to.

While the fight would not end with the aggressor’s death as Puzzles does not want to kill someone in front of you, there is a good chance that person might end up mysteriously dead with no evidence tracing the murder back to him later down the line.

This man is slightly unhinged when it comes to keeping you safe.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

This is Mr. Puzzles we’re talking about he’s going all out!

Would definitely have a fancy dinner or something equally extravagant. I can see him liking to slow dance with you in a ballroom if given the chance.

If you prefer more casual dates then hey he’s up for that too! He’s paying though no ifs, ands, or buts about it! He loves movie dates and stargazing as date ideas.

Anniversaries are an all out occasion he’s standing his ground on that one because it’s special date and he wants the entire day to be special to the both of you.

Tries to get you gifts he knows you’ll like instead of fancy things though.

Okay maybe one or two pretty rings and such but mainly things you’d actually enjoy or give that big smile at receiving. I think gift giving is one of his love languages after all so expect to have lots of little trinkets.

He tries his best to make you smile everyday so he tries a lot for you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He has some… unfavorable aspects of himself he doesn’t want you knowing the true extent of.

He does not want you to know he smokes as he thinks it’s an undesirable habit and always deflects any questions about why he might smell like smoke or any cigarettes you might find.

His temper also gets the best of him at times leading to him lashing out and making dumb decisions that he tends to regret if he thinks about it too much. Though he has wrangled it in around you it can be explosive and violent when you aren’t around to witness the full extent of it.

He is also very obsessive with you and he knows it. It’s definitely toxic obsession as well because at his worst moments mentally he has debated keeping you to himself and not letting you leave. He’s also considered sabotaging all of your relationships so you only rely on him and no one else.

A dark part of him wants to keep you all to himself so no one can take you away from him ever.

Thankfully, he respects and loves you too much to act on those thoughts but god rest the poor soul that does anything bad to you because odds are…

Their life is on a very short timer.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Oh my god yes.

Yes he so is.

He wants to look his best around you 24/7 all day every day and somehow does not even have to try for it.

He needs to always look presentable because a good director should always look ready all the time!

Is dramatic as fuck if his shirt gets wrinkled or something like damsel with their hand on their head going “my poor husband” dramatic.

He’s very silly like that and you love him for it.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes.

You are the only person who ever really tried to get to know him, who puts up with his silly shenanigans, and who he fell in love with.

Truthfully without you? He’d completely lose it mentally because you are his rock. The one person he knows can pull him back from the darkest corners of his mind.

Not that you’d ever know this but Mr. Puzzles does. He knows that now that he has you he would not be able to live without you and continue to pretend to be even remotely sane.

X = Xtra (Random HC)

Plays his dreams or soft static on his screen when he’s in a deep sleep.

Claps his hands when excited and fidgets with his suspenders a lot.

Also makes tons of motions with his hands while he talks.

Y = You (How would they talk about you?)

This goes one of two ways.

Either he’s all giddy and cheerful like a schoolgirl with a massive crush or sounds very concerning as he talks about you like a follower would a god.

Pick your poison because both are accurate it just depends on how he’s feeling that day.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Will. Not. Let. Go.

Like if you wake up before him you are not getting up because he has the grip of a koala and probably has his arms and legs wrapped all around you.

But sometimes if you wake up before him he ends up in the funniest positions like sprawled out in ways that should break his bones. It can be very funny and disturbing at the same time.

#my writing #mr. puzzles #smg4 #smg4 mr puzzles #mr puzzles #mr puzzles x reader #mr puzzles hcs #mr puzzles smg4 #please help #the brainrot #its killing me #anyways have fun you mr puzzles simps #it’s me #i’m mr puzzles simps :(

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 13

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

I Need A Hero by @theroyalsavage

The "Nico is a superhero, Will is a med student" AU nobody asked for or wanted.

OBSESSED WITH THIS AU OBSESSED WITH THIS AU OBSESSED WITH THIS AU. I AM LOSING MY MIND AND HAVE READ IT SO MANY DOZENS OF TIMES. genuinely one of my top faces like its so fucking GOOD!!! the romcom romance of it all!! makes me lose it!!! the angst of loving someone who is constantly putting himself on the front lines!! the fear of not knowing if he's coming home!! being his healer, holding his life in your hands because he doesn't trust it with anyone else!!!! what if i rioted!!! what if i chewed clean through my ceiling!!!!! what if i swallowed my phone!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what if i clawed my way out of the pit of despair!!!! i am!! gonna!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!

2. As If His Hands Were Enough (to Hold an Avalanche Off) by @theroyalsavage

Nico di Angelo has been through enough to know life doesn't always work out the way you plan. But fate is a funny thing, and, in Nico's junior year of college, it hands him salvation in the form of freckled cheeks and a smile like the sun.

OH dude this author is actually everything to me. prepare for an onslaught of their stuff bc i am OBSESSED, but this one especially....oh it's special man. this had me LOSING MY MIND. seph’s acceptance made its way into my devotion scrapbook. never be ashamed of loving anybody….what a fucking thesis. i also ADORED how a) story didn’t end with them getting together, went thru them learning each other too and b) nico didn’t get fixed by dating will. he got fixed by loving himself, something he learned to do by loving will. crying.

3. Of Gods and Men by @theroyalsavage

There is something profoundly strange about the forest behind Will Solace’s new house. The trees, it seems, breathe magic. The truth is this: there are things that the forest hides that humans cannot understand. Nico di Angelo is one of them.

I LOVE PARTICULAR AUS!!!!!! AND I LOVE YOU ROYAL SAVAGE!!!!! dude god nico and mortal will is always gonna knock me flat bc its so canon, you know? will is going to be a consort of a god one day. and to read it in fic has me HOWLING but this one in particular....OH the ending is gonna knock yall flat fr!!! if you like percy refusing immortality for annabeth youre gonna LOVE this!!

4. Kitchen Nightmares by @theroyalsavage

Nico is the owner and head chef of an upscale restaurant in Hell's Kitchen, New York City. There's nothing easy about running a business, especially when you have to juggle an overprotective father, a college-age sister, and a staff about as under control as a stampede. The last thing Nico needs is a rival in the form of the ugliest food truck on the face of the planet. And yet, that's exactly what he gets. Of food fights, fledgling friendships, and Nico di Angelo's stupid little soft spot for Will Solace.

i know ive literally said it like five times now but NO ONE does an au like theroyalsavage idc. dude romeo & juliet but food truck and fancy restaurant?? hello!!!! omg!! i literally sat my ass down and devoured this i could not stop myself. and then i hit the end and started it right back up again. the love without having the space to establish anything….inherent homoeroticism of rivalry…..my heart!!

5. don't wanna be lonely, just wanna be yours by @theroyalsavage

Will Solace, café manager extraordinaire, just wants to coast through their monthly open mic night in peace. He definitely is not banking on meeting a handsome stranger with the voice of the gods and the death glare of a high-ranking member of the KGB. And yet, that's exactly what he gets.

telling someone you’re not even dating you’re in love with them after like five months is insane behaviour will solace i get you 😭😭 he is so real in every scenario all the time like he is genuinely perfect for nico who is equally as insane and deserves someone who is fully obsessed with him. god.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

#yes another week of all one author what of it im obsessed with her work #wont even be the only week tbh there will be more #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #fic rec #fic rec friday #longpost

[bonafideyapper]

THE TRADER'S DAUGHTER - cooper "the ghoul" howard x female!oc (part 4)

*THIS IS A DIRECT CONTINUATION OF PART 3** (guess what? I LIED when I said it would be past/present/past/present, enjoy whatever this is.)

Warnings: language, badly written smut, mentions of body hair (has to be a normal occurence in fallout bc theres no razors out there????), dbf!cooper, P in V sex, unprotected sex, ghoul fucking, unprotected irradiated creampie, Rad Away as birth control, as always not proofread

a/n: Alright! I’m not fully happy with this, but I DID promise a part 4 tonight so here she is in all her glory. Still bad at writing smut, deal with it. (Even tho I’m bad at writing it this is basically just smut with like, small plot points strewn about.)

Word count: 2.1k

previous part - masterlist

Previously, on The Trader's Daughter...

“Ohh, ya want me to touch ya, huh?” Cooper spoke in a hushed tone so as to not alert to her father in the next room what was about to happen. “What happened to you’re too young for me?” He squeezed her thigh with a strong grip, a wide grin coming to his face as he coaxed her thighs open. 

“Coop, I-” Daisy breathlessly whispered, overwhelmed by the man and his voice and his hands. Lord have mercy, his hands, those hands that she had dreamed about touching her in ways that would make angels cry. The hands that had strangled a man to death for threatening her. 

“I want you to touch me.”

“Well now darlin’, I can touch you however you want me to. But this ain’t gonna be no casual fuck. If I touch you now, you’re a marked woman.” Cooper whispered against the shell of Daisy’s ear, his scarred hand scooting closer to where she craved him most. He could tell she was flustered, and he loved that even after years of being hardened by the wasteland, he still had that panty-dropping effect on members of the fairer sex. 

“You sure you want an old man like me to irradiate that pretty little body of yours, flower?” Cooper kept his voice low, fully aware of his friend snoring less than ten feet away. 

Daisy’s mouth was dry and she would kill for some water. Somehow she managed to whisper back, “I’ve been on the surface a long time too, Cooper. I can handle a little rad poisoning. Got a good supply of Rad Away stashed away.” 

Cooper ran his tongue over his cracked lips, intrigued by the spice coming from the sweet little lady falling apart and he hadn’t even started to touch her yet. “Yeah? Sounds like you’ve been waitin’ a while for a moment like this, sugar. Hell, if I’d’ve known you’d been waitin’ for me this long I would’ve made my way back to you sooner. Could’a gave you another pretty little gift.” His hand reached for her necklace, letting his large calloused digits linger around the little white pearl. He could feel the breath trapped in her chest and swore he could hear the thumping of her heart trapped behind her ribs.

A decade of yearning had led her here, and Daisy was latching on. “Can I um, can I tell you something, Coop?” She felt like a teenage girl again as she looked up at the ghoul inching closer and closer to her, until his knee was slotted between the two of hers. If her father were to walk out now, they could probably play off the position as platonic, as an old friend leaning closer to get a good look at someone they hadn’t seen in years. A wave of nerves rushed over her as she watched him nod, calming herself as she thought about how he was much less of an intimidating figure without that old cowboy hat perched on top of his head. 

“You’re like, the guy I modeled my dream man after-” Daisy froze when she heard a shift to her father’s snoring pattern, bringing her awareness back to her surroundings. Cooper swiftly grabbed her chin to force her attention on him. “Uh uh, attention back on me, sweetheart. It’s just us. Now, you were sayin’ about how I was your perfect man?” As he spoke, his hand crept closer to the belt still fastened around her waist, taking his time and being disrespectful in his slow movements to pop her pants open. With each point the woman listed about how he was the model, he dipped one more finger down the front of her pants. 

“W-Well yeah, you’ve always been a very honorable man. Always take care of the people close to you.” Daisy tried to keep the conversation as casual as she could but still put up no fight as his fingers dipped below her waistband. She cautiously scooted herself down in the chair to widen her legs for him, blushing when he clicked his teeth, “That’s a good girl. You gonna keep bein’ a good girl for me, flower? Keep tellin’ me ‘bout myself.” Cooper smirked at her, his fingers ghosting over the skin of her stomach.

Daisy swiped her tongue over her lips, desperate for some kind of moisture in her mouth. She’d gladly accept it if he spit in her mouth, and actually, she wanted it. She’d do anything for him, especially if it would keep his hand sinking further down. “I think that you’re a good protector, a great shot back in the day. I’d totally outshoot you now.” She had to throw in a little jab of attitude towards him, wanting to see where it’d get her. “Like the way you talk, always callin’ me some kind o’ pretty-” 

Cooper could’ve lost it right then and there when his fingers slipped through the soft curly bush coating her puffy lips, “Look at that, sweet girl, you’re soaked and I ain’t even really touched you yet.”  He bragged, letting his finger tap against her clit a few times to watch her twitch, “And princess, as much as I wanna hear that sweet voice of yours scream my name, gonna need you to be quiet for me. Think you can do that?” He whispered to her as he sunk two thick digits into her dripping hole, shoving the same fingers on his other hand into her mouth to silence her when her jaw went slack. “Bite down if you need to; I won’t mind.” 

Daisy was on cloud nine, needing to grip the table to hold herself together. She couldn’t tell if this was really happening, not until she felt his weathered fingers brushing against that little spot inside her, building up a tight knot that he was eager to coax from her. She wrapped her pretty little lips around his fingers and then Coop thought he was on cloud nine— he’d get those pretty little lips wrapped around something else soon enough, but right now he was committed to teasing her and making her cum with his fingers. Y’know, had to see if he still got it (he did, he was shocked to find that it took less than five minutes of manipulation for her to gush in his hand with a muffled moan as he clasped his hand over her mouth.) 

Daisy closed her thighs around his hands and tried to let her head tip back, half-lidded eyes staring up at his as he dug his fingers in her mouth and pulled her head up to look at him. She whimpered at the loss of his fingers and watched as he licked them clean, a bright red tinge on her cheeks. 

“Sweeter than any peach I’ve ever tasted, flower.” Cooper ran his finger over her lips gently, letting her taste herself on the digit. She damn near couldn’t see straight and here he was, still egging her on. “Now, princess, think you can stay quiet for me?” 

Any kind of strong-woman act that Daisy had created for herself in her lifetime had dissolved in an instant, turning to putty in his hands and feeling like she was a virgin all over again as she begged him to fuck her. “Please, Cooper, please- I’ll be quiet, I promise. Please, please-” She whispered, keeping her eyes locked on his to show she was being serious. “We can go downstairs, won’t have to worry about dad.” 

Cooper pushed himself back from her and stood up, holding his hand out for her to take. “Come on then, pretty girl.” Daisy was quick to stand on her shaky legs, not seeming to care about the wet spot that had formed between her legs. She grabbed onto his hand and essentially dragged him down the stairs, pretty eager for a grown woman. Hey, again, Cooper reawoken her teenage dream, Daisy is in no way to blame for her actions. Without having to think about his actions, Cooper easily tossed the girl around like a ragdoll. Their bodies combined in a mixture of clashing teeth and lips and limbs blindly grabbing for each other. Daisy slung an arm around his neck to pull his head closer to her, channeling a lifetime of desire behind her kiss. She’d never been kissed like this before, none of the boys she had messed around with during her girlhood had ever touched her the way Cooper had been 

She didn’t have to be told twice, Cooper had barely muttered a “get these off” while pulling at her pants and she had dropped them down around her ankles. She kicked them off and smiled wide when he put his hands on her again, this time to easily lift her up onto the countertop. Daisy locked her legs around his waist and whimpered softly when he broke away from her, already begging for him again, “Coop, please don’t stop yet-” “Aw, darlin’, I’m not stoppin’ shit.” Cooper cracked a sideways smirk, “Not gonna keep you beggin’, either, even though you sound sooo pretty.” he let her dig her hands between them, watching her eagerly take his belt off in the dark backroom of the storefront. He made short work of pushing his pants down, reaching down to grab her thighs and pull her closer to his front.

Daisy helped him out a little by scooting her hips forward, just barely hanging off the side of the counter. She couldn’t help but notice how large his hands were against the flesh of her plump thighs as he grabbed on her, wishing she could see more of him in the dark. She wondered how the years of radiation exposure had affected his dick, but didn’t have to spend long on that thought before he had lined himself up and thrust into her. “Oh fuck-” As soon as the words slipped out of her mouth in a moan, Cooper had that hand slapped over her mouth again.

“Nuh-uh, none of that now, flower. Gonna- fuck- gonna wake up your old man. Don’t want that now, do we?” Cooper whispered against the shell of her ear, barely able to hold himself together now that he was inside her and damn-near feral. He smirked as she nodded against him, her eyes still trained on his. “Good girl.” he whispered as he painstakingly pulled out of her to just the tip, only to slide right back in and bottom out with his hips flush against hers.

Daisy whimpered against his hand and reached up to hold it firmly against her mouth, not wanting to risk not being his good girl. (Also not wanting to risk her dad walking in, but to be honest, she wasn’t thinking much about him when Cooper was between her thighs.) She couldn’t think straight, her mind was completely occupied with himhimhimhimhim. Part of her still felt like this was a dream as she mumbled something against his hand, something along the lines of “don’t hold back.” She figured he could understand her because instead of that painfully slowwww process of teasing her, he started fucking her. And this wasn’t like any of the meaningless fucks she had before, this was with a grown man, a man who had been changed by the immense suffering he had been through before he fell into her life. He was fucking her like his life depended on it and she was drunk on every second. 

Cooper didn’t know how long he’d be able to last with her walls gripping him the way she was, with her pretty brown eyes locked on his the entire time. It was much more intimate than he had intended for this to go, he had wanted it to be a good fuck but not one that would leave her wanting more. He had things he needed to do once he left her in the morning, and he hoped that this would be enough to tide her over until he could come back to his Daisy. 

Unbeknownst to him, she’d be joining him in his next adventure, whether he wanted her to or not. 

“Fuck, darlin’, where do you wan’ me to fin’sh?” Cooper groaned out softly, digging his scarred fingers into the soft skin of her hips, hard enough to leave bruises to remember him by. His words had started to slur together more than usual with that accent of his. Daisy whimpered as she leaned up to press her lips to his, gripping onto the back of his head to keep him close to her, “Told you I got enough Rad Away to stock a Super Duper Mart, where d’ya think I wanted it?” She still had that snippy little attitude to her even after Coop did his best to fuck it out of her (although that hadn’t been the primary goal, it’ll continue to be his goal as long as he continues to fuck her.) 

His smirk lit up his face as he bottomed out in her one last time, his hips faltering a bit as he happily pumped her full of his unfruitful seed. He kept his eyes on her face as he watched her- what, third? orgasm take over her. He had lost count after he made her cum the first time with just his fingers. Gentle in his movements this time around, he pulled out of her slowly, taking a second to lean back and watch the cum leak from between her thighs. A satisfied smirk never leaving his face, “Where do you keep the Rad Away?”

gif credit @thesoldiersminute

divider credit @cafekitsune

taglist: @savanahc @one-of-thewalkingdead @silverose365 @neverendingdumptser @fallout-girl219 @imtherain @looneylooomis

(I'm trying to compile my taglist from both accounts, so I hope I didn't forget anyone!)

#cooper howard x oc #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard fanfiction #the ghoul x oc #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #the ghoul fallout #fallout imagine #fallout fanfic #fallout oc #ren writes #the trader's daughter

[rrafecameronsslut]

Man of the House

warnings: smut, degradation, fingering, mentions choking, unprotected sex, p in v, lost of virginity, starts off kinda angst, overstim, explicit language

reader is slightly innocent not completely understanding the gist of being fucked out of existence.

relationship: innocent!reader x jealous!possessive!rafe

rafe cares about you to, he's not just jealous, possessive & a degrading arse, I swear.

Rafe had already mourned his father, long before his sudden and tragic death.

Ward never loved him. Underestimated him. Used Rafe to draw supply from him to feed his ego via intimidation and humiliation.

And if there's anything Rafe doesn't fuck with, it's being made to feel small

First strike had been his childhood. Second strike had been the loss of faith after Rafe dropped out of college. Third strike was y/n. Marrying y/n was the line his father should have known better than to cross.

Rafe knew y/n, went to school with her, almost made a move on her when she came back to the OBX. But Ward fucking wormed his way in and before Rafe knew it, y/n was walking down the aisle in a Vera Wang gown, kissing his father and letting him put a ring on her finger. Rafe fucking hated it.

She was supposed to be his. And his dad knew it. And still took her from him. That was a sin Rafe couldn't pardon.

His sudden passing wasn't so sudden, it was a meticulous and thought-out plan conceived by Rafe.

Poisoning the old fuck's Viagra a stroke of Rafe's genius. Now his father is out of the picture and everything is falling into place.

Rafe's CEO, man of the house, and his name holds more respect than ever. Everything is falling to place.

There's just one thing left. The master bedroom is his now, and the woman who still warms the bed? Naturally should be too.

But is she? No. But will she? Most definitely.

"y/n.." Rafe purrs "I've come to check up on you, to make sure your alright." His fingers graze your arms making a trail of goosebumps pop up on your arms.

"M'fine, are you? I know you've got a lot of shit to deal with now your father's passing." You shift away from hand, shaking his hand off your arm.

He smirked at that, eyes roaming over you. This time, he didn't look away, not for even a second. "You scared, y/l/n?"

You two locked eyes and he stayed still. It was as if he was studying you the way one does a prized possession, analyzing and looking for any flaws and faults in his "property".

"No- M' not." You huff out quietly, turning back to the funeral planner for Ward, "I've got shit to do." You say, countering him and well- your nervousness.

"Then why are you being so skittish?" He asked, as if he wasn't being incredibly obvious with his intent.

"You don't make eye contact with me, you barely want me here. I know I can see right through you and you know it." He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "You know what I think?"

"Hm?" You murmur softly, shifting your you seat, finally looking at Rafe.

Rafe takes a breath before continuing "I know your still a virgin, so I think you should lose your virginity to me."

Well, it was true—but he didn't need to drop the bomb like that, and so quickly, either.

"And if you do this for me, you know I'll protect you, yeah?" Rafe steps up to you, resting his right hand on the small of your back. Hesitantly, you nod.

There's no going back no. After all, it's Rafe fucking Cameron.

“Good, good little slut ain’tchu?” Rafe growls softly, pulling your pajama pants to the side. He takes a nip of your ear before pulling your underwear to the side as well “God, your gonna be a a good little Pouge and take this Kook dick?” (oh yeah, I forgot to mention you used to be a pouge before you married Ward)

Your eyes widen “In the kitchen!? What if Wheezie comes out her room!”

“The I suggest you keep quiet, we wouldn’t want to have to choke you, now would we?” Rafe grips your waist, pushing you against your chair

He looks at your cunt then back at you “Horny little thing, aren’t you?” Rafe teases your slick, glimmering, wet folds with his middle finger, you let out a small gasp of surprise. Your eyes threatened to roll back as he shoved his middle finger into your pulsating pussy.

"N-no!" You shout defensively "M'not horny." Tears moisten your eyes as he degrades you.

Rafe pauses, grasping your chin between his finger and thumb "Baby, your not a slut. I swear, sometimes that turns a woman on." He unbuckles his pants, kicking his pants and buckles to the side "Now be quiet, I don't want to choke you, yeah?"

You nod quietly "Don't be mean, please." You beg him softly to go slow and not to degrade you.

"Of course, just grip the counter if I'm going to fast." He aligns his cock at your folds, stoping for a second

"Let's go to the couch for a better position, yeah?" He carries you bridal style to the couch.

He tossed you onto the couch, your cunt clenches around nothing as you lay on the couch, you let out a whine as you fly shortly to the couch out of Rafe's arms without warning. "Careful!" You shout—quite loudly, at that, enough to wake up any sleeping members in Tanneyhill.

Rafe shoots you a glare as he grabs the plush of your hips to slam his cock inside your little cunt. "I told you to be quiet, baby."

"M'Sorry," You mewl out, arching you back as Rafe's hips buck into yours "You-You'd said you go slow!" You grip the couch fabric, your legs tilting into the air

Rafe grip your hair, pulling it down to make you look at him "That was before you decided to be a brat and try to wake up all of Tanneyhill." He growls into your ear, you were on the verge of releasing your orgasm onto Rafe's pelvis bone.

"M-M'Sorry! Please-" You claw Rafe's shoulders, begging him to slow down for fucks sake before you lost your morals.

Rafe let's out a low groan "Just- just let me cum, please." He pins your wrists above your head, straddling your thighs as his cock relentlessly abuses your cunt

Feeling overstimulated you mewl out as Rafe cum inside your fucked up cunt, finally pulling out.

Rafe breathes out “Let’s get you- all cleaned up, yeah?” He takes a smaller breath “And I’ll get you a plan b afterwards for in the mornin’ but M’gonna get you birth control.”

“Because this isn’t the last time we’re doing this.”

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #outer banks #rafe x reader #obx #outer banks smut #rafe smut #obx rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine

[ironunderstands]

God I love being correct (2.2 leaks incoming!!!)

“Jade saved Aventurine!!!” “Jade helped him out of the kindness of her own heart!!” “Jade is such a mother figure to Aventurine!!”

mmm yeah, definitely yup 100%

Honestly this fucking speaks for itself, and I’m so glad hoyo committed to the evil on her, she’s very compelling and that’s extremely cunty I must give her credit for it, but god do I absolutely despise the people who believe Jade and Aventurine have a healthy relationship, or that she “saved” him out of the kindness of her own heart or something.

To Jade, Aventurine is an investment, nothing more and nothing less, which is why she puts her faith in him, he’s a reliable business opportunity, but that’s not the same as caring about him personally and I really need people to get the difference

If Aventurine hadn’t proved himself useful to her, she would have left him to rot in prison or succumb to his death sentence, this isn’t saving, it’s exploitation.

Jade knows Aventurine couldn’t decline whatever offer she made, and anything is worse than death or slavery, the things he’s trying to escape, so she offers for him to join the IPC to make more money for them. That’s it, that’s all she wants, she doesn’t care about how bad being in the IPC is for Aventurine’s mental health, how he literally took on a suicide mission so he could escape being a stoneheart, how even if she “saved” him, his banner name is literally “gilded imprisonment” and his lightcone “inherently unjust destiny”, so damn she did a real good job at saving him and fixing his life, definitely didn’t just put him in a pair of gilded chains.

Also like can we talk about how weird Jades comment about his eyes were? Like it’s genuinely creepy to me considering Avens eyes are a) one of his biggest insecurities and b) people fetishize them, something which Jade knows and chooses to still comment about. I hate to say it, but I feel like if this was a male Jade saying that to a female Aventurine, yall would never let that slide and Jade would never beat the p3do allegations. Aventurine was likely a teenager/young adult in that scene, and either way there is a visible power dynamic between them (I mean Aven is literally in chains looking up at her), and I don’t think if the situation was flip flopped people would be treating Jade like some kinda hero. If they were the same gender I feel like people would be shipping them though 😭

So, yeah. Being correct feels amazing, pls use your brains and realize that just because one character sounds kinda nice to another, does not mean they actually care about them or are a good person!

#honkai star rail #aventurine #hsr aventurine #hsr jade #penacony #hsr spoilers #hsr leaks #Ah it feels so good to watch the “Jade is mother figure to Aven” truthers lose #Now we have to prepare for the second wave of annoying #That being the “omg don’t end that flop jade” #I hope her kit is absolute dogshit just to limit the size of her annoying ass fans #Ik it will probably be amazing but still #Jade is a pretty amazing villain and I hope her fans don’t keep ruining her for me

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Some more AUs I've been loving. I'm trying to alternate between AU and canon verse rec lists so bear with me. Remember that if you like a fic you should definitely let the author know as such.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

theogony by @clare-with-no-i

The trip that Lily Evans expects to go on is the annual pre-dissertation jaunt to Athens with the rest of her Classical Civilizations PhD program. The trip she does not expect to go on is to 479 BCE, right on the cusp of one of the most important battles in the Greco-Persian war. Now, she has to navigate antiquity as she tries to find her way back to the 21st Century, God—or gods—help her.

James wants to win this war. No, James needs to win this war. He is a man of honor and duty, and even if it means dying a gruesome, bloody death, he will go down in history as one of Athens's great warriors. He will suffer no distractions; not even beautiful ones who speak strangely and refuse to listen to his orders.

 -- OR: The Outlander-Meets-Ancient-Greece Jily AU that no one asked for Maya dreams of.

I can't believe it took me this long to read this fic but OH MY GOD!! Clare's writing is phenomenal, I've known this for a while now, but THE DEDICATION TO HISTORICAL ACCURACY, I'm so impressed. If only I could put even half that amount of effort into my major essays for school. EVERYONE GO READ THIS NOW

Sweathearts' Special by @tinyluminaryzombie

What happens when your coffee shop nemesis, asks you to pretend to be a couple?

Or "I’ve been staring at the stupid cupcakes for the past hour, and they look way too good. Anyways, would you be willing to join forces and pretend to be together for the free cupcake and coffee?”

Welcome to Pettyville by @women-inthe-sequel

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

A love square but it's just the same two idiots

Tall Dark and Glasses by @jamesunderwater

Tall Dark and Glasses (or TDG as he is more affectionately known) is the mysterious, painfully good-looking stranger who has been frequenting Lily's favourite coffee shop for months now. But despite having an embarrassing acronym for him, Lily, a burned-out STEM major, is too comfortable being a wallflower to go up to him herself. Thank god for playing cards, I guess.

coffee shops and copious amounts of sugar by @mystinkysocks

James decides to finally start revising, the coffee shop he attends introduces him to someone new!

As someone who spends an ungodly amount of time studying in public (at cafés and libraries), all I dream of is to one day live out my very own coffee shop AU

Unlicenced by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily Evans begrudgingly agrees to get in the car with classmate and sometime-foe James Potter and his not-quite-earned P-plates after a particularly rubbish day.

Drop-Off also by @/ ohmygodshesinsane

James Potter takes Lily Evans home, and wants to make something clear.

Disclaimer that they’re Australian in this AU. You guys don't understand how much Lily Evans means to me. I want to give her a hug.

pretty, pretty boy by rosiemary0 (on ao3)

Pretty face, with golden brown eyes and strong cheekbones (one of which is adorned with a smudge of charcoal). Pretty hands—very, very pretty hands, Lily’s thoughts interject—which hold a jar each, one with water and the other paintbrushes.

Or the one where James is an artist and Lily hates socialising.

I'll Manage by @kaymardsa

James and Lily fall in love during the war.

In which Lily runs a refugee camp and James is an ex-sniper

I can't remember if I've recommended this fic already but again I recently re-read it and wanted to share

'Tis the Fucking Season by @thequibblah

Six-year absences. Yearly photograph burnings (figuratively). Low-cut tops. Two nosebleeds. Little red notebooks. The Past, with a capital P. The desire to pour your heart out to strangers (maybe pathologically). The desire to do unspeakably bad things to one James Potter. These are the ingredients that make up Lily Evans's holiday season.

Shelby the cabbie is in for a fucking ride.

I have been searching for this fic for two months and nearly gave up. An absolute classic that everyone should read!!

Two's a Crowd also by @/ thequibblah

Regency AU in which "the only thing Lily Evans can share with the Earl of Devon is a healthy dose of mutual dislike."

In Search of Something More by @kay-elle-cee

In the sunlit garden of her sister’s home, Lord Potter had promised Lily a life of her own design, with minimal expectations—her presence at community events, companionship, and an heir. As the two stumble into the routine of marriage and work to make a life together at Stinchcombe Hall, unsolicited feelings provoke each to start wondering if this is merely a marriage…or if it could be something more.

No, I will not shut up about this fic. Anything that Kelsey writes is bound to be amazing but this one holds a special place in my heart. Note that this is an ongoing fic though. I tend to recommend completed works but this one is too good not to include.

Pinkest Bluestocking of the Ton by @wearingaberetinparis 

Dearest Reader, the ton are abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it is my honour to impart to you the news that the Duke of Peverell has returned to London at last! A year after setting off on his tour of Europe, Lady Peverell's son has returned and rumour has it that his mother is preparing for the most joyous of occasions: a late summer wedding that sees her son wed the next Duchess of Peverell. It is my sincere hope that you have stored a bottle of wine for this most delightful of upcoming events for if ever there were a more determined mama, this writer is Icarus and this society paper has been scorched for flying too close to the sun.

A Jily Regency Romance inspired by Shondaland's "Bridgerton".

Again this is an ongoing fic, but it's too good not to include in this rec list! I haven’t caught up with all the chapters yet but I love the story so far!

A Heart of Coal also by @/ wearingaberetinparis

They say fortune favours the bold, yet Lily Evans was given her death sentence at seventeen. As soon as midnight strikes on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her heart will turn to coal. Gryffindor knight James Potter, however, is the last to accept such a fate. For while Lily Evans’ curse foretells her death, his foreshadows a life without his unrequited true love at his side.

Fairytale AU in which the love is requited they're just idiots

Three Lemons and a Dragon by @thelighthousestale

Once upon a time, there lived a Prince named James who had to save his father's Kingdom by getting married. One day an older woman gifts him three lemons that will lead him to his true love.

Dillweed in a Fancy Metal Can by @eastwindmlk

When Lily gets dragged to a Renaissance Faire, she reluctantly agreed to go to the jousting event where she is pulled into the show against her will, or is it?

Lily represents me

Queen Foxtail also by @/ eastwindmlk

Once Upon A Time...

There was an arrogant prince who turned down every suitable match and drove his parents to do something drastic. Marry him off to the next merchant that steps through their gates.

across the universe by rcdwings (on ao3)

“So, you’re saying that in these other worlds, James Potter and Lily Evans exist, too?”

She hadn’t expected to hear that, hadn’t even thought about it that way. She was too busy thinking about if in those other worlds, she and her friends could be seventeen and free instead of the war torn teenagers they were. Now that he’d put it that way, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

“I would assume so,” she swallowed. “Not sure what we would be like, though.”

A beat, then a soft hum. “Anything,” he smiled at her, “There are countless worlds, right? We could be anything.”

only love can hurt like this by @fireblts 

Lily doesn’t quite know everything, but it feels pretty close.

The main thing she still doesn’t get is soulmates. Love doesn’t seem like something that should be painful. Or rather, love seems like it’s painful enough on its own without any help.

Soulmate AU - whenever your soulmate is hurt or in pain, you can feel it too.

Soulmate AUs are my comfort genre of fics. I haven't been feeling to well lately and rediscovering this fic was a delight

The Librarian of Hogsmeade Village by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily's work as a librarian in the small village of Hogsmeade has kept her occupied for the past six years, forever keeping the wheels of the town on the track. As the holidays approach, she prepares to settle in with a nice mug of tea and a well-thumbed old book. When a new resident and his son arrive at her weekly story-reading, with cheeky smiles and big hearts, those plans are tossed out the window in favour of chasing love, for once - not escaping it.

Lily living the cozy life of my dreams. I think it's well known by now that I love reading about single parents and well James with his baby boy always puts a smile on my face.

Spitting Image by @charmsandtealeaves

James Potter always knew he wanted to build a family, he just hadn’t found the right person to build it with - yet. Freezing his sperm at Gringotts Sperm Bank was a no-brainer really. He’d have children when he found the right person, and now he had an insurance policy. Then Lily Evans walked into his place of work with her son - the spitting image of him.

linking this art that the talented @constancezin drew inspired by this fic

Every time I see that Ray has updated, reading the new chapter becomes the highlight of my day

The Stag Prince Across The Sea also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

The realm of Hogwarts had lived for decades in a carefully negotiated harmony between the leaders of the four clans. However, when the time came for son to marry daughter, the Slytherin King refused to offer his daughter's hand to any of the other grand houses’ suitors. As the Slytherin King departed the shore, bound for the ship that would allow him to escape across the Green Sea, he cast a curse on the great families.

“Let ye be marked. Marred by tooth, hoof, and claw. May your sons never be fit for any bride!”

Slytherin invoked an ancient magic, which transformed each family's eldest son into creatures under the light of the full moon. The Kings searched far and wide for a cure to no avail while trying to keep secret the wrong that had been done to them. Years passed and with them grew a sense of unrest, a kingdom on the precipice of collapse...

what love is, I think by @potterandevans-blog-blog

It's James Potter's birthday, his nineteenth to be exact. Some people, if they're lucky, find a tattoo on their back on their nineteenth birthday, a tattoo that can help them discover their soulmate. And if the antlers on his back are anything to go by, James might just have a soulmate of his own out there, somewhere.

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

#if you're like me and check the jily fic tag nearly every morning you've probably read most of these already #but I just wanted to share my recent favourites #lily evans #james potter #jily #jple #james x lily #lily x james #jily fic rec