#I always use the chapter titles to kind of fuck with y’all

[ssreeder]

I saw that other ask being like "I'm too scared by the title" and i laughed, and then i saw the title, and i *thought* about the possibilities

REEDY WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. HELLO??? I HAVEN'T STARTED READING AND I'M ALREADY A MESS

-Fragile heart, now with fucking anxiety

I adore the title for this chapter because it’s kind of misleading but also completely accurate lol

I hope you enjoyed ;)

[sapphic-gardn]

Willow | joel miller x f!reader | pt. 1

part 2

Summary: When you arrived in Jackson at the age of eighteen, you found a place to rest your mind and live comfortably while keeping to yourself. Five years later, Tommy Miller’s brother arrives and finds a way to get right under your skin.

(no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers type beat)

Warnings (18+ mdni): mentions of loss/grief, swearing, age gap (reader is 23 Joel is in his 50s), angst, mutual pining kinda?, no physical description of reader, will specify with each chapter

Word count: 1.3k

a/n: Hi guys! This is the first part to my first ever Joel Miller fic. AHHH!! I’m so nervous but I am also really excited. I have planned this out for awhile and I just hope it manifests into something you all can enjoy. This first part is short but it’s kind of a prologue so you get a feel of Joel and reader’s dynamic. Let me know what you think <3 I’m shaking in my boots as I’m posting this

(The title is based off of Taylor Swift’s song Willow. I was listening to it while I wrote this. I just adore her sm)

credit to @cafekitsune for the cutie divider <3

Your cheeks stung as the bitter breeze swept across the dense forest just outside of Jackson. You tugged your heavy coat a little tighter to your chest as your horse trotted over the rough terrain.

“‘S that alright with ya?” Your patrol partner’s voice reeled you back in from your daze.

“Sorry, uh, what did you say, Tommy?” He let out a dry chuckle and you noted his look of amusement before directing your gaze ahead of you once again.

“I’m gonna be helpin’ Maria out with the baby for a few weeks. Gonna have you patrollin’ with Joel for awhile. Alright with you?” Tommy repeated himself with a huff.

Your eyes went wide and you snapped your head to the right where Tommy swayed on his horse and looked back at you with slight desperation.

“Joel?” You cleared your throat and quickly averted your eyes to the trail ahead, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

No no no. That is not fine. Joel? Joel fucking Miller who you have a big fat embarrassing crush on? Joel Miller who is old enough to be your father? The man who only speaks in grunts and groans? Please, let this be some twisted fucking dream.

Tommy sighed in relief, “I’m glad to hear it. Listen, I know you two are barely acquainted—haven’t said more ‘n two words to each other—but he’s good. He won’t give ya a hard time.”

A feeling of unease settled in your gut as you prepared yourself for humiliation on your next patrol with Joel fucking Miller.

Your life before Jackson was not glorious in any way. The bouts of starvation and taking shelter in abandoned homes had you convinced you were going to die alone sooner rather than later. That is, until Maria found you. Doe eyed and shrunken into a fetal position in a dark corner of a crumbling cabin.

It was surreal when you first arrived five years ago. Barely eighteen, grieving the loss of your parents, taking in the settlement before you. Life in Jackson was so peaceful despite the chaos that surrounded its walls.

Maria carved out a place for you in the community. She placed you in a little cottage a few houses down from her and Tommy. You were assigned to different jobs around the commune before discovering your strong suit was gardening. It was beyond anything you could’ve hoped for—a home.

You mostly kept to yourself. Everybody was so kind and welcoming but with the state of the world and the recent loss of your parents, it was easier to create a barrier. Your trust was sparse and only extended as far as Tommy and Maria. There was always something missing, though. Someone missing. And then, Joel Miller showed up five years later.

When you first met Joel, it was through Tommy’s efforts. You had been in the garden, harvesting vegetables when Tommy called out your name, “I want ya to meet my brother, Joel, he’ll be livin’ right next door to you. Thought it’d be best to introduce y’all.”

When you turned around, your breath hitched at the sight of him. Tousled gray hair framing his stoic expression complimented with deep brown eyes that looked right through you.

Joel grumbled something that sounded like a greeting, ignoring your outstretched hand in front of him.

“A man of few words, I guess.” You let out a humorless chuckle and placed your hand on your hip. Joel just walked away in response to your commentary. Asshole.

“Don’t take it personal. He’s like that with everyone.” Tommy ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “Alright, I’ll let ya get back to it, then. See you tomorrow at the stables. Patrol at 7 a.m. sharp, miss.” You nodded in affirmative and waved him goodbye.

The rest of the day was spent distracted by thoughts of Joel occupying your brain. What was his problem? Why didn’t he say anything to you? Did he always wear that scowl on his face? That damned gorgeous face.

The following month you had successfully dodged Joel like the plague. Sure, you wanted to see him but avoiding another interaction with him was a top priority. And you were happy with that. You could yearn from a distance—or so you thought.

You were tossing and turning in your bed unable to slow your heart rate. In the morning, you were to meet Joel at the stables for patrol. Fuck. The anticipation was unbearable. How would you act around him? No one has ever gotten to you like he has. What if you say something stupid? What if he doesn’t say anything at all?

You don’t know what time it was when you finally got some shut eye but you were awoken from your sleep by the sound of pounding on your front door. You looked at your watch and cursed under your breath. You shuffled to your front door, too blanketed in sleep to care that you had on a tank top that left barely anything to the imagination.

“I ain’t waiting all damn day!” You heard the gruff voice call out from the other side of the door before you swung it open. You were confronted with none other than Joel Miller. He took in your appearance and his look of anger momentarily turned into a look of bashfulness. Joel cleared his throat and looked down at his worn boots.

“Aren’t you just sunshine? Look, I’m sorry. I slept like shit and didn’t wake up to my alarm. Give me a few minutes, I’ll be right out.” You were rattled but didn’t let your expression show it.

Before you could retreat, Joel spoke up once more, “Five minutes ‘s all I’m givin’ ya. Hurry it up, little girl.” With that, you slammed the door in his face.

You swear that was the fastest you’d ever gotten ready in your life. Before leaving, you gave yourself a once over in the bathroom mirror—you looked far from pristine but at least your breath smelled fresh and your jeans fit just right.

As you stepped out the door, you eluded eye contact with Joel. And with a grunt, you both descended your front steps to walk to the stables.

The walk was silent for the first few minutes until you decided to speak up, “I’m not a little girl, y’know. Don’t fuckin’ call me that.” Sure, you were young, but he had no idea what you were capable of. Anger and embarrassment started bubbling up in your throat.

Joel just chuckled and quirked an eyebrow at you. It bothered you that he didn’t say anything back, but you just pushed it aside and started walking ahead of him. You had quite the mouth on you and it stirred something inside of Joel. You were a willing opponent fighting to put him in his place.

At the stables, you and Joel barely exchanged words, all of which consisted of double checking supplies and grumbles of confirmation before heading out.

Once both of you made it about a mile out of the gates, Joel began thinking of what to say to you. He was content with silence, he liked his solitude—but when it came to you, curiosity got the best of him.

“So—“ Joel started but you were quick to cut him off.

“Don’t have to say anything to me. Next few weeks’ll be painless if you keep to yourself and I do the same.” You kept your eyes ahead as you spoke. If you looked at him, your cold facade would simply melt under his gaze.

Joel didn’t try to rebuke. He figured it was best to keep you at arms length. A woman like you was nothing but trouble for an old man like him. But how he craved to know what was going on in that pretty little head of yours.

a/n: I hope you like it so far! I am working on the next part already. Let me know your thoughts :) love you -Jen 🤓

Taglist: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @alejaa-a @cool-iguana @littleshadow17 @planet-marz1 @alyhull

[likesunsetorange]

how do you go about plotting your stories? :P

i always say that i’m a bit of a chaotic planner! i mention it a lot, but i have severely bad adhd, so things with me are a bit of organized chaos (except with the zine, i run that shit like the fucking marines man).

so basically since it starts off chaotic, i tend to kind of brain dump all my ideas into my doc (i use notion for planning), so like all the potential plot points scene ideas i may want, and then i tend to order them in a way that makes sense chronologically!

for one shots, i’ll be a bit more detailed bc i don’t do a lot of extra planning outside of my outline since it’s ONLY the one shot, but sometimes it’s even as simple as this! (from the wedding planner x baker au)

it’s not very eloquently written bc it’s just for me, so i don’t waste time making sure it’s in full sentences lol, it’s like me talking to myself! so i just write a bit chaotic lol but it’s what i find works for me, and im able to fill in the gaps! and here’s another example LOL (a spoiler sorta from the cowboy x model au!) like i said, they’re severely unserious, but it’s what works for me!! but this is how i do my one shot ones, just bc i outline them in their entirety and im not writing full length sentences i don’t have fucking time for that with my minimal attention span having ass 😭

BUT! for the e2l au and the bodyguard au!! i definitely did a lot more planning which is why it’s taken me so much longer to put them out 😭 with dol, which i’ve emphasized MANY times, i wrote it for shits and giggles and so i was like oh! like i should’ve been a bit more organized, which for the most part i’ve done PRETTY well, considering i wasn’t initially but i definitely wanted to be more prepared with these two!!

so for both of the fics, i have them set up like this! there’s three little sections and i can kinda explain how i organized each one!

outline: that’s the overall fic outline, i basically started it how i mentioned above, i brain dumped all my ideas and then made it into a mostly cohesive chronological order! for multi chapter fics tho i get rlly overwhelmed tho if i super intensely outline bc sometimes i change my mind, so i have a MOSTLY SOLID idea of the overall plot give or take some minor decisions (which is why the whole first kiss thing in the bodyguard au i said i wasn’t 100% sure on yet bc i could still change my mind lol). so i outline chapter by chapter going based off the overall big outline, and choosing from the scenes i wanted to do, and maybe any ideas y’all suggest too! so like some things ARE subject to change, but like for sure most things (like in dol the whole fire thing) i ALWAYS know would happen

details: for both fics, to make sure i kept the characterizations consistent, i wrote down everything about eren and mikasa and their character goals and traits for both au’s! and then specifically for the e2l au, i wrote out their feelings and thoughts about the breakup and how they both thought about one another as to make sure i kept those consistent!!! when writing mc fics it’s really easy to kind of stray away from characterization (at least for me bc i write a bunch of stuff at once) so i wanted to make sure i had something to refer to if i ever needed to!!

extras: bc i realized i enjoyed having quotes/chapter titles, i basically pre chose all of those just to save myself some time later on bc im indecisive as fuck lol so if was to help future me

basically i think everyone has a super different process!! i love hearing about all my writer moots writing processes bc we’re all really different! some of my moots have very detailed processes which i admire, bc im not like that at all, but i’ve found this works for me and the way my brain works! it’s a mix of organization but not in a way that stresses me out or overwhelms me!

but also sometimes like the cabin fic i’ll just say to hell with it write a fic on a whim and not plan for shit except knowing i wanna write those five individual scenes so im nothing if not a mess also, but yea sorry for talking your ear off, i always say being concise is not something i can ever do LOL i hope this answers your question tho!! 😭

and i provided some snippets for you bodyguard au and e2l au readers too!!

[ageless-soul-au]

hey so i’m reading faction rn and i just finished chapter 11 and. fucking ow

time has always been my one of favorite fellas of y’all’s and i already adore silas so damn much. you can’t just write abt a man who loves his wife and daughter more than anything and expect me to not adore him. what do you mean he carries a pocket watch with a picture of them inside. what do you mean he made fariah a crib. what do you mean (also i love that it’s a pocket watch that he has, a wonderful little homage to his hero title)

and the tension and rage is insane and so well written, the unbridled anger silas holds towards klaus is so fascinating to read. fr tho silas is better than me for letting him go 🏃‍♂️ my logical reasoning skills would’ve been out the window if i were him in that moment lmaoo

overall fantastic i love faction so damn much. literally every part of it is super fun to read, even if my heart feels like it’s been ripped out and stomped on over and over and over again just for y’all to put a few hello kitty bandaids on it (tho honestky that’s what makes it fun to read lmaoo.) i’m not often interested in historical fantasy politics but i am riveted so far <3

Omg thank you for taking the time to send us this!!! Ashes was a very good chapter imo, it's so heartwrenching and we LOOOOVE to put that man in situations. It was such a funny juxtaposition with what comes before and after it too, surrounding it is such low stakes and then DEATH, DESPAIR, AGONY, hehe more low stakes... I'm so sorry for ppl that binged it and got whiplash from that hdhdhsjsk

I haven't gone back to the chapter to look at it, but iirc there wasn't a lot of comments on Fariah, which made me kinda sad at the time bc we hyped it up gxhshsjs. It ended up not being a huge thing in the grand scheme of things and I'm chill about it now but like.... The parallels that y'all don't know about for mainline yet... We were very proud of them.

Sometimes you just gotta let your mans go a little psycho sometimes, let him get lost in grief and rage and see where that takes him. Fr he could have fucking murdered Klaus full stop, but he didn't! Speaks to the kind of person he is AND that Klaus was able to reach a part of him that still had empathy and reason locked away in there.

HONESTLY (at least for me) the pocket watch was an unintentional nod to his hero title, I was thinking more along the lines of FMA and the shit u see from like WWII of soldiers with a little photograph in their watch so they can keep it on them. If that was intentional on Mizu's part lmao go her. It's so funny how readers pick out symbolism that the authors don't intend, but it's there and it works anyway! Just like how if you think about plot points long enough they string themselves together...

THANK U FOR READING, we hope u enjoy the rest 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

-Kio

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: New Hire [3]

previous chapter

Pairing: Alpha!Mob!Ari Levinson x Naive!Omega!Reader

Summary: After escaping your demanding, violent father, you get your first job nannying for Ari Levinson.

Warnings: Manipulation, Obsessive behavior, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Ari, Dubcon, Darkfic, Breeding, Smut, MINORS DNI, Dead dove: Do not eat

A/N: 👀 i know we’ve all been kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop with Ari and Kitten, so here we go! i’m working two jobs now, so i don’t have a lot of spare time left over to write—as a result, i kind of went waaaaaaay overboard with this chapter. i split it into two, just for ease of reading, so i really hope y’all enjoy! floral divider by @firefly-graphics​

This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone but me. Enjoy 😘

“I’m not leaving till I see my daughter!” You can hear your father’s raised voice clearly, like he’s yelling at you from inside the car rather than the driveway. Ari’s stern hand on his shoulder seems to make him even angrier. 

“So what, you got her locked up here like your own little toy, and what? No fuckin’ ring on her finger, I’ll bet,” he sneers, and it’s like you’re seventeen again. Seventeen again and listening to him tell you you’re used and ruined because you’d let the Baker boy come sniffing after you— 

“Liam we’re going to go inside.” You hate the way your voice shakes, the way your stomach clenches with old fear. As you turn around, you try to swallow down the panic so that Liam doesn’t see it on your face. “And we’re not going to look at, or talk to the man outside, okay?” You repeat it like you heard it from your therapist when you’d first left your father. Don’t engage. You don’t owe him anything. You are your own person.

 You are free.

 “I don’t like that man.” Liam says quietly from the back seat as you unbuckle him. “He’s scary.” 

 “Yes,” you agree, glancing at the man in question over your shoulder. “He is.” Liam clamors over the middle console and into your arms. You don’t want to stay in the car, listening to him shout. You take a deep breath, gathering what little courage you feel, and pull on the door handle. Immediately, his cursing fills your ears while you cover Liam’s with your hands, steering him quickly towards the stairs. 

 “Oh, there she is,” he snarls. “I taught you better than that, you little bitch! Abandoning your responsibilities to this family, all so you can sit on some Alpha’s fucking knot—”

 “Enough!” Ari’s voice is like a clap of thunder. His huge hands are knotted threateningly in your father’s shirt. “You come here like this, you fucking threaten my mate—” He bares his teeth angrily. “How’d you even fucking get in here, you slimy piece of shit?”

 “I’m here because Peter-fucking-Quill sent me,” he spits, and your chest goes even tighter at the name. “On account of you fucking his mate.” 

 “What?” It’s your voice that acts as a knife through the tension, and both men turn to you. You know Peter Quill—or, well, you knew him. Before things had gone bad at home, turned sour like milk left out to spoil, and you’d had to switch schools—because your fancy Catholic school was too much money—you’d played with Quill. He was only a year or two older than you, but he was always… kind, for lack of a better word. 

 You never thought you’d hear that name again. 

 “Then he needs to come himself.” Ari’s voice is low, barely above a growl. His shoulders are stiff and squared, his knees slightly bent like he’s ready to soak a blow. “Because as far as I’m concerned, it’s my mark on her neck.” Ari shoves your father, and he stumbles back a few steps. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot messengers. But it is fucking tempting.” Trembling, you begin to lead Liam up the stairs. 

“You tell Quill he’d better send someone more fucking qualified next time.” You hurry inside, one of Ari’s men holding the door open for you as they usher you inside. Faintly, you can hear Ari, his orders mixed in with frustrated swears. 

 “King, you mind telling me what the fuck you were thinking, letting him get past the goddamn gate?”

 You’ve never seen this many people in the house before, men in black, guns bulging under their clothing. The man Ari called King’s gaze flicks around nervously before settling on you. Ari sees it too, and almost immediately, his hostile posture softens. 

 “Kitten, why don’t you take Liam upstairs?” He turns to you with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be up in a little bit, I know that was… scary.” 

 “I…” You have questions—so many questions. “But Ari, he—”

 “Upstairs, Kitten. Now.” His voice brokers no room for argument, bordering on an Alpha command that your body jumps to follow. You spare one last look for the strangely crowded kitchen, and then take Liam’s hand and lead him up the staircase to the second floor. You put out a few of his favorite coloring books and games to distract him while you go change your clothes. 

 Your feet begin marching in the direction of your old room, and it’s only when your hand rests on the brassy doorknob that you remember it isn’t your room anymore. You stand there in front of the door, your hand hovering over the knob. So much has changed in the past three months, and you wonder if they’ll ever stop changing. It’s like you’re at the center of a whirlwind, and each time you get your bearings, you’re whipped about by the storm until you’re just as lost and confused as ever. 

 Three months ago, leaving your father’s house had been the hardest, most confusing thing you’d ever had to do, but you had done it, and you had done it by yourself. You’d navigated the help wanted sections of every newspaper, typed out your resumé on the ancient library computers, all for your father to find you again. 

 It’s okay to start over, that’s what Dr. Nicholson says. It’s okay to do things over until you get them right. You wonder what she’ll think of these new developments as you force yourself to turn around and head down to the other end of the hallway, towards Ari’s room—your room. You’d missed last week’s therapy session—it isn’t like you could show up with Ari still knotted inside you. The thought makes your face heat hotter than a stove-top, and you bite your lip against the embarrassment. 

 You’re due for another session in a few days, and you’re actually looking forward to it, to being able to decompress and just talk without fear of reprisal. As you shrug out of the sundress, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Though you try not to, it’s impossible not to see the neat ring of teeth marks sunk permanently into your flesh. 

 Ari is proud of how clean his bite is, you know it—you can feel it through the bond when his teeth slide home like keys into a well fitting lock. You remember running your fingers over your mother’s own mating mark as a child, the flesh knotted and bumpy to the touch, like your father had torn into her like an animal. A shiver runs down your spine as you recall his words—

 Peter-fucking-Quill sent me. On account of you fucking his mate.

 You weren’t mated before Ari—the smooth, unbroken skin above your mating gland had told that truth far better than your mouth ever could. So what had he meant by that? How could you be Peter’s if you were already Ari’s? 

 Your body is still singing with tension and unresolved anxiety, winding you tight like a spring as you search through Ari’s cavernous closet for something to wear. The possessions you do have feel meagre in comparison, like you’re a pauper dressing up as a prince. You emerge from the closet wearing shorts and a button up shirt—one of Ari’s—tucked into the waistband. 

 When you poke your head into his room, you’re pleased to find that Liam has only made a moderate mess, having somehow managed to get into the finger paints that you keep having to hide in increasingly difficult to reach locations. He looks up at you with a wide, gap toothed grin, and holds his masterpiece up for you to see. His little hands are stained green, and you expect they probably will be for the next four to six business days, but your heart still melts as he brandishes his paper proudly. 

 “Look, I painted everybody,” he replies, bouncing excitedly on his toes. He peeks over the top of the paper, and then back up at you. “This is daddy—he’s going to work, that’s why he has his suit on. And then, then there’s me, and right here is you!” He taps the paper again, for emphasis. You giggle, taking the paper gingerly. 

 “Wow, Li, this is amazing! Is that my dress?” You ask, looking down at him as he puffs his chest out with pride. “This is so good! You know, I bet dad is going to want to hang this up somewhere,” you say conspiratorially, and he laughs, before his face falls a little. 

 “What if he doesn’t see it?” He kicks at the rug. “Dad’s always working.” You can almost hear the sound of your heart cracking open at Liam’s innocent admission.

  “You know what, let’s go put this on the big mirror in the bedroom. That way he’ll be sure to see it, okay?” You hold Liam’s hand as he leads you down the hallway, and the two of you hunt for scotch tape to hang his painting as you strain to hear what’s going on downstairs. It’s useless, the walls are too thick and well soundproofed for anything but the barest murmur of conversation to make it through. 

 As you’re finishing up taping Liam’s drawing, a shudder runs through you, your hairs standing on end. Alpha is looking for me. You don’t know how you know it, but you do, like feeling eyes on your turned back. 

 “Dad!” Liam’s exclamation has you turning to face the large figure in the doorway. Ari doesn’t stop him as Liam goes crashing into his legs, and he scoops up his giggling son, ruffling his hair. “I drawed something for you.” You move out of the way, stepping aside as Ari sizes up Liam’s masterpiece.

  “Li, you know we’ve got to frame this, right? You’re just a regular Picasso.” It’s like you’re watching Liam’s confidence grow in real time, a pleased expression gracing his little features, though you doubt he actually knows who Picasso is. “Is this what you guys were doing while I was working?” 

 Working. You still don’t really know what Ari even does, though you don’t doubt that he’s important. All the men downstairs, Ari’s fierce demeanor… the answer plays at the edge of your consciousness, but you don’t grasp for it, too afraid that you might be right. As Ari chats with Liam, you excuse yourself, wandering down to the kitchen to get some water. It’s like no one was ever there, and if you hadn’t had to drag Liam through a veritable sea of men in tac gear, you might have thought you’d imagined it. 

 You can’t help but peek out of the front door, just to make sure your father is really gone, that he isn’t just lying in wait outside to ambush you again. 

 “Thought I would see what was taking so long, Kitten. You know Liam won’t start the movie without you,” Ari rumbles, his breath ghosting across the shell of your ear. You whirl around, almost dropping your glass. 

 “Ari, I… I just wanted to see,” you admit. “If he was gone.”

 Ari’s lip curls, his eyes narrowing. “He’s gone. I made sure of it.” He pulls you against his chest, burying his nose in your curls with a deep sigh. 

 “I’m sorry.” The apology falls timidly from your lips before you can stop it. It’s a force of habit more than anything, the desire to placate before it becomes a problem. “I… I don’t know how he found me, I-I did all of the things Dr. Nicholson told me to, I—” Ari cups your chin. 

 “Shh, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.” His calloused fingers are gentle on your face. “You did the right things. It’s not your fault.” Your fingers tangle in his shirt as Ari rubs soothing circles on your back. “He found you because he went to Quill, baby.” 

 “Quill?” You dredge up the image of him young and roundfaced from your memory. It’s easy to tell Ari is… reluctant to continue this line of conversation. You can feel his discomfort prickling in the back of your skull through the bond, but more than that you can see it written plainly on his face. 

 “I’m not sure how you know him,” Ari says lowly, “but Peter is a… business associate of mine. Was.” He runs a hand through his hair. “How do you think your father got that nice new house on the good part of the island? How he got those debtors to stop calling? He went to Peter, Kitten. And he made a deal.” 

 Your head is spinning. The answer is right there, but for some reason, you refuse it. 

 “A deal?” You repeat the words dumbly.

 “For you, Kitten. He promised Quill you.”

 —

 You’re restless that night, tossing and turning until Ari pins you underneath him with a stern, sleepy grunt. He can’t stop your mind from spinning though, and you don’t sleep until the sky outside begins to turn pink. 

 Your father had sold you—like cattle. Traded you when you’d become useless to him. 

 What kind of parent does that? 

 Your dreams offer no answers, only more questions. When had he offered you up like cattle? And what kind of man accepted a person as fair trade? You know your father has never been good with money—even before your mother died. Your chest goes painfully tight at the thought of her. You wish your mother was here, now more than ever. You can’t help but wonder what she would make of all of this, if she would approve. 

 In the morning when Liam wakes the two of you up with far too much pep, you’ve only managed to struggle through a few hours of sleep. He chatters excitedly about his dreams and you do your best to listen, nodding eagerly as he describes the superpowers he’d used to save the universe. Ari rolls over onto his side, and you don’t miss the way his eyes rest heavily on you, his full lips pulled into an easy, satisfied smile. 

 He scampers off to pack his backpack for the day—one of his favorite activities, even over summer break. Ari’s hand settles on your thigh, warm through the thin sleeping shorts you wore to bed. 

 “You didn’t sleep well last night, Kitten.” It’s an observation, a statement of fact. Embarrassed that he remembers your sleepy grumbling, you duck your head, nodding. 

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you awake,” you tuck an errant curl back behind your ear. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about everything.” Your stomach churns again as you recall your father shouting at you from the steps outside, his eyes bright and frantic. I hate him.

 You hadn’t ever actually thought it consciously before, how much you despise the alcohol soaked man who’d showed up to shame you only yesterday. I hate him.

 It feels like his arrival has started something, put things in to motion that you can’t see, things you don’t understand. But Ari does. You can practically feel him gearing up for something, something big—readying himself. Ari’s beard rasps against your cheek as he leans in to kiss your temple. 

 “He won’t be back.” He says it with such conviction it’s hard for you not to consider it an absolute truth. There’s an unspoken threat that sends a shiver down your spine, one that speaks to the roughness that lurks just underneath the placid, casual mask that Ari wears all the time. You’ve already seen it slip a few times—at the amusement park, with your father. It makes you wonder what he’s really capable of.

 You can tell he wants to say more, that the conversation isn’t quite done yet, but the shrill ringing of Ari’s phone cuts through the moment like a sharp knife.  He reaches for it, irritation written in the downturned corners of his mouth and narrowed eyes. He gives you one last, distracted kiss before sitting up, the sheets pooling at his waist. 

 “Yes?” You can’t hear the person on the other end of the line, not clearly, but you can tell they sound upset—frantic, almost. “Slow down, Drysdale. I said slow the fuck down,” Ari growls into the receiver, dragging a hand down his face. “Quill sent what to Fowler?” You still at the mention of Peter, but Ari taps your ass sharply with the palm of his hand, and you squeak. 

 “Business,” he mouths at you. “I’ll find you when I’m done.”

 Though you aren’t pleased about being effectively dismissed, you scoot off of the edge of the massive bed and pad towards the shower. Liam is downstairs, and you walk into the living room just as his improvised karate routine is finishing up. 

 “Look how high I can kick!” He says loudly, lifting his leg up the way you know they’d taught him in his karate class. 

 “Liam no!” You’re too late, his little foot intersecting with one of the framed photos on the coffee table. You wince at the sound of breaking glass before rushing over and sweeping the errant six year old off of his feet to check for cuts. Sheepishly, Liam clings to you, embarrassed tears leaking down his little cheeks. 

 “No cuts, right bud?” You ask as you turn his hands and feet back and forth, squinting as you look for shards of glass. “Nothing hurts?”

 “N-no, but…” he trails off, pointing at the shattered frame. It’s a nice picture, Liam up on Ari’s broad shoulders as the two of them grin widely at the camera. You’d taken that picture—at Liam’s birthday, just a few months before. “I broke it.”

 “Yes, you did, but what’s more important is that you’re okay,” you say, wiping the errant tears from his chubby cheeks with your thumbs. “Dad can always get a new picture frame.” Your humor doesn’t deter him, however, and Liam looks at the stairs nervously. You place Liam carefully on the couch as you sprint into the kitchen to grab the broom and dustpan. 

 “He’s gonna be mad at me,” Liam sniffles, rubbing at his red rimmed eyes as you clean up the mess. 

 “That’s not true, pal. Dad’s not going to be mad—”

 “He is!” Liam insists. “That’s his most favoritest picture in the house, he said so!” He’s getting worked up now, his cheeks splotchy and red as he becomes more and more upset. Frustrated tears begin leaking from his eyes again, and you feel your chest go tight. 

 “Liam, I promise dad isn’t going to be mad,” you say placatingly, setting down the broom to rub his back as he sniffles. “Would it make you feel better if we got another one?” The mall isn’t far away, certainly close enough for the two of you to pop over and be back before Ari even notices you’re gone. “We can go get him a new one so he won’t feel sad, okay?” 

 This seems to be an acceptable compromise to Liam, who nods tearfully. “Okay.”

 Of the several cars sitting in the garage below the house, you select an unassuming black Wrangler, making sure to buckle Liam into his seat before climbing into yours. It starts up easily, and you shoot a quick text to Ari—one you’re sure he won’t even see before you’re back—before taking off. Liam is singing some kind of made up song to himself as you pull out into the wealthy suburb that Liam and Ari—and now you—call home. 

 The mall parking lot is as crowded as it usually is, and you hold Liam’s hand tightly as you navigate between the cars. Still, he tugs on your hand impatiently, eager to get inside. He hasn’t been on a real outing since the amusement park—your face burns hot at the memory—and it shows, with Liam bouncing excitedly on his toes as he drags you into the mall. You make him wait as you squint at the map, looking for the bright red You are here!, labeled at the bottom entrance. 

 “It looks like there’s a nice frame shop this way, Li. We can go pick out something cool for dad.” 

 “Okay!” 

 Though the frame shop is distinctly not an environment for six-year-olds, Liam handles it like a champ, using his “inside” voice the way you’d taught him, and handling the delicate glass with care when he dares to pick something up. Like his father, he seems to be rather choosy, squinting at several picture frames before dismissing them. 

 “What about this one? This one’s cool.” 

 “That’s not cool,” Liam says decisively, turning his nose up at the one you hold in your hands. You stifle your own laughter as you imagine what Liam thinks cool is. I don’t think they have any frames with Spider-Man on them. “This one, this one!” He holds up the gilded gold frame excitedly, standing on his tippy-toes to show it to you. “I like this one.” 

 “I like this one too, Li,” you take it from him gingerly, holding it up to the light. It really is pretty, something you could see sitting in the spot the other picture had occupied. “Lets take it up to the register.” As you wait in line, Liam begins shuffling his feet, darting out to grab things from baskets near the register before putting them back. You’re honestly amazed Liam’s attention span has lasted this long, and you don’t fault him for his boredom. So when he pulls on your arm and points to the ice-cream booth just outside the store, you nod. 

 He’s just right there. I can see him.

 You turn back to the line, playing anxiously with the heavy black card Ari had given you the day before. You haven’t used it yet, but then again, you haven’t needed to. You glance over your shoulder as the person in front of you finishes up. You can see Liam’s little blond head as he bounces excitedly, waiting his turn in line. 

 “Is this all today?” 

 “Y-yes, that’s it, thanks.” You turn back around embarrassedly, placing the card on the counter with a sharp click. The older woman behind the register runs it before handing it back, and you watch her begin to wrap the frame in newspaper. 

 “Your son is adorable, you know, so cute,” she says, and your cheeks warm. You’re not sure how to respond, how to parse out the complex nature of your relationships in a way that is easy to understand—mostly because you don’t understand it yourself. In the span of a week you’ve gone from nanny to step-mother, from employee to mate, and the transition still has you reeling. 

 “Yes, he is.” You manage a weak smile as you turn to scan the crowd for him again, looking for the soft, wavy blond curls that denote his presence by the ice-cream stand.

 But you don’t see him. 

 The panic that seizes you is immediate as you turn fully, eyes wide as you search the crowd again and again—but come up empty. The cashier’s voice is nothing but a dull drone in your ear as you push through the people behind you. 

 “Liam? Liam!” There are people stopping to look now, their attention only adding to your distress. He was right here, I just saw him, he was right here—You feel terrified tears beginning to gather in your eyes as you call for him. “Did you see a little boy? Blond, blue eyes, he’s missing his front tooth?” The man behind the counter looks at you helplessly. 

 “I, I mean I think so, I’m sorry, it’s just so busy—!” You try to calm yourself, wiping at your eyes as you continue looking, your purchase at the frame shop completely and utterly forgotten. It’s only been a few minutes, but it feels like you’ve been looking for hours, wringing your hands as you jog through the mall. 

 Something gold catches your eye, and you turn towards the main doors. There’s a man in black, all black, his clothes bulky and ill fitting—reminiscent of the way Ari’s men had looked yesterday. The outline of the bullet-proof vest under his shirt is clearly visible, as is the large hand wrapped around Liam’s tiny forearm.

 “Liam!” You’re barreling towards him before your body even has a moment to register that you’re moving, and you slam into the man’s back with your shoulder. He lets out a surprised, pained shout as Liam sobs your name. “Let go! Let him fucking go!” You’ve never fought anyone in your life, but you feel grim satisfaction as you rake your nails down the man’s face and smell the coppery tinge of his blood under your fingernails. It’s his surprise that allows you keep hitting him, raining blows down all over his face and chest as he tries to shield himself from you, cursing. 

 “Get off me! Fucking crazy bitch—” He shoves you off with a snarl, and you scramble over to Liam, panting as you put yourself in the way, shielding his smaller body with your own. Adrenaline has you on a tightrope, unable to move or blink as you watch the man get to his feet. The world around you rushes back in to your ringing ears—there’s someone saying to call the police, another group of people attempting to block the exit, to hold the man here—but you can’t process any of that. 

 You turn to Liam tearfully, running your hands through his hair and over his face. He presses into your chest, his little arms going around your shoulders as he sobs uncontrollably, snot and tears running into your hair. 

 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you murmur as you rock him back and forth, your eyes still wide as you stare unseeingly past him. The relief is almost as big as the fear, and with both of them swirling inside of you, it’s impossible to calm down.

 “I-I-It-w-was s-s-so s-s-scary,” Liam’s words are barely discernible through his tears. There are people talking to you—at you, really—but you don’t have the bandwidth to respond, only clutching Liam tighter when anyone approaches, like a feral animal. All you can focus on is Liam, keeping him pressed to your chest as you try to analyze every possible new threat. 

 Keep away, your hindbrain snarls, and you feel your own lip curl to mirror it. Baby’s not safe, not safe! You’re dimly aware of mall security attempting to detain the man who’d grabbed Liam, the sound of sirens—

 “Kitten.” And then there’s Ari, kneeling in front of you as he cups your chin, strokes your hair; checking you over in much the same way you’d done Liam only minutes before. “Kitten can you hear me?” You nod numbly, still holding tight to Liam as Ari tries to pry your fingers loose. “Good, baby. You did so good, protecting our boy.” His hands are gentle as he helps you stand up. You can’t explain the rush of warmth that fills you as you inhale his scent, the deep sense of comfort that washes over you as you begin to process his nearness. 

 Alpha is here. 

 Safe.

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[writteninsunshine]

Put Your Dick Into It - Fizzarolli/Asmodeus, RoboFizz/Fizzarolli - NSFW

Title: Put Your Dick Into It

Author: Keith

Fandom: Helluva Boss

Setting: Ozzie’s Home, Ozzie’s Club

Pairing: Fizzarolli/Asmodeus | Ozzie, RoboFizz/Fizzarolli, Asmodeus | Ozzie/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Fizzarrolli, RoboFizz, Asmodeus | Ozzie, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)

Genre: Erotic/Romance/Humor

Rating: E

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3103

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Day 4 Of 30 Days Of Fizzarozzie

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, AU - Omegaverse, AU - A/B/O, Teasing, Theft, Minor Violence, Minor Injury, Unsanitary, M/M/M/M/M, M/F, Ozzie Has A Dick Balls And Vagina, Fantasies, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Macro/Micro

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except the RoboFizzes

Summary: If nothing else, one of Ozzie's weird poems could probably be put to music.

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Tumblr/Twitter!

I had so much fun with this, I hope y’all like it. It was meant to be so much shorter but in the end I just went where the prompt took me.

30 Days Of Fizzarozzie 2022 Fic Masterlist

Put Your Dick Into It

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This had to have been the hardest thing he’d ever been asked to do, no pun intended.

Composing jokes and stand-up routines was something he’d always been adept at. He could improvise with the best of them, he’d made all kinds of demons and sinners alike laugh and smile with his creative prowess. Hell, he made Ozzie laugh and smile at least once every day. 

And yet, here he was, incapable of a single. Fucking. Word. 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, his mechanics whirred in their own form of a growl and he thought he just might combust. He’d never hit a creative block in his entire life, and here he was, struggling to put anything down on the fancy, lacy stationary he’d been staring at for the last two hours. The sides were covered in red swirls, dots, and hatched patterns that he’d laid down absently while he struggled to find words. He’d colored in the white lace against the deep red border in a few places, anything to move the pen in his hand. The pale pink lined portion in the middle remained untouched save for a scant few red dots at the top of the page. 

A frustrated grunt left him and he pulled his hands down his face, snarling at the wall across from him as if it was the reason for his upset. Glaring at the ceiling of his bedroom that he didn’t usually use, he strained his ears to hear the telltale scraping of Ozzie’s couch on the wooden floor as he slammed it into the wall. Sure was easy for him to fuck whoever’s lights out while Olli was down here suffering. He didn’t think he was necessarily jealous-jealous, but man did he think a good dicking would help his mood, at least. The demon no doubt getting plowed up there was definitely having a better time than he was.

After a moment, the jester finally turned his attention back to his impromptu art project, and with another growl, he thunked his forehead into the desk. Twice, then a third time for good measure, he gave a deep whine as he turned his head to the side, staring at the bedside table across from him. Usually, the sparse decoration and lack of character in this room didn’t bother him, but he suddenly had the bright idea to look up furnishings and decorations that weren’t so generic. 

Maybe ‘generic’ wasn’t the right word for the different pinks, greens, reds, and blues that covered every surface and made the room pop. The room dripped sex appeal, like any room that Ozzie graced with his creative eye, but Fizzarolli had never really made ‘his’ bedroom his. Almost from the first night he’d started staying here he’d stayed in Ozzie’s room, and that had never really changed. 

The bedroom in the basement housed his clothes, as it was easier than using an Ozzie-sized closet, and he used the bathroom down here most of the time, too. Showers with Ozzie were taken in the en suite bathroom connected to the King’s room, but if he took them alone, he was down here. Most of that was due to this part of the house being, for the most part, imp-sized. Well, imps and anyone else just as small and likely delicate as an imp. Ozzie had probably seen too many demons fall into his toilet before deciding to just get one the right size for them. 

The thought made Fizzarolli snicker, and he picked his head up from the desk, shaking his head. If only he could be spending his requested time sequestered away in the basement of Ozzie’s opulent home not being sequestered away to work. For a moment, he let his mind wander. Who was up there with Ozzie? Knowing his lover, it could be literally anyone, and maybe that was the welcome distraction he needed. 

Verosika, maybe? Nah, he couldn’t hear her moaning. Whoever he had couldn’t be Mammon, either, because he was a shrieky thing whenever he knew Fizzarolli was still home. The power behind whoever was doing the fucking could have been Paimon, he realized, and he screwed his eyes shut to see if he couldn’t hear Ozzie begging for it. That, he was sure, would tell him everything he needed to know, but he also recognized that any number of gags could be employed here.

This was taking him nowhere. He had to have these stupid lyrics done for tonight, and he hadn’t even started. Perhaps smashing his face through the desk and putting himself out of commission for a few days was the only way to make it through this. His hands gripped the burdensome wood firmly, and he raised one lip in disgust at himself. No, no, he couldn’t hurt his dashing clown face. It was half of his ability to make money, and something that Ozzie was intensely attracted to.

Not that he didn’t think that Ozzie wouldn’t pay out the ass (even if he had to make a deal with Mammon) to get him plastic surgery to fix the damage. 

Finally getting up, he figured he’d try a drink and a snack (and a peek into the living room) to see if any of those things helped. He was banking on the peek as good fuel for his work because a sandwich and some soda weren’t exactly sexy, but he didn’t really know. It all depended on the show put on for him, he supposed. If Ozzie caught him staring, it’d only get better, too. He was nothing if not a performer, too, which was why they worked so well, Olli thought. Both of them couldn’t resist putting on a show.

Taking the stairs three at a time, he figured that the faster he escaped his self-made prison the better. Maybe he was just running from it, but he wasn’t going to admit that. He’d never done this before, never had such a hard time with his work, never wanted to hide from it, and it was driving him batty. Rounding the doorway and walking into the kitchen, he closed his eyes and sniffed the air. Omega, he noted almost immediately. From the sounds they were making, he’d guess female, and she was getting absolutely ruined. 

An envious pang of arousal shot through his body and he sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. The Alpha’s scent soured as he stalked to the fridge, extending his legs so he could reach the handles to get his sandwich stuff. The freezer being on the bottom was easier for him to get into, but he couldn’t be fucked with cooking right now. He had work to do and he was already distracted enough. The continued thudding, the quiet begging on her part, and the hushed purr that was leaving Ozzie had him a little more growly than he wanted to think about. 

How many times did he forget his place in making a simple ham sandwich? Hell’s Gates, this was ridiculous. What was he going to see if he poked his head into the living room? Some pretty little succubus on her back? An imp on her side, one leg curled up against her side and the other up and folded back against her chest? Absently, he mused that it didn’t matter what anyone else could do for Ozzie, they couldn’t even dream of being as flexible as he was, even before his arms and legs were removed and replaced. 

Fond memories crashed into him and he just about dropped the jar of mayo onto the floor. As far as he was aware, Ozzie hadn’t noticed he was in the main floor of the house, and he kind of wanted to keep it that way. He heard the thrumming hum of Ozzie’s voice but couldn’t make out his words, imagining the kinds of depraved things he was saying to the Omega no doubt writhing beneath him. He felt his cock flip against his thigh, closing his eyes for a second to relish in the music they were making. He needed a drink and to stop making a Satan-damned mess, and he had to keep moving, but it felt impossible.

Whatever Asmodeus had said brought a gagged cry out of the girl with him, and it perked Fizzarolli up a little more. If he could just get to the vaulted ceiling, and he could do it, a little peek over the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room wouldn’t hurt. Ozzie had liked the gap between the wall and ceiling enough to remodel the damn house for it, and Olli had to admit it wasn’t that bad of an idea. Walking over the center island he’d made his sandwich on, he shot up to place his hands on the wall, watching Ozzie as he moved. 

Regardless of who had the reddish pink leg wrapped loosely around Ozzie’s slim hips, she was getting absolutely destroyed. Anyone Ozzie deigned to bring home, client, fling, or otherwise, typically left with jelly for legs and a dazed kind of crush. A soft chitter left him as he watched the steady pounding of his lover’s hips, and he clenched down on nothing, exhaling until his lungs burned and holding it. If he spent any longer staring, he was going to start stinking up the place, so he returned to the counter to grab his sloppy snack. Putting everything away could wait because he’d decided on going to Ozzie’s room instead. 

With a soda in hand and his sandwich leaving behind a trail of mayonnaise drips behind him as he bit into it, he hung right to take the few steps up to Ozzie’s room. Not particularly into the idea of leaving them behind, he found himself hesitating up each step to the door. There was a somewhat long landing between the two sets of three stairs, and he took it with delicate, small steps like he just might decide to go and ask for a threeway. Like that would go well.

He didn’t recognize the Omega’s scent, which told him that it was most likely a client that wasn’t going to want to pay an extra wad of cash to include him. Ozzie always jacked the price up impossibly high when Fizzarolli joined them, and so many of his johns and janes just didn’t request it. That was mostly the point, really, because Ozzie knew how he felt about other demons.

Opening the door to their room (he was more than ecstatic to call it that in his head), he listened for a moment to see if he could hear them. The robotic voices he recognized as an odd extension of his own chatted away in the side room off the main bedroom, and he made a beeline to them. Maybe one of the RoboFizzes could help him out. They were made for sex, so they could do this, right?

“Hey, guys–”

“Heeeeeeeey, Fizzy~” One of them replied coyly, almost immediately dropping his arms and the toy he held in both hands. For a second, he pressed it lengthwise against his crotch, notably resting it on his dick, before drawing it up to his chest to hug it like it was a plush toy, “We weren’t doing anything.” 

“Yeah,” Another added, the one that looked the oldest of the four. Ozzie had said that his were prototypes, save for one of them that had been the first finalized version off the line. 

“We’re behaving.” The newest one nodded definitively as he grinned, making an attempt at looking innocent despite the way his face was moving into a devious grin.

“Don’t worry about us, we’re just schemi–” The last RoboFizz was hushed by the first three, and Olli just rolled his eyes.

“Shut it, I don’t care. I need your help with something else, though.” His hands shifted from his hips to his chest, arms crossing as he looked away, “I have to write a song to sing at the club tonight, and I can’t figure anything out. I don’t know how to do this shit, and it’s killing me. Apparently, I can’t write a Satan damned song for the life of me.”

Each of the robots glanced between each other, their smiles falling slightly as they whirred and one’s processor grumbled a little. It was something they couldn’t seem to process because they knew that Fizzarolli’s blood was performance.

“Why can’t you do it? You’re usually good at that kind of thing.” One of the older models spoke, the red stripe down his face indicating he’d been the second prototype.

“I don’t fucking know. I’ve been staring at a blank page for two hours, and I can’t get my mind wrapped around doing anything for this.”

“Your brain’s empty?” The newer model asked, taking a step forward and placing a hand on Fizzarolli’s shoulder as an act of sympathy. A green stripe in the same vein as the others reached down his nose to denote which one he was.

“It’s like all my creativity just got zapped out of me. I can compose a stand-up routine easy peasy, I’m the best at improv, I can do anything with a simple prompt, but… This isn’t working for me.” It probably had to do with his lack of interest in sex if Ozzie wasn’t involved. Maybe if he thought more about fucking Ozzie he’d get somewhere, but that felt so personal it was hard to put details into something like that. Everyone knew they fucked, there was no way they didn’t, but letting people think something and confirming the thing were two totally different animals.

The RoboFizz with a purple stripe stepped forward, handing the giant dildo over to the yellow-striped one, leaning forward to catch Fizzarolli’s fallen eyes.

“You can do it, you know. I know you have it in you somewhere.” He paused, suddenly straightening up and snapping his fingers up near his face, “Wait! I have an idea.” A chorus of ‘yeah’s and ‘what?’s filled the room as the other robots crowded around them. Purple’s grin only widened and he preened at being the center of attention, “Why don’t you borrow some of Ozzie’s dirty poetry?”

“His… His what?” Olli’s head tilted and his eyes went wide, “He doesn’t write poetry. …Does he?”

“Oh, he does, and it’s juicy, could probably turn anybody into jelly without getting touched.” All four of the robots moaned in sync and Fizzarolli snorted with amusement. Really, he didn’t get the appeal of them being such sluts, it wasn’t like he was like that. Though Ozzie had a very different opinion on that thought. It didn’t take long before his favorite lay was a begging, whining mess most of the time, Ozzie didn’t even have to try. Just being wet and hard was enough for Olli, and Ozzie couldn’t help but take advantage of that as often as he could.

“Alright, where is it?” Fizzarolli watched as all four bots left the room, some of them bouncing and Green cartwheeling excitedly to the large, heavy wooden desk against the wall with the door to the bedroom. Extending his legs and leaping up onto it, he tugged at a sizable binder, bringing it over to where Olli stood on his elongated legs. 

“Here you go~ This binder has the,” He paused to make a loud kissing sound in a chef’s kiss, “Crème de la crème of his work. This’ll get anyone in the club wet and hard and if it doesn’t, they shouldn’t be there.”

The robot wasn’t even lying. Fizzarolli wasn’t usually one to use their expertise, but the four of them were happy to help him choose a poem and handle what it did to him. He had his lyrics, now all he had to do was get some music to go with it.

That night at the club, he sang his song like it was the most normal thing in the world, only citing that he had a little help with it from an anonymous ‘donor.’ During his spectacular performance, all Ozzie could do was smirk, because he knew who that ‘anonymous donor’ was. He absently stroked himself through his act, unable to find any anger inside his body. It really was hot. When his musical number was over and he’d announced the next act, the whole club reeked of horny Alphas and Omegas, and he knew he’d done a good job. Bounding up to Ozzie’s balcony, he grinned up at him like he knew what he’d done and wouldn’t be repenting for his egregious sins.

Ozzie loved that about him.

“Thought you were above plagiarism, Olli Baby.” He growled playfully, placing a hand on either side of Fizzarolli on the balcony, pinning him down against it. If nothing else, Olli knew he was hard, not just by his scent but the visual as his enormous cock bobbed right in his line of sight, dribbling onto the floor.

“Whose words are better than yours for something like this? It was a fuckin’ hit, too.” And he really wasn't wrong. Asmodeus chuckled darkly as he leaned in, nuzzling the other’s face before nipping his shoulder.

“If you wanted to use my work you should have asked. People are going to think I was the thief when I publish my collection. I’ll be forced to leave that one out.” He almost sounded pouty, and Olli purred loudly.

“You’re not mad at me, right?” Looking up his nose at the other, trying on the cutest face he had in his arsenal.

“No. But you are going to be punished for this.”

“Ooooooh, yes.”

“Turn around, pants off, and bend over Baby,” Ozzie growled, and Olli jumped to do it, whipping around and shoving his ass out with a delighted chitter. Shucking his pants, he whined as his cock slapped wetly against his stomach, no doubt staining his top.

“Good boy,” Ozzie purred into his ear, “See? You can behave. But a little good behavior won’t end your sentence.”

“I’ll accept my punishment like a mo-model citizen.” Feeling Ozzie thrusting against his stomach had his eyelids dropping to half-mast.

“Good. I’m going to ruin you right here, and you better not make a peep.”

“Y-yes, Master.”

Not that Ozzie was going to make it easy for him. No, Fizzarolli was going to struggle, he was going to have to suck on Ozzie’s fingers to keep himself quiet, and Ozzie was more than looking forward to it. If someone stared, so be it; They both loved to be the center of attention, anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: For a fic that was meant to be 1k or under, this became a damn monster. I still like it, though, it was so damn fun to work on.

Prompt: 30 Days Of Fizzarozzie Day 4 - Song

[trashexplorer]

BLCD Review: Therapy Game + PlayMore

Title: Therapy Game + PlayMore (セラピーゲーム＋PlayMore)

Author/Artist: Hinohara Meguru

Release Date: 2020/12/18

Cast: 

Shingaki Tarusuke x Ono Yuuki

Hirakawa Daisuke + Shimono Hiro

Date Tadanori

Nakae Mitsuki

Akiho Saeko

Synopsis: Adaptation of the sequel of the same name.

Review Proper

That pretty much sums up this review.

But in all seriousness, I loved this. I loved Play More the most out of all of the other volumes to the extent that I went to Japan just to ride the fucking Daikanransha myself. I’VE DIED AND GOT REVIVED SO MANY TIMES DURING THE COURSE OF THOSE THREE CHAPTERS THAT I’VE LOST COUNT. The BLCD delivered everything I wanted and more. I just don’t know why this wasn’t nominated for anything and it honestly pisses me off. UGHHHH. EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS ADAPTATION WAS PERFECT, THOUGH?!

I won’t be talking about the plot here because everyone knows Therapy Game duh. Anyway, onto the SUPERB VOICE ACTING—

I don’t even know where to start. I just wanna scream, bye. Wait, I’ll go with Ono Yuuki first. If y’all hadn’t noticed by now, my December 2020 log is arranged in such a way that I wouldn’t listen to the same VA back to back. December was quite weird seeing as my fave seiyuus had multiple works to be released in it. I mean, I’m not complaining

Btw, log goes like this:

Love Hole 303 (Ono Yuuki x Nakazawa Masatomo)

25-ji, Akasaka de (Satou Takuya x Saitou Souma)

Titan’s Bride (Ono Yuuki x Itou Kento)

Yes ka, No ka, Hanbun ka (Kawahara Yoshihisa x Abe Atsushi)

Play More (Shingaki Tarusuke x Ono Yuuki)

Remnant 4 (Kawahara Yoshihisa x Satou Takuya)

The devil works hard, but Ono Yuuki works harder. 💪 I’m confused as to why Ono came 7th and for DK Hajimete?! Excuse me, what?! The awards do be growing weirder by the year tho Anyway, again, as I’ve said in my review for vol. 1, this is the most emotional role I’ve heard OnoYuu in. Even when he bottoms, his characters are almost always cooler and calmer. I’m glad that he took Minato’s role because I really think that it’s a very good challenge for him. Also, he did struggle in vol. 1 a bit, BUT WHEN I SAY THAT PLAY MORE ONOYUU WAS FLAWLESS, I MEAN THAT ONOYUU WAS FUCKING FLAW👏LESS 👏!

Yo, you gotta understand. Minato is a chaotic bottom in bed complete with all the oohs and ahhs, man. Think OnoYuu pulling off Nakamo’s Ano Ko! I CAN’T! I JUST CAME FROM 303 AND THEN I HEAR ONOYUU SOUND LIKE NAKAMO?! UGHHHHHH. Also, isn’t this type of bottom kind of rare nowadays? Where my cowboys at??? I just don’t know what’s happening? How could we have Ono Yuuki’s best performance as a top, his worst performance in his career, and his best performance as a bottom IN ONE FUCKING LOG??? Cheska of April, what were you on to arrange the log in this way? You goddamn genius.

Taking the highlight of this review isn’t Ono, though, but Shingaki Tarusuke. As we didn’t really get a more in-depth look at how their life after their feelings became mutual in Therapy Game, we also weren’t able to see how Shizuma-kun really was like as a boyfriend. Furthermore, hearing Shingaki perform as Hara-san in Kanawanu really left a stain on his performance as Shizuma-kun and I wasn’t really into his performance in vol. 1 even though he did well and I loved the BLCD as a whole. 

Imagine my surprise when Shingaki came into this A DADDY FROM THE GET-GO—

HOW DARE YOU???!!! 

Eto Iro was the last thing I listened to in my previous log and I was left hanging. I did say that I wanted more from Shingaki, BUT I DIDN’T ASK FOR HIM TO GO AT MINATO THAT HARD. YO!!! Y’ALL GOTTA LISTEN TO THEIR BONDAGE SEX!!! HE HAD THE SAME INTENSITY OKITSU HAD WHEN HE DID MARLENE IN COYOTE!!! THAT BED WAS GOING TO FUCKING BREAK ISTG. Also, this is what I meant by good sound effects, unlike that thing they had in Titan’s Bride. If Minato still didn’t repent back then, I sure as hell repented for the both of us! There is nothing in this world I would want more than to be sandwiched between Ono Yuuki’s Minato and Shingaki Tarusuke’s Shizuma-kun. 😩 Also, DESPITE HOW HOT ALL OF THIS IS, SHINGAKI TARUSUKE ALSO MADE ME CRY WHAT THE FUCK?! EXCUZE ME, SIR. THIS ISN’T SAEZURU?! Guys, I just really love how get-you-a-man Shizuma-kun is. Sorry, Hara-san. I’m taking your title back. It was always Shizuma-kun. 🤧

AS FOR OUR SIDE CHARACTERS

THEY ALL CAME BACK AND WE EVEN HAVE EXTRAS!!! THANK GOD FOR SHINSHOKAN!!! I LOVE IT! MY TIME LISTENING TO THIS WAS SO CHAOTIC BECAUSE MITO-SAN WAS HITTING ON SHIZUMA-KUN! “So this is what Shohei will look like when he grows older.” *wenk wonk* STOP IT, CHEATER!!! Y’ALL DON’T THINK I SHIP ONO YUUKI WITH SHIMONO HIRO, ONO YUUKI WITH HIRARIN, HIRARIN WITH SHINGAKI, AND SHINGAKI WITH SHIMONO HIRO???!!! I SHIP EVERYONE WITH EVERYONE THANK YOU VERY MUCH. 

Also, it was pointed out to me in my review for vol. 1 that the extras were indeed part of the tankos, but as I only purchased the magazines, I thought that they weren’t in the manga. As you can see in the Play More magazine releases, Tiny-kun’s bit wasn’t included either, but his existence was acknowledged in the BLCD because the BLCDs were released after the tank release. Do try getting your hands on SuBLime’s official translation or the tankos if you want to have an easier time listening to this BLCD because it’s more updated/accurate to the BLCD. 👍 

I FUCKING LOVE THIS. 😭😭😭 I have completely forgiven Shinshokan for completely erasing Shizuma-kun from Secret XXX. Everything was perfect! From the execution, immaculate voice work, and accuracy, it was everything I wanted and MORE. Also, even though Play More really is just 3 chapters long, it didn’t feel rushed at all. Do I want an adaptation of Restart, though? I have a very good feeling that it’s going to be painful, so I kinda don’t wanna, BUT YAOI GODS, IF THEY’RE STILL BRINGING THE OTHER TWO ALONG, MY BODY IS FUCKING READY!!! GET THIS AND BE BLESSED, EVERYONE!!!

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 290: It’s Touya Time

Previously on BnHA: Iida and Hadou showed up like a couple of Pennsylvanias and Georgias to bail Shouto out at the last minute. Ochako and Toga had an exceptionally strange fight which consisted of Toga being all “guess what Ochako, I used your quirk to murder someone, how do you feel about that”, and Ochako being all “I do not like that”, to which Toga was all “:(”. There was some doll-stealing and some bookcase-yeeting, and then Toga left in tears because Ochako was all adamant that murder has consequences. Anyway so I have absolutely no idea what Toga is thinking now, but I guess we’ll have some time to stew on it, because we ended the chapter by cutting back to the Iida+Hadou+Shouto VS Afomura battle, which was interrupted by Gigantomachia and the LoV showing up like a bunch of Floridas to ruin everyone’s nice day.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi hands the mic over to Dabi and is all “take it away, kid.” Over in Room 315 of Musutafu General, Rei is all “may I please watch some TV” and the hospital staff is all “sure”, and so she tunes in just in time to catch Todoroki Touya’s Peabody Award-winning documentary “Number One Hero, Number One Fraud: The Todoroki Enji Story”, which is being broadcast nationwide courtesy of Skeptic and his magic laptop. Meanwhile in Jakku, Dabi is all “I’M TOUYA, BITCHES”, and Shouto and Enji are all, “(゜◇゜ )”, and Dabi is all, “anyway so just to sum it all up, because of how much of a jerk Endeavor was, I am now Evil.” Everyone continues to be all “(ﾟoﾟ)” except for Dabi, who is all “└(˘▾˘┌ )≡ ( ┐˘▾˘)┘≡┗( ˘▾˘)┛≡┏( ˘▾˘)┓≡┗( ˘▾˘)┛” for pretty much the rest of the chapter. Idk. Just let the man have his fun, guys. He’s waited a long time for this.

y’all I have a confession to make. I am technically not spoiled for this chapter thanks to my robustly paranoid system of spoiler-tag-filtering, which is extensive enough that it pretty much will catch whenever someone so much as breathes something even remotely new-chapter-related. that being said, I like to think that I am capable of making basic logical inferences! and so the fact that for the past 36 hours, my dashboard has pretty much nonstop consisted almost entirely of this...

...has led me to conclude that MAYBE, POSSIBLY, PROBABLY, BUT ALSO DEFINITELY, a certain someone is finally going to reveal his ~secret identity~ woop woop. lmao

anyway so everyone, please remember to act surprised though, as we would not want Dabi’s feelings to be hurt at all. he has been planning this moment for the last decade or so and I wouldn’t want him to feel like all of that effort was for naught. so just play along, okay. OH MY, IF IT ISN’T THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS’ MYSTERIOUS DABI. WHATEVER COULD HIS ARRIVAL POSSIBLY BE HERALDING, I JUST DON’T KNOW

“Dabi’s Dance” lmao. I’m sticking with Touya Time myself. ngl I had this recap title planned out for at least the past year or so. just waiting for that day to finally come

anyway so some people in some building somewhere are all “TURN OFF THE TV IN ROOM 315” and idk. I’m guessing the LoV is hacking the airwaves to livestream the reveal, as predicted

-- oh shit. UHHHHHHHH

did she always have this TV or did she get it just recently?? jfc of all the times for the hospital staff to finally loosen up

um... so that’s... (・＿・；)

well but I mean, she was gonna find out one way or the other at some point though. like you can’t really just keep her locked up and isolated from all news of the outside world forever and ever and ever. granted, this isn’t exactly the ideal way for her to learn this particular bit of information, but it’s not really ideal for anybody else either! EXCEPT DABI, THAT IS. have yourself a day you funky little terrorist

oh shit what is this?? it’s not live???

over in Jakku, a red-faced, sputtering Dabi makes a frantic grab for Skeptic’s laptop. “WAIT, NO, JESUS, NOT THAT TAPE!”

lol. but seriously Dabi are you even wearing a shirt. like I’m not one to slutshame anyone bro, but it’s just, exactly what type of mood were you looking to set here??

anyway so we really are cutting back to Jakku now, and Gigantomachia is all, “MASTERS”! which, I wonder if he really did use the plural? that’s right Machia, both of them in one place now! that sure is convenient for you huh

lol what is this with all this AFO monologuing. you’re really gonna make me read through this when I’m sitting here all sleep-deprived from election week. JUST GET TO THE TOUYAS. WE WERE PROMISED TOUYAS!!

sigh

“tee hee it’s fucking hilarious how goddamn powerful I am now lol”

alas, in spite of myself I do have two serious takeaways from this. one is that AFO is still controlling most of Tomura’s body behind the scenes, which both does and doesn’t bode well for Tomura (like, at least he’s not dying, but the long-term implications of this for his free will and such certainly are not Good). and two is that this confirms that Ujiko did give Tomura at least one powerful mutant quirk, which explains why he was still so deadly and indestructible even when Aizawa was using Erasure on him (since Erasure doesn’t work on mutant quirks, just emitter and transformation ones)

MEANWHILE ON TODAY’S EPISODE OF “TODOROKI SHOUTO’S TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD LIFE”

I like how he doesn’t actually say that he can’t take on Gigantomachia. just that he can’t take on him and Afomura at the same time. that’s confidence, baby. that right there is why you always draft Todoroki Shouto in the first round for your fantasy team

HADOU!!!!

OOOH, TOMURA’S ALL “MAN, THIS GIRL’S WAVE POWERS AND THIS KID’S ICE POWERS ARE A SUPER-STRONG COMBO DAGNABBIT.” YESSS I LIKE THAT, TELL ME MORE ABOUT HOW COOL AND POWERFUL THEY ARE

HOT DAMN LOOK AT THAT

um but not to take away from this exceptionally cool moment or anything, but why is Endeavor dying and shouting “RUN” down there in the corner um

oh

excuse me. not to take away from How Bad This All Is, but!!

just a little, smol, IidaBaku for everyone. Iida, who apparently doesn’t know a damn thing about first aid and is all, “hmm that’s a pretty bad-looking puncture wound he has in his left shoulder there, I think I’ll just let his arm dangle freely like that and I won’t bother taking off his heavy gauntlets either. I mean. he’ll be fine, probably.” smh. at least Shouto probably cauterized the wounds

EXCUSE ME WHAT

TIME FOR MORE OF THAT GOOD OLD FASHIONED SHOUNEN RIDICULOUSNESS I GUESS LMAO. KACCHAN YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO. THERE IS A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO, AND YOU LOST LIKE FOUR GALLONS OF BLOOD, BUT SURE. “PUT ME DOWN” HE SAYS. FIRST OF ALL, PUTTING ASIDE THE FACT THAT YOU ABSOLUTELY SHOULD NOT BE CONSCIOUS, THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN GOING TO DO, LIE DOWN AT THEM?? LISTEN, YOU SWEET IDIOT. TAKE HEED, BELOVED DUMBASS!!

ah well. I guess he gets to watch the Touya Show now too then lol

LMAOOOO now Machia’s lifting Tomura carefully in his palm like a broken action figure and Spinner is all “THE FUCK, YOU LOOK LIKE DEATH WARMED OVER”

“oh hey there Spinner. well let’s see, I woke up from my three-month coma and destroyed a city, had my body incinerated, and am currently being possessed by a diabolically evil potato. but please, tell me more about everything you've been through”

AW YISS AND THE FOCUS NOW SHIFTS TO THE TODOROKIS. EVERYTHING IS PROCEEDING EXACTLY AS WE HAVE FORESEEN

Endeavor my dude. it’s as if you want to die here. also holy shit, that bit about his lungs definitely does not bode well for him either

MOTHERFUCKER

GO AHEAD AND SIGN YOUR OWN DEATH CERTIFICATE, WHY DON’T YOU!! FLAGS UPON FLAGS. JESUS CHRIST

meanwhile Dabi’s just waving at ‘em

lmaoooo please oh please Caleb please keep this ‘EYYYYYYY’, it’s fucking perfect kdlshk;hg

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: so as you will see very shortly, I completely missed this detail in my first read-through because I was so anxious to get to the reveal page, but THIS MOTHERFUCKER LITERALLY DOUSED HIMSELF WITH INSTANT HAIR DYE REMOVER THAT HE’S JUST BEEN CARRYING AROUND IN A LITTLE HIP POUCH APPRENTLY SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME. MOTHERFUCKER. I HAVE NO WORDS.)

IS THIS THE TIME. IS THIS THE MOMENT?! HERE IT COMES SLKFHS BRACE YERSELVES LADS

EYYYYYYYYYYYY

OKAY EVERYONE JUST LIKE WE PRACTICED!! SURPRISED FACES ON THREE! ONE... TWO... (•̪ o •̪) !! okay how was that

LMAO ENDEAVOR

at least Shouto looks properly stunned. Enji just looks like endeavor.exe just straight up stopped working

meanwhile Deku’s out here trying to do the math on this latest surprise family reveal! first Tomura is related to Nana, and now this. what’s next. who are you related to, Spinner. he rips off his boots to reveal engine legs and declares himself Iida’s long-lost uncle

oh shit Touya

it’s as if a million fanworks suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly jossed. who knew that all this time he was secretly sporting a crop top scar

also, THIRTY?! holy shit son you been busy

la la la two-page spread of Touya casually driving the dagger into Endeavor’s hero career and rocking the foundations of hero society as we know it la la la

la la la!!!

OH IS THAT THE END OF THE STORY THEN

almost got confused for a sec. there’s two monologues happening at once here. Endeavor doesn’t even know that his dirty laundry is being aired out nation-wide as we speak ffffff

btw while I appreciate the close-ups of Enji and Shouto here for sure, ngl I would also really love to see everyone else’s reactions right now. SHOW ME BAKUGOU AND THE LOV YOU COWARDS

is his hair actually turning white all of a sudden?? your hair dye just reacts on command??

(ETA: in all seriousness though, the hell kind of hair dye was he using? all he has to do is pour a bottle of that stuff and not even lather it in and it’s just gone just like that?? what the fuck would have have done if it ever rained lmao.

and this motherfucker just goes and leaves the dye remover in afterwards, too. I have never dyed my hair in my life and even I can tell you that’s probably not a good idea, Dabi.)

is this it. is this the legendary Dabi Dance in action. lmfao

oh hey what the fuck

so you figured you’d just murder your innocent younger brother to get revenge on dad, huh. well that’s nice

is that really all there is to the origin story though?? feels like we’re still missing a huge chunk of it. what was it that finally sent him over the edge? or was the trauma of being created as Endeavor’s perfect little hero tool and then being subsequently rejected by him enough on its own? because I’m still kind of confused on the part where he goes from “abused and discarded by his father” to “killed thirty people and was plotting the murder of his own brother” to tell you the truth

(ETA: lmao the initial fandom reaction to this did not disappoint. listen guys. people can be traumatized and shaped by awful circumstances that are completely out of their control, and grow up to be people they wouldn’t have grown up to be if things had been better, and all of that absolutely sucks, but. it doesn’t mean they get a get-out-of-jail-free card for all of their future actions, either! the tragedy of this situation is that terrible things happened to Touya, and he then went on to do terrible things himself. the tragedy of it is that this is exactly how the cycle of abuse keeps repeating itself on and on and on. maybe one of the people Dabi killed had a child who will now grow up traumatized themselves, and potentially go on to pay it forward themselves when they grow up. the tragedy is that the eye-for-an-eye justice that Touya is seeking out won’t actually make anything better in the end. the tragedy is that we understand why Touya is so angry, but that anger has basically warped him into the gleefully sadistic dancing figure we see in this chapter who has stopped caring about anyone else’s pain or suffering and just wants his own revenge.

anyway. basically what I’m trying to say is that it’s possible for the concepts of “Todoroki Touya was an innocent child and a victim of abuse” and “Dabi is a grown-ass motherfucking adult who killed thirty people and PROBABLY NEEDS TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR THAT” to coexist lol. like, y’all wanted your moral grey, well HERE YOU GO lmao, eat up.)

lol but LOOK AT THAT BOY DANCE HIS LITTLE HEART OUT though

Todoroki Touya confirmed not a fan of the Endeavor redemption arc huh. well we all saw this coming lols

anyways here’s a sexy Touya for y’all

you really are the most theatrical bitch I s2g lmao

also for real though, what is happening with his hair? anime team in shambles here. they’re probably just gonna double down and keep it red. too bad though cuz this is a surprisingly good look on him

SO MANY CLOSE-UPS OF THE TODOROKI FACES

friendly reminder that Dabi without a doubt REHEARSED this speech like a thousand fucking times. LET US FALL TOGETHER!! COME DANCE WITH YOUR SON IN HELL. apparently if you fake your own death in middle school you will never mentally age past that point and will remain a permanent chuuni

OH LMAO THAT’S THE END

we really just gonna end on “DANCE WITH YOUR SON IN HELL”, huh. very well then. you know what song to play, Horikoshi. one, two... YOU ARE MY DAD. YOU’RE MY DAD!! BOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE

[shinesurge]

I’ve been holding off on making this post because I wanted to try it out myself and get settled in and make sure everything went okay, but seeing as I’ve gone ahead and updated my site and everything I thought now might be a good time to start talking about this publicly! 

If you’ve known me for more than five minutes you know I fucking hate Webtoon, like, a lot. Every aspect of it disgusts me to the core of my being, and while Webtoon is the ugliest version of them the aspects that I hate also extend to basically any comic aggregate site. I hate that they treat artists like content robots, I hate that they treat comic readers like morons who aren’t capable of engaging with complex stories, I hate that they actively try to strip away all the cool parts of indie comics by cultivating sterile and impersonal environments that discourage artistic experimentation and unique expression.

So! I hope you’ll be interested in what I have to say about this new platform that’s (hopefully) going to be out of alpha this summer. If you think you like reading comics on Webtoon, I really encourage you to check out Dillyhub once it launches. That’s the short version, but I have a LOT to say about this! So I’m putting the rest of this under a cut.

Full disclosure, I’m not getting paid or anything for this. The creative outreach at Dillyhub contacted me a few weeks ago asking if I’d be interested in having Kidd Commander be one of their launch titles when they go live this summer. I was hesitant at first, since I actively distrust anything claiming to be For Creators at this point, but they answered my pushy questions patiently and everything seemed on the up and up so I gave it a shot; I’ve been needing a mobile mirror for KC anyway. Eventually they invited me to the alpha creator discord, where they’ve been working directly with all of us artists to improve the platform, and now to be honest I’m REALLY excited for this thing to get off the ground. Nobody asked me to make this post, but since I’ve spent years whining and bitching about how other services do wrong by their creators, I thought I’d talk about this one that’s doing things right.

So, the biggest advantage this site has for creators over others in my opinion is that it. Treats us like individuals, regardless of follower count lmfao. If you’re a new person just starting out with your new webcomic, here’s what webtoon does for you:

Note: you don’t get a custom banner, you don’t even get to choose the solid color it is. That big circle icon is ALSO the image that shows up in searches, but everywhere else on the site it’s a 100x100px square, so you have to choose whether you want it to look good as a giant circle at the top of your comic’s page OR whether you want to look good in search results. Which, by the way, is the ONLY way for people to find you if you’re not partnered. And that’s it! You have no monetization options, you won’t show up on the genre pages, and when someone DOES stumble across your page it looks super unprofessional. Good Luck! 

Now here’s my Dillyhub page(s):

You don’t get a static banner and one icon, you get a whole carousel banner with as many images as you want front and center as soon as you get to the project page. You get seven (custom!) genre tags, as opposed to Webtoon’s single tag you have to pick from their list, and plenty of room to talk about your work. The episodes are even laid out better, you get a MUCH bigger preview space to work with and they’re nice and big on the bottom half of the page:

you know, like they’re actually presenting ART lmfao.

That’s already an ENORMOUS improvement, but here’s my favorite thing.

o hm that’s a lot of super cushy settings I have for every individual episode, but what’s that, Episode Type?

LIKE.

listen, i know this is probably a bit specialized if you’re not a comic maker yourself, but this is a HUGE DEAL. You can post vertically OR page by page! You can even post pages two at a time for double page spreads, or so they read like a physical comic book! AND their specs are really open, as long as the file meets the size requirement you can make it whatever shape you want. You don’t have to reformat all your shit to post here!! I posted the entire first volume of KC STRAIGHT FROM THE PRINT FILES in like half an hour!!! The episodes can also be any amount of pages, you can post a single page or an entire chapter all in one go!

So that’s just the project page for the comic, let’s see what happens when I click on my username there.

Each author gets their own unique page (which you can tack a vanity url to!) to present themselves however they want! You always have the banner at the top, but beyond that you have a ton of options. Among other incredibly useful tools that really should just be bare fucking minimum at this point, like the ability to preview your page on different devices, you start customizing your blank page with this set of widgets,

and from THERE you can customize them MORE, you can promote your patreon or your kickstarter or whatever! Having this creator space ALSO means that if you run several comics, or if you want to promote your comic AND your illustrations, you can just separate them into individual projects! Each with their own page! This is also really nice as a reader because you can subscribe to a creator but you can also just subscribe to specific projects, if you don’t want to get ALL of their stuff in your inbox. It’s so good y’all hh.

Once again, all of this functionality is just THERE as soon as you make your account. You don’t need to be “partnered” or whatever the fuck, you don’t need to meet a certain follower threshold to unlock the ability to operate normally. You get your own creator space to present yourself how you prefer, you get pages for all your projects, you can even set up monetization options (and change them for individual pages IN a project) right from the start.

ok ok let’s compare this to my webtoon page

oh that’s right webtoon just puts your greyed out name at the bottom of each comic and that’s it because human beings don’t make this stuff, my bad lol anyway

Other fun shit that Dillyhub does that makes me feel like they’re people who have actually consumed or made comics on the internet at some point in their lives:

-When you log into the “studio” space, you’re in your creator account. When you log OUT of the studio space, it’s like you swap to a “reader” account, where you can access your pull list and comment on things with a different name and profile icon. Again, maybe only cool if you’re a creator, but if you ARE then you know exactly why this is incredibly useful lmao

-You can set up “hidden” projects, so if you only want certain things to be accessible by certain people or to not show up in searches that’s an option! You have SO much control here it’s great.

-The comment section has moderation options GODDD. You also have a real comment space, you know, so it actually encourages building a community (and a rapport with your community, if you like), and you also can just turn comments off entirely if you want! I haven’t used it much yet, obviously, but it’s been made very clear in the discord that artists want better control over their comment sections and the devs have it on their priority list.

-Absolutely every step of customization gives you a preview before it’s live, so you can easily see what these images you’re posting in different places are going to look like before you beam them to your followers’ inboxes. This includes individual episodes!

-This was sort of in one of the screenshots but it’s important so I’m saying it here too: the option to mark individual episodes as mature or with content warnings, rather than having to mark an entire comic as Mature Spooky Scary Content because of one or two pages getting a bit hairy.

This site is only in alpha right now, and it’s invite-only until they get to beta (for creators; anyone can make a reader account! but they haven’t set up a way to browse comics without direct links yet so) but honest to god it’s already blowing every other site I’ve used clean out of the water. And the staff has been really kind and responsive to us proposing fixes or changes! I will always defend individual websites as being the best option for an indie comic, but everybody’s gotta start somewhere and we NEED something that isn’t Tumblr or Webtoon to fill this role; this site feels a lot more like a symbiotic relationship than any of the other staples available for new creators right now. If you’re a comic reader and you want to see your favorite comics on Dillyhub I’d suggest keeping an eye on this site and once it’s live start poking them to look into it, and if you’re a creator follow their social media and hop in when they open up for anybody to join. I would LOVE to see this site take off as a viable option for hosting and reading comics.

Thanks for reading all this! I haven’t quite finished setting up yet, but if you want to poke around a project/creator page for yourself mine is here have at it. As things progress I’m sure I’ll have more to say, but since I’m usually so aggressively negative about places like this I just wanted to give some credit where it was due. fucking finally.

[fourmarkdove]

Fawn.

Title: Fawn.

Words: 2.8k

Summary: Geralt stops into ye locale brothel expecting one the ladies to soothe his battle weary soul. You aren’t meant to be there and have no idea how to handle his needs.

Paring: Geralt x reader

Warnings/Triggers: Smut.

A/N: This is a multi-chapter beasty. I’m already up to 10k so I’ll be editing and breaking it up into chapters to post in the next couple days. I’ve held onto this for 3 months (?) and I still can’t figure out where I’m going with it past chapter like 8, so I may be asking y’all what you think when we get there. (Also, I need to go back and tag some folks.) Comments welcome. Thanks for reading!

~

It had been weeks since the Witcher had been through town, so when his massive frame darkened the doorway of the inn, the women who worked there scattered to put on their rosy lips and tighten their bodices just a bit more. In truth, none of them would have even asked him for a single coin. Being the one chosen to bed the Witcher later that night would have been more than enough payment for keeping his plate full, his drink topped off, and some easy company with curves to fondle while he consumed and brooded.

By dusk, the leather clad man was served enough of a steady stream of ale to just barely soften the lines across his troubled brow. His demeanor was still altogether sullen, leaning over his mug, shoulders rolled forward, silver strands of hair fallen around his weary features. The hunt had not gone well. 

He needed food, a bath and a hard fuck. Emptying himself out in the tight cunt of a pretty little thing would help clear his head. It might even afford him the chance to get a little bit of rest.

Mathilde, one of the more experienced women, saw Geralt always had proper company to suit his mood. Settling in next to him with a mug, she let out a labored sigh and sipped on her ale. His heavy lidded gaze glanced her way and an acknowledgement “Hmm” rumbled from his chest.

“You look tired, Witcher,” she noted, leaning heavily into his shoulder armor. “Why don’t you stay more than a night or two, my darling? Let Mathilde look after you a bit.”

“Hmm.”

That was usually enough to get him headed into a room upstairs but instead he sat back and downed the last third of his drink.

Mimicking his motions, she sighed and turned away from the room to whisper into his ear.

“Anyone caught your eye tonight, darling?”

Geralt looked in a drunken citrine haze around the room, but took pause at your figure sitting at the hearth, tending to the fire.

“Hm,” he grunted, motioning with his chin, before sipping on the fresh pint just delivered.

Mathilde pressed her lips together and slipped her hand under the table to touch his knee. Lazily lifting an eyebrow at her advances, he waited in silence for more information. 

“She is new since you been here last, darling. Might not be exactly what you’re in the mood for tonight though love. Let’s maybe try Larissa? She can be bent over a sack of potatoes in the kitchen in about two minutes if you want an early night in.”

The slightest downward tick of his mouth indicated he was not pleased with her proposition. Returning his gaze to your outline seated by the fire, he grunted,

“Send the doe-eyed one up with soap.”

You’d barely seen the shadowy figure dragging his weary frame upstairs before Mathilde crossed the noisy room to where you were seated. 

“You’re up, girlie,” the mistress instructed without a drop of honey in her tone. “Take a bar of soap up to the Witcher.”

Willing your hands to stop trembling, you paused and pressed your back against the wall just outside his door. Shaky breaths felt like they could have rattled your body to pieces and left you collapsed on the floor.

You’d been saved the humiliation of participating in the activities all of the other girls were involved with by staying in the kitchen for the last few weeks you’d been at the inn. Knowing absolutely nothing about cooking, you still tried to make yourself useful. Carrots were cut in odd sizes at an achingly slow pace. Onions made you weep so much that you closed your eyes while cutting and sliced your knuckles by mistake. Collecting potatoes, you’d managed to get tangled in a thicket of thistles and stumbled back to the kitchen empty handed and covered head to toe in burrs.

Having absolutely no training about local flora and fauna, you assumed all herbs were created equal. You’d never have known the herbs next to the parsley were in fact poisonous had you not washed and cut them to put in the soup yourself. Just a few sprinkles of green on top of a spoonful of broth made you immediately sick. Your body revolted and cast up everything you’d eaten that day, over and over.

So you were sent out of the kitchen. Potentially poisoning patrons was apparently the last straw. You knew it was only a matter of time before you would be sent upstairs to perform other activities. And it made your hands sweat and breathing quicken so much that you started to see stars.

Just as you were feeling your legs might give out from under you, the door swung open.

The white haired man stood as a broad shouldered wall of muscle, leather pants undone low around his hips, shirt crumpled in his hand.

You were absolutely dwarfed small by his impressive size. Upon one last shallow inhale, the soap dropped from your hand and your eyelashes fluttered closed.

Catching your waist, he tossed his shirt at the foot of the bed, swept you over his forearm and sighed. He’d heard your rapid heartbeat, like a frightened deer hiding under a brush pile, from the other side of his closed door. Of course, he was used to a cool reception wherever he went, but making you faint dead away was not his intention.

Dragging you to the bed, he hummed a thoughtful sound. He’d felt the kind of expensive green fabric you wore under his rough hands many times, but never in a place like this. Dresses this soft came from fabric woven from far away places, which meant you’d come from money and belonged in a court somewhere not collapsed on his bed in a brothel in the center of nowhere.

Fortunately, he had more knowledge of courtly dresses than most men, particularly their quick removal.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he let you fall forward so your head rested against his shoulder as he reached for his silver dagger and slipped it right up your spine, slicing the ties laced across your back. Roughly tugging apart your dress, your body responded with a desperate gasp. 

With a shuddering exhale, your fingers grasped onto his thick biceps, trying to ground yourself as the dizzying sensation passed.

He made quick work pulling you free from the binding garment, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it pool around your hips.

“I’m… sorry… I don’t know… what happened,” you stilted, pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck.

“Why you ladies tie yourselves up in these fucking dresses I’ll never know,” he grumbled almost imperceptibly low. Slipping a hand under your hair, he stroked along your jaw and lifted your head with his thumb. “Better?”

You straightened up a bit and released your fingertips from their death grip into his upper arms. 

“Better,” you lied. “How may I… please you?”

Regarding you with amusement, he lifted a brow. “Please me? Keep breathing for a start.”

You bit your lip, and his golden eyes followed. You were uncertain how to say the things out loud that you were supposed to say. Even moreso, do the things you were in his bed to do.

You frowned in confusion when he reached around your hip and pulled back the covers.

“You can stay here tonight,” his voice resonated deep in his chest. “I’m going to wash up.”

“Can I help?” you asked meekly.

He tugged your bitten bottom lip from between your teeth with his thumb. “You can stay right here.”

Decision made, his weight lifted from the bed making the old frame creak. He went to the fireplace to add more wood before heading to the bath in the main part of the room.

Pushing your heavy outer dress down your hips, you remained in your underclothes and slipped your cold feet under the covers, pulling the wool blanket up to your neck. 

Geralt groaned as he sank down into the bath. Every muscle in his body ached.

Resting his heavy arms along the sides of the bath, his tired eyes finally closed and he rested his head back against the hot water basin.

Still alert like a snoozing cat, he didn’t move a muscle when you padded over, undressed and carefully held onto the edge of the bath to climb in with him.

You settled a long moment opposite him, drawing your knees up to your chest in the warm water. Fairly certain he was sleeping, you were allowed a longer look at him without those keen eyes flashing at you. He really was stunningly beautiful. Somehow that made what you were about to do even more difficult.

You were just inches away from touching his large hand holding onto the edge of the tub but he sensed your reach and grumbled, “What are you doing, little fawn?”

You gasped and froze, glancing at his still reclined and resting form.

“I… um…” you stumbled, pushing forward despite your racing heart shooting up into your throat. Wrapping your hand around two of his massive fingers, you pulled it underwater and his palm around your waist.

“You paid for this... room…” came your breathy voice, collecting every last bit of courage left in your body. Slipping over to him, you rose onto your knees before him, letting the water just skim the underside of your breasts.

His gaze became dark, pupils dilated, as he followed the water droplets rolling down your flushed skin.

He licked over his lip and flicked his gaze back up to yours after drinking in all of the soft flesh you were offering. His hand you’d wrapped around yourself flexed and pulled you flush to his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart pounding like a horse’s canter under your palms. Nudging his nose to yours, you could feel his warm breath against your lips when he parted his and waited. 

It was so close and quiet and intimate and it surprised you. 

A man like him could take what he wanted. But he was stalled out, stroking your neck with his thumb and the curve at the small of your back, while you decided. Leaning just that tiny bit more forward, you gave his full lips a chaste kiss, long and lingering, before backing off, still just inches from his face, and gazed at him through your dark lashes.

It was more than enough encouragement for him to stretch his long neck and tilt his head just a degree, capturing your mouth with his. He kissed you like a man starved, filling all of his senses with your sweet, soft presence, inhaling deeply your scent and needing to taste your lips, feel your soft tongue, breathe the same breath with each kiss that he dipped to receive from you.

It filled your body with such heat, from your cheeks to your toes, overwhelmed with the sensation.

Dropping his head, he pressed his lips to your neck, leaving little nips down to your collarbone. Nuzzling your chest there he huffed in appreciation and lifted his gaze again, arching a brow. He had a mischievous glint in his amber eyes which you couldn’t help but smile softly at. It was then that you felt him cup your breast, massaging it gently in his strong hand. His thumb found the sensitive nub of your hardened nipple and you bit your bottom lip to stifle a whimper.

Your eyelashes fluttered closed when your foreheads touched. He nudged his nose to yours and told you in a gentle rumble, “I want to hear you.” 

Pawing your fingertips at the rock hard muscle atop his shoulders, you whined and let your head fall back, your hair spreading across the water as he lifted your body inches more out of the bath, kissing down your sternum, delivering hungry kisses to your warm flesh until his mouth finally found that nipple he’d been teasing.

Your whine turned into a moan as he hugged your hips to his chest. He caught behind one of your shaky knees and helped you wrap your squirming legs around his middle, never pausing for a second on the attention his open mouthed suckling kisses were giving your breast. Once it seemed he’d gorged himself on one breast, he shifted your body slightly and dropped his head down again to capture the second nipple in his mouth.

You dug your heels into his muscular back and threaded your fingers through his hair, arching and whimpering sounds you didn’t know you could make. Flattening his tongue along the swell of the underside of your breast, he lifted it past his lips and into his hollowed mouth, drawing you deep into him and suckling at such a slow even rhythm, rubbing your sensitive nipple into the roof of his mouth. Something like lightning shocked from your nipple down to your clit, making your hips jerk foreword violently. 

“Hmm,” he grunted approvingly, feeling the swell of the hood of your clit nudge against his stomach when your thighs tightened again. Even underwater he could feel your slick heat smearing against his taut skin.

The slightest flutter of gentle fingertips near your core made you gasp his name. Wrapping both arms behind his neck, you rutted into him, trying desperately to get more friction. 

Thick fingers slipped along your folds, coating you in your own sex, and a desperate ache pooled in your belly. Your hips rocked making waves in the bath and some spilled onto the floor.

“Careful there,” he teased, spreading two fingers around your core to stretch your center from outside. His thumb pad completely covered and deliciously circled your almost too sensitive clit. It made you cry out when he sped up thumbing over the tip of your swollen nub and then curled a thick finger over your clit hood, drawing down to his circling thumb. It was a motion and sensation and pressure you’d never even thought of to try yourself and it made your inside walls tighten and become thick with want.

Your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, not meaning to pull his hair hard as you writhed into his hand and panted into his mouth. Your eyes were shut, and an almost pained expression tensed your features as you moved into his rhythmic ministrations.

His expressive eyes never closed for a moment, however. Black dilated pupils caught in the light and he gazed at you like a hunter to prey. He wanted to see the heave of your breasts and how they shuddered against his chest at the pleasure he was giving you. He wanted to see how your eyebrows lifted and furrowed as if you were singing a song of ecstasy whose melody could only be heard by watching your beautiful features as he stroked your most sensitive parts of you. It was a melody you were writing together with every caress, kiss and muscle twitch.

You wrapped one arm behind his neck and pressed the other’s palm to his shoulder, giving you a bit of push and pull leverage against his anchored body. Your core was tightening and not willing to relax even if you willed it to.

“Fuck! Please don’t stop!” you cried trembling all over. 

He growled a pleased sound, snaking his tongue into your mouth which you licked at wildly. He was doing things to your body you’d never felt before. How were you supposed to tell him it felt better than the best feeling ever without having any words fully formed coming from your brain?

“You like that, little fawn?” he purred as your mouth crashed against his again.

“Ah-hah…” you mumbled into his mouth, coveting more of his strong tongue. You wanted to taste him, every inch of him, have his scent all over your body. The need was incredible.

The forearm holding around your hips eased tension and his free hand slid down to caress over the curve of your behind. You cooed and nibbled at his swollen lower lip, still slipping into his thumb and fingers at your front.

His one strong palm pressed under you from behind almost made a seat for you, and you were able to relax your thighs’ grip on his sides.

You gasped and dropped your head down against his shoulder, shuddering when you felt his thick fingers from behind slicking along your tensed up core and began circling with increased pressure where he’d been working to stretch you before.

Falling silent, your hips stilled and warm breath panting against his neck caught in your throat.

He could no longer see the impending orgasm written across your features when you buried your face in his neck, but he could definitely still feel the hard heartbeat between your legs kissing at his bare stomach. 

One slickened middle finger traced your opening, swirling over it gently at first and then pressed his fingertip into you.

His heightened hearing caught your mouse-sized whisper into his shoulder, “Please don’t…”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Alright, and I am back with another update! But first, some stuff a friend noticed in the first few pages and mentioned to me that I didn’t take in when I went over them on my own the first time:

The park they’re in as kids is pretty close to the apartment complex Izuku and his mom live in! Considering that said apartment complex is right there in the background. Which probably isn’t a huge thing, but a neat thing to note.

The age these kids manifest their quirks at seems to be more preteen / teenage years, though I don’t know whether that’s just because it is later activation or because there were (subtle) quirks before that, with the glowing baby just being the one that had people sit up and realize something was actually going on.

Endeavor ad! And it has the time of that event that day, too - 8:14 AM! I wonder what he’s advertising… or perhaps it’s a news report? An interview of some kind? It might just be a ‘breaking news, we got Endeavor on our channel’ sort of thing. The only part that I can read is the first three katakana for the biggest text, which is ‘E-n-de’ and matches the wiki’s katakana for ‘Endeavor’. If anyone can get a good enough look at the smaller text in order to tell me what the rest says, I would appreciate it!

Just a few things, but obviously I need to up my observation game if I want to catch all this stuff!

[No. 1 - Midoriya Izuku: Origin]

So now we’re at Aldera / Orudera Junior High, with Izuku’s class being in their last year before high school. Since Japan’s schools start on the second week of April, we know this has to be that first week of school, because Katsuki’s still 14 and his birthday is April 20th, which would almost always be the third week of April / second week of school. 

What is that writing stance. You are going to have an old man’s back by the time you graduate high school. I mean, I wouldn’t know anything about that personally, cough cough…

Anyways! We get a look at Izuku’s class and their quirks, and what a collection. Also, with an attitude like that, no wonder this school is seen as bad, like, what the fuck dude. Not exactly a competent homeroom teacher, are you?

The ones that I can see, from leftmost row to rightmost row, are [1] floating hair, stretchy fingers, dark matter, [2] smokey arms, spike fists, stretchy eyes, frog throat, some sort of flash/illumination quirk, [3] rocky body, ???, stretchy neck, flamethrower arms, extra arms, [4] sharp hair, big chompers, wedge face, [quirkless], mouth face (seen in the next panel and holy FUCK new sleep paralysis demon), [5] horns, telekinesis, [explosion], buff bod, ???, [6] wind control, ???

WHY.

But yeah, this also establishes the first rule of ‘don’t use quirks in school’ thing that… also gets promptly ignored the several other times we see stuff set in this school. Which, what a shock, people sort of sliding around inconvenient rules.

Anyways, Katsuki has proven that he hasn’t changed since those first few childhood panels way back (checks) ten pages ago. And Izuku is being… very shy and trying to avoid drawing attention. But no shaking, particularly, just… wallflower mode, more like.

But yeah, Katsuki is not exactly on great terms with the rest of the class, who are rightfully pissed off at him treating them rudely and calling them extras. Though honestly, I’m surprised that they’re surprised he’s aiming for UA, it’s not like he wouldn’t have been obvious about that for, like, years at this point. You’d think they’d all roll their eyes and be like ‘yeah yeah we’ve heard this spiel before’ or something. IDK.

Oh man, and Izuku already KNOWS what’s coming, look at how he’s hiding his face!

Katsuki is, of course, Fucking Extra and hops on his desk, and gets right into bragging, where, AGAIN, this should have been stuff this class has known about for ages, why are they so shocked?? And huh, interesting, he’s not only interested in surpassing All Might, but also in being one of the richest people in the world. Wow, I cannot even with him, especially knowing he lives in this house in particular:

Which, it should be clear, is an EXPENSIVE lifestyle when most families live in modest apartments because of space being so valuable in Japan. 

God this is a fantastic image. I wanna frame it on a wall somewhere. Hori managed to convey all the emotions in one face and I admire the man for it. 

With the whole class laughing, there’s a thing I want to note that fandom seems to not pay attention to: they note that Izuku gets good grades! I’ve seen fics that basically have him forced to sabotage his own grades to avoid getting backlash, but like… no, I don’t think that’s actually a thing. 

[Also an aside, we finally see one more class quirk, which seems to be some sort of bulked up arm? It looks a bit like mummy bandages, as far as I can tell.]

Izuku gets into defending himself, saying there’s no precedent, but he IS defending himself against them, so again, he’s not cowering as much as some people seem to think he does based on fics, and clearly he’s still willing to stand up for himself to some degree. 

...then of course, Katsuki blows up Izuku’s desk and sends Izuku sprawling. And is pissed that Izuku apparently thinks he, who is quirkless, can somehow be on the same level as Katsuki. Izuku swears up and down that it’s not about Katsuki, that he just really wants to try, and this somehow pisses Katsuki off even more. 

I want you all to remember this image - save it on your computers, bookmark this post, whatever you need to do. We’ll come back to it in, oh (checks watch) about 284 chapters. Or maybe sooner in a separate post where I can put it under read more and avoid spoiling people more than this does. Because DAMN can I gush on this moment.

Anyways, we have a change of scene, right after noon, with a thief with a sludge transformation and,,,,,,,, legs and pants,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Where the fuck did those pants go, sir. Sir. What the fuck, sir.

Also, we get our first meeting with the OG dad, the sunflower man himself, who blooms into 255 kilos of muscle in one panel. Also, man I forgot about the fucking giraffe neck Hori used to draw him with, holy heck, why are you so l o n g.

L O N G.

...right, anyways, back to the school, which is apparently over for the day. The rest of the class is heading out, and Izuku’s back to his chipper self, even humming a happy note as he grabs his notebook-

Before Katsuki nabs it from his hands. There are a few people who’ve hung back who notice the title and pick fun at izuku, so I guess Izuku actually… doesn’t talk about his desire to be a hero that much in middle school, if the others are all so surprised about it. He apparently doesn’t even make his notebooks obvious to them, since this is the first time any of them seem to be seeing it. Which I mean, it makes sense if the class will tease him for it, but like. Even with Katsuki stealing the book, Izuku’s not super panicked or having a nervous breakdown.

But yeah, Katsuki just blasts the book, but! It’s just the cover singed (and edges) when we know he could have demolished that book entirely. Again, he’s definitely being a bully and a jerk here, but he’s got way more self-control than fandom likes to assume. 

Izuku’s upset because of his damaged notebook, and Katsuki just huffs and throws it out the window while saying he’s gonna be the only kid from Aldera to go to UA. And Izuku, EVEN WHILE STRESSING, thinks of him as vain for thinking that way! That’s not the first thought of someone too terrified to do anything.

Edit: As pointed out to me in [this post], it was Katsuki’s crony who was thinking of him as vain, not Izuku. My bad!

Also note the lack of damage to Izuku’s school uniform. I know I’ve seen fics where there’s a hole made and a burn scar left that Izuku has to tend to, but Katsuki, again, has not directly used his quirk against Izuku. We’ve never seen it, just the smoke and flash used for intimidation. I’m getting more and more confident that Katsuki has never actually used his quirk against a person, which I’m probably gonna get a bit more into during the battle training in a few chapters.

But yeah, the cronies / extras basically call Izuku lame and that he can’t face reality. And then we get this scene:

That’s not the face of someone afraid. That’s Izuku’s determined face.

Izuku is about to stand up to Katsuki again. The way he always has, the way he always will. There has never been a point in the series where Izuku has NOT stood up to Katsuki when he feels it matters, and that’s part of the reason Katsuki is so pissed with him every time he does - because Izuku REFUSES to see his place! Not once!

(Please, for the love of god, respect the Izuku who didn’t need a quirk to stand up to others. Who isn’t ‘broken’ or ‘terrified’ of Katsuki or anything like that. He’s a stubborn kid and we Stan That.)

Izuku, however, is not confident enough in this situation to want to press the issue, so he relents and says nothing when Katsuki prods him to escalate things. And then we immediately get to the ‘you idiot, don’t fucking suicide bait!’ but you can tell it’s been a stressful few moments for him. 

So yeah, the summary of this section is ‘Izuku is not an uwu suffering babey, and Katsuki is way more restrained than people seem to think.’ 

I’m cutting it off here since, again, we got a lot of info and character examination, and honestly this whole chapter is a long ass one (55 pages!!!!) and it’s establishing the entire setting from the ground up. And honestly, I’m just vibing in being Right about how I’ve been viewing the characters at the start of the series… even if i am guilty of sometimes playing with fanon for my own means…

Still, this is fun! Hopefully y’all are having fun too!

[bisluthq]

SS Tily does not lay claim to Lover; a thesis

I thought this would take me longer but y’all, I’m done with Part 2 of my Gaylor analyses. Unfortunately this chapter brings bad news for Tily nation. I honestly don’t think many of the songs on Lover are about that relationship. But I also think it’s not as simple as the mainstream Kaylor narrative would have us believe. Let’s dive into this, shall we? 

First things first. I think it’s worth noting that many of the songs on this album are not about romantic relationships at all. Like it’s a bit of a marketing ploy to portray it as an album primarily about romantic love when so many songs explicitly aren’t about that feeling. In fact, there are more themes on Lover than on any of her earlier stuff - it’s something she expands on in folklore. 

I Forgot That You Existed, The Man, The Archer (which I firmly believe is about her debating coming out), Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince (very obviously about the political situation generally and supported by the doccie title), London Boy, Soon You’ll Get Better, YNTCD, and ME! are all about explicitly different themes. Obviously there are a couple references within those (like ME! has that line about “I never leave well enough alone” which reappears on the 1, and The Archer mentions someone “staying” but I still think ME! is about self-love not romantic love and The Archer is about personal anxiety around identity). Fundamentally, they are not love songs.

I don’t think that’s really up for debate. The only one I can see anyone - say Toes or like hardcore Tily fans - debating is London Boy. Unfortunately for my Tily babes, I do think it’s satire that serves as a homage to Joe and the other British beards, and possibly riffs a teeny bit on her time with Lily. Contrary to some gold medalists in Kaylor mental gymnastics, I fully believe Tay does make reference to Joe in her lyrics (I’ve mentioned the fictional verse for Dress and the reference to “keeping him” in Ready for It). This really doesn’t have any of the hallmarks of Tily songs off of Rep. The British references in CIWYW, KOMH and Delicate are subtle and chilled and actually quite cute. London Boy is an onslaught of non-sequiturs about London, the UK and her beards. Also “stories from uni” fits both Joe and Tom H, but it doesn’t fit Lily who never went to university. All her Lily songs are about hiding out in private; London Boy is all about galavanting around town with “his” friends (Lily and Tay had the same friends though?) It’s simply not about the same person or the same relationship. 

I do think there’s a chance it could be poking fun (lightly) at Lily/that period she spent in London because as I’ve already said I think Tay is not above shading ex-girlfriends and it seems like the kind of thing Karlie would’ve also found a bit funny. I think when she got back together with Karlie - which almost definitely happened - she would’ve 100% laughed about the “say you fancy me not fancy stuff” era. That would explain the recurrence of both Motown and queen imagery, which first appeared on KOMH. But where KOMH felt very genuine and authentic, this one is obviously meant to be funny. 

Right. So. Now that we’ve established 8 songs are about other themes, let’s get the Kaylor songs sorted: Cruel Summer, Cornelia Street, DBATC, False God and Daylight are all undeniably about Karlie fucking Kloss. They all feature the images and tropes and hallmarks that pepper Karlie songs. They all have the same kinds of emotions. And they paint a pretty sad, troubling and complex picture. 

Cruel Summer comes first and seems to mostly be about their first breakup, which she first referred to on DWOHT. We have Tay once again begging Karlie to stay and work it out and not being certain for sure about her feelings.  

We say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times

We're not trying (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

I mean that’s super sad. Tay’s saying they discussed how they’ll fuck it all up, and she’s feeling like they’re not even trying to fix things. You also have that “I want it” which is interesting considering the “we” that preceded it. “We’re” not trying because only “I want it”. Ouch. 

Killing me slow, out the window

I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

What doesn't kill me makes me want you more

And it's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

It's cool, that's what I tell 'em

No rules in breakable heaven

But ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

With you

Here we have “I’m always waiting for you” which yet again suggests Tay is the one who’s more invested. Then we have the shape of “your” body (which is a familiar concept from Dress), but the feeling it gives her here is blue here not gold - maybe that’s why the shape is new? In the past Karlie’s body made her feel golden but now it’s a bluer, sadder feeling. Blue starts recurring more frequently on these late era Kaylor songs. There’s a possible alternate reading, which is blue = Swiftgron (“my love had been frozen deep blue”). It’s a nice theory but it just doesn’t gel with the garden gate below. Also, while both relationships seem to have been colored by commitment issues, the premise of unrequitedness doesn’t really feature on the songs about Di. She asks Di to stay, tells her she’s thinking of her, and they’re “too in love to think straight” but Tay never says Karlie loves her back. Ever. It’s never expressly mutual. 

I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (Oh)

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Oh)

And I scream, "For whatever it's worth

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

He looks up, grinning like a devil

Look at that fourth line. It perfectly fits with the Kaylor narrative on Rep and it doesn’t fit the Tily songs at all. She wanted to keep that second relationship private and secret and hidden. And here she’s saying “I don’t want to keep secrets” - this is take two of “I don’t want you like a best friend”. Also the “for whatever it’s worth” reminds me of “here’s the truth” from End Game. It’s the kind of thing you’d say in the midst of a fight. 

Then we have her screaming “I love you” and receiving no reply as usual beyond a devilish grin. The more I do these analyses the less I understand how or why Kaylor gets romanticized in the way it does, while Swiftgron gets bashed for toxicity. Like my girl Tay has a thing for chaotic lesbians with commitment issues and Kaylor seems like it was WILD. 

Back to the lyrics, this time let’s look at Kaylor anthem Cornelia Street:

We were in the backseat

Drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar

"I rent a place on Cornelia Street"

I say casually in the car

We were a fresh page on the desk

Filling in the blanks as we go

As if the street lights pointed in an arrowhead

Leading us home

I find this whole song really interesting because it features one of Tay’s favorite ideas - glamorizing normal people things. It’s like the time with the “motel bar” in Getaway Car. Like she 100% was thrilled to be able to say “I’m renting this apartment” - never mind that it’s basically a whole ass house. I actually think the above verse is really beautiful. I know I give Kaylor a lot of shit but obviously there were beautiful moments and Tay had/has plenty of good memories. 

And I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends

I'd never walk Cornelia Street again

That's the kind of heartbreak time could never mend

I'd never walk Cornelia Street again

And baby, I get mystified by how this city screams your name

And baby, I'm so terrified of if you ever walk away

I'd never walk Cornelia Street again

I'd never walk Cornelia Street again

I mean frankly this verse above is super insecure in the standard Kaylor way. Tay’s saying she’s terrified of Karlie walking away and that she “hopes” she never loses her. The tone is sad, forlorn and a little desperate. I also think it’s interesting that she says she’d never walk Cornelia Street again, and that the city screams Karlie’s name and then on hoax she goes ahead and says she left a part of herself back in New York. It’s almost like her fears and anxieties did prove justified. Poor baby. 

Windows flung right open, autumn air

Jacket 'round my shoulders is yours

We bless the rains on Cornelia Street

Memorize the creaks in the floor

Back when we were card sharks, playing games

I thought you were leading me on

I packed my bags, left Cornelia Street

Before you even knew I was gone

But then you called, showed your hand

I turned around before I hit the tunnel

Sat on the roof, you and I

Those first four lines seem to be about the good again, and I’m happy for them. I really do think they had good times. Those four lines make me think of parts of YAIL and the toast and weekends and stuff. 

The rest of this verse though seems to be about the first split and subsequent reunion. “I thought you were leading me on” she says, and I “left Cornelia Street” presumably to go to London. But then Karlie called her back, “showed her hand” and Tay “turned around” before she reached the point of no return and they worked it out. “Sat on the roof, you and I” is similar in content to “up on the roof with a schoolgirl crush” but very different in tone. She’s not peppy here, she’s not positive. It’s a little bit tortured - and then it continues with “hoping it never ends”. The reappearance of the Tily imagery on Kaylor 2.0 songs makes sense to me, again, because discussing exes in the same social circle as you is just blatant lesbian culture. It makes complete sense that these two women are on Taylor’s mind. She has really really deep feelings for Karlie but she enjoyed the more simple and straightforward relationship she had with Lily. 

DBATC is the Kaylor 1.0 breakup anthem:

Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts

Flashbacks waking me up

I get drunk, but it's not enough

'Cause the morning comes and you're not my baby

I look through the windows of this love

Even though we boarded them up

Chandelier's still flickering here

'Cause I can't pretend it's okay when it's not

It's death by a thousand cuts

We have her getting drunk to forget, trying to say “I’m fine” when it’s not true, and just generally missing Karlie. 

I dress to kill my time, I take the long way home

I mean, this is Cornelia Street (“never walk here again”) and Dress all over again. It’s the two ideas from before but now on the other side, because they’re actually broken up. 

And what once was ours is no one's now

I see you everywhere, the only thing we share

Is this small town

You said it was a great love, one for the ages

But if the story's over, why am I still writing pages?

“I see you everywhere” is very “this city screams your name” and I think “small town” is a metaphor for their social circle. The last two lines are just Tay being hung up on Karlie. She was writing pages in Cornelia Street as well, so this whole idea of telling a story with Karlie is another recurrent image. 

My heart, my hips, my body, my love

Tryna find a part of me that you didn't touch

Gave up on me like I was a bad drug

Now I'm searching for signs in a haunted club

Our songs, our films, united, we stand

Our country, guess it was a lawless land

Quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

Paper cut stings from our paper-thin plans

My time, my wine, my spirit, my trust

Tryna find a part of me you didn't take up

Gave you so much, but it wasn't enough

But I'll be alright, it's just a thousand cuts

I mean this is the usual obsession, desperation and general pining Tay has for Karlie. We also have Karlie touching her briefly, which is something she has spoken about before and is really into. Paper-thin plans is probably about the plans to make it work? We have that image reparations later in hoax so I think it’s most likely about Karlie bailing on Tay’s PR game and doing her own thing and/or Karlie’s (accidental?) involvement in the masters heist. 

Also, this whole song is very sad but it’s not on the level of desperation I would expect if Tay wasn’t rebounding hard and if they didn’t reunite. She’s pretty sad about how the whole thing went down but she does say she’ll “be alright” which is the opposite of “that’s the kind of heartbreak time could never mend”. I think she wrote this after the first breakup and Cornelia Street came later, after they were back together. That’s when she really went all in into this relationship. It still wasn’t enough. 

False God is about their reunion:

We were crazy to think

Crazy to think that this could work

Remember how I said I'd die for you?

We were stupid to jump

In the ocean separating us

Remember how I'd fly to you?

We know Tay ran away to Europe after the mess of 2016 and here she jumps into the ocean separating them and flies back to Karlie. The idea of it being “crazy” that it could work is also a recurrent fear/anxiety she has with regards to Karlie. “I had a bad feeling,” remember?

And I can't talk to you when you're like this

Staring out the window like I'm not your favorite town

I'm New York City, I still do it for you, babe

They all warned us about times like this

They say the road gets hard and you get lost

When you're led by blind faith, blind faith

They’re figuring things out, and Tay is New York - Karlie’s favorite city. “I still do it for you” is an admission of affection, which rarely happens in Kaylor songs, but it’s so sexual that I don’t find it shocking or out of character. 

But we might just get away with it

Religion's in your lips

Even if it's a false god

We'd still worship

We might just get away with it

The altar is my hips

Even if it's a false god

We'd still worship this love

I mean sex songs are just peak Kaylor and this is all just so so so gay and I don’t understand how hets can make it make srnse. “We might just get away with it” is the usual Kaylor anxiety by the way. 

I know heaven's a thing

I go there when you touch me, honey

Hell is when I fight with you

But we can patch it up good

Make confessions and we're begging for forgiveness

Got the wine for you

And you can't talk to me when I'm like this

Daring you to leave me just so I can try and scare you

You're the West Village

You still do it for me, babe

They all warned us about times like this

They say the road gets hard and you get lost

When you're led by blind faith, blind faith

Standard Kaylor imagery with sensual touching, wine and New York and a direct reference to Karlie’s apartment. I think “make confessions and we’re begging for forgiveness” appears to refer to the reunion. 

Daylight is a very beautiful love song for Karlie. The “golden”, the bodies intertwining, New York, and the depth of her emotions all fit the Kaylor story and narrative. I think she wrote this when they were back together. It’s also, as is common with the Kaylor songs, squarely from Tay’s perspective. She wrote it alone, and I think specifically for Karlie when they reunited. Very pretty, very nice. I mean they ended up breaking up and that was bound to happen in like every other song but when they were good Tay did create some gems and they were very happy. I love this song and I do like aspects of Kaylor’s time together. 

Now we get onto the songs that don’t neatly fit Kaylor. 

Afterglow could be a Kaylor song. But it could also be about the breakup with her rebound. It’s not only by Tay, so we’re looking for broad themes rather than specifics necessarily. 

Hey, it's all me, in my head

I'm the one who burned us down

But it's not what I meant

Sorry that I hurt you

I don't wanna do, I don't wanna do this to you (Ooh)

I don't wanna lose, I don't wanna lose this with you (Ooh)

I need to say, hey, it's all me, just don't go

Meet me in the afterglow

I don’t know that this sounds like the Kaylor breakup we heard about. It’s a different premise to False God, DBATC and Cornelia Street. In all of those songs it was a mutual breakup/misunderstanding. “I can’t talk to you” and then “you can’t talk to me” in False God is a two-way communication issue. DBATC goes off at Karlie for taking up every part of her and “giving up on me”. Cornelia Street said Tay thought Karlie was “leading her on” but that was resolved. Then Afterglow goes and lays all the blame on Tay. 

I lived like an island, punished you with silence

Went off like sirens, just crying

Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It's on your face, don't walk away, I need to say

Hey, it's all me, in my head

I'm the one who burned us down

I mean this really does sound like it’s Tay fucking up badly. Not wanting to let the other person in, taking it out on them, hurting her lover. 

It's so excruciating to see you low

Just wanna lift you up and not let you go

This ultraviolet morning light below

Tells me this love is worth the fight, oh

This really doesn’t sound like the Kaylor fear and stress. It sounds like the cerebral and emotional connection from Rep. “It’s so excruciating to see you low” seems tied up with the heart to hearts and conversations she was having in those secondary songs on Rep. 

Tell me that you're still mine

Tell me that we'll be just fine

Even when I lose my mind

I need to say

Tell me that it's not my fault

Tell me that I'm all you want

Even when I break your heart

I need to say

This just seems like a very different plan for fixing things than the one outlined in the Kaylor songs (which is “let’s bone”). Also “I break your heart” is an anxiety that seems to parallel the burgeoning love in Delicate, KOMH and CIWYW. It doesn’t seem like a Kaylor fear because Tay is always the one who wants Karlie more. I believe this is mostly a Tily breakup song. 

Then we get the three happy songs on the album: Lover, I Think He Knows and Paper Rings. It’s actually pretty intense that there are only three peppy, romantic songs on an album largely touted by Gaylors and Hetlors alike as being about a happy long term relationship. 

You want my controversial explanation for these songs? They’re fictional. All three are extremely vague and lacking in any of the Karlie/other person imagery. They’re like New Year’s Day and some of the early stuff. 

I Think He Knows is a very hetro song. It physically pains me to say that, it really does, but nothing about it seems gay to me. I guess “boyish look” is something you could say about some women but that’s really a reach. Also it’s just very much not a relatable lesbian emotion. I’ve never met a queer woman being like “yeah I think she KNOWS, you know?” about her girlfriend. “She’s so obsessed with me and boy I understand” would make no sense. Us sapphics are compulsive overthinkers. And that’s what comes across on all her songs about Karlie and about Di and even those Tily songs from Rep. That’s largely why Tay’s stuff is so damn gay. 

Tay’s permanently anxious - even on her love songs, there’s a thread of anxiety running through it all. This song is missing any of that anxiety. This song also has so, so many male pronouns…. And “I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans” is an objectively weird thing to say about a relationship. It just doesn’t strike me as sapphic, and it definitely doesn’t strike me as being about Karlie lr Lily or Di. Also Nashville is 16th Avenue and I don’t know why any of the women would be associated with Nashville.

That Nashville reference makes me think that maybe the song is inspired by the music industry generally? If you go look at 16th Avenue by Lacy J. Dalton, there’s a clear narrative about the music industry. I think it’s possible that Tay’s song is referencing the love she feels for and from the music industry and her fans. That would tie into the architectural plans, being 17 (she often speaks about being stuck at that age because it’s when she got famous), and “he’s so obsessed with me” makes sense when you’re AOTD. Even the “attitude” line makes sense in this interpretation. 

This bit:

Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh

We can follow the sparks, I'll drive

Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh

We can follow the sparks, I'll drive

"So where we gonna go?"

I whisper in the dark

"Where we gonna go?"

I think he knows

Is a little harder to make sense of and seems like it could maybe be about Lily or at least inspired by her - there’s the car/driving theme from the secondary Rep relationship and Lily does have indigo eyes (they’re way bluer than Joe’s). So maybe she used images and diaries from that period to add to the story about Nashville? But overall this smugness just doesn’t strike me as very gay and in general the song doesn’t seem to be about any one woman in her history. Also “better lock it down or I won’t stick around” is so very hetro and like… untortured. 

Paper Rings is not about Karlie but I also don’t think it’s about Lily. 

The moon is high

Like your friends were the night that we first met

Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet

Now I've read all of the books beside your bed

The wine is cold

Like the shoulder that I gave you in the street

Cat and mouse for a month or two or three

Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe

This is not about Karlie. We’ve heard repeatedly that they fell in love at first sight so “month or two or three” is kinda wild? Like they full on U-Hauled it with the Big Sur trip and Tay moving to New York and Karlie basically moving into her apartment. They were never cat and mouse? Also Karlie was a supermodel by the time they met one another so “trying to stalk you on the internet” seems a bit of an odd way to phrase it. There would’ve been plenty to find. They both had big reputations. Moreover, they had multiple mutual friends so “your friends” is also an odd turn of phrase. How does this verse fit any aspect of the Kaylor love story? 

In the winter, in the icy outdoor pool

When you jumped in first, I went in too

I'm with you even if it makes me blue

Which takes me back

To the color that we painted your brother's wall

Honey, without all the exes, fights, and flaws

We wouldn't be standing here so tall, so

This is also very not Kaylor lol except for the tall part. The chilled out hanging out and swimming and wall painting sounds more like the songs about Tily on Rep. 

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

Uh huh, that's right

Darling, you're the one I want, and

I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

Uh huh, that's right

Darling, you're the one I want

In paper rings in picture frames in dirty dreams

Oh, you're the one I want

This seems like it could be Tily because of the “we went from friends to this” (Kaylor were never friends, and had no intention of being friends, they’ve literally only ever dated). But I’m not sure Tay ever wanted to marry Lily? That’s not what comes across in the other Tily songs. 

I want to drive away with you

I want your complications too

I want your dreary Mondays

Wrap your arms around me, baby boy

The driving and the chilledness is similar to the Tily songs but I’m still not sold. It really doesn’t feel particularly authentic. 

Also, I know I mostly do lyric analysis but I’d like to include this quote from Tay about the song: “This song talks about true love, and if you really find true love, you probably don't really care what the symbolism of that love is. Material things wouldn't matter to you anymore if you found someone that you just wanted to live your life with.” The quote is distinctly hypothetical. “You probably don’t really care” “wouldn’t” “if you found”....

My gut says this is based around positive romantic relationships she has had but is extrapolated to a rosy conclusion. One day, Tay’s gonna want to marry someone with paper rings. But for now it’s a fictional hypothetical. None of the details fit any of her relationships. It’s made up. That’s why it includes the “baby boy” line... because it’s fiction. 

And now for the really hot take… Lover is equally made up, although she was - again - inspired by her real relationships. 

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

This is our place, we make the rules

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

This is continuing the themes from New Year’s Day which always strikes me as a “what if” rather than an actual ode to one of the muses. That final line seems like it could be about Karlie but the absolute calmness with which she sings makes it seem like it’s not about her. The mysterious way is also a brand new image and considering how much she sings about Karlie you would’ve thought we’d have had that image at least once before?

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out and take me home

You're my, my, my, my

Lover

I mean this doesn’t sound like Kaylor. Part of the anxiety there is always about going places together and being seen. It does have bits that seem like Tily to me; “take me out and take me home” kind of reminds me of the “meet me in the back” and “can we always be this close” seems similar to “is it chill that you’re in my head?” 

We could let our friends crash in the living room

This is our place, we make the call

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

The first three lines could be about either Karlie or Lily although I don’t know if Tily had “their place”. Kaylor definitely did. 

That last line… is kinda why I think this is mostly fiction. I mean we know it doesn’t make sense for Toe. We know that. And I know about the gymnastics to fit it as a Kaylor song. But the thing is, even if she wrote it around the time that they went away to Wyoming, why wouldn’t she update it when recording it? It literally doesn’t fit the Toe timeline so it can’t be that she wanted it for that. She could’ve made it vague. But no she says “three summers”. Where else have we heard about “three summers”?

September saw a month of tears

And thankin' God that you weren't here

To see me like that

But in a box beneath my bed

Is a letter that you never read

From three summers back

It's hard not to find it all a little bitter sweet

That’s from Tim McGraw. 

She just likes that image. It recurs. It’s not about Karlie, and it’s not about Lily, and it’s obviously not about Joe. It’s just a pretty turn of phrase. She loves counting in summers and Cruel Summers and the summer in Betty/august…. It’s not something she associates with one person. 

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my

Lover

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be over-dramatic and true to my

Lover

This whole wedding bit doesn’t make sense for either Kaylor or Tily or Swiftgron. Like she’s constantly questioning Karlie’s commitment to her. And you want me to believe she’s singing vows? Lol no. 

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat

Lover

Very cute. Very non-specific. Not about any one partner. 

So this supposed ode/serenade to Karlie doesn’t feature any of the images associated with her and doesn’t include any details that actively fit their relationship arc as described elsewhere except for jealousy and possibly love at first sight. 

These three peppy love songs - which make up the minority of songs on the album - are about Taylor’s manifestations for the future. ITHK could be about the industry more generally. The other two are describing what she wants and what she pictures as ideal for a relationship. 

So conclusions: a large chunk of the songs on Lover aren’t about romance. Many, many are about Karlie. Afterglow could be about Lily and some of the regrets Tay had about the split. Paper Rings, I Think He Knows and Lover aren’t about anyone in particular. 

Last thought: I agree that It’s Nice To Have a Friend is about lesbians generally. But also possibly about Karlie, in which case the final verse is Karlie choosing the marriage with Josh and in that case the song is fucking devastating and heartbreaking. But tbh a lot about Kaylor is so it’s no surprise 🤷🏻‍♀️ 

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

As usual, I’m up to discuss this. Do you agree? Disagree? Let’s talk! xx

[rightsockjin]

A Little Bit of Stress

Summary: You and Namjoon haven’t had sex in God knows how long because of your mutually busy lives. Namjoon was stressed for the next comeback and you had students to motivate but how were you supposed to focus on your job when all you could think about was your boyfriend naked?

Rating: M

Genre: Smut, Fluff, tiny Angst

Word count: 14,456

Warnings: There is sex in this. Oral. Female receiving. Sexual spanking and playful spanking. Erotica…duh. BIg dick energy. And literal. You can feel it in your guts ladies and gents. Fingering, slight dirty talk. na na na na na na na na na na na na Soft DomJOON! A little angst if you squint. Very fluffy. Namjoon loves reader with all he’s got. Unprotected sex. Multiple orgasms. Nipple play-kinda. Bratty reader. Slight choking. Sensitive neck Joon. Ear eating.

Please don’t repost without permission. I worked really hard on this y’all.

`-admin OperaNickle

    Stress. It was the root of nearly all of your problems.

    Whether it was your skin breaking out in places it never did before, or his sour mood that seemed to swing from mild discomfort to full on don’t-touch-me-or-I-will-scream, it was getting to you both.

   Currently, you were sitting on the warm beige couch that Joon had insisted on buying after you complained about the white one that the apartment had come with. You dropped your coffee all over it and painstakingly scrubbed it for hours with a resulting light brown stain.

Your hands were resting on top of one of the dark brown throw pillows you’d bought soon after, triggering his own purchase of an oversized, red orange, paisley rug to match. It was never ending. He’d purchase something, then you would equal it or outdo him.

   You had pointed out one time after he’d bought the most outrageous and expensive thing yet– a dark brown mahogany wood coffee table that looked like an old time-y trunk– that he was furnishing your apartment and that it was a waste of his money. He’d merely chuckled and commented on the sheer amount of time he had been spending at your place since you two  had become more than just friends.

  “I’m just trying to repay you for all of the food I consume when I’m here. Really, you’re the one who’s losing since you have to put up with me.”

   Still, you had made up your mind to somehow repay him for all of the things he continued to buy without your consent. He may be well off –that being an understatement– but he didn’t need to be throwing his money at you. You had a job. A fairly okay one at that. You could buy your own furnishings and feed him when he was over. Another reason for your submission to his lavish, albeit over the top, gift giving was because it had clearly been established as his love language. How could you say no to the way he expressed his feelings?

   The slam of the refrigerator door alerted you from the story you had been reading on your phone. Your fingers accidentally scrolled right and closed the chapter you were on, causing the app to suddenly glitch and close. Your heart sank.

   You frantically clicked on the app to open it and when the loading screen popped up you knew it was a lost cause. You hadn’t saved the story, nor had you memorized the title or author.

   You slumped in your seat letting out an audible groan of pure frustration. You had just been getting to the good part. The part you had started reading the story for in the first place, and just like your sanity, it was robbed at the worst time possible.

   “Damn it! Pinche iPhone de la pinche fucking madre, oh my God!”

   You let the phone drop with a ringing thud on a spot on the floor. It was slightly muffled by the fibers of the rug, but your voice was loud and shrill. From his place in the kitchen, Joon looked over. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the glare on his face shift into confusion. He leaned on the bar that stood between the living room and kitchen and took two deep, calming breaths.

   You were getting on his nerves. You could tell. It wasn’t his fault or even yours. He was constantly under a lot of pressure and recently he’d hit a rut working on one of the verses of his songs. Itt seemed to travel to everything he worked on. The melody he’d been producing that had been flowing out of him like a smooth river;  stuck. The lyrics to his next solo song that had been as easy as speaking; cut short. The rap line song that had been his idea; missing only his part now.

   The frustration and dissatisfaction had bled into his personal life. To be more specific, you. He’d been at your apartment almost daily. Something about how you usually get him to relax and therefore out of any writer’s block he’d have but now it didn’t seem to be working. On the contrary, you seemed  to be making it worse.

   It was torturous. To have him in your bed and not able to touch him or sooth him in any way was the definition of your own personal hell. He showered late at night after he got in from work on most days unless it was the weekend, in which case he showered at around nine to sleep a full eight hours or more. Then he woke up on the earlier side of the morning to try and write from the comfort of his – your – “our” couch. That usually lasted until you woke up, made some sort of breakfast that he pecked at then threw away because his lack of inspiration made “food taste bland”.

   In a way, you felt inadequate. Your sole wish in this relationship was to make his life easier and you hadn’t been able to satiate him for one single second. You had always prided yourself on being able to calm him down, and this no longer seemed to be one of your strengths.

   He even wasn’t as affectionate as usual. Now, you weren’t the kind of person to let things like this get to you. It was a dip. A problem that would eventually turn into a hill. The lower you fall the higher you rise . It was just a fact of  life…so why did you suddenly feel like you were walking on eggshells and he was throwing them at your feet?

   “Are you okay? Don’t think I’ve heard you curse like that…ever,” Namjoon said, sounding apprehensive.

   Your pulse raced as the unfinished scene raced through your mind.

   Namjoon caressed your cheek, his fingers rough from working out. His voice, deep. Gruff. Like he’d just woken up.

   “Oh baby,” he whispered in your ear. His warm breath tracing the shell. A shiver ran up your spine that he pretended not to notice.

   “Do you know how much I’ve missed you,” he kissed your earlobe, letting his tongue dart out for a split second to lav at the tender skin, “Your voice,” he kissed the shell with a slightly open mouth, “ your lips…”

  He traced your ear with his tongue, strong from all the rapping and his accurate pronunciation of every single syllable. You couldn’t help but sigh as a blush tracked up your body and settled in your cheeks.

   “Joon-“

   “Shhhh,” he whispered, still working at your ear, “just relax baby. Let me take care of you. Let me love you.”

   “Y/N,” Joon said a little louder, snapping you out of your reverie. Your breath was coming shorter, your own mind trying frantically to fill in what you hadn’t read. Did he kiss her next? Where were his hands? Still on her cheek? Was he as turned on as she was? What did he mean by “take care” of her?

   “What,” you said, trying and failing to keep the slight bite from your voice. Regret filled you instantly. It wasn’t his fault that the app was glitchy.

   His eyes widened, taken aback by your tone. Great. Now you made it worse. You must have hurt his feelings.

   “What crawled up your ass,” he asked, succeeding in keeping his tone playful and soft but it still agitated you.

    You felt a lick of fire flicked against your chest. Anger boiled in your stomach. He didn’t mean it. You knew that. Just as you hadn’t meant the snappy way you’d answered, but the monster inside of you was ready to growl.

   You bit your lip trying to keep the retort in your throat. If you snapped again, he’d just leave. He didn’t need to be here. He had a dorm and people much nicer to be around. If you wanted to be alone for the next couple of days, it would be the perfect way to do it.

   “Is it work still,” he asked again, his features softening once again in concern.

   The monster retreated as quickly as it had come. The way he seemed to search your whole body as if it could tell him without your words what was wrong was endearing.

   “Yes.”

   It wasn’t a total lie. He’d said “still” and yes, it was a part of your major frustration. Not only was your boyfriend being uncharacteristically cold but your students seemed to be trying less and less every class. It was like no one cared to learn English or to study anymore. Perhaps it was you. Maybe it was that you just weren’t as good of a teacher as you had thought.

   It had been plaguing you. Every time you walked into class, ready to inspire someone, yet they all seemed to want to run the other way.  It was always in the back of your head. What if you lost your job? You would get kicked out of South Korea for sure. You weren’t a citizen. You weren’t married to one… not even close…

   If you were sent back to the US, your parents would never let you hear the end of it. The “I told you so” s and reprimanding glares. The way they would no longer be able to brag about how brave and smart you were. It was eating away at you.

   Of course, you hadn’t told Joon all of this. His job was enough to keep him up for days without his girlfriend adding to the pile. You knew you should tell him what was really wrong, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t tell him how crappy you’d been feeling without suddenly making the problem about you and not him and his much busier and more important life.

   It had been steadily building. The anger. The frustration. The guilt. That, coupled with Joon’s complete disdain of your touch, had your own stress going through the roof. you couldn’t even remember the last time he’d made out with you, let alone had any sort of intimate moment.

   So there you were. Frustrated. In far too many ways to count and no real way to fix it unless you wanted to do it yourself and honestly, you didn’t have enough alone time to actually try. As a result, you’d been scarfing down erotica fictions about your own boyfriend. The irony was not lost on you.

   The only problem was that now that you knew what he was like in real life, all the renditions of him were just a bit off. You found yourself rewriting the fiction as you went, trying to imagine what the real Joon would do in that situation. Some were too out there to even consider reading. Some too perverse even for you. Some were so far from the real life Namjoon that they made you laugh but this one, the one that you had been reading before your stupid phone glitched, was very close to what you would assume Namjoon would act like.

   The fake Namjoon was sweet. He was tender and called his girlfriend baby and jagi like he did to you almost exclusively in place of your name. He’d hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek multiple times softly just to remind her that he loved her.. He’d admire her hair and stared at her features as if committing them to his memory for later use. It was so purely Namjoon that it almost felt as if it was really him who had written it. Just for you. So you could have him when he was gone or unavailable. It had felt so real…

   “Too many papers to grade?”

His very much real voice jarred you once again from your thoughts. It seemed he’d been doing that a lot lately. Or maybe you were just dozing off too often.

   “Something like that,” you answered, crossing your arms over your chest. His oversized hoodie curling under your arms. You brushed a long braid over your shoulder with a satisfied grunt and let yourself slide onto the floor before you. Like his hoodie, you crumpled on the rug next to your phone which lay face down. Namjoon’s face winked up at you from one of the many photo cards of him you had and you couldn’t help but smile back at the miniscule Joon. You couldn’t help it. His smile made you smile. Too bad you hadn’t seen the real one in ages.

   Gentle footsteps resonated off the white walls. You didn’t move. Your eyes glued to the ceiling as they got closer and you let your arms fall limply to your side. His face appeared directly in your line of vision, the ghost of a dimple on his left cheek as he half smiled for what felt like the first time in years. He looked down at your unmoving form.

   “It’s got you all jelly like,” he said nudging your hip with his toes. You scrunch your nose in distaste.

   “Don’t poke me you dork,” you hissed, still not moving, having found a comfortable position.

   Namjoon rolled his eyes but sat down next to your head, his legs stretched out before him as he picked up the remote for the TV and went on Netflix. Within seconds you could hear the familiar music of your favorite franchise playing and you jerked unattractively to see.

   The coffee table was in the way.

   “Is that what I think it is,” you asked him, rolling your eyes to the back of your head to try to see him without moving.

   “Why don’t you move over so that you can see for yourself?”

    He patted his muscular thighs as an invitation. Did he want you to sit on him or lay your head on his legs?

   You straddled him. Your hands rested on his shoulders as his smile grew. He was getting hard. You could tell, but his face remained simply at ease.. As if you were the most gorgeous painting he had ever seen and his sole job was to admire you. The only signs of his arousal were his dilating pupils and the third leg in his pants.

   “Mmm,” you hummed looking back at the ceiling, “I’m kind of comfortable.”

   You heard him scoff and couldn’t help the slight smile that graced your lips at his disbelief that mingled with amusement.

   “Come on baby,” he groaned, “you’re going to turn down my thighs for the floor?”

   “I don’t want to move Namjoon,” you argued, breathing deep so that your chest rose high enough to see through the excess fabric on your body. You could sense his eyes on you. Or was that your own desire tainting your perception?

   “But… my thighs… and Harry Potter…” he whined. God, you loved it when he whined. Usually when you were being a huge brat and he turned into a puppy. It was delicious.  

   “But, the floor and my comfort,” you retorted, twitching your open fingers just for fun.

   “Jagiyaaaa,” he groaned, grabbing the hand you’d just moved. He pulled on it to get you to move closer. Your head hit the side of his leg that was mostly covered by his black shorts. The small trip had cleared your view to the TV and you smiled triumphantly.

   “Thanks Joon, now I can see,” you cackled as he let go of your hand and you turned on your side to see clearly. Professor Dumbledore had just started talking to a small cat with glasses.

               For a couple of minutes, you sat in silence and his annoyance seemed to return. Just as the floor was staring to get uncomfortable and you were regretting your stupid choice to stay on the floor and not his thighs, one of his hands dropped down onto your eyes, blocking your vision entirely.

   “Joon,” you said stiffly and you tried in vain to pry his… delectable… hands from your face.

   “You either lay on my lap and watch the movie with me, or not at all,” he joked as you continued to wrestle with his long fingers.

   “How am I supposed to get on your lap if you’re holding me down genius?”

   “Oh sorry,” he said, lifting his hand then used both of them to place your head on his right thigh. You begrudgingly settled yourself on his muscular leg, thought internally you were cheering, pulling your braids out from under your body and over his lap. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw him looking at your hair with innocent desire.

   “Jagi,” he said running his fingers over one of the braids that nearly touched the floor over his muscles, “can I play with your hair?”

   Namjoon ran a hand through your hair, sniffing it.

   “Jagi, you smell so good…” he said as he scratched your scalp lightly, “can I play with your hair?”

   You choked on your own saliva for a second. You couldn’t swallow and you brought your hand up to cover your lips in case you coughed but the moment passed and your skin flushed as you imagined the short story again.

   “Uh…ye-yeah. Go for it.”

   Namjoon hesitated but pulled the hair ties off the ends of your hair and very slowly and tenderly began to undo the knots that made up your Dutch braids. It would be frizzy when he was done but you could always throw it up in a bun later. Besides, this was one of those things that you just absolutely adored about Namjoon.

   He liked to play with your hair. It was soothing.. When you had mentioned it to Joon once as an anecdote that you enjoyed this action, he’d taken it upon himself to do it when he was sleeping over to help you drift off faster. He’d told you that he had an affinity for grooming people and the fact that you had mentioned that you enjoyed such ministrations made him excited.

   His fingers drew small circles near the front of your head as he finished unbraiding one side of hair. Your eyes drooped as he stopped his small drawings and started to undo the other braid.

   His fingers were skilled–there was no doubt about it–in many, many, ways, but maybe this was your favorite. You sighed, letting him massage your scalp as the movie played. You let your eyes close as the feeling of his hand on your head lulled you.

   After a few blissful moments you realized you were falling asleep and you jumped up, throwing his hand off your head and nearly hitting his chin with your skull.

   Joon’s eyes widened with surprise and confusion as he waited for an explanation. You smiled at the man before you cleared your throat and spoke.

   “I was falling asleep.”

   Namjoon relaxed his shoulder. He had been scared he’d done something wrong,

   “That’s okay baby. I just want you to relax,” he said, pushing your head towards his lap again but you pulled his hand away and straddled his lap before stretching your legs behind him and hooking your ankles together.

   “What are you doing,” he asked, his breath hitching as you rested your hands on his chest. You leaned into him slowly and rubbed your nose on his before nuzzling against his cheek.

   “It’s not fair that I’m the only one relaxing,” you answered, bringing his hand back up to your head and he sighed, tangling his fingers once again. You did the same, running your hand from the nape of his neck and up to his scalp.

   He let out a slow breath when you clutched at the strands and buried your head in his neck, running your lips over the skin there.

   He had a sensitive neck. Whether it was sensually or just on the daily, he loved neck kisses. So you delivered without complaint.

   As you pressed your lips softly on his pulse you couldn’t help but feel elated. Finally. He was letting you help. Finally, he was holding you like he used to. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask “why” as you usually would. You were too scared to shatter the moment. If all you got from him were caresses in your hair and all you got to give were kisses on his neck, then it would all be worth it.

   One of his hands began to draw on your mid to lower back and you couldn’t help but curl around his body. Tighter. Closer. If you could suddenly melt into him and become one, you would do it  in a heartbeat. But this was enough. For now.

   You lightly bit his neck in a couple of different places, letting your tongue lick small stripes in the same place before kissing the saliva away.  His breath deepened further. His hold on your body tightened as well, like he was trying to pull you into him. Both of his hands were splayed out on your torso. His fingers dig into the fabric of his hoodie on your body and his head lulled to the side so you could have better access.

   Elation filled you to the brim. To have him so pliant under your touch was all you could ask for. Him letting you take care of him; that’s all you wanted.

   You used the hand that had a grip on his hair to maneuver his head to meet your mouth.  You kissed up the tendon in his neck slowly, taking your time to appreciate his smooth skin.

   “Oh baby,” he groaned. His mouth was so close to your ear that his breath grazed the shell. A shiver ran up your spine as you kissed his jaw. You struggled to keep yourself present. It was about him. Not about you.

   “Jagiya,” he husked trying to move his head to try to kiss you. You held him firmly in place.

   He groaned again, this time in frustration. He wasn’t used to you taking control. It was always him who took the reins but the last thing he needed at this moment was to take care of you.

   “It’s okay baby,” you mumbled against his sideburns, “just let me take care of you.”

   You planted a soft kiss on his ear. You felt his body convulse. His legs began to fidget under your body. His hips bucked and his hands grasped at your waist as if to still you. It was too late. You could feel his arousal. Slowly, he was hardening as you continued to kiss and suck at his golden skin.

   “Wait wait,” he said, ripping you from his jugular and holding you at arms length. His breath was heavy, almost as if he had been running.  His pupils were dilated and his skin was flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears.

   Sinful. This picture of your boyfriend clearly turned on by the simplest stroke of your lips and fingers, was sinful. And Lord were you a sinner.

   You bit your lip, keeping a growl from ripping from your mouth. You could lose control. Maybe you were the one who was riled up. Your pulse thumped against your neck, your chest… your panties… it’s been too long. Much too long for your liking.

   “Wait for what,” you complained, clenching and unclenching your fingers in his lush locks. You ground your hips once down , pushing into his lap to create friction. He grunted, squeezing your waist to stop you from moving, but you wiggled and squirmed in his grasp managing to get a couple more strokes against his rapidly hardening erection.

   “Hold on,” he spat through gritted teeth, pushing you back and off his lap. The heat in your body seemed to pulsate in your veins as you watched him trying to catch his breath. His shorts were tented. His muscles flexed as if he was trying to stop his body’s reaction, his eyes lidded and his head heavy on his shoulders.

   You couldn’t understand why he had stopped you. He seemed to want it as much or maybe even a little more than you did.

   Suddenly, fear gripped you like a vice. The heat drained and in that moment, you felt stupid. How could you throw yourself at him like that? He’d asked you to stop and yet here you were pushing.

   You pushed yourself away from him a little more and hugged your legs to your chest and placed your forehead on your knees. Tears sprung into your eyes. You tried to keep them quiet but it was hard to breathe. Emotion consumed you. Just because his body reacted did not mean that he wanted what you did.

   Guilt flooded your head like a fog as you felt your body begin to shake. Maybe he just didn’t want you anymore. Maybe… maybe the couple of months that the two of you had as more than friends were enough for him. Maybe he realized that you were better as friends. That would explain his lack of affection. His lack of interest. That would explain his rut.

   “Whoa whoa, Y/N, what’s wrong? Why are you crying,” you heard his voice ask. His hand patting your head to try to get you to look up. You could feel your hair fanned around your arms and were grateful for the extra cover. You hated crying in front of people and he was no exception. In fact, you hated it even more.

   When you gave no answer, you felt him shift closer. He pulled your hair back into a makeshift ponytail . Air hit your burning cheeks but you refused to look at him.

   “Oh baby what did I do,” he asked but it didn’t seem aimed at you. You felt him press his own forehead to the back of your head. He nuzzled into your now frizzy hair and placed a gentle kiss. you felt your shoulder shake as you struggled to breathe.

   A sob escaped your lips and like a dam, it burst forward. It was ugly, to say the least. You hadn’t realized how much emotion you had been holding back. Hadn’t realized how bottled up you had been. Now you were paying for it.

   How embarrassing.

   “Y/N no,” he said, pulling at your legs and replacing them with this body. He wrapped his arms around your torso and settled your arms onto his shoulders. He cradled your head against his neck and kept his hand on the nape of your neck

   “Shhh baby it’s okay… it’s all going to be okay. Just tell me what I did. I’m so sorry…”

     How had you gotten here? How did you end up on the floor of your apartment with tears in your eyes when all you wanted was to kiss his stress away?

   You sat together like this for what felt like forever. Eventually, he pulled you back onto his lap. You assumed because it was more comfortable for hi than squatting on his knees.

   He didn’t ask again what it was that he did. He didn’t question the tears. Instead, he stroked your hair and kissed your cheeks while you calmed down. You felt guilty. You owed him an explanation but you could feel it in your bones that you wouldn’t be able to speak if you tried.

   Finally, you were able to breathe normally but you stayed in his arms for a couple seconds more in case he pushed you off again after he realized that you were feeling ok.

   You slowly pulled your head from his neck and searched around on the floor for one of the hair ties that he’d pulled from your hair earlier. There was one near your phone.

   You quickly tied your hair up and away from your tear stained face, letting the cool air conditioning hit your skin. Joon watched you, waiting on bated breath, but you didn’t want to talk.

   You let your hands rest on your own thighs as his hoodie sleeves covered your hands entirely. You must have looked pitiful. Hopefully you weren’t too red and puffy.

   You couldn’t bring yourself to get off of him so you simply sat waiting for him to break the silence. Maybe he had the same idea because he didn’t speak either. He let his hands fall to your hips and pressed softly into the flesh soothingly.

   You took a shaky breath trying to give yourself courage but- thank God- Joon beat you to it.

   “Baby… are you upset because I pushed you away? I just needed a second to cal down.”

          Baby? Would he still call you baby if he didn’t want to date you? Maybe he didn’t know how to end it and so he was trying to keep you from finding out that he wasn’t feeling it anymore. Baby. you remember when he first called you baby and even though it hadn’t been your favorite name to be called from previous lovers, when it had come from his lips, from his heart…it was different. It was praise. It made you feel warm and like you were glowing. Yet, this time, it was like he’d stabbed you with a heated knife somewhere below your ribcage.

          “If you don’t want me anymore you should just tell me,” your mouth said. Your voice sounded foreign. As if it had come from someone else. What you said surprised you almost as much as it surprised him. His eyes widened and searched your face.

          “Not-not want you,” he stuttered, a laugh barely concealed in his surprise, “are you kidding?”

          Ignoring your fear at how you appeared after your pity party, you snapped your head up to look at him. A small smile rested on his lips and the deeper of his dimples showed slightly. While there was worry behind his gaze, there was another emotion, deep within the brown of his eyes. It was mirth. He thought this was funny.

          “Namjoon,” you raised your voice, trying to keep your own smile at bay. You swatted at his arms and he feigned hurt.

          “What,” he yelled letting uncharacteristically dashing chuckles escape his lips, “You can’t expect me to think you’re being serious.”

          “I am being serious-“

          “Ahahaha,” his loud and somewhat funny laugh was back and with it your own smile. It felt like you hadn’t heard it in so long. Sure, he laughed when he was on run episodes or when he was with the boys but it seemed like around you, he was always down. It was nice to have him laughing even if it was at you.

          “Joon! Stop laughing, I’m not kidding!”

          He laughed even harder at that. His laugh reached a level of loudness that made your ears ring but you didn’t care. He looked happier than he had in weeks. You couldn’t help but chuckle along as he laughed until they subsided into snickers. All the while you continuously poked and pushed at his shoulders playfully.

          When he was finally composed enough to make direct eye contact, he cleared his throat and widened his pretty eyes at you as he tended to do after he heard a good joke. His smile was glued to his face as he rubbed circles into the hoodie.

          “Do you really think,” he couldn’t help but cough as he tried to stop another fit of laughter from escaping, “that I would ever, and I mean ever,” he paused, his fingers slipping down almost deafly to the hem of the hoodie you were wearing, “not want you?”

          You blinked at him as his eyes glittered, darkening impossibly so. It was like a switch was flicked and the small amount of lust that you’d seen before was back. Nimble fingers found their way under the oversized fabric on your body. His touch was slightly cold to the skin on your stomach. It sharply contrasted the heat that seemed to rush into your cheeks and your ears.

          “Well,” you managed with little to no effort, “it’s been weeks since I’ve so much as kissed you…” His index finger had found the lace of the bralette you were wearing. His thumb hooked under the soft edge and tugged at it slightly. Distracting. He was so distracting.

          “So-so I thought maybe it was something I had done,” you said in one breath as his thumb dug a little higher under the elastic that clung to your ribs to keep your breasts in place. Just in the nick of time too. Had he done it just one second earlier, you would have probably become mute for once in your life. A feat only Namjoon could achieve.

          “That’s on me,” he said suddenly halting his progressing fingers, his shoulders sagging, “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately.”

Namjoon rested his forehead on yours. His eyes shut tight as his apology fell from his pink lips.

          He stroked the section of skin under the pad of his thumb, the tip just barely brushing the underside of your breast. You felt a wave of heat rush through your body. Was it getting hot? Should you close the curtains?

          “I’ve just been stressed and I didn’t want to blow up on you. At the same time, well… I miss you and I feel the most comfortable around you. I don’t ever feel like I have to pretend that I’m alright. I didn’t mean to make you feel unappreciated.”

          When had his other hand found your bare waist? Had his voice distracted you? When had the rest of his fingers ended up under the soft lace of the bralette? Had his thumb traveled further?

         “I didn’t mean to…deprive you,” He whispered, forcing you forward to catch his low words. In hindsight, it was a trap. That’s exactly what he wanted but could you fight him when he sounded so delicious?

          Your thoughts were cut short when his hand on your chest shifted completely, cupping and gently squeezing. Your eyes widened, mouth dropping open in surprise. He gave another firm squeeze as his eyes squinted cutely, his high pitched giggle returning, like music to your ears as he leaned even closer and bumped his nose against yours.

          “Kim Namjoon,” you gasped but it was eaten up as he quickly connected his lips to yours in a spurt of short, chaste kisses that had you chasing after him. Frustration flooded your veins as he continued to pull away, leaving you wanting more and more the more he gave.

          Finally, having had enough, you grabbed his head with both of your hands and tilted it up slightly so you could kiss him properly. Forcing him to slow down. He would be in control soon enough. You should enjoy the power you had while you could.

          You forced your lips onto his. The kiss was soft, slow, passionate. He melted into it. He always did like when you took a hold of him in some way or another. Sinful, beautiful noises escaped his lips. His small moans seemed  to absorb into your pores. In turn you couldn’t help but answer each and every one of them. He nibbled on your bottom lip for a second, an action that you couldn’t get enough of and he knew, then went right back to sucking on your upper lip.

          “Fuck,” you could feel the arousal in your throat. He made you lose yourself. He made you forget where you were, who you were.

          “That’s right baby girl,” he groaned into your mouth as you licked his lips, “that’s exactly what I’m going to do to you.”

          You moaned. It was embarrassing how easily you could come undone under his ministrations. If you could kiss him for eons, you would. His lips were your favorite bit of him. He was so. Fucking. Good.

          “Baby please,” you groaned pulling at his lip with your teeth, “I want you…”

          “Shit,” he said, a gurgle of want bubbling from his throat. You shifted, trying to remind him of his hands on your body but what it did instead was remind you of another part of him that seemed almost as excited as you were.

          “Jagi,” he hissed, shifting his hips to get the same friction you’d just created, “do that again.”

          You pulled your lips from his, a thin strand of saliva connecting you. In any other situation, this would be gross, but in that instant, it only spurred you on more.

          “Yes sir,” you joked, winking at him as you rolled your hips against his half hard erection. A melody of noises fell from his blessed tongue. Lust was over taking you. Your eyelids became heavy. Your breath, shallow and hard.

          “You know that’s not what I want you to call me,” he hissed at you, his fingers on your chest picking at the nipple that had hardened at some point while you made out. You sighed, your tongue darting out to wet your parched lips but you knew that the thirst you were feeling could not be quenched this way.

          “Say my name,” he growled, twisting his finger and pulling at the sensitive skin. You were panting now, slowing your movements on his lap to enjoy his cares.

          You whimpered, pushing your chest into his hand, arching your back as you struggled to draw any breath.

          “Come on baby girl,” he pressed, his lips brushing against your neck. When had he gotten to your neck?

          “Just once,” he begged but you knew he wasn’t asking.

          “Make me ,” you gasped as he bit and sucked at your pulse. A smile tugged at your lips as you felt him stop and tense.

          He pulled his lips from your neck, a lewd squelch resonating in the empty apartment as he brought his eyes level with you. He withdrew his hand as well without even a warning and you whined, thought you knew this would happen as soon as you started to fight him. It was worth it though. You knew he always worked better under a little pressure.

          “Just what I needed to hear.”

          He shifted under you, locking your ankles behind his back. He then locked your hands behind his neck. You weren’t stupid. You could see where this was going. Now, Namjoon was obviously very smart. It was  obvious. But sometimes, on most occasions, he lacked the common sense to make proper choices.

          This was one of those times.

          “Hold on tight baby,” he winked, kissing your lips once more before pushing himself up by doing a bench dip with his knees bent. Namjoon had a lot of thigh and arm muscle. This much was true, but was he used to lifting both his body weight and your own? No.

          So when he started to shake under the joined pressure, it wasn’t a surprise. You would have laughed but Lord were you scared that he would fall, or drop you or hurt himself. Instead, you struggled to decide if you should be holding onto him for dear life or if you should fling yourself off him to avoid any major injury to either of you.

          The decision was taken from you as his left arm bent at a slightly awkward angle and his balance was thrown. Instinctively, you let go of him to brace yourself as the swooping sensation of falling gripped you with fear.

          You couldn’t tell exactly how it happened. Your eyes fell shut as you landed heavily on your side. Your elbow hitting first as you reached out to stop your momentum.

          “Ow,” you couldn’t help but groan as sharp pain shot through your arm. You heard Namjoon gasp near you but all you could see was stars. You began to giggle uncontrollably as tears streamed down your face.

          “Oh your God, Y/N are you alright,” he said, sitting you up with his strong arms. You couldn’t stop laughing. You’d hit your damn funny bone and in all honesty, this was a funny situation. Sex with Namjoon was nothing if not eventful and filled with awkward mishaps.

          “I’m fine,” you said through laughter, “i just hit my elbow.”

          You blinked away the tears in your lashes, looking up at the dope of a man that you were in love with. Worry was evident on his brows. He looked you over before taking your arm in his hand and examining the red mark where you had landed.

          “Does it hurt a lot? Do you think it’s broken,” he asked, touching it lightly but no pain was felt on your end. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that nothing, and you meant nothing- could stop you from taking this man in this very instant, but you couldn’t care less if your arm was broken. Hell, it could have been hanging off by a thread and you’d still want to have a quickie before we went to emergency care.

          Could you blame yourself? The man was gorgeous.

          This was, in fact, what you were focusing on at the moment. The way that his hair fell into his dark eyes. The way his jaw contrasted with his round cheeks. How his lips were slightly parted as he examined your arm with utmost delicacy. His shoulders. His neck. The veins in his muscular arms. His long… nimble…fingers…

          “Joon,” you snapped a bit harsher than you had meant to. His eyes shot up to meet yours, confused and shocked.

          “Did I hurt you…” he averted his eyes shyly, “More?”

          “Oh honey no,” you laughed, though this time you cut yourself off as you caught a glimpse of his hardening member under the loose shorts he was sporting, “I’m hoping you might though.”

          You weren’t much into pain and Namjoon knew this very well, but these words were enough to pull him back at what was at stake. You.

          “Are you sure,” he asked one last time, fighting with his own concern and sky rocketing arousal.

          “Very sure,” you said, pushing yourself up to your knees to kiss his cheek then ducking your head to kiss his neck.

          A shiver ran down his whole body. His eyes closed and squinted. His bulge twitched slightly and you couldn’t stop the smirk on your face. You reached out and ran a single finger over the tented area, drawing little circles as you worked your way to the tip.

          “Oh fuck,” he whispered gruffly wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling it away from his body. You giggled as he let his eyes fall open, a chastising spark in his pupils. Oh you were so going to get it.

          “Close the curtains,” he commanded and you shrugged, standing quickly and nearly yanking the curtains from the hinges.

          “Done. Now what?”

          “You seem a little eager to please,” He chuckled, standing from his place on the floor carefully. It must have been painful. He looked even harder now.

          “I always am. You know I’m a people pleaser.”

          He rolled his eyes but nodded at the stairs by your kitchen and with an excited hop, you ran towards them. Joon chased you, playfully swatting at your hips and behind every couple of steps. Your long hair bobbed with every step and your shoulders shook with every giggle. You tried to jump away from him but only half-heartedly. In truth, you loved his hands on your butt and you weren’t going to pass up some playful spanks.

          When you made it to the landing, you turned around. Namjoon was slightly shorter than usual due to him being one step behind you, so you took advantage, throwing your arms around his neck as he took the last step. As if he was on the same wavelength, he reached down, grabbing at your thighs and settling them around his hip.

          You giggled again, excitement and something a little purer flooded your system. His lips met yours unceremoniously, nipping and sucking light heartedly while you smiled into him. The scent of something flowery hit your nose and you realized he must have used some of his Chanel number five lotion. It strangely suited him well.

          Finally, you reached your bed. He climbed on carefully, setting you on your back. He pulled away and blinked at you. Your stomach fluttered at his expression. There was a softness on his features that you never saw with anyone else. A love that you couldn’t quite describe but couldn’t ignore.

          He let go of your leg to stroke at your cheek with the back of his hand. Pure, undeniable warmth surged through you at his touch. Your smiles match in intensity and adoration. It was weird. Maybe no one could understand it. How intimate sex truly was to you. Especially with the reputation that your boyfriend had of being a sexual deviant, but the truth was that while he was naturally very attracted to the human body, sex had a special meaning to him. It wasn’t something that he gave away easily. It was an expression of his trust and love. It was nearly never self-serving, and almost always to focus on you and your needs. He was a giver, contrary to popular belief.

          You buried your hand in his hair and pulled him to your lips, savoring the taste of strawberry Chapstick as if it would be the last time that you could ever do so. Not even for a breath of air did you pull away as he hooked his thumbs over the edge of the hoodie and slowly began to bunch it up around your chest.

          Cool air hit your warming skin, his touch only furthering the experience. Every nerve in your torso was in flames, the pulse between your legs growing stronger by the second. Like it was yelling at you to give it the attention it searched for. Namjoon angled his pelvis up so you could feel his own pulse against your own. His member twitched as he shifted his hips from side to side ever so slight, your legs still wrapped tightly around him. You couldn’t stand the thought of him being any farther from you than a couple of centimeters.

          Just as the thought crossed your mind, he pulled away from the kiss, his hands both at the lace edge of your bra now. His gaze darkened as you whined, chasing his sweet lips but he kept himself out of reach with a pleased smirk.

          “Joonie,” you groaned trying to pull his head back to you but he only rolled his eyes before prying a hand from his hair almost reluctantly, entwining his fingers with yours and kissing the back of your hand softly. He smiled and placed it over his chest, where you could feel his speeding heart. It pounded against his ribs at the same speed as your own. In sync, in one harmonious song.

          You relaxed a bit at the gesture. His heartbeat always had that effect and he never failed to use it to control you in the sweetest way possible. Your chest rose and fell dramatically as he memorized your features.

          “Can this come off,” he asked, tugging once more at the fabric of the sweater you stole. You smiled at him knowingly and nodded.

          “If you take it back after we’re done, I’m going to be upset,” you half joked as he placed tiny pecks on each knuckle and one last kiss on the back of your hand before he dropped it next to your head and took the hem of the hoodie with both hands.

          “Hands over your head,” he said, the slightest bit of authority in his command. Obediently, or maybe it was because you were so keen to please, you shimmed your hands over your ponytail and arched your back to make it easier for him to pull it off.

          He was cautious not to get it stuck on your ears, or to pull on your hair. Too many times had he accidentally snagged an article of clothing on an earring or accidentally tangled your hair into the fabric. He’d learned that lesson, as he more than likely learned not to try to stand up with you in his lap earlier.

          Once you were free of the fabric, he balled it up, smirked at you, then tossed it over to a pile of stuffed animals that you had set up on a small table. You had one from each tour he had gone to from every country they visited. In case you missed him he’d send you one from wherever he was so you could imagine being with him. It was such a sweet thought and a tradition you looked forward to.

          Namjoon kissed your nose faintly, bringing your attention back to him. You gave him a tight-lipped smile, his hands not dilly dallying any further. Instead he rested them directly on top of your breasts, squeezing, just enough to remind you what you were doing. What you were craving.

          “ Y/N,” he groaned, looking at the way his hands engulfed the hills on your chest. It was a reminder. You didn’t have huge breasts but neither were they tiny, and the way that his hands seemed to be the perfect size to hold each, only served to recap how big his pretty hands were.

          “I love you in lace,” he gasped, thrusting his hips against the heart of your femininity. You choked on a moan. He was so stiff, and the combined warmth of your bodies seemed to radiate into the air.

          “You’re blushing, beautiful,” He said against your neck. There was no denying it. Not only could he clearly see the tint of red on your skin, but he could also feel it against his lips.

          “Shut up,” you complained, twirling a strand of hair between your fingers as he nibbled on your burning skin. He  let a hand trace up to your chin. His thumb parting your swollen lips and pressing against your tongue. He wasn’t fond of you telling him what to do.

          “It’s pretty, baby,” he kissed a hickey into your neck loudly, “You know I love it when your skin flushes under my touch.”

          There was a hidden question in this statement. He was asking you if this is what you wanted out of this encounter. To turn pink under his hand. It wasn’t new. He’d done it to you on many an occasion and it was as enjoyable to you as it was to him.

          “You know I like it too,” you said shyly, glad that he couldn’t see how much blood rushed to your cheeks at the thought of what could happen next.

          His manhood twitched against your core, his breath hitched. He could read you like a book, or maybe he had you memorized. Either way, he pulled your legs from his body and pulled you to sit up. In a matter of seconds he had pushed you to the edge of the bed, stood you up and sat you on his toned thighs. Confusion clouded your mind. The other times that something of this sort happened in the bed room, you were across his lap not on it. In all honesty, you weren’t sure how this would work with the way he had positioned you.

          Namjoon was a man with a plan. He wasted no time in scooting you back until his shoulders were pressed against the wall.

          “Joon, what are you-“

          “Lay down,” he said, pushing you forward as he parted his legs. Your head facing towards his feet, your face in the comforter. You put your arms under your head to support yourself as Namjoon pulled your legs around his hips once more.

          That’s when it became all clear. Before you could process what was happening, he tugged at your leggings, pulling them down to about your midthigh. Cool air hit your behind and you couldn’t help the shiver that traveled up your spine.

          “Pink panties ,” he whispered so hoarsely that it was almost unintelligible, “My favorite color on you, did you wear this for me?”

   You took a deep breath, forcing courage into yourself before you said, “No, it’s for my other boyfriend .”

         He stiffened at the sarcasm but quickly relaxed knowing that you were just trying to rile him up. One, slender finger drew a small heart on your right butt cheek. You could almost hear his smile as he inhaled. His brain whirling with possibility.

          “Cheeky,” he joked, patting the spot he’d just traced on. The sound of skin on skin making your mind blurry with desire.

          You snorted, because, come on. That’s a good joke and he chuckled.

          “You know what happens when my baby gets mouthy…don’t you baby?”

          You hummed, loving your little banter. It was lucky that your face was firmly between your arms or maybe he’d see your mind working to sass him.

          “I don’t think that was mouthy,” you shrugged. His index finger found its way under the elastic of the panties on your body. You licked your lips in anticipation but nothing happened. Disappointment began to settle in right before you felt him tug it up then without warning, released it.

          The sharp snap of pain panged through the skin on your butt and lower back. You hissed as he pushed into the place the elastic dug. It was a start. A damn good one at that.

          “Maybe not, but I get to be the judge of that,” he said plucking the elastic up on the opposite side of your hip, “and I think that you’re mouthy.”

          Snap.  

           You groaned but adrenaline had started to kick in and arousal was pooling between your legs.

          “Turn me around,” you mumbled, enjoying the sting against your skin as he pressed into the area your underwear hit, “I’ll show you just how mouthy I can be.”

          “Fuck,” he spat, smacking your right butt cheek and yanking your hair just for his own added pleasure. The noise resonated in the large, partially empty, apartment. A gasp escaped your lips.

          “Maybe later,” he reasoned, hitting the left one this time a little harder than the last, “first, i want to see my handprint on your ass.”

          Two more fast slaps to your right cheek followed by one to your left. You clenched around nothing feeling the burn start to take over. His hand delivered delicious blows each time.

          “What-“ spank, “happened to-“ spank, spank, “pink?”

          “I’ve decided that you deserve more than just pink. What with that filthy mouth of yours.”

          “Filthy,” you mock gasped as he slapped one side multiple times quickly. So quickly, you couldn’t even count and your skin was starting to get numb.

          “You didn’t seem to have a problem with my mouth last time it was around your-” three more slaps and then a snap of the elastic of your underwear was enough to shut you up. A moan gurgled into your mouth that you barely held back. Namjoon rubbed the sting into the panging skin. His finger now felt cold against you and you knew you must be peachy at the very least. Cherry red at the worst. Judging by his giggle, you were somewhere in between.

          “Don’t laugh at me, you jerk,” you groaned, feeling your face flush as he ran a finger over your clothed slits. You shuddered in anticipation.

          “I love how you react to the simplest touches,” he mumbled, running his finger over and over the damp underwear, “You’re a little wet baby.”

          You could tell he wanted you to say something but you couldn’t bring yourself to voice a single thing. When you said nothing he continued.

          “Maybe we should get rid of these,” he slipped a finger under the side for a second, before pulling it out and grabbing your hips.

          “Or maybe,” he shifted himself pushing his manhood against your center, “we could just push these aside…”

          He pulled you back onto him, the friction heavenly to you both. A sinful, melodious moan left his lips. He was getting desperate but if you knew your boyfriend, he could draw this out for much, much longer and you…you were in no rush.

          “Or maybe,” you countered pushing yourself up and away from the bed sheets, “you could put my ‘filthy’ mouth to some use,” you threw a cautious look over your shoulder only to see his mouth hanging open in surprise and his fluffy cheeks flushing a pale pink.

          “What’s wrong baby,” you asked with a smirk looking down at your touching centers then back at his eyes, your lip between your teeth, “cat got your tongue?”

          His eyes sparkled as he looked between you where you connected through fabric. You could almost see him salivate. You’d heard of this before your relationship with Namjoon. You’d heard of men loving to please a woman. You had heard of the way some men drooled at the thought but never had you experienced it. That is, unti the first time Namjoon disrobed you and he’d licked his lips and buried his face between your legs.

          And here it was again. That look. Feral. Primal. Thirsty. It was, so absolutely sexy. But this was not what you had in mind.

          In an instant, Namjoon rolled you off of him, shifting himself on his hands and knees. You adjusted yourself against the pillows of the bed, your chest heaving as he tore his shirt from his body as if it was burning him. He threw it on the floor next to the bed then turned his attention back to you, “Take it off.”

          “Take what off,” you asked genuinely not sure but his quirked eyebrow made you swallow the little saliva in your mouth and strip your bralette and underwear in a matter of seconds. You weren’t in the mood to be deprived of an orgasm after a couple of weeks hiatus.

          You propped yourself up a bit higher, your legs squeezed shut in slight embarrassment. You crossed your arms under and slightly over your breasts to cover your pert nipples. It had been a while, and it kind of felt like it was the first time he’d seen you naked even though, in the back of your mind, you knew he’d seen it plenty before.

          Namjoon’s chest rippled in the dim light, his arms, so toned and silky, flexed as he held himself up, devouring every inch of skin he could see. His tongue darted out to lick his plush lips. A shock of thrill went directly to your core. You had memories of that tongue in other places.

          “i’ve missed you baby girl,” he said, grabbing your ankles and pushing them apart so he could take a look at what lay in between. When his eyes landed on your slit, it was like he’d been sedated. His shoulders relaxed, his jaw slacked and his elbows buckled slightly.

          “Finally,” he grumbled, jumping at your body. He kissed your lips passionately, ripping your arms from your chest and entwining his fingers with yours to pin them to the bed on either side of you. You spread your legs even wider to accommodate his torso.

          He pressed his hips into your sex. The texture fabric of his shorts rubbed up against the little nub that was begging to be touched.

          You moaned into the kiss as his tongue found its way into your mouth. You were hot. So hot. You were burning up. Maybe it was the way that you could feel his erection so firmly between your legs. You couldn’t tell. But you were so freaking hot.

          “Fuck baby,” he groaned against your chin, kissing down your neck sloppily. Trails of saliva  followed as he made it to your chest. He wasted no time in taking one of your eagerly awaiting nipples in his mouth. He lightly nibbled and sucked on the sensitive flesh. His tongue was weirdly talented, even though he hadn’t had many girlfriends before you.

           You usually attributed it to his rapping skills as he had so eloquently put it one time when you, in the heat of the moment, asked him how he could possibly be this good.

          “You’ve heard of what guitarists can do with their hands? This is what rappers do with their tongues.”

          He pulled away from your chest, kissed the nipple, before he blew on it just a tiny bit. He drove you crazy and he knew it. Your eyes rolled into your head. God, you missed him.

          “Joon…if you don’t touch me, I swear-”

          “Baby,” he cut you off again, “I think it’s been too long. You’re forgetting who,” you looked down as his hands grabbed onto the inside of your thighs, “is in charge.”

          You opened your mouth to protest but his own mouth dove right into the folds between your legs kissing with an open mouth and you shut your lips instantly.

          “Fuck,” you said, trying to close your legs but his strong arms kept you open, vulnerable before him.

He lapped at your clitoris with just the very tip of his tongue. He drew shapes and letters. He must have spelled words even, in hangul by the way that his tongue was moving and you just lay there, shivering under his touch.. He really was a talented rapper if what he was doing was any indication.

          He mumbled something against your core, and it sent a vibration of pure delight through your body. You clenched around nothing and let a whine escape your lips. This was not supposed to be about you, but were you a horrible person for suddenly not caring?

          “Wh-what,” you asked, as waves of pleasure surged through your body, his plush lips clamping around the little nub between your legs and sucking gently.

          He withdrew his lips with a lewd squelch and you wrinkled your nose at it. Disappointment surged through you before his voice did.

          “I said,” he licked a long, wide stripe from bottom to top, his eyes firmly on your shocked and blissed out face, “so good.”

          You had no words. You floundered for any semblance of coherent sounds but nothing came to mind. How did sentences work again? Did your voice come from your lips?

          You bit the corner of your bottom lip as he gently kissed around your labia. He let go of your thighs, and used his index finger and thumb on both hands to spread you open. His eyes were greedy, excited. It was like someone had offered him some cotton candy or made him some of that expensive drip coffee he liked. He looked, hungry.

          Without your response, he once again kissed the now very visible and pulsating nub that was filled with blood from arousal. The sensation made your shoulders both relax and tense at the same time. Noticing your reaction, he chuckled, and stuck his tongue out sharply. Without hesitation, he licked back and forward a couple of times. Your legs shook and you had the instinct to clamp them closed but you forced yourself to keep them apart and bent.

          Within seconds, you felt your climax nearing. After a few rounds in this same position, he’d figured out exactly what to do to make you finish. You could still remember telling him when he had first suggested trying this particular act that no one had ever made you finish from just eating you out and not to feel bad if you didn’t climax, but he was determined and after a first time “failure”  -which was relative because what he had done felt great but he felt it wasn’t a success until you came- he set himself to research and was eventually, the first man to make you come in this way.

          It was safe to say that it had gone to his pretty little head. Maybe this was why he liked to do this so much. It was something purely his. Something he could proudly call himself a pioneer of and he was so damn good at it.

          “Joonie,” you whimpered, pulling on his hair tightly so he would slow down, but it was like he knew, and he probably did know, that you were close.

          He doubled his efforts, holding you apart, vulnerable to his talented tongue. You threw your head back. The pleasure was almost too much. Too powerful. The thought that it was Namjoon between your legs making you see stars was almost enough to push you over the edge.

          “Come on gorgeous. i know you want to cum,” he mumbled quickly, going back to the motion he had before with a slight bit more pressure.

          Maybe it was because he pointed it out, or maybe it was because you really were needy, but you did. You felt your body tense almost to the point of discomfort then like a dam filled with water, the pleasure burst, leaving you moaning his name as he lapped at the wetness that still coated your womanhood.

          “Namjoon please oh God,” you whined, trying to pull him off but he wasn’t slowing down.

          Overstimulation was quickly taking over. Your body shivered violently. This time, your legs did snap closed on his head but he didn’t seem to care. He let go of your labia and pried your thighs apart, sucking your clitoris into his mouth harshly.

          Tiny whimpers escaped your lips. It was like you were watching it happen rather than having it done to you. You couldn’t think. Your body acted of its own accord, reacting to every lick and slurp of your boyfriend’s perfect mouth as if on autopilot.

          “Namjoon, it’s too much ,” you begged but he only chuckled and brought a hand closer to your center.

          “I can’t have my sexy girlfriend thinking that I don’t want her anymore,” he said against your skin, “gotta show you how much I need you, baby girl.”

          You gasped, as a finger circled your entrance. The pads of his fingers were a little rough and the texture felt amazing against your sensitive middle. Without warning, he dipped the finger in. You were so wet at that point that his finger met no resistance and he instantly plunged a second finger after it.

          As if he had been trained his whole life for pleasing just you, he found your g-spot near instantly. A small scream of gratification left your swollen lips as he pressed against it over and over and over.

          It wasn’t long before you were at the edge again. Delirious. Desperate for release once more. The pain of over stimulation, long gone and replaced by hyper awareness and desire.

          “I think I’m going to-“

          Stolen from your lips were the words as you clenched around his finger and twitched under his touch. This time, he helped you ride it until goosebumps decorated your skin and when you tugged at his hair once more, he withdrew his head and his hand from your abused core.

          It was a couple of minutes before you were able to properly breathe. Your chest heaved. You could have just ran a mile in six minutes flat with the exhaustion that filled your bones to the brim. When you could finally think clearly, you pushed yourself up and looked for your boyfriend.

          He was waiting patiently on his knees between your own. His face, from his nose to his chin, glistened with the wetness that could only come from between your legs. His chest was bare, and a light sheen of sweat seemed to coat it. He too was breathing heavily but you could tell buy a single glance at his shorts, that he was nowhere near done.

          “Nam-mjoon,” you said, your voice wavering, earning you a giggle from the cute boy before you, “I was  supposed to suck you off. Not have you eat me out…”

          Your arms felt heavy as well as your legs. If you let yourself, you could fall asleep right then but you forced the tiredness away as you looked at Namjoon’s puppy eyes.

          “Do you want me to,” you asked, bracing yourself for his answer. This might be the worst blow job you ever give but if he wanted your lips around him, you would happily oblige.

          “Y/N, you look like you could fall over at any second. i think having you fall asleep around your co-“

          “Joon!”

          He rolled his eyes at your outburst. you always felt a bit strange about him being vulgar when it came to certain body parts but he usually ignored your please and said what he wanted. Today was no different.

          “…cock…would be a blow to my confidence not to my dick.”

          You giggled at his joke and sat up a little straighter. Usually, you would fight him. you hated not reciprocating and especially now that it had been so long since you had a proper night together but there was a real possibility that you could hurt him so you didn’t push on the blow job and made a mental note to award him one at a later date.

          “Okay, fine…but can we at least…” you paused, feeling a blush rush to your cheeks at what you were going to ask.

          “At least?”

          “Don’t make you say it,” you begged, getting on your hands and knees and crawling over to sit on his still, annoyingly clothed lap.

          He helped you settle on his legs and held onto your thighs to keep you close. you could feel his erection as hard as ever. It must be painful at this point. You ground your hips just once and he winced. Yeah, he was far too gone.

          You reached up to his lips and wiped some of your own slick from his skin with your thumb. You felt a bit bad at how covered he was. You wiped the thumb on his shorts at which he frowned before you reached up and kissed him softly. The taste of you on his lips was strange. You could never really tell how you felt about it but if one thing was for sure, you were lucky to have such a wonderful boyfriend.

          You managed to lick and kiss most of the moisture from his mouth before he spoke again.

          “Can I make love to you?”

          You blinked up at him, surprised. At this point, maybe you shouldn’t have been. He knew you like the back of his hand, or maybe even better than that. You mentally thanked him for saving you the awkwardness of asking for it and nodded your head vigorously.

          His dimples made an appearance as he very suddenly pulled you towards him and on to your back. You squealed, giddy to finally feel him inside you after so long. He let go of your legs and quickly, and might you add, very ungracefully, pushed his shorts and underwear off in one swoop.

          His shaft sprung up. The tip was a deep red and it leaked precum. You couldn’t help but lick your lips. It was thick and long. The kind of thing that you would expect to see in art or in paintings. It was ethereal. Delectable. How could you have let yourself be deprived of this view for so long?

          In an instant, you remembered the feeling of him inside you and your head reeled. If you remembered correctly, this was going to be a stretch.

          Namjoon climbed over you in the blink of an eye. You could tell he was excited because, well it was just something you knew. It was radiating from his body like an aura.

          “Do you think you’re ready,” he asked, kissing your forehead, then your hairline, ever so gently. He peppered kisses all over your face as a smile graced it. You grabbed a hold of his face in both hands and forced him to kiss your lips, which he did without argument.

          “You are too cute Joonie baby,” you mumbled against his lips before you let a hand trail down his toned chest, over his muscular but undefined abs and finally wrapped around his hardened member.

          His smile faltered for an instant, his erection twitched in your hand. You gave it a couple of slow and lavish pumps. You could see the fine hairs on his body stand on end at the sensation and you couldn’t help but giggle.

          “You’re killing me here,” he choked out through gritted teeth.

          “I’m sorry Joonie,” you lied, keeping your pace slow, “I just want to make sure that you’re ready as well.”

          You took his bottom lip between your teeth and sucked at it as you squeezed a little tighter around his rod still at the unbearable pace you had set. His body reacted accordingly. Shiver after shiver ran down his spine and his chest convulsed. Had he not jerked off either? He was so wound up.

          “Baby girl, please just let me get in there… I can’t take much more of this,” he whispered against your jaw, leaving a wet kiss before connecting his eyes to yours. you smiled kindly and aligned him with your entrance.

          As soon as you touched his tip to your middle, his shoulders seemed to tense further and you let go, letting him take over.  As if he had read your mind, he gently began to push himself deeper. Was it payback for jerking him off so slowly, or was he scared to hurt you? He was inching his way in so incredibly slow. you could feel every vein in his member, every stroke against your walls. It was both horrible, and amazing all at once.

          Finally, he bottomed out and despite how wet you were from your two orgasms, you felt tears prick your eyes. It had definitely been too long and you weren’t just talking about his member.

          You could feel it in your stomach and he pushed down your lower abdomen just so you could feel it better. This was another thing he was proud of. No one had gone as deep as him. He was by far, the longest and girthiest you had ever had and he always made sure you remembered it.

          A groan left his lips as he shifted his hips so you could feel him move inside of you. He wiped a tear away from your cheek and kissed the trail it had left behind.

          “You feel that baby girl,” he asked gently, “that’s all for you. Only for you.’

          He began to pull out at the same pace that he had impaled you and you whimpered, wanting…no needing more. He was almost fully pulled out before he slowly began to push back in.

          Namjoon grabbed the hand that had been jerking him off and replaced his hand on your stomach with it. Then that hand came up and gently gripped around your neck. Your heart skipped a beat.

          “How does that feel baby? Does it hurt?”

          “Yeah,” you nearly screamed and he stopped mid thrust. You could see the fear in his eyes as he looked all over your face for some sign of what he had done wrong.

          “It hurts because you’re going way too slow you doof,” you clarified, and he instantly relaxed.

          “You scared me, Y/N.”

          “Joonie please move faster,” you begged, ignoring his previous statement.

          He sighed which shook a little as your walls contracted around his length. His grip on your neck tightened with your muscles and a shock of pleasure ran through your stomach. You let an unsteady moan escape your lips which was swallowed up as he leaned down, his sex still only about a quarter of the way in, and traced your lips with his tongue.

          You clenched around him once again. He bit your upper lip roughly, then kissed it and your nose lightly. It was so confusing. The way he could be sickeningly sweet and at the same time be torturing you with his hands and his length. The mix of emotion made a fog in your head that kept you from seeing what was coming next.

          “I’ll move my love,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. Goosebumps erupted all over your body. You let your eyes shut to better appreciate all of the pleasure you were receiving , intoxicated with the scent of his skin, and the way that his voice floated into your ear.

          “If you say my name,” he whispered, licking the cartilage nearest his lips.

          You knew it would come to this. You’d been too mouthy. Too self-righteous. It had been a long time since we’d shared a bed this way and you let your eagerness and desperation get the best of you. Now, you were truly going to have to pay for it. That is, if you kept up your refusal to give him what he wanted. Would you really want to risk getting denied an orgasm just to keep up your brat routine?

          An mortified blush covered your cheeks up to your forehead. It wasn’t that it made you uncomfortable. It was a turn on to you too, but there was something embarrassing about calling him something so deeply fetishized. It sounded strange coming out of your mouth and made you cringe, but you knew that if you just gave him what he wanted, we would both be satisfied.

          “Yes daddy,” you whimpered.

          It happened in a millisecond. His hand squeezed around your windpipe, he bit down on your ear and he thrust his hip hard against your core.

          A muted cry was ripped from your vocal cords. His tip hit just as deep as it had the first time. You could feel it in your stomach. You never really thought that could be possible but here you were, and you couldn’t have been more wrong.

          Like a switch was flipped, he pounded into the wet mouth of your arousal, the slickness helping to keep it mostly painless. Still, the burn couldn’t be stopped as he stretched you farther than any fingers could. Moans fell from your lips like prayers. Namjoon grunted every time his hips met yours. A lewd clapping bounced off the walls.

          There was no stopping him now. It was like a magic word and you knew that as soon as you’d said it, there was no going back.

          Namjoon used the hand not around your neck to hold himself up and over you. Beads of sweat had started to form on his hair line with the effort he was exerting. A sexy wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as he squeezed his eyes shut. His breaths were coming out hard, and loud. He sounded like he was running a race and he was pushing himself to the end. It was music to your ears. Sounds more appealing than any symphony or singer you had ever heard.

          Maybe you had zoned out, because when you zoned back in, your voice was mixed in with his. His real name was mixed in with shouts of “more” and “don’t stop”. You knew that later, after it was all said and done, the noises you were making would haunt you, but in the moment, you pushed away your insecurities and focused on the feeling of being full.

          “Yes,” you gasped as he hit your g-spot, repeatedly on the way in and out. Gratification was flowing through you like a river.

          “Yes what Jagi,” Namjoon asked, readjusting himself onto his knees so he didn’t have to hold himself up.

          He grabbed onto one of your breasts and gave it a light squeeze before he flicked the nipple. Question forgotten, your breath caught in your throat but he abandoned your chest in favor of something lower. He traced lines into your stomach. Designs he’d come up on the spot that you’d have to remaster into a design of some sort if you still remembered them after you were done. It was beautiful. The way that you made love.

          Beautiful, how you  mixed together. A beautiful color that couldn’t be store bought or mass produced. It was you. Purely, and unequivocally you.

          You choked as his wandering hand found your clit once more, rubbing tight and precise circles. It was too much, and he knew this. His fingers on your pulse point, his index on your sensitive bud, and his member inside you. It was everything you could ask for, and when your body froze, tense from his caress, it was no surprise to either of you.

          “Namjoon,” you gasped as your walls convulsed around him, his speed even. It was getting harder to breath and it wasn’t because of the pressure on your windpipes but because once again, over stimulation was setting in. You winced as he pumped in and out at an inhumane speed. It was crazy. How could he hold himself off this long.

          “I’m almost there baby, where do you want me,” he asked, his voice hoarse and deep and gravely.

          “In-in me… I want you in me Joonie,” you panted.

          Was it slightly inconvenient to have his ejaculation inside you? Yes. Was it nice to be so wet after we had sex? No. Did you give a single crap in that moment? No. No,you didn’t. All you knew was that you needed him. You needed to feel like you were his and like before, this was something that only he had ever done to you and it made it special.

          As if that was all that he was waiting for, Namjoon stilled. His erection twitched inside you and then he came. He spilled into you. Hot and thick. you couldn’t help but let your eyes roll back into your head as his ejaculation dripped from your entrance. You squeezed around him just to try and help and were rewarded with a grunt of satisfaction.

          “Fuck Y/N,” he huffed, removing his hand from your neck and your core to help steady him. His length had started to soften and you could tell that, much like you, he was exhausted.

          He pulled out, wincing as the cold air hit his member.You, in turn, grimaced as his cum dripped down your thighs. You’d have to wash the bed sheets today.

          Namjoon laid down beside you. Your body bounced as he adjusted his body. He draped an arm around your waist, cuddling into your side. Your bodies stuck together. Sweat, and well…other liquids clung to your skin.

          You allowed yourself to relax into him for a couple of minutes. Your breathing pattern evened before you sighed happily and pushed him off of you. Namjoon whimpered as you carefully swung your legs over the edge of your bed. The uncomfortable feel of something flowing out  of you made you shiver.

          “Where are you going,” he asked in Korean. His tone whiney and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at him over your bare shoulder. His eyes were big and a small frown decorated his lips. He was too cute to handle.

          You planted a kiss on his frown before you turned back to the edge of the bed to press your legs together. Maybe it would stop the ejaculate.

          “I need to shower,” you reasoned, bracing yourself, knowing you would have to run to the restroom if you wanted to avoid having to mop the floor again.

          “Can’t we cuddle for a little while,” Namjoon begged but you just shook your head dreading what you knew was to come.

          “After we shower, yeah.”

          You felt him sit up behind you. He gently kissed your shoulder and wrapped his strong…muscular…arms…

          You blinked at his muscles around you like a deer in headlights but shook your head. You could still feel how tired your muscles were from what you had just done. You couldn’t do it this soon again.

          “Can I at least shower with you,” he asked, nuzzling into the back of your neck.

          “Yes, of course,” you said, reaching behind yourself and scratching his head. You felt him, rather than saw him, relax against your back and you smiled.

          “Are you less stressed,” he asked you and you sighed.

          “I feel alright, Joonie. Could you tell I was really stressed?”

          You turned to look at him. He had a knowing smirk on his face that made your blood boil and embarrassment pool in your belly. He grazed his lips over the damp skin that spanned under his finger and when he spoke, it was against the nerves on your body that stood on end for him.

          “You talk in your sleep sometimes,” he said matter-of-factly. You sighed. Given away by your subconscious.

          “Oh.”

          “Besides, I have been watching you grade papers. You get this cute little fold between your eyebrows when you’re thinking too hard,” he rested a finger against your forehead where he indicated and massaged it in little circles. You let your shoulders fall. Who did you think you were kidding?

          “I see… well I’m feeling a little better. Hopefully I can get some ideas to get my students to be more interested now that I’m not so wound up.”

          “You’re a fantastic teacher,” Namjoon reasoned stroking your slightly messy hair, “you’ll figure it out.”

          “Yeah… I know you’re right,” you sighed letting a comfortable silence fall between you. Your brain was buzzing once again but this time it wasn’t stressful. It was with ideas for your classroom. You smiled, feeling a weight being lifted from your shoulders.

          “I’m sure I’ll come up with something,” you shifted the conversation, “what about you? Any sudden inspiration for your lyrics?”

          He didn’t speak and his chest tensed behind you. You felt like you had popped the bubble you were in. you should have kept your mouth shut.

          “Yes actually,” he said but it didn’t feel directed at you. Within seconds, he’d let go of your body and was up, pulling on his boxers and looking for his phone. He frantically pulled up the notes app on it and typed furiously.

          The shock quickly melted into amusement. You giggled at how his fingers slid over the glass screen. His focus on his cell.

          “Well I’m glad I could help,” you said, finally standing up. you felt the liquid inside you shift and with a panicked last look at your inspired boyfriend, you ran to the restroom on the first floor.

          “I’ll be in the shower. Have fun writing,” you yelled.

           You thought you heard him say something but it was too muffled for you to understand. You didn’t wait for him to meet you in the bathroom. Instead, you jumped in,washing between your legs thoroughly and scrubbing your skin. When you were done, Namjoon was sitting on the floor of the living room. His laptop, journal and phone spread out on the coffee table. He had his airpods in and he was bobbing his head to something you couldn’t hear.

          You didn’t interrupt. Instead you looked over his makeshift workstation and smiled.  His journal was turned to one of the pages of lyrics that he’d been stuck on for months. Fresh ink rested on the browning lines and my heart soared. Turned out that our bad moods and mutual slumps were directly related to our lack of sexual life. Duly noting that fact, I kissed the top of his head and made my way back upstairs to get my bed sheets to wash, a smile plastered on my lips.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xxi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xxi: what went we

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 15.3k

Rating: Explicit: sexual content ahead.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, some slight gore/blood (it's very mild), the aforementioned sexually explicit content.

Notes: Hi guys. I don't really know where to begin this post, because I am incredibly emotional. It feels so very fitting and special to me that I am bringing in the last chapter of Ancient Names just as 2021 rolls in, and so yes, I AM crying, yes, this WILL be an exceptionally sappy notes section, and yes, this is going to be all about you!

There are so many people that are in part responsible for this fic actually getting finished and put out where the world can see it. @empirics, whose unending support even when she doesn't even GO here and cheerleading me through writing sprints; @lilwritingraven, who is so sweet, so supportive, so incredible and just an overall gigantic sweetheart; @faithchel, whose tags are incredible and always just give me LIFE, I love that our girls be out here really feral like that; @shallow-gravy, who not only lends me her eyeballs but also lets me complain and whine, send her memes nonstop, and participates in my very elaborate fantasies of Elliot and Diana living out their lives as dog moms on a farm (and sometimes in our unholy OT3); @baeogorath, also an eyeball-lender, also incredibly sweet, ALSO lets me send them memes, and does so good in talking me down from my adrenaline anxiety pre-posting and post-posting, was the first person to welcome me into this fandom and is also just a dear, dear friend who happens to be incredibly talented. And, of course, @starcrier. As always, this would have never ever ever been possible without you, not even a little bit, not even at all. From the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you, and the people who have left kudos, have left comments: thank you thank you thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Here is ALL my love, just for you!

The emotional journey of writing this fic has been an incredible one. And a taxing one. Elliot is a character near and dear to my heart for many reasons; I pour so much of my heart into her, so when I hear people say that they love her, and love this journey, and love these things that I've created and written, I mean it when I say that it makes my whole entire day. It means so much to me. Thank you.

In the essence of time, I will not go through all of the feelings that are in my brain right now because there are SO many and I am already crying lol. Please just know you have made the experience of joining a new fandom, and writing in it, so incredible!

There is going to be an epilogue following this chapter, and then I'm going to take a short break and start in on a sequel fic, tentatively titled Witching Hour. Please feel free to hang out/chat w me/plague me with your thoughts at any time of the day; I would love to visit with all of y’all!

John was lying to her.

Or, at the very least, he was withholding information from her, which was just about as bad as lying, Elliot thought. She didn’t know what exactly he wasn’t forthcoming about—but did it matter, at this point? She could tell he was lying; he’d been all kinds of ready to leave and go and get out of Hope County, and now he was scrounging up some kind of ass-pull reason for them to stay. So did it matter? Did the distinction count?

Yes, she thought absently, as John’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles along the small of her back. Yes, I have to know what he’s lying to me about.

“Good morning,” John murmured against her neck. “How did you sleep?”

It had been three days since her baptism-gone-awry, three days of Burke occupying the bunkhouse she had been in while she had wordlessly moved into John’s space, three days of avoiding eye contact with the marshal and deferring questions about him. I don’t know, I really only knew him for a day, she’d say when John asked, or does it matter if I told him? He wouldn’t get it, the unspoken words being ‘not like you do’. She hoped, anyway.

Three days of trying to figure out what it was John wasn’t telling her.

“Like shit,” she replied tiredly as his mouth trailed along the curve of her shoulderblade. The pressure of his fingers against her sternum had her rolling onto her back to look up at him; his gaze swept over the exposed skin.

“Bruising’s clearing up,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. But he didn’t elaborate; he didn’t say, should we reveal your sin today, my love? the way that she thought he would try. It felt as though the gears in her head were still sluggishly turning, trying to piece together the entire picture of what was going on, a picture that she felt like John didn’t want her to see.

She knew exactly how it would go if she asked. What’s the game? she’d say, and John would look at her with those eyes, and lean in to kiss her, and he’d say, no game, hellcat, and she’d have to believe him because she didn’t have any empirical evidence that he was lying to her. Just a feeling, deep in her gut, twisting and wrenching.

It made it worse to know that John was looking at her with adoration.

Trailing a lazy circle below her collarbone with his fingertips, John asked, “Do you want to do it today?” and she stifled a sigh.

“I don’t know yet, about staying,” she replied, even though she did know: she wouldn’t. She would die before she crawled into a stupid fucking bunker at the behest of Joseph Seed. “I want to wait.”

John’s eyes flickered a little at her words, but he nodded. Elliot reached up, catching her hand with his and skimming the pads of her thumbs along his palm. The words sat there on the tip of her tongue: what aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just tell me? Haven’t we been through enough, the two of us?

“Your heartline,” Elliot said instead, forcing her voice into playfulness because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Burke had told her to carry on as she had been. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“No,” he answered amusedly, letting her nail skim along the curve of the line on his palm. “Are you an expert in palmistry?”

“My mama used to entertain tarot cards and palm readers with her ladies,” she replied. “So I listened in a lot. I suppose it isn’t very Godly to have your palm read.”

“It isn’t.” John’s eyes glittered. “But go ahead and tell me what mine says.”

She shifted a little against the pillows. On the floor by her side of the bed, Boomer let out a long, suffering sigh—like he was tired of listening to this flirtation already. For a small second in time, that feeling of peace swept over her, and she let herself bask in it. Elliot thought that she deserved that much at least.

“Your heartline shows your personality, and your quality of love,” she explained, skimming her finger along his heartline. “Yours comes all the way over, see? All the way across your palm.”

“Is that good?”

“Very,” Elliot said somberly. “It shows you have an abundance of love, and high expectations.”

John worked his jaw a little, clearly trying not to smile like he was proud of himself—like he had any control over the lines of his palm and how they worked. “I could have told you that.”

“And it curves upward,” she continued. “Which means you have great verbal dexterity.”

“I could have also told you that.”

“Undoubtedly,” she deadpanned. “Are you going to let me finish my reading?”

He flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Please,” he said, “continue.”

Elliot clicked her tongue, turning her attention back to his hand. Inspecting for a moment, she said, “You have a upward split here, you see? That means you’re willing to sacrifice a lot for love.”

John rumbled his agreement at the statement and leaned down, kissing her shoulder.

“And these little forks here,” she added, pressing her thumb against them, “indicates a dispute on marriage.” Her eyes lifted to his, playful. “Are you intending on marrying, John? Palm says that’s a bad idea.”

For a second, John stared at her—his eyes fluttered, and he looked like he was collecting himself. Elliot sat up a little, frowning, but when she did it seemed to trigger whatever it was that was needed for him to come back to being present. Interlacing their fingers together, he pulled her forward and kissed her; and kissed her, and kissed her, until her lungs ached and she thought she was getting dizzy from not being able to take a full breath. His free hand slid down between her legs; when her lips parted to allow her to whimper, John’s teeth caught her lower lip with bruising force.

Already, heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach. Already, she could feel those telltale signs of desire, the way that John inspired it in her with just a few simple gestures.

“Want you,” John said against her mouth, guiding her onto him, settling her on his lap. Something was wrong, something she’d said had struck a strange nerve in him; but undeniably, it felt good, that his hands were trembling whenever his grip on her lessened a little. It felt good, because it felt like he needed her.

“Reading my palm is a cute trick, but—”

“How badly?” Elliot asked, before she could stop herself. John’s eyes, dark with want, raked over her as the sheets bunched at her hips. When she rocked her hips against his inquisitively, a low, strangled noise came out of him. “How badly do you want me?”

“You’re—in a mood,” John managed out. He opened his mouth to keep talking—something insufferable, Elliot was sure—but as he did, she adjusted and sank down against him, drawing out of him a low, vicious moan. His fingers dug into her hips and he hissed, “Wicked thing.”

She slid him out of her, and he groaned, miserable.

“How badly?” she asked again, less cloying this time. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that wound up in her, hot and humid, when John let her do this—let her take, let her sink her nails and her teeth into him wherever and however she wanted. Like he knew exactly what it was she needed and didn’t mind giving it to her.

Liar, something inside of her said, he’s a fucking liar, there’s something he isn’t telling us, but then John looked at her and said, “So badly, more than anything, Elliot,” and her chest tightened.

Her fingers found his shoulder and she tugged him up into a sitting position. Her mouth found his; she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled just as their hips slotted together and she sighed his name in a hitching breath. The delicious burn was almost enough to fizz her focus out of existence—with so little sleep on her agenda, it was hard enough, but then she canted her hips wantingly and sparks of red-hot pleasure went racing up her spine.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” John ground out, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t believe you’re mine, El—can’t—after all of this—”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered at his words, the uneasy sprint of happiness making her stomach churn. Something else, though, wrenched around the cavity of her chest—those words. Can’t believe you’re mine.

“John,” she managed out, breathless, “I—”

“—and I’m yours.” John kissed her and guided her hips down against him until she was moaning unsteadily. “Fuck, yes, I’m—all yours, baby, just take w-what you—need from me, give you anything, anything—”

I’m all yours, he said, in the same breath as can’t believe you’re mine, and it shouldn’t have but it felt different: in that moment, having John buried into her up to the hilt and digging his fingers into her skin and sighing her name, it shouldn’t have felt different, but it did. It did, because they belonged to each other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, on his shoulder. She thought, he’s a liar, and she thought, I’m so afraid of losing him, too, and she thought, we belong to each other.

“Please,” Elliot moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for; to finish, to hear him say it again, to hear him say more, to tell her the complete and absolute truth? Did it matter, anymore?

It does matter. The distinction matters.

So she said, “You’re mine,” and she kissed him, and she said it again, and again, like a prayer; until John was saying it back, feverish and panting the delicious words against her skin, I’m yours, I’m yours, all yours.

Wicked, and wretched, and maybe a liar, but all hers.

Later, tangled together in bed, John pulled her flush against him and said against her skin, “Don’t you want it, too?”

“I do,” Elliot murmured, knowing that he was talking about the Wrath he was going to put into her skin. “There’s just... A lot after that, to think about. And I know you’ll want an answer right away—”

“Is it that hard?” he asked. “To make a decision about staying or leaving?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

John frowned. “I just—”

“You just want me to say yes to whatever it is you want,” Elliot snapped. “I’d like to remind you that you told me we’d go as soon as this was done.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, Elliot. I’m just—”

And then he paused, like something wanted to come out of him that he didn’t want to say, like he’d caught himself before he’d make a fool of himself. All this time, and Elliot thought she’d never see John vulnerable, not really in the way that she wanted—he’d seen her crying and broken and grieving, and she’d seen him in intimate glimpses, but not completely.

“You’re just what?” she asked, brows pulling together.

John’s fingers traced along her sternum, spelling out WRATH, much like he had done that evening at her mother’s house.

“They’re my family,” he said after a moment. “He gave me everything.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. “I know.”

“That includes you, too.” John leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “He brought me you. I know you don’t believe, hellcat, but if nothing happens then what did we lose? Nothing. I just get to keep my family.”

Her lashes fluttered, exhaustion seeping over her bones again. It was late into the morning, but already she wanted to close her eyes.

“I told you before,” she whispered. “I told you. You can’t have both. You can’t put one foot in both worlds, John.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He ducked his head against her neck and kissed there, and she thought about what he’d said that night in the bar.

Outside of my loyalty to Joseph, there’s you, and I want both.

I want you too, Elliot.

We can have a place to belong.

She thought about Jerome’s voice over the radio. You don’t have to Atlas this thing, deputy.

She thought about Joey, holding her tight. I never doubted you’d be able to get me.

She thought about how, at twenty-five, she had to bury her best friend in the fucking ground.

John was lying to her about something. He wasn’t telling her everything, and maybe she had always known that it would be like this, between them: maybe, down in the marrow of her bones, she had always known they would end up at odds with each other, John trapped between two worlds that he wanted and neither side willing to budge.

Something has to be done, she thought tiredly, as John’s fingers smoothed along her hip, and I’m going to have to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’ve gotta get them out of here, Rook.”

Burke’s words stayed there, lingering in the air between them. It was late in the afternoon, and John was with his brothers and Faith in the chapel, and she’d ducked into Burke’s bunkhouse between guard shifts to grab a quick word with him. As soon as she told him that John had been pushing to get her sin revealed sooner than the original week he’d told her, Burke’s frown had deepened.

“They’re planning on getting it over with and getting the fuck out,” he said, pacing the tiny bunkhouse room. “There’s no way I’m getting to that radio with them all here. They think the world’s going to end, and that they need to be in their bunkers to survive it. If they get locked in there, Elliot, then—”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get them all out of here,” she replied irritably. “You do realize that I’m only—John’s the only—”

Burke waved his hand to stop her from elaborating. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the nature of her relationship with John beyond what the base information: they had indulged in a physical relationship, and an emotional one, and now Elliot’s priorities included him. As best they could.

“He wants to do the… Ceremony,” Elliot continued, mouth twisting around the only word she could think to say without making it macabre, “soon. And I just think that if I push it all the way out, then it’ll stir up suspicion, after I told him I wanted to—”

“What if you didn’t?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“What if you didn’t push it out?” Burke continued, slowly, pitching his voice quieter and more urgent when he noticed movement outside. “What if you asked for it to be done sooner? But just—somewhere else? Not here? Make up something about how you don’t have good memories here, and…”

“And ask for his family to be there,” Elliot finished, “so that they have to leave you here?”

Burke nodded. His gaze darted to the window again, and she knew that they were running out of time. “You’ll still be guarded.”

“I can handle a few of these fuckers,” he replied, waving his hand. “Most of them are scattered out, getting supplies. I hear them complaining about it outside all the time. I’ll get that radio, see if I can hear any chatter, and tell them where to find you. ”

I need more time, she thought, but she knew that she wouldn’t get it. Not now. Her deadline had been set for her—by Joseph, by John, and even a little bit by Burke. She was this close to being done, to being—

Free.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes, I can do that. I’ll ask them to take me to the ranch, and—I can do that.”

“I know,” Burke said, and he had never sounded more confident; he planted his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, the clarity having returned from his Bliss-induced high. He hesitated, and then said, “The ceremony—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want you to know,” he plunged on, “it doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that you aren’t… That isn’t all of who you are.” His hands squeezed shoulders, the pressure welcoming and comforting and nauseating all at once. How strange, that kindness sickened her, now. “Wrath.”

Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. “I should go,” she said, because Burke still didn’t know what she’d done to Kian, still didn’t know the full extent of her body count or the way she’d felt when she killed a man. How it felt good, now—satisfying, an instant hit of dopamine centered around control.

“The back window,” Burke said, gesturing. “So the guards don’t wonder.”

“It’s all very exciting,” Elliot added. She tried for lightness, pushing the window up. “Subterfuge.”

“Just try not to say that where anyone can hear you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’ve nearly collected the last of the supplies,” Joseph said, pacing absently back and forth. “How long do you think, Jacob?”

“A day, at most,” the redhead replied. “They’re working quickly, without all of these interruptions.” Jacob paused, and then turned his gaze at John. His mouth twisted for a moment, and John could tell his older brother was trying not to smile when he continued, “What’s your timeline, John?”

“The same,” John replied tightly.

“A day at most?”

“No, the same as before,” he clarified, even though he knew Jacob was doing it on purpose. “You gave me a timeline and that’s what I’m working with.”

“It’s just, you sounded very confident about your ability to wrangle the deputy,” his eldest brother continued, “and you’ve always been an overachiever.”

Joseph was looking at him expectantly. John knew that they wanted him to say that Elliot had insisted on doing it sooner, that she’d fully acquiesced to staying with him, that he had fully convinced her, down to every molecule of her being, that what they were doing was right and just and undeniably truthful.

But he hadn’t. Their conversation this morning only proved that more to him. You can’t have both, she’d said, like she still thought of herself as a separate entity from him, from his family. But she wasn’t; where else would she find people who would accept her, unconditionally?

Well, mostly unconditionally. There was one condition: believing. The most difficult one for her, he thought.

“I can spend more time with her,” Faith supplied, helpfully. “Maybe she’s tired of being around you boys all the time. You can be...” Her gaze flickered, and she tilted her chin a little, smiling. “A little heavy-handed. It’s possible that a lighter touch is necessary to bring the deputy around.”

“First, you should stop calling her that,” John pointed out, and he felt a little more than petulant saying it. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Elliot was naturally inclined to open up to Faith more easily, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it did still bother him, sitting right in the back of his mind. Always away but never forgotten. “Continuing to refer to her as “the deputy” is only going to further cement her ties to her past life.”

“Well,” Jacob demurred, “we can’t all call her baby, can we, John?”

“If you have a problem with me enjoying the marital bed,” John bit out, “then I think perhaps you spend some time reflecting inwardly on why that’s such a—”

The door to the chapel creaked as it was pushed open. Swallowing back his words quickly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see Elliot, hesitating in the doorway. Boomer lingered just behind her, sat at the bottom of the stairs, ever obedient.

“I can come back,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Not at all,” Joseph replied, before John could tell her maybe that would be best. “Please, come in.”

She did, letting the door swing shut behind her, and moved tentatively toward the front. He wondered how it felt for her—coming in here, with all of them looking at her, much the same way she had the day that set the events in motion that brought her back to them.

John wondered, too, if Joseph had known this all along; if the things that he heard and saw had shown him that Elliot would always come back here, to them. Our deputy, he’d always said, without fail.

“I want to do it,” Elliot said, as she approached. “Soon. As soon as possible.”

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before John said, “That’s great, Elliot. We can get started with—”

“But I don’t want to do it here,” she interrupted, bringing John’s mouth to a full stop.

“More fucking demands,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joseph said, watching her curiously. The way they had been, he was the closest to Elliot, with a table separating her from John. His fingers itched. “If you’re worried about the safety of it, I am sure John is more than equipped to—”

“This is supposed to be cleansing, isn’t it?” Elliot asked. “Regardless of how you feel, Joey’s body was put on display here. I don’t want this to be the place where I...”

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted elsewhere, mouth pressing into a thin line. John said, “I don’t think going somewhere else would be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”

“The ranch,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Feels fitting.”

As John stifled a smile, Joseph said, “Well, we’ll need to clear out the bodies, but I’m sure that can be done.”

“That’s manpower,” Jacob protested.

“You were just talking about how quickly they were getting things done,” John replied. “Weren’t you? Ahead of schedule. Over-achieving, I think.”

Jacob’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and grind of his molars, and for once, John felt a sweeping thrill of victory. It was coming together, right there, in front of him—in front of his brothers, and Faith. All of the witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Fine,” Jacob acquiesced, at last. “But it’ll take them a few hours.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, looking at Elliot across the table, Joseph’s figure nearly eclipsing her. “Then Elliot and I will head out as soon as we hear that the bodies have been properly disposed of.”

“There’s one more thing,” Elliot began, looking uncertain, and drawing all eyes back to her again even as Joseph had moved to place his hand on Faith’s shoulder. When they had watched expectantly for long enough, she continued, “I want—everyone there.”

“Everyone?” John asked, the word souring in his mouth.

“Not—of Eden’s Gate. Just… All of you,” she elaborated.

John could feel the surprise, bubbling fresh and unexpected, between his siblings as they exchanged glances.

“Even me?” Jacob asked, and John saw the grin splitting across his face.

“Even you,” Elliot replied, dryly. “Against my better judgment, I’m sure.”

“I’m touched, honey.”

Clearing his throat, John walked around the table briskly, muttering a quick excuse us as he guided Elliot away from the front of the chapel and down the walkway a little.

“You want my family there?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his siblings chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jacob was grinning wolfishly, looking very pleased with himself, which was something John didn’t necessarily like. “Normally, it’s more of a—a private affair, and that’s how I pictured it with you—”

“This is important to me,” Elliot said, watching him. “And they’re important to you. Aren’t they?”

John swallowed. “Well, yes, but…”

“John,” she murmured, her fingers loosely tangled with his, “I’ll stay, after.”

He blinked at her. “You’ll—?”

“Yes.” Her gaze flickered over his, her voice low as she struggled through the words. “I’ll stay here, with you—and your family. After it’s done. I just… Need to close the chapter.”

I fucking did it, he thought, certain that he was going to grin like a complete maniac if he didn’t keep himself in check. I fucking got her. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they doubted me.

“Of course,” he managed out, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the rush of butterflies banging against his rib cage. “Of course, hellcat, anything you want.”

“Okay.” She paused, and then reached up and kissed him—willingly, of her own volition, in front of his siblings, she kissed him, and then sat back on her feet. “In a day, then?”

“In a day,” John promised, their noses brushing. “We’ll really belong to each other.”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered. She looked a little more tired than before, but it was hard to tell this close; and if it bothered her at all—if it was changing her mood—it didn’t show. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“Yes,” she murmured, just the way that he liked. “Completely.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jacob stopped by the bunkhouse with Joseph that evening to let him know they’d dispatched the men to clean out the ranch of any remaining corpses; they’d do it through the night, to better assist Elliot in her revelations. It seemed that the members of Eden’s Gate were just as relieved as the siblings themselves that the deputy was no longer and adversary, but joining them.

Which still left the matter of Cameron Burke.

“I say we kill him,” Jacob announced, glancing over John’s shoulder to ensure Elliot wasn’t there—and never before had John been more grateful for the blonde’s need to go on exorbitantly long walks out of the compound. “Quick and easy.”

“Well,” John said, “that is what I had thought you intended before, yet here we are, with him still on our hands.”

“We are lucky that our brother cares so much as to run our deputy through such trials,” Joseph interceded serenely, before a spat could break out. “And that she passed. With flying colors, I think.”

“That’s a little generous.”

“At any rate, that we’ve moved up this celebration for her is good,” the blonde continued. “I hear that the Family may not all be finished. Jacob mentioned that his scouts saw movement, out close to the Whitetails.”

John frowned. No good, he thought, but then—what about all of those dead couples he and Elliot had seen? Paired, holding hands, flowers blooming from wherever they could fit them? How was it determined which ones would off themselves and which ones stuck around?

“Now that we have all of the supplies we need,” Jacob said, “we don’t have to worry about getting rid of them.” He shrugged. “Let the apocalypse finish them off.”

“Well.” John clapped his hands together. “I’ve quite a day to prepare for tomorrow, I think. And when it’s all done, we’ll be ready to settle in.”

Joseph and Jacob exchanged looks, just for a moment, before Jacob said, “Night, Johnny,” and set off, leaving Joseph alone in front of the doorway to the bunkhouse. When he looked at John, his expression unreadable, something uneasy crawled and settled down at the base of his spine.

“I have something for you,” Joseph said. “Come with me to the chapel?”

Trying not to recognize that dread, lest he give it more legs than it already had, John nodded his head. “Of course. Though, you know you never have to…”

“It’s the least I could do,” his brother interjected lightly, waiting patiently as he closed the door to his temporary base of operations and then fell into step with him to the chapel. The evening was brisk and chilly, and when Joseph said, “And where is our deputy?” John stifled a rueful smile.

“Taking a walk, with Faith,” John replied. “And the dog, of course.”

“Of course.” He saw a smile ticking the corner of his brother’s mouth, small and almost imperceptible. “It’s nice that they get along, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he agreed, “like she was always meant to be with us.”

Joseph paused outside the chapel’s doors, reaching up and giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just like.”

They stepped inside. It was cool and quiet; nobody remained. The radio flickering through channels was the only noise, and they rang empty and static, not a peep out there. He wondered if the remaining members of the Family were just looking for a place to rest, or a way to get out; maybe they didn’t want anything, anymore.

He followed his brother to the front of the chapel. On the table was the map they’d been using, a few scribbled notes in Jacob’s hand-writing, and a manila envelope.

Joseph picked up the envelope and held it out to John. He took it, and then glanced inquisitively up at his brother.

“Is this—?”

“Her file,” Joseph confirmed. “What we gathered on her prior to the Collapse. Also in there are my notes from her confession, as well as what appears to be diary entries, recovered from where Kian had tried to hunt the two of you.”

Holy shit, John thought, because sitting in his hands was the exact thing that he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything that he wanted to know about Elliot was right there: waiting to be read, devoured, committed to memory. He would know every single part of her, every wretched thing she had ever done, every loss she had ever suffered, every—

“And,” Joseph continued, “your marriage certificate.”

John glanced up at his brother. Suddenly, the envelope felt—different. Like an ultimatum. If he learned all of this about Elliot, and she got suspicious because he suddenly knew so much about her, and she asked where he found out and he told her—and he would have to tell her—she’d want to see it and then. And then.

And then.

“I think it’s time, John,” his brother said. “I know that you haven’t told our deputy about this arrangement. She is your wife, after all, before the eyes of this congregation and God.”

“Right,” John murmured, swallowing. “Yeah, of course. I planned on it. After tomorrow. It feels fitting, to tell her then.”

Maybe it would be better to tell her in the bunker, he thought absently, and then shoved that immediately away. No, fuck, no, I have to tell her. Tomorrow, after we finish everything.

“Good.” Joseph smiled, and for the first time in a long time he smiled with teeth, and the expression on his brother’s face almost unnerved him. He reached up, and his fingers brushed the nape of John’s neck, tilting him forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

Relief, hot and overwhelming, washed straight through him. They had been so at odds that John thought he might have forgotten what it was like to be in his brother’s good graces, but here he was.

“I am so proud of all that you have done for me, for our family, for Eden’s Gate.” Joseph’s voice rang in the hollow of his bones, vibrating straight through him, spiking in him a delirious rush of pride. “You have done so well, John, despite all that God has done to test you.”

Oh, there it was: everything in him said, finally, finally, finally, someone sees me, and he was reminded of why it was he owed Joseph so much. Because he gave him this.

“I’m—” John felt the words choke and stutter on the way out of him. It was almost too much—the finish line was in sight. Elliot had said, you can’t have both, but he could. He could, and he was going to, and it was here right in front of him.

Waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed out. “Thank you, Joseph. I only ever wanted to make you proud.”

“I know.” Joseph smiled, hand pressed against the back of John’s head, holding him gently. “I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leaving the chapel, John was cruising on cloud nine; he had everything. Everything. Nobody was going to take it from him. No stupid cult, no last-minute hail mary’s from the opposing team—

As he passed by a window into the bunkhouse that had been Elliot’s before Burke had made it his home, John stopped and leaned against the siding of the house, tapping on the window. Burke was sitting at the table, leaned back, eyes closed; when the sound of John’s finger against the glass rattled again, he opened one eye.

John waved, and grinned. “Hi, bud.”

Burke stared at him. He gestured for the Marshal to push his window up, and after a few exasperated gestures, he did—reluctantly.

“Seed,” he said, tiredly. “Particular reason you’re not fuckin’ off?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” John replied slyly. “See how you were holding up. The impending apocalypse must be weighing heavily on you.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. He worked a toothpick between his teeth. His hands and feet were both cuffed, and the guards standing outside of the bunkhouse seemed to be concerned with his tone when he said, “Can’t wait to beat that shit-eating grin off of your face.”

“That’s not very professional,” John drawled. “Won’t that look poorly, in front of all of your little friends?”

“They’ll avert their eyes to let me give you some extra special attention.” Burke lifted his chin, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and spitting out the window, nearly landing on John’s shoes. “Promise.”

Impudent, John thought. Burke really just couldn’t let him have a moment, could he? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Marshal,” he said, straightening up from the window and taking a step away. “I like it rough.”

And then he paused, turning on his heel like a swivel and lifted a finger thoughtfully.

“If you want some pointers on what I like,” he added pleasantly, “you can always ask Elliot.”

Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Your little brainwashed cultist? I think I’ll pass.” he asked, and John’s smile plummeted, wiped off of his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “You’re the failing party here, Cameron Burke. You’re going to be the one suffering when the End comes for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Burke replied, “better get goin’, shouldn’t you?”

John’s teeth snapped together with a click, pain shooting up through his jaw as his molars ground. Petulant and arrogant, all the way to the very end, wasn’t he? He supposed that made it a little bit better that Jacob was going to off him.

He had everything he wanted, and not even Cameron Burke was going to take that from him.

John flashed a smile, all teeth, and held his arms out. “I suppose I should,” he replied. “Have a nice ceremony tomorrow to prepare. Though, I don’t have to tell you—you’ll be there for it, won’t you? A front row seat and all.”

Even in the dark of the growing evening, he could see Burke’s jaw clench. The Marshal pulled back from the window and slammed it shut, signaling his exit from the conversation; if John had been in a worse mood, he would have stormed right in there and shown Burke exactly what the consequences were for trying to run the show.

But there wasn’t time, because just as he was debating the logistics of doing so, he heard a dog barking in the distance and the sound of familiar voices.

“Hi, John,” Faith sing-songed at him, swinging Elliot’s hand in her own as they approached. “Isn’t it a bit late? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” John replied with a quick smile, which was not necessarily a lie.

“Too excited,” his sister agreed playfully. 

As they approached, he could see the circles beneath Elliot’s eyes had darkened. She really wasn’t sleeping, was she? Reaching up with his free hand as soon as she was close enough, he brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and guided her close, his fingers tangling into her hair at the base of her skull and his mouth finding her temple. Faith giggled and waved her fingers at Elliot, breezing past him on her way to the chapel.

He asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was dark,” Elliot replied, by way of explanation. Boomer sniffed around their feet and then cocked his head, listening while his eyes fixed on the dark treeline. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” John asked, distracted by Boomer’s sudden alertness. “Oh, the envelope?”

“No, John, this stupid fucking Hot Topic belt I’ve seen you wear all the time.” Elliot pulled back to look at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yes, the envelope.”

He opened his mouth to respond, trying to decide if he wanted to be upfront with her about it or not; he was so caught up in his decision that he didn’t even have the time to be offended by her remark about his belt before he said, “We should go back to our house, don’t you think? The company here’s a little sour.”

Elliot’s gaze swept around curiously, and when she spotted Burke through the window, she said, “Ah.”

“You never did tell me how your talk went,” he added, taking her hand and beginning to pull her away. “Good? Bad?”

The blonde watched him for a moment, like he’d said something a little too suspicious. “It really bothers you when you don’t know what exactly is going on, doesn’t it?”

John feigned a pleased smile. “It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

“I thought it was your job to talk incessantly?”

“I am multi-faceted.”

They reached the door to their shared space—and that was a nice little thought, their space, like they had a place that belonged to the two of them—and as Elliot stepped inside, she said, “Burke wanted to know what had happened.”

John closed the door behind them, pausing and looking at her for a moment; he tried to glean any insight he could out of her expression, but he couldn’t. He could only see quiet exhaustion sitting on her face, just there, just within his reach.

“And?” he prompted, when she failed to elaborate. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, washing her face; quickly, John opened the envelope and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper beneath the nightstand beside the bed and shut the envelope, smoothing the metal pins out. There, he thought, like it was never opened.

“I told him the truth,” Elliot replied from the bathroom, shutting the water off. “About the Family. About—you. And your siblings.”

“Well, he did refer to you as my ‘little brainwashed cultist’, so I imagine that conversation didn’t go well.”

The blonde stepped out of the bathroom, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him for a moment. That was answer enough, he supposed—whatever friendliness had lingered between Elliot and Burke seemed to have been decimated by the reality of their situation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“It’s your file,” John said, plainly. Elliot’s jaw tensed.

“My file,” she reiterated.

“Yes. All of the things Joseph had on you before, including your confession to him and some papers they found in Kian’s bag of belongings. Back in the woods.”

Her eyes flickered, and she exhaled, long and tired. He could tell that she didn’t like that he had it. She had so desperately tried to keep him from knowing what it was that haunted her, though he had mostly pieced it together by now—an ex-boyfriend gone bad, the resulting fallout, all wadded up into a tiny ball of trauma that sat right in her ribs. All of those times Elliot had tried to cling to those shreds of control—and everything about her had been handed to him in a manila envelope. He imagined that it was quite frustrating.

John offered, “I haven’t looked at it.”

“Why not?”

“I thought,” he began, carefully, “that you might want it. For yourself.”

Elliot looked at him warily. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Elliot,” he said as he closed the space between them, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’ll give you anything you want.” John reached up, brushing his fingers against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her pulse jumped at the contact. “Besides, I have you. What do I need the file for?”

He wanted it. He wanted to read her file, learn every gritty detail about her, memorize them the same way she’d memorized his scars and tattoos with her fingers; to know her, inside and out, so that there wasn’t a single dark corner of her that he didn’t have completely.

“Throw it away,” Elliot murmured. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it anywhere. Please, just throw it away.”

“If that’s what you really want,” John agreed.

“It is.”

She leaned up and kissed him; her hands cradling his jaw and pulling him there, her mouth soft and compliant against his. He dropped the envelope in favor of getting both of his hands on her, walking her back against the nearest wall and sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. Elliot’s breath stuttered and hitched prettily, but she pulled back until her mouth was just out of his reach.

Still, though her head was tilted otherwise, her fingers tugged on the front of his shirt and crowded him against her, close. If he thought about it too hard—about the way they had begun, hissing and spitting, and how they were now—he’d have thought he was dreaming, how she wanted him in her space now.

“Let’s go,” the blonde said, her voice urgent. “Tonight. To the ranch.”

“You—” John paused, watching her. “You want to go tonight? Why not tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she murmured, “in the compound. I want—”

Elliot stopped, then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I want to have some time,” she continued, “with you, before... Everything. Just us.” Her mouth twisted in what John thought could only be a playful smile. “Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, narrowing his eyes amusedly. “Which times are those? The times where you told me to go fuck myself, or—”

“I think you liked it.”

“Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, yes.”

“So,” she continued, “can we go tonight?”

John, propped up against the wall with her caged between his arms, studied her for a moment. It wouldn’t be bad to get some time away from the compound that wasn’t some kind of macabre venture out into Fall’s End, haunting her with all of the things she used to have and had once been.

“Sure,” he said finally, “I don’t see why not. Just a little time for us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though he had been less than thrilled about the idea of Elliot being outside of the compound, Jacob had confirmed that the ranch was cleaned out of bodies and ready for them. When they swept past Burke in the bunkhouse, watching them through the window, John’s eyes went to Elliot—trying to see if there was anything in her expression, trying to see if there was a blink of affection or recognition.

There wasn’t. Elliot walked past without looking at the U.S. Marshal and swung into the driver’s side of the truck, and when John reached across the console to drop the keys in her hand, her gaze and expression were clear of any cloudiness.

When they got to the ranch, it was quiet; the lights had been left on, and while John knew that the bodies were gone and cleaned out, he still braced himself for impact when they walked in. The bookshelf had been righted again, and the strong smell of cleaning solution lingered in the air, but for the most part, everything was exactly where he’d left it.

It was a shame, then, that soon they’d be slipping underground.

“Bleach,” Elliot said, walking up the stairs after him. “How romantic.”

“It’s your mess they were cleaning,” John replied dryly, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He pushed the door open to the master bedroom, taking in a little breath and turning to look at Elliot. She was inspecting the room, and for a second, John almost felt self-conscious—that she was here, now, with him. In his home. Touching his things. Looking at him.

It was almost unnerving to think about; that some time ago, she had been viciously looking for any way out. But of course, she had come around. She was always going to come around, one way or another. He thought about the way she’d spit Go fuck yourself, John, the way she’d tried her hardest to be as obtuse and unhelpful as possible, how she’d said in the bar you can’t have both but here he was.

Here she was.

There was only one thing left standing in the way, and it was something he had all the power in the world to change if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” the blonde asked, arching a brow at him loftily.

“You,” John said, and it wasn’t a lie. Her lashes fluttered and she almost looked shy, for a moment; when he reached out and tugged her close by the belt loop of her jeans, he added, “What do you think about getting married?”

With her hands steadying herself on his chest, she barked out a laugh. “In general? Or us getting married?”

“Primarily the latter.”

“I—” Elliot blinked, and shook her head. “I don’t... What do you mean, what do I think about us getting married?”

“Do you like the idea?” John prompted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slope of her jaw.

“We’ve barely been together,” she murmured. “And—you still piss me off.”

“That’s amore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot groaned, and John grinned, sliding his arms around her to pull her closer still. He hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed; when he’d settled her there, on her back and with her legs looped loosely around his waist, she watched him for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to get married.”

John cocked his head. “Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“And why not?”

“Why would I?” she retorted. “The only marriage I ever saw was my dad dragging my mama’s credit through the dirt and then fucking off the second he got tired of playing house. Giving up my last name to someone? Letting someone take that away from me?”

John leaned down, pushing her sweater up and pressing his mouth to the curve of her hip cutting up and over her jeans. Her breath stuttered for a moment, and she squirmed when he let his tongue slide along one of her scars.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he said, “but marriage isn’t all about giving. It’s about receiving, too.”

He watched the heat crawl into her cheeks, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them down until they pooled on the floor with a whisper. She said she’d never wanted to get married, but he thought after tomorrow—after she saw how beautiful it would be, to have her sin revealed and in the open—she would change her mind. For him, she would.

Elliot let out a sharp, stuttering breath. “Come here,” she said, tugging on him a little to guide him back up to her. He obliged, and she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him; long and patient, lips parting beneath his and her tongue flickering playfully against his mouth. She skimmed her fingers along his chest, down until she could undo his belt and pull it from the loops, discarding it on the floor.

“Miss Honeysett,” John murmured.

“John,” she replied, as her fingers deftly undid his jeans.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“You did take my pants off.”

He laughed, the sound sweeping out of him just before Elliot pulled him down into another kiss. She shifted and squirmed against him, pushing and working with her fingers until they were skin on skin. There was a second, a heartbeat of time, where Elliot paused, her gaze flickering over him.

“I want—a home,” she said, her voice quiet, “with you. I don’t have one anymore, and I...”

John dragged his fingers along the exposed skin of her sternum, down and down and down, and she sucked in a sharp little breath the second he found exactly he was looking for.

“You have it,” he replied against her mouth, and a spike of heat sprinted up his spine when he beckoned his fingers against her and she whimpered. “You have it, El, I told you—”

Elliot’s nails dug into his shoulder and she said, “John,” and her voice plunged a little when she did, pitching high and sweet and just the way that he liked it; he mouthed a spot on her neck, sighing against her skin.

“Love those sounds you make,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

“Yes,” Elliot said breathlessly, turning her head so that their noses could brush, “yes, I am, for you—so, please—”

So, please, she said, so sweetly, wanting and hurting and needy as she clutched him, as her breath hitched in anticipation when John pressed up against her, slow and without urgency.

“Is this what you wanted to come here for?” John rumbled against her mouth, breathing unsteady. “So I could f—fuck you in peace and quiet?”

The blonde moaned her agreement as she kissed him. Her body arched up against his, impatient, and when he finally pressed into her all the way, she let out a sigh, her fingers twisting in his hair.

It was too good; too tight, too hot, and the way Elliot held him close, like she thought she was going to disappear if she didn’t keep her grip on him, made the trickle of heat turn into a wildfire splitting through his body. He groaned, the pace excruciating and delicious as he made sure to take each drag as slow as possible.

“F-Fucking—faster,” Elliot whimpered against his mouth, “John—”

“No,” he ground out, slotting his hips against hers tightly before drawing back out again. “You have to—I want you just like this, hellcat—”

She made a sweet keening noise and rocked her hips up, impatient; each time she did sent another sharp jolt of desire sprinting through him, and he bit out a low swear and gripped her hip with one hand.

“Brat,” he moaned. “Wants everything her way but can’t—f-fucking—behave.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot replied, but there was no real heat in her words; she said it in a broken, stuttering breath. “What if I want you faster? What if I want you to fuck me until you just can’t stand it—”

“Stop.” John gritted the words out between his teeth; if there was one thing that sent him to his undoing, it was Elliot and her filthy mouth. “God, you—fucking—”

Elliot dragged him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and slick and wanting, and she begged, “John, I want you so badly—I need—”

And her words stuttered for a moment, like she was catching herself before she could say something that she thought might be embarrassing. John’s hand came up and pressed to her jaw, tilting her face back to him so that he could see her; gazing at him through her lashes, flushed and lips kiss-reddened and eyes dreamy and dazed.

“Tell me,” he managed out, through the haze of his own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Elliot moaned, “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” John ground out. He was powerless to go against her wishes when she was looking at him like that, and saying I need you, and twisting her fingers in his hair and—

And when he snapped into her, she sighed his name like a prayer, like he was holy, and he thought that it would have been a crime not to give her what she wanted. It was almost as good as taking it slow; hearing Elliot whimper yes yes yes into their liplock as he fucked her, rough and a little unforgiving, nearly sent him spiraling.

When he slipped a hand between them, dragging the pad of his thumb across the neediest part of her, he felt her tighten; closecloseclose, it said, and Elliot made a wrecked, desperate sound and kissed him just as she came unraveled, panting his name.

His followed close behind—it hit hard, a strange, empty moment just before the ricocheting pleasure rattled around in his skeleton. John buried his face into Elliot’s neck and moaned, gripping her tight to him, and she arched up a little into him and made him hiss.

“You,” he said breathlessly into her neck, “are getting too comfortable using that filthy mouth of yours to get what you want.”

She laughed, raking her fingers through his hair. “You like it.”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“How much?” Elliot idled, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” he asked, instead of answering her question. Her lashes fluttered, and when John leaned down and dragged his teeth against her pulse point, she made a soft, sweet sound, squirming in his arms.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced. Having disentangled themselves and slipped under the covers, she settled back against the pillows and he was reminded, once again, of the dark circles lingering under her eyes. “Feels like I have slept a fucking wink in the compound.”

“Fine,” John agreed, kissing her temple. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow, anyway.”

It took some time for them to fall asleep; Elliot slept more fitfully than he, and each time she shifted or sighed or rolled it woke him up, too. Eventually, the blonde settled with her face tucked against John’s chest, her fingers absently tracing over the shape of his scar until her breathing slowed and she drifted back off.

Sometime around three in the morning, she stirred, sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. John reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch to squint at it in the dark. He heard the sink running, and the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

“Can’t believe it’s almost the end of November,” he said, out loud and to no one in particular, though Elliot’s head peeked out of the bathroom. She’d wrapped herself in his robe, cinching it tight around her waist.

“It is?” she asked, tiredly. “What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first.”

Elliot stilled for a moment. A strange emotion swept over her face; he thought that it was almost sadness. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

John set the watch back down on the nightstand. “Well, perfect timing then. I just gave you an incredible birthday present. How old are you turning? And why do you look so terribly distressed?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered when he grinned at her. “Twenty-six, asshole.” And then, like an afterthought: “It’s just that normally by now, I’m—”

The blonde cut herself off, and then shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly and walking back into the bathroom to turn the water off.

“Elliot?” he called. “What is it?”

“Just weird,” she replied after a minute, “being... Having a birthday. Here. Like this.”

He settled back against the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

She did as he asked, obliging him as she slid back under the blankets and covers. The robe was still on, and he pulled at the hem of it playfully. Elliot somehow looked more tired than before; and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, like she was somewhere very far away from him.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot’s attention snapped to him. “Faith said the same thing.”

“Great minds.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to the other side in bed so that John could tug her back against his chest, burying his face into her neck. When her breathing finally slowed a little, and regulated, John felt himself finally start to relax.

I can have both, he thought, as he began to drift back off. I can, and I will.

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When Elliot awoke the next morning, the first thing that she thought was, I’m late.

It hit her differently in the cold light of day, to think her period was delayed. That’s probably what it was, anyway—a delay. Lots of things could fuck around with the timing of a period, right?

The second thing she thought was, today’s the day.

Things did seem oddly calm, as they went about their morning; they showered, and John kissed her smelling like expensive soap, and his hands went to the places he loved the most—her hips, her hair, her jaw. It was like they’d fallen into a routine with each other, in just this short period of time; but then, she supposed, that was very natural to have happened, considering that they spent so much time with each other now.

“We should do it downstairs,” Elliot said as John busied himself with some coffee. Boomer had sprinted outside at the first opportunity, taking off into the treeline to burn some of his energy off.

“Downstairs?” he asked, glancing at her. “In the room?”

“Seems fitting.”

He shrugged, sliding a cup of coffee her way and leaning across the counter. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The sound of car doors closing and voices outside stirred her attention away from John’s mouth—a wholly distracting thing—but when she turned to see the Seeds walking through the front door of the ranch, she felt her stomach plummet.

“Brought a plus one,” Jacob announced, shoving Burke forward. “Hope you don’t mind.” He fixed Elliot with his gaze. “Caught him snooping around the chapel. Isn’t that weird?”

“I—” Elliot’s brain fuzzed viciously, static biting through all other noise. Burke’s lip was split and he had a nasty black eye forming. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no, no, no, no. This is so fucking bad.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him, so unfortunately, that is now my job.”

“No,” Elliot said abruptly, drawing all eyes on her. “I’m—I don’t want him here.”

“Elliot,” John murmured.

“Then what do you propose I do with him?” Jacob demanded.

“I don’t know, that isn’t my fucking job,” she snapped. With the siblings all looking at her, Burke took a second and very gently, very resolutely, shook his head no.

Her mind went frantic. What does that mean? Does that mean stop kicking up a fuss? Does that mean he got to the radio? Or that he didn’t? What the fuck is the plan, now?

Joseph said, gentle, “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to lose track of him, Elliot.”

She felt fingers brushing hers. John had come around the kitchen island, and now their fingers were interlaced. It felt like she was on some kind of precipice, some great, plunging cliff into a void, and all she could do was stand by hopelessly as everything pushed her towards the edge.

She didn’t want Burke to watch. She didn’t want him to see her let John carve WRATH into her skin, but most of all—most of all, she didn’t want Burke to see that maybe it would feel good, for her, a catharsis.

“Fine,” she managed out after a moment, watching Burke’s eyes flutter shut in what might have been relief. Or suffering. “Fine, whatever.”

“Well,” Joseph murmured, “shall we get started? There’s a full day ahead of us.”

As they moved down the stairs, Elliot swallowed thickly and tried to clear and compose her brain. Everything did feel just a little bit like it was too much. Joseph there, his shoulder brushing hers; Faith and John, chatting like it was nothing to have her sit down in a chair in the middle of the room where she had been kept captive; Jacob, shoving Burke into the room and on his knees.

It was too much. She would just have to pray that Burke had gotten a chance with the radio before Jacob found him.

“We’re going to have to take your shirt off,” John said, moving into her vision, and didn’t sound like he regretted that in the least. A little rush of relief coursed through her when she realized she’d be able to focus on someone familiar—none of Joseph’s prying eyes or Faith’s sweet smiles to unsettle and unseat her. Just her, and John.

“How long is this going to take?” Burke asked, his voice bordering on vicious. Jacob gave him a little jostle.

“Why? You got somewhere to be, friend?”

Elliot barely heard them. Her eyes, her thoughts, were on John; when her shirt was discarded to the side, he skimmed his fingers along her sternum, eyes bright.

“It’s going to look so good,” he murmured, and she knew that he wasn’t paying attention to them, either. He’d seemed disappointed when she asked someone else to be there, but now, it didn’t seem like it mattered at all. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling a little swoon of adrenaline kick through her body when John left the room and returned with a knife. John looked at her expectantly. The physical acquiescence wasn’t enough.

“Yes,” Elliot said, and John’s eyes fluttered closed just for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her—hard and open-mouthed, his fingers bruising where they gripped her shoulder.

“Fucking Christ,” Burke ground out, and John pulled away with a wicked grin.

“You and me,” he murmured against her lips, and she nodded.

John sat down. Over his shoulder she could see Burke, sitting on his knees, his face resolutely turned to the side. She turned her gaze away, too, because she didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see Burke sitting there, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her, look at her scars and the one John was going to give her and—

The sting of the first cut barely registered through the fog of her brain. It didn’t quite hit, and then her eyes flickered down and she saw the first stream of red, and it really hit, immediately slicing through the fog of adrenaline to hit sharper, harder, nastier.

Elliot exhaled a stuttering breath. It felt exactly the same as she remembered; it wasn’t so soft, on her chest like this, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to her either. Something in her brain tripped at the pain, neurons firing rapidly; we know you, they said, as John meticulously carved the W into her skin, we know you, pain, we missed you, missed you missed you missed you.

“John,” she said, because there was a burst of panic going off in her brain like fireworks. The two parts of her—the one that self-preserved, and the one that craved this exact sting and bite—wrestled with the reality of her situation: that she was both doing and not doing the thing she had tried to deprogram out of herself.

“So good, hellcat,” John murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as he started on the R. He was fixated; he was somewhere far away from her, even as close as he was. “It’s going to look so good on you.”

And behind him, Jacob said, “C’mon, Burke, don’t you want to see what your little deputy asked for?”

“Fuck. You,” Burke bit out.

The sting, the bite; the push and pull. Elliot breathed her way through each excruciating moment, and they were excruciating, these moments, because John was utilizing every second that he had her here, like this.

And that was fine. She needed him to; both for her sake, and for Burke’s. 

Something sounded like thundering up ahead, distant but out of place. It gave her a little jolt of panic. If that was what she thought it was, then—

Elliot saw Jacob’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, narrowing; she managed out, “Slow down,” just as John paused too, to draw his attention back to her. 

“Slower?” John asked, and the way he said it felt intimate, with his eyes fixed on her and his fingers red with her blood.

“Please,” Elliot breathed. Jacob looked at her for a moment, long and hard, but she didn’t meet his eyes; only looked at John, only waited patiently for him to begin.

After a moment, John said, his voice pitched low, “Anything you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jacob said. He dropped his hand from Burke’s shoulder; John made a non-committal uh-huh sound, finishing off the unsteady cross of the T. She hissed, squirming in her seat at the pain, drawing Jacob’s attention for just a second long before he made his way out of the room.

The H followed next. As soon as he finished, John pulled back to admire his work; there was still a bit of bruising, but most of it was up on her shoulder, not her chest, which was now doused in crimson. Wiping his hands off with a towel, he beamed at her; all teeth and bright eyes.

“What a relief, don’t you think?” Joseph asked, his voice idle and distracted as he glanced up at the ceiling inquisitively. “To have it all out there.”

John flashed a smile at his brother, clearly pleased. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said to Elliot, coming to a stand. “We’ll have to let it heal for a while to see how it’s going to scar, and then we can go back in and—”

Before John could finish his sentence, Elliot heard the sound of car doors slamming outside, and Jacob’s voice, asking something in a demand, and then a volley of responses: it was hard to hear, a floor down, but she thought they were saying get down, get down.

“What is going on?” Joseph asked, his voice verging on something other than cool and calm, and the sound of it filled Elliot with a bright spark of joy: yes, she thought viciously, coming to a stand and feeling around for her shirt while her eyes stayed on the Seeds, yes, you fucking cockroach, squirm.

“I don’t know,” John said, stepping toward the door. “Stay here.”

He only took two more steps before the sound of Jacob shouting something above them, followed by a gunshot, and then a loud cacophony of footsteps above them.

“Jacob,” Faith breathed, her eyes wide and panicked. “Something’s happened, Father, we have to—”

“Stay,” John barked out, suddenly all business as he was hauling Burke up to his feet. “I think our friend the Marshal would like to take a look first, make sure nothing is dangerous.”

But Burke was grinning when his feet righted themselves on the ground. He sucked his teeth, looked directly at Joseph, and said, “Time’s up, fuckhead.”

Burke’s words send her stomach somersaulting. So he had gotten to the radio. He had, just in time, which meant he’d been caught just after, and now—

Now he was here, and so were all of the Seeds, too.

I fucking did it, she thought hazily, bracing herself on the chair. Holy shit. I fucking did it.

The sound of footsteps storming down the stairs made John’s eyes flicker to the doorway, and he let go of Burke, gripping the bloodied towel loosely in his hands.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, the stinging and burning of the cuts on her chest, but it was there, if she tried hard enough to look: hope.

But Joseph wasn’t looking at John. He was looking at Elliot.

“You,” the Father hissed, as Elliot pulled the shirt away from her chest, sticky-wet with blood. “You did this. I know you did, you fucking locust, I knew it the second you stepped foot in my chapel—brought us all here, rounded us up like lambs for the slaughter—”

“What do you mean?” John demanded. “Elliot has been with me since this whole—”

Things moved very quickly, then: through the fog of pain, Elliot heard one, two, three heavy thuds against the door before wood splintered and came crashing down, the instant array of green sights set on them—all of them, her included—and the sound of voices demanding their hands go up.

Elliot watched Joseph, hands at his sides.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Joseph ground out, his voice vicious, the rage splitting across his face almost as delicious as the fear. Faith was crying, and saying something through her tears, as John lifted his hands obediently.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the SWAT members hauling Burke out of the room first. She looked at Joseph and arched a brow at him, lifting her hands obediently when the order was shouted again. 

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, her voice cloying and sweet and just between the two of them, “did God not tell you about this part?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things were going poorly.

That is to say, Jacob had a gunshot to the shoulder that was currently being patched while he was in handcuffs—“Can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?” the medic said, a little too gleefully, until Jacob said something along the lines of I’m gonna rip your fucking face off—and Faith was crying, and Joseph was seething, furiously whispering to himself and held in place by one of the other U.S. Marshals.

Elliot was in cuffs, too, but Burke seemed to be talking furiously with the man who had cuffed her, occasionally interrupted when Elliot would try and draw his attention back to John.

This won’t do, he thought, as panic pounded through his body, as his heart hammered against his chest. All of his siblings, in handcuffs, and Elliot too; she was, too, but she looked—

Fine.

She looked fine, and he thought about what she’d said. You can’t have both, and then she’d immediately gone back on that. Of course she had. Of course, because she was wretched and wicked and clever, and she had never truly let go of her hatred for Joseph, but they were married. They were married, and the U.S. government was going to know about it before they stuck her on a stand to testify against any of his siblings.

“I need to speak to her,” John said to the officer holding him. “The woman, there. That’s my—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” the man replied sharply, “except shut your mouth and wait patiently for us to load you and the rest of your fucking brood into the van.”

“She’s my wife,” John bit out viciously. “And she’s in cuffs, I would like to speak with my wife—”

“What did you just say?”

It was Elliot’s voice, sharp and clear and splitting through the distance between them. In the chilly Autumn afternoon, John felt the spike of pure adrenaline race through him at her tone, at the way her head snapped to him and she shouldered her way past Burke. The officer had taken her cuffs off.

Burke said, “Rookie,” in warning, but it didn’t matter, John knew; they had never been able to ignore each other, in love or in war.

“I said,” John reiterated, “you’re my wife.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot demanded.

“That night,” he began urgently, “that night that you were feeling unwell after your walk with Faith, and we talked about leaving—”

Elliot started, her voice hitching, “John, what did you do—”

“—we talked about other things, too,” he plunged on. “I didn’t tell you, Elliot. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be the right time. I was going to tell you today, after we were done—I was going to tell you that we talked about it and I asked you if you wanted to marry me, and you told me yes—”

“Stop,” she moaned, agonized. “Stop—fucking—talking—you didn’t, John, you fucking didn’t lie to me again about this thing that you know I hate—”

“And you signed the certificate. It’s back at the compound,” John finished, trying to lean around the officer. “We’re married. You and me, hellcat, just like we say, you and—”

He saw the slap coming before it hit, but it definitely took a few seconds for the pain to actually register in his brain. And oh, then it hit; Elliot had swung her hand with the same amount of force she might have if she were close-fist punching him, but her palm connected with this side of his face and sent a sharp, red-hot shot of pain blooming and blurring behind his eyes.

Dazed, John blinked and tried to focus his attention again as the officer jostled him out of her reach. He was vaguely aware of Burke moving toward them as Elliot gritted out between her teeth, “How fucking dare you.”

“Ell,” John said, and there was blood in his mouth, his lip split from the impact of her hand. “Listen to me—”

Burke, louder and closer: “Elliot.”

“No, you listen to me, you fucking rat!” Elliot’s voice was pitching higher in volume, and higher in frequency and hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told you, I fucking told you what was going to happen if you lied to me again—you fucking—I’m going to fucking kill you—”

John saw Burke sling an arm around Elliot’s waist just as she lunged again, seething and furious, holding her tight against his chest as she clawed at his arms to get free. His mouth against her hair, he said, “Rookie, take a breath.”

“You take a fucking breath!”

He hauled her, all five feet and four inches of her, turning her away from John, like breaking her eyesight with him would save him the trouble of having to cuff her.

“Elliot,” John called, trying to lean past the officer, “I forgive you—”

“Fuck! You!”

“—marriage is hard work, but I know,” he continued, grinning when she finally pulled herself out of Burke’s grip, “that you’re just the woman for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Every line in her expression was pulled tight with fury, and yes—John thought he should have told her sooner, maybe, but if she was going to find out, what better time to find out than in front of the very men who wanted to put her on the stand?

“Don’t you remember what you said last night? You need me,” he tried again, and he could tell the officer holding his shoulders was getting tired of him leaning around all the time. “I love you, Elliot, through sickness and in health, no matter how many—”

“Oh, John,” Elliot breathed out, like she almost couldn’t get a full lungful of air, she was so out of breath. She swayed on her feet exhaustedly, her mouth twisting around the next sentence that came out of her mouth: “I want a fucking divorce.”

The words plunged John straight into a panic, the kind that made it feel like there was a feeding frenzy going on under his skin. This was not how things were supposed to unfold. This was not how it was supposed to go. Elliot was going to be upset, sure—but he had taken great pains to make sure that she knew he was the only thing left for her, after it all. She was supposed to upset, and then see that it had been for her, it was always for her, for them. Everything he’d done, every step he’d taken, every—

She’s mine, he thought, his face still stinging, dull and hot, from her slap. Burke was saying something to her. That’s my fucking wife, whether she likes it or not.

No one was going to take her from him. Not Joseph or Jacob, not Cameron Burke, not even her. No one was going to put a serial murderer and the wife of a religious group’s lawyer on the stand. He’d make fucking sure of that.

“You think you’re gonna move on from this, El?” he demanded, managing to shoulder around the officer to make eye contact with her. His voice came out tight, sharp—slowly and purposefully careening, but he hated the strike of strange hysteria that wormed its way in there, too. “I watched you slaughter at least a hundred people in the name of “justice”—you beat a man to death with a blunt object, and you liked it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot ground out. She made to move at him, nails digging into her palms, but Burke hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back again, much like before.

“You think you’re gonna move on and meet some nice little country boy who’s gonna love you even with all that fucking red in your ledger?” Oh, he was careening—all of the control slipping out from between his fingers, like sand. “No fucking way, baby, I’m it for you!”

“Rook,” Burke said, but there was no follow-up which made it worse; Burke said one word—one tiny little pet name—and Elliot’s attention immediately snapped to him.

John had never been made to feel like he was nothing; not like this.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and Elliot’s eyes turned to him; but he saw the fury split across her face, the absolute indignant rage. “You’re going to spend one day back in polite society and come unglued, Elliot Honeysett, and when you fucking do—you’ll be begging for me to take you back, and I guarantee you I fucking won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Burke said, but he was speaking to Elliot, looking at her.

“Maybe,” she hissed, pushing at Burke’s arm as blood seeped through the wound on her chest “you should have considered how I would react to you being a pathological liar before you fucking came inside me, you cunt.”

Her words sent a strange, uncomfortable sensation sprinting down his spine. She couldn’t be, John thought, alluding to—

But she had been surprised when he told her it was her birthday, like she hadn’t realized what day it was, and had said something like, normally by now I’m, and just hadn’t finished her thought. 

“Okay.” Burke pulled her back a few more steps, his voice strained. Pulled her away from him. “We’re taking a walk. You and me, Rookie.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” John called after her, panic rising in his voice. “Elliot? Tell me what you—”

“I mean I’m late, fuckhead,” Elliot spit at him over Burke’s shoulder.

The officer pulled him back towards the truck, dragging him by his arm as Burke took Elliot around the corner of the ranch house. His stomach was lurching nauseatingly, trying to piece it together. Had it been long enough? Of course, it had—it had been over a month, probably, maybe even more because he didn’t know how to keep track of time when he’d been drugged and kidnapped and dragged around.

If she is, he thought, frantic; if she does have my child, if she’s—

“John,” Joseph said, his voice eerily quiet as he was pushed into a sitting position across from his brother. He seemed to have recovered from his outburst earlier; there was an odd grimness about his expression. “We must remain focused.”

“She—” John blinked rapidly, trying to gather his fraying, desperate thoughts. “Joseph, she might—”

Joseph lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence. Jacob’s breathing was labored but controlled, and Faith’s gentle crying had been snuffed out. She’d only been the damsel for a few minutes before she tried to storm her way out of their grip.

“The task at hand,” Joseph cautioned him. “Then, we will figure out what to do for your son.”

My son. The words echoed hazily in his brain as the van doors slammed shut, eclipsing them.

“How do you know?” John demanded. “You know? You know that she’s—with my—”

“Of course,” his brother replied, still keeping his voice soft.

“God told me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Take a breath.”

“No.”

“Rookie.” Burke’s voice was hard. “Look at me and take breath.”

She couldn’t. Every inch of her body was screaming—desperate for a reprieve, but there was none to be had because she was still nursing her WRATH wound, because she was heaving out great, panicked breaths between ragged cries.

“I can’t,” Elliot moaned, her hands shaking, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Burke snagged her hand and pressed it to his neck, just like before, but this time it didn’t do anything; this time, she just felt the spiral hit harder, the overwhelming sensation of touching and being touched sending her brain sprinting in panic.

She yanked her hand out of his grip and clutched her knees to her chest, ignoring the warm seep of blood even against the bandages the medic had patched her with and the sting of the pressure of her bones pressed up against the wound.

Burke stayed, and she noticed. He stayed, and he didn’t have to—he was done, free, could leave and go home—but he stayed sitting there with her, against the side of the Seed ranch, wherein many ways, things for her had began.

So, she cried; she sobbed into her jeans until she thought she was going to be dizzy from gasping for air, and Burke stayed, and waited until her hand fumbled for his blindly before he touched her again. His fingers gripped hers, firm and soothing.

“Is it true?” he asked, when she had stopped her crying, when she had breathed so much there was too much oxygen in her brain. His gaze flickered over her. “That you’re… With that fucker’s…”

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, exhausted. “I’m—fuck, I’m late, and I didn’t realize until yesterday, because it’s been so fucking—”

Burke passed his free hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” and the words came out of her agonized; because she could hear the disappointment in his voice, or what she thought was disappointment. “I thought—I thought he—Burke, I—”

“I know, Rook,” Burke murmured, not unkindly. “Just focus on breathing. I know.”

A few more moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of voices and out and the kick of an engine starting and pulling out from the ranch. After her breathing had evened out again, Burke said, “They’re going to be retrieving Kian’s body.”

Elliot stared at the ground, feeling numb. He didn’t have to say; she knew what that meant. Government officials were going to see what she’d done to Kian. They were going to see it, and see that she was legally married to one of them, and see that she was carrying the child of one of them, and see her history, and all of these things were going to add up.

The picture was not going to be a good one.

“I’ve gotta take you in, Rook,” Burke said quietly. “At the very least, to a therapist.”

She sniffed. I love you, John had said, after he’d lied. Lied, and lied, and lied, and used her, and lied, and if he loved her, he didn’t love her in any way that she understood.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know what you’ve been through, and you know I’ll vouch for you. I saw firsthand the kind of—the shit that was going on,” he insisted. “I just—want you to have a realistic picture of what it’s gonna look like, when we get back. They’re gonna autopsy Kian’s body, and—”

She took in a long, suffering breath. “I’m really tired,” Elliot said, her voice breaking a little. “Can we—are we going straight there, or?”

Burke paused, his expression softening, and shook his head. “We’ll hit a motel or two along the way.”

Elliot nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her face back into her knees. She stayed like that for a while; it was hard to tell how much time passed, but eventually, someone came around the corner and said something to Burke, and he tugged her to her feet and walked her to the car.

The sensation of Burke’s hand slipping out of hers sent another burst of panic flooding through her; her body was so tired, so very fucking tired of managing the adrenaline, but the more she tried to calm down the more tired she got.

“I want to stay with you,” she said, feeling hazy and tightening her hand around Burke’s. The Marshal looked at her for a long moment and then nodded.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll stick together.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently, after that. Elliot couldn’t have said how long it took them to get to the first motel; it couldn’t have been seconds, or minutes, or months for all that she knew. She was numb when they set her up in a motel room with two beds, she was numb when they checked her scar and redressed it.

“Fucking Christ,” the medic said under his breath when he saw the WRATH wound, still hot and trying its best to scab over. “You poor thing.”

It’s not me, Elliot thought miserably, opening her mouth; but no words would come. All she could think was, I asked for this, I’m not the poor thing, please don’t.

“Hey,” Burke barked out, his voice sharp as he took in Elliot’s crumpling expression. “Let’s get it cleaned and let her sleep, buddy.”

The medic nodded, thoroughly scolded, and worked quickly after that. When he’d finished and she had swallowed two Tylenol dutifully, Burke watched her climb under the covers of the bed and said, “I’ve gotta make a call. You okay in here?”

She swallowed thickly. He was looking at her like he was wary of her. The same way Whitehorse had looked at her.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a tight, tired smile and then stepped out of the motel room, closing the door behind him. Silence lingered there for a little while; Elliot tried to close her eyes and sleep, her fingers brushing through Boomer’s fur as he dozed, but the low, murmuring sound of Burke talking just outside stirred her anxiety, and each time she closed her eyes she just saw John’s face.

John, holding her face and kissing her, You and me. John, burying his face into her neck, I love you.

John, their noses brushing, We can have a place to belong, Elliot.

John, vicious and unyielding, I’m it for you.

She lurched out of the bed, pushing her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up whatever was left in her stomach—which wasn’t much, if the amount of dry-heaving were any indication. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she thought if she didn’t get a breath of air she was going to fucking die.

Elliot pushed the window open and tried to steady her breathing. Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she shut the water off and paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person that looked back at her was unfamiliar. A stranger. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but each time she did, she felt less and less familiar with the gaunt, sharp-faced, dark-eyed stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Some bruises along her neck and shoulders still remained.

Who are you? She thought, tiredly. The one that killed all of those peggies? The one that killed Kian? Why don’t I recognize you?

“... understand that, sir, it’s just—if you saw what was going on...”

Burke’s voice drifted in through the window. He must have been pacing, because the volume of his words drifted and moved, as though he were walking around the corner and then back again.

His footsteps paused. “No, I have not read the autopsy report yet. I didn’t think it pertinent at this time, considering we only just—”

She heard Burke’s words cut abruptly, the sound of his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale, and then he said, “Jesus Christ. No, I didn’t know.”

Oh, she thought hazily, oh, he knows. He knows what I did.

Her body moved automatically. Something inside of her kicked—we’re not done yet, it said, ferocious and furious, sinking its teeth into her and operating her body outside of her own executive function. We’re not fucking done yet.

Elliot pulled her sweater and her shoes on. The late autumn chill drifting through the open window made her mind feel sharp, and clear, and she thought, somthing has to be done, and I’ll fucking do it.

She stuffed a couple of things that felt essential into a bag—painkillers, bottles of water from the fridge, Burke’s gun he’d left on the nightstand closest to the door—and then waited until she heard his footsteps pacing around the corner again before she ducked out of the window.

When she looked back, Boomer had already leapt through the window after her. His eyes were on her, bright, ready.

And then she ran.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s twenty-six, and she’s in a bar.

Or that’s how it would go, anyway, if she was asleep. If she were dreaming, or remembering. But she wasn’t. Elliot was twenty-six, and she was in a bar, and she wasn’t waiting for her best friend to come back with a different drink, and she wasn’t making eyes at a handsome blue-eyed stranger from across the bar. He wouldn’t come over and call her beautiful, and he wouldn’t make her want to be kissed by someone whose face looked a little sharp, and she wouldn’t one day think that maybe she was in love with him.

I’m just a girl, she thought tiredly, staring at the water glass on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it was. It was her life. Here she was, sitting in a seedy bar halfway to Georgia, with a U.S. Marshal’s gun she’d lifted sitting in her bag. She’d hitch-hiked a ride back into Fall’s End, grabbed what remained of her things—her ID, what little cash she still had on her, a debit card she was too paranoid to use, dog food—and then she’d taken the jeep parked out behind the Keller’s old place and drove.

And drove. And drove. And drove.

Now, she was twenty-six, sitting in a bar, and there is no Joey coming to rescue her, and there is no John to be a monster that she needed rescuing from.

I’m just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She left the cash for her water on the bar top, hauling herself out of the stool and back out into the parking lot. It was late; the sky was speckled with stars; if she thought hard enough, if she really thought about, Elliot thought maybe, somewhere inside of her, she was going to be okay.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, Elliot turned the key into the ignition and reached into a grocery store bag on the passenger seat, fumbling around for the cigarettes she’d purchased. Her fingers hit hard plastic and she glanced over.

The two little tiny lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her. Her stomach lurched, nausea welling up inside of her, and she tossed the hard plastic back into the bag and left the cigarettes untouched. Boomer, dozing in the back seat, pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquisitively.

She was just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be her life. But it was—and there was only one place left to go from here.

Home.

[missjanjie]

Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) | (9/9)

Title: Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) Summary: A sequel to Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer. Brooke Lynn and Vanessa are back at NYU, but with new and improved positions. Brooke’s ready to start her career as a professor when, as fate would have it, she realizes her TA, Jackie, might have the hots for a student named Jan. The couple just might see it as a sign to give two new girls the love story they found in the same place. Word Count: ~2.7k (this chapter) / 26,700 (total) Relationship(s): Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Jankie (Jan Sport/Jackie Cox) Rating: E

read on ao3 | ko-fi

Chapter Summary: We pick back up a few months after Jackie and Jan make their relationship official and Brooke Lynn and Vanessa set their sights on their future daughter. Everything finally falls into place.

-

Three Months Later

It was nearing the middle of January, in the midst of winter break. Katya, Jan, and Jackie were in Brooke Lynn and Vanessa’s apartment, busily decorating and making sure every little thing was in place according to the couple’s specific instructions. This was the day they had been anticipating for quite some time, after all.

The three of them were setting up for a welcome home party, as while they were doing so, Brooke and Vanessa were on their way home with their daughter. The papers were signed, the documents were made official, they were finally going to officially welcome Ana Sofia into their family.

Although it did feel like they already had her – the moms-to-be had talked about her at length, read them every detail of her biography until they could recite it from memory. She was three years old, half-White and half-Puerto Rican – when the two of them read that on her file, they thought it had to be fate. The story of the girl’s parents wasn’t uncommon, but it was a situation they could feel sympathy towards – a nineteen-year-old girl had been in a relationship with a man nearly twice her age, who left once he found out about her pregnancy, only for the young mother to find out the father was leaving the country. With his wife.

Brooke Lynn and Vanessa had been contacted by the woman while they were in the midst of the adoption process. She was kind and soft-spoken and it was clear she had only wanted the best for her biological child. They had agreed to visit the idea of allowing a relationship between her and Ana Sofia when she was old enough.

“God, she looked so young,” Brooke Lynn had said once they had left the meeting. “Like, shit, she was Jan’s age when she had her… that’s how old you were when we met.”

“Can you imagine if I was pregnant when we met?” Vanessa asked, shaking her head.

“With the number of men you’ve threatened to castrate? No, not really.”

But even though they had gone through all of the preparation, had meticulously completed every step, the day of their new daughter’s arrival felt unreal. After the bedroom had been painted and carpeted, after all sorts of toys and stuffed animals had been purchased, after every inch of the apartment was childproofed, wrapping their heads around finally bringing their little girl home felt hard to do.

It wasn’t the first time they had met her, of course. They’d been having supervised visits for nearly two months. They had bonded with Ana Sofia, they loved her. She’d met the people in their lives – Jan, Jackie, Katya, she even got to meet Brooke’s mother when she visited for Christmas and Vanessa’s when they went there for New Year’s Eve.

“You ready to go inside?” Brooke gently asked the little girl, though she was the most nervous out of the three of them.

Ana Sofia looked up with her big, brown eyes and nodded, one hand holding Brooke’s and the other carrying the bright pink teddy bear they had bought for her. “Yeah!”

Vanessa opened the door to a cheerful greeting of ‘welcome home!’ and looked at the way her new daughter’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. She carried Ana Sofia’s suitcases into her bedroom, letting the young girl run around and greet everyone. “Go on and make yourself comfy, Sofie,” she encouraged.

It didn’t take long for Sofie to get acclimated to the apartment she had already started to get used to, winding up on the couch with their cat on her lap.

“How are you guys feeling?” Katya asked the new mothers. She was calm in a way that would otherwise be unnerving, but without the normal ulterior motives, it was a welcome change.

“I haven’t been this excited since our wedding day,” Brooke replied with a broad grin, her arm looping around Vanessa’s waist. “It feels like this is what everything was leading up to. Like we’re finally whole.”

Vanessa nodded in agreement. “You shoulda seen her when we picked her up and told her she was coming home for good. You’d think we live in Disneyland or something,” she chuckled.

Katya grinned. “I can’t begin to tell you two how proud I am. You’ve come such a long way from two kids struggling to confront how they felt about each other, I don’t think I’d have ever predicted this.”

“We wouldn’t have been able to without your flagrant disregard for our personal boundaries, so thank you for that,” Brooke teased. “Though I guess we did learn from the best as far as that goes,” she added, cocking her head towards Jan and Jackie.

“They were worse than us, you gotta admit,” Vanessa chimed in.

“Yes,” she conceded, “which isn’t an easy task with what a nightmare you guys were. But I think they’re in it for the long haul too.”

Jan and Jackie were sitting with Ana Sofia on the couch, talking animatedly about all of the fun things they would be able to do, how much they were looking forward to babysitting her.

“We have to take her to a show at some point,” Jan mused, “maybe f-r-o-z-e-n,” she spelled it out, knowing better than to say it in front of a child and set her off in excitement.

Jackie chuckled softly in amusement. “Yeah, maybe for her birthday,” she mused, then looked down, clearing her throat. “Baby… can I talk to you privately for a moment?”

Jan’s brows knitted in concern, but she nodded and got up, following her girlfriend into the guest room. “What’s up?”

“I was gonna wait until later, but I can’t wait any longer,” she replied, rocking back and forth on her feet. She was always so careful with her words, especially with Jan. But she’d also learned from Jan that sometimes it was best to be direct. “I want you to move in with me.”

There was a beat of silence, a surprised Jan needed a moment to process what's been said. But then a broad grin spread across her lips and she nodded brightly. “Okay,” she threw her arms around Jackie, “I’d love to.”

Jackie’s entire body relaxed as a wave of relief washed over her. “Great. Amazing. Perfect. We can go back to your parents’ place to pack up your things whenever you’re ready. I mean, I don’t wanna rush you or anything, but I think it’d make sense before the semester–”

Jan cut her off by kissing her deeply. “Baby, I love you, but you talk way too fucking much when you’re overthinking,” she chuckled. “My parents will be thrilled to not have to pay for room and board, they’ll happily cover my share of the rent. We can go tomorrow or over the weekend, whatever,” she assured and kissed her again. “Just relax, we’re doing this. Everything is fine.”

“You’re right,” she exhaled, hugging her tightly. “I love you so much.”

Their tender moment was interrupted by a loud banging on the door. “Y’all better not be behaving inappropriately during my baby’s party!” Vanessa yelled.

Jan giggled and opened the door. “We’re not,” she promised, even though Jackie was blushing. “Actually… Jackie just asked me to move in with her.”

Vanessa’s scowl was instantly replaced by a bright grin. “For real? Congrats!” She turned to yell into the main room, “Brooke Lynn! Jan and Jackie are moving in together!” She then dragged the couple back out, holding each of them by the wrist, not that either of them were putting up any resistance. They both knew better than that.

Brooke looked up, chuckling warmly at the enthusiasm her wife had for the couple. “You guys are moving in together? Congrats. We’d offer to help but, you know, very busy with the new child.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll coerce Gigi and Crystal to help us. They can be bribed with weed and snacks,” Jan replied with a shrug and a light laugh.

“Oh, are we finally getting proof that Crystal exists?” Brooke asked with a light laugh. It had become something of an ongoing joke – Gigi talked about her all the time, often relentlessly, but none of them, other than Jan, had ever met Crystal. And even though Jan had, she liked to play along for the sole purpose of annoying her friend.

Jan laughed and nodded. “I promise we’ll FaceTime you when we have her here in the flesh.”

------

Jackie caught her breath as she came back upstairs after taking a pile of boxes to load up in the back of Jan’s father’s van. “I still can’t get over how nice your parents’ house is,” she remarked as the two of them sat on the floor of Jan’s bedroom, folding her clothes to pack into boxes. “I know you said your family was well off, but damn.”

Jan shrugged and awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not something I try to make a big deal about,” she explained, then looked up when the door opened and let out a soft laugh. “There you are. We were starting to worry you two got lost.”

“In our defense,” Gigi said as she and Crystal walked in, “we’ve never made this commute before. And we warned you neither of us have any sense of direction.”

“The Amtrak and I are enemies now. But at least we got Krispy Kreme while we waited,” Crystal added cheerily.

Jackie chuckled lightly. “And you didn’t bring any? Rude,” she clicked her tongue then looked to Jan. “Don’t forget, we promised Brooke and Vanjie we’d call to let Gigi prove Crystal isn’t a figment of her imagination.”

“Can you really prove I’m not?”

Jan and Jackie giggled while Gigi rolled her eyes and waited for Jan to get her phone out, calling up Brooke Lynn on FaceTime.

“Hey hun,” Brooke greeted. She was sitting with Vanessa and Ana Sofia, the sound of cartoons playing in the background. “How’s the big move going?”

Jan pushed herself to her feet. “Can’t complain, we’re not making ourselves crazy considering it’s not too bad of a commute. For us, anyway,” she pointedly looked at Crystal and Gigi at the last part.

“Show us the imaginary girlfriend!” Vanessa interrupted, leaning further into frame. “Katya thinks it’s gonna be Jackie with a wig on.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Gigi muttered under her breath, taking the phone from Jan and holding it up so she and Crystal were in the frame. “Vanjie, Brooke, tiny child, this is my girlfriend, Crystal. Who does exist.”

Crystal laughed softly. “Wow, this really bothered you,” she observed. “Why didn’t you just FaceTime me sooner?”

“Because we woulda called you a hologram,” Vanessa retorted before Gigi could answer, eliciting laughter from Brooke as well as Jan and Jackie.

Gigi pouted and crossed her arms. “I hate all of you,” she muttered, then added, “except for the kid, she’s cool.” And with that, she hung up and handed the phone back to Jan.

Jan chuckled and put her phone away. “You’re so cranky,” she cooed, getting up and grabbing her purse. “Here, let me smoke you out now. It’s the least I could do,” she offered, placing a joint between Gigi’s pouting lips and lighting it, watching her friend relax and smoke in spite of herself.

Jackie watched in mild amusement before glancing down as her phone went off. “Aw, Jaida just got back from Milwaukee and Nicky was waiting for her at the airport,” she read off her phone, then held it up to show the selfie Jaida had taken of the two of them.

“Wonder whatever happened to Nicky’s ‘no dating until graduation’ rule,” Jan mused with a laugh as she went back to folding shirts and packing them away. “Or are they still ‘not putting a label on it’?”

“The latter,” she confirmed. “But I know Jaida, she’s not gonna put up with that forever. She called me out on my bullshit plenty and she’s not the ‘do as I say, not as I do’ type.”

“I just love that Nicky’s role in your life is essentially the girl that fucks the women closest to you. It feels like a metaphor or something. Frankly, I think you need to have sex with her just to bring it all full circle,” Gigi mused, to which Jackie responded by throwing a pair of jeans at her.

“Fuck off,” Jackie laughed. “I’d much rather her fuck my best friend than my girlfriend any day.”

Jan offered her a reassuring smile and nod. “There’s no plans on that happening again, don’t you worry… unless you want a threesome,” she joked.

“Hey Jan,” Crystal interrupted, “when do you hear back from that thing you auditioned for? What was it again?”

The calm smile on Jan’s lips shifted into a nervous one. She stopped folding, instead fiddling with the fabric in her hands. “It’s an official shadow cast production for The Rocky Horror Picture Show, a solid five week stint. The website is posting callbacks on Thursday morning, then they post who made the final cut I think… four days after that.”

Jackie scoffed playfully. “Right, ‘if’. Baby, you know you have that on lock, just like you got Veronica without breaking a sweat.”

“I broke many sweats, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

------

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Jan did receive a callback and, four days later, was incessantly refreshing the company’s website waiting for the cast list to be posted. The list was set to go up at nine in the morning, but she had been checking since a quarter to, just in case. “God, what’s taking so fucking long?”

Jackie watched, trying her hardest not to laugh. “Honey, it’s five after. Take a breath before you pop a blood vess–”

“It’s up!”

She rushed to her girlfriend’s side, hand gripping onto the back of the desk chair tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “Well?”

“I got Janet!”

The two of them jumped up in tandem, hugging and squealing in pure elation. “Oh my god!” Jan beamed, “this is so exciting!”

Jackie pressed kisses over Jan’s face, culminating with a tender kiss to the lips. “I knew you would get it. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank god I’m living with you now,” she mused out loud, “juggling this with classes, as excited as I am, I just know I’d let myself get way too overwhelmed and no one keeps me grounded like you do.” They had learned about this in the last few weeks before Heathers. Jan had been on the brink of a nervous breakdown and only Jackie had been able to talk her down.

“I’m happy to be that anchor for you,” Jackie smiled. “And if this ends up being like Heathers and you need help rehearsing the ‘sexy’ song…”

Jan giggled, hiding her face against the crook of Jackie’s neck. “Yeah? You’re gonna be my Rocky while I work on ‘Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me’? It’s a very different sexual energy than ‘Dead Girl Walking’.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t think they’re that different, but the end goal of using it as foreplay remains the same.”

“I can’t argue with that,” she conceded, sitting down on the bed. “Did you ever think this would be where we would end up after that night? When we thought we’d broken down a big wall by giving in to our unavoidable lust?”

“Not for a second,” Jackie admitted with a laugh, sitting beside her. “I hoped it was the start of something, but falling in love with you was never in the cards.”

Jan smiled and rested her head on Jackie’s shoulder. “Me neither. But I wouldn’t change a thing. The rollercoaster we were on brought us right to where we needed to be.”

“It did,” Jackie took Jan’s hand in her own and squeezed it. “It really did.” She looked up and out the window. “Do you think history will repeat itself again? That a few years down the line we’ll find our own pair of useless lesbians to play dysfunctional cupid with?”

She chuckled softly and shrugged. “I dunno. I remember Vanjie told me how once you’re in love, it’s easier to see it happen to other people. I guess anything is possible.”

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {16}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: I never realize how much I drop “fuck” until I proofread...ah, oh well. 5 chapters left. Do y’all mind when I post 2 chapters in 1 day? yay? nay? I’ll only do 1 if it’s too much, but either way, R&R will be finishing up, soon.

Enjoy (you know, if possible).

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

One month had passed since they arrived in Hybern.

They had endured one battle, which lasted two weeks. Many of Hybern’s men went down, but a large number perished from their own side, too.

Even when they relaxed at camp, they were always on alert, always kept one eye open.

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand sat around the fire.

The three of them had created quite the bond, never leaving one another’s side - both in battle, and out. Rhysand had an opportunity to stay away from the front lines because of his title, but he did not. He stayed with Azriel and Cassian, refusing the opportunity without any hesitation. 

“Elain says she should start showing soon,” Azriel announced, the other two looking up from their letters. “She also says morning sickness is getting much worse.” 

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Cassian grinned. “If a little you was growing inside of me, I would probably feel like shit, too.” 

Azriel chuckled. “Yeah.”

Cassian knew that Azriel’s chest ached as he wondered how long he would have to be away. It seemed as if the war had only just begun, but he felt like he had been away from Elain for far too long.

“Any news from Feyre or Nesta?” Azriel asked.

“Feyre says Nesta is being extra bitchy,” Rhysand mumbled. “Other than that, she says she wrote to Elain, telling her to visit soon and their father is finally getting back this week. Oh, and they got a dog. Named him Oswald.” 

“Oswald?” Azriel asked, brows raised. “That’s a….nice….name.” 

Rhysand snorted. “And Nesta?”

They both looked at Cassian, who was reading his letter with narrowed eyes. “She gave me an update on the weather, says it has been raining a lot. I also hear of Oswald, and it is a terrible name, so don’t lie. She said she put a gift in here for me, but there was nothing in the paper.” He looked around for the envelope to put the letter back inside, and once he found it, and opened it up, he froze.

Azriel raised his brows as Rhysand reached for the envelope.

Cassian quickly put it out of his reach. 

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

Cassian put the letter back in the envelope and closed it. “Nothing. A photograph.”

Azriel blinked. “Of what?”

“Hmmm,” Rhysand hummed, leaning back. “Is this photograph of Nesta?”

“You will never know, will you?” Cassian asked.

“Is she nude?” Azriel chimed.

Cassian backed up, toward his tent. “I am going to bid you both goodnight.”

Rhysand howled as Azriel’s grin widened. “Alright. Don’t get too vocal with yourself, no one wants to hear all that.” 

Cassian rolled his eyes as he climbed inside, shutting the tent flaps behind him. He used a match to light his lantern, and his pipe, as he laid back against his blankets, atop the grass. 

He pulled open the yellow envelope, once more, removing the letter and setting it aside as he reached for the other contents. He pulled out a long, silver chain, an oval locket attached to the bottom. When he opened it up, all the tension was released from his body. 

On one side was Nesta, and on the other, was Marigold. Cassian chuckled at the photograph of the horse before brushing his thumb over the one of Nesta. She sat, poised, her chin lifted high. Even in black and white, he could see the intensity of her gray-blue eyes. 

He closed it shut and clasped the chain around his neck, tucking the locket beneath his shirt.

There was another photograph inside of the envelope. Azriel’s guess had not been wrong. Cassian took it into his hands and brought it closer to the lantern, his heart beating wildly. Her hair hung loose around her pale shoulders, reaching just below her breasts, which Cassian admired as he brought his pipe to his lips. Her legs were open, waiting for him, and he suddenly had the realization that someone must have taken such a photo, and wondered how Nesta had swung it without anyone seeing.

He laughed, under his breath, at the thought of Nesta ordering someone around to take a nude photo, only to have it instantly taken away and put in an envelope to ship to him overseas. He turned it over and on the back, it read, I know what you are thinking. Do not worry, Helion helped me with such a project and kept all details to himself. Cassian snorted - knew what he would be thinking, indeed. Then, below, it read, For when you are lonely. At night, this is how I wait for you to return. Hurry back.

Cassian flipped the photograph back over and ran his fingers down the image. She was so beautiful, especially when she was natural, bare. Nothing but the locket in which she sent along, the locket that was now around his neck, covered her skin. The silver oval laid between her breasts. 

He studied her until he could no longer bear to keep still. 

After unzipping his trousers, he wrapped his fist around his cock and began to stroke himself. His head fell back and his eyes fell shut, but the image of Nesta, his Nesta, remained.

~~~~~

Rhysand was eating a bowl of some kind of slop the next morning when Cassian emerged from his tent and stretched.

“Have a nice date with your hand last night?” Rhysand asked, filling his mouth.

“Fuck off,” Cassian said, shaking his head but unable to stop his grin. “Where’s Az?”

“Bringing our letters to the post. They’re going out this afternoon.” 

Cassian nodded, reaching for one of the bowls Rhysand had brought. “Okay, I grew up poor, but even this shit looks disgusting to me...and my standards are fairly low.” 

“At least it keeps us from starving to death,” Rhysand said. “Hopefully.”

Cassian was just about to reply as a bell sounded from the middle of camp. Rhysand quickly met his gaze, his jaw set, as soldiers all around them got to their feet.

Azriel was running toward them, eyes wild. “They’re coming, less than a mile away. We have to go.”

Rhysand swore, dropping his bowl to the ground as Cassian reached for their guns. A moment later, helmets were atop their heads and rifles were tossed across their backs and they were running across the landscape. Once in formation, they marched as one through the valley and halted. Beyond was the battlefield they had already seen, the battlefield in which so many had died around them. Rhysand looked to Cassian on his left. His friend was focused, his breathing even. He had a good shot, if he ever had nerves, he did not show it. Then Rhysand looked to Azriel on his right, who was closing his eyes. Azriel was fast, could dodge anything. Rhysand was not worried about either of them. He would not allow himself to be. They would stick together. They would make it out.

“Stay together,” Rhysand whispered.

The other two repeated, in the same quiet calm, “Stay together.”

~~~~~

“Feyre?” Nesta called, knocking on her sister’s door. “A letter just arrived from Elain. She will be here next week, she says.”

The door was opened a moment later.

Nesta froze.

Feyre’s eyes were red and puffy. “Sorry, I just….” her words trailed off and Nesta pulled her sister into her arms.

“Has something happened?” she asked. “Is Rhysand okay?”

Feyre nodded. “Yes, it’s nothing like that, I just….Nesta, I’m pregnant.” 

Nesta blinked. “Pregnant?”

Feyre laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Yes.”

Nesta smiled, wrapping her arms around Feyre even tighter. “That’s great news. Why are you crying?”

Feyre allowed Nesta into her room before she closed the door. They both sat by the fireplace, on the floor.

“I knew when I last wrote Rhys,” she explained. “But, I did not tell him. Now I feel guilty.”

“Why?” Nesta asked. “Why keep it a secret?”

Feyre nibbled on her bottom lip. “Is it truly better to tell him?”

Nesta’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...would telling him make him happier or just more upset that he is not here?” she asked. “He says he misses me, that all he thinks about is coming home, and if I tell him that I am with child, it would just be more of a burden. I thought perhaps I should wait, until he returns.”

Nesta nodded. “Well, I think you should let him know. He would want to know, considering he tried so hard to impregnate you to begin with.”

Feyre laughed, pushing her sister in the arm. “Perhaps. I do not know the right answer to anything these days.”

Nesta stared at her hands when she said.  “Would you like to know something that will cheer you up? Perhaps make you laugh?”

Feyre raised a brow. “You are going to tell me something that will make me laugh? That seems unlikely.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “In the last letters we sent, I put a photograph of myself inside.”

Feyre blinked. “Why would that make me laugh?”

Nesta could not control her smile as she said, “Because I was not wearing any clothing.”

Feyre’s mouth fell open before she broke into a fit of laughter. “You? Nesta? You sent Cassian a nude photograph?” 

Nesta nodded, her own laughter sputtering out. “Yes. I wonder if he has received it, yet.”

Feyre put her hands over her mouth. “I cannot believe you did such a thing! How was it? Was it awkward?”

Nesta shook her head. “No, Helion took it when he was here last week, in my room. It was actually quite invigorating. I have never felt so….I don’t know. Powerful.” 

Feyre’s laughter died down as she watched the flames. “How very risque of you.” 

“Indeed,” Nesta agreed, then looked at her sister. “I am happy for you.” She nodded toward her sister’s abdomen. “Truly.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said, patting her sister’s knee. “And I am so very proud of you.”

Nesta looked over at her sister and they both broke into laughter, once more.

They were not certain of much lately, but they were certain that when their worlds were full of the unknown, laughter was the best medication.

~~~~~

Cassian had never seen so much blood.

The explosion happened quickly, no one had seen it coming. At the time, Cassian had his rifle pointed at one of the enemy, and the moment he pulled the trigger, as if on que, the ground exploded.

He was knocked on the ground, into the dirt, his ears ringing as he looked around for his brothers.

Rhysand was on the ground a few yards away, but he was already pulling himself up, rifle in hand. 

To his other side, men lay scattered, motionless.

He called out for Azriel, and when he looked back to Rhysand, his violet eyes were wide and panicked. 

“There!” he shouted, but Cassian could hardly hear him. He turned himself around, pulling himself fully off the ground, as he followed Rhysand’s gaze.

Azriel lay still, his gun a few feet beside him, his helmet having flown from his head. He was covered in blood, how much was actually his, Cassian was not certain. 

They were all covered in blood.

Their fellow man’s.

Their enemies.

Cassian and Rhysand ran to his side, sinking down in the dirt alongside him. Rhysand instantly had his back to them both, his gun raised, protecting them. 

Cassian pressed his ear to Azriel’s chest. “He’s still breathing.”

Rhysand gave a curt nod, the only sign he had heard as he pulled the trigger, firing upon any threat coming toward them. 

Cassian found the gaping wound coming from his side and tore open his shirt, where blood was flowing. “Fuck,” Cassian breathed, pressing his hands down on the wound to stop the flow. “Fuck! Rhys….Rhys, we have to get him out of here. We have to get him to medical.” 

“Can you carry him?” Rhysand called, still holding up his gun, not looking behind him. 

Cassian panicked. He was losing blood. So much blood.

He tossed his gun up to Rhysand, who took it and put it around his shoulder without taking his concentration from his own. Cassian quickly pulled off his shirt and tore it into long strips, his helmet discarded. He bundled up a few of the strips and pressed them into the wound, then tied a few together to make it long enough to wrap around Azriel’s abdomen a few times. Once he tied it tight, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I can.”

“Okay,” Rhysand called. “Let me know when to walk, I’ve got you both.”

The blood was still pouring from the wound, although not as bad.

With a grunt, Cassian lifted Azriel off the ground, carrying him over his shoulder. “Fuck, you heavy bastard,” he groaned, getting himself into a steady position. “Alright, Rhys, I’m moving!”

Then they both were moving, Azriel unconscious, but his heart still beating within his chest, against Cassian’s back. He was heavy, and nearly Cassian’s height, but Cassian did not let himself think of it as he hurried through the gunfire and around those that were already dead.

“Do not die on me,” Cassian grunted, Azriel’s weight starting to slow him down, “Do not fucking die on me. Elain would kill me if I let you die. Do not die, you hear me? You’re going to be a dad, do not fucking die on your kid!” Cassian yelled, eyes still ahead, blurred with tears but determined. “Do not fucking die on me!” 

Rhysand’s gun fired from behind them. 

“We’re almost to the clear!” Cassian called.

“I don’t see many more from Hybern!” Rhysand called back. 

Cassian could feel the warmth of Azriel’s blood sinking through the shreds of his shirt, onto his own skin, down his arm.

He suddenly became lighter a moment later, once they neared the end of the valley. Rhysand, with both rifles slung across his chest, said, “I’ll take his legs, you take his arms.”

Cassian nodded, putting Azriel down as gently as he could among the grass. He put his fingers against Azriel’s neck and swore before putting his forearms underneath Azriel’s underarms.

Rhysand took him beneath the knees and they lifted him from the ground, and they hurried, as fast as they could, across the remaining distance.

When they reached the camp, the medical tent was the first to appear.

They brought Azriel inside and a nurse yelled for a table to be cleared. Rhysand and Cassian put him down, then both stepped back to let the nurses swarm him.

“He’s going to be okay, yeah?” Rhysand asked, face paled. “He’s still breathing? He’s going to be okay?”

No one answered him, which only made Cassian ask, louder, “Just tell us he’ll fucking make it!” 

A nurse pressed her hands against the newly unraveled wound as she said, calmly, “Yes, he’s still breathing.”

“That doesn’t answer my fucking question,” Cassian spat. 

Rhysand met him at his side and started to pull Cassian back. “Let them work.”

Rhysand’s hands were surprisingly calm as Cassian turned to him, Rhys’ face covered in the blood of others and dirt, his hair drenched in sweat and wild. 

“He can’t die, Rhys,” Cassian breathed.

“I know,” Rhysand said, taking Cassian’s face in his hands. “I know, alright? So we have to let the nurses work. Yeah? We have to let the nurses work, Cass.” 

Cassian nodded, and Rhysand did not let go of Cassian’s face until his breathing began to even.

A soldier poked his head into the tent a moment later and said, “Hybern retreated. It is done for the day.”

The nurses gave a sign of understanding and the soldier went away. Cassian had not even heard them coming back, had not even heard the shouts of victory from the outside. 

“You two may stay, if you wish, but you have to sit to the side,” a nurse said, the one with her hands against Azriel’s wound.

Cassian nodded as he and Rhysand went to the side of the tent and slumped to the ground. 

Neither of them spoke as they waited. 

~~~~~

Hours passed, the day had gone and turned into night, and he did not open his eyes. The nurses had sterilized the wound the best they could and sewed his skin shut. He had lost a lot of blood. 

Rhysand looked at Cassian every once in a while, but neither of them said a word, neither of them dared. Cassian still sat with his chest bare, covered in filth, dried blood matting his hair to his forehead. Rhysand assumed he did not look much better. 

The minutes were passing too slowly, it was agonizing. Rhysand had killed more than he thought he would have to since arriving at Hybern. The thought was unnerving, but he tried not to dwell on it. He was protecting himself, protecting Azriel and Cassian. 

“If he dies, how would I ever go back?” Cassian whispered. Face glowing in the lanterns that surrounded them. “How could I stand there, in front of Elain, and Feyre, and Nesta, and tell them that Azriel died?”

Rhysand cleared his throat, his gaze falling to his hands where he began picking off the dried, crimson coat. “I don’t know.”

Cassian nodded, eyes empty. “They have a baby on the way, Rhys.”

“Yeah,” Rhysand breathed, not bothering to wipe away the tear that fell down his tanned cheek.

Cassian shook his head, but said no more.

When the silence became unbearable, Rhysand stood and walked to Azriel’s side. His chest was still rising and falling, his wound closed. Rhysand reached up to feel his forehead. He did not feel feverish. 

“Before we left,” Rhysand began, quietly, “me and Feyre tried, for a baby. Seeing you here now…” his words trailed off and he shook his head. “Elain needs you. That baby needs you. Fight for them, yeah?” he used his torn shirtsleeve to wipe at his eyes, his nose. “If you can hear me, you have to fight for them. Because if it were me in your place, and Feyre was pregnant, that woman would cut off my fucking balls.” 

Cassian stood and joined them at Azriel’s other side. Rhysand knew Cassian was thinking of their conversation on the ship. I wanted to give her a baby, to look at, to love, to remind her of me, if I don’t make it back. 

Azriel’s eyes rolled behind his eyelids, and both Rhysand and Cassian froze. 

“Az?” Rhysand whispered.

Azriel’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stirred, then groaned, softly.

Cassian and Rhysand said nothing as they watched, as they waited. 

Rhysand thought he would collapse once Azriel’s eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. “Rhys. Cass….”

Rhsyand nodded toward Cassian where Azriel’s eyes slowly trailed to. Cassian stood completely still, as if he were afraid to breathe. 

Azriel let out a breath as his eyes closed, once more. 

But his hands found theirs. One in Rhysand’s, the other in Cassian’s. 

“My side…” Azriel began, as if each word brought him pain, “fucking hurts.” 

Cassian, unable to control himself, began to laugh, and when he couldn’t stop, Rhysand started to laugh, too.

Azriel’s hands tightened around theirs, smiling faintly, eyes still closed. 

That battlefield had been littered with the dead, husbands and sons and fathers who would be no more.

But Azriel would not be one of them.

They promised to stay together.

They would stay together. 

At least, for now.

~~~~~

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