#Jesse has just been sitting there for almost a year for some reason

[jimberooni]

Here's few drawings I never finished for some reason

[astralnymphh]

The Sweeter the Wheat

# pair: post-seattle!jackson!ellie x reader

## summary: There is no better birthday gift than loving her.

### reader discretion is advised: romance angst, fluff, bit suggestive towards the end, alcohol consumption, jesse is alive (he thought ahead this time), loser!ellie, sometimes!awkward!ellie, sometimes!cheekyandflirty!ellie, reader is sickenly envious and a bit nosy, but aware, ravenous and tipsy makeouts, sappy shit. #### a/n; listened to "to all of you" by syd matters + "cardigan" by taylor swift while writing parts of it.. got a love/hate relationship with this fic but it slaps i guess

WC: 7.7k+ | DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MASTERPOST | MASTERLIST | ART BY @trackinglessons | DISCORD SERVER

SPRING SUN

 

 “At least we got back before her birthday. Psh—‘magine that sweet tooth havin’ to commemorate her twentieth with nuts and jerky.”

Jackson tholes the bright spring against countless heavy hearts, numb from the death groans of winter. Under the melted snow, came old meadows, but nobody returned to comb through them. Only to pluck them bare of flora for a sole reason—a sole person—and not in the name of beauty. 

Some meadows were stabbed through. Pierced into, made into a final home for the dearly departed he.

Time slipped slowly.

“Huh?”

Jesse sits at the tail of the bar, mumbling somethings that fly right past your ears. The diner is packed and the jukebox softly plays, but that of joy and conversation rules, so all nearby speech that is spat has become hodgepodge, herding your brain to run where the world is quiet. Given that, and the subtle significance in the day around you, you feel less than yourself. Immaterial.

There's a rightful wager that you didn't hear Jesse at all. Something about birthdays, maybe.

You pull yourself from the stars with a head-shake, having to retire the tiny notepad in your clutch. “Sorry, I completely tripped out just then. Why are we talking about birthdays—whose birthday are we.. talking about?”

Jesse appeared to be in doubt that your star-scaping moments were over; his features contorting more and more into disbelief as you gave him that barely curious squint. Poor him for having to be offended for somebody else.

A special somebody else at that!

His drawl comes in handy, “Come on, man. Four years strong and now you wanna forget that girl's birthday?” a voice so versed in pettiness, you could smack it right from his clever, grinning lips.

At whim, you almost do. But then his words fall into perfect place; that subtle signifigance makes all the more sense.

Spring: dappled in sunlight and vigorous in the trees, seems lovelier than it would in March or May. Seas of crimson and clovers thrive in the middle of April, and so does the red in her hair—soft, auburn tines—and the meadows in her earnest and shiny eyes. Recently dim, bruised and disheartened. But there, and unplucked at least, above the freckles you least regret missing when vengeance and a clue drove her out of this large, timber sanctuary. Home.

Every year on this day, the sun is relentlessly beautiful. No wonder, you think, now that you remember.

It's Ellie's birthday.

“Shit,” you curse, chewing at your guilty lip. “Is Ellie hiding out today as well? Haven't noticed her walking the thoroughfare at all.” Through the idle-talk, your hands find stray porcelain to retrieve and pile in the sink, scoffing at the liters of coffee that inevitably go cold in forgotten mugs.

“Do you notice anything working behind that counter?”

“Duh, dipshit,” you spout, back-talking him shamelessly, “I noticed you ambling towards the window earlier and knew my ears were in for a grating punishment.” Minding your eyes on nothing but the various plates you grab, the clutter clears fast. Like a damn robot.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, not my fault patrol’s been on cruise control this week.” With a part of the counter graciously tidied by your speedy work, he reclines in the barstool and claims that space with his lower legs, off to the side. Blissfully permission-less. “Can't say the same for here, though.” 

You draw in a prefacing breath, tilting a cup at him. “You could if you hel—”

“No chance.”

“Fuck you, Jess,” you reply wielding a nickname given for occasions of defeat, little knives glaring from your eyes. “Thought this friendship had a no-questions-asked sort of thing. You've disgraced me.” Cueing that age-old love for drama, you gild the lily; mock a drama-queen. Hand to your heart and a pout to your mouth.

Hating Jesse is out of the picture, and hate is an easy pill to swallow. Sure, you two bark blank insults from time to time, but it's all in good humor. You just get each other too well. A hitch fated to click. A shoulder to violently sob into.

Jesse tuts at you, rolling a smug pair of eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Diners just aren't my thing, as infected aren't yours.” He reaches and grasps his mug of coffee that'd been basking there ever since you whipped up his usual, content in keeping his gob flat for the ‘noon.

And you're content in the casual peace and company. Always are. It coerces you to fulfill orders quicker, you would say. Here you stand, in perfect function, machine of the cogs.

That's how all days streak by here. A warm sun arises, and the hustle and bustle of human nature crowds every faded red booth in here, as your kin would have you sustain, and you sustain it fine enough. Even with the latching, mostly silent presence of your best bud Jesse to keep boredom a stranger and insanity a myth. Peckish lips, thirsty throats; everybody. All famished faces of Jackson, satisfied in the wake of your work. All, save one. 

Ding!

At the entrance, you hear the jingle of the tiny, golden bell topping the door, and it doesn't intrigue you to investigate. Everyone is a frequenter, and you're basically omnipresent; sensing who it is and where they're routed to before they even sit. Call that perfect function.

Abruptly, the vintage magazine Jesse blankly browsed through is smacked back in place, and his throat clears. “First customer to break the hour-long streak. Let's see who—” he trails, and a dramatic pause thickens the air. Surprise loudly ensues. “Oh, ain't that funny. Look what fate dragged in.”

“Is it not a regular?” you ask, and at last perk your chin up. Intrigue clasps you now, as Jesse thought it atypical enough to point out. 

Turns out, it isn't a regular at all.

Fate was a scary portrayal, as fate—and unfinished threads—would have you snuck into a corner and stranded for her to find. Plaid and blue, stood Ellie, lost as a doe in tangled woods, yet tall with purpose in front of that swinging glass door. From here, you notice her right arm supported in a white sling and twisted into her chest, right off the bat, as you did the night of return. Changes were made, obviously, sprigs of marker detailing the canvas-color of it, no doubt produced by those pesky kids in-town. Her tattoo is sorely invisible behind the bandages too; you've always liked that thing. 

She's a bona-fide crush. A red-headed angel.

There and then, you recall why your heart reawoke into a prance that night she returned head to toe in dry, aged blood. You felt the revival of an inner-warmth, tracing fingers over the stitches in her back as she hunched in repressive quietude. Felt the moon evaporate off your skin, felt her wrist tensen in your palm as you dressed the wounds in hers. Felt the elusive moment staying became going, as it wasn't right.

You went straight home and threw right up, that very night. Her cold, marred skin was as deathly-like as the skin of a corpse. And you trailed your fingertips, all over it. 

Strange. In a week, her flesh has been suppled of life. Hale, blushing and glowing as in younger days.

In your heart: a tremor. It reaches up every time you swallow, and blooms its beat, pounding at the pit of your throat. You don't feel real, you feel light, you feel fright. You feel the past, waking from a slumber in you, emerging breathless beyond the surface. So many things.

You feel fourteen again.

“Guess her ears were burning,” mumbled Jesse, polite enough to not transform your shared scrutiny into a scene, only so he could leave it in your hands. His head carefully turns, speaking softly, “You spoke to her at all, recently?” 

“No,” a weighted breath departs you, and your shoulders repose. “Only the night she returned, while I tended to some of her travel wounds. Conversation wasn't easy to digest.” Shunning her very blatant presence, you pick your wash rag and begin again, foraging distraction.

“Bet not. Shit got hectic on the route Tommy picked,” he hums, and his eyes pursue once more to secretly follow her walking the opposite direction. Eyes you expectantly the second she slips into a booth. “Gonna take her order?”

You glower at his smug stare, knowing full well he intends to badger you into jumping the gun. Well, you're employed to do that, but, fuck fate! “Uh, duh? Di—”

“—Ipshit. Stop stalling.” He aims his hand, escorting you. “Birthday girl awaits.” 

“Yeah, hold that smile. See what happens later.”

“Mhm.”

EXTRA SYRUP

 Spectral hands suffocate your heart, and now your chest is tightened. Gut nervously sickened. There, she sits, seemingly absorbed by the air, and the sun that ripens with it. Thumbing at her nails, but not anxiously. Blowing at her lip, but not boredly. Hair dark ochre as the earth, yet fiery as the flaxen ray that pours into it. Tucked into a neat bun, as it was in December, January, and every paving year before. You like her hair that way.

She halved it up when Joel passed, and Seattle howled her name. 

A lot about Ellie changed, really, but that is the perennial nature of water. Ellie is Neptune; a late-teenage girl experiencing a crucial shift into a new, individual season. Ones so seldom—they're cataclysmic, but temporary. 

So much of her is eclipsed to the naked eye. Buried to make burrowing space for others. Just not you, it seems.

Every now and then, she glances as you intricately work your way over, a fist cupped to itself as if it alone safekeeps her deep and untold intentions; the warrant for sitting there. And you too, glance when her eyes smoothly retreat, dedicating pockets of this single, cherished minute to drink in little glimpses of her face. Trying to read her, read the shapes on her face if they indicate trouble, or truce. Last time you talked, you declared your resentment for being left worried and sleepless in Jackson.

Was it out of love?

Through the fair-haired light, that scar-heavy look on her features has noticeably abated, recapturing the tender warmth that gave her face the kind, puppy-browed ambiance you hesitated the world for. Gently laid brows, scarred the same as ever.

Those fucking freckles, too; a constellated map. Hidden miles and miles away for one sun and moon too many. 

Not a mile bridges you both apart now, not anymore.

“Hey, Ellie,” you chime in, frail in respect of the one-mind conversation her idle stare partakes. Just her, and the spring sun. Sweet wheat skin is taken from its aerial shine as her head heeds your voice, a loose twine of auburn falling from place.

Your somber greeting fine-tuned the focus in her eyes, softening into a shape less spacious, more devoted.

And though away from underneath the boughs of sunlight, her eyes found a disembodied source. Dried moss, gleams into a violent sea glass, pupils taking in how you hold that notepad firm in thumbs and pointers.

For the first time in an age, you too, have changed.

The corners of her lips crease into her cheek. “Hey,” her reply mirrors the breathiness of yours, and her left arm low-arcs up to rest on the booth seat, body facing you head-on. Totally relaxed. “How come you didn't mention the job switch? Was lookin’ for you,” she asks curiously, a tinge of that sweet-talk peeking through her wide grin. 

Now that you've stepped closer and garnered her attention, you can see and feel every notched nicety of her face on yours. You can only imagine how a swollen, sliced lip feels, and the continual migraines a fractured nose brings. Weeks of healing have swept by, but her afflictions in particular weren't petty.

“Guess it felt irrelevant to bring up when you got back. But you're here now, and you found me. So?” your tone edges on.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckles. “Did you not miss me?” She feigns offense; brows quirking and her tone pitching slightly.

You did. 

A sigh starts in you, “Hard to not miss and worry for somebody when you picked up their slack in every patrol dating way back.” Barely nipping what you really felt with a snarky tease. “Oh shit, that rhymes,” you glance off and whisper to yourself, still loud enough to inspire mirth.

And it does; her forehead pinches and her voice rises in mirth, laughing casually and shifting in her seat to lean one elbow upon the table. “Ha— yeah,” she admits defeat. Ellie is undeniably cute when she does, always shrinks into herself and sinks into thoughtful conference, thinking of something—anything smart to knock you back into that corner. “Guess you're right. Hm, always were on my ass about that, huh?” 

You tut, “Mhm. Missed my scolding in Seattle?” crossing a leg and bearing weight upon it.

“Nah,” she confesses briefly, and you barely believe it. Wringing in doubt at that sly smile she tries to conceal from you. “I learned my lesson this time.” Ellie glances up, a prayer written on her face asking you to hold your scolds. “Trust me.”

“Hurt enough this time?”

“Fuck you!” She punts you playfully in the ankle and begins a laugh again. “You’re not allowed to point that out!”

That was the way of things; Ellie would charge into a fight wearing her life on her chest, slackening the rules, and you had to reel her in. Tug the leash. It had you suspecting her to have a foolproof reason as her backbone, like she was daring the devil with eyes fearlessly open. Steadfast intent. She would lure runners to her, grapple them from you, or push you away beyond safety. Leave you to watch an animalistic vigor fill every bind in her body until you're convinced she’s either coming out bitten or scathingly torn.

You wish she saw how worrying she truly looked; a sweet face splattered hair to chin in the blood of infected, catching her breath and shaking the arm of the croaking infected she just slaughtered off her ankle. Being way too blithe-hearted for the sacred sake of everyone involved.

“Don't worry about me.”

One day, when she asked you with her solemn eyes to be afraid, you thought she finally trusted you to handle yourself past her overprotective nature. Then, one clicker got too close for comfort, and she retracted the pact of fighting equally. Losing more than what her blade owes the earth would prove her fears to be a product of her unsacrifice.

Ellie figured it was half the reason you quit patrol duty, but not that it was fully the reason you anguished over her leaving for Seattle later on; her appetite for violence.

She accepts it so easily. But even when you had sworn she had place in something as simple as retiring from patrol and nothing else, she smelt the sugary scent of a white lie. Joel did it before. She never accepted it under a gentle radar. Instead, it had her wondering if she had upset you, if you would forgive the crimson melodrama and still take her up on breakfasts at ten when she returned. Regardless if you painted the full picture in the end, apologies spilled alike to winded waters out of this girl; sorry that she still could not stomach you tagging along for vengeance. Never-ending sorries, and you lapped each one up. Brought gaping arms around her and absorbed all the ugly and hopeless sounds. You wanted to prove her fears wrong, but perhaps it was time fear let you be the lamb. Live and let live.

Then, Dina would step in, and Ellie would be wrapped around her finger in sudden laughter. Happy and unhurt. Couldn't even remember what occurred before her sun entered the room, and dried those tears.

Crimson melodrama is all you preserved when abandoned, and is all you could look at her with when in longing.

The winter dance had your guts up to your throat.

Seattle, inexplainable.

You don’t hate Dina; your envy lies with the disconnection of it all.

“What do you recommend?” she questions, and her eyes anticipate you to be the ultimate apocalyptic-dining expert. Locked and attentive. She then begins to shake her head in gesture, planting the menu down. "I don't— I don't usually go to these kinds of places, so.. What do you think?" she awkwardly giggles, tapping the menu's plastic sleeve.

Tension presses a smile onto your lips at her inelegance. "Nobody does, not even people who went to these places before the outbreak," you opine, swapping the notepad to one hand and sliding into the booth. "It's okay. I mean.. hmm, what do you prefer? Sweet or salty?"

Her eyelids flick down, fingers coming to lace together as her eyes traverse the options. "Uh, I guess I— wait, wait," she interrupts herself. A swift finger draws you to look down at the menu, "You guys make pancakes here?" green eyes gaping at you with pupils more voracious than her stomach—or her sweet tooth.

"Yeah."

"I'll have that then."

It was a steadfast verdict. The sweet honey pancakes, she shall have, at the cost of a couple minutes and a couple ingredients. But it isn't traditional for birthdays, so you weigh in. “Just pancakes? I mean.. Faye is back there if you want something a little more celebrator—”

“—I'm not really a blow-the-candles-out and make-a-wish type of person,” she corrects you, brows cinched in as she rambles. Then, her free hand scoots the menu forward. “But you already knew that, you just insist otherwise,” she chuckles, unable to meet eye and eye.

True. Your soft insistence dawns from wanting nothing less than heaven inside everything for her, and maybe a dash of that sweet-sweet crush on her. But, Ellie is so staunch in being the humble girl that doesn't glorify every recorded happening with string lights and a wish hurled into the uncaring universe bent upon nurturing demised, late lights young girls reach for. She kept everything low-key: a small garage get-together on her last birthday, the one before that, and the one predating those two. Alcohol in your palms and movies playing back to back. Budding distorted laughs and tumbles into each other. Birthday things.

The remnants of her fifteen-year-old mind hangs aimlessly inside that museum. Dangled and stretched into archaic bones. On the day of return, she arrived happier than a sunflower drunk on the sun. Broad smiles and whatever else.

Wasn't for long.

“Forget you're so down-to-earth and reserved about all the fun things,” you snarkily deliver, retiring that still empty notepad behind your back. Memory shall serve. “Will that be it then?”

“Are you saying I'm not fun?” 

“I'm saying you need more of it.” You emphasize with a tiny bounce-up on your calves, tilting your head north. Though, nothing she uttered was wrong and so your voice silkily drones on, “And that.” You act the lack of a ruder way to insinuate. “But yeah, okay. One order of pancakes coming up.”

“Cool, I'll uh—have a 'celebratory' drink in the meantime?” She nudges the menu towards you once again, irises pulled thin on themselves. Thoroughly staring; your reflection in a bead of black.

You have to laugh, kindly laugh. “No alcohol here, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.” Her doe-stare only crescendoed from there, shying away at the result of her asking. Something reluctant is lodged in her pale throat, stumbling out only when it feels imminent as you turn away. “D-Do you wanna chat, afterwards? There's so much bullshit surrounding Seattle I have to catch you up on and I-I didn't before, so.."

Swinging your head back, you gauge that mercurial girl there. Tripping up her request like it couldn't escape hibernation from her head any quicker than insult does.

Faye shouldn't mind. “'Course, I was left to wonder about everything since that night anyway.” Your boss might even encourage it; knowing that your long-standing crush for her—heartbreaking to fathom, beautiful to feel—never swept you from rambling Ellie into some fairytale, so she would use it to psych you into asking her out. Jesse, too. Damn the nosy ones!

But it's the one thing that keeps you worried now.

“Cool, cool. Oh, hey, add extra syrup will you?”

What does Ellie think of you?

“Mhm,” syrup is nowhere as sweet as your hum. “Got it.”

Does she think of you at all?

MOUTHS ALL-CONSUMING AND DEPRIVING

  Minutes in, minutes out, wallowing at that ruby-red booth fed the realization to Ellie that the nerves feeding off her anxious chest could not combat conversation alone. She needed an aid. Liquid courage. Velvety smooth and robust.

Fortunately for betting gods and heaven-watching anyones, leftover whiskey from the last bonfire made stock in her cloistered, chaotic cabinets. So it founded no surprise that it whirled to mind after the celebratory-drink fact; leading you here, in her bedroom, on her bed. She pours whiskey into stubby glasses, One for her, one for you, and a lucky extra two for further along this unexplored line. Nothing overflowing limits.

But, oh boy, did it make you all lovey-dovey.

Her lips move and they dance over words, but all you hear is your own enamoration of how heart-shaped they are. You see, but fail to hear and comprehend. Floating aimlessly into those freckles, again. Something a fourteen-aged, sanguine mind would do.

Ellie was relaying Seattle to you, she prefaced. Prefacing didn’t aid you in paying attention, though. Today is not your sharpest, it dates to be your most absentminded. Not your usual, at all.

Nods are swayed to every shock-value word that you manage to understand, but the star-crossed rest, you miss, and replace with whatever story her pupils trace. They flit to read your face after each end of her sentences, so it has you thinking too much of her time has slipped without the company of a listener, and now that her time slips into you, she can use it to stretch your expression with whatever witty remark she makes. 

She did one day blurt that your laugh compliments your smile—or however that fucking flirt threw it over the crackle of that bonfire.

In fact, when you begin to let parts of her body neck-down from her face distract you, only then do you decipher how much she has grown in a month.

She pitches her drink to sip, and your eyes are hot on that glassy trail, artistically concerned with the way she swills down whiskey: fluently gulped, throat bobbing, the scar on her lip licked clean. Her brows too, have thickened, much so as her leathered skin, her callouses. She traces her thigh in circles repeatedly—a fidgety habit—and her lips purse and tug and wrinkles hug and press said lips when they are prettily wide. 

Every high noon or low point of her body was different, and you have missed a great many things you care too much about to not appreciate every brink and midst. You don't want her to be lost to otherworld winds without studying her presence harshly. She is in your scrutiny, now more than ever.

“So, do I get to see my pancakes yet, or?”

“Oh, oops.” You snap out of your woolgathering, wagging your head left to right. Then briskly as you assented her invitation, you slide your knees under you, reorganizing your seating. “Can't blame me for being so invested in your epic tales. Could totally be a comic narrator for the school in town.”

Ellie had already been sat skyward. Sprawled at one leg and tucked at the other, arm in her lap, where her whiskey is nestled. “Oh, sure,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Those kids are a bunch of little shits. They would probably interrupt me with fart jokes or make actual fart sounds than sit still and pay attention for thirty minutes.”

“Hmm,” you hum, short and atonal, peeling the corner of the plastic lid back. “And who do you think taught them those terrible jokes, huh?”

Soft lids narrow together to sharpen her gaze; glaring at your clever comment, lips propped slightly open. “Terrible?” An offended, toothy smile pulls on her lips. All sentences she could possibly muster up come crashing into each other; an agglomeration, “I—They aren't bad jokes—and they're puns, really, so they're actually pretty fuckin' smart,” she boasts with brows raised. “And It isn't my fault that every annoying kid picked them up and started repeating them.”

It most certainly is her fault. Hell, even you catch yourself reciting them at the crest of nightfall, giggling into your palm. Although, why she's trying so rigorously to plead her pun-enjoying case to you, might just be funnier. “Are you seriously trying to explain puns to me?”

“God,” she surrenders in a chuckle, and bows her head to introduce another quick sip to her parched lips. Ellie then eyes you for a blank second thereafter, tugging the plump of her lower lip through her teeth. Like contemplation has her hindered.

Around you, the lungs of the garage’s foundation inhale, and exhale; creaking and settling.

She dashes a huff. “You basically asked,” Ellie reminds you, her tone and eye-roll implying obviousness. “Can I eat my pancakes now? M'hungry.” Her face sutures into a pseudo-frown and encloses herself to a crisscross, impatiently behaving.

Now, as for the pancakes. Fluffy, biscuit brown, star-shaped, bountifully rivered in unrestricted syrup, topped off by a definitely-melted, humbled ingot of butter. Needless to say, you're pleased by what boredom and intact cooking-books taught you, and she hasn't even seen them yet.

The ask for a carryout-container was already in order the moment you set pace for her table, because you wound up in a near-catastrophe as she sought you out around the kitchens like a lost pup and maundered right into you. Thank patrol for instincts; it's the one thing you held an undying clutch to. And the sweet pancakes you proudly plated, making refuge on the counters as you cross-examined Ellie in case you injured her arm more.

Lucky girl was all fine and peachy, of course.

She only knocked you two right into that near-injury mess to invite you here. Persuasion sat readily in her throat incase you questioned her motives—most of her ideas turning out to be a little friend-group antic, never anything serious or singular—but you agreed to it in double-time. 

“Think you might just be one of those kids at this point.” You gingerly tweak the rim of the plate you kept the pancakes on and lift it outside the container, planting it between all four knees.

“Eh, you're not so innocent yourself,” Ellie contends before she even casts her first peek at the hillock of starry sweetness, totally taken aback when she does. “Holy shit,” she awes, just as if she were a young teen again, “Are you kidding me?”

Labor-intended nights never slip soft through the gaps of your fastened fingers, not even days where your work period is abridged, but hey, strange, space-brain girls are far beyond ordinary exception. Hell, Ellie is vital! Commemorating the red angel you worship in the patterned and soapy act of cooping up on her bed, toasting to the moonlight and letting her talk your ear off for old times' sake is your approach to telling her you love her.

“Know I'm not a pancake-connoisseur, but I gave it a unique whirl. Just for you.” You held a fork out, gracing her with first honors. “Don't blame me if it gives you a stomachache,” your forewarn is a doubtful one; in your mind, morningtime will arise with an extra punch to her gut.

Ellie, however, stares right into the baying eyes of a challenge, snatching the fork from you. "Hey, if it's good enough for my tongue, then it's good enough for ma' gut!" and promptly after exclaim, gashes and tears her fork into the sweet, airy texture of the pancake, popping it past her sweet, berried lips. “Mhh—and I will blame you. So you end up feeling sorry n'take care of me.”

God, whatever souls you would sell to spend paradisal afterlife with this fool. Talking with a gob flush of the birthday project you're humiliated to be proud of. You scoff, “Asshole,” lightheartedly scornful as can be, and it snaps something to mind. Head tilting eye-to-eye, “Dina wouldn't be the one to?” you ask, right after she swallows.

That particular question seemingly struck a chord as her brows cinched together, eyes dropping with allusion. “No,” she says meekly, soft in the sound, but you can tell it came up heavy. Shadowed by a sigh, and an untimely chuckle. “Do you want to know?” She throws on a shrug that ripples through her head, sending it to hang lopsidedly. As the stout willow grows.

“Guess so,” you agree temperately, not wanting to seem too eager—even though with this topic, you just might be. Camouflage those old, foul feelings of envy. “Did Seattle have you kicking more ass than just Wolves and infected? Couldn't have been a very romantic tr—”

“Dina's pregnant.”

Silence carves it's way after that. Thick, tense and unyielding. You had words lined up but like a shot in stark night they've just—vanished, sunk back into the chamber. Nothing prepared you to hear that, “Pregnant?” lowering a hand to your belly where you swear your heart has pummeled to.

Ellie glances up, once at your widened face and once at your hand. A bite of humor works it's way above her chin; smugly smirking. “God, don't tell me you're pregnant now too.”

“What? No!”

Damn idiot. Should punch her right in the—nevermind.

Ellie is way too quick to make serious things unserious. “You're a damn menace,” you unapprovingly giggle.

“Am I?” Amusement raises her brows, tearing into the pancake with her fork for another bite. “Cause you seem to like menace.”

You adjust onto propped elbows, “Do I?” playing all nonchalant. “I mean, what do you mean by that?” your voice dims, expending for the small space that separates you and her.

“Mhh,” she contemplates with a purring sound, and shrugs. “Dunno.” Ellie retreats those eyes downward where you won't compel her to smile. You can tell she battles the letch to look up again, which—as proven in her case—doesn't fucking work. She shoots up carefully, and it's a conflicted gaze this time. “Not with Dina anymore, though. That’s the other thing.”

And we're back.

Having reconciled the chance, you retrace. Look at her with somber concern. “Did something between the two of you happen?” It's a gentle question, reinforced by the bulletproof stare you offer her to unwind in.

The air in her voice softens, “Sort of,” and the meridians of your body then become easier to look at as she continues, wrinkles in her brows. “Said some things I shouldn't have, and we.. figured it best to leave it at that. For now.” her explanation sounds desolate and attemptless, like she has sat in shadow and vigil accepting this fact and has given up on hope. Crestfallen and quieter; this isn't like her. Bent at her wrist, dangling that glass above her crisscrossed lap like a sad child pokes at the food on their plate.

“For now?” You hate that you pry, but that sick greed in your gut from times before haunts with a hunger for knowledge. Your envy that is enlightenment. Still, you hesitate to seem nosy, wanting nothing than to possibly just console your friend in need. “What's holding you back from.. calling it quits? The pregnancy?” You crane your body upright slowly.

“Just still feelin' bad.” Her fingers begin a tap-dance at the glass' rim. “I'm an asshole.”

You duck at the neck, searching for her downcast eyes. “Come on, El. I've only ever seen you rant and rave at middle-aged grumpy men and infected, no way it was that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” she insists otherwise with an earnest voice, inciting a refreshed sigh as she swigs her whiskey.

“Well, what did you say?” You are relentless. No, normally you would not condone it, but tonight, tongues are loose and boundaries are blurry. You miss your happy girl. “I could talk to Dina, if it helps.”

“Wouldn’t change shit.”

“If you love her, you would try.” Even if it sickens you.

Ellie slots her drink in her lap, and grouches. “Dude.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and stifles a groan, frustrated. It draws out in words without proper footing, “It's weird. We just don't know what to say to each other—I don't know what to say to her, it.. it's just how it is—it was a mutual agreement. None of your business, really.” 

Her own tongue is a very obvious byproduct of nerves, whiskey, stress, by and large a lot of things. Being goaded, definitely.

How it is, is how it will be.

“She broke up with me.”

You didn't mean to goad her, but curiosity—and a kiss of alcohol and envy—ate your refrain. The lack of any eye contact or movements to stray from you thereafter her word is telling enough. That it aches her head, and a cold, guilty sweat crosses over your skin. It was a stupid thing to blurt. You feel fucking stupid for even saying that.

Fuck. 

Her dry sniffle is noisy on your shortcoming, and has you scrambling to think. “Sorry, just been worried for weeks.” But you shrink into a ball of abraded arms and legs, conserving yourself into a shy, spotted egg of curiosity that clads no hatching cracks to be convicted of. “Thought you two finally getting together would be the dream to end all dreams.” What the fuck do you know anyway?

Her eyes watch through you, into you like water; she notices, and the pancakes are slid to the side. Shuffles of fabric clamber closer as she eats the inches between you two, her breath brushing your forehead. “Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. It's fuckin' great that I got somebody I can drink with and mope to. Really. Just been shitty all around—Tommy? Fuck, he's been the worst lately.” 

Everything ascends in temperature once her hand plants on the side of your neck, every nerve petrifies; unheard-of touch. She can feel the gasped tension in your throat, thumbing the muscles down. 

“Don't worry about it,” she says, and her saying that amuses you.

A moth-eaten phrase in particular is what was said. You scoff at it, plopping your legs back out. “Dude.” You bite a smile into your lips. Sucks that such a hackneyed thread of words does so; you're really chewing back the urge to call her any byname of dumbass, per usual. But damn that sincere face on her face that sweetens the teasing deal for you. You settle for low-hanging fruit. “You always say that, Ellie.”

“Ugh,” she seconded a scoff back at you, grimacing coyly. “Don't you start.” Ellie drags her hand off, not intending for it to land smack-dab on your thigh. It takes her a second to register the sound, the texture, slinking her hand behind her when you say nothing.

“Start what?” you stutter a laugh, bringing your thighs together.

“Nothin,”

“Don’t bullshit me, WIlliams.” To educe her, you dig your foot into her side, poking her. “Does it have anything to do with only me being here and not anybody else?” You lean into her.

Ellie does too, an exact mirror of you. “No..” The only thing that contrasted you, was her hand again, seeking what was left behind on your thigh. “Just wanted to see you first,” her lips barely move besides a slick smirk. Voice tiptoeing through the air, the noise-level two clandestine lovers live at, in secret song.

“You fuckin liar. No hang-outs for weeks before you left and suddenly you want to see me?” You call bull when she relucts to raise her hung head, witnessing the corners of her lip curl. Her head twists away more, and you spearhead the first, little move: tuck that irkful strand of auburn with a single finger. “C'mon.. what is it?”

“Stupid,” she blatantly spits, and at last confronts your face with her puckish one—glimpsing down, and up, and down. Watching her grip flex into your leg intermittently, chewing her lip. “Mhh, maybe 'm starting it.”

Ellie is heart-poundingly close; her breath is now yours to breathe. You whisper, “Maybe you are,” perking yourself right up to her cheek, unnoticing of the ardor her eyes spin over your face. Unsure where to stare. You pretend the pressure on your thigh flies under the radar, too, and that your heart isn't in the middle of a love-logged swell, and your cheeks aren't tender from smirking at the feeling of it perched there. Love-struck death befalls, if else confessed, so you tease, tease, and tease to stomach your excitement. “Maybe, you're stalling on those pancakes because they actually gave you a stomachache. You feeling good?”

Her bitten lips part, and the next sensations you feel—are transcendental.

Wisping whispers so hot, and intoxicating on your skin, you fail to catch her hand coming up from your thigh to clasp your face, or that hers has shifted in front of yours. She breathes out, “Won't you shut up already?” through lips pulled into a smirk, and rushes to press it fondly against your mouth.

You wince—somewhere between an electrified gasp and a reaction of delight—into the kiss she stole, and it only beckons her to starve more for you. The heat of her whiskey breath pours into your mouth, and you drape your eyes closed. Scoring these seconds by, she spends them concentratedly rolling the skin together, others pushing and shying from the kiss, until she stills and bleeds out the pressure in a slow, wet smack. Hazily eyeing you for a response.

Once you feel her no more, your eyes blurrily creak open, and the corners of her lips at soft upturn greet you. Single creases at either side, the few freckles above them outspread.

Judgement renounces you, leaving you with pathetic pickings for reply. You aren't sure what she wants—or needs you to say. “Ellie?” daintily, a mumble flows onto her lips, and is far from a frail sound of concern. Intrigue encapsulates you.

What does this mean?

You think you know, but self-reason has always proven itself to be naive and too eager to trust.

By cruel emotion, she misunderstands you. “Sorry,” she pants out breathlessly, blowing the shape of it into your cleft lips and hovering right upon. Her fingers gouge the fabric clothing your chest, mangling it into her fist—an attempting grasp. This proximity is all she could ever dream of. “Is this okay?” Yet, dreams always sever at the apotheosis. So when she comes in for the second kiss, she wants no more for dreaming; the reality she yawns with hunger into, is insurmountable.

A dewdrop of something cold dribbles between you. Tears.

In turn, you misunderstand her. Using your own stubbornness to create an enigma. To think, that out of the blue, all of this would transpire? After endless wishes unanswered? You doubt it.

You love her, but you refuse the reality of it happening upon you.

Separating from the plush, licked skin of her lips fleetingly, you speak. “Is this you being drunk?” Only to be drawn back in without her processing your words right away, and then drawn back out. Intricate intimacy.

“Please,” Ellie begs, “Answer me, before I feel like an asshole again,” and chuckles sobbingly before her teeth feel rapaciously empty, and cannot tolerate it any longer. Instinct, and teeth nip your bottom, vulnerable lip.

Neither of you could be totally drunk, having only drank a modest portion.

So this is raw.

Thinly pulled, she slowly stretches it across the air between, and watches it spring back beneath eyelids sunken low. The action entails nothing else for her to feed satisfaction from, already panting right in your mouth in search of more as soon as your tongue descries the answer. “More than okay,” you heave in a passioned breath along that all-consuming, deprived mouth. Your hand squeezes her fist confirmingly.

It quenches her lust to know, a hot-blooded, moaned and voiceless curse snapping into your mouth. “I fuckin' love you.” Her rage softens in meeker kisses, peppering them up to the corners of your lips until she pauses, and pulls herself away. Her eyes turn troubled and adrenaline-rushed. Stains of tears shimmer beneath, along new ones that begin to plunge, and for the first time ever, you know they're yours. But then the flesh between frowns, the mood shifting, and she croaks, “Am I.. an asshole?”

It breaks you to hear that.

You glare, and stammer, “W-What? You aren't.” Hooking dearly onto her wrist when her hand glides up to rest against your cheek. “Why?”

“Cause I sprung this on you, 'nd I don't wanna force you to..” Ellie cranks to a halt, mouth screwing shut like her thoughts were too much to bear hearing aloud. “Fuck,” she quietly spews, cowering her face near your neck.

“Said it was okay,” you coo, clarifyingly coo, raking your fingertips up and through the tied loops of her hair. “The only asshole thing you'd ever done was not let me come with you.”

“I know.” Her eyes search for uncomplicated plains. The sheets, her lap, your neck. A kiss is planted as she tips her head, the gust thereafter a warm reminder of her sorries.

“Thought you were going to die.” You awoken in violent patterns, cold nights restless in bed, tossing and turning. Waking and falling into daydreams of how Jackson would feel missing a cardinal component. A girl to rave against dying lights. Thorns scale your throat at the thought. “You're reckless, y'know?” you mean it as a gentle insult, chuckling as it leaves your lips, and sealing it into her scarred palm. Kissing reckless consequences.

Her lips loiter on the pulse of your throat. They drag, and they drag.. sloppily limping over your jaw as she makes her way to observe you in her palm, mumbling low, and gravelly, “How many times am I gonna have to say it?” Ellie deems it redundant to tell you that she knows again, resorting to her own little gentle insult, “Such a fuckin' sap.”

“Says you.”

Her hand is comfortingly warm; you aren't fain to break away. But her fingers are curious, thumb nearly making it into your mouth before she second-guesses herself, easing it at the verge of your lips instead.

A longing moment of Ellie staring at the way her thumb looks—a decoration to your mouth—passes, and she responds, “Still alive, aren't I?” to that loose thread of a plea you forgot you even said. It calls you right over, bidding you to look into her eyes again as space finds itself thinning again, her scratchy, band-aided nose caressing yours. “Dumbass.”

She chuckles into your mouth as you chuckle into hers, cutting yourself off with a kiss that ebbs, and flows. Suckles, and smacks, snaking her tongue in for a change. That sweet, sweet wheat. Saccharinity you can't explore anywhere else other than the outline of her mouth. And you—of grunted volitions in her chest—take exploration further, replacing the grasp of her shoulder with the coursing of fabric, sliding under the hem of her shirt and palming the skin there.

You feel her skin breathe, her belly breathe into your hand, and a content wrinkle pinch between her brows. Her skin, is as soft as nothingness.

“You're a dumbass.”

Air clings to your cheek as her hand reaches around you, pressing fingerprints into the base of your head as to prop you for her delightments. Ellie is no amateur, enjoying you as if she knew you were hers without explicit pledge.

“Sure, babe,” she scoffingly counters, and pulls her tongue out of you, lips messiy shining. She scouts you out; lays eyes on your expression with undertones of satisfaction and presses an appetent bite right back into your damp skin, grunting into the filthy kiss.

Your mind is one-pathed right now; in the most maddened form, you crave the story further down her throat. In that warm space, is air thinned and balmy with the scent of alcohol and syrup. In those whimpers, is the sincere confession she held tight in throatly gloaming, all those intimate times before. In all of your yearnings, your lips never parted for more.  

Two holes that want to consume each other.

Weeping, wailing, tormenting in an empty forever.

“Fuck you, Ellie,” you cathartically sob into the humid cavern of her, a hint of wanton—and other repressed things, taking form. That hand under her shirt wanders from her navel and tweaks the button of her jeans, pressing your body against all of her like it hurt to be inside your own, singular body. Overcame by a need you could not chew out.

Ellie cuts the kiss, quick to soothe the movement with her hand pressing down and collecting yours. “Hey, hey, too fast,” she laughs, distancing herself and giving you those eyes that could see you were overstrung, hectic to go somewhere you aren't prepared for.

She loves you, but that means appreciating you enough to wait until time is perfect.

Her head cocks, “Let's take shit slow, huh?” fingers weaving into the pliant gaps of yours and pulling your fist dear to her chin, kissing it.

You speak over the repeated sounds of her smooches, “Yeah, sorry,” cringing slightly at how fucking cheesy the scene became. But, when is Ellie not? Wonder clasps you now; intent to know what this makes out of the two of you, having held your feelings for forever. “Well, what does all this mean, then?”

“It means..” Ellie slants her body even more, stealing your wrist along with her. Planning something, no doubt. “You and me, breakfast tomorrow at ten, Tipsy Bison?” Her mouth stuck to the side of your hand like syrup, so firm in not letting you go.

It makes your ears simmer hearing her shamelessly set up a date, of all things she could have said. God. You errantly laugh, totally not giddy when her mouth starts sprinkling up your arm at an alarming pace. “Sounds more than good—hey! You slow down!” 

Happy birthday, asshole.

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[angel-eyes05]

to leave the warmest bed i've ever known (part 4)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

pairing: spider-woman!reader x miguel o’hara 

summary: so much time has passed since you last saw each other. will old feelings come up again once you two find each other again?

warnings: HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, this is so against canon its insane, NSFW (we did it guys we're finally here), switch!reader and switch!miguel, blood mention, fang and claws play, p in v unprotected, cumplay, angsty (i couldnt help it), it goes, angst, smut, and then angsty fluff at the end youre welcome

word count: 3.2k

notes: for some reason, it didn't let me tag as many people who wanted to be on the taglist, so if i didn't end up tagging you for the final part, sorry idk what went wrong

also forgive me i was listening to boygenius while writing the parts leading up to the smut so it might get a little angsty there (i cant help it) (miguel and y/n are so bite the hand and cool about it core)

but then i balanced it out by listening to frank ocean (pyramids specifically) while writing the smut so you're welcome

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Three years had passed. Three years since you finally found Miles, defeated The Spot, and caused the collapse of the Spider Society. Everyone had gone back to their separate dimensions, but were able to still visit each other with their still working portal watches. Miles and Gwen specifically were very happy. Peter B. went back home to live with MJ and Mayday, sending you frequent pictures of Mayday to keep you updates. You were different. You didn’t return to your home world. You didn’t necessarily have anyone to return to per se. Instead, you decided to hop between dimensions, seeing what crime there was to fight in cities that didn’t have anyone to protect it. It was enough to keep you occupied, and as long as your watch still worked, you had the option to stop if you wanted to. Life was nice. You finally had found peace.

But something felt off. Something thudding in the back of your head. Because even though you had been at peace for three years, it had also been three years since you saw him. You had seen him during the final showdown between all of Spider Society, but your team had managed to keep you two apart, due to fear for your safety. After the fight was over, you two had made eye contact with each other a couple of times, but never approached each other. If you were being honest, you were still scared of him at that point, even seeing him tied up there on the floor waiting for someone to deal with him. 

It took a while for your gashes to heal, the ones on your back taking much longer to turn into scars than the ones on your tricep and thigh. The marks on your body were frequent reminders of him and the damage he’s caused to your life. Part of you hated him for it. But most of you just missed him. Unlike Jess, who sent you pictures of her baby every now and then, neither of you had reached out to the other. It was crazy how five years of shared history can be thrown to the ground so quickly.

Right now, you were sitting on the railing of your apartment balcony. For the past month or so, you decided to park it in Earth-3819. There wasn’t much crime going on there, so it was a nice place to stop when you needed a break. Your feet dangled off the edge of the railing, as you looked out to see the sunset on the skyline. The wind blew faintly at your face, causing strands of hair to fall out of your high bun. You had been thinking more about him recently, wondering if he was feeling the same way you were. 

Almost as if you manifested it, you heard the sliding glass door from your bedroom slide open. Startled, you quickly turned around, ready just in case it was an attacker.

It was much worse than an attacker. 

You mouth laid agape as his massive shadow covered your smaller body. Feelings that laid dormant for the past three years suddenly erupting in your stomach. You looked up to the roof of your building as a signal to meet you up there, as you attached a web to the top and swung up there.

Once you were both at the top, you faced your back to him to take time to catch your breath. Your emotions were all over the place right now. “You’re really hard to find, you know,” he said trying to break the silence. You wanted to throw up. As much as you hoped this moment would come, you never realized how unprepared you would be if it ever did. You couldn’t bare to look at him right now, knowing you would lose control of yourself if you did. “You look…good.” How would he know, he only saw your face for a second before you bolted off. You both stood there, the wind growing louder and louder with each second you both stayed silent. 

All of your senses came to a freeze once you felt his hand place itself on your shoulder, causing a flinch from you. “I wanted to find you again, mi vida,” he said in that rich, deep, smooth tone of his that drives you crazy. You could tell he was getting closer when you felt the hairs on your neck stand up from him breathing on them. “I missed you, and I was hoping we could pick up where we left off,” he said into the crook of your neck and began to plant kisses there. You broke free from his grasp by the third kiss he left. “No no no no no, no we can’t. It’s not that simple Miguel,” you said, pinching your bridge and sighing. There's no way he could've thought it would be this easy. He's not this stupid….is he?

“Listen amor, I’m sorry for everything that happened. But the past is the past.” He walked closer to you. “And I want my future with you.” He was up against you again. This time instead of your shoulder, he dragged his finger up and down your back in an almost hypnotic motion. God, you wanted him so bad, you wanted it to be this simple. That he can just apologize and everything could be okay. But you were reminded it couldn't be that way once his finger hit a pressure point in your scar. You swatted your hands in the air and walked away from him again. “No Miguel, that's not how this works. You can just do the things you've done to me and just say sorry and expect it to fix everything. You're not a child.” 

Once you turned around to face him, you saw him standing there like a lost puppy. You just wish he could see what you were talking about. “Don't act like you didn't do horrible things then too. I saw what you did to Jess.” “Don't turn this onto me Miguel. This is about you.” You walked up to him and pressed your finger into his chest. “This is about you, and the horrible things you've done to me! I can't even take a shower anymore without looking at myself in the mirror and seeing your damage!” You lifted up your shirt sleeve. “You did this! This was all you!” Miguel looks down at you with sympathetic eyes as your eyes began to well up. 

“And you can’t just barge in on this life I’ve made for myself and ask for me back because I won't go with you!” You were fully crying at this point, desperately trying to get your words out between sobs and lightly punching at Miguel's chest while he just stared at you. “Because I hate you Miguel! I hate you, okay!” You couldn't manage to talk anymore, overcome with the emotions he caused you to feel. You rested your head on his chest as you continued to sob. He wrapped his arms around you, causing you to do the same to him immediately. You sat there crying into his arms for about a minute, until he lifted up your chin with his finger.

“I’m so sorry I did this to you mi princesa. I’m so sorry. But I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Overtaken by emotion, you grab his face and crash your lips into his. Almost instinctively, his hands find a home onto your hips. You pull away for a second. “Just stop talking already,” you say breathlessly. He rushes to connect the two of your lips again, already going as far as to slip his tongue in between your lips. He’s so passionate about everything he does. His hands hold a tight grip on your body as his tongue explores your mouth. Almost like he’s hungry for you. No, not hungry. Starving. Famished. Three years apart was too much for him to stand without you by his side or in his bed. He needed you desperately. Like his life depended on if he was going to be able to fuck you into your bed tonight or not. 

He let out moans as your hands ran through and tugged on his hair. But as soon as his claws came out and dug into your hips, you pulled your mouth off of his, a string of saliva still connecting you two. “No claws Miguel. Bring them out again, and its over okay.” You still weren’t mentally over his attack against you. He nods. “Of course, baby.” With that said, you let go of him to walk over to the edge of the building. Once your at the edge, you signal him over. He follows, almost as if he’s under some spell. You attach one of your webs to your balcony railing below and use it as a guide to fall down to it. You land on your balcony, Miguel following close behind as you open the sliding door to your bedroom.

After you close the door and blinds, you turn to find Miguel almost hovering over you. He looked like some kind of lost dog the way he kept following you around, begging for more of you. You gently kiss him and guide him over to your bed. He sits down on the edge of the bed and begins to pull your hoodie off your head as you help him take off his suit. Once your sweatpants are off as well, you gently push him onto his back on your bed. Goosebumps form all over your body, partially from exposure to the cold air in your room, and partially from seeing him like this underneath you again. Finally, you take his already hard cock, and slide it into your hole, causing a rough groan out of him as you begin to rock on his hips.

You take things nice and slow while you’re in control, knowing the moment you get sloppy he’ll start to take over for you. You kissed down his neck and collarbone as you rode him, with him gripping hard at your back and your hips. “Nng, m-missed you s-so much amor,” he groaned out. “Tan hermosa.” You begin to speed your thrusting, tugging at his hair to get strained noises out of him. His hands make their way up to your back, digging into your skin. But your quick to rip his hands out of your back and pin them above his head once his talons come out again, into your back this time. You also take your lips off of his and stop your thrusting.

Miguel searched your face for some kind of explanation to the sudden stop, to find you panting and nearly frozen still. You’re taken back to that fight, a result from his claws finding a way into your scars. You’re pulled back to reality by Miguel’s voice. “Amor, que paso?” he asks with concern. You quickly wipe the sweat off your face and look into his beautiful crimson eyes. You wanted to forget the pain he caused you all those years ago, but unfortunately you couldn’t. But, you were willing to forgive him though. “Nothing Miggy,” you say gently, pressing a soft kiss onto his lips. He tries to move his hands back onto you, but finds his hands still trapped to the headboard. He looks at you confused. “What did I say about the claws, Miguel.” 

“Ay, baby you know its hard for me to control them around you,” he says, slightly annoyed, driven by the need to touch you again. “Well you’re going to need to try to okay? For now though, you’re going to stay like this.” His face drops, and he makes a sound almost like a whine. “Ay coño, lo siento péro you don’t need to punish me.” You felt powerful hearing him whine and beg like this. You were denying a starving man of his woman, his source of energy. 

Arms squirmed in your hand, as you began to rock on top of him again. You made sure to not kiss him either, moving away whenever he would try to place his mouth onto yours. He whined as you picked up your speed, desperate to feel you again. “P-please, let me go cariño.” You moved your mouth down and whispered in his ear, running your finger up and down his stomach, causing him to melt under you and whimper like a madman. “Not just yet,” you whispered seductively, sending extra chills down his spine and into his stomach when you bit into his ear lobe.

Overcome with your own urge to feel him, you accidentally let go of his hands and moved yours to grab hold of each of his pecs as you planted kisses over his sternum. Suddenly, you’re overswept as Miguel is freed and takes control over the situation. “I love you amor, but you have to let me touch your,” he says in that beautiful, rich tone of his before he goes at his own pace: slamming himself into you. 

He goes much faster than you did, and you almost come there on the spot as he nearly breaks your bed with his ferocity. You grip onto his enormous triceps for leverage as you let out a series of incoherent moans. “You like that, huh?” he pants out. You shove your lips onto his to get him to stop talking. “I-if you’re gonna do this, n-ngh, you’re gonna have to s-hh-ut up,” you manage to get out in between your almost inhumane sounds. He nods and shoves his tongue into your mouth, exploring the insides of your cheeks while his tip slams into your walls, causing that white heat to begin to build up in your stomach.

His hands swarm across your body, making up for lost time before, and eventually land on your breasts as he begins to palm at them. Just as you thought he couldn’t arouse you any more than he already has, he moves his mouth along your jawline, down to your neck, and begins to mark it with kisses and slight sucking. “I-I missed you too, Miggy.” 

That nickname you had for him drove him crazy. So crazy in fact, his next move was to drive his fangs into your neck, making sure to not let his poison seep into your neck. He presses his lips and sucks on the skin on your neck while sinking his fangs deeper into you. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, as you held onto his broad shoulders while he basically slammed you into the bed. “Oh Miguel,” you moaned out. He nodded, not able to speak, due to his fangs still being attached to your neck. You could tell he was getting close too with how sloppy his pace was getting. 

You’re washed over with bliss when the heat in your stomach finally takes over the rest of your body, almost clawing at Miguel while you come. His hands put more pressure on your breasts as he comes as well, moaning into the softness of your neck. Once you two have both finished, he slowly pulls his teeth out of your neck, and licks up the metallic liquid with his warm, delicate tongue. He slowly pulls his cock out of the sweetness of your cunt and rolls over to lay next to you on the bed, dragging his fingers across your pussy, taking the cum his fingers picked up and putting it in his mouth.

He plants a kiss onto your forehead before saying, “One second, princesa, I’ll be right back,” as he got up to go to the bathroom. He must have been in there for about 10 minutes before coming back into your room and reaching out his hand for yours. You take his hand as he leads you out of bed, reminded of how naked you are when you reveal yourself from the sheets.

He leads you into the bathroom to see that hes drawn a bath for the two of you. You blush slightly at the gesture, as he gets in first and leads you in. The touch of the water numbs your body slightly with the mixture of the cold room to the hot bath water. You almost melt as you sink in, laying your back against Miguel’s chest as he wraps his arms around your body. You could fall asleep right here, mixed between the comfort of the bath water, and Miguel’s body finally against yours again. The bathtub was kind of small, so his body was taking up most of the space, causing him to basically engulf you. 

You were surrounded in him, his lips almost attached to the nape of your nack, his arms consuming your upper half, and his legs intwining with your lower half. He wiggles slightly to reach the soap, puts it in the water to wet it, and lathers it onto your body. First, he washes your arms, rubbing the soap back and forth over your arm hairs, and even under your armpits. Next, he moves to wash your chest. He takes the soap and moves it over your breasts and your underboob, causing you to move in closer to him. His response is to peck kisses into the crook of your neck, getting little giggles out of you. You stop giggling though after he stops kissing you and stays still for a second. 

You wait in silence for him to do something. “...Miggy…you okay?” you ask when he doesn’t say anything. You turn your head slightly to see him. Out of your peripherals, you see him staring solemnly at your back. He’s finally seen them. The four almost perfectly placed scars warping across your back. They were huge. And he knows they’re from him. You turned your head back to the front and dug it in between your knees, pushing out your back even more. Miguel delicately traced his fingers over them, as you waited curled up for him to say something. “I’m sorry,” is all he can manage to weakly push out. 

You decide to turn your body around to face him, splashing water around in the cramped bathtub while doing so. His eyes are down with sadness creeping over his face. You cup his cheek with your hand and press a loving, gentle kiss onto his lips. You bring his arms over your shoulders and wrap your legs around his hips. You wanted to be engulfed by him. You were so pressed on staying mad at him for so many years that you forgot how much you loved being this close to him. You could hear his heart softly beating as you pressed your head against his chest. He soon wrapped his arms around your body, taking you into him, and dug his head into the crook of your neck, almost as if he was hiding. 

You stayed there for a moment before eventually turning back around. You laid your head in a position so you could still see his face if you looked up. You could feel yourself slowly dozing off in his arms. Your last thoughts before you slipped out of consciousness was of how perfect this was. 

You had found your home again. Moreso, he found his way to you. And this time, you were never going to let go.

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a/n: i just wanted to say thank you to everyone for sticking around during this series. i know it wasn't meant to be 4 parts and only 2 so i really appreciate everyone who stuck around for the whole thing. make sure to look out for my next thing cause i wanna start writing an enemies to lover oc x miguel thing so please go and support that once thats out. thanks guys!!!!

taglist: @jenniferdixon05207 @sweetanimebakery @azxulaa @daimiyu @vinkar345 @pinkninja200 @luvstich @rin-matsuoka345-blog @lillunna @konniebon @hwanunjin @simp-nerd-16 @chucklefuvk @elwyn7 @haileybxxr @ilovemymomscooking @lansy-4 @maxi-ride @d4rno @callsign-blue @obamnas-soda @sophipet @violentlyneon @d1lf-loverrr @afro-hispwriter @kirke-is-my-name @ilovemiguelohara @lavnderluv @konniebon @msecho19 @kiamewrites

[pearlessance]

Faith in Me - Idle Threats [v]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel faces hard truths and discovers you've been assigned an impossible task. He doesn't intend to let you chart your course alone.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI (no smut in this part, but in almost every other in the series), brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, BIG angst in this one, reader shoots at joel, added backstory to progress the plot

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The following morning, Joel wakes up to a cold bed. The sunlight leaks in through the window, casting rays of yellow across your room. He realizes he’s never seen it like this, all lit up. There’s a mahogany dresser across from the bed, one of those handmade ones that last through lifetimes. There are scuffs and scrapes in the wood stain, but they make it look cozy and lived-in and comforting and warm, just like you. He realizes too, that the sheets on your bed that he once thought were navy are more of a plum—and that, too, suits you.

He turns his head and finds the ripped paper sitting on your pillow. He unfolds it, and inside there’s a note in your scribbly handwriting that reads, I had plans with a friend. When you let yourself out, make sure you lock the front door. 

Joel’s a little surprised for two reasons. One, you allowed him to sleep in your bed, in your home, without you, as if it were his, too. It makes him feel tender yet…territorial, somehow. Like he wants it to be his. Wants to wake up slowly like this every day, with the smell of your shampoo stuck in the sheets and in his skin. And, two, he’s surprised he slept through the night. 

It’s been a long time since he’s done that. It’s been a little easier, being in Jackson, being someplace safe. But while the walls around the commune make sleeping a little less fretful, his thoughts are what keep him up at night. Guilt and shame and all the loss he’s suffered. The memories, the picture-perfect images in his head, the bloodstain that never seems to leave his hands, the sounds of gunshots and clicking infected, and the screams, always the screams. He’s lucky to get an hour or two of solid rest every night. 

But it was dark when he fell asleep cradling your head in his hands. And now the sun is out, blinding him— midday. He feels rested and sated and revived. As if sleeping here, with you, has changed something in him. Altered the chemical makeup of his brain.

Joel doesn’t know how to process it. So, he doesn’t. Instead, he finds his clothes on the floor and does just what you ask. He locks the door behind him, wondering who this friend is that you’ve left him for, wondering if it’s someone he knows, wondering if it’s another older man who’s got morals as loose as he does.

It had been your words last night, though, and that brings him comfort. I’ll only see you.

He believes it. He has to. Because the alternative is…unthinkable. Dangerous.

When he nears the two-story colonial that Maria had given them upon their arrival to Jackson, Joel notices the door to the garage, where Ellie has taken up residence, is propped open. He hears her rambunctious laughter, and his chest pulls tight at the sound. He makes a mental note to spend some time with her soon—her birthday is coming up, and she’s growing so fast, right before his eyes. But Joel wants her to enjoy this phase for as long as she can. Wants her to get a chance to be a kid the way he’d gotten to. The way…the way Sarah will never get a chance to. 

He swallows hard as the thought crosses his mind.

And he knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s an invasion of her privacy, but he lingers outside the garage, wanting to hear that easy happiness in her voice for a little while longer. He expects to hear Dina’s voice, or Cat’s or Jesse’s, or maybe even all three of them. But he hears you instead, and something akin to relief fills him to the brim as he realizes who your plans are with.

“No, no! It’s good!” You’re laughing too, and Ellie mirrors the sound twice as loud. “C’mon, look. Let me see.”

Joel can’t help himself. He peeks into the room, decorated with band posters and paintings and polaroid photos. The two of you sit on the floor with your backs pressed against the side of her bed, knees pulled up with a composition notebook held between you. In your lap lies that journal Joel has seen so many times, the same one he’s been so curious about. 

Part of him is a little envious that whatever you’ve put in it, you’re sharing with Ellie and not him. But he supposes if not him, at least it’s her.

He watches as you pluck the ballpoint pen from her hands, making minuscule edits to whatever it is she’s drawn in her notebook. “There,” you say, handing both tools back to her. “See? You just forgot the hindwings. That’s all.”

Ellie looks up at you, admiration in her eyes. “How are you so good at this? I love drawing but I feel like I suck at it sometimes.”

“It just takes practice,” you tell her. “And I’m not good at drawing. Just these two things.” You pick up the leather-bound journal in your lap and flip through several pages.

“Bugs and bones,” Ellie says, eyes scanning each page and drinking up its contents greedily. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” you echo. “Just bugs and bones.”

She stops your flipping of the pages and points to one in particular. “What’s that one?”

“A moth,” you answer.

“Is that a skull?”

“It’s called a death’s-head hawkmoth,” you say, setting your journal aside and picking up hers instead. You take the pen and speak as you draw on the page. “People used to think because of the markings it has that it was bad luck to see one. That it meant trouble was coming. But, back before the outbreak, some scientists used to study bugs like this exclusively, and some of them wondered how they survived so long because all they do was eat honey. I mean, all they do. They don’t even harm the bees who make the honey. They don’t have fangs or claws, they don’t sting like bees or cause harm to the environment. How can something like that mean trouble? Just because of the way it looks, because of what people think ?” You shake your head and hand the journal back to Ellie.

Joel knows, without even having to look, that you must have copied the image from your journal into her notebook. He mulls over your words and thinks about all the reasons he’s told you he can’t be with you. Wonders if you’ve ever compared yourself to a moth, remembers Kelly’s words. 

Bit of a troublemaker, really.

He remembers the first thing his brother ever told him about you. 

That’s just how she is. Explosive, defiant, easily provoked.

Remembers how Tommy noticed the immediate change in you after that night spent in the tree blind, that night Joel saw you for what you were and wanted it still.

That girl has been a pain in my ass every single day. Someone has a complaint about her, or she’s hollerin’ about something or other. Never does as she’s told—fights Maria and I on everything.

He thinks about Stella standing outside the bakery, shaking her fist at you with your name shouted from her lips over the loss of a single strawberry scone. One you split with a girl who’s never had one before, and likely wouldn’t have even thought to try it if not for your thievery.

How can something like that mean trouble?

Joel feels that pinch in his chest again. It’s a little different this time, a little more like guilt than appreciation, a little more like perdition, like eternal damnation.

Because he��did this to you. Joel put these thoughts in your head, didn’t he? And you don’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve you.

“You write a lot,” Ellie says, and there’s a sensitive tone to her voice. One that lets you know you don’t have to talk about it, but that you can. 

And Joel is a little surprised that you do. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Do you forget stuff all the time?”

You shake your head, flipping back to the next vacant page in your journal. You’re drawing inside of it, and Ellie is drawing in her notebook, and Joel lets himself appreciate the sight of the two of you seemingly so comfortable with each other. Two gifts he’d been given from God, two gifts he’s too corrupt to deserve but too lamentable to ever let go of. “Not really. It’s…it’s the opposite,” you tell her so softly he almost can’t hear it from where he lingers just outside the doorway. “There’s too much I can’t forget.”

Ellie’s drawing stops, but she still holds the pen tightly between her fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” you answer.

“I think…I think I like Cat,” Ellie says, and Joel isn’t even a little surprised to hear it. He’s old, but he’s not blind. “I mean, like like her. Is that…weird?”

“That’s not weird,” you say casually. You don’t even lift your pen, don’t even turn your head to look over at her. Joel sees the relief in Ellie’s shoulders, knows this confession has been made easier for her with how little you’ve reacted to it. “Cat’s cool, right?”

“Yeah,” Ellie says, cheeks flaming. She starts to draw in her notebook again, pursing her lips together to hide her pleased smile. “Cat’s cool.”

Joel clears his throat and knocks his knuckles against the door. “Hey, kiddo,” he greets.

“Hey,” Ellie says, brows pinched together. “Where’d you go off to so early this morning? Maria was asking for you.”

“Just had a couple of things to take care of,” he says. “I’m gonna shower and then I’ll go find Maria. We’ll grab lunch in the dining hall after. Sound good?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I think they’re serving venison today.” Her eyes widen dramatically, and she gives him a pointed look, and then she’s inconspicuously nodding toward you, hinting at something. 

It takes Joel a little too long to understand what she’s saying. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and shrugs as he turns to look at you, trying to prepare himself for the embarrassment, the discomfort. But when your eyes connect, none of it’s there. It’s just that warm tenderness you bring out in him, and somehow that’s even worse because Ellie is right there and he doesn’t know how to hide this, doesn’t know how to keep it under wraps when every time he looks at you he feels he might burst with the rapture he’s stolen with you. Joel fights his knowing grin as he says, “You can come.” And as soon as the words fall from his mouth he regrets them, coughs to cover up his chagrin. “I mean, for…for lunch. If you…if you want to. You don’t have to, but you’re…you can—if you want.”

You’re laughing as he stumbles over his words, and Ellie’s mouth falls open in astonishment. “Uh…sure,” you say. “Sure. I’ll come with you, Joel.”

His face burns, and he’s trying not to laugh and scream at the same time. 

“ Jesus,” Ellie huffs. “That was painful. Now go, please.”

He knows she’s pushing him out to save herself any more embarrassment, but Joel knows there’s no way it compares to his. He tries to remedy the conversation. “I didn’t mean…I’m just trying to invite you,” he says. To…to lunch. Venison.”

Ellie leans back, grabs a throw pillow from the mountain of them on her bed, and chucks one at Joel’s head. “Oh my God, go!”

Joel does as told, catching the throw pillow in his hands and tossing it on the floor at your feet before disappearing out of the garage. His mortification eases at the sound of joyous laughter that spills from both of you, and he can hear Ellie as he walks away.

“You wanna know something insane? I think he’s seeing someone. Like a girlfriend. Can you believe that?”

Your answer is spoken with mock astonishment, and Joel decides to make you eat your words later as you snark, “Whoever it is should teach him how to talk.”

He does just as he said. He showers quickly, trying to avoid thoughts of you, images that flit through his brain of your shampoo sitting next to his on the side of the tub, of a second towel hanging behind the door. He does his best to not think about you sleeping here, in his bed with your hair splayed out over his pillows. He tries not to think about hearing your soft sighs echo in his room, about waking up to the warmth of you wrapped around him, about your pretty sounding pleas for more, more, always more, needy little girl. 

Joel fails, of course—and twice he has to take his cock in his hand and grant himself a little relief in the shower before he feels sated enough to go about his day.

An hour later, he finds Maria near the stables. She’s talking to a young man Joel can’t quite place. He’s your age, and Joel’s seen him around, but his name slips his mind. Maria listens intently as he tells her about the foal who was born a couple of days ago, updating her on the horse’s progress. When she spots him, she gives him an inviting smile and says, “Joel! There you are.” 

He waits for her to say her goodbyes and the two of them leave the stables and start down the street. “Ellie said you were lookin’ for me.”

“I was,” she says, wasting no time. “When you weren’t home, wanna know the next place I checked?”

Her stare is weighted, heavy. And he suddenly feels a little bit like a child being scolded, knowing he’s been caught but not willing to admit fault.

Joel doesn’t offer a reply. Maria doesn’t either, because they both know right where she went. “She was leaving when I got there, on her way to meet Ellie. Said she hadn’t seen you since yesterday morning at The Tipsy Bison.”

She leaves room for him to confirm or deny the accusation in her words. He doesn’t. 

“You snore, Joel. Did you know that?”

He stops, feet sinking into the fresh snowfall in the middle of the street. The sun shines brightly, though—and he knows the spring thaw is coming soon. He hopes the end of this conversation comes sooner. “Maria…”

She turns to face him, several paces ahead. “She’s only lied to me once before today. And it was to protect someone then, too.”

He opens his mouth to say something, anything —but nothing comes out.

Thankfully, Maria stops him with a raised hand. “Don’t you go lying to me too,” she says. “Look, I…I know you probably think she hates me, and maybe—maybe there’s a little truth to that. But I love that girl like she’s my own, Joel. And she’s irreplaceable to this town. You understand? I don’t need her distracted. And I really don’t need you to be causing issues with the others because of her.”

It surprises him to hear it, in truth. The only interaction he’d seen between the two of you was the one in the dining hall where you’d been throwing things and screaming in Maria’s face, and Joel had assumed it’d given him all the information he needed about your relationship with her. Had he been wrong? Jackson has a pretty lengthy history—maybe there’s more to this than he once thought. Maybe there’s more to you than he thought. 

The desire to pry confessions out of you rises in him, desperate to discover that something that’s happened to you, to drink greedily from your well. Joel realizes he wants to know it all. The good, bad, and ugly.

“I’m not causing issues,” he says, but it even tastes like a lie. He’d sent Kelly away crying and almost stabbed Abel with a broken beer bottle just yesterday.

“Hey, Maria! Come take a look at this!”

Joel’s thankful for the distraction. She raises a hand in greeting to the older woman a few feet away, and then turns back to Joel with a heavy sigh and exhaustion on her face. “Look, you’re both adults, and I’m not trying to give you the talk. What you do together is your business—all I’m saying is…don’t do irreparable damage to yourself or to this town to indulge her,” Maria says. “I’m sure you know by now she can cause a whole lotta trouble when she wants to, and I don’t want you to start thinking this is anything but a way to get back at me, to prove her point. I know you think you’re what she needs, and, hell—maybe you are right now. But she’s young, Joel. She’ll never love you—not the same way you’ll love her. This is just a phase, and she’ll grow out of it. She’ll grow out of you.”

The words are cold and sharp, stabbing behind his ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs, dousing that warmth you’ve elicited and leaving nothing but ash in its wake. Because in the back of his mind, Joel knows it’s the fucking truth. 

Doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, though. He chokes on it instead.

Maria seems to sense his struggle and offers an apology that does nothing for him because she can never take the words back, can never replace the blindfold she’s ripped off. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I was really hoping Tommy would get through to you but I think you’re more like me. Sometimes we need the truth to hurt a little to understand it.”

The woman tries to grab Maria’s attention again. This time she gives it to her, squeezing Joel’s shoulder in a way that makes his hands curl into fists at his side. He hates Maria at this moment because despite desperately trying, he can’t find a single lie in her words.

She’ll grow out of you. 

Joel swallows it down like a bitter pill.

When he returns home, he’s relieved to discover you’ve fled Ellie’s company for the time being. He thinks about canceling, urging her to have lunch with you alone because of a non-existent headache. 

But she’s so excited to see him when he gets back, excited for the three of you to share a meal, and Joel doesn’t have the heart to ruin it. She babbles about you the whole way to the dining hall, talks about how cool you are, how pretty you are, and Joel agrees.

It throws Ellie off guard enough that she squints and turns her face up at him as they settle at a table with one vacant chair. “I thought you hated her,” she says.

“Hate her?” He shakes his head. “Nah. Ain’t like that.”

This answer, it seems, has her even more suspicious. “Sooo…what is it like then?”

Like religion.

Because Joel wants the comfort you bring. He wants the warmth, the devotion, the prayer he makes you recite whenever he finds himself between your thighs. He wants the succor that comes with urging you into submission, wants the satisfaction that blankets him when you’ve got nothing bratty left to say, foul words replaced with pleas. He wants the respite he finds whenever you’re near.

But he’s never much believed in God, never believed he’d be good enough to get into heaven. And he’s having a hard time believing he can keep you, too.

It’s not the worship he struggles with. It’s the faith.

“Sore subject, I see,” Ellie says. And there’s something on her face akin to understanding, which makes Joel realize she’s growing up at the speed of light.

“Yeah,” he says, seconds before you and Tommy walk through the door. 

The laces in one of your boots have come undone, loosening with every step you take into the dining hall. You talk to Joel’s brother animatedly, a serious look on your face. Tommy’s nodding in response as you tick off something on your fingers, and it’s barely there but Joel can see the fear in his brother's face as he looks at you. 

Something’s wrong. He doesn’t know what it is or how he knows it, but Joel knows. Can see it in the way his brother’s shoulders are pulled tight, can see it in the crease between your brows. Worry emanates from both of you. And when you glance over at Joel and Ellie waiting for you at the table, it dissipates for a single moment as a warm smile stretches across your face. 

Tommy pulls you into a tight embrace—something familiar and affectionate that would enrage Joel had you shared it with anyone besides his brother. Your goodbyes are muffled by the clink of silverware and the dull chatter of the people around you, but Joel can make out two of Tommy’s words. “Be careful.”

You shake off whatever unsettles you and sit in the chair between them. “Sorry I’m late,” you say. “Tommy caught me on the way here.”

“Everything okay?” Ellie asks carefully.

“Yeah, yeah—all good.” It’s a lie, and both of them sense it but neither prod for more.

Joel leans over, takes either side of your chair, and turns it toward himself, legs scraping noisily against the wooden floor. You glare at him and start to call him some obscene name, but then he gently takes your ankle in his hands. He can feel your gaze on him as he sets your boot between his knees and laces it back up—because it’s dangerous for you to be walking around like that. What if you trip? When he’s finished, he sets your foot back on the ground and stands from his chair, trying to ignore the look of bewilderment on Ellie’s face. “You two stay put. I’ll grab lunch.”

He hears both of you break out into hushed whispers the minute he walks away, but whatever it is the two of you are talking about is way less concerning to him than what you and Tommy were talking about.

It takes him less than a minute to slip out of the back door in the dining hall, round the building, and find his brother just outside. He stops him with a brisk hand to the shoulder. “Tell me.”

Tommy lets out a sigh and runs the back of his thumb over a wrinkle on his forehead. “A few months ago, just a couple before you and Ellie showed back up, there was a raid. A bad one. Only lost a few good people but…a lot of the survivors were pretty hurt. We made it through, but the stock we had in medical supplies has been slim ever since. An’ it’s hard—finding stuff like that these days.”

“That’s all it is? A run for supplies?” You’re the best runner Jackson has. Tommy’s said so on multiple occasions. That doesn’t scare Joel, the idea of you going out there. So why has it got his brother so rattled?

Tommy swallows, and Joel knows there’s more. But his little brother hesitates, pity filling his brown eyes, and it does nothing but fuel the panic slowly creeping into Joel’s bloodstream.

“Tell me,” he insists, a little more aggressive this time.

He has to look away to answer. Tommy instead finds the steadily melting snow far more interesting. “There’s a…there’s a hospital out in Casper. About two weeks on foot, one with a horse. It’s got all the supplies we could ever need—aspirators, sterile bandages, ECG monitors, ventilators, antibiotics.”

“Get to the point,” Joel demands.

And he does. Says it outright as if it’s not a death sentence. “It hasn’t been touched since before.”

Joel knows, but he narrows his eyes and asks slowly, “Before…before what, Tommy?”

“Before the outbreak.”

Which means that whatever’s inside… “No,” he says, shaking his head and taking a step back, suddenly unable to pull air into his lungs fast enough. “No. Find someone else.”

“There is no one else, Joel.” 

“Then call it off! Send her on a scouting mission—farther away if you have to. You have no idea what’s in there.”

He can’t imagine it—something worse than clickers, worse than bloaters. Joel’s mouth runs dry as one terrifying thought rings like a warning bell through his head. You’ll die, you’ll die, you’ll die.

“You think that’s the kinda man I am? That I’d send her in there knowing how dangerous it’ll be without giving her a choice?” Tommy glares at him. “It was her idea.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care whose idea it was, I’m sayin’ no.”

“It ain’t your decision to make,” Tommy says in warning.

And Joel knows it’s the truth as much as he knows Maria’s sharp words were the truth—but he doesn't care about any of it. Not when your safety is on the line. “Nah, Tommy, you’re not—you’re not hearin’ me. I’m telling you it’s not going to fucking happen.”

“Maria’s gonna give birth soon, Joel. We need those supplies,” Tommy says, finality in his voice. He shoves past Joel, a clear sign that the conversation is over—but Joel doesn’t care about that, either.

He shoves his brother hard, and when he turns around to face him Joel can see the anger on his face. But it’s no match for his. “Don’t you walk away from me!”

“It’s not your fuckin’ call!”

Joel scoffs. “This is someone’s life you’re gamblin’ with, Tommy. You’re tellin’ me you need those supplies more than this town needs her? More than I need—?”

He stops. Freezes beneath the weight of his brother’s accusatory stare, knowing just what he’s almost said, knowing just what he’s admitted. So much for keeping it secret, Joel thinks. 

His chest constricts, ribcage closing in on his lungs. Joel suddenly can’t breathe. 

Tommy’s eyes soften as he watches his brother fall apart in the middle of the street. “I tried to warn you, man,” he says. “I told you to put an end to it. Told you nothing good would come of it.”

It becomes obvious to him then that there’s no getting through to his brother. Joel decides to take a different approach instead.

When he storms back into the dining hall, you and Ellie have already gotten plates for yourselves and one for him—and the sentiment would warm his heart if he wasn’t currently fuming. He doesn’t sit back in his chair. He stands over you and says firmly, “You’re not going.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to understand what the hell he’s talking about, and roll them dramatically the moment it clicks together in your mind. “I didn’t ask, Joel. Sit down. We got you lunch.”

“It’s a goddamn suicide mission and you know it,” he says, trying to no avail to keep his voice down.

He expects you to lash out, to fight him like you always do. But you sit still in your chair. Don’t even turn to look at him. Just stare pointedly forward, knee bouncing furiously beneath the table. It’s the first time he’s ever seen you hold back that anger, the first time he’s ever seen you try to keep it in check.

Joel’s not sure what that means. For him, or you. “If it’s been left untouched for that long, it’s probably been that way for good reason. Have you lost your mind? ”

It’s then you stand abruptly from your chair. Even though the words are dripping with irritation, you try your best to put on a gentle front as you say, “I’m sorry, Ellie. I’ll catch up with you later.”

And then you’re pushing past him, shoving him with a shoulder, leaving the dining hall with watery eyes. And Joel starts to feel a little bad, but he knows he still hasn’t gotten through to you and he has to. He needs to make you see reason before you run off and get yourself killed. 

Because he’s only just gotten a part of you. It can’t end so soon. It can’t. He won’t let it.

He follows you back to your house, calling your name, trying to avoid the stares the rest of the Jackson residents are giving the two of you. It isn’t until he says your name one final time that you turn to face him.

Joel’s chest cracks at the sight of the tears on your cheeks. He needs to get through to you, but he wishes it didn’t have to be like this. “Baby, please—just listen to me. It’s not safe.”

“Nothing is safe, Joel! Have a little faith in me. Why are you so sure I won’t make it back?”

“Because whatever’s in there is going to be so much worse than anything you or I have ever seen. Don’t you get that? You can’t do this. I couldn’t do it. No one should have to.”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes and breathe a long sigh. When you finally compose yourself enough to speak again, you don’t look at him. And that hurts more than anything, Joel thinks. “Miley…she, uhm…she’s fifteen. Same age as Ellie. Been in Jackson her whole life, never been outside. Not really. And she’s so sweet…one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. She has…she has a—a tumor on her spine,” you say softly. “It can be removed, and she’ll live. But to operate, we need anesthesia. You know where to find anesthesia, Joel? A hospital.”

He shakes his head slowly, feels pressure build in his throat. “No,” he says softly. “We’ll…we’ll find it somewhere else. I’ll help you, baby, okay? We’ll go together—we’ll figure it out—”

“She doesn’t have that kind of time! God, are you hearing me? I’m going. And when I make it back in one piece with everything they need to save her, you’re gonna feel real fucking stupid for not believing in me.”

You turn away, push through the door and slam it closed behind you. Joel scrambles up the steps after you only to discover that, this time, you remember to lock it.

An hour later, Ellie finds him in his room with his backpack on the bed and his boots laced tight and an extra flannel on beneath his coat. She leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed and asks quietly, “Tommy told me what happened. You’re going with her, right?”

He doesn’t find any resentment on her face, and it relieves him if only a little. “Yeah,” he says. “That alright with you?” He prepares himself for any answer she gives. Decides then and there he'll remain here, in Jackson, if that's what she needs from him.

“‘Course,” she says, much to his relief. “Just…be careful.”

He hugs her tight, makes her promise she’ll bother Tommy with everything she needs, makes her swear she’ll stick with Cat or Dina or Jesse, that she won’t hermit in her room. She makes a joke about how he’s the hermit between the two of them, and then she urges him on his way. 

As he’s descending the stairs, she leans over the banister and says, “Hey, Joel? By the way, fuck you for stealing my wife. I liked her first.”

It makes him laugh, and the small moment of ease she creates just before he leaves brings his spirits up. He says goodbye to Tommy on the way to the stables, who points him in your general direction. He ignores the look his brother gives in response to his decision. Ignores him, too, when he warns, “Maria won’t like this.”

Because Joel doesn’t give a fuck what Maria thinks. Not when it comes to you. Because she might say she loves you like you’re her own, but she doesn’t love you enough to refuse to send you to your death. It’s all the information Joel needs about her opinion. 

He takes a horse and enough rations for two weeks and follows the tracks you’ve left behind in the mud. Once he’s deep into the forest surrounding Jackson, Joel realizes that you’re smarter than you let on—because the hoof prints veer off a mile into the trek, off the trail, and into the more secluded brush. He knows he’s getting close when the tracks become more defined, knows he’s just on the cusp of finding you. 

But it’s not him that finds you at all. 

Joel feels the hair on the back of his neck rise a second before he hears your voice from behind him. You look a little like some sort of Valkyrie warrior, standing tall beside your horse with your bow pulled taught, an arrow aimed right at his head. “Go home, Joel,” you say, an edge in your voice he’s never heard before. 

And he knows it’s partially due to frustration, but mostly because you’re here— outside the walls, out in the open where everyone has to be harder, sharper, crueler. He dismounts, keeping a loose hold on the reins. He raises his hands in surrender. “Let’s not do this,” he suggests. “You and I both know I’m not goin’ anywhere. Alright?”

The stiffness in your limbs subsides the smallest bit at his words, the soft side of you he knows and loves peeking through. But it’s only a second before those walls come slamming down again. “I don’t do runs like this anymore,” you tell him. “I don’t take partners.”

Anymore. The word haunts him. Because it implies that you did at one point. But something changed, something happened to make you break Jackson's most important rule, to draw the boundary he’s currently crossing. He can feel the pain it causes you, even from several feet away. And Joel doesn’t want to hurt you any further than he is right now but he can’t let you do this alone. “Put the bow down,” he says, taking a tentative step forward.

You only raise it higher, pull the bowstring back further. “Joel,” you say in warning. “Go. The fuck. Home.”

Another step, closing the distance. One more and fear bleeds into your pretty eyes. 

“Stop.” Your jaw clenches. He’s moving a little faster now, steadily invading your space. “I said stop!” You release the arrow, changing its trajectory in a second. 

It whizzes through the air, sinking deep into the earth between his feet. It’s dead center—and Joel would be impressed if he wasn’t furious. “You just shot at me,” he says in disbelief. 

“No fucking shit,” you bite back. “Maybe now you’ll take me seriously.” But then he lets go of his horse’s reins completely and is stalking forward, face contorted in rage because how dare you. “I swear to God! Don’t do this!” You reach behind your head and pull another arrow from the quiver strapped to your back in the blink of an eye. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

You won’t, and he knows it. The moment he’s able Joel rips the bow from your frigid fingers, ready to grab you by your hair and force you into submission if need be.

But the moment your hands are free you’re pushing his chest—pushing and pushing so hard it nearly sends him off his feet. But Joel feels that anger, that sadness, and he realizes suddenly this has nothing to do with his being here and everything to do with what happened to you. It’s about your something. “Please,” you say, the word broken in your mouth. “Please, Joel, please don’t do this to me.”

“Hey,” he says softly, laying your bow on the ground at your side. “Hey, baby, hey, c’mon now.” He takes your hands between his, pausing your assault. They’re so cold that he brings them to his mouth and tries to warm them with his breath. It seems to calm you if only a little. “S’okay, sweetheart. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you, alright?”

Your cheeks are flushed crimson and water lines your lashes as you confess, “I don’t care about me, Joel, what about you? What happens if you get hurt? What do I do? I can’t lose anyone else, I can’t— please. Just go home, I’m begging you.”

It’s then he understands. Joel knows this kind of grief, is real intimate with it, in fact. He knows how unforgivable it feels to lose someone on account of bad judgment. He pulls you close, wraps his strong arms around your frame and cradles your head against his chest. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, little girl. Okay? You’re alright. I’ve got ya. Shh…s’okay, baby. I’m right here. I’m right here .”

And he is—wherever you are, he silently vows to be with you. To keep you safe, always. To do his damndest to keep you from suffering any more loss, any more of that sinking misery. He lets you cry it out, lets your tears soak into his flannel, lets you catch your breath. 

When you do, you lift your head and wipe your face and fix that hard stare back onto it. “Okay,” you say softly. And then again, a little stronger. “Okay. But you play by my rules, Joel. You do what I say, when I say it.”

He hears the echo of his conversation with Ellie back in Boston. Feels the urge suddenly to spill his guts to you so you know he really, truly understands. But now isn’t the time. So Joel caresses your cheek, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “Your run, your rules,” he says. And he means it. 

You lean down and pick up your bow, sling it across your shoulder, and pull yourself back up into the saddle. “It’ll be good, having two horses,” you say. “We can carry more supplies back.”

Joel leaves your side only long enough to mount his horse, who he steers back toward you the moment he can.

“Only one problem now,” you say. 

He furrows his brows, following you back onto the path through the forest. “What’s that?”

“You’re twice my age, Joel,” you say dismally. But there’s something else there, something teasing in your voice. “Not sure if you can keep up with me, old man.”

Joel shakes his head as you set your horse off into a gallop, flying effortlessly through the trees at a break-neck pace. He can’t resist the grin that tugs at his lips. He scoffs and mutters under his breath before following after you. “Brat.”

[part four] [part six]

[l0ve0utl0ud]

2019 was a big year for Angelico Entertainment. Alongside debuting their biggest female act yet, VENUS, just a year prior, they also struck gold with their first ever in-house boy group: LoveOutLoud, abbreviated to L.O.L for branding purposes. Starting off as a ten-member lineup, L.O.L became an almost instant KPOP darling, still being girl group stans token boy group to stan.

Despite their bright and youthful branding, the inner workings of L.O.L are quite dark as their mistreatment goes back to their pre-debut days. It's rare for there to be an L.O.L comeback without a member sick or injured, as their promotional schedules are grueling and stacked. The members, despite being well into their careers at this point, haven't had a break in nearly four years.

The notorious Angelico CEO, Son Jinhwa, would say there's no time for breaks. Their momentum is still building; if they take a break, they'll be forgotten.

The boys took those words to heart, publicly denouncing the need for breaks between releases and saying they enjoy promoting as much as they do.

Well, almost all of them did.

By the end of 2021, they dropped to seven members, with three of the members leaving on what seemed like a bimonthly basis. First started with Siho leaving in March, citing creative differences and mistreatment but he would not leave Angelico. Instead, he would stay and produce under the label until his contract ran up. Fans speculate the final nail in the coffin for Siho was when other L.O.L member Jesse was given the spot as producer despite Siho being promised the role. Once Siho's contract with Angelico was up, he would become a producer and music video director.

Next to leave was Yadam in August, citing physical exhaustion and contractual disagreements as his reasons. Yadam was a beloved and well-known member of the group for his vocals and visuals, originally holding the spot as the official visual. He would go on to sue Angelico Entertainment for mistreatment, claiming that they did not allow him proper vocal rest, permanently damaging his vocal cords. Though the case made it far, the two parties settled out of court. He would go on to debut as a soloist and actor in 2023 after a much-needed break.

The last member to officially leave L.O.L would be Asher in December of that same year, claiming mental health struggles as his reason for leaving. Asher was one of the more popular members internationally for his bright and out-there personality, which seemed to dim as the years went on. He would return to America the same year and become a thriving social media influencer and actor in the States, having a following of 1.7 million on YouTube, 7.1 million on TikTok, and 5.2 million on Instagram.

Currently, Akio, the seventh member, is on a hiatus because of an ankle injury he obtained in 2023. He has not been an active member with the group for nearly a year now, leaving many fans to worry he will be the next one to drop from the lineup.

The group sits pretty and happy on top of the boy group brand rankings, being some of the most recognizable and beloved faces in the KPOP industry at the moment, but are they really as bright and happy as they seem?

JANG DOJIN "JESSE" –– 98 LINER ; LEADER, PRODUCER, VOCALIST.

GRAYSON LEE –– 02 LINER ; LEAD RAPPER, DANCER, FACE OF THE GROUP, MAKNAE.

EZRA COSTA –– 01 LINER ; MAIN VOCALIST, LEAD RAPPER.

LONDON MATSUDA –– 00 LINER ; MAIN DANCER, MAIN RAPPER.

SON TAEI –– 98 LINER ; LEAD DANCER, LEAD VOCALIST, MAKNAE.

KIM JIYUL –– 00 LINER ; VISUAL, MAIN VOCALIST, MAIN RAPPER.

NAKI AKIO –– 01 LINER ; CURRENTLY ON HIATUS FOR ANKLE INJURY. MAIN DANCER AND RAPPER.

TSAI JUNJIE "ASHER" –– 00 LINER ; LEFT THE GROUP IN DECEMBER OF 2023 DUE TO "MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES" FORMERLY MAIN RAPPER AND VOCALIST.

KIM YADAM –– 98 LINER ; LEFT THE GROUP IN AUGUST OF 2020 DUE TO "PHYSICAL EXHAUSTION AND CONTRACTUAL DISGREEMENTS" FORMERLY MAIN VOCALIST, VISUAL, AND RAPPER.

CHOI SIHO –– 99 LINER ; LEFT THE GROUP IN MARCH OF 2020 DUE TO "CREATIVE DIFFERENCES AND MISTREATMENT" FORMERLY CO-LEADER, RAPPER, AND VOCALIST.

[hsangel64]

･ ｡ﾟ☆:band mates: *.☽ .

⤷ pairings: bass playing!ellie williams x femsinger!reader (college and modern au)

⤷ summary: you and ellie have been best friends since you guys were little and are now in a band together. you guys are writing songs together and feelings start to come to light.

⤷ warnings: cussing and like the smallest bit of angst if you squint.

⤷ song: glue song by beabadoobee

⤷ a/n: i was thinking about turning this into a series if anyone likes it as much !!

you and ellie have been best friends since you guys were little, you guys do everything together. meaning you guys literally started a band together with your other friends dina and jesse. you guys were the fab four.

you and ellie had come to this idea of starting a band back during freshman year. being in band and choir together you two consumed yourselves into music and we’re almost always playing with notes and making stupid songs. you and ellie had met dina and jesse in band so you and her immediately thought you would be a great band. dina played the guitar, ellie played bass, jesse played the drums and you sang! you had named yourselves ‘fantastic four’, being freshman you all didn’t realize how stupid that band name was until junior year-

so you changed it- took about 3 days to really figure it out… but you all came up with coastal. the way you came up with that is because you all want to move into a house on the coast so playing gigs saves you all money to finally live your dream after college. you’re all currently sophomores in college and all share a dorm together.

you’ve had feelings for ellie pretty much since middle school which lead you to realize your sexuality- you had always wanted to be around her and realized how jealous you can get when you had experienced all her flings in high school. the worst one of all was cat, you couldn’t stand her because she’d never let you hang out with ellie. she hates your guts and of course after they broke up ellie still decided to be friends with her.

little did you know ellie felt to same way about you. she couldn’t get you out of her head and that was the main reason she broke up with cat. she just never told cat and basically said she didn’t want to be in a relationship right now and cat respected that so they stayed friends.

currently you were in your bed writing a new song for a gig you guys had next weekend. it was just you in the dorm so it was very peaceful and easy to get some ideas and lyrics down. you were humming multiple melodies to try and figure out what would sound best. you had your guitar out to play around with some notes.

this song is about ellie but she’ll never know that- most of the songs you write for the band has some correlation to her.

as you were playing with some notes you hear the dorm door open.

“honey im home!” you hear ellie yell as she comes in with some bags of groceries, take out and her guitar around her shoulder. you giggle at her stupid hello she says every time she comes into the dorm. you run to the little living room to help her out.

“i got some stuff to restock the fridge, like your oat milk i downed last night while high…” you giggled and thanked her and started helping her put some of the groceries away.

“oh! i got us some takeout and i was thinking we could work on that new song together!”

“oh yes please i have some lyrics down and some type of melody but i’ve been kinda stuck.”

“gotcha well let me put the rest of this away you just get comfy and i’ll bring the take out!” she winked at you and did little finger guns. she’s such a goof. you agreed and made your way back to you bed making a little more room for her to sit.

you heard ellie start to make her way back in with what seems to be chinese takeout! you thanked her as she sat down and opened up the box.

“my favorite!!”

“of course had to treat you with the best of the best!” you smiled at her and started to dig in you. you were starving.

“so let me hear what you have so far!” you nod and finish what’s in your mouth before grabbing your notebook and thinking of the harmony again.

i’ve never known someone like you

tangled in love, stuck by you from the glue

don't forget to kiss me

or else you'll have to miss me

i guess I'm stuck forever by the glue

oh, and you

you don’t see it but as you sing this small verse ellie is staring at you with the most loving eyes and the biggest smile. she’s loves when you sing just about anything, but especially stuff you’d written. she knows how passionate you are about singing and song writing and it makes her love you so much more.

“so?” you ask nervous because it’s not usually your bands style music but you wanted to try something different.

“i love it i really do it’s beautiful like all your other work.”

“oh don’t flatter me williams.” you playfully roll your eyes and push her a little. she lets out a laugh and a dramatic ouch.

“no im serious it’s really sweet and i love it a lot.” you smile at her and you guys stare at each other for a little just admiring each others features, looking down every so often at each others lips. you let out a small sigh and looked away and brought you both back to reality.

“we have a gig next weekend so we should probably get to work-“ ellie nodded agreeing and you both go to work. both starting to brain storm some lyrics and working out the chords for the song.

it had been about 2 hours now since you both started and you had just one more verse left. your phone vibrated and you went to check it seeing dina had texted the groupchat.

fab four ‼️😏

dina 🫶 hey guys me and jesse are going to be home late we got invited to some get together just wanted to let you guys know so you don’t wait around!!

you 😎 thanks for letting us know we have a new song for you guys for practice tomorrow!

“dina said her and jesse would be home late just wanted to let you know!” you looked up from your guitar and smiled at her. she nodded with her mouth full of left over chicken she had and sent a small smile.

“hey let’s take a break maybe watch something we’ve been working non stop for like 2 hours.” she let out a groan and laid back on the bed.

“yeah sure what do you have in mind ?” you dropped your pencil and notebook and grabbed your laptop.

“how about we just put some music on, relax and talk.” she shrugged and you pulled up spotify and out on some loft music.

“so how was your day?”

“it was good i went to my stupid 8am and was half asleep the whole time.” you grumbled.

“oh gosh how was mr. nicholas.”

“boring like usual, he’s always so much more slow in the morning.” you giggle and lean more closer to her.

“i can imagine. i had a small guitar lesson to teach some other kid who was desperately asking me for a lesson.” she shook her head and looked down at her lap. you had gotten distracted listening to her talk. you just loved when she said just about anything and loved seeing her face move in different ways. noticing her freckles that spread across her nose into her cheeks. or the way her nose scrunches when she giggles.

“hey you still here with me?” you snap out of it and put your focus back onto her who’s now giggling.

“you were just staring at me and i didn’t get a response…. was it because of my amazingly good looks.” she smirked.

“oh fuck off.” you playfully rolled your eyes and just twiddled your thumbs embarrassed that she caught you.

“really you seem distracted is there something on your mind?” yes it’s literally you.

“no just was thinking about the song..” there was a small comfortable silence before she scoffed and you looked up at her confused.

“i know it’s not that your eyebrow twitches when you lie. it always has done that since we were little.” she had caught you once again. shit.

“it’s nothing really i promise.” you looked up at her and she was giving you those narrowed eyes, clearly not believing you.

“okay fine… but you know you can talk to me about anything im always here for you, you mean a lot to me.” you looked back down contemplating on just telling her now and risking it. you open your mouth and let out a small sigh and shutting it immediately after. changing your mind. you feel that awful feeling in the back of your throat. not here not now.

"lets finish this song yeah?" you let out a soft sniffle before grabbing your notebook and guitar. ellie definitely caught the sniffle and looked at you before grabbing her guitar not wanting to push you.

"yeah lets continue." you both shake it off and just go back to working on the song.

you guys go for another hour and its about 12:30am. you exhale and rub your face. you stare at your notebook that is full of words and annotations from both you and ellie.

"you alright?" you tilt your head towards her and nod.

"yeah just getting tired." you adjust your sitting position and just lend her a small smile. she smiles back and brings you in to let you lean on her as she rubs your back. you let out a yawn and nuzzle into her shoulder.

"you wanna go to bed?"

"no, but i really don't think i can work on this anymore."

"okay how about we do a full run through of the song and see how it sounds with just a small acoustic so we have something to practice on tomorrow." you lift your head not realizing how close you two would be to each other. you are centimeters away from each other. if you moved any closer you'd be kissing. you let out a shaky nervous breath. you both stare at each other and down at each others lips.

ellie wants to just kiss you, she feels her cheeks get warm. not knowing shes just as nervous as you are. you feel her move closer to you the tension getting to the best of you both. you move closer to her. is this really about to happen?

"jesse shut it!!" you both pull away quickly, adjusting yourselves to look like you’re working.

“oh hey guys!” you see dina holding jesse as much as she can.

“do you need help…” you let out a small giggle seeing how much dina is struggling and jesse is just there laughing.

“yes please, this idiot had a little too much to drink and it wasn’t even a fucking party.” she rolled her eyes. i’m glad he found dina because i don’t think anyone else would be able to handle him other than her- you and ellie get up from the bed to go help.

“oh hey you guys.” jesse says as you two helped lift him up to bring him to their bedroom. you guys dropped him on the bed and wished dina luck. you walked out and closed their door. you both walked back to your shared room and closed the door. you both let out a sigh and make your ways back to your bed. it was quiet for a moment until ellie broke the silence.

“sooo…”

“yeah?”

“that whole almost kissing thing…” she scratched the back of her neck awkwardly.

“oh yeah that..”

“um doesn’t mean anything right?” she looked at you nervously.

“oh yeah totally nothing at all!” you chuckled and your voice cracked showing how nervous and a little heartbroken you were.

“cool great.” she hopped off your bed and grabbed her stuff to put away. she grabbed her toiletry bag and went to the bathroom. why did she say it was nothing when she was the one who was leaning in first? ugh this is a mess.

[writergirl3]

4 Town’s Physical Features Headcanons

Happy New Year, 4 Townies! I wanted to do some hcs about 4 Town's small physical details, seeing as their animated forms are kinda hard to see up close.

Vaguely proofread, so don't hate me for typos lol.

Enjoy! 🧡

Robaire; 

Robaire is obsessed with chapstick. Seriously. He reapplies like twice an hour. But because of this, his lips are super soft. Even if you never have the honour of getting a kiss from him, you can just see that they’re soft.

He has an outie belly button. That’s it. That’s the headcanon.

People always assume that Robaire is super tall, but he’s actually under six foot, just a little taller than T. 

His eyebrow slit actually came about by accident. He (stupidly) trusted T to straighten up his edges, but he basically shaved off a whole chunk of Ro’s eyebrow. He loves it now, though, and never wants to grow it out again. 

Jesse;

Jesse’s naturally brunette. He went through a sort of surfer guy phase (although he can’t surf, smh), and decided to bleach his hair. He got loads of compliments and has been touching up his roots ever since.

His hair is also wavy naturally. The guys like to make fun of him blow drying it and the amount of products he uses.

Like T, this guy has long eyelashes. They’re not quite as curved or dark as T’s, but they frame those baby-blues nicely.

His eyes aren’t just blue, though. He’s got central heterochromia, with a bright green ring around his pupils.

He’s big-boned, like has a big head, wide wrists, broad shoulders. You get it.

Jesse cannot step outside without burning. He’s pretty fair-skinned, and crisps up like a rack of bacon after just five minutes in the sun.

Aaron T;

T has a small gap between his two front teeth. He doesn’t love it that much, but it’s honestly the cutest thing.

He also has dimples, and they perfectly fit his whole brand.

Many people think his eyes are brown, but they’re actually hazel. If you’re lucky enough to get super close to him, you’ll see little gold flecks in his irises. Good luck getting him to sit still long enough to see them, though.

Continuing on with the eye theme, this guy could be a Max Factor model. No joke. They should make a mascara in T’s honour, although no one’s lashes would ever be as long and lustrous as his even with mascara.

T’s skin naturally has an olive hue, but he always has some sort of tanlines. Always. Even in the cold months. There’s always this line around where the waistband of his jeans sits (👀), and around his ankles and neckline. Jesse loves to tease him about it, but T just gets his own back when Jesse turns into a lobster on the beach.

Aaron Z;

This guy is ridiculously tall. Like 6’3. It figures, seeing as he’s so good at basketball. Robaire’s secretly super jealous of Z’s height.

Z doesn’t smile or say much, and his eyes usually do a lot of talking. They’re super, super dark brown. Like almost black. They’re also pretty hooded, and are usually the first thing that people notice when they first see him.

He has big hands and a stupidly large handspan. Again, it comes in handy with basketball. He also has pretty short fingernails because he has a bad habit of biting them when he’s anxious.

Not many people know this, but Z has faint stretch marks around his armpits. He’s not ripped, per say, but is beefy with pretty muscular biceps. He doesn’t love his stretch marks, even though they’re faded, but accepts them as a part of himself.

Tae Young;

Tae has the softest skin ever. He uses quite a lot of skincare products to keep his skin nice, but it’s naturally very soft and supple. 

He has pretty full lips that always seem to be slightly upturned, even when he’s not smiling. It’s the reason why he always looks so sweet and innocent.

Like T, he also has dimples, but they’re not that deep or prominent.

This poor boy has no eyebrows. Like none. When he joined 4 Town, he started tinting them a little.

Tae’s eyes are also pretty dark brown, like Z’s, but his are somehow naturally lined around his lashline. People always think that he's wearing eyeliner, but it’s all natural.

---

Musing Meaninglessly Masterlist

[ghostofskywalker]

i ran clone xreader bingo this year, and it was SO much fun!! here's a list of all the fics i created! i may try to finish my last two squares before december 31st, but i'm posting this now as an example for other participants who may be stuck on formatting their own masterlists.

if you want to peruse the plethora of amazing fanfiction that was created for this event, check out @clonexreaderbingo on tumblr and the event's AO3 collection!

a 💐 next to a fic's title means it's a personal favorite of mine (i picked two)

coruscant guard's (unconventional) dating service: free for clones named fox || commander fox

square: "this is awkward" summary: this celebration only came once a year, and this time, the coruscant guard enlisted some help from other battalions to make sure that fox would finally admit his feelings for you.

a show of trust || commander wolffe

square: "do you trust me?" summary: sometimes the best solutions come from the minds of those who aren't soldiers, and wolffe has to get used to trusting others that are not his general or his vode.

filed under: incident reports || no romantic relationship 💐

square: 79’s summary: managing a bar was never easy, but you tried your best to keep things running smoothly, even if sometimes you had to make hard decisions or alternatively: a collection of 79’s most hilariously infamous incident reports, some which made you ponder a career change.

don't wait for the sky to clear || hunter

square: "you're an idiot" summary: When you wake up to hear a storm outside where the ship is parked, you recruit Omega to have some fun in the pouring rain with you. The only downside is the tired admonishment you'll inevitably receive from your boyfriend when he sees the two of you.

in the heat of battle || crosshair

square: bounty hunter summary: When Crosshair disobeys your direct orders in battle, you come to confront him about it. Things get a little heated from there.

dreaming of this || echo

square: "you're lucky you're cute" summary: You and Echo share a quiet moment and a dance before Cid's bar opens for the day.

weep not for what you've done, but rather who you've lost along the way || commander cody 💐

square: heartache summary: it wasn't supposed to happen like this, the man you loved wasn't supposed to be the one to end your life. and to make matters worse, you had to keep reliving it, over, and over, with no end in sight and no clear reason why you were subjected to a torture worse than your darkest nightmare.

you would have thought this heist would have been slightly more thought out, given the circumstances || platonic bad batch & reader

square: "let me do the talking" summary: Hunter has to sit out on an assignment because of an injury, and it becomes remarkably clear to everyone else that the position of "voice of reason" is not something that can be replaced, especially not when you're there.

no flirting in the jedi archives || fives

square: archive summary: When on shore leave, one could usually find Fives in the basement of the Jedi Temple, flirting with the primary caretaker of the Archives (even though he denies it when his brothers ask). Finally, he decides to just ask her out.

a little brotherly teasing || thorn

square: "your flirting skills need work" summary: He’s a high ranking commander, an expert in weaponry, and the Coruscant Guard’s man on the inside for this Senate gala, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to get a pass from the teasing. And it’s all because he’s a little too obvious about his giant crush on you.

ally, rival, friend? || rex

square: "you owe me" summary:  It’s not that he hates his general’s bounty hunter friend, but Rex is a little more prone to headaches whenever you’re on the flagship. This time though, he sees the chance to start over with you.

almost disasters || tech

square: cooking summary: Your beloved attempts to put together a surprise for you. Nothing about it really goes to plan. 

the strength to keep going || jesse

square: haunted summary: the more time you spent in the GAR, the more you came to know grief, especially when the casualties of the war were people you had grown close to. Jesse notices that you're struggling, and reaches out to help.

deep space delicacies || echo

square: stuck summary: In the midst of the war, you manage to find the time to bring about a different, more welcome kind of chaos: teaching the clones how to bake. The 501st take the opportunity to force you and Echo to admit how you feel about each other.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess x Leto #3 “I’m a complete failure”

Sequel to righteous fury, content warning for very vague talk of assault // mid-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.

The worst possible thing has happened.

The worst possible thing – there is no doubt in his mind about this, several days later. For the rest of his life he will be haunted by what he saw, and to think that he was lucky enough to only deal with the aftermath of-

Someone wanted him unstable. Mission accomplished.

He gets to deal with the outside world and protect his partner in what minimal ways he still can. Enough of the guard saw… enough, but the public statement is only that she was deeply hurt and recovers in seclusion and from that-

Skies, he doesn’t know how she runs damage-control in his favor near-constantly, he has to do it to defend her honor about once a decade and he can barely even do that let alone-

She stays in a certain guest wing until further notice. If left unsupervised and given more of a choice, he expects she’d go right back to her usual spaces and damn those already haunted walls even further with this-

He only blames himself. Whatever security protocol went wrong that will be found in the coming days was at least a piece of paper he should’ve looked at better when it crossed his desk. He is aware of the weight of his responsibilities, above all else to protect his family and if he couldn’t manage that then-

He should leave her be. He should give his wounded partner whatever space she needs. But the fear of it all is too great, and-

He is aware that the only other human contact she has is when someone brings her meals she barely tries to eat. Their son, usually the only companion she allows, is being kept away from the situation for now; Leto supposes he’s probably screwed that up too but one crisis at a time and-

“You look troubled.”

At least the sharpness of her mind is still present. If she says what she feels, that is far better than the formality he’d expected she would revert to, and the lack of coldness is at least-

“I wronged you.”

“You did no such thing.”

And there it is. He’d learned not to admit any feelings of guilt regarding her years ago; he knows she forgives too much, but they politely do not speak of it to maintain their balance, and-

“There should’ve been some way of-“

“Even you are not perfect.”

He wants to say a hundred things, every bit of the blame he has felt in these days, horror that may not be his to carry and yet-

“I’m a complete failure. If I can’t protect you-“

“Do you think for a moment that I have blamed you, even indirectly?”

In a less tense moment, he would make some comment about how she’s had no trouble blaming him for a spectacular array of things over the years, but… not now, not in this barely-lit room where she sits perfectly still on the edge of a bed while he paces, not with the tension he feels that he cannot fix as he’d like, not-

“Forgive me if I take your pain as my own, but-“

“You have shown me who you are in this time, and I-“

He knows how rarely she is overwhelmed by her emotions, and how often he has seen her sadness in these days. He could never fault her for that, but it is still strange to watch and not be sure if she would allow-

“I still-“

“Don’t.”

He can almost feel the power of her, too close to a line she swears she does not cross, and his own guilt is nothing against her fury, and-

“Give me one good reason not to.”

“Because I am still alive, and my body heals, and my mind will follow.”

The fact that she is in such condition at all has made him burn since it happened, and he has already learned to hold that back in her presence, to keep from anything that might look like he is angry at her. If anything the opposite, if anything a brutal reminder of just how deeply he loves her and-

“Tell me what you want and I will-“

“Sit by me for a moment. Let me-“

He does, and it is too easy to let her fingers wrap around his wrists and find the right pressure points to take the edge off if not… her abilities do have their limits, but-

It is strange, he thinks, that she is willing to touch him at all. It is stranger still that she leans her head against his shoulder and he can feel the worry in her skin and-

“May I hold you?”

“Please.”

Her body still feels right, curled up against his. The state of his heart has not changed for a moment, and there will be life on the other side of this, and-

“You should stay,” she murmurs. “I will feel better if you stay.”

“Anything to calm you.”

“This isn’t just about me. I know you don’t…”

“And I could not ask you for-“

“We have to go back to normal eventually.”

“I still won’t have you hurt yourself because of me.”

Her fingertips move, tracing patterns on the little strips of skin where she’s pushed his sleeves back for access, a mirror of so many times he’s tried to comfort her in similar ways and-

“I cannot see how asking you to keep me warm in the night could count as-“

“A presence out of your control-“

“And how many thousands of nights have I closed my eyes next to you and been fearless about it? I do know you. You would not-“

“Still-“

“If you do not want-“

“I would keep you safe. Above all else. And I have failed, and-“

“You have been patient with me since. I would never ask for more.”

She should, he thinks. It is not the way of her, but if ever there was a time for her to become everything she is feared to be…

And she won’t. It is brave enough for her to press her lips to his neck, and he will allow whatever she needs, and-

“Don’t lose yourself for me,” she murmurs. “Don’t let this be more than it is.”

Too late, perhaps, but-

He’ll still try.

[roberttchase]

If you are still taking prompts:

Matt (Brettsey) + How could you move on from me so easily.

Okay, so. Welcome to angst town. I also had a huge Hallie part written but decided to make it its own thing because it didn't NEED to be in here. Anyway. The angst is big in this one, sorry lmao. But also they get some closure. Enjoy 2.5k of Matt being the most depressed person in existence.

(also, i'd like to say now- they are both at fault for the break up, it wasn't solely Matt and it wasn't solely Sylvie. I see a lot of people saying she was the bad guy for breaking up with Matt, but her reasons were all completely valid. If I were in her shoes I think I might have done the same thing. They both needed to work harder at it, and while I think they might have been able to save it, I also think that maybe it was needed? Jesse leaving for real fucked everything up, but like duh he deserves a break and deserves to be with his wife and daughter and at the end of the day that's what matters most. so yeah, this fic might seem like it's not the best to sylvie at first, but I promise there is closure for them, and it's written in matt's pov so keep that in mind too!)

X X X

He spots her with a man the second he walks in, clean cut but with a beard, who looks at her kindly and smiles along with her. She’s laughing at something he says and Matt can’t tear his eyes away. She looks happy, like she genuinely wants to be talking to this guy across from her, and then he notices their hands- sitting on top of the table, intertwined. Any thought that this guy might just be a friend is shattered, and he realizes then that she’s on a date. A date that obviously isn’t the first, because who holds hands on a first date? Certainly not Sylvie Brett, that much he’s certain of.  It’s not as if he’s searched for her, not really. He’s back in Chicago to visit for the weekend; the first time since their break up, and he’s only stepped into the pizza place to pick up a pie to take back to the loft for he, Severide and Kidd to enjoy. Seeing Sylvie on a date is so out of left field he feels like all the air in the small hole in the wall has been sucked out of him. Turning quickly so she won’t spot him, he debated leaving, but Matt Casey won’t be a coward again. Instead, he walks up to the counter and orders, then steps to the side to wait, resolutely not looking to his right. Except. 

Except he can’t. He’s been pulled to Sylvie for years, no matter how much it might hurt at times. He glances over as subtly as he can, watching both of the beautiful people laugh and smile. His chest aches. He’s almost home free, almost out without being noticed, when the worker ruins it all. 

“Pizza for Matt Casey!” 

He knows she looks up, he can practically feel her state boring into the back of his head, but he keeps his eyes fixed ahead of him, walking up and grabbing the box hastily, barely managing a ‘thanks’ before bolting. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t turn to catch a glimpse of her shocked face, or the way the guy squeezes her hand a little tighter and asks if she’s ok. He has to get out and back to the loft. 

Unlocking the door to the loft, precariously balancing the pizza box in one hand, Matt rushes inside, feeling dumb. It’s not like the paramedic would have followed him. They’re not together anymore. She’s on a date with what he can only assume is her new boyfriend. He drops the pizza box on the island in the middle of the open kitchen, ignoring his best friend's confused look. 

“Dude, you okay? You look like you saw a ghost…” 

Matt’s about to reply when Kidd walks up, phone in her hand. Her brow is furrowed and she looks at the dark blonde with an unreadable expression. Severide looks from one to the other. 

“Anyone wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

Silence, and then- 

“Nothing.” 

“Brett was there.” 

The words all ring out at the same time and Severide sucks in a breath. 

“Oh shit.” 

“Look,” Matt rubs a hand through his darkening hair. “It’s fine, I’m fine. She’s on a date? It’s none of my business. Good for her, I’m happy for her. She deserves someone who makes her happy.”

The words sound oddly hollow and so familiar it’s like he’s back in the past. Jesus, how many guys has he watched her try to date? How many guys has he pushed her towards? She must have texted Kidd to tell her what happened. The room feels suddenly too warm. 

“Yeah man, you sound elated.” Severide raises an eyebrow. 

Swallowing down a snarky comment or two, Matt forces himself to shrug. It’s not like he can break them up; not that he would ever do that, and he’s not even back in Chicago yet. This is a four day visit, not a homecoming. Flipping open the box, he takes a plate and slides a large piece onto it. 

“Can we just drop it? We’re not together anymore, she’s welcome to be with whoever she wants and do whatever she wants. We broke up seven months ago, I’d be surprised if she hadn’t found someone by now.” 

The couple in front of him share a look. 

“What?” 

“Not to overstep Casey, but have you found anyone, or even tried?” Kidd’s voice is cautious but he can hear the curiosity. 

The truth is, he has tried. He’s tried twice, but both times were a disaster and he walked away from both doorsteps knowing it was one silly date with minimal chemistry and was going to fizzle out before he could even try to do damage control. 

“I’ve tried, yeah. Both times just didn’t work out.” He keeps his voice level, the idea of sharing all of his thoughts uncomfortable. “Who knows, maybe I’m just not meant to be with someone,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat and brings more silence. 

“Well that’s depressing,” Severide sighs, shaking his head. 

“Right, so,” Kidd bites at her lip, rubbing the back of her neck. “I may or may not have invited her here tonight, to kind of take her mind off of things? A girls night. So….”

Jesus. H. Christ. Logically, Matt knows it’s a normal thing to do- two best friends having a special night when one of them is upset, he witnessed enough of those with his sister, but why the firefighter thought it was a good idea to do it here, while he’s here? 

“Great, so I’ll be going…anywhere else, then.” Matt presses the heels of his hands to his closed eyes, trying to calm himself down. 

“Dude, stay, we can-“ 

“I don’t think it’s very smart to stay and be around when I’m the reason this is happening. He stares at his slice of pizza. He’s not hungry anymore. Putting the plate in the fridge, he makes sure his phone and wallet are in his pocket then gives what he hopes is a smile to his friends. 

“I’ll be back later, don’t wait up, might be a while,” he says with a tight smile. When no one stops him, he nods and heads out the door. 

It’s almost eleven o’clock when he walks back into the apartment building, heart heavy, eyes rimmed red and puffy from crying. He’s tired and emotionally drained from having gone to see his sister and then to the cemetery to visit his late fiancé. Talking to Hallie was always emotional, and today was no exception. Six feet hadn’t ever felt so far away. Sylvie’s always been more of a morning person than a night person, so surely she’s gone by now. 

The moment the door opens, his brain starts yelling at him to abort, to shut the door back and turn around. Sitting there on the couch, curled up next to Stella and under a big fuzzy blanket, is Sylvie, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a too-big sweatshirt that Matt doesn’t recognize. He blinks hard and steps further inside. 

“Hey, sorry, I-“ 

“We’ll shit Casey, way to undo all my hard work of making her forget everything,” Kidd groans. 

Matt kind of wants to punch something. How is it that she gets all this special treatment, that she gets all this sympathy from people and he’s treated as if he’s the bad guy? Everyone at fifty one seems to have come to the consensus that either the breakup was mutual or he’d done it. At least, that’s the vibe he got after stopping by for half an hour the day prior, while ambo had been out (not that he’d done that on purpose). 

“Sorry. I have a headache, so I’m going to head to bed, I’ll see you in the morning. Sylvie, it’s uhm, it’s nice to see you.”

Somehow his voice doesn’t waver for which he’s grateful. He knows he sounds like he’s been crying, his head is aching behind his eyes and his nose is completely stuffed up. That plus how he looks is probably giving them both the wrong impression. The Captain makes the familiar walk down the right hallway to his old bedroom, shutting the door quietly before letting out a large sigh. Wonderful.

He’s just finished changing into an old pair of grey sweatpants and a fire academy shirt when there’s a knock at the door, no doubt Severide being asked to make sure he’s alright. When he opens it, he stops dead and feels his heart pick up speed. Sylvie is standing there with her big blue eyes, her hand on her watch, twisting it. She’s nervous to talk to him, and now he feels like an asshole for no logical reason. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi, I just,” she clears her throat and blinks. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I didn’t know you were back in town.” 

The atmosphere is awkward and Matt isn’t sure if he should ask her to come in or not. He stays planted in his spot, feeling unable to move. The area behind his eyes gives a throb. 

“Just visiting for a few days. Hallie’s birthday is next week and I haven’t missed one yet, but I’m on shift so I thought I’d come early,” he explains, giving a weak smile. “And I’m fine,” he adds. “I hope you’re doing well. I saw you earlier today, obviously. You seem happy.” 

Sylvie nods, giving him a small smile. It looks half pained and half something else, maybe pitying? Guilty? 

“I’m,” she pauses, thinking. “I’m trying, to be happy. I’m working on it. And I hope you are too.” 

Matt contemplates telling her that he’s glad she’s happy, that he’s trying also, that he’s even found someone, just to make that sad look on her face go away. Instead, words start tumbling out before he can even realize what they are. 

“Can I ask you a question? How…how could you move on from me so easily? From us?” 

Silence. It’s so loud that Matt has to swallow and then continue just so it will stop. “You don’t need to answer that. I’m sorry, that was out of line. You don’t owe me anything, or any explanation,” he rushes to get out, hands starting to shake from adrenaline. 

“I haven’t, I don’t think. Gotten over you, I mean. But if I don’t try then I never will. And it sucks and it hurts, but I can’t just pause my life and wallow in it forever, you know?” 

Her eyes are shiny and Matt hates himself for once again making this wonderful, beautiful, funny, smart woman cry. Her words sting. It’s obvious just from the question that he hasn’t moved on either, but unlike her, he’s not really making much effort. He’s pausing his life, wallowing in the fact he and Sylvie aren’t together. He feels nauseous. Some tiny part of him had selfishly hoped that maybe once he came back for good their stars would align, like she had said. He doesn’t think they have stars anymore. Maybe just a big black hole sits where they once were. 

“I wouldn’t ever expect you not to move on,” he explains slowly. “I uh, I know you have that guy? He seemed nice from what I witnessed. I’ve always said you deserve happiness Sylvie, and that hasn’t changed. I just want you to be happy. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to provide that for you when you needed it most. All of it was unfair to you, and I understand why we didn’t work out. It does suck. But if you’re happy then I’m happy.” 

Sylvie stares at him and then steps closer. Suddenly her arms are around him, hugging him tightly. He hugs her back, suddenly realizing this is most likely the last hug they’ll ever share. 

“I’m sorry. I know you’re unhappy Matt. I know you’re trying. I know Portland’s been hard, and I know I couldn’t give you what you needed either. It’s not just me who suffered. And I’m sorry,” tears are falling down her porcelain face and Matt feels tears on his own too. 

He pulls back just enough to stare into her eyes and for a moment all he wants to do is have one last kiss, one last moment of feeling her and tasting her and having her. But he won’t be that person who kisses someone that’s taken. He doesn’t want to harm her new relationship. The words are washing over him and it feels like something in him has cracked open. Sylvie has always seen him, more than anyone- more than his sister, his mother, Hallie, Gabby. Sylvie’s the only one who’s ever been able to tell exactly how he’s feeling, even during the times he’s locked his feelings down as deep as they can go. 

“Thank you.” It comes out as a half sob, and he hugs her tight again, then finally, the spell is broken and they step apart at the same time. Matt’s a mess, Sylvie’s still beautiful, and he’s now certain that no one will ever come close to Sylvie Brett. She was it for him- the ring that’s still in his dresser drawer is proof of that. 

But they are over and Matt will eventually come to terms with that, at least he hopes he will. 

“You should g-get back to Kidd, she’s probably annoyed now,” he gives a watery laugh. 

“Yeah. Thank you, Matt. For everything. I’m sorry we ended up like this.” 

“I’m sorry too. Thank you, Sylvie.” 

She walks back down the hall, and he can see her swiping at her face. He turns and sits back on the bed that once used to be his and starts desperately trying to compartmentalize all the hurt and sadness. Sylvie changed him in so many ways, but this particular part of him won’t ever change, and he’s aware of it. Even she didn’t scratch the surface of this particular issue of his, but she also never got the chance. He hears her voice talking to Kidd and shuts his door, suddenly angry, not for a specific thing, but just angry.

Before he can stop himself, before he can calm himself down or remind himself he’s not who he used to be- an angry kid, an angry teenager, an angry man in his late 20’s who lost a best friend or fiancé, he moves. He doesn’t think about the fact the wall isn’t dry wall like every other wall he’s punched, but he comes back down to earth quickly, blind anger turning into pain as his knuckles hit brick and cement. The pain radiates from his knuckle through his wrist and he lets out a quiet, strangled noise. 

At least that’s something he can focus on instead of his never ending thoughts about the woman forty feet away. 

[stellerssong]

what monster would you turn kiran estavez into, given the chance?

GREAT QUESTION. SEXY QUESTION. QUESTION THAT i have to think about in more depth honestly because i am still finding my way into Kiran Estevez's character. she has a grounded enough energy that she might be the Token Human tbh, especially if i were to hypothetically take the route of creechuring Saga. and i think Saga creechurs a little more intuitively. she could be a great half-whatever-the-fuck-Jesse-and-Dylan-were-in-that-one-control-creechurfic-i-did-way-back-when. i think she would look very beautiful with a variable number of eyes and also a tail.

well that was a terrible answer to that question. as a forfeit please enjoy my attempts to find my way into Kiran Estevez's character:

She dreamed about Maya last night. Kiran groans, hitches up the scratchy motel sheet, spits out a stray hank of hair. Sticky-foul taste of one too many beers on the back of her tongue. That’s what she gets for letting the old crew from Investigations take her out for drinks on what’s technically a work night. Her tolerance has gone to shit. She doesn’t go out drinking around Bright Falls much; something about a small-town bar full of good ol’ local boys rubs her the wrong way, for obvious reasons, and she’s not so textbook that she’s going to spend her evenings sitting around alone in the thin-walled apartment that still doesn’t feel like hers after seven years, a bottle of Jack in her hand and some skin flick playing in grainy Technicolor on pay-per-view. She can almost hear Maya laughing at that. How well-adjusted of you, baby. Tell your therapist about it next week. Maybe she’ll give you a good grade. Funny joke. As if the Bureau retained staff therapists for its agents. Just thinking about the potential confidentiality breaches gives Kiran a headache. Though, to be fair, that might be the mild hangover. And she dreamed about Maya last night. Right. She’d almost forgotten. Or maybe she wanted to forget. She rolls over on the lumpy mattress with a sigh, blinks at the battered desk and threadbare chair in the corner. (Doesn’t let her hand drift over to the empty spot in the bed, to the other pillow unmarked by the indent of a sleeper’s head.) It hadn’t been a bad dream. They’d been shopping together, or something. Maya couldn’t find her list and had wanted to go home to get it, even though Kiran had insisted she knew what they needed. She’d driven off and left Kiran standing in the parking lot with the shopping cart. And then it had started to rain. Phantom sensation of cold water soaking into her socks, squish-squashing in her sodden boots. They’d probably make something of that down in Parapsychology, but, like—fuck Parapsychology. Sometimes a dream’s not a message from the Astral Plane or extradimensional intelligences or what the fuck ever. Sometimes a dream’s just a sign that you’ve got to get the fuck out of New York. God, she hates that she’s even thinking this, but she’s got to get the fuck out of New York. At a certain point you can’t keep blaming the cheap beer for your maudlin turn.

[sturid]

ok y’all know that spider oc I made a while ago? I edited him a bit (a lot) and decided to post it so here it is (I cannot draw so it’s just a description)

Name: Adler Lee

Nationality: Australian

Hero name: Agent Spider

Age:28

How long has he been spider-man? 13 years

Dimension: Earth-8121

Friends: Hobie, Spider Noir, Peter B, Jess (kinda), Gwen, Pav and pretty much the rest of the main cast.

Enjoys: Cooking, writing, photography, boxing, watching movies, reading, video production and sewing

Normal job: Film crew and part time bartender

Fun facts he has SPD (sensory processing disorder) and sometimes is out wearing headphones and sunglasses. He also might suddenly shut down due to it. 

He also has dyspraxia but he learned how to do things in a way where he won’t get killed while being spider-man (the spider senses helped him a lot)

Another fun fact he can play the guitar and saxophone 

Uranic (only attracted to men/masc presenting non binary people) and ftm trans.

Normal outfit:

Black loose fitting shorts with big pockets. (tight at waist, loose everywhere else. Looks like a trapezoid)

A thin green-brown checkered button down

maybe a white shirt under if he’s feeling sophisticated

all white baseball cap (backwards always)

dirty old converse

a bandaid on his nose and on his cheek (somehow always getting cuts there)

those 3d glasses from the movie theater (he loves them)

headphones around neck

Spider suit:

White to dark purple fade

hood

white lines all over

purple lines on the hood

triangle patters at the legs

sleeveless

blue gloves

tinted eyeholes for SPD

microphones so he can hear better (helping for dyspraxia)

physical description:

poofy light brown hair

brown skin

prosthetic left arm (i’ll get into it later

green eyes

buff

6 foot 4

thick accent (he also swears a lot and uses a bunch of Australian slang)

prosthetic arm

Good traits:

confident

respectful

Charming (ish)

easygoing

realist

stable

funny

witty

bold

flexible

cool older brother energy

neutral qualities

impulsive

stubborn

SWEARING :0

carefree

somewhat secretive 

all over the place

messy

sneaky

bad qualities:

brutally honest

overly sarcastic

VERY blunt

harsh (if he doesn’t like you)

Protective

unpredictable 

cunning when he wants to be

unruly 

careless

habits

always rubbing shirt

cracks knuckles when nervous

rocks himself from side to side or back and forth

cannot sit right at all

somehow has everything that everyone needs like you need pads? dude has some of all sizes as well as tampons. Water? BOOM. Cold water bottles. he’s magical

never remembers whatever people say

yet he somehow remembers people’s habits and schedules 

speaking of schedules he never follows one unless he feels like it or it’s his normal job 

other things:

(plot hole) he either lost his right arm due to having Phocomelia syndrome which made his arm completely disappear at birth or he lost his arm while getting slammed into a building by a villain idk which yet

He’s on the olympic team for boxing and he got a few gold medals before 

His canon event was his sweet Italian next door neighbor who was basically a father figure to him.

His parents were kinda trash if we’re being honest and were the reason he swears so much (learnt habit from them)

His dad was always away and hardly came home and his mother was an alcoholic, and when his dad came home (for once) they would always argue

He would usually run away to said neighbor that died because they were very comforting and cared for him.

Goes into big brother mode whenever someone younger than him gets hurt because he also had a younger brother that

Gives everyone the most random nicknames

Bro is still shocked about being bit cause DUDE LIVES IN THE AUSTRALIAN VERSION OF NEW YORK. THERE ARE SPIDERS EVERYWHERE. he wasn’t prepared

he lives in a small apartment building with 2 cats that he loves very dearly. There are plants and candles everywhere almost looks like a wild jungle. 

he gives out keys to his apartment to other spider people if they need a place to stay

somehow a god at cooking

idk what it is but i have a feeling that if he died he would die from trying to protect jayden/cory or another spider person he cares about a lot from the spot

he prepares for everything when it comes to people visiting so he has a bunch of stim toys for people who need them 

he knows how to copy people’s personalities surprisingly well like if he doesn’t like u because you’re cocky or something he’ll act the same way to get on your nerves because he’s petty 

his universes art style is similar to super smash bros and if he was introduced to the movie it would be similar to “Agent Spider joins the party!” 

bro would probably have a crush on someone in the main group like noir or something but  adler would most likely die/get extremely injured before a confession

[art-of-manliness]

Odds and Ends: May 31, 2024

Reach Ultraclean Dental Floss. PFAS are “forever chemicals” that have been linked to thyroid disease, obesity, immune suppression, reproductive problems, and cancer. They’re used in things like carpets, cookware . . .  and, we recently learned, dental floss. A study found that those who use PFAS-containing floss have higher levels of the chemical in their bodies. This is, of course, correlational, and the use of such floss has not been proven to cause health effects. But heck, why keep using it if you don’t have to, since there are floss brands/types that don’t contain PFAS that might leech into your body? The trick is to find one that doesn’t feel like crap on your gums (PFAS are what give floss its nice glide). After deciding to switch from our old standby, PFAS-containing Oral B Glide, we discovered a winner of a replacement: Reach Ultraclean. Strong and rubbery, it doesn’t shred between your teeth, and it moves in and out of their gaps with a satisfying twang that makes flossing just a bit more enjoyable.  If you’ve wanted to, but haven’t yet made flossing in general a habit, you can bet we’ve got an article on that. The Social Network. I hadn’t seen this film since it originally came out almost 15 years ago and recently rewatched it with the family. It’s a great flick, which shrewdly frames the founding of Facebook as a story of a man seeking status (at the heart of everything, you’ll always, always find the fight for status). Jesse Eisenberg’s portrayal of Mark Zuckerberg is so well-acted, and Aaron Sorkin’s snappy dialogue of course crackles. Even though the main characters in the story don’t come off very well, it made me nostalgic for the early days of the web, when things were still new, exciting, and fun, people were scheming and dreaming about doing something big on the net, and college students could create things in their dorm room that became billion-dollar empires. It was a time for launches. (AoM debuted two years after FB opened to the general public. Memories.) “The Ambling Mind” by L. M. Sacasas. For some reason this year, I’ve naturally been waking up earlier. Instead of sitting around the house until the kids get up, I go out and take a two-mile walk around my neighborhood. I really enjoy it. This article by L.M Sacasas highlights one of the joys of walking outside: it’s a great way to think through things. There’s something about walking that juices your cognitive gears. Which is why many of history’s great philosophers like Aristotle, Kant, and Nietzsche were walkers. For more on the all-around powers of walking, check out this article we published a decade back: “Solvitur Ambulando: It Is Solved By Walking.” The Anatomy of Courage by Lord Moran. Charles McMoran Wilson, 1st Baron Moran, commonly known as Lord Moran, is most famous for being Winston Churchill’s personal physician from the period of WWII until Churchill’s death. But back in WWI, he served as a medical officer in the Royal Fusiliers for two and a half years. During that time, he closely observed how soldiers responded to the stresses of war. Moran offers interesting insights and opinions on what qualities make men more or less vulnerable to fear and susceptible to cowardice, and what conditions are apt to lead men to break down or hold together. Quote of the Week Life is too short to be little. Man is never so manly as when he feels deeply, acts boldly, and expresses himself with frankness and with fervor. —Benjamin Disraeli Help support independent publishing. Make a donation to The Art of Manliness! Thanks for the support! http://dlvr.it/T7ft2t

[barberxculture]

The Impact of Barbering on Latinos

by: Jesse E March 25, 2024

This is my home set up back in Dallas.

BIO

My name is Jesse, and I am a young Latin American barber who was born and raised in Oak Cliff, Dallas, TX. In addition to being a barber, I am also a first-year generation student at Texas A&M University expected to graduate in May, 2024. As a son of two immigrants and projected by many to become a product of my own enviroment, I wanted to show out.

Growing up in a area mostly Latino/a populated, Latin culture became a big part in my life and as I grew up, getting haircuts became one of my favorited things although I also noticed that every other hispanic kid in my block always had a nice haircuts even if they were homemade.

This interest of mine sparked the idea of becoming a barber although I waited untill my Sophmore year in Highschool to join a Barber Academy. I joined Pro Fades Barber Academy which was fiest established a couple blocks up from my house but then moved further into

East Dallas where it now resides is continuously expanding. There I met my teacher and really great friend "FrankyJTheMaster". After completing my hours I was already getting ready to leave for the university although I had a wonderful experience throughout my learning process and learned so much about the barber culture.

Although, I have always if barbering was the same in Latin American culture as it was from back home. This is why I am creating this blog post in order to explore how the barber culture is depicted in Latin America.

History

Surprisingly, it has been tough trying to find a good article or really anything that actually goes really well into depth and detail with the actual history of barbering. It is as if it wasn't any important, or not important enough to even talk about its history.

Although, I did my best to bring something to the table. From what I've learned and can recall, the art of barbering has been dated back centuries. Males have always needed some sort of grooming and that's what barbers were there for, although grooming was not always the barber's only job.

It has been said that barbers back then used to take the task of doing other jobs such as medical procedures, tooth extractions, and other health-related things (Iskhakov, 2023).

Time is of the essence, now everything is different. Nowadays barbers only take care of haircuts, facials, beard work, and trimmings. Although, at least in Texas, whenever you obtain your license to be a barber, you can use that same license to open up nail shops, tattoo shops, botox and that's as far as I know. Don't fault me if I may be wrong doe, the barber industry evolves as society does too. Who are we to say that barbers may never go back to conducting procedures.

Culture

The barber culture has indeed stayed relevant throughout the years, given the fact that it is a neutral spot where many people can come together and seek grooming services. If it wasn't for barbers, we men would still be looking like cavemen with no haircuts or any sort of groom.

As a barber, I argue that haircuts have now become more of a luxury for those who seek the service. The reason why I say this, is because people are able to come and sit down in a barbershop and interact with many different people, converse, and hang out all while obtaining a service from the barber. All of this just goes and supports the idea of it being a luxury for Men.

Moreover, the beautiful thing about barbering is that it can for sure be adopted by almost any and every culture. Everyone is able to learn this form of art and get to use it to their abilities and express it in whatever manner they want. Some people may look at it as just a practice but others may also look at it as a lifestyle.

In this instance, the Latino culture is one of many cultures that have come along and left their mark on the barbering community. For example, the "slick back" is a very well-known haircut style most commonly portrayed by young Latin Americans, mostly in the early 1900s. In fact, so much so that many Latino barbers have come put with their own line of products which consists of palmade, which is used to make the slick back happen.

This is one of the most known slick back products known within the Hispanic community, created by a Hispanic barber. It has ever sine grown and became part of the barber community as it sits within almost every barbers tools kit.

Another example, in today's Hispanic culture there is another haircut that has surfaced and created a big platform for young Latinos and has even been used to identify that specific group of people who have it, It is known as the "cuh haircut" which is basically similar to a "bowl cut". It is said that this person who have the haircut like trucks, wearing boots and saying "cuh".

This is an example picture of what you would call a "cuh".

Believe it or not, such things as these haircuts slowly grow to expand all over the community. I first remember seeing these haircuts here in Texas, although whenever visiting Mexico, I noticed that also many young Mexican kids had the "cut" haircut. Which I believe that goes to show how influencing the culture can be, going as far as influencing people from other countries.

The Impact

My main point or argument in this blog is that the whole concept of having barbershops around or even becoming a barber can have a very positive and significant impact on young LatinX teenagers and any other teen in general.

This impact ranges way beyond just giving a fresh haircut, many barbers I know, including myself, have proudly served kids in our community with guidance, support and even resources at times in hopes of aiding the development of these kids in our community, they are our future (artistic nails & beauty academy, 2015).

The reason why I believe that barbershops and barber are capable of doing such things is simply because of their line of work. A barber shop is a common ground where anyone and everyone is welcome to go, which alone promotes the value of a community connection. As a barber, you get all kinds of people who sit down in your chair. For example, I've cut people who are teachers, principles, cops, blue-collar workers, etc.

Therefore, by being constantly in touch with people like this you build relationships with them and the whole barbershop becomes in touch with so much knowledge that they can pass it down to the young ones and give back to the community. I would express this part as networking opportunities because you are able to help expands these young kids' networks at such a young age that it will eventually someday help them out whenever they are trying to figure out what they want to do with their life.

Next, cultural representation is another way in which Barberism can positively impact teenagers. Many barbershops in Latino communities are owned by individuals with the same background and culture. Therefore, the success of the owner or even barber can serve as a motive and inspiration for the young individuals whom are constantly going to the barbershop. This can spark up and initiate what could possibly become an entrepreneurship career for this kids. For example, in an article written by Pirnia (2023), she mentions how a young adult who kept running into trouble, was inspired by his own barbershop and decided to to barber school and obtain his own barber license. This again, goes out to show how greatly impactful such a thing can be.

One more way in which Barberim can be very supportive is simply by being a safe space. Creating a safe place for people allows them to freely and carelessly express themselves, all while being judge-free. This also goes back and ties in with the fact that people are able to create great relationships in barbershops that offer safe spaces because the clients get to discuss personal experiences or even cultural experiences. I can personally back this up with my very own experience as a barber. I have had many clients come to get a haircut service with me after a long stressful day and all they want to do is be heard. Some of them may sometimes share their problems with me and ask me for my input or advice and some of them may sometimes just want to share some old fun stories about their life with me. No matter what they would like to share with me, I always make sure to give them all my attention that way they feel like they are being appreciated and heard. This can lead to creating stronger bonds with our clients and making them want to come more often.

Tips & Advice for Upcoming Latino Barbers

One of my favorite parts of being a barber is being able to help out people from my background or culture who are trying to become or pursue the career of a barber because I personally can relate to the same struggles and obstacles they may also be facing.

Therefore, these are some tips and or advice I have for those young Latinos who are trying to better their life and become successful by taking the barber route:

Patience is very important. I believe that patience is needed for every form of artwork that anyone is trying to learn. Not everything will come so quickly, you will have to go through some trial and error and make a lot of mistakes before you start to see progress.

Believe in yourself. Along the way, you will find that not everyone is on your side, although sometimes you have to believe in yourself to keep you pushing through.

Not all days will be your favorite days. There are many times and points within your career where you are going to go through a time when business is not going as well but that's just part of the game. You will able to make up for it when times do change and become better.

Be proud of who you are and where you come from. As a barber, it is important to stand out and be proud of who you are as a person. Your characteristics we'll have a profound impact on your clientele.

Be ambitious. The whole process is like a roller coaster, you will indeed have ups and downs but how it makes you will all be up to you. There is a difference between waiting to be a barber and actually doing what it takes to be a barber. You will need to take initiative and always do what is best for your career.

Being caring and outgoing is also vital in order to become a successful barber. You need to be able to care for your customers because just like stated earlier on, you will build relationships with them.

This is the first and ONLY haircut video I ever did in the spend of my 6-year barber career. Although I genuinely enjoyed the process of creating this video, it really was a bit stressful. I haven't tried making another video since although it might be a great idea now, in order to show how far I have progressed.

References

artistic nails & beauty academy. (2015, June 1). Barbershops Building a Community. Artistic Nails & Beauty Academy. https://www.artistic.edu/barbershops-building-a-community/

Iskhakov, M. (2023, April 28). Inside the World of Barber Culture: The History, Style, and Future of the Barber Shop Experience. Mankind Barbers NYC. https://www.mankindbarbersnyc.com/blog/miscellaneous/inside-the-world-of-barber-culture-the-history-style-and-future-of-the-barber-shop-experience

Pirnia, G. (2023, February 10). More than just a haircut: Local barber seeks to become a community resource. LINK nky. https://linknky.com/business/2023/02/10/more-than-just-a-haircut-local-barber-seeks-to-become-community-resource/

Ted-Ed. (2023, November 16). The gory history of barber surgeons - Stephanie Honchell Smith. Youtube. https://youtu.be/fGPPy__YnrI?si=o6U2iPJ5JE_YeSQF

[lake-cosay]

jesse & lake songs

nobody asked but here's my list of jesslake songs, minus the ones i found from the fandom which i can make a separate list of if y'all want. i'm here to validate myself lol so these are all the ones i came up with on my own (some of em are specific to just lake or just jesse and some of them make absolutely no sense to anyone else but yknow)

lake songs

Renegade by Styx

the whole song is about being on the run from the cops and in fear for your life do i really need to say much more. plus its a banger. it's one of those songs i would definitely make an animatic for if i had the patience

My Silver Lining by First Aid Kit

first aid kit has been my comfort band, if you will, for years, and i've known this song for years, but recently i actually listened to the lyrics properly (auditory processing issues who) and was like holy shit this screams lake. it's about being stuck someplace you hate and wanting to break out. i was gonna point out some of the lyrics that really stick out to me but it's just. the WHOLE song. but if i had to pick my favorite for this context, it'd be the chorus:

"i hear a voice calling / calling out for me / these shackles i've made in an attempt to be free / be it for reason, be it for love / i won't take the easy road."

(and like. there's always a chance i'm massively mis interpretting the lyrics so,,, idk lol)

jesse songs

Empty Page by The Crane Wives

yknow how at some point basically everyone in our fandom realizes "omg the b2 title 'cracked reflection' applies to jesse too because he copies the people around him!!!" it's that but in a banger song

it's also a little depressing but let jesse be sad sometimes ppl he needs catharsis too

jesse & lake songs

Rebel Heart by First Aid Kit

this one is in this section cause it fits for both of them. like it could see the lyrics being from either of their perspectives. it's also another one where its basically just the WHOLE song that i feel fits but here's some highlights:

"you told me once i had a rebel heart / i don't know if that's true / but i believe you saw something in me that lives inside you too"

"i know you truly saw me / even if just for a while / maybe that's why it hurts now / to leave it all behind"

"i don't know what it is that makes me run / that makes me wanna shatter everything that i've done / why do i keep dreaming of you? / why do i keep dreaming of you? / is it all because of my rebel heart?"

this is another one i can picture an animatic for. curse you adhd

Wait for Me from Hadestown

(i personally like either the concept album version or the nytw/live version best for them)

listen. i'm never gonna be over the parallels between jesse and lake's story and orpheus and eurydice's (in hadestown specifically, lol). obviously the chorus is the part that really fits, but it just reminds me so much of the mall car, the wasteland, and so on, of all the shit that both jesse and lake go through to get back to each other and to get home. dont touch me im emotional again

Vanilla Twilight by Owl City

"please i just want u to hold me again" the song. also it's just nostalgic for me cause owl city my beloved. reminds me of AUs where jesse can't get back on the train and is just stuck missing lake, not knowing what to do and just generally Being Depressed Now

"the silence isn't so bad / till i look at my hands and feel sad / 'cause the spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly"

"drenched in vanilla twilight / i'll sit on the front porch all night / waist deep in thought because when i think of you, i don't feel so alone"

Ribs by Lorde

this one is mostly just vibes. as far as the lyrics the most i can understand is "growing up sucks." i found the song through a connverse animatic and the connverse fandom got me into infinity train so i guess my brain connected them? but the vibes are so good.

"you're the only friend i need / sharing beds like little kids"

Little Soldiers by The Crane Wives

i almost forgot this one cause i forgot to put it on my playlist cause i hear it all the time on cd in my car. my GOD this is the most jesslake song out there i swear to god. i don't even know how to articulate it more than that. please just go listen to it

the "i swear that i loved you/i swear that you loved me" parts get to me man. holy shit.

[queenshelby]

The Judge’s Daughter (Part One)

Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Virgin!Reader

Words: 8,700

 Warning: Angst, Blood, Gore, Mention of Suicide, Mention of Miscarriage, Drugs, Racism, Smut

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal  @chrisevanshoeee  @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse  @captivatedbycillianmurphy  @fookingshelby  @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  @zozeebo  @lauren-raines-x

………

 Challenging Times

In early 1930, times were hard. The Wall Street crash in 1929 caused many men to lose their fortune. Your family had also lost money on the stock exchange. A lot of money.

Your father was a wealthy judge and now, he was just a judge. Your family home had to be sold and your father moved into a medium sized apartment in London with one of his maids.

Since your mother had passed away in 1920, your father had often sought comfort in his employees. There was one maid in particular who was of interest to him. Her name was Catherine and she was 10 years your father’s junior.

You accepted his relationship with her but soon felt uncomfortable to live with them in the London Apartment.

But your father wasn’t the only family member who lost his fortune in the stock market crash. Your brother had also lost a lot of money. So much money that he could not repay his gambling debt to one of London’s most notorious criminals.

As a result, your brother committed suicide. His mental health had always been troubled ever since he’s been to France, fighting for England in the First World War. Your brother was much older than you and it was almost a miracle when your mother fell pregnant again and gave birth to you after three miscarriages.

Your brother adored you and protected you whenever necessary. He was kind hearted but, unfortunately, got himself involved with the wrong people on several occasions which is when he began gambling.  

Following your brother’s death, your father struck a deal with the man to whom the gambling debt was owed, releasing three of his gang members from prison.

The debt was forgiven and you inherited your brother’s small cottage north of London.  Regardless of your father’s actions, he began to despise criminals who involved themselves in illegal gambling activities. Your father was known to be particularly harsh when it came to offences of this kind.

He once told you a story about a man who used to be a prominent criminal who made his fortune through race fixing and illegal gambling activities. That man was now a member of parliament and your father despised him.

Being Jewish, your father’s hate for this man increased even more when he became the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists.

The man’s name was Thomas Shelby and you met him once at a gala organised by the socialist party in Westminster. He was a smart man but he was also extremely rude and insulted your father at the gala following a dispute they had earlier in the day.

Your father threatened him and told him that, one day, he will ensure his downfall. It was your father’s mission and it was dangerous.

With that threat in mind and heated political events unfolding around the country, your father asked you to move to the countryside. Take up your brother’s cottage and lay low until things were taking a turn.

It took you quite some time to build up the courage to move into the house where your brother took his own life. But, you eventually did, taking up your brother’s work at the property while attending nursing school every second week.

The cottage was free standing but behind a larger house owned by wealthy Londoners. Their wealth seemed to have been unaffected by the stock market crash and, just as your brother did, you attended their yards and animals on the small farm in exchange for a wage and free food from the produce.

You also spent some time renovating the cottage which was rather dated.

The cottage had two bedrooms, one of which you converted entirely to a studio for your paintings. You enjoyed painting and you were quite good at it.

The other bedroom you redecorated with your own furniture.

The downstairs area consisted out of a small living room with a fire place and a small kitchen and bathroom.

It wasn’t much, but it was a place you could call your own. It was home.

Initially following your move, you would travel to London occasionally to visit your father and his mistress. You wondered when he would finally propose to her. She had been waiting for years.

When you visited, you would often sit in one of his open hearings. You were quite interested in the political and legal situation in the country especially following recent events.  

Notably, it has been six weeks since the assassination attempt on Oswald Mosley, the leader of the British Union of Fascists.

Being Jewish yourself, you, just like your father, despised fascism.

The event at which the assassination attempt occurred was visited by many Jews, protesting against the establishment of the party and their obscure ideas. Despite your father’s instructions not to get involved, you were one of the protestors on the day and, although not openly, you have been associating yourself with the communists.

Your newfound friend Jesse Eden had since led several more protests you attended. Being only 20 years young, you believed that you could make a difference and convince people that their support for fascism was wrong and immoral.

The problem was that your father was at the centre of it all.

Following the assassination attempt on Oswald Mosley, two Jews were arrested and appeared in your father’s court. The prosecution didn’t have enough evidence for a conviction and the men walked free.

No one really knew who was behind the assassination attempt. There were no witnesses and everyone who may have witnessed the attack had since been found dead.

Regardless of this, for some reason, the leaders of the British Union of Fascists seem to have believed that a Jewish man by the name of Alfie Solomons was behind the attack. But there was one little problem, Alfie Solomon was dead. Or wasn���t he?

The men that were arrested used to work for Alfie Solomons and took the fall until your father set them free for lack of evidence.

A week after this decision, a Jewish owned factory was bombed. The factory was owned by the men who were set free by your father and a company owned by a Trust.

Ten men were killed and, following some arrests, it became evident that Jimmy McCavern was behind the attack.

Jimmy McCavern was the leader of the Billy Boys and, over the course of another week, your father was able to make a connection through some documents admitted to evidence between Jimmy McCavern, Alfie Solomons and a man named Thomas Shelby who was the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists.

An arrest warrant was issued against Jimmy McCavern and Thomas Shelby by the London police following your father’s advice to them. Since, apparently, Alfie Solomons was dead, no arrest warrant could be made against him.

Thomas Shelby was the first member of parliament who was subject to such warrant and your father may have just, like this, gotten himself a lot of enemies.

The men he had against him now were not only the Billy Boys but also the Peaky Blinders and it was too dangerous for you to continue to visit him in London.

Unfortunately, little did you know that the danger was about to lurk just in front of your doorstep.

An Unexpected Visit

It was a Wednesday evening at 8pm that you heard a rather loud knock on the front door of your cottage.

You didn’t expect anyone and approached the door with your loaded gun. It’s not that you had ever shot a gun, but you bought yourself one two days ago just in case you needed it.

‘Who is it?’ you asked from behind the closed door.

‘It’s Jesse Eden’ you’ve heard from behind the door and you immediately recognised Jesse’s voice.

You put the gun aside and unlocked the door.

To your surprise, Jesse wasn’t alone and your chin dropped as you saw the man standing right in front of you. You remembered him. He was the man who stood beside Oswald Mosley during his speech in Birmingham and you had met him before at a gala at Westminster.

His name was Thomas Shelby.

‘I think we have met before Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.

‘Yes, we have Mr Shelby’ you said nervously and frightened at the same time. You immediately wondered whether Jesse was under duress by him. Why otherwise would he be here with her you wondered.

You invited them both inside after Jesse made the request to come in. She wasn’t sure whether they had been followed.

To your surprise, Jesse soon told you that she required your help. According to her, Thomas Shelby had to lay low due to the arrest warrant issued by the London police.

If Thomas Shelby was to be arrested, he may be killed in prison before a hearing could be conducted.

Accordingly, Jesse asked you to hide him at your house until the charges against him are dropped.

‘You mean until the chief of police has been bribed enough to drop the charges?’ you chuckled in response to her request.

‘I wish it would be that easy Love’ Tommy said as he looked at the pictures on your living room wall. His hands were in his pockets and he almost looked unbothered by the situation.

‘You cannot be serious Jesse. You seriously want me to hide this man at my house?’ you said in disbelieve.  

‘I am afraid I am serious Y/N’ Jesse responded.

‘Well, a fascist hiding at the house of a Jew, how ironic’ you said angrily, still unsure why Jesse was helping him.

‘I know we have gotten off on the wrong foot at the Westminster gala Miss Rosenberg, but I would greatly appreciate your help’ Tommy said, recalling his argument with your father in your presence in late 1929.

‘You think Mr Shelby?’ you chuckled. ‘You insulted my father and my entire family’ you said.

‘And for that, I apologise’ Tommy said politely but firmly.

‘Jesse, you need to explain to me why you are helping this man. I do not understand it’ you said.

‘I cannot give you more information Y/N. You just need to trust me on this, alright?’ Jesse asked almost fearfully.

‘Alright, but why me?’ you pondered.

‘Because you are the daughter of the judge hearing this matter. No one will think to look for me here, at your house’ Tommy explained.

‘Jesus’ was all you could respond with to Tommy’s comment.

‘Y/N, trust me, please. It’s for the cause’ Jesse said.

‘I find this hard to believe, but alright, he can stay’ you responded.

Not long after you agreed to house the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists, Thomas Shelby, Jesse made her way back to Birmingham. It was a three-hour drive and she had to hurry before anyone became suspicious.

‘You will have to sleep on the lounge. Please help yourself to any food, water and drinks’ you said while you walked into another room to fetch a blanket, pillow and change of clothes for Tommy.

You still held on to your brother’s clothes which should have fitted Thomas just fine.

‘I thank you for your hospitality Miss Rosenberg and I apologise for intruding your space. I should be out of your hair within the week’ Tommy said as you came back to the living room and handed him everything he needed for his stay.

‘I am doing this for Jesse, not for you Mr Shelby. Although I do not quite understand why she is helping you’ you said just before you sat down in one of the arm chairs.

‘Let’s just say, we had a thing once, eh’ Tommy smirked.

‘I didn’t think that she would fall for a man like you’ you said.

‘A man like me, eh?’ Tommy chuckled.

‘Yes, a socialist turning to fascism. It’s rather disappointing’ you said.

‘Sometimes we do what we have to do Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.

‘Yes, if we didn’t, you wouldn’t be staying here, trust me’ you said before excusing yourself.

You made your way to your studio, painting and drinking wine. It was what you enjoyed most and you wanted to space from the stranger now living with you in the small cottage. A man you had literally nothing in common with and who you despised.

While you were painting, Tommy made use of your telephone and enjoyed some of your late brother’s whiskey.

It was obvious to you that he was struggling with being cooped up in your cottage and, just as your thoughts got lost in your paintings, you heard some a cracking noise near the door of your studio.

‘What are you doing?’ you asked as you noticed Tommy walking into your studio, looking through your many paintings.

‘You are talented. These paintings are extraordinary’ Tommy said.

‘Thank you, Mr Shelby’ you said with surprise. Had he really just complimented you?

His presence and closeness sent shivers down your spine. It wasn’t that you were frightened but you were clearly intimidated.

‘What are your plans, Miss Rosenberg?’ Tommy asked as he kept looking through the paintings.

‘My plans?’ you asked.

‘Your plans for the future? What are they?’ Tommy asked.

‘I am studying to become a nurse. Perhaps, one day get married and have children. The usual’ you said shyly.

‘Well, let me tell you, marriage is overrated’ Tommy chuckled before he asked how old you were.

‘I am 20’ you responded.

‘Still young with a life of opportunities ahead of you. Don’t waste them on the cause’ Tommy said.

‘Coming from a man who wastes his political career on fascism’ you said, causing Tommy to chuckle.

Your comment instantly sparked a political debate between you and Tommy which soon erupted into a heated argument.

During the argument he told you that you were too young to understand, ignorant and naïve and you were keen to throw him out of your house right then and there.

But, you bit your tongue and reminded yourself of the promise you made to Jesse.

You couldn’t stand him and his arrogance any longer and went to your bedroom, leaving him to debate about politics with himself.

Things Must Change

The next morning, you woke up early to attend the garden, ignoring Tommy as you left the house.

But, it wasn’t long until Tommy joined you in the garden. It was obvious to you that he was clearly bored.

‘What happened to the people who lived at the large house over there?’ Tommy asked as he walked outside to have a cigarette. You didn’t allow him to smoke inside the house.

‘They are in France for their annual vacation. Apparently, their fortune was unaffected by the stock market crash’ you responded.

‘Lucky them eh’ Tommy grinned as he grabbed some of the leather gardening cloves and a bucket from the side of the house.

Wearing his expensive suit and with the bucket in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth he walked over to the berry bushes where you were standing.

‘I might as well make myself useful eh’ he said jokingly as he began picking some berries.

‘Uhm yeah…but these aren’t ripe’ you giggled as you observed Tommy picking off some of the raspberries.

‘Right. Well, I usually don’t garden’ Tommy chuckled.

‘I couldn’t tell’ you laughed, causing Tommy to smile back at you.

This was the first time you noticed him smile. It was a gentle smile and it suited him.

Tommy helped you in the garden for the remainder of the day. It wasn’t like he had something else to do other than make phone calls to his brother and someone by the name of Kent.

You managed to keep your arguments to a minimum and you started to worry that you were slowly beginning to enjoy his company.

Later that evening, following dinner, you even sat down together in front of the fireplace in the living room to drink whiskey and wine and make some conversation.

‘I have been checking on your calls, contacting the directory because I wanted to make sure that I am safe with you being here. I have been told that the last call from my number was made to the Crown Investigations Office’ you said with surprise as you poured Tommy a glass of whiskey. After everything that happened in the past, you still didn’t trust him.

‘That’s correct’ Tommy said.

‘The only reason I could think of as to why you were talking to an officer of the Crown while you have an arrest warrant against you is if you were working for the Crown yourself. Otherwise, you would be mad tipping them’ you said.

‘I was just trading information that might be useful. In exchange, I am hoping for the arrest warrant against me to be dropped’ Tommy explained.

‘Mr Shelby, do you actually believe in fascism? I have not heard you speak about your party’s ideals since you’ve been here. We spoke about politics but you still seem to be a socialist at heart. So tell me, why do you follow this mad man Mosely? I am curious’ you said.

‘The thing about political parties is that they take the course into the direction in which they are steered. Much like a car. But just like with a car, if you fill it with the wrong fuel and the engine breaks down as a result, you will be going nowhere’ Tommy said as he took a drink.

‘And you are the fuel Mr Shelby?’ you asked with curiosity.

‘Yes, I am the fuel Miss Rosenberg’ he said.

‘Your intention is to undermine Mosley on behalf of the Crown. Jesse knew and this is why she helped you, isn’t it?’ you said after pondering on about what Tommy had just told you.

‘And now that you know this as well, it makes you my accomplice. I might be able to use your help Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.  

‘If it helps to end fascism, perhaps I am willing to give it’ you said with a smile. ‘But I am curious now Mr Shelby. Was it you who initiated the attack on Mosley?’ you asked.

‘I rather not answer Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.

‘I understand. Also, you can call me Y/N now that we aren’t enemies after all’ you said.

‘Alright Y/N, then I insist that you call me Tommy’ he responded.

After some more conversation you decided that it was time for you to make your way to bed. It was late and you had to get up early to attend the animals.

Nightmares

Falling asleep that night was easy. You felt much safer now despite Tommy’s presence. You knew he wasn’t going to harm you.

But just as easy as you had fallen asleep, you were woken up by a loud noise coming from the living room at 1am.

‘Tommy, are you alright?’ you asked worryingly as you walked downstairs in a haste, wearing nothing but your silk nightgown.

‘My apologies, I didn’t intend to wake you’ Tommy said as he sat on the lounge, covered in sweat.

You initially thought that he might haven gotten sick until you saw a small empty bottle on the living room table. Your brother used to have one just like it which he carried around everywhere. It contained Liquid Opium and helped him sleep. He took it every night until, one day, he stopped. The withdrawal was barely manageable and his addiction soon rebounded.

You knew what this was. You had seen it before.

‘I will make you some tea to help you sleep’ you said kindly as you observed Tommy’s struggles.

‘I don’t think that tea will help me sleep Love’ Tommy chuckled.

‘My brother used to have nightmares after France. When he returned home, my mother made this for him and he managed to get at least some sleep. It’s worth a try’ you said with a warm smile. You knew Tommy had been to France. You had spoken about it when you spoke about your brother earlier that evening.  

‘I suppose why not, eh’ Tommy said as he walked to the bathroom to clean himself off with a cold wet flannel.

After you put on the kettle, you walked to the studio and grabbed some more of your brother’s clothes.

‘These should fit you’ you said shyly as you handed Tommy a clean plain shirt and pants.

‘Thank you, Y/N’ he said as he took the clothes.

This was the first time you saw Tommy without a shirt and, despite his level of exhaustion, it was quite a sight. He certainly was a very attractive man.

After Tommy had gotten himself changed, you sat down next to him and handed him the cup of tea.

‘Do you want to talk?’ you asked.

‘It’s the middle of the night Y/N, you should get some sleep’ Tommy said.

‘It’s alright. I am not tired’ you said with a warm smile.

That night Tommy spoke with you about everything. About France and his late wife Grace who visited him in his dreams. He didn’t know why, but he felt as though he could talk to you and trust you.

At 4am, you eventually fell asleep on the lounge next to Tommy which is where you woke up the next morning covered with a warm blanket.

The fire was lid and there was a note on the coffee table as you woke.

‘Borrowed your hunting rifle, will be back by 8’ the note said.

You didn’t know how to hunt and had been telling Tommy how your brother shot bucks whenever you came to visit him at the cottage from London. You would then prepare it with veggies from the garden just the way your mother had shown you.

You thought that, perhaps, Tommy was better equipped than you when it came to hunting. You struggled enough even just to slaughter a chook from the farm and your intake of meat was clearly lacking as a result.

Attacked

With Tommy gone, you decided to attend to the horses. Grabbing your shovel and rake, you walked into the stables.

But, just as you walked inside, you could hear a loud noise from behind the barn.

You wondered whether it was Tommy and approached the back area of the property carefully. After all, he had a loaded gun and you certainly didn’t want to get shot accidently.

Just as you walked to the side of the property, you saw a strange man.

‘Hello Love’ the man said, cocking his gun.

‘Who are you and what do you want?’ you asked holding on to your rake tightly.

‘We’ve got a dispute to settle with some Jews Love. Now be a good girl and put down this rake would you’ the man said firmly.

You obliged and the man approached you slowly.

‘Now Love, we will be having a good time and then we will visit your father’ the man said just before he called for another man who was at the back of the barn.

Within an instant, the man grabbed your wrists and pushed you against the outer wall of the barn.

‘Such are pretty thing aren’t you’ the man said as he aimed to cover your mouth while moving away your skirt.

But, just when the man’s hand reached your mouth, you bit him firmly just before yelling for help.

‘You fucking bitch’ the man said as he reached for his gun.

In this moment, you heard a shot. The other man was hit, but barely and went to check out where the shot came from.

With both men distracted, you ceased the moment and pulled out the gardening scissors you were carrying in your thin jacket. Within an instant and without thinking, you rammed the scissor into the neck of the man who was still standing right there in front of you.

This was all it took for the man to fall to the ground. You couldn’t help it but scream as your hands and blouse were covered in the man’s blood.

You were besides yourself, sitting on the ground next to his dying body in shock, unable to do anything.

After what felt like an eternity, you saw Tommy approach you, making his way through the veggie patch carrying your hunting rifle and covered in blood himself.

‘Are you alright Y/N?’ he asked as he kneeled down next to you, comforting you.

‘There is another man Tommy, he walked to towards the berry field’ you said.

‘I know. He’s dead now and so is the third man who was driving them here’ Tommy said.

‘Did you kill them?’ you asked.

‘Yes, I did’ he said and, just in that moment, you threw his arms around him.

This is when you realised that he had been injured and was in agony himself.

‘Tommy, you’ve been shot’ you said with worry as you saw blood staining through his white shirt.

‘Yes’ was all he managed to say at this point as he was losing blood.

‘We will get you to a hospital’ you said in a haste.

‘No hospital Y/N. I will be taken into custody if I set foot in a public place like this until the arrest warrant has been dropped’ Tommy said.

You could see the agony on his face as he held onto the side of his chest. He was in pain. A lot of pain.

‘You are nurse, aren’t you?’ Tommy asked, breathing heavily.

‘I am a student nurse Tommy. I have not practiced on a life person’ you said worryingly.

‘Well, it’s about time then eh’ Tommy chuckled.

‘Tommy, you can’t be serious’ you said.

‘I am serious Y/N. I need you to do this, please’ Tommy said.

‘Alright, common’ you said nervously. It wasn’t like you had a choice. Tommy was bleeding a lot and his wound needed attention immediately.

With haste, you walked inside with Tommy and placed a towel over the lounge and got your first aid kit as well as a bottle of vodka from the dining room.  You then went to the bathroom quickly to get a bowl of clean water and more towels.  

While you were getting everything ready, Tommy made a phone call to his brother Arthur, giving him your address. By that point, Tommy was barely able to stand up.

As you returned from the kitchen, you helped Tommy to remove his blood-soaked clothes.

You gasped for a moment. You weren’t sure whether the blood or the sight of his naked body took away your breath.

‘You’ve got whiskey?’ Tommy asked.

‘Tommy, I don’t think it matters which alcohol I use to clean out your wound’ you said as you got everything ready on the table.

‘To drink. Trust me, I’ll need it. I am out of Opium’ he said, his breathing still laboured.

‘Yes, of course’ you said before you poured him a large glass of whiskey and handed it to him.

He drank all of it in an instant before lying down.

‘This is going to hurt’ you said as you cleaned your hands and the tweezers from your first aid kit with some of the vodka.

‘I know’ he said, taking in a deep breath.

‘You have to stay still’ you went on as you reached for his wound which was still profusely pouring blood.

‘I know’ he said again before closing his eyes and holding on to the edge of the lounge in anticipation.

As soon as you entered the wounds with your fingers and the tweezers, all that you could hear was a loud grunt.

‘Fuck’ Tommy screamed as your fingers went in deeper, retrieving the bullet from his wound. By this point, you were breathing as heavily as him.

‘I’ve got it Tommy, don’t move now’ you said as you carefully pulled the bullet out of his flesh.

Tommy took in a deep breath and, with another loud grunt, you dislodged the bullet.

It was intact and you sighed with relief while Tommy opened his eyes, looking at you in agony.

‘Now I will clean up the wound and stitch it, alright?’ you asked, causing Tommy to nod.

He let out another loud grunt as you poured some of the vodka over his wound before handing him a clean towel to apply pressure to the wound while you prepared the stitches.

His face was expressionless when you placed the stitches. You knew that the worst pain was over but, nonetheless, you were surprised by how well he had handled it.

This was when you noticed several large scars across his chest and arms. Almost too many to count.

‘You have been shot before, haven’t you?’ you asked while Tommy looked almost relaxed when you placed the sixth stitch.

‘Just a few times’ he smirked.

While you placed the last stitch, you could hear a car pull up in front of your door.

You opened the door quickly before applying a bandage around Tommy’s chest.

‘Fucking Hell Brother’ Arthur shouted as he walked into the living room with Isiah.

‘Arthur, this is Y/N’ Tommy said by way of introduction.

You quickly shook Arthur’s hand by which he was rather surprised.

‘Who the fuck did this?’ Arthur asked.

‘The Billy Boys. But they weren’t after me. They were after her’ Tommy explained.

‘Why?’ Arthur asked.

‘Because she is the daughter of the judge hearing the McCaven matter. I assume they wanted to send a message’ Tommy said.

‘Did they see you?’ Arthur asked.

‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter. They are dead’ Tommy responded.

‘Alright, what do you want us to do with the bodies? Send a message?’ Arthur asked.

‘Burry them behind the property. This never happened. They just disappeared and never made it here. By the time McCaven finds out the arrest warrants will be dropped and I can deal with the situation and Mosley’ Tommy instructed.

Arthur and Isiah attended the bodies as instructed by Tommy. You were surprised how quickly and efficiently they made the bodies disappear without any evidence whatsoever. It was clear to you that they had done this kind of thing before.

Before they left, Tommy gave Arthur a note to give to Jesse Eden and a note to give to a person named Kent.

In return Arthur gave Tommy three guns, a change of clothes and a bottle of opium.

After Arthur and Isiah had left, you made sure that Tommy was resting. After all, he had lost a lot of blood and you didn’t want him to pull a stitch.

Tender Moments

‘Do you have any more of that tea?’ Tommy asked as he held on to the bottle of opium that Arthur had given him. He starred at it, but didn’t open it.

‘Yes, sure. I will make some’ you said.

You were surprised by Tommy’s request but didn’t dare to argue.

You sat down next to him to have some tea while he placed the bottle of opium on the table in front of him.

‘Tommy, don’t’ you said.

‘Don’t what?’ he asked.

‘The opium, don’t take it’ you said.

‘Well, then put it away somewhere I cannot find it eh’ Tommy said as he handed you the bottle and you obliged with his request.

Tommy knew he would be regretting this soon, at night when his nightmares would wake him once again. It wasn’t the pain he couldn’t handle, but rather it was Grace’s visits in his dreams and dreaming about France hat destroyed him.

He was afraid of going to sleep but he needed sleep badly especially after today and so did you.

‘Are you not going to sleep?’ Tommy asked as clock struck midnight and you were still there with him talking about matters which he never talked to anyone about. He felt like he could confine in you and, despite your young age, you understood and you cared.

‘I don’t think I can. Not after what happened today. Not after what I have done’ you said as tears were building up in your eyes for the third time that evening.

‘Y/N, listen to me, alright?’ he said, caressing your face gently.

‘What you have done saved your life. These men were here to hurt you and now they can’t. You are safe now’ Tommy said as tears began to run down your cheek.

‘I killed someone Tommy’ you said in disarray.

‘You killed a bad man’ Tommy said as he used his thumbs to wipe away your tears.

‘It’s still a man Tommy’ you said before pressing your head against his chest. ‘Will the picture of him ever leave my head?’ you asked.

‘No Y/N, it won’t. But your guilt will, that I promise’ Tommy said. ‘Now, let’s get you some rest, eh?’ Tommy said.

‘Will you come with me Tommy?’ you asked nervously, knowing that your question was somewhat unusual.

‘Come with you? To bed?’ Tommy asked with surprise.

‘Yes, just to sleep by my side. I am scared Tommy’ you said.

‘I never had a woman ask me to join her in her bed simply for the purpose of sleeping, but alright, I suppose I can do that’ Tommy smirked before he followed you upstairs.

As Tommy lied down next you, bandaged up and wearing not much more than his white undergarments, you could feel something unusual. It was almost like some sort of warmth which was flowing through your chest.

‘Do you want me to turn off the light?’ Tommy asked as he got comfortable on the large white pillow, facing you and starring into your dark eyes.

‘Not yet. Perhaps we could talk for a little longer’ you said as you looked into his comforting blue eyes.

‘Alright, what you want to talk about?’ he asked and this is when you brought up his current wife Lizzie and his children.

‘What about your wife and children, where are they?’ you asked.

‘They are in Scotland, where, apparently they are safe from all this and from myself’ Tommy said with some disappointment.

‘From yourself? But they are your children’ you asked with some confusion.

‘They are, but they are indeed safer without me until I sort things out’ Tommy explained.

‘Do you miss your wife’ you asked.

‘No, I do not miss my wife. She filed for divorce six weeks ago’ Tommy said.

‘You do not seem upset about it. Why is that?’ you asked.

‘Because I know that it’s the right thing to do, to keep her safe. Our relationship was never one made of love. I never loved her the way a husband should love his wife. But, she is mother of my daughter and she cares deeply for my son. I trust her. She’s always been loyal to me and to the Company’ Tommy explained.

‘That’s nice…to have someone like this in your life’ you said.

‘It is indeed. Now you should get some rest eh’ Tommy said as he turned off the bedside lamp.

To his surprise, as soon as he turned off the light, you leaned over towards him carefully and rested your head on the uninjured side of his chest.

He let you and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close until you drifted off to sleep.

This was the first time for Thomas Shelby since he came back from France that he shared a bed with a woman other than his wife who didn’t have any sexual interactions with. To his surprise, despite the pain after having been shot, he slept better than he had expected. In the absence of nightmares, he was well rested until, after five hours of sleep, the next morning you heard a loud bang on the door.

Taking a Turn

You walked downstairs again with your loaded gun in your hand.

‘Who is it?’ you asked as you approached the door carefully.

‘Jesse Eden’ the person said and you quickly opened the door while Tommy came walking downstairs, out of your bedroom.

‘I actually just came here to make sure you didn’t kill each other but it looks like you’ve managed to become acquainted’ Jesse giggled.

‘It’s not what it looks like’ you said as Tommy walked out of your bedroom wearing nothing but his undergarments.

‘I assume Tommy has informed you about our past relations. But, for the record, I no longer have any interest in the man, so it’s quite alright with me if it is what looks like Y/N’ Jesse laughed.

‘You are no longer interested, eh?’ Tommy said to Jesse with a cheeky smile.

‘Unless you have forgotten, you ended up marrying someone else’ Jesse said.

‘Should I give you two some privacy?’ you asked as you felt uncomfortable being caught in between their conversation about old times.

‘No Y/N, there is no need eh Jesse?’ Tommy said with a laugh.

‘No there is not. Arthur came to see me last night to give me your note. But he hadn’t said anything about you having been injured’ Jesse said.  

‘It’s alright, she’s a nurse. I got lucky’ Tommy chuckled.

‘Well, I am glad because I have information from one of my informants that will be of interest to you now that you are still alive. The Crown prosecutor was removed from the case and so was the chief of police. Apparently, it was found out that they both involved themselves with illegal prostitutes at some of your brothels’ Jesse said.

‘Now that is interesting, isn’t it?’ Tommy smirked.

‘You obviously knew and blackmailed them. The man in charge of the matter is now your friend Lawrence Staghill who, I believe, is filing for a motion to dismiss for lack of evidence in front of the judge who still owes you a lot of money. So, it looks like that everything is going to plan for you once again Thomas Shelby OBE. You should be free to leave after the next three days. The case is to be heard after the weekend’ Jesse said.

‘You hear that? Three more days and I will be out of your hair Y/N’ Tommy said.

‘I can’t wait’ you said cheekily and with a hint of sarcasm.

Jesse stayed for a little while longer before heading back to Birmingham and you made sure that, for the entire day, Tommy rested.

It was hard for Tommy to rest. It was almost like he needed to do something at all times. He wasn’t a man who could ever just sit still and, say, read a book. His mind had to busy constantly and he loved to be challenged.

For you, the day went by quickly and looking after Tommy was almost like looking after a child who refuses to listen.

Gone Too Far

‘I see you made yourself a bed on the sofa again’ you said as you noticed Tommy putting the blanket and pillow on the sofa.

‘Whilst I enjoyed our pillow talk, I figured that last night was an exception. Unless you think you might have difficulty sleeping again’ Tommy smirked.

‘I think I just might’ you said with a smile as you finished brushing your hair.

‘Alright, I will take my pillow and blanket upstairs then eh’ Tommy said.

‘Alright, see you up there’ you smiled, causing Tommy to chuckle.

This was strange indeed, but he figured that, at least, the bed was more comfortable than the lounge.

‘So, what do you want to talk about tonight, eh?’ Tommy asked as you walked into the bedroom with a glass of water and two white pills.

‘I went to the chemist today. This should prevent infection’ you said you said as you handed him the glass and the tablets.

‘Thank you’ Tommy said as you lied down next to him.

He swallowed the tablets and waited for you to say something, start a conversation of some sort.

But you didn’t. You lied there quietly, your dark eyes gazing over his half naked body.

In this moment, he didn’t know what came over him but, just as he leaned to lie on his uninjured side, he ran his hands through your hair and his eyes met yours.

‘I haven’t met anyone quite like you’ Tommy said.

‘Why is that?’ you asked.

‘I am not sure. There is something about you that intrigues me. That doesn’t happen very often’ Tommy said and, just as he did, you leaned forward and your lips met his.

His lips were soft and still tasted like whiskey.

Reluctantly at first, he returned the kiss, gently but passionately.

It was a short kiss and your tongues never touched by the time you lips drifted apart.

Once your lips separated you starred at each other, questioning in your mind what had just happened between you.

With embarrassment, you pulled away and turned around quickly.

‘Goodnight Tommy’ you said after you turned around. You turned off the night light and pulled your blanket over you tightly.

‘Goodnight Y/N’ Tommy said with a slight chuckle, still facing into your direction.

Despite the fact that Tommy had been on your mind now for days, you were surprised by your own actions and wanted to pretend that the kiss between you just moments ago didn’t happen.

You knew about his past, the killings, the illegal businesses, everything. He was a man you knew you shouldn’t get involved with. He was also still married and, at least in the eye of the public, he was a fascist.

You tried very hard to ignore the fact that he was lying next to you, half naked. The fire was lightening the room slightly and you simply couldn’t close your eyes, starring to the other end of the room.

For ten minutes you tried to lie still, but couldn’t. You fidgeted and kept starring up and then to the side again.

‘Do you want me to help you go to sleep?’ Tommy asked as he noticed your restlessness, which instantly broke the silence between you.

‘Help me go to sleep?’ you asked with some confusion and without turning around to face him. You were still to embarrassed to look at him.

‘Yes’ Tommy said as, suddenly, you could feel his body moving closer towards yours but still separated by your individual blankets.

‘What do you mean by that Tommy?’ you asked with some ignorance and, just when you did, you could feel the back of your blanket lift slightly.

Within seconds, Tommy’s fingers trailed over your bare shoulders downwards over your small breasts which were covered by nothing but your silk nightgown.

Your nipple turned hard instantly at his touch and you let out a deep sigh.

‘Tommy, I have never been with anyone before’ you said, allowing his touch but worrying about what he was intending to do to you.

‘Don’t worry Love, I am not going to fuck you. At least not in the conventional way’ Tommy chuckled as his fingers circled over your hard nipples.

You had no idea what he could possibly mean by that. Did he not find you attractive? What was he going to do to you then if not that?

‘So, you don’t want me?’ you asked curiously while small moans escaped your lips as the tips of his fingers continued to run circles over your nipples.

‘I want you alright. But I am not keen on tearing my stitches’ Tommy said as his hands began to take hold of your breasts harder.

You moaned at his touch and felt a strange and unfamiliar sensation build up in between your legs.

It wasn’t long until you felt his fingers move downwards over your stomach until they finally began teasing the top of your mound through your panties.

‘Tommy, I don’t think I will be going to sleep with you touching me like this’ you said with heavy breath.  You wondered how on earth this was actually going to help you go to sleep.

‘I hope not’ Tommy laughed quietly. ‘But once I am done with you, you will sleep very well, that I promise’ he whispered into your before biting your earlobe gently.

You took in a deep breath and moaned quietly. The feeling of his hot breath was intense.

‘So do you want me to continue?’ he whispered.

You couldn't say yes. But you also couldn't say no. Instead, all that escaped your lips was another soft moan.

‘I need to hear you say it Love. Tell me you want me to keep going’ he said.

You whimpered under his touch, your hips now rocking to meet his hand. But he held firm.

‘I...it feels really good’ was all you could manage to say.

‘And you want me to continue?’ he asked as his fingers moved a little lower, over your panties, expertly brushing over your clit.  

‘Yes Tommy, please continue’ you moaned and, just like that, Tommy slit his hand beneath your panties, running his fingers directly over your wet slit, dipping only the top of them into you gently.

He then began to rub his wet finger tips over your clit, circling around your hard nub with light pressure.

‘Oh my god Tommy’ you moaned as you never felt anything just like that.

After a minute or two, Tommy gently slid one finger into you, looking out for any cues from you to ensure that he didn’t hurt you now that he knew that you were a virgin.

You were so tight, it was almost too much to start and he could feel the resistance of your hymen within you. But he kept going, carefully and gently thrusting his finger in and out of you at a slow pace.

You moaned softly and Tommy loved pulling a reaction out of you. It was almost like it was his goal to break your normally stoic composure.

Tommy wanted to know that you were enjoying what he was doing.

He began sliding his finger in and out of you all the way slowly at first, but not long after he started to build speed.

You enjoyed the alternating feeling between emptiness and fulness inside of you and were making the most delicious noises now. Your eyes were completely closed and you were moaning louder.

Suddenly Tommy slipped a second finger inside of you just to give you a little extra jolt and you reacted better than he could have expected.

It was slightly painful at first but the mild pain soon subsided and turned into pleasure.

‘Tommy, oh god...fuck’ you moaned as you began squirming just slightly and moaning a bit louder.

As his fingers kept thrusting in and out of you, your breathing became heavier and your legs began to quiver.

His thumb soon gave extra attention to your clit while he kept up with the movement of his middle and index finger.

Your moans kept getting more frequent now and you were certainly getting wetter too as Tommy kept going faster and harder.

You couldn’t believe how good he was making you feel with his fingers but you also didn’t know what to expect when an overwhelming sensation of warmth and tingling overcame you slowly.

‘Tommy, I don’t know if this is right. It feels strange’ you moaned as your legs began to shake and you couldn’t control your movements.

You tried to squirm away as the feeling was too unfamiliar to you. But Tommy persisted, pushing his hand firmer against you and his fingers even deeper inside of you.

‘Does it feel good?’ Tommy asked, knowing already what your answer would be as he could feel your walls tightening around his fingers.

‘Yes Tommy’ you managed to let out in between moans.

‘Then its right Love’ Tommy smirked. ‘Just relax and let go eh’ Tommy whispered.

You moaned once again, louder than before, and gave into the sensation.

It was intense, so intense that you had to clench onto the sheets and, just like this your orgasm washed over you.

You were a shaking mess and Tommy kept up the speed with his fingers until your orgasm slowly began to subside.

‘Fuck, what the hell just happened?’ you said once you began to calm down and while Tommy still stroked the outside of your now soaked mound.

‘Did you never have an orgasm before?’ Tommy asked surprised and with curiosity.

‘Like this? No. Never’ you said. Of course, you pleasured yourself before but the sensation was different, way less intense than what Tommy just managed to do to you.

As Tommy removed his hand from you, you turned around, your cheeks flushed. It was almost like you were embarrassed to look at him after what had just happened.

‘Feeling relaxed now?’ Tommy asked with a grin on his face.

‘Yes…uhm…thank you’ you said shyly.

‘It’s my pleasure’ Tommy said with a smile before giving you gentle kiss. You could have spent all night just kissing him. He was good at it and his lips were full and soft.

‘You should get some sleep now, eh’ he said after your lips drifted apart and he caressed your face.

‘Is there anything I could do to return the favour?’ you asked shyly, feeling somewhat guilty about the way he made you feel with nothing in return.

‘No, not tonight Love’ Tommy said as he pulled you closer. Whilst he had the desire to be with you that night, he was still not well enough after his injury and felt as though he should give you time. You were inexperienced and this was new territory for you, possibly overwhelming. Just like this, you had awoken the soft and gentle side of Thomas Shelby and that, in itself, brought him out of his own comfort zone.

He did not know what to do or how to act. The only woman who had managed to do this to him after he’s fought in France was his late wife Grace and he was certain that he would never meet another woman like this again. A woman he would care for in the same way he cared for Grace. Having met you changed everything for him that night and he struggled with the idea to accept his fade, especially with a woman half his age and who was the daughter of the man who tried very hard to bring him down.

Thus, as you leaned your head against his chest carefully, making sure that you didn’t lean against his wound, he couldn’t help but stare at you and ponder about what had brought him to you. Perhaps it was meant to be.

‘What’s wrong Tommy?’ you asked as you began to notice his eyes being fixated on you as he ran one of his hands through your hair gently.

‘Nothing, just enjoying the moment’ he said.

‘Me too Tommy’ you responded before closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Change of Heart

The next morning, when you woke up, Tommy was not by your side. His side of the bed was empty.

But, when you walked downstairs you could see him, sitting in the dining room area with a pen and paper.

You weren’t sure what he was writing and you weren’t sure how to approach him after last night.

You decided to go with a kiss and, just after you said good morning and leaned in to kiss him, Tommy pulled away.

That was unexpected and you looked at him, full of questions.

‘Last night was a mistake Y/N for which I apologise. I should not have been temped’ Tommy said.

‘A mistake? Right’ you said as you walked over to the kitchen bench to boil the kettle. Small tears were running down your eyes and you tried hard to hide them from Tommy.

You had begun to care for him and you most clearly were developing feelings for him.

‘Y/N?’ Tommy said as he noticed you being upset.

‘Tommy, please just give me some space alright’ you said as you walked into the studio with your cup of tea.

You were embarrassed and you felt weak. Yet you wanted to be strong.

Were you too naïve, failing for a man like him?