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featherandferns · 4 months

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daylight - three

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 3 of the daylight series | read part 2 here

content warnings: alcohol

word count: 2k.

blurb: after finding a box of memories, you jump at the chance to go fishing with JJ. There, you open up a little more about your life in Vancouver.

You come downstairs at the sound of your dad calling your name. You find him standing by a stack of cardboard boxes, labelled with marker pen scribbles.

“Can you take your stuff upstairs? That other delivery van finally arrived. Only a God damn month late,” your dad grumbles.

“Sure thing,” you say.

It takes about ten minutes to lug your boxes upstairs. Closing your bedroom door, you begin to unpack. Most of them are full of clothes and accessories: caps and bags that you probably don’t even need, since you didn’t miss them in their lack. Another box has school things, in case you need your old notes for the next year of classes. The final box is full of miscellaneous items. Childhood memorabilia and wads of photographs and photo albums. Stupid dress-up gear from costume parties you and Mimsy had attended. You snap a selfie dressed in the get-up and send it to Mimsy.

A shoebox at the bottom has you taking pause. You take it out and set it on your bed, opening it. Your heart stops when you see what’s inside.

How could you forget?

The box is piled high with various things, and at the top is a journal. It's frayed on the corners from excessive wear and tear. It was the journal you had kept when dating your ex boyfriend, Tyler. You take it out and promptly put it to the side like it’s coated in anthrax. There is absolutely no urge to flick through the pages and relive every moment of that tumultuous, tortuous affair. Below the journal is a t-shirt that belonged to him, then an impressive stack of photos. Happy photos. Smiling photos. Photos that are mostly of just the two of you, always in one or the other’s bedroom. Any photos taken in public have the two of you standing apart, acting as though you don’t know the feel of the other’s skin. There's a birthday present he gave you; a card; a ‘love letter’ that had made you so happy at the time, and only bitter in the aftermath. In fact, all of it made you bitter. All emotions led back to anger, and betrayal, and hurt.

And yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to get rid of it. Even now, even still, in a different country, on a different coast: you feel the need to keep it. Treasure it like a cursed artefact.

You’re happy to be taken out of your nightmarish thoughts by the ping of your phone. You pick it up, expecting a text from Mimsy, only to be surprised at finding one from JJ.

I’m bored.

Smiling, glad for the distraction, you reply.

Hi bored.

Nerd. Srsly tho. I wanna do something.

You turn your back on the box of memories.

Wanna go to the cinema?

Hello I’m poor??? U acting mad expensive rn

Laughing, you roll your eyes and offer something that you know JJ would never refuse.

Fishing then?

Dope. Pick u up in 5.

You kill the time waiting for JJ by tidying away the last few belongings. The items are returned to the shoe box and hidden under your bed following the philosophy out of sight, out of mind.

The honk of a car horn outside has you grabbing your backpack and heading for the door. JJ sits behind the steering wheel, staring off into the distance as he mindlessly taps along to the beat of the Kendrick song he’s playing. You whistle as you approach and he smiles when he spots you.

“Where we fishing?”

“Found a good spot the other day,” JJ says, setting off once you’re in the passenger seat. “Caught some good bass and stuff. Spotted bass too.”

“Sounds good,” you hum. You kick your feet up onto the dashboard and pick at the peeling nail varnish on your fingertips.

There’s no need to fill the quiet of the campervan as JJ drives. You eye him in your peripheral as he concentrates on the road.

His resting face sits with a set jaw and you suddenly imagine him to clench his jaw in his sleep. Lips somewhere between a frown and smile, his eyes are somewhat hooded. His neck is so attractive. You never thought necks could be attractive before, but seeing it tense and relax when he swallows and sighs, the way the skin teases over the Adam’s apple...it's tortuous. You can just picture stretching your hands around it, scratching against the skin of his jugular with your nails, marking his pretty flesh with love bites…

“What’s up?”

“Huh?”

“You lookin' at me. Something up?” JJ asks in all his innocence.

Your dart your eyes to the road ahead. “Uh, no, no. I’m good.”

“A'right,” he says. Back to quiet. You don’t dare spare another glance at him for the rest of the ride.

JJ parks up on a quiet country road. You both get out of the car and load up with fishing gear and snackage. JJ takes the cooler, biceps flexing, and the fishing rods. Lugging two collapsable chairs on either shoulder, you follow him with a box of bait and your backpack in hand. He guides you up a dirt path, overgrown with ivy and stinging nettles. A dilapidating jetty comes into view and you’re happy to see it empty. You both take to setting up shop. You weren’t lying to him, the first time that you met: you didn’t much care for fishing. But honestly, you’d take any excuse to spend time with JJ. It’s pathetic to admit to yourself that he could ask you to help him drain a sewer and you’d say yes without a second thought.

Cracking open a beer, you offer it to JJ.

“Thanks,” he smiles.

You open your own and the two of you cheers before taking a swig. It’s crisp and cooling in the muggy summer sun. He hands you a prepared fishing rod and you lean against the shaky railing beside him. He’s dug out his cap: the red one that he wore the first time you met. It shadows his face beautifully. You look out to the water and admire the calming view. A sea bird darts across the sky in the distance and you half want to grab for your camera.

“You have good fishing in Vancouver?” he asks.

“S’alright,” you reply. “My uncle loves fishing. He used to take me to this spot where you could catch trout as long as your leg.”

“Fuck off,” JJ laughs.

“I’m serious! Swear to God, I thought this thing was gonna eat me!”

The two of you laugh. Your smile turns solemn at the memory. It hurts to think about your life in Vancouver. It feels like it was years ago, hazy like a lucid dream, distorted with nostalgia. Never before have you been more grateful for facetime or else you might forget Mimsy’s voice.

The day stretches on with the two of you passing drinks and chips and refreshing bait. The bucket starts to fill with some catches. Nothing impressive. Somehow you both end up sitting in your chairs. One hand remains on the rod, waiting for a bite and holding it steady. JJ is reclined in his chair somewhat precariously, feet up on the bannister, weighed down by heavy, black boots.

“I don’t think I ever asked,” JJ says, catching your attention. He looks to you. “Why’d you move to Kildare anyway?”

“Well, you know the old saying,” you reply. “If at first your marriage fails: pick up and move country, eh?”

“Ah,” JJ replies, chuckling a little. “Is the marriage fixed, then?”

“Hell no,” you snort. “They fucking hate each other. Hardly talk. I think my dad just wanted an excuse to move back to North Carolina.”

“He from here?”

“Yeah, he was born here. I have a ton of family out here too. Well, not in Kildare but in Carolina.”

“Damn,” JJ mumbles.

“It’s typical of my dad though. He's selfish like that. I mean, it's kind of messed up, don't you think? Dragging me away from my friends. From my life.” Your anger sparks suddenly. “You know, he didn’t even ask me if I wanted to leave. Because why the fuck would I want to leave? My entire life was there! Everything was there!”

JJ doesn’t speak. You catch yourself. Taking a shaky breath, you close your eyes, embarrassed for the outburst.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I just…I haven’t really talked about it to anyone yet.”

“You’re good,” JJ says. You look at him to find a small, reassuring smile. “I get it. Parents suck.”

You laugh, shaking your head. Leaning your head back, eyes slipping closed, you agree. “Yep. Parents suck.”

“I’m sorry, by the way,” JJ quietly adds. You open your eyes on him. “That you had to leave Vancouver.”

“Thanks,” you smile, eyes sad. “I know I’ll find a way to be happy here. But right now, I just miss home. I miss Mimsy.”

“Mimsy?”

“My best friend,” you clarify. “She’s the fucking best. Completely unhinged. Obsessed with true crime and conspiracy theories. Zero filter.”

“She sounds like fun.”

“She is. She’d get along with you guys great,” you say. “It’s hard though. The time difference and everything sucks. And we talk a lot now but I’m just worried about the future. Like, what if it gets too much, with the distance, and we get busy and drift apart. She’s been in my life since I was like six years old. I guess it freaks me out to think about her not being there, you know?”

JJ nods. “Guess that’s like me and John B. We’ve been best friends since kindergarten. I can’t imagine how it would feel being, like, six hours apart.”

“It sucks,” you chuckle. “And it’s not just that, either. I feel like I have unfinished things in Vancouver. It’s like I left before I could close the book, if that makes sense.”

“What kind of things?” JJ wonders. He shifts in his seat to face you better. Neither of you are paying much attention to fishing now.

“Romance things,” you say with a joking roll of your eyes.

JJ’s brows raise. “You leave a man behind or something?”

“Man is a generous word,” you snigger. “But yeah, sort of. We weren’t together anymore - I mean, maybe we weren’t together ever - but I never got all the answers I wanted…I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“Most things are,” JJ hums. You have to agree there. Nothing is ever clear-cut, black-and-white. At least not in your experience. “So, what’s the story? He cheat on you.”

“No. Least, I don’t think so,” you say. Shaking your head, you shoot him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t think I really wanna talk about it.”

“You’re good,” JJ says for a second time that day. He looks down to watch his thumb stroking the condensation on the side of his can. Tactfully avoiding your request, he then asks, “where you, like, in love with him?”

“Yes. God knows why, but, yeah,” you reply with a self-deprecating laugh. “Have you ever been in love?”

JJ squints against the sun as he looks out to the horizon. “Dunno, really. I guess you’d know if you had been in love, right? Like you’d know what that feels like.”

“Yeah, you would,” you return.

Looking at you, JJ only hesitates a moment before he asks, “what does it feel like? Being in love?”

Smiling wistfully, you reply honestly. “It’s the worst feeling in the world.”

read part four here!

taglist:

#jj #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj series #jj maybank series #jj x fem!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #obx #outerbanks #outer banks #obx fic #obx series #outer banks fic #outer banks series #outerbanks series #outerbanks fic

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seasons-of-death · 17 days

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kook!reader camping with bf!pope heyward

warnings: fluffy smut, loss of virginity, awkwardness but in a sweet way, praise, MDNI i really wanted to write something sweet but also smutty and i got this idea a few days ago ,,, also as someone who was a girl scout for six years pope being a former boy scout is canon in my heart. anyway i'm definitely gonna write more kook!reader x pope bc i love their dynamic sm … currently planning a moodboard for them

when pope's great idea for your birthday was to take you camping, to say you were reluctant would be an understatement, especially since your initial plan was to lose your virginity on said day, and the thought of sleeping in the middle of some forests surrounded by mosquitos and god knows what kind of wild animals wasn't exactly your idea of a "romantic evening."

you couldn't help it, you had always been a planner, and when pope had brought up the idea of camping with you for your birthday, you had subtly tried to tell him it wasn't something you were too interested, but the boy seemed so sweetly clueless about it, you didn't want to burst his bubble of excitement, especially when he showed you the camping gear he'd dug up from his storage from his days as a boy scout.

so, you just decided to try and make it as romantic as possible. your parents had conveniently misplaced one of their expensive bottles of wine, which had somehow ended up in your trunk, and you had purchased a new lingerie set as well as condoms, wanting to make sure you were prepared.

you were pacing around your bedroom, your duffle bag having been packed with the things you'd need; you didn't know why you were nervous, it wasn't like you'd never done anything sexual, and more often than not, your heated makeout sessions in your bed ended up with his hand in your panties or his cock in your mouth.

but the thing was... he had no idea that you were a virgin. sure, you had boyfriends before him, but most of the time things stayed strictly hand-or-mouth zone. but honestly, the moment you two drove to the nearby cliffs and he told you about the different constellations, you were ready to jump him right there, but you didn't want to give him the wrong idea, so you simply adored him while the boy pointed out the stars to you. however, after a few weeks of dating, he drunkenly told you about how he'd only slept with one person, and was kind of worried that you were more experienced, which you found adorable.

but, when you finally heard your doorbell ring, you took a deep breath, and tried to calm yourself down before having to face your boyfriend and have the boy realize that you had just spent the entire morning overthinking a simple camping trip.

"are we going where i think we're going?" you asked pope, the boy driving your car, having nicked your sunglasses off the dashboard, now covering his eyes, and to be fair, they looked much better on him than they did on you.

"damn, have i already lost the ability to surprise you?" he chuckled, making you roll your eyes playfully, the boy taking your right hand into his and pressing a kiss onto it, "we are. but i have a surprise for you waiting there."

honestly, i should've known that the place he was taking me was the location of our first date even before he turned the car on; he wouldn't really admit it, but there was a part of him that could be incredibly cheesy, and you liked that about him. most of the guys you'd dated before him hadn't been nearly as thoughtful as pope was, and even though you'd only dated him for a few months, he'd been more considerate than some boyfriends you'd been with for close to a year.

it wasn't long until the two of you arrived near the cliffs where you'd had your first date, pope taking your hand into his as you traipsed through the woods, the boy much more comfortable in the terrain that you were, and whenever you were about to trip, he steadied you, trying not to laugh.

you gasped when you finally realized what pope's surprise was, when you noticed a tent perched close to the cliff, overlooking the water. the two of you walked closer to it, and that was when you realized that pope had put up fairy lights all around the tent, and there was a blanket that stretched all the way over to the cliff so you could sit there and look at the stars like you'd done on your first date.

"do you like it?" he asked, as he wrapped his warm arms around you, and you looked up to him with a smile, nodding eagerly, the sight in front of you causing your heart to clench in your chest. "i love it."

"how many times do i need to tell you to blow on it?" pope laughs, almost doubling over on the blanket as he just watched while you struggle with the s'more, letting the gooey confection fall onto a plastic plate before you took a large chug of wine from your plastic cup, the liquid now lukewarm.

you'd spent the day swimming, watching while pope surfed, playing cards, and simply talking, now he was blowing onto your s'more, while the two of you sat on the blanket on the cliff, and as you felt the wine starting to warm you up, the last thing you cared about was your damn s'more, but you also didn't know how to initiate, the boy always-

"i wanna have sex."

before you could think about your wording any more, it just... slipped out, pope's eyes widening as he let out a cough, nearly choking on his wine as he processed your words. "what?" he asked in between coughs, and you waited for him to start coughing before repeating yourself.

"i wanna have sex. with you, if that wasn't clear." you said, clearing your throat, "that came out... more straightforward than i intended." you said with a small smile, feeling your cheeks warm up as you looked down at the ground.

"are... are you sure?"

"yeah. i mean, i've wanted it for a really long time, but i suck at initiating any of that stuff, and i haven't ever done it before so it's probably gonna be awkward and if you don't want to, that's also fine and i can definitely wait even longer but-"

before you could babble any longer, pope pressed his lips on yours, and somehow his kiss could make you forget everything you were thinking about, your focus only on him as he pulled you closer by your waist, hunger evident in every move he made as if he hadn't just eaten three s'mores, his lips tasting of the red wine you'd been sharing.

he pulled away from the kiss, the palm of his hand moving to cup your cheek, "i'd love to, but... are you sure? like... absolutely sure? you really haven't... done it before?"

"i'm more than sure." you say, your voice weak from the effect his kiss had on you, "i've known pretty much from the first time you kissed me right here. you're... just the sweetest guy i know. you're so smart, and... i've never liked anyone as much as i like you."

"you're adorable." he says as he tugs a strand of hair behind your ear, "i, uhh... i just don't have any..." pope clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck, and although you didn't know it, he was internally cursing himself for not accepting the condom jj had offered him earlier. "protection, y'know."

"i do."

pope almost let out a chuckle at how fast you had rebutted his words, the boy watching as you pulled out a condom from your purse, pressing his tongue against his cheek. "you came prepared, huh?" he couldn't help but grin, his amusement only heightening when he saw the pout on your face, the boy pressing a small kiss on your lips, "i think that's cute."

it wasn't long until the two of you were tangled on the blanket under the stars, pope's shirt thrown into the tent, your dress pushed up until it was only covering your breasts, pope kneading the fat of your ass, his lips greedily consuming yours.

he pulled away from the kiss, leaving the both of you panting and breathless, his calloused hands pulling your dress off in its entirety, throwing it into the tent, his lips attaching themselves to your neck while you unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts, one of his fingers slipping into your panties, the boy letting out a small chuckle into the crook of your neck when he felt how wet you were.

when the rest of your clothes were discarded, you watched as he rolled the condom onto his hard cock with a sigh, biting down on your lip as a mixture of eagerness and nervousness rolled around in your abdomen.

"tell me if it hurts too much, or if you want to stop, alright?" he looked at you with raised brows, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips as his chest was pressed against yours, pope brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "i will." you smiled, positioning your hands on his shoulders.

you weren't quite prepared for the loud gasp that he'd pull you from you when only the tip of his cock was in you; sure, he'd prepared you and tried to stretch you out with his fingers beforehand, but even his thick digits hadn't prepared you enough.

"are you alright?" he paused his movements, peppering soft kisses on your neck, "just tell me if you want me to stop."

"i'm okay..." you said breathlessly, "go ahead."

it took you a while to get used to feeling him stretch you out, it definitely didn't help that pope was probably the biggest guy you had dated, but slowly it started hurting less and less, the boy whispering sweet words into your ear as he moved inside of you slowly, your back arching against the blanket, your nails digging into his back every time he bottomed out inside of you, causing him to let out low groans every time he hit that spot inside of you.

"you're doing so well..." he spoke softly, his thumb rolling over your clit, slowly starting to pick up his pace, "taking me so well... don't know how i went so long without you, you feel so fucking good..."

his lips attached themselves to one of your hardened nipples, your mind turning hazy as you tried to focus on all the sensations pope was making you feel, the coil in your stomach growing with every roll of his hips, one of your hands in his hair as you let out a moan, arching into his mouth.

"pope, i'm getting close..." your words were between a mumble and moan, but it seemed that pope still understood what you had said, picking up his pace just slightly so it'd be easier for you to achieve your orgasm.

it wasn't long until you were moaning out his name, overcome with your orgasm as he continued moving inside of you, slowing down his movements as he let you ride out your orgasm.

when pope had come undone himself, he threw the used condom into the trash bag he had brought, pulling you close to his chest as he pressed a kiss on top of your head, covering your naked bodies with another blanket.

"that's cepheus." he said against your hair, pointing up at one of the constellations in the sky while you simply nuzzled closer to his chest, letting out a soft "mmhm..." as you closed your eyes, somehow feeling more comfortable on a cliff in the middle of the forest than you even did in your own bed. "happy birthday."

BONUS: before he came to see you, when pope told his friends about what his plan for your birthday was, jj definitely clapped him on the back and said, "you're finally gonna get laid!" and tried to get him to take a condom with him, but pope just looked at him murderously.

#pope heyward x reader #pope heyward #outer banks #pope obx #pope outer banks #pope x reader #outer banks fanfiction #pope heyward x y/n #pope heyward x you #pope heyward fluff

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 4 months

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What if the skeletons S/O is this very soft, gentle, cutesy person yet casually blasts death metal the minute you step into there car. They’ll sing along to the lyrics all while wearing pastel pink lol

Undertale Sans - The first time, it's really surprising. But he's not judging as he knows someone who does that too, and that person is his own brother. He didn't expect you to have so many things in common with him, but he's glad. After the first few times, he's not even flinching and sleeps through the death metal songs lol.

Undertale Papyrus - He gasps. HIM TOO! He's so excited now, and you two are having a fangirl/boy moment as you're both talk about your favorite bands and singers. The whole time, you're screaming because the song is so loud, to the point a small crowd had formed in front of the car as people thought you were fighting.

Underswap Sans - He's staring at you, a bit in shock. He didn't expect that, but he guesses it's ok. He still lowers the volume slightly because damn it's loud. He doesn't really understand that kind of music, but he can try to understand why you like that.

Underswap Papyrus - He jumps in surprise as the music explodes in the car, then he stares at you in complete confusion. What? He would have never known you like this type of music. He's not a big fan, but he can tolerate it for a short car ride. He's still in shock though.

Underfell Sans - The loud noise startles him and he quickly jumps out of the car in fear. While you're driving. You stop the car and immediately pull over to check on him. Yeah, Red doesn't like loud noises. He's fine though. Just give him a warning next time.

Underfell Papyrus - You got him the first time. But he hates death metal. So after that, every time you go in the car, he jumps on the radio and growls at you to prevent you from touching the buttons lol. He's choosing the music, he climbed in the car first.

Horrortale Sans - He's grimacing every time you put death metal in the car. It never fails to give him a headache, but he loves you too much to say it out loud. He's gritting his teeth during the whole trip.

Horrortale Papyrus - He's singing out loud with you and he even screams with the song, which can be very surprising as Willow can be very loud when he wants to. He loves death metal so he's very happy you two can share each other favorite songs in the car.

Swapfell Sans - He has his eternal poker face right now. He doesn't know what to think of this. He guesses he misjudged you. Also, his non-existent ears are hurting. Can you switch to classical music now? He's begging you.

Swapfell Papyrus - He's headbanging in the car just to make you laugh. Well, until his skull smashes against the dashboard, effectively making him shut up as he knocked himself out. You're panicking, asking him if he's alright again and again. Thank Toriel he wasn't driving.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Is this what you young people call music these days? Damn. That's not music, that's people screaming. He's judging you so hard right now.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Uh... Ok??? He's a bit confused about what's going on, and he moves slightly closer to the windows and farther away from you lol. He's a bit uncomfortable, but he's glad you're having fun.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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prince-liest · 4 months

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I got a government grant from a clean air project for turning in my '97 Corolla for a very hefty chunk of money off of a new (or new-ish) hybrid vehicle from an approved dealership, finally went to purchase my new car today with my dad, and ended up getting a 2025 Toyota Camry SE.

Sorry, Alastor, I think I'm with Vox on the front of technological advancement, ahaha. It's almost a 30 year jump in car technologies and I damn well feel like I've upgraded into the new century (or, well - millennium, technically)! This car does so many things and they all manage to feel like they are actually convenient rather than useless technology bloat. I think this is technically what Nietzsche meant when he said that to live is to suffer, LOL. Can't appreciate the good stuff if you haven't experienced the alternative! Also, y'know. My breaks lost pressure on me in the middle of a winding mountain road with no cell service last month, so. That was the sign to move on.

It's so wild to go from a car that's got a plain metal key, a phone charger operated through the cigarette lighter that only succeeds in making my phone lose charge more slowly, an AC system that would vibrate the whole dashboard alarmingly if it had to work too hard, and music that I played through a casette tape with bluetooth connectivity...to a car where I get in, put my phone down on the wireless charging pad, and watch the touchscreen automatically turn on with my Spotify and Google maps. Never again am I going to accidentally leave my headlights on and drain my car battery, LOL. Thanks, battery-attached jumper cables, you served me well. The car is so damn quiet and smooth, too.

Also, it's a very pretty car! I got it in white. Sorry, "windchill pearl."

Anyway, I'm just experiencing a delightful bit of awe and joy. Happy graduation and early birthday to me! <3

#personal #dear diary #my birthday's tomorrow on the 22nd so the timing on this was great #I was gonna get a corolla hybrid but we straight up could not find one in any of the grant-approved dealerships #and my dad convinced me to go for the camry instead and is helping me pay what the monthly payments are over my planned budget #for the next 3 years until I make attending physician money and can just pay the thing off posthaste #I'm also excited for dynamic cruise control instead of regular basic cruise control #and the safety features have already come in handy for pinging at me when a dude with a moped swerved into my blind spot #getting things squared away at the dealership took many hours so I had no energy to write today but man am I pleased as punch

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hamsterclaw · 1 year

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I want to say that ‘The Vows’ couple are my favourite. I keep reading it again and again. There is nothing better than this. I love them so much. Whenever I see any part of it on my dashboard I read it again along with some other parts. I just love it so much. The reader’s character of being bratty, misunderstood, and not evil is so perfectly balanced. And Yoongi accepts her not just tolerates her, this is my fav part of this fic. He is so much in love with her. And even though she makes him really mad he still loves her the same.

OH MY!!! 😭Thank you so much, this analysis is spot on and exactly why I love writing them and I am so so happy that you're enjoying them.

Here’s another little drabble for you because Min Yoongi has been wrecking me today.

Pairing: Vows! Yoongi x reader

Warnings: Sex, swearing, Seokjin

By now, you're pretty good at recognising when your husband is genuinely angry. He's often difficult to read, but you've been making an effort lately, and you're starting to recognise his tells.

When his mouth is in a straight line and his brow's slightly furrowed, he's bemused. It's the expression he had when you hid all his left shoes.

When his brows are drawn together and his mouth opens slightly, he's irritated. He gets like this sometimes when you and Seokjin are arguing.

When his expression goes completely blank, you look at his hands. When his hands are like they are now, loosely clenched, and he looks at you with heat in his gaze, he's angry. It doesn't happen often, but you're quite sure, that on this occasion, Yoongi is angry.

Scratch that. He looks pretty fucking mad.

You think frantically about all the things you've done lately, trying to remember if you've done anything especially provoking.

He’s looking straight at you across the room, and you can feel his eyes burning into you.

What have you done this time?

Your husband's still staring at you, and if he didn't look so damn irresistible in the sharp black suit he's wearing, you'd already be running.

His gaze flicks down over your body, blatantly looking you over in a way that's unusual for him.

Ahhhh fuck.

You stole his suit.

The last time Yoongi and you had to attend a public event together, you went all out. You'd picked up a vintage gown, had it altered to fit you like a second skin, had spent hours being primped and preened just so you could turn up on his arm looking like the most perfect version of you money could buy.

Yoongi had barely blinked. In fact, he'd grumbled something about you making him late to the event.

And so today, when you'd walked past the suit laid out for him in his wardrobe area on the way to the shower, an idea of immense brilliance had flashed into your mind.

You'd reached out, plucked the hanger off the rack, and marched to your room with it clutched in your hand.

You'd sent him some excuse about working late and had told him you'd meet him at the hotel, and then you'd put on his suit.

Crisp white shirt, a jacket with a subtle pinstripe, and a black tie that you'd had to ask Mrs Gye to help you tie. You'd forgone the suit trousers entirely, and the jacket on you is long enough to cover your ass.

Just about.

The piece de resistance though? The platinum collar bar connecting both ends of the collar, tucked under your tie.

You're not entirely sure how you're going to get it off without help, especially since the look on Yoongi's face makes it seem like he's unlikely to want to help you right now.

You like the suit he has on though, now that you can see it more clearly. It's almost identical to the one you have on.

Trust your husband to have a backup suit on standby.

He even has a collar bar like yours, and damn he looks so sexy you want to jump his bones.

Belatedly, you realise the reason you can see all the detail on his suit is that he's much closer than he was when you last checked.

Shit. He's heading straight towards you, face like thunder.

You squeak and back away, straight into the hard chest of Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin sighs wearily.

'At least tell me what panties you're wearing so I have something to jerk off to later,' he says.

'I'll give them to you if you help me get away,' you say quickly, seeing an opportunity.

'You're not going anywhere,' Yoongi says. His hand closes on your arm like a vice.

***

Yoongi’s driving, one hand curled loosely on the wheel, the other on the centre console of his car, close to your bare thigh.

‘Nice suit,’ he says, the first words he’s spoken to you since you left the event.

You smooth the wool over your thigh. ‘Thank you, it’s Valentino.’

Yoongi looks at you like he can’t quite believe your audacity.

‘It looks like the suit I was meant to wear tonight.’

‘Yeah?’ you ask, all innocence.

‘I didn’t know you could tie a tie that well, I should ask for your help next time.’

‘Mrs Gye helped,’ you offer nonchalantly.

‘Where are the pants?’ Yoongi asks. He glances in the rearview mirror, signals to turn.

‘They didn’t fit,’ you say, shrugging.

‘Because they were measured specifically for me,’ Yoongi points out.

You give him a sidelong look.

‘You don’t like me in womenswear or menswear it seems,’ you mutter.

Because you’re watching, you see Yoongi flick his eyes to you.

‘I like you in everything,’ he counters. There’s a pause before he says, ‘and nothing.’

He slows the car, and you look around curiously at the darkness around you.

Yoongi pulls to a complete stop.

‘Why did you steal my suit to wear tonight?’

You don’t have an answer, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to be waiting for one.

‘Is it because I don’t buy you enough beautiful clothes?’ he muses.

‘I buy my own clothes,’ you point out, defiant.

‘Is it because it wasn’t enough for you that I came so hard when you were wearing that ridiculous dress at the last event, I passed out?’

‘You liked that dress?’ you ask, inordinately pleased.

Yoongi glowers at you.

‘If you didn’t act like such a brat all the time, I’d compliment you more,’ he growls.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘You like it when I’m a brat, Yoongi.’

He doesn’t deny it. Instead he looks out the window.

‘How many times do I have to come inside you before you realise how stunning I think you are?’

He turns back to you.

‘Jagiya, I will always think you are beautiful.’

There’s no heat in his voice now, the words come out with a quiet simplicity that rings with honesty.

You’re still processing when he continues, ‘and I will always think you look irresistible in my clothes.’

‘Are you angry with me?’

‘For stealing my suit and leaving me to have a replacement delivered at short notice?’

You turn to him.

‘I’m not angry,’ he tells you. ‘But if I were, how would you make it up to me?’

You bite your lip, then slide your seat back.

‘May I kiss you, Yoongi?’

He’s staring at your lips. ‘Yes.’

You slip your hand down his chest, past his belt buckle, down to his lap.

‘Here?’ you ask, hand over his lap.

‘Fuck, jagiya, please,’ he breathes.

You lean over and undo his pants, slide his half-erect dick out.

Yoongi reaches out, wraps a hand around your (his) tie, loosely.

‘Hey,’ he says, just as your lips touch his cock.

‘Mmm?’

‘Tap me if I’m holding too tight, ok?’

He waits until you nod before he leans back in his seat. His perfectly coiffed hair flicks forward as the back of his head meets the headrest, and his thighs spread as you lick along his cock.

He’s quiet as you suck him to full erection, the only clues you have that he’s enjoying it are the erraticness of his breathing and the way he’s twitching over your tongue.

‘Fuck,’ he groans, fist tightening in your tie, tugging you down.

It’s making the tie tighten around your neck, but you like how it feels.

‘Fu— uh—- uk,’ he groans again, stuttering as you hollow your cheeks and take him all in, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat.

You swallow, and he slams a hand against the car window.

You reach under, cup his balls, and his hips jerk against your face.

He’s holding you so tight, filling your mouth with his cock so well you can barely breathe.

‘Gonna cum,’ he warns, ‘fuck, I’m gonna —-‘

He doesn’t finish his sentence, moaning long and deep as he shoots his release down your throat.

The tie tightens again, and then he lets go.

‘Jagi, are you ok?’

He’s tipping your chin up to see your face, and the concern in his expression makes you feel warm.

‘I’m ok, oppa.’

He pulls you up to kiss him.

‘Don’t ‘oppa’ me, brat.’

He’s undoing your tie deftly, unthreading the collar bar so he can unbutton your shirt.

‘Let me see,’ he grunts, unbuttoning your shirt rapidly, pulling the plackets apart to expose your lack of bra, the thin, sheer panties you slipped on.

He presses his thumb over your wetness, places his other hand over your exposed front.

‘What do you want, my love?’ he asks. He slides two fingers under your panties, tugs. ‘Want me to kiss you here?’

His knuckles nudge against your core, and he groans. ‘You’re wet, you like sucking my cock, don’t you, jagiya?’

His fingers slip inside you, stretching, scissoring, his movements fast and insistent.

‘Yoongi,’ you cry, and he laughs, thumb rocking back and forth over your clit, making you buck against his hand.

'You're so easy to please, my love,' he taunts.

A lock of hair's fallen over his forehead now, and he looks so good you could cry.

Yoongi cups your breast, squeezes. 'Your little pussy's so fucking tight, I can barely move my hand,' he tells you. 'Gonna come for me?'

You cry his name as your pleasure crests and you press your face into his neck.

Yoongi leaves his fingers inside you but wraps his other arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

The cool metal of his collar bar digs into your cheek.

'I'm gonna help you get re-dressed, ok, baby?' he says, voice low, rumbling in his chest.

'Then I'm going to take you home and we're going to do this again.'

#vows au #yoongi smut #yoongi fic

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frankcastlescumslut · 1 year

Text

Ch. 2: Hard Times

pairing: frank castle x f!reader / platonic!amy bendix x f!reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: angst, language, hurt/comfort, implied loss of a sister (no details), descriptions of wounds, established relationship yet somehow it’s a slow burn

summary: He somehow reached across space and time to tell you the words you wished you had heard that night: you didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is on you. Frank had become a god, transcending the laws of physics to piece you together with sutures and sympathies.

A/N: I wrote this chapter based off of this song. loosely. sorry this isn’t the happiest of endings, I’m leaving it open ended in case I get the momentum to keep going (there is a potential plot).

[previous chapter]

I love your feedbacks and comments so much, thank you. reblogs help a lot as well <3

The stars looked like pin pricks against a dark sheet, so bright you had to squint to make sense of your surroundings, but there was nothing to make sense of. Just black asphalt laid out like a red carpet.

Your body ached and groaned as you stretched ever so slightly, and Frank pretended not to notice the way you winced when you pulled your shirt from your dried wound.

He cleared his throat, trying to distract you. “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’,” you yawned, checking the dashboard.

1:42am.

The last time you stopped was somewhere in Ohio at a run down 7-Eleven. Amy threatened to jump out of the van if she didn’t get a slurpee, but you couldn’t really blame her, it did sound good, so Frank was outnumbered like he usually was.

That was hours ago, though, and you found Amy curled against the duffle bags with a ring of blue food dye around her lips.

“How far are we?” You prodded.

“Few hours.”

“Oh.”

Frank was a man of few words when he first met you. It took him three days just to ask you for an extra blanket when he met you at that motel in Nebraska, though he chalked it up to his unnatural ability for needing something. Didn’t wanna bother you.

You were patient with him, never pressing him about the occasional bruise or poorly hidden glances, instead choosing to talk about how vending machine chips are basically just bags full of air and how mattress stores are money laundering operations—he laughed at that, fully and with his chest, and it was game over for you both.

Yet somehow you were sitting within a foot of each other and felt like strangers.

“Do you want me to drive?” You offered, daring to look at him. He looked worn, his eyes drooping with sleep.

“No,” he answered too quickly. “I’m okay.”

“Maybe we should stop somewhere?”

He was silent, unwilling to admit defeat. Stoic. Stubborn. A pain in the ass that kept you awake with a fevering bullet shaped gash in your side.

You would make yourself power through the pain if it meant he would be normal again—if he would even look at you for more than a second and without what you perceived as disdain. You would pretend that each day you had Amy didn’t feel like salt being shoved into your sister-sized wound. You would lie through your teeth and tell him that you were capable of keeping up, that this life was enough for you. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.

“We’ll stop at the next motel.” He looked over at you, his eyes trailing towards the rust colored stain on your shirt. Your cheeks burned underneath his gaze, and all you could do was nod in reply and watch the constellations blur.

“Wake up.” A breathy voice tickled your ear, causing you to jolt upright in your seat.

“Damn it!” You cursed before placing a palm against your sternum, ignoring the way the seatbelt burned against your exposed neck.

Amy was pleased by your reaction, carelessly falling back into her designated makeshift seat of a jacket tucked against the back of your chair. Frank didn’t crack a smile.

“Knock it off,” he warned, his eyes quickly darting towards the backseat.

“Oh come on,” Amy whined. “It was funny.”

“I actually disagree,” you chimed in, your heartbeat still racing.

“You’re no fun.” She pouted, slouching against the hard interior.

Frank would disagree, though. You were fun. Charismatic. Lighthearted.

He missed that version; the one where you existed alongside of him with ease, the one where you convinced him that joy existed and was accessible to people like him, to people like the both of you.

It felt foreign to him, the easiness of it all, but he gave up rejecting his need for self denial when he met you. Because you were fun.

“We’re stopping soon,” he cleared his throat and those distant memories of you, and you nodded with a “k.”

“I have to pee,” Amy broke her secret vow of silence, probably just to hear herself speak.

“Hold it,” you and Frank spoke in unison, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

You often wondered what he was like as a dad. If he was the silent and stern parent, always fussing with light fixtures and the underside of a truck. Maybe the kind that cared a lot about grades but even more about after school sports or school projects. Really, you think, he’s the kind of parent that just enjoys his children’s joy, never getting in the way of what was causing it— a winning soccer match, a new video game, a carousel. It didn’t matter anymore, anyways, and you were too scared to ask him about it.

So you didn’t, and you don’t. You never do, because you’re not really sure what you would say if he ever asked about your sister. Some things are better to be speculatory, you decided, until Amy came along.

She acted like a secret maneuver that would draw back the curtain on what Frank Castle was like as a father, and you seldom looked away.

“Sheesh,” she muttered, and you hid a smirk behind the palm of your hand.

It was silent for the next few miles, save the occasional clanging of weapons every time the van fell victim to a pothole. It was silent even as Frank drove past the first motel. Then the second one… and the third.

Amy eventually caught on, sitting on her knees and looking out the window like a dog with its ears flapping in the wind.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Frank was quiet, eyes still straight ahead, even as he pulled into the parking lot of a neon green Holiday Inn.

“A hotel!” Amy squealed, throwing herself in Frank’s general direction, ignorant to the way the car swerved due to her affections.

He watched you from above Amy’s head, thankful she was blocking the smirk on his face as your brows furrowed in his direction, silently asking are you sure?

He was sure. He had made up his mind hundreds of miles ago when he first saw the blood soaked cotton of your shirt, but he wouldn’t dare to tell you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Amy let out a sigh of relief, loud enough that it was dramatic even for her.

Frank was silent as he dug around in a back pocket before handing you a thick wad of cash. You failed to meet his eye as you accepted the offering, opting to nod with a tight lipped smile as a thank you.

“Get the biggest bed you can get!” Amy called out to you before the door swung shut in her face.

She pulled herself into the passenger seat and sat back with a huff and a genuine smile on her face. Finally, she thought.

Frank’s eyes were trained on the entrance of the hotel. He watched you pull your jacket across your body, attempting to hide your ghastly appearance, as you leaned against the counter. The woman at the front seemed reasonable, he assumed. You both smiled at one another, so things must be okay.

“Frank,” Amy attempted to disrupt his attention

“Not now.”

She watched the way he studied you, almost disgusted by the way he withheld his care and affection from you.

“Frank,” she tried again.

“What?” He snapped, finally meeting her gaze.

“You really need to fix whatever this,” she pointed a finger from his chest to the hotel lobby, “is. It’s a little ridiculous.”

“There’s nothing to fix.” He straightened ever so slightly.

“Bullshit.”

He was thankful she dropped the conversation when she did. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to admit there was a palpable tension, he just didn’t know how to fix it. He thought the hotel would be evident enough that he was sorry, but you pulled the door open a little too roughly for that to be the case.

“Here,” you handed him a rectangular card.

“Two keys?” Amy asked.

“That’s for your room. I got my own.”

“What?!” She scoffed and Frank clenched his jaw. “Are you serious?”

“I’m right next door.” You began to unload the van, carefully slinging a heavy bag around your good side. You tried your best to hide your inconspicuous smile, but it was harder the more you thought about the king sized bed assigned to you.

Amy and Frank trodden heavily behind you as you made your way through the empty lobby and towards the elevators, not without waving towards the kind faced woman at the front desk.

“You’re actually leaving me alone with him?“

“You'll be fine, Amy.” You rested your head against the back of the elevator wall, closing your eyes in surrender as the metal doors slid together.

“That’s not fair,” she whined; you half expected her to start stomping her feet.

“Life ain’t fair,” Frank finished the argument as the elevator came to a bumpy halt. You barely opened your eyes to glance at him, surprised at the way he nods, as if giving you permission to be alone.

You aren’t sure why you became shy and why your cheeks warmed. Maybe it was the way his eyes had softened ever so slightly, or maybe it was the gratification of him acknowledging you made a sound decision for once—that you were capable, even after your extreme fuck up just hours earlier. Either way, the softness lingered as you found your rooms.

The cool air hit Frank’s face as a pleasant surprise, though the cleanliness, the luxury, felt burdensome.

“You have to apologize.” Amy claimed her bed, minding the way her sneakers dirtied the white sheets.

“Yeah?” He huffed, remembering he should be offended by your lack of appreciation for the new scenery. “For what exactly?”

“You’re being a dick!” She exclaimed, slapping her hands against her crossed legs. “I’m serious, Frank. It’s my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” he sighed.

“Okay, great, then stop blaming her for it.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure.”

The hum of the air conditioning filled the room as Frank stood awkwardly, thrumming his fingers along his thigh while Amy pretended not to notice.

“‘I shouldn’t have left you alone, okay?” He leaned against an empty dresser, still unwilling to find comfort in the queen-sized mattress.

“She did what you couldn’t do,” Amy mumbled and he grit his jaw in response. “I was the one that called for pizza, okay? I wasn’t thinking. It was on me and I’m still alive, so go say you’re sorry.”

Being still was a foreign concept for Frank. He was constantly moving, hard wired for productivity and precision, scoffing at the mere idea of rest. His neurons exploded even in his sleep, unable to ignore the zap zap zap that kept him moving, kept him alert, kept him alive. It kept you alive.

He ran through the numerous possibilities and outcomes of apologizing to you in his overtired head, filtering through his own remorse and your indignation.

Fuck it, he decided, ending his marathon around the room.

“Don't call anyone. Don’t move from this bed. Don’t answer the phone and don’t answer the goddamn door,” he placed his hands on his hips, emphasizing his seriousness. “Understand?”

“Roger that.” Amy saluted him as he neared the door, unable to hide her smile. “Use protection!”

Just as his hand reached the handle, he paused. “What did you just say?” She audibly laughed at the mixture of disgust and genuine shock plastered against his face.

“Go kiss and make up!” She shooed him away, and she swore she saw him smile before he disappeared.

The bathroom mirror shook in a steady succession following the slams of heavy doors. It was constant, and you almost considered complaining before remembering that this was a luxury compared to your previous hideaways.

It wasn’t always so bad, though. Before Amy, it was exciting— like a cheap thrill that you hadn’t felt since you were 16, sneaking out of a bedroom window and choking down a stale cloud of smoke. There was a monumental lack of pessimism between you and Frank; he brought life back into you, and for once you didn’t feel guilty for living.

So you accepted the cheap motels and fried foods, never minding the greasy-lipped kisses. You welcomed the sun beaming on your bare feet when they laid across the dash as you drove nowhere. You loved the way your stomach felt full as you drank a beer, pretending you weren’t hiccuping while Frank sunk an 8 ball in a top right pocket. You loved the nights spent in a dirty dive bar where you didn’t have to think about who the fuck you were for at least a few hours. You loved it, and then he told you to run before bullets started flying.

The knock on the door was so faint you almost missed it over the sound of your cursing.

It was him—you knew it was him. He had an aura so thick it bled through walls.

“Y’gonna open the door?”

No.

Maybe.

The door opened with a metallic click, though you didn’t care to hold it open. He shoved himself inside, feeling like an intruder.

You studied your irritated wound in the mirror, continuing your attempts at cleaning and suturing it. The sting of the alcohol wipes hardly compared to the pair of eyes transfixed on the evidence of your failures.

“You okay?” What a stupid question.

“Fine.” What a stupid question.

Fine. It wasn’t a complete lie, though you avoided meeting his gaze at all costs. He could see right through you, hell, he could feel the resentment radiating off of you.

You didn’t have to distract yourself from the emotional distance; your attention was spent on unwrapping the much too small steri strip from its packaging to notice the way he awkwardly balanced his weight.

“Shit,” you cursed as the first suture folded over on itself.

“Do you need—“

“I got it.”

You really tried, but it was impossible to see the wound over the mound of your breast, and you could hardly twist your waist enough to get a decent angle. You decided to go in blind, completely embarrassed but unwilling to admit defeat.

The sticky strip landed incorrectly, directly atop of the ragged flesh, and you yelped as it adjusted.

“Let me get that,” he didn’t wait for your protest before inviting himself into the small bathroom.

“It’s fine, I got it,” your fingers shook as you attempted to pry the suture from your skin, salty tears splashing towards the floor.

You dropped your hand against your hip and audibly exhaled as he assessed the wound. He was hardly offended that you refused to look at him. Truth be told, he could hardly look at you without having his whole chest be filled with the weight of his own shortcomings.

He hated when you cried, especially at his own doing. You could blame it on that searing pain of torn flesh instead of the heavy burden of disappointing him, so you did. You pretended that the only pain you felt was the physical kind as you stood in front of him, half naked and bleeding, as he sat on the lip of the bathtub.

In any other situation you would have taken advantage of this position, cupping the back of his neck before sliding between his legs, waiting for him to pull you into his lap. But it’s different now, and you almost flinch as his calloused fingertips carefully brush your skin.

“You ready?” He asked, waiting for your permission before hurting you all over again.

You nod while stare at the ceiling, counting the porous tiles, bracing yourself for what is to come.

He tried to get the stitches and bandages ready as quickly as possible, prepping them on his knee as he gave the countdown. “One, two, three...”

“God damnit!”

The world became nothing but splotchy stars and radio static as your flesh ripped apart all over again, and you bit down on your knuckle, focusing on that dull ache that took your attention away from the way Frank was piecing you together again.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded muffled, his silhouette splotchy, but he held you together with nothing but cheap butterfly sutures and a half assed apology.

“I know,” was all you could muster out, breathing in that last bite of fight you had in you.

“Y’gonna stop poutin’ then?”

You jerked away from him, your nostrils flaring as you looked over his bent frame before turning on your heel, leaving him in that makeshift emergency room.

He almost regretted saying it, almost, but there was nothing worse for a man than putting himself out there and being disregarded, so he sat there, counting the bloody wash cloths and discarded bandages until he felt that familiar sense of carnal responsibility.

You were changing when he finally came about, his imaginary tail tucked between his legs. It felt wrong to look at you, to see the way your bare back curved and folded before disappearing beneath an oversized shirt—his oversized shirt.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you before, with your body on full display as he appreciated every inch with a soft brush of his lips. He had seen you, tasted you, held you, but this time it was different.

“Look,” he cleared his throat to signal his presence. “I’m sorry.”

“You done?” You ignored him as you pulled the starchy sheets back, but he wrapped a hand around your wrist, forcing you to look at him.

“Hey,” his eyes softened and voice dropped. “I mean it.”

There was an invisible argument happening as you both held onto the white sheet. You knew. He knew. Someone had to give in. Someone had to break first. Someone had to bare their soul and damnit were you tired of pretending.

“Well it don’t feel like it.” You gave in, and for a minute, you sounded as tired as you felt.

He ran a hand over his face with a sigh and you took the opportunity to sit on the first clean mattress you’d seen in months before bracing yourself against the sturdy headboard.

“Sometimes,” his hand twitched at his side as he contemplated his next sentence, “I look at her and all I see is my Lisa.” Your eyes shot towards his face at the mention of his daughter, and it was hard to ignore the painful knot in your stomach. “It’s like I’m losing her all over again and I—“

“Frank,” you leaned towards him, and the mattress sunk next to your feet.

“I just can’t do it again, y’know?” He looked at you, tears brimming on the waterline but never daring to spill. “I can’t do it again.”

“You won’t. You won’t do it again.”

You said it as if you were a god, fully capable of aligning the stars and galaxies and writing history. You said it as if you were able to predict the future—a future where Amy was safe in an undisclosed location and you and Frank were, well, somewhere.

He huffed at that, and rightfully so, though you tried to convince him anyways.

“I’m sorry,” you attempted to shift the blame, “I didn’t know that she ordered food, I should have paid attention. I should have known better, I should have—”

“Hey, hey, hey” he placed a hand on your leg. “Quit it.”

“I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t mean to mess up.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry, I tried,” you could feel the uncomfortable knot lodged in your throat but you couldn’t push it down. “I swear I tried.”

It was embarrassing the way the hot tears left patterns against your white cotton shirt as they fell. You weren’t really sure why you were crying or who you were crying for. Amy was still alive and tucked into a bed just behind another door, but your sister was somewhere else entirely.

“It’s not your fault,” Frank attempted to intervene, gently scooping you into his side. You let him, though not without feeling so incredibly selfish. He rubbed your arm, in a steady motion, squeezing lightly for his own emotional support. “I’m sorry for taking it out on you. I shouldn’t have left you guys alone. You shouldn’t have had to clean up my mess, okay?”

You nod into his chest, wishing his words didn’t feel like a cheaply made sympathy card.

“None of this is on you, you understand? You didn’t do anything wrong.” He placed a kiss against your temple, and you folded into him even more.

He somehow reached across space and time to tell you the words you wished you had heard that night: you didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is on you. Frank had become a god, transcending the laws of physics to piece you together with sutures and sympathies.

It was quiet for a while save for the muffled lull of the obnoxiously cold air conditioning. You missed this—the feeling that life could go on, that you were enough for him, that the silence didn’t signal an impending doom.

“Stay,” you whispered.

“Hm?”

It was silent as you considered your next move—play dumb or give in, going belly up for a few more minutes of playing pretend.

“Can you stay?”

It was silent for another minute, but his breathing shifted and you held your breath.

“Sweetheart,”

“I know. I know she’s next door,” you tried to make his decision easier. “Can you just stay until I fall asleep?”

“Sure.”

It was less than convincing, but he kissed your neck before sliding himself down the mattress and pulling your body into his stomach.

You curled into yourself, hugging a pillow against your face before deciding it was too soft. This, you and Frank, felt too soft after a week of sleeping in different beds and communicating through glances and strategies to stay alive—to keep Amy alive. It was different. Too soft and still not enough.

He felt the emotional shift as your body tensed, snaking an arm beneath the crook of your neck before reaching for your empty hand. You followed directions without a second thought, intertwining fingers and limbs with a relaxed sigh before your world went dark.

He stayed, like he said he would, watching the numbers on the clock face ascend.

It was unfair to you, he thought, that he was splitting his attention between you and a young girl he barely knew. It was unfair that he had to uncurl himself from your body and walk next door to a bed that would be too cold, too empty, too soft and pretend that he didn’t just abandon you. It was unfair that he brought you along to something he wasn’t sure how to finish.

The bed dipped as he forced himself away from your warmth. He held his breath, silently praying you wouldn’t notice his absence. You looked calm for the first time in a long time, since before you both became honorary foster parents and ran from men that looked like they were on a pilgrimage. You looked so calm, and he tucked his invisible tail between his legs again while pressing a kiss to your shoulder, letting out a final sigh of resignation before disappearing behind a closed door.

You were too tired to move. Too tired to leave that spot that still smelled like him if you closed your eyes and inhaled. You knew he was leaving, only pretending as a courtesy to his feelings, though you couldn’t help but wish the metallic click of the door was a gun aimed directly at your chest.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle hurt/comfort #frank castle angst #frank castle slow burn #frank castle series #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher x female reader #the punisher angst #the punisher hurt/comfort

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solacanis · 3 months

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Babes this is going to be the only time I am going to address this but lately my friends and overall people have been getting very NASTY, UNSOLICITATED, and ANNOYING anonymous messages without reason. Some of you have the AUDACITY to harass people and let me tell it is not cute at all, I need you all to tone it down and honestly reflect how you approach people because it is not OKAY to just jump into someone's messages and share your damn thoughts without being asked to do so. You are allowed to say whatever you want HOWEVER that doesn't mean you are entitled to harass people for no damn reason. I hate making posts about this but this behavior won't be tolerated and don't even try it with me or you will be blocked and I will find out who you are. I have been online for a very long time and I can and I will stand up for myself if any of you dare to try and start messing with me or even my friends. Anonymous option is a PRIVILIGE and not a RIGHT so like the old saying says "fuck around and find out" because I will not hesitate to disable the anonymous option and close my inbox until I want to receive messages again. This is going to be the only time I say this but if I keep seeing this going around my dashboard I will start blocking people. That is all.

#shut up momo (OOC).#psa (WARNING).#[ don't fucking piss me off. ]#[ i am serious. ]#[ leave my friends alone challenge >:( ]#[ feel free to reblog if you want because damn seriously this is fucking stupid. ]

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mysticarks · 7 months

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Damn I did it again didn't I. That last post was most certainly not an April fool's joke, it was just poorly timed considering I didn't hold up my promise of keeping in touch once again. Still feeling really withdrawn and unmotivated unfortunately, but please believe that I haven't forgotten my friends!

In the meantime, I've been doing my job and tending to home as usual, and becoming more proactive in seeking medical care. I've been really nervous about my health recently. Hate to alarm anyone, but it's good to be honest.

Also! I've finally transitioned to a new laptop and am exploring more games and music to help lift my mood (and ENA!!! How did it take me this long to discover this series? I owe her my life). Needless to say I'm really itching to discuss stuff and release the silly posts and maybe some art as well. Will it be awkward to just jump into business after being a ghost for so long? Can't be bothered to worry too much at this point...

Don't know how to end this post. I'm so SO sorry for being such a weenie and disappearing again. Love you guys stay safe! (redoing my dashboard tweaks and blacklist is gonna be a pain lol)

#long post ?#but seriously my dream bbq theories are getting absurd #oh and... gonna change my page infos and icon too. but not tonight geez #uuuhgggghhh #sorry everyone!#...huh we have polls now #i miss a good late night brain dump

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mysteriesmuse · 1 year

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Houseboat Holiday! Fish Feeding Frenzy 🍽️🫀🐟

“Alright, I’ll leave you kids to it. Let us know when you find a good fishing spot.” you grinned waving a hand, “ok Uncle Masaru!” “Bye Mr. Bakugou!” ———

“yea, yeah, we’ll find the best damn fishing spot . . .”

You turned to Katsuki clad in a tank-top and khakis. His blonde spiky hair rustling in the breeze. Katsuki’s bulky pro hero frame crouched as he had his nose buried into the map. “Pops is just saying that because he knows it’ll take us forever,” he said, red eyes tracing the lines. In the captains chair Izuku grinned, nudging your leg with his elbow, “But it’ll be fun, right Y/N?” Your own lips turned into a smile as Izuku hastily reached up to tuck a fly-away curl of hair off his forehead and back into his transparent plastic All Might visor. “Of course! As long as we can see where we’re going,” you teased. You tucked another stray curl into his hat with your own hand. And he failed at holding in a snicker at the summery additions to your lovely face, to which you appropriately flicked his shoulder for. The outdoors captains station was set on top of the boat. It held all the same equipment as the one downstairs inside the ship. The outdoors station was a nice way to enjoy the nicer weather out at sea. The sparkling sea and just the right amount of sun on your face. This station was set underneath a little shaded fabric roofing.

That didn’t stop Katsuki from forcibly smearing a line of sunscreen across the top of your cheeks and nose. I mean Izuku didn’t even receive any and Katsuki himself only had the touristy line across his nose! Not that anybody would see it within the next hour because he was gonna have his nose buried the entire time as he directed Izuku to what looked like the best fishing spot.

Of course that would always be stopped by your vetoing. You were always mandated to fishing-spot duty because of your quirk . . . and the boys always insisted on joining you. It was obviously a man thing.

——— “Ok. If you move 13 degrees northwest then she’ll be heading straight towards this - “ Kats paused waving a hand around in the air, “it’s some giant seasonal breeding for a bunch a’ fish.” “Aye aye captain.” He saluted. Looking across the dashboard flipping knobs and calibrating the compass. You leaned against the railing staring out at the great big blue that surrounded you, giving a side-eye back, “Isn’t he technically captain right now?” Izuku stammered up, “well I’m still following orders.” “hmm, guess that true,” you hummed, pushing off the railing and scooted over next to Katsuki, “show me where we’re going.” Mr. Grouchy Pants humbly obliged. Well that was certainly new. He leaned in and moved his arms down so you could see it, “We’re heading here now. Should be a lot of fish according to the thick-ass fishing tome in the drawer.” he jutted his thumb over toward the drawers by the captains chair. Izuku perked up to look at y’all hovering over the map, “Kacchan, Are you making a jab at those printed copies of mission statement papers that we had to pack?” “Course I am. Couldn’t get it done before the trip so -“

“- so we had to bring them along. It’s really loooong paperwork,” Izuku made eye contact with you, “luckily we have two missions that we did together in the car and we just copied each other.” “Fascinating, tell. . .” thump-thump. Th. Thuuump. thu. Ump. thump. thump. thump-thump thump.

too many stuttering heartbeats. they all clamored for your attention. all sounding like a stuttering snare. there must be a freaking feeding frenzy happening right under your feet. Right now. “Can I just - oh. my. god.” You yelped, causing Katsuki to flinch right next to you. Kacchan and Izuku both looked at each other with knowing look you missed as you scrambled. You had your hands clamped over your ears. Izuku lifted an arm out of the way for you to jump into his lap. hands still clamped, you shuttered, “swing left, there’s a big feeding frenzy happening right under us.” You sat in his lap. Clenching your eyes shut as you tried not to focus on the murderous assault on your ears. You could feel Izuku hurriedly put his other hand back on the steering wheel and hear how he started flipping all the switches to turn the boat around. You kept your eyes closed and your ear covered. Your senses flooded with bickering atop of . . . everything else . . . well needless to say death amplified was a horrible sound. Katsuki immediately argued, “but we have to go in that direction.” “Grr! Kacchan, lay off.” you flinched, it was uncommon for him to stand up to your friend.

you glimpsed up as Izuku peered down at you with those kind emerald eyes, “are you sure Y/N?” You stared up at them. Katsuki with his arms crossed staring down at you from over Izuku’s shoulder. A blank face. Then in front of you was Izuku. Caring eyes and a slight frown on the corner of his lip. Curly hair dancing behind that goofy fanboy visor that shadowed his face full of freckles in red, blue, and yellow light. there was a reason they called him the next All Might.

. . . But that hat may be a tad much.

——

“yeah I’m sure,” you flinched.

Katsuki raised his eyebrows and puffed a hot stream of air out of his nose that reached the top of your head.

You sighed, “there’s not gonna be any fish left. The sharks or whatever are moving in that direction already.” He huffed again, “alright then. go around for now. Y’er always right.”

——— you sighed, Izuku’s arms circling around you as he finished redirecting the ship. “this is my least favorite part . . .” you mumbled. “me too,” he said, the breeze changed. “I know it must sound terrible.” You peered around to see katsuki burying himself into the map again. You simply nodded and laid your head against his shoulder. and a warm hand came to gently rub up and down you arm. Goosebumps prickled under his hot and calloused touch. Izuku rested his chin on the top of your head, “listen all you want.” A invitation to stay there and focus on the familiar heartbeat underneath your head.

“Want me to talk?” “Go for it! Nerd’s a good rambler.” You rolled your eyes feeling a giant fall against your side as Izuku sighed from Kacchans typical, but not so helpful response. “yes please, what are those big tomes about?” You listened to the rush of air, “well we need to record our missions for dexterity and last week was a nightmare. Some crazy villain-“

“What do ya mean ‘villain’ it was a whole damn drug organization, Deku!” “ok so well it started off as one guy and he led us to the rest of the organization. But we didn’t know it at the time. Happy?” “Ya’ go back to your story. And don’t leave out the good parts.” “Ok, so we come across this one guy. He’s been milling around the mall parking lot for days. There’s this huge van and everything . . . We’ve been watching him for months now . . . has a, um, how do I explain it?” “just say previous record.” “Yea he has a previous record at the local police department. And -“

“Ahem - Deku?” “Right! So y/n what happened before that is actually really important to make the story work . . . “ ——— An oceans breeze tickled your face, a friends hand sanding down your army of goosebumps, a salty tint to the air, a new story told in the most typical “Wonder Duo” fashion. Yourself cozied up on a friends lap, funny colors shading your freckled arm that was still being loving stroked. The funny weight of Deku talking on top of your head. A full cocooning of sound, heartbeat and voice surrounding your preciously sensitive head. The frenzy of stuttering heartbeats fading in the distance as you sailed away.

#bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #midoriya x reader #reader insert #mysteriesmusing #If you squint and tilt your head this chapter has kinda got a little bit of a deku thing going on #I thought this was super cute #readers quirk is kinda inspired by heartrenders from the Grishaverse #I also just got the Six of Crows book and am so excited to read it!!#ok toodles :)#fem reader #pro hero au #pro hero deku #pro hero dynamight #Houseboat Holiday AU #summer vaca

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autobot-ratchet · 3 months

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MTMTE 1-3

MTMTE 1

“You've earned the right to see the universe without a gun in your hand” is still so good, love that Drift is the one who wrote that line. This is immediately turning into the Drift Retrospective lmfAO sorry but he's my favey and he's integral to this story getting started, I'll talk about everyone else in due time

like right now for instance, aaahhgfsghdfjdk seeing Ratchet talk about how he's joining the Lost Light to find a successor so he can retire has got me feeling things lmAO you find so much more, buddy, you find a whole entire husband and a family and aaaaaagfdshahgkadsjk

Cyclonus is making me feel things too, he's all talking about how Rodimus made promises to him out of moral obligation since he helped out during the last ordeal, he doesn't even know he's gonna kiss that guy in the last issue he's gonna end up your friend, your TRUE friend

God, Prowl referring to Rewind as Chromedome's “best friend” is still so fuckin funny. I know it was because James Roberts wasn't sure if he was gonna be allowed to make them canon husbands yet but it still works in retrospect because it makes Prowl seem like he either doesn't know they're married or does know and is being a dick about it, which are both hilarious options

Oh, sweet Tailgate. The reason I started reading this comic in the first place lmAO Straight up I just saw this cute-ass robot all over my dashboard and was like “I need to know your story” and just went for it, like just based off looks alone. Tailgate is literally so cute that he changed the course of my life for the next fuckin decade

What a fuckin way for Whirl and Cyclonus to meet. *turns to the camera and points with my thumb, smirking knowingly* They don't even know they're gonna be besties

None of these fuckin losers know how happy they're gonna make each other ha ha idiots get friendshipped and romanced

fuck I forgot these idiots have an in-universe wiki on themselves lmfAO

Swerve really did just slap his Autobot badge right on the crotch huh

*turns to the camera again, pointing with my thumb and smirking knowingly at Rung* He doesn't know he's God

Chromedome just casually being ableist at his husband for exposition reasons

extremely funny that Tailgate's first interaction with Whirl involves him nearly vaporizing him by complete accident

damn the Lost Light's journey really does start with the ship just fucking exploding huh

awww the message the crew leaves to their past selves god I can't wait to re-read this comic lmAO I'm already sitting here like “ooh that's foreshadowing for this arc, and THAT'S foreshadowing for THIS arc and THAT'S

MTMTE 2

SKIIIIIIIIDS HEY BUDDY omg *turns to the camera, points, smirks etc* he doesn't know most things

God. I'm still so mad about the foreshadowing that Rung is Primus being present from the very beginning. It was his hat, Mr. Krabs, hE WAS NUMBER ONE. AND ALSO HE AUTO HEALS

him saying that Ratchet's hands are as gentle as sunlight on snow is very adorable though, love that Ratchet immediately takes a fucking hammer to said hands right after he says this

giggles and kicks my gay little feet at Ratchet bitching about Drift, you loooove hiiiiiiiim, yOU LOOOOVE HIIIIIMMMM

they really just let Swerve shatter Tailgate's entire world for laughs huh lmAO

“I'm going to kill you,” he says, “don't think you'll see it coming,” he says, fucking LOL *points at the panel of Cyclonus crying on Whirl's shoulder in Lost Light* LMAOOOOOOOO

Tailgate saw the opportunity to write his own backstory and jumped on that shit immediately, honestly I respect it

three people died just from starting the ship lmfAO god just frame one with the tragedies

and then there's a fucking sparkeater lmfAO it truly just is just nonstop

MTMTE 3

Rodimus when the ship explodes: no one's dying on my watch, we're gonna do our best to save everyone and fix them and make sure they're safe Rodimus when he's told there's a sparkeater on the ship: cool

ohoho, it begins, Tailgate has made first contact with Cyclonus

I do like how even though Swerve very much did kind of force friendship upon Skids, Skids is still hanging out with him. He does think “Skids and Swerve” sounds cool, awwwuhgufghgusdj ❤️❤️❤️

Skids pulling Rung up into the ceilingjhdfskdlghd........ THINKS ABOUT CERTAIN PARTS OF LOST LIGHT........

poor Tailgate got told about the war from the one person on the ship who's a decepticon apologist. To be fair he probably should've gotten more than exactly one (1) perspective before choosing a side but still

#mtmte retrospective

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norabrice1701 · 11 months

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Twist My Heart - Ch. 2

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Jake “Hangman” Seresin

- A TG:M Twister AU -

Series Main List

Also on AO3

Ch. 2 Warnings: Language; discussion of canon character death; tornado chasing drama

Even with guaranteed nationwide wi-fi service, the rural counties still prove a constant challenge. Squinting against hazy sunlight that shafts through the windshield, Bradley stares at the progress bar on his laptop, willing the radar image to update. The supercell to the south has finally started to display favorable indications for a hook echo… but then his internet connection blipped.

He sighs, resting back against the passenger seat headrest as the image continues to load. His eyes drift closed but the release of a semitruck’s air brakes jar his attention. The midday beehive activity of gas stations make them Bradley’s least favorite place to wait out oncoming storms, but their SUV did need refueling.

Another disappointing glance at his computer screen confirms the ongoing wi-fi struggle, and he looks out the windshield instead. His gaze lands immediately on Hangman’s swaggering form, impossible to miss as he exits the convenience store. A plastic bag swings next to his legs clad in casually well-fitting jeans and his Dagger Labs polo shirt highlights the strong build of his chest. Sunglasses shield his eyes and complement all the attractive angles of his face beneath his stylish blonde hair. He passes a woman who offers him a bashful smile, and he dials his answering grin up to full brilliance. It brings out the dimples that never fail to lend him an air of boyish charm, and… fuck.

“Where the fuck are we?” Fanboy’s voice sounded over the CB radio with distinct displeasure. “Come on, Bob.”

“You’re on County Road 31 - or should be, at least. Half a mile out, Dagger 3.” Bob responded with calm ease.

“Tornado is on the ground!” Payback hollered, his excitement palpable through the radio static. “It’s going about 35 mph. North-northeast.”

Bradley’s heart jumped in his chest as he pressed harder on the gas pedal. Just over the low hill ahead, he watched the black, angry funnel taking violent shape, and the sight made his blood rush.

Hangman popped the lens cover off his camera in the passenger seat. “Don’t get too close, now. You’ll ruin the shot.”

“Heaven forbid I come between you and your art.”

“Damn straight.”

Bradley turned to cast a passing glance out the passenger window, just able to make out the flashing yellow lights of Dagger 2 approaching from the west. His smile widened as the Dagger Labs team continued to move into position, each fulfilling their field assignments, and Bradley turned his gaze back out out the front windshield. Over the roar of wind and the blaring team radio calls, he heeded the sat nav directions and cranked the wheel on the next road towards Bob’s tracking coordinates.

“Oh, man,” Fanboy chuckled with raw wonder. “We have an EF2, possibly EF3 with a very large rope on the ground!”

“Shear is 90 knots. Rotation increasing.” Nat reported, all business and calm coolness. “50 outbound, 40 inbound.”

Bradley’s smile grew as the digital shutter on Hangman’s camera started clicking away. It was an artform that Bradley never understood, but Hangman always found a way to capture breathtaking images no matter how fast Bradley drove.

“Axis has gone vertical!” Fanboy whooped with joy. “This sucker’s really gaining strength and we’re getting into prime position!”

The promise of victory - of good data capture - rushed a thrill through Bradley as he made the next turn onto a dirt road, tracking the twister’s visual progress relative to the target coordinates. He lived for these moments - with his hair on fire and adrenaline electrifying his senses as the power of mother nature reigned supreme, ripe for scientific exploration.

The SUV bounced over the uneven, rutted road jarring them both in their seats. Hangman glared over, bracing one hand against the dashboard and trying to steady his camera with the other. “Where the fuck did you turn?”

“Where’s Bob’s directions said…”

Hangman turned his gaze out the window suspiciously, staring down at the ground as they jounced. “Are you sure this even qualifies as a road?”

“It’s got to be.” Bradley answered as he fought the wheel to keep the SUV moving forward in a steady, straight line. “It's probably called something like… ‘Bob’s Road’.”

Hangman barked a sharp laugh that carried a genuine note of amusement as he looked over at Bradley. His cheeks held the flush of excitement and his eyes shone with bright energy as he shot Bradley a smile. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

Bradley glanced over, blood singing in his veins as the perfect beauty of the moment took his breath away.

Bradley sighs again, pushing the memory aside and hoping to expel more than one type of frustration as he looks back at his computer. The driver door opens, ushering in a gust of gasoline fumes and dust as Hangman retakes his seat. Bradley stays content to ignore him, focusing instead on the progress bar of his radar update. At least until a bag of sour gummy worms lands on his laptop keys.

He’s long stopped being flattered when his coworkers - especially Hangman - remember his snack preferences. It comes with the territory after so many years on the road together.

“I keep thinking that one day you’ll outgrow those, you know.” Hangman’s words deform around the corner of a plastic wrapper clenched between his teeth as he tears it open. “Or do you actually like getting cavities? Or diabetes much?”

Bradley rips the bag open as he glances over at Hangman. The blonde gnaws a bite of beef jerky, and Bradly just arches an incredulous brow before speaking. “And what about you? Hypertension much? Colon cancer?”

The corner of Hangman’s mouth lifts as he waves the snack for emphasis. “At least this has protein in it. Something redeeming.”

There’s plenty redeeming in the gummy candy's sweet and sour flavors that burst on Bradley's tongue, but they're none of Hangman’s business. He doesn’t need to know how they were Goose’s favorite. How Bradley could always find a bag stashed in his desk – sometimes half-eaten, sometimes stale, sometimes unopened – and his dad would always let him have some, even if it was before dinner. He offers a shrug as he pulls more gummy worms out of the bag. “Vice of choice.”

Hangman chuckles. “And you’re how old? 10?”

“Beer’s a close second.”

“Really livin’ on the edge there, Roo.” Hangman deadpans, words distorted as he chews another bite of jerky.

Bradley blinks down at the radar image that’s nearly uploaded before turning back towards Hangman. His elbow rests on the window ledge and the visible swell of muscle has no right to be so appealing. Bradley’s no slouch in the gym, either - the job demands a certain physicality - but something about Hangman’s has always made Bradley’s heart race. “What’s yours, then?” He asks, licking stray sugar from his lips. “What vice makes you so high and mighty?”

A shit-eating grin grows on Hangman’s face. “Now what’s the fun in just telling you?”

Bradley shakes his head, swallowing a wave of irritation. “You don’t have to tell me - I can only assume there’s a reason Coyote has lots of tequila stories about you.” And they absolutely, resolutely don’t make Bradley jealous. Not the stories themselves, but Coyote and Hangman’s relationship going back so many years before working together at Dagger Labs. He still doesn't know how or why Mav hired them both - or if they came as a package deal - but they’ve only helped add to Dagger Labs’ prestigious reputation.

“Stories are just that,” Hangman answers, clearly unimpressed. “Easy to fabricate and easy to exaggerate.”

He can’t resist arching a teasing brow. “Oh, I’m sure Coyote has photos, though. No self-respecting friend wouldn’t want that sort of embarrassing fodder for a 40th birthday or wedding rehearsal dinner show’n tell.”

Disgusted disbelief wrinkles Hangman’s face. “If that’s your idea of what being a friend means, Bradshaw, then count me out.”

“Well, then," he says, hoping his voice isn't suddenly too tight. "Good thing we’re just coworkers.”

A silence falls in the SUV, broken only by their quiet chewing and the muffled sounds of the gas station around them. The plastic wrapper of the jerky stick crinkles as Hangman polishes off the last bite. “How’s Doppler looking?”

At least the weather forecast information has finally refreshed. Bradley swipes his finger over the touchscreen. “Looks like that cell south of us has dropped in intensity. Not likely to spawn anything now.”

“I never hung my hat on that system, anyway.” Hangman says, almost bored. “Not enough stability for the upper wind rotations to form.”

Bradley doesn’t quite roll his eyes. “You never even saw the data, man.”

“Didn’t need to.” He shoots an adoring look at Bradley over the top of his shades. “Not when you use your words so well, saying such pretty things.”

Bradley just shakes his head, refusing to look over and hoping that Hangman doesn’t see the tightening muscles of his jaw. In these moments, he hates that he doesn’t have the same instincts. That he’s more data dependent, more prone to think than to act. While it hasn’t failed him yet - in fact, it’s saved his ass on more than one occasion - even Mav has told him that he needs to not think quite so much.

Maybe he just comes by it too honestly.

He takes a last mouthful of gummy worms and rolls up the bag, stuffing it into the glove box. With another scan of the forecast data, he glances down at the notebook resting next to the center console and picks it up. If there’s one surefire way to get Hangman to shut up, this is it.

Nibbling his bottom lip, he starts inking out representative lines for each letter of the word that he's chosen. No matter how many times he’s played Hangman with… well, Hangman, it never fails to transport him back to his grade school days despite the mobile lab equipment around him.

Hangman chuckles softly as he watches Bradley sketch out a scaffold. “You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to play.”

“Well, I’m done listening to you talk, and you can do what you do best.”

“Impress you?”

“Win.” Bradley states it like the fact that it is. It’s long stopped being a competition, but Bradley refuses to admit that Hangman’s mastery of the game does impress him. He glances up at Hangman and holds the notebook out for him to study.

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

A toothpick materializes in the corner of Hangman’s mouth, another of his many talents. “You’re missing the category hint.”

Bradley mentally kicks himself. He should have remembered that but like hell will he admit it. “That’s not a firm rule, is it?”

Hangman cuts him with a sly gaze over his sunglasses. “Of course it is. Stop trying to cheat.”

The corner of his mouth lifts without permission. “Alright - category is ‘thing’.”

Hangman’s eyes fix on the notebook. “‘T’.”

Bradley scratches the pen on the page, filling in the blank.

__ __ __ __ T __ __ __

Hangman’s tongue darts out to tease the toothpick as he cocks his head. “A risk, but one I think’ll pay off – ‘C’.”

Bradley tries to hide his disappointment as he writes out the letter.

__ __ C __ T __ __ __

A triumphant smile brightens Hangman’s face. “You really picked ‘vacation’ as the word? Come on, at least make it a challenge!”

Bradley’s mouth gapes open before he can stop it, staring at the page. “How in the hell? There’s nothing obvious about that!”

“A master never reveals his secrets.” Hangman plucks the toothpick and points it towards the notebook. “Come on, write it out – prove me right.”

With gentle scoff, Bradley shakes his head and moves the pen over the paper.

V A C A T I O N

Despite the fact that Hangman is called Hangman for this exact reason, despite the fact that Bradley has seen Hangman do this countless times, and despite the fact that he’ll never stump Hangman at his own game, it still stirs the competitive part of him. Bradley stares at the blank page for the space of a breath as he tries to summon something clever. Something unusual, something harder - something with two words.

Carrier pigeon.

Liking his odds, he inks out lines for the thirteen letters. “Two words, this time,” he clarifies, glancing back at Hangman and holding out the notebook. “Still category ‘thing’.”

Hangman huffs a breathy laugh, scanning around the gas station parking lot before turning his attention back down to the page. “Okay, let’s start with ‘R’.”

Bradley writes out the three R’s on the page and holds his face neutral. Hangman brings the toothpick back to his mouth, rolling the wooden stick between his lips. A grin of recognition starts creeping across his face. “Let’s see if I got it – N.”

With sinking dread and absolute bafflement, Bradley writes the offending letter in the last blank.

Hangman smiles in victory with that damnably obnoxious toothpick pinched between too many teeth. “Carrier pigeon.”

“There’s no… no fucking way.” Bradley shakes his head in disbelief, motioning at the notebook. “There’s just… there’s nothing there…”

“Just because you don’t know the strategy doesn’t mean that there isn’t one.”

Bradley writes out the solution just because he can with another incredulous shake of his head. “Were you a spelling bee whiz kid in school? You must have been, to be so good at this now.”

Hangman’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “God, no. That’s a whole other level of teacher’s pet brown-nosing, do-gooding.”

Truthfully, Bradley can’t ever imagine a young Jake Seresin standing on some stage with a first-place spelling bee ribbon, but it’s something he’s always wondered about. How did the man get so freakishly good at this game?

Hangman’s eyes meet his even behind the sunglasses, and he misses none of the contemplation happening behind Bradley’s eyes. His brows pinch together with piqued interest. “Wait…” Hangman says slowly, plucking the toothpick from his lips. “Does that mean that you… oh, god, you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“What?” Bradley’s face screws with disbelief. “No - I don’t even remember ever participating in a spelling bee.” Quickly, he tries to think of something else to hide the trajectory of his thoughts. “No, I… I was just thinking about the origin of the name ‘spelling bee’.”

“You mean it’s not named after some bee who’s good at spelling?” Hangman’s trademark teasing grin sounds in his voice.

Bradley ignores his stupidly obvious joke. “’Bee’ used to be the common term for a communal gathering – like a quilting bee or an apple bee.”

Silence falls for a beat before Hangman cocks his head in curious thought. “So, then… by that logic, is that seriously how the restaurant chain got its name?”

The image of Applebee’s Bar & Grill logo flashes in Bradley’s mind. His brows furrow as he shakes his head. “Well, it… you know, I have no idea.”

“Dagger 1, come in.” Nat’s voice sounds over the SUV speakers and anticipation bursts in Bradley’s chest. He reaches to unmute the team voice chat.

“Copy that, Dagger 2.” A smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Good to hear from you, Phoenix.”

“Figured someone might need to give you two a break by now.”

Hangman scoffs indignantly. “Ye of little faith, Phoenix. Things were just starting to get good.”

“A twenty says you’re wrong.”

Bradley knows better than to take that bet against Natasha Trace. “Whatcha got?”

“Major action,” Bob’s voice comes over the speakers. “The cap is breaking. Tower’s going up 30 miles up the dry line.”

Bradley’s heart leaps in his chest. Nothing else has even come close today. “Where are you?”

“Near Burns Flat.”

He reaches for his seatbelt on instinct, hearing Hangman’s also click into place. “And that’s where? North? South?”

Nat’s voice sounds again. “Bob’s already sent you GPS coordinates.”

Hangman’s smile widens as the SUV engine roars to life. “That shit gets me hard, Bob.”

Bradley stares up at the speakers in the ceiling as if seeking forgiveness. “What he means is thank you and we’re on our way. We’ll catch you on CB when we get within range.”

“Copy that.”

The chat line mutes as Hangman shifts the SUV into gear, not quite peeling out of the parking space but coming pretty damn close. Bradley jostles in his seat, pulling up the vehicle's sat nav and Bob's coordinates. He arches a disapproving brow over at Hangman as they leave the gas station behind. “No call to be so crude.”

Hangman doesn’t glance over, focused on the road ahead. “And no call for you to be such a prude.”

“Not a prude.” Bradley corrects as he pulls up the latest data. “Just not rude. Especially when you know it makes Bob uncomfortable.”

“He’ll never grow if he’s not pushed outside of his comfort zone, dear.” Hangman sing-songs with a mocking edge. “Though that sounds like someone else we both know, doesn’t it?”

The barb digs under Bradley’s skin but he pushes it aside. Glancing at the sat nav directions to confirm distance to target, he glances up at the darkening sky. “Just drive or we’ll miss it entirely.”

Series Main List

Tag List: @redfurrycat

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #hangster #bradley bradshaw x jake seresin #hangman x rooster #top gun maverick #top gun maverick au #top gun fanfiction #twister au #twister 1996 #glen powell #miles teller

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writinglittlebeasts · 11 months

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i haven't posted anything substantial in a while, so have this . animal death warning also

It happens too quickly for Ramsey to wonder exactly how, but, later, when his insomnia keeps him glancing above the surface of sleep he'll wonder if it was the rain or the radio or the violent shivering of the grasses by the roadside that had kept any one of them from noticing it.

Creed is too impatient to slow his truck to a crawl even in the heaviest downpour, even when the tailgate of Maurice's junker disappears into the gloom and its taillights are dampened to dull blooms in the scant feet between both vehicles. If Maurice slows to examine a turn-off or a pothole Creed will lean on the horn like his life depends on keeping up a consistent forty miles-per-hour. The same principle applies to Ramsey, bringing up the rear in another truck long past its prime; experience tells him that if he should stop to get his bearings wind nor rain will keep Creed from climbing down out of his cab and stalking back the way he'd come to knock some gumption into him. It just so happens that Ramsey is more exhausted than he is afraid of peeling out into a ditch at the moment, and he knows that dying in a wreck would still be easier than arguing with the old man.

The ceaseless hollow metal clatter of the rain on the truck's tin roof is grating on his nerves, itching the backs of his eyes and making the muscles in his hands jump over the steering wheel. Every bump in the road adds to that edgy feeling, because surely this is going to be the one that sends him skidding into oblivion. On the dashboard, the radio struggles through a slow rendition of Ain't No Mountain High Enough as it's intercut by jolts of static; he can't summon the will to pry his hand from the wheel to turn it off, so Ramsey makes himself content with the geriatric warble: No matter how far-- worry, baby-- have to worry.

Creed's truck comes to a full stop in front of him so suddenly that Ramsey barely notices the change in time to pump his own brakes. There are only inches between the bumpers, and in the intervening seconds Ramsey waits for the horn with bated breath. No river wide enough to--

The horn never comes. Ramsey jerks the door handle and kicks it wide open, and rain starts to pour into the cab by the sheet. He's soaked in seconds, the downpour cold through his clothes, and he pulls his cap low over his eyes– for all of the good that it does him –as he leverages himself to the ground.

--day I set you free--

He slams the door shut behind himself when he goes, and the sounds of the idling engine and the sputtering radio disappear.

Ramsey follows alongside the flank of Creed's truck as quickly as he dares. Without his headlights he can't see a damned thing, and the embankment on the road's either side is shallow but earthy; he's liable to break a leg if he slips, and he'll never hear the end of it-- if he isn't swallowed up by the billowing switchgrass and drowned in a puddle.

"Creed!" Ramsey calls out, and he loses his own voice in the rain. His father's driver-side door is shut and the cab is dark; he isn't inside. He carries on, his feet wet in his shoes and his damp hat turning his scalp to ice. The same frost settles over his back and the rain trails miserably down his bare arms. While he crosses the gap between Creed's truck and Maurice's van he extends one cold hand and his fingertips catch briefly on a patch of rust marring Maurice's back hatch. "Creed!"

"Ramsey!"

Now he can see the shadow of a man in the headlights in front of him, seeming to loom over the hood of the van. Ramsey feels just a bit of the tension in his body fade as he realizes that Creed isn't holding a gun; that there isn't any immediate danger.

Ramsey rounds the van at the same time that Maurice appears on its passenger side holding a large flashlight, which cuts through the gloom more decisively than the headlights and finally illuminates Creed's critical frown.

Ramsey shakes his head and water flies from the bill of his cap. He shouts to be heard above the rain:

"What's wrong with the van?"

Creed's brow pops. He doesn't acknowledge Ramsey otherwise.

Maurice swings the beam of his flashlight from the wild, rolling fields to the hood of his van.

In a deep vee of crumpled metal that stretches from the roof to the hood, amidst a torrent of water and a spider’s web of cracked glass, is a hefty whitetail buck. Its limbs and neck are bent, splayed away from its shuddering exposed belly, and it shivers from end to end with the last vestiges of life.

The windshield pries itself apart from the roof as they watch, sinking into the cab and bringing the water with it, gravity pulling the body of the buck down while it struggles.

"Shit," Maurice rakes his free hand through his hair.

Ramsey casts his eyes on the bumper and finds it intact.

Creed's elbow jostles Ramsey out of his thoughts, and as he moves to take the buck by the horns Ramsey does the same. It's a labor, and even under all of this rain Ramsey can feel sweat breaking out along his back while they pull the beast from the van. The windshield fails entirely when the buck starts to thrash, and the damage to the shell of the van is extensive, but finally it slips from the hood and onto the road, where its body falls out of sight.

The van is pushed onto the roadside into that sea of switchgrass, and Maurice climbs into Creed's passenger seat before they all carry on at just the same speed as before. Ramsey focuses steadfastly on his driving as the collision disappears in his rearview, but later he'll think: deer don't collide with trucks from above. In that field, and maybe a breath from his own nose, there had been something capable of throwing one.

#or #dd

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