#first wanted him to cut himself free with a knife so I could have part of tsurumi's face reflected in the blade

[thelastunison]

No longer yours to control

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 5

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Johnny recovers slowly.

-

Fifteen minutes? Simon messages you. A flare going up in the darkness, an SOS signal even if you don’t know the accuracy of the analogy. But he doesn’t hear back from you that day.  Maybe what little luck he had left that wasn’t bad luck has run out. Maybe you realized that you had no real reason to be guilty, that Soap had stepped out in front of your car on purpose. You didn’t owe them anything. 

Simon wishes he could swallow that flare back up, eat it whole, let it burn him alive, but he can’t. Johnny needs him. 

Ever since the seizure, it’s been one bad pain day after another. The seizure itself was rough on his body, but so was how hard Soap fought afterwards, dealing himself damage that he didn’t even have the processing yet to tally up. 

Like clockwork he’s requiring those little green pills, choking them down on empty stomachs. Simon even has to break out what’s left of the sublingual morphine which they hadn’t used since Johnny first came home from inpatient rehabilitation. Only then will Johnny manage to fall into fitful sleeps wracked with nightmares and phantom pains from his missing arm. He cancels all therapy that week, hoping Johnny will return to his baseline soon. Hoping for the days he used to wish away. 

It’s hell on earth. Simon lays in bed beside him, ready to wake him from another nightmare, going on three days without sleep and he wishes that he had been the one in the helicopter instead. Wishes that it had killed him, since he can’t ever wish death on Johnny. Not ever. Not even when his boy begs for it. 

His phone buzzes, and it’s you: I’m free in twenty. Still need me?

Badly. Simon can’t remember the last time he showered. All he wants is fifteen minutes to scrub himself clean and feel human again. All he says though is: Yeah.

You appear just past twenty minutes later wearing a diner uniform. It’s cute: tight pants that hug your thighs and hips, a white button-down blouse tucked in, demarcation where your name tag used to rest.

Simon opens the door and ushers you in, somber-faced, like a pallbearer at a funeral. He goes to the bedroom door and glances in to make sure Johnny is out—there should be no waking him for the next two hours, but if there is one thing Simon has learned, it’s that God Laughs. 

“He asleep?” you whisper, lingering a healthy distance away. 

“Out like a light. I just need fifteen minutes in the shower.”

“I’ll watch him,” you whisper. Then you add: “I looked it up, by the way. What a seizure looks like. Just in case.”

Simon’s stomach drops between his knees. It takes him several heartbeats to realize that he isn’t nauseous out of any fear response, but out of sheer fucking gratitude. The feeling cuts through the fog in his mind like a knife through butter, and he feels like he sees you for the first time: your hair back away from your face, your healing bruises (and the new one on your chin), the embarrassed desperation in your eyes. You’ve latched on to Johnny too, he can tell, likely by some misguided guilt from almost hitting him with your car. But it’s there. He has a feeling that if Johnny were to take a dive off the balcony, he’d be taking you with him. 

You are completely unhinged. Borderline mad, even. Exactly what Johnny needs to keep him alive. 

“Fifteen minutes,” says Simon again before slipping into the bathroom, clean clothes tucked under his arm. When he resurfaces, only 11 minutes have passed. The military taught him everything he could need to know about thorough but expeditious showers. 

You are sitting at the dining table, having chosen the seat that gives you the best vantage point of Johnny’s sleeping figure in the next room through the doorway. Simon expected to find you on your phone, scrolling away, but it is nowhere in sight. You have sat perfectly still, watching Johnny. It would almost be eerie if he didn’t appreciate it so goddamn much. 

“We need to talk about this arrangement,” you say, clasping your hands together. You’re shaking. 

“You want out.” 

“What? No!” You both glance toward the bedroom, but Johnny snores on, in the throes of morphine-fueled dreams. When you speak again, it is quieter: “I don’t mind helping, but I can only check my phone at certain times of the day.”

This is the part where Simon asks why. But the question sticks to the back of his tongue like something unsavory. A more important question: can he afford to care why beyond what it means for him and for Johnny? The bottom line is that there will be long stretches of time where you’re unavailable. He can live with that. He’s been living with it, hasn’t he? 

“I’ll only ever need you when he’s asleep. If he knew I was letting you watch over him, he’d blow his top. I mean that literally.” Simon stands. “You want tea?”

“Tea?” You blink at him like the word does not compute. “Yes, please. Thank you, I mean.” 

“Just tea, don’t get worked up over it,” he mutters, going to put the kettle on. He needs a minute to fucking think. 

This goes against everything he was ever taught. The foundation of his personality is self-reliance, and it has been since he was a boy, since he learned that he couldn’t rely on adults for anything resembling stability. Asking for help feels like tossing up the white flag, like admitting he’s in too deep and he can’t take it anymore. It feels like failing Johnny. 

But there’s construction going on inside him. Those pillars of his personality are being torn down, and in their place something more important is being formed: a shrine to the only person who’s ever loved him that wasn’t his mother. If it’s good for Johnny, Simon must do it, even if it feels strange, even if it goes against all the strategies that have kept him alive in the past. 

When he brings tea back to the table, you try to drink it right away, scalding your tongue. 

“Slow,” Simon says. He didn’t even get the chance to offer you any milk or sugar. 

Face warm as the tea, you drink slower, tongue likely numb. The silence between you grows, adds up, and he catches you more than once looking toward the digital clock inlaid on the stove, like you are nervous and counting down the moments until you can escape. Like Simon frightens you. Fifteen minutes pass and more. You drain your cup. 

“I should go,” you say at length.

“Alright.”

“Thank you for the tea.” 

“Don’t thank me.”

You just nod and slip out of the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind you. Simon sits there for a long time after you’re gone, thinking over the arrangement. Thinking over you. 

You’re in trouble. He just can’t decide if he can afford to take on any more trouble right now. 

His tea has cooled by the time Johnny stirs in the other room, calling out for more pills. 

-

It does get easier. Tooth and nail they fight for every peaceful moment until they are able to string two of those moments together, and then two becomes three. Johnny is back to his old self—often angry, still pained, but with glimmers of the man Simon used to know shining beneath it all like diamonds under dirt. 

Therapy starts again, and so do Johnny’s tasks. 

The tasks aren’t therapy. They’re Johnny’s idea: each few days he picks a task that he used to be able to do before the accident and commits himself to relearning it. 

Today that tasks is unlocking the front door. He stands with his forehead against the oak, knowing Simon is somewhere on the other side, having heard him turn the deadbolt. 

The door has three locks. There is the handle which is the only one the apartment building originally supplied them with. There is the sliding lock, which Simon had installed on day two in the new apartment. It is only ever locked at night when both of them are home, and it is easy enough for Johnny to guide the wide end into the slot. Then there is the deadbolt, also installed by Simon, and easily the trickiest lock of all. Usually it requires the strength of two hands to unlock comfortably—but Soap’s down a hand and short on patience. 

“Jesus, get me in this apartment. Amen,” he mutters.

The key shakes in his hand as he guides it to the lock. It takes some fumbling, but he gets it after just a few moments. Then he must twist while pulling outward at the same time. It uses muscles in his arms that have grown weak with disuse. The key catches for a moment but then slides out of the lock uselessly. He pulled too hard; he did not twist hard enough. 

It’s a delicate balance, one he had perfected without even trying months ago when they moved in. Now it seems like a cruel and unusual punishment. If he can’t get this fucking door open, he’ll sleep out here, undeserving of his own bed. In his mind, the voice of encouragement does not sound so much like the calm soothing tones of Andy—his physical rehabilitation therapist—but instead the borderline abusive dialect of his superiors during his time in the military, the ones who had only ever cared about results and not much about the bodies getting those results. 

Footsteps come from the open elevator, and Johnny casts an irritated glance only to see that it is you. You are dressed for exercise, clingy clothes with running shoes and a baggy top thrown on over everything, drooping off of one of your shoulders. At the sight of you, Johnny remembers the lengths you went to to help him light his cigarette and his heart throbs with fondness, some of his anger evaporating like fog burnt off by the morning sun. 

“Afternoon, lass.” 

“Hi, Johnny,” you murmur, voice near a whisper as you cast a glance toward your own door. Maybe you are thinking about running from him. “Are you having trouble?” 

Johnny’s good mood dissipates. “No,” he lies. “Yes. I don’t fucking know.” 

“Can I help?”

“No,” he snaps. “I have to do this myself.”

“Where’s Simon?” 

“Inside.” 

“He’s locked you out?”

“Aye.” 

Your face changes. He knows you so little that it takes a moment for him to identify the expression for what it is: apoplectic rage. Your hands have clenched into fists at your sides, brows drawn low over your eyes as you glare a hole through the door. You reach out and take Johnny’s hand. He’s so fucking surprised that he drops the damn key. 

“Johnny,” you say. “You can tell me. Are you in trouble?”

“What sort o’ trouble?” 

“Simon. Is he good to you?” 

“Bastard eats my cereal and leaves the empty box behind, but aye, he’s good to me. Better than good. What’s all this about, hen? Simon locking me out? I only asked him to, that’s all—let’s me practice with the key, so I can open it on my own again,” says Johnny, stroking his thumb along your knuckles. 

You let go of him like you’ve been burned, face mortified. “Oh, God. I’m sorry Johnny. I misunderstood. Let me just—”

You bend down and retrieve the key, handing it to him. You can barely look him in the eye as you mumble a goodbye and rush past him into your own apartment, shutting the door solidly behind you. 

Johnny stares after you for a long moment, key held limply in his hand, mind far from the door. At last, he puts the key back into the lock. 

Twist, pull. 

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

one free pass for the grumpy!logan and overprotective brother!wade plot bunny 🤝🐇

"So," Vanessa hummed, watching you stir pans, "how was the date you went on?"

"He stood me up," you shrug. "I did get some really good gyoza though-"

"Sweetie."

You shrug again. "It's not the first time. And let's face it. It won't be the last. I write romance books. I don't live them."

Vanessa gave you a look but kept her commentary to herself. The last few years had been hard on everyone. You'd thought your big brother was dead right along next to her. You'd been in the thick of it even though you were trying to start college. Still just a kid. And in a lot of ways you were her rock- and a link to Wade when he was gone.

"I don't want to spend my whole life like our mom. Just like Wade doesn't want to be our dad, Nessa." You shake your head like you're banishing a thought and turn off the stove. "Let's fucking eat. I'm starving."

"This looks incredible. I have sex dreams less erotic than this."

"I heard that, Ow," Wade said, clutching his heart.

Vanessa shrugged and poured stroganoff into a bowl before shoving it into his hands, "Go be useful. Y/N did the hard part."

"Logan," you call, "I know you probably don't do wine, I got beer if you want that instead?"

"I uh- thanks," he said, shuffling to the table, offering Trigger his hand to smell when the dog shot him a look. He sniffed it and shot him a distinctly dirty look before walking away to re-glue himself to your side. Good dog, he thought.

"No assigned seating here, Logi-bear," Wade said, taking a seat next to Vanessa as he finished putting portions on plates- leaving Logan nowhere to sit but next to you since he'd put Mary in the other empty spot.

He nodded and pulled out a chair and looked towards the kitchen. He could hear you still rattling around and the sound of a knife slicing through something. And then a clatter "Fuck!"

Wade was out of his seat in a second and in the kitchen, "What'd you do- Holy shit biscuits!"

"It's fine I just-"

"Where d'you keep you towels?" he asked, rifling through the drawers and throwing things around.

"Next to the sink, Christ, it's not that bad-"

When you walk around the corner with Wade's arm around your shoulder, Logan blinked, blood-spattered your shirt and your pants. For "Not that bad" it looked like you might have cut your fucking hand off.

"I'll get some Ice," Vanessa said, standing up, "Logan, keep pressure on that for a second?"

Logan nodded, "Easy bleeder?" he ventured. You weren't phased enough about it for this to be new.

You nod and sigh, letting him look at your hand. "I've done worse," you muse. "He's so fucking dramatic." A thud makes you look away from the wound and Logan wrapped it to press on it carefully. "I swear if they're fucking in my kitchen again-"

"We're not," Vanessa said returning with an icepack, "I dropped the ice cream trying to find the ice."

"And Wade is-"

"Debating on if You'd want the staple gun or just super glue," he answered.

"There's bandages under the sink you degenerate!"

"Ooo, secrets," Wade said, dropping the stuff he was holding and heading towards the bathroom.

"Nessa," you plead.

"I'll go get him," she said rolling her eyes.

Logan exhaled through his nose and adjusted the ice on your hand. "I think you'll live, kid."

"Probably. I can hold this, your dinner is getting cold-"

Logan snorted, "Not a complete animal. Wouldn't be polite to eat while my hostess is bleeding out."

[dearsnow]

WE’RE BORN AT NIGHT

- in which you hold johnny cade like water, or, christ, you hold him like a knife (you’re worried that your touch brings up unpleasant memories for your boyfriend, but he feels differently. johnny cade x gn!reader, angst -> fluff but still bittersweet bc there’s nothing you can really do but hold him, yes this is based off of who we are by hozier because i am a heathen for the irish man).

word count: 1,022

a/n - my first johnny piece and the first piece that i’ve done in actual months 🥹 this is likely not my comeback though and i’m sorry for that 😭 i will always write and i will probably post most of it, but life has been rocky for me lately and my available free time reflects that. in any case, i hope you enjoy my short return (there will inevitably be more as i work things out), and plsss talk to me about the outsiders and literally anything else because i will most definitely love to hear it.

It’s not often that Johnny Cade comes knocking at your door, despite the fact that he’s been your boyfriend for three months now. He never wants to put you out, he says, but when he shows up with a black eye and hand-shaped bruises on his arm, you usher him inside as quickly as you can.

“What happened?” You murmur, eyes scanning over his injuries.

“Just my old man again.” He hesitates. There’s a sharp edge to his words, like they cut his mouth just to say. “Look, I shouldn’t have come.”

You cut him off, tone brimming with concern. If he doesn’t feel safe with you, with staying at your house when his is dangerous, then you need to try harder to keep his quiet heart intact. “You can always come.”

“I know. I mean, the gang’s all out at a party ‘n I guess I just didn’t know where else to go.” He shifts his stance uncomfortably as you hand him two bags of frozen vegetables. “As much as you say you want me here, I know there are some places where I ain’t welcome.”

You would kill his parents if you could. Fuck, you would send them straight to Hell without a second thought. Anyone that truly knew what was going on in that house would. All you can do, though, is take care of him as well as you’re able to.

“I promise, you’re welcome. More than anyone or anything else. I need you here, when things are rough and when they aren’t. Tell me you’ll come when you can.” You speak.

He looks so beautiful in this light, despite everything. You love him so badly that your heart aches from just the movements of his sad brown eyes. “I will.”

“Good.” You smooth down the collar of his jacket, making careful, delicate movements. You fear that if you go a hair too close, he will shatter like the glass bottles thrown at him. “Let’s go to my room, okay? My parents won’t be home until later. We can get you some rest.”

There’s a small part of Johnny that detests himself for holding you back. You could be doing greater things than pressing a wet rag to his forehead, and yet, you stay. You always stay. No matter how horrible the situation, you stay with a pinky linked around his and a warmth so hopeful he thinks he might implode every time he feels it.

You pull your thick blankets over him, uncaring of his grease and the slightly grungy clothes rubbing against your bedsheets. If he needs you, and god, does he look it, you will always be there.

You’re facing him in bed, hands outstretched to card through his hair, but they don’t make contact. His eyes are lightly closed. You wish you could just touch him, hold his hands between your fingers and warm your feet against his calves. There’s some sort of unbreakable barrier between you when you feel that your every movement could send him spiraling into memories of an unkind fist. And yet, an unconscious twitch sends your leg just a centimeter forward to touch his. If you think real, real hard about it, you might have felt him jolt.

“I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable, Johnny.” You whisper, shifting your legs so they’re no longer against him. “I’m real sorry. I know sometimes you don’t like that kind of stuff.”

“No.” He starts, opening his eyes. The rasp in his voice makes your heart sting like a bee’s last breath. “I like it, I mean, I think I do.” His gaze turns towards yours again, brimming with a kind of beautiful emotion, and his fingers move towards your sleeve. “It kinda… it tells me a bit that fingers ain’t always gonna ball up in fists and a palm against my cheek don’t have to hurt.” He breathes. You stare at him. He likes it? Lord, he likes it, and you like it, and you will die if you cannot swathe your entire body around him like you’re trying to keep him together. “‘S like you hold me like water, or, I dunno, a knife. Real gentle and secure n’ such.”

You travel the distance between you, tenderly wrapping your arms around his midsection. He pulls you closer, and suddenly, you feel complete.

If he was being honest, Johnny thinks you saved him. His whole life, he chased and chased the peace that evaded him every second of every day. Like a dog, kicked and dark-eyed, he put his nose to the ground and simply smelled the greater things on the horizon. They were out of reach to him, the silence just barely kissing the tip of his head before dancing so far away he couldn’t reach it if he sprinted. But you, God, you gave him everything he could ever want.

When merciful you came waltzing into his life, he thought nothing could ever be quite so horrible again. You have a forgiving hand and a quiet smile, laced with words that tickle his cheeks rather than grinding him into the earth. When he can reach out to you, gripping your warm arm like a lifeline, everything makes sense. He wouldn’t give that up for the world. He drinks in the affection you give him like sand in a bone-dry desert, and the thought that you could ever be worried about how much you love sets his heart ablaze.

“I’m glad.” You whisper. He can feel your breath against his shirt, and it makes him shiver in a pleasant way. “I love you.“

His breath hitches, heart picking up its pace, as he gently buries his warming face into the top of your head. “I love you too. And… and if you’re here, I want to be here forever.”

He squeezes you just a little bit, just enough to let you know that he never wants to let you go.

“Then I’m never leaving.” You smile. He smiles back, and for the first time that night, he thinks that he might be able to do more than just survive.

[ponderingmoonlight]

JJK men with drunk reader

Part ll with Geto, Megumi and Gojo here

Pairing: Choso x reader; Nanami x reader

Word Count: 2,9k (Choso's part escalated)

Warnings: Nanami's part is not proofread (wanted to publish this today so badly), angst in Choso's part, fluff in every part hehe

As always, I apprechiate every little comment or repost. Thank you guys so much for your support <3

Choso Kamo

You weren’t planning on drinking that much tonight. To be honest, you were just looking for a good time, guys bought you drinks like there’s no tomorrow though. Who are you to refuse that favor?

You definitely should have, though. Because right now, you are standing with your back against a wall in a dark alley of Tokyo, whole body trembling in fear. The frame of an enormous looking man cut off every possible escape route you’ve had, every minor spark of hope you’ve had left. Fuck, how could you be so dumb, why did you take the shorter route through this abandonment district? All you have in your purse are a lipstick, a few bills, your phone and your keys. No pepper spray, no knife, absolutely nothing to defend yourself. Not that you would be able to, given that you aren’t even able to stand up straight.

“Come on cutie, don’t be shy”, he purrs, hand stretched out to touch your hair.

“Keep your fucking hands off me”, you hiss before sinking your teeth into his hand so violently that his skin bursts.

“Little bitch.”

With a swift motion of his bare palm, he sweeps you off your feet, head spinning when it hits the wet tarmac harshly. You are way too drunk to collect a single logical thought, mind racing uncontrollably as your blood discolors your sight crimson.

“I was trying to be nice, y’know? But that’s it. You’ll pay for that.”

Without hesitation, he grabs you by the throat und pulls your aching body out of the dirt, smirking at you with his missing teeth. Tears start to swell up your eyes, you simply can’t believe that it came this far. You should be home already, lying in your bed after drinking a whole bottle of water, sleeping in until afternoon. But this…This isn’t how your night should have ended.

“Help me!”, you cry out.

“Please, someone! Help me.”

“Shut the fuck up”, he interrupts you roughly, smashing your weak body against a nearby wall.

Focus. Try to have a sober thought for a minute. Your legs are free, perfect height for his crotch. If you kick him hard enough, he might let go of you. Every inch of your skin hurts like hell, bruises over bruises covering your weak frame. But you have to be strong now if you want to escape him. No, you’re not going down without a fight.

With a loud scream, you put all the power you have left into your right leg, kicking between his legs with full force. He lets go of you immediately, puny figure crumpling down on the floor. You have no time. As fast as your wobbly legs carry you, you run deeper into the dark alley. Away from that man, away from his attempt to force himself on him. Get away, fuck the alcohol and the way your whole body screams at you. Your sharp and fast breath hangs in the air, tears still rolling down your eyes. You run and run and run until-

You harshly land on the ground.

Choso didn’t plan on hearing your desperate cries for help. To be honest, he didn’t even plan on being here in the first place. But still he stops in his tracks, eyes darting towards the direction of your desperate scream. What was this? It sounded like the cry of a woman followed by punches. Curses, maybe? No, he can’t detect any curses energy around this area. Is this even important, though? He is on his way to a meeting with Geto and the others, making plans on how to take revenge for his brothers.

He grumbles to himself. Whatever it is, taking the back alley doesn’t extent his path significantly. His steps follow the constant mumbling, screaming, crying and rumbling. Fast steps come near him, a woman running his way. His brows furrow. You don’t seem to see him, the panic in your glossy eyes seems to glow in the dark as you sprint forwards, directed towards him. Before he is able to move to the side, you crash into him full force, making you fall to the ground rougly.

The second your doe eyes dart towards him, he forgets for a moment how to breathe. You must be quite beautiful for a human being, even though your face and hair are covered in blood and your whole body is bruised. Carefully, he steps towards. What is he supposed to do now? What even happened?  

“Back off”, you cry out, crawling away from him on the wet tarmac of the night.

Another pair of steps, this time louder and heavier. A man come in sight. The second he lays his eyes on your puny figure, he starts sprinting faster, directly towards you with a maniac grin plastered on his face.

“What do you think you’re doing, fool?”

He shouldn’t care the slightest. No, Choso should continue on, leaving you to your face. Why the hell is he automatically positioning himself in front of you, now facing that ugly man that seems to chase you?

“What are you doing here, freak? She’s ours, find your own little whore”, the spits at him along with a weak attempt to break Choso’s nose.

Pathetic. Who does that fucker think he is? The tiniest amount of blood is enough to pierce right through his pea brain.

All you can do is stare in awe as the stranger in front of you. Who is this man? And how was he able to handle the situation in the blink of an eye? The toothless man’s body falls to the ground lifelessly. It’s only you and him, the man with the threatening appearance who happens to be your savior in shining armor.

“What are you doing here all alone?”, he mumbles before slowly turning around and staring at you dead still.

With the last bit of strength you have left in your weak body, you lift yourself off the ground and glare at him, shivers running down your spine. Did he…kill him? How? When?

“Was on my way home from a party”, you explain briefly.

“How careless to take this path without fighting experience or weapons on your own”, his harsh voice remarks, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Thank you for saving me. He’d probably killed me if it wasn’t for you”, you mumble.

Fuck, you feel like freezing to death. Your clothes are sliced open, dirty and wet from the rain that fell a few hours ago onto the ground, head spinning from the alcohol and the way he slammed it into the tarmac with full force.

“You’re freezing.”

The stranger takes one step forward, leading you to panic all over again.

“Don’t touch me!”, you yell instinctively, body desperately trying to hide from his presence.

“Stay here, idiot. I’m trying to help you.”

Choso doesn’t really know why, but his arms wrap themselves around your trembling figure, your head resting against his chest while silent sobs escape your lips.

“I just wanna go home…”, you sniff and he can’t help but feel…

Sorrow.

You were probably enjoying your evening, not putting much thought into your way home, not expecting a men to attack you like this.

“Where are you living? This isn’t an ideal place to stay”, he mutters, unsure of how to act in a situation like that.

This is the first time he ever held a woman. Fuck, this is the first time he ever felt something like distress about a human in his whole life.

“I…I can’t…walk”, you stutter.

His gaze wanders down your entirely bruised legs. Who knows what that man did to you before he arrived. Anger rises within him, hands clenched into fists.

“I’ll carry you, then.”

With a swift motion, he wraps his arms around your back and knees, making sure not to hurt your limbs in the process.

You can only stare at him in awe. Who is this man, the man with that strange tattoo over his nose, the man who wears purple eyeshadow and a robe you haven’t seen before? Why is he helping a stranger, even carrying your drunk and injured body home? Even though something about him tells you that he’s not to be trifled with, you don’t ask him. Instead, you give him brief directions to find your apartment, eyes never breaking away from his gorgeous face. He seems young, maybe as old as you. But still, you’ve never seen him around. Is it because you’re drunk? You don’t know, but you can’t hold your tongue any longer.

“You are such a beautiful man.”

His eyes widen, staring down at you in disbelief. What are those words? No woman ever said something like this to him. How is he supposed to react? He should have let these men kill you on the spot, just leave you alone in this cold and dark alley.

But why, why do your words make his heart flutter?

“I mean, your style is pretty edgy and all, but it suits you very well. Haven’t seen you here before, though. You here often?”

“I’m never here”, he remarks dryly.

Are you really trying to start a conversation with him?

“We have to go right here. Aaaaaand there’s my place”, you announce weakly, Choso’s mind still occupied by your previous statement.

“Thank you for carrying me…”, you mutter when he lets you down gently, hands fumbling to reach your keys.

All he does is staring down at you blankly. What’s on his mind? Was all of that planned? Maybe he is like that man, maybe he just came here to know where you live…God, you are so stupid.

“You aren’t here to murder me, aren’t you?”

“Are you kidding me? Do you really think I would have carried you all the way to your door just to kill you here?”, he remarks.

“Right…m’sorry, I think I’m still a little drunk y’know…”

Fuck that. Before you’re able to go into panic mode again, you wrap your arms around his body tightly. His scent is almost intoxicating, probably the best male fragrance your nose ever sniffed. And you can definitely tell that he’s a well-trained man underneath that strange clothes.

Choso can’t move an inch, all senses focused on the way you hugged him. It feels strange. Strange to be embraced by someone, strange that he helped a human being tonight. Why did he choose to follow your screams, why did it bother him so much that that other man laid his hands on you? And why does it somehow warm his heart to feel you so close against his own body?

“Thank god I ran you over tonight”, you hush against his chest.

Choso has to blink a few times.

“Good for you”, he simply replies.

But deep in his heart, he knows this isn’t only an event you will never forget. He himself will probably never get over the fact that today, he helped another human being instead of letting it get killed. But not only that.

You are breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Now go inside and find some sleep.”

With one last glance at the man who saved you only a few minutes ago, you step inside your apartment, weak body sliding down the closed door. Did this really happen? You might be drunk, but that man…

You’ll definitely never forget him.

Kento Nanami

“Don’t do it, (y/n). You’ll only get yourself into trouble. Nanami-san is a higher up, you have to work with him for your entire life. It’s not wise to call him and tell him about your stupid little crush”, Ino warns you while you scroll through your phone with a dumb smirk.

“I can’t hold back any longer Ino! I’m soooo obsessed with him!”, you cry out dramatically.

One call can’t hurt, right? Nope, that sounds like a good idea. The second your eyes dart towards his name, you press the call button, Ino freaking out next to you.

“You are way too drunk for a serious talk like that. Are you out of your mind? Hang up immediately, this is a bad idea, you will-“

“Is that you (y/n)?”

“Hello Kento”, you purr into the speaker.

“Are you alright? Did something happen?”

Nanami straightens himself in his seat, eyes lingering through the window over the city lights. Why would you call him this late at night? And why does his first name coming out of your mouth make his heartbeat pick up so suddenly?

“No, jus’ wanted to talk to you…Y’know, your voice sounds so sexy, absolutely…how do you call it? Oh, masculine”, you mumble.

Something about your usual so composed voice seems off, though. Didn’t you and Ino mention earlier that you are going out tonight?

“Are you drunk?”

“Hehe, yes”, you giggle, making Ino almost lose his mind next to you.

“Can you tell me where you are? I’m coming to pick you up.”

It’s far after midnight, too late for you to be out on your own. Is Ino with you? Hopefully he’s still there. His brows are furrowed, ears focused on every little word you say. You never called him by his first name before, let alone talked with him so openly. Over the last few months, the two of you got to work together closely. And slowly but surely, Nanami begin to fall for you. Your exceptional brain, your immense powers, the way you carry yourself with such elegance and wise words. At the moment though, you seem to miss your usual composure completely. What are you trying to tell him?

“Oh really? That’s so kind of you. Uh, Ino, you know where we at?”

Ino snatches the phone out of your hand, ice cold sweat running down his face. Fuck, hopefully this doesn’t cost him his good reputation.

“Nanami-san, I’m so so sorry-“

“Don’t be. Can you tell me where you are?”

“Of course, I’m sending you the location right now!”

“Thank you. Make sure (y/n) stays save, I’m coming to get her immediately.”

With that, he hangs up.

“He’s coming to get you, dumbass”, Ino mutters.

“How exciting!”, you speak out with glimmering eyes, heart already pounding against your ribcage by the sheer thought of seeing him tonight.

“I should meet him at the parking spot.”

“Stay where you are!”, Ino barks at you, hand holding onto the sleeve of your shirt for dear life.

In the meantime, Nanami is already on his way to get you with his head lost in thought. This is the first time you ever spoke so freely to him. And the fact that you called him this late at night while being drunk…Even though a part of him wants to be mad at you for being so reckless, to know that he was on your mind instead of everyone else makes him blush ever so slightly.

It doesn’t take long to find you. With elegant steps he approaches you and Ino, your eyes wide open. How does he look so fine this late at night with his shirt buttoned up so neat and his hand braced on his hip?

“You look absolutely del…delicious…Is that how you spell it, Ino?”

“Please stop talking (y/n)”, Ino begs, finally able to let go of you.

“Come on, let’s drive you home. Ino, do you need a ride?”

“No thank you. My apartment is a few blocks away. Have a good night. And you, drink a lot of water.”

“Gotcha!”, you remark, eyes filled with determination.

Until you have to really take a few steps outside.

“Ouff, is it just me or is the floor lave?”, you breathe out.

“Come on, I’ll help you.”

His arm wraps itself around your shoulder gently, pulling you close to his large frame. Even though your mind is clouded by alcohol, your heartbeat picks up in an instant.

“I could get used to that. Should get drunk more often.”

“Please don’t”, he replies, leading you to his expensive looking car and helping you get seated.

It doesn’t even take 5 minutes for you to pass out in his car, snoring in the most adorable way Nanami has ever heard. Finally he has the opportunity to shamelessly admire your soft features and the way your hair frames your face so delicately. You really are an attractive woman with everything he could wish for.

And maybe, just maybe, this is the perfect opportunity to ask you about your feelings towards him. After all, he can’t deny the spell you put on him.

“(y/n)”, he gently speaks out.

You don’t move an inch, not even when he allows his hand to stroke over your arm. Are you really that drunk? Nanami signs to himself, gets out of the car and opens your door – still no movement.

“I’m going to carry you inside…”, he mutters more to himself than to you, arms lifting you up with ease.

God, you are so breathtakingly gorgeous. Will he ever have the courage to tell you about his true feelings, that he wants you to be more than just a colleague? Who knows. What is way more important to him now is to take off your shoes, carry you into his bed and put a blanket on top of you, softly tucking you in while you groan in your sleep.

“Good night, (y/n). Maybe I’ll tell you someday how much you mean to me.”

“Night, Kento…”, you mumble back.  

[xayneimagines]

Mihawk “Fucking and Fighting are a bit different.”

Fandom: One Piece 

Pairing: Mihawk x MC(She/her)

Genre: smut

Content tags: “little girl/good girl/rabbit” pet name. Discussion of a scene that I wanted to include cause idk I like it. Mihawk so nice so he can be mean later. AFAB and pussy eating. Part 1?!

   MC was trying to catch her breath as she stared at the swordsman before her. She had challenged him to a duel and, while he declined, she had still persisted. Each slash of her blade was deflected, and that damn bastard Mihawk wasn’t even sweating.

   “Do you plan to do this all day? I could cut you down, you know.” On the surface he was unamused with her persistence, but truly he was impressed with how hard she was pushing herself. The sweat glistening off of her skin and the heaving of her chest was quite a sight for the war lord. 

   “Shut up! I’ll kill you!” At this point MC was no longer thinking. Frustration was approaching a boiling point and as she ran along the cobblestone corridor for another attack she tried to plunge the sword into him. 

   He was gone. In her eyes, it looked like he had just vanished, but the sudden gruff voice in her ear showed otherwise.

   “Your form is sloppy and your speed is lacking. Try a wider stance.” 

   Before MC could turn around, she felt him kick slightly at one of her legs, spreading them further. With her new found position she was able to swing the sword a little harder, but he easily blocked it  with the small knife he carried. 

   “Your eyes need to be on your target before you point your blade.” Another critique before he pushed her back, causing her to fumble. 

   She let out a low growl and went for him again. 

   “Stop fucking with me!”

   Mihawk pinned her body between him and the wall, his rough calloused hands grabbing hold of her wrist and pinning them above her. She had barely registered the movement until the sword she was wielding fell from her hand and caused a loud clang to ring out through the stone halls. The sound was, however, drowned out by her heartbeat.

   As her eyes peered into his she almost choked on her own breath. His eyes didn’t have their usual cold and calculating glint to them. Instead there was a look that MC had never seen. A dark, lustful gaze that should not have been sending shivers up her spine and causing her to clench her thighs.

   “Fighting is a bit different than fucking, little girl.”

MC couldn’t respond. She wanted to have some witty comeback or maybe even just tell him to back off, but all her words seemed to fail. Instead what fell out was-

   “Uh…um…uh…” 

   He raised an eyebrow as she seemed to struggle with her words, taking it as a confirmation that she didn’t mind feeling his body pressed tightly against hers. He shifted his grip on her wrists so that he could hold them tightly with one hand, his other sliding down her arm, her sides, landing on her hip.

   “Would you like me to show you?” His own arousal had his voice deepening, the gruff growls attached to each word almost surprising himself. It was rare for him to feel this way, wanting to ravish and spoil. When they had first met he had found her annoying yet cute. And each time she found him afterwards, and picked a fight, annoyance quickly turned into a desire to undo her. He wanted to have her panting and sweating underneath him, begging him to fuck her untill she forgot this damn one sided rivalry.

   “N…no.” She had meant that to sound a little more…well…sure?

   His lip turned up slightly, a smirk on his face as he glanced over hers slowly before letting his eyes linger further down her body. He could see the goosebumps forming as he mapped her out. His free hand then moved from her sides up to her neck, fingers gripping only enough for her to feel the pressure.

   She shivered.

   “Are you sure about that? A swordsman must be sure of everything they decide.” 

   Who knew how long they stood there in silence. All MC could register was how close he was, each touch, each lustful glance. Time no longer mattered.

   “I’ll ask again. Would you like me to fuck you?”

   “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~

   The only reason he didn’t take her on the cold floor right then and there was because he wanted to make sure their time together would span the entire night. And, while he did have a tremendous amount of self restraint, his selfishness drove him to make sure that any marks left on her would be caused by him, and not a side effect of location.

   His arms circled her rather fast after she gave her consent, tossing her onto his shoulder and beginning the walk to his room. One arm held her in place by being draped over her back while the other had his hand nestled against her right thigh, resting right under the curve of her ass. Her squeal at being picked up so quickly rang between his ears like a sweet melody he couldn’t wait to listen to again. 

   To others he may have looked calm and collected as he trudged through the hallways to find his room, but the growing discomfort in his pants made him thankful for his long strides. He had thought about fucking her on more than one occasion, many nights plagued by images of her panting during a fight and sweat dripping from her brow. The only reason he hadn’t acted ‘till now was a matter of convenience. He doubted she would have agreed during the other fights, them having been in much more open and public places. He had no qualms over being an exhibitionist, but he wouldn’t risk discomfort on her part. 

   Meanwhile, MC could hardly think as the warlord seemed to glide through the halls. The feeling of his fingers pushing into the meat of her thigh, and resting so dangerously close to her cunt already had her wet. It was almost embarrassing how she had squeaked out that earlier ‘yes’, but at least she was confident in his desire for her, considering his brisk pace.

  Hearing the door slam open as they entered his bedroom also provided extra proof. 

  She gasped as he tossed her onto the edge of the bed, the mattress bouncing her a few times before her feet settled on the floor and she could sit up. Mihawk had turned as soon as he dropped her to shut the door, the sound of a click ensuring her he was locking it.

   “Limits?” His voice reverberated in his throat with a gruff tone that had her pressing her thighs together in anticipation for what was to come. She almost hasn’t even registered the questions proper context, prepared to spit back that she could take anything in a fight. Thankfully, and with an embarrassed look, she caught herself.

   “Oh…uh…I don’t know…I guess…no like…gross stuff?” She hadn’t done this before. What little experience she had didn’t come with any discussion of limits, nor had the experience even come close to being with a man like him. He was powerful, imposing, and as his hungry eyes locked onto hers she had to catch her breath.

   Was that look really for her?

   Mihawk chuckled as he walked over to her, unclasping his belt and removing his hat before he had even reached her. His hands sunk down on the mattress beside her legs, face now inches from hers as his eyes seemed to study her.

   He couldn’t wait to break her. His mouth was almost dry from the thought, though she wouldn’t know that. Not with the confidence he radiated.

   “Gross stuff?” He repeated with a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk, one she usually only saw when he was taunting her in battle. Normally it would have had rage pumping through her, but this time all it did was make her feel shy.

   “Yeah like… ya know…” Her eyes drifted away from him as she found the eye contact too intense.

   “You’ve never negotiated before, have you?” 

   “….That obvious?” She said with an embarrassed groan, hoping this wasn’t gonna be the end of this interaction. What if he didn’t care to spend that kind of time on figuring things out with her?

    She felt like she could crumble under his gaze until a familiar hand was on her chin, lightly moving her face so that he could peer into her gorgeous eyes once again.

   “It’s quite alright. While I don’t go easy on you for our fights. I’ll be sure to take proper care of you, love. I don’t mind taking my time with you.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and the tone of it sent shivers along her body. 

   She gulped a little, and nodded.

   “I’m afraid I’ll need vocal confirmation. I need you to be able to tell me exactly how I’m making you feel for this to work.”

   “I….okay…”

   “See if the name sir feels good on your tongue.” He suggested, standing up straight now and peering down at her. She was so beautiful, with her slightly parted lips and nervous glances. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to feel her.

   “Yes…sir…” She tested it, trying to not let the embarrassment get to her. It felt…good. Normally authority over her was something that made her skin crawl, but calling him ‘sir’ had her quivering. 

   “Did that feel good? Whatever happens or is said in this room, you’re in control of. I’ll only push if you request it and, of course, if it’s one of my limits I won’t indulge.” 

   She stared up at him with those nervous, intoxicating eyes. His breath nearly caught in his throat.

   “Okay…it uh…it felt good…” MC stuttered out nervously, her hands down in her lap as she tried to keep them occupied with each other. 

   “Felt good…what?” He tested it, wanting to clarify that she did actually enjoy calling him sir. His thumb pulled slightly at her lower lip, enticing her to speak.

   “It felt good…sir.” The words came out with a shudder as she felt the rough pad of his thumb glide over her lip. She wanted to stick her tongue out and lick at it, but kept herself from doing so. Shame was such an annoying wall to try and tear down.

    “Good girl. We’ll need safe words. And if I check in on you, I expect an answer or everything will stop.” To her shock, he now knelt down in front of her, taking one of her feet and placing it on his pants leg. Slowly he undid the shoe, his eyes focusing on her legs in order to give her a break from eye contact.

   “Safe words? Like what?” 

   He rewarded her question with a soft kiss to her clothed knee.

   “Well, some people use colors. Red means stop, yellow means slow down, and green means go. It has to be words you wouldn’t normally say in a scene and they need to be easy to remember.” He gave her a brief breakdown of the general idea.

   “Scene?”

   “A scene is what you call the actual act. It’s in reference to role playing, but it also helps in mentally dividing up sexual play from the rest of life. For instance, during a scene I could be mean if you wished for it, but once the scene ends I would cater to you and take care of you as you come down, just like you would be for me.” He slid the shoe off finally before his hands began to massage at her feet, hoping to help her relax. 

   “How…how do I help take care of you after?” 

   Her question had a smile on his face as he looked back up at her. “Different people need different things. I like…being of service. And while I’m well aware of my abilities, it can be nice to hear from time to time.”

   She felt the heat all the way to her ears now as she stared down at him. He seemed beautiful, which was odd considering how she had just tried to skewer him. Granted, it wasn’t as though she had been unaware of his beauty this entire time…she just…had been more focused on other things.

   “Okay…I…I think I can do that. And umm…how would you take care of me after?” Mc didn’t want to mess this up. She didn’t know how she could fuck it up, but if there was a way to do it she was confident she’d find it and everything would be ruined.

   “Well, since it’ll be your first time in this way, I’ll probably annoy you by pestering you into telling me what you want. I could give you a bath after, massage whatever part of you I left sore. And, if you just need to be held, I can oblige that. Since I’m the more experienced one, I’m leaving the reins in your hands and simply guiding you.” He then slowly moved to take her sock off, continuing the massage. As his thumb pressed into the middle of her foot and worked out the tense muscle, she found herself wincing from a slight discomfort. 

   Damn, she should get a massage more often.

   “So…we do the colors then…and if I want you to stop I’ll say red…” She repeated the rules and watched him nod as he now placed her foot down and moved onto the next, taking the same careful time to remove the shoe.

   “Correct. And I'll be asking you to tell me your color throughout the scene.” He commented as he began to massage her other foot, avoiding eye contact for her sake. 

   She watched as his fingers seemed to dig into the tender muscles and found it amusing that hands that brought her so much frustration in the past were currently relaxing her. If she didn’t know him well enough, she’d wonder if this was all a trick.

   But Mihawk doesn't do things unless he wants to do them.

   “Okay then…should…we go over anything else?” Mc asked, hands now behind her as she leaned back, watching him work away.

   “Well, typically we would talk about what we want. Since you don’t seem to know, how about we discuss what you’d like to try.” His eyes cut up at her again, gaze alone stating she would have to be comfortable enough to discuss it if they were to try anything out of normal intimacy.

   “I…don’t even know what I’d like to try honestly…”

   “What do you think about when you touch yourself at night?”

~~~~~

  In her thoughts there was a weird blur between telling him what she wanted and now. She knew they talked about it, her nerves still turning her stomach, but her mind was only focused on the hot open mouthed kisses they were sharing. Clothes still clung tightly to their bodies as he had pushed her gently to the bed, mumbling something about ensuring she would enjoy every moment of this. 

   For some reason, despite the long conversation they had, she didn’t expect him to kiss her. In her mind she wasn’t sure if he’d see her as worthy of such an affection, but sure enough his warm lips met her own and all of her coherent thoughts left the building.

   The weight of him on top of her was all encompassing and her skin seemed to burn and tingle with each movement he made. A knee sat firmly against her clothed crotch while he held himself up by one of his forearms. A ghost of a touch down her side had her shivering and she wondered if it was a sign of weakness in herself, or a strength in him. 

   Everything about the man was burning and confident. The way his mouth moved against hers as their tongues intertwined was taking her breath away. Even more so when one of his cool hands slid up her shirt slowly, palming gently at her breast. The skilled and calloused fingers massaged her tit gently and she could no longer keep her mouth on his.

  She had to pull away with a slight gasp, not sure how he got such a reaction from just touching her like this. Heat surrounded her outside of his cool touch and when she opened her blurry eyes to look at him, more heat rushed through her.

   He seemed so…hungry.

   His mouth quickly moved to her neck, needing to have his lips against her someway or another. He didn’t know if she knew of her power. That right now he would kneel and worship the ground she walked on for but a taste of her, and that through his feverish open kisses he hoped to consume whatever he could. All the scenes that had been planned and discussed ahead of time would allow for more carnal desires later, though he decided this first round would be…softer. While he wanted to ravish her, he also wanted to ensure she would feel safe and comfortable in their arrangement. A goddess such as this needed to be pulled apart slowly at first. Broken until she had no choice but to understand just what her place was. His equal, above him? He hoped to bring her to the realization that no matter the role they chose he would serve her.  

   Fuck, she was already whimpering and he hadn’t even done anything. He wondered if he could get her so wet that she would soak through his pants, teasing the idea of it by rubbing his knee gently against her. 

   Between his thumb and index finger he rolled her nipple gently, only pinching at it enough to add pressure and not cause pain. Her mewls edge him on to continue as her arms wrapped around his head. He was glad she was already getting confident enough to touch him. He smirked against her skin as he gave her a much firmer pinch that caused her body to arch from the bed, a little yelp coming out of her cute mouth.

   “Color?” If he was a self conscious man he would feel nervous about the fact he was already growling his words out like an animal. Luckily, the squirming of her pressing down on his leg assured him she loved it. 

   “We just started!”

   Another rough pinch to remind her of the rules had her gasping.

    “Green!!! Fuck, green!” She whined, causing him to chuckle. He lifted himself to lock his eyes with hers again. 

   “Next time you fail to answer, I stop. Understood?” He let his smirk fall before addressing her, not wanting her to think he was joking.

   “Y..yes.”

   “Yes, what?” A stern voice responded and he could have sworn her nipples hardened against the pad of his thumb. Seemed she really enjoyed the power play.

   “Yes, sir. Won’t happen again. Just…please…touch me more…sir.” Mc’s eyes held a shyness that he wanted to replace with bliss. 

   “I’ll do what I want to you and if it’s something you really desire, you’ll beg better than that.” As if to punctuate his words, he rolled his knee against her again. The friction shot electricity through her, clit feeling the familiar buzz of desire that she thought only a vibrator could achieve.

   “Ye…yes sir.” 

   He groaned at that, eyes relaxing before his head ducked down to now kiss at the middle of her chest, thankful she wasn’t wearing some sort of turtle neck or plain shirt. The taste of her salty skin was something he felt he wouldn’t get enough of. 

   His hand that was under her shirt removed itself from her breast, a small whimper escaping as she watched his hand now play with the top of the offending cloth. He pulled the neckline down slowly to the side until one of her tits could spring free. Then his mouth quickly moved from the middle of her chest to her tit, the wet heat causing her to arch once again.

   Mc couldn’t believe she was this receptive to such actions. Maybe it was just the built up anticipation or the promise of what was to come, but fuck was she starting to drip with desire. His mouth around her nipple while he sucked playfully on her boob, tongue flicking and rolling around the bud as his piercing eyes were glancing up to watch her reactions. 

   Mihawk made a note to really test how sensitive the buds could be later. For now he was content sucking and licking at it like an animal, his other hand now returning to its original position under her shirt to pinch and grope. He could feel his cock already straining against the front of his pants and pressing against her leg.

   He was huge…and all Mc could think of was how he would be buried inside her soon enough. 

   With an exaggerated pop he let the tit fall from his mouth before sitting up, grabbing the bottom of her shirt and making her sit up just enough to peel it off. 

   Her back flopped back down against the bed, one arm going to cover her chest while the other hand covered her embarrassed face. He ‘tsked’ before grabbing both wrists, pinning them to the side despite her resistance.

   “And if you try to keep me from taking in this work of art that is your body, I’ll tie your hands to your ankles and use your cunt as my cocksleeve.”

   Was that a threat? It sounded more like a good time if she was being honest, but she knew the real threat was not actually fucking her and instead just letting himself sit deep inside without moving. That sounded…infuriating.

   “S..sorry sir! Yes, sir!” She whimpered as she looked up at him with those same bashful eyes as earlier, lower lip being worked between her teeth.

   “Color?”

   “Still green.”

   Without another word he let go of her wrist to sit up, eyes taking in the full sight of her. He gently ran a hand down her chest, fingers grazing across her nipple before ending at her hips as his eyes drug back to her face. 

   “Beautiful. I can’t wait to see you broken.”

    Mc thought that was amusing since she already felt a little mentally broken, face burning and a small pant on her lips as she looked up at him. Evidently he enjoyed the sight thoroughly, tongue peeking out to lick at his lower lip while a hand adjusted himself in his pants to try and get a little more comfortable. 

   Her eyes followed his hands and she felt thirsty, wanting to see what was in store for her.

   “You’ll have to beg for that. I plan on making you cum in other ways first.” 

   At his words his head ducked back down to start trailing kisses down her stomach, making sure every inch would be covered while his hands began to undo her pants. She wasn’t sure how he got them off so nimbly without moving, but soon enough cool air was around her legs and his hot mouth was kissing at her thigh. 

   His eyes fell on her panties and she realized just how much her pussy might have been soaking them. Embarrassed at his gaze she almost tried to close her legs or shift away, but one of his arms snaked under her thigh and tossed it over his shoulder while he settled between her legs. 

   His hungry eyes were now back on hers.

   “Color?” 

   “Green.” There was no hesitation this time, having learned her lesson from earlier. And, while she was embarrassed, she craved him.

   He smirked and rested his cheek against her leg, his facial hair tickling the skin lightly. 

   “Good girl. Maybe you can be taught…” 

   She would have responded with a snarky comment if his mouth wasn’t suddenly over her cunt, a long lick through the fabric causing her to yelp and shiver. On instinct her fingers dived into his hair, but the low groan that came from the man showed it didn’t bother him. His yellow eyes peered up at her from between her thighs that rested on his shoulders and she was torn between making eye contact and throwing her head back as his tongue pressed firmly against her clit before wiggling against it.

   Maybe it was how drawn out everything seemed to be or the fact she hadn’t gotten any in a while, but each touch from him was setting her on fire and he knew it. Long laps through her panties had her shifting down, wanting to feel more pressure against her cunt then what he was giving. He enjoyed the feeling of her plush thighs starting to shift and squeeze around his head, one hand moving just so he could grip the soft thigh while his eyes closed. Currently all he could taste was the damp fabric, but just the scent alone had his cock throbbing. 

   Slowly he then used his tongue to hook under the side of her panties, shifting them slightly just so he could get a small taste. The wetness on her lips touched his tongue and he realized just how desperate he was starting to become. It took all of his restraint to not rip the undies off for being in his way.

   His other hand snaked its way up to help pull the cloth to the side and he opened his eyes to see the prettiest glistening cunt he ever saw. The way the skin and hair shined with her juices under the faint light of the room felt like an invitation.

   “M…Mihawk. Stop staring.” Her voice snapped him from his thoughts. He hadn’t realized just how enraptured he was with her pussy. He smirked, glancing up at her to see a flushed panting face, one hand folded in front of her mouth while the other was still buried in his hair.

��  MC felt so exposed to him that it was embarrassing. The air around them felt so heavy now that she struggled to breathe, chest heaving up and down.

   “Sorry there, little rabbit. I can’t help myself when it comes to works of art.” His words sent shivers up her spine, though she tried to act tough and pout. 

   “That’s so corny.” She commented, just wanting to feel a little more in control. The deep chuckle that reverberated through his chest showed he took no offense to her words.

   “Perhaps. But it’s true. I’ll have to thank you for this meal.” It was odd seeing him with this level of playfulness. During their fights she always assumed his tone was a serious one, but the more she thought back on it she realized just how much he was toying with her and others. 

   “Well, you’re letting it get cold!” Another quip with a pout had him smirking up at her. He’d let her get away with being a little demanding. It was cute to see her embarrassment trying to shift to confidence and he wanted to encourage her telling him what she wanted.

   So, without missing a beat, his head lowered again and he kept his eyes trained on her while his lips wrapped around the hooded clit, gently sucking and giving kitten licks to it. 

   She gasped and yelped, not expecting to feel that much attention directly on the bundle of nerves. A heel dug into his back while her body arched from the bed.

   “Fuck! Too much!” It was almost painful to feel his tongue push past the hood and directly tease her. His facial hair scraped against the rest of her cunt and thighs and it felt just so fucking good. 

   He backed off from the bundle then, tongue pulling away from inside the hood and moving to circle it before another thick, long swipe ran up her lips. He found the sticky juices to be delicious and couldn’t resist letting his tongue dive into her a few times. He kept his eyes trained on her as the hand gripping his black locks pulled and guided him closer to her cunt. His hand that kept her undies neatly out of the way moved so he could rub his thumb over her clit, circling it much like his tongue had been doing before he decided to eat up more of his meal. 

   She felt him groan into her cunt, but no longer could she have her eyes open to watch. The pleasure was building and it was building quickly. It felt too much. Overwhelming. Perfect. She couldn’t help the string of curses falling from her lips as his tongue continued to dive into her pussy, curling and searching for that sweet textured spot that would make her see stars. 

   When he felt part of it, he smirked, his mouth shifting back to her clit while his hand moved to plunge two fingers into her sweet cunt, fingers curling to add pressure to her g-spot so he could milk it for all it was worth. He sucked and licked at the bundle of nerves as her body started to thrash a little, though he noticed in all her panting and “waits” not once did she say red or yellow. 

   A chord snapped within her and a gush all but drenched him and the bed. Her body was shaking, eyes hazy, and chest heaving for air. Her eyes drifted to see him sitting in between her thighs again, looming over her while a tongue swiped at his lip to gather more of the cum and squirt that now decorated his face.

   “Good girl. Ready for more?”

[slutforgarlogan]

Matching Wounds | James Patrick March x F! reader

Summary: James Patrick March killing you while hes fucking you (sorry guys i had a dream about it and had to write it)

A/N: this is so toned down i got too into the killing part the first time

Warnings: blood!, p in v smut, restraints, reader gets killed but shes in the cortez so she'll be conscious again guys its fine

You tug at the restraints, which are currently making sure both your hands and feet are secured onto the bed. Your chest is heaving and you're getting increasingly nervous, heartrate quickening and inducing you into a panicked state wondering what on earth had made you think this was a good idea.

When you had asked James to do the honours of killing you, so that you could be together forever, it hadn't occured to you that you'd actually have to go through the feeling of being killed. You had just wanted him to shoot you in the head or the heart or something, but it was never going to be that simple when you put your life in the hands of James Patrick March.

James on the other hand, felt the complete opposite to you in this very moment. He was absolutely ecstatic when you had asked him to kill you, and he ran through all the possible ways to do it. Choke you to death, cut you somewhere fatal, snap your neck, shoot you. But what he immediately knew for sure, was that he was going to fuck you while he did it.

After a few days of thinking, also giving you time to go back on the request, he had decided exactly what he was going to do. He was going to slit your throat, so you'd have a permanent wound that matched his own. Which is rather romantic in its own twisted, yet endearing way.

He watches you tug at the restraints that hold you down to the bed, laughing a little bit. "Don't worry darling, i promise this isn't going to be a bad experience for you. I'll make it quick, you wont even notice his happening"

You nod feverishly, though you were scared out of your mind right now, you could never deny the effect that he had on you, pussy clenching around air just from hearing his voice.

You try to relax your body against the sheets, keeping you eyes trained on him carefully, as he sheds himself of his 3 piece and boxers, and uncovering his open neck wound - which you'd only seen him do once before.

You're already squirming by the time hes hovering over you, soaked and desperate for his touch. You lock your gaze with his dark eyes - his gaze somewhat ominous, but loving at the same time.

"I love you, darling" He whispers to you, placing a soft kiss on your temple as he slips his dick into your soaking wet cunt. You whine a little at the stretch, and whisper back to him "I love you too, James"

His hips snap against yours roughly, as he snakes his hand between your bodys to toy with your clit, making you whimper underneath him. The moans that escape his parted lips sound glorious, as breathes out his words "fuck darling, you're always so good for me"

His skin is hot and sticky against yours, and the feel of him buried inside you makes your toes curl as you writhe and whimper beneath him.

He can see you're getting closer, your body giving him the same telltale signs as always. Clenching around his cock, squirming and shaking. The restraints that tie you to the bed leaving deep marks on your wrists at the way you're thrashing beneath him.

As your eyes roll back and you throw your head back, James reaches his free hand over to the bedside table, grabbing his knife and dragging it across your throat as he feels you coat his dick in your release.

He lets out a gutteral groan at the sight in front of him. Your fucked out expression, blood pouring down your neck, trickling down your breasts, and he runs a thumb over your nipple, smearing your blood around it as he waits for you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Taglist: @lacucarachapisser @the-ultimate-theatre-kid @bluerthanvelvet444 @lvxybby

[thurio-edau]

"It was her," Aiden yelled out, trying to get them to understand him. He couldn't get that bloody image of Ashlyn out of his mind. "I swear I saw her this time!"

"Cut it out! This is the fifth time you thought something you've seen is Ashlyn!" And of course Tyler didn't understand him. He never understood.

Aiden was getting mad. He lost control of his emotions without the smiling mask he always wore. "Are you calling me insane!? I know what I saw! I'm not delusional like your m--"

His eyes widened as he realized what he said, already too late. These were his friends, his found family, looking at him as if he was a monster.

"...I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Tyler didn't accept the apology though. He pulled Taylor from the arm and left, he couldn't stand Aiden especially lately. It was his fault. He always messed stuff up. He messed it up again.

"Damn it!" Ashlyn yelled to herself in her mind, waking up in the boring facility room yet again. She was so close to getting there... But she failed.

All she could do was talk inside her mind. Not even out loud, she couldn't let Alex and whoever else was there suspect anything. Now she needed an excuse to have a first aid kit in her room. She wasn't sure if she could walk outside and search for anything in the phantom dimension from how heavily injured she was. Yeah, she had Alex's card thanks to a trick she did, but she didn't have anything in real life except this room.

The walls were plain white. Lifeless and tired, just like her. She missed the braids her mom did each morning. She missed her father's awful jokes. She missed the graveyard, she missed her friends.

She missed that one smile.

The pain in her back and arms were obvious to her. Phantom claws were sharp for sure, she bled terribly in the phantom dimension. And Ashlyn woke up in the facility room yet again... All the distance she went was trashed.

They told her it was a fungus. That her parents knew she was here. That her friends knew she was here. That they were okay with it. They were okay with it. They were okay with her being kept away. They were okay with not getting to see her. They were okay with it.

Tch. Such bullshit. She didn't believe it, at all. It ate away at her, she didn't know how Tyler was right now. How Aiden was right now. A tree and a ceiling. Maybe they were fine. Tyler was alright. Aiden woke up okay. She still felt the way she clung to him once they woke up.

She had to get back. It was so close, why not get closer? One hour was the preparation... If she prepared the night before, she'd have six hours on the road. Right. She could do this. She was Ashlyn Banner, of course she could do it... Well, she needed to take care of her scars first because she could pass out. Every single night was important now, she was practically only alive for 7 hours in the phantom dimension. She felt dead in real life, 24 hours of doing nothing.

"I need to hurt myself somehow... So that I can have some kind of bandaging." Ashlyn thought.

But how? She didn't have a knife to injure herself with. And no way they'd just bring her one upon request. And trying anything drastic was too risky. Injuring her foot or legs were risky too... She needed that to get to her friends. But she definitely needed the bandaging, because her scars were too intense from the phantom claws.

Putting together a plan wasn't as hard as she thought.

im okay guys dont worry i wrote this out of free will yes sorry it sucks it was the free will

its just buildup rn honestly i literally didnt expect to make this an actual fic but here we go i guess

smoke signals part 2 . part 1 here

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 7]

Summary: Mary is in danger, walking into the lion's den with nothing but a pocket knife. Forrest is on his way, but will it be too late…?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, themes of abandonment, difficult childhood, threat, violence, blood

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Ladies, gents and enby darlings, I need to draw your attention to this stunning artwork I commissioned of Mary from the unbelievably talented @ghuleh-draws... I cannot believe how gorgeous he is and I could talk about it for hours. Please, go and show her and the art some love. Hopefully it might heal some of the trauma I've caused with both last chapter and this one... And once again, a big thank you to @angellayercake & @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading this!

Mary’s arms ached, and yet, he continued with his work. Mr. Rogers had started to lose some of his dexterity, his arthritic hands no longer able to do as much as they used to and so, Mary’s workload had as good as doubled. Furniture in need of a new lease of life had begun to pile up in the workshop, and school prevented him from making the dent in the work he needed to. Late evenings were becoming later and later, and yes, Mary’s grades had started to suffer.  

But it was becoming impossible to ignore the financial situation he found himself in, and – even at sixteen years old – the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. There was no choice here. If he wanted to move himself and his mother into a real home and out of the scummy little motel on the outskirts of town, they had found themselves in, he had to do what he had to do; with very little time to be the kid he still was...  

He’d stopped glancing at the clock on the wall of the workshop long ago, well aware midnight had come and gone. It wasn’t the ideal place to be on a Friday night, when all his friends were out enjoying their freedom. Still, he continued to sand down the wood of the dresser he was working on tonight despite the aching. If he could just get the sanding and the first layer of staining done tonight, it would be dry by the time he came back into the workshop on Sunday and he could spend at least Saturday evening with his friends like he’d planned. If one night a week was all the free time Mary would get, he’d just have to be grateful for that.  

Mary turned off the sander and swiped his hand across the top of the dresser, feeling how smooth it now was to the touch – no ridges, no scratches and totally even. Mr Rogers himself couldn’t do a better job, he was sure of it. And so, he pulled his dust mask from his face, letting it hang beneath his chin as he put the sander away and reached for the brushes and varnish.  

As he did, his phone began to vibrate on the tool bench, violently rattling against the metal. He stared at it for a moment, part of him wanting to ignore it and continue his work. Another 45 minutes or so, and he could head back to the motel and get some rest. But it vibrated incessantly, until he had no choice but to put down the brush and tin in his hand with a loud thud and answer the damn thing. 

“Yeah?” he spoke into the receiver, his tone dejected. He knew who was calling at this hour. He always knew. 

“Yeah, hey kid. Me again. Look, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to come and get her. I’ve cut her off but she won’t go.” That voice belonged to Manny, the bartender at Ace’s Taproom. He sounded as exhausted as Mary did. 

Mary sighed into the phone, rubbing at his brow as if it would relieve the pressure that had built there.  

“Can you just... I don’t know, can it wait an hour?” Just enough time to get this layer of varnish done... Then he could still head out tomorrow night, his plans intact. 

“She’s already causing a bit of a scene, kid. The sooner you can get here, the better.” His tone was apologetic – even Manny knew this burden was too much for a kid to take. But who else was there? 

“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks, Manny,” he relented, already untying the tool belt from around his hips with his free hand.  

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll see ya soon,” Manny consoled just before he hung up. Mary dropped his phone back onto the bench with a loud slam, running his dusty fingers over his face and taking a deep, steadying breath. This was happening too often, almost every damn night. It had to stop, but what else could he do? He’d just have to keep saving her. 

When Mary pulled into the parking lot in Mr Rogers’ old van that he had kindly gifted him – for the sole purpose of collecting and delivering the pieces of furniture they worked on at the shop, since he could no longer lift them in his old age – he took a second to himself, collecting his thoughts and preparing himself for a confrontation he knew was bound to happen.  

He got out, heading towards the sign that flickered in neon red in the shape of an ace of spades. At this hour, there were very few people on the streets, much less left in the old taproom but still, he could feel the shame creeping in.  

Inside, he spotted her immediately, slouched over the bar on her usual stool nursing an empty glass with an incredibly pale drop of amber liquid in, as if the ice that had inhabited the last dregs of her scotch had melted and watered it down. Manny stood at the other end of the bar, talking to one of the other regulars but he shot Mary a sad yet appreciative smile across the room. Mary just lifted his hand in an almost-wave, and headed over to the bar. 

“Ma?” he called out gently. She barely stirred, her head laying on her arm like she was asleep. He shook her gently, pushing her hair from her face. “Ma, come on. Let’s go.”  He pulled her shoulders into an upright position, her head lolling as she came to.  

“N-no, I’m not done yet, baby,” she slurred, her tongue as drunk as her mind. 

“Yeah you are, they’re shutting up soon. We gotta get home,” he encouraged, trying to help her down from the bar stool. Her head gained its bearings, and she caught sight of Manny at the other end of the bar, as well as the other patron, watching the saddest scene unfold in front of them both.  

“Th-this prick... Said he wouldn’t serve me no more,” she rambled, pointing at Manny with an arm too weak to stay elevated. “What you starin’ at, huh?”  

“Ma, come on... Let’s just go, yeah?” Mary’s cheeks were heating up with embarrassment.  

“Don’t need your pity, dickhead!” she shouted, still slurring as if her tongue were too big for her mouth.  

“Go home,” he told her firmly, trying not to rise to her insults. She flipped him off, while Mary wrapped her other arm around his shoulders and hoisted her to her feet, slowly taking her outside.  

As soon as the door shut behind them, his mum pushed Mary from under her and tried to stand on her own two feet, stumbling a little in the process. But she found her footing, while Mary stayed close enough to catch her if she did fall.  

“Idiot boy, ruining my fun,” she mumbled. That was like a knife to the chest... 

“Either me or the cops, Ma,” he sighed. “Let’s just get home.” 

“Home? HA!” she hollered, “Where’s that then?” Mary just rolled his eyes, taking her arm gently and guiding her back in the direction of the van. Her walking reminded him of a newborn foal, so unsteady as she took one step at a time and yet she tried to get him off her the whole way, unwilling to admit she needed help.  

“Ma, this has gotta stop. This ain’t healthy...” he began, starting a losing battle. She stopped and slapped her hands down by her sides.  

“Don’t start with me, Mary,” she warned, but he was determined. 

“You’re drinking our savings, Ma! How are we ever gonna get outta that motel when you’re spending it faster than I can make it?” He raised his voice, his frustration evident.  

“You said you were working overtime!” she argued, as if that were any real argument at all. Mary was a 16 year old boy; his only job should be a few hours a week at most, if at all. Not every hour he could squeeze in, and certainly not to pay for her alcoholism.  

“Yeah, to get us a new place! But I can’t make enough if you’re just gonna spend it. Do I have to stop giving you money for you to stop? That’s for groceries, Ma. For shit you need!”  

“Don’t you curse at your mother, boy...” she practically growled. 

“Maybe if you acted like my mother-” It was a low blow, but not entirely unwarranted. His mother interrupted him with a sharp slap to his cheek, the suddenness stunning Mary into silence. His cheek stung, but his heart even more so. She’d never raised a hand to him before.  

“M-Mary...” she stuttered, her eyes beginning to fill with tears as the realisation sank in that she’d just slapped her son. Her little boy... Mary took a step back as she reached for him, letting her stumble and regain her balance again. “I’m sorry...” She tried to grab at him, to hold him and stroke his hair and desperately apologise but he shoved her off, and she stumbled to the ground in a heap. 

“I’m done. Get yourself home, Ma.” He turned quickly back to his van, his hands shaking with emotion he tried to hold back. His keys jangled in his hands as he unlocked the door with the press of a button, and he climbed into the seat with a slam of the door.  

His cheek still stung with the force of her slap, his eyes welling up as he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth could have splintered. He squeezed his eyes shut and hit his head back against the plush cushion of the headrest several times as he slapped at the edge of the steering wheel, releasing all of his hurt, his anger in an outburst he contained to the cabin of the van now that he was alone.  

Taking some deep breaths, he calmed himself to a point where he could wipe the fresh tears on his cheeks and shoved his keys into the ignition. But he paused before he turned them, the engine staying dormant, and glanced down into his wing mirror only to see his mother still in a heap on the floor. Her shoulders shook violently, her sobs audible even from here in the cab. His eyes lingered there, unable to tear them away as his chest ached. She looked so helpless, so utterly destroyed by what she’d done but more so, what had been done to her... 

“God fucking damnit,” Mary muttered, climbing back out of the van and walking back over to her with caution. Of course he did... How could he leave her? His own mother, lying on the cold tarmac of a parking lot, in this state? Mary was all she had now, their shitty little apartment snatched from them, abandoned once again by anyone and everyone. For years it had always been Mary and her, against the world – that couldn’t change now, when he was all she had left.  

Without a word, he lifted her again, her sobs quietening when she felt his hands under her arms and realised he’d come back for her. Her expression changed from anguish to surprise with an essence of gratitude and apology, allowing her broken son to pick up the pieces as he helped her back into the van. He took great care with every move, gently letting her get comfortable as he leaned over to strap the seatbelt across her, laying her head against the seat while she sobbed silently and hiccupped from time to time.  

As he drove her home, she reached for the radio to flick it on, getting comfortable in the seat and using the sound to try and distract from the situation the pair of them found themselves in. Mary stayed quiet the whole time, keeping a watchful eye on his mother as she seemed to drift between sleep and reality now she was bundled into a warm and comfy seat. 

“You used to tell me... I would hear you on there someday,” she slurred as they got closer to the edge of town, pointing weakly at the radio with a fond but weary smile. “My boy, ‘the rock star’,” she giggled. Mary looked ahead at the road, trying not to entertain the drunk rambles nor the dreams he’d squashed for himself with the weight of his responsibility. His one and only goal right now was to get them back on their feet – and even that felt unattainable. 

Back at the motel, he watched his mother struggle with her dexterity to fit the key into their room door. Eventually, he gently took the keys from her and let them both inside, guiding her as had become their routine. He let her sit on the bed – the one they now had to share under the circumstances – and crouched at her feet to take her shoes off for her, placing them one by one on the floor.  

He helped her take off her jacket, laying her down gently on the pillow while she curled in on herself in a foetal position. Mary headed into the bathroom with an empty glass, filling it with tap water and bringing it back out to his mother’s side of the bed. He crouched down next to her, urging her to drink. She did, small sips at a time. 

“Ma, please... you gotta get better. We need to get outta here,” he said softly.  

“I was getting better...” she sniffled.  

“I know, Ma. You can get better again,” he encouraged, but there was a small part of him that worried she never would. “You just gotta move on from-” 

“Stop,” she begged. “I don’t wanna hear it...” But Mary persisted. She had to hear him. 

“You can’t let this shit stop you. You’re stronger than that. We’ve been through worse,” he insisted. Her head shot up from the pillow, her gaze stoney and angry.  

“You have no idea, Mary... What it’s like to have the world promised to you and then ripped out from under you.” She spoke through gritted teeth. 

“You’re worth a lot more than that fuckin-” 

“Enough!” she yelled, rolling over onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We could have had everything, if you had just...” 

“Me?” Mary interrupted, instantly offended at her accusation. “What the fuck did I do?” 

“Your attitude, Mary,” she shot her glare back at him. “Always fucking attitude.” 

There was no chance she was blaming him for all this... This was neither his, nor his mother’s fault. There was someone to blame, but in their absence the only person close enough to his mother was Mary, and the only person she could lash out at was him. She couldn’t possibly mean what she was saying, and yet, it still stung all the same.  

“Go to sleep,” he told her, his voice hardened and stern as if he were the adult, and she the child. “You’re just talking pure shit now. It ain’t my fault he lied to you.” 

“He didn’t lie-” 

“He did, Ma. He lied to you, and everyone else. He’s a piece of shit like everyone else in this washed up town!” Mary raised his voice, his anger at every injustice he faced from everyone around him mounting higher and higher. “I’m fucking sick of it, here! I wanna get us out, but you’re too busy drinking every dime I fucking make to notice that I’m fucking drowning!” 

Mary stood up suddenly, smacking at the shitty motel phone on the dresser beside the bed. His mother sat up, steadying herself from the headrush and the room spinning around her.  

“I’m doing my best, Mary!” she yelled.  

“Are you? Cause your best was getting clean eight months ago. Your best was no alcohol, getting yourself a job, being a normal fucking Mom! But now you’re back here, and it’s me who’s gotta look after you!”  

“I-I... I have an addiction, it’s not that easy-” 

“You’re not even trying! You’ve fucking given up, and why? Just ‘cause some fuckhead promised you the world with a cherry on top and it turns out, he was lying like every other dickhead?” Mary was going too far, but with a lack of a proper outlet, being forced to grow up quickly and fend for the both of them, every bottled up thought and emotion was spilling from him without restriction. 

His mother sat on the bed, watching her son thread his fingers through his hair in frustration and take some deep breaths to try and steady him – but they weren’t working.  

“Y’know what? Fuck this. You call me when you decide to be a mother again.”  

And with that, Mary grabbed his keys and stormed out of the motel room, slamming the door with so much force that the cheap painting on the wall fell and shattered behind him.  

Despite picking up his keys, he bypassed the van and kept walking, his legs taking him further into town without a destination in mind. He’d roam aimlessly if he needed to, but he needed to let off some damn steam, to expel some of this fucking rage that he’d imprisoned for too long.  

As he went, he found himself kicking over trashcans, the metal rattling along the sidewalk. He used his keys to scratch the sides of cars he stomped past – the expensive ones, mostly. The ones owned by people in this town with too much money, greedy fat cats with more of it than sense. On his keys, he had a swiss army knife keychain, and one particular car – a very expensive black SUV – he shoved the blade attachment into the tyre deep enough that it deflated, high pitched whistle getting quieter and quieter as he walked further into town.  

By the time he was in the town centre, he was starting to see a few people out and about, shoving shoulder to shoulder into them with a look of pure thunder on his face. Most people simply yelled out at him to watch where he was going, or called him a punk or other variations of ‘delinquent’.  

‘Yeah’, Mary thought, ‘that’s what you all fucking think of me’. A town full of people who only knew him for his namesake – a deadbeat father and a drunken mother. Why wouldn’t Mary follow suit? If people thought that of him already, maybe he should just live up to the expectations; become the stereotype and stop giving a shit about anyone and everyone around him. 

Why should he try anymore? 

But he shoved at the wrong shoulder outside a pool hall, two kids Mary knew as seniors from his high school stood outside with cigarettes in one hand and beer bottles gained with fake IDs in another. 

Corbin and Asher.  

 “Hey! Hey, fuckface!” Mary heard from behind him. He kept walking, too angry to give a fuck. But they followed. “Mary fuckin’ Goore, huh? You piece of shit, think you can slam into me and walk the fuck away?”  

Mary didn’t even look back, but they caught up...  

Corbin grabbed the back of his jacket and slammed him face first up against the shutters of a closed store, the metal rattling under the force. In an instant, he spun Mary around, slamming him again and holding him there.  

“You got a problem, kid?” he asked, cocky and ready for a fight. Mary struggled against his hold, trying to shove at his arms and kick at his shins.  

“Get the fuck off me, man,” he yelled. “You were in the way.” Corbin laughed condescendingly, looking back at Asher who stood there with both of their beers in his hands smirking the whole time.  

“This kid thinks he owns the sidewalk, Ash. From what I’ve heard, he belongs in the fucking gutter...” Corbin landed a fist to Mary’s gut, Mary folding up like a ball of paper as he coughed. “Maybe we’ll put him there.” 

He dragged Mary by his jacket and threw him to the ground, watching him roll around in pain until he tried to get up. Corbin raised his foot as if he were about to stomp on him, but Mary rolled to the side just in time to avoid it and instead reached out and pulled on his ankle, toppling him to the ground with a loud thud too.  

Corbin was older, heavier, but Mary was younger and nimble – quickly he straddled Corbin and started throwing punches, every ounce of anger inside him forcing his fists into Corbin’s face who was yelling at Asher to do something, to stop standing around like a fucking moron and get this ‘little shit’ off him before he ‘beat the crap outta him’. 

Before Asher could get close, Mary was being dragged off Corbin by someone else – someone in blue. Before he knew it he was being shoved against the hood of a car, his wrists clamped together in cold metal rings as the cop who’d stumbled on the scene slapped the handcuffs on him. His partner restrained Corbin just the same, slamming him on the other side of the hood.  

One of them called for another car, unwilling to shove both Mary and Corbin into the back of the same cop car lest they kill each other on their way to the station, but Mary was thrown in first, and taken in for processing.  

“Mary Goore, huh?” was the welcome he got when escorted inside by the Chief, sat behind the processing desk on a late shift. “Was only a matter of time,” he scoffed. Mary’s blood boiled at that. A few minutes later, as Mary was getting processed, another cop rolled in with Corbin in handcuffs. Immediately, Mary tried to lunge towards him, both of them hurling insults at each other while restrained.  

“Pembrook, get this kid in a fuckin’ cell to cool off!” the Chief yelled at the officer restraining Mary, who did as instructed and hauled him off to a solitary cell.  

“No, no wait! I get a phone call!” Mary said, running back up to the locked door as the officer shut it behind him.  

“You’ll get your phone call when you calm down, kid,” the officer shouted back through the door. It was at least another hour before Mary got his phone call...  

Not that it did him any good. He tried both his mother’s cell, and their motel phone – no answer. Perhaps he’d fucked up the phone when he smacked it off the side table, but still, his mother wasn’t answering her cell, probably passed out for the night.  

Mary was left alone, sat in a solitary cell with fresh bruises and cuts, until the sun had long since risen. He curled up on the bench at the back of the cell, cold and metal and uncomfortable, and barely got a wink of sleep. 

“Goore, let’s go,” he heard through the hatch in the door at God knows what time. He rolled over and sat upright, wiping the exhaustion from his face as the officer – a new one, only having just started his shift – opened the cell door. Behind him, was perhaps the only person Mary could really depend on at all. 

Forrest.  

“You can collect your things from the registration desk. Don’t find yourself back here again, kid. You got lucky, this time...”  

Mary just nodded meekly as the officer turned and walked off, the door wide open and Forrest stood there looking at him with an expression of nothing but worry.  

“Corbin got out last night, heard you were still in here. Got my parents to pull some strings,” he explained with a shrug. “Shit, Mare, you alright?”  

Forrest stepped into the cell and placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders, inspecting him. Mary just nodded again, both too exhausted and too somber to form actual words.  

“I’m gonna kick Corbin’s fuckin’ ass for this,” he grumbled. “I’ll set his eyebrows on fire in chem. He’s the worst fuckin’ lab partner anyway.” Mary huffed out a barely-there laugh at that, his shoulders shaking in Forrest’s hands.  

Forrest was a senior, like Corbin and Asher. He knew they had a reputation, always getting into shit like this but he never thought he’d see Mary heading down the same path. He was the only one who saw what Mary went through, the work he put in at the workshop, the nights he spent nursing his alcoholic mother. He’d taken him under his wing a little, made him one of the gang and tried to offer him some respite from the slurry of shit he found himself in.  

Getting the money from his parents to bail Mary out wasn’t difficult; they threw money at him like it was bird seed on the steps of a cathedral, but it was for that reason he knew loneliness just as much as Mary. On opposite ends of the spectrum financially but somehow, they shared a common ground in just how shitty their relationships with their parents were.  

It shouldn’t have been him who got Mary out of here. It didn’t matter to him who started the damn fight or why; Mary had been through enough as it was, and an outburst like this was simply a ticking time bomb. What bothered Forrest more than anything, was knowing it had to be him walking him out of that police station and not the one person Mary loved most in this world, the one who was supposed to love, protect and care for him. 

This wasn’t the last time he would collect Mary from a cell; there were more outbursts to come, more frustrations and stupid mistakes but if he had to, Forrest would be there for them all. He’d never abandon this kid who cared so deeply about people and the injustices they would face. Mary could have his rebellious phase, get it out of his system – hell, Forrest certainly did, and he wasn’t sure he was even out of it yet. But he needed someone to lean on, someone to reign him in when he started to go too far.  

That night was Mary’s rock bottom, but Forrest jumped down into the pit with him, armed with ropes and twigs, ready to build a ladder to get them both out.  

You were pacing outside the convenience store, desperately calling Forrest with your groceries in one hand, cell phone pressed tightly to your ear in the other. He didn’t pick up the first time, probably ignoring a number he didn’t know but you were getting more and more desperate. The second time you dialled, he picked up after a few rings. 

“Yello?” he answered, chipper and riding off the high of a show well played.  

“Forrest?! Oh my god, thank fuck for that. Listen, it’s me... Mary gave me your number,” you rushed out, barely intelligible at the speed you spoke.  

“Duchess?” he questioned, using the nickname the boys had seemed to settle on when they realised you weren’t going to castrate Jed for creating it. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Mary’s... I don’t know, he said to call you! I’m at the store, he told me not to come back. Something’s wrong, Forrest... He said it wasn’t safe?” you panicked.  

“Shit...” he muttered. You heard scrambling on the end of the line, like he was getting up and grabbing a few things around him and stuffing them into a backpack. “Listen to me, you don’t go back to that apartment, okay? I’ll be there soon, one of us will call you when it’s safe. Just stay there.” 

“Forrest what’s going on?” Your voice had raised an octave in pitch, your cheeks burning from holding back tears.  

“Those guys at the bar... They know him, they’ve hated him for years and they threatened him. He just needs some back up, it’ll be alright. Just stay, okay? Promise me.” 

You wanted to promise that, but how could you stay there and not try to help Mary? If those guys had turned up at his apartment, he was outnumbered and if nothing else you could act as a distraction. You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and Forrest stopped rustling about his apartment needing to hear confirmation. He couldn’t be worrying about you too when his best friend was in danger. 

“Duchess?” he yelled into the phone.  

“Y-yeah, yeah... Sorry. I’ll stay,” you told him, still unsure if you were telling the truth.  

“Good, just wait for the call. He’ll be fine,” he assured, but the panic in his voice betrayed him too. He hung up without another word, leaving you stood in the street in the early hours of the morning, absolutely petrified for your boyfriend...  

Could you really stay put when he was just a few blocks away? When there was potentially something you could do to help him? You supposed you’d just have to... 

The door creaked as it slowly swung open, betraying Mary right from the start. If someone was in his apartment still, they’d have heard that... No doubt about it. And so, his grip on the swiss army knife tightened, and the steps he took became slower, steadier so he’d be able to plant his feet should he be ambushed.  

Stepping into his apartment, it was still dark. No lights had been turned on, just the orange glow from the street lamps outside streaming in through the windows. He listened out for any sign of movement, but nothing. To his left, nobody in the kitchen... But things were out of place, to put it lightly. Drawers hung open, cupboard doors almost ripped from their hinges. Cutlery, food and crockery lay strewn about the floor and countertops, like it had been ransacked.  

Mary proceeded with caution, noticing that the floor of his apartment was covered in his things... Records, clothes, blankets and pillows; even his tatty little guitar was on the ground in the middle of the floor, the neck broken and strings snapped. He wasn’t sure whether to feel rage or despair, but both hit him like a freight train.  

Slowly, he stepped a little further to peer around the corner that led to the bedroom and bathroom to his right, and then to his left, around the partition between the kitchen and living space. That’s when he noticed.  

A figure, sat on his couch with their back to him. He knew who it was immediately. 

Mary planted his feet, readjusting his grip on the blade in his hand. He was preparing himself for any sudden movement, every single one of his senses heightened. Should he be ambushed from another direction, he was ready.  

“Where is she?” The shadow asked, their voice low and eerily calm. Mary stood his ground; he was in no mood for games. 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” he asked, ignoring their question. The figure straightened up where they sat, no longer hunching forwards as they studied something on the coffee table. They took a deep breath, before answering with another question. 

“Where... is my daughter?” The shadow turned their head towards where Mary stood, between the outer wall of his bathroom and the entryway to his kitchen. The street lighting gave just enough of itself to illuminate the stark features of the man in front of him, the hardened glare pointed his way.  

The Mayor. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary lied, without much conviction at all but he already knew there was no point. But he wasn’t giving him any information. He could go fuck himself. 

The Mayor cracked a grin; a sadistic little grin, as if he were some kind of comic book villain spoiling for a fight. “Now I know that ain’t true, so you’re gonna tell me where she is, I’m gonna go get her, and I’m gonna deal with you later.”  

“I don't know where she is,” Mary spat, his resentment and hatred for this snake barely contained. 

The Mayor sighed dramatically, slapping his hands to his knees and standing up. He turned towards Mary then, folding his arms across his chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, top button undone now he was technically off the clock. But he still wore his expensive suit, save for tie and blazer, as if it would intimidate Mary somehow.  

“Should have expected this from you, Mary,” he chuckled, “Defiance. Attitude. Even coming in here with a damn weapon.” He nodded towards the swiss army knife in Mary’s ever tightening grip.  

“Someone broke into my apartment. Gotta defend myself,” he stated plainly.  

“Nah,” the Mayor scoffed, “it was only a matter of time before you got yourself in trouble again. Cops of this town were always too good to you, lettin’ you off too easy.” 

As if Mary had ever done anything to hurt anybody... Sure he’d been picked up a handful of times for graffiti, or destruction of public property, that one fight with Corbin and Asher – which technically, he didn’t start... But Mary stayed quiet, staring at the threat in front of him just waiting for him to try something. 

“You know,” he started, turning back to the coffee table, “maybe I’m forgetting my manners, huh? Maybe we should catch up first?” He bent down, picking something up from the table and turning back. In his hands, was the photo frame Mary kept on his windowsill...  

The Mayor looked down at it, studying it with a smirk. “She always was a looker, huh? How’s she doing these days?” 

Mary saw red, desperately fighting every instinct in his body that wanted nothing more than to tear into this vile man, rip him limb from limb and cast him to the wolves. His already injured knuckles turned white, the wounds splitting back open as his fists balled up tighter, the handle of the blade in his right hand digging painfully into his palm. But he stayed grounded. He would not make the first move. 

“Get the fuck outta my apartment,” Mary warned. The Mayor was testing his patience, and it had already snapped once tonight.  

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where my daughter is.” His smirk dropped, along with the frame in his hands. He disregarded it without a care in the world, letting the glass crack as it hit the ground with a thud. Mary winced at the sound. 

“Wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” he lied. He was adamant he would never tell him where you were, never give you up if he beat him into a pile of broken bones. You’d been free of him for less than a week, but already you’d come out of your shell so much, found yourself. How could he ever put you back in the box they’d kept you in all those years? 

“Do you think you’re good for my daughter, hm?” the Mayor took a step closer, “You think she’d want someone like you?”  

Mary ignored him. He had to. This was just a manipulation tactic, something to throw him off and degrade him like everybody always had.  

“You’re the scum of this town, Goore. Everybody knows it.” He stepped closer again, circling Mary with slow and calculated steps like a panther on the hunt. “You, and your drunken whore of a mother, your deadbeat father... You were fucking destined for the gutter.”  

Mary watched him as he came to stand in front of him again, just a little taller than Mary but puffing his chest out as if to intimidate him. Mary stayed painfully still, grinding his teeth in rage. One wrong move, he was poised and ready to defend himself.  

“You think you know me... You don’t know shit,” he taunted, “But I know you...” 

“Oh-ho-ho," the Mayor laughed, “You do, do you? This should be good.” 

“Yeah... I know you’re a filthy letch who takes everything from good, honest people and lines his pockets with it.” Mary was getting cocky now, arching his eyebrow and tilting his chin up in defiance as a sadistic little smile crossed his split lip. “I know you used to be a good guy, once upon a time. Beautiful family, on top of the world...”  

The Mayor barely reacted, pushing his tongue into his cheek and looking down at Mary with the same arrogance he always exuded.  

“I know you trapped your perfect little wife up in your ivory fuckin’ tower while you flashed your shit about town like a damn Kennedy brother...” 

The Mayor’s eyes darkened. Now Mary was getting to him. 

“I know you trained your precious little girl like a damn puppy her whole life, only to have her grow up to resent every little fuckin’ thing about you...”  

Mary was about to cross a line. He was about to say something just to get a rise out of him, just to make him snap. He’d never talk about you like this and mean it, but for all the pain and misery this man had caused people through the years, he deserved something that cut him to the bone. 

“You repelled her so much that she crawled out of her pink, frilly cage... and spread her fuckin’ legs to the town scum...” Mary laughed, smug and satisfied when he saw the way the Mayor’s hands tightened around his biceps, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  

Mary took a step closer to him – a stupid move, but he was oozing cockiness, no longer thinking clearly and only wanting to cause as much fucking damage to this prick’s ego as he damn well could. He knew it would turn his stomach to know his daughter was friends with Mary, let alone willingly fucking him.  

Mary looked the Mayor up and down, smirking with barely contained glee as he leaned into him to deliver the final blow. 

“She calls me daddy now...” he whispered, staring directly into his eyes with an impish sparkle in his own.  

The Mayor’s eyes raked over Mary, sizing him up, looking him up and down while he chewed on his cheek, the disgust on his face twisting and morphing into a vile expression of hatred. Before Mary knew what was happening, the blade in his fist was knocked clear across the room, his balance thrown off as two large hands wrapped around his throat. He was spun around and pushed backwards into the small kitchen space, tripping over the mess left there as he tried desperately to fight the power of the much older, much bigger man attacking him.  

Soon enough his lower back was being slammed into the edge of a counter, the thumbs of the hands around his throat pressing down on his airways while Mary did what he could to fight back, clawing and scratching at the Mayor. 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, spots starting to flicker across his vision as that murderous glare stared back at him. The thought briefly crossed Mary’s mind that he might not stop... Once he was rendered unconscious, there was nothing to stop him from taking the life he’d worked so hard to rebuild over and over again away from him. Just as he’d found a semblance of happiness, too... The Mayor was going to take it all away from him. Again. 

The Mayor’s grip adjusted to just one hand tightening around his throat, the other pulling back and coming crashing down on Mary’s cheek with a blow that reopened old wounds of the evening. Mary was going to lose this fight, there was no contest. Blow after blow landed to his face as the Mayor squeezed the life out of him... 

“Daddy!”  

The Mayor snapped out of his trance, his head whipping behind him with his fist pulled back in preparation for another strike, the other still choking Mary. You looked on in pure horror at what you’d walked into... You had expected to come back to a dangerous situation, but not one that included the attempted murder of your boyfriend at the hands of your own father.  

With the Mayor’s attention on you, however brief, Mary took advantage and lifted his foot to push at the Mayor’s hip quickly, twisting him just enough that he lost his grip on him, and Mary fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and spluttering as the oxygen rushed back into his lungs. It was all too much all at once, the sudden rush of blood back to his head and the pain of the punches hitting him at the same time and he rolled and writhed on the floor as he tried to regain control of his body. But the spasms continued, and he could barely see nor hear anything while he squirmed at the Mayor’s feet.  

You rushed into the kitchen, attempting to bypass your father and to immediately help Mary but you were stopped, a hand wrapped tightly around your bicep and attempting to drag you away. Of course, you fought back, smacking at your father’s chest and kicking at him as if it would help.  

“Let go! Get the fuck off of me! GET OFF!” you screamed over and over, hoping someone might hear from another apartment and come to your aid. 

“You forget your place, girl,” your father snarled, barely affected by you beating at him. You managed to wrench your arm free of his grip and take a step back, your father’s attention on you and you alone while Mary still coughed on the floor, almost vomiting with the way his chest heaved.  

“If you think it’s with you, you’re sorely fucking mistaken,” you growled. “What the hell are you doing?”  

“Teaching this little fucker a lesson in manners,” he spat, pointing down at Mary who spat a glob of red tinted spit to the floor – a biproduct of the hits to the face he had taken. He’d regained enough composure to sit himself upright against the cupboard, letting his head hit the wood as he glared up at your father, chest still heaving. 

Only now did your father take a good look at you, seeing how different you looked in a short denim skirt, a fishnet top, the make-up you’d chosen to wear over what you had always been told to. Once again, his expression clouded into disgust. 

“What has he done to you?” he asked, looking you up and down.  

“Him? You think I’d jump from a life where I’m controlled by a man into another one?” you shrieked. Your father pretended not to hear you, instead leaning down to quickly grab Mary by his shirt and heave him to his feet, holding him against the cabinets again. Mary didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. He was still in too much pain, his body not responding to his commands.  

“You take my daughter from me, and dress her up like one of your scummy little whores?” he screamed into Mary’s face while all he could do was wince and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to steady the swimming sensation in his head.  

You rushed towards them, pushing at your father until you could weave yourself between the two of them. Mary barely kept himself upright against the counter, but you reached a hand behind you anyway, securing it in his and holding it tightly against your back.  

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” you warned.  

“You wanna protect this little shit? Why? You think you love him?” your father mocked, scoffing at the mere thought of it. “I couldn’t quite believe it when I finally got it out of your mother... As soon as she told me she saw you get into a shitty black van, I fucking knew... I thought ‘no, no way my little girl is that fucking stupid’. Of all the decent guys in this town, you choose this?” 

The anger you felt as he berated you, insulting not only Mary but you and your intelligence too... You had no time to be angry at your mother, knowing what your father was like and how he could manipulate anybody to get what he wanted out of them. All of your energy was directed into protecting Mary, standing between him and your father and proving to them both you weren’t backing down. Gone were the days of obeying and staying in your lane. If Mary had taught you anything in your short time together, it was that you could be yourself and stand up for what you believe in unapologetically. And you believed in Mary... 

“He’s a better man than you give him credit for,” you seethed, squeezing his hand behind your back. Your father laughed maniacally at you, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.  

“Really? This little shit? If you think he’s any good for you, you’re dumber than I ever imagined. You come from a good, respectable family. This whole fucking town knows me, loves me, and all I ever did was give you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter... But you throw it back in my face?” he argued, throwing his hands around as he yelled. But you stood your ground. “You know where he comes from, right? Deadbeat fucking dad who drank and gambled his money away. A whore of a mother who also drank herself into a permanent hospital bed?” 

“You’d... know all about that, w-wouldn't you?” Mary struggled to speak through laboured breaths from behind you, hunched over but pushing up on the counter to stand upright.  

Your father’s head snapped back to glare at Mary. “Excuse me?” 

You felt a change in the air, notably in your father’s demeanour. His eyes had widened, and he seemed to freeze in place, waiting for Mary to speak again while he caught his breath and used his strength to stand properly behind you. He kept hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly but once he stood up, he used his free hand to steady himself on your waist; both protectively and for stability.  

“You... you think you have a right to judge... my mother? After what you did?” he asked rhetorically, which only confused you. Your brow creased and you turned your head to look back at Mary.  

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He tore his eyes from your father to glance at you, offering you a look of apology laced with fear as if he were apologising for what you were about to hear... When he looked back at your father, your eyes followed to see that same wide-eyed expression. “What did you do?” 

“You gonna tell her, or should I?” Mary’s voice was a warning, but still, your father remained silent. If he wasn’t going to tell you what the hell was going on, you’d just let Mary. Someone needed to say something, and quickly, before you lost your cool again.  

“Tell me,” you ordered them both, but still you directed your glare at your father.  

“Yeah why don’t we tell her, hm?” Mary’s voice had grown a little stronger, recovered from the hands that had squeezed his neck for almost too long. Adrenaline was kicking in, numbing the pain in his head from the beatings and giving him the strength to get angry, to challenge the Grand High Mayor.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defied. Mary just scoffed.  

“You tricked my mother, and took everything from her...” he spat. You looked back at Mary, confused and shocked. Your father just stood in silence, glaring.  

“How?” you asked, “Tell me everything. Now.” 

“You won’t like this...” he warned, never breaking eye contact to look at you.  

“I don’t fucking care, Mary. Tell me.” 

He took a moment, forcing a steadying breath to calm the rising nerves. He’d never wanted you to hear this, fearing it might just devastate you to know who exactly your father was, the kind of man he could be, and what he was capable of. You hadn’t needed to find this out, but this had all gone too far. He wanted nothing more than to pull the rug from under the Mayor’s feet, to make sure he knew that Mary knew everything, that he needed to be very fucking careful this secret never got out. Mary had him in checkmate, holding the secret in until someone came along who would hear him and believe him – someone with a higher standing in the town than himself and his friends.  

“My mom got clean when I was 15,” he began, “She’d stopped drinking, got herself a job that could keep us going while I was in school, and still working for Mr. Rogers on the weekends. We were living out in the Oak Ridge apartment complexes, and we were doing alright.” 

“Then in came a man in a dapper suit with a briefcase and a fuckin’ God complex, who convinced the landlords to sell up so he could flatten the building and build office blocks instead. He fucked over all the residents, all hard-working people, by flashing compensation to the landlords who just handed out eviction notices. But my mom owned our shitty little apartment outright. She’d just managed to club together the money for the deposit, to get herself a mortgage and have a place that was just ours. She wanted stability, and she didn’t want to sell up. She was the last one who refused...”  

Your father’s eye twitched as he readjusted his stance, like suddenly he was incredibly uncomfortable. “You don’t actually believe this fucking scumbag, do you?” he asked you, interrupting Mary.  

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, and miraculously, he did just that.  

“So he... He charmed her. He bought her pretty things, took her to fancy places out of town, told her everything she’d ever wanted to hear... He told her he loved her,” Mary’s voice cracked at that, at the hurt of somebody lying to his mother when that had been all she’d ever wanted, “He seduced her, and told her he’d run away with her and give her the life she’d always wanted with him... if she’d just... sign on the dotted line...”  

You felt sick to your stomach. Not only had he taken advantage of Mary’s mom, their situation, all for his own gain, but he’d cheated on your mother, gone behind his own family’s back to manipulate a damaged but healing woman and ruin her life. Your head span with overwhelm, purely disgusted by what you were hearing. You knew your father wasn’t a good man, but you had no idea he was such a monster... 

“When she signed the deed over, he dropped her and left us both on the streets. He left us with nothing; no money, no home. We had to move into the Quartz motel, and she was heartbroken. She started drinking again, more and more because of what YOU did,” Mary snarled at him, pointing his finger as he raised his voice. “She was too depressed to get back up again, and I had to pick up the pieces. I had to quit school, work full time and give everything up when I was fucking 16 years old just to keep us afloat. She never recovered, and it didn’t matter when I got us this shitty little apartment and finally moved us outta the Quartz, her body gave up.” 

Mary pushed you to one side in his rage and stepped up to your father. You stumbled and caught yourself on the counter, too stunned to do or say anything about it as the truth sunk in. Mary got in his face again, pointing his finger directly at him and screamed, “It’s because of YOU she almost fuckin’ DIED. You piece of SHIT! YOU AS GOOD AS KILLED HER!” Mary slapped his hand against your father’s chest, who just stood there and took it, glaring at Mary as if he were still that same kid.  

You shook yourself from your own little trance and pulled Mary back to you by his arm, turning your back on your father and holding Mary’s cheeks to soothe him, to calm him down as he broke down at the truth. Mary stood there and sobbed, letting you wipe the tears as you shushed him, whispering apologies to him as if any of this had been your fault. But your heart broke for him...  

How could your father have ever been that callous? You thought you’d known him, that he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it seemed he was. You were aware he leaned more towards right wing politics, and no, you didn’t agree with him. And you’d known some of his associates were bent and unethical in their ways, but you’d never known he was as corrupt as Mary was telling you. All those whiffs of under the table deals you’d gotten over the years were true. He was a crook... A liar, a cheat, and abusive fucking monster.  

“You don’t seriously believe this shit, Pumpkin?” he asked, using a damn pet name of all things to try and get you back on side. You span around to glower at him, rage bubbling up inside you. 

“Don’t you fucking ‘Pumpkin’ me, you arrogant letch!” you screamed. “That explains why you kept disappearing all the damn time, spending your evenings and weekends anywhere but at home. I guess now I fucking know where you went... You missed half of my sweet sixteen, for fuck’s sake! Sped off right after the cake and didn’t come home for two days. Is that where you went? Is that where you always went? To take advantage of a decent woman who only wanted to be loved? To give her kid the BEST FUCKING LIFE POSSIBLE!?”  

“I never went anywhere near his slut of a mother!” he yelled back. 

“Oh, please!” Mary interjected, “You fucked her, and then you fucked her over.” 

“You LIAR!” Your father lunged at Mary again but you stopped him, forcing him back with a push that took all of your strength, all of your anger. He didn’t try it again, instead focussing his anger on you now. 

“You gonna let him manipulate you like this? Lie to you? He’s just trying to come between us, Pumpkin, to keep you away from me. He'll fucking use you and dump you for the next girl who shows him any attention. You’re just some petty fucking revenge he’s taking out on me... He’s USING YOU!” 

“Sounds more like something you’d do...” you growled at him. You had made your choice already, long before tonight. Your place was at Mary’s side, now more so than ever. Fucking revenge. As if Mary would have lied to you all this time... There was no way? 

Your father straightened himself up, dusting his shirt off as if there were something on it, but it gave him a moment to collect himself, to make himself seem the prim and proper one.  

“If you choose to believe his lies and stay with him, then that’s your stupid choice,” he told you as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, not even affording you the decency of eye contact. “But know this; you choose him, and that’s it. You will have nothing. No money, no home, no future. I’ll make sure neither of you work in this town. I will cut you off completely.”  

He thought he had the upper hand, that his words would scare you into submission and force you to come home with him. He seemed to forget the heated words you’d exchanged the night of the dinner at the Town Hall...  

“I thought I’d made myself pretty clear last time we spoke... I don’t want to live under your fucking thumb anymore. You told me to leave once before, and what, now you’ve changed your mind? You want to play happy families, and drag me back into the life you forced me to live? I want my own life, and now? I want it as far away from you as I can possibly get.”  

Your father stared at you, his jaw grinding in anger. He’d lost control of you, and he hated it. You were unravelling his perfect ‘family man’ façade that had won him all those elections, tearing down the perception the town had of him as this kind, caring man with a beautiful family.  

As you glared at each other, challenging the other to speak first, heavy footsteps got closer as if someone were running down the hallway outside the apartment and soon, Forrest ran into the apartment clutching a baseball bat and ready to swing. He stopped short at the scene in front of him, not having expected this at all... Mary, beaten and bloodied behind you, squaring up to your father, the Mayor...  

Forrest knew everything and quickly connected the dots, keeping the bat raised and ready in case your father tried anything at all. But now he was outnumbered, and his pride wounded. 

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, madam,” he warned. “You’ll end up a low life like these idiots, and laying in a hospital bed just like his mother.”  

“You need to leave,” Forrest told him firmly. “You got another witness now, sir,” he warned, sarcasm dripping from the honorific.  

Your father straightened up and turned, taking a few steps to stand at the edge of the kitchen where Forrest backed up to give him the room to leave, bat still raised. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to see you reach for Mary’s hand, holding his cheek gently in yours as you took a good look at the bruises and blood that covered his face.  

“You should get out of town before morning,” he began. “I will pull every string at my disposal to make sure you will never find peace here. This is my town, and this?” he waved his finger around, “is a dangerous neighbourhood. Especially without a deadbolt.” He nodded towards the front door that he’d bust open. 

“Get out,” Forrest reiterated with a look that could have burst him into flames if he had the ability.  

Without another word, your father turned and left, slamming the front door that only bounced back open with nothing left to catch.  

Forrest lowered the bat with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead from the stress. You focussed all of your attention on Mary, checking he was okay. He certainly wasn’t... He’d taken two beatings in one night and was covered in a litany of injuries that needed attention.  

Without saying a word, Forrest dropped the bat on the floor with a clatter and rushed into the bathroom, pulling out an old first aid kid from under Mary’s sink and rushing back with it while you gently guided an exhausted Mary to his couch, forcing him to sit back.  

As you patched him up with band aids and gauze and fed him a glass of water, no one dared to speak another word. After everything that had happened tonight, the silence – however brief – was welcome. But eventually, one of you had to break it.  

“We should get you to a hospital, Mare. You might have a concussion, or a bust nose or something’,” Forrest reasoned. Mary shook his head. 

“I’ll be good, don’t think anything’s broken.” Neither you nor Forrest argued with him. “Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?” he asked, sinking further down into the couch beside where you knelt on the cushion, hovering over him.  

“He’s just trying to scare you both, right? He’s pissed, just wants you both out but what the fuck can he really do?” Forrest asked from the floor, where he’d picked up the broken picture of Mary and his mom and set it on the coffee table. Mary stared at it, biting back the sting of tears.  

“Anything... he can do anything. He’ll make good on his threat, his security don’t ask questions.” You chewed on your thumbnail anxiously, trying to think of your next move.  

“I’m sorry...” Mary mumbled, looking down at the picture on the table with shame in his eyes. 

“For what?” you asked, shuffling closer to him and gently turning his chin towards you, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”  

“He’s cut you off because of me,” he sniffled, keeping the tears in his eyes at bay. “I’ve fucked your life up for you already...” 

“Don’t you dare,” you told him firmly, “you listen to me. I chose this, I needed to get away from him and I did. This is a blessing, we’ll be okay-” 

“How the hell are we gonna be okay? We can’t stay here anymore, we got nowhere to go and the money I make at the shop isn’t gonna keep us both afloat for long...” he panicked, but you hushed him with a finger to his lips. 

“We’ll figure it out. Money’s not a problem...” Mary looked confused, as did Forrest, the pair of them staring at you. “I’ve... I’ve been saving. Funnelling money away for a while. I knew someday I’d wanna get out and well... I opened a bank account as soon as I was old enough and just kept throwing my allowance into it. I got a trust fund when I was 18, he thinks I spent it. I didn’t, it’s been stashed away for years. We can get a place Mary, we just need somewhere for now.” 

Mary blinked at you dumbly, “You... You want that?” 

“What, to run away with you? Are you kidding?” You ran your fingers through his hair, avoiding the long strands that were clumped together with dried blood. “Haven’t I already done that?” you asked with a soft smile.  

Mary gawked at you, smiling a little himself before he leaned closer to you and planted his bust lips onto yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. Forrest coughed from the floor, bringing the two of you back to reality.  

“That’s great and all, but... where the hell are you gonna go for now?” he asked. Mary processed his question for a second, thinking it over. 

“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘best case scenario’, but... I have an air mattress back at the shop? It’s just a storage unit but it’s outta town. Sometimes I’d work late and be too tired to drive home so I’d crash there. No one really knows where it is, I never have clients come to the unit.” 

“It’ll do, while we look for a place in the city,” you told him. You didn’t care where you stayed or what you slept on, as long as it was safe – as long as Mary was safe. 

Forrest nodded, getting up from the floor and starting to gather some of the mess from your father’s rage. “Better get a move on then... Grab what you need, I’ll help you move it in my van too.” 

Before either of you stood up, Mary sat upright and turned to face you. “You sure about this, doll? Like... really? I can’t expect you to use that money to set us both up.” 

“Oh, shut up...”  you smirked, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You really having second thoughts about taking my dear daddy’s money and running off into the night?” 

Mary’s eyes glinted with a mischievous sparkle, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Well, when you put it like that...” He leaned in as you giggled, welcoming another slow, tender kiss that felt like a triumphant win given the events of the night.  

From across the room, Forrest rolled his eyes, picking up a small pillow and throwing it at the both of you to break you up. When you both yelped and looked up at him, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head, tapping at an imaginary watch on his wrist as if to say ‘hello? Get moving!”. You stood from the couch, reaching your hands out to Mary who used your strength as leverage to sit upright, his whole body aching and protesting after all the damn fighting tonight. Forrest was, of course, right. You needed to pack up what you could quickly, and get the hell out of town.  

So much had happened tonight, and so much had been said that couldn’t remain just a fleeting exchange in the heat of the moment. Revelations of the kind of man your father truly was had to be put to the back of your mind for now, to be dealt with and talked properly about in the coming days. For now, you couldn’t focus on it - the wound too painful to acknowledge until you were out of harm’s way. You couldn’t think about the truth, or what that meant in terms of your relationship with Mary. The thought that perhaps you were just Mary’s retribution couldn’t take root in your mind, lest it grow into genuine suspicion. There was no time to let doubts creep in. Instead, you dove into packing with Forrest, shoving clothes and essentials in whatever bags or boxes you could find to busy your mind. 

But Mary; he stayed put, fiddling anxiously with his rings. Neither you nor Forrest questioned him, figuring after two pretty rough beatings tonight he could sit this one out. But it wasn’t that that held him back...  

His own doubts were seeping in, an anxiety burning in his chest. He’d unveiled a huge part of himself tonight, something he’d never intended for you to know. He’d never wanted to hurt you with this and now that he had, he had to force down the guilt that came when he’d seen the look on your face as the truth spilled. His disdain for the Mayor hadn’t ever been as simple as hating the face of the town that hated him. There was so much more to it than that, but he’d never wanted to make that your burden.  

Part of him now was terrified. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps – maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but someday – you might think he chose you for this, like some sick revenge on the Mayor. Even he had accused Mary of it, claiming he was using you... Taking his only daughter and defiling her, corrupting her just to get his own back. That night back in the dive bar had started as a bet, yes. The thought had indeed crossed his mind that it was ironic he’d got to fuck you after your father had fucked over his family. But you were so much more than that...  

He was in too deep now. He loved you. Now more than ever, he was afraid he might lose you over this. He prayed that you didn’t think that, that your father’s own accusation had fallen on deaf ears.  

But for now, he just needed to get you both out of town. As long as you were safe, he’d take whatever consequences came his way.  

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

[murciafire]

My Jacket, My Girl

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | You and Jason had been friends for the longest time, and today you had to ask him for a favor. Who can resist saying no when you bring scones?

Warnings | If you squint smut is implied

Words | ~2.5k

Notes | this is my very first fanfic so dfgfdgfd pls forgive me if it’s not good. This has been running rampage in my brain and I really needed to get it out. Jason Todd has been living in my head rent free and it’s time he pays up.

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Sirens cried to a crescendo, faltering until it fused with the unrelenting sounds of traffic; it was a rhythm, a song that struck itself against the window, barely muffled by the thin glass that already struggled to keep the Gotham chill out. The sound did not die, not entirely, in its slow diminuendo through the pane, but enough that it became a murmur, like the soft pattering of the rain that became insistent through the evening. It seeped through the kitchen window, entering the small apartment, the sound as steady as Jason’s hands as he prepped dinner for himself.

It was a slow night, one that he favored but had yet to admit that to anyone, where life trickled by as slow as the rain drops sliding down the pane. It was odd, he supposed, that this sense of solitary in his kitchen brought a sort of consolation, a normalcy despite what he did every night. And he knew that despite the solace he found, there would always be something to pull him back to what he was. And his knuckles were a testimony to that, bruised and swelling, marked like a lover had kissed his skin with lips stained red.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. He did not have to think that; it was ridiculous and he knew it, because damn him for thinking exactly who’s lips he wanted to touch his skin. He clenched his jaw, about to busy himself with another vegetable when he heard the front door unlock.

He didn’t tense, not when he knew that there was only one other person who had a copy of his key. He had just placed the knife he was holding next to the cutting board when y/n walked in, her hair damp and cheeks flushed from the frigid weather and rain. His eyes flicked over her, barely noticing the pastry box she carried, too preoccupied with what she wore—and some part of him, he felt, died with how this woman was killing him.

Dressed in a jean skirt that barely covered her thighs—which he was still debating whether he should tear his eyes away from—and a black fitting top, there was nothing left for him to imagine. Well, there were lots of things that he could imagine, but what caught him off guard was that she was wearing his leather jacket. It hung on her loosely, in a way he knew she found comfortable, the bottom of it just brushing her legs where her skirt stopped. His breath hitched and he looked down at the counter, steadying himself.

“It’s cold out,” she said, taking off her ankle boots in the hallway, walking into the kitchen towards where he stood. She plopped the pastry box on the counter, then flicked her eyes to him.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers. His voice was low, hoarse as he tried to keep the hunger out of his voice.

“No, I was in the area and thought I’d dop by to give you some pastries,” she said, her voice a little too sweet for him not to notice. He narrowed his eyes, picking up on her tone. She wanted something and he knew it. He’s known her for so long that she was a book that he read with ease, one that he wanted to split open and dive into its pages.

“You just decided to come by? Just for that? Just because you wanted to give me pastries and spend time together?” he asked sarcastically, crossing his arms as he leaned back on the counter to look at her.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like her in his jacket, the way it sat on her, the way it made her look like she was his.

“What? Am I not allowed to see my best friend?” she retorted, crossing her arms, mirroring him. Jason grunted, rolling his eyes.

“Of course, you can see me, but it’s a little strange to bring pastries with you to spend time with your best friend, don’t you think?” he said back, his tone dry as he raised an eyebrow. “There’s something you’re not telling me. You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

There was no way, he thought, that this was a chance meeting. It certainly didn’t have to do with baked goods, not with her legs on display and her in his jacket.

“Fine, if you’re being so picky about this, then maybe you don’t deserve the pastries,” she huffed, annoyed. She walked around him to where she placed the box, pulling it towards her.

“You’re right. I don’t deserve them,” Jason smirked, turning around to face her, reaching his hand out to where the box was. “Because it isn’t about the pastries. And you know it.”

His fingers inched closer to the pastry box, keeping his eyes trained on her. His lips were slightly parted, curving into a ghost of a smile. She looked so good in his jacket.

“That’s too bad,” she said, pulling the box closer to her and out of Jason’s reach, “because I got your favourite scones.”

“You did not pick up scones,” he growled, trying to grab the box from her hands as he looked into her eyes. He tried to not lose himself in them, as he usually did. Maybe it was the way they could change from cold and distant to burning with passion in an instant. She was a mystery he wanted to figure out, a religion he found in the crevices of her body. He stepped closer to her, the smell of rain, flora, and him radiating off her and pulling him in.

“I know you too well, y/n. You don’t do these things because you feel like it. You’re here because you want something,” he said, his words barely above a whisper.

She looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed in determination, and he bit back a smile at how cute she looked.

“I did get scones,” she muttered out stubbornly, “and I can’t believe you think I want something.”

“You took my jacket!” he said, his voice laced with frustration as it raised slightly. “There is absolutely something you’re trying to get at!”

“Your jacket is under shared custody. It’s not my fault this leather jacket looks so good. Maybe you shouldn’t have left me looking in your closet. It’s free thrifting,” she shot back.

“You knew it was mine!” he grounded out. In the back of his mind, he wasn’t entirely upset. Not at all, not when he left that jacket in the closet knowing she would look in there. He had wanted her to try it on, and here they were because of it.

“And now it’s mine,” she said coolly, crossing her arms.

“You don’t just get to walk into my apartment and take my jacket for yourself,” he said frustrated. His eyes flicked to her hips, where her shirt showed the barest sliver of her stomach, then back up, staring her down with agitation.

“I’m pretty sure at this point what’s yours is mine,” she noted, fighting back a smile. Jason licked his lips, eyes bright as he stared at her. There was no denying how badly he wanted to tear that jacket off her at that very moment.

“Do you hear yourself, y/n? You’re stealing from me,” he rasped.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Jay. How is this any different from taking your hoodies?”

She stepped back, twirling around to show him her outfit. “Doesn’t it look good?”

Jason stayed quiet as he watched her, taking in every inch of skin and curves. She looked incredible in his jacket, which only made him want it more and more.

“It does look good,” he said slowly. “But that doesn't mean it stays on you.”

“I’ll give it back tomorrow,” she promised.

“No, you’ll give it back now,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. He knew deep down he didn’t need that jacket. He needed her—to put his hands on her and take it back. He wanted to rip it off and touch every part of her that he could.

“It’s my jacket,” he added.

“Not for this evening,” she said back. “I need it.”

“You need to give it back,” he said, voice tinged with frustration. His hand flexed as he thought about dragging her into his room, and taking it off right then and there, but he held himself back.

“Why don’t you calm down? Have a scone?” she suggested, looking at the agitation creeping into his features.

“I don’t want a scone,” he bit out. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me why you’re really here. You didn’t just stop by just to give me scones.”

“I wanted to visit my best friend,” she excused again, averting his gaze.

“And why did you want to visit your best friend?” he mused, narrowing his eyes, pushing for the truth. She never had to have an invitation to come over, especially not that sore of an excuse of scones of all things.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Because I may or may not need a favor,” she relented reluctantly.

Jason paused, mulling over what she said. He knew she wanted something, and there were only so many favours she could be asking for what required her wearing his jacket and showing off her legs.

“Oh?” he asked casually. “And what might that favor be?”

“I want you to take my virginity,” she said bluntly.

Jason’s lips parted, his jaw dropping slightly as he looked at her. “You did not just say that.”

He watched her expression, looking for any tells that that she was joking. And if she wasn’t, she was being way too casual about it. Jason was already half-tempted to give in, despite knowing it was a terrible idea.

“Do you want me to say it again?” she asked sarcastically.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Say it again and say it slowly.”

“I want you to take my virginity,” she said again, exaggerating the speed in which she said it. She said it out of annoyance, but Jason could tell she was nervous with the way she played with the rings on her fingers out of habit.

Jason’s gaze flicked down to her legs, considering the idea—strongly.

“Is this what this entire visit is about?” he asked, voice suddenly quieter. He wanted her, always had. He wanted this—needed this. There was not a single part of him that didn’t, but deep down, there was a part of him saying that he shouldn’t.

“Well, I mean, yes,” she said, stumbling over her words. “Hence me trying to persuade you with scones.”

“You’re telling me the only reason you brought me baked goods was to see if I would sleep with you?” he asked in disbelief. “So, what? It’s my reward? My prize?”

He was trying to tease her, but there was an air of seriousness to him now. He wanted this.

“I thought it was an equal price to pay,” she quipped back.

“I feel like the scales are a little tipped, sweetheart,” he remarked. He stepped closer, placing his hands on either side of her, trapping her against the counter. “What more could you possibly want? What more could you possibly ask of me? If this is how much you wanted to try and tempt a man, I can’t imagine what else you’d want from this  . . .”

“If you don’t want the scones, I can get something different,” she uttered out, face flushing at the sudden proximity.

“I’m not here for the pastries,” he said, his voice low and soft as he dipped his head into the crook of her neck. “And you know it.”

Her breath hitched and he looked back up, her eyes searching his before dropping to his lips. “So, do we have a deal?”

“We do,” he said, his voice gravelly as he watched her with intensity, his hands inching closer to her hips, sliding across the counter to pin her there more.

“Good,” she breathed.

Jason’s gaze darkened as he looked back at her face. “My room. Now.”

He wasn’t asking, he was commanding, already walking into his room knowing that y/n was obediently following behind. She had barely stepped in before Jason was on her, pressing her up against the wall, kissing her with the fervor of a man who only lived to love one woman.

She kissed him back, her hands in his hair softly tugging, and he groaned. She tasted better than he thought, and as he continued to kiss her, he held back a grin. She had also tasted very faintly of the raspberry scones she had brought. She had eaten one—what a traitor, and so very much like her to do so. And that is what he loved about her, the little things she did. He didn’t care if she had eaten one, she could’ve eaten all of them, if he knew what they were going to do tonight. She swiped her tongue along his bottom lip and he moaned, opening his mouth without hesitation. She could have him, all of him. He wanted her to.

And God, he felt like he was going to drop to his knees and start muttering her name like a prayer, begging her if he didn’t feel her skin. He let his head fall, kissing her neck, making her elicit moans that if he could, he’d bottle them up and listen to—other than her laugh of course, another sound he often bottled up in head and got drunk off later. His hands gripped her waist, his thumbs rubbing soft circles.

“Are you sure you want me to take you?” he rasped out, pulling back.

“If you don’t mind,” she smirked. Smart-ass. “Unless you’re already backing out from our deal?”

He smirked back. “Hell no.”

“Then take me,” she challenged, her eyes burning, and pupils blown wide.

He groaned, his hand wrapping around her throat, her eyes fluttering closed. “Is that all you’re good for?” he asked, his voice low, just above a whisper. “For me to take? To use?”

Her back arched at his words, a moan slipping past her lips, cheeks flushing. Jason’s eyes narrowed, watching her expression. “That was hot,” he remarked, his other hand slipping up her thigh teasingly.

He kissed her again, all teeth and tongue as he pulled off her—his jacket. “You should’ve never worn my jacket,” he whispered, his face against her neck just below her ear where he kissed the skin there lightly. “You asked for this.”

He lifted his head up from the crook of her neck, looking into her eyes. “Tell me what you want me to do. Use your words, love.”

Y/n could feel her neck flush, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. “Making me talk? Thought you liked me better when I shut up.”

“I like it better when you beg,” he smirked.

[cerys-scribbles]

we save each other

Halsin x F!Reader Wordcount: 2.4k When Orin takes Halsin, you are determined to get him back - no matter the cost. Warnings: blood, injuries

The temple of Bhaal smells of damp stone and blood.

It’s oppressive—the weigh of stone all around, the scent of old and new blood, the whispers, and the sense of being watched. After the nautiloid, the shadow curse, and the assault on Moonrise, you thought no place could truly rattle you.

You were wrong. Because this temple is wrong. And you want nothing more than to leave it. 

But can’t. Because Orin took the one thing she knows you can’t lose. 

“Come on,” you whisper to the others. Shadowheart has a hand on her weapon; Gale looks thoroughly unsettled; even Lae’zel appears uneasy. 

When you enter the temple, you see the altar. Orin is standing over it, her hand caressing the side of his broad face. Your heart lurches in your chest at the sight of him bound and unconscious. 

“Halsin,” you breathe. 

Orin lifts her gaze to yours and offers the kind of smile normally seen on skulls. 

You have little memory of what follows after that. You snarl a challenge, bring up your weapon, and then all the hells seem to break loose. Gale is snarling spells, Shadowheart whirling as she parries blow after blow, and Lae’zel charges through the ranks of Bhaal’s faithful like a battering ram. 

But your eyes are the on the altar. 

You fight alongside your companions until you can reach him. Then you’re at his side, a knife in hand. 

“Halsin,” you say urgently. You touch his cheek, trying to rouse him. 

He must have been drugged. You can think of no other way that Orin could have taken and held him. At the urgent sound of your voice, his eyes flicker open. He seems to be making a great effort to drag himself to consciousness. His eyes are glazed, his lips soundlessly forming your name. You set your blade against the ropes and saw through the bindings around his wrists. “I’m here,” you say. “You’re all right.” 

It takes a moment for him to find his voice. “You came.”

“Of course I did.” The ropes are infuriatingly thick and you drag your knife back and forth, fraying them. “You had any doubt?” 

There is a moment’s hesitation, and it has little to do with his drugged state. He did doubt, you realize. He must have thought he would die down here, sacrificed like so many others. A fierce protectiveness wells up within you. When you’re both free of this place, you are going to tell him precisely how loved he truly is. 

The ropes give way and you free his wrists, trying to rub blood and sensation back into his hands. He begins to sit up, but you press him down. “Rest a moment. Then we’ll—”

You feel the impact first. It’s like being hit with a rock—but then comes the chill and the utter wrongness of it. 

Halsin’s eyes widen. All of the drugged lassitude falls away from him and he rolls over, his ankles catching on the bindings. His hands reach for you. No, not for you—you realize—but for the dagger protruding from your chest. 

One of the cultists was invisible and he came up behind you. You turn, raising your weapon to try and defend you both, but the world tilts sideways. 

You can’t collapse. You have to keep him safe. You have to free him.

You fall. There is the distant sound of an animal roar, the clashing of steel, and the smell of coppery blood. 

Then, nothing.

*

Halsin has seen many beautiful things in his long life—the golden hue of dawn creeping across the old forest, the rarest of flowers blooming in moonlight, the sharp cut of lightning across a stormy sky. 

But none of those sights compare to this. To her. 

She kneels down beside him, as though the chaos all around them is nothing. A knife flickers between her fingers and she begins to free him.

She came for him. 

Part of him had hoped—no, he had yearned—to see her again. But Halsin has long been a protector, not the protected. He learned to fend for himself at a young age. Her rescue of him from the goblins was a welcome surprise. After Aradin fled, Halsin thought no aid would be coming. But she did come for him—not just once, but twice. 

He should have known better than to underestimate her, he thinks, as her hair falls around them both. She frees his arms, and then she is massaging circulation into his sore hands. 

Gentle, always so gentle. So caring. He has never met anyone with such a gentle heart. It’s why he fell in love with her. And he does love her, even if he has not found the moment to tell her yet. There were always other priorities—the shadow curse, the tadpoles, the missions. There would always be time later, he told himself. But then he was kidnapped, and he realized belatedly how precious their little time together has been. He should have told her everything: how he treasures their conversations, how beautiful she is, how her kind heart is a rarity.

And now she is beside him, hope blossoming between them. Once they are free of this place, he will tell her everything.  

But then a cultist appears and drives a knife through her back. She makes a small sound, as though the breath has been taken from her. She looks more confused than pained, and when she glances down, it is with a line between her delicate brows. 

“No!” The word is yanked from his lips. It is a raw and agonized denial. A plea. 

When she falls, it seems to take an eternity—as though time itself cannot bear to see her injured.

A fury such as he has never known howls through him. 

The animal takes him and he welcomes the change. The ropes binding his legs snap, and Halsin lunges for the cultist. Bone and muscle give way between his jaws, and he tastes fresh blood. Another cultist lunges and Halsin kills him, too. Everything is a blur of adrenaline and fear and violence. He has rarely allowed the change to take him so thoroughly, but right now animal fury is the best weapon he possesses. 

Once the cultists have been driven back, Halsin looks back at her. 

She lays on her side, hair fallen across her face. She needs the man, not the beast. With a great effort, he changes back. It feels wrong; his instincts are screaming that he needs to be the bear to protect her.

“Stay with me, love,” he whispers, kneeling beside her. He turns her over, taking her gently in his arms. 

His magic is sluggish; his body is still fighting to rid itself of the damn potions that kept him docile. 

“Oak Father,” he murmurs, pressing his hand to her wound. “If you only ever answer one of my prayers, let it be this one. Please, give me the strength to save her.” His throat tightens painfully. “And if I cannot, keep her safe until we can meet again.” 

He spell takes hold. Her flesh slowly knits back together, but he doesn’t release the spell. He needs to ensure that the internal injuries will heal, that she will not bleed from within. 

He pours all of his magic into her, every last bit of strength he has. And when that runs out, he simply holds her.

All around him, the room has gone silent. Orin lays dead, a sword wound in her chest. Lae’zel flicks her blade free of blood with a contemptuous snarl. She snarls a curse in her tongue, and even if he cannot understand it, Halsin agrees completely. 

“How is she?” Gale rushes over, kneeling by Halsin. 

“I don’t know,” Halsin replies. “But we should get her someplace safe.” 

*

They retreat to a place called the Elfsong Tavern. Gale explains that they took rooms here, and while it is no forest, it’s more comfortable and safe that sleeping on the city streets. Halsin eases her onto a bed, sitting back so that Shadowheart can work. Her spells reinforce his, and her brows draw tight as she murmurs a silent prayer. Halsin tries not to hover, but he will not leave. He cannot leave.

When Shadowheart finishes, she sits back. She is breathing a little unsteadily, having spent much of her own power.

“Well?” asks Astarion. He lingers in the doorway, looking a bit like a stray cat that cannot decide if he wants in or out. “Will she survive? Or do we need to resurrect Orin so Lae’zel can kill her again?”

“She needs time,” says Shadowheart. “For the spells to take, for her own body to take up some of the healing.” Her gaze meets Halsin’s. “She’s past the worst of it, I think. You managed to keep her from bleeding out back in the temple."

Halsin bits down on his lip. He should have been able to do more. If he had not been drugged, that wound would have been healed in a matter of moments.

She came to rescue him, and she nearly paid for his life with her own. The thought makes him feel sick to his stomach. “I’ll stay with her,” says Halsin, settling at her bedside.

The night passes slowly. 

The others come and go. Astarion stops by with more blankets while Wyll ducks out to buy more healing potions. Shadowheart urges Halsin to bathe, promising to watch over her in the meantime. He goes, if only to scrub away the blood and the smell of captivity. He changes into clean clothes and returns to his beloved’s bedside. 

She sleeps fitfully. Sweat beads at her brow and her eyes roam beneath her lids. “My heart,” he murmurs, taking her hand in his. “Rest easy. You’re safe.” 

Finally, near dawn, she wakes. 

She tries to speak, but it comes out dry and raspy. “Just a moment,” says Halsin, reaching for a pitcher of water. He pours a small cup, holding it to her lips. She looks as though she wants to protest that she can sit up and drink on her own, but her arm shakes. Her fingers still curl around his, as though to maintain an illusion of control. But when she’s finished drinking, she looks exhausted.

Halsin lowers her back into the pillows, rearranging the blankets around her. 

“What happened?” she asks. “Did everyone make it out all right? Are you hurt?” 

Of course she is more concerned with the others than herself. “Everyone made it out,” he says. 

She reaches for one of his wrists. There are still red marks where the ropes rubbed his skin raw. “You haven’t healed yourself.”

He turns his wrist so that he can take her hand. Hers are so much smaller. “You needed the magic more.” She frowns at him, as though she wants to protest. Halsin smooths her hair back with his free hand. “Sleep. You should rest.” 

She closes her eyes and leans into his touch. “What about you?” 

“I’ll meditate in a little while,” he says. 

Her frown deepens. Then she shifts in her bed, making as though to sit up. He places a hand on her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Moving over,” she says. “Or, trying to.” She pats the place beside her. “Please. The bed is more than big enough for both of us. That chair looks terribly uncomfortable.” 

It’s true. This is one of those large, goose feather and linen affairs. 

He bites back his protests—that he doesn’t wish to harm her by accident, that he doesn’t need sleep. Instead, he carefully lays down beside her. She lets out a small sigh, and curls into him. 

She feels so small beside him. So fragile. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispers. “When Orin came to me and said you’d been taken.”

Halsin wraps an arm around her. He had wished to save this for a time when she is well, but he has wasted far too much time already. “I feared the same.” He takes a breath. His heart pounds with uncertainty, but he needs to say it. “When you were injured... I realized how much time I have wasted. There are things I want to tell you."

She lifts her gaze to his. “You can tell me anything.”

His hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking back and forth. "I love you.” He feels her go still but he forces himself to continue. “I should have said so before, when the nights were calmer. When we might have stolen away for a few hours to ourselves. When we weren’t in a city on the brink of war. But even if the words have come too late, I have to tell you that I love you. You are a wonder and even if you don’t feel the same, I want you to know.”

He half expects her to pull away. But instead, she snuggles closer. “You should have said something earlier, it’s true,” she murmurs. “Or I should have been brave enough to say it first. One of us should have spoken up sooner.” She kisses his hand, and the touch burns through him. “I love you, too.”

Joy fills him. It has been years since he felt such unbridled happiness—there are no demands on him, no responsibilities other than this. He will keep her safe, ensure that she comes through the coming battles alive. “We will live through this,” he murmurs, pulling her close. “I promise you that. And once you are well…”

He hears the smile in her voice. “What are we going to do?” 

He kisses her hair. “Many things, my heart. Many, many things.”

*

When you wake, you’re still in Halsin’s arms.

It is like sleeping near a fire, but not unpleasantly so. You’re cozy beneath the blankets, his arms around you and your face turned into the pillow. You feel a little dizzy, a little giddy. You can’t quite believe that Halsin is beside you, that he loves you as much as you love him. You can’t help yourself; you snuggle closer.

The moment you stir, he rouses. “You’re awake.”

“I am,” you say. Your voice sounds a little rusty from sleep. “How long have I been out?”

“That does not matter. You need the rest,” he says so firmly that you cannot protest. He smooths a hand over your forehead. “No fever, that’s a good sign. How’s the pain?”

You gingerly touch the bandages around your chest. There’s a deep ache, but you know it’ll fade with time. “Not so bad.”

“You’re staying in bed for a few more hours,” he says. “The others are out shopping and collecting information on something to do with rescuing Wyll’s father.”

Your heart lurches. You try to sit up. “I need to help—”

“You will,” he says, gently pressing you back down into the mattress. “But you must recover first. I’ll speak with the others, and don’t fear, my heart, when we go out to rescue Duke Ravengard, you’ll be there.” 

That mollifies you a little. You know he wouldn’t lie to you, even for the sake of keeping you safe. “All right.” Your stomach gurgles loudly and you flush.

“And I’ll see about breakfast,” Halsin says, smiling. 

He begins to rise from the bed, but you catch his hand. “Hey.”

Halsin looks back at you, a question in his eyes. 

“Thank you,” you say. “For taking care of me.”

His face softens. He kneels beside the bed. “Thank you. For always rescuing me.”

You kiss him—and it doesn’t feel like the first time. It feels natural, like slipping into a comfortable shirt. You both fit together perfectly. “We rescue each other,” you whisper. 

End

[chocochipjewel]

Yapping about Belos and his ending excessively while also analysing him to the best of my ability under the cut

So given how much art of him I've reblogged by now, it really shouldn't come as a surprise that Belos is my favourite character from the Owl House.

I could talk about him for HOURSS but I just want to talk about 2 of my favourite moments of him to highlight the parts of him I love the most.

This moment in Hollow Mind, when he gets the key in his hand and you can see the light in his eyes. It's the only time his eyes have the distinct shine in them like every other character has all the time, and it's cause of the key he's holding. The key to the human realm is the only thing that gives him that shine cause it's the only thing he genuinely cares about. Everything he's doing is to go back home and revel in glory, which, while selfish, adds so much to his character. He's not doing this JUST for power, he became an Emperor just to tear his own creations down. I just find something extremely poetic about that.

And the second moment -

THIS MOMENT. THIS MOMENT IN KING'S TIDE AJDHSJSHSJS

I'm still mad these flashbacks were never brought up in any big way cause THEY REALLY SHOULD HAVE BUT AHSKSJS I'M GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF.

Belos reliving his worst memories was always a concept that was going to be interesting because it's an insight into what really gets into the head of our main antagonist. What does the guy who is everyone else's worst fear have to fear. And the answer is himself.

The 3 memories he sees are him approaching Caleb with the knife, the actual murder as pictured above, and the creation of the grimwalkers.

What really gets me is that his eyes are wide when he recalls the first memory, but they look smaller in the second memory (in the screenshot). Maybe it's just the angle but I always interpreted it as his expression shifting to be one of genuine sadness for this particular memory. Because the mere fact that his most personal crime is also his worst memory is such an interesting concept. How does he live with that sort of guilt and worse, keep doing those same crimes but WORSE?

All of Hollow Mind could just be here really and I wouldn't complain. It's THE episode for Belos fans that really allowed us to dig into him, and the mere fact that he's consciously scratched off Caleb from all the happy memories as if to justify his own fratricide is a level of desperate coping that I just find so very interesting ajdjhsjjs

Not to mention that his inner self is a child, which, while a pretence by him, could still say something about how in his head, he still has not grown up and is still playing pretend, still playing witch hunter with every version of Caleb he creates, still playing god to finally achieve a fantasy so very childish and so frankly basic that it makes anyone watching from the outside think "wait, that's it? That's all this is for?" AND THAT'S THE POINT

Cause none of this needed to happen. None of this has a greater value than Philip trying to chase after lost dreams. All the plans he made, all his great power and his great empire amounts to nothing because he himself plans to destroy all of it to chase that childhood dream. Just like Luz, he entered the Boiling Isles to find a home, only his home was Caleb and he was never willing to love new things in the Isles, while Luz loved so much she literally changed the lives of everyone she met by loving them. And unlike Luz, Philip never grew out of that mindset, only burying it in layers and layers of lies and half truths.

In general, his relationship with Caleb is for sure the most interesting part of his character to me. The fact that he both repeatedly murders and repeatedly creates new grimwalkers in an endless cycle and then hallucinates Caleb looking at him with disdain implies so much about his dependancy on Caleb and the deepest parts of himself that know what he's doing is wrong. The parts that have broken free from the layers and layers of cognitive dissonance and have accepted that he was wrong, without any more justifications.

And now, to 'briefly' rant about him in season 3

Thanks to Them was juicy for character exploration, but I wish we actually got to see him react to the human realm properly. It's everything he's wanted, it's the one thing that still brings light into his life but the world he returned to would absolutely hate him. He's done all this for nothing. I wanted so badly to see how he copes with his guilt then, but they were short on time so I get it.

For the Future's hallucination scene makes this even more interesting cause of the depiction of him actually seriously suffering from something like hallucinations. It was dark as hell, and it was really interesting.

And then... WaD. All in all, a great finale. The only real big problem I had with it was Belos' ending.

After so much buildup to his depth and his motivations and his guilt and all his lies slowly collapsing around him, after everything he did to so many people, he deserved a better death. I don't think he didn't deserve death, I just think it happened too quick. Where was the final cathartsis from all his victims shunning him (Luz staring was perfect don't get me wrong, but the whole Hexsquad deserved to be there). Where was the moment he would finally no longer be able to lie to himself and he would be forced to accept that he did EVERYTHING he did, made all those great sacrifices, tortured so many people, just to fail and be at his victims' mercy after accomplishing nothing?

I understand the finale was juggling many MANY characters and plotpoints, but that's not stopping me from wishing for a better ending.

I wish I had had the motivation to draw something for this like I'd hoped, but a brief description about what kind of ending I'd have wanted will have to do.

I wish Luz saw his memories in the place in between with Papa Titan. It would reinforce her arc of feeling like they come from the same place too, if she saw Caleb leaving Philip and Philip's original goal of just wanting to get his brother back. I wish Luz saw all his "sad" memories and really started to question herself.

And then I would have wanted Papa Titan to shoot that down regardless, and then explain that while Belos may have started out a victim of his circumstances as an orphaned child in a cult, the Isles gave him chances to change. Memories of Philip in the Isles seeing Caleb happy, being given chances by witches, being given so many chances to change, and rejecting them accompanying this scene would be ideal. Really hammer in that he aas responsible for his own suffering and that he has absolutely no excuse for what he did to all his victims.

And then, in the final death scene, as he claims that as humans they are better than witches one last time, I wish the ghosts of all his victims showed up to prove him wrong. Every witch and grimwalker who choose to be better than him before they fell. Every member of the Hexsquad who believed in him and his regime at one point. Every single one of them a reminder of how his lies can't even convince himself anymore.

And finally, his own brother, a fellow human, who appears before him. I imagine Caleb looking at him with pity, almost sympathy, before a quiet acceptance comes onto his face and he turns away from him. He walks towards the crowd and chooses their side, next to Evelyn. Neither Caleb nor Luz say a single word. There is nothing left to be said to him anymore. Every single person on the Isles, human or witch, has turned against him now.

If anything could break his will, I think this would be it. I imagine him phasing through his different forms, trying to find a way to justify himself in each one, gradually desolving into desparate screams, before the boiling rain melts him away like in canon (except without the stomping please).

Aaaand that's it, no more notes. Thanks so much to all the Wittebane fans in the community who have kept his fanbase fed when the show didn't meet our standards and who prompted the line of thought that led to this post.

There are so many of you all who inspired and made my fandom experience fun and created so much out of just Philip, Caleb, and Evelyn (and all your OCs of course!!) so I'm just going to shoutout the ones I remember off the top of my head -

@talisman975

@jess-the-vampire

@calebsrottingcorpse

@owlyhouse

@anona1-mous

@captainmera

@moonmeg

@azure-blaze92

@a-magpie-in-the-bi

@a-magpie-in-gravesfield

This is no particular order and I'm surely missing more so this is by no means exhaustive, but this is just a shoutout for those who kept this fandom going. Y'all are the real troopers for sure.

That's all I got, but I'm posting some old Belos art soon! Cheers all, and may the terrible awful no good goo babygirl keep inspiring us for all the great art <3

[darkness-follows]

hey! i love your writing! there’s so little for Boyd x reader out there, so if you’re up for it could you maybe write something for him? maybe a little hurt/comfort and smutty?? he’s such a weirdo and i love him sm

thank you! and have a nice day :)

Thank you, thank you !!!! And of course!!! I hope the changes I made and the idea it turned into still all work for this !

Boyd x Female Reader

I'm still not over the end of City Primeval because it was so perfect and makes up for how in my opinion the other 7 episodes were a bit of a tough chew. Not bad! But not fantastic either.. but still, consider giving it a watch especially for the end of episode 8 for this mini multi part fic might spoil some things!!!!

It hurts so good aka a Justified: City Primeval sequal to the OG show with older Boyd and a Prison Guard reader who falls madly in love with him.

TW: Blood. Wounds. Prison stuff. Smut (cavity/strip search). Gross other prisoners.

Enjoy PART 1:

First day on the Job. A Female prison Guard in a men only Penitentiary, it takes a lot to stomach everything, the comments, the looks, the disgusting things prisoners say to you. But you prepared for this, you got trained for this and hell you will make the best of it! You get to meet the non violent prisoners first, the ones who aren't arrested for rape or torture or anything of that kind. It's also the first time you meet Boyd Crowder. Your family being from Harlan Kentucky you heard some stories..

You know of him, but not a whole lot about him.

Though mistakes happen in prison especially on a first day. Your partner accidentally left you alone with Boyd and another prisoner in the back of the kitchen. And men who were locked up for a long time...don't exactly behave the best towards a young, pretty attractive new Guard. "Didn't know they hire models" the prisoner says, it's a mild start but it gets worse and worse. Until he makes a move towards you, he grabs your wrist and tries to pull your hand towards his crotch "let go! Let go of me!!" You try to pull away but he's twice your size.

You hear a loud bang and all of a sudden the prisoner has his eyes snapped on Crowder.

"Jerry! That ain't how we treat women now is it? You better confess what you've done if you wish to sleep in peace tonight" Boyd turns to take the man's shoulder, guiding him slowly out of the kitchen. "You don't want any suprise visits tonight do you Jerry?" He whispers before he shoves him out of the kitchen.

Shaking his head "I'm sorry about that, some of em really don't know how to behave. You okay?" He asks and when your eyes meet his it's almost..magnetic. "hm? Oh! Yeah! Yes thank you, I was ready to get that taser out" You huff.

"Oh please there is no need to thank me, I'm sorry your first day went like that, I sincerely hope one bad Apple doesn't spoil the whole bunch for you now. There are some good men in this place." He points out. The way he speaks and the methaphor.. you heard he has a certain charm to him but seeing it in real life, hearing his buttery accent and the way he carries himself despite the orange prison attire? He's a bit Interesting..

"I'm known to hand out a few chances" You smile and open up the knife drawer with your keys. Your duty is to observe their cooking and Crowder was listed as green when it comes to kitchen supplies such as knives.

"Gotta admit I might be the same way, Lord knows I've been giving away chances like free candy" He takes one of the bigger kitchen knives to start cutting the vegetables Jerry was supposed to take care of. The way he keeps looking over his shoulder at you to talk makes you feel a certain kind of warmth. He's really making sure to adress you respectfully, keeping eye contact and not looking you up and down like the rest of em in this place.

"Well, thanks again Crowder." You nod. Keeping it professional.

🕐

2 weeks into a new job and it's safe to say that you adjusted well, you know who to trust and who to get along with, which prisoners are the nice kind and which ones are the bad. This place works like a perfectly oiled machine, everything is time based and the system of the prison works. You shouldn't have a favorite prisoner but this Crowder guy doesn't seem too bad. You've been through his file a little, it's a hefty record for a man who seems so nice and collected. You also stumbled across some pictures of an injury he got inside.

Graphic pictures of a mean looking burn on his upper arm, investigation showed second degree burns to apparently scorch a hateful Tattoo off of his skin. Ouch. Yet no agressor is listed, apparently, he wouldn't say who did it to him. It was his first week of kitchen duty too.

You see Crowder again in the kitchen, it's easy for New Guards to be posted at Lunch and dinner. Observe everything.

"You've got to try this! For prison chow it really is somethin' " Crowder points out, stirring a pot.

You hesitate at first but you are pretty sure he wouldn't try and poison you. Not like this anyways. "I don't know If..- I'm allowed to" You frown but with a smile. Though no other guards are around so maybe it's fine. The smile on his face when you step closer is almost sweet, he takes a spoon and puts some of the food onto it, holding it out to you. You don't even really think about it when you open your mouth and your lips move around the spoon that he's holding. Too distracted by the taste.

"Wow!" You huff suprised, chewing slowly. "That really is good" How on earth does prison food taste better than the food at your own table at home?

"You like it? It's a old Crowder family recipe. It's easy to make but got quite the kick to it!" He throws you another rather off putting smile, why is he so nice? You read his file you know he's not violent for no reason but it's still a bit unusual.

"Yeah I do like it! You gotta give me that recipe" You take a few steps back again, licking your lips softly. That was really tasty.

"Is that an order, Guard?" He asks, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel and turning to face you. The tension in the room is suddenly different, heated, you don't know what he's getting at but it's best to put a cork in it, now.

"No?" You question. "Now get back to work" .

"That was an order" You tease.

His chuckle rings in your ears for a moment, you really do have a strange relationship with him.

🕒

Its not unusual to play favorites in a place like this but you and Crowder became..close. It's been a month now for you in Kentucky's Tramble Penitentiary. Everytime you interact with Boyd you laugh, you smile, he smiles, it really feels like you starting to develop a crush. Which is bad. Biggest rule in the game. Don't fuck the inmates. Ever. Cooking duty for him means you can always watch him fix up something nice for the other inmates. He really always takes his time, he always makes it great.

Up until today.

"God! Fuckin' damn it!" You hear Boyd curse loudly and when you rush to the kitchen to take a look you can see blood. Your hand moves to your taser.

"Easy! Didn't stab nobody, just cut myself, the fucking cucumber slipped off the board." He holds his fingers and you can see blood slowly running down his hand and arm. Luckily you have some mild medical training.

You radio in the incident and your current Boss gives the clear, your allowed to take care of the injury and put someone else on cooking duty.

You swap out inmates and a coworker takes over the Observation while you take Crowder to the small medicial room at the end of the hallway. A own room for minor things so they don't all end up clogging up the only Hospital wing in the entire prison.

But you've never been in this area or this room before and suddenly it dawns on you, you are new and your alone here with a prisoner known for Manipulation tactics. The fear becomes reality when you finally take a closer look at his injury. No way in hell was that an accidental cut, the placement is way off.

"What's the plan Boyd? Jump me. Take my keycard, my taser, make your way out the back?" You huff.

You hope you are wrong but when he starts to chuckle you can feel your stomach turn.

"No darlin' not quite." He points out.

"God and here I was thinking you weren't like the other's" your hand reaches for your Radio again to call it in when he's suddenly a few steps too close.

"It ain't like that" Boyd takes another step closer.

"Come one now, you need me to spell it out for you?" His voice...his smile.. he's...- is he trying to seduce you?!

"What? Yes. I think you do" your hand leaves off the radio.

"We have been dancin' around reach other for a month now, as nice of a dance as it was, you wanna leap off that stage now don't you? See the Real Deal." He suggests.

You can't help but to burst into a soft laughter "You think I want to sleep with you???" You shake your head and turn away from him, grabbing some rubbing alcohol and a Band aid for his self inflicted dumb cut.

"I don't just think so, I know so" He points out. Stepping behind you while you gather the supplies.

"Your crazy. I really underestimated your Level of crazy. Now give me that hand and then I'll take you back to your cell" You chuckle again. Staring at him when you turn around and he holds up the cut in his hand. Your hands tremble while you pour the alcohol onto a cottonball. Taking his hand into yours, cleaning the cut and then the rest of the blood from his hand and arm. His fingers, his breathing.. He takes another step forward and you take one back. Feeling the wall against your back, shaky hands trying to hold still while you slap the band aid onto his wound. Once that's done his hand closes around yours.

"You mean it? I've been imagining things... you don't want me?" He tries to confirm that he actually might have been wrong about you.

But you can't help it, you let his hand take yours.

Your hesitation speaks volumes.

Your hand presses against his chest, but he leans in to kiss you anyways. His lips are so gentle, so careful, he's not aggressive or demanding. It's almost sweet if you don't think about the fact that this could get you fired and that having a crush or fling with him won't work. Because at the end of the day he's in here and you are out there.

You break the soft kiss with a sigh.

"No..- I don't want to sleep with you, now take a step back Crowder" You raise your shoulders, making yourself a bit taller.

He nods. And he does.

"Apparently im off my game, it's been a while" He frowns. "I deeply apologize." He keeps his head down for a moment.

He genuinely seems sad. As if he can't believe he made such a mistake.

"Your not off your game." You finally say. "Imma have to get a uh, a transfer I think, to another ward, having feelings for an inmate is unacceptable."

His head lifts up slowly.

"Here I was thinkin' all these little things were signs you wanted my flesh. But it aint just that huh?" The smile on his face makes you roll your eyes. "You like me" He grins. "Shut up" You groan.

"As in, a little crush! Or a big crush? Good Lord! Are you in love with me?!" Now he's just being mean.

"I said shut up!" You chuckle.

And then he hugs you.

You expected everything but that...

His arms around you feel so strangely comforting, you know this is wrong, you read his charges, you know very well why he's in here and yet here you are, in his damn arms. Your hands are hesitant, but slowly you stroke your palm over his back and your other holds onto his upper arm, where you feel the scar tissue underneath your finger tips.

"Why did you never tell who did this to you?" You ask, hand soothing over the uneven skin. It's a really bad burn scar, thick and leathery almost in it's texture.

He slowly lets go of your frame, placing his palm onto your face. "Cause I did that myself." He tugs a piece of your hair behind your ear before his lips place a kiss onto your head. "They woulda thrown me into isolation for it, marked me up as a danger to myself, couldn't risk that...-" He adds. Taking a step back then.

"Why did you do it? Apart from the obvious.." your skin feels on fire, you want more, your lips are dying for a kiss that takes your breath away and your hands are aching for a body to cling to.

"Form of self punishment, I guess." Incredible how sane and yet insane such a Statement sounds, you kind of understand. Pointing to his hand "And you did that to sleep with me?" You huff. It's a strange way to go about things, that's for sure.

"Well, had to get you alone somehow didn't I?" His face changes when he looks at you a little while longer, taking a deep breath. "But I gotta admit, this was quite the suprise, might be even been better than a simple, fleeting, lustful exchange. I deeply honor that you.. care about a man such as myself." He likes it, he wouldn't have it any other way actually.

"Doesn't matter much does it? Not like there is anything to be build here" The alarm starts blasting which means Lunch is over and it's back to the cells.

He missed Lunch for you.

You take a hold of his shoulder to walk him back to his cell, his cellmate not being there yet you step inside for a second.

"Don't request a transfer.." He whispers. "Seeing your face every day for the last month while cooking has been the happiest I have been in a while, don't take that from me, please." He seems really sincere.

You nod "Okay." Then you leave his cell.

Fuck, you can't believe you have a crush and that he kissed you, and that he hugged you, hell he even knicked himself with that knife to get to be alone with you and then also asked to not stop seeing you everyday.

Falling for an inmate was not on your list, especially not THE Boyd Crowder.

🕔

Fights happen very very often in tight spaces like these with a bunch of criminals. Unfortunately Crowder was in the room where it happend, which means by the damn book, strip search. Someone could be hiding a self made knive, razorblade glued to a toothbrush..hide drugs.. anything.

"Crowder. Room 3." The guard yells, FUCK. You were hoping he'd be called to a different room, you change your gloves from the last inmates search, leaning against the medical shelf when he steps inside. The instant smirk on his face makes you flush Red.

"Well ain't that somethin' , guess it's your lucky day" He closes the door and takes off his shoes. Not his first strip and not your first search but.. this is pretty damn intimate. Even if you try to not treat it that way, you like him, and he knows you like him, and now you get to do a body search on him? It might really be your lucky damn day.

"Hey now! Im a pro" You wiggle your gloved fingers.

"I bet you are darlin' " He steps closer, opening the buttons on his orange prison jumper. The reveal of his chest and his shoulders is already pretty nice to see but when he drops it lower and you get to see his abs and his hips and his V line it's starting to get steamy in the room. He Strips the jumper and stands in his white boxershorts.

"Don't you worry now, I think I'd be quite alright with a bit of touching" He clicks his tongue, taking off his boxers. And Jesus christ. Seems like Boyd Crowder isn't just all talk, he really got the package to back it up. Good for him!

"You are staring" He comments.

"No! What? Im not! Turn around" You huff, watching him turn around and place his hands against the wall. Fuck, this shouldn't be so damn hot.

"Bend uh, bend over...you know how this goes come on Boyd" You sigh.

His chuckle makes your head spin, you really didn't think this would happen today. But you got a job to do, it's not like you don't trust him but .. you have to do this right?

You take a deep breath before you step behind him, patting down his hair first, armpits, his hips, people get creative. Some even hide blades in their own damn skin. When your hands move to his pretty nice butt you hesitate.

"Oh come on now sweetheart. Ain't my first rodeo. Let's go" He huffs. You nod. Taking the lube from the medical cabinet, you hands spread his buttcheeks apart, when you don't see or feel anything it's time for the uncomfortable finger. You apply enough lube and with a soothing hand on his hip you gently push a finger inside of him.

You don't take him for the type to shove drugs up his damn ass but this is simply part of the job. Of course you don't feel anything so you move to take your finger away again but then he..moans.

A long deep right out of his lungs kind of moan.

You move your finger slowly again in the same motion and his body tightens. "You uh, you okay?" You ask.

He nods. Which is not a yes and not no to you.

"Bit sensitive are we Crowder?" You ask and you could swear to god that he pushes back against your hand. "I think I have to be really thorough here." You slowly push a second finger inside of him.

"Fuck...-" He moans deeply.

"I'm so sorry!" You panic a bit.

"No your fine..- just god please don't stop".

"Don't stop what? That?" You move your fingers the way you did before again and again..- getting a bit deeper each time. His head is resting on the arm that's holding him against the wall, you can tell he's breathing faster, his skin is flush. Someone likes a bit of a prostate massage.. Interesting.

Boyd's breathing sounds so insanely erotic, you never heard a man make these noises before.

His other hand spreads him open a bit, watching your fingers move in and out of him. You never thought you'd be into that but? The way he sounds so broken by how good it feels? The fact that it makes him feel so good makes you feel good in return. That's all that matters right?

You step closer to him, placing a gentle kiss onto his back while your free hand reaches around him. Stroking over his Rock hard cock.

"Good lord, Ain't that some kind of abuse of Power?" He comments but he likes it, he could easily make you stop if he wanted to. Looking at you with big desperate beautiful eyes.

"You wanna file a complaint?" You kiss his shoulder and his back again. His hips starting to meet your pace is incredible.

"Phew aren't you all wound up, how long has it been Boyd? Since you felt a womans touch? Soft lips against your skin, delicate hand around your cock?" You whisper and it feels as if he's crumbling at your words. All desperate and defeated. That certainly is a new look for Boyd Crowder.

"Too long way too long" He breathes out.

"Am I doing a good job?" You ask hopeful.

"The best..." his voice is dripping with something sweet, he sounds so thankful.

When you push your fingers into him harder you can feel his hips shiver. He likes it a little rough too apparently.

You keep the stronger pace of your fingers, hand stroking his cock in the same motion.

The orgasm you get to witness is stunning, breathtaking. He tries to swallow his moans but his body clenches around your fingers and his cock throbs in your hand while rows of cum spray the wall in front of him. It's easy to tell without a vocal Orchestra that he really enjoyed himself. Carefully letting go of him and taking your gloves off.

"God damn Baby." He chuckles when he turns around.

He picks up his clothes and gets dressed again fairly quickly, closing the buttons on his prison jumper. He even has the damn courtesy of taking some paper towels and cleaning up the mess he made, tossing them and washing his hands before he looks at you.

"You really have me question what we are here..." He tilts his head and you can still see the remains of a blush on his skin.

"I've never done this before, all these other guys they are so...uptight, uncomfortable, and then you come along moaning around" You huff.

"Which I never done before either!! No other guard has ever gotten me like this, I think it's more of the person, the person being a woman I rather fancy" He smirks a bit. "I bet any touch of yours would make me sing such tunes darlin' " God the charisma of this man is teeth rotting sweet.

"Your ridiculous" You comment, but you should move on now, you don't want people to question why this is taking so long.

"Ridiculousy smitten, correct." He nods.

"Go now, smitten or not this is still a crime" You nod towards the door but instead of him going both of his hands take your face. Kissing you slow and sweet before he has to let go. "Might get myself into some more trouble if that means I get to be seein' you" he winks before he opens the door.

He's such an idiot but...god you too are pretty damn smitten.

💞🕒💞🕒💞🕒💞

To be continued...

Hey thank you for reading. I hope you liked it. And I hope you are excited for more !

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@justme12200 @cat-shepard @megangovier

@ivyinthesun @catclaw12

If I wrongly tagged someone or forgot someone im super sorry !!! I gotta start making a damn list hahaha.

[helyiios]

White button up

or, Benji’s really worried about his shirt.

Ethan was not panicking. He was not. He was perfectly fine, and he was running, because what’s the point of being Ethan fucking Hunt if you’re not, like, sprinting for your life on a regular basis, and he was perfectly relaxed.

[Hum,] Luther says in his ear, [we lost signal of B—]

“I KNOW !” he yells back, growing more and more upset, “I’m going towards his last known location. I still have amo, let’s just hope he’s still there.”

[Copy that.]

The worst part, he realises, is that he knows that Benji can handle getting roughed up a little. Wasn’t it the whole point of being an agent ? Getting your ass kicked on the regular ?

Doesn’t mean he likes to think about his friend in that position. He likes to think about him in many positions, but not this one.

He groans and keeps running, his gun kept by his side as he takes a sharp turn left, feeling the soles of his shoes screech on the pavement, and he almost loses his balance, and before he can start running again he hears some shouting at least two streets from where he was.

He picks up the pace, trotting towards the origin of the noise, and he does end up finding Benji—who was standing in front of a man, one hand raised defensively.

Technically, he should be jumping to his defence. Which is what he was just counting on doing, before catching the light glint of a sharp object held behind his friend’s back.

So instead, still hidden by a wall, he stands still and watches.

“I’m non-violent,” Benji nervously calls out to his attacker, hands still raised, “come on, there’s no need to resort to violence to solve this, is there ?”

“You and your friends blew up our headquarters and killed our boss,” the man seethes, visibly furious, “and you think you’re going to get out of it so easily ? Oh, I think the fuck not.”

“Well, technically I didn’t blow it up, it was my mate. If you really want to get specific, you’ll have to fight him. He doesn’t know how to, though…”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s not fucking funny ! Stop talking and come closer so I can fuck you up.”

“But I don’t want to,” Benji whines, his right hand still holding the sharp tool, “c’mon, please ?”

The other man snorts, his fighting stance unmoving despite his raised eyebrow.

“Are you seriously negotiating I let you go ? Man, you are not a good agent, aren’t you ?”

“It’s not that,” he moans, visibly upset, “it’s just…”

He sighs, running his free hand through his hair.

“This is tailored Loro Piana, and I don’t want to get it dirty.”

From his hiding spot, Ethan has to slap a hand on his mouth to keep silent. Was Benji seriously worried about his clothes ?

“Shut up !” his assailant finally roars, running towards the agent at full speed, “be a man and FIGHT !”

With a sharp move Benji slashes the guy’s face, using the element of surprise of the concealed knife to slam his cheek as powerfully as he could, sending him stammering a few steps back. Quickly he gets back into position, and he aims for the neck, eyes and skull first, surprisingly ending up with cutting the tip of the man’s nose, and he can’t help but grimace out of disgust at this, pulling away to avoid getting punched.

His next move isn’t so lucky, because the man is suddenly tackling him, and his head hits the pavement so hard he thinks he passes out for half a second, but before he gets the chance to fight back, there’s a strong jab at his jaw, and he furiously spits out a mouthful of blood.

Thankfully his knife is still tightly held in his hand, and without thinking he shoves the blade inside the other’s left eye, twisting and straining, pushing the man off him as he leaves the weapon there, hopping back a few metres away.

He looks down at himself and at the red stained crisp shirt, and he groans.

“Really ?!” he protests, spreading his arms disbelievingly, “do you know how expensive this is ?! You guys have no respect for textile !”

His attacker is still halfway on the ground, trying to pull the knife out without screeching in pain, and Benji can’t help but stare, his upper lip raised in absolute disgust, his arms crossed. He’s still at a safe distance from him.

“I’m getting really tired of having to fight back idiots who think it’s okay to go after the little tech guy, because oh, of course he’s going to go easy on us ! Well guess what,” he spits out, genuinely upset, “some of us also like the thrill of the field ! If you wanted to vanilla fight with shitty punches, just ask Luther ! I love the man, but he’s shit at hand to hand combat, okay ?! And honestly, like, did you think I didn’t expect at least one person to run after me ?! Do I look stupid to you ?!”

“You’re…a fucking…lunatic,” the other man difficultly chokes out, unable to get back up, blood pouring of out of his face. “Who the fuck…are you ?”

“And like, it’s almost insulting they only sent one guy after me. Like what, I couldn’t take more people on ? I’m not Ethan, but I’m not that helpless ! And I especially brought my knife so I could switch the mood a bit and not get it done too quick with a head shot, do you realise how disappointing this is ?! And you ruined my favourite shirt !”

The man seems to give up on him, because as soon as the knife is out of his eye, he collapses on his back, breathing heavily. He tracks Benji’s movement as he watches him walk back towards him, crouching by his side. The agent inspects him throughly, patting him in search of the disk they’d been after. He finds it in his left pant pocket.

“Don’t mind me,” Benji pouts, taking it out and putting it in the inside pocket of his coat, “no bad feelings, nothing personal, mate. Huh, does it hurt ?” he then casually asks, chin resting on the palm of him hand.

“…what ?”

“The whole eye thing. Did it hurt ?”

The other man closes his eyes, letting out a breathless laugh.

“Like a bitch.”

“That’s interesting.”

Benji gets back up, dusting his pants a little uselessly, grabbing his knife again and putting it back in his place.

“Great doing business with you.”

“Go fuck…yourself.”

“Jesus. So rude.”

Ethan, who’d been somewhere in between mesmerised and horrified, finally steps out, waving awkwardly at his field technician, almost shy.

“Huh, not interrupting anything, I hope ?” he asks sort of lamely, “are you alright ?”

Benji almost jumps out of his skin, clearly not expecting him. He manages to swallow down his helpless and high pitched yelp.

“Huh—yeah,” he says instead, slicking his hair back, “I was just finished. Do you want to, like, put a bullet in him ? I don’t have my gun on me.”

Ethan shrugs.

“He’ll die soon enough,” he decides.

His friend hums, not caring enough to contradict him.

“I got the disk, by the way.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw that. Congrats, Benj. And huh, sorry about your shirt.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame,” he sighs, shaking his head. “How did you find me ? I lost comms with you at least twenty minutes ago.”

“I kind of, just ran around,” Ethan admits. “This city isn’t really big.”

“Is it weird that I’m really craving bolognese right now ?”

“Dunno if there’s the required ingredients at the safehouse, but I could come up with something.”

“That’d be lovely.”

“Well,” the older man smiles, holding out his hand, “let’s head back.”

Benji grins, taking it gratefully.

“Yeah, let’s.”

[blooming-violets]

Ik this is a dark ask but you said that you enjoy angst...What if Peter was suicidal? Couple years after Ben & Gwen and he generally just doesn't want to live anymore thinking it would be best if he just died? If he did have a significant other would she have to talk him from of the ledge once or twice? Again you really don't have to answer this if you don't want to. I'm not trying to glorify suicide or depression at all. I think you're a great writer and would be the best equipped for this type of subject matter

I don't think it's too dark! Not for me, at least. This is right up my alley and very much something I believe Peter would be going through with his guilt. Talking about and writing about suicide and suicidal tendencies and depression in fiction are not glorifying the topic. You're allowed to express yourself and write/read anything you please, no matter the topic. Don't forget that!<3

Trigger Warnings: this is a short angst drabble about depression, self harm, and suicidal tendencies, mentions of self harm include (burning self in shower, standing under freezing shower, cutting skin, burning on stove), gory details about Gwen's death are described

The water scalded his skin. 

It was as hot as his apartment shower would allow it to go. 

His palms were pressed against the wet wall in front of him in a braced stance with his head hung low. He held his back under the liquid fire through clenched teeth. 

Feel the pain. Consume him. Until there was nothing left. 

Let it burn through his flesh, let it melt away his muscles, and dissolve his spine until he was nothing but a steaming pile of visceral, bloody goop. 

What’s the point of anything? 

Peter’s pale skin turned red under the water. The bite of burning agony was everything he wanted. He could stay here forever to let his skin slowly melt from his body. 

And he did. 

At least, until the hot water ran out and ice replaced the heat. It was then that he allowed himself to lay down. Curled up under the stream. Cocooned by the dirty tub walls. The change of temperature sent his body in shock. Pools of icy water sloshed around his body. This hole in the wall apartment never had good drainage. It was filthy and broken just like him.

The cold overtook him much like the heat had. It held a different kind of burning bite but one he relished in. 

It numbed his blistering back until he felt nothing. There was no more pain. His mind slowed to a sluggish pace. His blue lips trembled along with his chattering teeth. 

His eyes closed. Here in the shower, he could find a peace he never could outside of it. 

“Peter!” 

The water halted. 

A towel was being thrown over him. Stealing him from his safety. He was so close. Just a little longer. That’s all he needed. Just a little longer and he could finally be free. 

“What are you doing?” 

She knew what he was doing. It wasn’t the first time she had found him in some sorry state. Whether he was beaten to a pulp and laid out on the street, slicing off parts of his flesh with a rusty x-acto knife he stole off some petty thief, holding his hand over the open flames of his stove, or teetering off the edge of a skyscraper. She knew exactly what he was doing. 

He was forcing his body to reflect the pain he felt on the inside. 

Because when he looked in the mirror, his reflection didn’t speak the truth. He looked too whole. His body was intact. It wasn’t broken or damaged like he felt. It was lying to him. 

When he closed his eyes, he saw her blood still coating his hands. It had soaked through the Spider-Man gloves. It had sunk into his skin and dried in cracks along the lines of his palm. He didn’t need a palm reader to know that he was cursed. There was blood on his hands. Blood that could never be washed off. No amount of showers could erase her from his skin. 

It didn’t stop him from trying. 

The tender break in her skull haunted him. He had pressed his hand against the back of her head like he had held her so many times when she was alive. His fingers had sunk into the fragmented hole in her skull, accidentally coming in contract with the fleshy softness of her brain. Her beautifully, intelligent brain. Smartest woman in his class. Future scientist, Gwen Stacy. 

Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy, deceased. 

Cracked open her skull and spilled her brains across the ground because he was too slow. Neck snapped by his own web. Spine severed in two. He had failed her. She trusted him. She believed in him. And he had let her die. 

He didn’t deserve to live. 

“Peter, get up!” 

She was leaning over him, her sleeves were getting soaked in the pool of ice water around him as she tugged at his arm. 

Get up. 

Gwen never got up. Why should he be allowed to get up? 

This was where he belonged. Naked and broken. Surrounded by ice. 

“Peter, please…stay with me…Peter! Please! I can’t…I can’t live without you…get up…don’t you do this.” 

He could hear the tears thickening her voice and choking back sobs. He knew those words. He knew those cries. Pleading. Begging. 

He couldn’t let her feel like him. He couldn’t do that. He knew this pain too well. He couldn’t spread it forward. It was his to keep. His to hold onto. He couldn’t let it slip out of his grasp to someone else. Not to her. 

That’s why he never finished the job. 

He could push himself right to the edge but never take that final leap. It was his selfish burden to bear. He would carry it until the end of time. 

He opened his eyes.

For her.

Because he had already ruined one lover's life. 

Because he couldn’t ruin another's.

If you liked this and want more of this topic, I think you would really enjoy my one shot Nicest Thing.

[felixsramen]

Yours Truly

This is part 14 to my Skz poly fic.

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Warnings: None

You woke up to Minho cuddling into you. All of the boys soft snores occupying the room. It was nice to hear. It made you happy. You really needed to pee though. You wiggle out of Minhos grasp and eventually free yourself and walk to the bathroom. As you leave the bathroom you see Seungmin and Felix now walking to the kitchen.

You come up behind them and hug Felix. "I thought you left." Felix says and turns around in your arms.

"Nope. Just went to the bathroom." You say and Seungmin now moves you from Felix to bring you into his arms.

Seungmin kisses you on the cheek and it's the first time any of the boys have done that. "So cute it's almost sickening." You hear Hyunjin say and you look up at him.

Seungmin rolls his eyes playfully. "Just say you want a kiss next time." Seungmin says and he lets go of you going up to Hyunjin. Seungmin kisses Hyunjin and pulls away looking at his older boyfriend.

"I love you." Hyunjin tells him.

"I love you more." Seungmin says now going back to Felix.

"So what are we making?" Seungmin asks his boyfriend who giggles.

"Strawberry cupcakes from scratch." Felix says pulling out the ingredients.

"Do you want to help Y/N?" Felix asks his eyes almost sparkling in the light.

"Sure." You say smiling.

"Are you just going to stand there and look pretty Jinnie or are you going to help?" Seungmin asks his boyfriend who stands in the doorway as he pulls out the flour.

Hyunjin goes into the kitchen grabbing the eggs. "Y/N could you go into the fridge and grab the strawberries and cut them up?" Felix asks you as he grabs the cutting board.

You open the fridge grabbing the strawberries. "Cut them in half and then put them in the puree blender." Felix says as he pours the dry ingredients together. Seungmin starts the timer and goes to grab the rest of the ingredients.

"Hyunjin grab the other container and you're just going to cut those in half you won't need the whole thing so cut like half of them." Felix says as he brings out the other cutting board.

Felix and Seungmin mix the ingredients together. "I didn't mean that earlier." Hyunjin says starting to feel guilty about how it sounded.

"I know." Y/N says smiling at him reassuringly. Yet Hyunjin just sighs the guilt not leaving him. Hyunjin knew sometimes his teasing had gone far.

You look at him as he chops the strawberries lost in thought. "Jinnie?" You ask him and he looks up at you in surprise at the nickname.

"Hmm?" He asks the initial shock now going away.

"It's okay." You say smiling at him.

"Are you sure?" He asks. Hyunjin wasn't very sure of himself sometimes so he always wanted to make sure the people he cared about were sure of their answers.

You put the knife down going up to him. You take the knife out of his hand and put it down. Your hands intertwine with his and you smile at him again. "I'm sure Jinnie." You say and Hyunjin smiles back at you now completely reassured.

You kissed his cheek and smiled at him. Hyunjin was turning red now. "Are you blushing?" Seungmin says laughing at his boyfriend.

"Oh shut up." Hyunjin grumbles throwing a strawberry at him. The strawberry hits Seungmin.

"Oh you're going down loverboy." Seungmin says grabbing a strawberry from your pile.

"Why am I being used as a shield? I'm an innocent bystander!" You say to both boys.

"Well you're in the way so...." Seungmin says and throws the strawberry at you.

"Seungmin!" You screech as the strawberry hits you.

Both boys laugh and Hyunjin lets go of you. "I'm going to get you back!" You say laughing and grabbing a strawberry.

You watch as Felix finishes the cupcake batter.

"Hey! We're in the process of making cupcakes so don't throw the-" Felix says and before he finishes you throw the strawberry at Seungmin who dodges it. It hits Felix in the middle of that.

Felix is surprised by being hit by a strawberry. The initial shock goes away as the flour is still beside him. He looks at the flour and then at you guys.

"Don't you dare do that!" Seungmin yells as Felix grabs a handful of flour.

You all run from Felix as he chases you with flour around the kitchen. He eventually catches you all throwing flour all over you. You all can't help but laugh.

"I hate you all." Seungmin says as flour is in his hair and on half his face.

"We love you too." Hyunjin says who has a Felix sized hand print of flour on the side of his face from Felix pinning him down and rubbing it on his face.

"That was fun!" Felix says still giggling. Felix had flour all on his shirt from chasing you guys and a little bit of flour on his hair.

You laugh at Felix. "It was." You say. You had gotten the worst of it the boys tag teaming you and throwing flour all over you. Your hair was practically white now and you knew it wasn't going to be fun getting that out but you could care less right now.

"Minho is going to kill us." Seungmin says realizing flour was all over the floor and counters.

"Oh definitely." Hyunjin says now holding you from behind his head resting on your shoulder. It was comforting.

"We should definitely clean this up before he realizes." Felix says sighing.

"Before he realizes what?" You hear Minho say as he appears at the door.

Minhos eyes widen as his eyes look at the kitchen. "What the hell did you guys do to my kitchen?!?" Minho says now looking at the 4 of you.

"It was Felix!" Seungmin says quickly.

"Oh screw you! What happened to being loyal to me!" Felix says to his younger boyfriend.

"We are but that doesn't count when it comes to Minhos kitchen." Hyunjin says now pulling you with him out the kitchen as Minho glares at Felix.

'I'm sorry' you mouth to Felix and he gives you a weak smile.

"Let's go before Minho has us sleeping in the backyard. I don't want that happening again." Hyunjin says pulling you towards a room.

"Again?" You ask him as he closes the door.

He nods going through the closet looking for clothes. "Minho once made us sleep in the backyard because Jisung forgot to do the dishes and so he punished all of us. He said and I quote 'Either you all sleep in the backyard tonight or you'll all wake up bald in the morning because of Jisung.' You haven't seen any of us bald and I want it to stay that way." Hyunjin says pulling out 2 shirts and 2 pairs of sweatpants.

"Here you can take a shower." Hyunjin says handing you some clothes.

"Thank you." You say taking them from him. You go to the bathroom in the room and shut the door. You turn the water on letting it warm up.

You look into the mirror. You felt good for once looking at yourself even with flour all over you. You couldn't help but smile. These boys were bringing the joy in your life and you couldn't be more thankful.

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