#just a lil bit angry at my head for not thinking things through

[lilalexxx]

Am going to take a lil break on this blog! Head is fucked up a little, so I'm just going to take everything slow

[simonrillleyyysss]

simon with an s/o who is super duper smart!! like she studied astrophysics or SUMN and she’s like a researcher and she reads classic philosophy and is subscribed to a bunch of newsletters for different topics and she’s just,, so smart!! but not like street smart. she’s a clutz and she’s clueless and a bit dumb when it comes to the the day to day stuff and it’s so silly cause like. how. r u in such a prestigious field and you speak so eloquently yet also so silly stupid dumb?? it’s so cute

and his favourite thing is getting his smartypants nerdy little girlfriend into a babbling gushing mess under him, barely able to form coherent sentences as he bullies her soaked cunny :(( miss big shot researcher all fucked out and giggling, drooling and brainless AGHHRRN the brainrot is real

i love this!! socially unaware reader who’s a genius?? yes!!!

Simon knows you’re intelligent, everyone does! You’re always spewing facts to him throughout the day, and he thrives for it! A new update about some snazzy topic, which he, does not entirely understand? Hell yeah! You’re happy and content, walking down the street with your hands linked, freehand scrolling through your phone.

“Oh!”

“Hm?”

“There’s a new—“

He’s so happy that you’re happy, doesn’t care if anyone else thinks you’re a snob, you’re not. You’re his smart cookie. His soft, silly smart cookie. He adores flexing it, too!

Sat on the sofa on a rainy day? He isn’t surprised when you’re nose is stuck in some big book about philosophical ideals and whatnot, peeks over your shoulder as his fingers tangle through your hair, kissing the back of your head.

“Seems snazzy.”

He mumbled lowly, hands squishing your cheeks from behind, watching you purse ur lips out.

“It is! It’s really interesting, would you like to read it after?”

“..I’ll pass, y’ can tell me about it, though. That’s better, innit?”

Watches you work from home, constantly. Finds it so interesting when you sit at your laptop, tapping at the keys so quickly while looking down at your big book of new information , all of which you’d written down recently, just sits at the corner of the bed and stares at you in awe.

Never trusts you to go out by yourself, always has you message him every once in a while when you’re out with your friends at dinner or anything—He’s not controlling, you can go out; but he just knows you’re not high in the social field of things, monkey say monkey do!

Smart? Yes, streetsmart? No.

So when you and him had went out shopping together, and some guy tried to hit on blissfully, happily unaware you? He was enraged, he knows you didn’t do anything, he knows it was all him, but he can’t help how angry it makes him.

Can’t help how he holds you down on the bed by your hips, thrusting his thick cock into your tight cunt, sniffling and whining in soft confusion, you didn’t do anything! So why was he ramming into your sensitive little pussy? Why was he abusing you softly and kissing your breasts if you didn’t do anything wrong?

“So-Mgmmng..Si—m’sorry!”

“Shhhh, Yr’ fine, sugar…I know y’didnt, jus’ stay quiet f’me, yeah?”

“A-mngh..Ohh, gosh! Are you mad at me?”

You gasped out, looking up at the blonde-haired man, who was softly peppering pecks along your perky nipples, cock slamming into you repeatedly, watching your eyes roll back and lips part.

“Course not, mad at him—Yeah? Thinkin’ he has a chance with my girl.. Thinkin’ he can fuck your pretty lil’ pussy as well as I do.”

“Mmnngghh.Can’t..NoooooOOT him!-“

He chuckled, jutting his cock further in you a few times to emphasise his point, watching you squeal in pleasure, back arching; His thumb coming to brush right circles against your aching clit, feeling you tighten and spasm around him as your orgasm washed over you!

Or,

When you’re sitting atop his lap, riding him lazily as he reads your latest draft, brows furrowed as his arm slung around your hip protectively, listening to your little moans and u intelligible babbles, slouching over slightly—feeling his hand squish your hip and seeing you instantly readjust your frame, practically drooling down your chin.

Smart literally, Dumb socially.

[winterarmyy]

Deleted Scene

An alternate ending of Thin Walls, Thin Lines.

Note: Basically the smut content no one asked for our fuckboy!bucky in 《 Thin Walls, Thin Lines 》. So read it first for context! (if you haven't already)

Navigation: Original Version || Deleted Scene* (alt. ending)

Pairing: fuckboy!bucky x female!reader

Words: 3.7k++

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, no minors allowed, nsfw, fluff, lil bit of angst, cunnilingus, finger fucking, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, squirting, cum eating, needy bucky, an absolute filth and i'm sorry for bucky's behaviour in this one, he is just a horny mf on a daily basis also I just want to warn you about the sinful things he might say in this.

P/S: I don't know what to say. I love the fluff ending from the original version, but this... this ending. Even if i feel like it's a messy writing. but pheww. You can just tell why I refused to choose and ended up doing both.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A playful smirk pulled on Bucky's lips when he spoke "Doll, you shouldn't be saying that so carelessly. Who knows I might use it for despicable things." Surely, he love to be the cause to bloom those red shades on her cheeks.

But it didn't happened when she asked quietly, "Will you?"

And the silence that came after was heavy with tenderness while their eyes spoke the truth to one another. As the thin lines in between got blurry, for once, there was just streams of genuine feelings pouring out of them, leaking through and contaminating the air with its magic.

Would he? Take advantage of her?

Of course not. But will he lie just to tease her? Yes. He would. "Maybe. Only if you let me." He shrugged.

And that made her blooming feature fell into a gloom. As if she was having a chaotic crisis within the pretty little troubled head of hers. Y/N didn't want whatever he was suggesting. She wanted more than a brief fling; more than a casual situationship.   

Because she loved him; truly. It wasn't just a passing passion, or an accidental chemistry.

Seeing the frown on her face and the panic spiralling in her eyes, Bucky chuckled as he knew she was taking his joke way too seriously, "Okay, how about I let you on with a little secret?" He suggested.

It perked her interest that Y/N simply nodded to his offer. Bucky smiled as he leaned down, lips grazing the shell of her ears whispering a shocking confession.

She wasn't even high from any medication that Dr. Cho had prescribe to her but she couldn't believe what she heard. Her widen eyes questioned his smug smile hovering over her. Until she sneakily pulled the pillow next to her and threw it to his face.

Y/N kicked the blankets and changed into a sitting position, "Urghh you're such a dick, Bucky! I can't believe that I let you make fun of me!" She said with a biting tone.

"But, I'm not though?" Which only triggered her to smack him more with the pillow she was holding. Soon, the silent room were filled with the sound of her angry groans and Bucky's hearty laughter that cascade into a muffled chuckles.

The moment Y/N let her guard down, Bucky quickly stole the soft weapon from her and reclarified his confession, "I'm serious. I've been in love with you for awhile now." It's not she was blind; she saw no lies in his eyes and there was nothing but truth in the gentle of his voice.

She squinted her eyes into a glare and folded her arms across her chest, "Well, you have a rather funny way of showing it."

Bucky only smile to her snarky remarks, his hand finding hers to pull her closer, "I think I made it clear with the endless flirting that you have been blatantly rejecting, doll." He placed her perfectly on his lap, rubbing his big hands on her small back.

Y/N scoffed, "The only thing that was clear from that was how badly you wanted to get in my pants." Despite her objection, she let him pamper her body with his touch.

Bucky grinned, "And I do. But, only because I love you."

When she caught his gaze, she knew there was something magical about it; she have read so many books and poetry describing the look of his steel blues. A look that she can only dream of and not experience it; and if she was to make it come true, then this would be it.

Bucky moved slightly forward to nudge the tip of his nose on her own, hands intertwining with her shaky ones, silently asking for a permission to kiss her.

If she wasn't too focus on his presence on her skin, she would've noticed how the blood rushing to her cheeks were making her blushed in red. It felt good, it felt right.

Y/N gave her answer by leaning her forehead on his and he didn't waste any time to capture her lips, pressing an innocent kiss against it as his flesh hand gripped on hers while his metal hand find her cheek.

Soon enough the surrounding air heated and Bucky managed to slipped his tongue into her parted lips, his tongue wrapped around hers as her free hand reached back to gather his hair in her grasp. As they were blinded in sight by their closed eyes, they let sensory of their body ravel in each other's touch.

Out of instinct, her hand pulled from his back, then resting it on the prickly surface of his jaw before slightly pushing him away. Bucky took the cue and broke the kiss, "Babydoll." His hot breath blew against her cheek as he lean his lips on it.

Y/N realized what she had done; she let him kiss her, touch her but what does this mean? "I..I.." She hesitated.

"You're okay, y/n. Tell me to stop. Tell me to fuck off. It's okay, you can tell me anything." Bucky coaxed softly as he held her closer.

"I want this. I want you, Bucky. But... how can I trust you?" She really do. But, some part of her still reluctant to his history, "You've been sleeping around with those girls for months. Almost every night." Bucky cringed to his own behaviour. "How do I know it? That I'm not becoming one of them? That I'm not just some fucktoy you're gonna use and toss after?" She didn't care if she sound desperate. She needed him to be true because she know this won't work if he isn't willing to.

Bucky breath caught in the middle, as he knew that even the sweetest words won't satisfy her worry, so he only told the truth, "You have been the only one I wanted, y/n. And I know words aren't enough convice you. So let me show you, baby. Let me make love to you until you see how much I truly love you."

And he indeed fulfill his promise on that.

Bucky took his time undressing her until she was bare as the day she was born. He took longer time kissing her skin, loving each part of her perfect body and a much more lingering kisses around the bruises from today's mission.

Now that her pretty little cunt was right in front of him, exposed and bare, he wondered if this was all just a dream. Because it felt like it. No matter though; he'd devour her just the same whether she was just a creation of his dreams or his actual reality.

Bucky pressed several kisses on her clit, leaving the wet kissing noises filling the quiet room. He brought his tongue out slowly and started to lick her up; just to have a taste, "So pretty." he purred in between licking her fluids, teasing her. "So perfect." His fingers went to spread her lips apart and she made a strangled noise when she felt his long wet tongue, flattening through her folds, "Fuck." she cursed.

And after the first taste of her, Bucky realized how greedy he was getting especially when delved right back into her. "Bucky..." she whimpered his name as his warm lips wrapped around her clit, lewdly sucking on as if it was a tasty strawberry flavored sweet, just to release her moments after. He chuckled and slurred against her wetness, "Love the way you moan by name, sweetheart. Need to hear more."

His hands had moved from her waist to her hips in effort to pull her closer. If Y/N had anything to speak up in response then it was too late to say out loud because her head was swiftly wiped clean the moment his lips press into her clit again.

Bucky's grip on her thighs were almost harsh, just to keep her legs spread wide open for him to suckle on her clit, flicking his tongue over it deliciously. Looking down, she can only see the dark mess hair bobbing between her legs as he eats out her needy little cunt.

Y/N's mind was cloudy with ecstacy and pleasure crawling through her with each flick of his warm tongue between her folds. When it felt too good, she couldn't help but to catch his soft hair, holding on for her dear life as he devoured her cunt; noisy and messy.

"So fucking good, doll." He grunted into her weeping pussy, low and sensual as he pushed her legs further, allowing himself more access to her sweetness. "You taste so good."

Unbeknownst to her, Bucky was also enjoying every moment of this. Each time he moaned and groaned into her pussy, was the also time he thrusted his own needy cock against the mattress. The tip of was leaking with so much precum that it had left a wet stain behind.

With him getting that desperate, it felt like he was about to bust his nuts at any given time. But he wanted to wait; at least until Y/N gets her first high of the night. When his slick tongue deliciously fucking her pussy, exploring inside her, litters of curses of his name escaped from her lips as she moaned.

His wet tongue explored her insides as they clenched with lust and she choked out of air, not sure of how much longer she could take it because there was no way to deny it, she was about to cum, "Fuck,, Bucky. I'm cumming,,"

Bucky hummed into her when he pulled his tongue out, switching to rubbing on her clit, up and down, all the while was chasing his own orgasm, frantically humping on the bed like a rabid dog in heat.

Y/N gasped when he alternate between to sucking her clit and licking her up. Her back arched, pushing her cunt further into his hungry mouth in hopes to reach her release, "Please, please, don't stop.. need it, Bucky. Oh fuckkk"

Both of his hands; flesh and metal, slide up to grab her hips, helping her to grind on his tongue until her wetness came leaking out into his mouth, right on his tongue. Bucky came right along with her, grunting needily as the pink tip of his cock spurted out ribbons of his cream on in her mattress, marking his territory.

Bucky continued running his tongue up and down her wet slit throughout her orgasm, lapping away at her release that leaked out then gulping it down his throat as he watched her sighs with content.

When he pressed a soft kiss against her puffy, oversenstive clit, she thought it was end of it. But she couldn't be more wrong. The moment Y/N felt his metal finger trailed along her inner thighs, she knew that he wasn't satisfied with just eating her out.

She yelped when Bucky swiftly pulled her down, until her ass slides through the mess he made earlier, "What...?" Y/N herself didn't know what to ask but he knew exactly how to answer, "That's my cum, babydoll." He swiped some of the fluid from the sheets and smeared it on her throbbing cunt, making her instinctively moan.

Bucky smirked, "Eating your pretty pussy made me cum so hard, doll." With hunger in his gaze, he watched how his mess of a cum made her cunt glisten even more, "And because of that you deserve a reward, don't you think?" She whined as she nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, you do. You deserve to get your tight hole fucked by my metal fingers, don't you?" He continued to draw tight circles on her clit while his middle finger glides through her slit until he found her entrance, and pushed it in.

Y/N's head jerked up to the sudden intrusion. It was cold and reached much deeper than any of her fingers before. When Bucky twisted and curled the metal within her walls she cried out of pleasure. It was such new sensation and so fucking good.

A sudden entrance of another finger making her squeal from how sensitive her insides were to his metal fingers. And it made Bucky so full with pride to see her bending her back, her hips quivering, her walls tighten; all for him, "You can take it, sweetheart."

There was no such thing a pause when Bucky finger-fucked her hard; with his flesh hand pawing at her breast. He had his eyes locked on to the way her eyes roll back, panting breaths through those soft lips of hers, while his fingers drilled her tight pussy over and over and over, "That's it, that's fucking it baby. Such a good girl for me." He praised.

Endless moan were filling the room, along with the squelching sound of her wet cunt getting pounded mercilessly. Y/N lifted her hips higher; the feelings of Bucky's fingers inside her was different than her own. The stimulation and pleasure coming from his ways were distinct; like how the tip of his finger hits her unexplored g-spots or how his thumb pressed and twisted on her clit.

Bucky managed to pull the most sinful and desperate noises from her, "I-I’m going to cum,," she whimpered, hands balling into fists on the bed sheets as her hips followed his thrusts. "Yeah? Already, doll?" He taunted as he rolled her clit between his thumb and index finger.

Y/N nodded eagerly in between her moaning mess, before she let out high-pitched, satisfied whimper of his name as endless of fluid squirted out of her overstimulated pussy. "Oh fuck babydoll." He groaned as watched awe at her gushing cunt. "Did you just squirt? Hmm fuckkkkk, you should've done that when I have my mouth on you, baby. Shit."

Bucky scoot back to leaned his face right in between her legs. He darted his tongue out before he licked and suck the remaining fluid leaking out of her, making her squirm and whimper. And the slurping sound coming from him was such a sinful thing to hear, "Taste so good too. Gotta do that again next time, sweetheart. I wanna drink it all." he proposed.

"But now I need to be inside you." Bucky's declaration were cut short as his mouth captured hers in a heated kiss.

Y/N moaned into his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue as she kissed him back passionately, her body burning from all the pent-up frustration she had been pushing back for months. Bucky broke the kiss after a few mind-numbing minutes, before his hungry lips roamed around her neck, hands trailing over every part of her exposed skin as her heart rate spikes

"Need you, babydoll." Bucky groaned as he pumped his hard cock with his hand, spreading his dribbling pre-cum around his thick length. She whined as he gripped her legs, spreading them as wide as they'll go before rubbing the head of his cock against her slit.

He leaned again to kiss her one more time before sliding inside, slowly. "Oh god," Y/N moaned as she burned deliciously around him while he spreads her open.

Bucky's hands moved up find the crook in between her waist and hips, settling his veiny hands to the shape of her curves. His hips pounded into her, getting faster and harder with each thrust. As Y/N began to wrap her legs around his waist, he grabbed them and pulling he flused against his hips before he continued drilled his cock into her pussy.

The sensation was a combination of pain and pleasure and she feel as though she's in heaven. "Faster," she cried out.

"Look at you. You're so wet for me, doll. Feels so good around me--" Bucky's voice breaks into a groan as his hips meet hers, "--It's like your pussy was made for me. Gotta let me have you everyday now that you're mine, right sweetheart?"

"Mmmmhnn" she moaned; things took a turn when she clutched around him harder, it was abnormally tight as if it was trying to milk him right there and then. Bucky couldn't help but to groan in pleasure to the new sensation, "F-fuck" he cursed.

It took his less than a minute to figure out the reason why. Bucky smirked sinfully, "You like it when I talk dirty to you?" he slurred. Y/N's eyes were getting teary from all the pleasure she was feeling, from the stuffing feelings in her chest to the sensation of his hard cock thrusting in and out of her cunt.

"i- ahh I-i don't hhmmnn shit i don't know." she tried to deny him.

Bucky stopped his pace, pulled back slowly, "Really?" and slammed it back in hard, "Are you sure, princess?" He almost knocked her out of her breath.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure that my pretty girl loves it when I claim her as mine while I'm fucking her tight little pussy. Does she?" Bucky's kept on slow and hard torturous thrust, it was certainly slow but oh it felt so good; especially when he was doting at Y/N like this.

Was she really a sinner? Because this felt way too good to be in hell.

"Can't speak? Come on, my sweetheart. Speak up, let me hear ya." He demanded. Bucking her hips, wanting for more, "Y-yes, Bucky. I love i-it"

Bucky groan as her walls clenched him so good. Fuck, how many times has he thought of this? Dreamt of this? Probably, countless.

"You know why I keep changing girls, doll?" He sneaks his hands between their bodies and started to rub her clit. Her body shivered to the sensation, shaking her head to the sides as answer. "Yeah,, I bet you have no idea why do you?" He taunted.

Bucky let out a satisfied moan before his thrusts started going back to it's original pace. All whilst his cock pumped into her, gradually growing more fervent, her soaking pussy welcoming him in easily. Her whines mixed with Bucky's as she grabbed on the sheets behind her.

"Because I've been moaning your name in their ears, y/n. Everytime I stroke on my cock in anything, I have you in my mind. And when I cum, I imagine your pussy milking me dry. Just like you're doing now. Fuckkk,, doll, just like that."

Bucky's eyes that was fixated on her fucked out face since awhile ago, traveled down to where they were connected. Looking at how her little pussy shallowed his dick so well make him hornier.

Y/N slightly bounced upwards, his blues eyes tended back to her breasts. He used extra strength to see how her small body shook uncontrollably every time his hips met with hers, and to see those beautiful tits bouncing around.

"Bet you have no clue how much I want fuck my baby in you, doll. Or imagining the way your wedding ring glides on the side of my cock when you stroke me in your hand."

Bucky angled her body again by throwing her legs over his shoulders and leaned forward. This new angle made her eyes roll back. "Oh fuckk-- ahhh bucky,," she managed to say between his thrusts. Her entire body shaking from the tension building in her body as Bucky fucks her hard and fast, "I love you, y/n. I love you so. damn. much. I want to live the rest of my life in this cunt." He punctuated his words with hitting her sweet spot each time.

Bucky briefly threw his head back to hold back his orgasm before his hazy gaze landed on her, "Fuck doll, you look so pretty with my cock in you baby, so pretty. And we're so wet now. Hear that? Yeah, that's the sound of your tight little cunt getting wrecked by my cock. You fit me so perfectly. We're perfect." His thoughts were spilling out just as much as his precum leaking inside her.

There were tears in her eyes now, not only her walls but her whole body were stretching under him. It burned and it felt so damn good.

"Need you to cum, baby" Bucky spoke lowly, "I can feel ya, come on doll. Cum for me." He growled while continuing to pound her pussy.

And that would be the final straw for her. "fuck, yes, yes!" her voice hitched as her thighs begin to tremble around him. "...cumming. fuck, bucky i'm cumming." loud and sensual moans falling from her lips without much of an effort. Screaming out his name in pure bliss as her orgasm snapped through her high.

"That's it baby. Squeeze me so good." Bucky coaxed ever-so-tenderly, as her cum leaked around his cock and her pussy continued to milk him; begging and needing to feel his cum inside her.

"Hmm. I'm cumming, doll. Fuck,, oh fucking hell,, you're so good. Making me wanna cum, sweetheart. Where do you want it? Tell me. Where do you want my cum?" Bucky nearly whimpered as he felt his heavy balls were about to combust.

"Inside. Cum inside me," she moaned breathlessly.

Bucky almost growled to her response, "Good. fucking. girl. That's the only choice, baby. I'm gonna cum in you eitherway. Fuck fuck fuck,, I'm cumming shit take it, babydoll take it yeaahhh"

Leaning into her neck in a loud long moan, she felt Bucky's cock ached as he spilled himself inside her. His huge amount cream kept spurting endlessly, so much that it leaked out of her hole. Bucky whined as he continue to roll his hips, unable to stop humping into her stretched out, cum-filled cunt.

As he come down from the high, Bucky tried to pull out but only to be stopped by her circling her legs around him. He chuckled at her needy behaviour; as he found it quite adorable, "Want me to stay, baby?" he whispered softly and got a drunken nod as answer.

Bucky carefully flipped their position without leaving the tightness of her pussy, lying her limping body on his own. "Hmmmm" she hummed sleepily as she snuggled into his chest, eyes heavy with satisfaction.

"Yeah? Need my cock to fill you up for you to sleep well, hmm babydoll?" He cooed as he grind her hips downward, thrusting his cock into her slow and gentle. Y/N whined and mumbled, "Yes, please."

Bucky smiled tenderly, "Okay sweetheart. I'll keep you stuffed as long as you need me to. Now, I need you to go to sleep, okay?" He said, getting simple "okay" from the lady in his arms. Bucky placed a kiss on her head, as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as both of them got more and more drowsy as time goes by.

And at the end of this night, it was safe to say that this had been the best and longest sleep they both had since forever.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Leave some thoughts behind? The sinful the better 🙈

[jotaroslooseeyebrowhair]

I’ve had this idea in my head for days now and it just won’t LEAVE so here have scraps

So we know those de-aged au’s with Danny right, and the ones where Jason adopts him? YESSSSSS so anyways the thing that’s been ravaging my brain like an anteater on crystal meth is:

So all night has been pretty shit for Jason. Drug dealers, a couple muggings (who even goes out anymore in crime alley, at this time of night???????) and some human traffickers. You know, the usual. So anyways he’s pissed. Not to mention when he comes across some bastard who’s beating his family, jason promptly broke his legs in a couple new ways he liked. Later, deep into the night he’s already seeing a bit of green around the edges and he’s already called in dick to cover some areas while he cools off, so, naturally, as it is in crime alley, something goes horribly wrong that gets him pissed. Beyond pissed. He sees green and only when dick drags him away does he see some red too. A lot of red.

Fuck.

Well, he knows exactly what he has to do, so he pushed dick off of him and starts roof-hopping over to his apartment (where did his bike go?) and dick calls in the others thinking Jason’s going for more weapons/ammo or smthn, and Jason gets to his lil place and carefully opens a window, trying to be quiet because even though he’s in a killing mood he doesn’t want to wake Danny up, what kind of monster would do that?

Anyways Jason’s taking a moment with his helmet off, leaning his arms against the counter to calm himself down taking deep breaths he learned from Danny yes okay he learned from his son when Tim and dick crash through and Jason gets a little more pissed because those assholes probably just woke up Danny!

So here’s Tim and dick wrestling with Jason to get his weapons off of him and calm him down when all of a sudden the lights flick on and there’s a little boy, around 6, with a messy mop black hair and loose space-themed pajamas, rubbing his eyes as he clearly just woke up. everyone freezes in place and Danny looks around, his eyes adjusting to the light before he looks at Jason and–

“Dad? What’s going on?” He asks so innocently with a tilt of his head. While his brothers are stunned to silence Jason shrugs them off as hard as he can (they woke up his son) and walks over to Danny. Dick and tim lurch foreward but Jason just picks up Danny and places him on his hip. Danny reaches forward and carefully pulls off his dads domino and holds it in his hand while he frowns. “Green monsters are being angry again?” And Jason just sighs with his son (his son!!) in his arms and looks at danny; dick and Tim now seeing the green almost completely gone from his eyes.

“Yeah bud. No big deal though, alright? The green monsters are all gone now. So come on, it’s past your bedtime Danny.” To which Danny groans and he turns to look at the two others in the room who are bewildered as fuck because does Jason have a kid????? W h e n?? H o w??? Okay they know how they really don’t but that’s not the point

Anyways they stand there for a minute while Jason puts Danny to bed and when Jason comes back out he stares at them in silence. Then he just *sighs* and stares them dead in the eyes “yes, I have a kid. Yes, he quiets the pit. Yes, it’s past his bedtime. And yes,” Jason cocks his gun, “you both will be getting out of my apartment. right now. Silently.”

Yeah, they guess questions can wait till tomorrow

Link to the fic :)

[macfrog]

secrets cowboy like me chapter fourteen

one day i'll rein my chapters back in. today is not that day. thirteen thousand words of...a little bit of fucking and a lot of fighting. i love you all and i still can't believe the love you continue to show this series. you're all actually insane. i present to you: the penultimate chapter of cowboy.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: the one where...everybody finds out.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), a big argument, a lot of guilt, angry disappointed dad, one mention of alcohol consumption, lil bit of sub!joel, unprotected piv, tiny bit of degradation, tiny bit of praise kink, creampie, cursing, smut, fluff, angst 

word count: 12.9k (dry heaves) 

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You haven’t slept a wink. Not one second.

You and Joel were awake until one in the morning on the phone; you – panicking, spilling words into the receiver, watching different cuts of your dad realizing everything as though projected across your blank ceiling, and Joel – monotone as fucking ever, batting every single theory away.

He doesn’t know a damn thing, he’d said. You didn’t miss the way his words hung over the edge of the sentence, trembling almost.

You scoffed and hissed back down the line. You don’t fucking know that! How can you know that?

You think he just found out about us and thought, Hey, better get some shut-eye before I deal with this? Really, baby?

I think he doesn’t know what he found out. I think he’s probably tryna convince himself that he’s wrong.

So, let him. He’s wrong. We go with that.

Joel knew he wasn’t doing anything to calm you down. Wasn’t offering anything you could seriously take on. You know he wasn’t trying to.

He was as worried as you were – he was just pretending not to be, because what fucking good would it do to have the two of you bouncing off one another with panic?

Still, he stayed on the phone the entire night. When he fell asleep, you lay in bed and tossed everything over in your head like tearing back the pages of a diary. Last night, then Frank’s, then the weekend before that, then the Hillcrest – all the way back to that first ride home. The pissing rain, the boxes of nails rattling in the glove compartment with each sway of the truck. Recalling every word spoken, every move made, every expression pulled and glance stolen and fucking breath taken.

Any sound from beyond your door shot a bullet of adrenaline through your veins, coursing through your body like ice. As if it was your dad, barreling in at 3AM to have it out with you.

You reckon you’d be ready if he did. Wide-eyed, fists clenched, heart hammering.

Joel groans back to life at eight. You hear the ruffling of bedsheets, the crackle down the line as he drags the phone across his mattress and pins it to his ear. You lift your own. Joel and 08:43:36, 37, 38 underneath it on the screen.

His voice drums low and groggy from the speaker. “You are gonna have my phone bill through the damn roof. I’m exhausted, darlin’.”

“I can’t think of anything else. He knows, Joel.”

He sighs. You can see his head falling into his hand, see his thumb rubbing circles into his temple. “Let’s just see what happens, alright? There ain’t any chance you left your phone in the living room ‘n he came across it, thought he’d keep it for you comin’ home?”

“I’ve barely left my room all week. Why would it be down there?”

Joel’s quiet. He just breathes down the line. After a minute, he clears his throat.

“Come over, would ya?”

“Huh?”

“Come over. I wanna see you. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel, I’m –”

“Hey. Don’t make me ask again, alright? C’mon, now. I got some errands to run; you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t have to say much else to convince you; you’re already pulling your bedsheets back and hanging up. Your hoodie and shorts are still hooked over the foot of your bed. The sun filters through the drapes, edges you nearer the door. Your chest fills with something calling itself bravery, and slowly, quietly – you click the door open.

The hallway is silent. A blushing gold in the morning light. The house is still – eerily still. Your dad’s room door is open, bed made, sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. Like he had time to spend on it. Stuff to mull over as he made it.

The carpet softens your footsteps when you finally move for the stairs. The birds are singing outside. The wallpaper canvases your shadow, a little monster creeping along one step behind you, passing picture frames which dazzle with sunrays and mirror a half-lit reflection back to you. One side you – the other, missing.

You lean over the last step, craning your head and shoulders into the hallway. The clock on the wall opposite ticks to no one. Tick tick tick tick. And aside from it, from its taunting tutting, there are no other signs of life. His jacket hangs from the peg. His boots lying below, laces tangled.

The sun separates into brittle shards through the window, illuminating the way to the kitchen. You’re not fucking prepared to follow it.

Shoulders hunched, like it might make a difference, you step forward and lower your thumb and index finger over your keys, aiming for them like a shaky arcade claw machine. Tick tick tick. They jingle as you hook your fingertip through them. Your nose wrinkles.

“Hey.”

He appears around the corner like an apparition. The keys drop back to the unit with a violent clatter.

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah.” Your dad holds a palm up, laughing nervously. “Sorry. Where you headed?”

“Uh, J– Sarah’s. Some errands she wants some help with.”

He nods. “Yeah? You don’t want breakfast first?”

You drag your eyes to meet his for the first time. He looks drawn, skin like webbing, as though it’s just draped over his skull. As though you could put your finger through it like parchment, just push straight through. He looks like he’s had about as much sleep as you have.

“No, thanks,” you say, the sunken, sullen sight of him crumbling your voice to dust. Your lips move wordlessly, waiting for another lie from your tongue to offer over. But between the way he looks, weary and forlorn, and the thin veil of truth left between you – nothing materializes.

“Why don’t you – why don’t you hold back a second?” Dad beckons you forward, folding his fingers to his palm. “Got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”

“Dad, I really gotta go, I –”

“Just – come on. I’m sure Sarah won’t mind.”

He disappears without waiting for a response. Shifts back into the living room, shadow following him like a cloak across the door. You hear the creak of his chair as he settles down into it, the unsettling squeal of leather and spring.

Your feet are planted to the hall floor. To move in either direction feels like a trap. To follow after him – sit opposite and swallow back what you think you know is coming. All of his suspicions stuck in your throat like a bitter, powdery pill. Or to turn away – leave him in an empty house, nothing but the sound of his own breathing and that tick tick tick affirming your guilt.

No more excuses filter through – none of Joel’s ideas, none of his explanations. You let your shoulders drop and your eyes close. The only image behind them is that six-foot, graying, droning idiot who’s probably sat waiting for you to pull up so he can take you to fucking Trader Joe’s or whatever.

And his shirt, which he’d probably drape over your shoulders before he’s even said hello. And his smile, which would draw you onto your tiptoes, draw your lips to his. And his hands, and his waist, and his pulse in step with yours as you follow him around the quiet store, the Saturday morning air daring you to hook your fingers around two of his every now and then. The longing a gnawing in your chest, burrowing deep beneath the cage of your ribs.

He's not here, though. It’s just you. And if you call him now, if he shows up unannounced – it’s only going to confirm what your dad thinks. Fuck it – what he knows.

So you unstick your sneakers and haul yourself through to the living room.

He’s rocking in the chair when you sink back into the couch. Balls of his feet pushing him back and forth. His fingers to his lips, like keeping the words at bay for now. Like feeling the jagged shape of them through his skin.

You throw a pillow over your legs, shaggy ivory fringe tickling your bare thighs. Your dad doesn’t speak. When you lift your head, his eyes flit from yours down to your restless fingers knitting the tassels of his pillow.

“What is it?” you croak.

“Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

He waits a beat. A hesitation. Like he doesn’t want to ask the first question. He’s at the edge of a cliff. One more step and he’s plummeting down the rocky side, into a fog of cloud. Nothing will ever be the same. Only – you’ve already pushed him. He’s already falling. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

Maybe he feels the drop in his stomach, right now. Maybe the wind screams in his ears. He finally asks, “When were you gonna tell me about y’all gettin’ into a barfight on Friday night?”

Unexpected. But keep your fucking cool.

Your fingertip whitens, blood halted by the knot of the cushion fringe. You chew on a torn leaf of skin from your lips. “What?”

“You ‘n Joel. When he picked you up. What the hell happened?”

Your eyes slide from his to the patio door behind him, garden lighting up with the sun scaling higher in the sky. You stare there until it burns, until it’s all just a blur of color in your vision, and then pull a half-blinded gaze back in his direction.

You’re frozen, as if he has you at gunpoint. Shoulders tense, eyes wide. Dontshootdontshootdontshoot. “Who –? Who said that?”

“Hank. Was on the phone to ‘im last night. Anna said Joel was squarin’ up to some kid in Frank’s. You wanna tell me exactly what happened?”

“Nothing.” Liar. “Nothing happened. It was just some asshole. Joel was just lookin’ out for me. For us. Me ‘n Anna.”

“She told Hank he knocked the kid out. That Sam had to stop it from gettin’ outta control.”

He stares at you, and there’s no mask on his face. No cover, no disguise. He’s suspicious. And he doesn’t care that you know it. He’s not just asking about the barfight.

“Are you gonna say it or am I, hon?”

“Say what?”

Your last thread of insane hope that he’s innocently wondering about Frank’s is snapped in two by the words that tear out of his mouth, so quick they rip into your skin like shards of glass.

“What the hell’s goin’ on between you two?”

Your body suddenly drops further into the couch, the weight of your blood freezing to ice in your veins. Your joints seize, your jaw locks. Air passes across your open lips with no intention of carrying words back out the way it came. You forget any ability you had previously to come up with excuses, to cover up, to lie. Hell, you’re not sure you’d remember your own fucking name if he asked that next.

You say nothing. And he cocks his head, drums his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Say something.

“Nothing.”

Say something more convincing.

“Nothing?” you repeat, a shrill pitch in your voice like it’s a question. Like he’s dumb for even thinking there might be something weird going on. Like he’s the idiot.

The clock in the hall ticks to itself, amused. Fifteen little snaps. Each one sounds like a plate of glass beneath your feet, cracking a little more, a little deeper, a little wider. The abyss opening its wide, dark jaws beneath you.

Your dad’s expression doesn’t change. He crosses his arms, head leaning back a little. He almost looks sad. Almost looks like he might give in. Send you on your way, on your errands with Sarah.

But something recharges him, something must flicker behind his eyes, because he sits forward again and watches your reaction intently as he says –

“Then explain the text messages you been sendin’ each other.”

Another blow hits your stomach, rippling waves of white heat through you. You feel hot, a scorching panic right beneath the surface of your skin so hot that it mistakes itself for ice cold. A panic which radiates from your heart, pulsating through your entire body, every limb beginning to shudder involuntarily. Your silence is answer enough.

He sighs. Sits forward with his elbows on his knees. “I knew y’all were close, knew you cared about each other. You sure always talked to ‘im more ‘n you ever talked to me, even before you went off to college. But I’ve been noticing things lately…Something’s different. Something’s changed.”

Your eyes trace his form as he talks. It’s fucking dizzying. He’s animated, like a character from some eighties cop show who finally solved the mystery. He knows. He knows everything. Your jaw won’t move to answer.

“Seeing you two together – talking, laughing. The way you look at each other these days. ‘n you’re always near each other, ain’t you? Always hoverin’. It ain’t anything like before. That day the three of us went to Costco, that – I –” His anger seems to boil over, cascading from his lips in an angry burst of hot breath. “I felt like a spare tire in the back of the truck that day.”

“We’re…We’re just…f-friends…I don’t –”

He holds a finger up. Doesn’t want to hear it. Not until his speech is done. The sun moves behind a cloud; the living room suddenly drains of light. “That day you said you were spending the night at Anna’s. Said you were havin’ a pool day, right?”

“Right,” you whisper, eyes closing over. They feel heavy. Tired and teary.

“Right. Except,” he brings his finger down, aims it straight at you, “Hank says you weren’t never there. Anna was at Sal’s all day Sunday.”

Fuck.

“Dad…”

You’re pleading with him now. Enough, I’ve heard enough. I know you know. As if you might still be able to stop the train, dig your heels in and hold on tight to derail it. Derail his thoughts. Salvage the situation, string it back together with shame and atonement.

But he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even hear you.

“’n that’s when I got to thinkin’ – last Monday, at Joel’s. I went over to fix his sink – you remember I told you about his sink?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I went over there, and he’s cookin’ this great big breakfast – pancakes, all of it – and there ain’t no one else in his house. Just him. Sarah was in Nashville, you remember?”

You take a deep breath. This is it. The ship’s beginning to disappear beneath the black waves.

“I thought maybe he had someone over, maybe expectin’ that girl from the plant hire…Anyway,” he bats his hand, bats the hopeful glint in Lois’s eye from his mind, “I’m walking downstairs, on my way out, and I notice somethin’ on the floor by the door.”

His chair squeaks timidly as he moves, his right arm lowering, scooping for something you can’t see yet. But when he shakily lifts it, your eyes fall to your knees. It hangs before you, apologetic and ashamed.

Joel was right. He knew it. You palmed him off. You told him your dad wouldn’t – couldn’t – put two and two together. And here he is, sat feet from you, holding the final piece to the puzzle in a quivering fist. Proof that, when he was in the house that day, you were only feet from him. Wrapped in his best friend’s shirt, dripping wet from his shower.

“This bag,” he hisses, and the tears finally drop onto your cheeks. They scurry to your chin, gathering and throwing themselves to your chest. Your shoulders drop, your eyes still low. You can’t look at him.

He speaks slowly. Speaks through his teeth. Every word like its own poisonous jab.

“Now you tell me: what in God’s name is your bag doin’ in Joel Miller’s hallway, at ten in the mornin’, when you’re supposed to be at Anna’s?”

Your fingers touch your forehead, a burning pain beginning to sting through your skull. You can feel your pulse in your temples. You’ve never wanted Joel to be stood in front of you so badly in all your life; just to deflect some of the interrogation off of you, just to give you breathing space. Just to protect you from the onslaught of questioning from your dad.

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. The bag hits the carpet with a thud. “No, there ain’t no way. You were at Anna’s, right? You ain’t with Joel Miller, no way. I’m thinkin’, Please, God, don’t let that have been my daughter’s bag that day. But I’m right, ain’t I? You were there, weren’t you?”

You blink rapidly. The tears multiply quicker. The room is glossed in a protective film of salt and adrenaline. Give me something to say back. Give me something to say back.

“Where were you, hon? Musta been hidin’ somewhere, right?”

Give me something please think of something please come over please walk through that door please tell me what to say.

And then it comes to you. You blink the mist from your eyes. He said…he knew about texts you’d been sending Joel. How did he…?

“How did you know about the texts?”

“Pardon me?”

You straighten up and look him dead in the eye. Your voice feels hoarse. It sounds nothing like you. “How – did you know – about – the texts?”

“That’s your concern right now?”

“How – did you know?”

He begins to sputter, like the heat turned up under a pan on the hob. “Look, hon, you had me worried sick. Disappearin’ and I got no clue where you are. Always having an excuse to go off somewhere alone, no explanation. Don’t even get me started on those marks on your neck.”

Your hand immediately clamps around your throat, hot skin stained pink hissing into your palm. Joel’s teeth on you last night. His words cushioning the sharp bite. I love you. The heat hurts, now, when it felt so comforting just a few hours ago. It burns. It throbs. It feels like shame.

Your dad’s voice brings you back into the room.

“There’s another thing – last night,” he flings a laugh to you, “you were so quiet. So damn quiet. Didn’t say a word the entire time, and then I leave for all of ten minutes, and suddenly the two of you are headin’ over to his for – what was it? UCLA pamphlets?”

There’s a break between his words, a gap which makes you think that he wants you to answer. Like he’s giving you a chance, extending his arm. But he fills the space with a jeering laugh, and keeps talking.

“Where are they, huh? These pamphlets? ‘s why you were at Joel’s, right? Go on, go get ‘em. Show them to me.”

Your face solidifies. Lips tremble. There’s a scowl pulling your brows together. You’ve no right for it to be there. “Stop it,” you seethe. “Tell me what you did.”

“He’s the only one. The only one who could get you to talk. I had to check, kiddo. I had to know.”

Your stare doesn’t let up. Your lips bolt shut, refusing to say another word until he confesses. Which he does. Almost breezily.

“I looked through your phone. While you were gone. I – I went upstairs, ‘n I took it.”

He says it casually, as though he’s simply checked the newspaper. As though he’s just relaying the columns to you. Someone’s had a baby. Someone else won three grand on a scratch card. By the way, I know you’ve been messing around with Joel.

So it takes a minute for what he’s said to hit you. But when it does, the wave crashes over your shoulders so violently that it throws you to your feet, tasseled pillow whipped to the other side of the couch.

There are tears searing across your eyes. A twisted grimace of a smile on your face, a laugh breaking roughly from your throat. Some crazed, disbelieving, ugly little laugh.

“You – you checked my…my fuckin’ phone. You – you fucking –”

His head jerks back, offended. “Hey, now, listen to me –”

“I’m not listenin’ to another word! Am I twelve?”

You stalk over to the kitchen. The rattle of your dad’s chair tells you he follows.

“Well – you tell me, hon, ‘cause right now, you’re making a lot of real stupid decisions.”

That same ugly laugh echoes around the house. You grip onto the kitchen island. The room starts to wheel.

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?” you pant, eyes tight shut. Your thumbs begin to slip, sweat gliding between your skin and the counter.

“I’m your father! I’m lookin’ out for you, damnit! You think I wanna be havin’ this conversation with you right now?”

The granite countertop blurs in and out of focus when you open your eyes. You hook onto it, using it to haul yourself around the island until there’s distance between your wobbly figure and his. And you remember one week ago, when the same counter separated you and Joel, and you think of Joel, and think of his fingers around your wrist, and his fist against Knox’s jaw, and his teeth in your neck.

“Look,” your dad’s voice floats somewhere over the image of Joel’s eyes, “let’s just – let’s calm down. You ‘n me – we’re gonna talk this out. We’re gonna have a calm, mature discussion about all of this. You’re gonna tell me exactly what’s been goin’ on, and then I’m gonna head over to Joel’s – alone – and talk to him.”

But his voice doesn’t sound calm. There’s a tremble to it – a tremor as fragile as glass, as thin as ice. It’s crackling as he speaks. He can hardly keep a hold on it himself.

If he goes over to Joel’s – this you know – there ain’t anything calm or mature that will come of it. Suddenly the images in your head warp, and it’s your fingers around Joel’s wrist, someone else’s fist against his cheek, someone else’s teeth and the venom spat between them.

“Dad,” you pant, “it’s over. He ended it. It’s been done for, like, two weeks now. It was nothing.”

“Oh, nothing, was it?” He steps closer. You retreat. Edge further around the counter, further from him. His head tilts, eyebrows curl. He looks like a vulture, eyeing its prey. “Then what were the two of you up to last night?”

“We – we went for ice cream, that’s all. He wanted to make sure I was alright.”

He’s not convinced. And he shouldn’t be, either. He coughs a laugh. “For three hours? You were eatin’ ice cream for three Goddamn hours?” His cheeks wobble as he shakes his head. Then, in a softer voice, like he’s arming himself with a chisel to prick at the weakest parts of the sculpture, “What’d he do to you, girl?”

The marble cracks and snaps wide open. Anger floods out in hot waves. Any composure you’d managed to scrape together flushes clean out of your body.

“Nothing I didn’t want him to fuckin’ do. Stop treating me like I’m some kid who’s – who’s been tricked, or something. I’m twenty-three, Dad, I’m an adult.”

His silence sends another misdirected shot of panic through you.

“I was in on it just as much as he was,” you weep, fingers searching for a scratch of beard or kiss of flannel.

Your dad scoffs then, hands slapping against his thighs, and turns away. “There ain’t no gettin’ through to you,” he announces to the timid living room.

Still bracing yourself against the island, you take the break in his tirade to catch your breath. The only thought running through your head, losing velocity with each circuit, is Joel walking through that door. His face when he notices you with your flushed cheeks and wide eyes. His hands reaching for yours, through all the lies and hurt. Your dad, stood opposite, tight as an arrow and ready to fucking fly for him. Fists balled, teeth bared.

“He doesn’t even know,” you realize, staring at the glow on the floor cast by the front door. “You haven’t told him you know, have you?”

“’course I ain’t told him. I wanted to talk to you first. Not that it’s gotten us anywhere, huh?”

“I’m gonna text him.”

“Hon, don’t you d–”

“I am not having this conversation on my own. There are two people involved here.”

You pull your phone from your pocket and scrawl some messy message to Joel. Three messy messages. Something like he knows everything, can you come over? I need you. Some needy, dramatic, helpless message.

The typing bubble appears for a fraction of a second. So fleeting that you almost miss it through your tears, before it drops back to nothing. He doesn’t reply.

Doesn’t pick up, either, when you call him. Three times in a row. Three missed calls; three Hey, it’s Joel, sorry I missed yous.

The phone rattles off the counter when you drop it, your head falling into your hands. Your dad wanders back over to his armchair and collapses into it with a sigh, his fingers massaging his temples. The two of you mirrored, the same storm circling between you, only ice in his veins and fire in yours.

Fear keeps your feet planted to the kitchen floor; adrenaline alone keeps you upright. Your fingers push hard into your forehead, an ache sat directly behind that dizzies you. Blood thudding its fists against your eyes, screaming in your ears.

How the fuck did this happen? It feels ridiculous to ask, but it’s all you got. When did the two of you get so lazy? Start forgetting to cover your tracks? Or – maybe worse – stop caring enough to even try?

Of course, saying you were with Anna was a dumb fucking move. Her dad is one of your dad’s buddies. One of Joel’s, too. That was always going to fuck it all up. And you were too caught up, too hellbent on seeing Joel, too fucking horny to stop for five seconds and keep your damn story straight.

There’s nothing to say, nothing that might fix this. There’s no winding your way out of it. The trap has you by the throat. Your jaw aches from trying to free yourself.

Your dad sways side to side in his chair, staring silently at the wall ahead of him. Your face burns with shame, with anger, with embarrassment. Your heart stings from the hurt, from wanting Joel here, from his ignoring your pleas for help. And, most annoying of all – from letting your dad down.

It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself. How you spin it. Sure, you’re twenty-three. You can make your own decisions. That much is fucking clear now. Doesn’t mean they’re always good. Even when they make you laugh until your cheeks hurt, make your stomach flip with excitement, make you scream from pleasure.

Make your heart do things you’ve never felt it do before. Things you never knew that it could do.

You let your dad down. He can barely look at you for it. You know damn well that it was worth every second, and yet, right now, nothing but thick, awkward, unbreathable air between the two of you – it feels like it should never have happened.

You’re bent over the counter, head resting on your folded arms, breathing still staggered – when you hear it. The squeal of brakes outside. An engine cutting. A door slamming.

Two knocks on the door, and Joel pushes it open. You’re already in the hallway, watching his heavy head and loose shirt cross the threshold.

He looks up and your eyes meet. His hair’s a mess, he’s in the same tee from last night. He’s gotten straight out of bed and into his truck, and he’s braced, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Which direction to expect the first punch from.

Your knees weaken at the sight of him. The safe haven of his arms, the home of his chest. The beating pulse behind it whose language you’ve become fluent in. Even now, when everything’s fallen apart, his being here washes relief over you like cool water dousing an inferno. Your body relaxes, your breathing quietens.

Joel nods towards you. You okay?

You shake your head lightly, and he flicks his fingers. You’re in his arms before your brain tells your limbs to move.

“’s okay,” he breathes, lips lined with your ear. His chest is soft, warm; you take fistfuls of his shirt. He strokes your hair, mumbling, “Told you we’ll be alright, yeah? It’s goin’ to be alright.”

You weep into him, lips dripping with salty tears. They part to reply, when a low growl rips between your bodies. Joel loosens his grip and you step back, turning around to face the ghost of your father at the end of the hall.

“Get the hell away from him.”

He advances, takes a few steps forward. You meet him halfway, gripping onto his shirt, planting yourself firmly between him and Joel.

“Woah, woah,” you say, pushing on his small chest, “let’s all just calm down. Dad.”

He’s smaller, scrawnier, older, and weaker than Joel. He’s never going to lift a fucking hand to him. Not if he wants to keep it intact. He wouldn’t square up to a fly, never mind an actual worthy opponent – but your gut tells you to make damn sure he doesn’t even try.

“Get out of the way, hon.”

“No. No way. And let you –? No.”

He’s not even looking at you. You’re nothing but an obstacle. He’s staring a few feet behind.

“Baby,” Joel says, voice weary and surrendered. “It’s alright, now. C’mon, outta the way.”

“Baby?” your dad seethes. “You just call my daughter baby?”

“Called me it as long as he’s known me, Dad.”

“’s different now,” he spits. “What the f–? I mean, what the fuck, Joel? What were you even thinkin’? Putting your Goddamn hands on my daughter?”

You don’t usually hear your dad curse. All through growing up, even when you left home – you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard it. It sends a bolt of fear through you as if you’re five years old again, and he can’t do much worse than say bad words in front of you.

You don’t usually see your dad do any of this stuff. Raise his voice, ball his fists. Lean forward, feet planted on the ground, like daring Joel to make the first move. Joel – his best friend. The guy he was supposed to be able to trust more than anyone in the world.

Angry. Furious. And you think: if there were a time he had a right to feel this way, to act like this and throw threats around as though they’re light as air, if ever there were a moment – this would be it. A betrayal. A secret this big.

Joel takes a step forward. He doesn’t seem scared. More – placating. Letting the tantrum run its course. He holds his hands out. “Let’s just – let’s just talk.”

“Talk,” your dad repeats, spitting the word like it’s rotten in his mouth. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. What the hell have you been doin’ to her? Hm?”

Joel shakes his head, shoulders lifting. “I ain’t been doin’ nothin’ to her. That’s not what this is.”

“Hell,” your dad scoffs, “not what it is. Why don’t you explain to me exactly what it is, then, Joel? If it ain’t you takin’ advantage of a young girl? Takin’ advantage of my kid?”

Your head whips back to face Joel, hand lifting in a bracing motion. He sees it – sees the way your head shakes, imperceptible to your dad. Please don’t tell him. Not yet.

It’s bad enough that he knows you’ve been messing around. It hurts enough that he knows you’ve been lying for the entire summer. Telling him the full story – the conversation in the truck, the words exchanged over ice cream and the quiet tick of traffic lights across the street – would only hurt more. Would only sharpen his anger. He’d ask more questions; he’d drive his dagger deeper.

Joel pleads with you. His eyes do his bargaining. You don’t relent. Please.

“You know what I keep thinkin’ about,” your dad interrupts, “you know what’s runnin’ through my mind? That damn garden party. Those cupcakes. You puttin’ your thumb on her lip. I should’ve known the second you touched her what was happening. You arrogant, shameless son of a bitch, Joel, you got no idea what you –”

“Dad. Enough.”

Sure, you’re trying to calm him down, palms outstretched and motioning like he’s a wild horse, rearing frantically and threatening to crush you. But it also stings to hear him talking about Joel like that. Talking to him like that.

The same Joel he’d sling an arm around, knocking their beers together when the Rangers won. The same Joel you know he’d spent hours sat out back with, talking into the night and sharing stories and secrets with the stars.

The same Joel who covered your legs with his jacket last night, who held you when you were hurting, who reminded you what it was like to feel your heart again, beating rapidly in your chest.

He’s not talking about the same Joel. Not the Joel you know. Yours.

He’s still rambling. “…’n all this time, you pair have been closer ‘n you were lettin’ on.”

“You don’t understand,” you plead, “you don’t know him like I do.”

Your dad scoffs, twisted smirk on his face. “Oh, I know ‘im. I’ve known him a hell of a lot longer and a hell of a lot better ‘n you have, hon. Known him since he was fifteen, askin’ me ‘n my buddies to buy ‘im a case of beer from the liquor store. His little brother in ‘n outta jail like God only knows what. I know exactly what he’s like.”

“What he’s like?” you huff, exasperated. You spin on your heel, arms coming down on your sides with a slap. “Joel, help me.”

“Don’t you dare look at ‘im! Listen, kiddo, I know him. Know what he’s like at Frank’s, takin’ women home left ‘n right, then forgetting their damn names. Know he sure as hell can’t remember that schoolteacher’s name, can you, Joel? You remember her?”

“Quit it,” you tell him over your shoulder, still facing Joel.

Your dad laughs from behind you. It turns your stomach. “I’ll bet he never told you about that one, did he? That’d turn you off ‘im in a heartbeat, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, he told me about Jess.”

Your dad’s voice cuts. Joel’s head finally lifts, his eyes ungluing from the floor to look at you.

You shrug back. “I figured it out. Sister’s name is Mia – she’s a year younger ‘n me.”

You swear he almost fucking smiles. Almost. It’s funny, or at least, it would be if you weren’t both in the middle of tearing your entire dynamic apart. Any other time, he’d nudge you, or tousle your hair, and say you were too clever for him, or something about being old again.

When you turn back to face your dad, he looks like he’s run out of words. So, he repeats ones he’s already said.

“I…Well, I know him, honey. And he ain’t someone you oughta be with.”

“How’d you figure that?”

He sighs. “I just told you my reasons.”

“’cause he wanted beer when he was a kid and he’s slept with people before? ‘cause Tommy gets himself into trouble – trouble that Joel then gets him out of?”

“No, I –”

“You don’t know a damn thing about any of this. You won’t listen to me. If you’d hear me out – hear us out, then you’d –”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’d change my damn mind. Don’t – you – dare.” Your dad’s voice is quiet and slow. Dangerous. Laced with something you’ve never heard in it before. It’s not worth finding out what.

Your head shakes, knee jerking with nerves. “I don’t…I don’t know what else to say.”

The fire flickers, loses light for a second. His voice softens. “Honey…This –” he waggles his finger between your body and Joel’s, “this thing y’all have been…It ain’t right. It is not right, what y’all have been doin’. You are far too young for him. He should know better, and the fact that he doesn’t – well.”

Your brows tighten, eyes pinching around painful tears. “I know why you’re mad. I get it. I’m sorry. But I can’t –” You sigh. “You are suffocatin’ me, living here.”

His façade drops instantly. He pushes his fingers into his eyes, groaning. “Hon, you’re not hearin’ me.”

“I hear you loud and clear, I –”

He cuts you off, throwing his arms up into the air with another loud yell. The words melt into one long drone, a mountainous ramble which peaks and falls in pitch; one minute low and angry and the next high and frantic.

You sigh, shoving by him for the living room. Joel reaches for your hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“Baby,” he says.

“Ah!” Your dad blocks his advance, shaky finger held to his chest. “You dare, son.”

You’re swipe the bag from the floor by your dad’s chair, your change of clothes still in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Slinging it over your shoulder, you whip past your father and lock your hand with Joel’s.

“Hey,” Joel says, slowing you down. “Darlin’, where are you –?”

“I wanna leave.”

“Huh?” he asks, brows raised.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

He glances over to your dad, dumbfounded by the stairs. “Where d’you wanna go?”

Your shoulders roll. Anywhere. Just take me away.

He doesn’t hesitate; barely thinks it over. He tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you toward him. Your feet stumble over the carpet.

“Where in the hell –?” Your dad’s snarling picks up again, his final chance. “I don’t think so –”

Joel’s backing up towards the front door, led by the pull of your hand. “Emotions are pretty high,” he announces, “why don’t we have this conversation once everybody’s calmed down?”

“Joel, if you take her, I’ll–”

“I ain’t takin’ her anywhere. She’s an adult.”

Liar. His hand wouldn’t let go of yours if you tried to pry it from his clutches.

“I’m leavin’,” he says, “she’s just coming with me.”

Your dad barks your name, and you freeze. Joel stops, too, allows you the time to turn. Like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m going, Dad,” you shakily tell him.

“I swear to God,” he says, “if y’all walk outta that door…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean for any of this.”

He shakes his head. “Stay, hon. Let’s talk.”

“You’re not talkin’, though. All you wanna do is argue. I wanna go with Joel.”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere with no one! ‘specially not him!”

You shrug, give your head a solemn shake. “Stop me.”

Joel hears the exhaustion in your voice, the scratch of your throat. The way the words melt into one another. He tugs on your hand, leading you through the front door. Your dad doesn’t speak again, and you don’t turn back to check on him.

The neighborhood is silent in the early morning. Yards empty, curtains still closed. No one, not even the sun, tucked behind a thin veil of cloud, sees when you pile into the front seat of Joel’s truck.

“Baby,” he says, pulling your seatbelt over your body.

Your eyes fix on the asphalt ahead. “Just drive.”

“Hey. Look at me.”

When you turn to him, he takes your jaw in both hands. “I love you,” he says.

“Still?” you squeak, eyes heavy with sleeplessness and tears.

“More.”

“This is fucking insane, Joel.”

He nods. “Yeah. ‘n you’re worth all of it.”

“Hey,” Sarah calls when the two of you spill in through the front door. She’s on the couch, Switch console in hand. “What’s up?”

“We have a – a lodger, for the next…little while,” Joel grumbles, tossing his keys onto the sideboard. He kicks off his boots and slides them to the wall, straightens up and looks to you.

You follow suit wordlessly, slipping out of your sneakers. Joel places them by his.

“Cool,” Sarah says, standing up. “How come?”

“Just – dad trouble,” you whisper, deflated. She’s wandering around the couch. A defeated sound rings from the console hanging from her thumb.

Her head tilts. “I…I got plenty room for you,” she flashes you a warm grin, “it can be like a big-ass sleepover.”

You return her smile, a slow, grateful breath filling your lungs. Joel’s arm wraps over your shoulder as your mouth opens to answer.

“No, uh…” He clears his throat. “She’ll be in my room. With me.”

Sarah’s expression is blank. She blinks between the two of you, arms limp either side of her hips. Your eyes flit from Joel to her and back again, wide, waiting. Waiting for someone to move, or speak, or yell.

Joel looks indifferent. Unbothered. As if he just told her it’s sunny outside.

She takes a step forward, and by instinct, you draw back. “Sarah…” you mutter, and she swings around the newel post. She dodges your outstretched hand, whether accidental or deliberate – you’re not sure.

“No, it’s…Okay. Yeah. I’ll – I gotta…Yeah.”

You watch as she climbs the stairs backwards, still looking from your pleading face to her dad’s stoic. She shrugs, wiggles the Switch and mumbles something about it needing charged, before she’s spinning and taking the last few steps two at a time.

When her bedroom door closes, you slump back. Joel doesn’t let go of your shoulder, catching you and pulling you into his chest.

“Fuck,” you whisper, lips pressed against his tee. He smells like pine, like mint, like you.

“’s okay,” he says into your hair, hand curving the shape of your skull. “She’ll come around. You know Sarah.”

You turn, ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It doesn’t tell you anything new. You miss the days you used to listen for secret messages in the soft rhythm.

Joel’s chin rests on the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “None of this is your fault, you hear? None of it.”

“Now you’re just lyin’ to me. You know that ain’t true.”

A hum rumbles against your cheek like the earth readjusting, rearranging beneath your feet. You lift your head, loosen your grip around his waist.

“You need sleep,” he tells you, thumb swiping gently beneath your heavy eyes.

You don’t protest.

Joel takes your hand, leads you mutely upstairs and into his room. His bed’s not made. The shades aren’t even open. He lifts the sea of sheets, tosses them twice in the air and then pulls the corner back, letting you sit on the edge of the mattress.

He undresses you carefully, like your limbs might crack and burst at the slightest touch. He replaces your hoodie with a fresh tee of his own, one that still smells like the world before its end, and you lay back into bed slowly.

It’s shaped like you – the divot in the mattress. You slot back into it like you never left. The curl of your back and the fold of your knees. You’ve left little pieces of evidence all over the place – all over Joel.

He runs a delicate hand across your head, the repetitive movement lulling you off to sleep. Pushing the boat out.

“You need anythin’?” he asks.

You shake your head, arms wrapping tight underneath your pillow. “I’m good,” you whisper, and the waves pull you under.

His bedside lamp is on when you stir, the left half of the room a glowing honey color. His bare leg slotted between yours, your hands intertwined on his chest. His finger drifts back and forth against your palm, the strokes matching your breathing.

You’re still tired, eyes still rolling beneath heavy lids, but when some commentator screams at the game playing on the TV screen, you snap awake.

Joel curses under his breath, begins tearing the bed apart for the remote – but by the time he turns the volume down, your head is propped against his pillow, knuckles rubbing your eyes.

“Sorry, baby,” he sighs, kissing your forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“’s okay.” You flash him a lazy smile. “What time is it?”

“Almost five thirty.”

“Damn,” you mutter. “Slept all fucking day.”

“You needed it,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You want some dinner? Or – breakfast?”

You nod. “Sounds good.”

He disappears downstairs. The echoing of pots and pans and the hum of the extraction fan follow in his wake. You groan, stretching out like a starfish across the messy bed, forgetting for just a moment why you’re here, and what’s happened, and how different everything is.

It feels the same, even after eight hours sleep. Same guilt, and shame. Same anger and resentment towards your dad. Same punch to your gut anytime you picture his face, the wrinkled frown. The trembling fist holding your bag in midair.

The blow is soothed only by the swelling of warmth across your chest, looking around the room. The safety you feel here, as though you’re cut off from the rest of the world. Your father on pause the second you left the house; Joel’s room and his bed giving you time to catch your breath and recalibrate.

You’re not thinking about when you’ll have to go back home. You’re just not.

You knot your shorts back around your waist, take one huge swig of the water Joel left for you, and open his bedroom door, your head throbbing with each movement.

There’s a figure at the end of the hall, frozen in space like a phantom.

“Morning,” she says. Her hair is tied back, oversized hoodie over her shoulders.

“Hi.”

“You sleep good?”

“Must’ve. Missed half the day.”

Sarah smiles.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“Hm,” her head tips back and forth, “not today. Don’t have the energy. Watch your back tomorrow, though.”

For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, a genuine laugh pushes its way past your lips. The knot in your stomach loosens, even if only a little.

“You wanna come help with dinner?” she asks, nodding to the stairs.

You smile. “Please.”

The three of you settle on pasta with some tomato sauce from a jar mixed through. You sit opposite Sarah as Joel sets the plates down, sliding into the seat next to yours with a gentle squeeze on your knee under the table.

The three of you talk. About nothing in particular – college, Rita and her cross stitch, some client of Joel’s whose wife got caught having an affair – but it soothes the ache in your heart. It feels like a blanket over your shoulders, a spot by the fire, a voice in your ear promising you that things are still okay. That they can still be this way: light, alive. The earth is still moving, the stars are still pinned up in the sky. Tomorrow will always come, and the day after that.

Sarah asks about LA. You tell her you didn’t know she knew. She grins and says, “Well, now that I do – you better put an application in.”

You hum around the fork between you lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on. The two of us out there together? For six whole months? You gotta do it. Tell me you don’t wanna do it. Are you gonna do it?”

Joel casts her a glower, his stony expression pushing her back in her chair.

Your eyes shift from hers over to his. He runs a slice of garlic bread around the curve of his plate, coating it in sauce, before he notices you staring. His face breaks into a tiny smirk.

“I don’t know,” you decide, turning back to Sarah. “I still gotta think it through.”

She nods earnestly. “Yeah, you should sleep on it. And then, first thing tomorrow, we’re doing it.”

The two of you let her have the final say, falling quiet until some new conversation is shifted onto the table, and then another, and then another. When you’re done eating, Sarah takes your hand and drags you back upstairs.

Sarah Miller’s bedroom has been baby pink for as long as you can remember. Joel painted it one summer while she was at camp, eliciting help from your dad to shift all the furniture. As she grew up, she covered the walls in posters, changed the sheets, changed the curtains, strung fairy lights to distract from what she saw as a kiddish color.

But she never asked to change it. Always wanted the same blushing pink her dad had picked out when she was ten – even if secretly.

Her blinds are tilted, golden light from the slowly lowering sun filtering through onto her carpet, stained with tiny dabs of nail polish. She throws herself down onto the bed, her curls igniting brown in the summer light, and you slowly sink down beside her.

“Nice Zayn poster,” you note, pointing to the straight-browed, dark-haired figure painted in a moody grayscale on her ceiling. “Interesting placement.”

“Was so I could dream about him every night.”

“You didn’t wanna take him to California?”

“Didn’t have to,” Sarah smiles, tapping her temple, “he’s all up here, baby.”

You snort. Your eyes flutter closed; hands clasped on your stomach. She sighs contentedly by your side, listening to the chatter of birds out front.

“I miss this,” she says eventually, her voice smooth and soothing. She elbows you lightly.

“Me too,” you reply. And then, with a deep breath: “Sarah…are you okay?”

When she turns back, the sunlight catches in her eyes. They twinkle, like she’s some doe-eyed Disney character. Someone who might be able to wiggle her fingers and make the last day disappear.

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah. With…everything.”

She shrugs, mumbles an I dunno. “What can I do about it? It’s weird, but…it’s none of my business. I guess…I guess if y’all are happy, then – you know. I’m gone half the time, anyways.”

“It is your business, too, though,” you tell her. “I don’t wanna make you feel weird.”

“I think you got bigger things to worry about right now. Sounds like your dad’s pretty mad.”

You sigh, looking back up to the boyband poster. “Yeah. He’s pretty mad.”

“My dad told me what happened. Well, parts. I can kinda guess the rest. Can’t really blame him, I guess.”

You shrug. “Guess not, but then…I am twenty-three, y’know? I’m not a kid. I can make my own mind up.”

She’s still staring at you, but you don’t return her glance. Something tells you that you already know what it says. Still, she verbalizes it.

“Would you be okay if I slept with your dad?”

That is so not what I thought you were gonna fuckin’ say.

You shoot her a look. “What?”

“’m askin’. Would you be okay with it, if I –”

You lift your hand to shut her up. “That is…so totally different.”

“How is that different?” she scoffs.

“Because…because…my dad’s not hot.”

Sarah gags.

“And – and also you’re not friends with him. It’s just different, alright?”

“You were friends with my dad?”

You’re laughing with her now. You can hear how pathetic your justification sounds. “Kinda, yeah. I was close to ‘im.”

“Yeah, that much is obvious, now, babe.”

You smack her arm and she giggles.

“I think he’ll come around. Your dad.”

“I don’t. Not ever.”

“Why wouldn’t he? His best friend would become his son-in-law, I would become his granddaughter-in-law –” She gasps and props herself up on her elbow, staring you down. “Does this make you, like, my stepmom?”

You spit out a laugh, and Sarah throws her head back against her pillow, clutching her belly.

“You’re my fuckin’ mom, dude!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you reply, covering your face with your hands. “Aw, fuck,” you breathe, giggling.

You settle back into the bed, your heads leaning against one another as you stare up at Zayn and his audience of glow-in-the-dark stars. Sarah hums something softly to herself, her ankle rocking, her fingers tapping.

The two of you were raised together. Sisters, when neither of you knew what that word really meant. You figure she’s as close as you could find – someone who reflects all of your favorite parts of yourself and who calls out the uglier ones without hesitation. Someone who comforts you with a punch to the arm, a mocking quip about your hair or the something in your teeth. A safe little secret keeper, for all of your wildest dreams and biggest fears.

“I guess this is all why you were so down in the dumps last night, right? Your dad knew then?”

You shake your head. “Not at that point. He found out after we all left. Realized it all on his own. It’s all just…so fucking stupid…”

She sighs. “My dad – if he…if he makes you happy, then I don’t even know. As long as I don’t have to see it – we’re cool.”

One cinderblock of weight lifts from your chest, allowing a rugged breath to escape. “Wish my dad would take a leaf outta your book,” you mumble.

“He’s just mad,” Sarah says. “He’s just mad, and he’ll eventually calm down.”

“Doesn’t matter even if he does calm down,” you reply. “My dad has more of a…restrictive parenting approach.”

“Can you really parent a twenty-three-year-old?”

“He finds a way to try.”

She scoffs, saying, “I get it. My dad’s more, try it ‘n see. Your dad is, like, try it ‘n see…what your punishment is.”

You both erupt into laughter, and Sarah reaches for the TV remote.

“Exactly,” you tell her, tugging on the hem of Joel’s shirt. “Although, if your dad found out you were with my dad, I don’t think he’d be cool with it, either.”

“Yeah,” she smirks, flicking through Netflix titles, “y’all got what you deserved.”

The sound of Sarah’s bedroom door closing over stirs you. Her room is the color of rust; the stream of amber sunlight on the carpet replaced by that of the streetlights. Beneath the door, the sliver of light is shifted by the sway of a silhouette walking off down the hall.

Sarah’s snoring quietly beside you, still in her jeans. Keeping an eye on her, you roll off the bed and creep towards the door, a slow groan coming from the handle as you twist it. Joel’s at the opposite end of the hall, disappearing into his room as you shut Sarah back into her warm slumber.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” he whispers when you slip into his room. He’s already sat in bed, leant against the headboard. The room a thick darkness, a black cloud of dusk spiraling around you and cutting you off from the rest of the world.

“Heard you come in.” You wander over, pausing at the side of the bed. “Wanna stay with you.”

“C’mere,” he says, holding a hand out. You take it, pulling yourself into his lap. He slips his hands under the hem of your shorts, fingertips brushing the crests of your hipbones. “You okay?” he asks, thumbs swiping gently on the seam of your thigh.

“Never better. You?”

He sighs in response and looks off to the window, the light catching his eye. You tilt your head and bend forward, kissing below his ear. He smells like whiskey. You breathe it in, inhaling like the sharp scent might fold you under a numb blanket of inebriation, too.

Joel takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you from his neck, watching the shift in your expression before he kisses you – steady, bracing. The first time since everything went so wrong.

For a few minutes you pretend nothing has changed – you’re still sneaking around, shushing one another; someone’s in the next room, there are still secrets to be kept. You slip your shorts down your legs, kicking them over the side of the bed; Joel’s sweatpants follow soon after. His hands surrender and you push up on his chest, dragging your core against his stubborn crotch, lips never losing contact. Tongues rolling against one another, noses bumping; a tangle of breath between you until you’ve no idea which is yours and which is his.

It’s all you know how to do, after all. It’s how this started, it’s how it got out of control. The two of you taking out your needs on one another. Right now is no different. You need to feel something other than the dread in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your heart anytime you look at him and know he feels it, too.

You come up for air and suddenly the feeling dissipates; doubt sets back in and fear washes over you like ice water. Your hips cease, Joel’s hands lift from your body. He pushes the hair from your face to find his own expression mirrored in yours.

Everything has changed.

You watch his movements, the light trace of his finger on your bare skin, the pinch of fabric as he adjusts his boxers. The careful movements of his own hips, trying not to incite anything more.

“I love you,” you offer, when he doesn’t say anything. Whispered, like it’s a question, like something to dangle in front of him to make him bite.

At the very least, it unsticks his gaze from the cotton print over your chest and back up to your face – where he softens and says, “Oh, darlin’. I love you, too.”

He gives you a squeeze and pulls you by the shoulders closer, letting you feel his lips on yours again and again, until you’re out of breath. You nuzzle your head under his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart at your ear.

Joel trails his hands up and down your spine. He breaks the silence first – stammers his way through a question you’re not sure how to answer.

“Was I – was I hurtin’ you? All this time?”

You lift your head, looking blankly at him. “What –?”

“Was I hurting you?”

“Hurting me?”

He nods. “Everythin’ we were doin’. Everything we’ve done. You wanted me to be doing it, right?”

He looks…scared, as though forty years have been shaved from him over the course of one day. Eyes glassy like he might burst into tears; bottom lip almost trembling with uncertainty.

You sit up and cup his face; he breathes a sigh of relief when you look him dead in the eye and say, “I wanted you to be doing all of it.”

“All of it?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you nod, “nothing you ever did ever hurt me.”

He lowers his gaze. “’cept when I left.”

“You came back.”

His thumb curves beneath the slip of fabric on your hips, toying with the elastic. There’s more in his question, you know it. He’s not convinced by a word you say.

“It’s just…all such a fuckin’ mess,” he groans, fingertips massaging his forehead.

You hesitate, unwilling to agree and unable to disagree. It is a fucking mess – that much is true. But if that’s all it is, then why does your heart pause for breath whenever you see him? Why does the mere thought of his presence, the tiniest glimpse of him – why does it all send your stomach somersaulting?

How can something supposed to be so bad, make you feel so fucking good?

“It was wrong of me,” Joel says, “to flirt with you that night I first saw you again. To put you in that position. But I did, and we ended up here. And I’m glad we did, baby, you know I am, but…it’s on me. This thing with you ‘n your dad.”

“You don’t think he should back off a little? Don’t think he’s oversteppin’ a mark, even a tiny bit?”

He shakes his head. “I’d do the damn same, ‘n you know it. I shoulda known better. Shouldn’ta let it happen. You mean more to me than the world, and I – I caused all this hurt for you.”

Sure, it’s real noble of him to take all of the blame, but it wasn’t just him. You had a part in it, too: your batting eyelashes, your hands where they shouldn’t have been. Your jaw tightens when he says it, holding back from telling him you want as much responsibility in this as he’s taking, even if he won’t allow it.

But an argument with Joel, right off the back of one with your father, isn’t really something you need. It wouldn’t help anything. So, you swallow your words and whisper new ones.

“You shouldn’t have flirted with me?”

His eyebrows flick, concern knotting them together. He sits up, scooping you in his arms. “I meant I should’ve never let it get to this point.”

“’n what about the first time you touched me?”

The memory plays between you: the weight of him on your body, the sound of the stereo system firing up downstairs. One hand between your legs and the other pinching your heart.

The light in your eyes starts to bleed through your body into Joel’s, distorting the projected image of that scene in your bedroom. It ignites somewhere low, travelling upwards until his stare locks with yours: an understanding weaving between you both.

You lean back from him, drinking in the sight. “Nothin’ but trouble, right? That’s what you said, that first night. You knew damn well where it might go. ‘n you still wanted it, just as bad.”

“Darlin’, I’m not sayin’ I didn’t, I –”

“No, no, I get it. I get it.”

You push his shoulders to the mattress. Fire in your belly, some kind of twisted energy pumping through your veins, you grind down on him again.

That thing, about this being all you know how to do? About taking your needs out on each other?

Right now, you need distraction. You need something to tire you out, to drain you of energy, to stop your thoughts for five minutes. You need someone to hold you, and love you, and make you feel good. Joel’s the perfect distraction.

He’s still hard. You’re still wet. It’s easy.

You drag your hips lazily over his, cotton riding against lace. He’s growing harder, bigger; he’s pushing up into you. You respond by pushing down, and Joel groans.

“Hey,” he takes hold of your thighs, “baby, we don’t have to –”

“Then, let’s stop.”

He says nothing.

You reach down past the band of his boxers and take him in your hand. He bites back a moan, his head falling into the pillow. You’re stroking him: long, hard strokes, fist tightening around him, fingers dipping between your folds to apply your slick to his length.

“Say the word, Joel. We’ll stop,” you pant, unsure if even you buy the words you’re saying. “You said it: none of this should’ve ever happened. You should’ve never laid a finger on me.”

His arms lift, throbbing biceps curving around his pillow and crumpling it against his skull. He doesn’t tell you to stop, because he doesn’t fucking want you to. He needs this – needs you as much as you need him, needs you more than he needs the air in his lungs.

And you’re right: it is different now. Now, it’s out in the open. The whole world could know, for all the two of you care. And maybe that’s the kick to it, now. No more hiding. No more fleeing from shadow to shadow.

You tug his underwear down and lower yourself, dragging your folds up and down the width of him while sticky precome gathers at his tip, dappling the trail of hair from his navel. And when you can’t do it anymore, when the mere sight of him drenched in your arousal threatens to send you over the edge, you line him up to your entrance and sink down, slow.

He moans into the pillow, fabric muffling your favorite sound in the world. And he doesn’t stop, his chest doesn’t stop rumbling until you reach his hilt, where he gasps.

“Darlin’,” he whimpers, hands coming back down to hold you in place.

You bat them away. “Uh-uh,” you tut, pinning his wrists above his head. “Not a – fuckin’ – finger.”

Joel grits his teeth, eyes locking onto yours, directly above him as you slide up off his cock, hips circling as you do, and then back down. Your free hand curves around his ribcage, the solid flesh of his torso stabilizing you.

“Poor baby,” you coo, pouting your lip. “Can’t even touch me. Can’t put a hand on your girl when you need to most.”

“Fuckin’ – whore,” he grunts, and your hips grind to a halt. You release his wrists.

“That what you think of me?” you ask, sitting upright on his lap. Joel’s still buried deep inside you.

“No,” he’s breathing, lips curling, “no, baby. Keep goin’.”

“I’m not the one goin’ back on my word here.”

He flashes a thick, filthy smile. “I know, I know. Go on. Make me proud.”

You lean forward again and he sighs, the feel of your wet cunt wrapping like satin around him.

“You think he’d trust you, anyway, after everythin’?” you mewl. “Think he thinks I’m in a different room right now? Tucked up in bed, safe ‘n sound? Nah, baby, he knows. He knows what you’re doin’ right now. Keep your hands off me? You can’t keep your cock outta me.”

Joel moans in agreement, hands gripping into the sheets to ground himself, hips bucking up against yours. You place your hands either side of him on the mattress and start to bounce, skin slapping, bed shaking.

“You like that, huh?” you moan, feeling the sharp kiss of his head at your cervix. Nudging, nudging, nudging. Blunt pain, blissful pleasure. “Like me riding it. Takin’ what I – oh, fuck – what I need.”

He lets out a guttural moan, writhing around underneath you. It’s like he’s forgotten where he is, forgotten you guys aren’t alone in the house; drunk on the sight, smell, sound, and feel of you on him, not even trying to stifle his sounds anymore.

You close your eyes and hope Sarah doesn’t wake anytime soon.

You’re keeping the façade up for Joel, but on the inside, you feel the exact same. His words echo in your ears, shouldn’ta let it happen, and how quickly that melted into make me proud. Your head starts to swim, your eyes heavy, your body trembling.

The thatch of hair at the bottom of his cock brushes against your clit, a gasp drawing between your teeth. Pain begins to rip upwards on the inside of your thighs, forcing you forward.

“Joel,” you pant, leaning over him. “Fuck.”

“Gotta let me touch you, baby,” he whispers, hands lifting beneath the fabric of your shirt. His fingers ghost across the curve of your shoulders. “You need it, don’t you?”

You whimper in response and Joel slips past the moment of weakness, taking a strong grip of both shoulders and pulling himself upright on the mattress. The tee slips from your body in one breath, and his hands follow the incline of your neck to your jaw, holding you steady as he fucks up into you.

“You want me to fill you up?” he asks, leaning back with a palm flat on the bed behind to watch himself disappear between your legs.

You’re nodding desperately. “Mhm.”

“Gotta ask nicely, remember? Be a good girl for me?”

“Dick,” you hiss, draping your arms over his shoulders.

He pouts. Sweat gleams on his upper lip. His voice cracks, weakens like stone beginning to crumble. “’s not v-very n-ice, baby.”

“Comeinme,” you beg, your fingers swirling around the dark hair at the bottom of his skull. “Please, come in me.”

“Atta-girl,” he groans, and his hands instantly lock on your hips. You don’t stop him this time, letting him push you down as hard as he can onto his cock, coming as deep inside you as he can.

And then – that familiar feeling of being his. Filled with him, your eyes and your nose and your mouth and your cunt spilling with the sight, smell, taste and feel of him. He coats your walls, throbs deep inside you as he claims every tiny corner of your body.

He growls as his cock twitches, and you watch his expression go from determined, to blissful, to fucking exhausted when he stills and his head rolls forward into your chest. His breath hot and staggered between your breasts; light kisses peppered onto damp skin.

You watch him through a post-sex haze, the air between you thick and blurry, as he presses his lips into your chest. He sucks along the cushion of your breast until he reaches the nipple, lips cupping around it, tongue flicking with all the effort he has left in him.

When he lifts his head again, one final kiss to your sensitive flesh, you balance his chin under your thumbs.

“You come?” he asks, the words propelled by a heavy exhale.

You shake your head slowly. “I’m tired, anyway.”

“Alright,” Joel groans, flipping you over. He pushes your thighs apart, his spend leaking from your slit and running southwards.

“Joel,” you giggle, “c’mon, I’m tired. You don’t have to –”

He’s already pushing himself lower, whipping the dark cotton tee from his shoulders and brushing his naked chest over your stomach. You lower your arms to hook under his.

“Hey. Come here a sec.”

Joel blinks up at you. “What’s up?”

“Just – come here.”

He kneels back up to you, hovering over you with his hands under your shoulders. His limp cock lies against the inside of your thigh as he lowers his weight onto your hips. You tilt your head, mapping his face.

Your knuckle runs across his cheek, the jagged bristle of his beard on your warm skin. Like running your hand under water, unable to tell whether it’s scalding hot or freezing cold – there is no saying whether you’re so used to him now that the feel of him is unaffecting, or entirely all-consuming. There’s no middle ground. Not anymore.

“I know –” You sigh, your voice swollen with a soft cry. There’s no stopping the tears anymore. They just come. “I know you think you should’ve known better. But I am so fucking glad that you didn’t.”

It’s done nothing but pour all day. You woke up this morning to the rain battering against Joel’s window, your body hooked against his by his arm.

Day four. Still no call, no text, no nothing from your dad. You haven’t exactly returned the favor – the closest you dared was having Sarah drive you to your house while he was at work so you could dip into the hallway, grab your car keys, and drive straight back to Joel’s. You pulled up in his driveway alongside each other and she rolled her window down, checking your expression before snorting.

It’s like a damn Mission: Impossible film, she jested.

The pain feels blunter, more distant than it did on Saturday. Like your father has bowed his head, faded some into the dark background of upstage. You realize, a few days in – the movie nights and the meals homecooked by three chefs; the way Joel’s scent starts to become yours, his T-shirts hanging loose over your shoulders and his boxers snug against your hips – that you forget to check on the shadow of your dad. Forget the spot he once stood in, the thunderous cloud cast over his head. The same one that so regularly used to pour rain over you.

Sarah went out with her friends a few hours ago. She called to say she’d miss dinner, so you and Joel ordered Chinese. You’re sat with your legs in his lap picking away at some noodles, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while he catches up on some baseball highlights show.

“Fuckin’ – idiots,” he mumbles, fork angrily picking at rice.

Your eyes don’t lift from the Instagram caption you’re reading. “Fuckin’ idiots,” you flatly agree.

Joel’s head turns. “Alright, Miss Big Rangers Fan. I remember a time you pretended to be into ‘em to get my attention.” He attempts to grab your phone, and you swipe it from his grasp.

“Shut up,” you giggle, grabbing hold of your takeout box. “Joel – be careful!”

He snorts, settling back into the couch, changing the TV channel. You give his thigh a little kick, tugging your blanket up. As the TV switches from one showing to the next, your phone buzzes.

You glance down, chopsticks halfway to your mouth, and freeze.

Dear Candidate…

“Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes glued to the flickering screen.

“Joel.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

You unstick your stare from the phone, looking up to meet his perplexed expression. “They got back to me.”

He squints for a second before the remote is dropped to the cushion. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just saw the first line.”

“Open it, baby. C’mon. Whatever it is, you gotta know.”

“You know what,” you shrug, “I’m good. I don’t need to know. It’s all good.”

“Hey.” Joel snaps his fingers scooping your gaze from the floral, bohemian name on the header of the email and up to his own. “Open it, or I’m kickin’ you out.”

You mock gasp. “You’d put me out on the streets?”

“Worse. Put you back to your dad’s. Now open the email.”

Your thumb trembles as it hovers over the screen, one tap away from the biggest change in your life since you left for New York. Like it’s five years ago, and you’re sat in front of your laptop, psyching yourself up to open the response to your college application.

“Okay,” you breathe, slamming your thumb down. Joel leans in, staring at the screen from upside down.

It swipes across and your eyes flit down, focusing hard on the sentence beneath the opening line. You blink rapidly, waiting for the wash of tears to clear and dissolve it to Unfortunately, or After careful consideration, or We appreciate your interest.

But it never does.

Invite to interview stares back up at you, waiting for your face to break. Expectant, a little nervous. Jittering inside your shaking fist. Joel breaks first, when he spots it.

He almost throws his food onto the coffee table, taking your container from your hands and bundling you up in his. He pulls you into his body, presses heavy kisses to the crook of your neck as you laugh, your entire body quaking with joy and terror and relief and anxiety.

“What’d I tell you?” he says, kissing you roughly. “I knew it, babygirl. I knew you would – Fuck, I am so fucking proud of you.”

“It’s just –” sniff, “– it’s just an interview, remember. I might not get it, in the end.”

Joel shakes his head. “I don’t care. You’re a damn sight closer to gettin’ it than you were three days ago.”

You sit for probably twenty minutes, laughing and then weeping and then laughing again – until the food is cold, there’s a new episode of South Park rolling on TV, and Joel’s T-shirt is soaked with your tears.

“I gotta call Sarah,” you whisper, finger sifting through his hair. Your head buried in his neck, your knees either side of his hips.

“She’s going to lose her fuckin’ mind,” he mumbles into your shoulder, laughing to himself. “She’ll sit off-camera in the corner of the room, so they can’t see her, ‘n hold up cue cards.”

You giggle, letting it dissipate into something weaker, something unconvinced. In a small voice, you say, “We just got one step closer to being four states apart.”

He looks up at you, curving a hand around your jaw, and pulls your lips against his. It’s slow, tender – his every thought and feeling translated into physical movement, transformed into a spin of butterflies in your chest.

When you pull away from him, smiling dumbly, he clips your cheek. “That scare you?”

You hesitate, afraid to tell him the truth. But it’s Joel. He knows every thought that passes through your head. You nod, eyes filling with a salty sting.

“Why?” he asks.

You glance out to the street. “’cause I love you. I don’t wanna leave you.”

Joel nods. Considers it. Then says, “You know why it doesn’t scare me?”

You lift your eyebrows in response. Why?

“Because I love you. And we are gonna be just fine.”

And you believe him.

[redstarwriting]

the clash | viii. love you to death

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 4.2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, venom hating hobie, anxious and sad hobie, panic attacks, fight scene, injuries, lots of injuries, angst with fluff and then some more angst and then fluff again, mentions of blood, broken bones

a/n: y’all.... this one was so fun HAHA i’ve been seeing scenes from this part play out in my head ever since i thought of the plot so it was so so SO fun putting it into actual words. we’re getting closer to the end now, and i am so grateful for everyone who decided they wanted to read this lil story i thought up 🖤 i hope you enjoy!

previous chapter: vii. i wanna be sedated

now reading: viii. love you to death

next chapter: ix. last caress

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“Uh, Hobie… the hell is happening right now,” Miles asks, but Hobie stays silent. He’s trying so hard not to freak out. It’s taking everything in him to not give in to his emotions. He clenches his fists. “Let ‘em go,” he demands, and Venom laughs. “I don’t think so. I like this body more than I expected to. Looks like we’re in the same boat there, aren’t we?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, an all too familiar anger stirring in him. “Awww, are you going to kill me like you did yourself?” Venom giggles, and he glares at it. “Just fuckin’ might, mate,” he says through gritted teeth, and Gwen pipes up. “What? Hobie, what are they talking about?”

“Piss off, Gwen. That’s not them,” he snaps, and she frowns underneath her mask. “We’re here to help you Hobie,” she says, and he clenches his jaw. “I don’t need no help.”

“On the contrary, I think you need all the help you can get. You mess up everything when you don’t have it, no?” Venom says, amused. Hobie knows it’s just trying to antagonize him. He knows that. But he can’t help but get angry. It’s using your body.

But he also knows that he does need help. He just can’t say his plan in front of this freakshow. “Go back to Spider Society, Gwen,” he touches his guitar, “tell Miguel I got it under control. Just gonna amp up this space slime a bit.” He hopes that was a clear indication of what he needs Gwen to do.

“Are you sure?” she asks slowly, and he smirks. She got it. “Positive.” With that, Gwen, Miles, and Pav disappear. If Hobie gets as many amps as possible, he can repeat what he did with Osborn and save you. Of course, the act of destroying this Venom might require more than just noise and be a little harder, but he’s willing to do anything to save you.

Anything.

Venom laughs. “That was a dumb move, what you just did,” it says, and he shrugs. “Yeah well, I’m full of those lately,” he responds, trying to think of his next move. He doesn’t want to destroy your flat, but he doesn’t want to cause too much damage to the city as a whole. “Are you going to do something, or do you prefer I kill you just standing there?” Venom asks, and Hobie scoffs. “Kill me? You’re a cheeky alien, you are,” he says, and he leaps off of the balcony. Venom follows him. He begins webbing through the city, expertly. Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s been here to see you so many times. But Venom keeps up with him, occasionally shooting out some symbiote webs at him. Luckily, he’s able to see it and dodge them with no problem.

He sees a giant arena and decides that’s a good place to fight Venom. Especially as it was all dark and he saw a sign talking about a celebration there for tomorrow, which means everything was most likely set up already and he didn’t have to worry about anyone being there since the event wasn’t until tomorrow.

He webs into it, landing in the nose bleeds and disappearing into the shadows. He hears Venom land where he was with a chuckle. “You can’t outrun me, Spider-Punk,” it says, and Hobie quietly webs down a few levels and ducks into a closed clothing store in the arena. He calls Gwen, who picks up almost immediately. “Shh,” Hobie says before she can say anything. “Bring the amps to the Mortician Square Garden Arena, line ‘em across the top, I’ll keep Venom distracted til you finish,” he whispers, and Gwen nods. “And one more thing. Get as much as you can out of (Y/n)’s flat, okay? Get Shadow out, take him to Miguel, and all the vinyls, their aunt’s skull, as much as you can,” he whispers, and she gives him a confused look. “Why?” she asks, and he sighs. “Their world isn’t gonna make it,” he says, and Gwen’s eyes widen. She mumbles a quick ‘got it,’ before hanging up.

He sits in the silence, confused as to why he doesn’t feel any presence. Suddenly, an inky tendril shoots out at him, and grabs him, pinning his arms to his sides. He mutters expletives, trying to get out of Venom’s grasp, but to no avail. He comes face to face with the grinning monster. “Found you.”

“Fuck you, mate,” he grunts, and thrashes around. “I thought you would be more difficult to catch. Looks like I was wrong,” it says and Hobie rolls his eyes. “Woulda been harder, bu–”

“But your little sense trick doesn’t work on me. That’s how I caught (Y/n), too,” says Venom as they pull Hobie’s mask off. Hobie glares at them and tries to get out of its grip again. “They’re right… you are handsome,” Venom says, and he delivers a successful kick to the symbiote. “Get out of their head,” he growls, and it giggles. “That tickled.”

Venom throws him across the room with force. He flies through a wall and groans as he stands up. Venom shoots out a tendril to catch him again, but he successfully dodges it. “If only you could hear their pleas for me to leave you alone,” Venom says, and it makes Hobie angrier. “I said get out of their head!” He yells, throwing a giant chunk of concrete at Venom only to have it shatter when it comes into contact with it. It only slightly falters, but that enough time for Hobie to quickly web away. He just needs to keep Venom preoccupied while Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr set up the first part of the plan.

He hears Venom following him, taunting him, and consistently trying to grab at him. As long as he keeps Venom from seeing outside, everything should go off just fine. He just hopes Miles, Gwen, and Pav can let him know when to go outside with Venom close behind. Ah well. Improvising is what spiders do best, anyways. Hobie is swinging past a food booth when Venom hits him into it. He winces as he crashes through the wall separating the front from the kitchen and straight into the knobs on the giant grill. Of course, it turns the electric grill on, but that’s the least of Hobie’s worries as Venom then uses one of its “webs” to pin him down on the ground. He grabs the web and tries to get it off of him, but it doesn’t work. Venom sprouts tendrils that make it literally look like a spider, with “legs” coming out of its back.

Luckily, Venom places one of these legs on top of the already hot grill, causing it to scream out in pain and freak out just enough for Hobie to get out of the “web’s” grasp. He quickly runs off, shooting out a web to disappear out of Venom’s sight. He sneaks around to the outside and sees Pav pushing an amp in place. It looks like they’re about halfway done, and Hobie nods. He can keep that thing distracted for that much longer.

He sneaks back into the indoor part of the stadium. He thinks about it, but ultimately decides he’s had enough with the stealth method. It obviously isn’t helping him in this instance, like it ever helped him before. “HEY VENOM! COME GET ME YA FUCKIN’ TOSSER!” he yells, and to his expectation, Venom burst through a wall and screams at him. Hobie shoots a web upwards and leaps up to the next story. Venom bursts through the floor, and Hobie quickly fires a web at a pillar, wrapping around it a few times and then firing another one to another pillar and tying them together tightly before taking off and doing it again to the next set of pillars, and then repeating it again. He made sure the first trap would land in the middle of Venom’s body, the second more of a tripwire, and the third at clothesline level. And it worked.

Venom ran directly into the first trap, which slowed it down, and then the second made it stumble and the third snapped its head back at a gross angle. It groans, and Hobie waves at it. “You should really watch where ya goin’,” he says, and Venom growls. “They feel everything.”

“What?” Hobie falters. “Your little partner. They feel it all.” Hobie frowns. Is that true? Did he just hurt you? Venom senses his distraction, and grabs him, pushing him down through the floor. He grunts, and Venom laughs. “It’s too easy,” it says, and Hobie glares at it. He’s trying to pretend like he isn’t completely battered and bruised by Venom, but damn. This alien can fight. He grunts as Venom picks him up off the ground and pushes him forcefully against the wall. “Aww, did that hurt?” Venom giggles, and he spits on it. He ignores that there was blood mixed in with the spit. That’s… probably not good, though. Venom smiles at him. “I don’t think I am going to kill you,” it hisses, cocking its head to the side. “I think I’ll keep you in case this body breaks.”

“Piss off, I’d never let you do that to me.”

“Even if it meant I would let (Y/n) go?” it asks, and Hobie clenches his jaw. Venom giggles. “Say I let them go, they could run free without the influence of me. Would you do it then?” Hobie clenches his fists, staying quiet. “You’d just make me kill them.”

“Clever boy,” it says, and Hobie yelps as Venom tightens its grip on him. “But you’re right. This body will do just fine, and I can easily find a new host if I need to,” Venom says, smirking at Hobie, “I’ll be kind to you before I kill you,” Venom says, and suddenly Venom’s creepy and unsettling grin melts away, and Hobie sees your face. You’ve been crying, and that sight alone breaks his heart. And your heart breaks at the sight of his bloodied lip, black eye and cut forehead. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to each other at the same time, but before any more words can be said, Venom takes over again.

Hobie tries to get out of its grasp again, but it's not happening. “Interesting choice for your last words,” Venom forms a fist, ready to strike Hobie, but before it can, it’s arm gets pulled backward by another web. “Those will not be his last words,” he hears Pavitr say. “Yeah, his last words will probably be ‘I DON’T AGREE WITH PEACEFUL PROTESTS’ or some shit,” Miles chimes in, webbing the arm holding Hobie against the wall and yanking it away from him. “I was thinking more like ‘I won’t let you hurt them!’ because I mean wow look at how unhinged he is right now! Imagine when they’re actually together,” Pav says. “Not the time, Pav,” Miles shakes his head, yanking Venom’s arm, even more, to make it parallel to the arm Pavitr’s holding back.

Pavitr and Miles hold Venom’s arms back as it shrieks and Hobie leaps away from it. “Good timin’, lads,” he says, wiping some of the blood off his face. “Don’t mention it,” Miles grunts and Hobie dodges some attacks thrown by Venom’s tendrils. “Miles! It’s sensitive to heat!” Hobie yells, and Miles smirks. “Ahhhh, I gotcha,” he says and uses his venom electricity strike. Venom yelps and falls backward. Pav and Miles let go of its arms, and the three of them crouch down. “Where’s Gwen?”

“She’s outside getting all the chords connected so all the amps play at once,” Miles says after electrocuting Venom again, meaning it didn’t hear what Miles just said. “Amazin’,” Hobie mumbles, dodging some more of Venom’s attacks. “I’m gonna get up there, stall it woulda?” Hobie says, webbing away.

He knows Venom is going to try and follow him, so he heads out to the open field. When he gets out there, he sees rows and rows of fireworks. What the hell were they celebrating that they needed this much fire power? He hears Venom’s yell and decides it’s not important, but it’s good that all of it is there. They can use that. He climbs and webs his way up to the top of the stadium, running over to Gwen who hands him the chord. “Thank you,” he says, plugging his guitar in, and she nods. “Don’t mention it.”

“Did you get everything out of their flat?”

“As much as we could. How do you know it’s the end?” she asks, and he frowns. “Cause I caused it.” He looks down, clenching his jaw and clearing his throat.

“It’s bout to get real loud. Tell Miles and Pav to lure it out,” Hobie says, and Gwen nods, about to web off. “Wait! Gwen, throw all the fireworks in a big pile,” he says, pointing to all of the fireworks. “What? Why?”

“Venom is sensitive to heat. Let’s blow it up.”

“But (Y/n) is–”

“They won’t be bonded when it happens, go!” Hobie says, and Gwen hurries to help the boys lure Venom out into the open. Hobie watches and waits, when he hears police sirens going off. Oh great. Piggies are coming to play. Maybe Venom will eat some of them. That would be the only time he ever supported Venom doing something. His attention gets pulled back to the field when he hears Venom’s shrieks. He sees Pav and Gwen web out, starting to throw the fireworks into a pile, and then Venom stumbles out, screaming from Miles electrocuting it once again. Hobie pulls out his pick, placing his fingers to form the beginning chord to one of his favorite songs. He hesitates and places his fingers to form a different chord. This time, it’s one of your favorite songs. He knows all of them by heart, anyways.

“When did you learn this song?” you ask him, as he lazily strums along to one of the songs playing on your vinyl player. He shrugs. “I hear it so much when I come over here, the real question would be when didn’t I learn this song,” he says, and you roll your eyes. He smiles slightly when he sees you swaying back and forth and humming along to the music.

The song ends, and without a beat, Hobie starts strumming along to the next one. “I must listen to this vinyl way too much,” you comment, and he shrugs. “At least it isn’t a shit album.”

Watching you vibe with his playing made him make a promise to himself, he would always learn your favorite songs just so he could see your reaction to him playing them.

How didn’t he realize his feelings before?

Venom spots him, and screams up at him, ready to rush up the seats of the stadium and take him down. He takes a deep breath.

“Come back to me, love.”

He strums, and the sound causes Venom to stumble, holding its ears while it screams. He can see Gwen, Pav, and Miles wince slightly from the noise as they finish bringing all the fireworks into a pile in the middle of the stadium. They web up to where Hobie is and turn to see what happens. Hobie doesn’t acknowledge them, his main focus is on you. Venom’s skin starts bubbling around you, and it seems to literally be melting. He sees flashes of you, the pain affecting you in the same way as Venom. It nearly makes him stop playing seeing the distress on your face. But he remembers it’s the symbiote causing you the pain, and he needs to get it off of you as soon as possible. The position Venom is in, trying desperately to cover its ears suddenly breaks as you finally regain control of your own body. You rip some of the symbiote off, your face breaking through. Hobie keeps playing, fixated on you as you crawl away from the inky black alien. It looks straight out of a horror movie, and he can’t wait to tell you about it. You’re gonna think you looked so cool. He’ll still give you some playful shit about how you looked though. It wouldn’t be the same if he didn’t.

He nearly tears up when he sees you completely separate from Venom. You look up, seeing him and the others, and immediately web up to him. You’re in your suit, but your mask isn’t on, and Hobie stops playing seeing that you’re next to him. You immediately wrap your arms around him, hugging him like your life depended on it. He hugs back, somehow tighter than you are. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and he shakes his head. “No, love, you’re okay. You don’t have to apologize for nothin’,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down your back. If the two of you could choose, you would stay like this forever. But the two of you are spiders. And it never works out like that for spiders.

“HOBIE LOOK OUT!”

Hobie hears Gwen shout just a second too late, and one of Venom’s “webs” attaches itself to his back, pulling him off the edge of the stadium. You reach your hand out to prevent it, and Hobie reaches out his, but you just weren’t fast enough. Your fingertips brush each other, but before you can grab his hand, he’s out of reach. You watch as he gets pulled down to the bottom of the stadium.

For the second time, you weren’t fast enough.

You get flashbacks to your second canon event, and a single tear escapes your eye.

Hobie, on the other hand, can feel Venom overtake him, no matter how hard he tries to fight it off. He starts to panic, hearing Miguel’s voice in his mind.

“Hobart Brown was meant to kill (Y/n) (L/n).”

Now the tears are falling freely down his face. This can’t be happening. He can’t let this happen. Why is this happening?

Once the shock of what happened passes, you find yourself pissed off. You just got back to Hobie, and now this alien thinks it can take him away? Fuck that. You scream out of frustration, webbing down and punching Venom’s newly formed face, full force. Well, as full force as your exhausted body will let you. You feel your hand break from your own strength coming into contact with something equally as strong, but Venom falls backward, so you don’t really care. You ignore the pain, noticing the pile of fireworks. You understand the assignment immediately. Unfortunately for you, Venom bounces back faster than you thought and punches you in the stomach. You grunt, coughing up blood, as you fly backward and hit the side of the stadium wall, hard. You glare at Venom, who laughs. “So weak,” you hear it say, and you glare at it. “Maybe if I should have drained more of your life force. Then you wouldn’t have even been able to punch me like that. Though, I know it took up more energy than you would have liked to do so,” Venom roars at you, beginning to charge at you.

You web to the other side of the stadium as Miles jumps down. “I got it,” he says, electrocuting Venom once more to slow it down. It screams and swats him out of the way. He hits the wall, and shakes his head, webbing up to Gwen and Pav, who immediately assesses the damage he got from Venom’s hit. They notice you’re up here, too now. “You are just so fast,” Pav says, impressed. “Oh my god, (Y/n), your hand,” she says, seeing it already turning black and blue, and blood pouring from it. “Not important right now,” you growl, picking up Hobie’s guitar. Luckily, your strumming hand is the hand that broke, so you form your fingers to a specific chord and strum. You play Hobie’s favorite song, the one he taught you to try and show you ‘real music’ so long ago.

“Ugh, can’t we listen to something other than your moody goth music?” Hobie asks, lazily turning his head towards you as he laid on his couch. Gwen, Pav, and Miles left like 30 minutes ago, but Shadow was too comfortable on Hobie’s chest for him to leave. “No, actually, we can’t. And don’t act like this song isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard.”

“Listen just cause it’s your favorite doesn’t mean it has to be mine, love,” he says, causing you to roll your eyes. “You’re such an asshole, Hobart.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he says and you fake gag. At the sound, Shadow hops off Hobie and makes his way to you, making sure you’re okay. “Alright, you can leave now. Yayy, Shadow! Wooo!” you say, petting your cat and pretending like you want Hobie to leave. He clicks his tongue. “Nah, I’m not goin’ nowhere. Come here,” he says pulling his guitar from behind the couch and into his arms. “What are you doing?”

“I’m showing you real music. So, sit down, shut up, and soak up the jams.”

You play through the pain, doing the exact thing he did when he first showed you. Albeit not as good as him. But it works, he breaks away from Venom, running, climbing, and webbing as fast as he can to get to you. And seeing the sight of you playing the guitar like that? Especially his favorite song? He could have fainted if he wasn’t worried you’d die immediately after he did. He sees your hand and frowns. “Give me the guitar, love,” he says, taking it out of your hands gently, and picking up where you left off. Except he quickly fades into one of your songs. You smile slightly and look at him. He gives you a small smile back. “Hobie, you have your lighter?” you ask, and he nods. “I’m gonna go down there and convince it to come to the fireworks pile. When I say, throw me your lighter,” you say. “Kick its fuckin’ ass, (Y/n),” he says, as you leap off the top of the stadium.

The four spiders up top suddenly hear a police bullhorn. “We have you surrounded. Hands up or we will resort to using force!”

Hobie turns his guitar up louder.

You web down, purposely aiming to kick Venom closer to the fireworks pile. You hit the ground and roll, landing in a crouch before standing and sprinting to the pile. You scream Hobie’s name, and he throws you his lighter. He stops playing, seeing that it needs to be able to actually move to get to the pile. You web up a story, catching it before rolling back down on the ground. Venom shrieks in its symbiote form, and comes rushing toward you, but you quickly ignite the lighter, throwing it on the pile of fireworks. You leap on top of it, ensuring that Venom will be in the line of fire, and when the first one begins going off as Venom tries desperately to climb it and get to you, you web off it as fast as you can. Hobie watches as you get halfway up before all of the fireworks go off at once.

He hears Venom’s screams, but all he can focus on is watching you as the explosion breaks your web and propels you way higher than you should have gone. He quickly uses his left hand to web a building close by and his right hand to another one and slingshots himself up to you. He catches you in midair, cradling you to his body and webbing to another building. Luckily, Mortician Square Garden was close to the Ember Stake Building, your favorite spot in all of the city. He lands, crouching down and holding you in his arms in a way that your legs are resting on the building. You lean your head against his chest, and he gently places a hand on the side of your face. “Alright, love?” he mumbles, and you give him a small, weak smile. “’m tired, Hobie.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says, running his thumb back and forth across your cheek. “Bet I looked cool just then, though,” you say, and Hobie chuckles. “Dunno. Think you need to work on your form,” he says, and you laugh softly. “You played my favorite,” you mumble, and he nods. “You played mine.”

“Not very well.”

“I would listen to that every day of my life, love.” You turn your head slightly to see the amount of fireworks lighting up the night sky. Hobie stays looking at you. “Looks pretty,” you mutter, and he grins. “Yeah. Sure does,” he says, ignoring the fireworks completely. “Reckon I get you somewhere safe to rest?” he says, and you nod softly. “I’d like that,” you mumble, turning your head back to him. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, not saying anything. He looks up, standing and helping you stand as well. He gently turns you to see your city, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I gotta admit. I do like it here,” he whispers in your ear. You smile softly, looking out at the city from your favorite spot. After getting a good look, you feel your legs about to give out as your eyes flutter closed. He catches you before you fall and is grateful you stopped looking when you did because he starts to see the nothingness begin to claim your world. You hear Hobie very quietly say, “I’ve got you, my love.”

Then everything fades to black.

───────────────────────────────

『 tag list 』

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[midnightwriter21]

demon slayer hcs: tanjiro as a boyfriend

characters: fem!reader x tanjiro

warnings: language, nsfw themes (no real smut)

AN: tanjiro is aged up!! we don’t date children in this house sry.

TANJIRO

um best bf ever

he’s an angel sent from heaven

cuddle bug fr

you are NOT getting out of bed before he’s ready

you gotta pee??

u gotta beg him to let u get up

like? uh my guy we’re finna be cuddling in a puddle if u don’t remove ur arm and let me SPRINT to the bathroom asap

mans just wants to hold you a little while longer

introduces you to inosuke and zenitsu ofc

wants you to get along with his friends SO bad

but

he knows they can be a lil overwhelming

so he will attempt

i said attempt

to make them behave themselves

they will not behave themselves

inosuke is tryna throw hands

zenitsu is alrdy asking for ur hand in marriage

and oh?

tanjiro baby is ur eye twitching?

and u got a vein popping outta ur forehead honey are u okay?

dude doesn’t get mad often

and he’s not mad at u

but zenitsu better back off rn

cause tanjiro

well he’s gonna make sure zenitsu gets it through his head that you are NOT marrying him

not violently!!

well he might stick inosuke on him

“inosuke! zenitsu said he’s stronger than you!”

que the one sided smackdown

anyways

he introduces you to nezuko wayyyyy later

she’s his baby sister who also happens to be a demon

which is pretty startling if u ask me

like “this is my baby sister nezuko!”

“she’s a demon with crazy blood fire powers! :)”

very important to him that y’all get along

which you do

cause how could u not

nezuko is the sweetest thing

god the kamado family could rot ur teeth

NICKNAMESSSSS:

there’s a million of them

my love, darling, sweetheart, honey, flower, bUNNY

ik that the bunny nickname is so over used but something abt it gets me GOINGGG

rarely calls u by ur real name unless something serious is happening

always a pet name

dude knows how to handle u and ur emotions

that sniffer he has

yeah

ur happy? sad? angry?

he smells it

personally i think that jealousy coming from u is his favorite scent

it’s got it’s own distinct smell but it’s mixed with a little bit of anger too

when he first smelled it he couldn’t figure out wtf u were feeling

but when he finally put it together

turned bright red

like “she cares about me THAT much”

“to where she gets angry?”

surprised that u get jealous over him for some reason

which is wierd asf cause if tanjiro was my bf? i’m never letting him outta my SIGHT

hands will be thrown w any bitch that tries to speak to him

anywayyyyyssss

into the NASTY DIRTY

remember he’s aged up!!

the softest service dom that has ever dommed

he’s the guy that gets pleasure from giving u pleasure

and when i mean giving u pleasure

i mean ur gonna be in tears by the end of it

it’s too much for you?

“oh honey i know you can take it”

“sweet girl you can give me one more i know you can”

one more is not one more

one more is as many as tanjiro wants.

overstimulation is the tanji’s fav

and back to that nose of his

LMFAO there is no hiding it when ur in the mood

mans can smell it from a mile away

but don’t worry he’s gonna take care of u ;)

aftercare omg

he’s so sweet

running u a BUBBLE BATH

lighting candles

massages

watch out cause those massages can get u back in the same situation that put u here in the first place

uh oh here comes the cuddle monster once again

ugh i want a tanjiro so bad

[roguerogerss]

Wanted To Have You

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

W/C: 3.7k (i think i didn’t check tbf)

Warnings: mention of smut (no actual smut though), swearing, arguing

(welcome back babes, missed you. tommy has been on my mind all the time recently so i decided i’d bang something out and post it. it’s basically just word vomit tbh but hope u enjoy. LOVE a lil bit of angst when it comes to peaky blinders and hope u do too!! luv u the most b back soon)

***

Birds chirped, the sounds of the market opening began, golden sunlight poured in through the window. The morning had come too early, but Tommy was always a sight to see in the morning.

Laid on his back, one arm curled loosely around her waist, the other on his chest, right above a bullet scar that Y/N had helped Polly to stitch up in early January. His lips were parted slightly, chest rising and falling, dark lashes settled on ruddy cheeks.

She smiled and traced the tattoo on his chest ever so lightly with the tip of her painted fingernails, her way of quietly waking him up. It always worked, and today was no exception. He sighed as he stirred, a small smile making it's way onto his face.

"G'mornin', love." How she loved the way that his voice sounded in the morning. Heavy with the day before's cigarettes, low and gravelly, Brum accented. "Sleep okay?"

"Slept great." She was so tired from the night before's antics that she couldn't have stayed awake another second after they'd collapsed onto the mattress and he'd pulled her close underneath the sheets. "Did you?"

Tommy hummed, "Mm, slept alright. Wasn't great, thinkin' a lot."

"Thinkin' about what?" Her fingers absentmindedly wandered from his tattoo to the back of his neck, tugging at the short hairs that gathered there.

"Business stuff, darlin'. Nothin' for you to worry your pretty little head about." He gave a soft, bleary-eyed smile and pressed a hand to her cheek, thumb stroking back and forth.

"Tommy, you always say it's just 'business stuff'. Why won't you just tell me what's going on for once?" She wasn't angry, really, but the pout on her face might've said otherwise. Business stuff was the closest that she ever got to knowing anything about Tommy's personal life.

But rumours fly, and she'd heard a lot from the people of the town that made her think that her Thomas wasn't as innocent as she thought he might be.

"I've told you. It's not important, nothing you'd want to hear." His voice strained as he stretched, biceps flexing as he raised his arms above his head. "Would bore ya, honest."

"You don't bore me, Tom." She looked up at him through her lashes and he gave a short-lived chuckle and ran his fingers soothingly through her hair.

"I have to get up." He ignored her statement and gave her a quick kiss on the top of the head, before rolling over and sitting up. He was still only wearing his underwear, and so she marvelled at the way that the muscles in his back flexed as he moved to grab his previously ironed button-down shirt from the side table.

She almost forgot that she was angry as he got up and pulled his slacks on, shirt still unbuttoned and the light hitting his toned torso just right. "I'll see you later, sweetheart." Tommy leaned down to place a kiss on his girl's lips, barely taking a second to enjoy the feeling but really only doing it so that he could continue to taste her on his lips for the next hour or so.

"Family meeting?" It was obvious that Y/N was unimpressed, but Tommy either didn't notice or was pretending that he hadn't, because he didn't comment and simply nodded. "And I can't come?”

"Told ya." Tommy tucked his shirt into his slacks and knotted his tie, eyeing Y/N all the while. "Would bore you."

He wanted to tell her about what he did. He really, really did. But he also wanted to keep her, and he knew that he couldn't do both. There was no way that she'd want to stay with him if she knew about all of the terrible things that he'd done, and so he'd made everyone who worked with him agree that she was never to know.

He supposed that she'd get suspicious at some point, but he hadn't expected that point to come so soon. It had been a year, and he figured that the towns people spoke and that she heard, but he was dreading having to actually let her know by himself.

"And I've told you," Y/N had gotten up, pulling her silk robe around her small body and padding lightly across the floor to where Tommy stood. She fixed out his jacket and smoothed down his shirt affectionately. "You don't bore me."

"We can talk later." Tommy smiled softly, hand smoothing Y/N's hair against her head as he pressed his lips to her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. She made him linger for a second, hands grabbing at the back of his neck and holding him in place as their lips moved together.

Tommy chuckled and pressed his forehead against hers. "I have to go.

"Fine." She pecked his lips once again and then let him go. "Go about your business, Mr Shelby."

"As I will, Miss Y/L/N." He smiled and then he was gone, unlocking the bedroom door and slipping out of the room.

**

Y/N was furious. That was really the only word that she could think of to describe the sheer anger that bubbled inside of her. Thomas Shelby is a Peaky Blinder.

And she knew that the statement from the woman at the market wasn't a lie. What other reason would he have to hide everything from her? To never tell her about his life or where he'd been or why he would often come to bed at ungodly hours?

She stormed into their shared home and, upon seeing him sat at the kitchen table, cigarette in hand, decided that she couldn't deal with him. And so she threw him a look and then took off up the stairs to their bedroom.

Tommy followed, of course he did, yelling her name and asking what was going on. But she ignored him, simply sitting down on the bed and waiting for him to join her.

"What's wrong, love? Did someone do something? I swear, I'll-"

"You'll what, Tommy?" She stood then, still keeping her distance but crossing the room only slightly. "Cut them? Kill them?"

"What the hell is this about?" Tommy sighed. He seemed bored already, unprepared to listen to her ramble because, oh, Thomas Shelby knew that his girlfriend could ramble for hours.

"Let me see your hat." She knew what the Peaky Blinders were, she knew fair well what the name meant, and she needed to confirm what the townsfolk had told her. "Where is it? Show me it!" She started searching for the hat, opening drawers and cabinets, she knew that she had to find it, because she had to know.

"Y/N, calm down, for God's sake." Tommy clasped a hand around her forearm, but she yanked it away and simply stared up at him, tears threatening to fall from her already glassy eyes.

"Are you one of them?" Her voice was almost a whisper, so quiet and timid that maybe Thomas wouldn't have heard her if they weren't almost chest to chest. "Are you a Peaky Blinder, Tommy?"

And now she was really crying, tears smudging the makeup on her cheeks and clouding her vision as Tommy's piercing blue eyes stared down at her. He was thinking, thinking about whether it was best to tell the truth or to leave, and thinking about what the consequences of each would be.

What would she do if he told her? Would she yell? Hate him? Would she leave? And what if he left? Would she let him back in?

But she looked so vulnerable, was crying so hard because she already knew the answer. And Tommy wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss her head and wipe the tears from her eyes. But it was his fault that she was crying, he'd caused the tears and the hurt. And he had to tell her.

"Yes." Her heart felt like it might've stopped. Because Tommy was the only person that she trusted, and now she felt like she knew nothing about him.

The room fell silent, she stared at him and waited for words to come, and she waited, and waited. Thomas wouldn't break eye contact with her. In truth, because he was scared that, if he did, he'd never look into her eyes again, she'd leave and she wouldn't come back, she'd go back to Ireland, back where people told her things because that was the right thing to do, because they weren't afraid of what the Peaky Blinders might do to them.

She decided, after a few beats of standing still, staring at him, heavy breaths coming from both of them, that she couldn't look at him anymore. She'd been waiting for him to say something, anything, that would mean that this had all been some sort of sick joke. He'd start laughing, tell her he was kidding, that the woman at the market had told her that just to see how she would react. She'd be angry, yes, but it'd only be short lived, and it wouldn't change anything.

But he didn't, and he wouldn't, because she already knew there was no hint of a lie in what she'd been told. She took a last, deep breath, and then departed to the other side of the room, where she turned her back to Thomas and took a few more deep breaths.

"Listen, love, I...I wanted to tell you-"

"Don't, Thomas."

"I really did. I wanted to. But I knew you'd react like this-"

"And so you thought that keeping it from me was right? You thought that holding the threat of the Peaky Blinders over the entire town's head to keep them quiet, was the right thing to do? You thought I'd be happy when I eventually found out?" Thomas found himself falling silent, speechless. He was never speechless.

"I was hoping to tell you myself."

"Well, you missed the opportunity to do that two years ago, Thomas." She'd picked up her handbag now, and Thomas noticed that tears had pricked his eyes and were threatening to fall. "To think I worked for you, as your secretary. I signed off your fucking books, I made phone calls for you, you involved me in this without even telling me, you didn't even ask me if that was what I wanted, Thomas."

"I know, and I'm sorry-"

"Pack your things."

"Love-"

"Pack your things, Thomas. And don't you ever call me anything other than my name."

And with that, she'd gone. To where, Thomas wasn't sure, but he found himself watching her, almost in slow motion, as she stormed through their bedroom door. He could hear her heels clicking as she hurried down the stairs, the brief pause as she pulled her coat - the one he'd bought her for their anniversary - around her body, and then the click open and slam shut of the front door.

He lowered himself onto the bed, placed his head in his hands, and sat for a few minutes in silence. The window was open, and so the sounds of the bustling street below floated upstairs, and he tried not to listen. The thought that she was out there, inconsolably upset, with every intention of leaving him, because of a mistake he'd made off his own back seemed entirely too much to handle.

So he closed the window, lay back on the bed, and lit the end of a cigarette. He needed to figure out a way to make things right by her, after all, Thomas Shelby didn't care about opinions, but what she thought of him was the most important thing in the world.

**

She'd gone to the Shelby's family home, mostly to try to seek comfort from either Ada or Polly, but also to berate the brothers for not thinking to tell her their secret.

She burst through the front door, to find Polly and Ada at the dining table, each smoking a cigarette. They jumped up when they saw her, womanly instinct coming into full effect, knowing that something must've been wrong from the way she'd stormed in, and the look on her face when she had.

"What's he done, my love?" Polly was always best at being able to tell when Thomas had messed up, and she was always on the right track when it came to guessing what he'd done wrong. His aunt knew him better than anyone, as much as he'd hate to admit it.

"Did you know?" She was breathing heavily, trying not to let the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes slide down her cheeks.

"Know what, love?" Ada had come to Y/N's side now, guiding her to sit down at the kitchen table, and had shooed the men away, into the drawing room, after Arthur had come mooching for a bottle of rum.

"Did you know what he was doing?" Her eyes were full of tears now, making it hard for her to see properly. She placed her elbows on the table and used the sides of her palms to wipe the tears as they fell. Polly pulled her chair over so that she was sat close to Y/N.

"Calm down, sweetheart." Polly placed a tentative hand on her arm, "What has he done?" His aunt could feel her heart drop in her chest, from the way that Y/N was speaking, she was almost certain that her nephew had cheated on his girlfriend.

"Did you know he was a Peaky Blinder? Is that what they're doing through there?" Y/N was really crying now, looking that horrible, vulnerable way that Tommy hated. Arthur had opened the door a crack, and he, John, and Finn were peeking out at the women sat in the kitchen.

Ada sighed and ran a hand over her face, and Polly seemed to erupt into anger, "We bloody told him, didn't we Ada? We told him you'd find out, but he listened to these bloody idiots," She jabbed a finger at the doors to the drawing room, which made Arthur crack up like a child, provoking Polly to pick up a teaspoon from the table and throw it at his face. "The women in this house are apparently the only ones with any sense in them."

"Why wouldn't he tell me, Polls?"

Polly took a long pause before answering. Thomas's reasonings had never been clear, behind any of his madness, and, even while having known him his entire life, she often wondered what the method behind the goings-on in his life was. "Listen, love, you know he loves you, yes?"

Y/N nodded slowly, a puzzled expression crossing her face. "Then you know how he protects the people he loves. Yes, he does all of this bad work, but he doesn't want you to know because he's scared something will happen to you if you know too much. And he doesn't want you to see him as this monster, Thomas Shelby, the leader of the Peaky Blinders. Sometimes, he just wants to be Tommy. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Polly, as always when she assumed anything about Tommy, was right. He'd liked Y/N from the moment he'd hired her to work as his secretary, but he knew she wasn't the type to turn a blind eye to his work. He supposed it was selfish, not telling her, but he wanted her to know him for who he was, not what he did.

She let out a sigh, partly letting go of all of the anger she'd built up towards Tommy, and partly because she was relieved to hear what his aunt had to say about it. "I know what you're saying, Pol."

A long pause followed, with only the bustle of the drawing room keeping the place from being in dead silence. Polly's hand was still resting on Y/N's arm, and Ada's on her back, and she found herself able to forgive. The Shelby women certainly had their ways.

"What do you want to do, love?" Polly broke the silence that had settled on the room.

"I don't know." Y/N couldn’t even think of anything else that she could say, she truly didn’t know what she wanted. Polly’s face contorted slightly, and Ada rubbed her hand up and down over Y/N’s back.

"Well, are you going to tell him it's over?" Ada asked, voice quiet, so as not to alert the men in the other room that anything too serious was being spoken about. She thought for a moment, feeling a pang of sadness come over her at the fact that she had to even think about whether or not she wanted to end things with Tommy.

"No. No, I'm not going to do that."

Polly breathed out, a breath that she didn’t even know she’d been holding, and wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her in and squeezing her in a way reminiscent of a mother holding her daughter.

"Okay. Okay, good. He does love you, so much, you know that?” It was a rhetorical question, and Polly didn’t leave enough time for Y/N to even answer. “Do you want to go home? Or will Ada boil the kettle and we can have a brew?"

"A brew would be nice."

**

The air was almost cold when she left the Shelby house to start the walk home. Summer was coming to an end now, but the sky was still bright past nine. She'd begun noticing things that she hadn't before, after finding out Thomas's secret. People would greet her profusely as she walked down the street, some even going out of their ways to let her past. They'd hold their children back from walking in front of her, the men working at the furnace would shield her from any soot that might come her way.

It felt strange, like Thomas was king of Small Heath and she was his Queen, and god forbid anyone see what might happen if they disrespect the Queen. She made an effort of smiling and thanking these people, showing that she didn't actually need them to be doing these things for her, but they did them regardless.

When she reached the front door of the house she shared with Thomas, she stood for a moment, simply staring at the front door. The mark was still there from the nail Thomas had banged into it months ago now, so that she could hang a holly wreath there to celebrate Christmas. He'd called it unnecessary, but they'd only just moved in together and she'd been so excited for their first Christmas in their new home, she'd come home from work one day to find the largest wreath Thomas could find at the market, hanging on their front door.

She smiled to herself, suddenly feeling emotional with all of the memories of their time together coming flooding back. She opened the door.

She was pleased to find that, when she got home, Thomas's hat and coat were still hanging on the coat stand at the front door. His pocket watch on the mantelpiece, shoes still placed neatly at the door. He hadn't gone anywhere yet.

"Thomas?" She called, and was met with the sound of soft footsteps in the bedroom.

"Upstairs." His voice was quiet, small, something that hurt her to hear. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him truly upset, even after two whole years.

She placed her handbag on the floor and draped her coat over the coat stand, then crossed the hallway and climbed the stairs to their bedroom, where Tommy was sat on the bed, head in his hands, suitcase at his feet. She felt a piece of her heart chip away upon seeing him.

"I'll be gone soon enough, I just-I didn't want to believe that-"

"Do you want to leave, Tom?" She took a few steps towards him, and Tommy lifted his head to look at her for the first time. His eyes were red, and she knew that Tommy Shelby strictly did not cry, except when it came to her.

A pause followed, Tommy simply staring up at her, opening and closing his mouth every now and again, thinking of the right thing to say. Was there a right thing to say?

"You know I'm not really religious. But I've been praying all day that you'd come home and we'd be fine again." A small, sad looking smile had settled on his face.

"Maybe you should start going to church, then." She placed her house keys down on the bedside table, she was here to stay. Tommy felt a weight lifted from his shoulders as she gave him a small smile and held her arms out to him, letting him back in, “Come here."

He didn’t hesitate, pulling her into his lap and wrapping himself tightly around her. Please don’t leave again, he was saying, eyes closed and cheek pressed to her stomach. Her arms settled around his neck, one hand drawing comforting patterns on his shoulder and the other smoothing his hair.

"I wasn't doing it to upset you." He needed an explanation for her, he owed her that, especially after she’d come back when he wouldn’t have blamed her for walking out of the door and never having a thought of him again.

"I know you weren't." He hated how forgiving she was. He hated that he’d done wrong, and, instead of just leaving like she deserved to, she’d come back and was comforting him, making him feel good about the lies he’d fed her. But he knew her all too well, he knew deep down she’d have forgiven him, because she wasn’t one to deal with things in any way other than graciously.

"No, sweetheart, I know I've been selfish. I know I’m not fair to you. But I'm only selfish because it's you." His hands roamed her back, underneath her dress, feeling every dip and scar, memorising them again, “I just wanted to have you, loved you since the minute I met you, I swear. Couldn't have you thinking of me as this cold, relentless monster. I just remember thinking you were too pure to know, thought I’d only ruin that if I got too close and you knew the truth.”

“I know you better than you know yourself, Tommy. You’ve got a heart in there, you know.” She gave him a small smile while he looked up at her, bright eyes piercing through dark eyelashes, “I don’t understand why you did all of this for me, you could’ve chosen another woman, one who you could’ve even helped you with your work all this time, but you chose someone who you felt like you had to hide everything from.”

“Told you already, I just wanted to have you.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then one to your nose, and then your lips. “You, not anyone else, not a woman who’d do my work for me, not someone easy, I wanted to have you. And you know I’m selfish with things that I want.”

You were really smiling now. Tommy always knew the right things to say, always knew how to make you happy. You wrapped your arms around him again, and, while Tommy didn’t like to admit it, he felt safe with you, something that he didn’t feel in many places.

“Thomas Shelby, you’ll always have me.”

[scatteredskittless]

can i sweetly ask for husk x reader angst,,, where the reader has been on work mode as of late thus having them a silly lil arguement (i love tormenring myself 😝) until they decide to make it up/explain why they were so busy later on 👉👈 (maybe a lil makeout session too in the end if you will) :333 tyy!

Overworked! GN! reader x Husker

A/n: You’re so real for this tbh, this was actually pretty fun to write !! My favourite little alcoholic grumpy cat fr ദ്ദി(ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Warnings: mild angst, argument, light talk of alcohol/alcoholism, light makeout near end

Fluff✔️ Comfort✔️ Angst✔️ Smut❌

You arrived back home to the hotel later than usual, you weren’t quite sure when you started to refer to this place as your home but it felt right to do so.

As soon as you walked through the doors you were greeted with a glance and a raised eyebrow from Husk, your boyfriend, as he cleaned and polished some glasses behind the bar. Most likely shutting everything down for the night.

You sigh, slumping down on one of the barstools as you waited for him to finish up what he was doing.

“You look like shit.” Husk observed, setting a now clean and sparkling glass down as he moved on to polishing up the next one.

“Yeah, thanks. That makes me feel so much better knowing my boyfriend thinks I look like shit.” You grumbled back, still quite irritated from the day you had. Your boss was constantly on your ass and making unsolicited remarks about basically everything you did or didn’t do, so coming home and having Husker do the same thing wasn’t exactly helping the situation.

He was a little taken back by your tone, usually you weren’t so sarcastic with him. You saw him pause (hehe paws) what he was doing for a few moments before resuming, trying to remain unfazed.

“All I’m saying is it looks like you had a shitty day..” He mumbled

You rolled your eyes in response, not bothering to say anything else because you knew whatever came out of your mouth next probably wouldn’t be so kind.

But, Husk continued...

“It also feels like I haven’t really been able to just hang out with you in a while.” He commented making you look up from the bar countertop and to his gaze that was already on yours with a glare.

“Well maybe if you wanted to see more of me, you wouldn’t be getting drunk everytime I’m finally off work” you said, your tone snippy which drew a frown out of Husk.

“So now this is my fault?” Husk asked, being slightly sarcastic when he spoke

“Are you implying it’s mine?” You asked back incredulously, the sarcasm seemed to have set you off more which in turn, was making Husks temper flare up as well.

“I never said it was, you’re just being snippy.” He called out as he narrowed his eyes at you. Of course you knew you were being snippy, you couldn’t help it and now you’ve dug yourself into a bit of a hole here.. you and Husker were both very stubborn demons..

“Y’know what? fuck you.” You said without thinking, sliding yourself off the barstool to come around the bar. Wanting to face him properly as you two continued on with your petty argument.

You glared up at him and he glared back for a few seconds before suddenly sweeping you up off your feet and placing you down on the bar countertop and before you could even say any word of protest, his lips smashed against yours with his ears pinned back against his head

Your eyes widened in surprised for a few beats before letting them fall shut, kissing him back and essentially taking all of your anger out in said kiss, arms wrapped around his neck with his wrapped around your waist in turn.

It quickly turned into a makeout session, an angry makeout session would be a better word for it.

Your hand found the fur on the top of his head and gently tugged on it as your tongues pressed up against eachother, causing him to grunt in response

You were both panting when he broke the kiss off, you had both tired yourselves out as he leaned down to press a few kisses to your neck, making you whimper in response. Husk smirked at that.

Once he was done peppering kisses to your neck and collarbone he pulled back, hands still resting on your waist as he did so.

You sigh, meeting his gaze and smile meekly, feeling guilty for your previous actions and words. “I’m… sorry for all that. I’ve just been super stressed and busy with work lately and I shouldn’t be pining all the blame on you.” You apologized genuinely.

He nodded “it’s alright.. I’m also sorry. I’ll work on prioritizing you more. I missed you” he apologized as well, returning your smile.

“I missed you too.” You wrapped your arms around him in a hug, he chuckled and hugged you back, squeezing you when you squeezed him. You couldn’t help but notice the fact that he was purring slightly… clearly you were both content with how this little argument of yours had ended.

Please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my fanfictions/writing/headcanons without permission ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ Scatteredskittles

[masn-mount]

hiii what about a fic where Jude and you have broken up, him being the one to do it and one night he comes to you to talk or something and he sees you all dressed up ready to go out and you can take it from there. xx

thank you for your request anon! the ending is a little rushed because I wanted to post it before a trip I'm going on! I hope you like it and please let me know what you guys think. xx

warnings: swearing, a lil bit of angst, fluff,

words: 3,4k

The back and forth pacing wasn’t doing Jude any favor.

It was making him more nervous and the longer he looked at the few stairs leading to your front door the more his head was telling him to turn around and leave.

You had ignored his calls and left his texts on read.

It upset Jude even if he didn't have any reason to think you would want to talk to him. He was the one who ended your relationship and left you heartbroken.

Six months ago you had travelled to Germany to visit him and when the weekend came to an end you were sat on his bed listening to him tell you that he ‘couldn’t do this anymore’, he had way too much on his mind and his new career decision was making it difficult for him to focus on anything else.

You were left speechless.

There had been no fight or any clues telling you that he no longer wanted to be with you. He hadn’t been distant or pulled away from you physically or emotionally so you tried telling him that if he truly loved you as much as he told you he did earlier that day then you could make it work but nothing you were saying was getting through to him.

That night you collected your things scattered around his apartment before leaving early the next morning and you didn’t cry until you got into your taxi and ‘someone like you’ by Adele started playing through the speakers.

It was like the universe was playing a prank on you.

Jude wasn’t sure when he had collected himself but after taking a few deep breaths and thinking back to the pep talk his brother had given him he walked up the stairs and pressed his knuckles to the door. He knocked three times before taking a small step back and like a coward he hoped you weren’t home even if he could see the light in the hall and your bedroom on. “Hi, I’m just going t-, Jude?”

You stood before him with your mouth slightly agape, unsure of what to say and all Jude wanted to do was leave because the last thing he expected to see was you standing before him in a black dress that hugged your figure so perfectly. Your lips were coated in a red lipstick and you were in the process of putting on a pair of gold hoop earrings when he had interrupted you. "What are you doing here?"

"Want t-, need to talk to you and you weren't answering my calls or texts so I just came here." He looked shy and embarrassed as he stood before you in a simple white shirt and grey joggers and all you could think about was how good he looked. He was undeniably the most attractive boy you had ever seen and somehow he had managed to get even more handsome in the few months you hadn’t seen him.

“You came here from Spain?”

“I went to visit family too but yeah, pretty much.” Jude knew you were getting ready for a date. The perfume you were wearing gave you away because it was the one you always wore on date night's. It was selfish of him to feel jealous and slightly angry at the thought of someone else taking you out, making you smile and possibly taking you home after but he couldn’t shake the feeling away. “You’re going on a date.” It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement.

You shrug before nodding, “yeah, just a guy I met at the gym. I guess he thought I looked pretty all sweaty and wanted to take me out,” you were trying to lighten up the mood a little because the way Jude was looking at you was making you nervous and you hated how he still had that affect on you. “It’s really casual still.”

“I didn’t want to know.” Jude regretted snapping, it wasn’t like him and he never wanted to talk to you that way but the whole situation was doing his head in.

You purse your lips, dropping your hands to your sides after finally putting your earrings on. “Right, so why are you here?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” You felt a little guilty about the whole situation even if you had no reason to. You had every right to go out and see other people after sulking for months but if the roles were reversed you know you'd feel upset too.

Your friends had tried to set you up with their friends and coworkers for months but you always said no until three days ago when Alex asked you out for dinner. You had seen him at the gym many times. He was nice and you shared some good conversations so when he asked you out for dinner you said yes because you couldn't sit around and wait for your feelings for Jude to just go away one day because you knew they wouldn't.

You look up at Jude, frown on your face to see him avoiding looking at you, his own brown eyes set on the wall where a picture of the two of you used to sit. “Yeah, that wasn’t fair.”

“I haven’t even looked at another girl yet.” It was a cheap shot and he’s not sure why he said it but it was true. Just like your friends, his own had tried to set him up with different girls but he always said no.

When he finally looked at you he could tell you were trying to keep your composure, trying to not go off on him even if it was exactly what he deserved for you to do.

"What you do is no longer my concern just like what I do isn't yours." You take a deep breath before looking at him, "you are the one who broke up with me out of nowhere and completely blindsided me." It was difficult for you to keep it together, to not cry but you wanted him to understand even if he was shaking his head the entire time you spoke. "You made it clear that you don't love me so I can't just sit around and wait for you, Jude."

“I never said I don’t love you.”

"You didn't have to." You awkwardly cough when Jude doesn't speak, repedetly blinking so you'd keep the tears you knew were approaching at bay. "My date's going to be here any moment."

"Bab-, y/n, don't go, please." His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. "I just want to talk, please stay and let's do that, yeah?"

"I can't do that, you know I can't," and just when Jude is about to tell you that he never stopped loving you for even a second he hears a cough behind him and he doesn't need to turn around to know that it's your date.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," Alex walks past Jude like he's not even there and leans in to kiss your cheek before standing up straight and giving the boy in front of him a once over. A little laugh escapes his mouth before he speaks. "If it isn't Jude Bellingham! I'm a huge fan, mate." You're standing biting your lip and Jude wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or punch the smug bastard in the face but in the moment he settles for shaking Alex's outstretched hand and without another word he turns around and walks away because fuck, that had not gone how he had hoped.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re awake or in a dream when you hear knocks against your front door.

You bury your head under your covers as you try to ignore the sound coming from downstairs but when another knock is heard you groan before getting out of bed and in your half sleepy state you make it down the stairs and to your front door. A quick look into the peep hole confirms your suspicions that Jude was the one disturbing your much needed sleep.

“Need to tell that twat from earlier that I’m not his mate.” 

“Jude!" You shriek when he walks past you.

He stumbles a little before sitting down on the ground when you ask him to take off his shoes before he steps on your carpet. "Have you completely gone and lost your mind? You can't just show up here at almost three in the morning!"

“You didn't answer your phone, you never do."

“I was sleeping!” Your eyes are bewildered and when Jude finally properly looks at you he can't focus on a single word you're saying or how angry you look as your arms move around you with every word you speak because all he can focus on is the black and yellow Dortmund shirt you're wearing. The fact that you had kept it made him happy and knowing that you wore it to bed made him feel all warm inside before it hit him that he wouldn't get to see you proudly wear his new teams jersey.

"My shirt?"

You shake your head before a tiny smile tugs at your lips, "no, I got it from Gio." You didn't realize just how much you had missed hearing him laugh until that moment. "I'm being serious tho, Jude, you can't just show up here this late." You help him up and to your livingroom before hurrying to your kitchen so you can fill up a glass of water for him.

"Please, drink this." He does as you ask and after putting the glass on the table he leans forward and rests his head on your chest, telling you that he just needs a cuddle and when you don't push him away you feel him smile against your neck.

"I know you hate when I'm drunk."

“I do.”

"Your date," he mumbles against your neck, "was he nice? did he pull out your chair and all that."

You laugh, "it was a shit date." You had nothing in common with Alex and even if he had come across as a nice guy when you had met him he was a total different person at dinner. You didn't mind confidence in a guy but he had been arrogant all night and borderline rude when you had told him you wanted to go home and not back to his place.

Jude can't deny that he feels happy that your date had been bad, happy that you probably wouldn't see Alex again but he also felt a little guilty because maybe the reason why you hadn't enjoyed your night was because he had showed up just before and ruined it for you. "M'sorry."

"You're not," you shake your head with a breathy laugh and when he giggles against your neck you suddenly feel overwhelmed and don't realize that small tears had gathered on your waterline until your blink and a few of them escape and fall down your cheeks. "You can't just show up here like this anymore."

"You've said that already but you won't tell me why," you just shake your head and when he presses his lips against the skin of your neck you just close your eyes because you can't find strength to push him away. "It's so fucking hard to not have you and hearing you say tha-, that you think I don't love you it hurt me and it wasn't fair because I love you so much."

"It wasn't fair making me feel that way either." Your tears are falling freely now and Jude looks up when he feels one land on his knuckles even if the crack in your voice already gave away that you were crying.

"Please, don’t cry, hate seeing you cry.”

"I know."

"I never ended things because I stopped loving you," he was starting to sound like a broken record but he needed you to understand that his feelings for you had never changed. "I know it sounds like the worst excuse ever, 'oh it wasn't you it was me' but it's the truth," a light shiver runs down your back when you feel his hand slip under your shirt, his fingers move across the skin of your back and it's almost like Jude doesn't even notice that he's doing it. "All of these incredible things are happening and when I'm in bed at night all I can think about is how I wish you were there with me and I wish I would have asked you to just pack your bags and come with me but at the time it felt so selfish to ask that of you because I felt like I let you down."

You frown at him followed by a light shake of your head, "you could never let me down."

"I promised you that I was coming back to play in England."

You just give him a sad smile, "plans change and if anything you deciding to challenge yourself again by going to another country only made me feel prouder, not many nineteen year olds have the belief and confidence to do what you've done."

"I just wanted the best for you."

"You gave me everything I wanted, Jude."

“Did I really?”

“Yes!” Your eyebrows are furrowed and lips parted, not quite understanding his reasoning because you had never given him a reason to think you weren't happy or that you needed more from him. The moment he had told you that he had made the decision on his future and that he had picked going to Spain you had been ready to move with him, all you ever needed was for him to ask but he never did.

"What?"

"What?"

"You would have moved to Spain?"

"I-," you feel your cheeks heat up because you hadn't meant to say those words out loud, "yeah, I would have."

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

"Yeah, you are," you smile a little and he just shakes his head, "I don't want you running around in the streets at this time so you can stay here if you want."

"Here as in?"

"On this perfectly fine sofa."

"I can't sleep here!"

"Sure you can," you laugh a little at how offended he looks.

"It's cold."

"I can bring you an extra blanket."

"Babe, don't be ridiculous."

Your knew you wouldn't be able to sleep by yourself knowing he was in your house but you enjoyed teasing him. "You're actually a child," you stood up, removing yourself from his hold and walk up the stairs with Jude following closely behind and when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, he walks into your room and sits on your bed. He notices that besides your curtains not much had changed in you room. "Okay, just stay on your side of the bed."

"My side, yeah?" You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear before crossing your arms over your chest and all Jude can focus on is how your shirt rides up and exposes even more of your thighs.

"Do you need anything before we sleep?"

"A kiss."

"You're really going to push all my buttons aren't you?"

"Speaking of buttons, can you help me undo mine? they're way too small." You want to tell him no but before you can you're already walking the short distance to where he's sitting. You stand between his legs, foot hitting into his shin when his hands move to the backs of your thighs, he gives you a lazy smile before he pulls his hands away and leans back on them. "I can't help it, you're so fuc-,"

"Don't be cheeky," you're trying to focus on the buttons of his black shirt but they were indeed small and the way he was looking at you was making it difficult for you to even think but after what felt like hours you managed to undo the shirt and with a pat to his now bare chest you walked around him and got under the covers.

You had more of his old shirts in your wardrobe but you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing you'd kept more than the one you were wearing.

You could feel the bed moving for a few seconds before Jude got comfortable. You stay still for a few minutes, back against him and you think that maybe he's fallen asleep but just as you're about to turn around you feel him move closer before his arm wraps around your waist, his face so close that you can feel his lips against the top of your head. Your whole body goes stiff before he mumbles for you to just relax against the top of your head and when he places his hand over yours and let's his thumb stroke over your skin you feel yourself melt into him.

"I just want to hold you. I missed you so much, so fucking much." You just nod, "I'll do anything to fix this, if you let me," he pulls you a little closer even if you didn't think it was possible. "I've wanted to come here so many times but I was a coward and called instead because deep down I knew you wouldn't answer so that would mean you wouldn't end the small hope I had that I could have you again." Jude could feel his eyes starting to feel heavy with sleep and he wasn't sure if you were still awake but when you squeeze his hand a little before turning in his arms he feels like his heart might beat out of his chest when you lean in and press a light kiss to his cheek.

When you pull back the tip of Jude's nose nudges your cheek as his face moves closer to you, you process what he's about to do and you let your head fall on his pillow to avoid his kiss, his lips fall on your cheek instead and you feel him smile against your skin, he let's out a chuckle before his head drops to your shoulder. Your hand moved to his back so you can lightly skratch it with your nails.

"Sorry, just got carried away," Jude felt overwhelmed being so close to you again because it felt so normal, almost like nothing had changed. "Just felt right," he said, you could barely make out what he was saying from how he was speaking against your neck.

"I know," you whisper because you felt the same and by that point you realize that you're completely gone for him, maybe you always were. You thought of him daily and when he would call you wanted to answer but just like him you were afraid that it would lead to that true closure neither of you had and you didn't want that. You never stopped checking up on him through your mutual friends, always asking them how he was and you never missed a single one of his games.

After a minute of silence, Jude speaks, "do you miss us?" He had wrapped his arm around you again, his chin resting on top of your head as he spoke, "do you miss me?"

"All the time," he rests his head against the pillow when you answer his question, eyes directly on you as he brushes his knuckles down your cheek before grabbing your jaw, eyes moving down to where his thumb was running over your lower lips. You know you won't be able to deny him again so instead of waiting for him it's you who leans in, capturing his lips with your own. Jude's fingers continue stroking over your cheeks as he pushes closer to you, trapping your body underneath his own.

His lips are just as soft as you remembered them.

He let's his tongue swipe across your bottom lip before sucking lightly onto it and you can't help but moan at the feeling which makes Jude smile against your lips. He leans his head back for a second, he nudges your nose with his own before leaning back in and it feels like you've kissed for hours when you pull away. Your eyes are closed, head still leaning back on the pillow when you speak, "I was meant to be stronger than this," you giggle. Jude kisses you once more before laying his head on you chest and when your hand moves to the back of his head while the other one moves up and down his back all Jude can think is that he was always meant to be right there, with you.

"M' girl."

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

corrupt!Toji

A/N: this is obviously a bit dark seeing as that's who Toji is. Can only imagine what corrupt!Toji would get into..

corrupt!Toji is whole different species. Not really a vessel per se.. The curse wasn't strong enough to posses him; Toji completely consumed the entity. But clearly it didn't agree with him. Fuckin guy was more abrasive and aggressive than ever. "Toji, stop! Let em go. He didn't mean it that way and you know it!" You yank at Toji, who's currently got his son pinned to a wall outside the school. He looks at you, large hand locked round Megumi's throat squeezin as he dangles him a few feet from the ground. "Yeah? Is that what I know? Think I only know what I can see.. And what I saw was this lil spit fucks hands wrap round your waist. My waist." Toji turns back to Megumi, who's gasping for air and clawing at his hold. "Now in my opinon, sounds like someone has a fuckin death wish, but.. I dont think y/n would ever forgive me if I killed my own spawn." The way he sneers the last word sends shivers up your spine. Toji slams his fist into Megumi's gut before tossin him to the ground like a rag. "So a warning will have ta suffice: hands off on what belongs to me or.. Die." Poor boy's left gasping in the dirt, clutching his stomache as Toji drags you away by your arm. "And you.. I think you love pissin me off. Gonna teach you some fuckin manners, y/n."

corrupt!Toji only loves one thing as much as he loves you: money. He'll do anything for it but ofcourse usually just sticks to assassination. And Toji doesn't care what you think about his line of work. "How long will you be gone this time?" In nothing but a silk robe, hands on your hips, watchin him pack to leave on yet another murderous voyage. "Don't fuckin start, woman." Doesn't even bother lookin up from his duffel as he growls at you. "I'm not startin anything. Just wanna know when you'll be done slicing up innocent civilians." That makes your deranged ass man toss his head back, laughing way too fuckin hard. "I don't kill civilians, y/n. Where's the fuckin fun in that?" Your eyes narrow at his back. "You're a fuckin monster." He stands before he's nose to nose with you in half a second. "And yet.. You don't leave." He makes you so nervous yet arousal starts to creep through, pussy clenchin once at the way his eyes trail from yours down your body slowly. "Can't leave is more like it. Think we both know you'd never let that happen." Toji kneels, lifting your leg to his shoulder. You fist at his hair, robe falling open as he grips your waist to hold you steady and hums in agreement at your words. "Tomato, tomato." He says before suckin your clit between his lips.

corrupt!Toji is a master manipulator that takes pride in your submission. Loves to trick you into thinkin you've wronged him so he can put you in your place: Waking up from your nap startled from a pressure over mouth; a muscled arm scoops you up and turns you on your belly, unyielding pecs plastered against your back and holding you to the bed. He's naked and hard against you, precum formin a wet spot on the back of your skimpy satin black nightgown. "You think I forgot what you did? What you let him do to you?" Toji"s snarl at your ear is just as disorienting as his misdirected anger. He's been gone on his trip for almost two weeks and you had no idea he'd be back today. Definitely didn't know Toji would come home upset. It's you who should be angry at how he's behaving but apologies bubble from your lips instead, even before you know what's going on. "Shut the fuck up. Not gonna let you play that innocent shit with me this time." Toji's hand leaves your mouth to reach around and squeeze your throat. Cock twitchin against your ass listening to you pant and whine. "Fuckin let him hug you y/n. What's next? Gonna let my son fuck you? Hm?" You shake your head no, scratching at his grip and gasping for air. "Lying fuckin slut. Know you want him. And there's no way he or any of those weaklings could ever resist you. So how bout this?" Toji's free hand slides over your ass, slapping each cheek before dipping lower to play in your slit. Your moist, and more importantly.. Hating yourself for starting to get wet. "I'm gonna fuck you in front of my son. Show him that he'll never get a taste of the best pussy that's ever gifted this wretched world. Then maybe I'll think about forgiving you." He leans back, using his grip on your throat to toss you on your back. It's then your able look upside down at see Megumi, bruised and gagged, tied to a chair. He stares at you, completely incapacitated. You know instantly he won't be able to esape himself. "Toji! Y-you can't! He's your-" Smack! Your head snaps to the side from the impact of his slap, tears welling up in your y/e/c eyes. Toji grabs your jaw and forces you to look back at him. "I can do whatever I fuckin want. You really got some nerve." He stands up and walks to the foot of the bed, snatching you up by your hair. Points his dick at your red cheek as he strokes nice and slow. Megumi weakly struggles to break free, wants to save you but feels so helpless. "Tell me your sorry- mmmfuck.. And I might not kill your little friend." "I'm sorry Toji! So sorry. Shouldn't have l-let anyone touch me.. Know better.." Toji speeds up his short firm strokes, moaning and pullin you closer to his cock. "And why is that?" "Cause I'm yours. Tojis p-property." "Good giiiirl!" Toji groans, slipping the head of his dick between your lips and cumming with a grunt of your name. Thinks he might've cum more than usual when he notices how hard Megumi is. Wonders if you notice. Then again, how could you? You're too busy pressin your thighs together, clit throbbing as he spurts across your tongue twice. Then Toji"s pullin out, huffin as he finishes nuttin on your face. Three strong blasts that shower you in thick white drops. Both men groan at the sight, the latter leaning to kiss and lick at your lips. Megumi is so torn: wants to save you from your vile boyfriend but so entranced with your absolute submission. You on the other hand are burning with shame, cum dripping from your face to the sheets. Not at all surprised when Toji's nasty ass sucks some up and spits into your mouth. "Hold it. Lemme see.. Good girl. Now, before I fuck you.. Go give your BFF a nice sweet kiss." He's pure evil, smiling sinisterly when you get up without a word and make your way to Megumi. He's lookin up at you with wide eyes, swallowing hard as his gaze drops to you cum slicked mouth. "Sorry, Gumi." You whisper, holding at his shoulders as you bend to press your lips to his gagged mouth.

[gummydummy19]

Hi Gummy!<3

You shared that awful experience and I imagine...

Captain Sy and his insubordinate younger brother. His brother (let's say, Jim?) flirted with you in a pub. You don't really spark and he seemed a bit too slick for your liking, but Jim is persistent and (gradually annoying). It was not long before Captain Sy came barging in and took his younger brother home (and surprise surprise, Jim isn't reaching his drinking age yet XD), which is how you met. Maybe you met him again a few days later in the same pub, maybe you worked on a project that involves the military (hence Sy)

And somehow one of the worst encounters you have had in your life turns out to be the one in which you met the love of your life :3

Just a lil thot :3

JDHDKHCB JAM WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE THE BEST IDEAS I absolutely freaking love this oml

How I met your mother

Content Warnings: fluff, swearing, unwanted flirting (from Sy's brother)

Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: Since we're in the middle of the holidays, I decided to give this a little holiday twist :)) Imagine this as a throwback to how you met your hunky husband Sy... In the throwback Jim is 19, Sy is 27, and the reader is 23. In the present Sy is 42, reader is 38, Jim is 34.

Alright? All clear? Everyone good? Let's get this party started then

The entire family was gathered around your beautifully decorated dining table. It was well past midnight, and everyone was stuffed full of delicious food and the expensive wine you saved for special occasions. Sy had his hand resting on your thigh as you both listened to his dad share stories of when he was in the Navy.

"Fuck!" you heard your 13-year-old son yell from the couch behind you, waking up your 9-year-old daughter who was dozing off on her dad's lap.

"Jacob!" you snapped your head back at him, but the boy just rolled his eyes at you.

He was playing some new zombie-murder-call thievery videogame he had gotten for Christmas, courtesy of his uncle Jim.

"Don't you roll your eyes at your mother", Sy stepped in, "and watch your mouth, or that game is going on the shelf till summer."

"But dad!" he whined

"No buts!"

Now it was your turn to put your hand on your husband's thigh, giving him a sweet look to let him know you'd handle it.

"Jake, why don't you come sit with us for a little bit, hmm? Haven't you played long enough?"

"Oh come on, let the kid have some fun", Jim chimed in, earning an angry glare from his brother Sy.

"Yeah and who better to teach him that than his uncle Jim, right?" Sy spat.

"What's that supposed to mean?", Jim shot back.

"You know damn well what that means."

"Dad?" your little girl tugged on Sy's shirt.

"Yes, princess?"

"Don't you think Uncle Jim is fun?"

"Of course I do, Maya, it's just that Uncle Jim used to give us a whole lot of trouble, just like your brother gives us right now."

"Hey!" Jim and Jacob groan simultaneously.

"Oh, I think Jim caused quite some more trouble than our Jakey", you defended your son, who had finally sat down next to you at the table. You gave him a loving ruffle through his brown curls, remembering what Sy's hair used to look like before he started buzzing it off.

"Yeah well, give him a couple years", Jim joked.

"What kinda trouble did Uncle Jim get into?", your little girl chimed in again.

The three of you exchanged some looks before you finally spoke up. "Oh, I can think of a few things, but my favorite one is the story of how your father and I met", you smiled.

"Oh god", Jim groaned, "Can't you just tell them about the pranks I pulled in college or something?"

"No no", Sy chuckled, "I quite like this particular story".

"I love storytime!" your daughter yelled out excitedly.

"I'm kinda intrigued now too," Jake agreed, grinning at his uncle.

Sy's mother gave her husband a look as she sipped from her herb tea and you knew she loved this story too.

"It was 15 years ago", you started, "Me and my friends had just graduated college that summer. By wintertime, a couple of us had started working, or even gotten married, so we decided to catch up right before the holidays"

Flashback

"I can't believe it's almost been six whole months since we've all gotten together" your friend Sarah chided before taking a sip of her cosmo. “I know, I’ve missed you guys like crazy!” You said honestly. The five of you sat there and talked for what felt like hours, sipping on cosmo’s and sharing the juiciest stories from work or dating drama. It was like no time had passed at all.

“Alright girls, I’m gonna go get another refill anyone else need anything?”, you asked as you got up to walk towards the bar. The drinks were definitely starting to get to your head, but you didn’t care in the slightest. This was the most fun you’d had in weeks.

With a fuzzy head, you made your way over to the bar, still giggling at a joke your friend made 10 minutes ago. Leaning against the polished wood, you managed to catch the bartender's attention. "Um, two... wait, no, three more of these," you mumbled in your slightly tipsy state as you shoved your empty glass toward him.

You were patiently waiting for your drinks when a young, arrogant-looking guy slid up next to you, "Hey there! What are we drinking tonight?" he asked and you rolled your eyes.

"Just a couple drinks with my friends" you replied curtly, avoiding eye contact with him.

"Just you and your girls, huh? No boyfriend?"

"Nope."

"Are you looking for one?"

"Nope."

"Hmm I see, more a hit and run kinda gal, huh?" he smirked.

Damn, this guy was annoying.

"Look pal, I'm trying to have a good time with my girls, alright?" You finally turned to look at him. He sure wasn't ugly, but not your type. Besides, he looked a little on the young side you thought and you started to wonder if he should even be in here.

"That's alright baby, I'm all for good times", he stated with a proud grin, making you roll your eyes again.

The bartender slid over your drinks and grabbed them quickly "I'm not your 'baby', now if you will excuse me", you pushed passed him but his hand gently grabbed onto your waist.

"Oh come on, don't be like that...", if your hands hadn't been full you would have smacked him in the face for sure. You looked down at his hands on you and then straight into his eyes.

"You have about two seconds to get your hands off me before you get covered in Cosmo's and my knee introduces itself to your crotch."

"I just-" he started and you got ready to throw your 30 dollars worth of cocktails in his face.

"JIM!", a loud roar sounded through the bar, grabbing everyone's attention, including yours and the guy holding onto you.

He quickly dropped his hands and took a step back from you as the man who just entered stalked towards him. The entire movement made you drop your drinks, but you were too startled to care.

"L-logan....the hell are you doing here, man?", the boy stuttered and his whole demeanor changed in a split second.

"Me? What the fuck do you think you're doing here?!", you let your eyes roam over his body as he yelled out. He was clearly older than you. And definitely older than the arrogant guy. It was obvious that they knew each other. You wondered how. They seemed like two very different guys. The older one had a casual confidence whereas the younger one had made up arrogance.

You stayed frozen in place as you watched them yell at each other. The more you looked at their faces the more you started to notice similarities. The older one was bigger, with quite a bit more muscle to him, but they had the same strong jaw and nose, and their eyes were the same gorgeous shade of blue. Could they be...

"Miss, I'm really sorry for my brother."

"I uhm,...okay, that's okay", you mumbled.

The man gave you a friendly look before sticking his hand out.

"I'm Logan Syverson, but everyone calls me Sy. And that's my little brother Jimmy. I'm really sorry if he gave you any trouble, he's been acting out a bit lately."

You shook his hand without breaking eye contact. The second your skin made contact with his you felt your stomach drop...weird.

"Hey, I'm not a fucking kid!" Jim yelled out, earning an angry glare from Sy.

"Then maybe you should stop acting like one, Jimmy. You really think I wouldn't notice you taking my fucking bike? Huh?", Sy yelled, "You're taking the truck back home. Gimme my fucking keys back."

Reluctantly, Jim gave Sy the keys to his bike and Sy gave him the car keys in return.

"You didn't drink, did you?" Sy asked with a raised brow.

"No, Logan, I fucking didn't. Okay?!" he snapped before turning around and storming out. While you heard the car door slamming closed and the engine starting outside, Sy turned back to you.

"I'm really sorry about all that..." he scratched through his brown curls before his eye fell on the puddle of Cosmo's on the floor, "Oh christ, uh, here, please let me buy you a new round," he said, already pulling out his wallet.

"Oh no, no it's okay really, you don't have to", you assured him.

"No, I insist. I promise I won't stick around to bother you or anything, but just let me pay for them, please?"

Now how could you say no to that?

"Alright then, if you insist", you gave him a sweet smile.

The two of you walked to the bar and as you waited for your order, you couldn't help but give him a once-over. He was wearing a dark pair of jeans and a black shirt with some old writing on it. He was much taller than you, and big...very big. With a mind that was still half tipsy, you couldn't help the words that left your mouth next.

"You know...", you started, getting his attention, "I wouldn't mind if you did stick around for a bit...to bother me."

You swore Sy's eyes twinkled for a second as you looked up at him. Of course, he found you attractive. You were probably the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Scratch that. Not probably, definitely.

But still, the gentleman in him wanted to politely refuse, given your clouded state and what his brother made you endure already, but then your hand touched his arm and your eyes found his. "Please? I insist", you pleaded, and Sy caved. "Alright then, if you insist...", he was only a man after all, and he could only take so much.

Meanwhile, at the girl's table, everyone was far too drunk and caught up in whatever story they were telling to have noticed what just went down. But all the giggling came to a quick stop when a tall handsome man towered over them with four cosmopolitans in his hand.

"Ladies, this is Sy", you introduced him, holding three more drinks, "My savior of the night, and the buyer of our next round."

End flashback

"Aww, dad was her hero!", Maya yelled out.

"He still is", you smiled, leaning into Sy and pressing a kiss on his shoulder.

"Hold on. So, you tried to hit on mom?", Jake turned to his uncle, "That's gross, dude."

"Alright, okay, I remember that story a little differently", Jim spoke up, looking even grumpier than before.

"He was just a teenager", you defended your brother-in-law.

"I was almost twenty", Jim stated.

"Yeah, that doesn't exactly help your case, bud", Sy spoke up, wrapping his arm around you as you tried to stifle a giggle.

"So what happened after that?", Maya asked curiously.

"Well, your dad was too nervous to ask for my number, so I asked for his."

"Hey! I was just trying to be a gentleman", Sy defended argued, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

"Sure thing, hun", you grinned, "The week after we met up again in that same bar, and the rest is history."

"Is that bar still there?", Jacob asked.

"Actually, they turned it into a restaurant, but it's still called Mickey's."

"Hey, isn't that where...", your son started

"Where your dad proposed to me, yeah." you smiled fondly. "and we still go there every year on our anniversary..."

The end

Taglist;

@metalbuckaroo @princessayveke @montsepliego @scxrletrecsmarvel @hopelesslyrogers @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @tfandtws @vicmc624 @ahahafudge @enchantedbarnes @wickedravyn @pono-pura-vida @amayaraestyles @matchat3a @fictional-hooman @sebastianexplicit @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @jamneuromain @tryingtoliveonmywishes @mrsevans90 @daybreak96 @tiredqueen73 @fallingforunrealisticromance @identity2212 @randomweirdoss @ragamuffin285 @juliaorpll78 @geralts-yenn @imjusthereforliam @bangtanstoeart @squeezyvalkyrie @enchantedbytomandhenry @superduckmilkshake @kingliam2019 @bascmve01 @missgaygurl @foxyjwls007 @mollymal @urmomsgirlfriend1 @luxeydior

[ay0nha]

Some Unholy War | Theseus Scamander (IV)

SUMMARY: Theseus was always talented in thinking clearly. Logically. He wanted you to be wrong, but your instincts pushed you to keep moving. It was the only way to stay one step ahead of Sinclair. It contrasted Theseus’ plan to stay put within the walls of the Ministry. You contrasted his very being. 

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x f!reader  

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, flashback of sorts, mutual pining, semi enemies-to- lovers, always a protective Theseus, SLOW burn, etc.

A/N: HELLO. Again, this took me longer than I would have liked. So, rather than rushing it, I’m going to break it up into two parts...I’m going to take a lil break to get my head together, but I’m v excited in how this second part is going to go!!! So, stay tuned...As always, thank you, @kalllistos​​​​. Comments are always welcomed. Enjoy.

PART I, PART II, PART III

Effort was a comical notion.

Magic required it at times, just as breathing did. The effort now felt good, worth it. The icy air that reached the ends of your lungs stung. Yet, each breath was quieter, the effort only coming in the form of physical mechanics of pushing a warm breath back out that the air around you marked.

“Are you mad?” Theseus’ exclamation hadn’t taken any exertion. The pent-up anger almost made you flinch. Theseus yelled after you as you continued forward. He never begged you to stop; he told you. Sometimes you’d listen just to display your wit.

You were quiet, entering the idyllic fog, hoping it would swallow you whole.

“Keep up….” Your voice was airy, the instruction more for yourself. The memory was faded, your mind trying to hold onto it as it threatened to slip between your fingers.

It started in Theseus’ office—a muddled memory overlapping with the friction of everything around you. It was more a feeling, something foggy and unrestrained that called you forward. It felt a bit like apparating, where your body didn’t quite belong for the moments it took to find your footing again.

You scolded yourself for not seeing it clearly; that was the thing about divination.

Although studied meticulously, its real trait was its vitality.  It shifted and molded. Evolved.  It made even more concrete things seem like rubber, rejecting electricity with an uncanny ability to mold into shapes unknown. It was the type of thing that could be so exciting to happen just to become something so vague that it no longer held value to it.

Theseus’ words were drowned out as your ears produced a ringing. All you could hear was your shaky breaths, and all you could see was a faint familiarity with your surroundings. Even your stumbling steps backward felt practiced.

Your breath became labored as the hazy recollection returned. Even through the blur, you saw how the tips of his ears and nose burned red with frustration. It was a trait of his that remained as he rose so many inches he towered over you, and his hair curled the longer her let it grow.

The years did nothing to change it.

“This is it….” Your fingers fumbled with a curl at the nape of his neck. His hair was long, longer than he usually kept it. Time had gotten the better of him. How could you be so blind?

Theseus’ tirade wavered. He was supposed to be angry. He was supposed to do so many things, but your touch felt like an enchantment. It reminded him of how dangerous you could be.

The walnut of Theseus’ wand was always stiff, but it cast its spells briskly and powerfully. Ollivander told him it wasn’t rare to be drawn to the material, but it scarcely paired with dragon heartstring. Because of the extreme dominance of this wood, the core was stoic and gentle and had done Theseus well from the moment he received it. Yet, pressed against your chest to stall your next step, it felt that even the wand knew it was a misguided action.

“Don’t be foolish, Theseus.” You spat at the gesture. His wand only pressed into your chest as if trying to will away his emotions. “Don’t you recognize where we are?”

He shook his head. If he looked beside him, he knew he would crumble.

You tried to reason, “We couldn’t stay there. The Ministry—

“We’re going back.” Although his voice was steady, emotion wavered in his eyes. “I won’t fall into your trap. You can’t just—

“It’s too late.” You pushed forward, the wood digging into your clavicle with drive. “I’m ruined anyways.” The invariability of the words reflected your decision.  “By your hand or his.”

Theseus was always talented in thinking clearly. Logically. He wanted you to be wrong, but your instincts pushed you to keep moving. It was the only way to stay one step ahead of Sinclair. It contrasted Theseus’ plan to stay within the Ministry's walls.

You contrasted his very being.

“Why did you bring me here?” Anger drifted from Theseus’ voice, and the space it abandoned was soon tenanted by something else—a kind of endearment, muslin light.

Theseus first brought you there for a quiet you didn’t know you needed. It was ambient full of croaking creatures and twigs snapping from the pressure of unknown forces. It was a blissful oasis that lured you into its dark depths.

The environment was damp, still reflecting the country’s dreariness. It was hidden, though. A broken-off path Theseus—well, Newt—had stumbled upon in childhood. It was a good hiding place to play, to sneak, and for you to abuse.

“I didn’t see it coming.” It felt strange to admit your best-hidden secret. “Any of it.” Your eyes remained on Theseus, willing trust to transfer. “But I just couldn’t—I knew deep down, I couldn’t lose everything.”

One time, you came to read Theseus’ palm under the full moon—a silly excuse to feel the weight of his hand in yours. The times following grew, the touches still shy with adolescence but bolder in a discovery of emotion.

The memory was a shared favorite, an inside joke of sorts to make the other feel warmth in your fingers that spread to the center of your chest. You hadn’t meant to bastardize it, but its safety was all you could rely on.

“But this, I saw this.” You would continue until Theseus understood. You had told him of your vision all those years ago. It was your only justifiable proof. “This needs to happen.”

Recognition flashed across his features.

Theseus dropped his wand with a tight breath. Looking to the sky, he became lost in turmoil. Once his gaze hit the dirt beneath his feet, it did nothing to aid him. You watched his fingers pull through the hair at the back of his head as if unraveling an answer.

You spoke when his hand fit over his mouth in frustration. “You promised me.”

“We were teenagers.” He snapped, denying the truth. “What did I know about prophecies?”

“Enough to believe me.” You felt young again, begging Theseus to revert with you. You wanted to hear his reassurances, his bold-faced vows to remain by your side despite the trouble you found.

That holiday, you told him everything—your plans to run away, the images that flashed in your dreams of the future, and how he centered them all as an essential turning point.  It spilled out of you, and you couldn’t stop. At the time, the swampy place was at the core unbeknownst.

If Theseus had known, he may not have regretted the promise to always be there for you. No questions asked. It sounded embarrassingly naive. You could still hear how desperately he wanted you to believe him. Even then, you knew it would lead to something like this.

Even then, just as now, you diminished how well Theseus knew you. “What aren’t you telling me?”

[i-am-beckyu]

In the Hands of my Tormentor

Yelloooooo! Been a lil bit since I've posted any writing! Been a bit hard getting much written with life and work at the moment but I had this random g/t thought and ran with it to get this lil fic. So enjoy another random oc created for the purpose of this fic lol.

Premise: You've been transported to another world where giants see humans as lesser and have ended up the pet of a Count.

cw: Fear, fear of death, fatal scenes mentioned, panic, mentions of being eaten alive, death mentions (no one dies tho), anxiety, torture, manipulation. Just the opposite of what I usually post lol. wc: 2318

Terror. 

That’s all I could feel as I watched in horror as the giant noble scarfed down their meal. Giant fangs tearing through meat 100x my size, as if it was sliced bread. I forced myself to not react as I heard them swallow, knowing full well should they tire of me- their pet, I may very well be the next one sliding down that wretch’s throat. 

In this world, Giants didn’t see anything smaller than them as intelligent. If you were found, the lucky ones either died or were crushed between teeth as big as boulders like food. And if you think ‘How’s that lucky?! That’s horrid!’ Be glad you’re not the one being digested alive.

But even that was a mercy compared to my fate. 

Every day I tread the thin line of a tightrope; a timer hanging over my head. Forced to live life as a performance, every step perfect in order to please my Master.

“TWIRL!” He’d demand.

“JUMP!” He’d spit.

“SING!” He’d sneer- and I’d do it without hesitation or face death itself.

For as humiliating as it was, being ‘keep’ worthy; even for a derogatory laugh, it was better than being deemed useless and ready for brutal discarding. And with how little manic glee he’d been having with me lately, that may be sooner than not. For if I have no worth, what’s stopping them from doing away with me?

Tonight I was on display at another one of their dinner parties. Parties they threw more to show their class standing and possessions than for company. Sometimes I’d be in a cage forced to sing like a songbird, other times I’d be kept on the table with a ribbon clamped around my ankle to perform tricks or be petted by gloved fingers.

The guests would often have varying responses at my presence.

“Such a rare delicacy humans are and you're wasting it as a pet?”

“What a wretched little thing it is. Why not just eat it and be done?”

“As amusing as it is, why keep it around when it’s a better snack?”

After a while, you learn to tune out the loud voices. It’s just a reminder I’m only seen as food, insignificant, a pest. I only listen to the Master's voice. He’s the only one that matters. I sit just to his right today. The ribbon on my ankle is too tight, and I can feel the way my foot has started to go numb from the lack of blood flow. I look at it absentmindedly, the phantom pain of a blade forced against an angry scar, throbs against the ribbon. Strange I can’t feel my foot and yet still feel the pain of past escapes. I stopped trying a long time ago. Better to submit then endure his sick pleasures again.

I try not to think about the will I’ve given up; the life I’ve submitted to and try to listen to the giants conversing overhead.

Had it not been for the size difference and ignorance to the obvious, the giants were just like us. Take away all the power-hungry madness and torture of the little guy and the giants were just like humans if they were living in a medieval fantasy. Perhaps in another world, I would have been one of the guests…

“Dance, Human.” Master demands, and I stand and let my body move the way I know it pleases the giant. I don’t even think about the steps anymore, I just let myself move as if I were a robot programmed with the steps.

The giants above me laugh, clap and snicker. I know I’ve done my dance right. They’re all talking around the table, some whispering to each other with cruel gazes locked on my form. Others are spitting profanities at me and joking to my Master about making me do more tricks. 

There was only one giant that didn’t seem interested in my suffering. They sat at the opposite end of the table silently, and hadn’t moved much beyond drinking from their cup. I didn’t pay them much mind. One less giant drooling over me was a blessing. 

I let their voices blend together as I continued to move, the only voice I was listening for was my Masters, and I knew he was grinning ear to ear with all the attention on his greatest possession. 

His rare and desirable human.

“Now sing.” He says sickeningly sweet and my mouth obeys as I sing old scales used to warm up my voice whilst I continue to dance.

He never said I could stop.

I don’t know how long this continued for, the time always blurred together with every order and step at these events. All I know is the giants are enjoying it for the time being and all hungry eyes are on me. I will do as they want till I’m so desirable, that Master snatches me away- just teasing the lessers with what they can’t have. I can see the manic glee in their eyes at being so close to myself. I know what they want, and I scold my expression to not let the fear show on my face. 

My legs ached, but I pushed on; my voice wasting away from overuse. Everything was starting to burn from the effort it took to do both. I sang a long high note and began to spin, a bad combo but my brain was on autopilot. How much longer till I collapse?

“Stop.” Master demanded; my saving grace but not by much. I stopped immediately, finishing the pirouette and ceasing my song. I didn’t dare move despite my labored breathing, fully aware that the command wasn’t just for me, for in the corner of my eye I saw it. 

An outstretched white, gloved hand reached for me- and it was not my Masters.

That was all that was said before the ribbon around my ankle yanked me back, sending me tumbling forward as I was reeled in. I kept my head down, biting my tongue to stop myself from screaming as I felt the glazed wooden table burn against my hands and knees as I was dragged. My performance was done. And so was the fool of a giant that had tried to take me. 

Or so I thought.

Giants had tried to take me from Master before that was a given, but I was his snack (as he liked to remind me) and those that had tried to take what was his, had been dragged out shrieking. But this one had the room silent. Someone with a demanding presence other than my Master had the room freeze.

“So Ed,” 

“That’s Count Edwin, to you.” Master spat at the other Giant.

“May I remind you who the Duke is here, Count Edwin.” the Duke replied nonchalantly, taking a sip of his drink. I saw the way the Master's hand tensed at the notion. 

He was irritated. 

Very few had the nerve to undermine him and make it out unscathed. So far nothing had happened to this Duke, which made him a threat.

“I understand you invited me here tonight to make a deal.” The Duke asked.

“Yes, that’s correct.” The grit in the Master's voice confirmed my suspicions. He’d interrupted his showing off. They were treading on thin ice. 

“I wish to put a natural water irrigation system to my crops from the south river. The river in question however, borders the edge of your land and in order for me to utilize it, would require access to your land.”

“And you want me to allow your filthy hands access to my river.” The Duke remarked.

Master's hand tightened on his utensils. Whoever this man was really had the Giant getting into a tizzy, which was never good for me. For all the time that I’d been here, it was very rare that anyone dared to go up against Master, let alone insult him. I felt a slight sense of justice from the thought. Even if it would never be me to do it, at least someone would knock them off their high horse.

I couldn’t help but glance up to see what such a person looked like and was surprised by what I saw. It was the uninterested giant from before.

Just like their attitude, the Giants' features matched their blunt, cold attitude. Jet black, side swept hair and dressed in a navy blue velvet coat, adorned with gold trims and fine sapphires bigger than my head, the Duke- the most regal man I’d ever seen in all my life, was listening to my Master with an icy cold stone stare. 

The man seemed bored of this tedious exchange and I could tell their patience was beginning to run thin as my Master blabbered on and on about the Giants river.

I wondered how long the fire would build behind the Duke’s eyes before their tolerance met its peak, and would put my Master in their place. For once I was glad they paid me no mind.

“I have much gold to offer in return for the river and with the greater yields we would produce, I’m happy to offer 5% of the total harvest.” Master’s smile curled into a grin as they folded their hands. They did that whenever something they wanted was about to go their way.

I averted my gaze back to my feet at this. They always got mad when they caught me staring. How sad I knew what his tells were.

“While your offer is good Edwin, as a Duke with the amount of land I have, your offer is insignificant to me. Why give you access to my river when I produce five times the amount you yield in a year?”

Master lost his composure at that, clearly not expecting such a response. Unsurprising when he acts like a toddler who has never been told no. “Well yes but-” 

“If you expect me to share such a precious resource, I expect a greater sum.” The Duke cut him off. “Or an offer with something of rarity to actually compensate for the price. Something like…” 

No. No, he can’t mean…

The duke took a sip from his cup as if contemplating, but only a fool didn’t know he’d already made up his mind the second he set eyes on me.

“That human.”

The Duke slammed the cup down, hitting the table with a clink as my head shot up and snapped straight to the Duke, my worst fears confirmed reality. The Duke’s ice blue eyes bore into my small figure. If I thought my grubby Master was scary then the Duke was sheer terror. 

His eyes pierced my very soul pinning me in place, and I stared straight back, unable to hide the terror on my face despite the consequences. Though it could have just been adrenaline, I swear I saw their eyes soften when they noticed my expression change, though it did little to put me at ease. His presence was terrifying and it hit me then why the room was so quiet. Why Master was so mad he had no control over this Giant.

This was a man with power.

I knew if I was what it wanted, then no one would be stupid enough to say no twice. Everyone in the room knew what his eyes were locked on. 

“You want me to trade my human, for access to the river?” The Count replied as he dragged me closer, pulling me away from my terror. “That hardly seems fair seeing how incredibly rare and delightful they are. It’s just about bored me enough that I'm peckish. I love to break their spirits just enough that they’re kicking and screaming to the end.” 

At this, I was flung into the air with a yelp before the Count caught me in a harsh grip. I cried out in pain as he squeezed my ribs tight to the point I was sure they’d break.

“It would be a waste to let all this time go to not enjoy them myself.”

“It’s the human or nothing.” The Duke insisted. “You have nothing more that I want.”

I risked looking up at the Duke again, the fire in his eyes seemed to have tripled. “It’s as you said, humans are incredibly rare. Are they truly worth a yearly supply of better income?”

My Masters hand began to squeeze tighter around me and I’m only lucky that the air had been forced out of my lungs enough before I could scream. His anger being directed on the only thing he could control in the moment, only for the pressure to leave as quickly as it came and I found myself falling.

“Deal.” 

And that was the only warning I had before everything flashed a violent white. My whole body was in complete and utter agony and yet I couldn’t even scream. I could feel silent tears dripping down my face as my vision began to dance with black blurry spots. This is where I died.

Everything felt cold, until it wasn’t. 

I felt myself engulfed in pure warmth as careful hands moved and cradled my broken body. I could hear muffled voices shouting and moving before the slamming of a door ceased all else. Dark blobs broke in between the black and I knew deep down I was in the Duke’s hands, but the soft warmth they provided blurred all other judgment. I hadn’t been warm- truly warm since I’d been brought here, and yet somehow I was now at ease. 

Perhaps it was just my mind twisting the truth as a last mercy to let me die peacefully.

“Rest now,” A voice whispered over head as the world faded to black. “I’ve got you now.” 

Funny how my mind could create such a promise after so much pain…

✩₊˚.⋆⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆⋆⁺₊✧

Don't worry, the Duke's actually the good guy in this lol. I have it head cannoned that he fixes them all up and helps them get home.

I may write onto this, I might not who knows! The fact I've written in a different pov to me is wild though! Thank you to squishy, xyz and especially munchkin for beta reading this. (Seriously savior on my grammar qwp) Thank you if you read this far and I hope you enjoyed!!!!

Tag List Link here: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @crazyfoxgirl10 @guppybubbles

(also side note: other wips are still being written. I am aware JORNOS has not updated in months but it's not been forgotten <3)

[poppy-metal]

losing my marbles thinking about jordan taking your virginity (it's all i talk abt atp ik it's annoying 😔). about how it's not their first time having sex, but it's the first time it's meant something to them--the way it makes them feel something they've never felt before. it having always been a means to an end, not something they associated with love or some sort of deeper connection--just something mutually beneficial n sometimes necessary.

but then there's you, looking up at them like they're your whole universe. pupils blown out, eyes hazy n teary when they're sliding their fingers inside of you--your arms shaking, clinging to them like a lifeline. little cunt clenching around them when they tell you how good you are, praises of "that's it, baby. you were made for this, weren't you?" nd remarks on all your sweet lil reactions :( nd they're so, so angry at you--at the throbbing between their legs--but it melts away when you look up at them all desperate and fuzzy. cut you off w their lips on yours when you open your moutb to say something that's only gonna cloud their judgement even more.

nd it's finally something real for them--their thumb rubbing your hip softly saying more than any "i love you" ever could. they're angry at themselves bc they're supposed to be woke!! know that virginity is a construct!! but some debauched and desperate and possessive part of them wants it so bad. wants to be the first person to make you cum on their fingers, their mouth, their cock--wants to be the only person. ever. know that won't happen, can't happen, but want it so bad it hurts a little bit.

so they have to settle for this--making you feel so good that there are tears streaming down your pretty face. taking care of you, their sweet little thing, in a way they never knew they needed to. trying not to think about how this, you, has done more for them than anything or anyone else ever has. try and fail to pretend that they're not falling in love w you.

once they're done having grand realizations they go back to being pissed at u 😋 compensating for all the lovey dovey gross stuff they wanna do witb you

-🦸‍♀️

this is so.

them being angry and resentful because of how fucking weak you make them feel, but they're also smitten and adore you so fucking much they can't help but be gentle with you - be sweet to you. tell you how pretty your little cunt is, how soft she feels inside, how good you're going to make them feel when they push inside.

they shouldn't feel as satisfied as they do when you clench around them, coming first for them with their fingers and their words, clinging to them and hiding your face in their neck. they love it though, love being the first to overwhelm your senses, to touch you where you're wet and wanting and make you see stars up close. it makes them feel like a fucking god. it also makes them so achingly protective of you, seeing you so vulnerable and teary eyed in their arms, so delicate nd easy to shatter.

they have to beg you, "tell me to stop," when they slide on top of you, lips brushing against yours because they're afraid of how deep they're going to fall if you let them have this, have you. "i need you - to tell me if you don't want this -"

but you just wrap your legs around them, hooking your ankles to their lower back and pressing them close - close enough that their cock slides through the slick mess of your cunt, head catching and notching at your hole - you gasp but you dont tell them to stop, fuck you, you're just egging them on, cupping their cheeks and looking up at them like they're everything to you.

"please dont stop. i - i want this. i want you,"

"fuck -" and because they must hate themselves, "look at me. don't fucking look away."

because why not just ruin themselves completely, when they slide inside you and have to see the way your eyes widen and the way your face scrunched at being filled and the way your mouth falls open all in close detail with their forehead pressed against yours, not letting you turn away.

"oh god," they dont know who say it. you're gasping, and they're moaning, and your lips are sharing the same air as they rock in and out.

"you feel so fucking good, baby, fuck." that is them, praise spilling from their lips because the warm heaven wrapped around their dick - squeezing, milking, hugging - just pulls everything out in the open. "i love being inside you - holy shit. just keep squeezin' me like that."

they love you.

[comfortless]

I have some thoughts about König I wanna run by you. 

I really like the concept of him following rules to the letter, but not the intention. 

like he would never steal from friends, but that only applies to items, job opportunities, romantic interests, and ideas don’t count. 

he would never cheat on his lover, EVER! but…that doesn’t mean he can’t entertain thoughts of the nice recruit who for sure has a crush on him, he could lead her on just a lil bit, live off the attention when he’s deployed and claim ignorance if anything gets serious. 

oh and he would never hit you, of course not! but if he got you riled up enough or angry enough to throw a punch his way he could hold you down and restrain you so you don’t hurt yourself, he’s not a monster for kind of liking how you struggle to break free from his grip, and he’s barely even exerting any energy, it’s a safe kind of powerplay to him. 

ok i am listening and nodding my head yes!

König didn’t get the positive attention he so craved when he was younger, so any little bit of it he can grapple at is his for the taking. He’s a bit impulsive.

Mental health and repercussions are not at all relevant to him when he sees something that he wants and is within the realm of possibility for him to attain. He would have a sort of conniving way when it comes to going about these things, too. It isn’t intentional, but to him, his reasoning is absolute. Probably gets that from his father, but he prefers not to think of that.

He’s no master manipulator here, just a man that is very aware of his few talents. He’s not even good at telling a lie, far too blunt and always speaking the first thing that pops into his head.

There’s a promotion at work another operator is vying for? Well, he’s far more suited for it anyway— look at him. He’s big and good with his weapons, handles them nicely and can plow through an enemy with as much ease as he can a wooden door. His confirmed kills far exceed the number of things that his parents could find and scrape together and deem themselves proud of him for. König’s not entirely withdrawn, either, his people respect him. Some might even admire him a bit, wishing they had the things that he never even asked for: his height, the creepy look upon his face, his lack of hesitation when pulling a trigger or burying his hunting knife in another man’s guts.

They’re on good terms, still on good terms even after he presents his argument as to why he’s just that little bit more deserving. He doesn’t need to bring up his childhood or much of his past to anyone here, but he knows down to his very marrow that people tend to think there’s something off or wrong about him and in turn he’s met with pity or fear. He utilizes it, gets what he feels he deserves by coming off gruff and demanding, even whiny if the situation calls for it. Time and time again, he comes to realize it’s much easier and more rewarding for him to play people like toy soldiers in these situations.

He might not be able to get a girlfriend in any authentic way, but as Ghost said in her reblog here, I do think he would have at least tried a tryst with a friend’s girlfriend at some point. König could reason away any guilt. She came onto him, batting her lashes and wearing that low cut blouse while telling him about just how selfish her man/his friend was in bed. And when it ends terribly as these things do, he’ll learn his lesson well enough, gives some hashed apology over a pint of ale. It doesn’t mend a void, only forces another distance between himself and another person. König is more than used to that.

It is always the wrong thing said or done, always a ship with no harbor to dock. He would have friends, yes, but it’s up in the air as to whether or not any of them last very long. He’s self aware enough to realize that he creates these problems, that he could have just done x instead of y, but there’s this tentative, newfound pride wrought up within him that he doesn’t ever let go of. He doesn’t want to be seen as that weak little boy he once was. Apologies are like pulling teeth, even getting one from him is a big deal.

It isn’t his fault he didn’t get as much pussy as any other man and surely… any true friend of his would know enough about him to accept that he was not entirely the one at fault here. Richtig..?

He’ll be happy to take credit for a job well done. It wasn’t his idea to burst through that door and clear out a room of enemies, but he did the work. He deserves the praise, the increase in pay, whatever benefit he can gain from it. It didn’t matter that Fender barked out the order over the comms, warned his team of potential danger, what matters to König is that he got it taken care of with no casualties on his side.

New recruits come and go often, and more often than not, they’re horrified of this giant that outranks them. König still hasn’t mastered any way with women, but he’s been fortunate enough to land himself a sweet, cute girlfriend that waits for him at home. He’s not an idiot, either, knows a little romp at work isn’t worth a thing in comparison to her and would only add another fire to the desolate world he lives in in his head. His girlfriend’s the only garden he has, and he would rather damn himself entirely than ever see something he loves burn.

So, when one bold woman does approach him, placing her hand on his arm and complimenting his stature, he doesn’t feel a thing except some strange twist of pride.

He’s come a long way from the boy who was ridiculed and bullied relentlessly, worked himself tirelessly into becoming this broad mimicry of a god made flesh. But fuck. The attention is nice. He would compliment this recruit’s aim from time to time, pat her on the head like a good little dog when she takes out an enemy or stacks on extra work for herself. It never goes further than that, but she practically eats out of the palm of his hand, begging with her eyes rather than her voice to ask for a night with her colonel.

And when he’s on leave, and his girlfriend is asking why this woman is texting him so often, he shrugs and casually tosses her his phone. He’s got nothing to hide, hasn’t even entertained the thought of sleeping with this girl. If anything, she reminds him of himself before he ever got laid. That desperation is certainly there, and it does kind of unsettle him. Is this how he came off to women before…? A pitiful little thing that just wants to be loved and cared for?

He doesn’t even respond to the recruit’s messages, even when there are so many of them. He kisses his girlfriend everywhere, fucks her like it’s the first few times all over again, and falls asleep nestled up against her. There’s no room in his heart for anyone except the object of his affection, but a part of him does hope this lost little lady finds her own sliver of heaven too. He knows how she feels and hates the thought of making a woman cry outside of fucking her well. So he lets the recruit down easy next time they meet, tells her he doesn’t care for relationships at work, that he loves his girlfriend and he doesn’t want to hurt her. It’s spoken candidly, and doesn’t leave any room for discussion.

Shame about the lack of affection while deployed, but he’s managed on his own longer than most. He’s got an entire album of pretty photos of his girl in and out of the lingerie he bought for her to keep him company, anyway.

And admittedly, arguments with his beloved turn him on.

They both know that she can’t actually hurt him. When her hand is raised to give him a good slap for being a complete asshole over something as trivial as a cashier for accidentally ringing something up twice, he’s already hard. The grin on his face is nothing short of ugly, because he knows how this ends, the same way that it always does. He would take her wrist only after she’s hit him, let her stew in what she’s done, murmur her apologies through stilted breaths and lashes heavy with tears. She tells him she just doesn’t understand why he is the way that he is sometimes while trying to wrench her hand away from his grip.

He’s not rough enough to hurt her when the argument sparks up again, even guides her down onto the floor with a steady hand on her back while she pleads with him for answers that he just doesn’t have. He would go back to seeing a regular therapist for her, maybe. He would do anything for her and that’s just another thing that they both know.

“Heh… you like me crazy,” König would breathe into her hair when her thighs are locked around his middle. Poor thing can barely speak when she’s exerted her energy trying to best him in a battle she could never hope to win. She’s all whimper and no bite, nails raking over his shoulders with each slow, teasing thrust.

“Look at you.” He practically purrs when her face is taken into one callused palm, brought forward to lock eyes with him when the sounds spilling from her lips grow more needy. And then he gives her the fucking she deserves, rougher when she’s sighing his name and trembling from the residual waves of her own orgasm. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong anymore; argument long-forgotten, buried under a blanket of white heat. He chases his own end, lets her watch him unravel all for her as his seed fills her, spills out where they connect to make a mess of the carpet below.

He’s selfish in those ways.