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notcanoncompliant · 5 years

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Haven’t Found a Drop (Of You)

I hit 666 followers today…so here’s a fic that doubles as a ticket to Hell lol

Wrote this all today while listening to Addict With A Pen by Twenty One Pilots on repeat.

******TW: Incest******

(Peter is 22-23, but there is a brief mention/implication of things that happened when he was 16-17)

*******************************************

“Peter.”

“Dad.”

Tony stares at his son across the expanse of dark-stained wood between them. His office feels too large and too small all at once.

Peter looks good. Great. Filled out. Healthy, older; adult in ways Tony didn’t get to see happen. A sharper jaw. Biceps that strain against the short sleeves of his t-shirt.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, trying for joking formality that falls flat.

His chest clenches when Peter’s lips thin.

“Maybe I just wanted to see my dad.”

It’s been a long time, Tony reminds himself. It’s been years. There’s nothing there. Nothing else. Not anymore.

“Well, you’re always welcome,” Tony says, glad it comes out smoothly when his mouth feels so dry. “My door is always open for you, you know that.”

“I thought you made it pretty clear that wasn’t the case,” Peter says tightly.

Tony clears his throat and glances away, taps his pen lightly against the edge of his desk. Thinks about continuing to pretend ignorance. It’d be terrible, but this is already terrible. This is a nightmare, a distinct reminder of how terrible of a person, of a father, Tony really is. For so many reasons.

If you believe that, why are you here in front of me?

Why are you doing this?

His gaze flickers to the framed picture beside his work surface, the one of he and Peter standing close together, his arm around his son’s shoulders while Peter grins and holds his high school diploma in front of himself.

He keeps his questions to himself. “I thought it was best,“ he finally says.

Peter’s jaw tightens. “Best for the company image, or for your personal reputation?”

And, God, that hurts. He’d never meant–Sure, what happened would have had a serious impact on both of those things, but…Peter has never been insignificant, has never been easily swept aside. It’d be simpler if he was, all of this would be so much fucking simpler if Tony had put the distance there out of cold indifference for his only child. But that hadn’t been the problem; he’d felt (feels) too much.

And he’s too fucking selfish to just…let him go.

“It was never about SI, Pete,” he says, a concession he knows he shouldn’t make, turning and facing his son head on, “Or my reputation. You know that.”

Tony can’t bring himself to regret his mistake, even as Peter looks bitterly triumphant.

“Then what was it, huh? Why else would you shut me out? Send me away?”

The taunting isn’t what gets under Tony’s skin; he’s always loved that about Peter–the challenge, the push. No, it’s the poorly-hidden desperation, the pain underneath, that spears between Tony’s ribs, needles its way into his heart.

Tony’s a coward. He tries, though, at a last ditch effort to be good, to be better than he was. To be a real father.

“Because it was best for you. Because I care about you, and I couldn’t keep–” Tony’s throat catches on the words, feels the prickle of a blush under his skin as he swallows to try and clear it.

Peter’s gaze drops to watch the movement of this throat.

It’s too much. Tony hasn’t felt this pull in so long, hasn’t felt it for anyone in years–not since you abandoned him, a nasty voice murmurs in the back of his mind–and it makes him sick with guilt.

“Don’t,” he says, the word rasping out. “Don’t look at me like that, Pete. Don’t. I’m–”

“My dad,” Peter says softly, wetting his lips. “You’re my dad.”

Tony’s heart pounds, kicking in his chest as Peter rises from his seat and comes around the desk until Tony has a full-length view of his boy’s body: the way his worn, low-slung jeans contour to his thighs, how his shirt is just a little too short, a slash of pale gold skin visible as he moves.

He shouldn’t be encouraging this, should be telling him to leave; instead, he’s turning the chair to face him.

“You were supposed to meet someone,” Tony says, and now he’s the one who sounds desperate. “You were supposed to go to school and be with someone who–who could be what you need, who could be good for you–”

He cuts off with an embarrassing, choked off sound when Peter lowers himself to the floor in front of him.

“You’re what I need,” Peter says, pushing Tony’s knees apart with slow but inexorable force. His cheek is warm when he presses it against Tony’s thigh, those long lashes meeting the tops of Peter’s cheekbones as his boy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

And then they open and Tony can see those honey-brown irises again, staring up at him, open and pained. “You’re what I’ve always needed.”

Tony grips the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles turn white, trying to keep from putting his hands in Peter’s hair (it looks soft, a little wild, the way it used to after long drives in Tony’s fastest cars–reminds him of finger-combing the tangles away as they lay sprawled together on the couch, Peter’s weight warm and grounding on Tony’s chest, over his hips).

“I love you,” Peter whispers, shaky and raw. Tilts his head and says it again, his breath warm through Tony’s slacks, across the steadily growing bulge.

Seeing Peter down there, with an anxious, almost shy look on his face, makes something in Tony’s chest loosen. He can remember the first time, how his little boy had been on the edge of adulthood, nervous and seventeen and staring up at him with that same look, except backed with the heat of frantic, teenage lust–

The memory shouldn’t feel as warm and sweet as it does–He can’t, he can’t, he can’t–

“Pete, sweetheart, please,” Tony begs, clinging to whatever he can–the arms of his chair, the vestiges of his self-control–but he’s not even sure what he’s begging for, not anymore. For Peter to stop, for him to keep going. For his son’s love, for his forgiveness. Tony just doesn’t know–

He inhales sharply as Peter noses at him through the fabric, rubs his face against Tony’s erection with a soft relieved sound.

Oh. Oh God.

The sheer want is heavy, heady, bleeding down Tony’s chest and into his gut, heat pooling low between his hips. He’s fully hard, knows Peter can feel it, knows that–fuck, his baby boy likes it.

“I can’t–”

“Then don’t. Just let me.”

“Peter–”

“Please, Daddy.”

And that’s just…

He gives up. He gives up, and he knows Peter sees it on his face.

“Okay,” Tony breathes. “Okay, baby…fuck, just…okay.”

He finally relents, finally, finally touches. Reaches down with a shaking hand to push Peter’s hair back off his forehead. The locks are as soft as he remembers, short chocolate waves parting between his fingers.

For as long as they’ve been apart, the act starts so unhurried, Peter pressing reverent kisses along Tony’s length through the expensive fabric, kisses that gradually turn hotter, wetter, and Tony is suddenly, wind-knocked-out-of-his-lungs grateful he wore one of his light grey suits.

By the time Peter pulls away to undo the front closure and carefully pull Tony’s cock from its confines, the material is soaked through, dark and incriminating from Peter’s attention. There’s no way Tony could walk out of his office without a shield in place, and it makes all of this feel so much worse and so much better.

He doesn’t want to hide this. He wants whatever marks Peter wants to leave him, wants to wear them like badges.

Just before Peter can take Tony’s length in his mouth, Tony makes a careful fist of those soft brown locks and tugs him back, away from his cock.

Peter stares up at him, betrayed, but wide-eyed and flushed, lips parted.

“Come here, baby,” Tony says, urging Peter to kneel fully upright, pulls him a little forward. The command is a little redundant because he leans a little ways down to meet him, but he remembers how Peter likes it, how much he wants to give Daddy what he wants.

And Daddy wants to kiss his son, his sweet boy.

“I love you, Pete,” he breathes, so close the words brush Peter’s lips. “My baby boy, my sweetheart. I love you so much.”

He presses a soft, almost chaste kiss to Peter’s slightly parted lips, reaches up to cradle the corner of his son’s jaw, trails the pad of his thumb back and forth, a light, affection brush, just to touch the somehow still-soft skin of Peter’s cheek.

Peter’s breathing hitches, and then the kiss tastes like the salt-tang of his tears.

Tony starts to pull back, alarmed, but then there are hands in his hair and Peter surges up, licks into Tony’s mouth with almost panicked need, and that’s where it snaps.

I’ll never leave you again.

The kiss turns into a thing devouring; teeth and tongues and fire and possession, like they’re trying to climb inside each other. Grabbing, pulling, tugging–

And then the air is cool on Tony’s overheated face, on his tingling, bitten-hot lips.

His confusion lasts all of maybe a second (if that) and then he’s gasping Peter’s name, a sound that comes out almost scandalized at the pressure of Peter’s mouth around the head of his cock, pressure that sinks lower and lower until his son’s throat is constricting him, pulsing around him as Peter swallows and gags himself on Tony’s length.

Tony barely manages not to buck up into the heat; it feels good, so fucking good, so perfect. He has to check, though, has to know Peter’s not doing this for the wrong reasons (what does that even mean, everything about this is wrong and awful and erotic).

“Baby, you don’t have to–fuck–push yourself so hard,” he manages, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He groans when Peter pulls most of the way off, catching his breath for a moment without taking his mouth of entirely off the tip of Tony’s cock, before he pulls back to give it a filthy open-mouthed kiss, aiming a tear-streaked, defiant look up at Tony.

“You’ve said that before.”

Again, it’s not the challenge (the deliciously rasped defiance spilling from his beautiful boy’s cock-roughened throat), but the fear, the uncertainty in his son’s eyes that makes Tony give in to himself. The words flow, relief from pressure he’s been denying for so long.

He touches Peter’s face, moves to card his fingers through his hair. Speaks softly, his chest flooded with warmth and want and completeness.

“You want Daddy to remind you how much he wants you? How much he loves you?”

Peter shivers, presses into Tony’s palm like a cat, keeps his damp eyes focused up at his Daddy.

“Yes, please–please, Dad.”

The shame is still there, the guilt, but Tony’s gone. So far gone.

He’s been on his way to hell for a long time, began the descent when Peter was sixteen and Tony felt that first flicker of attraction to his own son. Tony’s weak and in love, and all he’d done by shipping Peter off to college was put off the inevitable.

It’s been them, Tony and Peter, father and son, through everything, through the loss of Mary when Peter was too little to really understand the forever kind of gone, through all of Peter’s childhood milestones. Tony loves his son, has always loved him, well before the shift into what they are, and he would do anything to make him happy, to make him feel good.

He leans forward, cradles the front of Peter’s throat in his palm, fingers and thumb resting over his carotids without pressing, the other hand carding fingers through Peter’s hair until he gets a good handful above the nape.

He brushes a featherlight kiss across Peter’s lips, another and another until his boy whines and tries to chase him when he pulls away. It’s the only kind of chasing Tony’s going to make Peter do, ever again.

“I’ll remind you, baby,” he murmurs, “Every day for the rest of our lives.”

*******

Everything Tag List: @silkystark, @hoeforthegays, @the-amazing-spidertwink, @starkercrossedlovers

#starker #starkercest #tony is a dad and a Daddy #sometimes at the same time #tony stark x peter parker #celebrating 666 #starkerflowers fic #adult!peter parker #daddy!kink #nff #tw: incest

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dwellordream · 4 years

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I want to ask for your full Director's Commentary on the whole of "in the language of flowers," but that might take too long! Can you tell me about your favorite section to write? Or if you'd like something a little more specific, anything you would like to say about the epilogue, or Sirius and Petunia's relationship? Thank you!! ❤❤

it’s been two years so it’s a little hard to get back into that head space but I’ll try my best lol. just in general I think the desire to write the fic came from wanting to write a long-term HP fic where I didn’t need to rely on the books to guide me through scenes and characters. with Flowers I pretty much could do whatever I wanted in terms of plot and characters as long as I hit certain points (the start of the war, Sirius running away from home, Lily and James getting together, etc). it was pretty freeing and I was able to do what I wanted with Petunia so long as she still was recognizable as her canon self. I had a lot of favorite chapters so i’ll just go in order: chapter 1 was a big deal to me bc I needed to establish the baseline of the Lily and Petunia sister relationship right off the bat. I wanted their relationship to be loving and close but also quite tense on Petunia’s part; she is inherently an anxious, cynical, and insecure person, and being the younger sister, in this case, of someone as charismatic and charming as Lily isn’t easy. at the same time I wanted to emphasize how devoted Petunia still was to her and how much she idolized Lily’s looks and intelligence. I also wanted to get across some of her more obsessive compulsive behaviors and the effect they have had on her childhood. I also have always liked writing Severus and I think the back and forth between him and Petunia not just in the first chapter but throughout the fic is very interesting, bc they really have a lot in common personality wise. both are very jealous and possessive people, both are quite insecure about themselves, from their appearances to their personalities, both find it difficult to make friends and difficult to hold their tongues when they’re upset. in any other circumstances, I think Petunia and Severus really could have become good friends. I also wanted to emphasize that while Lily can be somewhat oblivious to Petunia’s unease and insecurity, she is a very loving person and a good sister. I didn’t want the fic to be about making Lily out to be a villain or a bully in order to make Petunia look better, or just them constantly battling each other. chapter 3 was also really important to me bc it sets up Petunia’s first impression of James and Sirius, and I think it kind of shows how they were both little shits as children haha. in that, she has no delusions about them and recognizes that both of them have the potential to be quite nasty little bullies when push comes to shove. obviously eventually she comes to consider both friends and close allies, but James comes into Hogwarts as essentially this very coddled and spoiled little prince who’s used to being showered with affection and attention, and Sirius’ whole persona is that of a kid who treats everything as one big joke because it helps him forget about his abusive home life. I also really love the line where Marlene shakes James’ hand but says, “Galleons really do jangle in the same pocket” referring to the Potters and Blacks being well known for their money, something James is secretly a bit insecure about. Remus and Petunia’s meeting in chapter 5 was really important to me because he is her ‘in’ to the Marauders simply by virtue of being such an accepting and compassionate kid, despite his own trauma and illness. Petunia’s not naturally inclined to feel a ton of sympathy for other people, but she does for him, and he really opens her up in a lot of ways to becoming more accepting of the Hogwarts experience. that her eventual reaction to discovering he is a werewolf is not terror and disgust but sympathy and a desire to help is probably one of the first major signs of her character development. chapter 8 was also really fun bc it’s the first real one on one Petunia and Sirius interaction! tbh I think a lot of readers assume I began the story out of a desire to write a romance between the two, but it was actually *not* in my initial loose notes for the story. I hadn’t really focused on any kind of romance for Petunia at all and it ended up just sliding its way in the more I thought about it. the two of them are very different but in some ways well-suited to each other; Petunia is almost *never* impressed by Sirius’ antics and he is I think someone who would want to be challenged and pushed back on by a partner. in that same token chapter 11 is pretty important to me bc suddenly we’ve made it to 4th year and both Petunia and Sirius’ home situations have worsened. I actually was not entirely happy with that chapter at the time because I disliked writing in the kiss between them so early on, and I felt like I was rushing into the romance. however, in the long run I think it worked out, as they clearly don’t jump into a relationship from there, and with the emotional intensity of the two of them opening up to one another it made sense. I also really liked the acknowledgement from Petunia that she sees through all the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ posturing- Sirius *does* care about being rejected and hurt by his family, he *does* care about not having a good relationship with his parents, and he *does* want that sort of easy affection and love that James has with his parents and Petunia has with her father. his problem isn’t that he doesn’t care; he cares rather a lot

chapter 14 is obviously a big deal within the story bc it is the point of Lily and Severus’ big fight which pretty much ends the friendship. I was going crazy at the time trying to figure out how/when to include it, since Severus is at Hogwarts, Lily is at home in muggle school, she hasn’t seen his problems with James and co. or all the bullying and violence, she doesn’t know much about his growing interest in the Death Eater cause... but in the moment what matters to Lily is him threatening her sister. I think at the exact moment she sees Severus having cornered Petunia down by the river it all sort of slots into place for Lily and she realizes A. he is not the same little boy she befriended, he is a potentially violent 15 year old, and B. his hatred for Petunia mostly stems from the fact that she is the unwanted replacement of Lily in his life. so with all that suddenly crashing over her, Lily really snaps and without much thought for her own safety, gets between the two of them and dresses him down once and for all. also, the love between the two sisters is just really touching right then and there, as Petunia finally realizes Lily would truly do anything for her. the fight in chapter 16 was also a favorite moment of mine bc finally all the background stuff comes to a head in Sirius and Petunia’s relationship. she realizes he’s been kicked out of the house and has hidden it from her, and his poor reaction is of course, to mock her over acting as though they’re ‘going steady’. then of course comes the nasty realization that the rumors about Sirius being in a relationship with her contributed to said disownment, and Sirius admitting to her that he got into a fight with Lucius Malfoy over a ‘joke’ about harming Petunia. this is what really sends Petunia into a spiral- she knows Lucius to be a Death Eater and the idea of Sirius in any way antagonizing him horrifies her. which then leads into the big issue between them, on top of all their communication problems- Sirius has every intention of fighting Voldemort’s forces, whereas Petunia wants to keep her head down and live a normal life. this is not something that can be easily resolved, given how stubborn both of them are. he regards it as his duty to throw himself into the fight and to prove how he isn’t like the rest of his family, especially jr. Death Eater Regulus- whereas Petunia thinks he has a death wish.

I don’t want to just summarize the entire fic so I’ll stop there haha. but yes, I am still really fond of Flowers and the relationship between Petunia and Lily and Petunia and Sirius. the epilogue was really just me giving them all a hug and sending them on their way like a proud parent. (I’m actually surprised people liked the epilogue, especially people who commented that they preferred the fic’s epilogue to the one at the end of Deathly Hallows, since I think the two have a lot of similarities in terms of the main characters having settled down into more ‘normal’ adulthood with a couple of kids).

#ask #ask game #flowers

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neverplannedonnewsies · 6 years

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Requesting some Finch content 😁😁

I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER! Bless you, this my first request so I hope you like it!

Also this is real long so I put it under the cut :)

Special Delivery

Got this idea when I was working as a receptionist and had a VERY hot delivery guy lol (sadly he came on the last day of my job, why cruel fate, why?). This is definitely my longest fic, but I didn’t want to rush the storyline. Hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: bad language

Finch x reader pairing

—–

Being the receptionist at “The World” meant you had a great deal of responsibility, and when you first started the job you were a but overwhelmed. Hannah was wonderful about helping you adjust (after all it was her job when she first started), but she couldn’t always be there. You were also intimidated given that most of the staff was a good 20 – 30 years older than you. The only ones your age were Mr. Pulitzer’s daughter, Katherine, and her boyfriend, Jack, who started working in the offices around the same time you did. Nice as it was when they were there, they didn’t come in to the office every day – you did. Which meant you had to muddle through a variety of tasks by yourself, not always knowing how to accomplish them, and certain Mr. Pulitzer would show up at any moment to fire you. Currently you were trying to find a single file hidden amongst hundreds of others without the slightest clue of where to begin, and you were starting to panic.

“Delivery for Mr. Pulitzer,” a new voice said, interrupting your thoughts. Turning around you saw a tall, curly haired boy roughly your age wearing a newsboy cap and holding a package. Stiffly a sigh at yet another new task that you had no idea how to complete, you asked,

“Anything I need to do?”

“Not much, just sign this receipt miss,” the boy said, smiling at you.

“Oh,” you said, spirits lifting, “Well that’s easy enough,”and quickly signed your name.

“Great, you’re all set Miss…Y/L/N,” the boy replied, glancing at the receipt as he handed you the package.

“Thanks! What’s your name?”

“Oh, uh, it’s Finch,” he replied, looking slightly startled.

“What’d you forget the answer?” you said, smiling to show you were teasing.

“No, it’s just no one here’s ever asked it before that’s all.”

“Oh… well it’s very nice to meet you Finch,” you said,holding out your hand for him to shake. Finch smiled and warmly shook your hand in return, your small hand easily fitting into his larger one.

“It’s nice to meet you too Miss Y/L/N.”

“Oh you can call me Y/n.”

“Y/n. You’re new here right?”

“Yes. Do you deliver here often?”

“Sometimes, when they got stuff that needs deliverin’ and I’m not out sellin’ papes.”

“Oh you’re a newsie as well! Do you know Jack Kelly?”

“Yeah! He’s basically the leader of the Manhattan newsboys.”

“I noticed – Jack seems like a pretty natural leader.”

“For sure,” Finch replied, smiling at you. You weren’t certain if it was your imagination, but he seemed to be staring at you – at least the amount of eye contact he was making almost had you blushing, after all he was very handsome. Then he seemed to shake himself slightly and said,

“Anyways I should probably get goin’. It was nice to meet you though Y/n.”

“It was nice to meet you too Finch.”

You turned back to your task, a little more relaxed now, and went about the rest of your day trying not to think about the handsome delivery boy.

——-

As the weeks went on and you got more accustomed to your job, Finch and you became good friends. Occasionally he’d stop by when he was out selling papers. He’d claim he was taking a break, that he needed to get out of the heat for a bit, and you certainly didn’t mind if that meant he kept you company. He didn’t do it often because he didn’t want to get you in trouble, but you didn’t think you’d mind if he did.

One day he was in the middle of telling you about the antics of the other newsies when a familiar voice interrupted.

“Finch? What’re you doin’ here?”

Finch straightened up from lounging against your desk, for the briefest second looking guilty until he recognized Jack and his face relaxed into a smile.

“Hey Jack! I didn’t know you was here today.”

“I just dropped by to see Katherine – what’re you doin’ here?”

“Oh I was just deliverin’ a package,” he replied, the guilty look coming back over his face, “I should probably get goin’ though, got a lot more packages to deliver today.”

As Finch left you felt Jack observing you with sudden interest. You busied yourself with some papers on your desk, trying to avoid eye contact with him and willing him to keep his mouth shut. Unfortunately, keeping his mouth shut was not one of Jack Kelly’s strong suits.

“So,” he drawled, “you and Finch seem pretty close.”

“I don’t know about close – he drops off packages, we talk a little, that’s about it,” you said, stubbornly refusing to be baited.

“I don’t know,” Jack continued with an infuriating grin, “seemed a little more comfortable than a business relationship to me. If I had to guess I’d say he was sweet on ya.”

You felt your face heat a little but maintained your composure, “Don’t be ridiculous, Kelly. He’s just doin’ his job, and if he takes a break here so what?”

“Alright, alright whatever you say,” Jack replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “but for the record Finch is a real sweet guy, and he’s got a lot of friends, but he’s hangin’ out here to talk to you. He don’t do that with just anyone.”

You tried to refocus on your work as Jack walked away, but the bubble of hope that rose in your chest kept distracted for the rest of the day.

——

Finch continued dropping by with increasing frequency, and you started looking forward to it as the highlight of your day. He’d tell you about the other newsies and the pranks they’d pull on each other, but he’d also ask you about your life and listen when you needed to rant about your job.

One gloomy day Finch was hiding out from the rain and showing you the slingshot he had made himself. It was a slow day so you weren’t worried about taking a break from your work. However a few minutes after he’d gotten there you heard the front door open, causing Finch straightened up quickly, not wanting to get you in trouble. He smiled and waved goodbye to you, beginning to head towards the door but pausing when the portly man entering stormed past him and yelled, “I demand to see Mr. Pulitzer!”

Composing yourself from your intial shock, you replied calmly,“Sir, I’m sorry but you cannot see Mr. Pulitzer without an appointment. If you’d like I can take your name and-“

“Don’t give me that!” the man shouted, cutting you off, “Do you know who I am?”

“I’m afraid I do not sir, but-“

“I could make your life a living hell! I own half this town and Pulitzer had any sense he would see me immediately.”

“Sir, I understand but I really can’t let you up,” you said, beginning to glance around somewhat desperately for the security guard who was nowhere in sight, “Mr. Pulitzer isn’t even here at the moment, and without an appointment-“

“I don’t want your excuses you little bitch!”

You gasped, not knowing how to reply when Finch, whom you hadn’t realized was still there, rushed back to your side, shielding you slightly from the enraged man.

“How dare you talk to her that way! She said Mr. Pulitzer ain’t here, so I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Finch was pretty laid back – in fact he had told you the only time he had ever been in a fight was during the newsboy strike (“I don’t see the point of gettin’ hit if you don’t need to,” he’d said), but right now he was drawn up to his full height, fists clenched at his side. The man looked up at him and sneered,

“You work here too boy? I’ll have you both dismissed, you and your whore.”

You could audibly hear Finch’s jaw clench, and in a more mature voice than you’d ever heard before he said, “Out.”

Not giving the man time to argue further Finch grabbed one of his arms, dragged him to the door, and threw him out, locking the door behind him. Immediately the intense look on his face softened and he rushed back to you, grabbing one of your hands.

“Y/n, are you ok? I’m so sorry, I can’t believe anyone would ever talk to a lady like that.”

“I’m ok Finch,” you said, though the slight tremble in your hands gave you away. “It happens sometimes, folks get mad about what gets published in the paper. I’m glad you were here though.”

“Miss Y/L/N!” a new voice called as the security guard huffed into view, “What happened? I heard shouting.”

“I’m alright Mr. Ponton. That gentleman out there came in demanding to see Mr. Pulitzer, but Finch here helped me out when he started getting nasty.”

Mr. Ponton looked at the man who was still pulling at the doors and shouting profanities and winced. “Well good for you son, I’m glad you were able to handle him. He is quite a powerful man, but that’s still no excuse to shout at our receptionist. I’ll go and see if I can calm him down.”

As the guard left you turned to Finch, “Thank you again for helping me. I’m sorry you had to get involved.”

“Don’t be sorry, Y/n. It ain’t your fault and I certainly ain’t gonna stand by while someone says those horrible things to you.”

“Well thank you all the same.” On an impulse you stood on your toes and placed a soft kiss on Finch’s cheek. You stood together for a moment longer, both with admittedly goofy grins on your faces until the sound of the door opening snapped you out of the trance.

“Well I’ve talked him down and convinced him to come back another day, but it would still probably be best if you left out the back today son.”

Finch nodded at Mr. Ponton, and with one last look at you headed for the back exit. As you stared after him, Mr. Ponton said, “So, that your fella?”

“No,” you replied, this time your denial not quite as convincing as before, “no he’s just the delivery boy.”

Mr. Ponton let out a bit of a “humph” but said nothing further as you got back to work.

—-

You were standing organizing files behind your desk when the door opened and Finch came in, something hidden behind his back.

“Hey Finch!”

“Special delivery for ya,” he said, pulling out a flower from behind his back.

“Finch!” you cried, taking the flower, “It’s so beautiful. What’s this for?”

“Well I was wonderin’, when you were done with work, if you’d wanna go for a walk?”

“You wanna go for a walk with me?” you asked, a smile beginning.

“And then, if yous hungry, I know this nice diner we could go to.”

“You wanna go to a diner with me?”

“Is it alright if I do?”

“Absolutely. It’s more than alright.”

He took you by the hand and started to lean towards you when down the hallway a door slammed, making you both jump.

“I’ll be back at the end of the day to pick ya up,” Finchsaid. He began to turn to leave, then quickly turned back to place a soft kiss on your hand before running out the door. You stood there for a good 30 seconds, staring at the door and holding the flower close to your heart.

“Y/n,” Jack said, coming into the lobby, “What’re you doin’?”

“Oh nothing,” you replied, going to back to your desk to geta cup of water for the flower. Try as you might you couldn’t keep the grin off your face. Jack leaned against your desk, narrowing his eyes, looking between you and the flower, before understanding spread across his face.

“So,” he said casually, “Get any deliveries today?”

“Maybe one.”

“Gotcha,” he said, tapping on your desk as he turned to walkaway, “Atta boy Finch, atta boy.”

Tag List:

@my–little–happy–place

@bencookisagod

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@king-of-newyork

@bennie-badeend

@seasickdolphin

@backgroundnewsies

@buttons-in-the-refuge

#ask #finch #finch cortes #patrick finch cortes #finch x reader #newsies fan fiction #newsies fanfiction #newsies x reader #newsies #newsies on broadway #newsie x reader #jack kelly #katherine plumber #pulitzer #special delivery #mine #fanfiction #fan fiction #finch newsies

63 notes · View notes

izzy-b-hands · 6 years

Text

Murder House, Part One

This is my @mtl-trick-or-treat for @enydart! I hope you like it; I had a lot of fun writing it! I also started something for your Treat prompt, so if you like this and want that one as well, just let me know and I will finish it and post it asap!

This was for the Trick prompt, asking for ‘something gross with Murderface.’ I went to something that most people find gross (though maybe not the Dethklok boys, since they see so much of it lol)-murder. But I had to give Murderface some fun and happiness too since he gets shit on so damn often, so hopefully this is gross enough!

Fic under the cut because this got long; RIP and my apologies to mobile users if the cut isn’t working on the app. I was actually going to try and fit the whole thing in one post, but found out there is a post length limit (who knew!) so I have split this into Part One and Two! I will post Part Two by the end of tomorrow at the latest (it just needs a few final touches!)

The ads for the haunted house played constantly from October 15th on . Radio, TV, even billboards plastered all over. He did his best to ignore them, even though he wanted to take a flamethrower to any billboard or screen that had the ad on it for even a second.

The rest of the band, however, was harder to ignore. By the fifth night of the ads playing during their favorite evening TV shows, he was ready to snap listening to them comment.

“Look at thats; you ams the most famous of us now,” Skwisgaar snickered as the ad played.

Lights flashed and flickered on the big screen as it showed the haunted house actors depicting the murder-suicide that had sent him to his grandparents. There was even a chubby baby actor sat in the middle of the gore-’Baby Murderface looks on in horror!’ exclaimed the ad’s dramatic narrator.

“Ams thats legal?” Toki asked, pointing at the screen. “To use your lifes like thats and makes a haunted house so...sads?”

“Amn’ts even haunted really,” Skwisgaar replied. “Just sads. A sads house. What ams scary about thats?”

Pickles shrugged. “Well, someone sold their rights to their life story years ago. That’s scary, if you ask me. Cuz then they can do shit like this, and you’re shit outta luck to stop them. Ain’t that right, Murderface?”

He wanted to just rage. To tell them to shut the fuck up, or he’d set fire to the living room just like he wanted to set fire to the haunted house and anyone who was involved with it. But he’d been upset constantly, since the ads had started. It felt strange, but he was almost tired of being upset and yelling about it. He just wanted to do something to get rid of it.

“Whatever, juscht schut up about it. They were schupposed to make a cool movie out of my life,” Murderface sighed.

Nathan chuckled. “You uh, you really thought they were gonna do that? Buying the rights to your life story; that was gonna make a really cool movie?”

“Yeah, why the fuck not? People make movies about all kindsch of dumb schit; you can make a movie about anything basically!” Murderface spat back.

“Okay, Murderface, look--thing is, they gotta have a cool fun story, to make a cool movie. A movie about your life...that’d be pretty sad, dude,” Pickles said. “I mean, who the fuck would wanna watch that?”

“Well, once he joins us, I mean...that’d be a cool movie,” Nathan said.

“Yeah, but then that’s just a Dethklok movie,” Pickles replied. “And that ain’t what he wants; he wants a Murderface-only movie. But nobody’s gonna go see that, or if they did they’d like...I don’t know, cry themselves to death or something.”

Murderface bit his tongue. They were in a rhythm now, going back and forth to talk shit about him. It was easier to try to stay quiet and ride it out.

“Yeah, probably. Can you see it? ‘Saddest movie ever, millions cry themselves to death and stab out their own eyes’,” Nathan said. “Huh. Actually, that would be brutal as fuck. Murderface, you should call them--tell them to nix this haunted house bullshit and make the movie instead.”

There were tears at the corner of his eyes, even though he didn’t want them there. He tried to look only at the TV, hoping no one would notice them.

“Oh geez, look yous mades him cry now,” Skwisgaar tutted. “You eggs him on like this, when he ams already a big crysbaby, makes it worse. Ams you just a big baby Murderface? No, so knocks it off.”

“He likes attention, that’s all he wants,” Pickles started.

“Yeah, I says thats, like a big baby,” Skwisgaar interrupted. “Needings all this attentions.”

“Oh fuck you! You’ve got moviesch and booksch written about you!” Murderface protested. If anyone could talk about being an attention-needy baby, it was Skwisgaar.

“Yeah, but I has to have them all takens down. Dids not authorize anys of thems, so they amnt’s accurate. I don’ts want them, but people makes them anyway.” Skwisgaar replied testily. “And does yous mean Toki’s book? Because that ams nots something I wanted either.”

“Oh fuck yous, Skwisgaar,” Toki scoffed. “Yous ams just as bad. What theys calls an ‘attention whores’.”

“Oh, and what ams yous, Mr. Gives-me-a-solo-rights-now-or-I-cries?” Skwisgaar shouted.

It devolved from there, and he tuned it out. They’d forgotten to keep making fun of him, at least. But there was no watching the show with that much yelling over it; the cue to head in for the night.

His boots thudded against the stone floors, and then against the wall of his room as he kicked them off and tossed them into a corner.

“Schtupid executive asscholes. Schtupid Halloween. My life ischn’t scary, or schad, or anything--it’sch mine. How’d they like it if schomeone did that to them?” he grabbed an ancient dagger from its spot hanging on the wall and slashed in front of him. “Or better yet--Michael or Freddy or schomething could come and cut them down. Just schome creepy freak coming after them.”

He let the dagger clatter to the floor. “They’d never schee it coming...”

And there it was. The perfect revenge, to make sure they’d never take anyone else’s life and turn it into some stupid attraction. To show them he wouldn’t take this lying down.

Or that someone wouldn’t, at least.

After all, Charles did have a few limits legally. He got them out of a lot of shit, but some of it was going to simply come down to being careful. There wasn’t too much work to do anyway--the website for the haunted house listed two main executives from the studio he’d sold his rights to, a team lead for the attraction itself, and if he could take out a few actors in the house too, well that was just icing on the cake at that point.

It wasn’t a lot of murders for Charles to have to make disappear, but it was enough work if it was Murderface, famous bassist committing them.

But a faceless, nameless boogeyman could get the job done.

The outfit was easy to draw up, his ideas flowing like water. A little bit Michael with the black protective jumpsuit, and a touch of Freddy with the knives, all hidden in specially designed pockets so it wouldn’t look super bulky. The mask was fitting of any horror movie monster--blank and emotionless, unknowable.

Really, the mask was his masterpiece. Made of a flexible material so as to still be comfortable, with specialty coatings on the front to make it difficult for any victim to stab or shoot through it. It wouldn’t stop everything, but it would help keep him from getting outright killed. Not that he planned on giving them much of chance for that. Last, it would be painted a dark shade of blue, almost black, the color he figured would make it easiest to blend into any shadows. Only holes for the eyes and a few hidden ones near the nose--anything more felt too risky, too much of a chance to potentially be recognized.

The bonus of being this rich was that no one would ask questions when he ordered weird shit. Hell, he commissioned random costumes for Planet Piss all the time. Charles would make sure the orders got processed as quickly as possible, and then his work could begin.

It was almost therapeutic, all of the planning and designing. It made falling asleep easier and quicker than it had been in weeks, and for the first time in awhile, he slept with a smile on his face.

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

The three days that followed were all tense excitement. Excitement for waiting for the outfit to get there, excitement to get started. With the main businessmen taken out of the equation, it would be easy to get Charles to start the legal side of things--to file lawsuits for everything from defamation to claiming he never sold his rights at all. And then the thing would be shuttered for good.

The suit arrived first. Thick material, meant for an industrial setting, slow to stain or tear. And it fit like a glove.

“I’ll corner thosche asscholes in their penthousches, and paint the wallsch with their gutsch!” he crowed as he finished buttoning it. It was a bit weird not wearing his shorts, but some sacrifice would be required to pull this all off.

Now he could only hope the guys wouldn’t question the deliveries he was getting. They almost always did--for anyone. Pure morbid curiosity, or hoping it was something fun to be shared.

So of course, they asked.

“Uh, you quitting on us or something?” Pickles asked on the morning of the fourth day after the Plan had started, as they all dug into their breakfasts. “Going into construction?”

“Of coursche not,” Murderface replied. “How’d you find out what it was anyway?”

Pickles shrugged. “I smoke up with one of the gals in the mail room. She lets me look at all the mail that comes through here. Kinda fun.”

“What the fuck, how long has she let you do that?” Nathan asked, his fork still halfway to his mouth as he stared perturbed at Pickles.

Pickles shrugged again. “Couple years now. Why, you ordering nasty sex toys or something you don’t want me to see?”

Nathan flushed pink, and glared down into his pancakes. “Don’t be an asshole. Just don’t want you going through all my shit.”

“Yeah, you’re ordering nasty shit. I’m gonna watch out for your stuff more now,” Pickles grinned.

“Juscht fire her,” Murderface said, grateful the topic was drifting away from his mail. “Then he can’t get in there anymore.”

“Nah, he won’t,” Pickles replied. “You guys all know her--the one with those green eyes.”

“Damn it,” Nathan huffed. “She’s nice. Always leaves a little note on my mail when she brings it to my room with a smiley face. I can’t fire her.”

“Told ya,” Pickles smirked. “So, ya going to your shitty haunted house or something? Making a spooky costume, Scaryface?”

“Yeah, might use it for Halloween” Murderface snorted. “But, itsch really for Planet Pissch. Got a...concept album idea going.”

“Ams it piss?” Toki asked.

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. “Whats does you think, Toki. What’s else woulds it be?”

“Wes should does a groups costume this year,” Toki said. “Then wes can all goes to sees the sads Murderface house!”

“I woulds be ups for thats,” Skwisgaar replied. “Gots to be somethings cool though, Toki.”

“No, no, what the fuck, no,” Pickles protested. “Thought you Swedes were antisocial, why the hell do you wanna do a group costume?”

Skwisgaar glared. “Because I ams Swedish, I can’ts have friends? Wes can’ts have funs with a groups costume? Ams I meant to hates fun?”

“I just figured you wouldn’t think it was cool,” Pickles replied. “Don’t gotta be a douche bag about it.”

“Oh fines then, I goes as the personifications of nihilism,” Skwisgaar scoffed. “Ams that an acceptable costume for mes, Pickle?”

Murderface ate in silence as the argument grew over the group costume idea. He’d get used to even more arguments if it meant they’d forget to ask him about what he was doing.

Still, Pickles potentially seeing his mail made him worry. When the mask showed up later that day, he made sure the mail team knew to bring it straight to his room.

But it was Charles who knocked on his door and had the package in hand.

“Look it over, if you want changes made we’ll send it back right away,” he said, watching as Murderface tried to open the package without letting him see too much of it.

“Serial killer...that’s a fun costume,” Charles continued as Murderface turned away to examine the mask.

“How would you know?” Murderface asked as he felt Charles sit on the end of the bed. “Can’t see you getting dressed up for Halloween much.”

Charles only shrugged. “So...will it work?”

Murderface turned and stared. Did he somehow know? How the fuck could he know?

“For your costume?” Charles asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Oh, yeah. Perfect,” Murderface replied, relieved. And it was, exactly the way he wanted it.

“Good,” Charles said, a small smile on his face. “Have fun putting it together. I’m sure you’ll look great.”

After Charles had left, he pulled everything on and stood in front of the mirror near his closet. The whole picture--suit, mask, boots, a pair of black leather gloves--looked good.

Except...

His hair ruined it. Everybody knew his hair, the fucking curly triangle. He had to hide it.

A thick winter beanie didn’t help, and the mask fit funny then. Any other hats would likely be the same result.

“You gotta go,” he told the reflection of his curls. “We’re ugly asch schit anyway, being bald ain’t gonna make a difference.”

He called for a klokateer from the hairdressing department, and changed back into his regular clothes while he waited for them.

The klokateer had to have run, she was so out of breath. “Sir, you needed someone immediately. How may I assist you?”

He pointed to his hair. “Get rid of it.”

Her eyes were only barely visible with her hood on, but he could see them go wide. “Uhm...maybe we could just try a different style? Going straight to bald is a big change, sir.”

“I. Want. It. Gone,” he replied. She’d run to Charles in a minute, he was sure of it.

“Uh, we’ll need the clippers, not these,” she said, holding up a pair of shears. “Just let me go get those.”

He sat on his bed and waited for the phone to ring. She’d have run to Charles, begging for help as to what to do without being seen as being disobedient. A moment later, his Dethphone rang loudly.

“Murderface, I’ve got a very scared and confused young woman in here saying you want to chop off all your hair. Is this true?” Charles asked.

“Yeah,” Murderface replied. “Why’sch that a big deal?”

“Well, it is a very sudden image change. We’ll have to do all new publicity photos, promotions. And it is a bit random--why do you want to do this?” Charles asked.

“Want a change, that’sch all,” Murderface sighed. “Can’t a guy want to change schit up?”

Charles sighed. “Of course. I’ll send another hairdresser to you. This one’s a bit too shaky to do the job now.”

Murderface tapped the ‘end call’ button, and flopped back against his pillows. The guys would hate having to take new pictures, but they’d get over it. Besides, maybe they’d have to make a sacrifice or two to help his revenge as well.

It was a male klokateer this time, silent as he sat down a chair and propped a broom and dust pan near the door. He was silent all the way through the cut as well, but that was just fine.

When the klokateer had cleaned the floor of his curls and left, Murderface put the outfit back on.

It made a world of difference. Now, he looked like a proper faceless killer.

Now, all he had to do was start killing.

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

The next morning, he was glowing. There was no other way to put it. He was excited beyond belief to get started. Granted, he still needed to do a bit of research to figure out where each victim would be. But there were multiple social media accounts for each person, so it would be easy enough.

The biggest worry right now was the reaction to his hair, or the lack of it. The guys did not disappoint as he joined them at the breakfast table.

“What in the fuck dids yous do?” Skwisgaar asked, dropping his fork. “And why?”

“I wanted to,” Murderface replied. “Felt like something different. Not bad, right?”

“Ugggghhh,” Nathan whined. “We’re gonna have to do new promos now. I hate promo photos.”

“Yeah, but they moved that green-eyed klokateer to the makeup team,” Pickles said. “Charles found out she was letting me in the mail room and uh...look, it was either move her or lose her. But you could talk to her more now, since she’ll be at the promos shoot.”

Nathan smiled a very small smile. “Would be nice to say hi...”

“Yeah, cuz you think she’s pretty. Even with the hood,” Pickles teased.

“She is,” Nathan said. “Don’t make it weird when she’s around us, okay? We don’t wanna creep her out.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin it for ya,” Pickles replied as he shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “You’ll get your chance with pretty mail girl.”

“Not ifs Murderface gets it firsts,” Toki said. “Ams almost normal lookings now.”

They all stared at Toki, then at Murderface.

“Huh...you do look decent. I mean, still weird to see, but I don’t know, it works somehow,” Pickles said, breaking the brief silence.

Nathan nodded. “Still not getting her number though.”

“I won’t even try,” Murderface replied, rolling his eyes. He could worry about getting groupies with his new look after all his work was done. Normally, he’d have been all over the idea right away, but this was different.

“Nots going to beats my numbers,” Skwisgaar muttered. “But yous looks okay. Almost goods, even.”

“What can I schay, I know what looksch good,” Murderface smiled. “I was right about my schorts being schexy as hell, now with thisch--I’m gonna be irresistible.”

He shoveled his food in quick as the conversation moved on to some bullshit about Toki wanting more groupies at the end of each concert. He had more important concerns. He’d get the suit ready with all of the knives he’d set aside for the project, and figure out where to go for his first target. If he could, he’d head out for it tonight.

As soon as he was done with his plate, he dashed back to his room and started putting them away. It was fun, with so many hidden pockets to fill. He’d never get caught without a weapon, and once he was done it would go back to its spot--no murder weapons to be left behind.

“Perfect,” he breathed as he finished the suit and held it up in front of himself.

“Is it?”

Charles’ voice made him jump. He hadn’t even heard him come in.

“How the hell...what the...you should learn how to knock!” Murderface yelled, carefully folding the suit in close to his chest, as if he could somehow prevent Charles from seeing it any further.

“Sorry,” Charles replied, a smirk on his face.

Murderface felt sweat pooling on his face. Charles wasn’t supposed to know about this part of things. Just to know when the assholes were dead, so he could start the legal paperwork. “Uh...now you know my costume is really perfect! I’m gonna look great!”

“You will,” Charles agreed. “Also, 4242.”

“What does that mean?” Murderface asked.

“The first executive you’re going to kill. The code to his penthouse door is 4242,” Charles replied matter-of-factly.

Murderface knew his jaw was hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. How in the hell had he figured it all out?

“All the details for your orders lead to someone far away from here. Some ass in Ohio who keeps trying to scalp Dethklok tickets. If the worst happens, and they start tracking anyone down to nail for these killings, it’ll be that jerk. Not you,” Charles continued.

“How did you--” Murderface started.

“Does it really matter?” Charles asked. “Point is, you’re doing a good job of keeping your tracks covered--I’m just going to make sure they stay covered.”

“How do I know you aren’t gonna fuck me over though?” Murderface asked. If there would be anyone to turn him in, he would guess Charles would be the first to do it.

Charles looked genuinely hurt at that. “Look, I get it. I’m not fun, I don’t seem like the type to let you get away with this. Just--just know I’ve got my reasons for wanting you to be successful in this endeavor. I won’t fuck you over.”

“What, you’ve got bodies buried out in a desert schomewhere too?” Murderface asked, snorting.

Charles didn’t laugh. Didn’t chuckle. Didn’t move an inch. That was scary as fuck.

“Uh, never mind. You don’t gotta anschwer that,” Murderface said quickly.

Charles sighed. ‘Look, he leaves for the Bahamas soon. So we need to get you out to him by this time tomorrow. And to the rest fairly quickly too, if we want this thing shut down by Halloween.”

“You...you don’t like the haunted housche either?” Murderface asked. He’d figured Charles honestly didn’t give that much of a fuck about it.

“Of course I don’t,” Charles scoffed. “Makes you look bad, and by association, the band. You don’t deserve it, and neither do the guys. But I haven’t found a way to touch them yet legally, so this...well, it’ll be perfect.”

Murderface was struck. Granted, he was just as concerned about the band as he was for him, but...someone gave a shit. Honestly, truly, cared.

“I’ll let you know when the plane is ready. Get packed,” Charles instructed as he turned and headed for the door.

“You know where they all are?” Murderface asked. “You’re schure?”

“I wouldn’t send you if I wasn’t,” Charles replied as he left. “I’ll have an alibi for your absence, in case any of the guys notice. So just go with it, okay?”

Murderface nodded, and rushed to pack as Charles footsteps faded down the hallway.

In six days time, all the assholes would be dead, and everything would be good again.

The excitement was delicious.

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

The plane ride was quick, yet not quick enough. Still, before he knew it, he was in front of the penthouse building. It wasn’t too far from Mordhaus, only about fifty miles. He’d expected to have to travel longer, but was glad he didn’t have to.

It was a busy enough place that crowds bustled around him, and he could drift past people through the doors without anyone glancing at him. The security guard was asleep, and there was no one else in the lobby. He didn’t want to jinx it, but it almost seemed like it would be easy.

Then again, it wasn’t like there was much to stare at. He looked like any other guy coming to stay with someone in the building, in a black tee and jeans that Charles had waiting on the plane for him. The black duffel bag that held his suit and mask looked like any other travel bag. He was just a visitor, no one to look twice at.

It was an incredibly freeing feeling. He’d never thought he would miss being anonymous, but it was nice for a short time.

The service elevator wasn’t even hidden; he found it down a hall just off of the lobby. On the ride up to the penthouse, he changed, his hands shaking. He stowed the bag in the small room that housed the upper level entrance to the elevator, then started down the hall to the door of the penthouse.

The design of which was gross even to him. It might have been called a penthouse, but it was technically the first two top floors--in his mind, it was bigger than a penthouse then.

But he wasn’t there to argue exactly what this guy’s home qualified as. He punched the code into the door panel, grabbed a large kitchen knife from one pocket sheath, and started into the dark home.

A bachelor, and it showed by the state of the penthouse. There was still a pile of coke laying on the living room table, which was just showy and ridiculous to Murderface. Erotic art covered the walls, and while he owned a few of the same pieces himself, even this was a bit of overkill. You could barely see the wall behind the art there was so much of it.

A light shone in the darkness, probably a bedroom. He moved towards it, as quiet as he could manage.

“Jasmine?” a raspy voice called out. “I didn’t expect you tonight, baby. I’m not gonna pay you for a surprise visit; I hope you know that. But I’ll be happy to have some company.”

This was it. Murderface gripped the knife tight, and charged into the room.

The executive was in a open robe and boxers, and stared in shock at Murderface.

“What in the--” he started.

Murderface stepped forward and shoved the knife into his open mouth. It was hard to yank back out, but the choking noises were incredibly satisfying to hear as he stabbed again and again--the man’s fat gut, his chest, slashing across his arms as he back up and fell to the bed, raising them to try and defend himself. Blood was splattered across his mask, and sweat dripped down his face, but he was enjoying the exertion--which would figure. The only exercise he’d enjoy would have to be illegal.

Finally, the executive stopped moving. His intestines were falling out of him, and blood drenched the silver silk sheets and painted the walls. It was glorious.

“One down,” he muttered to himself. “Two and how many extras to go.”

He checked three times for a pulse before he left. The walk out was as easy as the walk in too--he changed again in the elevator, using a rag in the bag to wipe his boots clean, and walked past the same guard who was still fast asleep.

The air tasted sweeter outside. It was cliche, but so true. He felt good--he always talked about doing shit, but so often didn’t. It felt amazing to finally do something.

And he was excited to do more.

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

He slept on the plane ride home, not bothering or caring to check the time. He’d get home when he’d get home, and deal with any questions from the guys if any of them were up. He hadn’t left too late, so they were likely to still be stumbling around watching TV or something.

Sure enough, they were all squished together on a couch, seemingly half asleep. They bounced back to wakefulness once he walked in though.

“You dog!” Pickles shouted. “We heard about her; Charles told us everything! Toki was right, the hair was the problem. Now you’re getting models!”

He grinned as Pickles charged towards him and slapped him on the back. He kept a tight hold of his duffel bag as he was steered towards the couch. He didn’t want any of them getting curious and searching through it. This was a hell of an alibi that Charles had given him.

“So?” Skwisgaar asked expectantly.

“What?” Murderface asked. “The model?”

“Yeah!” Nathan exclaimed. “How was she?”

“Uh, amazing, of course,” Murderface replied, hoping he sounded less awkward than he felt. “Juscht wild, you know how models are.”

“Looks at him,” Skwisgaar chuckled, and gently patted his cheek. “Still all sweaty and disgustings. Goods for you!”

Murderface just nodded and smiled. This was all good and fun (though it would be more fun if Charles also could supply him with an actual model to date) but he was still tired. And he needed to get his stuff into his room and clean it all up.

“Look at that grin,” Nathan laughed. “God, are you finally gonna be fun? That’s awesome, if you are.”

“Yeah!” Toki added. “Then wes all gets ladies for afters our shows, and everybody ams happy! Oh wowee, we gotta takes you out to celebrates!”

“Yeah,” Murderface agreed as he stood from the couch. “Schome night later this week maybe. Or hey, what about Halloween? Big night out to celebrate!”

They cheered. They’d never been this enthusiastic for one of his suggestions before. Was it the hair, the alibi and fake accomplishment, or the real confidence from the murder that he’d been missing all this time to get them to really like him? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he wasn’t ever going back to what he was before.

“That sounds like fun, and I hate to interrupt the planning,” Charles said, suddenly in the room. They needed to put a damn bell on him. “Can I borrow Murderface for a moment though? After all, I’m sure he needs to actually get some sleep now!”

Their happy laughter echoed down the halls as Charles gently pulled him away from the couch and to his room.

He shut and locked the door, and gestured to two plush armchairs at one wall of the massive bedroom. “Have a seat. You deserve the rest. Scotch okay?”

Murderface nodded and took in the room. It was very...Charles. Richly yet plainly decorated. All black and red, almost something out of Dracula’s castle with the velvet everywhere, yet nothing stood out about it to declare it as Charles’. The chair was comfy, if nothing else.

He dropped his back by him as he dropped into the chair, and gratefully took the glass of scotch from Charles.

“So...how was it?” Charles asked.

He took a breath. “It wasch...amazing. I can’t wait for the next one.”

He felt his cheeks flush as Charles grinned.

“I’m glad you had fun. I figured you would, but I wanted to check in just in case. I’m proud of you for this, you know,” Charles said. “This is quite an undertaking. But you’re doing wonderfully.”

Murderface nodded. “Thanksch.”

The silence sat for a moment before Charles broke it.

“You want to know why I’m so invested.”

He nodded. “I mean...I get it. You take care of usch, and all our bullschit. But this...you’re really exschited for this.”

Charles tossed back the scotch in his glass and smiled. “Well. I can’t tell you everything. In fact, there’s more I can’t tell you than there is that I can. But I--I had my own reasons to do this sort of violence you’re doing now. The why doesn’t matter so much anymore, not to me at least. But that’s because the people I needed dead are in the ground, rotting, and no longer a threat to me. And that is...very freeing.”

“You feel safe,” Murderface found himself whispering, so quietly his speech impediment didn’t have a chance to start.

Charles nodded, but his eyes were on his empty glass. “Yes. I suppose that’s the best way to describe it.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Murderface asked.

Charles chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that already.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Bet you’d be out here doing these yourschelf if you could.”

Charles sat up a bit straighter. “I mean...it would be fun. To do it again. Even just once. But I don’t want to take away from your fun.”

“I’ll need help at the haunted housche,” Murderface replied. “I’ve got to take out the team lead, but there’ll be a bunch of actorsch we can take down too...I don’t want to be overwhelmed by anyone fighting back. You could come with, if you think you can make it.”

Charles looked happier than he’d ever seen him before. “If you really want me to; I’d love to. I don’t get out very often anymore.”

“It schows,” Murderface scoffed before he could catch his tongue. He looked nervously at Charles, awaiting the lecture.

Instead, Charles threw his head back and laughed. “Fuck. It does, doesn’t it? All work and no play...Yeah. I’ll come with for the haunted house. You can have fun with the second executive on your own first though.”

“I schuppose you’ll have all the info for me about him by tomorrow?” Murderface smiled.

“Of course,” Charles replied as they slowly stood and went to the door. He unlocked it, handed him the duffel bag, and patted Murderface’s back gently as he walked out. “Get some good sleep--you’re going to need the energy.”

“What? Isch this guy schome sort of Olympian-executive or schomething?” he asked.

Charles shook his head. “But you should be well-rested before these, uh, little adventures no matter what. Better form, and then you won’t tire out halfway through things.”

Murderface nodded. “Hey...uh, thanksch. For all of thisch. I mean, I’d probably be fine on my own too, but--”

Charles just nodded back. “I get it. Have a good night, Murderface.”

The door clicked shut behind him as he started down the hall towards his room. He was definitely ready to sleep some more. But the morbid curiosity was gnawing at him too--what other skeletons did Charles have in his closet, and what exactly had he done to put them there?

Maybe he’d find out after Halloween night, if he could get him to join them for celebratory drinks. He hoped he would.

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

#text post #I don't do many Murderface-centric pieces so this was a treat #I tried to keep it in character but give him some extra depth #hidden depth that I've always figured his character had but he was too lazy to show lol #bless the boy he just wants to be happy and not deal with bullshit #also I suppose this could read a little bit Murderface/Charles in some bits but I swear to god that just happened and wasn't planned lol #a happy accident we could say #LeeH writes

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blushoseoks · 7 years

Text

stuck on you. (m) | 01

“I want you to take my virginity.” “what the fuck did you just ask me, kim taehyung?”

or, alternatively:

you’re not actually supposed to take your bestfriend’s virginity when he asks, right?

➶ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

➶ rating: mature. find out what this entails, here.

➶ part: [1/3]

➶ chapter song: falling for you by peachy!

➶ (a/n): this is written for fun and i a pologize for this atrocity in advance. first attempt at smut and crack, so do let me know my thoughts! feedback is always welcomed !!

out of context quote: [9:52 am] Taehyung: ___\o/___ me drowning in ur pussy lol

“I want you to take my virginity.”

You’ve just taken a gulp of your pulp-included orange juice when Taehyung says this. He’s sitting across from you in the cafeteria of the University you both attend - have attended for the past two years.

His brown coffee coated eyes are staring directly into yours - a serious expression written across his features that tells you what he’s just spoken was said in nothing but pure seriousness.

And he says it so nonchalantly - so earnestly, that you do the only thing you can think of.

A perfectly reasonable reaction after hearing that your best friend, the boy you’ve been in love with for over two years - wants you to take his virginity.

You spit your orange juice out all over him.

Spraying him like a skunk without intent.

Your cheeks, which were puffed out full of the beverage you were drinking, deflate like a balloon as the liquid leaves your lips and coats your best friend's face and attire.

Afterward you don’t even have the decency to apologize while he’s just pulled a disgusted face, one meant just for you, and has reached for the plethora of napkins on your tray (luckily for him, you’re a messy eater) and has just began to attempt to dry himself - your lips part in question.

“What the fuck did you just ask me, Kim Taehyung?”

He lets out an annoyed huff - you think you see his eyes roll but it’s hard to say for certain when he’s dabbing at the liquid soaking in at the hem of his white button up shirt, head down, focusing on the task at hand.

“Technically, I told, not asked. And Jesus, you’re so dramatic, Y/N.” He replies, tone bored and exasperated.

Your hands come to press against the surface of your lunch table, eyes still wide.

Fortunately for the both of you, the other occupants who usually sit at your lunch table were still in bed. Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin and Yujin’s classes didn’t start until mid afternoon - as for anyone else in the cafeteria, they were tables away or far too dead in the morning to bother eavesdropping.

“Dramatic?! Taehyung-,” you lower your voice down into a whisper, scooting up so close to the table that the edge of it presses into your breasts uncomfortably, “you just asked me to pop your cherry, take your V-card, corrupt your innocence, screw your pooch-”

“That’s not the expression.” He cuts you off with a sharp look, head tilting up as he rips his eyes away from his shirt and to where you sit. All traces of amusement leave your face as you realize that the jokes were interfering with the seriousness of the intended conversation and seemed to insult him.

“I know what I asked, Y/N. I am the one who asked it - and don’t you dare treat me like I’m an angel. I was watching porn while in the womb. I knew what a vagina looked like when I was eight, knew what sex was when I was six.”

You roll your eyes, head shaking a little bit. He was being melodramatic, but you understood the point he was trying to prove. Still - it did nothing to sway your already formulated answer.

But - you couldn’t shake the question circulating your brain.

“I don’t - I don’t understand. Why are you asking me of all people to take something so meanin-”

He cuts you off again, and by the smooth reply of his words, you can tell that he’s thought this through. That this isn’t something he just pieced together, or come to conclude carelessly - that he’s been thinking of this for a good while now.

You want to ask him how long fucking you has been on his mind to lighten the mood, but you keep the crude comment at bay with the bite of your tongue, knowing it’s better to stay silent as of now.

“You’re my bestfriend, Y/N. You know everything about me, you’ve seen the good side of me, the bad side of me, you’ve seen the disgusting things I’m capable of, like the time I belched the abc’s and threw up all over your sneakers--”

You grimace at the memory, the feeling of having to walk home with his vomit in your shoes was something you didn’t look back at with fondness. You had spent four hours trying to clean the shoes, only to have to throw them away not because of the damage, moreso because of the stench.

“Okay,” you sigh, waving him along with a stroke of your hand, “I get it, I get it, continue on.”

He rolls his eyes, but the corners of his red lips tug upwards into a miniscule smile.

“Carrying on - they say that your first time should be with somebody you love, somebody who's seen everything you are as a person, somebody you care about - and well,” he pauses for the slightest of moments, “well I love you, and you love me, right?” His eyebrows raise to add emphasis to his question, and he already knows the answer. Obviously.

Because if you hadn’t loved him, would you really have forgiven him for the whole sneakers incident?

The nasty fucker.

And well - you did love him. You loved him so entirely much, more than he loved you.

So when you hear that part of his sentence, your stomach does a little drop, the unrequited love you have for him creeping up your throat in the form of bile. You’re able to keep it down by swallowing the lump and heated spit in your mouth.

You nod your head to answer his, more rhetoric than anything, question, and his smile widens - you were right, he already knew the answer.

“But - why me?” You say, even though you know how he’ll answer - because you’ve been his friend longer than anyone else has been. You continue on even so. “Jimin loves you, Jimin knows what nasty and disgraceful things you’re capable of - Jimin--”

“Jimin’s a boy, Y/N.” He says, interrupting your rambling with a sigh. “And-,” he pauses, his nose scrunching up in distaste.

“Jimin’s ugly.” He says, a face that says, “duh,” carving into his features. “You’re a girl, and you’re beautiful.”

You go silent. The tiniest amount of pink starting to coat your cheeks and the body of your neck due to the compliment he’s just paid you. And for a moment, you wonder why Taehyung decided to ask you such a thing - such an intimate, and private thing in the middle of a cafeteria - where someone could easily overhear if they truly wanted to.

Why didn’t he ask you that morning when he had stopped by your dorm room to pick you up?

Why hadn’t he tried to ask you on the way to the cafeteria? He had multiple opportunities, but he had waited. It didn’t make any sense.

He clears his throat, an indication that his patience is running thin.

Kim Taehyung - Taehyung who insisted that girl’s didn’t fart until age ten, the boy whose face crinkled when he saw two people kissing until he was thirteen, the boy who blushed and turned his head away awkwardly when you started to talk about your breasts - had just asked you - to have sex with him. To take his goddamn fucking virginity.

You shake your head quickly, eyes moving from the half untouched breakfast on your tray, where they had drifted during your train of thought - and back up to your best friend who is staring at you very openly.

“No, Taehyung. I just -” you pause momentarily. “I can’t do it. It would ruin, utterly destroy our friendship. And I don’t-” you shake your head a little. “I don’t think you get just what you are asking me to do. You don’t understand how big a deal losing your virginity is.”

You watch as his lips fall apart suddenly, but no words carry out. His shoulders sink as his body posture falls a tad amount, and you can’t sit there and see how disappointed he looks because it makes you feel - sad, but also - somewhat flattered? Like a part of you may actually be happy that he’s upset you won’t be the one to fuck him.

You’re about to leave - but then he continues on.

“But if not you, then who?” He asks, and there’s a hint of something you can’t quite decipher hidden in the layers of his thick, deep, voice. “I’m almost twenty, Y/N. I’m almost fucking twenty years old, and I’m still a virgin!” He exclaims, voice raising. “I don’t want to have to wait longer, I don’t want to have to wait for someone when I already have a special someone. You’re special, you know? You’re like super special to me, and me being a virgin-” he hesitates for a brief second, like he had maybe lost his train of thought amidst his rambling. “I’m pretty sure it’s the reason no girls talk to me, or refuse to give me the time of day. I must have a stamp on my forehead saying, “Twenty year old inexperienced virgin, don’t touc--”

Taehyung’s a loud talker, he always has been. But somehow he’s gotten even louder, so to save him from embarrassment you surge forward. Half of your body flying over the top of the lunch table as your hand moves to cover over his lips. As your hand touches his mouth, he looks at you with wide and curious brown eyes.

You mutter out a “shhhh” and he looks around to make sure nobody had heard the discussion between you two, and the few on-goers who had glanced in your guys’ general direction once you had body slammed the table, had looked away, prompting you to settle back in your seat, hands leaving your friend’s lips.

You take a deep breath, eyes finding his and in a serious voice you say:

“Taehyung, I can assure you that the only reason anybody would ever think you’re a virgin is because you just screamed it out for them to hear.”

You end your statement with a small smirk and once again, he rolls his eyes. Head shaking in pure and evident annoyance.

“Anyway,” he says, hands stretching out across the surface of the table to take your own.

Sometimes you think he does this on purpose. Like he knows what his touch does to you - that the slightest brush of his finger could have you swooning in a matter of seconds. But you shake the thought away, Taehyung would never be that cruel - he'd never take advantage of you like that.

Still - you can’t help but to glance down at either one of your hands and admire the way his fingers look grasping yours.

He begins to speak again, reattracting your attention.

“I asked you because I trust you, Y/N. You’re the only person I trust with something as big as this. I know it wouldn’t affect our friendship in a negative way but if anything, improve it.”

You cock an eyebrow, still not bought on the idea of fucking your bestfriend for his first time.

“Improve it because, well think of it this way - we’d be connected on a more intimate level.”

You stare at him, lips parting, as a look of disgust appears on your face.

Had he just tried to be romantic? If so, you’re horribly unimpressed.

“And I’ve been thinking about it for awhile now, I only gathered enough courage to finally ask you because well-” he lifts his shoulders up into a shrug, “how else could I get it done?”

You let out a huff of air, annoyed by how he had phrased the ending of his sentence. And deep down, you know he didn’t mean it in the way it sounded. Taehyung, well, he’s never been good with voicing his feelings. But still - it sounded like he only wanted you to do it because he had no one else. Like you were his only option.

“Gee.” You say effortlessly, hand moving to cover your chest as you speak out the next part of your sentence, as if gesture that his words touched your heart. “You sure do know the way to a woman’s heart, Tae.”

This time, it’s you who rolls their eyes and you swing your legs over the bench you had been sitting at, plant your feet into the tiles of the cafeteria floor, hands grabbing the remains of your lunch tray as you begin to walk it over to the trash can, ready to discard the breakfast that will now go uneaten.

Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat, he’s following you, walking right beside you, refusing to give up that easily.

“I realize that I may not have stated that the best way.” He says, running a hand through his hair.

You dump your trash.

“Oh really, you think so?” You ask sarcastically. He ignores your comment, continues on.

“You know I’m not good with words, Y/N. ‘Specially when it comes to you ‘n all.”

You cringe at his text-talk lingo, now walking further to hand your tray to the lunch lady. You nod towards her, a smile on your lips in a way of thanking her for her services.

“You know I wouldn’t ask you something so big if I wasn’t absolutely serious about it. You know it, Y/N.”

You still refuse to speak, your brain moving at a speed so rapid you can hardly make out the different thoughts. You’re nearing the exit of the cafeteria now, stopping only when you’re at the threshold - where you and Taehyung part every morning to attend your own separate, respected classes.

You - to creative writing, him to contemporary dance.

When you don’t say anything, he lets out a sigh. You watch as he lifts a hand, drifting it through his dark silver-grey, curly locks. His hair is getting longer - bangs drifting past his eyebrows but you don’t mind. You’ve always enjoyed the way he’s looked with longer hair. Always thought it made him look more attractive - if possible. Because Taehyung was sex on feet, and you had no idea why the girls at Seoul’s University didn’t try to eat him up.

Or for that matter, why the males didn’t either.

“Look, petal.” He says, intentionally using the nickname he created for you back when you were younger and all you ever wanted to do was wear flower crowns and look at their petals - but, don’t pick them because if you pick them they die, Taehyung!

“M’not going to force you or anything.” He shakes his head, “I hope you know that, at least. Y/N. And I’m certainly not going to try to guilt trip you or whatever, but I want my first time to be special - and you’re the most special person to me, y’know? You’re the only person I can see myself doing this - big thing, with.”

Yeah - he really wasn’t good with words, but you have to admire his efforts.

You watch as he lifts his shoulders up into a short shrug. “So just - just like think about it, and let me know, okay? No rush or anything.”

And before you can add something, or reply in a sarcastic manner, Taehyung is waving you off with a wide smile before heading off towards the direction of his first class of the day - like what he had just asked was as normal as asking about the weather - as if the consequences couldn’t change everything established between the two of you.

You shake your head, a breathless laugh mixed sigh leaving your lips as you decide to carry on with your day, knowing that the discussion was not going to be able to leave your head at all that day.

You don’t speak about the offer again until later that night, when your friend/dorm-mate Jisoo ponders on your behavior. You don’t even see Taehyung again that day - deciding to skip out on lunch, finding that it would be a bit too awkward if you both had shown up and acted as though he hadn’t asked you to swipe his V card a few hours prior.

But even though you hadn’t seen him - you had heard from him. He had been relentless in his texts to you, his overabundance of messages higher in count today than ever before.

[9:48 am] Taehyung: B======D

[9:52 am] Taehyung: ___\o/___ me drowning in ur pussy lol

[9:53 am] Taehyung: oh wait u dont like tht word

[9:53 am] Taehyung: lemme fix it

[9:53 am] Taehyung: **vagina

You had let out a scoff at the his crude messages, but you’d be lying if you said that they hadn’t made you crack a small smile, even if it was only nine in the morning when you had received and read them. And - he was so childish, so immature. How did he expect you to take his virginity when he had the mental age of a fucking thirteen year old boy?

You’d thought about what Taehyung had asked all day, just like you assumed you would.

But honestly - how could you not?

It made the day much harder in the work sense.

Because words in your history book changed into sexual innuendos, and the historical pictures were suddenly Taehyung - dressed in outdated clothes saying inappropriate things like, “have sex with me, c’mon!” Or, the most unrefined, “If you don’t have sex with me, Donald Trump will be elected for another four years, and we both know you don’t want that!”

You had slammed your textbook shut so loud that you had distracted a few of your classmates, resulting in you sinking in your seat with embarrassment.

You were currently sitting on your twin sized bed, back against the wall it was pushed up against, laptop in your lap, as your eyes fixated on the blank piece of virtual paper that stared back at you.

You were meant to be writing your report on Global Warming and the proof on why it did exist, but your mind kept going back to Taehyung.

To Taehyung who had asked you to fuck him without so much as a blush rising to his cheeks, meanwhile you were sitting here, on your bed, the slightest tinge of pink coating your cheeks at just the mere thought.

Taehyung who invaded your heart so easily that you hadn’t known it had happened until it was already too late!

Taehyung who-

“What’s got you all pink and dreamy eyed over there?” Jisoo’s sweet melodious voice fills the four walls of your small dorm quietly, immediately grasping your attention and pulling you out of your innermost thoughts.

Your lips part, head tilting up a little - so you stare in her general direction. She’s mimicking you in a similar fashion, back pressing against the pillows of her bed, laptop in her lap - but she’s more interested in her phone than the conversation she’s just initiated or the homework that sits undone on her laptop.

You’re about to give her a bullshit answer - but the words that you want to speak won’t leave your lips. You take a moment to ask yourself why you shouldn’t ask her for her advice. She was a loyal friend, someone you had met right about the time you had fallen in love with Taehyung - she knew the details, plus Jisoo was intelligent.

She’d see where you were coming from and tell you fuck no! And then you could be on your way, delivering the news to Taehyung.

And so - you tell her. Abruptly, right then without a seconds worth of hesitation.

Your bad, really.

“Taehyung asked me to take his virginity today.”

You watch as her thumbs that are hovering over her phone’s keyboard suddenly halt - you watch her whole entire body still as she looks up, her eyes widen so much they they resemble saucers - like she can’t believe what she’s just been told. You take her silence as permission to carry on.

“I fucking know right? And then he gets all butthurt when I turn him down! Like what, Taehyung? What horribly written porno or cheesy romantic movie have you been watching to get the idea that I’d take your vi-”

But she interrupts you - quite literally, with a pillow. She chucks it towards you and it hits you so hard it shuts your laptop screen.

You look up astonished, about to rip her a new one and ask her why the fuck she just did that, but before you can, she’s rambling.

“You fucking said no?!” She’s standing now, bewilderment stretched all across her features. “You said no, Y/N! Why? Why on Earth would you say no?!”

You push your laptop over to the side of the bed you’re not using and scoot more towards the edge, you’re sitting criss-crossed now, the tossed pillow she had thrown at you now in your lap, as your arms wrap around it.

Your curiosity is now peaked, did she really disagree with your decision?

You watch her intently as she paces your small dorm room, walking from one end of her bed to the other and repeating the cycle over and over again as she thinks.

“How could you have said no?!” She screeches, head turning in your direction.

Immediately you feel threatened, arms unwrapping from the pillow and hands moving up into a surrendering type pose.

She rolls her eyes, muttering something that sounds oddly similar to, “You’re so fuckin’ naive. Stupid, stupid girl!”

You’re about to ask her just how you’re being naive! If she really thought you’d take Taehyung’s virginity?!

But before you can, she’s walking past her bed and over to your dresser, going through your top drawer - of which just happens to be your.. delicates.

“Jisoo, what on Earth are you doing?” You ask her, jumping up from your bed, you’re standing between both of your beds now, arms now crossed over your chest as she rummages through your panties and bras, throwing different colored ones over her shoulder carelessly with a shake of her head or a roll of her eyes.

“Jisoo! I just folded all of those, what’re you doing?!” You exclaim when you don’t get an answer.

Her movements cease, head turning towards you as she shakes her head, eyes rolling loudly.

“What does it look like I’m fuckin’ doing, you brat? Picking you out something to wear so you can go fuck Taehyung!”

You scoff, head shaking as you look off to the side.

“Jisoo it’s Tuesday, who has sex on a Tues--Hey!” You screech when you figure out the weight of her words, head snapping back towards the black haired female whose attention has resettled on your undergarments. “I never agreed to that! I’m not fucking Taehyung. Especially not on a Tuesday!”

Once she hears your words, she turns towards you - now standing up with a matching pair of black underwear and panties in her grasp.

“Voila!” She shouts, a satisfied smirk raising onto her lips. “Knew you had to have something other than granny panties in there!” And your lips part, about to fight back but she interrupts suddenly. She mimics your actions, arms crossing over her chest.

“Give me three reasons why you shouldn’t take Taehyung’s virginity.”

You scoff again, as if it’s the most obvious thing. You’re a few feet apart now, you can see the smirk increasing in size on her lips.

“One.” You say, rolling your eyes because you know she doesn’t think you can come up with three reasons. You hold up one finger. “He’s my best fucking friend! Fucking your bestfriend’s is a huge no-no! It’s written in all of the fuckin’ books.”

Jisoo lets out a noise resembling a, “pfft.”

You continue on, holding up a second finger.

“Two - he doesn’t realize the full meaning of what he’s asking me to do!”

Jisoo tilts her head, obviously still unconvinced.

“Three! Did I mention he’s my best fucking friend and that you’re not supposed to fuck your bestfriend! Especially when you’re in love with him!” You exclaim, waving a hand for emphasis.

You let out a tired sigh after you breathe out the last of your sentence, Jisoo still seems unfazed by the entire ordeal.

“Those three reasons don’t mean jack shit, babe.” She says, “They are nothing but excuses.” She must get tired of standing, because she moves to sit on her bed, legs dangling over the side.

You let out a slow breath before you mimic her actions, taking a seat on your own bed.

“Explain.”

“Fucking your best friend would be a huge no-no if it were any other pair of friends - but Taehyung and you - you hold a special sort of relationship, you know that, right?”

You stay silent, you’ve always known that what you and Taehyung have is different - in a way.

Special. More intimate. A closeness you can’t quite describe, it’s been that way for as long as you can remember.

You shrug. “Even so, it just wouldn’t be right. It could still fuck things up.” You state, still unconvinced.

“Not if neither of you let it.” She adds on, like she knew you were about to say that. “And knowing you both - neither of you would let it. You both care about each other way too much to let something come between your friendship.”

You let out a small breath, she had a point.

“Second, Taehyung - even though he may not act like it a majority of the time - is a grown ass man.”

You almost laugh.

“He’s almost twenty years old, Y/N, meaning he is capable of making his own decisions and knowing their true meaning and consequences. He wouldn’t have asked you if he thought he would be jeopardizing your friendship, or - for that matter, you. And you know that. He loves you too much to do something that risks him losing you.”

“Which brings me to my next part - he loves you, and he knows that you love him - in the way you do.”

You suddenly still, body tensing just a small amount. She’s tried to say this before - that he knows you’re in love with him, but he’s too afraid to explore something more. You know it’s bullshit - if Taehyung knew, he’d tell you.

Wouldn’t he?

“So that means he asked you because he loves you too, Y/N. He asked you because he’s in love with you, as well. You know he wouldn’t ask you to do it - knowing he knows, if he didn’t feel the same way.”

You roll your eyes.

“And fine,” she says exasperatedly, “if you don’t believe that - then fuck him. Fuck him to fuck the love you have for him away. Use him, because he’ll be using you, right? Use each other, it’s only fair.”

(Jisoo doesn’t believe a word of her last argument, she knows that Taehyung loves you - it’s obvious, isn’t it? But if you’re not going to believe her then she’s going to manipulate you into thinking something else - that way, you and Taehyung can finally discuss your feelings for each other, it’s the perfect plan - right?)

You let out a sigh, still not fully convinced - but - but maybe, Jisoo did have a point? Maybe sleeping with Taehyung would help you move on from him in some sort of twisted reverse-psychology way?

“And,” Jisoo says, adding one more thing before she gives up, “if you don’t believe anything else I’ve said - then think of it this way: Taehyung is attractive, right? If you don’t take his virginity, somebody else will. Somebody who probably won’t care about him like you do. Somebody who probably won’t love him the way you do. Do you want that for him?”

You swallow the lump in your throat - her words hitting you like a shit ton of bricks. And once she see’s the way you’re finally thinking and fully contemplating the entire thing - she’s once again smirking to herself, because she knows her work here is done. And so she tosses your lingerie carelessly onto your bed, while she repositions herself into a more comfortable position, pretending to idly scroll through her phone.

“Definitely choose black, by the way. It brings out your eyes.”

You let out a clearly frustrated groan, your head shaking. You’re still not fully sure what you will do, your head drops as your eyes scan the floor that now has your underwear and bras thrown about.

And then you grab the pillow she had thrown at you previously and chuck it back at her ruthlessly.

“Clean up the mess you made, brat.”

The next time you see Taehyung is three days later, Friday night, when you hear a knock at your dorm door.

You let out a silent sigh because you already knew who it was. The same boy who has been trying to pry conversations out of you since the day he asked you the big question.

“So, have you been thinking about what I proposed?” Taehyung’s deep and smooth voice ponders as soon as you open the door to your room, he’s taking up the entire space of the threshold - the single entrance and exit, tall body pressed up against the side of the doorway, arms folding as he sizes you up.

He looks extremely good. Clad in a snapback that covers a majority of his long silver hair, a light grey oversized - long sleeved shirt covering his torso with the words, “not your babe,” written across the center. He’s wearing a pair of black skinny jeans - ones that hug the quelsm of his thighs graciously. You force your eyes away.

You’re dressed in a black long sleeved shirt, one that covers more than half of your neck, the hem is tucked into your high-waisted shorts, and you have a pair of knee white socks covering a majority of your legs, black boots covering your feet.

You let out a scoff, but you can feel a small heated flame take over your body with every second his gaze lingers on your being, your cheeks threatening to go pink at any given moment. Your curly brunette hair is pulled up into a ponytail, separate curls falling to dangle around your face that you had attempted to pin back, but gave up after your third try.

“I don’t even get a fucking hello? Just a, ‘have you decided to take my virginity or not?’ Fucking rude.” You say, playfulness dripping from your voice. Taehyung snorts, shaking his head a little - you turn around then, walking back to your bed to grasp your small black backpack, maneuvering your arms through the straps, and when you turn back - you find Taehyung quickly snapping his head up, causing you to let out a disgruntled noise.

“Were you just checking me out?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing and cocking upwards. Taehyungs snort - loud and obnoxious, would be considered unattractive if he wasn’t literally crafted by Aphrodite herself.

“You fucking wish.” He retorts, and a part of you lets out a soft sigh, yeah, you think, I kinda do.

Your eyes lift heavenward as you shove past him to stand in the hallway, he shuts your door, a smile curving up at the corners of his lips.

“You’ve been avoiding me, petal.” He says as you guys make your way down the hallway slowly, voices a soft whisper - because even though you both were in college, your University had a strict rule about curfews and the opposite gender in certain corridors. Luckily enough for you, you knew the dorm advisor - had befriended her by accident in English Literature - her name was Kang Seulgi and she was beautiful, in her third year of college, studying to be a teacher - but you had a feeling that your sort-of friendship with her wasn’t the only reason she turned a blind eye when Kim Taehyung was often seen poking around your dorm, usually at the late hours of the night or the early ones of the morning. You’re pretty sure she had found him attractive, which was easy to do.

But for some odd reason, the furthest she had ever gotten with Taehyung was a greeting, and that was that. Maybe she sensed that you had feelings for him, maybe it was something else.

You weren’t going to prod, because perhaps prodding would give her the courage to finally speak to Taehyung, and Taehyung having another option to who to give his virginity to made you feel… dare you say, uncomfortable?

You shake the thoughts away the best you can, you had no right to feel or think that way - especially when your mind was pretty much already made up.

Taehyung’s virginity was not yours to hold onto if you weren’t going to take it in the first place. Who he gave it to - was not your business if it was not going to be you.

“Not avoiding, Taehyung.” You say, finally replying to his inquiry. “Just not - exactly looking for you.”

“--And running away from me when you do see me!” He continues, “And spending your lunches in the library,” he adds, “I’ve been by your room every day this week since Tuesday to pick you up per usual - only to have Jisoo answer annoyed at me for waking her up at, ‘the ass crack of dawn!’ because somebody had already left early without warning me.”

You grimace, thinking about Jisoo’s early morning wrath and offer Taehyung an apology, he lets out a chuckle, shoulders sliding upwards into a shrug.

“I just didn’t want to see you until I made my decision.” You reply honestly. You see the smile on his lips only increase in size.

“That’s not a yes, asshole.”

“I know, I know,” Taehyung says, “but, Tuesday morning it was a no - now it’s still a decision. So it’s been bumped up a few notches, which I’ll more than graciously accept.”

You roll your eyes, he had you there. “Shut up.”

“But anyway - I don’t want to sound like an asshole or anything-” by now you both have made it out of the A rooms, currently outside in the parking lot. Taehyung leads you towards the direction of the library where you will go to study, you’re lucky that the party he’s attending passes the library, offering the perfect excuse to walk together. “But why do you care so much about who I lose it to? I mean, you lost it to--”

You hold a hand up quickly, a grunt leaving your lips. “Kim Seokjin, yes I’m aware.”

Kim Seokjin was a mildly sore subject, he was your first love - you had cried the day he graduated because you were far too intelligent to know what was to come next. And surely enough - the breakup, though foreseen, still hurt. You both were upset though, both in love - or as far into love as two naive teenagers who barely had a grasp on what love even was could be. You had lost contact with each other over the years, but you knew he was going to University in Daegu, and he seemed to be happy. He had a boyfriend who was trying to produce music, you think his name was Yoongi, but you don’t remember. The most contact you have with Seokjin now is through mutual facebook likes.

“But see, I loved Seokjin, Taehyung. He was my first love.” You turn your head to Taehyung, eyes flickering around his face. His jaw seems clenched, but you’re unable to make it out in the moonlight, “And because he was my first love it was special, and lovely - and even though we didn’t last, I don’t regret it, y’know? That’s what I want for you, Taehyung.” You keep your eyes on the side of his face as you continue speaking - you guys are nearing the library, and you can see multiple cars filling the road - no doubt in your mind that half of them belong to patrons of the party Taehyung’s going to attend.

“I don’t want you to regret your first time.” You say, letting your head finally turn forward and away from Taehyung.

“I know,” Taehyung breathes out, “I don’t want to either, which is why I asked you. So just -” he stops walking now, wanting to take a second to finish the conversation before you leave him to study and he leaves you to swallow the concoctions Namjoon will surely shove down this throat. “Just know that I wouldn’t regret it - don’t ask me how I know, because I just do.”

And he offers you his signature rectangular smile, one so bright, you can see the dimples appear above the corners of his lips even in the dark. He then moves his right hand upwards to cup the side of your cheek, the pads of his fingers smoothing over the skin there - and this is not a rare occurrence, but it still causes your breath to catch, having not expected it.

Your lips part - why? You’re not entirely sure, you want to argue his statement, but try as you might - no words come to the surface. You were at a loss for a retort. How and what could you reply to Taehyung when he had just said he wouldn’t regret sleeping with you?

His words seemed to have set a tingly-like feeling spread throughout your body. One that resembles that of a forest fire.

And Taehyung notices how you seem to have let your mind linger on something he isn’t very sure about but has a good clue. And before you can get a word out - Taehyung is doing what Taehyung does best.

Distracting your thoughts and putting your mind at ease, leaving you before you can counter his argument, leaving before you can correctly contemplate a well formed response. Leaving you with your thoughts, giving you time to think.

Your eyes fall to where his body is - backing away from you slowly as he drifts into the cool night, his smile still visible but disappearing as he drifts away from the lights of the library.

“See ya later, petal. Don’t study too hard.”

You let out a grunt, trying to properly catch your thoughts as you grasp the straps of your backpack and pull it tighter onto your body.

“Don’t drink too much.”

And then you turn around and start to walk to the entrance of the library - knowing that trying to study with the thoughts of Taehyung on your mind would be impossible.

You’re an hour and thirty minutes into your studying - scratch that, your attempt at studying when you finally decide to give up, that no matter how hard you try - there was no way you were going to be able to focus on the tasks at hand.

You arrived at your dorm about twenty minutes ago and had long changed into something more comfortable. You were dressed in a sweatshirt and a pair of light grey shorts that hung somewhat loosely on your hips - you had to tie them in numerous knots to get them to stay put.

You had fished out your cellphone from it’s place of residing in the deepest catacombs of your backpack - somewhere you stored it when you were trying to study. And once you turn it on - you immediately check through the messages you had received.

[10:05 PM] Jisoo: let me know if tonight’s the night you take him for a ride!!! I defo dont wanna walk in on tht xx ;p

You roll your eyes at Jisoo’s crude messages - ever since your talk with her that night in your dorm, she had thrown jokes like the aforementioned one your way, cracking comments every so often.

[10:23 Pm] You: suck a big one, Jisoo.

[10:23 Pm] Jisoo: im trying ;) xo

Your face distorts easily as you shake your head knowing that Friday’s were her and Jimin’s ‘date,’ nights.

You decide to take a moment to scroll through Instagram - more specifically, Taehyung’s Instagram. Your curiosity getting the best of you, wanting to see how his night was going.

The photos he’s posted seems like the ones he posts every Friday night - a name he claims as his party nights.

One of him, Namjoon, and Jeongguk - a friend of his you hadn’t really been acquainted with, but heard of so often it felt like you actually did know him - were crowded into one picture, drinks in their hands. They wore similar lazy smiles and their eyes matched with a recognizable gleam of intoxication.

The next photo displayed a table set up to play beer pong - no doubt in your mind it was Hoseok’s doing. The photos continued on, a majority of them would be deleted in the morning after Taehyung sobered up and realized how foolish he was making himself look. Or, for a better reason - he didn’t want his parents thinking he was a full-blown alcoholic.

Your ‘liking’ spam must’ve caught his attention because the next thing you know your phone is dinging with a clear indication that you’ve received a text message.

And sure enough it was from Taehyung himself.

When you open it, you see that he’s sent you a photo. There’s a sly pout curving on the shape of his lips, eyes glaring with a sheer liquid and his hair seems to be slick with sweat and stuck to his forehead.

Your eyes roam over the message he’s sent with the photo.

[10:21 Pm] Taehyung: misin u loads :( [10:23 Pm] Taehyung: wishin u were here <3333

You had let out a soft chuckle at his messages, fingers working out a quick reply.

[10:25 Pm] You: If only you cared about your grades more than you do your alcohol. :~)

[10:25 Pm] Taehyung: hahaha that nose looks likes a sperms

Before you wring his neck at the reply he’s sent, another is being sent to your phone.

[10:26 Pm] Taehyung: wish u were here tos care off all the girls!!! they wont leave me alone :( they never bug me when ur around me

As your eyes scan over the words of his last message - your jaw clenches. Teeth moving to press together tightly. You reread the two sentences several times trying to ease the quickening of your heartbeat.

It was hard being in love with a boy who was desired by many, you had learned this long ago. Taehyung was a social butterfly - he took to people as moths do to flames. He was easily a people person, someone who got along with everybody. You, on the other hand - were the opposite.

You had a small amount of people you considered your friends and you didn’t feel like you needed anymore. Why waste time trying to make friends when you were happy with the ones you had? You didn’t see the point.

The uneasiness of his reply doesn’t leave your body for the next hour. And you spend the time trying to talk yourself out of what your mind keeps thinking about - trying to come up with many excuses to sway your decision you thought was permanent.

But something about his message opened your eyes - the message mixed with Jisoo’s words and the conversations you had had with Taehyung were replaying in your head on a continuous loop.

And it’s while you’re in your bed, staring up at your ceiling do you come to your final decision.

You were in love with Taehyung, Taehyung deserved to lose his virginity to somebody who loved him. To somebody who would do it correctly and truly teach him.

He deserved to lose his virginity to someone who would continue to always care for him.

Taehyung was determined and his mind was set on the idea that you would be the one to take his virginity - and if he had come to that decision all on his own, and if he had worked up the courage to ask you - and continue to hope you’d do so even after you had refused his offer, you knew that in his eyes you were the only one he could see doing it.

So you decide, right then and there that you’ll take his virginity. But, if you were being honest - you had decided from the moment he had asked you.

A part of you knew that you wanted to - a part of you knew that you were going to end up saying yes, which is probably why you had been so adamant on saying no in the first place.

Quickly you grasp your phone that had been lying untouched by your body for the past hour. You unlock it and click on the conversation between Taehyung and yourself, fingers composing a message and sending it before you have time to reread it for grammatical errors.

[11:32 PM] You: Stop by in the morning, I need to talk to you.

The reply you get is almost instant - which causes your eyebrows to uplift in curiosity. To be honest, you hadn’t even expected Taehyung to even read your message tonight - not when he was preoccupied playing whatever childish games Hoseok dragged him into at the party he had tried to make you attend.

[11:32 Pm] Taehyung: everything okay?? [11:33 Pm] You: Just need to talk to you. [11:33 Pm] Taehyung: I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

You had sat up quickly, having not expected that response.

And surely enough - fifteen minutes later, give or take a few, there is a soft knock at your door.

When you open the door you see Taehyung, who stands with an unreadable expression written across his features, his right hand scratching at the back of his neck. He’s looking to the side and you have no time for his weird behavior, because you’ve made up your decision and you know - that if you wait any longer you’ll end up stalling and talking yourself out of telling him your decision.

“I’ll do it.” You say softly, right hip cocking and pressing against the threshold of your doorway, arms moving to cross over your chest.

You hadn’t changed from your lazy clothes, hadn’t even attempted to fix your unruly hair. You figured that if Taehyung wanted you naked then he should be able to handle you when you looked your worst.

Immediately - your words grasp his attention. He looks up from wherever his eyes had been studying. His taller body has straightened out, obsidian eyes instantly landing on yours.

His lips part, as he gapes at you. And he’s silent - you hadn’t expected that. To be honest, you had expected him to jump up and down in glee - to shout something absurd, but instead you were met with a shocked expression, an unusual quiet taking over Taehyung’s body.

“What?” You squawk out, “Oh my god.” you says, eyes widening as the worst thought comes to mind. “Don’t tell me you changed your mind because I will be so fucking embarrassed-”

He cuts you off in a hushed, obnoxious, over-the-top chuckle, his long arms moving to wrap around your body as he pulls you into his chest.

“Petal, petal. I didn’t change my mind.” He says, tip of his nose pressing into the short locks of your dark colored hair. It’s obvious in his clear speech that Taehyung is not drunk, nor has he drank enough for him to not remember any of the conversation spoken tonight.

“I just - you kept saying no so I didn’t think you’d actually agree to it. But I haven’t changed my mind, Y/N.”

You shake your head, the top of your teeth moving down to skid across your bottom lip as you step out of his embrace, walking backwards into your room a little ways.

“I just needed to fully understand and think through everything.” You shrug - a light, effortless one. “I needed to make sure you knew what you were asking and I think our talk earlier really allowed me to come to the conclusion that this is what you want, and that I’d rather take it than some random girl, y’know?”

You look back up to Taehyung’s eyes, noticing how they’ve slipped away from your intense gaze, how the smile he had been wearing had disappeared right off of his lips. He looks - you can’t quite pinpoint it, but he’s not himself.

You cock an eyebrow upwards, directing your attention and words to the boy himself. “You okay? You’re acting like perhaps you’ve changed your mind. And if you have - that’s okay, just tell me. You have to be honest and-”

He interrupts again, and you make a mental note to scold him on the matter later. (Because you were a month older than him and he certainly was not respecting his elder!)

He returns his attention to your face, lips morphing into a smile. “Trust me,” he says, “I haven’t changed my mind - just maybe had a bit too much to drink, not feeling the best.”

You nod your head, a smile stains itself to your lips as you grasp his right hand, squeezing it as you pull him through the threshold and into your small room.

“Good, you can crash here then.” You say, knowing that Jisoo more than likely won’t be returning anytime soon and even if she was - she wouldn’t care or be surprised. In fact, her head probably would have roamed to the first dirty thing.

“So I’m guessin’ you don’t wanna do the deed tonight?” He asks, a goofy smile - one to signify that what he’s just said is a joke settles onto his face. And you mentally slap yourself.

He shuts the door behind him as you climb onto your bed. “No, you fucker. You’re somewhat drunk, or you were drunk - and when…” you trail off, taking a moment to gather your thoughts and what words you want to say.

“And when I take your virginity you have to be aware - sober too. So you can properly give me your consent. Now hurry up and get the fuck over here. I need the warmth your body provides.”

He obliges easily, a lazy smile overriding his features as he stalks towards you. “You only like my body heat, nothing else.”

And no time is wasted as he climbs atop of your bed after toeing his shoes off, his strong arms are cascading effortlessly around your small body as he tugs you into his chest.

Your back is pressed to the front of his body , your eyes are shutting - and your bed is comfortable. It always has been, but you’d choose Taehyung’s arms over your bed sheets any day.

And you listen to his breathing, a steady calming that sends your body into bliss. You focus on the rhythm for awhile - until he pauses.

And it’s silent for a few moments, you wonder if you should ask him if he’s okay. But you can hear the slightest sound of his lips falling apart.

Then he says, in a soft whisper:

“You’re my bestfriend.”

And you don’t think it’s something he wants a response to, he knows that he’s your bestfriend too.

So not another word is spoken as you both drift off into a deep slumber.

And perhaps if you had been a bit more aware, a little less focused on the big agreement that’s just been accepted, you would have noticed the scent of a lingering rose stained to the collar of Taehyung’s shirt.

Something much too feminine to belong to Taehyung.

“So.” Taehyung says the next morning when you both awake, the morning sun is blinding as it drifts in between the cracks of the blinds covering your windows. He’s standing to the side of your bed, fixing his shirt and running a hand through his colored locks. You’re lying in your bed, sleep still threatening to take over your body at any given moment, eyes focusing the best to their ability on Taehyung.

He suddenly turns towards you.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself up with a grunt. Positioning your back against the wall, your legs moving into a criss-cross position, a pillow resting lazily in your lap.

His eyes meet yours, his hands gesturing towards his body as he speaks out his next sentence.

“When you wanna do this, then?”

You pull a face, clearly unimpressed, faking a retching sound as you turn your head and pretend to throw up on your unmade bedsheets.

“Ha-ha.” Taehyung says after a few continued noises of fake puking comes from you. You force yourself back up into a sitting position, eyes finding his.

“That just made me change my decision, actually.” You joke, head tilting a little.

He rolls his brown eyes, knowing you too well. “But really.” He says, eyebrows lifting upwards. “What day fits best for you?”

Your lips part as you try to roam your head for answers, teeth grazing idly across your bottom lip.

“Sunday?” You ask, head once again lifting upwards as your gaze reaches his. He looks a little surprised - eyes widening the tiniest amount. Your guys’ week didn’t start until Tuesday, both choosing to not take Monday classes so you’d have an extra day to your weekend.

“That soon?” He questions outloud - your lips part as your shoulders move upwards.

“It’s my next available day but if you’d rather wai--” He shakes his head, interrupting you mid sentence.

“No, no, Sunday’s fine - just, I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t expecting it to be that soon.”

You watch his familiar boxy smile light up his entire handsome face - your stomach drops a little at the sight.

“So like, five on Sunday?” You question outloud. “That way we can like ease our way into it and--”

“Yeah.” He smiles, head nodding a little bit as he takes a step towards your bed. You’re not expecting his tall body to sink a little bit, and you’re more than definitely not expecting him to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, as he whispers a, “you’re the best, yknow?” into the slightly tense air.

It’s not meant to be answered, so you don’t retort- not that you’d be able to if you could, because the kiss he’s left on your skin has a million spurts of electricity eroding through your body. All wetness of your mouth has left in attempt to put out the fires spreading beneath your skin.

And you find yourself wondering how amazing the sex will be if something as little as a friendly kiss is causing you to swoon as much as you do.

You feel light - like you’re feet are floating and--

“I’ll be here Sunday. At five.” He’s stepping away, sending a way too friendly wink in your direction. He’s walking towards your door now, stopping when he’s feet away, turning his attention back to you one more time.

“And I’ll bring Chinese.”

Your eyebrows cock upwards in curiosity, he doesn’t let you question, already answering before you can get the first syllable out.

“We’ll be hungry afterward, won’t we? I hear sex works up quite the appetite.”

You facepalm, hand slapping against your face forcefully as you shake your head. You think you can hear him laugh quietly as he leaves your room, only allowing yourself to look up after you hear the door shut.

All day you’re convinced that you’ve dreamt everything that happened the night before and that very morning - even after you tell Jisoo to make plans somewhere else than your dorm on Sunday - even after having to roll your eyes at her remarks and her comment about wanting details.

It doesn’t fully register in your mind until that night when he texts you again.

[8:33 Pm] Taehyung: if you think about it, it’s kinda llike the time you taught me how to ride a bike - only this time you’ll be the one riding ;)

[8:35 Pm] Taehyung: also how many condoms should i bring??

[8:35 Pm] Taehyung: im gonna bring like five yknow jsut in case

[8:36 Pm] Taehyung: and i didnt know what size so i got large n extra large ;)

And it’s there in your bedroom, body curled up against the wall - thoughts roaming about Kim Taehyung, his penis size, and chinese food, that you realize you only have two days to prepare yourself to take Kim Taehyung’s virginity.

Your bestfriend.

The boy you’ve been in love with for two years.

And prepare yourself you will.

Because if Kim Taehyung wanted his first time to be special - then fuck, it was going to be.

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childofaura · 5 years

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Rating the anime I’ve watched in 2019: A really short list

Kinda just felt like doing this, 2019 has been a REALLY interesting year in anime. I didn’t watch a whole lot of stuff, but I wanted to kind of go over what I did watch. So I’ll talk about what I thought and rate it 1-10.

PLEASE KEEP IN MIND: THEY’RE RATED SOLELY ON MY OPINIONS, IF I DON’T FEEL STRONGLY ABOUT ONE PLEASE DON’T GET MAD. ALSO ALL OF THESE WERE WATCHED IN SUBS. ALSO SPOILERS AHOY.

1. Dororo.

The OP was AWESOME. The animation in the first half of the series was really smooth, but there was a slightly noticeable dip in animation later on. Not huge, but still there. Actors were FANTASTIC, and the little girl who plays Dororo is so cute! Characters were incredibly well written and varied, Hyakkimaru still struggled despite his honed reflexes and training, and Tahomaru was so morally divisive, it was great. Somber tones really bring out the nasty forbidden underside of the Shogunate’s “lasting peace”. Though the ending with Tahomaru, Hyakkimaru’s mother, and his father figure all dying in the fire was rather... disappointing, Hyakkimaru forgiving his father and Dororo deciding what to do with the large sum of money left behind, to use it for the greater good, wraps everything up.

Dororo’s a solid 8/10.

2. Rising of the Shield Hero

I ended up checking this one out after hearing all the controversy it was stirring up, because I wanted to see what it was. Like always, the “controversy” was a big tepid pile of nothing, and I got to experience an isekai that operates under a different mood with different dynamics. Animation quality is consistent and good, and there’s a LOT of female characters that are well rounded and strong, like Raphtalia, Melty, the Filolial Queen, Glass, etc. Scenery is beautiful, and Naofumi’s growth into trusting again is nice to watch. Also the soundtrack is so enjoyable, Kansas is my favorite song. Cons, though few, are still there: the pacing can be a little funky at times (Mainly what comes to mind is that AWFUL filler episode where they fight the Church from the molten pit, and don’t move AT ALL. Worst episode ever), the physical growth of some of the characters like Filo is jarring (In two days she grows horse sized, after they had that montage of taking care of her) even with an explanation. The last thing that rubs me the wrong way (It’s not really a con in general, just a con for me) is Raphtalia’s crush on Naofumi. It’s simply that they spend the first few episodes building their relationship as a father/daughter, then they try to shift to romance after establishing that first familial relationship.

Rising of the Shield Hero’s an 8/10.

3. The Promised Neverland

AAAAAAAH HOT DAMN I LOVED THIS ONE. It was completely out of my range of what I normally watched at the beginning of 2019, BUT I LOVED IT SO MUCH. The animation is eerie, especially the facial expressions and how smoothly they move. The children are so darling and thinking about how they might have possibly died in S1 broke my heart, as well as me hoping they didn’t, lol. Every episode leaves off on this wonderfully tantalizing cliffhanger, so binging the episodes are a must. Characters like Mama and Sister Krone are terrifying, though in the latter’s case I love how clever she was, and was sad when she died. Her Japanese actress definitely blew it out of the water and had a lot of fun with the character. I’d say the only (not really a con, but) thing that weirds me out is how close the characters’ mouths are to their faces, but that’s a stylistic thing and I won’t fault them for that. The children are strong and resilient and I can’t wait for the next season.

The Promised Neverland’s a 9/10.

4. Demon Slayer

I got into this one late, and I hate myself for getting into it late. But nonetheless, I’m so glad I watched it and I can say with confidence it’s up there with FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood’s level of excellence. Tanjiro is such a kind-hearted boy who constantly puts himself through physical torture for his only remaining family; Nezuko’s “hypnotism” to see humans as family feels more like placebo because she just genuinely has compassion for people, especially when she looks at Ms Tamayo and Yushiro as family when they’re also demons. All the characters are deeply involved in this story with either known or hidden (Zenitsu) strengths that allow them to conquer their struggles. The style is unique and the character designs are pretty, and HOO BOY THE FIGHTING ANIMATIONS, THE STYLIZED TECHNIQUES. MWAH! MUCH LOVE! I love the soundtrack so much, it almost reminds me of the Pokemon movies’ orchestra pieces. The story is well paced, and no issues with filler. Showing how even demons deserve compassion is a beautifully unexpected twist in this show.

Demon Slayer’s a 10/10

5. To the Abandoned Sacred Beasts

I do love this series dearly, and while the good outweighs the “meh”, I still have to address the issues. BUT FIRST, THE GOOD THINGS: Characters in this show are incredibly in-depth, even the soldiers. The designs of the Incarnates are fantastic, terrifying and imposing. Schaal is a strong young girl who sets off with just a suitcase and a rifle and, after meeting Hank, decides to get inside his mindset to see why he’s doing what he does, and why he had to kill her father. Hank is a man in constant suffering who has to see his best friends losing themselves to insanity, knowing that they’re not the people they used to be but questioning whether he’s really doing the right thing regardless. All the soldiers have their own focal point in the episodes they show up in, showing their unique traits and attitudes, and how it links to the monsters they are now. The concept of Incarnate soldiers is parallel to veterans with PTSD. While Liza’s a bit of a ridiculous fan-service character, there’s really no complaints because the fan-service in this show is balanced; they show Hank unnecessarily shirtless a LOT (Though honestly I’d be fine if they let him wear his shirts more). But the cons. There are a decent amount of them. Animation is clunky and lower budget. Pacing is not easy to keep up with, as the split between Hank’s mission and the main conflict with Cain interrupt each other quite jarringly. Schaal’s father seemingly rises as a zombie again to serve no other purpose other than Schaal’s character growth, as we could assume that a LOT of the other monsters like Keynes, with the fire of justice, would also come back to life. Liza doesn’t really seem to do much or contribute much as a character; she came close when she volunteered to take up the Incarnate Extermination Squad’s equipment by saying she knew how it worked but she literally. Just. Held up a shield for the commander (forgot his name, Cain’s little bro) to jump off of. She needs to do more. Love the series and I love watching it, but it’s a mixed bag.

To the Abandoned Sacred Beast’s a 7/10.

6. Fire Force.

Well... this one is definitely gonna be tough to deal with, because I only got maybe 8 or 9 episodes in before I had to break away. So I’ll break it down simply.

Pros: Animation is SOLID. ABSOLUTE. FLUID AND DYNAMIC. It’s literally Midoriya vs Todoroki, but in EVERY EPISODE. Some characters are fascinating and enjoyable like Shinra, Maki, Joker, and Hibana. The concept of Infernals, people who just burst into flames without warning, are a solid idea to run on. The OP is a banger. The soundtrack fits the mood perfectly.

Cons, and a lot of them: There isn’t a whole lot going on in terms of variety, it’s mainly fighting Infernals in the city. It picks up eventually, but slowly. While some characters were enjoyable, others were either flat or downright unbearable to deal with; flat characters like Obi (He’s not a bad character, but he feels... generic) and Iris (Also not bad, she’s strong in what she’s had to deal with and being kind regardless, but it’s just standard quiet girl.). Unbearable character is really just two so far: The lieutenant, who gets borderline abusive (both mentally and physically) with Maki (Like I get it dude, you had trauma with fire and Infernals but you don’t need to be an abusive shit), and Tamaki, ESPECIALLY Tamaki. She’s rude, screechy, treated Shinra like utter shit when they first meet, and respects almost no one outside of her district for no real reason. And she also falls into the next con: The one-sided fan-service. Now I will defend the right to fan-service with everything I believe in, but I’m still allowed to have my opinion on it, and the way it goes in Fire Force is just... so awful. Fan-service jarringly interrupts what are supposed to be heavy emotional or important scenes (Iris sitting on the ground with nothing but a towel, Iris getting her clothes burned off by Hibana, Tamaki sticking her butt out after getting hurt by her district partner, Tamaki’s clothes being burned up and being against the wall with that weird-ass kitty pose with her wrists, etc.), Tamaki’s “lucky lechery” is supposed to be funny somehow but it makes literally no sense, and oh cool she ends up sexually harassing the dudes with it, too. I could understand this level of fan-service if it was like a harem anime or a cheese-cake-ish anime or whatever, but it’s- it’s a shounen. There’s nothing that really shows you there’s gonna be this weird level of fan-service.

I respect everyone who loves Fire Force, but it’s just not my cup of tea. That’s all.

Fire Force’s a 6.5/10.

7. Vinland Saga

THIS ANIME. THIS ANIME IS PERFECT IN EVERY WAY AND YOU WILL NEVER CHANGE MY MIND. The first OP PERFECTLY encapsulates just how much of a hellish live Thorfinn is about to live. The animation (Being from the same company as Attack on Titan and Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress) is SUPERB where the characters move with weight and purpose. Seriously, have you seen how the characters jump forward? With their legs and arms forward? It’s a little detail but it’s so great. Characters are multi-faceted and it gives me strong feelings about how awful they are but how clever or strong or brilliant they are. The pacing of the anime is perfect; something plot-important happens in each episode, the characters travel long distances to give you a feel of movement, and there’s not a single episode that could really be considered “filler”. Dynamics of these characters work in fascinating ways at times. The actors absolutely own their roles; Askeladd’s actor nails that perfect nonchalance where he seems surprised but you know he’s truly not, Thorfinn’s older actor knows how to scream his lungs out in anger. The main star, though? Thorkell, hands down. That guy is absolutely having fun with his character.

Vinland Saga’s a solid 10/10.

#anime #spoilers #Dororo #Rising of the Shield Hero #The Promised Neverland #Demon Slayer #To the Abandoned Sacred Beasts #Fire Force #Vinland Saga #Vinland Saga's easily the best anime of 2019 for me and I'm sad that it doesn't have as much traction as other shows like Fire Force

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meat-husband · 5 years

Note

Nasty nsfw piece for our big guy Tommy?

I’m sorry, do you mean the only thing I ever write when left to my own devices? It’s much longer than I meant it to be, but I just love my big boy. I know there’s a lot of set up just for some smut but I can’t help myself lol

Naughty stuff under the cut!

Sometimes it was a little scary how easy it was to bring people home. Maybe it’s just because of the knowledge you have now, but you couldn’t imagine picking a lonely hitchhiker up off the side of the road, much less letting them direct you down old dirt roads and through abandoned fields.

“You sure it’s this way?”

The boy behind the wheel is squinting in the sharp afternoon light, looking hot and tired. You give an easy smile, a quick laugh, and nod your head.

“Of course I’m sure, I know where my house is!”

You laugh again and the other boy, scrunched up in the backseat behind you, laughs with you. They can’t be much older than 18 or 19, you think, with scrawny arms and baby faces. It might have made you feel guilty once, but not anymore. Younger than them had come through town before, and not made it out. Meat’s meat, is what Charlie had told you, and the family has to eat.

They had stopped for you because you were small, unthreatening and pretty. The promise of a place to rest up and a sweet smile had won them over, though the glances they gave you let you know they were hoping for more.

“Look, it’s right there.”

You lean over the driver’s shoulder, closer than you need to be but still trying to sell the ruse, and point out the shadow of the house in the distance. A shaky grin appears on his face and the other boy lets out a happy shout. You keep smiling.

“What’d I tell you?” The other boy asked. “And you thought we were gonna run outta gas and get stranded!”

“We were gonna run outta gas, asshole,” the driver snapped - they had introduced themselves, but you were quick to forget names now - swerving onto the worn path leading up to the house. “You’re lucky she came along and saved our asses.”

As their truck came up to the house, stopping to idle in the front yard, both boys frowned.

“Hey, why’re the cops here?”

You laugh again, this time genuinely.

“Oh, that’s my daddy’s car. He’s the sheriff ‘round here, but don’t worry, he don’t do much but get drunk and tell old war stories.”

There was a role for everyone to play when the meat was brought in. More often than not it was either you or Charlie bringing them home, so together you played the parts of stern sheriff and his daughter. Mama and Monty would fill in where it was needed, and when Charlie has had his fun poking and prodding, it was time for dinner.

They walked into the house with no more motivation than the big smile you’d thrown them, following you into the dimly lit hall. You led them to the kitchen, finding a large pot already on the stove and boiling.

“Go on and sit, I’ll go get my daddy and he can see about gettin’ your car filled up.”

Your part was coming to an end now, and you hurried into the hall, heading towards the little room behind the kitchen where you could hear the TV. Once they figured out that all wasn’t as it seemed in the big country house, people tended to get violent, so you didn’t intend on following Charlie when he took over in the kitchen. Tommy would soon have work to do, so you’d sneak upstairs and wait for the sound of the saw to cut off.

You saw the big metal door, a remnant of the old slaughterhouse, looming at the end of the hall. The peephole moved to follow you as you turned into the sitting room and you threw it a quick wink and a wave before heading in.

Unsurprisingly, both men were slumped on the couch, warm cans of beer in hand.

“We got company,” you announce, moving to turn off the old TV. “And someone left the stove on again.”

“Who’s that?” Monty asks. “Hey, leave it!”

You flicked the TV off anyways, giving him a firm look.

“There’s two boys in the kitchen, truck’s outside and nearly outta gas.”

“Big?” Charlie asks, quickly draining the rest of his can.

“Nah, they’re skinny things, can’t hardly be old enough to be out on their own. I told ‘em they could stay here for the night.”

“They sure can,” Charlie grinned, standing from the couch. “Let me get my things-”

“You don’t need to wear that damn uniform every time someone comes around,” you scowled. “They saw the car anyways, I told ‘em you were the sheriff.”

“Now, you know first impressions are important -” You rolled your eyes, tuning him out, and waving him out of the room.

“Turn the damn TV back on!” Monty called after you.

“Do it yourself!” You called back, ignoring the swears he threw at you.

You ducked into the kitchen to quickly reassure the two boys that Charlie was on his way, noticing that they seemed on edge. Perhaps it was just the cussing coming from the sitting room, or that you had left them alone for so long in a strange house.

“Oh, uh, you’re not staying, then?” One of the two spoke up as you turned to leave the kitchen.

“Work to do!” You answered, eager to make it out of the room as you heard Charlie’s footsteps coming back down the stairs. You were hoping he would take the fun outside this time, you weren’t looking forward to scrubbing down the floors again otherwise.

You met Charlie at the bottom of the stairs, throwing him a quick grin, but he grabbed your arm as you went to pass him.

“Where’re you goin’?”

You huffed.

“To get some sleep before all the noise starts up.”

“Nah, you ain’t done yet. We got a little while before Mama gets back from the station, no need to be rushing things.”

“I don’t wanna mess with ‘em,” you insisted. “I spent all afternoon out by the crossroads, I’m tired.”

You knew by the look on his face that this was the wrong thing to say, and although you really didn’t want to hang around, you wouldn’t put it past Charlie to make things horribly inconvenient for you if you didn’t do as he wanted.

“Alright,” you give in before he could speak. “Let’s get goin’ then.”

The boys were still in the kitchen, huddled together by the back door and having a rushed conversation under their breath. They were probably regretting following you inside, but it was too late for that now that they were here.

They stopped talking the moment you came in, glancing nervously between themselves. One of them opened his mouth to speak, but Charlie got there first.

“Well then,” he drawled, putting on a friendly smile. “One of you boys come on out and help me bring around some gas cans, and we’ll get you on your way after dinner.”

Both boys looked unsure, exchanging a few more glances, before the driver spoke up.

“Yeah, okay. We gotta get going though, we’re on a schedule.”

Charlie’s smile tightened, turning from easy going to forced in a matter of seconds.

“Then hurry the fuck up, that shit ain’t gonna move itself.”

You almost grinned, but managed to keep it hidden, turning your back to them and busying yourself with the boiling pot still on the stove. Someone had been attempting to reheat last night’s leftovers, but hadn’t added enough extra water to keep the broth from boiling down.

“Honey, you keep an eye on this one, and go ahead and get dinner cookin’.”

“Yes, sir.”

You had already started scraping the overcooked meat from the bottom of the pot, dumping it into a small container. Mama fussed about it, but you felt bad for the mangy dogs that hung around the empty pastures, and you figured no one would miss a few scraps every now and then.

A glance over your shoulder showed the other boy, nervous looking and standing in place like he didn’t know what to do with himself. You sighed, figuring you might as well get some use out of him while he was still standing.

“Sorry ‘bout Daddy, he’s just a little strict sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem!” he says hurriedly, waving off your apology. “I’m sure he don’t mean nothing by it.”

Setting the pot to soak in the sink, you turn to him.

“You mind helping me with dinner for a bit?” You make sure to pair the question with a bright smile. “Just gotta get some meat from the freezer, I could use some help.”

His face turns bright red but he gives you an eager nod.

“No problem.”

“Good!”

You lead the way, ignoring the fussing coming from the sitting room as you pass the doorway, stopping at the big metal door. Either Tommy’s behind it, ready to pull the boy downstairs kicking and screaming, or he’s waiting in the basement and you’ll have to lure him down there. You’re hoping for the former, but pulling open the heavy door reveals nothing but the little landing at the top of the stairs.

“Oh, wow, that stinks.” Tensing, he gives you an apologetic look. “Shit, that was rude, I’m sorry-“

“Nah, that’s fine,” your amused grin is genuine and it puts him at ease to see you aren’t offended. “We do our own butcherin’ down here. Smells like a slaughterhouse, don’t it?”

You leave the lights off until you reach the bottom of the stairs, partially to avoid him catching sight of the grooves scratched into the walls of the stairwell, partially to keep him from backing out at the sight of the bloody basement. The big door is locked behind you, so at least he won’t be able to open it without struggling with the bolt.

Perhaps your explanation eased him more than you thought it would, because once the lights are on, casting dim shadows around the crowded room, he doesn’t seem alarmed. The hooks are empty, as is the butchering board, but there are enough bloodstains on both to be concerning. The boy, though, doesn’t spare them much of a glance, before eyeing the two big chest freezers in the corner.

Once you reach the freezers, you hesitate to open them. You’re both well into the basement now, far enough from the stairs that he couldn’t make a run for it through the equipment and furniture that crowded around you, but there’s no sign of Thomas. He wouldn’t have gone outside - Charlie has likely got the other boy ground into the dirt on his own by now - but he hasn’t stepped up to hook the boy following you either.

Seeing you hesitate, the boy moves closer, wringing his hands, and for a moment you think that maybe the environment has gotten to him and he’s about to start freaking out.

“You’re really hot,” he blurts, taking you off guard. “I mean, pretty, ya know, not-“

Your eyebrows raise. This is the opposite of what you were expecting - did he really think you’d brought him into the basement to fool around?

“Uh…”

You can’t manage to bring any words to mind in this situation. Perhaps taking your red face and speechlessness for shyness, he places a clammy hand on your forearm, rethinks it, and moves it to your shoulder. He’s still fumbling with his words, but you’re almost too surprised to make sense of what he’s saying.

You’re at a loss for what to do, staring at the clumsy teenager in front of you with wide eyes. You’re about to open your mouth, not sure what words might come out, when the boy screams. You jump, startled by his outburst, backing up out of reach, and he falls without your shoulder for support.

It doesn’t take long to realize what had happened. He’s writhing on the muddy floor, one arm twisting behind his body to feel for the big cleaver that rests in the flesh over his shoulder blade. A boot, caked in mud and debris, settles on his lower back, pinning him to the floor, while a big hand tugs at the blade. It comes free with a wet sucking noise and the boy screams all the louder.

“Thomas,” you start, relieved but still jumpy. “Where’d you go, I thought you were gonna-”

You stop when he looks at you, still holding the squirming boy down with one foot. He looks furious, eyes narrowed at you and hand gripping the cleaver tightly. You’re confused at first when you realize that his anger is directed towards you, and you spend a few seconds of panicked thought trying to figure out why. He’s never liked you being around the meat, no matter who brings them in, but everyone has to pitch in, even when it comes to the more unsavory chores. He’s never been mad about it before though, so what was different now?

Thomas leans to the side, putting more of his weight on the foot holding down the boy, fingers twitching around the handle of his weapon when the whimpers turn back into screams. He watches you, still glaring, grinding the heel of his boot against flesh and bone.

“What the fuck?!”

The boy is spitting blood and saliva with every word, arching into the ground in an attempt to get away from the pain in his back. The noise is distracting but you don’t dare to look down, not with Thomas snarling like a dog over him.

“C’mon, Charlie’s gonna need help with the other one soon…”

You trail off, unsure. You had hoped the mention of Charlie would snap him out of it, remind him of the work to be done upstairs, but he ignores your words. You’ve never seen him this angry before, not at anyone, let alone you.

Your eyes flick to the boy against your will when he cries out again, cussing and begging, flinging one hand out towards you as though for help. This draws Thomas’ attention as well, and the act seems to only enrage him further. He lets the boy out from under his boot only to bring it down hard on the crook of his arm and you flinch and look away too late to avoid seeing it snap.

“Tommy, lets go outside, we got more to do!” You’re scared now, desperate to calm him somehow. Despite the horrors that regularly take place in the house, you’ve never stuck around when they happen, preferring to wait it out upstairs. You know what goes on down here, but you’ve never seen him hurt anyone like this before.

He turns to you again with a huff, stepping away from the boy and towards you. Your instinct is to back away but you stand your ground, arms wrapped around your middle protectively, trying not to be afraid of him. He’s angry, but he wouldn’t hurt you, no matter how intimidating it is to have him looming over you.

Thomas stands in front of you, chest heaving and hands trembling. You meet his eyes for a moment but can’t keep them there, looking instead at the old, torn collar of his shirt and the black threads that hang from his mask.

“Tommy, put him up and let’s go,” you insist, trying to sound more in control than you feel. “Charlie’s gonna be upset-”

A hand grips your shoulder, big fingers digging into your skin, and you quickly cover it with your own, hoping that the gentle touch will calm him. His hand flexes under yours, tightening his hold on you, and he bends down to press the bloody nose of his mask to the top of your head. His heavy breaths ruffle your hair, the sour smell of dead flesh and stale air drifting down to you. You can feel the nose of the mask bend and turn inwards when he presses his face closer, nothing underneath to keep it from crumpling.

“C’mon,” you murmur quietly, reaching up to grab a handful of his sleeve. “Lets go, Tommy.”

He’s trembling, eyes glaring angrily, but he pulls away, looking over his shoulder at the boy squirming in the mud. He’s crawled a bit away, but only closer to the butcher block, probably trying to find a dark place to hide in. You almost feel sorry for him, but you can’t start pitying them now.

Thomas is still snarling, lips pulled down and teeth gleaming. He doesn’t shy away from the killing or cutting, or any part of the preparation for butchering and skinning, but he’s never enjoyed hurting them, not like Charlie does. To be so violent now, he must have a grudge against this one in particular. You’re almost surprised when the thought finally hits you, feeling his hand on your shoulder where the boy had touched you, remembering the anger when he had reached out in fear. With a jolt of warmth you realize that he was jealous of the boy, angry to see that someone else had put their hands on you.

“I love you.”

His head snaps around to look at you, and you hear him let out a low whine. You smile, tilting your head to brush your cheek against the top of his hand, stroking his fingers with your own. All of the tension and fear has melted away at this revelation, and you’re almost excited to realize that he could get so worked up over something so small.

“Don’t you worry about that boy,” you say, watching his eyes following the slow movements of your lips. “He’s meat now, ain’t he.”

Slowly, Thomas nods in agreement, letting out a heavy sigh. He watches as you press a half kiss to the side of his hand, and you can see by the eager way his eyes watch your mouth that the adrenaline in his veins hasn’t stopped flowing.

“You know how much I love you,” you murmur, seeing him give another slow nod, eyes still focused on your lips as you keep them against his skin. “Let me show you.”

Thomas stills, even the heavy rise and fall of his chest stopping momentarily as he takes in your words. You know the rush of capturing the boy has riled him up, he always seeks you out after the meat has been hung up to wait for butchering, and the heat of anger would have only made it worse. The gentle flick of your tongue against his hand is what spurs him into action, moving suddenly to get you in place.

The weight on your shoulder pushes down, fingers curling into your flesh until your knees hit the floor. The ground is wet with mud, filthy water soaking into your clothes and dirt caking your legs, but you don’t mind at all. You keep the gentle smile on your face, placing your hands on either side of his thighs and leaning to the side to press your face against his arm. He keeps his hand on your shoulder, leaning forward to hunch over you as the other fumbles with his belt.

Somewhere further into the basement you can hear the boy, crying and wailing, too damaged to crawl away. It didn’t matter where he was, the only way out of the basement was behind you, and he wasn’t getting out now. You know he can see you, only a few paces away from where he had fallen in the mud, but it doesn’t matter when you know he won’t be alive much longer.

Thomas slides his hand up to grab a rough handful of hair, pulling you close but not close enough to take him in, despite your open mouth. You can smell the sweat and musk on his skin, stretching your mouth wider and sticking your pink tongue out towards him, but he doesn’t let you close the distance. He holds his cock just out of your reach, and when his wrist rolls, pulling his thick fingers up and down, you let out an eager moan. His grip tightens, squeezing the flesh harder and you watch the slow strokes get rougher and more uneven. He’s not gentle, pulling harshly until hazy precum drips over his fingers.

You strain a little, trying to pull forward and flick your tongue over the slick head, but the hand in your hair keeps you back, a sharp tug bringing tears to the corners of your eyes.

“Please, Thomas, let me-”

You can’t even finish your sentence, pulling against his hold as far as your aching scalp will let you. Your jaw hurts, mouth open as wide as you can get it and tongue lolling out, and you see his own slip out to lick at his lips as he watches you.

He lets up only a little, but it’s enough for the tip of his cock to bump against your tongue, and the groan he lets out at the contact makes your stomach clench so hard that it’s painful. He does it again, slapping his cock hard against the flat of your tongue and you hurry to lick at it while you’re close enough. He tastes like salt and sour sweat but you lap at whatever you can reach eagerly, whining when a pull on your hair jerks you away.

You don’t care about the mud under you when he shoves you down, falling backwards onto the wet ground, or the rough nails scratching at your skin. Letting out a half-moan, you let him hold you against the muddy floor, the rest of your noises catching in your throat when you feel him wedge his knee between your legs. You can feel the heat coming off of him, made warmer by the cold air of the basement around you, and you wiggle your hips to get closer to the heat and the pressure of his leg between yours. He flips the skirt of your dress up, bunching it at your waist and hooking a finger hurriedly over the messy crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side rather than down your legs. You feel blood rushing to your face at that, somehow feeling more exposed than if he had taken them off, and have to fight the urge to snap your legs closed and cover yourself. He doesn’t let you remain on the floor once he’s gotten your clothing out of the way, jerking your hips up and into his lap before pulling the rest of you upright. The wet slick of your hair and clothing, soaked through and dirty, sticks to your skin but you hardly care as Thomas holds you against his chest.

“Hurry up, please.”

You mumble the words desperately as he lines himself up under you, rocking your hips in an attempt to help him find the right angle. You hold onto his shoulders, face buried into his neck and let him hold your bottom half up with one hand, a firm grip on your ass keeping you hovering over his lap. The head of his cock, swollen and nearly purple, nudges against you for a few seconds and you huff out a frustrated groan when it doesn’t slide home.

“Tommy, c’mon, please!”

With a heavy grunt he shifts his hand to hold you by the hip instead, stilling your movements. You think for a moment that it’s finally going to happen, but the moan already building in your throat turns into a high pitched whine when his sticky cock slides over your cunt completely, the head bumping against the underside of your ass. You whine again when he ignores your persistent pleas to let you move your hips - if he would only let you go, then you could easily fit yourself over him, he’s already so close. He lets you squirm, panting above you while you fight his grasp, but making no move to enter you, only a slow back and forth of his hips that drags his cock against you. You roll yourself around desperately, whimpering into his ear and begging, pressing quick kisses to the side of his neck.

Finally he relents, letting you wiggle just enough that the next tilt of his hips upwards forces the blunt head into you, surging forward in one thrust until he’s as deep as he can get. You hear a loud sob leave you, the slight twinge of pain as he bottoms out barely even felt over the satisfaction of finally getting what you want. Thomas pulls you down further, pushing until you’re completely seated on top of him and almost more full of him than you can handle. You jerk away a little, but a rough hand stops you from going further and works you right back down his length until you’re back where you started. You want to hook your legs around his middle, but he’s too big for you to lock your ankles behind him, so you squeeze your thighs around his sides instead. It hurts a little, having him so deep, but you know it won’t stay that way for long.

“Tommy, I love you so much,” you half whisper, the words rushing out of you without any thought. “So much.”

His cock jumps inside you, arms coming around to wrap you up as he leans down and moans loudly into your hair. Both arms crush you to him, pushing you down while his hips grind upwards, and you hear him return your affections with muffled grunts and gasps. You wince a little when he rubs against the depths of you, a dull ache already forming in your stomach, but the short, jerking movements also make your abdomen go tight with small ripples of pleasure.

“Ah, Tommy,” you hiss into his ear, reaching up to slide your hand under the back of the mask and grab a handful of his sweaty hair. “Move…”

You don’t finish your words, trailing off into a stuttered gasp as he lifts you up, dragging your clenching muscles over his cock until he’s nearly slid all the way out. Eyes rolling back, you brace yourself with one hand on his shoulder, wrapping the other into his hair until your fingers are stuck. Your entire body jumps in his lap when he finally drops you again, lurching upwards to meet you halfway and bouncing you on his thighs. A sob slips out when he continues with the same harsh thrusts, but after a few moments of pushing and pulling you in his lap, the slick between your legs eases the friction enough that you can ignore the bulging pressure in your belly. A soft moan escapes you as it recedes, overtaken by the hot thrum of pleasure that drowns out anything else.

His pace isn’t gentle, but you know that even this is him trying not to be too rough, keeping you seated on his cock as he forces his way up and into you. The position keeps him deep, face pressed against the top of your head and arms around your torso, and each push of his hips only forces you more firmly into his chest. You pant against the edge of the mask, bucking down against him wildly and pull hard on the hair wrapped around your fingers. You want to speak, to cry out more I love you’s, but the rough pace is pushing all the air from your lungs and you’re already gasping, so all you can manage is weak, labored breathing. Grabbing at his shoulder with your free hand, your thighs tremble around his waist as you struggle to hold on.

You get a small reprieve when his movements finally stutter, pausing to dig his fingers into the meat of your ass and hike you further up his thighs, moving your weight effortlessly. The cold air rushing in against your wet back makes you shiver when his arms leave you, slipping under your legs to hook them over his forearms and leaving your feet dangling. Once he starts again, lifting you with both hands on your ass, you can feel how wet and swollen the folds between your legs are, stretched open further by your spread legs. Thomas snarls above you, holding you down as he pushes up, and a hot trail of pleasure shoots up your spine, burning all the way down to your toes. You kick your feet uselessly, flailing against him and fighting you keep your hold on his shoulder without his arms to support you. A loud whine escapes you, muscles contracting around him, and it feels like each dragging thrust of his cock into you is getting more and more difficult as your body tightens. You’re sure that the big hands holding you are going to leave their mark, but you don’t feel any pain now, bouncing like a rag doll in his lap.

“Please, Thomas!”

You’re not sure what you’re asking for, but you beg anyways and lock your arms around his neck, every muscle in your body trembling as you jerk and whimper. Thomas huffs and groans into your hair, forcing himself upwards even more harshly as you start to cum, and you’re clenched so tightly around him that you’re nearly overwhelmed by how much of him you can feel. His thrusts change into slow, hard jerks of his hips against you, each one rocking your head on your shoulders and drawing out wet gasps. You close your eyes and bury your face against his shoulder and neck, arching into him until your body seizes up and all you can feel is the throbbing nerves between your legs.

You’re almost numb once it starts to recede, going limp and slumping weakly into his hold. An arm around your back keeps you from falling too far back, but the new wetness leaking down your thighs has only made it easier for his hurried, rutting thrusts to ram home. A hard, sharp push goes too far, hitting the deep spot in your belly that almost hurts, and you squeal in protest, clutching at him with renewed motivation. The next thrusts lands in the same spot, and the next, and the thick, strange feeling isn’t quite pain or pleasure, but enough of both that you aren’t sure if you like it or not. Each bump of his cock against it floods you with a sense of pressure, an overwhelming sensation of fullness that only comes to an end when you’re slammed down into his bucking hips and held there. A broken moan and the abrupt change to slow, grinding thrusts are the only warnings you get before the sudden, hot gush of his cum fills you, and almost immediately you can feel it trailing out of your cunt, smearing against your thighs. You squirm in his lap, but he keeps you firmly seated as he cums, the twitching cock inside of you steadily pouring more warmth into your belly.

Gasping down as much cold basement air as you can, you try to catch your breath. The heat and lust is slowly fading from your mind, replaced with the dull ache between your legs that you know will soon get worse, and the soft, tired feeling of being truly worn out. Thomas finally stills underneath you, grip loosening as he allows your sore legs to slip back down around his waist, huffing heavy breaths against the crown of your head. You can feel the sticky mess where he’s still connected to you, but you ignore the thought of the unpleasant clean up in favor of pressing a few trembling kisses to the underside of his chin. Your body is slowly cooling off as the heat between you dissipates, but Thomas is enough to keep you warm for the moment, cradling you against his chest and making soft noises. Any thought of the boy still in the basement, or the one upstairs, or even of the work you both still have to complete, hasn’t come back to you yet.

“You two done fuckin’ yet, or do I gotta wait some more?”

You jolt up, hands hurriedly reaching out to hold onto Thomas and pull at the hem of your skirt, flipping it down over your thighs. A flush of embarrassment is already burning your face, and although you want to hide, you glance over your shoulder anyways. Charlie is at the end of the steps, hands on his hips and a big grin on his face, looking all too pleased to have caught you in the act. You can’t keep his gaze for long, turning back around to avoid the smug look on his face, and wondering just how long he’s been standing there. Thomas isn’t bothered by his presence at all, but you figured that’s only because he doesn’t realize this kind of thing is usually private, and no one but Mama has ever discouraged him from trying to get his hands under your skirt in the middle of the kitchen.

“...done,” you mumble quietly, hoping that he’ll hurry up and leave. “The boy is taken care of, too.”

“Well, that’s great, but I got the one upstairs ready to go, so if you can spare Tommy for just a moment,” the false politeness in his voice grates on your nerves, but you know he’s relishing the moment. “‘Sides, I don’t expect you’ll have need of him for a while now. If that shit didn’t put a baby in you, I don’t know what will.”

You want to shut him up with a smart comment of your own, he’s in a good enough mood that you could get away with mouthing off a little, but you’re in no position to try anything now. Still firmly perched on top of Tommy’s cock and with a lukewarm mess of cum between you, you don’t have the guts to start up anything.

“Okay, just gimme a minute! He’ll be there in a bit.”

“Don’t be too long, that fucker isn’t going to stay down forever and Mama’s home and makin’ a fuss about all the mess.”

You hear him take a few steps back up towards the door, relief flooding you when you realize he’s finally leaving. This has happened more regularly than you’d like, and he’s always eager to provide some snarky commentary and let you wallow in the shame of being caught, but you suppose it wasn’t a bright idea to start this up when Thomas was supposed to be working anyway.

“C’mon,” you sigh, a little reluctant to part but not wanting Charlie to come looking again. “Guess we still got work to do.”

#Slashers #Thomas Hewitt #Slasher x Reader #Female Reader #damn this is long im sorry #most of it isn't even the smut lol #but i started on this and got carried away again #Anonymous

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