#no matter what lois tells him she is the one he loves

[stardustinthesky]

Lois and alt!Clark in Lois & Clarks

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[artemis32]

yandere superfam drabble i

listen, i have a ton of ideas for the batfam. really, i do. but come on. superfam.

dc masterlist

Thinking about Clark and his family as yanderes.

Individually, they're enough of a headache, but together? Damn.

Clark Kent sees himself as your father. The problem with him as a yandere is, he's genuinely terrifying. I mean, ignoring the fact that this man is literally Superman, he's also incredibly delusional.

I think most people downplay, or forget exactly how strong this man is. He's strong, fast, and so insanely smart. All that being said, there is literally zero chance of you avoiding him, under any circumstances.

The only saving grace in this situation is the fact that he's, like I said, delusional. Not in a 'oh, I know this is kind of wrong, but I can justify it as being right' kind of way. Rather, he wholeheartedly believes he's helping you, doing the best thing for you by allowing his obsession and thoughts of you overtake your life.

You don't even have the luxury of a slow descent into the situation. His mindset regarding you shifted really quickly, and by the time you were clued in on it, you'd already been stolen away to a farm in the middle of nowhere, ripped away from your life without warning.

The only aspect of his mindset that doesn't quite fit in with the delusional yandere archetype is the fact that, if you push the right buttons, he will absolutely fly off the handle. That in itself proves that, no matter how much he insists otherwise, he knows what he's done to you is wrong.

Jon Kent is a carbon copy of his father. He firmly believes that your place in life is with them, as a part of their family. The fact that you weren't born into the family means nothing to him. If you weren't meant to be with them, the your paths would never have crossed.

The only difference between him and Clark is that Jon has no doubt in his mind that what they're doing is okay. Clark is delusional; Jon is deranged. A part of you believes you can't really blame him - he's a child, a product of his environment. If that's what he was taught his whole life, by the people he loved and trusted, then of course he didn't see a problem with it. But the larger part of you still hated him, hated the fact that he saw you as the crazy one, as if his family hadn't abducted you from your crappy Metropolis apartment in the middle of the night.

And the fact that he was a few years younger than you didn't stop him from treating you like a child. Granted, he was insanely strong and fast, but that didn't mean you had to enjoy him manhandling you as easily as his father and brother whenever he thought you were getting too fussy.

Conner Kent, a few years your senior, isn't like Clark or Jon. He's completely aware of what they're doing to you, of how invasive and creepy it is. He just doesn't care.

I'd almost argue that him being fully aware of how wrong it all was might've been creepier than the shared delusion of Clark and Jon, especially since he could stare you dead in the eye, blank faced at the sight of your tears, and tell you in the most monotonous voice you've ever heard that he didn't care about what you wanted.

Besides a few uncanny moments with him, he was mostly pretty cocky and snide, with this keen way of getting under your skin. It's almost as if he revelled in the fact that you knew he knew they were wrong, the fact that he could do something to help you get away from all this, but he just... didn't.

The worst part was, if he hadn't, you know, kidnapped you, you might've liked him. He was easy to like, if you ignored the annoying sarcasm and ever-present smirk, the type of person you might've wanted to be friends with.

Too bad he spoiled all that by being batshit crazy.

Lois Lane, to her credit, was against the idea at first. She acted as the voice of reason in the family. Or, at least, she tried to. But the men in her family were nothing if not determined.

She realised how crazy, how morally wrong it was to rip someone away from their life for what you thought might be best for them. She also realised how terrified you'd be, surrounded by people, beings who were so much stronger than you, able to subdue you with little more than the tip of a pinky finger.

But, in the end, they won her over. The idea of someone to take care of, someone normal in the family - someone like her, and a daughter to boot - the offer was too sweet to pass up on. She's an odd mix of mindsets, a point somewhere between Clark's delusion and Conner's unwavering sanity, and that makes her scarier than the rest of them, somehow.

The fact that she knows it's wrong, but is able to convince herself it's for your own good - that's terrifying.

Though, she is great in the motherly role, acting as neutral ground for whenever one of the others overwhelm you past what you can reasonably handle. She seems to have a sixth sense for your threshold too, appearing as if out of thin air whenever you're close to snapping at one of the three men who are always in your hair.

Out of all four of them, you'd admit to liking her the most, though admittedly, it's for a selfish reason. She's the easiest person to slip by - the rest of them have super sight and hearing, and even if you could slip away, they'd catch up to you in a few seconds flat. Lois, as much as you may dislike her, was only human. Yes, she had this weird sense for when you'd try to pull something, but for the most part, you had more leeway with her than anyone else.

As a result, you stuck to her like glue, which lead to Jon whining that you were playing favourites. Jon, you could understand. He was a child, one who was used to getting his way most of the time. Clark, however, also tended to develop a strangely endearing pout whenever you ignored him, one that had even Lois caving and forcing you to spend time with someone other than her.

One thing all of them had in common was the fact that they were so damn clingy. They seemed magnetically drawn to you, hanging off of you like children at all hours of the day. It was infuriating, constantly having your personal space intruded upon.

Even at night, when you tried to sleep, you'd wake to find Conner or Jon sliding in beside you, or, even worse, you'd mysteriously wake up in Clark and Lois' bed the next morning. That always made you uncomfortable - how had they managed to move you several rooms down without you once waking up?

Your only saving grace was that all four had their own lives outside of the household, often leaving for work or school, or even patrols, so you very rarely had to deal with all four at the same time. Your favourite days were the ones when it was just you and Lois. You could slip away in the morning, right after Jon caught the bus to school, and spend the entire day away from the prison-like household.

They at least trusted you enough to let you roam around the farm freely. Well, not trusted, exactly. More like, they knew you couldn't get far before one of them caught up to you.

The perks of living in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

On the bright side, they acted as if the entire household revolved around you. You could decide what everyone ate for breakfast and dinner, you could decide the 'family activity' of the week. They tended to give in to what you wanted pretty easily, on the condition that you gave them something in return, whether it be attention, affection, or some crudely handmade gift that wasn't worth much.

Despite their joyful front though, they could all be terrifying, especially Clark. You'd learnt that the hard way when they'd first taken you. One of them snapping usually only happened if you put yourself in harm's way, but there were other circumstances where they (Clark), felt punishment was warranted.

You'd once made the mistake of making genuinely hurting Lois (or, her feelings at least), to the point of making her cry. Once, and never again.

But since then, you'd learnt how to play your cards, how to skate by in the Kent household with only a small dose of anxiety. You'd managed to avoid being metaphorically (and literally) shackled to the bed, like when you'd first arrived. Time had made things easier - time, and getting to know them.

As much as you were loathed to admit it, getting to know them had made it easier to handle them. It'd been a hard pill to swallow originally, but as the months went by, you'd had to accept the fact that you weren't going anywhere, and it was better to adapt to the situation than remain sullen and miserable for the rest of your life.

They seemed to believe you were slowly but surely coming around to the idea of being a part of their family. You definitely acted like it. But deep down, you were biding your time, waiting, planning for the perfect moment.

You'd leave, run and hide, go to furthest corner of the earth to get away from them. You always thought you would, and one day, you did.

[macfrog]

hits different cowboy like me chapter twelve

oh, my, love is a lie! are we all ready? do we have our coping strategies in place? have we prepared ourselves for impending doom? then gather round, my dear children, for i’ve a tale to tell. and it’s a SORE one

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: still reeling from your fight with joel, you seek out an effective way to deal with it: a night of sambuca shots and no second thoughts

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) alcohol + drug consumption (reader gets hammered), heartache, angst, unwanted touching, intended sexual assault, drink spiking, descriptions of blood and bruising, protective!joel gets into a quick barfight, more discussion of cheating(?), joel won't admit feelings, pain pain and more pain, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 10.9k

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Joel takes a beat to answer. Like he’s waiting for your voice to fill the space, the way it usually would. What’s up, old man? How hard is it to copy an address right? Lois not as good at typing as she is at sucking your – “You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.” The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

Of course he went to see Lois. He’s probably been seeing her for some time now. A nice lady, his own age, his line of work. You’re pretty sure she has a son, too. And your dad would love her, would love to think Joel was shacking up with some plant hire receptionist. She could turn your life around, son, he’d said. They fit together like a couple of jigsaw pieces. What the fuck would he have ever seen in you, past some young, tight thing for him to fuck? Just a placeholder. Just a time-waster.

A twenty-three-year-old; enough energy to keep him on his toes, cure his boredom. Fill his summer with something to do. And close enough to him, too, that he reeled you in with minimum effort. One stupid look at you – one stupid, stupid glance and you were hooked. High as a kite on him. All the touching, all the whispering. That fucking – the fucking bottle. The video. All of it, every second he ever spent near you – it all makes you cringe now.

And then, once the embarrassment of being played by your dad’s best friend passes, there’s the hurt. The aching. Fuck, the aching. The way your chest swells, feels like it might rip at the seams and burst open. The sting behind your eyes anytime you picture his smile, the way he’d look at you. The feeling of your throat closing up whenever you go to speak, windpipe constricting around any words that aren’t his name, and using them to choke you.

And it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it. Can’t have a heart-to-heart with your dad, have him make you a tea and sit him down by your window, ask for advice on heartbreak and getting over his best friend. You’ve been excusing your reclusiveness by telling him you’re on your period. That’s why you haven’t left your bed in four days.

It was just all so fucking believable, wasn’t it? So good, you thought you were dreaming the entire time.

And here he’d just proven you right. You dreamt it all up.

Has he fucked her yet? Lois. Is she one of the ten he told you about the other night? Has she touched him the way you have? Has he touched her, the way he did you?

Does she know how he sounds when he comes undone? How he looks? How he feels? Does she do it for him the way you do it? And what does he call her? Baby? Darlin’? Or something different entirely?

Now you’re wondering when he started seeing her, and then, if they have slept together, when the first time was. Whether or not you cross over with her. Maybe he went and fucked her after you argued. Let off some steam over at her place, while you sat in his house, smelling his shirts and reading his stupid fucking Alcatraz books. While you paced around, practicing the words you’d say to him when he came back.

All you wanted was for him to come back. You wanted him to come find you upstairs, take the book from your hands and lean his head down on your chest, mumble an apology into the material of your shirt and then kiss you, and kiss you again while he pulled the clothes from your body, and kiss you while you were naked underneath him, and kiss you while he rocked his hips into yours.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You think you hate her. You don’t even know her. Don’t know what she looks like, only heard her voice. She’s probably gorgeous. Probably a really sweet woman, helps out on the PTA, the type that stops to read missing dog posters so she can keep an eye out for them. Probably knows Joel well enough that she writes Sarah a birthday card every year. Just a real nice, Southern lady.

And you fucking hate her.

That’s not fair, though, and you know it. She didn’t do anything wrong. Joel’s the one who screwed you over – screwed you both over. Really, you and Lois are one and the same.

Except that she’s taken away the only thing to put a real smile on your face since you got home, and for that, you fucking hate her.

What had he said again? That night he drove you home from Sal’s, the night your dad asked him to stay for pizza. …said she’d like to go for a drink. I said maybe sometime. Maybe he’d organized that drink, in the midst of whatever you two had been doing. Thought nothing of it – you said it yourself: you were just messing around. Said it, like, three times to him. Good fucking job.

And that adds to the hurt. That neither of you seemed to care enough to call it anything more. Because now, sitting alone in your room, desperately checking your phone for a missed call or a text message from him, ears pricking at every sound your dad makes downstairs in case he’s answering a call from Joel or welcoming him in through the front door – you wish you had called it something.

Wish you had just fucking said it. Told him outright about the feelings you had. You were thinking about them enough – the thought circled your mind any time there was a moment’s silence between you.

Sometimes, the way he’d glance over to you, the way his hand would brush against yours, the way he’d say your name…he felt like…

Yours. He was yours. He was so fucking close to being yours.

You almost said it, once. Almost admitted it to him. Couple times you saw it flash behind his eyes, too. And it’s a damn good thing neither of you did say it, because it would’ve been a mistake. Would’ve been lies.

You don’t love him. You never did. You were in some fantasy, built by Joel. There ain’t no love between you. None from your side. And definitely none from him.

Definitely – none – from –

him.

----------

Anna’s been at you all week. She text you on Monday night, but you were about four layers of blanket deep in your bed, weeping into a box of dry cereal and listening to some sad girl playlist on repeat. You fished your cell out from under your mattress the next morning. Your dad had to call it to help you find it.

Anna: Frank’s again on Friday? Rodeo night round 2!!!

Tuesday, it was Please?? It was so fun on Sat. Cmon, Kara’s coming again. Sam’s working but that means free shots so.

On Wednesday, she tried a new approach. I’ll cover any shift you want.

Any two shifts……

Ok three????

Thursday, she started to get desperate. I’ll spill all your secrets to my dad if you don’t come. And you know he’ll tell them all to your dad lol

By Friday morning, though, she’d decided you had no say in the matter: you were going, and you’d be happy about it. And you didn’t have it in you to fight back.

She’s standing at the side of the mirror, scanning you from head to two.

“All black? Again?”

“I look good in black.”

“You look good in anything,” she agrees, turning to sift through your closet, “so why don’t we go for…?”

“No,” you clip, holding a finger up to the red dress in her hands. “No.”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s hot. C’mon.”

“Why do I gotta be hot?”

“I mean…is Mr. Miller gonna be pickin’ you up again, or…?”

You lob a previously discarded dress at her and she snorts, turning to slip it back onto a hanger.

Even his fucking surname sends a pang of pain through your body. Your heart jumps at the sound of it, like its hopes had risen for a second, but then it plummets with the realization that it’s not really Joel, and he’s still really gone.

You’re in a plain black slip dress, black denim jacket slung over your shoulders. Black lace-up boots, too. It’s like rodeo night, except without the fun and excitement of Joel waiting for you at the end of the night. It’s basically rodeo night’s funeral. And good fucking riddance.

Anna – always glittering, always in some sparkly getup – leads you out of your bedroom and down the stairs. Your dad agreed to drop you guys off, seeing as he’s out working later on.

He’s sat in his armchair, glasses on the tip of his nose, squinting down at the instruction booklet to that fucking Garmin he’s still wrestling with. He looks up and claps his hands once.

“Ready, girls?”

Anna nods eagerly and you lift your eyebrows, thinking about how Joel would laugh at the sight of his buddy still fighting a very obviously lost battle to a GPS. Then you think about how he’d tell you quietly, You look beautiful, darlin’, and ask you to text him when you got home safe.

And finally, you think about how much of an ass he is, and you blink the tears from your eyes before following the two blurry figures out to the car.

Anna snaps a couple selfies as the car winds out of the neighborhood, angling her phone to pull you into shot. The sun setting over the roofs of the houses dazzles your eyes. She tuts, tells you to Look like you actually wanna be goin’ out, and sends them to Kara, letting her know you’re on your way.

You’re watching her reply to a text from some boy she’s seeing when your dad’s ringtone echoes throughout the car, the name on the tiny digital screen the very last name you want to see right now.

Or maybe the very name you’ve been waiting all week to see. Just, on your screen instead of your dad’s.

“Hey, Joel,” your dad calls, and your body instinctively leans in to listen better. Drawn in like a magnet to just the sound of his voice.

“Hey, bud,” he replies. It’s like a punch to your chest. Hands around your throat. Salt behind your eyes. “I just got off the phone with Clark’s, they just dropped that equipment off at the site. Said there wasn’t nobody around to sign for it, so they just left it at the gate.”

“It’s a manned site, what do they mean there wasn’t–?”

“No idea,” Joel says, cutting across him. “Just said there wasn’t anybody to take the delivery.”

Anna’s head slowly turns in your direction, likely to take another dumb selfie or to ask some random question about your outfit, but you turn away, refusing to meet her hazel-eyed stare. Refusing to let her take your attention away from this phone call. From Joel.

Your dad sighs, runs a hand down his cheek. “I hope it’s still there when I get to it. Sure you gave ‘em the right address on Monday?”

“I wrote it down exactly how you text me it.”

Joel’s voice sounds flatter than normal. Less trademark Joel grumbly and more tired, deflated. A little irritated. It bruises your heart hearing him and not chiming in, not teasing him for potentially getting the street name wrong or something. Not letting him know you’re here.

Your dad does that anyway, though.

“Well,” he sighs again, hitting the turn signal, “I’m on my way to Frank’s – girls are havin’ another one of their wild nights out. I’ll head straight from there to the site ‘n make sure everything’s in place. Thanks, Joel.”

Joel takes a beat to answer. Like he’s waiting for your voice to fill the space, the way it usually would. What’s up, old man? How hard is it to copy an address right? Lois not as good at typing as she is at sucking your –

“You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.”

The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

No. He was talking to you. He knew you’d be listening. Knew that conversation would mean much more to you than it ever could to your dad. And he knew you’d be hanging on to every word he spoke.

He’s home all night, which translates to: he’s only ever fifteen minutes away if you wind up needing him. If you end up wanting him.

You’ve spent the last four days purposefully stopping yourself from wanting him. Your thumb has hovered over his name in your contacts more times than you’d care to admit. Mostly at night, when your dad goes to bed and there’s eight hours of quiet – quiet you’d usually fill by annoying Joel, striking up a conversation at midnight when he’s about to sleep.

What the fuck would you even say if he did pick up? Would you be mad? Would you yell? Or would you just break down, sob a few incoherent sentences down the line to him and pray that he doesn’t hang up?

But then – would he even pick up? It’s not a thought you want to entertain much. That sound of ringing and ringing, and no gruff, Hey, baby, at the other end.

Your chest hurts. You take a gulp of air.

You’d happily have him never touch you again if he’d just come the fuck back.

Anna slaps your arm and Joel’s face is wiped clean from your mind. “C’mon,” she chirps, and nods out of your window.

You turn to see the faded blue brick walls of Frank’s, clusters of people outside clutching cigarettes and glasses, holding hands up to shield their eyes from the sunlight and tipping their heads back in laughter at one another. Kara stands among them, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. She waves when you catch her eye, stumbling out of the car in a daze.

Anna’s arm links through yours, almost violently, and she skips along the sidewalk to Kara, who joins your chain. The three of you stroll into the bar together and over to Sam, who smiles genially in welcome.

“Hello, ladies,” he sings, leaning in. “What can I do ya for?”

“Get us drunk, Sam!” Anna exclaims, rapping her knuckles on the bar top, and, for the first time tonight, you find yourself nodding in agreement with her.

Get me –

fucking –

hammered.

----------

You get your wish. Sam hands you a cold beer, and within twenty minutes you’re ordering a second. Anna and Kara opt for cocktails, some bright pink concoction that you don’t even bother to ask the name of, you just lean over the bar and tell Sam to make up a third.

And then there are the shots, two each, which are a hysterically terrible idea. You know it as you tip your head back, sickly taste of sambuca spilling down your throat and taking with it the very last of your good sense, apparently.

All the while, that phone call rattles through your head. Joel’s voice swings between your ears like a pendulum. His dry tone, the borderline contempt he spoke to your dad with. The thought of who he’s been with and what he’s been doing either side of that call burns like the drink in your belly, and forces you back up to the bar for another to wash him away with.

You rock against the dark wood, sticky with alcohol, and hoist yourself up onto a stool. “One peer, blease, sir,” you garble to Sam, one finger in the air. “Oh, wait…”

You throw your hand down onto the bar with a roar of laughter and lean back, forgetting there’s no back to your chair. It tilts back, and your hands fumble to grab the edge of the bar, but it’s too far, too late, and you land on the solid floor with a clatter – metal leg of the stool digging into your own.

“Fuck,” you hiss, dragging yourself back to your feet. A thin line of dark red blood cuts from halfway down your calf, streaming down into your boot.

“Are you okay?” Sam yells, stood frozen with the beer and bottle opener still in his hands.

“I’m fine,” you grumble, clambering to your feet. You don’t even convince yourself.

Sam doesn’t let go of the bottle when your fingers curve around it. He looks you dead in the eye and asks, “What’s goin’ on?” and you know he won’t let go until you answer him.

“Nothin’. I’m fine.”

Until you answer him truthfully, that is.

“I’m…It’s just…I got a lot goin’ on up here.” Your shaky finger draws a circle against your temple, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I can see that. Is this really a good ide–”

“Well, howdy, clumsy!”

The owner of whatever fucking annoying voice just shrieked through your ears slaps his hand down on your shoulder, almost toppling you for the second time in five minutes, and you twist around to find a pair of red, blotchy cheeks and almost equally red hair to match, stood before you.

“Hi…?” You squint your eyes to get a better look, the figure swaying with the room behind him.

“Hi.” He’s still smiling. Two huge front teeth, like a pair of overgrown Tic Tacs. “You have no idea who I am, do you? That’s…embarrassing for me.”

“Zack!” another voice screams over the bassline of the music. “Are you fucking coming or not, dude?”

A pale, jittery guy with a dark green t-shirt hanging off of his lean frame barges into the red-haired boy’s side, and a few seconds after his mouth stops moving, you register what he’s said.

“No – f-fucking – way,” you breathe, staring him up and down. His red flannel is tucked into his jeans, sealed by a brown leather belt. There’s a longhorn head on the buckle. “Zack? From Costco? What the fuck’d you do, stalk me?”

He laughs awkwardly, looking from you to over your shoulder, where Sam’s still holding your beer.

“Sorry–” you mutter, shaking your head. “I’m not at my best right now.”

“It’s cool,” he replies, grinning. “You look like you’re having a good night. I’m out with my buddies. This is Eric.”

Eric gives you a nod – his blond fringe jumps, and he jerks his head to sweep it back out of his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says, before rounding again on Zack. “Seriously, bro, he says he’s not waitin’ around this time. C’mon!”

“We were gonna head to the rooftop if you wanted to come?” Zack raises his eyebrows, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as Eric and another two figures make off for the stairs at the other end of the bar.

“Sure.” You blindly reach for your beer and Sam relents, letting it slip from his grasp. He calls your name as you trot off, and you turn for one second to give his worried stare a thumbs up, before swirling back toward the stairs. No second thought.

This isn’t the night for second thoughts.

The rooftop is quieter, less crowded. Background noise made up of passing cars, a siren in the distance, and the muffled music from downstairs. You wander over to where Zack stands with Eric and a couple others: a short guy with wireframe glasses, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, and someone you think you almost recognize.

His black V-neck looks like it might burst at the seams around his chest, swollen with muscle. Thick neck, holding up a square jawline, and a face heavy with features which mirror the broad body below.

And a thick smell of marijuana which follows his every move.

Zack shuffles to the side to let you into the circle. You shimmy in between him and Eric.

V-neck pulls a small metal case from his back pocket and fishes a cigarette out of it. Eyes start to shift around the group, the boys glancing over shoulders to check who’s watching.

“Are we…? Is that weed?” you blurt out.

“Shut the fuck up!” Eric hisses, jabbing his elbow into your ribcage.

V-neck eyes you down quickly. It’s the first he looks at you, and it puts a sickly feeling through your body. Sends the alcohol hurtling over itself in your stomach.

You raise your eyebrows and wrap your arms around yourself, your beer bottle against your lips. “Sorry, jeez…”

“This is Knox,” Zack mutters, as Knox lights the cigarette.

He takes one hit, inhaling deeply with his chin in the air, and passes it to the boy in the hoodie. Another cloud of smoke joins Knox’s, slowly dispersing above your heads, and then it’s Eric’s turn. With a cough, his fist against his lips, he passes it to Zack. Soon, the air around you is thick and white, and Zack’s handing you the joint.

You lift it to your lips and inhale. The feeling hits you instantly; your body feels light, your face warm, your eyes blink in and out of focus, watching as a blurry shadow begins to follow your hand when you pass the joint back to Knox.

A couple more circuits, and the roach is pressed into the ground by Knox’s boot. The group separates; Zack and his friends fall into some metal chairs around a table, sparking up a debate on the best Lord of the Rings film, and you float around nearby.

“You a friend of Zack’s?” Knox asks, downing what’s left of his whiskey.

“Hm…Not really. We met at Costco, ‘cause I was there to get some party stuff for my dad’s friend’s daughter’s– Well, she’s my friend, too, and she wanted this garden party, and my dad’s friend was like, What the fuck is a garden party? you know, so I had to go help ‘im get stuff for it, with my dad, who was kinda a buzzkill, but anyway…Z-Zack helped me lift some sodas into my cart.”

Knox nods once. Fingers locked tight around his empty glass. He’s staring you down like you’re fresh meat.

You purse your lips and stare back, but quickly get bored when he doesn’t speak, and you miss Anna and her selfies and her sambuca shots. As you’re about to wander back to the door, though, Knox steps in front of you.

“So, you’re here often, then?”

Your shoulder knocks into his. “Huh?”

“Saw you last week. You were pretty spaced, don’t know if you remember.”

The memory whips past your eyes quicker than you can catch it, frames lingering only long enough for you to see Knox’s thick arm linked with yours outside Frank’s, the smell of weed in your nostrils, and the bright lights of Joel’s truck. And then it’s gone, before you can get a good grip of it.

“I’m…I remember now. Yeah. No, I’m not here much, I just…Rough week.”

He nods again, and you suspect he hasn’t listened to a word you’ve said since he got you alone. “You want another drink?”

The way he’s looking at you makes you feel more and more nauseous. Makes you want to turn and run back downstairs, slot in beside Anna and Kara, bury yourself between their shoulders and stay there until they decide they want to go home.

It makes you feel the way it felt last week, when he halted you outside the bar on your way to Joel. And suddenly the memory is soaring in front of your eyes again.

Your hand on Joel’s elbow. The frown on his face. Whitened knuckles around the steering wheel. ‘s go, pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl.

“Yeah,” you tell Knox. “Yeah, I do.”

You follow him downstairs where he nods to Sam at the bar.

Sam ignores him, instead glares at you. “Can we talk…?” he asks, but Knox cuts across him.

“Beer, right?” he checks with you, and you nod. “And another whiskey.”

Your friend hesitantly grabs the drinks, glancing up at you every five seconds in a question. You respond by nodding slowly, feeling your head bounce each time you do.

You lazily scan the room for Anna and Kara, who you spot in a booth over by the window. The spotlights overhead reflect in the sparkles of Anna’s dress; Kara’s holding the straw of her drink between her lips, bobbing her head to the music. You saunter over, twirling on your way.

“Where have you been, baby?” Anna calls, giggling when you fall against the booth, palms flat on the wooden table.

“Upstairs,” you mumble, and then feel a tap on your back.

“Forgot this,” Knox says, pushing the beer into your hand. “You wanna go dance?”

Anna’s face twists into one of worry, and you give her an apologetic smile and spin off, following the wide frame to a dark corner of the bar where he takes your wrist and pulls your body against his.

He’s not doing much dancing, rather, he’s just keeping a solid grip on your waist, watching as you rock side to side, taking a couple shallow sips of your drink. You pull on his arm, Fucking move, dude, but he only leans further back, until he’s shrouded in shadows and pulling you into them with him.

When he leans into your space and snakes a drunken arm tight around your neck, you don’t retreat. You lean in, too, and plant your lips on his.

It’s messy, it’s a little gross. He tastes sour, weed and alcohol on his tongue, and it makes you wish you’d never started kissing him. Still, you take it further. You open your mouth more, letting more of him in, soak your own tongue, wet your lips. You barely even feel it when his hands move south and cup your ass, and it’s only when he squeezes that you wriggle out of his grip.

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking hold of his sleeve to steady yourself. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, says something short that you don’t hear, and you lean back against him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s smaller, much shorter than Joel. Your shoulders almost match the height of his. But he’s more built, he’s bulkier, in an uncomfortable way. Like trying to put your arms around a giant balloon or something. There’s no softness, no enclosing feeling when your weight presses against his. Just the huge surface of his chest, the hollow feeling of two mismatched bodies unwillingly pushed together.

Not strong. Not safe. Not secure. Not him.

But you’re kissing him again, because it’s the first time in five days you’ve felt something other than your aching chest and heavy head. You’re kissing him because you feel unwanted and unloved and, even though he seems almost as hammered as you are, it feels good to have someone want to be on you.

You’re kissing him because you’re trying to pretend it’s Joel.

Only he tastes…well, disgusting, and he smells different. He’s sweating from the heat in the bar, and his arms aren’t placed somewhere to make you feel wrapped in his grasp, they’re placed anywhere that he can pinch, squeeze, or otherwise fondle.

Joel’s face swims in and out of your head; a smile as he pulls you in for a kiss, a smirk when he’s telling you off, soft eyes when he’s listening to you talk. It makes you want to throw up.

That might just be the drinks.

Someone taps you furiously on the shoulder, and you push Knox off your body.

When your eyes fail to meet Sam’s, he takes your wrist and drags you behind the bar, ripping the beer bottle from your grasp and almost launching it into the sink. It smashes, and the liquid pours down the drain.

“Hey, what the f–?”

“I’m gonna call your dad,” he yells, deafening to your numb ears.

“Do not fucking call my dad,” you slur, laughing a little. “I’m fine! I’m having fun.”

“You’re fucking wasted. And that guy – he’s bad news.”

“Does it matter?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Who even are–? What the fuck is up with you right now? Yes, it fucking matters!”

“Not my dad,” you repeat as you back away, staggering over to the booth where your friends sit.

Anna storms over to meet you, slipping her wrist around yours and bringing you to a halt. “Did Sam find you?” she asks. Her hands plant on your shoulders, and she dips her head until you’re eye to eye.

She’s blurry. She’s nothing but shapes, and movements, and noises. And she’s fucking pissing you off.

“Can everyone just – get the fuck off of me?” you groan, stumbling backwards, and Anna links her hands with yours to stop you from collapsing.

She pulls you back upright, leaning in close. Her head shakes, you can see that much. But her expression is cloudy, and her hands don’t let go of yours so easily when you try to pull away. The orb-like shapes in front of you mutter your name, only it’s not Anna’s voice, it’s his.

Anna’s babbling, panicked tone drives through your skull. “She’s been drinking, like, a lot, and I think she might’ve had some weed upstairs. But Sam said he saw –”

“C’mon, kid,” his voice says again, and there’s a heavy arm pulling you off to the door.

“Get – off – of – me.” You struggle in his grasp, pushing his body away from yours, fingers expecting to find the V-neck collar of a black shirt and instead finding –

Buttons. The edges of a green flannel shirt. And a soft cotton tee underneath. And then his scent washes over you: warm, sweet, earthy. Grounding.

“Joel…” you whisper, thick with fear and intoxication and need.

His jaw angles down, you catch one fleeting glimpse of his chin, graying beard, tight lips hidden beneath it, and then you’re shoving his chest again, attempting to push him as far away from your own body as he’ll go.

Only he doesn’t move.

“Fuck off,” you seethe, palms flat on his pecs. “Get the fuck away from me.”

He says your name in a hazy blur, says, “We’re goin’ home,” and you almost laugh in his face.

“I don’t f-fucking think so.”

“Yeah? Well, I do. Thanks, Anna, I got her.”

“Hey,” a fourth voice joins the chorus, “hey, you know this guy?”

Knox pushes past Joel’s arm, unlinking your fingers from his, and takes your shoulder with one rough hand. All your anger, all your rage at Joel, and yet, the second you’re separated from him, the only thing on your mind is having his hand back around yours.

Joel’s upper lip twitches, he stares at the back of Knox’s head and then scoffs, reaches by him again to take your wrist. You let him have it. “Come on,” he says.

Knox is rounding on him, holding Joel back with a palm flat to his chest. “I ain’t too comfortable lettin’ her head outta here with some random old man, dude…”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the –

Joel’s jaw ticks. His expression falls blank, narrowed eyes looking up and down Knox’s frame as you tremble behind it, Anna’s steady arm around your shoulders.

“Take your hand off of me, and move aside,” he snarls, voice dangerous. You can hear the threat, and at the same time, the desperate attempt from within himself to hold off.

“Hey,” Anna reaches forward, tapping Knox’s shoulder three times with a glittery nail, “she knows him. It’s fine. He’s fine.”

“Nah, man,” Knox hisses back, “who the fuck even are you? You ain’t takin’ her anywhere.”

You step forward, putting yourself between the two of them, hands clumsily landing on each of their shoulders. “He’s a f…my dad’s friend,” you slur, eyes unfocused.

Knox isn’t listening. He hasn’t listened the entire fucking night. His eyes are set on Joel’s as he wraps a tight fist around your free arm, trying to pull you closer to him. Only he’s hurting you, and your fingers struggle to pry yourself free, so you look up at Joel.

You couldn’t see Anna’s expression. Couldn’t make out the worry on her face that her voice clued you in on. You could barely even see Sam, when he dragged you out of the dark corner of the bar.

But you can see Joel. See the shadow his brows cast over his glower, see his thin lips, see the tightening of his jaw. See the rage inside him like it’s an alarm beacon, flashing red from behind his eyes.

Knox tugs angrily on your wrist. “You just gonna let this asshole ruin your night?”

“Let go of m-me,” you murmur, suddenly feeling the bar’s eyes on you. Your face reddens with heat from the alcohol, doubled by your embarrassment.

When he hears you, Joel’s face contorts into one you’ve never seen on his face in your life. Fury, disgust and fury, twisting his lip and tugging on his brows. He leans in and rips yours and Knox’s hands apart, pulling you free and shifting you behind his body with as much effort as it’d take him to click his fingers. Your weak hand reaches out to take a fistful of his shirt, holding onto him at his spine.

The men square up to one another, Joel at least four inches taller and, despite Knox’s built form, far broader. Knox takes a step forward and Joel matches.

“Joel…” you whisper, catching Anna’s gaping stare over his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Miller?” Sam edges in from behind Knox. “I’m gonna have to ask that you…don’t…do this, but if you have to, can y’all maybe move it out to the street?”

“Do I gotta do somethin’?” Joel asks Knox. You pull in closer to his back, trying to hide your face from the spotlight cast on you by what feels like thousands of drunken eyes staring directly at you.

Knox thinks it over for a moment. You can see Zack watching like a deer in the headlights from behind his buddy. He’s seen Joel before, and you know from the way his eyes stick on him that he recognizes him. Remembers how briskly he swept you out of the soft drinks section, how blunt he was about it.

The V-neck swells with the deep inhale its wearer takes, and then he shakes his head, sighing. Smug smirk thick across his lips.

“Nah, man. I didn’t think she was gonna be worth the fuck anyways, so.”

Joel clicks his teeth, gives his head one quick shake, mutters a resigned, “Alright,” then reaches back, and nudges you gently by the stomach until you’re safely out of reach.

And then he swings.

Once, catching Knox across the corner of his jaw, sending his face skyward. The crowd around the three of you gasps. Knox’s burly chest twists, and he staggers backward. His hands come up to clutch his face before Joel’s taking the collar of his shirt in his fist, reeling him in and holding him steady.

“Joel!” you yell, but he doesn’t fucking hear you.

His second blow lands square on Knox’s nose with a crack loud enough even for your numb ears to hear over the thudding music. Blood sprays from his nostrils and floods down into his mouth, smearing across his cheek as Joel’s knuckles ricochet off the square face. The crimson pours down his chin, spattering onto his shirt, bright and shocking against the stretched black material.

Joel lets him drop and he collapses onto all fours, coughing blood and spit and whatever the fuck else onto the dark floor.

“Fuck!” Knox screams, fingers trembling over his burst nose – thick, dark droplets running down his hands. “You motherfucker, you broke my fucking nose!”

Joel stoops down, takes the back of Knox’s shirt in two rough hands and hauls him up until he’s limp on his knees.

“I ever see you around here again,” he growls, “I ever find out you’ve been anywhere near her, as much as looked in the same fuckin’ direction as her, I’ll do worse ‘n break your Goddamn nose. You hear me?”

Knox whimpers, more blood dribbles from between his lips, and Joel throws him down. He turns back to you, massaging his knuckles with his thumb, and grabs your hand.

Your voice is weak with shock. “What the f-uck was that?”

“Just – come on,” he says, dragging you out of Frank’s without another word.

He leads your wobbly form down the street, past chattering crowds toward his black truck, opening the door for you and helping your unsteady limbs up into the passenger side, before he closes the door over and strides around to the driver’s side.

When he shuts his door – more of a slam – he sighs, head leaning back. His hand clenches and then relaxes, loosening his knuckles, hissing anytime the quickly-darkening skin stretches.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“What you sorry for?”

You shrug. Your mouth trips over words. “…gettin’ you into a barfight.”

He doesn’t look over at you. Just Hms and switches the ignition on, pulling away from the busy curb.

“Where’s m-my dad?” you slur.

“Work. Site inspection, remember?”

You nod, turning back to the road when you start to feel motion sick. Your eyes feel like they’re spinning in their sockets, your stomach flips with the slightest turn. “He get that delivery?” you ask, letting Joel know you heard the phone call earlier.

His jaw turns in your direction. Letting you know he knows you heard it. “Yeah. He’ll be home in a couple hours.”

“Did Sam c-call him?”

“No. Why?”

You lean your head against the passenger window, the cold distracting your brain from the ache in your head. The streetlights sail by in a blur. The engine rattles through the glass.

“Asked ‘im not to.”

“Yeah? ‘n why’s that?”

Your head rolls back onto the headrest as you decide on an answer. I didn’t want him seeing me drunk and high. I don’t care about you seeing me drunk and high. I just wanted to see you.

“’s never seen me drunk.”

“Or high?”

You snort. “I’m not…”

When your head slants to the left to look at Joel, his face turns from yours. He was just looking at you, and you missed it. Probably had that look on his face, that Nice try, kid expression.

“Okay…” you admit, spiritless, “a little high, then.”

“Anna was the one who called,” Joel says. “Said you were hammered, some guy was all over you, ‘n Sam watched him put somethin’ in your drink. They couldn’t find you anywhere. She was fuckin’ hysterical.”

Your head bobs with the moving truck. “When’d he put someth…?”

Joel shrugs. “I dunno. But I believe it.”

So do I, you think. Knox was on you from the minute he saw you. Tight grip around your waist, your wrist, drawing you into him with beer and weed and whatever else he had in his pockets. The comment that had warranted him two bone-breaking punches from Joel all but confirmed the intentions he had in mind. And now you feel fucking stupid.

“I didn’t really…I only had a couple sips of it,” you hear yourself saying, head heating with embarrassment – an attempt to convince him, or maybe more yourself, that you’re not as dumb as leaving your drink to be roofied.

Your voice sounds pathetic, though, and Joel doesn’t say anything to make you feel better. Doesn’t say anything to make you feel worse, either – the silence does that by itself.

You bring your knees up to your chin, nestling a little into the seat. It could almost feel like nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed, except you’re intoxicated, and Joel’s hands are firmly by his person. Not on your thigh, or tangled between your fingers like they usually would be.

You study him. Stare at every part of him like it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see it, until the gentle curve of his nose and the glint of his watch face are burned into the back of your eyelids when you close them over. Face lit red from the brake lights in front, right hand sitting idly on his thigh.

He looks like your Joel. Almost. Just a little closed off. Distant.

But he came to get you, right? Damn near punched Knox’s lights out, took you by the hand, led you back to the safety of his truck. He came straight to Frank’s as soon as Anna called. And he’s taking you home. He’s looking out for you.

So why doesn’t he feel like your Joel?

Well. You can wager a pretty solid guess. It starts with L and ends with comma, Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire.

The dark silhouette of your house looms overhead as Joel pulls into your drive. Sure enough, your dad’s not home.

The engine cuts and your head drops, eyes fixing on your hands clasped in your lap. You know Joel’s watching you. What the fuck is he thinking about?

Fuck that. Don’t think about that. Let’s not dive into that pool of imagination.

“Well, thanks.” You do your best to smile, without really looking at him. Your fingers find the door handle and you tug on it, pushing it open and spilling out onto your driveway.

You hear Joel sniff behind you. “Need a hand?”

“I’m good,” you call back, only just managing to stay on your feet.

The cold air helps a little to waken you up, sharpen your senses, but the world around you is still a whir of dull color and shapelessness, and you wobble across to the house in a route of zig-zags, boots almost tripping over thin air as you go. When you reach your front door, you hear his truck lock and the shadow of him appears by your side.

“I said I’m good.”

“I ain’t leaving you, kid. You’re hammered.”

You roll your eyes and open your mouth to protest, but then he’s taking the keys out of your hand and unlocking the door himself, hand on your back as he ushers you into your own house.

“I’m f-fine,” you repeat, tripping over the doorway.

“Look it.”

You meander over to the stairs, and when your foot manages to find the first step, Joel says your name. Your gaze sweeps across the floor until it meets his boots, travels up his legs, and finally rests on his outstretched hand.

“Water,” he tells you.

“I’m fine,” you say, the word losing meaning the more you utter it. “I wanna go – to bed.”

He shakes his head, and then tilts it in the direction of the kitchen.

You groan, mumble something about him being such an asshole, and walk straight by his hand.

Joel doesn’t react. Just follows you and hits the lights, which burn your eyes when they flicker to life. You wince and point up to them.

“Off,” you bluntly order, and he grunts, stepping back to oblige. You’re plunged straight back into darkness.

You’re holding yourself unsteadily against the edge of the kitchen island, whole body swaying. The room is fucking spinning, the lights out back swirling with it in a blur of white motion before your eyes. You swallow dryly and turn around to focus on Joel.

He’s filling a glass over the sink. “What happened to your leg?” he asks over his shoulder.

You turn your knee, examining the dent in your calf where the stool leg cut into you. The dry burgundy stain like a backwards seam line on your skin, emerging from a bright red bruise slowly fading to deep purple.

“Fell off a stool,” you mutter, angling it in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Joel Hms again. “You got anything to cover it?”

You shrug, having lost any and all energy to barter back with him. He slides the glass across the countertop to you, followed by a bottle of painkillers, then turns back to the open drawer he pulled them from and begins rummaging for a band-aid.

Your shaky hand lifts the glass to your lips. It’s cold and slippery in your grasp, drops of condensation running over your fingers like the blood from Knox’s nose had run over his. The more you tighten your grip, the harder it becomes to hold, until it’s sliding from your clutch.

“Easy,” Joel murmurs, appearing at the side of you and placing his hands over yours, holding the glass still.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you say, eyes focusing and then unfocusing on the marks at the base of his fingers, the dabs of dark red where the skin has burst.

He slowly lowers your hands until the glass is safely back on the counter, and then pulls away from you, drawing his swollen knuckles in to his body.

“They’re bleedin’,” you repeat, looking up at him.

“I know they’re bleedin’.”

“Let me see,” you step forward, “Joel. Let me–”

He catches your hands in his. Pushes them back down. Stares at the counter, sighs instead of replying.

Your eyes sting, filling with tears that crowd your already-blurred vision. The punch you feel to your gut brings you to your senses as if it drains you of every substance in your system all at once.

It’s like he’s broken up with you all over again. And it pisses you the fuck off.

“Fuck you,” you whisper into the dark, and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lift his eyes, doesn’t even flinch. “Fuck you, so much.”

You’re staring him down, what little you can see of him in the pale light cascaded onto him through the shades. The crease between his brows, more prominent with the frown on his face; the line his lips form with the tight clench of his jaw.

Fucking look at me, you think. He can say something back – anything. You can stand and hiss horrible words at one another, yell at each other if that’s what he wants to do. Argue until you’re blue in the face, until the alcohol’s all dried up and the moonlight on his chest is replaced by sunlight. Just fucking look at me.

“You’re an asshole and a liar, you know that?”

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Just stringing me along this whole time.”

You blink away the tears before they can fall, making room for more. They’re forming rapidly, each time heavier, and thicker, and angrier. But fuck it, right? This is over. He’s done, and you’re done. Just ignore the pain of it, stick your finger in the wound and keep pushing until you hit bone.

“That guy you punched? He was all over me. All fucking night.”

Joel’s voice is toneless. He’s already over the conversation before it’s begun. “I know he was, kid.”

“We kissed.”

“I know that, too.”

“Had his hands all over me. ‘n if it hadn’t been him, it woulda been literally any other guy in there.”

The words are starting to bleed into one another in your inebriated state. Anger turning to rage turning to fear turning to shame turning to hurt turning back into anger.

“Woulda kissed any one of ‘em. Mighta let them take me home, mighta let them fuck me.”

His head gives an involuntary shake and he blinks. Like he’s trying to wash the thought away. The image of you under someone else, moaning someone else’s name, pulling someone else into your body.

“That piss you off? It make you hate me?”

And then he looks up. Finally, his gaze locks with yours. And his eyes are just as glassy, just as fucking full of tears as yours. He replies with the worst thing he could possibly come up with. It forces the breath from your lungs in a painful exhale.

“There ain’t a thing in this world that you could do that would make me hate you, you know that.”

And then your tears start to fall. Your façade breaks. Stone crumbles. Dam bursts. They fall onto your cheeks, searing on your heated skin, rolling down onto the front of your dress in dark splatter marks.

Through a sob, you choke out another, “Fuck you, Joel,” and then, when you catch your breath, “you don’t get to – to sleep with someone else, and make me feel like the idiot for it.”

He looks up at you with a dark expression, lips locked tight like he’s refusing to let something slip. He shakes his head, and then says, “Can we not have this conversation right now?”

You scoff. A drunken, angry scoff. “You don’t wanna talk about her? When’s a good fuckin’ time, then? When suits you and f-fuckin’ – Lois?”

He falls quiet. Presses his fingers into his eyes. Sighs. “Baby,” he says into his palms.

“’m not your fucking baby,” you whisper between your teeth.

“Baby.” He drops his hands. Looks you dead in the eye. “I did not sleep with Lois.”

You’re frozen to the spot. Your lips fall apart, coated in salty tears. You’re holding your breath, though you’re not sure what for. The room stops spinning for all of ten seconds until he speaks again.

“I didn’t. I know what that message sounded like. Know how you musta heard it. But nothin’ happened, nothin’ has ever happened. Nothin’ would ever happen,” he says, a little more animated, tossing his hands in the air.

You stare between his eyes. He’s still enough that your fucked brain can focus on them, can see plain as day – even in the dark kitchen, even through your cloudy tears and all of the poison in your blood – that he’s telling the truth.

“Ex-plain,” you say dryly, looking down to his lips.

Joel sighs again. “I told you I had work to do. Had to head over to Clark’s to order that stuff for your dad. Saw her there, said hi. ‘n that’s all.”

Your eyes slowly close over, wet lashes on hot, dehydrated skin. Your ears are ringing, your body aching. You breathe a sigh as what he says sinks into your slow, throbbing brain, and then lull to one side, slumping against the counter.

“You didn’t…you didn’t think this was worth tellin’ me on Monday?”

“Tried, baby. You were gone. You were so angry; thought it’d be better if I let you cool off.”

“You’re – a fucking – idiot,” you seethe, shaking your head. It’s starting to pound again, sharp pain right behind your eyes like they’re being tugged backwards.

“Well, tonight, I guess that makes two of us.”

You grimace at him. “Lettin’ me go for four fuckin’ days thinking that –”

“– thinkin’ that I would actually cheat on ya? ‘s that what you think a’ me?”

“What did you ex-pect? You didn’t exactly try to – c-clear it up.” You step back, lifting a hand to cup your forehead with a groan. A mix of frustration, pain, and exhaustion in the form of a slow-moving ache hauls its way from one temple to the other.

“Baby, I gotta get you to bed,” Joel says, stepping forward. “We can talk about this when you’re able to see straight.”

“I’m fine,” you whimper, but it’s the least convincing you’ve sounded all night.

“Kid–”

“Don’t fucking call me kid. Like it’s some pet name, like you give a damn about me–”

“You think I don’t give a damn about you? You think I don’t care?”

Your head wobbles in response. It sends the room hurtling again, Joel’s figure swimming in and out of your vision. You grab the countertop again in attempt to freeze him in place.

He tuts and turns his jaw. “You know how much sleep I’ve had these last few days? Not a fuckin’ minute. I ain’t slept a single night, worryin’ about you ‘n what’s goin’ through your head. Like I give a damn about you. I wish I didn’t give a damn about you, baby. Make my life a whole lot easier.”

“Then, show me. Fucking prove it to me.”

“Prove it to you how? Break some asshole’s nose in a bar? Take you home when you’re wasted?”

Yeah. And also, no. Not just that.

You seethe. “You know what the fuck I mean. Do something about it.”

“I can’t,” he says, raising his voice. “Can’t take you out on dates, can’t put my arm around you, can’t kiss you ‘less there ain’t nobody watchin’. I can’t do none of what I wanna do. This is – it’s fuckin’…”

“…impossible,” you breathe, thick and slurred.

Joel lifts his head then, sees the look in your eye. He sniffs. “’s pretty damn hard, yeah.”

You tip your head back, feel the weight of your tears and your eyes and your brain slap against the back of your skull, a nauseating pull at the nape of your neck. You’re defeated. Nothing left in you to argue, talk, even so much as breathe.

Your words drag between one another, each one beginning with the remnants of the one before it.

“Just - take me to bed.”

He’s standing inches from you, hands hovering over your own, hesitant or unwilling or fucking afraid to touch you.

You ball your fists against his chest and give him one tiny, ineffective shove. But he’s bigger, stronger, sober. He doesn’t budge. Accepting defeat, you breathe one last, “Fuck you,” and brush past him, staggering out of the kitchen.

Joel – water and painkillers in hand – watches you like a hawk going upstairs, arms braced for you to lean on anytime you begin to tumble backward. When you do, his hand brushes your elbow, and you whip it out of his reach and reel it back in to your body.

He settles you on the bed just like he did six days ago, after your rodeo night. Only he doesn’t kneel, doesn’t take your boots off. Just walks away, grabs a tee from your chest of drawers and hands it to you to slip into by yourself.

You don’t even have to open your eyes. You know which one he’s given you. Can tell from the feel of the material, the cracked lettering on the chest, that it’s his Rangers shirt, the same one he put on you the first night you slept together. Smells more like you than it does him these days, but feels just like he always does. And as he waits a safe two-feet from you for you to change, no hands reaching out to help, to fix your hair, to stroke your cheek – you think the shirt will just have to do.

Everything he does is close enough for you to recognize him as Joel, and yet distant enough for him to be someone totally different. Every move he makes is pre-determined, all outcomes already analyzed and mapped, all risks carefully averted. It’s like he’s walking a minefield.

He hands you a couple of pills and helps with lifting the water to your lips. Then he sits at the end of your bed and applies the band-aid while you drag a makeup wipe clumsily over your face.

His thumbs linger on your fucked leg, rubbing over the padded dressing a few times after it’s stuck on, gentle and slow. Eyes never leaving the spot your skin broke open. And then, when you’re done with it, he takes the makeup wipe and quickly runs it down your calf, cleaning the dry blood from your skin.

Touch as delicate as though he were holding a rose – fingers brushing over your body like you might tear or fall apart at the slightest movement. When he’s done, he makes his way around to the opposite side of the bed.

“There’s a sleeping bag in the hall closet if you’d rather take the floor,” you tell him, rolling back and pulling your knees to your chin.

“Nah,” Joel says with the groan of a near-fifty-year-old man, kicking his boots off and propping his pillows up. “We’re close enough by now.”

He pulls the flannel from his shoulders and tosses it to the end of the bed, then slips in under the covers beside you, clasping his hands on his chest. His entire body a perfectly polite distance away.

Your wrist lifts, weak and limp, and your fingers ghost across his red wine knuckles. He winces a little, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as you trace the curves of his hands, surfing the valleys where the bone drops, then back up to the peaks where the blood breaks from his skin.

“You didn’t have to…” you whisper. “He was just some dirtbag.”

He sniffs. Replies to you in his head, translated through the look in his eye. Wasn’t all about the dirtbag.

And you know it. Knox was just an asshole who took the hit for the last four days. Sure, he deserved it. But his big, ugly face and the uglier words which happened to tumble out of it were simply a punchbag full of sand; Joel’s fist hammering into it was as much about defending you as it was about punishing someone, anyone, the first fucker who wound up on the wrong side of him, for everything that had happened.

He's angry. At himself and at you and at this entire fucking mess. And you’re angry. At yourself and at him and at the very same thing. The two of you lie side by side in the dark, both broken and bruised and bleeding. You let out a small, pathetic sigh, and Joel echoes it.

His eyes close over and you stare at him. Stare at the faint lines on his face that slowly fade as he relaxes more, falls closer and closer to sleeping. Watch his chest slowly rising and falling, and his hands moving up and down with it. His entire body is still. Like it’s the first calm he’s had in a while. The first time he’s been able to settle.

And you stare at him. For hours, feels like. You stare at him until sleep, or alcohol, or something stronger coats over your vision and sweeps him out of focus.

----------

The wall opposite your window is lit with a single stripe of bright, nauseating orange, the sunrise staring in between your drapes. There are birds screaming outside. Your head is still throbbing and your throat feels like splintered wood and the other side of your bed is empty.

He can’t have left long ago. The mattress is still warm under the sheets he’s folded back over. His shirt is sat folded on the pillowcase.

You grab it and haul yourself out of bed – head still spinning, you trip out of your room.

He’s gotta be in the kitchen. He’ll be standing at the counter drinking a coffee, he’ll mumble a Mornin’, then pull you in and kiss the top of your head. He’ll ask how you’re feeling and if you want some breakfast. He’ll be Joel again.

“Joel…?” you call, rounding the bottom of the stairs toward the kitchen. No response.

The clock on the oven reads 5:57. The kitchen is deserted. When you loop around the island – as if he’d be crouched behind it or something – you notice an empty mug sitting in the sink, trails of black coffee at the bottom.

Your shaking hands cup around the ceramic. It’s cooling, but it’s warm.

He’s been in here.

“Joel!” you yell. Come out, now, this ain’t funny anymore.

You hear the squeak of wheels rolling to a stop outside and flee over to the living room windows, daybreak burning your eyes when you peer through the shades.

You’re frantically searching, going blind with the bright rays singeing your corneas, pacing back and forth between each window to get an angle on the street that will show you his truck. Show you him.

You don’t even notice the sound of keys in the door, or the rattle it makes as it pushes open.

“Hey, kiddo.”

You whip around. The owner of the voice lifts a hand to his puffy eyes and rubs them, yawning.

“H-hi, Dad.”

You look fucking insane. Hair all over the place, makeup haphazardly removed, Joel’s flannel shirt hanging from your fist. Wearing nothing but a long tee, a blood-seeped band-aid on your calf.

“Good night?” he says with a sleepy chuckle. “I am pooped. You want anythin’ before I head up to bed?”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Alright, I’m gonn–”

“Where’s Joel?”

Your desperation has reached a new high. Your pride, a new low. You just want him back, don’t care who knows or thinks or suspects what. Just come back.

“Huh?”

“Joel? He brought me home and I woke up and he’s gone.”

“He – Well, I…I suppose he’ll be at work, hon. He can’t stick around here all day.” He smiles weakly, and then swivels on his heels.

“He text you?”

He sighs, his back still turned. “What has gotten into…? Here.”

Your dad twists and throws his phone toward you. It lands on the carpet at your feet. Then he turns back and begins climbing the stairs.

“See ya in a few hours.”

When he turns the corner on the landing and his footsteps fade out of earshot, you bend and your fingers clutch his phone.

He has one unread text from Joel.

You unlock the phone with a click and open up the message thread. Your half-drunk, half-sleepy eyes flit across the screen, leaning back against the arm of the couch to read every word he ever sent your dad.

Joel: She’s in bed. Sat with her for a bit to make sure she didn’t roll onto her back. She’s a little worse for wear. I got a job up in Waco I need to be at in an hour, so I gotta head.

You scroll further back.

Joel: She okay?

Joel: Sarah says she hasn’t heard from her in a few days. We can come over for dinner tonight if you reckon that might help?

Further back still.

Joel: Sure, not doing anything anyway. Sarah in Nashville. Tell her to text me when she’s ready to be picked up. Hope she enjoys her rodeo night 🤠

Joel: Table booked for 6. Get you both at 5:45. Looking forward to it.

You scroll until your eyes hurt.

Joel: No answer. She’ll be home soon I bet.

Joel: You ever seen Grey’s Anatomy? Pretty good TV

Joel: Your daughter available tonight to help me put up stuff for Sarah coming home? I fear what might happen if I attempt it myself

You read the final message, the first thing he sent your dad after you got home. Six days in. He’d driven you home from work.

Joel: No problem, wouldn’t have her walking home in the rain. Was nice to see her again. She’s a sweetheart.

You’re laid back across the couch, your legs hanging over the armrest. You drop the phone to your chest and stare up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling a lot more sober.

She’s a sweetheart.

Your throat tightens around a sob. Like a fist clenching around your neck, crushing your breath to nothing. Your eyes well, tears slowly flood across your vision and then spill over, running rapidly down to your ears and seeping into the fabric of the couch. You’re still silent. Still unable to open your mouth.

You’re doing everything you can to hold back. To stop it from happening. But your chest feels like it could burst, and your eyes are screwing shut tighter and tighter, and your body curls up like an animal succumbing to a mortal wound, and then –

Then, you break.

It forces its way from your throat, hammering against the sides of your mouth before it’s escaping, tearing away from your lips and hurtling skyward. A deep, violent exhale. Broken, and painful, and heavy.

There’s no one to hold back for. Just you, sat in your living room, clutching the flannel of a man who doesn’t want you anymore.

Your breath stammers, shudders against the palms of your hands as your fingertips massage your eyes. You’re crying like a little kid, and it’s not making you feel any better, but no matter what you do, it won’t stop.

And you don’t know why. You tell yourself that: I don’t know why I’m crying. Almost laugh when you think it through to yourself: sobbing at 6AM over someone you were sleeping with, for all of, what, four weeks? I don’t know why the fuck I’m crying.

Except – you do. You do. And you’re totally, completely, undeniably fucked.

You sigh and close your eyes.

You are – fucked.

----------

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[imtryingbuck]

Affair

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Affair

Summary: Y/n founds out about her husband’s affair.

Word count: 1207

Warnings: Angst, Bucky is not good in this im sorry. Sad yet strong reader. Infidelity. Sharon and Steve. Little teeny tiny bit of body hate. Swear words.

A/n: there’s a line from my favourite song of Adeles.

Masterlist

Part 2

The day she found out her husband was having an affair it felt like time had stopped. Thousands of questions sworn inside her head, she didn’t blame her husband or the other woman nope she blamed herself. It was her fault her husband was unfaithful, it was her fault she had not been enough for him, it was her fault for not satisfying his needs. It was her fault. 

After the self-blaming and self-hating she moved on to anger. Angry at her husband betraying her, angry at the other woman - a woman she had called a friend for 15 years - angry at herself, just unadulterated anger. 

Then came the self-pity party, where all she did was cry and cry and cry. She would stand in front of the full body mirror just in her underwear, picking at every single detail on her skin hating what she saw in the reflection. Then she would cry even more due to the fact that after finally loving and being kind to her own body, she was back to hating it. However, she didn’t just feel sorry for herself, no, no she felt sorry for her husband, her children, her husband’s mistress and the husband of her husband’s mistress.

Oh and then there was denial - but that went straight out of her head pretty quickly, after all she did catch them going at it with her own two eyes.

And finally came acceptance. She accepted her husband’s extra marital affair, she accepted that she had been betrayed by two people close to her. Completely aware that her marriage was over and dead.

Her heart remained broken though, that would never change.

~~~

The sound of the door opening use to bring a smile on Y/ns face, sending her straight to the door awaiting him like a goddamn lapdog. Now though all it did was make her wonder which excuse she was going to be given. 

Sitting on the sofa with her knees pulled up staring at the tv screen, chuckling quietly to herself as Peter Griffin continues his antics, wondering to herself why Lois puts up with him. Already smelling the mistress’s perfume on him makes her roll her eyes. 

“Hey bab-“

“I filed for divorce.”

He actually has the audacity to act shocked “w-what do you mean? Bab-“

“Stop. Just stop. I know about your affair, I know you’ve been sleeping with Sharon for the past six months, probably longer I don’t know” mumbling the last part quietly “but all that matters is that I know so now we’re getting divorced.”

She sees him in her peripheral nervously shifting foot to foot, colour completely drained from his face, is that tears? Gross. Before he can even get a good enough excuse for his betrayal straight, she continues.

“Don’t say anything it’s not going to change my mind or decision. I spoke with my lawyer who thinks I’m being to kind - his words not mine - anyway I told him in don’t want money or the house from you. Custody will be split between us evenly” standing up wrapping her arms around herself “you know at first I wanted so many answers but now I just want to know one thing, do you think you can be honest for once? Do you actually think Sharon is going to want you know that I’m leaving you? Think you both can run off into the sunset and live happily ever after?” Using a baby like voice at the end she chuckles at his expression, she can’t tell if it’s heartbreak that she’s leaving him or heartbreak that his mistress isn’t going to want him anymore - laughable. 

“The answer is no by the way. I feel bad though, you both deserve each other. Both so wrapped up in your own selflessness that you were happy to ruin two marriages, two families! To betray, lie and deceive your spouses who happen to be friends! All for what? Sex?” Stepping back when he tries to reach out “don’t fucking touch me! Don’t you dare try and touch me AFTER you’ve been with her! What the actual fuck is wrong with you? And don’t you dare stand there and cry! You did this, you both did. Oh and Steve knows” Literally as she said that his phone started ringing “Go ahead and answer it’s probably your best friend or your mistress, go ahead James and answer” at the sound of his first name he flinched, he pulled his phone out and sighed, declining the call he looked back at the woman who he had the privilege of calling his wife. The mother of his children, the woman who he has loved from the moment he was introduced to her. The woman who he cheated on.

“I’m sorry” is all he could say, he really didn’t remember how the affair started or why on earth he continued it, he has this perfect wife at home, his other half his soulmate and he cheated, he couldn’t even give her a good enough excuse. His guilt was hitting like a ton of bricks, he betrayed his wife and his best friend all for a quick fuck that wasn’t even good.

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that when the morning comes, you’re going to have no one. I feel for you James honestly - stop swaying you’re making me feel seasick, sit down.” Watching him sit on the chair she moves to sit where she was originally sat before.

“Listen I just want to get this off my chest before I go to bed okay, I have loved you so deeply that I honestly don’t think I’d ever stop loving you but James I can’t forgive you, maybe one day in the future I will but not right now. I have been stood by your side through every single thing that has happened to you, and yet you betray me. I don’t know what went wrong with us but whatever I did I’m sorry-“ when he tries to intervene she puts her hand up “Just listen! I’m sorry that our story has ended this way but i can’t trust you anymore or even stand the sight of you if I’m being honest. You have given me something that I can't live without, you mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt. But this is where our story ends.” 

Wiping her tears with the sleeve of her jumper, she stands up stronger and taller than ever before. 

“You can sleep on the sofa or head to Sharon’s I know Steve said he’d be staying with Sam and Nat. Tomorrow I’ll be taking the kids to our new house and then I guess we’ll go from there” Shrugging her shoulders as she doesn’t know what else to say to him. “Goodnight James, I truly hope you all the best”

Once in the comfort of her bedroom she listens to hear his movements but all she can hear are his cries. Smiling sadly, she climbs into the bed, she fears the unknowing of what her future holds whilst also excited for it.

For the first time since she found out about her husband’s affair she sleeps peacefully.

~ banners credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[endless-ineffabilities]

tongue in cheek - four

Tom Bennett x f!reader

masterlist ▪︎ part one - part two - part three

The reader and Tom continue to dance around other, flirting and sharing stolen moments. But where is it all headed?

You don't get to finish the words.

The door opens, and Lois barges into the room. Balancing two saucers of tea in her hands.

"Oh!" She exclaims, sheepishly, noting how close her brother is to you. "Sorry, I just - "

"Aw, Lois, come on." Tom nearly whines at his sister.

"Sorry," she says firmly, not having any of Tom's attitude. "I just thought that y/n might want some tea as well. You can get your own." She hands one saucer to you with a knowing smile.

You sit down on your bed, and take a nervous sip, scanning the wallpaper patterns to distract yourself. Tom is still watching you, his eyes intently looking at your lips.

"So... what were you gettin' up to?" Lois' eyes twinkle with mischief. Obviously she's deduced what was about to happen.

Oh nothing, it's just that your brother was going to kiss me. You raise your head, and meet his eyes. He simply smirks at you, and you can't help but feel warm inside. And it's not because of the flippin' tea.

"Y'know," Tom shrugs, then gestures to you. "Just getting acquainted with this beauty here."

You narrow your eyes at him. Try me.

"Riiight," Lois eyebrows rise as high as they possibly go. "Well, I guess I could - "

"I'll head downstairs for a moment. See what Douglas is up to." You stand abruptly, your teacup rattling as a result.

Tom calls your name, telling you to "Hold on, doll."

God, I can't bear to look at him right now, otherwise I just might snog him in front of Lois.

"I need some air," you glance at him briefly, before slinkering out of the bedroom door, and out of Tom's bloody reach.

You take a deep breath, and try to compose yourself while at the top of the staircase.

Tom's and Lois' hushed voices could be heard from the room, and you catch hints of what could be - "Bad timing" - "Don't be a fool!" - "... my friend" - and of course a lovely contribution from Tom - "Bloody cockblock."

Douglas spots you after you descend the staircase. He kindly asks, "You alright? You look flushed. Tom wasn't being rude or anything, was he?"

Rude? Maybe he's rude for not kissing me fast enough.

"Oh, not at all," you smile sweetly, joining him at the table.

"That's good. I know he can be..." Douglas trails off, and you shrug in understanding. Tom can be a lot of things, alright. Is he a good snog though? I almost found out.

"Well, I was just makin' dinner," Douglas points to the steaming pot on the stove. "Should be ready in a few minutes."

Heavy booted footsteps come pounding down the stairs, and Tom materializes in the kitchen. He stands beside your chair, hand resting on the back.

"Alright?"He throws out a nonchalant greeting. Douglas merely hums in response. When Tom notices that you barely acknowledged his presence, he leans in close to your ear, "Alright, doll?"

He's so close that if you turn your head to the side, your noses might bump into each other. You give him a sideways glance, before dryly saying, "Oh, I'm just dandy, sweetheart."

He's making your heart race, and he knows it. Enjoys it even.

This prick. This... handsome prick.

Tom, due to his godforsaken lack of shame, quickly presses his lips to your cheek. The resulting kiss is fleeting, and lasts for but a millisecond. But you still feel him, even when he leans away, the lips that just grazed your cheekbone stretched wide in his enduring cheeky smile.

He jumps back on his heel, as if nothing out of the ordinary has just occurred.

"Quit pesterin' her, son," Douglas scolds, then gives you a look of sympathy. You wonder if he caught that little kiss Tom gave you, but you know it wouldn't matter to Tom either way.

"Need a beer," Tom simply says, as he walks over to the fridge. His prize in hand, he brings it to his lips and expertly uncaps it with his teeth. You can't help but watch him with intent, wondering why he even thought to kiss you in that moment.

"Call when dinner's done," Tom heads back to the staircase, and you twist in your chair, and mouth what the fuck at him.

He gets the message, but true to form, opts to answer you with a bloody wink. His expression remains smug even when he reaches his bedroom.

Tom - 1, You - 0

For now.

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

For the next week, the tension is heightened, each and every moment you're around Tom.

In the room you both share with Lois, he always makes sure to give you lingering looks when she's not looking. Or purposefully initiating skin-to-skin contact whenever he brushes past you.

A gentle hand on your shoulder. On your back. Once he even claims to spot an eyelash on your cheek, so his brilliant solution is to grip your face with both hands and gently blow on the supposed spot.

For a long moment he just stays in place, even with the rogue eyelash gone. You feel his strong, callused fingers moving against your skin. His bright blue eyes land on your lips, then back to your wide-eyed stare.

"Like a pretty little deer in headlights," he hums.

Well, he isn't wrong. If only Lois... wait, Lois!

That realization renders you alert, and out of your Tom-induced haze. You quickly step back from him, and with a nervous laugh, and a glance at Lois who sits by the boudoir, you make sure to raise your voice to say, "Gee, well, uh, thanks for that, Tom."

Tom merely gives you a nod. You notice his usual smirk is not in place, and his brows are furrowed as he examines his shoes.

"I've got to go," Tom mumbles near incoherently. He seems careful not to touch you as he walks past, giving you as wide of a berth as he can.

The bedroom door shuts behind him, and you slump down on your bed. It's just never the right moment, is it?

"You fancy my brother," Lois nonchalantly declares, as she skims her book.

"What?" You swivel around to look at her, appearing shocked at her observation. "I... I don't - "

"Come on," Lois throws you a meaningful look, and you know for certain that you can't deny the truth to her. "We both know that if I weren't sharin' the room with you two, then you'd have bloody bonked each other already!" She laughs towards the end, and you can't help but mirror the gesture.

"Okay, well," you sit up cross-legged on the bed, as if preparing to have a discussion. "What do you really make of all this?"

"I think," Lois leans in, like you're schoolyard friends sharing a secret, "that you've caused my brother to go insane."

"Lois! Be serious," you groaned.

"I am serious!" she insists. "He's never been like this. Around anyone. And I've seen him with plenty of dames before."

"He likes me," you repeat, your tone unsure. "This isn't all just some cat and mouse game?"

"Mhmm," Lois happily asserts.

Tom - 1, You - 1

But where did that damn rascal go?

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

Much later, in the wee hours of the night, Tom wonders what you would think of him in the present moment.

Whether you would care that Suzy Collings from down the road is perched on his lap as they're necking on the couch in the concealed back end of the pub. If you would simply glare at the sight and walk off, or if you would grab Suzy by the collar and drag her away.

Tom thinks of how your lips would feel, as Suzy nips at his neck. He imagines how soft your hips would be, as Suzy grabs his hands and presses them to hers. His mind is occupied with the image of your face and how he adores every feature of it, as Suzy smiles at him with rouge-stained lips.

He thinks of you, when he shouldn't be. It's you every time.

Why does this all feel wrong? Tom realizes that he does not feel the slightest bit aroused even with Suzy clad in only her brassiere on top of him. The sight of your bloody knees when your skirt rides up an inch would do a much better job. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Tom thought he just has a mere infatuation with you, and he has those all the time, doesn't he? And isn't like most dames are shy about their affections towards him either.

He thought he could just go on with usual antics, and shake off this weird feeling - one that he can't quite point his finger on.

But he keeps thinking about you... you... and the two of you are not even together.

I haven't even bloody kissed her yet!

And yet... It's as if I'm already hers.

"Sorry, doll," Tom turns his cheek, avoiding another kiss. "I'm just not in the mood right now."

"Are you kidding me? When are you not in the mood, sugar?" Suzy responds, in a honeyed voice, tracing patterns on Tom's face.

"Now," Tom lifts her from his lap, and props her to the side. He then makes a flippant comment, saying, "You should get dressed. Might catch a cold and all."

"Prick," Suzy calls out as he walks away with no further explanation.

Tom leaves the pub with no clear destination intended, but he only has one thought running through his head.

You.

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

In celebration of Tom Bennett's brief return in World on Fire S2!!! A regrettable 3 minutes of screentime, but even that is a damn miracle knowing how rare it is to be granted a look at our Iceberg 💙

series taglist: @greenowlfactif @schniiipsel @tssf-imagines @aemond-secondson @ahdushenka @bat-revival @mefools @mischiefmanaged71 @svtansdaddyx @chainsawangel @tinykryptonitewerewolf @yentroucnagol @nightdiamond8663 @bookwyrmsblog @rwdkarla @saminalloxo

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Not Yours, Never Was

Pairing: Tom Bennett x nameless female character (third person perspective) Warnings: Angst. Jealousy. Eventual smut. Word count: tbc

Summary: She's been friends with Tom since childhood. When he returns to Manchester, following his escape from France, they become something more. The problem with Tom is that he's never quite willing to define what "more" actually is. Based on this request.

Full fic coming later today. Teaser below the cut!

Tom rolls off of her, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, as he gasps for breath. One arm snakes around her shoulders as she cuddles against his chest, while the other reaches for his cigarettes on the bedside table.

She basks in the closeness, a satisfying ache between her thighs, knowing the moment is almost at its end. She listens to the click of the lighter, inhaling softly through her nose as a waft of smoke fills her nostrils with its familiar scent.

Then come the words she's been dreading.

"You should probably push off home, love, Lois will be back soon." Tom tells her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

She nods, rising from the bed and beginning to dress. It's been this way ever since he came home.

Her and Tom had grown up living opposite each other on the same street. He'd teased her mercilessly, as boys will do to girls, but they'd always been friends. She'd felt sick with worry when he'd joined the navy, and her heart had broken when his father, Douglas, had told her he'd been reported as MIA in Dunkirk.

The day he'd returned to Castlefield had felt like a dream. He'd ducked in through the open back door while she was in the kitchen making tea and she'd dropped the teapot in shock when she caught sight of him. It had shattered on the tiled floor, but it didn't seem to matter, not when he stood there with that lopsided smirk of his plastered across his handsome face.

Wordlessly they'd closed the gap, kissing each other hungrily, silent outpourings of I missed you expressed with every tender touch and caress.

From that point onwards they had seized every opportunity to be together. On the nights that her dad was on late shifts at the factory, she'd leave the lamp on for Tom in her bedroom window, a signal that it was safe for him to come up; her mum had always been a sound sleeper. In turn, she'd go to his whenever Douglas and Lois weren't home.

She understood the need for privacy. Tom shared a room with his sister and she still lived with her parents, none of whom would appreciate them fornicating under the same roof. However, as the months had slipped by it occurred to her that her and Tom had never actually been on a proper date, let alone been seen in public together.

"You know, Tommy," She says, as she finishes buttoning her blouse. "There's a dance at the Wharf on Saturday, to celebrate the rest of the troops coming home."

"Yeah, I saw," He replies, rubbing his brow and taking another drag of his cigarette. "My old man brought a leaflet home from his rounds the other day."

"Thought it might be nice if we went together?" She offers with a bright smile.

Tom's eyebrows raise as his eyes widen, and he exhales smoke through his nose. "Oh, I dunno about that, love. Probably not a good idea."

She feels her heart lurch in her chest and quickly looks away, not wanting him to see how badly his words have affected her. "Right. Well, I'll see you around."

She rises from the bed, walking towards the door, and he calls after her.

"Oi! No goodbye kiss then?"

Her hand pauses on the doorknob and she responds without turning to look back at him. "Probably not a good idea."

[jotun-philosopher]

If you liked that, you might like this: Good Omens and World Of The Five Gods

Heyo! Time for another ramble~!

Good Omens has given me a bit of a taste for theologically interesting fantasy, which led me to the World of the Five Gods series by Lois McMaster Bujold -- let me tell you about it! (Not everything, but hopefully enough to whet your appetite and spark your curiosity ^_^)

Putting everything under a cut, because while this isn't really a meta and I'm going to try to avoid spoilers as far as possible, I am going to be infodumping so it's gonna get loooooooooong XD #AutismForTheWin

So! World of the Five Gods is set in a sort of fantasy-counterpart-culture version of Medieval Europe (more or less late Reconquista era), but with the map rotated 180 degrees. Consistent across countries and cultures is the Quintarian religion, which involves worship of a pantheon of five gods:

The Father of Winter, who deals with mature manhood, fatherhood, justice, fairness, leadership, natural deaths, male virility and suchlike. His colours are grey and black.

The Mother of Summer, who covers mature womanhood, motherhood, love and its results, female sexuality, birth, renewal and healing/medicine, among others. Her colour is green.

The Daughter of Spring, whose purview is youth, beauty, virginity, education and planting. Her colour is blue, which is frequently trimmed with white.

The Son of Autumn, who covers war, hunting, courage, harvest and emotion. His colours are red and orange.

The Bastard, the broadly benevolent but frequently inscrutable trickster figure of the pantheon. His purview is orphans, demons, disasters and chaos, illegitimate children, queer folks, executioners, divine justice where mortal justice fails, lives unnaturally cut short, "all things out of season". His colour is white. He likes it when his followers 'pray' to him by cursing him out, both because they're actually *thinking* about their situations and because he finds it hilarious. (His sense of humour is a bit odd...) At the uttermost end of mortal justice, when all else has failed, one can pray to the Bastard for a 'death miracle', which if successful will kill both you and the intended target via one of the Bastard's demons taking your soul and theirs.

The Quadrene religion views the Bastard as a demon rather than a god, and reviles as heretical those matters which fall within his purview.

The gods have total power over the world of spirit, but their ability to affect the world of matter is highly limited at best; they thus have to rely on mortal agents. The tool is not the work, though -- tools get broken, after all -- so being a tool of the gods tends to really fucking suck.

WotFG has (at time of writing) three novels and twelve novellas.

The novels are:

The Curse of Chalion -- The Daughter's book. An escapee from a slave galley seeks a position in the household of his old patroness, is assigned as secretary-tutor to the Royesse (= princess) of Chalion (roughly equivalent to Castile in Reconquista-era Spain) and does his darndest to protect her from the deadly court machinations of the PROFOUNDLY evil chancellor and his brother while also seeking a way to break the curse of the title. (Seriously, get you someone who's as fiercely loyal and devoted to you as Cazaril is to 'his ladies'!)

Paladin of Souls -- The Bastard's book, and direct sequel to Curse, taking place a few years later. Ista, Dowager Royina of Chalion, is fed up of being locked in her rural castle by well-meaning caretakers who mistake her god-touched status for insanity. She goes on what is ostensibly a pilgrimage for her mother's soul, and finds that the gods are not done with her yet... (not quite the little-old-lady fantasy hero I've seen tumblr posts about -- Ista's in her forties -- but she is *very* badass and outspoken; one can imagine her being played by Catherine Tate)

The Hallowed Hunt -- The Son's book, set about 250 years before Curse, in the Weald (roughly analogous to Germanic areas). Ingrey kin Wolfcliff is dispatched to a remote castle to collect a young woman called Ijada, as well as the corpse of the highborn would-be rapist whose head she bashed in with a giant war hammer. Devious machinations and long-laid schemes abound surrounding the Hallow Kingship of the Weald, into which Ingrey and Ijada are swiftly drawn.

The twelve (so far) novellas focus on Learned Penric kin Jurald, scholar and sorcerer-divine of the Bastard's order, and his demon Desdemona. They take place roughly 150 years after Hunt (so, about a century before the start of Curse) and start out set in the Cantons (equivalent to Switzerland), but Penric (and the stories) travel around a fair bit. There is some interesting gender-wibbliness involved as well, because all of Desdemona's hosts prior to Penric were female, still live on in some way within her such that Penric can channel and converse with them, and Penric has to cross-dress more than once (particularly and memorably channelling the courtesan Mira).

In terms of approximate internal chronology, the Penric novellas are:

Penric's Demon, Penric and the Shaman, Penric's Fox (collected in the omnibus titled 'Penric's Progress')

Penric's Mission, Mira's Last Dance, The Prisoner of Limnos (collected in the omnibus titled 'Penric's Travels')

Masquerade In Lodi [chronologically earlier than the stories in Penric's Travels], The Orphans of Raspay, The Physicians of Vilnoc (collected in the omnibus titled 'Penric's Labors')

The Assassins of Thasalon, Knot of Shadows, Demon Daughter (at time of writing, to the best of my knowledge, only available in e-book format)

The novels and novellas can technically be read in any order (though, being a sequel to Curse, Paladin of Souls contains spoilers for that book). Personally, I find the worldbuilding easiest to digest when reading the novels in publication order (Curse, Paladin, Hunt), then the Penric stories. It's up to you, though!

The setting of WotFG as a whole (as I mentioned at the start) is informed to varying degrees by the history of Spain's 'Reconquista' era; the influence is especially strong in The Curse of Chalion, to the point that I'd strongly advise against making a drinking game out of it -- there are parallels to persons and events you wouldn't think could *have* parallels! Good fodder for a history-side-of-tumblr meta post, though, eh? ;-) (pls tag me if you do make one, I'd love to read it!)

Having come to WotFG from Good Omens, I have a particular soft spot for the Penric stories -- there are a few parallels with GO (a small enough number that it's probably safe to make a drinking game out of it -- though I'd still recommend tumblr meta-posts as the safer and healthier alternative!), all of which are more than likely genuine coincidences, but enough to add an ineffably lovely layer of enjoyment :D Have fun finding 'em ^^ (Srsly, the AU fanfics almost write themselves...)

Happy reading!

(tagging @ao3cassandraic and @vidavalor -- I get the feeling you'll like WotFG if you haven't run across the series already)

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Does oddduck know that Bruce is Batman or is he just a billionaire helping out Superman? Bc if not it would be adorable for oddduck to go on one of her rabbit holes and gush about Batman meanwhile Clark’s eye is twitching.

I mean she knows but she knows because Clark accidentally let slip the truth- here's his eye twitching anyway

"It was fine, Clark- I just went because-"

"Fine. Right," Clark huffed, watching you pick up a box off your doorstep. "So what did-"

He breaks off and watches you for a second, watching you open the box carefully and pick up a card from the top, biting your lip as you read it before tucking it carefully aside and untying the string that held the brown paper in place. "Did you get an advance on something?" Clark asked, peering over your shoulder to see a leather-bound copy of a book.

"No-"

"It looks pricey," he said, feeling annoyed. Bruce didn't have any idea what he was doing. He couldn't. You were going to think- well. As he watched you open it carefully, skimming your fingers over the words, it was hard to tell what you thought. But, it didn't make him less annoyed.

"Y/N he's dangerous," Clark said softly.

"And you're a space Alien," you point out, "Basically any time we went out in the woods we were one laser blast away from living in ET."

"Y/N-"

"He doesn't even like me that way it's just- I talked about this book a lot when we were in Prague- and he's being nice."

"You like him," Clark said folding his arms.

"Is there anyone who doesn't? I mean isn't that-"

"No, you really like him," Clark said, straining to keep the distaste out of his voice. "But I don't think-"

"Well. Ultimately it doesn't matter what either of us think. It matters that he's just being nice and I'm a way to pass time-"

"Y/N he's not-"

"Pick a struggle, Clark. Either you want me to be happy or you want me to be bubble wrapped but those two things aren't possible at the same time," you sigh, carefully closing the book.

"The last time-"

"Is also not your business," you tell him. "I didn't ask you to interfere-"

"He was a piece of shit," Clark said, "And you just-"

"I didn't 'just' anything," you sigh. "Can you please-"

"If he doesn't treat you right-"

"We're not in a relationship!"

"Well he sent you a book so, if you're not you're the only one who doesn't know yet."

"Clark."

"Just pointing it out-"

"Well don't," you snap. "I don't interfere with you and Lois-"

"Since when?" he snorted.

"Knowing things against my will isn't the same as seeking the information out," you tell him. 'You both tell me everything. All the time. And fuck-"

When your voice breaks off and you walk away from him to get your composure back Clark stops and looks at the box on the table. "Y/N- I don't-"

"I love you both but fuck," you snap, "do you know how fucking lonely it is when your only two friends are a married couple? And every time-" You stop yourself and shake your head, wiping away frustrated tears. "You know what? It doesn't matter. Thanks for your concern but- I don't think it matters."

"Y/N-"

"I'm not talking about this anymore," you tell him. "I'll get the banana bread for you to take to Lois so you don't miss dinner."

Clark nodded silently felt quietly furious with himself as he listened to you rustling around in your kitchen. Of course you were lonely. And of course you were annoyed. And worse you felt like you couldn't say anything. "I'm sor-"

"No."

"Y/N."

"Extra no. Just take your banana bread and hug Lois for me."

"Call Ma," Clark scolded, letting himself be herded out the door, "She misses you."

"I will," you answer.

"Hey," Clark said gently, squeezing you against his side and kissing the top of your head, "I love you, kay? You're my favorite weirdo."

" 'kay," you murmur, hugging him back briefly before letting him go and stepping back into your house.

[wolfsbanesparks]

Do you think anyone has ever gotten close to solving the batfam secret identities/alter egos and just

Completely missed the mark.

Like, I have this silly HC, where someone in Gothom has the bright idea that Dick Grayson, adopted son of the richest man in Gothom, is secretly a stripper. Dick fits all the criteria coincidentally and if he lets anything from his superhero life slip, it's not really helping his case and he just has to go with it in defeat. Now he and Bruce have to collectively suffer in the public misunderstanding things, as Bruce has the popular HC of him and Batman being an item hahaha

Oh for sure! So many people get so close but never get it quite right.

Like half of Gotham think Bruce and Batman are together and the other half think they're bitter exes and that's why Batman never saves him when he's held hostage.

I can totally see people thinking Dick is a stripper. He's got the body for it and the athletic ability. The fact that he moved to Bludhaven almost exactly when Nightwing came on the scene is a coincidence.

What about the others? I like the one where Tim is a public enough figure that people think he's in a love triangle because he keeps flirting both in and out of uniform. It's probably similar to the Superman/Lois/Clark love triangle rumors. (Extra points if you ship him with another hero and it becomes rumors of a messy love square)

Duke gets called out as being the Signal because he used his powers out of uniform and just deadpans "are you saying that just because I'm black?" And the the rumor gets shut down instantly.

Cass is an amazing dancer and just jumped straight to the top of her class in ballet? Yeah Bruce is secretly one of those crazy dance moms and she's done nothing but dance since she was like 4. (No it doesn't matter that Bruce didn't adopt her until she was older)

Damian likes swords? Yeah because he's twelve and likes anime. All the kids like cool swords and think they're good at using them. (The fact that he IS twelve and DOES secretly like anime makes this hurt him so much more)

Tell me any other fun rumors y'all come up with in the tags!

[ameonds-dragonn]

Warnings: wedding, smut(spicy 😈), pregnancy, hospital giving birth, Dad!Tom, mild cussing, dirty talk, female receiving oral, p in v, begging. Sorry if I missed anything triggers or grammar errors.

A/n: Shout to the anon that suggested a smut with Tom 🤪 you knew what was up! So I would love to write more for Tom and Aemond. Any ideas you have or requests you have send me asks. On with goddamn show!

Tom proposed not too long after, he met the rest of my family. He was so nervous the week of the proposal, I thought he was sick. It was around the flu season and Tom thinks he don’t get sick. Lois was quiet when I came around, usually she won’t shut up with me. I love her but she wasn’t good at hiding the surprise.

Mother had asked my grandmother to send her wedding dress she married father in. It was a turtleneck with a bunch of lace and ruffles. Mother had altered it and took some of the layers off. I was grateful, when I first put it on I thought I was gonna die.

It is the night before the wedding, Tom had a bachelor party his work was throwing for him. I decided to stay in with Lois and Emily and my cousin, Annie had flown in. “What are you gonna do if he shows up hungover?” Emily asked

“Dragging him to the altar, no matter what” Lois giggled.

“That” I giggled

“I’m happy he’s grown up and decided to make a decent future with you. I remember you coming to meet us, I automatically hated you. But you’ve whipped him into shape and a better man” Lois said

“Thank you, Lois. So are we having a wedding for you soon?” I grinned

Lois blushed and Connie giggled

“I don’t know”

It was getting late, the wedding was early. We went into my bed and got ready for bed.

“You know if you get cold feet, I won’t blame you” Connie said as she tied her nightgown

“Connie” Lois gasped

“He’s not as bad as you think. I mean I get he is your best friend’s baby brother, he’s a different kid” I replied. I liked Connie but she always teased Tom, I wasn’t in the mood for it.

There was knock on my door

“Yes?”

“Hi girls, just wanted to come tell you guys good night” my mother shut the door behind her.

“Hi mama” I smiled

“Your last night living with me, last good night kiss” She smiled

Lois and Connie smiled

“I’ll come over occasionally to have you tuck me in” I giggled

“Please do. You nervous” She asked

“Yes and no. I’m ready to marry him but I’m scared too, a lot of emotions” I sighed

“Tom is probably more nervous that you, won’t surprise me if he don’t forget his vows” Lois snorted

“Makes me both of us” I giggled

“Good night girls, don’t stay up too late” Mother said

“Goodnight”

“So have you slept with him yet?” Connie asked

Lois looked traumatized and was having flashbacks

“Oh plenty of times” I giggled

“Did she see you guys?” Connie asked

“More than what I wanted to” Lois gagged

“Hey call before you waltz over, okay?” I patted her leg

It was morning and my nerves were in my throat, crawling out of my mouth.

I was finishing putting my veil on when a knock entered the room

“Oh hi Dad” Lois smiled

“Hi girls. How’s the bride?” Doug smiled

“Nervous, feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack” I sighed

“Normal, dear. He’s just as nervous, your brother keeps teasing him” Doug chuckled.

I laughed, Tom and Xavier had built a pretty good friendship after the war.

My father walked in, in his formal dress uniform. He looked so handsome, rarely seen him in his uniform.

“You look so beautiful, pumpkin” He started to cry

“Dad! Don’t. I’ll ruin my makeup”

It was time.. Emily and my cousin, Ben walked first, Xavier and mother, Lois and Harry. Annie and Tom’s cousin. Then it was my father and I. “We still have time to book it out of here, I gotta friends in London” he teased

“Daddy! I'm not running away like a coward, you raised me better” I replied.

“Just saying, pumpkin”

I saw my mother looking at us, telling us to come on. “Let’s get you married, kid”

————————

The wedding went so well and I saw a new side of Tom today. A good part of him, one I’m in love with even more .

We danced and danced

But now it was time for the honeymoon, Father had let us borrow a small cottage he got in the first war, in Spain. It was in a quiet countryside, which was nice. “Do you have everything?” I asked Tom

“Yes, my darling wife” He replied shutting his bag

I giggled

“What is it?” Tom asked

“Just getting used to hearing you call me your wife is all. Has a nice ring to it” I rubbed his hair.

“It is ain’t it” Tom smirked

After a day’s drive, we made it. The cottage has somehow been untouched from the war and its violence.

“How did your father get this again?” Tom asked as we walked in.

“Uh buddy from the war, he moved to Italy and

didn’t want it. Left it to Dad” I replied

“Nice place, great view and nobody to give us noise complaints” Tom smirked

“Oh yeah” I bit my lip

Tom pulled me into his chest and held me my waist, “I love you”

“I love you too” I looked up at him, silently begging him to do something.

Tom tugged his suit jacket off, unbuttoning my top, “Be a good girl”

Tom backed me up until I was leaning on the couch as he took off my skirt, his lips attacking mine. He took off my panties with my skirt, reaching up my thighs. Tom had his pants on and I was completely exposed to him.

The cottage was older, I felt a draft dance in the room. Making my skin shiver, I whined at the coldness.

Tom knocked my thighs open and held a tight hand on my waist as he dropped down. My breathing got heavy as I waited for his next move. Tom lapped at my core and brought me closer to his face.

“Jesus fuck” I whined

“I prefer Tom, princess” Tom raised up to make his smart comment.

“Shut up” I pushed him back down

Tom nosed my clit as he licked faster and made figure 8’s with his tongue. His mouth was foul but also complete heaven.

Tom came to his full height after I hit my high, he leant down and kissed me. I reached between us and took his belt off. “I got it, princess” Tom took over and got us pants off.

I looked at his face, taking memory of every freckle and other details of his face. He was truly beautiful, those ocean eyes that made me fall in love with him at 17.

“Didn’t your mum ever tell you it’s rude to stare, Y/n?” Tom smirked.

“I wasn’t staring, Tommy” I blushed.

“Sure sure, love. Turn around”, Tom flipped me with ease. Making me gasp as he laid me over the couch as he laid his hands on my hips.

“Do something, Tommy” I whined

Suddenly he slammed into me, not giving me time to adjust to him, “Say please fuck me, Tommy. Don’t be a rude brat”

I moaned as he jerked me by my hair

“What do you want, princess?” Tom asked

“Mhm please fuck me, Tommy” I whined as his grip started to burn my scalp

“You can do better than, love” Tom scoffed

I rolled my eyes, “Please Tommy, fuck me. I wanna cum so bad, please”

“Better” Tom said as he picked up his pace

My stomach was knotting and I could feel my high coming soon. I whined.

“Awh are ya close, baby?” Tom picked up his pace

“You gonna cum on my cock?” Tom kissed my jaw.

“Oh please let me” I moaned as I tightened around his shaft.

“Alright, cum, kitten” Tom laid his hand on my lower back

We reached our highs together, Tom laid his head on my shoulder as he came.

“How you feeling, baby?” Tom asked, brushing my hair back as he brought me back to stand up.

I wrapped my arms around his waist to not fall on the floor as I turned around.

“Amazing, Tommy” I kissed him

“I love you” Tom grinned.

———————

Tom and I got a flat a couple blocks over from

Doug and Lois. The honeymoon went great, I was sore for a week after we got back.

Lois giggled anytime I would sit down the wrong way..

“You should be bringing me a niece or nephew by my birthday” She spat out one day.

I told her to fuck off, Tom and I had only been married for 2 and a half months. We were just enjoying our time by ourselves, we never discussed kids and when they were coming.

Lois and I were talking in the living room in my shared flat with Tom.

“Y/n?” Lois asked from the door frame

“Yes?” I turned around

“Uhmm, do you have pads? I’m spotting” Lois looked embarrassed.

I got up and went under the bathroom sink cupboard, “Yeah I should have some right here. Wait?”

“What is it?” Lois asked

“I’m out, I’m sorry Lowy. What’s today?” I asked, getting sick to my stomach.

“25th, why?”

“I’m ten days late” I shuddered

“Well I mean you two have always went at it like rabbits” Lois grinned

“Yeah we haven’t discussed kids, Lois” I scoffed, like her brother almost.

“Well I’ll take you to the clinic and we can find out for sure” Lois smiled

We sat in the exam room

“He’s gonna freak, Lois. I knew I shouldn’t have let him go without condom. Jesus Christ, Y/n you know better” I paced as Lois had a disgusted look on her face

“Sorry” I smiled

The nurse knocked on the door

“Hi, Mrs. Bennett. Well congratulations! The doctor thinks you’re around 2 months a long” she beamed

I stayed silent

“She’s just shocked is all. Thank you” Lois said

We went back home and as we pulled up Tom was standing outside smoking.

“Hey. Where have you guys been?” Tom came up and hugged me.

“God, can you cool with your smoking? It’s killing my nose” I pushed out of his grip and went inside

“The fuck? What’s wrong with her, Lois?” Tom asked his sister

“Go shower your smoke off and go ask her, okay? It’s not my place to tell you” Lois smiled

I heard Tom walk in

“Are you pregnant? Because you’ve never once bitched about my smoking” Tom asked

“Did she tell you? Damnit I wanted to tell you it’s my pregnancy” I groaned

Then I realized what I said

“Are you pregnant? Like my kid is just sitting in your stomach?” Tom had the biggest smile

“Yeah. Sorry” I sighed

“Sorry for what?” Tom wrapped his arms around my waist.

I looked up at him, trying not to cry

“I’m not mad, baby. So get that out of your head, we’re married, we can afford another mouth. Just breathe”

“You’re not just saying that so I’ll quit crying?” I sniffled.

He grinned, “No, I’m not mad at all. I get that it’s unexpected but it was bound to happen. We barely left that cottage, remember?”

I giggled, “I know. Mom asked me how I liked Spain, nothing came to mind. Dad just had a shit eating grin like yours”

Tom chuckled, “That’s horrible to lie to your mother, Y/n”

I punched his arm, “Do you remember anything besides the drive to and from? Because I don’t, Thomas”

“How long do we got to prepare for the hell raiser?” Tom asked

“Seven and a half months, if the doctor counted right” I smirked.

Tom nodded

—————————-

7 months later

It was time to go have this kid, I’m scared. My sister and mother are with me, Doug and Tom went to a couple towns over to see relatives.

“He’ll be here, Y/n” Mother held my hand

“You don’t mind me breaking your hand if he don’t get here?” I smiled

“Not at all, sweetness” She giggled

Emily was pacing around, digging at her knuckles. Mother and I looked at each other.

“Emmy, I’m the one having the kid. Sit down, you’re making me nervous” I said

“I’m not ready to be an aunt. You should have asked me” Emily whined

“Yeah. Like I’m not ready to be a mom, I’m nineteen, but I’ll remember that the next kid” I scoffed as the doctor walked in

“How are you feeling, Y/n?” The doctor smiled

“I’m fine, you should be more worried about my sister” I giggled

He turned around, “Your first delivery too, kid?”

“What? You don’t know how to deliver a baby!” Emily’s eye batted open.

“Emily Jane, sit down. Before I get out of this bed and kick your ass” I rolled my eyes

“Save that for later. You’re 8cm dilated, I can’t let you out of this bed” The doctor looked at me

“Really?”

The doctor laughed and nodded

2 hours later, I gave birth to our daughter, she was so little and looked like Tom made all over again.

Tom rushed in, holding Emily’s shoulder as he looked at me with his daughter in my arms.

“Awful quiet for a hell raiser” Tom said

“She wasn’t when the doctor pinched her ass but who can blame her” Emily laughed

“She? I have a daughter?” Tom looked at Emily

“Yes, now come say hi and help me name her” I said

Tom pulled the chair closer to my bed and smiled

“Go say hi. My arms are killing me, Angel”’ I handed her over to Tom

“Oh fuck” Tom said

I smiled as he looked down at her, brushing his finger tip on her nose.

“She’s perfect”

Mother and Emily had went to call father ,Xavier and everyone else.

“We have to name her right?” Tom asked

“Yes. We can’t call her blondie the rest of her life, Thomas” I grinned.

I watched them for a few more minutes, I remembered the first name I had met Tom. He was flirting with some ginger girl, leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. I was with Xavier, walking around a new town and country we moved to. Tom blew the ginger off and walked up to me as Xavier went to a bookstore.

“Not into red heads, huh?” I smirked as he touched my arm to get my attention.

Tom eyebrows furrowed

“Yes I’m American” I giggled

“Makes sense why I haven’t seen you around. What’s your name, pretty girl?” Tom smiled

“Come on, kid. Mom is probably wonder where we went” Xavier tapped my shoulder.

“Right” I said as I started following my brother

“What’s your name?” Tom hollered

“Y/n” I said as we made the corner

“What?” Tom asked

———-

“Y/n” Tom whispered

“Mhm” I looked at him

He smirked, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, princess?”

“Just thinking of names for her” I smiled

“What about Charlotte?” I asked him

“Charlotte. Charlotte Bennett” He said as he looked at our baby.

“Could work, I don’t think she hasn’t complaints” Tom said.

“I like it, Charlotte. We could call her Charlie for short” I suggested.

“Not a bad idea, baby” Tom said, moving Charlotte closer to his chest

“Mae” Tom said

“What did you say?” I looked at him

“Her middle name, Mae. After my mom” Tom looked at me, trying not to cry.

“Whatever you want, Tommy. She would love it and her grandchild” I smiled.

“You know she called me Tommy, you’re the only who can get away with that nickname,” Tom said.

I kissed his cheek

“Easy” Tom laid his hand on my thigh

There was a knock, Lois and Doug walked in

Tom stood up, walking to his sister and father, “This is Charlotte Mae”

Doug smiled and then dropped it, “Mae? Your mother?”

“Mhmm. Y/n wants to call her Charlie for short” Tom replied, handing Charlotte over to Doug.

Lois sat in Tom’s chair beside my bed, “She’s a little late for a birthday present. But I accept”

“She looks like Tom” I said, yawning

“You’re right, Y/n. Let’s hope she didn’t inherit his attitude” Doug smiled

I smiled and made eye contact with Tom

“I love you” he mouthed

“I love you too” I smiled back.

[qcomicsy]

Bruce wayne platonically sleep with both Clark and Diana pass it on.

It started as the three of them were responsible to supervise a very particular thing on a random mission, it went for literally days. They played cards. Gossiped about their coworkers. Had a heart-to-heart (to-heart-to-heart-to-heart-to?). Clark cried a little. Played cards again. Diana cheated except she didn't because she would never, but Bruce was bored and butthurt so he said it anyway and "Clark stop laughing this is a serious matter". They ate whatever the jl freezer had. It tasted horrible. They talked about their family's. Clark is a good father. "Bruce it's going to work it out if you're just open it up-". They fought.

and then made it up because otherwise Clark would get sad. "How long it has been?" "42 hours". They waited in silence. "Bruce you should sleep". "No you won't stay awake a second night in a roll while we sleep. No I don't care how much your ninja training prepared you for that, I also don't care if he's going to do It anyway. Diana which side are you on?" Bruce stayed awake a second night in a roll. Clark woke up in a bad mood. It's nice how they're one of the few people who ever saw Superman in a bad mood. No they will never talk about it out loud. Diana made coffee. "It's not strong Clark. You have the taste buds of a child, don't look at me like that". They waited a couple of more hours. "How long it has been? I'm calling Jon-". Batman and Wonder woman play chess. Clark still is on his phone, he waits patiently as Jon tell him about his day, only giving his input every now and then. When they run out of things to say, Clark tells him to be good to his mother, that he loves them both and he's going to be back soon. He waits Jon to hang up. "Who's winning? Oh he's fine but Lois already went to work,". Batman won 5 times and Wonder Woman won 7. He's sulky about it.

"Let's do a re-mach again Alfred will make cookies".

"Ok".

They made it up for real this time.

"Bruce you should take a nap". "He wont". "I wont". "I know but he should". It's getting cold and didn't they had a warmer? Oh yeah of course it broke, they should really fix that thing. Diana wonders if she's ever going to get used to this type of weather. She misses home, not the one made of concrete, the one she danced with her sisters, she wonders what they're up to- "Oh thanks Clark". The fabric of this cape is really soft. "Thanks-

"my mom made it"

"his mom made it"

Clark glares at Bruce. They laugh. It's night again. "Have I ever told y'all...". "Yes Clark". "Oh". Now it's time to Diana glare at Bruce. "But tell us again". He does.

Diana laughs and in the same breath "When I was a child...". When she finishes Bruce hums "My father he...". "There was this girl...". When they blink it's day and when they blink twice is night again.

This time Bruce is going to sleep. Clark it's not playing. "You look like a mess". "He's right-" Diana adjust Clark's cape in her shoulders. "Even the bravest soldier needs a rest. You'll be no help if you keep going like this". Bruce want's to tell her they're not soldiers, they're a bunch of delusional misfits with too much power on their hands. But there's a curve in Diana's brow and a frown in Clark's lower lip that wisely tells him not to. He's exhausted. "I'm fine". "I won't argue about that". They do.

Bruce sleeps in the fourth night. He refuses to lay down so he just slauches in his chair, grumpy. Clark is not happy about it. Diana is not going to babysit a grown man. He'll sleep however he likes. They whisper. They don't need to have their faces close to eachother, they both have super hearing. But they do it anyway. It's comfy and Clark's shoulder is warm. Bruce might be having a nightmare. Clark reaches to the nape of his neck without thinking, thumb slowly caressing his cheek. "It's what ma uses to do". Present tense. Diana smiles. She does a small nod without taking her head of his shoulder.

They talk. Clark's heart is so big Diana swears she can feel it. They wait. Diana's knowledge transcends time and space and make Clark feels small in a good way. He almost feels like a child again. The world's too big fill with unthinkable wonder. It's when he realizes, he's a boy from a farm listening to a goddess. It doesn't feel as intimidating as it sounds. He misses not being expected to know it all. To do it all.

Bruce is awake but he's pretends he isn't. And Clark is aware but is pretending to not notice. He doesn't ask Clark's to take his hand off him. Nor does it take it himself. So Clark stays there. Diana is talking about art, culture and war and the good and bad of it all. Bruce it's breathing deep and his heart it's calm. The moment seems frozen on time.

It almost felt human.

It happens on the sixth day. Clark and Diana had an arm wrestling context. Clark won five times and Diana won two of it. He's trying not to get up to his head or overthink the possibility of her letting him think he won. Or the fact that with their sleep schedule no outcome would even come close to a honest result. She's not usually the type to lie and let him take the victory like that. "A fair match is a fair match" but she's has done it before. He's pretty sure of it. Batman is stuck in front of his computer, he misses his family. He misses his family but he won't say it. His jaw is clenched, he checks his phone every ten to ten minutes. But he won't say it. So he's keeping himself occupied.

Diana looks at the window and sit on the couch as Clark stretch himself before he sits next to her. Its noon. It's almost over. Bruce let's out a frustrated sight and turns off the computer crossing his arms to himself. He looks at them as Clark finishes stretching and lays his entire weight on Wonder Woman's side. There's few people there are able to handle him like that. And even fewer times where they actually have the time and the freedom to do it, so he's saving every opportunity that he gets. Bruce is staring at them. Clark lays his head on her shoulder. Bruce is staring. She mindlessly circles her arm on his neck resting her hand in his hair and messing his curls with the tip of her fingers. Bruce is staring. Clark looks at her to check if she's seeing it too, but her eyes never leave the unbreakable glass of the window. He looks at Bruce as he rest his head on her shoulder. There's a grown ass man dessed as a bat in the middle of a conference room crossing his arms glaring at an alien made of steal who's resting his head on a demigoddess who's humming a comercial dingle to herself, all of that, because he's to petty to come in and enjoy the moment. Clark wants to laugh about that.

And he does a little.

"You know, you can join too." He humours.

"Hn."

He's still glaring. Clark wonders if he's blinking.

He listen to Diana's heart. It's beating slowly, he's listening because we kinda wants to listen Bruce's, too. But the fact that Diana's heartbeat is matching the strokes in his hair caught him in a surprise. He's about ot say it when Diana goes unprompted.

"For a man who's willing to die for those he love you're sure afraid of showing intimacy."

It sounded like a teasing but her voice is cristal clear. It was obviously directed at Bruce but she's not even looking at him. And Clark want's to laugh because the man in his front it's unshakeable but his mouth twitched.

Clark still wonders if it was or wasn't a tease when she doubles down.

"Scary cat."

Clark chuckles.

Now she's looking at him.

Bruce lays on his back unmovable.

"Didn't know it was a requirement."

"There's a lot you don't know."

"Enlighten me."

"You're smart enough to get it."

Bruce takes a deep breath. The type no one would noticed, well no one but him. He's frustrated and Clark notices. But Bruce always look frustrated, so Clark knows it's not at them. The man eyes exchanged between his and Diana's.

"It's almost over".

"That's good."

"But we will have to stay a little more."

He can hear Wonder woman's other hand scratch the surfice of the couch with short nails something so small that he just silently registers it.

"How long." She's using her Wonder Woman voice. They all have one. All super-heros he means.

Some villains too.

Funny enough not many anti-heros do.

She's not even asking.

"I like this as much as you do."

"I never said I hate it."

"Neither do I."

"But I'm not happy with it." There is, Diana's voice. The tired one, the one he only heard five years into their friendship.

Batman drops the act.

"Me too." He takes of the cowl and passes his both cloves hands over his face and stays there as if he's analysing if he should say it. "I'm going to lose Damian's PTA and Cass's Ballet."

Silence.

"It's the third..." When his hand reaches his mouth he stops himself.

Silence

"So it's 16th." Diana helps.

"19th."

"Three days."

"Yes."

"Here."

"Yes."

"Until it's done."

"Yes."

"Have you warned the others?"

Batman just looks at her.

She doesn't bother to answer.

Silence again.

It's crushing. Clark misses Lois. He doesn't know if Jon has eaten, he called yesterday but no one picked up. They must've been sleeping. Kara promised check in. He misses his wife. He misses his wife and his house and his dog. He hopes Jon is feeding Crypto well because he forgot once, but he hopes Jon's be more aware now even if he's not there to remind him. He's kid is grown. He should send a message. And he should call Kon. But Kara promised check in. But that doesn't really matter because that's not the reason why he should call. And he should call. He won't, but he should. And Clark Kent was supposed to go back to his work after being "sick" four days ago. And-

"I mean it is cozy"

He hears his voice saying, it's the first time he intervene in a while.

Both Di and Bruce smile.

"He wouldn't know." She follows.

And that's enough to Bruce to join in. He sits besides them with the silent over-confidence he always has. But he clearly has no ideia about what to do with his hands. At first he puts on his own thighs, then he tries to rest in the back of the couch behind them, his hand nudges wonder woman's arm so the retreats it. Clark want's to giggle, instead he just take it on his own.

Clark was fourteen when he noticed men aren't supposed to be as affectionate as he was.

There's a akward wait between them. It's not the first time they do it, it probably won't be the last. But he always like to check. So he waits. There's a small squeeze, lighter than a feather and Bruce's weight slowly rests on him.

Clark's hand is too soft for someone made of steal.

They're exhausted. They all are, but they're not supposed to say it. Clark is resting on Diana's shoulder and holdings his hand and Bruce refuses confront what that does to hi heart. It's something too warm, too fuzzy and tender for him to grasp. Men like him aren't supposed to get that.

They sat in silence. Two of the most important beings of the universe and a spoiled brat. It's a joke. But he doesn't feel like laughing. He's not worth it. God knows he's not. But Clark's hand is soft and Diana's voice is crystal clear. So he stays anyway.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Hoping it never does.

Diana's reciting the constellations name's. More to herself than to any of them. She knows the star's first names. He knows the scientific one's. He kinda wants to correct her, just to be a brat. But his eyes are closing and clark is warm.

Bruce wakes up the next day with Clark's cape on his shoulder and no one at his side.

He smells coffee from the kitchen and hears Clark's voice faintly complaining from the hallway.

And he's horrofied.

He's horrofied because that's the comfiest and safest that Bruce has ever slept in his entire life.

And he can't stop thinking about it.

[bylertruther]

the fact that mike didn't let dustin touch will or let any of them even attempt to comfort him on halloween night is so telling... if he'd done that to just max that'd be understandable, because she's the new girl + outsider, but dustin and lucas?

the boys they've known since forever? the og party members? the other two guys who heard him out and helped him even when they thought he was just sick with grief after seeing will's body pulled from the river? he's going to say that to dustin, who stuck by his side and believed him no matter what? to lucas, who went to the gate on his own to find will, armed with nothing but his own bravery and his wrist rocket? lucas, who was so upset and angry that week only because he felt like mike was wasting time they could've otherwise used to find will? dustin and lucas, the two boys who stuck with him through everything and who almost died with him for it?

they're the other half of the party. if anyone is going to help him with will, it would be them! if anyone is going to understand and genuinely care, it's them! undoubtedly!

and yet... mike makes caring for will his role. his privilege. his duty. it's his thing that only him and no one else ever gets to do or share with him.

when lucas gets hurt, mike doesn't push dustin away—it's not something that even crosses his mind. he lets them both fret over him and instead turns on eleven to express his disappointment. when eleven gets hurt, mike tends to her, lets others tend to her, and asks others for help, too. when he's helping someone, he generally welcomes any extra hands and guidance he can get because he wants whoever it is to be well.

the same cannot be said for will.

he always goes after him. he always makes sure to permanently plant himself by will's side, like in the entirety of s2, in s3 when he always stayed near will in action sequences (excl. starcourt) or sat with him whenever the party was grouped up, and in s4 when he again held will back and put his arm over him in the shootout. (i can't even say that s1 breaks this pattern, because he spent that entire season looking for him and never losing sight of that.) he always keeps an eye on him, checks in on him, and wants to be the person that will turns to and entrusts with everything. he has always been this way, has never stopped being this way, and he has never once shown this level of care and attention to anyone else. this is specifically a will thing and it's different from the way that he cares about and treats others, including eleven.

he seeks help only if it's something he himself can't remedy on his own—like the d'art issue. he accepts help only if it's from one of will's family members, because obviously they take precedence. even then, however, judging by how he shoehorned himself into their home in s2 and stayed for the shed scene, it's safe to say that he still feels he needs and deserves to be there in some way, too.

we even have canonical evidence that supports this and suggests that mike views will as someone separate and special to him in a way that no one else is. recall: "the last year has been weird, you know? and i mean, you know, max and lucas and dustin, they’re… they’re great. they’re great. it’s just… […] it’s not the same without you.”

like... i just think it's so fascinating and tragic that everyone keeps pushing mike back to eleven, when his relationship with her makes him feel inferior to her, enough that he can't even call himself the lois to her superman, and like he's some random useless nerd with nothing to offer. he knows that she doesn't need him, knows that she's been lying to him - which suggests a lack of trust in him, and maybe even doubts that she even wants him anymore after "from, el". and he stays in this relationship! because he thinks it's what he deserves! he thinks this is what relationships are like! but will...

will makes him feel needed, understood, and loved. will makes him feel like superman. not because he has any powers, but just because of who he is, because of how fiercely he loves, and because of how brave and smart he always is. will loves his nerdiness, considers it his strength even, and paints him a portrait that shows just that—a reminder for if he ever dares forget. will looks at him and loves everything that he sees, and makes sure that mike knows it, too. will hears him without mike ever needing to say anything at all. he knows mike and he loves him and he makes it known. he doesn't let mike forget and he doesn't shut him down.

in turn, mike views will as his equal, his teammate, and his best of best friends. he cares about will not out of necessity, because this is a role given to him by others, or because the fate of the world depends on it, but because he wants to and it's how they've always been. they're the cleric and the paladin: will is forever going to do his best to heal the bruises on mike's heart and mike is forever going to do whatever he can to protect will.

mike gets upset when he thinks that will hasn't paid enough attention to him (see: rink-o-mania) and he gets upset when someone else tries to comfort will, because he feels that's his place (see: halloween). he wants that to be their thing and only their thing.

in s1 dustin says that lucas is mike's best friend. if mike is this devoted to will, to the point that others are worried about him at times, then what does that make will to him? if, as s4 showed us, going after someone without hesitation even when it's dangerous, stupid, and the odds of success are stacked against you, is a sign of true love, then... what is will? mike took it so personally any time someone slighted will to the point that he physically fought back for once. he almost died to save will multiple times. in s1 everyone thinks he's been acting weird or hurting because of him, but then they see that eleven is a girl and they chalk it up to that instead and inadvertently push him in that direction.

i'm not saying that mike knew what his feelings were in s1, especially since he couldn't even describe what romance was to eleven before he kissed her, but i do think that his feelings were there and confirmed tenfold by season four. whatever will is to him, "it's not the same" and we've always been shown that.

[rickktish]

Today my mom and I finished the 90’s superman TV show Lois and Clark and it’s a really great series and I think every superman fan ever should watch it because Henry Cavill has nothing on Dean Cain, but that’s not actually what this post is about. This post is about the fact that in a pre-Superboy Jon Kent world, the central arc of Clark Kent’s character was that he wanted a family of his own, and this culminates in (spoilers) the last episode being centered on the question of what to do about having kids since Clark’s biology is not compatible with humans’ for making babies, and my anthropology major brain couldn’t not analyze this through a gender/sexuality lens since I took a class all about the cultural impact of gender and media portrayals of it.

Here’s the thing: in the vast majority of media (I almost said western media but then I thought about it more and I think it’s actually pretty darn universal) infertility is a female plotline. It’s one of the few plots that is inherently feminine in nature because for so much of history we’ve viewed infertility as a woman’s concern. If a man and a woman can’t have a child, after all, it must be something wrong with her, right? (Ha. Ha. Ha. It’s not funny, actually.) But this means that this silly little superman show from the 90’s is portraying an infertility plot line, but the problem isn’t the female character’s fertility, it’s her husband’s. Except that since fertility is an “inherently” feminine plot line, we get almost no emotional impact of this news on Clark himself. Lois, after all, is the one who spent the second to last episode going through the question of whether or not she’s ready to have children and deciding that she is. It could perhaps be argued that this is because Clark has been ready for a while, because a family is all that he wants, but I think it’s also because the question of a working woman choosing to have a child is, culturally speaking, a very different question to a man choosing to have a child, and has been since women became acceptable in the work place.

Here’s my point though: Clark gets the news that he can’t reproduce with Lois, goes to talk to her, and ends up holding her as she mourns this loss of something they were hoping for. She doesn’t comfort him, except by coming up with actions they can take to try to get around their incompatible biology. Lois is the one who gets to mourn, while Clark continues to emphasize that they will be okay no matter what because they love each other. And all I could think about watching this was how removed Clark was from his own fertility. How completely separated he was from it. Because in spite of the issue being his fertility and not hers, Lois is the one who gets to have an emotional arc about it, because she is the woman in the story.

One of the solutions they come up with is to ask Lois’s father, who (in rare fashion) is not a general but instead a handy-dandy generalized “scientist,” to see if there’s anything he can come up with for them. In order to do so, though, they need to reveal to him that Clark is Superman. The whole scene where they’re trying to figure out how to tell him feels a little bit queer, because I can see a modern writer turning everything from it into a trans reveal instead of a secret identity, but that’s a little beside the point. The point is that still, at no point does Clark seem distressed for himself, but instead for how Lois feels about all this— up to and including the point about her mother’s lack of maturity meaning that she doesn’t feel safe telling her they’re trying to have a baby or that they’re facing infertility.

And from all this, somehow all I can think of is how far we’ve culturally removed men from power over their own fertility. It feels like the only things that get discussed on the news or in shows, up to and including the abortion issue, is women’s fertility. We rarely talk about giving men education about and control over their fertility, only women. Women’s bodies, women’s rights, but what about the fact that the men don’t seem to be attached enough to their own fertility to know or even consider what they can do to control it for themselves? I actually wonder if the requirement (historical or present, depending on where you live) for women to get permission from their husbands to get their tubes tied has more to do with men’s fertility than with their wives’, because in some ways it seems that the only control a man is offered over his own fertility in our culture is by exerting control over his wife. There’s an alienation between men and their ability to procreate that honestly baffles me now that I’ve thought about it. It’s separated from them by their relationship with their partner’s body, and I wonder if somehow giving men more control over their own fertility, and educating them about it and how they can reclaim it from where it has been outsourced to another body, might be a positive step. I wonder if our cultural disconnect between fathers and children might take a few steps if men were taught to view their reproductive systems as more than just pleasure centers, as a part of their personal fertility.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, I think there’s more to be explored with this idea but I’m not fully prepared to go on the biological tangent with it yet so I think I’m going to leave it at that. I just. What would it take for men to reclaim their own fertility from where it has been culturally outsourced to women’s bodies?

[mdhwrites]

Clark and Lois are BOTH Hypocrites and that’s GOOD

From an outside, ‘objective’ opinion, we as an audience can condemn one over the other. We can say that Lois is worse or Clark is worse but that’s defeating the point and beauty of the scene at the end of Episode 5 for My Adventures with Superman which is that they both think they’re in the right and have a right to be angry and hurt.

Spoilers going forward. Also, this is complex enough that I actually already covered Lois’ side of this and why her jumping was an emotional Catch 22. Short version is that Clark turning out to be Superman is not only a repeat of both her parents but also the first person to defy her expectations of the world turned out to potentially be just as bad, but him catching her also proves why she likes him so much.

But what about Clark’s side? It’s his secret after all. He shouldn’t have to tell anyone. It could put them in danger, he needs to trust them, isn’t it right for him to not tell anyone?

...Not after episode four. Episode four proved that the secret is selfish. He goes to tell her right there, right then in that hallway. And it’s actually entirely in character but for complicated reasons. He is SCARED of his powers before episode 2 effectively. His entire life, he has seen them as a problem. As such, the secret can’t hurt anyone because it’s only a problem for everyone, himself included. Hence why he wants to live a normal life, fall in love, etc. like that while still following his calling to help people by being a reporter.

Lois talking about how much lies hurt her, how she’s been feeling off, changes that. Briefly, Clark sees that it is still a lie. That all his moralizing is still true. It’s still a secret, it’s still keeping her in the dark and he should change that. And his moralizing REALLY matters here because if you’re going to bitch at EVERYONE for lying, stealing and pretending you’re someone you’re not (2/3 Clark has railed against before having to be Superman later, which enforces a secret as he pretends he’s not that person but someone else) then it means more when you break those morals.

But Clark is still a person. He’s not the embodiment of Lawful Good. Lawful Good after all dictates that he shouldn’t bother with a secret identity. That it’s wrong and you should tell the truth. But when Lois says she hates Superman, it brings all those fears back. It brings all the worries that these powers make it so he’s alone and alien rather than the normal guy he wants to be.

It’s also why during the argument, Lois just has the better argument. He’s lying, he’s putting himself in danger, he’s not caring about how much she worries about him despite her effectively spelling it out for him before forcing his hand. Even if she’s a bigger hypocrite because lies and secrets have been her thing... Have you also noticed that she hasn’t been doing that for an episode or so? Do you think she’s told ANYONE in the past DECADE about her father? But to not explain would have been lying and she is trying to do better by episode four. She is trying to act like someone Clark can like. A better person who trust again.

Meanwhile, Clark has NOTHING. His first claim is that she doesn’t know what’s going on in the city and when Lois tells him to tell her then, he drops it which of course he does! He doesn’t know what’s going on either! So instead it becomes smaller scale attacks. That she hates Superman. That he has no idea what she’ll do. Specific reasons why now, but not a couple days ago, he isn’t willing to trust her with the secret.

And that brings up the fact that while Lois has lied to Clark... I would bet money that Lois asks if Jimmy knows the next episode. And Clark isn’t going to have a good excuse for why he can’t trust his best friend with the secret either. Sure, Jimmy has Flamebird but does he really think Jimmy would betray him for a few views? Does he look at Jimmy that poorly?

And that’s what makes all of this work. No one is wholly in the right, but no one is wholly in the wrong (except maybe Jimmy who’s just kind of getting hurt as collateral to everything). Worse yet, when the conversation happens, Clark is caught off guard and just came back from a real nasty fight while Lois has spent at least the past fifteen minutes, if not much longer, worrying about tomorrow’s headline being “Super Roast! Come get some fried hero today!” Their emotions are a mess and the worst responses to the lies and pain come out.

Which makes the fact that they’re obviously both go to save Jimmy a good thing. A shared reminder of the good they both see in one another, a chance to talk after even just a little time has passed and a third voice to tell the two to breathe.

It’s tragic and it’s painful and it’s messy and in ways cartoons very, VERY rarely are willing to address, let alone so quickly, let alone as well as it is for how quick it has happened, but there is a ray of light at the end of this tunnel. A promise for a better future for all three. One where they are genuinely the three amigos. The three musketeers.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

[endless-ineffabilities]

tongue in cheek - two

Tom Bennett x f!reader

word count: 1.3k ▪︎ masterlist ▪︎ part one -- part three

Tom and the reader become more acquainted, in the wee hours of the night.

You do not find out whether Tom Bennett does indeed snore that first night.

This is because he isn’t in the bedroom, in the first place.

“He usually scruffs about some alley or pub somewhere,” Lois explained, when you asked about his whereabouts, “It used to bother me, but I’ve grown to realize that it’s pointless to worry about him all the time.” She grimaced at the end, clearly disapproving of her brother’s antics.

“I’m sure he’s just messing around,” you comfortingly added, “he doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“No, he isn’t,” she agreed, “he’s actually quite responsible, believe it or not. Especially when it comes to family matters. It’s just, after mum passed, he went a bit off the beaten path.”

Your heart sank at that, “I’m so sorry, Lois. For what it’s worth, I can see that your family’s quite strong and supportive. With everything that’s going on, you have each other’s backs, no matter what. Especially with the horrible that went on and all that.”

“Yeah, I am quite lucky, when you put it that way,” she smiled, before closing her book and setting it down on the nightstand, “Anyway, I’m a bit tired. I’ll get some shut-eye now, I think.”

“Sure,” you sighed from your side of the small bed, “good night, Lois.”

“G’night,” she hummed faintly, turning to her side facing the wall, before dozing off in a minute.

You did not think you would fall asleep immediately after, but you had. Up until several hours later, when a scraping noise wakes you up from outside the window.

You sit up halfway, alertness shaking off the sleep from your body. The window pane slowly slides upward, and you jump up in front of it. One look at Lois, and you see that she remains to be fast asleep.

The bright street lights blur your vision, and the fog outside lead to you to not notice one Tom Bennett slinking up the pipes up the brick wall. His hand has been reaching up to slide the window further open, an inch then another, before you panic and slam it shut.

“Oi! For fooks sake!” his voice hisses, “Open the bloody window, it’s me!”

“What?” you try to keep your voice down, so as not to wake Lois, “Tom?” You peer out the window, opening it halfway. Sure enough, you see the bastard clinging to the windowsill, his legs wrapped around the thick metal pipes.

“No, it’s the fookin’ grim reaper out to get ya,” he spits. Of course, even when he looks like a burglar breaking in his own house, his unstoppable sense of sarcasm wins over, “Yes, it’s me, sweetheart. Your knight in shining armour.”

He slides the window open fully, deftly carrying his legs over the windowsill. As you’re standing right in front of the window, he is a bit too close when he enters, his knees pressed against your exposed lower thighs.

His eyes are drawn to your skin straightaway. A cheeky smile surfaces on his lips, “Lovely little nightgown, sweetheart.”

You grow conscious of the length of your nightgown, your hands mindlessly reaching down as if to stretch the hem even lower. Of course it doesn’t work. It only serves to widen Tom’s already shit-eating smirk.

“Don’t worry,” he climbs in the room completely, leaving the window open behind him, “I’m no virgin, sweetheart. I’ve seen legs before.”

“Oh fuck off, Tom,” you sit on your side of the bed, legs tightly crossed, watching as he takes his shoes off. He comfortably lies on his side, propping himself up on one elbow, looking at you.

“Lois didn’t tell you I tend to just climb in like this?” he lights a cigarette, offering you one, but you shake your head.

“Not directly. But I sort of deduced that from your habits.”

“You disapprove, dollface?” he takes one long whiff of smoke, his shrewd eyes studying your face. You can’t help but find the motion damn attractive. The grey smoke surrounding him like a mesmerizing haze.

“It’s none of my business,” you respond. From your expression, he can easily tell that you do disapprove. Politeness is just your chosen course of action, and it bothers him. He wants to know what you really think, and get under your skin.

“I think you do, judging by how you nearly chucked me out that window a minute ago,” he sneers, meaning to elicit even just a smile out of you.

You do smile, and Tom feels something beautifully strange at the sight of it. Something he’s all too unfamiliar with. But he’s certain that he wants to see it again, and again, and again. Why? Well, that’s beyond his grasp at the moment. Especially with all the hard whiskey in his system.

“You know I didn’t mean to,” you bite your lip shyly. Tom’s eyes are swiftly drawn to that motion, too. He quickly looks away, and takes another whiff of his cigarette. Anything to distract him from the potential growing tent in his trousers. Your bloody revealing nightgown definitely does not help matters.

“Fooks sake,” he cusses under his breath, repositioning his legs.

“Excuse me?” your soft voice pipes up, making the hairs stand up on his arms. Since when did Tom Bennett fold at some random dame? Get your shit together.

“Nothin’, I just, I know you didn’t mean to. It was a misunderstanding, is all it was,” he almost stutters, his thumb scratching the bridge of his nose.

You notice that he is occupied by something, with his eyes drifting across the wall. Landing anywhere, apart from you. You twist your body to check on Lois, who still deeply slumbers, her lips parted slightly. “I’m surprised Lois is still fast asleep after all this ruckus.”

“Yeah, once she’s out, she’s out. Makes me think she trained herself to be like this, so that she doesn’t constantly wake up every time I shimmy up the bloody window in the wee hours of the night.”

“Brother of the damn year, that’s what you are,” you quipped, lying down on your side, mirroring his position from the opposite cot.

“Damn century, more like.” He tries hard not to sneak another peek at your legs, before you pull the blanket over them. But he fails. And you turn your head back at him way too soon, catching him looking.

“See something you like, rascal?”

“Hmm?” he clears his throat, getting himself together, “What if I say yes?”

Warmth surges across your cheeks, “Then… then… that’s just too damn bad.”

“We’ll see,” he puts out his cigarette, then settles on his back, preparing to finally get some sleep.

You do the same, watching the shadows dancing on the ceiling. Lois’ soft breathing is like a melody, enough to lull you to sleep.

You shut your eyes, but suddenly, Tom says, “You really are quite beautiful, you know.”

Your head turns to the side to look at him. He remains supine, unmoving atop his bed. As if he did not just drop a bomb on you like that. Sly bastard.

“What was that?” you scold yourself in your head, as your voice nearly cracks when you ask.

“You heard me, sweetheart.”

--------

When you wake, the room is empty. It's a Tuesday, and Lois normally heads off to work earlier in the morning than you do.

Tom is gone, but that comes as no surprise. Who knows whether he actually stayed for the rest of the night. He must have come back in through the window at 3, 4 in the morning?

Your mind rushes back to your exchange, to his wandering eyes, to the way his lips wrapped around his cigarette. A single word slips from your lips, "Fuck."

You turn to the side, and a small square piece of yellow paper catches your eye, half sheathed under your pillow.

On it, only two words are haphazardly scribbled.

Nice legs.

"Cheeky fuckin' bastard."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

series taglist: @greenowlfactif @schniiipsel @tssf-imagines @aemond-secondson @ahdushenka

ahhhh, I love you Tom.

Chapters are kept short for this series, but the updates will be much quicker.

Taglist open :)

[tender-rosiey]

asking for genshin reqs? i gotchu 😌

yoimiya, venti, razor + anyone else of ur choice reaction to sudden hand holding/hugging (platonic or romantic is fine) 🙈

“SURPRISE!”

— surprise hugs/hand holding with zhongli, yoimiya, razor, venti, diluc and childe

ᴀ/ɴ: genshin my love also this is romantic because it’s my jam

ZHONGLI:

zhongli was simply admiring the scenery of the sunset when he felt a sudden weight on his back, a weight that spreads a warmth he has grown to love and desire.

“hey, honey!” you greeted warmly.

which caused him to look back and inquire, “hello to you too, my love,” he pauses, “is something the matter?” 

you nuzzle into his back and mumble, “just missed you is all.”

a gentle smile takes its place on his face as he intertwines your fingers and hums, “likewise, my dear.”

YOIMIYA:

“MIYAAAAA!” yoimiya hears you screaming.

she turns to you, “Y/NNNNN!” the both of you run to each other before hugging and falling to the ground causing you both to giggle.

 “haha! that was fun! we should do it everytime we greet each other,” she says while laughing while you nuzzle your noses together.

“we should do something more safe though,” you murmur, “wouldn’t want to see you get hurt,” and she merely grins.

RAZOR:

razor had caught wiff of your smell and thought that maybe you passed by. slowly, the scent became stronger which had the wolf boy wondering just where are you. 

not a single part of him expected that you were using your dendro vision and moving underground until you jumped out of the dirt, enveloping him in a hug. 

“y/n,” he says and you pull back with a giddy smile which he returns with a softer one with a mumble, “pretty and warm.”

VENTI:

“oh lay oh lai oh lay oh loi!” venti sang as he was skipping down the roads to your home. the expedition you were on took too long for his liking. he knocks once with no response, then knocks twice, “my flower, are you there?”

 venti yelps at the sudden hold of his hand, “hey venti, what are you doing here?” you ask.

on the other hand, he is desperately tries to calm his beating heart but responds either ways, “i was waiting for you!”

you just look at him questioningly, “i told you that i am coming home late today.”

DILUC RAGNVINDR:

“I will be done soon; give me a few moments.”

you huff and he is once again concentrating on the task at hand; however, you would really like if he gave you a hug as a booster or something at least.

a smirk settles on your lips as you launch yourself at him and embrace him, “surprise hug time!”

he jumps a little before sighing and looking at you, “y/n, I could’ve dropped them.”

“I am sorry, i just wanted a hug,” you say softly while looking dejected so he sighs and places down the cup. diluc turns to you and properly wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head.

“okay…maybe we both needed this.”

CHILDE:

“teucer, have you seen y/n?” childe asks his brother who is suspiciously grinning and giggling.

teucer locks eyes with with his brother, but Avery’s his eyes quickly, “…no.”

childe quirks an eyebrow, “really?” then he feels arms wrap around his torso and a face being buried into his back, “babe?”

“got you! you jumped a little,” you cheekily say and he dramatically sighs.

however, he smiles, “so it’s my fault that I trust you?”which makes you hum and childe’s eyes are on you, with clear adoration behind them.

“big brother, can you not do this in front of me?”

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA:

“what a nice tune that the wind is playing today,” he softly hums while sitting on the cliff. the wind blows gently on his face and he smiles while closing his eyes in serenity.

he feels you lock arms with him and rest your head on his shoulder, “hey kazuha, surprised?”

he chuckles, “kind of, I could tell that you were near.”

“aw man!” you huff and he merely rests his head on your own which makes you smile.

“you are captivating when you smile, y/n.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @bakugossanity @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto

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