#WHY DID THEY MAKE FUCKING KITES?!

[benetnvsch]

Blocking ppl both makes me feel safer and yet skyrockets my paranoia

#cw for potential derealization #in the tags specifically #following this point on #now #pls don’t read if u think it may trigger u in anyway <3 #BUT MAN #it makes me feel strangely like??? #seen??? #like everyone must be watching me and hating me and they’re all going to get me now #blocking friends of mutuals bc they interact/post v triggering content for me makes me feel awful #like that mutual is going to appear at my house #they’re watching my every move and are gonna be like [mutual why did kite block me ??] and the mutual will be like #[yeah that’s fucking stupid why did she block u] and everyone is going to hate me #they’re gonna turn on me and come to my house and steal my bones #and there’s no one I can talk to bc everyone’s connected #no actually I do have one [1] mutual who I think?? is pretty similar to me in what they like/tolerate #and in the little circle of kvnikida fans I kind of know that if they’re not following X bigger artist something strange abt them is - #probably going on BWHDJSJS- and they’ll never know who they are cuz we never fucking talk #but I appreciate them sm- but man fucking sucks #mental illness right? what’s it like to just be able to ignore things and accept u can’t please everyone? #I need to return to ccs asap LMAO #Before I have a legit paranoid episode over this-

[pearl-kite]

So whether I get holiday pay or not is a clusterfuck right now, but one of the things that still hasn't been clarified if is it's after 60 days or after 90 days or worse

I'll have been there for 90 days on December TwentyfuckingSixth

#kite rambles #guy who makes the pharm schedules says he had been told by the big boss of the store that everyone is immediately up for holiday pay #which is why he didn't schedule us newbies an additional day thanksgiving week #because he's been scolded for overscheduling on holiday weeks right #HR lady said she was going to look into how many days it is because she has no idea if it's 60 days or 90 days or 6 months #me and another are going to go ask the big boss on monday #because if it was 90 days she got cheated out of thanksgiving pay #I'm still absolutely pissed that HR's response was basically tough luck #like no seriously I asked her to her face 'so it's just tough luck' and she looked like she didn't want to agree but agreed #did I mention that here? that I got shorted hours thanksgiving week because our scheduler thought we all got paid for thanksgiving? #the HR here is even more useless than your average HR #she also told me I wasn't eligible for insurance until I had worked there a year #and then like two weeks later I got mail from the company reminding me to sign up for insurance #like what the fuck lady what are you even doing #worked enough overtime last week that kind of made up for the short but it would have been nicer if they had just... like... not shorted me

[sanguineterrain]

Would you be willing to write a Jason Todd x reader inspired by the bulletproof vest scene from Criminal Minds? Maybe it's early in their relationship and they're fussing after hearing he's been shot. Maybe with an annoyed Damian breaking up their flirting?

(Here is the scene if you don't know what I'm talking about!! youtube.com/watch?v=C2bjYavXWec)

Haha this was such a fun prompt! Thanks for sending 🩷 I love prompts inspired by tv scenes

jason todd x gn!reader. minor injury, fluff, suggestive/implied nsfw, making out, implied timkon (somehow)

****

Jason opens the door, looking extra comfy in his GU sweatpants and a Wonder Woman t-shirt. His curls stick up in fifteen different directions, making him look like an overgrown chick.

You'd coo if your heart hasn't been in your stomach all night.

"Hey, ba—"

You launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. The force of your embrace makes Jason stumble back a step. You suddenly remember his injury and reel back.

"Baby, what's goin' on?" His eyes are wide. Jason holds onto you, inspecting you right back.

"I'm so sorry!" you say, hands fluttering over his body. "Oh God, did I reopen stitches? Fuck, fuck—"

"Sweetheart." Jason places both hands on your shoulders and guides you away from the door. He kicks it shut with his foot. You both settle on the couch. "What're you talking about? Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" You sit up. Jason rests his head on the back of the couch, watching you. "God, Jason, you got shot! I heard you caught fire this morning so I got here as quickly as I could. Did I reopen stitches? Be honest because I swear to God, Jay, if you lie to me about that..."

"Honey. Oh my love. Y'know I'm crazy about ya?" Jason holds your face with both hands and squishes your cheeks. He's smiling. "I got shot in my bulletproof vest. No stitches required. Who told you I got shot?"

You take his hands and hold them to your chest. "Well, I was listening to the comms 'cause I can't sleep when you have overnight missions and—"

"You haven't slept all night?" Jason frowns. "Baby, you need to sleep."

You scoff. "None of that matters, Jay. What I'm hearing is that you still got shot!"

"'S not a big deal, honest. Just a few bruises. Leslie wrapped me up, see?"

Jason lifts his shirt. His ribs are wrapped in an ACE bandage. You feel around for a secret wound.

"No blood?" you ask, poking at the edges.

Jason laughs and catches your hand. He kisses your knuckles. "No, sweetness. No blood. 'S just a little sore." He lets his shirt fall. You're only a little disappointed by the loss of his bare skin.

"Why would Bruce send you out in a bulletproof vest? Of all the stupid—usually you wear your armor! That's actually bulletproof! Vests are bullet-resistant. That's like saying Gotham rats are toxin-proof. Just because they don't die from the Joker gas anymore doesn't mean they aren't higher than kites when it happens."

Jason kisses your cheek. It turns your insides ooey-gooey. He's always so warm, so solid.

"Mm. I'll call Merriam-Webster tomorrow and relate your beef with 'em. And to answer your question, I was undercover, so no armor. But I am fine. Okay?"

"I'll be the judge of that, mister."

You hike his shirt up to his neck and pat down his chest. Jason honest-to-God giggles, which only encourages you. You pinch the soft skin under his biceps, then kiss down his sternum. He squirms, sliding so he's lying on the couch.

"Tickles," Jason says, letting you love on him.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm trying to conduct a very serious medical examination," you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing. "I think I'll need a closer look at these."

You kiss Jason's right pectoral, and his face flushes pink like it always does because you know how sensitive he is there and how his sensitivity makes him shy. Your mouth grazes his nipple and a tiny grunt pushes out of his throat.

"'M just a piece of meat to you, huh?" He catches you with a hand on your hip.

You smile and nip his neck, careful of his bandage. Jason's breath hitches.

"Please, baby, show mercy. Want me to get on my knees an' beg? I will."

"Sir, that is highly unprofessional language for this procedure. I'm afraid I'll have to give you an oral exam to see what's causing that filthy mouth of yours."

"Yeah, I'll show you filthy," Jason murmurs, cupping the back of your head. "Let's see how filthy y'get when I—"

"Oh my God, stop."

"Todd!"

You freeze with Jason's mouth on your neck and your shirt rucked up. Tim and Damian are at the edge of the living room. Tim looks nauseous. Damian's mouth is shriveled like a prune.

You scramble off of Jason, mortified, and smooth down your shirt. Jason leisurely turns his head, still holding onto you. He sighs.

"What d'you brats want?"

"To erase the last sixty seconds from my brain," Tim says.

Jason grins, all teeth. "That can be arranged."

You roll your eyes. "We're sorry, guys. Did you need Jason?"

"Yes. Father wants you back at the Cave immediately for debrief," Damian says, glancing at Jason's exposed bandages with tangible disgust.

You tug down Jason's shirt. His mouth quirks briefly before he registers his brother's request.

"Oh, hell to the fucking no. I got back two hours ago. Tell him to fuck off."

"I think you tell him enough for all of us," Tim says. "It's just a debrief. Babs started timing him and he's been good about keeping them short."

"He can email me. I'm not going to the Cave for a damn debrief."

Tim squints at Jason, then you. "I see. You know, you're awfully energetic for someone who should be recovering. Leslie benched Dick the last time he overexerted himself."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be speaking about exertion after what you and Connor did at the Kents' fourth of July picnic last year, Timbelina."

Tim somehow turns more pale. Damian whips his head around.

"Drake? What is he talking about?"

"Nothing. C'mon, Damian, let's go. Jason can debrief later."

He hauls a protesting Damian out the fire escape. Jason waves after them.

"Uh-huh, take care now, bye-bye! Close the window on your way out!"

The window slams shut. You look at Jason, eyes wide.

"What...?"

He shrugs. "Brotherly blackmail. All in good spirit."

"I see. You really don't need to go? I can wait."

"Nah. Bruce can wait. I have a very important injury that needs tending to."

You roll your eyes, smiling. "Uh-huh. Are you sure you're okay?"

Jason kisses you. "Positive," he says against your mouth. "This is nothing. But I appreciate you worrying about little ol' me."

"I'll always worry about you, Jay."

He ducks his head and nudges your neck like a cat. "I know, baby. 'S why I'm the luckiest guy in the whole wide world."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fluff #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #dc fanfiction #dc imagine #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #dc #inbox #blurb

[faetreides]

summary: situationship!rafe cameron x afab nerd!reader

cw: angst undertones w/ a hopeful ending, black cat!coded reader x whatever rafe would be, suggestive action in the shower & mentions of off screen nsfw (cum and thigh fucking but the latter is a bit more graphic lol) , class differences, rafe is pathetic and weird, implied drug use, rafe beats a man but you can decide if he killed him, reader has implied mental health issues and low self esteem, ambiguous feelings on rafe’s part (he said ily but he could be lying), dark content themes, rafe calls reader kitty in both a mean way and a pet name way, if the thing with reader’s first crush sounds too real that’s cause it is 🤫, started my period while i was formatting this (i just thought y’all should know)

wc: 1.9k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!!

consider commissioning me 🫀

“Hey, babe, would you be a good kitty and let me in?” Is what you’re greeted with when you swing open your screen door. Rafe Cameron looks pleased as punch, all things considered, soaking wet due to the pouring rain and no doubt high as a kite.

The slurred speech doesn’t alarm you as much as the river of blood flowing from his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Rafe, what the fuck?” You try to sound harsh but the fuck is noticably softer than your other words and Rafe smiles, more blood drips down his chin.

You look over his shoulder to see his bike on its side in the dirt, it’s raining and you just know he’ll be pissed to see the mus clinging to it tomorrow. But for right now, you have an injured situationship to patch up.

He stumbles as you struggle to yank him aside, and he sways but collapses on your couch. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to lose your shit immediately. The audacity of this man to waltz in on you barely alive and expect some twisted kind of comfort, after everything.

“I was studying you know, textbooks are expensive so don’t start getting your blood on them.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I know.”

Rafe grunts but keeps his body away from your books. That’s the least he can do, the bare minimum. You sigh and walk over him, kneeling in front of the couch. His eyes are dazed and unfocused as you brush the hair away from his forehead, but his fingers twitch.

“Why did you come here, Rafe? To me?” You whisper, tired and unamused.

You’re startled by his harsh cough, his fingers twitch in your direction again, “ ‘Was nowhere else, wanted you.”

Isn’t that good enough?

You blink dumbly at that, but you have no answer for his crazed ramblings so you slap your knees and make your way to the bathroom. You procure a wet washcloth and some measly bandages, he would just have to deal with it. Rafe’s eyes drag towards you when you kneel back in front of him and bring the cloth to his mouth.

You avoid his stare as you sop up the copious amounts of blood, praying that this wouldn’t need a visit to the hospital. In some ways, you’ve seen too much blood since Rafe Cameron decided to make a mockery of your existence. The gaggle of rich girls he used to have on each arm disappeared but he excused it by detailing his plans to lead you on in front of his friends, checking to see if you were in ear shot.

There’s nothing you did, in your mind. You stuck to yourself and somehow invited the attention of some psycho. That’s the hardest part of the situation, you can’t pinpoint a true beginning. You can only remember being in this murky middle, devoid of an ending. Rafe does have a pretty face though, unfortunately, the water from cloth making his skin glisten. You’ll throw the rag out after this, there’s no point trying to get the stain of blood out of anything.

Eventually, you’re done with the first part and have an excuse to turn away from him. You get back on your feet to reach for the bandages but a groan coming from behind stops you. You turn around and freeze when Rafe buries his nose into your lower stomach, barely brushing the top of your mound over your pajama shorts. He hisses through his teeth in pain as he pushes your shirt up with his bloodied knuckles.

“Rafe Cameron, what the hell are you-“

“ ‘Smells good as fuck, love you.”

You refuse to admit that you love him too, you can’t give him that. Okay, now shit’s really getting out of hand. He dips his head to get closer to your pussy but the second you see the tip of his tongue touch your shorts, you direct his face back to your stomach. You’ve never gone further than ‘will they-won’t they’ type touches with Rafe, but you just can’t give in no matter how much you lie awake at night thinking about it.

“All this is because of you, you know that? You fucked me up and made pummel the crap outta that guy.” The vibrations his clumsy words send through you gives you a serious case of the shivers, so you distract yourself by running your fingers through his matted hair. Because of course there’s blood on his head too. You’d usually chalk what he’s saying up to drugs and insanity, but with Rafe you just never know.

“What?”

“He said maybe I should lay off you so he could have a piece instead, and I just…. lost it. Why should some chump get a part of what’s all mine?” He says with a startling amount of clarity, voice flat and low.

You don’t designate him with a response, and truth be told he doesn’t want you too. You stretch for what in actuality is a $3 dollar package of hello kitty bandaids and rip the white coverings off a few of them. He makes god awful sounds as you apply them to his mouth, head, and hands. The mess in his hair probably isn't his but your conscience won't let you leave it alone. Something foreign to your head and your heart won’t let you leave him alone.

You decide to put the knife in your back all on your own and look up into his eyes. They’re too half lidded to get a clear reading on them but you’re afraid to rely on the emotions underneath the surface. You used to be scared that he couldn’t feel anything. Now, the idea of Rafe Cameron believing he’s in love is far more terrifying.

He’s a bit ridiculous with My Melody, Kuromi, and Keroppi all over himself, you can’t help the small smile that comes over you. You quickly flatten it before he can get too pleased with himself but the fingers curled against your tummy spasm as they spread out to caress your skin. Rafe has an unreadable look on his face as he smears blood over your womb, but you think if you step away he’ll lunge at you.

“I can help you wash the blood off in the shower.” Saying that is in no way a promise of commitment or change, but it might be the closest you ever get.

You’re used to scraps, scraps are fine.

And well, for much you pride yourself on being perfectly fine being alone, it’s achingly human to crave being loved more than anything else. You wander aimlessly because you won’t go where you’re not wanted, and for the longest you’ve been wanted nowhere. But here you are, obsessed over by someone who everyone wants.

Maybe you’re sick of trying to make all the right decisions if this is where it gets you, cold and alone. Is it so bad to not care anymore? It couldn’t be worse than when your first crush told you he loved you and then had a baby with your bully, you reason. Or when he dated one of your friends and she would “joke” about marrying you when you were alone.

The short trip to the shower is awkwardly silent, you have to lead Rafe and make sure he doesn’t trip. You stare more than any Twilight character as you help each other strip. You try to avoid the bruises on Rafe’s torso, but he chuckles about how “You should see the other guy, kitty.”

So you don’t back away when he slows the trajectory of your calloused hands and drags them up his body. Your nails are bitten unevenly, some leave scratches on his abs and some don’t. It’s exhilarating to see Rafe Caneron’s thread come undone, to watch as he tilts his head back and sighs. You rest your hands on his pecs and kiss the hollow of his throat before you can stop yourself.

You won’t mention the squeak he tries to stifle with the back of his balled up fist.

You step away from him to be vulnerable in return, his satisfaction is much more evident this time around. He rips your camisole in two and unhooks your bra too well, clearly having had practice. He cups your breasts in his hands with tenderness that you’d think is out of character for him. Rafe doesn’t even honk them in the dude bro way that you’d always assumed he would. No, he… massages the flesh in his palms between slow squeezes.

“Don’t see why you’re so insecure about these, I like them just fine.” He huffs, bending down to motorboat you before pulling you in the shower through his grunts of pain and exertion.

You notice that he doesn’t steal a glance at your pussy, almost like he’s scared of seeing it bare and puffy… and wet.

You like to feel like a boiling lobster in the shower, so you turn the dial the same direction as always. You’re worried that Rafe will hate the sting but when the water hits, he moans with an open mouth, eyes shut tight. Before your next breath, you’re pushed against the wall and now the blood’s in your mouth as you're taken into a french kiss right out the gate.

You go with it against your better judgment, until Rafe pulls away to pant against your collarbone. His next kiss is softer, shy like it’s an unknown thing to the two of you. His lips glide and mesh with yours as the water trails down in between your slick bodies. You feel like you’re going to pass out but you couldn’t care less at the moment.

You open your eyes to see the water at the base of the shower run red, and you lose yourself in the swirling motion until the pop of your honey scented shampoo bottle lid snaps you out of it.

“Turn around kitty, ‘said I'd help you scrub down.”

He’d be embarrassed if you said it, but it’s obvious he’s never done this before. He’s like a bull in a china shop gathering you up in a loose bundle and sloppily spreading the soap throughout it. You stay silent, preferring to bask in the absurdity of it all.

Washing Rafe’s hair takes less time, but like he did when you were cleaning him up earlier, he chooses to stare at you the entire time. You scratch his head to really work the shampoo in there and get the dried blood out, he latches onto your wrists and lets his eyes drift shut. He makes it inconvenient to help him when he kisses your jawline, but you allow it.

“Thanks, you’re pretty good with your hands.” Rafe whispers with a wry grin, pecking your mouth and dropping to his knees. Your pomegranate body wash in his uninjured hand. The amount he squirts onto the dollar store loofah on his other hand is a touch too generous.

You have to replace the hello kitty bandaids when the originals fall off after Rafe steps out of the shower minutes later, he insists on it. You make him lean against the bathroom counter and watch as you take a second shower to clean out the cum, he wears a petulant frown the whole time.

You’re bent over that same counter when you’re back in his orbit, teary eyes wide as he fucks your plush thighs.

The rain turns into a thunderstorm outside.

#rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #dark fic #⚰️.deaddove #rafe cameron smut #rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe fic #rafe fanfiction #outer banks x you #outer banks x reader #outer banks smut #obx #obx x you #obx x reader #obx smut #yandere themes #dark themes #wrote this in one sitting so uh

[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

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

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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(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #dad's best friend #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel tlou #joel the last of us #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #cowboy like me #smut #fluff #angst

[mrvlbimbo]

Eddie fic? where poor baby is a virgin but his not-girl-friend is more than happy to let him give her head for ‘practice’?

Heheh Heheheh. I’m cackling evilly because I’ve just been waiting all day for something like this. I’ve got another one I’m working on rn where the reader is a virgin so now I’ve got like little matching prompts.

Practice makes perfect

you’re both already high as a kite when you catch that something is bothering him.

“Eds. What’s wrong?” You coo, grabbing him from the other side of the couch and tugging him into your arms. You always were more affectionate when you’re high.

But then again you were also more affectionate with Eddie in general . There was something there but neither of you had taken the time to define it.

Basically your relationship extended to kissing once or twice when you were high but never when you’re sober, and not talking about it under any circumstances.

He can’t keep a secret so he blurts it out immediately. “Imavirgin”

“I didn’t quite catch that.” You giggle at his random burst of shyness which was so unusual for him.

“Please don’t make me say it again?” He begged. You couldn’t say no to him when he begged.

“Ok. So what’s the problem?”

“What if I’m bad at it?”

“You’ll be fine. You just kinda stick your dick in there and wiggle it around.” You shrugged, not seeing why he was so worried about this when he was usually so confident.

“Ohhhkay but like what about the other stuff. Like if I want to finger her or… eat her out.” You might have been imagining it but he sounded almost whiney when he said the last part.

“I don’t know man, practice I guess.”

“Yeah. Ladies are just lining up around the block to have my tongue inside of them.” He said it sarcastically but frankly you couldn’t understand why that wasn’t true.

“You could practice on me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah why not. I’m not super into the ole sloppy toppy myself but I’m sure I could teach you a few things.”

“Right now?”

“I mean I don’t have any other plans.”

Soon you had kicked off your jeans and he was cradled between your hips, observing your thighs and covered pussy. “Do you usually do it with these on?” He asked, running his index finger over the seam of her panties.

“Fuck,” you gasp out at the featherlight contact. He looks up blinking at you with wide eyes, worried he did something wrong. “No. I just thought you might like to take them off yourself.”

He didn’t mean to but he whimpered a little when you said that.

He practically rips the fabric off of you once he gets the ok, anxious to get to the task at hand.

When he doesn’t start doing anything, you’re about to make some snappy comment and then you remember all this is new to him.

“Eds. You’re doing so good already.” He almost cums when he hears that, not so subtly grinding against the couch beneath him.

Finally, he brings his mouth to your cunt. His licks are tentative but that doesn’t stop you from tangling a hand in his hair when he brushes your clit.

He perks up at that, once again looking to you for confirmation he was doing ok. You nodded and he still seemed like he was waiting for something.

Then it hit you, he wanted to be praised. He went back to work and when he hit that spot again you whined loudly. “So good. Right there!”

He was vigorous after that, taking in every sound and twitch of your body to figure out exactly what was working.

It didn’t take long for him to draw an orgasm out of you. He was surprised by it, licking up all the release he could before resting his head on your lower stomach and looking up at you.

“Did I do good?” he asked, bright sparkling eyes blown wide with lust.

“Yeah.”

“Can I do that again?”

“Yeah,” you repeated

And so he did it again, eating you out like a man starved this time. Now he knew exactly what both of you liked it wasn’t practice anymore, it was a victory lap.

He reached up for your fingers that were clutching the side of the couch tightly and intertwined them with his. It was oddly romantic for the situation but you’d allow it if it meant feeling his warm hand in yours.

Soon you were about to cum again, dizzy and twitching from overstimulation. This time is was a softer climax, your body weakly wracking with waves of pleasure as he thrusted against the couch in turn.

“Wow,” you gasped, not having ever experienced anything quite like that.

when he crawled back up to lay in your arms you didn’t think before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, avoiding the area around his mouth which was covered in your cum.

He nuzzled his head into your neck and sighed “thank you” prompting you both to fall asleep for the night, very satisfied.

A/N hellllo lovely ppl, I just wanted to let y’all know im looking to write for Steve and Hopper aswell so my inbox is open for anything you want to send abt them

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season 4

[littlestpersimmon]

Had this weird story idea about a big dragon with runes all over him, and he's like a paper accordion that could unwind for thousands of miles, and the only way you could defeat him was if you were able to read every single rune on the dragon's papery body, and discern the long riddle of the princess who turned her labyrinthine library into her living armor in the form of a colossal and endless dragon . So far every knight that tried to off the dragon with fire, rain, whatever, was met with *death by a thousand paper cuts*. But the dragon don't really kill them, bc dragon is actually squeamish Lol. But since the entire kingdom is enrobed by the pages of a large dragon, there are entire university branches dedicated to discerning the riddle of the princess, why, why did she turn into a dragon, why is this her curse. And their culture shifts around literature, books and academia being treated as the holiest, most venerable form of knowledge. But anyway a cringefail and autistic kitchen boy loves math. He had come from a long line of dedicated scholars of the book. Boring and trifling matters like arithmetic were considered ignoble when in comparison to the mystery of the paper dragon. And the boy disagreed, of course. He loved books and all but was easily frustrated by them, he cannot focus on it, he needs the abstract to become concrete in his mind, he is the kind of boy who looks at a bridge and marvels at the sheer architecture it took to build a bridge before he is astounded by the bas relief;

he loves the world as it is and wants to tease out the blueprints. Anyway, when he was a boy, his mama used to tell him the story of the paper dragon, with only the first two pages of the dragons body being successfully interpreted by scribes. It had been about a princess who loved looking towards the stars and recording the sun's positions through refracted telescopes. And how she had a library filled with endless knowledge.

And the boy read and read the two pages and was enchanted by the mystery of the princess' riddle. In his teenaged life the boy would see the dragon flying above him while he was climbing an almond tree, and he makes out one of the pages along its infinite body as having similar lyrics to the known pages.

And it bothers the boy, all day he'd think about it. And he thinks about the princess who locked herself in her tower, watching the sun through refracted telescopes, and made dedicated sketches and notes every day to discern where the sun had spots; and it sort of connects in his mind that those sunspot sketches helped form an image of the sun, in a way, so he does the same.

Every day he'd just watch the dragon, and waited for the repeating lyric, and noted it down, until he had a long and fucked up diorama of the dragon; It takes him 12 years to be able to reliably predict where on the dragon's body the lyric shows up again.

when folded a certain way, in accordance to where the lyric shows up, the dragon's papery accordion body, the dragon forms a star at its core.

written in a spiral, the story forms into an answer to the princess' riddle; "I want to be free, I want to be free, I want to be free, I want to be free,"

over and over and over. In all aspects the princess who was a prince all along had wanted to be free, and the only way he could think of escaping the confines of his life and the fear of misunderstanding, of everyone wanting to harm him or to treat him as unnuanced a person for wanting to be something else...... was to transform into a paper dragon, more unquestionable than a normal human boy who loved drawing pictures of the sun-

The boy who loved math looked at the folded piece of paper in his hands, now he held the answer to the riddle of the prince, and he'd look to the sky to see the dragon flying above him like an endless kite. And he'd smile up at the dragon, scrunching the paper star in his hands. And hed whisper, I love you, I know you. I see you .

And he could have sworn the dragon smiled back at him.

#I have been trying to finish reading wheel of time for 12 years #insane trans guy rants #what if you were a princess and you wanted to be a boy and a dragon #also what if they were in love #someone give me 150 usd ill draw this as a comic

[sinning-23]

Blowing Bubbles Blowing ZAZA

OPLA headcannons whre y/n for some reason has an ungodly amout of ouid stashed...but always offers because sharing is caring.

Warnings: uhhh some oiud, mentions of slightly nsfw topics, uhhhh yeah thats about it.

Zoro

-Ok so.....he knows that smell, but why the hell was it coming from your room.

-He doesn't knock, just kinda cracks the door open, and there you are eyes wide like you'd been caught (technically you have) but that didn't matter.

-What DID matter was that you were smoking two blunts at once and took one out of your mouth to offer him.

-He hesitates only for a second but accepts it, closing the door behind him.

-HOT BOX HOT BOX HOT BOX

-I mean this mfs eyes are bloodshot with a satiisfies smile on his face.

-"Where did you even get this?' His voice seems slightly deeper now.

-"Stole it. Good shit tho." You sigh, the two of you laid out, staring up at the ceiling that seems to be warping before your very eyes.

-There's a silence but it's comfortable...until it's not, Zoro cutting through it

-'Do you think god stays in heaven cause he's scared of his creation?"

Sanji

-You already tried to convince him this was better than any cancer stick he's put in his body but he's not one to dabble in that.

-"You can make it butter. Infuse it. Boom edibles." you suggest, passing him the ziplock back with a wiggle of your eyebrows.

-"C'mon chef boyardee, hook it up?"

-Ok so it was far more tempting than he thought and damn did he get carried away fast. Like...way too fast.

-THIS MF COOK A FULL MEAL...ALL OF IT INFUSED. Ohhh you're all fucked up. I mean REALLLY fucked up

-Zoro is knocked out, sleeping in the most uncomfortable position. I mean he's folded like a goddamn omelet with the hilt of his sword acting as a pillow.

-Luffys got his arms stretched out in one big puddle trying to untangle them

-Nami is doing circles around the ship looking at her compass needle, trying to figure out why 'Weast" isn't labeled

-And the two of you giggle away, opening and closing the fridge to try and catch the light go off and on inside.

-It's a gawd damn mess and technically your fault for giving THE CHEF A BAG OF WEED TO USE IRRESPONSIBLY

Luffy

-He found it completely by accident and thought it was food.

-ATE THE NUG. HE. ATE. IT.

-"Well, I don't know why you keep a bag of lettuce in your room, but I was hungry so I ate it. I think it's gone bad by the way. so... you're welcome!"

-You freeze, turning got him in a way that's damn near comical.

-"YOU WHAT?!"

-Oooooh hes fucked up, it takes less than an hour for it to kick in and the whole time he's a mess of tangles, stretched-out libs, asking questions that make no sense to anyone but him.

-"If I like.....stretch my stomach can I eat more than usual or...would I have to stay stretched like that until it's digested?"

-Starts to panic just a pinch because he said his 'hands don't match'

-Que him flipping his hands back and forth for the next hour

Nami

-Only smoked because you offered...and because she hasn't in a while

-Surprizingly knows some cool tricks.

-Opts to take her rolling tray out of its hiding place. Hooray for a new smoke buddy!

-She's actually really calm and relaxed when she smokes. can hold a normal conversation, she just seems a bit sleepy.

-Already prepared with food from the kitchen cause she knows she gets the munchies and already had an incident where she tried to cook while high anddd it backfired.

-Is also very creative. She keeps a sketchbook with pages of mandalas she drew under the influence. Unfortunately, it's only a talent she possesses when high as a kite.

Usopp

-Scam or not the lady at the booth said it was a very nice vase for a unique kind of flower. The plan was to gift it to you with said flower but uhhh... he couldn't find it. That is until you spotted it in his room.

-"Yooo I didn't know you dabble uUo! I would've shared my stash sooner!"

-Whatchu talking bout Willis?

-"What? No no, the lady said this was a vase for a special kind of flower and- Ohhhhh."

-He pauses, giving a nod and clearing his throat.

-Did you just teach Usopp what a bong is and how to use it???

-He gets terrible munchies after and can't decide whether he wants something out the kitchen or to simply eat you up because you already a snack (oop girl hold on-)

-If hes not horned up he's paranoid. No inbetween. literally like, "They're in the walls!" paranoid or "I'm in your walls" just nastyyy

Shanks

-Ouid you say? Zaza? The devil's lettuce? Oh, he will be partaking.

-Will fuck up the rotation. Not on purpose tho, it's just been a while since he'd done this.

-Was kinda a pothead in his youth. These days the closest he can get is a CBD ointment he uses for soreness in his back and shoulders.

-So when he catches you with quite literally the FATTEST joint he has ever seen in his life he can't help but join in.

-"There's no way you're smoking that by yourself." He chuckles, sitting crisscross beside you as you begin to pass t back and forth

-Please don't try to outsmoke him. You will lose and green out way before he does sweetie.

-Shotgunning, that's all I have to say.

-He gets kinda freakayyyy when he's high, so just expect wandering hands and some deep, passionate kisses.

Buggy

-Oh you stole it from someone and he stole it for you because wtf? You're supposed to offer your Captain the shit you steal that totally a rule.

-You don't say anything when the bag goes missing but you do smell your precious green coming from your Captain's quarters.

-You knock, hearing a light cough, and then 'come in"

-THIS MF IS SMOKING ALL YOUR SHIT.!THE SHIT YOU WORKED HARD TO STEAL!

-"So you were gonna keep this little gem a secret from me? I'd laugh in your face right now but I feel like I'm gonna cough up a lung" He strains, very obviously holding back a series of coughs.

-He doesn't seem upset and passes the joint to you with a welcoming smile.

-Who tf else did you think Shanks would smoke with back in the day?

-For once he's not talkative, just enjoying the feeling of complete relaxation. It's like he turns his brain off for a moment. he needs it honestly.

-Is literally the BEST at rolling. Like every time it's a perfect, photo-worthy blunt.

#x reader #ouid #zaza #420 #one piece live action #one piece sanji #one piece nami #one piece zoro #one piece luffy #one piece buggy #one piece shanks #one piece usopp #one piece #one piece netflix #one piece live adaptation #opla #crackfic #headcannons #i love them so much #new hyperfixation

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Chase (Evil Reptilian)

For @turbulentscrawl who knows im trying to feed us professor scalie food fvnjfonjfvjn

Rated Mature | Warnings: Hunter/prey kink

Sometimes new places are somehow created and never announced until after a match. Everyone on that team just wakes up there.

You look around as you are placed outside of what looks like a college entrance. The first thing you notice, your clothes are different. A lab coat with goggles on your head like a headband, large black lab gloves, shiny black pants, and luckily decent long boots. You are always amazed when any of the lady survivors flywheel in heels.

When you look at your reflection through the glass door of the entrance, you almost laugh! The costume looks so stereotypical of a mad scientist costume! All you are missing is crazy hair with a white streak.

“(Name)!” You turn to see Lucky Guy dressed in a varsity jacket and the rest of his usual clothes, “You got changed too!”

“Yeah,” He sounds excited but thankfully not loud. “Did you see the others yet?”

He shakes his head, “Here,” Tossing you a flashlight, “Found a chest nearby. I'll go check the football field for a cipher.”

“Do you recognize this place?”

“Yeah, my old college. That building,” Pointing to the one you are in front of, “That's the science building.”

The sound of the bell going off cuts the conversation short. The cheerleader got hit.

“Shit.” You both say before going two different paths to find a cipher.

Cheerleader chaired first, rescued by Lucky Guy. Lucky Guy used a perfume. The cheerleader found Mind’s Eye and got healed. Lucky Guy was kiting Evil Reptilian until he was terror-shocked. You saved Lucky Guy by using the flashlight, but now the lizard man is after you.

One cipher was found and completed by you during this mess.

The part that is most intense when it comes to hunters like Evil Reptilian-- Luchino-- is how Jurassic fucking part this feels when you hear him behind the door of the classroom you are hiding in. His claws scraped against the floor and his tail swayed and sometimes knocked into things in the hallway. You hate it, the way your heart races as you have to carefully move behind a lab table as the door is thrown open and the large creature bends down to enter through the doorway.

You can see him through the glass cabinet above the wall, you grip the dying flashlight in your hand as he jumps onto one of the other tables to survey the room.

He can smell you, his tongue sticking out more accurately, the mix of your scent and the faint scent of his counterpart. When in matches with you both, he cannot sometimes pinpoint who is who, likely a trick the professor uses to have the lizard go for him first.

A flex, as you say, would be another way to put it given both are possessive of you.

The second he leaps forward you flash the light in his eyes causing him to crash into the cabinet wall giving you time to run out of the room.

A cipher pops when you are in the hallway running for your life!

“Why can't you be normal!?” Shouting as you run and dodge a swipe of the machete meant to hit your back, “Stop that!” You make a sharp turn just as he tries to jump in front of you to block your path.

“Saying that will not stop— Agh!” You threw the broken flashlight at him but he blocked it with his arm, “Haha!” The laugh that follows makes you jolt quickly knowing better than to stand around like a deer in the headlights.

The predator chasing the prey adds to his excitement, the palette you drop does nothing but get him closer. Your flywheel helps you try your next plan as you remove your lab coat and vault through a window into another classroom. A burner is on as it makes whatever is in these glasses of various shapes and sizes burn.

“Back off!” You burn your coat and use it to keep him at a distance.

It is always fun going against you, this will of yours to live never dying down, snatches the coat out of your hands but you start throwing the mysterious chemicals-filled glasses around not giving a damn.

The mindset of: “If I am going out I'm taking you with me” is admirable.

Luchino can smell it is just water and food coloring, nothing harmful else he would have panicked. Not only for himself but for you too.

Though he is hunting you, you are still important to him.

A cut across your chest ripping into clothing and flesh, he is doing his job and you fight as expected of you.

Wounded. You didn't use that ability to give yourself a second wind.

He can taste your blood and sweat, the fear though is lacking. Good, he prefers you to be brave.

Two ciphers are remaining and you are getting tired, you found a syringe though when Evil Reptilian lost you for a second in the basement level. He downed you but you used your ability to get back up.

It will be a long while before you can use it again and hopefully by then the ciphers and exit gate will be open.

Hoping as he has the advantage of jumping here in this odd basement.

Did Mad Eyes make this!? You have to be careful not to get snagged by something or the steam from the boiler disorienting you.

Scraping of claws on metal is freaking you out and fear is finally kicking in. Fear makes you… Not so smart and you scream when you fall and feel yourself get lifted and then tossed into something. It was like being a ragdoll for a brief moment. You fight to get out of this weird placement in the wall but all it gets you is the attention of the hunter on the other side.

You jerk when his large hand grabs your leg and attempts to pull you out of the hole in the wall.

“This is stupid!” Stupid and the making of a bad joke. “Luchino help!” Because you do not like this and if anyone is going not be weird about this it would be him.

You think.

He tries again by tugging from your waist but stops when all that does is make the device keeping you in this strange wall tighten.

“There may not be a way for me to force you out.” You hear him say while his hand shifts to your back just above your ass. Being bent over with no way to look behind you is making you very aware of what is touching you.

“You don't sound too worried about it.” You kick at him when his claw tugs as the waistband of your pants.

“Why should I? You can remain here while I deal with your teammates.”

Shit. You try getting out of this but all that does is give the Evil Reptilian a show of your ass wiggling in front of him.

Tempting.

Would not be the first time he had you, comes with the territory of your relationship with his counterpart. Shared emotions and all. You do not mind, the first time it scared you naturally but you are a very adaptive little human with the bravery of a creature ten times his size. Sometimes you should keep that in check, though hunting you would be no fun if you gave up without a fight. You are no deer, nor rabbit, you are like a snake. Hissing as a warning with your commentary and striking with an object when the warning is ignored. Though he knows you are not above actually biting as once he heard Ithaqua ask the other hunters if ever a survivor has ever bitten them.

“Luchino?” You call out to him, “You know…” His eyes narrow at the way your legs part a bit, enough to hit your intentions, “You could chair me after we explore a little something.” Being cute with your voice as this is not the first time you gave yourself to him during a match. Not like it often, you do have pride but you are also one to do when he least expects to throw him off.

There is a ripping sound, you squealing, and metal being scratched into by claws.

#idv #reader insert #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v #identity v x you #idv evil reptilian #evil reptilian #idv x you #identity v evil reptilian

[pinpurin]

NINTENDHOE

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 1610! Miles morales x reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ hc of playing acnh with miles bc I miss playing it

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ gag worthy fluff tbh, I need me a bf like miles

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ header by pastelwalks

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tbh he probably played before u two had gotten together but let’s pretend he didn’t rn

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ miles most definitely questions everything about the game

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷”why are we the only human??” “Why is the place being ran by a racoon?” “Who is this random otter in the ocean??”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷miles shaking trees and getting stung by wasp. After you told him that a villager can give him medicine he went up to one and they called him ugly LMFAO.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ I feel as if miles wouldn’t be picky when it comes to villagers, he loves all of them

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ skips all of blathers dialogue. “He talks to much” 😭

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷but because of blathers he remembers so many facts about dinosaurs, bugs and fish. He even recites them if he see it in public

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ “that’s a paper kite butterfly” “ I don’t now wether to write on it, fly it or spread it on toast”

“…what..”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He isn’t really into the whole “selling villagers thing” and when he finds out you put your villagers up for sale on discord he judges so hard😭😭

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ “wdym your putting Moe up for sale???” “Miles he’s a ugly version of Tom, I don’t like him” “but FOR SALE??? That’s sounds like human trafficking”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ I feel like the villagers miles would like would be Dobie and Joey, don’t ask why they’re just adorable.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ now back to the actual game, miles would have BEEF with Tom nook (just like the rest of us)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷” baby why do I have to pay a phone bill fee, he OFFERED the phone to me”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷imagine the first time he shoots down a ballon and it goes in the water LMFAO

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ when he has to build the nooks cranny alone, he would be so shocked at the amount of material he needs

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷”30?? 30 iron nuggets?? How am I supposed to get 30 iron nuggets if the rock only gives me two???”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ you start to treat him like he’s your sugar baby, giving him iron, regular wood (bc that shit is hard to get for no reason), flowers,literally anything

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷”hey baby, why’d you want to come to my island?? What are you dropping?? Is that MONEY, WHY ARE YOU DROPPING THOUSANDS OF BELLS??”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ he always says he’s gonna pay u back but you decline ofc

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ miles gets mad when he gets a sea bass for the 90th time so you offer for him to fish on your island only for him to get another see bass

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷” I got ANOTHER SEA BASS? If I hear this joke one more time I’ll start crying. “Baby here you try” *you pull a sunfish* *angry stare in disbelief*

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ he gets a little aggressive with Isabelle when she is trying to help the island get up to 3 stars and he keeps getting told “plant more flowers”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ now he gets 3 stars right, he’s fucking EXCITED like it took so long and he finally got it

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ miles fav k.k songs are kk crusin, kk surfin and kk western.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ I don’t think he has a theme going on, just kinda goes w the flow but loves watch island tours on YouTube

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷miles coming over to your island just to see you beating the hell out of a villager with your net and calling them names

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷”mi vida…. Why are you torturing them?..” “I want him to leave”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ most definitely has you design a Spider-Man costume for his character

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ I truly don’t know what his favorite season would even be, like idk I get spring vibes but it could be anything

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ having miles come to your island to catch the spiders that are harassing you. (I’m being so fr, the spiders scare me so much, if I see one I’m closing the whole game).

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ he WORSHIPS your island, like he loves it always praising you about it just UGH 😩 I LOVE HIM

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷” Amor??? Your island is so good, what?? How long did this even take?, you’re so talented I swear” “uhhhh haha it’s not that good” “ baby it’s AMAZING”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ acnh dates where Celeste is at your island and you both make wishes

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ “you know… my only wish is to be with you forever” “miles, you are so corny….I love you” “I love you to mi alma”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ spending the holidays together in acnh, like him wrapping up a gift for you during Christmas and you both exchanging them 😭😭 adorable

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ telling miles all of your island drama bc he swears yours is more entertaining

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ “omg baby, literally Raymond and Judy got into a fight the other day arguing about who’s better looking and Raymond said it was obviously him, so he was basically calling Judy ugly. THEN they had the audacity to ask me who looked better. “Whatttttt😮”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ he loves the game truly, he plays with you whenever you ask. He just got out the shower but you wanna play? let him hurry and put clothes on and he’s yours. Just got done patrolling after a long day but you wanna play? How could ever deny you with a face like yours?

I literally love this sm, I might have to make another one with 42!miles and another with the twins 🤔🤔🤔 let me know if y’all want that bc I’ll have it done,

#1610 miles morales #atsv #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #spider man #spiderman atsv #miles molares #miles morales x y/n #miles morales hcs #miles morales headcanons #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #spiderman itsv #itsv #acnh #animal crosing new horizons #animal crossing

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Drabble request (feel free to say no :) )

(Comic) due to the after events of the book, Ambrosius is in the hospital and feels horrible, physically and mentally, and the treatments they are giving him are making him sick and very anxious, so he asks ballister to visit him in hospital, and plays the whole “hopeless romantic” so that he stays and Ambrosius feels better, but ballister can see right through it, and doesn’t want to admit it, but he visits him anyways.

Yippieee!!! Loved this request as I'm working on a longer Ambrosius Hospital Fic rn \(^^)/

I currently still have one req still in the works because I'm struggling to get it started, but it is on it's way! Anyway I hope you enjoy this drabble :,)

-

Ambrosius groaned softly. He had no idea how long he'd been here. The doctors said it had been four days, but he didn't really believe that. The painkillers and heavy antibiotics– and maybe also the brain injury– made time melt together. All he ever really looked forward to were visits from Ballister. Ballister had visited him often when he was still hospitalized, but he was discharged at some point. 

Not like he had any reason to visit Ambrosius. Fuck. Everything was such dogshit. The Institution, the thing he dedicated his whole life to, was gone. The King to whom he swore allegiance was dead. Not that any of that mattered, he'd already been demoted to a grunt rank in the Institution because he fucked up at doing the only thing he was supposed to be good at. 

Nobody respected him. Nobody liked him. Certainly nobody loved him. And on top of that, he felt nothing but pain and nausea and confusion all the time. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to vomit, but he did it often. The antibiotics were tearing his guts apart. The beta blockers made him even more weak and exhausted than he was already. The painkillers disoriented him and didn't even seem to do much, and also worked together with the anticonvulsants to make him sick as a dog. He couldn't help but wish that Ballister had just left him in that facility to be disintegrated instantly.

Why did Ballister save him if he wasn't even gonna be here? Was it just to punish him? What was going to happen to him after all this? With no job, unable to walk, unable to see out of one eye, no home, he'd end up back on the streets. He was terrified and woke up crying constantly. He wanted his Ballister here. He wanted Ballister to hold his hand and kiss his forehead and tell him everything would be okay. As if he had any claim to Ballister at all. 

Eventually he couldn't take it anymore, and he weakly dialed the number in his phone.

–

Ballister had been a wreck ever since he was discharged. He felt guilty about Nimona and Ambrosius and the town and everything. He wanted to be there for Ambrosius, who at this point was all he had left, but in addition to the pain and mixed feelings he suffered whenever he was around, he feared his presence didn't even help. Whenever he sat with Ambrosius, the man looked so guilty and miserable he couldn't meet his eyes. Making Ambrosius feel like shit about himself certainly wouldn't aid in his recovery. Plus, being in hospitals was more than a little triggering for him. He didn't like to see the pain from the worst day of his life reflecting off Ambrosius's face.

But standing around this empty warehouse, without Nimona's snark or laughter, barely felt like anything either.

He jumped when his phone rang with Ambrosius's number. “Hello?” 

“Hiii…” the voice on the other end was weak. “I've missed you, darling.” 

Ballister cleared his throat. “Ambrosius, you should be resting.” 

“How can I possibly rest without you here? I'm sick and in dreadful shape, and the object of my affection isn't even here to distract me with his handsome face.” 

Blushing, Ballister looked down. More guilt, fun. Obviously he was high as a kite while also being at rock bottom. It was obvious what he was doing. He was playing it like he was being cute and flirty, but he was groveling. He was prone on the floor groveling for Ballister’s attention. For him to be there, to hold his hand.

“My darling, if only I could hear your voice and see your face, I certainly would feel better. If you're not busy, that is.” 

Ballister snorted. He never could resist Ambrosius's begging. 

He arrived at the hospital an hour later, and he swore a blue light flickered behind Ambrosius's eye when he saw him. “You came!” He smiled as broadly as he could without ripping the stitches in his cheek. 

“Of course, I couldn't leave my… my beloved gentleman caller all by himself, could I?” He smiled and took his hand. Ambrosius squeezed it.

“I'm happy you're here.” His voice was exhausted. His face said so many things his mouth couldn't.

Ballister stroked his hair. “I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to be afraid.”

“If I go to sleep, will you stay? Will you hold my hand until I wake up?” 

A lump caught in Ballister's throat. “Of course I will.”

#nimona #ambrosius goldenloin #goldenheart #nimona graphic novel #ballister blackheart #ballister x ambrosius #nimona fanfic #blackloin #fic request

[outsidersandlostboys]

We’re on the fifth one now (I think)

Thank you all on your support of these! 🤟

-

Y/n: You look like a mess

David: very funny pick on the guy WHO CAN’T SEE HIS REFLECTION Y/N GEEZ

Y/n: Therapy. Therapy is your Christmas gift this year.

-

Y/n: Fire is just chilled out electricity

Dwayne: Y/n I don’t think that makes sense

Paul (high): nah it makes total sense bro

-

David: you’re music taste is overrated Y/n

Y/n: and so is smoking but I’m not judging you for the fact that you could stop smoking and could still have lungs left in your decaying body.

David: …

Star: Damn Y/n..

-

Marko: I wanna eat drywall, it looks crunchy

Paul: dude, it would taste so good, and it’s like eating those dipping candies

Y/n: *bites wall* I’ve been lied to

Dwayne: Y/n what the fuck

-

Max: I don’t play favourites

Y/n: then why is there a drawing from Dwayne put higher up than Marko’s and David’s? In fact why is Paul higher up than David?

Max: …They were placed like that randomly..

Y/n: Dwayne isn’t even a golden child! Yesterday he flipped all your shirts inside out and then tried to hide a spider in the closet!

Max: but he doesn’t smoke

Y/n: oh really?

Dwayne: *high as a kite* Whoa, were your walls always this white Max?

Max: fucks sake

-

David: I take pride in being the badass one

Paul: and I take pride in being the goofy one

Marko: Being cool looking is mine

Dwayne: I take pride in being taller than any of you

Paul: that’s weird dude

Y/n: yeah take that you tree

David: you’re at least to his shoulder Y/n, I wouldn’t be surprised if you turned into tree stump

Y/n: I hope your blood circulation sucks

-

Y/n: I ate a penny

David: Y/n, What. The. Fuck.

Paul: what did it taste like?

Y/n: blood

David: WAHT?

Dwayne: like metal you mean?

Y/n: yeah but I don’t think we have copper in our blood

David: how the fuck do you know what specific metals are in our blood but decide to eat a penny?

Y/n: why not?

Marko: yeah David why not?

David: …

David: I’m going to strangle all of you

-

Paul: I got stabbed

Dwayne: what?!

David: how the heck did you get stabbed?!

Paul: well a guy came up to me with a knife and I said “what are you gonna do? Stab me?” And he did

Marko: well I mean he did stab you

Y/n: yeah I dunno what you were expecting him to do…

Paul: obviously kiss me y/n jeez

Y/n: oh shit, you right

-

Thank you all for your support on these, I really love making them ❤️

#the lost boys #i love them #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #i appreciate you #paul the lost boys #slayyyyy #vampire #so fruity

[crusty-chronicles]

hii! i really love your airhead s/o series!! especially that ging one, perhaps can you make a part 2 of airhead s/o x ging? i really love it😭😭

You know what, why the hell not. There simply isn't enough of this stinky man out there and I truly do love him. He's cute in the feral rat kinda way 🥺

BONUS AIRHEADED S/O HEADCANNONS: Ging part 2

Like a thorn in his side, you simply won't leave

He doesn't recall how exactly he met you, but he does remember what he said that started all this.

"Keep up with me if you can."

And keep up you did. A little too well. And now he was stuck with you.

Buys plastic plates and Styrofoam cups because you can't break them.

Seriously, every good dish he had is shattered in the trash somewhere.

No plastic spoons or forks though

He tried that once and you had broken them, unawares that the extra crunch to your cereal was plastic

Is amazed and a little curious to find out you set the sink on fire.

Like honsetly, what the fuck???? Should he be impressed or scared.

Ging is a lazy stinky man

He has you in one of those backpacks with leashes when you go out in crowded places.

Cannot be bothered to go looking for you, so the next best thing is to leash you so you don't wander far.

You'll see something you think is cool and rush off, only to be stopped by a small tug pulling you back.

"Can you focus for one second?"

And for the first time he actually looks the part of a parent as he tugs you back towards him.

"Quit running around, pup."

God forbid the leash is detachable and you find out how to get free

"Yes, I need some help. My idiot got loose and I can't find them."

"Sir this is a Mcdonalds."

The one thing he made sure to tell Gon atop the Great tree, was to make sure he found somebody who always kept him on his toes.

"Why?"

"Life is better when the person you're with makes it interesting." Completely unaware you were only a few branches down listening.

Panics when you leave for hunter business because of that one time.

"Pick up your phone, idiot!!!! Damnit! How many times have I told you not to go by yourself!"

Waits for you like an upset parent that just caught their kid sneaking back in

Arms crossed, sitting on your sofa style

Waiting impatiently as you bump into the vase by the door after breaking the lock to get in.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

And you stare up at him with puppy eyes holding out a small box.

"I got you a souvenir." 🥺

And it's most likely broken but he appreciates it anyways.

All great hunters are liked by animals.

You get adopted by nearly all the apex predators you come across

And Ging is distressed because 'That is a fucking lion, Y/n. You can't just cuddle it.'

He tries to take you away from it, only for whatever creature had you hostage to growl at him.

Then it continues licking you and eventually whines when you get up to follow a very perplexed Ging.

(He secretly thinks it's cool)

Ging knows you're stupid, but that you're not an idiot

He knows you get lost on missions frequently and for the life of you can't not break something for five seconds.

But he also knows that you can tell when people are lying and being disingenuous

You hate Pariston for a reason

That and he lied to you once about something which resulted in you refusing to talk to him for weeks

He totally didn't care

Totally didn't try to send you a message only to see you'd blocked his number (how you accomplished that, he'd never know)

Totally didn't ask Kite to check up on you and make sure you hadn't died or something

What him? Never

And he also totally didn't swing by your apartment to leave a box of your favorite snacks on your doorstep

Couldn't be him 🙄🙄🙄

Yeah, he never tried to lie to you after that.

He refuses to baby you, but if someone makes fun of you for not being able to do something, he's kicking their ass

Makes you teach Gon some of your nen tricks

Just because he knows you're capable enough to do so

You're not a two star hunter for nothing.

Plus it means you two get to bond. Which is something he'd deny to his grave

Him, wanting his partner and son to be close???

You're delusional, he doesn't care 🙄🙄🙄

Yes he does and what he lied to you about was having a kid in the first place.

He just knew you'd spill the secret on his whereabouts is all

Gon thinks you are the coolest person he's met so far.

Alluka, who can grant wishes? She's cool

You, who took him fishing and caught an alligator by wrestling it????

You're his idol 🤩🤩🤩

And Ging is so damn proud because the next day his son brought home this huge sea monster he caught with your help.

"Why wouldn't I settle for a capable partner," is the biggest compliment he'll give.

He is a man child who fights for your attention with anybody. Not even poor little Gon is safe 😞

The barista's hand brushed against yours while handing you a drink?

Ging is dragging you out by your hand, glaring behind at the confused worker.

You're catching up with an old friend?

Okay, but they're clearly not that interesting if you ditched them for him. So quit wasting time and follow him to this cool thing he just found.

Gon wants you to teach him and his friend a new ability?

It's a family event now

Physically cannot say he loves you

He's just not used to it

And he can't even hint to it through romantic gestures because you don't understand subtlety

But, he's more physical with you than with most people

You get to jostle him around in your excitement and pull him everywhere you go

Doesn't mean he won't complain about it

He just won't push you off

"That's enough, pup. You'll make me dizzy."

"But I haven't seen you in a while, don't be all mean."

And he regrettably lets you keep your arms tight around him

You can't read maps and he's so surprised you accomplish anything that requires travel

Showers

He showers with you or he doesn't at all

He just wants to make sure you don't fall in there okay. 🙄You already trip on dry land, so imagine the wet tile.

It's because he likes the way you're so gentle when you wash his scalp. And because you always have the best scented soaps.

Kissed you one time and collapsed from embarrassment

Like a real kiss, not the little forehead ones he gives when you've been good.

Red in the face and unable to look at you properly

All because he said he stole your favorite sweet and taunted you for it.

You'd tackled him down and kissed him, swiping your tongue on his lips.

And he was 😳😳😳

And when you pulled away with a triumphant smile on your face, he actually did faint.

You were so confused because he didn't taste like your candy??? Did he lie to you again???

Gets flustered if Gon asks him when he's gonna marry you.

Like c'mon kid, don't say things like that!!! They're literally right there!

(Doesn't want to marry you because he couldn't take it if you decided you couldn't stand him after all. But he also really does because you keep his life interesting)

"I want what I can't have."

Didn't know he wanted an idiot until trying and failing so many times to get you to see he actually does care

MASTERLIST

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter x y/n #x reader #hxh x reader #hxh x y/n #ging freecss #ging x reader #hxh ging #airhead s/o #stronk s/o #stupid s/o

[chaoticdelinqueerwithglitter]

Let me tell you now, you're the lucky one

(Enemies to Enemies Who Fuck)

(HaruKaku in Bonten timeline)

(some past-MuSan and past-KakuIza with a subtle RanOmi bc why not, it's my fic and I don't have self-restrain when it comes to multishipping)

(link to ao3 in case some one preferes to read it there)

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat!

All of them. Bonten is their own warning. Substance abuse. Really unhealthy coping mechanisms. Depression. Mental health problems. Suicide. Major character death. (it's Bonten, they all want to kill themselves and some of them succeed, okay?) Mentions of unsafe sex, but there is no smut or graphic depiction of it.

I tried to not be too graphic with any of this topics, the focus is mostly on what the characters are thinking/feeling. But it's hard anyway, tbh the last scene was actually difficult and painful for me to write. So please, don't take the CW lightly and prioritize your mental health!

Angst and Hurt/No Comfort.

MANGA SPOILERS!!!!

Notes: HaruKaku came as an hilarious idea. Because they are hilarious, let's be real. Soulmates archnemesis, doomed to hate each other in every timeline. But then Bonten happened and of course, I ended up writing some angsty shit instead of focusing in all the other moments when they are hilarious. Kudos for me, yey! 🥲

This is canon complicit (again, is Bonten, beware!)

It alternates from Kakucho's POV to Sanzu's POV. I did that thing again of using "Haruchiyo" when he's in his most vulnerable state because for some reason I like playing with his name like this.

(English is not my first language, be nice please 🙈)

(the art is from @just-sp-in-inginthevoid who is in part responsible for the archnemesis brain riot, but mostly the hilarious part, tbh)

Is not that Kakucho enjoys Sanzu's company. Or that the pinkette gradually started to grow on him. Quite the opposite, to be honest. He hates him a little bit more every day, every shared mission, every time they had to spent hours together.

But with Sanzu, he feels. He feels intensely, he feels with passion. Even if it's twisted, at least he's not empty anymore. The void that threatens to devour him seems to disappear when he's around the other man. Sometimes, Kakucho wants to murder him, but he knows he can't. Others, he wonders what would happen to him if he also loses the only person that it's still able to provoke an intense emotion on him.

Hate is better than apathy, isn't it?

They hate each other passionately. Sanzu finds his reactions too funny for stopping it, always willing to go a little further, to push Kakucho to the edge. It's too easy to pick on him, making him forget about his allegedly righteous patience.

It's disgusting, how Kakucho thinks of himself like he was better than the rest of them. So Sanzu enjoys to proves him wrong, to show him that they are the same (even if he can't stand that fact either, seeing that burning rage in those heterochromatic eyes makes it worth it).

Now that he thinks about it, it was probably a matter of time, considering that his king denied them the right to kill each other, they needed to find a way of releasing all that build up anger. That's probably why isn't that surprising when it finally happens.

It looked like a regular night. Sanzu was high as a kite, trying to forget every one of his lives. Kakucho just seemed to be there, he can't recall exactly why, some type of report, but he didn't pay any attention to it at the moment, too intoxicated for actually caring for something that could wait until tomorrow.

“Why are you still here? You like me that much or what?”

The pinkette man says, slurring his words.

“Are you that high? You know I hate you.”

Is the harsh answer that he earns. It's brutal, but real. Kakucho's honesty has something that grounds him to the present. It's sickening. It's exactly what he wants right now.

“I hate you too, don't worry.” He laughs, finding his own words amusing. “Think about it, me and you. Just us, hating each other all night long.”

“You're crazy.”

“And you didn't say no.”

(If he was more honest with himself, he would admit that he was trying to find another way of punishing his broken mind and his body. But he's not.)

And oh, it actually feels good. Kakucho fucks him with the same brutality that talks to him. He couldn't bear any type of gentle touch (specially not from someone that it's so linked to Mucho, but he isn't thinking in that, he promised himself to forget his old captain a long time ago).

There isn't any type of care between them, only spite. Both men are too broken for having the ability to love someone again. Indeed, this was precisely what he needed. This is perfect.

The next day, Kakucho feels nauseated. How couldn't he? Sanzu was high as fuck, too intoxicated to give proper consent to do anything. So even if he was also a little drunk, even if it wasn't his idea, Kakucho feels guilty for what happened.

Until Sanzu just laughs at his poorly attempt of apologizing, mocking his morals once more. He was about to punch him in the face, but the lingering guilt doesn't allow him to do it. Not that one more bruise would make a difference, actually.

Both are covered in so many marks that more than sex, it looks like they tried to kill each other. Yeah, maybe he should stop feeling sorry for Sanzu, considering this. Maybe that was the best way to get rid of that not-so-pent-up hate.

And it works. At least for a while, it works. Until it happens again. And again.

Is not that they are lovers (Kakucho wants to puke with that idea). They just fuck from time to time. That's all. They hate each other, they wish they could kill the other. But they can't. So, sometimes, they fuck.

Their relationship is not pretty. At all. Or better. If Kakucho had to use only one word for describing it, he would say “real”. They don't lie to each other, what would be the point? Both are too able of seeing between the lies, they are too similar in so many ways. But that raw honesty only makes it worse.

Kakucho knows it's a mistake, that he shouldn't care about Sanzu's fate (he brought it on himself and he doesn't seem to have any complains). But Mikey is worse every day, the king is falling and his loyal dog is falling with him. Kakucho needs to do something, because the uneasiness he feels every time he sees them is now living rent-free in his mind.

That's why, one day, Kakucho tries. He's trying to find his clothes, dressing quickly, wanting to get out of this room that only makes him feel sick. Then, he looks at Sanzu, his pink hair scattered on the pillows, a lazy and satisfied smile than only appears after sex (and never lasts). There is some twisted vulnerability in how content the other man is while lighting up a joint, as if seeing these new swelling (all this pain) on his skin was something he wanted.

(Kakucho can't shake the feeling that Sanzu is using him as another way of hurting himself and that infuriates him so fucking much... Maybe that's the real reason why he decides against his best judgment and opens his big mouth.)

“Is not worth it.”

“Uh?”

Sanzu looks at the other, not sure if he actually heard something. He just wants to smoke and relax, to feel the post-orgasmic satisfaction while it lasts, to enjoy the pain in his body (one more of his little punishments).

“I said is not worth it. Dying with Mikey.”

If it had been anyone else, Sanzu would shoot him in the face just for saying this. Thinking like that, talking like that about his king is treason. It should be. But it's difficult to pretend Kakucho's isn't right about this when, unfortunately, it's the only one Sanzu trusts with Mikey's well-being (It's the one he calls every time Mikey is being suicidal again).

“You wish you could be me, you wish you had died with Izana.”

Sanzu spits his words, burning with all the rage he feels every time he has to acknowledge the reality of how is Mikey.

“That's not what this is about-”

Kakucho is unable to finish his sentence, turning pale in anger when Sanzu cuts him. 'Good'.

“You're a selfish bastard, aren't you? You want me to be like you, stuck here with no purpose, jerking yourself with the memory of a ghost. Pretend it's because of your high morals, that you're worried about me or some other bullshit. But you're just another selfish bastard. And you envy me.”

If it had been anyone else, Sanzu would shoot him in the face. But he can't (he wants to, oh, he wants it so much, but he can't disobey Mikey's orders). So, instead of bullets, he uses his words.

“At least Izana cared about me.”

Is the last thing he hears before Kakucho slams the door. Sanzu laughs maniacally, throwing the first shit he can find to the place the other man was a few seconds a go. He's momentary satisfaction long forgotten, replaced only by hate (and pain, but one that he refuses to see).

The worst part is that in a sickening way, he trusts Kakucho. They don't lie to each other, that makes it so much worse, because both of them know that what the other said is true. He hates him, he hates him with every fiber of his body. He doesn't want this words to be true, he can't accept that. He needs to keep living in this denial, to pretend Mikey is fine (to pretend he doesn't keep mixing this Mikey with that in his nightmares, to pretend they don't look so alike).

It's been three days. Three whole days since Mikey's death was splattered on the news (no one seems to care about Takemichi's death, even with all that footage of how the hero tried to save the most dangerous man in Japan). Kakucho cares, but he knows damn well that he wouldn't be welcomed within the hero's friends, so he would have to say goodbye in his own way (again).

During this days, Kakucho learned some things, like the fact that apparently everyone had some kind of contingency plan in case this happened (no, for when this happened, all of them could see that Mikey was more on the edge every day). But nobody spoke to him about it, keeping him in the darkness, the only idiot that didn't prepare himself for the end. Well, not the only, he knows that, of course he knows that.

(Sanzu would have killed them in the blink of an eye. Anyone who dared to imply that Bonten needed to be prepared to function without a king.)

Kakucho understands the need for secrets, of course he does. The idea of Mikey falling would be considered treason a few days ago, it was taboo to think like that. At the same time, none of them wanted to acknowledge it, like saying it out loud would make it more real. He can't even be mad when the Haitanis (obviously) thought about him on their own schemes, making sure Kakucho was also safe. Or as safe as any of them could be now that Bonten was crumbleling.

It's been three days. Bonten is crumbleling. Mikey is dead. And Sanzu disappeared the same day. Everyone knows he's dead, but they don't say it. Not in front of Takeomi, who's still desperately looking, going out in the rain for hours. Trying to find something, some clue that leads him to his little brother. Clinging to the hope that he's still alive somewhere. That he's going to find him, high as fuck, but alive (Kakucho thinks being able to find Sanzu's body at all would already be a miracle).

Only Ran is able to convince Takeomi to rest a little bit, promising that he and Rindou will help with the search as long as the older man gets a few hours of sleep. Takeomi just nods, mumbling “Today is his birthday, Ran. Is his fucking birthday and he's out there alone.” while Ran drags him softly, a concerned look plastered in those violet eyes.

Kakucho hates it, hates having to see all this sorrow around him (again). He doesn't lament the loss of Mikey and Sanzu, he's incapable of doing it. Grief took his heart for hostage a long time ago, there is nothing more for him to mourn.

More than anything, Kakucho hates himself, because he's jealous of Sanzu. He knows he shouldn't, but he hates that the pinkette man was right about him. He envies Sanzu, who had the privilege of dying with Mikey, of dying with his king.

Kakucho hates the Mad Dog even more right now. But he's aware that once this hate fades away, he would feel empty again. So he clings onto this feeling, he needs this rage as a motor to keep moving.

It doesn't matter if this energy is fulled with rage, he needs it. He can't fail his friends, what's left of his family. Kakucho has to keep living even if he can't remember how being alive felt anymore. Even if he's more dead inside every day.

So, over and over... Kakucho would keep living.

The rain keeps pouring down without truce, Haruchiyo shrinks inside the leather jacket that was always too big for him. Now the only thing that makes him feel protected from that annoying rain (from the world). To be honest, he isn't completely aware how he managed to recover it from his penthouse, but it seemed important in that moment.

The jacket and the old picture that he's still clutching in his pocket, the only two things he cared enough to take. He doesn't even need to look at it to see the four happy smiles stained with watermelon juice. Two pink haired kids that could be confused by twins, one with a shy smile, the other with a cheerful one, happy to be included with his brother friends. Next, a fierce smile showing two small fangs, already a force of nature at his young age. In the middle, a blond kid with the most radiant smile Haruchiyo ever saw, capable of making everything shine just with his presence. Full of life, of dreams. Full of potential. Brighter than the sun, a true leader.

But that was a long time ago and, once again, Sanzu is the only one who remembers. The man staggering in the rain is now the only survivor from that photo. Only him, alone in this fuck up world where nothing and no one matters anymore. Not without Mikey. Even Bonten can burn from what he cares.

He keeps walking (it feels more like floating for him, floating in a cloud of pain and numbness at the same time). Until he finally reaches his destination, an abandoned bowling alley. Sanzu enters in some kind of trance, not sure if he's dissociating or too intoxicated. He doesn't care.

He sits down exactly in the same place his king sat down. How many days had passed since that moment? One? Two? Ages. It certainly feels like ages for him. Haruchiyo hugs himself, trying to make space for his legs inside the big comforting jacket. Completely curled up. And he cries, he cries like he hasn't allowed himself to do so in the last ten years.

He's starting to sober up, he can feel it. Because the flashbacks are coming back. Shinichiro jumping from that bridge. Mikey jumping from this exact building. Mikey falling from the stairs, that awful “clonk”. Mikey jumping again from this building.

Haruchiyo screams, holding his head with both hands, begging the images to stop, unable to continue reliving those memories. He needs everything to stop, to be quiet, his shattered mind can't take it anymore.

He takes out a small box from his pocket, looking at the content. Everything he needs is here, he knows how to do it, how to make sure he's not going to wake up from this trip. His stupid hands are shaking while he gets the syringe ready.

For some reason, he suddenly remembers Kakucho's words a few months ago. He hates it, he hates thinking in that fucker when he's about to die. But the other man was right, wasn't he? Mikey never cared about Sanzu, he spent years of his life trying to keep his king alive and it was all for nothing. Everything blew up in one night.

A manic laugh escapes between his whimpers. Of course is that, he's fucking jealous. Sanzu is fucking jealous because at least Kakucho got to held Izana's hand when he died, he got to comfort his king in his last moments. Sanzu didn't had that, Hanagaki was the one holding Mikey's hand. Always that cockroach, never him.

What did he expect anyway? Haruchiyo is just a failure. He never deserved to be the one making his king last moments less painful. Of course, he should had known. He failed everyone. He failed Shinichiro, unable to protect Mikey, to be the friend he promised he would be. He failed Mikey, watching him falling into the darkness, becoming the same empty shell he already saw in a past that never happened, and doing nothing about it.

Sanzu doesn't have anything left. He also killed his own chance of happiness a long time ago (he also failed his captain, didn't he?). The only thing left for him is to disappear, to follow his king. He's going with him, because he's being following Mikey for so long, that he doesn't see any other choice. He's going with him, because he doesn't deserve to keep living when he couldn't save Mikey.

But it's fine, the drug is already kicking in, his body feels more relaxed. Even his mind seems to be quiet, almost in peace. He looks at the old photo one last time, before drifting out of consciousness, looking for safety in the inner part of the leather, pretending it smells like cheesecake.

It's fine, because at the end of the day... Haruchiyo was just a failure.

#me writing🌻 #harukaku #sanzu haruchiyo #kakucho #akashi takeomi #ran haitani #s62 generation #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers spoilers #tokyo revengers fic #oneshot #angst #hurt/no comfort #bonten timeline #i made myself cry #i broke my own heart #canon complicit #ken wakui pay my theraphy bills #because i'm blaming this on you since i have no shame #you can't tell me sanzu didn't ended like this after mikey jumped #bonten is their own warning #archnemesis soulmates #dead dove do not eat

[eventually27]

Heyyyy I noticed you haven’t written for warren lipka 👀

could you possibly do a warren x reader with them having sex while being higher than a kite? Thank you! :D

Finish on a high..

Warren Lipka

(Warning: drugs, sex, swearing)

"Ahh fuckkkk," you tightened the strings to your hood and made a run for it, straight out the door and across the road to Warren's car. It was pissing it down, and you didn't want to get your hair wet, "Warren unlock the door quickly!!" You were banging on the window to get his attention, Why do you look like E.T?" Warren laughed as you got in, "shut up. " You loosened your hood so you could take it down, your hair flowing out of it, "That's better, isn't it? " You giggled, "so did you get the weed?", "of course I did, have I ever let ya down?" Warren removed a bag of weed from the glove box and passed it to you.

You watched as Warren sparked up, "You want some, or you guna go back in that rain?" He looked towards the window. You could hear how hard the rain was crashing against it, you defiantly didn't want to go out there, "yeah I don't think I'll be leaving for awhile, we wouldn't want me to drown" you laughed as Warren passed you the joint, you took a deep inhale, releif took over your body as you felt the THC go straight to your brain, "Wow you look like you needed that" Warren laughed, his eyes already bloodshot. You burst out laughing. "I definitely did need that." You both looked at each other and started to laugh, "you know I've forgotten how cool you were to hang out with Warren. " You slumped down in the passenger seat, leaning slightly over to Warren's side so your shoulders were touching, " Wait, how could you forget such a thing? I'm awesome, " he laughed and also slumped back, both of your arms now touching on the middle arm rest. "Want to hear a joke?" You inhaled again and passed it back to Warren, "go on, " he turned to look at you even tho you were gazing out of the window, "what do you call a pothead with two joints?... double jointed" you stayed silent, Warren burst out laughing so much he was choking, which only made you do the same, "how stoned are you? Let me see those eyes. " Warren placed his hand on your chin to turn you to him, you felt butterflies as you both looked in eachothers eyes, he had the most dreamy brown eyes, you swore his pupils were swirling around to hypnotise you, his hand was still on your chin, you saw his eyes go to your lips, you were so high your thoughts came straight out, "kiss me" you said, "if I do I don't think I'll be able to stop" Warren couldn't take his eyes off your lips, "then dont stop" you whispered. Warren's lips met yours, even with dry mouths your tounges danced around eachother passionately, you swung your leg over to the drivers seat to straddle him, you could feel his hard cock between your legs, "fuck" Warren groaned as he placed his hands on your hips to grind you against him, you were getting wetter by the second, you let out a moan, "i need you right now Warren" you tugged at his trousers to signal him to take them off, he managed to slide them down as you did yours, seeing how hard he was made your whole body tingle, you gripped his cock to guide it to your soaking entrance wasting no time, you lowered yourself onto him, You began to slide yourself up and down feeling every inch, "Oh shit that feels good, keep going baby" Warren's hands were helping you keep your pace, his cock was curved right against your gspot, every bounce making you twitch, Warrens hands went up your jumper to caress your bouncing tits, "your pussy is so good baby I can't hold on much longer", Warren's words were enough to send you into climax, you moaned Warrens name so loud and as you did you felt yourself tighten around his erupting cock, you both locked lips as you slowly grinded up against him both pulsating and riding out your highs, "Wow I didn't expect that" Warren brushed your hair behind your ear, "neither did i" you laughed, both dressed and back in your seat, you lit and passed Warren the rest of the joint, "bet you wont forget how cool i am now" Warren laughed.

#evan peters #warren lipka #smut #evan peters smut #american animals #american horror story #fanfiction #420life #fanfic #quicksilver #tate langdon #james patrick march #kai anderson #kyle spencer #jimmy darling #kit walker

[assortedvillainvault]

ok if acceptable I'm dropping one more before closing time

"I remember you" with a reader being the reincarnation of someone the Horned King once loved

*Clutches chest* ROOOSSEEE-

This hurts me. In like, the best way. Here we go, modern reincarnation because I low-key would like to get lost in the Welsh Mountains forever (I have deadlines).

Also please forgive the Google translated Welsh at the end I did not have the time to look up proper medieval Welsh and asking someone real to translate would have been good to think of before I started operating on 5% brain. If anyone following me is a native Welsh speaker pls DM me or leave a comment and I'll correct Google's attempt.

The Horned King x Reincarnated!Reader : 'I Remember You'

You have no fucking clue why you're here.

'Here' being the Ass-End of Nowhere, Wales. No phone reception, no services, no people and no tourists. Except, uh, yourself. Obviously.

You got up, drove out, picked a random direction between two hills and. Started walking. You don't even know why.

You just know that there's something further into the mountains that your soul is ITCHING to get to. You've always felt it, but recently ignoring it has started to feel like being pulled through barbed wire.

The ground is rough and uneven, tussocks and hidden rocks threaten to turn your ankles every other step. The trees that twist their way along the crevices of the high moorland are all but draped in moss and thorns. The mountains arching up behind them are unwelcoming, cold and cragged.

It's...eerily quiet. No birds, no people...even the sheep seemed to stop at some hidden border a few miles back. Just the low moan of the wind accompanies you.

As you walk, you find yourself stealing glances at the sky. You tell yourself it's for birds - Kites and eagles maybe - but you have to keep a strange disappointment down that it's nothing larger. What are you expecting for fucks sake? Dragons??

You're so busy scanning the skies that you topple arse over tea kettle down the next scree slope like a graceful spaghetti mannequin with a screaming feature.

You manage to scrabble and hiss to a stop, skin on your arms and legs scraped raw. And upon looking up suck in a breath that has nothing to do with your sliced up hands.

It's as though a giant scooped the earth away and set it on fire for good measure. Bare reddish black rock contends with a bitter snarl of dead grasses and lonely tree corpses. Beyond lies a dessicated crevass that looks like a lake drained away overnight.

Beyond that, is a castle.

You blink and tear the vision that seared across your eyes - of a fully fleshed gothic fortress - away. What lies before you is a ruin. The bones of the structure, at best.

The barbed wire in your soul is all but yanking you toward the ancient structure. You don't notice that the path you tread towards it is one you can find without looking, despite the terrain.

The bridge, rotted and rusted as it is, is mostly secure. You keep your weight to the bolted metal crisscrossing the wood as you make your way across, slow and steady and feeling as though phantom archers have their sights on you from atop the wall.

As you pass under the archway to the courtyard, you shiver violently. The feeling of passing under so familiar that it almost clawed it's way out from your skin.

The very air seems to hold it's breath as you make your way deeper into the crumbling structure. Water drips from the stonework, the doors all long since rotted from their hinges. Tools lie forgotten on the cobbles. If it wasn't so creepy it would be an archaeologists dream.

Why does no-one around seem to know this is here? Why is this place so undisturbed?

You stumble into what must have been the Great Hall.

Cold sunlight shafts through holes in the ceiling, the corners in absolute darkness. Skeletons lie in piles across the floor, roughly around where large tables should have been, weapons scattered akimbo as though they didn't even get a chance to use them before they fell.

Your eyes are dragged to the dias. There's a body on the throne.

It's slouched, slumped, as if whoever this was had thrown themselves back on the seat and collapsed in exhaustion. The mothbitten red robe and fur stole is strung with spiderwebs connecting them him to the throne, but this isn't what yanks on the barbed wire in your soul.

The pair of great, regal thorn like horns protuding from the figures hood are angled towards you.

Your feet carry you forward.

The figures face is obscured but you know it, the fingers curled loosely still with flesh, after all this time, no weapons around the dias but no evidence of wounds on the body as if he would need them, as if they could ever lay a finger on their King-

Your hand trembles, reaching out to touch the nearest horn irrestisably, not even daring to breathe.

The corpse lurches.

An arctic vice closes on your wrist, bones grinding as he yanks you to your knees on the stone. His fist is impossible to pry loose even as you scrabble at it, nails ripping at leathery hide- heart pounding-

His second hand closes on your neck and you freeze.

Twin red lights blaze from under the hood. Pupils in a black socket that focus hazily on your face, blinking as if rising from a dream that still has its hooks in him. The hand on your neck squeezes and you gasp, eyes bulging, wrist forgotten as you plead with your hands against the unstoppable force around your neck.

Brows twitch as he watches you struggle. Marginally, the fingers loosen and you suck in air, sounding like a broken bellows compared to the cathedral-esque empty quality of the air passing through his chest.

Gently, reverently, knarled fingers parse hair from your forehead. You didn't even realise he'd released your wrist. Your throat remains in his grip.

You meet his gaze as the last of the fog clears from his sockets. His voice, rusted and broken from disuse, still rumbles from his throat like a shuddering landslide.

"Rwy'n eich cofio, fy annwyl."

"I remember you, my dear."

#thalassa responds #rose this is one of the best asks ive ever gotten thank you #i hope you like this!! #the horned king x reader #disney villains x reader #the horned king #disney villains #x reader #HOOOO let me tell you this was a major self insert moment #what will it take to get me a lich king bf honestly #lich simps arise