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livingemkayde · 8 months

Text

ch vi. bruises

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller (no outbreak AU)

chapter six of chaser

warnings: 18+ minors please dni. ooof okay where to start, smut unprotected p in v, mentions of bruising from sex? fighting like actual real life fist fighting, rough but sweet sex, grinding, lowkey some cockwarming?? kinda unwanted kissing, tommy being annoying and somewhat overbearing, and unwanted touching, but not sexual. caroline. just, caroline. because she deserves her own warning for this one. no use of y/n.

summary: everything comes to a head at tommy's birthday party.

a/n: this is genuinely the longest part/chapter thing i've ever written so enjoy. tommy is really annoying in this one, im still deciding if he's going to have a redemption arc. sorry this took so long. as always, i love you all so much. MY TUMBLR LITERALLY SHIT ITS PANTS WHEN I TRIED TO EDIT THE TAGLIST SO IM SORRY IF YOU GUYS GOT TAGGED LIKE 400 TIMES.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel says, almost a whisper. You’re still not sure if he’s talking to you or Tommy. You can't take your eyes off Tommy’s gaze. From the looks of it, Joel’s question makes Tommy more angry and way more confused. “Joel,” you say, trying to look for any indication in Tommy’s face that he’s not going to go bat shit crazy. “‘S fine. We’re okay.” But Joel doesn’t listen. Because he’s Joel Miller and maybe you can’t see it right now, but you can hear the concern dripping off his tone—an indication that he won’t ever leave. Not now. So he stalks towards you both and you try to shake your head no, and he doesn’t listen.

You can almost remember it like it was yesterday.

A few weeks back, the first time you invited Tommy in for a drink after dinner. Sarah was asleep back at the house, Joel was doing — god knows what. The sun was set, the mosquitoes were probably out, and there was a quiet, even maybe too quiet silence when Tommy pulled up to your house.

He had asked what the rest of your plans were for the night.

You had said nothing much, not knowing it was an invitation — he stayed till 2 a.m. that night.

But it was okay. Because he made you laugh and you enjoyed his company. He was interesting. Tommy told you about how he never wanted to go into contracting in the first place. About his broken bones, his all time biggest regrets, how he was smitten with his old high school flame turned mean cheerleader until graduation.

It was the first time you ever realized he was — well — his own person in the sense. Not just Joel’s younger brother. But Tommy. Tommy Miller.

Maybe in another life Tommy might’ve even been good for you. A perfect pair — a match. He wasn’t mean and brooding and he certainly didn’t have 12 years on you.

And he made you smile. And he was genuinely—genuinely interested in your life. Your post grad prospects, college, books, and even how you played soccer just like Sarah when you were younger.

But when he leaned in that night, closer to you than ever before. You froze. Like genuinely frozen, and you couldn’t even dare to look down to his slowly approaching lips, let alone how his arms caged you in.

“First kiss?” you remember him asking.

You had just stuttered out nonsense, not wanting to breathe too hard and run the risk of pushing your lips flush with his.

“I — um —” you nervously laughed. You couldn’t even think—not in the way you should—not when the first person that comes to mind when Tommy says, kiss is his brother.

He had leaned in closer then—more tentative. Like you were a scared deer in headlights or a frightened kitten and he was inching forward, wanting to move closer.

But you didn’t really do — anything.

And he had pulled back a bit, gave you a teasing look and a ruffle on the head and continued with the conversation.

In all honesty you were scared that he might've been inching forward to kiss you. The small fear settling through a slightly erratic heartbeat and nervous laughs.

You were scared then, but can’t really remember the last time you’ve felt this kind of fear.

Hurt, discomfort, shock, maybe.

And although it was being quickly replaced with anger, you don’t remember this feeling — this kind of fear. Not even the kind you get from watching a scary movie — where you can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins and then dissipating when the screen goes dark, and the lights turn back on and all you have to worry about is if the scary nun from the big screen will appear in your dreams.

You can remember all the last times you’ve gotten mad, sure. Mainly at the Miller brothers.

But never fear — well, not until right now.

Because whoever that Tommy was is definitely not the same guy staring back at you right now, with a bruised fist, an angry look swirled with hurt marked permanently on his face and one emotion that you can definitely place behind his eyes — jealousy.

Some hours earlier.

You spread colorful tablecloth over the mismatched tables in Joel’s backyard. The string lights are being hung up, Joel stands on a ladder towards your right, the sound of a hammer echoing through the small backyard.

You pick your phone out of your back pocket, checking the time. You also find it in you to check Tommy’s texts again, but no other messages have been sent since last night. You look down at your phone — at the messages — and sit against one of the tables.

Yesterday:

You: can we talk in person?

Tommy Miller: I’ll see you tomorrow at the party?

You hadn’t seen the text until this morning, when Joel and you found it in yourselves to get out of bed, have a shower, and start setting up for the party. So when you saw it, you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat.

You’re a bit nervous at the prospect. You did not want to talk to him at his party—honestly just trying to text him so that the air would be cleared for the party.

But his words echo in your mind.

“Just think ‘bout it before you say no.”

You let out a cursed sigh.

Tommy had to know. Right?

If he knew the dreaded ‘no’ was already braced on your lips he had to know. That this thing between you and Tommy would never work out. That you’re way better as friends. That it would ruin everything — the dynamics of it all — that you were smitten with his brother and you guys had just slept together for the second time without Tommy’s knowledge and that—

“Alright?”

Joel stands in front of you, dipping his head to see a scowl marked on your face. You quickly — maybe even too quickly — forget about the messages, hell, forget about Tommy.

Because Joel looks handsome. He’s always handsome, you’ve thought since the moment you met him at the bar. There’s something intoxicating about him, his arms, the curve of his neck. His brooding nature does him justice — a uniqueness about him that makes you want to uncover more, learn more, see more.

You remember last night—very vividly through small ebbs and flows of sleep. The moonlight seeped into your skin as you both rolled around in gray sheets.

It makes your cheeks heat a bit at the thought.

You remember everything. Every little detail. You don’t think you’ll ever forget.

You tuck your phone back into your pocket.

“Yeah, sorry. ‘S just…” you trail off, he nods his head in understanding, coming closer to you.

He braces his hands on either side of your body, caging you in. Your faces study each other’s mere inches apart.

“Tablecloth givin’ you trouble?” Joel teases in a soft whisper, looking down at your lips, then back to your eyes.

“Funny,” you say with a grin and run your tongue over your lips.

“You need help, baby, all you gotta do is ask.” Joel’s small smile plays on his lips for a fleeting second. You miss it as soon as it’s gone.

“Duly noted. But I’m not the one who’s been hanging up string lights for the past hour.”

He pats your ass a bit, teasing you and pushing out a playful sigh.

“Perfection takes time.”

Joel’s beginning to dip his head to kiss you, but you find it in you to bite back.

“And yet the left side’s still lower than the right,” you whisper, pulling your head back slightly. He turns quickly to look at the fence, but gives you a harder slap on your ass when he realizes the lights are, in fact, straight.

Joel chuckles, pushing off from the table, you turn back around to continue fixing the cloths, and look back at him over your shoulder.

He’s looking back at you too.

“You’re killin’ me,” he says, and you smile to yourself when you turn back around.

You look around the backyard and check your phone for the millionth time since the party started. You can hear Sarah running around, screaming a bit while jumping into the pool. But your brows furrow when you find that Tommy still hasn’t texted you.

You spot a tuft of red hair swinging through your vision and spin to find Janet Baker squeezing through the crowd.

“Janet!” you say, approaching her quickly. You’re happy to see her—Tommy didn’t invite many people you’re familiar with.

“Hey, Doll. Thanks for the invite!” she says, pulling you into a quick hug, but when she sees the look on your face, her mouth drops into a frown. “Sweetie, you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I—Tommy didn’t…I don’t really know anyone here,” you reply while sheepishly looking around the small, bustling backyard. It’s the kind of feeling you try your best to avoid. Like everyone is in on some secret joke that you have no clue about. Or everyone knows each other and you can’t even put faces to names because you don’t know any names—like right now.

“‘S fine—I’m happy to see you made it,” you let out a defeated chuckle.

“‘F course, baby. Charlotte really wanted to see Sarah,” she nods towards the girls in the pool, Charlotte’s red hair looking strikingly similar to the woman standing in front of you. Janet seems to be on her second drink of the afternoon, you saw her tipping back a solo cup out of the corner of your eye earlier.

“What are you drinking?” you ask her, nodding at her cup.

“Someone brought a fancy lookin’ wine I popped open,” she says, giving you a sly smile. “Why don’t we get you a drink? You’ll like this,” she says, you don’t have much time to react, she’s already pulling you towards the drink station.

You both settle into a comfortable silence, looking around the backyard while Janet pours your drink.

“So,” she says, giving you a wink.

“So…” you echo, sending a nervous laugh her way.

“Who’s that girl,” she nods towards Caroline while passing you a cup, you take a big sip, Janet fills it back up to the top without a second glance.

“Caroline,” you say looking at her and Joel. They’re talking to some other people, a small group of them congregating by the barbecue.

“Caroline…” Janet tests out on her tongue, willing you to continue.

“Caroline—Joel’s,” you can’t help but chuckle. “date. I guess.”

“That bother you?” she says, finishing the bottle of wine while the two of you walk back towards the edge of the pool so she can watch Charlotte and Sarah.

“Nope,” you say, and it’s not a lie. Sure, it might be a little weird to see another woman clinging to his arm after yesterday. But you know now. And that’s all that matters.

“Joel can—” you laugh again, “—Joel can do what he likes.”

Janet stops walking suddenly. You tear your gaze away from Joel and look at her with a confused furrowed brow.

“Sweetie…” she says with eyes that look way too knowing for your comfort or peace of mind.

“Janet…?” you say, though her gaze just intensifies.

“You mean to tell me it happened since I last saw you?”

Your eyes widen, a shocked look crosses your face and you quickly try to replace it with a bad mask of confusion.

“W-what? I—”

“Don’t lie to me, doll,” she warns, and she looks like she really means it.

“Janet…” you say in a not as effective and halfhearted warning tone back.

“Don’t you dare,” she wags her finger—a final warning.

What has gotten into you and why can’t you find it in yourself to lie to this woman?

“Don’t te—” she gasps, “Janet, I mean it. Do not tell anyone.”

She shuts her half open mouth and makes the my lips are sealed motion across her face. You laugh while stealing a glance at Joel.

“I told you,” she whispers to you in a hush, joining your eyeline towards Joel.

You stay silent for a moment, just taking everything and everyone in—but at the same time just looking at Joel. when you finally break the silence you’re a bit shocked at your question. You’ve never talked about Joel like this with someone who actually knows him. Everything has always been a secret—like you were supposed to be ashamed or something. You never were.

“How did you know?” you ask, hushed. You’re not sure she’ll even hear you.

“Would love to say it was intuition, sweetie—but—it was him. It was written all over his face.”

You stayed with Janet for the better portion of the hour, all through silent peaks at your phone to see if Tommy had texted you. When it was getting to the point where people were getting curious, you’ve just about had your limit.

You approach Joel quickly, you don’t miss Caroline’s stunned face but you really can’t be bothered with—that—right now.

“Joel?” you ask, pulling at his arm a bit, he excuses himself from the group and follows you towards the backyard's edge.

“Where the hell is your brother?” you whisper.

“He’s not here?” he asks, the same hushed tone also pushing through his voice at your question.

“No! I called him, but he’s not responding,” you pipe back while pulling out your phone. Though the lack of notifications from Tommy—just as before—tells you enough.

You both look at each other for a fleeting second. But the same worried look is probably etched on both your faces — fuck.

“This fuckin’ guy,” Joel mutters under his breath while pulling out his own phone and then putting it up to his ear.

You pace around the small area you and Joel are in, observing the unfamiliar faces.

“Nothin’,” Joel grovels, taking a peak over the fence towards the street to see if Tommy's truck has pulled up. “I’ll try ‘im again — just — you should mingle,” he says, still looking down at his phone.

“‘S fine. I don’t really know anyone here anyways,” you say absentmindedly, looking through your phone for Tommy’s contact and putting your phone up to your ear.

You hear yelling and shouting from the entrance to the backyard. You slowly lift your head, reluctant to tear your eyes away from frantic texts.

You spot him, in all his glory. Tommy Miller. Two hours late to his own birthday party—though he looks like he couldn’t care less, hugging old friends and new ones. He spots your eyes in the crowd and you can’t even be bothered to smile, a frown is almost permanently placed on your face—Late to your own birthday party?

He nods his head toward the house, a silent invitation to talk when he’s done greeting the guests. You nod back and turn to Joel, Tommy turns to everyone else.

“He’s here,” you say, pulling Joel out of his own phone, he does a double take towards the entrance and huffs out a groan.

“Goddamn idiot,” Joel says, running his palm over his eyebrow.

“I’m gonna go—” you say, nodding towards the house, towards Tommy.

“Yeah. Alright,” he replies, though he looks a bit concerned and unfocused, looking towards Tommy, then back to you, “You need me, ‘m there.”

“‘M not telling him about us on his birthday and It’s Tommy, Joel.”

Tommy—harmless.

Though Joel’s look sends a sweat to your palms for some reason. You don’t know why he’s worried.

It’s Tommy. It’s fine.

Right?

You hope as much as you make your way through the crowd. You beeline for the house and slip past the sliding doors into the kitchen where cups and bags of chips lay open and equally sprawled.

You can hear the door slide open and shut again behind you as you try and salvage the mess.

“Baby,” Tommy says, rounding the corner and coming close to you, “‘M sorry. The concrete guy was supposed to drop off the shipment tomorrow but he came today and needed a signature—”

“Tommy, it’s okay,” you almost have to will yourself to say. You also have to remember it’s his birthday.

He looks down.

“‘S okay. It’s your birthday. Happy birthday,” you reassure with a small smile.

“Looks great out there,” he says, fiddling with his phone in his hand.

“Thanks.”

You’re suddenly a bit nervous. You hadn’t really thought about everything that had happened when Tommy being late to his own birthday party was blanketing all the drama. But he’s here now, and you have no idea what to say. Maybe it would be better to not say anything at all—not address the fact that he asked you out, or you and Joel. But that guilty gnawing feeling eats you alive the longer you stand in silence.

“Joel helped you?”

“Yeah. I went shopping yesterday and dropped off the stuff here then we set it up this morning,” you say, nodding towards the backyard and then your car parked out front.

“You went shopping on your own?” he almost sounds offended.

“I wanted to go on my own.”

Tommy doesn't look convinced.

“Really, T. ‘S fine,” you brush off, leaning back against the kitchen counter and crossing your arms. He stares at you from the other side of the kitchen.

“Caroline here?” he asks, a hesitant look on his face as he switches from looking at the ground to your face—almost like he’s looking for a reaction.

“She’s out there somewhere,” you nod, keeping a neutral face masked with a small smile. “You should mingle. Just wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

But he doesn’t move, he just keeps fiddling with the case on his phone again, looking down to the floor—his feet.

“I— you said you wanted to talk in person.”

Shit.

You both look at each other, waiting. A game of cat and mouse.

“It can wait, T. Enjoy your party,” you say, gesturing to the crowd outside.

“Is it about—is it about what happened Friday?”

“Tommy,” you say, almost warningly. This situation is shitty enough as is. You really don’t want to spoil everything—even if there’s nothing left to spoil.

He doesn’t say anything. His thumb fiddling with his phone is the only sound coming from inside the kitchen. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. Almost unbearable. You crack way quicker than you’d hope to last.

If he wants it like this, at his own birthday party, then so be it.

“Fine. I just—I wanted to…” you scramble for words but they jumble in your mind.

“I’m—” you fall short again. “About what you said. What you asked me. I don’t think that it’s…something I want. I’m—sorry.”

“You don’t think it’s something you want? Or you know that—”

“Tommy,” you say, giving him an awkward stifled laugh. Like he’s being childish with his response. Because he is. “I don’t—I’m sorry.”

He turns away from you suddenly, towards the window above the sink and just stares at it for a long time. You can see his chest puffing. When he finally turns back around, it’s different. It’s the Tommy you know.

“‘S okay,” He says.

Maybe he’ll get over it quickly—you hope.

“Are you okay? I’m—I mean I hope that this doesn’t change anything since I’m still gonna be around—” you lift your arm up to run a ragged hand across your forehead and through your hair, you don’t even notice that your shirt riding up, “— I just don’t want it to like—”

“What is that?”

Your eyes snap to Tommy’s, confused. You think he might be looking out the window again but his eyes trail to you, but lower. Like he’s looking at your hips—because he is. You’re still confused for a second, before examining your shirt, looking for stains or anything out of the ordinary. But you don’t find anything, your top spotless.

“What? I don’t—”

“No—” he takes a couple quick steps forward, into your space, you try to find his eyes—yours blown out with confusion and shock but his are trained and laser focused to your waistline.

“What’s—” he tries to pull up your shirt, you shove him back out of reflex. “You’re hurt, what happened t’you?”

He almost pins down your hands to see your skin under your shirt, dipping his head to look at your waist and hips and you suddenly know. You know there are hand shaped bruises littered across the skin of your waist, turning it deep purple. Handprints that match Joel’s exactly—almost like they’re burned into you. You saw it this morning. It’s why you didn’t bother to put on a swimsuit and decided to keep a top on instead.

What’s even worse is you know Tommy saw it too.

“Tommy!” you’re yelling now, fighting his grip.

You slip up, unable to get a good hold on his wrist like he now has on yours and he pushes the shirt up to reveal the bruises.

“What the hell is that?”

“Fucking—get off!” he backs away with your second shove, a different kind of look on his face. “Jesus,” you huff out, yanking your shirt back down.

You both stand there. A pregnant silence between you. You can almost hear the gears turning, he stares blankly. Putting it all together. Like maybe you’re not hurt, but you wanted it—wanted it from another man. Somewhere in the back of his mind he might keep wishing someone hurt you so he didn’t have to feel so betrayed. So when he asks, it’s like he doesn’t want to admit that it’s true—the quiet possibility of someone else in the picture.

“Who,” he says slowly, pointing down to your waist, “did that?”

“Tommy—” you say, but footsteps cut you off, you both turn your head to the entrance of the kitchen as Joel rounds the corner. He looks out of breath and his eyes flicker from Tommy and his finger pointing down at your waist then back to you.

“We alright in here?” Joel stands, hesitant, his fingers play with the bottom hem of his shirt in an anxious way. Like he doesn't know what he’s just walked in on—you’re not entirely sure you know the answer to that either. You aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or Tommy so you stay silent, waiting for the man in front of you to respond.

“Yup,” Tommy replies, too angry to be believable.

Joel looks at you but he doesn’t say anything. Not out loud.

No. You try to say with your eyes. We are definitely not alright in here.

“Joel,” you say, trying to look for any indication in Tommy’s face that he’s not going to go bat shit crazy. “‘S fine. We’re okay.”

But Joel doesn’t listen. Because he’s Joel Miller and maybe you can’t see it right now, but you can hear the concern dripping off his tone—an indication that he won’t ever leave. Not now. So he stalks towards you both and you try to shake your head no, and he doesn’t listen.

He stands beside you, putting a flat sprawled palm on Tommy’s chest and silently tries to push him backward. But Tommy breaks first, pushing Joel’s hand off him, staggering back while looking at you and Joel.

And maybe he gets it then, you think. Because Tommy lets out a deep chuckle—like you’ve got clown makeup on. Like he’s never seen anything more funny. He’s a lot of things but he is not fucking stupid. So he looks past Joel to your eyes. To your face, almost covered—ridden—in guilt and he can see everything.

“Really?” Tommy says, not sparing Joel a glance.

“You put your fuckin’ hands on her?” Tommy says, almost at a whisper which makes it all the more intimidating. You can see Joel’s back puff, his anger rising. But you also know Joel would never hurt his brother. Not on purpose.

But you’re scared. You’re really fucking scared in this moment because Tommy is entirely too worked up and you know whatever excuse Joel is going to say won’t help.

“Easy,” Joel says, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

You’re sweating. The hot summer of July in Austin getting to you. They stare at each other for a long time. Like at the kitchen table, like when you all first met. But this time, Tommy breaks, and his eyes flicker to yours, he takes a tiny step to the side so he can see you better.

“Is this why? Is this why you’re fuckin’—jesus, fuck. ‘S this why he went to get you a tire?” you stand, you can’t really say anything, your stunned figure doesn’t move.

“He hurt you,” Tommy breathes out, his voice almost breaking if he wasn’t so angry. You shake your head.

You both know that the bruises aren’t from hurt. That they’re far from it.

“He didn’t,” you reply.

“No, no, baby. He’s—you’re—” Tommy almost looks like he can’t believe it, shaking his head, switching between you and Joel. The look you give him shuts him up, and makes him back away, until Joel unclenches his fists and relaxes his shoulder a fraction.

“I didn’t really want to tell you like this, I was—”

“Fucking my brother?” he bites back, interrupting you.

That makes you a bit mad. You’re not in love with his attitude, nor his tone. It’s not like he has any right. It’s not like either of them do.

Joel moves to speak but you do it first.

“Don’t give me that,” you say, almost laughing, though the situation is not funny, not in the slightest. “We’re not dating, Tommy. We never were.”

Caroline strides in at that, looking at the scene unfolding in the kitchen. She stops short of the three of you, her mouth slightly agape. You roll your eyes, fucking perfect. Let’s just bring the party in here instead. You’ll give it to the woman. She has impeccable timing.

“Needed some napkins…” she trails off, holding the empty napkin stand in her right hand up so everyone can see. “I—I can come back.”

“Did you know?” Tommy turns to her, gesturing to you and Joel.

“Tommy,” Joel says from in front of you, a warning. Tommy ignores him.

“Did you know?” he asks again, Caroline stares back shocked. But she does consider it, rolls the idea around in her head before speaking.

“Them two?” Tommy nods. “Her?”

Okay. You really don’t love that tone. You silently chastise yourself for thinking she was nice at the bar when your first instinct was that she was a bitch—because she is. You were waiting for her snarky undertones or spoiled takes to show. You knew it was coming, you just didn’t know when.

“No, ‘f couse not.” She’s almost laughing, like it could never be possible. It hits you harder than you’ll ever admit. “She’s — you’re…young,” she says, looking at you.

Tommy gestures to you and Joel like he’s saying, well believe it, because it’s true.

Joel moves faster than you can comprehend. He’s got a tight grip on Tommy’s arm. He probably doesn’t even have to say anything, Tommy knows what’s happening. But Joel warns him anyway—again.

“Quit,” he growls. You’d guess this might be the point where Tommy usually backs down. But this situation is far from usual.

“Or what?” Tommy bites back. When Joel doesn’t respond he continues. “You gonna mark me up? Leave me all black and blue?”

Tommy doesn’t stop there, you try to move past Joel but he stops you, turns his head to you slightly, a hardened look in his eye.

“Oh, I forgot you’d probably like that, huh?”

Joel remains frozen for a couple fleeting seconds before whipping around and pushing Tommy into the back counter. You’re rooted to your place, you don’t even care that Caroline is still in the corner, holding the fucking napkin holder in the air.

“What’d you say?” Joel barks in Tommy’s face.

“Look at her fuckin’ stomach, dude!” Tommy throws the words in his face, pushing him back slightly and making a vague gesture in your direction, it causes your feet to move towards the brothers before you can think.

Joel backs off then, sneaking a tiny glance at you out of the corner of his eye, like he really is thinking about the marks he left on your waist. He had seen them this morning, ran his fingers over them too, and saw how the notches matched the curves of his fingers perfectly. But you kissed him, and told him it was okay. That it was more than okay. Maybe even whispered that you liked it between muffled groans. So when a glint of guilt flashes in his eyes it makes your heart break more than it already has.

“She said no,” Joel says, looking back at Tommy. A tense silence follows—like you’re not sure if Joel is going to continue or Tommy is going to bite back.

“Get back to your party,” Joel growls after a while. You bite your lip.

Tommy looks at Joel with unwavering eyes. His glance turns towards the window where he can see the bustling crowd—can almost hear the laughter. Then he looks down to his hand, outstretches it, undoes his gnarly fist, and when it curls back up again, you finally bite.

“Tommy!” you say, moving closer. But it’s too late. Joel’s figure knocks to the side and his hand instinctively grabs his face, his nose, his eye. Maybe the worst part about it all is that Joel doesn’t even look remotely surprised, or that he wants to fight back—he just stays there, a little hunched over when you yelp in shock and Tommy groans, shaking out a now bruised fist.

“Fuck,” you almost yell, your body doesn’t know what to do between bending down to see Joel’s face and looking at Tommy—at his face—because you don’t recognize him.

Joel almost huffs out a laugh, and to shut him up, to get him to bite his tongue, you speak again.

“Okay. We’re done here,” you say, pushing Joel towards the entrance of the house, towards your car.

And Caroline is there, pushing Tommy towards the couches and for the first time, you’re grateful for her.

The ride back to your house is silent after a short and quick bicker about who can drive. You think Joel might want to sit in the driver's seat so you can’t see the quickly forming bruises on the left side of his face but you make a decent argument, enough to settle him in the passengers—looking out the window.

You send Janet a quick text, asking if she can watch Sarah for a few hours. Brother emergency. Janet replies back and says the girls haven’t gotten out of the pool since you left. It makes you smile a bit, despite it all.

When you park in your driveway, you hop out quickly, Joel following closely behind. He waits there, right behind you, when you pull out your house keys, and waits when you unlock the deadbolt and waits when you push through the door.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, nodding towards the couches and dropping your keys in the bowl.

You disappear into the kitchen and brace your arms on the counter, your head hanging between your shoulders. You let out a deep, ragged breath and try to control your heartbeat.

“Fuck,” you mumble, shaking out your wrists, grabbing two advil from the bottle on your counter, a glass of water, and peas from freezer.

Joel’s sitting on the loveseat, looking down at his hands. You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either. He just takes the water and pills from your hands and swallows it silently. You extend the peas to him, he thinks about it for a while and when you shake them again, huffing, saying—just fucking take them. He finally obliges.

You get a good look at his cheek when he turns to set the water down on the table and you have to stop yourself from gasping.

“Joel,” you murmur, reaching for him, bending down, he stops you, grabs your wrist, then grabs your hand. But he’s gentle. Not like Tommy. Joel’s gentle.

“‘S fine,” he says, and winces when the peas touch his face. “‘M fine.”

You settle in between his legs, looking down at him. He’s got one hand on his face, holding the peas, and the other, wrapped around the back of your thigh. He doesn’t even want to look up at you. It breaks your heart.

“‘M sorry,” you say quietly, his hand on your thigh trails upward. He plays with the hem of your shirt and lifts it enough to take a peek at the purple that lies there.

He doesn’t say anything, just sits there, running a gentle, ghost-like touch across the bruises.

“He — saw it. I don’t…” you look down to your stomach. You can see the shape of his fingertips so clearly. It’s no wonder Tommy reacted how he did. “It was an accident.”

He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t shake his head. He tosses the peas onto the table and pushes the cotton of your shirt up further, to where he can see all of it—all the black and blue there.

“Are you mad?” you whisper, hesitantly, as he stares at his own hands, his own branding.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” you say, begging, “Please.”

“He did that cause—,” you breathe out, taking his chin in your pointer finger and thumb and getting your first good look at his cheek, “—it’s-’s my fault, I should’ve—”

“C’mon. Don’t do that,” he says, cutting you off, nipping your apology in the bud, “I should be the one who’s sorry, this is — I hurt you.”

You shake your head.

“You know that’s not—you know that I—” you stifle a short chuckle.

“That you what?”

You let out a couple hot breaths, looking down at him, the purple around his eye slowly taking shape.

“That I liked it.”

Joel bends forward then, and you gasp. The dull scratch of his beard is the only thing keeping your eyes open. He trails his hot breath across your stomach, and leaves gentle kisses on your sides, on your bruises.

“Joel,” you mumble, and you hate how your voice sounds so breathy, maybe even desperate. You tangle your hands in his hair, grasping at the nape of his neck he pulls you down, closer, so you’re slotted in his lap, straddling him. Joel pulls back and looks at your face, brushes the fallen hair from your eyes.

“I meant what I said,” you start, he furrows his brow, “Still—mean it.”

From the look in his eyes he knows what you’re talking about. The words you slipped into his ear last night.

‘S you, Joel — it’s-’s always been you.

“But if this is—if Tommy—” you cut yourself off, correcting your words, “If I messed it up—”

“Sweetheart,” he says. Your heart pulls, you almost put your hand on his cheek, but you see the rising skin and settle for his shoulder. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

“Are you sure?”

He pulls you down further, so you’re flush against him. He studies your eyes and rubs at your waist, your hips. It sends a little fire down between your thighs.

“‘M here—‘M…I’m right here,” he mumbles, and shakes his head. Like he’s telling you no to any silent thoughts of doubt that might be floating around your head.

And then he pulls your head down to kiss you.

It’s needy, and hot and everything you want at this moment. He’s everywhere and you can feel his growing arousal between your legs. You both needed this—you think. After everything, after—fucking—Caroline and Janet Baker and Tommy Miller. You both needed each other so bad that when you grind down onto him he lets out a little desperate groan into your mouth that spurs you on.

Joel slips his hand under your shirt and finds the hardened peak there. He pinches it and rolls it between his fingers, it sends your hips forward and suddenly he’s sitting up, and shucking your shirt off.

He grabs your hips and moves you against him, your most vulnerable spots grinding against each other. Giving you both blown out eyes and puffy lips and panting breath.

“Sh–it,” you gasp when your shorts catch on your clit perfectly.

“Pretty,” he says, grasping at your tits, at anything he can find while you grind against his length. “fuckin’—pretty like this.”

You claw at his belt and before you know it, he’s lifting you up so you’re on your knees and he’s pulling his pants past his hips. You get the memo and take your shorts off, tossing them behind you. When you sink back down onto his lap, you can feel his cock slip between your wet lips down there.

“Fuck, Joel,” you say, gliding along his cock, soaking it. You can feel all of him now—grinding along his hardness—the girth of him fitting perfectly between your swollen lips.

“Angel,” Joel pants out, through sloppy kisses. You look at him. He’s got a desperate look on his face. Like he couldn’t wait just like you. Not even to get upstairs to your bedroom or to get all his clothes off. Like he’s been wanting this all day. Just like you.

You move up and reach down, feeling the wet mess you’ve both made down between your legs. You find his cock, hard and wanting, and position it at your entrance. The head sinks past your walls, enveloping it somewhere deeper and you both groan at the feeling.

You sink down on him slowly, you’re by no means physically ready to take him. But you can’t wait any longer. He kisses you, and down to your neck, making it easier to ease yourself down onto him, and when you finally reach the end, and you’re seated fully in his lap, you both gasp.

Your walls clench around him, eliciting a quiet groan from Joel somewhere near your neck. Your eyes roll back in your head, your forehead drops onto his shoulder. You both just sit there, waiting for the other to make a move.

It’s kind of like a game.

See how long you can both relish in each other’s warmth — the first person who moves loses.

Your walls tighten again and he lets out another groan, “Jesus,” he mumbles, nipping at your neck. You’re slowly adjusting to him, relaxing around him. It makes you shudder.

You realize he’s not really touching you. He’s got his hands on your thighs, but they’re just resting there. Not squeezing or gripping your hips like you know he so desperately wants. Maybe he’s scared, you think. From everything that’s happened today. From the consequences his touch barred.

But you didn’t care about the consequences. You liked his touch, needed his touch, just as much as he needed something to hold him back down to earth, anchor him to you—in you. And afterall, you just want him to feel good. Feel better.

“Touch me,” you gasp out, reaching down to his hands.

“Am touchin’ you,” he forces out, panting near your ear. His thumb absentmindedly pushes down on the skin of your thigh a fraction harder and then eases up, like he’s saying this is the best I can do.

“No, Joel,” you moan, rock your hips a little, moving first, moving frantically and suddenly, “touch me,” you say into his neck, reaching down to usher his hands to your hips, your waist, you.

Joel gets it then, the silent permission. The it’s okay, and grips you harder, but not as hard as you know he would like. It’s good enough for you because he moves your hips, rocking you up and down onto his length—having enough of the senseless grinding.

“Fuckin’ good—” Joel groans, your hands fly to his shoulders, his hair. “You feel good.”

Your legs grow tired, he can tell. You try your best, but you’re sweaty and tired and fucked out, and when he hits a spot deeper inside you that makes you moan out, louder than before, and you almost collapse onto him. He ruts into you a little. Meeting you halfway. Fucking you deeper—maybe even a bit faster.

Your legs ache and you feel a sheen of sweat wash over both of you. And Joel’s eye is fucked up, his cheek too. Tommy is sitting back at the house—or god knows where—with a possible broken hand, Janet baker is watching Sarah instead of you or Joel, Caroline is still back at the house, and everything is a fucking mess, but it’s so right. He feels so right. He’s — he’s right.

You’re close then, the coarse hair on him inching you toward your climax. He knows, he can feel it from the inside. You don’t even have to say it this time, your question for his permission. He can see it already braced on your lips but he shuts you up with a kiss, a sloppy one, where he sticks his tongue into your mouth and your walls tighten around him again.

“Yes,” he says with a moan into your mouth, “yes, yes—ah.”

“Fuck,” you say tightening around him, becoming breathless and boneless, but Joel holds you up. He always does.

He grips you tighter, like how you know he wanted to, and you relish in the feeling. His thrusts become desperate and you brace yourself on the back of the couch so he can rut up deeper, chasing after his own orgasm. You can’t really breathe. Not when he’s everywhere.

“Shit,” he says, rocking into you.

Joel cums hard, holding onto you, wrapping you up in his arms as he groans somewhere near your temple. You let it spread through you, the mess of it all. He keeps you locked in his arms, even when you think he might pull away.

He finally pulls you off him, when he says it becomes too much and you sit on his lap, playing with his curls. When you both settle from your panting you can’t help but ask.

“What are we gonna do?” you say quietly to him.

“I dunno,” he grabs your hand and gives it a quick kiss. The bruise on his face is turning an ugly shade of purple. And the peas have gone warm, creating a small puddle on the coffee table. And your phone keeps buzzing from the entryway.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, running a hand on your thigh.

taglist! comment or message me if you want to be added. kisses!

@going-to-californiaxx @gintheginger @daddy-din @earthtogrogu @rooney-verse @ratoonstown @skysmiller @pedritosdarling @lovely-ateez @pluzo @spongebobspooploop @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @tsunamistorm123 @awhoreforalotofshows @disassociation-daydreams @violinchick @rhoorl

@yoongjennie88 @untamedheart81 @noisynightmarepoetry @joelsversion @vanillen @brujitafantomatico @cartoon-garbage04 @jpbplvr @whattownheadshake @beccerjune @pedrotonin @sen-mirjahaal @awesomebunnyqueen @bluetattoos

@siimiasoi @fandomscollide @lizzie-cakes @paleidiot @sunnywithachanceofjavi @koshkaj-blog @sunnysaphira @bbyanarchist @casa-boiardi @anavatazes @joeldjarin @l0vem3n @lmariephoto37 @turtles-all-the-way-d0wn @withasideofmeg @dinwifey @brinabees @sofiparallel @akah565 @defnotashifter @missgurrl @anoverwhelmingdin @rainbowcosmicchaos @pedropascalissofine @purplemechanics @suzmagine @hellaradd @josephine1837 @lawh0re @medic332 @lisaneedsbraces @angelmather1 @kirsteng42 @poodlebae @lunxramour

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beskarandblasters · 5 months

Text

Hi everyone!! Erin and I compiled all the fics that were submitted into one big list and split the reading! So if you don’t see your fic here check out @perotovar’s post that will be coming soon! Also, for any multi chapter fics that were submitted we only read the first chapters for them! Thank you to everyone who submitted fics for this and made this celebration such a hit! If you’d like to see more events like this please let either Erin or myself know!

@trulybetty Strings

What a strong start!! The part where he was dealing with his nightmare in his sleep was so heartbreaking. And the reader contemplating comforting him or respecting the boundaries of their relationship and minding her business was a struggle you really felt.

@pascalispretty Leading Blindly

Oh man love me some shy, submissive Din 🥵 And Canto Bight is the perfect place to put a brothel in Star Wars!!!

@chronically-ghosted Recovery Road

Wow, what a beautiful depiction of struggling with addiction and anxiety. As someone who suffers from anxiety myself (as I’m sure a lot of you guys do too!), I found myself really emphasizing with Dieter. Precious lil guy 🥺

@theywhowriteandknowthings Catch Me If You Can

This fic is such a good capture capture of the chase 🤌 The last chapter was posted as a part of Kinktober but if you want to find out just how Din and the Reader got there, read this!!! It’s going to take place on several Star Wars planets and as a Star Wars nerd that makes my heart happy

@ramblers-lets-get-ramblin The Clink

💳💳PRISON GUARD JAVI💳💳 What more do I need to say?!?!? No but fr this is not only extremely hot but also very very well done. Prison Guard Javi wasn’t something I knew I needed until Ang put it out 💅

@jenna-ortega Vertigo

The premise of this is so scandalous 🤭 I’m a sucker for infidelity fics for some reason so you know this just has a hold on me!!! And I love the warning “unpleasant!Joel” 🥵💀😭

@milla-frenchy Smack My Bitch Up

I’m a slut for rough sex and even though I’m not personally into anal I still really enjoyed this! A great take on Raider!Joel and Raider!Tommy 👀

@katiexpunk Reporting For Duty

THE PREMISE I’M SCREAMING and the smut was soooooo fucking hot. I love Air Marshal Peña!!! Something about joining the Mile High Club is just 🥵🥵

@dark-scape The Vagabond Gladiator

This is by far the most interesting and unique Joel AU I’ve ever seen. The world building in this is just great!!!

@novemberrain-writes Daggers to Dust

A MANDALORIAN WESTERN AU ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!! I enjoyed this so much omfg!!!

@decembermidnight Ner Mircet'ad

First of all, two words: GLOVE KINK!! Love the Mando’a title, love dom!Din. Seriously what is there not to love about this!!

@soft-persephone Scattered Promises

“My name is Din, he whispered lowly in her face, and if I made a promise to never leave your side, I intend to keep it.” Oh my god!!! I love Din and the MC’s dynamic so much!!!

@nothoughtsjustmeds Tip Your Server

NOT THEM LOSING THE OSCAR 😭😭 I love wife!reader fics and this was seriously so sweet and hot at the same time!!

@scarerjh Love Machine

Dieter is so sweet and devoted in this!!! So fluffy and sweet it makes my heart explode!!!

@grogusmum Conversations with Dead People

This was so sad and impactful!! I just wanted them to get back together so bad!!!!

@marisferasiop Paklalat

This was such a treat, literally the group sex/polyamorous relationship of my DREAMS 😍😍

@idolatrybarbie The World Tipped On Its Side

(Chapter 1) I really love the characterization of the reader in this. Frankie as a stunt pilot is a really cool idea for him. And the reader is disabled, which is really refreshing to see that being represented here in this community🤍

@romana-after-dark Blessed Be The Fruit

If you like the Handmaid’s Tale and TLOU then boy do I have the fic for you!! The first chapter was so interesting and the world building was insane!! I’ve never watched or read Handmaid’s Tale and I was easily able to fall into this universe!

@ladamedusoif Visiting

One of the most well thought out Mr. Ben fics I’ve ever seen!! I love the ofc and I love that her age is relatively close to Ben’s!!

@chaithetics A Cinematic Lover

Dieter having a crush is so fucking cute!!! And I love chronic illness/pain representation here 🥺🤍

@aurorawritestoescape The Helping Hand

I love somnophilia!! This was so hot and I love the idea that Joel’s loud snoring keeps you from falling asleep at night 😭💀

@pimosworld Tango

Love the premise, loooove the TF boys being protective and of course, I love dom!Frankie + the aftercare 🥹

@beecastle Chocolate Cake

This was so cute!!! I love first meeting fics and there’s something so sweet and so normal about it happening at a grocery store! And of course I love dad!Frankie!!

@frenchiereading The Parents That Are Left

I don’t really have much to say about this besides the fact that the writing is beautiful. And that this is such an interesting premise!!!

@ohforficsake You Brought Me Poison Flowers

Fourth of July in Jackson?!?!?! Sign me UP!!! I love the title of the series. I love the first chapter title. I love the OFC! There’s so much to love about this!!

@healmydesires I Wanna Hear You Say My Name

I loved this so much!! I don’t typically read period sec fics but wow!! I started my period the day before I read this and now I have a whole new appreciation for fics like this!! The smut was so hot and I loved the dynamic between Joel and the reader!

@604to647 Lingerie

I have never read a modern AU for Din before and I have to say, this was so interesting and hot at the same time!!

#dieter bravo fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra prospect fanfiction

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greenerteacups · 3 months

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Hi! Just wanted to say the latest chapter is lovely & amazing & sweet & had me smiling the whole time! I absolutely love your characterisation of everyone, especially Draco, so it was so so lovely to return to this world & to his thoughts!! with his best friend and crush at malfoy manor no less! All the yearning is already off to a great start hehe I am so excited for the rest of book 5!

Wanted to ask you how has it been for you to write this new book and volume? Has your writing process changed since when you’d first begun taking on a long form project like this?

& also are there any moments or surprises in this book that you’re especially excited about?

sending so much love & gratitude for you and your incredible works 💓

Thank you so much! This is really encouraging, I so appreciate it.

Inasmuch as I can use this metaphor without having kids myself, I sort of see each of the books as a different child. The first one flew out in basically a few weeks of very intensive writing, and it was a total dream — plot, pacing, symbolism, major beats, all fell into place basically without effort. The character stuff was the hardest, as I've written about before, but even then, the glorious part of writing beginnings is it's the most energy you'll ever have for a project, so the lows were pretty soft lows. Book 2, in contrast, I had to drag kicking and screaming by its ankle from under the bottommost mattress of my brain. It's one of my least favorite books (tone problem; COS has killer plot/setting/ingredients for a YA novel, but it's stuck in the doldrums of Harry Potter's well-documented Early-Installment Weirdness, before Cedric Diggory slams the gas and upshifts the whole series into its correct age bracket). More specifically, once I'd gone through and picked out everything in the book that happened because of Lucius, I didn't have a plot — hey alexa how do you rewrite Chamber of Secrets when We Got No Fucking Chamber Of Secrets — and oh by the way, even if you want to do a moody tone/political setup book, remember that your protagonists are still twelve, so if you go too dark or too intense, you'll risk torpedoing your readers' suspension of disbelief. Good luck, Charlie.

Book 3 felt the most like its own novel, if that makes sense? It's the last truly feel-good book of the series; it's a great stand-alone mystery novel with relatively low stakes. Plus you get a bunch of the big series icons: patronuses, dementors, werewolves, Hogsmeade, the Marauders' Map, and time turners arithmancy. It just felt like a good old-fashioned motherfucking romp of a mystery/adventure story, before any of the complex character work and major stakes of the late books come in.

Book 4 was the most fun I've had writing anything maybe ever. I don't even know what it was. Maybe the tournament arc, honestly? Love me a tournament arc. But in any case, I opened every new chapter feeling a tingle of excitement for what I was gonna get to do. Oh, and the romance started, finally, Jesus God (if it feels like a slow burn reading, just imagine what it felt like writing it, when everything takes ten times as long, and you have to figure out how to word the fucker.)

Book 5, in contrast, has felt much less like that tingle of "here we go!" and more like "oh, man, this is gonna be cool." Because this is the arc of the story that composed the original idea for Lionheart, literally years ago, and to be honest, I didn't think I'd get this far! If you'd asked me "do you know that it's going to take you 500,000 words of backstory before you can start writing that concept you're thinking about, and you're going to do it anyway?" I would have said: "absolutely not, strange mind-reader!" But like... I'm here! Finally! And it's... real now? Like, this isn't just a bunch of clips of scenes in my head anymore! That's rad!

That being said, it's definitely been slower than Book 4, because I kept switching back to my outline document to make sure that certain things were set up properly, and that I hadn't lost any of the plot threads or forgotten a minor beat that was vitally important for the story three chapters later. And I had a minor crisis about three months ago when I ripped out about 8 chapters in the first third of the book — basically everything from September to December — because I'd done a readthrough to check pacing (big mistake! never edit while drafting, that's satan talking) and realized I had a missing storyline. Like, there was a whole layer of the story that was just. Missing. Not there. And the existing text really couldn't fit another thread, so instead of taking weeks to pore through and try to sift out what I could save, I needed to factory reset and start over. And I didn't want to! I vividly remember sitting there with my head in my hands, trying not to weep, because I'd decimated 90,000 words of work in a single edit. But it had to be done. Because the story wasn't going to work. And now (hopefully) it will.

And of course, there's still that sense of excitement and exhilaration from before. Always. But whereas Book 4 felt like a delicious chocolate pudding, Book 5 is a medium-rare steak.

(Book 6, so far, is four shots of espresso and a whiskey chaser. FWIW.)

#greenteacup asks #lionheart #lionheart spoilers #dramione

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katiefrog217 · 19 days

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Good Omens Fic + Poetry | Personal Recommendation Masterlist

I said I'd do it, so I'm doing it. For both myself, and so others can enjoy! I'll try to tag the original authors and link any secondaries/people who recommended me the stories!

If you feel so inclined, you may read my own (very long, very angsty) fic: Dubious Excerpts from the Chonicles of a Demon (Retired)

To clarify: this list is going to be a collection of stuff I've personally read/been recommended. I'll try to make sure to tag everyone who owns the fics (if they have a Tumblr) and the people who recommended them to me (if at all). I'll update this list as I go, and might start sorting things into their own posts if it starts to get too long. I'm not going to be able to tag all warnings, so PLEASE HEED the A03 tags!

This list is not meant to play favorites! If I read it and enjoyed it, it will be going on this list. That means the quality may vary, but I think everyone should have a chance to have their work seen! Inevitably though, I will have my favorites, and if I ABSOLUTELY think you should read one, I'll mark in in Green. Everything else will be in Orange for visibility. Anything with NSFW Content will be marked with a (!!!).

If you would like to recommend me a fic (self-promotes welcome and encouraged!), feel free to drop a recommendation here, DM me, or send me an ask if you want to remain anonymous! If you don't see your's here, I haven't gotten to it yet!

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Poetry

@lickthecowhappy does a LOT of poetry for GO, and they have a masterlist on their own blog for their stuff, but my personal favorite is Pour Hot Water Into A Pot With Leaves

This Black Out Poem | Written by @crowleys-bentley-and-plants

Questions (Sonnet No. 2) | Written by @aziraphalesdiaries

This Two Part Poem | Written by @knifeforkspooncup

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Short n' Sweet

Literally anything written by the account @meanwhile-at-the-cottage (Seriously follow them they make my day)

Nada | Written and Recommended by @gabapunk (Pining/Season 3 where you at??)

This One-shot | Written by @bloodashre (Post season 2/ The world is ending but their love is not).

Hazel Storms and Gentle Ormes | Written by @ardentlake and beta read by thatskindarough (Short chapters but cute, Crown Prince Crowley)

His World In Her Hands | Written by @nik-knight to an art post by Camilleflyingrotten (I was genuinely unwell after this one| Azi got hurt and Crowley begs)

Rain In Avalon | Written by SnowFilly1 and recommended by GoodOmensDuh (Long One-shot, Arthurian Times, Intimacy eluded to but nothing explicit)

Cozy Preening | Written by @canadiankazz and recommended by GoodOmensDuh (Not much plot BUT OMG SO CUTE/ Wing preening fluff)

Lord Knows it Would be the First Time | Written and recommended by @knifeforkspooncup (Angst/ But also Fluff / I want these idiots to be ok)

This Silly Story about Unicorns | Written by @brightwanderer (seriously just read it/I cackled really hard/ Crowley can be a dummy and I love that about him)

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Long Fics

And They Were Streamers | Written by @mrghostrat and recommended by HaeMey (Ongoing /Streamer Au / Its got art / KICKING MY FEET I LOVE THEM)

If We've Got Nothing (We've Got Us) | Written by @kedreeva, recommended by someone on Patreon (God POV / Grey Feathers / Medium Length / Old but Good)

Big Name Feelings (!!!) | Written by mrghostrat (Completed / Au/ Skippable NSFW/ Ace Crowley / I've never felt more seen and called out wtf/ I stayed up until 4 am reading it)

Not Light, No Light | Written and recommended by PolarisVega (Their first fic / Season 3 headcanons / Fun Crowley Headcanons)

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach | Written by mouseonamoose (aka Nnm) and recommended by lickthecowhappy and GoodOmensDuh (Crowley Goes to Therapy / Old but still REALLY good / Pre-season 2 / Super long chapters but very worth)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #fic rec #fic recommendation #Personal List #None of these are mine #But I want to share them #Writers deserve recognition #good omens fanfiction

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regulusrules · 1 year

Note

Hi! Okay so you seem like a very well-read person and I’d love to know if you have a list of your favorite Merlin fics. I just bookmarked all the ones you recommended in relation to the 10 best episodes and now I need more! I’m going on a training camp and would love to have something fairly long to download to my kindle so I can read on flights and when I don’t have data 🥰

Thanks so much in advance!

(Also, I LOVE your writing, I’m so glad to be part of this fandom with talented people like you!)

Hey! Thank you so much for your kind words! OF COURSEE I'd love to recommend you some fics! Likewise— the creativity of this fandom never ceases to amaze me :)

*cracks knuckles and pretends my eyes aren't lighting up rn because my time has finally come*

Long fic recs (50K-100K+)

1. to the world that never let you be by ImperialMint. Look. I'll hand out my own throat so willingly to any scar reveal fic. The trope is just so dear to my heart, and this one in particular was something else. It broadly covered every single feeling you might be looking for in a Merlin fic, and its characterization of both Arthur and Merlin was top tier. I basically sell my soul to any fic that does justice to their characterization, and this one did so much more than that.

2. What I'd Have Done by @flight-of-fantasy. I solemnly swear you will never read something like this fic. I read it in one day from how on edge I was all the time. I had to recount it to my friends in the timespan of three hours because of how much screaming and dramatic pauses there was. Simply, the brilliance of plot here is unmatched. Arthur's characterization as a strategist shook my innards, and Merlin's unapologetic nature was chef's kiss. It's so hard not to give away the plot while recommending this so just.. just read it.

3. Redemption by flakedice, Zerda. Soon, you will find a parallel post to the best 10 episodes with the worst 10, featuring first and foremost The Disir. Honest to God, I could literally go on ages ranting about how much agony this episode brought me. It was the blow that awoke my eyes to the possibility of fuck, this show isn't going to end well. I once thought about shitting on that episode like I did with 5×13 in My heart is readily yours, but fics like these hold me back because they already gave us everything. It gave us the ending we deserved. Gold. Everything in this was gold. The world building, the character development, the fact that Arthur has been given time. Truly a fix-it that fix-ed my heart.

4. Talking about deviations from The Fucking Disir, The World I Built for You by Fulgance is a must. It was the first fic I've read from the How They Didn't Find Out (magic reveal one-shots) series, and from then on I was * s o l d *. Whichever fic you decide to read from this, I guarantee you, you will have the time of your life. Fulgance is the one author I will always recommend without a shadow of a doubt. There is not a single work of theirs that will disappoint you. They will only break you.

5. Deep In My Heart I'm Concealing by @citharaposts. True story about this fic, I squealed when I read its summary. “I'm not standing here as a king, Merlin!” was the quickest catalyst to ever make me start a fic. I specifically wrote a spoiler-free comment for the author and left it in the first chapter so that anyone who's thinking about whether or not to go into yet another 100K fic will rest assured that it's an amazing ride. Have real fun with this one.

6. It Was One Kingdom, Once by queerofthedagger. Two things, if they happen, you leave everything behind and go thank your God for blessing you with it: @queerofthedagger posting a new Merlin fic, and it being a Royal Hanahaki AU. Like so many other tropes the author has nailed, this was the best Hanahaki I've ever read (across fandoms). It's so intricate and detailed and the world building is on another level. If our world was burning and I had only one thing to save, it'll be the works of this author.

Hope I helped, and hope you have so much fun in your camp!◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕

[Short fic recs]

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter twenty six - you bring me home

frank castle x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ content minors dni! (car sex lmaooo, mxf nothing you haven’t seen before, its pretty sweet <3) swearing, canon typical violence, mention of scars, injuries, blood, literally packed everything into this chapter its a big one

a/n: wow. this was so rough oh my god. the entire first draft deleted itself and i had to re write the whole thing from memory, so i lost my planned chapter. i really hope i got everything in here, and im sorry for the wait AND how long it is lmao but i just. can’t believe i really finished it. ill rant at the end, but if you only read this part, i love you. thank you for letting me share the absolute vomit that is my brain. you are the best.

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“How was the drive?” Franks voice sends a shiver down your spine, even hundreds of miles away through a crappy phone line.

“Boring.” You sigh, pacing around the tiny motel room.

“You were meant to call an hour ago. Got me waitin’ up for you.” He sounds tired, and it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s stupid, but the image makes you a little giddy. Waiting up for you.

“There was… traffic.”

“You get lost?”

“Fuck you.” You bite automatically and he groans.

“So yeah?”

“Yes, Frank. I got lost.” He laughs, the sound managing to take your mind off the dark room you’d managed to secure for the night, the bedside light doing nothing to brighten the small space.

“I gave you a map. It’s a straight shot from where you started.” Rolling your eyes, you look at the map you’d now bundled into a ball and thrown into the trash.

“Who uses a printed map? Seriously, how fucking old are you?” It’s playful and familiar, and all the frustration of driving for 10 hours melts into the bed.

Being a key witness in a now ongoing case apparently didn’t come with any frequent flyer miles, because both Matt and Frank had said you couldn’t risk going through airport security and being flagged in a system, so it meant you had to drive nearly 18 hours to Florida. You thought you didn’t mind road trips, but after today you think it’s only road trips with Frank you don’t mind.

“Maps don’t change, baby. Besides, you’d drive yourself into a god damn tree the second that voice in the car told you you’d missed a turn.” You hate that he’s right— even the thought of that monotone voice droning in your ear for ten hours makes you cringe.

“Whatever. Tell me about something. You said you were going to speak to Madani today?” He’s the one sighing now, and clearly the talk was about as fun as your drive.

“She’s all over the place. Some mishandled evidence fucked their entire case, and Bobby’s lawyers were too well paid to let it go. Murdock said they’ll be able to find more— the appeal’s already been approved cause of how high profile it is, but he’s got no new evidence. He said he doesn’t know if they can get him.”

“That’s… what I expected, I guess.” Frank agrees, and your sudden silence only serves to bring the real issue to hand. “You know where he is?”

“Yeah. I got it covered.” The line goes quiet, and you don’t really know what to say.

On one hand, you want Bobby dead. You know can’t do it- it wasn’t smart, and the last thing you were going to do is drag everything Matt and Madani had worked for through the mud for someone like him, let alone put Sam in danger. Some fucked up part of you is a little mad that it won’t be you, but Frank has every reason to hate him as much as you. You know Frank wants this, and that telling him to stop is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Your hesitation would only spur him to do it faster, be more impulsive. You don’t want to say anything to put him off.

On the other, you just want him with you. You worry like some love sick child, scared he’s walked out the door and isn’t coming back. You worry he’ll get caught, and end up in the exact spot he was trying to get you out of. You’re scared he’ll get hurt, or worse. Every time you close your eyes you can see him bleeding out, dark red staining your hands until you can scream yourself awake. There’s so many things that could go wrong, and ten hours staring over the hood of your car gives you way too much time to think about hypotheticals.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Frank says softly, and you flop yourself back on the single bed.

“Are you?” He huffs like the question is irrelevant.

“Madani asked about your dad today.” He ignores the question, and you’re too interested to poke him on it.

“Oh?”

“Asked what he knew about your time there. If he ever worked with the Gnucci’s.” A lump forms in your throat.

“You think she knows about the weird... blood stuff?”

“Don’t see why she would. Either way, it’s not gonna matter once he’s dead.” The bluntness of it almost makes you laugh. “He’ll be gone, and no one will come for it. Or you.”

“You don’t have to do this for me, Frank.”

“I’m not.” He pauses, and then sighs. “Alright, I am, but not just that. The shit he said to me in there— the things he said about you. The way he looked at you in there… I watched that shit, and there’s no way in hell that asshole does what he did and lives.”

“What if he was found guilty? Would you of left it alone?” Maybe if you’d been more helpful to Matt and Madani, it would of gone better, and Frank would be here.

“You want me to answer that?” A part of you knew he wasn’t going to let it go. That wasn’t who he was. It shouldn’t make you feel the way it does to know that Frank would kill for you— just to make you safe. It does anyway, and heat flushes over your face.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He agrees, a low sound rumbling from his end of the phone. “I spent most of the day wishing you were with me, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Turns out I fucking hate driving.” He laughs again, and if you could listen to the sound all night you think you’d sleep peacefully.

“You remember how mad you were that first time I didn’t let you drive?” Shaking your head, you flick off the lights slide under the covers.

“I was mad because you had a concussion and tried to fucking kill us.”

“Least I was gonna go the right way.”

“You tried switching drivers on the freeway, Castle.”

“Alright, I was a a bit out of it.” He says plainly and you smile so wide it hurts your cheeks. “Wished you were here, too.”

“I bet you did.” He groans, and you hear him shift on the bed. Your bed.

“Too much space in here. Didn’t even know we had this much blanket.” He makes a real noisy show of it, tossing around the blankets you usually roll yourself up in. It’s meant to be a light hearted thing, but for some reason the idea of Frank spread out on your shared bed, one that you’ve both used extensively— it makes your heart race.

“Dickhead.” He groans again, shuffling around some more. “This one’s too small. Probably have to sleep on top of each other if you were here.”

“M’alright with that.”

“Not a lot of room to move, though.” You look around at the room, hardly enough space to stand in the corner.

“We’d figure something out.” You let your eyes flutter closed, humming high pitched at the idea. “What are you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

“You.” You admit, and he seems to like it.

“Me too. Haven’t gone a night in this apartment without fuckin’ you in this bed. Drivin’ me crazy.” You hum again, pressing your thighs together to try and dissipate the heat that’s suddenly overtaken your whole body. “You thinkin’ about it now too, aren’t you baby?”

“Yeah, Frank.”

“Don’t say my name like that.” He growls, and you bite your lip to hide your laugh.

“Why not, Frank?” You practically purr the word, drawing it out and saying it all breathy like you do when he’s teasing you.

“Cause you’re gonna make me drive ten hours just to fuck you in whatever dirty motel you pulled off into.” You’re still smiling, but you think if you keep messing with him, he’d do it. He’d drive ten hours, a hundred of them if it meant teaching you a lesson. Or just being with you. “I’ll see you soon. Real soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out, knowing if you keep talking to him your entire plan will crumble in front of you, because you’re half considering driving home just to sleep next to him. “Soon. Be safe, okay?”

The words tumble out, and you try to hide the guilt you feel when you say them. He was only not safe because of you— because you couldn’t finish the job yourself. You’re glad he can’t see your face, because you hear him mumble on the other end and your eyes close listening to him.

“Always. Tell the kid I said hi.” With that, Frank hangs up the phone, and you slide it onto the table right next to the pistol you keep loaded and ready to fire.

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Frank pulls the saturated beanie over his head, and it’s probably doing more harm than good at this point, but he doesn’t have a second to really give a shit. His eye-line is perfect— directed straight into the penthouse apartment Bobby Gnucci was driven to three hours ago. He’s been tucked away in the corner of the rooftop for just as long, watching the man pace and yell on the phone.

It had taken him a few goes to get the right frequency to listen in on the calls he was making, but once he had he took as much information done as he could. He’d had enough of watching, and now he was satisfied with the phones calls he’d listened to that the man was alone for the night; not counting his extensive security team layered through the apartment block. Frank felt the familiar hum in his veins, shoving his loaded pistol in his jeans and swinging the strap of a rifle over his shoulder, he headed down the stairs, across the street and slipped into the back of the building.

There’d be witnesses if he didn’t take the right route, and to make this work he needed every chance at an alibi he could get. He was so used to not caring— every time he’d gone into something like this, he didn’t have something to get back to. He had no preservation, no concern for what came after. Hell, if he was honest, he didn’t care if he went out doing something like this. He would of preferred it, maybe even hoped he’d die somewhere in the cross fire.

Even just talking to you on the phone had him itching to get back to you now. He wanted to be careful— something he never really thought of before. A heavy ache in his stomach that twisted something violent when he thought about not getting home, not making good on his promise from a few hours ago, it made him sick. He planned as much as he could, as much as he was capable of, and hoped to God it was enough.

Frank hid his body behind the corner of the wall. He hid his face, too, even though he’d already had Micro’s help shutting out the cameras. He knew it would set off alarms for the security team, but he planned for that. They’d spread out, follow orders that he’d listened to over the radio, three men on all the entries and exits, and then ten through the penthouse. If he timed it right, he could clear the first few levels before the guards arrived.

He didn’t care about making noise now— slamming his way up the fire access while Gnucci’s men no doubt got into position. He’d just past a number 6, and Bobby was on the top floor. 23. He kept going, not hearing any doors open. When he passed 9, the door on the level below him cracked open and he jammed through the next exit he reached, getting into position.

He could hear voices coming from his right, and steadied himself as he turned the safety off his gun. He had a small army of men to get through, but he knew if he could make it, landing the hit on Bobby would be easy.

He wasn’t nervous. Pure adrenaline flooded him, like it always did, and he didn’t think twice before standing out of cover and pulling the trigger.

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“How have you grown so much?!” You nearly shout, hugging Sam tighter as he all but latches onto your leg. “God, you’re gonna be my height soon.”

“I missed you!” He says, words muffled in your jacket. You don’t even have to bend really, he’s that tall. It is even possible for him to grow that much in just a month? “Come! I want to show you my stuff. Me and Niko share a room, and it’s the coolest thing…”

You let him drag you around the house, showing you the bunk beds that are set up for him and Nikolai. He shows you books he’s brought home from school, and it makes you smile how chaotic his room is. There’s piles of books and papers everywhere, stuffed under the bed and nearly toppling on the tables. It looks like it’s lived in… like a home, and your heart warms and breaks all at once.

When he finally finishes his impromptu tour, he pulls you outside where the rest of the family has set themselves up, and runs out into the giant back yard to chase after Nikolai. You hardly had a chance to say hello to them, but if you were honest you hadn’t thought of anything but Sam since you saw him.

“Did he show you the bunk beds?” The doctor— Zaed, you remind yourself, comes up behind you on the deck. “He hasn’t stopped talking about showing you.”

“I thought he was gonna explode.” Zaed laughs, and you turn to look at him. He’s still sporting a scar across his forehead, and it somehow makes his older features look slightly hardened. His face was still soft, something about him gesturing kindness, an observation you never made in the months you were locked away. “He told me you made them.”

“It took me weeks. I am not very… handy.” Smiling, you turn back to watch Sam and Nikolai screaming and laughing as they chase each other with Nerf guns. “I am sorry for what happened with the case.”

“So am I. If he’d gone away, you wouldn’t have to stay in Witness Protection.” He nods, turning away for a second only to return and offer you a can of something. “What is it?”

“It’s Russian. You’ll like it— it’s strong.” You crack it open and take a long drink, hoping to drown the rising anxiety that kneads the back of your mind at the thought of what Frank was doing right now. “We don’t mind it so much here.”

“Florida?” He nods.

“We want to stay. Corinne thinks the children— with what they’ve been through, shouldn’t move too much. They seem happy here.” You hum in agreement, listening to the light squeals of the youngest girl, who’s name you haven’t learnt yet, who’s got the biggest Nerf gun of all and is shooting the shit out of both boys. “It was my idea. To offer to take him in. If you are upset, please lay the blame with me—“

“Upset? God, why would I ever be upset?” He blinks in surprise, looking to you.

“You are here with him, and yet you still seem far away. I figured the suggestion was weighing on you. We only offer because… well, we have all grown quite fond of him, and for you— to you we owe our lives. I thought if we could make any of this easier…” You shake your head, finishing the bitter liquid in the can.

“You looking after Sam is about one of two good things I have going right now.” Zaed seems to relax, leaning forward onto the railing as you both stare out to watch the kids. “I think he’s happy here.”

“He is. He misses you, but he is happy.”

“And safe.”

“Of course. I pity anyone who would try to get past Corinne now.” You laugh at the tinge of genuine anxiety in his voice, as if he imagines it, but his eyes are full of admiration.

“I want to talk to him about it… make sure he’s okay, but if he wants to, I think him staying here would be the best thing for him.” Zaed doesn’t answer right away, just lets the echoed laughter of the kids fill both of your ears before he nods simply.

“He will be safe. And I am sure you will learn to love Florida, too, with how much you will visit?”

“What?” Again, a look of surprise crosses his face.

“Sam did not show you the spare room? We have cleared a space for you— whenever you need it. You… it is the least I could do. You saved my life—“

“Hardly.”

“I owe you it. My families life. My own. Whatever you should need here, the door would be open to you.” You have to look away, because it’s too much, and you don’t know when you became so soft that shit like this made you tear up.

“You don’t owe me anything. You keeping Sam safe is everything I ever wanted. I think we’re even now.” You laugh, your throat suddenly feeling a little tight.

“I couldn’t help but notice you arrived alone.” He questions, and you hide your face, unsure if the way you chew on your bottom lip gives too much away.

“Yeah.” No amount of alcohol could drown out the thought of Frank. You hadn’t heard from him in a day. Zaed looks at you, his eyes crinkling as he assess you.

“I thought he was going to drown with you that night. When he saw you go into the water… I recognise that look in a man’s eyes.” It seems so long ago now, and your hand instinctively goes to your stomach, where Frank sewed you up the first time. “He is coming soon, I assume? I doubt he would let you get too far from him right now.”

“Yeah, he’s…” You trust Zaed— but there’s only one person who takes precedent over the people taking care of your brother. “He’s just finishing up some stuff with the case in New York. He should be on his way now.”

“Ah.” He says, his eyes lingering on you in question. You say nothing, just sink a little more of the can. “Well, when he kills the ублюдок, I hope he makes it last.”

Before you can recover and wipe the shock off your face long enough to ask him how the hell he guessed what Frank is doing, Sam and Nikolai are in front of you, and Zaed disappears back into the house.

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Frank grunts, a loud nearly animalistic sound vibrating off the walls as he clears the 23rd floor. Every time he breathes out, blood sprays out of his mouth. He can’t tell if it’s his own or he’s just covered in so much that it’s dripping off him. Either way he can’t help it, chest burning for oxygen after he laid the lower floors to absolute waste.

He’d ditched the assault rifle somewhere between the 18th and 19th floors, not even bothering to pull out his pistol. No— he’d fought every single one of them with his bare hands, and anything he could find scattered between dead bodies.

His right hand was fucked, and he’s pretty sure he got shot. Somewhere on the right side of his body, there’s a shooting pain between his thigh and his ribs, but it’s not enough to slow him down. He shoves his body weight into the penthouse door, throwing himself into guards he knows are ready and waiting for him. He reaches for his pistol, shooting three guys in the head before his eyes adjust to the dimmer lights in the room.

He hears them shouting orders, and he kills three more as he crosses the living room. One of them he puts through the TV screen, glass shattering under his hand as he crushes the man’s skull between the hard surface. The other two he shoots, and then moves towards the last four. All of them shield the door to the bedroom— putting their lives on the line for a man who doesn’t deserve the air he’s wasting.

Frank doesn’t have a moral compass when it comes to revenge. Not when it has to do with the people he loves. It’s why he clears the round of bullets in his gun on all four of them in less than thirty seconds, watching the lifeless bodies pile up in the doorway, there isn’t a single moment that he hesitates.

“Bobby!” Frank shouts, his voice horse and so loud he’s got no doubt the dead hear it.

He hears shuffling, and drops the pistol before stomping his way through into the bedroom. He sees Bobby, crawling across the floor in an attempt to reach for a gun dropped by one of the guards, but just as he goes to reach for it, Frank slams a bloody boot down on top of his hand, feeling the crush of bone under his weight.

“Fuck!” He shouts, and Frank smiles sickly, blood dripping from his teeth. “Get the fuck off me, you animal!”

Frank kicks him in the face, two of his teeth flying out and scattering across the carpet. As he rolls over, Frank grabs him by the collar and sits him up, watching his head lull to the side.

“Wake up.” Frank slams his fist into his skull. There was no way he was passing out this fast. Not after what he’s done. “Wake the fuck up.”

His hands shake with how hard he’s holding Bobby upright. So hard he feels the bone of his collar begin to give, and Frank chases the idea. Bobby thrashes, screaming as his eyes shoot open, the sound kicking Frank back into gear. He lets go of his shoulder long enough to pull back, only to drive his fist and crack the rest of his shoulder.

“Help m—“ Bobby tries to shout, but Frank shuts him off with another well placed shove of his weight into Bobby’s stomach, winding him. He wheezes, the pathetic sound something like music to Franks ears.

He punches him again— over and over. Not enough to kill him, though. No, Frank wasn’t done, he was just feeding the thrill. He’d been waiting too fucking long for this, and there was something satisfying about seeing this man— this weak excuse for a man being blinded by his own blood as he cries for someone to help him.

“Ain’t no one comin’ for you.” He growls, and grabs Bobby’s face so it hangs straight. His jaw is slack, but his eyes go wide when he feels the blade at his ribs. “You know that? That there ain’t a single person out there comin’ for you. No one gives a shit about you. You’re alone in here— your life in my hands.”

“Haaa—“ Bobby tries but whatever it is fades out into a scream when Frank slides the blade between his third and fourth rib. Slowly— real fucking slow. “They… they’ll come. Th-They’ll come f-for me.”

“No one’s comin’. Dead. All of ‘em. You’re alone.” He slides it a little deeper, watching the realisation wash over his face.

In truth, Frank wasn’t doing this for him. Sure, it felt fucking good, and Frank was enjoying the sight of the life draining out of his eyes, but he wants him to know why. Why he’s here, why he took out every last man in this building so he knew there was no hope. No one for him to go to.

He knew that’s what it was like for you. Frank couldn’t give you back those years, and he couldn’t take that much time with this— he’d thought about it, but he wanted this to end here and now. He could do this here, for you. Could make him know just how it feels to have all that power beat out of you, and know that there’s no one out there coming to save you.

“Stop…stop!” He wails, and Frank hits him harder. Every crack of his fist sends Bobby further into unconsciousness, and when he manages to stop himself, he shakes him awake again.

He gurgles on his own blood, dark red pools choking out of his mouth. His face is unrecognisable, already starting to blow up as he strangles in a few short breaths.

“I can… I have money. I can p—“ The effort of the words sprays another load of blood out of his mouth, and even though he’s exhausted, Frank laughs.

“You think I want money?” He leans down, yanking the knife out of his ribs and shoving it in again.

“Fuck! What do you—what do you want?!” Bobby wails again. Frank smiles.

“I want you to know that she’s the reason you’re dead. The last thing you’ll know is me— my face, and you’ll know it’s because you ended up just like you made her. Except she got out, and you never will.” Frank loses sense of time, his injuries starting to catch up with him as he yanks the knife out one more time, before slamming it home into Bobby’s skull.

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“I’m watching!” You shout as Sam lines up again, taking a few steps back before rushing forward and kicking the ball towards their make shift goal in the yard. You have to admit, for only been playing a few weeks, he’s got a hell of a kick on him.

“See! I’m getting better— my coach says next year I can try out for the first grade team if I keep training!” He’s smiling so big, and then he’s gone again, picking up the ball to take another shot at Nikolai who’s got goalkeeper gloves on, ready to catch it.

You’d be happy to watch this all day, but then Corinne calls out to you, telling you your phone is ringing, and you all but leap over the railing of the deck. When you race inside, you expect to see Franks name, and your heart sinks when you don’t. You knew he wouldn’t be able to call until it was over, but it’s been nearly two days since you’d heard anything. Then, you see it’s an unknown number calling, and your hands are shaking when you disappear into what is meant to be ‘your’ room to answer.

“Hello?” You recognise the voice instantly when she says your name. “Fucking hell, Karen. You scared me. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but are you?!” She nearly shouts, and you are still coming back to your mind with relief it wasn’t someone telling you Frank was dead. “I don’t even know how you did it, but I don’t want to. The way they found him… Jesus.”

“Wait. What? Karen, I’m in Florida.”

“What?”

“I’m with my brother in Florida. I came up here two days ago after the trial.” She goes quiet, and you can hear the commotion in the background. Remembering it’s a Tuesday, and that she must be at work, it only furthers your suspicions. “Who’s dead?”

“Bobby is. They found him. They found his body— but…”

“Karen, tell me.” All you need to hear is Frank wasn’t found. That he got out of there before anyone saw him. It would be your fault— all of it would be your fault if he was found. You needed to get back, you needed—

“Sorry. Sorry, I just thought… with everything that happened before, I thought it might of been you. Bobby’s dead, but… there’s nearly 50 men in the building with him. They’re all dead. And Bobby; he was hardly recognisable. It took them nearly 24 hours to identify him.”

“24 hours?” Frank needed to get out of New York as soon as he killed Bobby. If the police had been crawling around there for nearly a day… “Karen, I gotta go. Thank you for calling.”

You cut it off before she responds, and call the only number saved in your phone. It only rings twice before he answers, and you could nearly cry when you hear his voice.

“Stop fuckin’ ringin’ me, Murdock. I don’t know shit and I’m busy.” He grumbles through the phone, and you choke out something between a laugh and a sob. “Oh, fuck. Sorry— hey, sweetheart. Was just about to call you.”

“It’s… did the— job go okay?” You try to calm your voice as best you can, knowing that if anyone traces the call he’s done for.

“It took me longer than I thought. Had to get stitched up, then Curtis drove me halfway— passed out for most of it.” Before you can ask, he answers. “I’m fine, don’t do that.”

“You’re okay?” Relief floods your body, phone nearly slipping out of your hand with how hard you were gripping it. “Everything’s… everything’s okay?”

“Come see for yourself. I’m pulling up.” Like a kid on Christmas, you toss the phone and basically sprint to the front door, hearing an unfamiliar truck rumble down the isolated street.

He’s driving, clearly having ditched Curtis, but when he gets out he’s got a limp, and his hand is bandaged. You don’t run, instead you stand in the driveway and soak up the image— Frank; leaning against the door of the truck, sunglasses covering up what you have no doubt are black eyes. Alive. Favouring his left side and still with dried blood on his head, but fucking here.

“You’re hurt.” You say it when you finally reach him, but it sounds pathetic, closer to the tone you’d whimper his name in.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says huskily and reaches out, yanking you forward and slamming his mouth to yours.

The soft touch of his bandaged hand is opposite to the greedy grasp of his free one, the one wrapping around your back and fisting the material of your shirt, pressing so you were flush against him. Both of your hands cup his face, feeling the rough surface of his skin. You lose yourself in the taste of him as your fingers trace the patterns of scars peppering around his head— a constellation you’ve memorised a million times over, and yet it still feels as illuminating as the first.

He groans your name, sliding his hand up to grip your jaw, thumb tugging on your bottom lip. You lean back slightly, staying at close to him as possible. His eyes look you up and down, and there’s a glint in his eye; a hunger that never seems to be satiated when he looks at you. He’s still feverish for it, and it makes your toes curl in your shoes.

“Fuckin’ missed you.” He mumbles against your lips, and it makes you smile against his.

“I can tell.” His other hand forgets it’s injury as he searches your body, gripping your hips and pressing you closer.

“Get Sam. Let’s go home.” He tucks his head lower, mouth kissing under your jaw, and as much as you do want to get the fuck out of here with him, you pull away.

“He’s… he’s staying here.” Frank pushes the sunglasses off his face, looking at you through what is actually only one bruised eye.

“Staying?” You nod. “You sure?”

“I talked to him about it. He fucking loves it here, Frank. He didn’t want me to go again, but you should of seen him with them. They treat him like their own, and he adores them. It’s so much better than anything I could of thought.” Frank wraps his arms around your back and hugs you right, and your eyes flutter closed. “And you can’t just leave. They’re expecting you to come in and say hi.”

“Why?” The way he says it makes you laugh, as if you’d just asked him to drink gasoline.

“Come on.” You tug him by the wrists, and even though he groans and leans on you up the driveway, you both stagger inside and follow the sounds of Sam’s laughter, leaving everything else behind.

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“They were being nice.” You haven’t wiped the smile off your face since you slid into the passenger seat this morning. “Well, I slept great. I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Mhmm.” Frank grumbles, clearing having a much worse sleep than you did.

It was sweet, and truely, you wanted to take them up on it. When Frank dragged himself through the front door of where Sam had been staying, everyone had nearly jumped on him. Sam couldn’t contain himself, clearly trying to play it cool but simultaneously thinking Frank was the coolest person he’d ever met. It was sweet, the way Frank was with the kids, the sight making you both smile and want to cry.

Either way, when Corinne and Zaed had offered for you both to stay the night, Frank agreed and all but dragged you down the hallway after dinner. The spare room was nice— set up clearly for two people, and you were only human.

It would have been perfect— had the room not been sharing a wall with your brother and his new best friend. A very fucking thin wall. One that was nearly vibrating with how loud they screamed every five minutes playing some game on the TV. The louder they were, the more it became apparent that neither of you would be getting a lot of sleep, and not in the good way.

Having Frank that close all night but not being able to do anything about it reminded you of the start of this whole thing. How you shared a bed with him but had to force yourself to keep your hands to yourself. It was borderline painful, but eventually you managed to drift off to sleep, not missing how hard Franks hands were gripping your hips like he had to physically cement himself to stop from fucking you through the bed.

When you woke up, Frank had all your shit shoved in the car, and was outside cooking pancakes with Sam. You took your time saying goodbye— making sure to thank both Corinne and Zaed properly, and then promising you’ll be back. Soon. ‘So soon you won’t even have time to miss me’ you’d promised Sam, and he grinned and hugged you before disappearing to get ready for school.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Frank looked to you before shifting in his seat, one of his hands resting on your thigh and squeezing.

“Got a stop to make before getting back to New York.” You’d been driving for a while now— about half way between New York and where you’d left Sam. You turned in your seat, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Don’t be cryptic.” You try to sound assertive, but you can’t seem to hold any resentment when you could feel the warmth of him palm on your thigh.

“It’s close, alright? Promise.” The words eased something in your chest, the same way his smile did when he looked at you.

A small silence drifted between you as a Billy Joel song hummed softly on the radio, and your head dropped, eyes tracing over the bruises left on his knuckles. Your fingers dance around them, careful to keep your touches light. You follow the lines of black and blue up over his wrist, watching them disappear under the arm of his jumper. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and when you push up the sleeve just slightly, you swear loudly.

“Fucking hell! Is this broken?” You pull the sleeve up higher, and you tighten your grip on his wrist when he goes to pull away. If you hadn’t watched him so closely, you would of missed the way he winced, and you let go immediately. “Sorry. Sorry— fuck, Frank. Is this all from—“

“I’m fine. Just a couple scratches.” He says, keeping his blackened eyes trained on the road. It would of been easy to miss— not seeing him without clothes since he’d come back. Bile rises in your throat at the thought he was hurt because of you— because he was doing this for you. Suffering for you. Like he has the entire time.

“Are you lying?” He shakes his head, and you lightly poke him in the side. He hissed loudly, flinching away from you and swerving the car. “Pull over.”

“I’m not pulling over.” Frank groans.

“You’ve been driving for hours, just—“

“It’s fine. We only got a few more miles till—“

“Please.” There must have been something in your voice, some kind of soft vulnerability that even he isn’t used to hearing, and then the car is pulling off the side of an empty highway, dusk rolling over the hood of the truck.

You reach out, pulling the sunglasses off his face to reveal him slowly. This part you’ve seen, but it still knocks the wind out of you. The cut along his cheekbone, not deep enough to need stitches but you know it will scar over. His right eye is a deep purple, the left nearly green. You go to draw your fingers over his face, but hesitate, worried you’ll hurt him. He sees you pulling back and catches your wrist, placing your palm between his cheek and his own hand.

“Don’t do that.” You choke out a laugh, smoothing your hand over and back into his slightly longer hair, pulling him closer over the console of the car.

“I’m not doing anything.” You say softly, something guilty in your voice. When he hears it, he shakes his head at you.

“Can read you like a book. You got nothin’ to do with this, alright?”

“I have nothing to do with it?” You want to laugh. “I’m the reason you were there. The reason all this happened.”

“I would of been in the same place with or without you. This part?” He gestures to himself, his torso that you know all too well is littered with scars. “This isn’t a part you blame yourself for.”

“But it is. My fault.” He opens his mouth but you talk first. “All of this… watching those kids today, watching Sam— all I ever did was put him in danger. And you. It’s better for him to be there, away from all this. Away from me. Maybe now all this is over, it would be better…safer, if you—“

“Stop. I don’t wanna hear that shit. You know how selfish you sound?” You blink a few times, eyes meeting his. At some point he’s leaned even closer, and you can feel the heat of his body thawing you out. “You’re right— I wouldn’t of gone back to New York the past two days if it wasn’t for you. You know why?”

“Listen—“

“No. I wouldn’t of gone back because I would of killed that asshole six months ago and been home in time for dinner. I’ve been doin’ this a long time, and there’s nothin’ you could of done that would of changed how this ended.” He holds your face up to his, rough hands holding you as gently as they could, and his thumb traces the scar just above your eyebrow. “Sam is safe with them, but don’t think for one fuckin’ second he’s better off without you. God knows I’m not. You’ve done nothin’ but good for that kid, and I’d… fucking hell. I’d be dead without you, you know that?”

“No you wouldn’t.” Your voice was so soft it hardly broke the silence, but he leaned in, his forehead pressing to yours. “You could probably jump out of a building and walk it off.”

“Maybe. But now I gotta be careful nd’ come home to you, don’t I?” He smiles, and then kisses you and you forget where you are. Words die on your tongue and are replaced by the taste of him, mind freezing over when he touches you. He does it every time. Every time he manages to take your breath away with one whisper of your name, one swipe of his thumb over your mouth. It’s intoxicating and dependant, something you never thought you’d want, but it feels so good with him. His hands drop to your waist, their pull demanding and needy as he yanks you up and over the centre console and onto his lap.

“I’d do it again. All of it. Kill every single—“ You kiss him again, squeezing your eyes shut, and he groans as you shift on his lap. “Fuck, baby we should wait till…”

“Till when?” You say breathlessly, and despite his words his hands are already sneaking underneath your shirt, his cool hands meeting your feverish skin. You can hardly keep your eyes open, and your hips roll forward again, seeking him out. “I want you now, Frank.”

“Fuck it. Doesn’t matter.” He says and then crashes into you, your back nearly pressing against the dash with how quick he moves. Your gasp of surprise is lost in his mouth, and you can feel the sparks he makes in your chest crackling their way through you, toes curling in your shoes.

Your half bent backwards, legs in either side of his as he keeps your chest pressed to him, both arms wrapping around you to hold you steady. You tug at his shirt helplessly, getting it stuck around his arm and he smiles against your mouth, leaning back to look at you before whipping it over his head.

In the dark of the room last night you wouldn’t of seen it, but now the lights streaming in from the car window, and Franks torso is nearly a rainbow in it— blue, purple and green bruises all up his side, with a short but deep cut on the low right side of his abdomen. He’s taken the bandage off it too early, the stitches still healing, but you can tell it’s expert work. Much better than the botched job you did a month or so back, something he still bares the reminders for.

“Just… just a couple scratches, huh?” He grunts something illegible and hauls you back to him.

“Shut up.” He keeps you pressed close, not giving you a chance to say something back, but then his hands dip lower and you’re a goner.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Yeah. Fuck waiting.

He’s got you here— now, on top of him, and he can’t even fucking think of anything else. Your hands are being so gentle and cautious when he really couldn’t care less about the pain, but you do. You always do.

He wasn’t gonna waste another second, and seeing your eyes close the second he got your pants off and dipped his hands between your legs… it’s pretty much as close to heaven as he was going to get.

You fall forward, Frank catching you with one arm and pulling you close while the other continues slow, teasing circles just how he knows gets you all worked up. Your head tucks away into his neck, and he lets you hide for now, but when he’s got you home— real home, then he’ll be able to look at you as much as he god damn wants.

Your hips move against him, chasing his slow rhythm, and he feels your teeth scrape agains this neck, wordlessly rushing him along.

“You need me that bad?” He says lowly, and watches in awe the way his words wash over you and yank you closer to the edge. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t of left you so needy—“

“Fuckkk… right there—please.” Your voice was so high it cracks a little, and it fucking sets him on fire.

“Get my belt for me, baby.” He whispers, feigning a bit of self control as he watches you quickly fumble with the buckle. The slight brush of your hands could finish him then and there, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to try and remember why he wanted to wait. He had just one more card to play— one that you’d seen him play a few times before, but he doesn’t think you expect it this time, and he needed some semblance of composure to remember it.

A real house, white picket fence and all, smack bang on halfway between New York and Florida. He couldn’t leave New York, not ever, but he had a new anchor now, one that deserved to have it all.

Frank planned to take you straight home. Make a ten hour drive and keep his hands to himself, but how the fuck could he when you were like this? Looking like you do, touching him so fucking sweet and soft and saying how much you missed every part of him— it was a dream come to life, and one of the few moments he’d let himself go in.

You shuffle as close as the seat allows, your now naked chest pressing against his. He dips his head, kissing your jaw, and he’s suddenly surrounded by you. Arms around his neck, warm and soft as your fingers thread in his hair, both of you moan at the feeling of him sliding into you. It’s white hot and nearly painful, how even with the way you’re dripping down your thighs, it still takes you a second to take him all the way. You wriggle your hips, trying to settle yourself and Frank nips at your neck, slowing your pace just slightly. He can hear you sigh, but you listen. You always fucking do.

“Shit— so fucking good. You can take it.” He hums and runs his hands over your skin. You lean into the touch, and when you sigh again he sinks your hips lower, a short punch of your name bursting from his chest when you slam yourself down. “Fuck. There you go.”

He’s a wreck underneath you, and your hands slither away from his hair to his face when you pull him up to kiss you. As much as he loves the feeling of your hips grinding down ever so slightly right now, it’s this part he loves the most. The slow intimacy of it— how he knows he can stay right here for the rest of the day and nothing will change. He can feel how much you love it, how much care you handle him with, and it cracks something old and hard in his gut.

You shudder as he lifts his hips, keeping your mouths together and kissing hungrily. He’d think you’d both been starved for a year the way you two act, but he’d admit it to anyone that asked that he was gone for you. He knows it well and true, in his chest and in the way you bounce in his lap, moaning into his mouth like he’s breathing air into your burning lungs.

“Fuck— fuck, I love you. I fucking… Jesus Christ, you’re so good. I love you.” He can’t shut himself up, and your breath gets faster. He knows you love it when he talks. “C’mon, baby. Let me see you— wanna feel you. I know you want to.”

“Slow… Frank, you’re gonna hurt yourself—“ You suck in a breath and squeeze your eyes shut. His hands stay tight on your hips, and he feels the pleasure buzz under his palms, your skin nearly alight with it on top of him. “Oh my god, don’t stop.”

He wraps his forearm around you and fucks you harder, any pain and injury burnt out by how tight you are around him, and how perfect you fit him. He’s close, so close that he’s hardly able to kiss you now. You both collide in a mess of tongues and sighs, and when he hears you croak out his name into his mouth, he knows you’re cumming for him.

He can’t hold himself back, chasing you into that high with blinding abandon. It hits him like a freight train, bowing him over you like he’s taken a hit, but it feels so good he can’t register that he isn’t breathing like this. He keeps kissing you until he’s sure he’s going to pass out, and only stops when you pull away, eyes darting to the highway where headlights slowly flicker on the horizon.

“Shit.” You say breathless, and you laugh. He can feel it, the sound shuddering through him from where he was still deep inside you, and your giggles soon turned to something less innocent when you heard Frank groan into your chest. “C’mon. Someone’ll see us.”

“Don’t move yet.” He puts his hands on your waist, fanning them out to reach as much of you as possible.

“Mhmm.” It’s like your body gives out at his request, slumping forward and moulding into him like you were made to fit this way. This was what he was talking about. The way you fit together— something that should be out of the question for him fits so right. “I love you, too.”

“Mhmm.” He copies and feels you smile against his skin. His hands trail up your spine, tracing the line of bones lightly to leave goosebumps in his wake. “What time is it?”

“Who gives a fuck?” You mumble, the words half muffled into his neck.

“I want you to see the house in the light, but you wanna go at it blind, be my guest.” It takes you a second, a scoff coming out of you before you sit up abruptly, making him groan again.

“House? What house? Another safe house.” Frank couldn’t keep a secret to save his life when it came to you.

“It’s a house. Twenty minute drive from here.”

“But New Yorks not—“

“I know. Good thing we got cars, yeah?” Your eyebrows are crossed together, and Franks thumb slips over the small scar he left on your face. The movement shifts your gaze to something softer, and he feels the brush of your eyelashes on his finger as you blink up at him.

“You did it on purpose. It’s right in the middle.” You say softly. “Jesus, Frank. You didn’t have to… I mean you—“

“Take a breath. I didn’t buy it. Was a gift from the US Goverment. One thing those guys are good for is their money. I just picked the spot.” He could nearly hear the rave of your heart, and you crushed yourself into him, words hushed and mumbled into his ear, but they melt him to the core all the same.

He’ll never get over hearing you say things like this to him. That you’re grateful for him, that he’s doing a good thing. It’s like nothing he did before you was ever good enough. There was always the next job, always the next group to track, but nothing would be enough. There wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel for him. But here you were, telling him that he was the reason you were gonna be alright, and if he squints he can see it. The flicker of something hopeful, and if he holds onto you as tight as he can, he might just live to see it light him on fire.

“Did you say… you said twenty minutes from here. Why didn’t we just wait until—“

“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” You laugh again, and the feeling has him gripping you tighter. He leans closer to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “And I wanted to fuck you here and now. Don’t want there to be a single fuckin’ surface where I ain’t had you.”

“Better get driving then, Castle. Sounds like you got a job to do.” The glint in your eye nearly makes him drag you outside and bend you over the hood, but the kiss you give him after is sickeningly sweet, so much so that he lets you slide off him and back into the passenger seat without so much as a nip of his teeth. “Tha–”

“Wait. Wait til you see it.” Frank said, and something about the way he looked at you had you nodding simply, and watching the trees race by as he sped you home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were asleep on the balcony again, and Frank moved as slow as he could to let you stay that way.

In the two weeks you’d been here, he could count on one hand how many times you’d actually slept in the bed. There were no neighbours for miles, nothing interrupting the stretch of sky all the way to the hills. Even Frank had to admit it was a killer view.

He came inside, pouring himself a drink, and a strange pit in his stomach settled after the burning liquid soothed his throat. He can’t seem to kick that feeling when you’re asleep. When you were awake, next to him, there wasn’t anything else he could think about. But alone, walking around a house he owned, a life he might try and live staring him in the face, he felt guilty. There were parts of him he wouldn’t ever get back, but this wasn’t something he thought he’d ever have. Peace and quiet, time to himself. A woman he loved within eyesight, buried under blankets cause she was too stubborn to come inside when it got freezing. He couldn’t figure out why now, of all times, was the time to be thinking of Maria. The weight of the ring around his neck was like an anchor. He knew it was stuck on the bottom of the ocean, but he couldn’t find it in himself to let go. He would sit there, hand cut up and bleeding, holding on for dear fucking life if no one moved him, waiting until he drowned.

Your footsteps were soft, in a way that he knows you can’t help. You tread through the open double doors, and Frank would roll his eyes at the way he could hear your teeth chattering if he wasn’t so distracted.

“You should of woke me.” You say, voice muffled from the mess your head was buried under. He took a step toward you, pushing it back so he could see your eyes.

“It’s late.”

“Couldn’t tell.” He can hear the smirk in your voice.

“You finally frozen to death, smart-ass?” You grumble something in reply, and he catches a few curse words before you look at him again. It’s nearly scary, the way you can read him with one sweep of your eyes. You clock his tone, the way he isn’t leaning into you with his full weight, and squint your eyes.

“What is it?” Frank sucks in a long breath, and kisses you.

He’s a complete idiot. That’s what it is. He can feel the buzzing pulse you wake in him, every movement of your lips on his rooting you deeper in his soul, chipping off ice until theres only warmth. How’s he supposed to tell you, after you’ve just kissed him like that, that he was thinking about his–

“You can talk to me about her, Frank.” You say with your head against his. Not it, her. Before he can ask, you smile a little. Even just a hint of that smile and he’s forgetting how to breathe. “You play with the ring when you’re nervous. It’s actually a bit of a tell.”

“Yeah?” He manages, hands trying to search their way through the blankets for you.

“Yeah. You have a lot of tells. For someone in your line of work, it’s actually a bit worrying.”

“You got me all figured out.” He says and means it, but you just roll your eyes.

“And you lean to the left when you think you can’t make a shot. You think it helps your angle.”

“Who woulda thought you were so observant.”

“You know, I actually did watch you when you were teaching me how to shoot.” Frank smiles, your skin finally under his palms. His hands splay on your back, and you lean closer.

“You were trying to fuck me the whole time. Don’t blame me for being surprised.” You try to whack him but your arms are pinned under the layers. Your laughter carries through him, skittering into his chest until he can’t help but laugh too.

“You came onto me.” He laughs harder. “It was very unprofessional. I was there to learn.”

“Damn fucking right I did.” His voice is low, and you shuffle around under his hold until your hands snake up behind his neck. His hair is too long, but he hasn’t cut it just yet. He tells himself that he hasn’t had time, but truthfully he likes the way it feels when you sift your fingers through the ends of it. Like now.

“You can tell me.” You say again, softer. He’s softer too– more malleable now you were here.

“I can’t help it.” He looks over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to where the sun is now just starting to rise. “She woulda… woulda liked it here. The kids, too.”

“You think so?” He nods, still staring into the orange sky.

“Probably would of had a lot to say about the inside, though.” You wrap around him tighter, head on his chest. “She was so good with those things. She loved when we painted our house. She had all these colors painted next to each other on the wall. All these different kinds of green. Everyone kept sayin’ it all looked the same but she... she could tell the difference. I could see what she meant when she put the couch next to it and shit, you know? She was real good with that stuff.”

“We could use her help around here. This place is sort of… ugly, on the inside.” He laughed again, his throat feeling tighter as he looked around. There was those same colour swatches, but none of them were coordinated like he was remembering. Pinks, blues, oranges and grays were all mixed together in big, sweeping strikes along the wall, stopping right above where your arm would be able to reach. “What would she have gone with?”

He looks down at you, your face washed in the light of the sunrise.

“The light orange. It looks good with the brown.” He nods over to the couch, an old leather one you’d made him pick up off the side of the road.

“We’ll do that one, then.” You tuck yourself under his chin, sighing.

“I think about ‘em everyday. What the kids would have looked like now. What they’d be doing. How Maria and I would of… raised ‘em. I was away all the time, but I just-”

“I think you would have been just fine.” You say into his chest, and Frank takes a shuddering breath.

“Why’s that?“

“Cause she was in love with you.” His chest tightens, and the grip he’s got on your waist gets a little tighter. “I’m… I’ll never be able to fix…that. It’ll always be with you, and nothing will change what happened, but I want you to know that they will always have a place here. You don’t have to apologize for talking about them– the kids, or Maria. I will never, ever not listen, and it will never be something I don’t want to hear. If they’re always with you, they’ll be with me, too.”

Frank takes two steps forward, and your feet pick up just in time to catch yourself before he throws you back on the couch. He’s never been good with words for things like this. He doesn’t think he should try to shove it all in a sentence, either. Not when theres so much he wants to say, but even more he wants to do.

You lay back, and he moves slowly. He wants you to know every move, every brush of his hand and his mouth is by design. He wants to know every square inch of you inside and out like you know him. He wants his hands to pull the strings, letting you hear all the things his mouth could never possibly form.

“Perfect.” Frank sighs against your mouth, over and over again. It was. You were. Are. The pit in his stomach disappears, pushed out and engulfed by the flames in his chest. There was no room for anything, not a single other feeling or word could possibly fit the way you two fit together. Your fingers tug at his shirt, and he takes it over his head. Your hands run and smooth gentle lines over his chest, over the healing wound on his side. It's jagged and wonky, and it nearly spelt your name. Frank thinks it’s the first time he’s looked down at himself and not hated to see the scars.

He unravels you like a gift to himself, savouring every moment even when you try to shrug off the blanket. You hadn’t dressed since last night, and Frank liked it even more this way. You sighed his name, and Frank shuddered, sealing his mouth over yours again. When his eyes opened for a split second, he could see your face, washed in orange light, and your hair swept to the side. He shut his eyes and kissed you again, the image seared into his mind forever.

Frank had faced a lot of bad things in his life. He had been shot, stabbed, pulled apart and put back together more times than he could remember. He thought he’d seen it all, felt it all before, but there was nothing like this. Nothing made him as weak as your fingers in his hair, and nothing made him as strong as the way you moaned his name. Nothing felt as good as sliding inside you, and nothing felt as empty as when you were gone. It made him lightheaded and brought him to the brink of consciousness, but he knew that this was right.

It could of been minutes or hours that had passed when he let himself go, but no amount of time with you under him would stop him from wanting more. The sun was up now, and Frank had you tucked to his side on the small space of the couch, legs tangled together in the blankets and each other. He felt you shiver against him, and the blankets wrapped around you had come loose. He bent to fix them, and when he moved you did it again.

He looked down, seeing the cold line of metal pressed against your bare back. The ring at the end was hanging over your ribs, and when Frank touched it, it was freezing. Holding it in his palm, it didn’t feel as heavy as it used to, and when he read the engraving on the back, he still felt cold.

Looking down at you, how you rolled over and sought him out even with your eyes closed, he leaned down to kiss the scar on your forehead. Then, like it was the simplest thing in the world, he slipped the necklace off over his head, and placed it in a neat circle on the coffee table next to his head.

They would always have a place here. But it wasn’t them who gave him warmth anymore.

When he tucked himself back under the covers, he knew it was you. It was always you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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okay theres going to be an epilogue at some point, but it will probably be small and have very little plot, so this is the end of the main story. so, heres a little rant for you. if you read it, thank you, and if you dont, thank you anyways. knowing anyone is reading my words is a gift enough.

i think i have been writing this series for like 5/6 months ish?? thats fucking wild. i dont have an exact word count, but all i know is its fucking long. i cannot believe i wrote this much about a fictional character, but damn. that is a lot.

basically all i want to say here is thank you. to anyone who has read, interacted, or will read in the future, thank you from the bottom of my heart. it might be a lil dramatic but having people read stuff i write, let alone actually enjoy it makes me so incredibly happy. starting to write on here, and for frank especially, is probably one of the best decisions ive ever made. this series was a struggle to finish for so many reasons, mainly my incredible lack of planning and overall dumb writing schedule, but i have met so many incredible people along the way, and i am just so grateful to have a lil space to share my work.

frank castle will probably always own a giant spot in my heart, so thank you for letting me share my version of him. and letting me add as much smut as i want to this with no complaints bc i fuckin needed it okay!!!!!! i love you all. rant over. series over. damn!

p.s. i am never not going to write frank. dont worry. i already have an idea for my next series lmao!!!!!!!! luv ya!

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #marvel tv #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #marvel #the punisher x y/n

181 notes · View notes

innitmarvellous · 26 days

Text

Yeah, I know, I said the last ace rant was the final part, but the third aspec book I read ('Sounds Fake But Okay') annoyed me again, lol. It wasn't all bad, but some bits...

Except that it doesn't? It never has? People say they love their friends or their family, or a character from a TV show? Or also idk, God or Jesus if they're religious. None of these imply romantic love even without specifying anything.

Well, good for her, but that's not much of a comfort, isn't it? So we'll inevitably die alone, but we don't need to fear that because we can still have friends - who'll desert us once they find a partner. Yes, well, that's certainly very nice :/

Lol, maybe that's why my existence is so "unrecognisable" then. Because I literally didn't have any friends before I started to use social media etc. And even know my biggest fear is too annoying, too boring, too whatever else for everyone - and I have a hard time to make out whether the people I consider friends consider me as such too 😭

Well, this part was at least relatable, even if I never thought about this before. Then again, it might have been the other way round for me. Being a girl/woman was literally never very important for me, and I never felt the need to adhere to gender norms just because it's expected. E.g. I never thought I needed/wanted to be pretty to be attractive for men. So it sort of did felt like things made sense when I realised that there is indeed no need for me to attact anyone with my physical looks.

---

The chapter about QPRs made me realise that this isn't an option for me either. The insecurities around this form of relationship would be simply too much for me. Like, having to agree on what the relationship looks like, what kind of things would be alright or not alright (re physical contact and all kinds of intimacy etc), how long it might last and all that...it would be near impossible to agree on anything like that once I would put in my wishes in that regard. Because it wouldn't feel right to push my demands on someone else, and yet I'm way too selfish because I also wouldn't want to live in a way another person wants me too. So...I think that's another dream I might as well bury right now, before I got into it too much. ^^

---

Yet another general thing: the books usually mentioned that we should think about what we would expect from a relationship and I did give this some thought. I think the main - and honestly almost only - prerequisite for me would be that any potential partner would accept me as I am. Well, and some mutual trust would be high up on the list, too. That's literally all I need, I think. I wouldn't mind if e.g. in case it's an allo person and they would have someone else to fulfill their sexual needs or whatever, as long as I could be sure of still having a relationship based on trust with them.

Yes, I know that this is already asking for way too much. I'm only too aware of that, so maybe it's understandable why I'm so frustrated. I know I should do it, but I'm too selfish to lower my standards, so there isn't much hope for me and I hate it :/

#aspec #aroace #acespec #arospec #ace #asexual #asexuality #aromanticism #lgbtqia #queer #this is definitely my last post on this issue tho bc my 'for you' tab is by now full of ace memes :/#give me back my fandom shit thx

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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 3 months

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i literally love your mockumentary fic so much!! i've read it again and again, and it's written so well, i can SEE the scenes play out real time-- they're appearing in front of me; they're in the room with me. god i love mockumentaries. my favourite part about yours is the humor + character dynamics

looking forward to what comes next! :D

oh my 🥹 thank you for taking the time to send this ask - you've made my whole week! your kind words have fueled a new life in me 😤 i'm naturally a slow writer, but i'll do whatever i can to make sure the next chapter comes out soon 🫡 for you my anon friend

in the meanwhile 👀 a gift

It’s when they enter the Obliviator Headquarters to start their interview of the staff (aiming to make Ms Granger proud) that they find Head Auror Harry Potter speaking with someone. The camera zooms in on Harry’s angry face, alight with a severe frown. Most of his body is blocked by the other person, his head just visible over their shoulder—nevertheless, their tall figure and well-cut robes form an attractive silhouette. ‘There is something oddly familiar about them,’ whispers one of the crew, but they can’t put their finger on it. When Harry’s mouth opens, and no sound comes out, the crew realises they are under a heavy muffliato. The buzzing is a low hum, and the wand-audio operator frowns at the amplified noise coming through their headgear. “How has the filming been?” The crew jumps and turns to see Percy sitting, legs crossed at the knee, in a chair just beside the entryway. “Avoiding the Aurors, I hope?” Percy, as always, is glancing over documents and keeping a keen eye on the shimmery graph. The crew sort of shrugs. They can’t begin to explain the last few hours even if they want to. “Hm, I’ll take that as a yes… Only to evade hearing otherwise. And don’t mind Head Auror Potter; he’ll be done any minute now if you wish to speak with him. But if you’re here for—" “Go to hell, Riddle,” Harry’s voice rings out with the sudden break of the muffliato. And then the answer hits them all smack across the head. Shock has the camera operators’ hold drooping, slightly cutting them from frame. Harry prowls out of the Obliviator Headquarters, and the once-unknown person turns to watch him leave, revealing a strikingly recognisable and handsome face. It’s the Minister for Magic, Tom Riddle.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #fic: life inside the ministry of magic #my fic #knights meeting #i’m 🥹🥹🥹#i hope you like it #this should be in the next chapter! they’ll officially buttheads 😂#and if we’re lucky 👀 we may finally hear from the minister himself

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professional-idiots · 4 months

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AFTERSCHOOL HANAKO KUN CH 27—THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS

1. I love this panel sm 😭 they’re all so cute and it just makes me wish and wish and wish that they could all be normal together

LOOK AT KOU AND HIS FRIENDS IM GONNA CRY!!!

2. AGSKANSK THEYRE SO CUTE AND TEENY

Also Kou’s cardigan looks like Mitsuba’s cardigan and now I need official art of him in it

3. Uh… no comment

4. This is just a Mitsuba appreciation post now

*please note that both of Mitsuba’s hands are visible here…

5. I love so much about this—Yokoo being terrified is actually so real and also LOOK AT KOU LISTENING SO INTENTLY TO HIS BF

6. Okay ngl… I was a little spooked at Mitsubas story… well up till the end

7. Now this is an Aoi appreciation post

8. I WAS SPOOKED WHEN THE SECOND YASHIRO SHOWED UP!!!! SHE STARTS BANGING ON THE DOOR LIKE HELLO?????? ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT

9. Everything about her starting to question her surroundings!!!! Like oh my god????? I had chills!! (Kou looks so cute with his little head tilt)

Edit: how tf did I not realize Kou didn’t have his lame ass earrings on here??!?! Like the head told literally like annunciates it

10. He’s so—

I actually love them so much 😭

11. AGSKANS THEYRE SO CUTE!!!!!!! LOOK AT HIM BLUSHINGGGGG

“The world I love” I know who you’re really talking about Yashiro Nene….

11. My good sir is THINKING about that shit

Okay I actually have a lot of theories for this chapter and it’s not even part of the main story.

So while I was reading it I went through a few different ideas. First I started drawing comparisons to the pilot chapters (Yashiro is in a long sleeved uniform and at first I saw Kou’s cardigan and thought that it was the same from the pilot BUT upon further research the jacket Mitsuba has on is closer to Kou’s original jacket. Which to me could still point to the pilot bc it could just be the old uniform for them but idrk) (and speaking of Mitsuba—like I said before his sweater isn’t over either of his hands…) but Teru being there kind of put a pin in this theory. Also I don’t know if the Mitsuba thing points any fingers to the pilot chapters but it’s just something I noticed and I think it must mean *something*. I also noticed that Aoi’s hair was back to being up which was really weird…

So then I started thinking about what exactly this could mean otherwise. Now, I’ve seen a lot of people calling this a nightmare, but was it?

The next place my mind jumped to was that Hanako wasn’t with them from the beginning and is not mentioned at all till he shows up at the end. Curious.

Sooo what could this meannnnn? Well I don’t think it was a nightmare at all. I think that this is a parallel universe (it’s still weird that in this universe Amane isn’t friends with Yashiro and Kou/is dead but Mitsuba isn’t, but who knows….) and our Yashiro is summoned into this parallel world by the stories her friends are telling. And so she is the doppelgänger as Teru and Natsuhiko say.

I think this is really plausible because Mitsuba’s story is very strange in that it doesn’t end normally and he says that he heard it from a friend of a friend then reiterates that same thing. In a way it almost seems like this really *was* just some real story he’d heard and maybe he’d mistaken it for fiction but it was actually true. And! These other versions of her friends that she’s with don’t recognize her versions of them (as we see with Kou), but really we can see this from the very opening because our Teru would NEVER participate in this normally. Especially not with such enthusiasm. And Hanako showing up and knowing what to do like that is very indicative of him hopping into this universe with her to protect her (like the consequences of the doppelgänger are real) (and obviously this is within Hanako’s power). Then when we cut back to the real world/the original universe Yashiro doesn’t tell us that she’d been sleeping, just that suddenly she found herself in the classroom. AND when she’s talking to Hanako later he doesn’t say he *didn’t* help her, he says “who knows” and I feel like that’s a classic Hanako deflection line!!! Meaning that he DID help her!!!!!!

Anywayyyyy I really liked this chapter. Like I feel like the afterschool chapters don’t normally feel so lore-heavy…. Part of me wants this to come back somehow. Like maybe later in the main series they travel between parallel universes for whatever reason (maybe that’s what it is when Yashiro sees past Amane—though I hope not because I really want that to have actually happened in Amane’s life in our timeline)

EDIT: OH MY GOD OH MY FUCKING GOD KOU DOESNT HAVE HIS EARRING IN!!!! HE DOESNT WEAR IT HERE!!!!!!!! THIS IS CRAZY ACTUALLY JESUS 😭 (I wonder if this can somehow be linked to Mitsuba being alive… cause traffic safety and whatnot… hmmmmm) (like he still has an earring but it’s not the traffic safety one arghhhhhhgg!!!!)

EDIT EDIT: I WENT BACK TO TRY AND FIGURE OUT WHY I DIDNT NOTICE AT FIRST AND ITS ALMOST LIKE ITS BEING HIDDEN TILL THE HEAD TILT PAGE!!!! THERES ALWAYS LIKE A SPEECH BUBBLE IN THE WAY OR LIKE YOKOOS HEAD OR SMTH!!! OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHM—

Edit edit edit: I’m Stan and I was wrong. I’m singing the Stan wrong song. I shouldn’t have taken that chance. Now here’s my remorseful dance. (Translation: even though it can’t be seen in most panels and that does feel kind of purposeful to me still, there are like two or three panels where his right ear is in clear view)

#HOW DO AIDAIRO ALWAYS OUTDO THEMSELVES #UGH I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS #jibaku shoujo hanako kun #tbhk #ashk #tbhk manga #hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #after school hanako kun #ashk ch27

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amazing-jason-grace · 3 months

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⚠️SPOILERS FOR PJO AND TOA⚠️

i started this blog back in like middle school, when i was super into the percy jackson fandom. i’ve been in it since, but not nearly as much as i was then. coming back to the books, the show, and the fanbase my junior year of high school is actually heartbreaking.

13 year old me had never consumed any literature faster in her life. i read that faster than i read harry potter in 5th grade, which is saying something. it was, and still is, my favorite series ever. i read the entire pjo series over about 5 days— a book a day. i couldn’t put them down. and then i started heroes of olympus, which remains my favorite series in the riordanverse. i absolutely love those books. but looking back now, everything is just put into this terrible perspective.

i could read the words on those pages all i wanted to in 8th grade, but i would never REALLY understand. i could understand it was kind of crazy that percy had been 12 in the first book, as i had been 12 once, but everything else was kind of just details. i saw someone bring up that quote after beckendorf dies in tlo where it said “[he] was supposed to go to college in the fall. he had a girlfriend, lots of friends, his whole life ahead of him. he couldn’t be gone.” being 16 going on 17 atm and rereading this is just like… god. like he was so young. going through all the mixed and scary feelings of the future. i’m scared to go to college, but i’m so excited to move on to the next chapter of my life and see what that brings me. and to have to ripped away from me at this age seems unimaginable.

also terrible, i was rereading moa. i had completely and entirely forgotten the part where jason and piper sit down and the cornucopia spits out a birthday cake. jason says he’s turning 16. “i can get my drivers license.” i’m now the same age as my favorite character from middle school, knowing i’ll live longer than he did. he never got to see 17. the thought of sacrificing myself at age 16, literally right now, makes me sick to my stomach. people are saying “ugh i feel like its too late to start percy jackson, they’re for kids, and i just don’t think i can connect, you know?” but they are SO MUCH WORSE the older you are.

to top it all off, “look, i didn’t want to be a high school senior.” the opening line to chalice of the gods. percy, you and me both.

#this is actually extremely damaging to my mental health #jason grace i love you forever #percy jackson #annabeth chase #jason grace #heroes of olympus #heroesofolympus #pjo tv show #pjotv

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sweetmariihs2 · 4 months

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🪄My thoughts on Cedric The Sorcerer🌙 (until now)

(not that anyone cares idk i just wanna talk about him, it's a lot of random thoughts and it's messy, but it's fun to read I guess)

Did you like that cute moodboard I did for him? It took me like 10 minutes I loved it. It fits him so well I'm so proud of myself for doing this. The whimsigothic aesthetic matches him so well I wish more people knew it so we would have tons of moodboards and cute stuff of him in this aesthetic it would be so nice. Ok let me start my post

I wanna share some headcanons, talk about my first impressions, it's not really organized I just wrote down whatever I remembered and the result was that. I wanna share my new hyperfocus with more people, that's what I'm doing here today :)

Everything started when I saw this man on Tumblr and though "who's this guy and why is princess Sophia next to him?", when I clicked on the hashtag out of curiosity I understood that it's because he's a character from the cartoon, and I was like "lol another tumblr sexyman again let's move on keep doing my things and interacting with my fandoms" (december 24)

I also mentioned it to my friend on IG bc I saw a reels that was like "you don't have any weird fictional crushes right?" and then proceeds to show us an edit of him with millions of hearts around. I sent it to her and said "omg I saw ppl talking about this on tumblr" and we just laughed a lot because it was something we did not expected (not mean laughs, they were genuine laughs of shock and because that was very unexpected like HOW IN THE WORLD, and she remembered him in the show while I didn't)

Some days later I saw more fanarts of him on tumblr and that made me a little curious, but not enough to search about the subject.

After some days I just couldn't forget him, and that's when I searched his name on youtube purposely trying to find compilations of his funny moments to understand what was happening

And boy I did

At this point was just having fun and laughing thinking "omg another guy who's sassy, has good personality and is another ugly-atractive character that has a fandom on tumblr, I got it, he's very nice" and I went to do other stuff again but this man just DIDN'T CAME OUT OF MY MIND

Just making an interruption here, I loved watching Disney Junior as a kid, maybe when I was six or seven, idk I don't remember, and I was a huge fan of Sofia The First, it was one of my favorite cartoons from Disney Jr alongside Doc McStuffins and Art Attack. AND I JUST DON'T REMEMBER CEDRIC IT'S LIKE I NEVER SAW HIM IN THAT SHOW, EVER. I literally don't remember him being part of the cast i'm sorry Cedric 😭 now he stands out so much to me, he's carrying the whole show on his back. Btw now that I mentioned Disney Junior I would like to say that here in Brazil Sofia First is actually called Little Princess Sofia, and Doc McStuffins is Doctor Toys. Sometimes I call Sofia "Princess Sofia" but I don't even know if that's how they call her in the english version, I watched everything on portuguese 😭 but ok let's move on (I have more things to say related to the brazillian dub, but let me finish my train of thought first)

As I was saying this man just didn't came out of my mind, and I was like "Oh no another hyperfocus where people around me will make fun of me because they will say that he's ugly and that liking kid's shows is something weird 😭 I can't take this anymore" and I tried to deny it but I CAN'T i'm almost making a pinterest board for him, I just accepted my fate (gonna draw fanarts soon and no one can stop me)

I found a list of every chapter he's in and i'm watching every. single. one. of. them. I watched the movie first, and boy this is gave me so much nostalgia because I remember some vague objects and scenes from when I was a kid, I used to love the Disney Princesses, when I got a little older I started watching Descendants, I grew up watching Tangled and Frozen and I swear to god I almost teared up from nostalgia during the episode Rapunzel shows up, and they didn't changed her voice actor, that's what got me. It was like travelling back to a time I didn't even remembered that existed anymore. Because since I haven't seen Sofia The First in about 10 years, I don't even remember anything FROM the show except for some parts, and that this show had so much old Disney energy that I didn't even know made a difference, but it does.

I'm sounding like a granny here but (i'm not even in my 20s yet) it feels like another time, Disney changed so much. Some of the new movies are good, some are bad, I see Disney much more as a company that wants money and makes movies instead of that perfect place where all dreams come true and every girl is a princess (Here in Brazil I never had a dream to go to Disneyland because Disney in the early 2010's invested more in products and blue ray DVDs in Brazil, since the parks were in the United States and we weren't really the target audience for that. So they didn't minded making publicity about it, so I just watched the movies and Disney Junior). Everything felt more magical when I was a kid, I spent my days watching DVDs and sometimes had some Disney princesses themed toys, it was so fun playing pretend that I was a princess and I really felt like one. Rewatching Sofia The First made me feel like this again because they made this show at the time that their public were HUGE fans of the Disney princesses and it has the same characteristics, plots, even styles of the songs and soundtracks, visuals + I watched it when I was younger. It's not just "princesses" it has the whole Disney girly early 2010's magic into it and it made me so bittersweet, even if they tried they could never do nowdays a movie inspired by that time and give me the same feeling as a REAL movie from that time does. Sofia The First: Once Upon a Time was like watching a new movie from that old Disney, one that I didn't saw before, but at the same time I did, and that's the best part. The end of the movie gave me so much nostalgia that I almost cried too. That experience was amazing :")

It gives me the same nostalgia that I feel when I hear that song "a dream is a wish your heart makesss" it makes me cry how I miss to be a little girl again (i'm crying right now btw i'm very intense with my emotions)

(And hell I don't remember Cedric at all, since when he was there the whole time? Now that I know that he's there I'm feeling like really reeeeaaaaalllyy vague memories are trying to come back in my head, but I don't know if my brain is doing this on purpose or i'm just confusing him with an equally vague memory of Cruella. I guess it's the first option, I'm trying so hard that my brain is making up memories. Weird.)

But yeah at first I saw everyone falling to his feet and even though I understood that he was very funny and had a well-writen personality I couldn't really get why people were romantically in love with him. Well um I actually got it, he was a good character and was one more of these strangely atractive characters that people fall in love with, I've been there too. But I just couldn't see what was so atractive that people were simping over him, for me at that moment he was just funny and fits very well the "let's make a fandom" type of character, like for example Preminger from Barbie Princess and The Pauper. But then I thought "idk what i'm talking about i'm demisexual lol let's wait a few days" (That happened before. Many times.)

And I'm like. I don't know what's happening to me I'm so susceptible to weird (in socially non-fandom people's words) crushes and I thought I wouldn't be afected this time. Just so you can have an idea some of my last crushes were: Dr Flug from Villanos, Jackson Jekyll from Monster High, Victor Frankenstein from Okegom, Raggedy Andy, Mettaton from Undertale (and UnderLust), THE Eddie Munson (for a whole year and some months, and I was so bullied after his "trend" ended because people said that his fans were cringe and everything (that's fake lol they are very nice)), 70% of my list are just nerds and sensitive guys with different types of mental illness yay my fav type

and now I think I'm feeling unironically atracted by this man it's just happening really slowly 😭 (DEMISEXUALS ‼️‼️⁉️⁉️💥💥💥💥💥👊👊👊👊)

I'm gonna be honest with you, at the moment I can't decide if I like him or not I'm so confused at the same time that I get it I also don't like how tf am I atracted by this man 😭 and then I'm like hmm he's acually cute let me search for some fanfiction

I'M SO CONFUSED I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO ANYMORE i guess I'll just wait to see what happens

you guys know that tiktok audio "at first I was like 'hmmm feet' as a joke,,,,, but bro....... I don't think that's a joke anymore...." (that's me rn but with Cedric)

Also I would like to take this oportunity that you're listening to me talking about Cedric to say the most important thing that this fandom needs to know:

We need more Cedric representations in Whimsical/Whimsigoth/Whimsigothic aesthetic it's like it was made for him just search that on Pinterest please you won't regret

And I'm here wondering what kind of songs he would listen to. I think he would like dark fantasy music, or witch music. I don't care if he's on medieval era and people didn't had access to a lot of music genres at that time, we are talking about disney nothing is historically correct

I can't help but think about Lana Del Rey but being a huge fan of her songs I don't think that it matches his tastes. I guess he maybe would like Aurora's last album, The Gods We Can Touch. I don't know why, it's the witchy vibes I guess. But I don't know, it's still not something that matches him a lot. EXCEPT FOR THE SONG MIDAS TOUCH FROM AURORA. IT'S PERFECT FOR HIM YOU GUYS SHOULD CHECK IT OUT

youtube

The cover isn't giving the aesthetic though, Aurora made this song for a show and then put the show album cover unfortunately. But her aesthetics are usually whimsical and magic, inspired by theatre, greek gods and tarot. This song is so good 😭

And of course there are songs like Everything Matters that fits his vibe but idk it depends on who's listening since it's not about the lyrics. The Innocent has a small part who matches him a little, the whole song has that witchy vibe dancing around the fire, I don't know how to describe it.

Coming back to Cedric I think my favorite scenario is him having an apprendice not too much younger than him. I think it's cute. I've never seen any fics like this (in fact I just read like 5 oneshots which is almost nothing) and if you guys know any let me know. I think it's just nice the idea of living with him and being his apprendice while having like a romantic tension between the two characters. It's cute

Also remember when I said I was going to talk a little more about the brazillian portuguese dub? So, something that I thought was really funny happened to me: In the first season he had his voice actor obviously and I was already used to his voice some time after watching the cartoon. It was very funny to me because the first time I saw a "scene compilation" of him it was in english, so hearing him talk in my language was fun. And btw his voice actor did a really good job voicing him, he (had a similar voice and) was really expressive just like his english VA, so like, really nice 👍

And then at some point in season two, from one episode to another, his voice actor suddently changed????? And obviously I got a little sad because his first VA was really good and I was used to his voice :( but the thing is: The new VA wasn't just a new one, IT'S THE SAME GUY WHO VOICED DR FLUG HERE IN BRAZIL AND I WAS LIKE OMG

THEY ARE SO SIMILAR IN PERSONALITY AND NOW THEY HAVE THE SAME VOICE WITH THE VOICE ACTOR'S MANNEIRISMS AND EVERYTHING (because that VA really has an specific way to talk, he stutter a little, sounds a little ironic but at the time really anxious, make some funny sounds for no reason sometimes like his screams)

I was really upset when they changed all the brazillian voice actors in Villanos, and that Flug didn't had his full-of-personality-and-expressive voice anymore :( the new episodes now have new voices and eveything, and they did their best, but it's not the original voices anymore and it doesn't hit the same yk? And then BAM CELDRIC HAS DOCTOR FLUGS VOICE NOW BITCH TAKE THIS

and the fact that Sofia The First was dubbed even before Villanos came out it's so funny to me

So yeah let me show you guys his amazing work at voicing two of my favorite characters:

youtube

After they changed Cedric's voice actor I was a little annoyed by the fact that I couldn't hear Cedric anymore, just Flug 😭 but now I'm slowly getting used to it and it's starting to sound like Cedric again.

Before that happened I could see some similarities between the two but I thought that I was just thinking too much and trying to connect two fandoms that I like, so I just forgot about it. After that happened my mind just blew it all make so much sense right now

And they are so similar in personality that I had to make a list of everything they have in common:

They work for guys that are completely blind to their talents and think that they're just idiots all the time

They have more potential than people think

Their projects/spells always go wrong because people keep disrupting their public moments, and so they are seen and weak and dumb (when they're not)

Science/Magic guys (they keep throwing liquids from one pot to another and saying difficult words, only for someone to stop them halfway and the substance explodes in their face, making them angry because this person once again interrupted their project that was going perfectly)

Self-confidence issues

Anxious mess, are always nervous and scared of something bad happening all the time

Childhood trauma because people never really saw their acomplishments and again and again kept repeating that they are idiots who don't know nothing (when they are geniuses!!)

They say that they're mean and they say that they do mean things when actually they are just really nice. They just choose that path because they think it's the only one that can bring them sucess and recognition in the future, but they were never made for this. They just do that because they want to proof their value to people who can't see it.

At the same time that they are mentally unstable, sometimes their confidence is so high that they start to act arrogant because "they're too smart and their projects are amazing": "I love what I do I'm the best sorcerer/scientist in the world"

But when they need to show that to people something bad always happens (because of other people!) And their plan fails, leaving them with confidence issues

"I'm too smart you guys don't deserve me"

"I can't do anything right omg i'm so stupid"

Their movements and maneirisms are so expressive, they're both skinny and tall and keep making those anxious poses, fidgeting with their hands, always anxious, scared of something, thinking too much and overall being nervous and ankward around their bosses

Boss just treats them as failures and gives them orders, in which they respond in the most submissive and saddest way because they're just miserable and just two little guys who are trying to proof their value in a place where no one even see them as people

But sometimes they are genuinely egoistic and egocentric because duh they're the best sorcerer/scientist out there, hello everybody is gonna know their name when they rule the world bye

They act so stupid and lovesick in their official crushes episodes, it's so funny

And even if we never saw Dr Flug's official face there is a design out there in the fandom where he has black hair with white streaks on his bangs so like 👍👍

Well um I guess that's all I have to say about this subject for now

These are my thoughts 🫶

I feel like I said a lot in a short amout of time but I'm here writing since 04:30 AM and now it's 07:47 AM so like. yikes

#cedric #cedric sofia the first #cedric the sorcerer #cedric the great #cedric the sensational #dr flug #dr flug villainous #disney #disney princesses #sofia the first #Youtube

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lexosaurus · 5 months

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Twelve Hours: Chapter 5

Part 5 of 5 of my fic for Ecto Implosion, the DP reverse mini-bang (artists go first, writers go second)

This chapter is accompanied by art from @tytach AND IT'S SO SO COOL literally screaming crying throwing up I love GIW art so much. Do yourself a solid and check it out!

read on: [ao3]

[see all chapters]

Characters: Danny Fenton, Harriet Chin, GIW Tags: Identity Reveal, Flashbacks, Runaway Danny Fenton, Angst Chapter WC: 4453 Summary: When the GIW revealed Danny to the world, the only thing he could do was run. Run and run and run until he escaped to Chicago, trying desperately to disappear. Too bad it didn’t work.

****

“The day of your arrest, you’d been on the run,” Harriet Chin stated.

“I had,” Danny responded. Even though it’d been years, talking about the actual captivity—or as they’d put it in legal terms, arrest—still made his heart stutter.

Well, most things still made his heart rate pick up.

“They found you in Chicago,” Harriet continued. “And they arrested you at approximately two in the morning in Albany Park. Reports say you’d been in the city all day. First, I just need to ask, why? Why go to Chicago of all places?”

Danny steeled himself. He’d been expecting this. “I thought I could blend in there. I figured there were so many people in the city that everyone would look past another homeless kid. Obviously, that didn’t work. People recognized me.”

“What happened during the arrest? I think most people would have expected you to turn invisible and fly away, but that didn’t happen.”

“It’s not that easy with the Ghost Investigation Ward. Their glasses can see through invisibility, and they had me surrounded.” Danny pressed his lips together, fighting the imagery of him diving into his only chance of escape. It hadn’t worked. “It was futile, anyway.”

Harriet leaned back, a slight awe seeping into her tone as she said, “Three years, huh? That’s a long time.”

It had been. Oh god, it had been an agonizing time. And it probably would have gone on longer if not for Vlad’s incredible legal team.

Of course, that didn’t make Vlad suddenly his best friend. The asshole only really did it to try to make Maddie fall in love with him, that bastard. Well, that and the underlying terror of the government figuring out how to create a halfa, which would have been disastrous.

Thankfully, Danny managed to avoid both potential outcomes there. He’d gotten out, spent a year in and out of surgery, rehab, and PT, and then tried his best to restart his life. He got his GED, signed up for some community college courses, attained an associate degree, then transferred and finished his bachelor's.

It hadn’t been easy or smooth. In between associate and undergraduate degrees, he’d suffered a breakdown and had to take a gap year…or two. Then, after he finished his undergraduate, the soul-crushing reality that he was Danny Phantom and also job hunting so he could move out and really start his life hit him again, and he faltered.

But somehow, he made it. He was still figuring it out, but he was here. Alive.

“I survived,” he decided, setting his jaw.

****

01:00:00

Danny had no idea where he was anymore. He’d run till he found a train stop, then he took that further into the city and switched once. He’d gotten off and walked around—invisibly—his heart pounding in his chest the whole time because even a meager amount of invisibility was enough to ping any agent nearby of his ectosignature. Thankfully, there were no GIW sirens, no white fans, no tall men in white suits ambushing him from the street corners or jumping at him from the alleyways.

Still, just to be extra safe, he got back on the train and rode it for another hour till he’d reached a residential neighborhood, peering out the window before he got off the train to check and double-check for any sign that the Guys in White were waiting for him.

But there was nothing. He was safe. At least, for now, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. But when he glanced over his shoulder again and again, he saw no one behind him.

It seemed like the three thugs hadn’t followed the instructions from those horrific billboard signs watching block, they hadn’t dialed 449 to contact the emergency ghost-sighting number, they hadn’t tattled that Danny Fenton Phantom himself was in front of their home, that they’d nearly kicked the shit out of him.

Which, ouch. He touched his cheek, hissing as it whined in return. It was likely thanks to his frayed nerves, growling stomach, and lack of sleep that allowed the bruises to blossom on his skin instead of dwindling to nothing like they typically would with his advanced healing.

By morning, they would probably be gone. So long as he survived the night first, that was.

“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the cops,” a voice behind him growled.

Danny whipped around, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. He nearly forgot to double-check that his hood was tugged safely over his head.

Peering out of a house window was a pudgy, balding man in a wifebeater. His raised eyebrows created rivets in his shiny scalp. He looked to Danny not with recognition, but aggravation, as if Danny were a cockroach trying to sneak into his pantry.

Some strange, queasy filling filled Danny’s stomach. He almost preferred the fear people gave him when they recognized his ghost form to whatever this was.

A raindrop hit his eye, and he cursed, reeling back to wipe his face. “Sorry,” Danny said, glancing around. He was safe from the storm under this banister, but outside it was pouring. “I’m just trying to figure out where to go.”

“You’ve been here for a half fucking hour. Either go home or find a fucking shelter.”

Danny’s silence must have spoken for him.

“Or, don’t,” the man huffed. “I don’t give a shit, just get the fuck off my fucking porch!”

Danny felt like he’d been punched in the face all over again, but he tried to let it go. He tried to not let his head hang so far down as he stepped into the cosmos of rain, which didn’t hesitate to cling onto his hoodie, seeping through the fibers until water kissed his skin.

If the rain’s gentle touch was supposed to be a comfort, it failed miserably. Instead, Danny’s throat tightened, and he failed to block out the gruff, “See? Was that so fucking hard?” from behind him as he made his way to the sidewalk.

Despite his cold core, he shivered. If he didn’t find shelter soon, he was going to be soaked to the bone, and then he would have to have to sleep like that.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he pressed into the night. He had no idea what time it was, but it was late. Most of the city had long since gone to sleep, and yet here he was, still awake, shuffling down the road while water squelched into his converse.

Hairs prickled the back of his neck. He glanced behind him, but no one was there. Not even the man in the window.

He was just being paranoid. That was all.

He walked down the road and passed a half-decrepit brick wall with the GIW logo spray painted on in green. Under it was the DP logo, which someone else embellished with red devil horns.

Don’t look, don’t look…

His bangs were sticking to his forehead now. He could just turn intangible, but if anyone saw him turn transparent, then they’d definitely report him for being a ghost, if not the Phantom.

He would just have to be wet until the air decided he could begin to dry, however long that took.

That ever-present lump in his throat grew like a tumor as he tried to ward away thoughts of his family who were probably home, maybe sleeping, maybe huddled in the living room with bleary eyes glued to the television as they waited to see any news about him.

But he’d made it this far, hadn’t he? Soon he’ll have survived the streets overnight on his own, soon he’ll become adept at blending into the city, and soon no one will give him a second glance. Especially not some busy-body white-suited government employee.

And then maybe his family could go to sleep.

The rain continued, unrelenting, but with his newfound determination, Danny refused to let it weigh him down. Even though his paranoia was telling him to panic, and nausea was at his throat, he wouldn’t turn around, wouldn’t back down.

He would survive.

The houses blurred into each other, and every light out of the corner of his eye seemed to glow green. Every siren in the distance was the unmistakable chirp of the Guys in White vans, and every pattering on the pavement was a clicky black shoe. It was a hell loop that expanded with each step, burning into his eyes, ears, fingers, and core. But it was just his anxiety at play. It was nothing, Danny, it was nothing.

He was fine, of course. Soaked down to his intestines, but fine. And now, he stood below a street lamp facing a tan townhouse with an iron fence outlining its entrance. To its left was a larger, sleeping blue townhouse, and to its right was a short, red-bricked apartment with the anti-ecto billboard hovering over it.

Seriously, how much fucking money had the US Government wasted on advertising their stupid new GIW emergency number?

He turned around, choosing to walk across the street where another row of brick townhouses and apartments stood at his wake.

“Fuck you too,” he hissed, failing to resist tossing a middle finger up to the sign behind him.

As predicted, the sign had little to say in return. Though, perhaps smugly, Danny just pretended it was because he’d won. He’d found an alley, a place to call home—for now. And unless the stupid Guys in White had followed him here—which they hadn’t—then they had lost him. Officially. And Danny would lay low here until the world abated, and then…who knew. He’d figure it out.

He settled onto the wet pavement, not caring that his soaked shoe was edging on a puddle. The rain probably wouldn’t let up for hours anyway. He was just glad Tucker had thought to add that emergency waterproof bag in his backpack for his phone and charger.

If he peered out of the alley, he could still see that odious sign trying its best to get under his skin. He could see the way the sign’s Phantom glared down at passersby with contorted, grisly eyes that promised nothing but agony for anyone who happened to cross his path.

“That’s not true,” Danny whispered to himself, or the sign. “You’ll see. Someday.”

He dropped his head to his knees, fatigue hitting him like a cannonball. Someday…perhaps. But not today.

It was still raining.

****

Harriet leaned forward, the soft glow of the lights against her skin now matching her tone as she asked, “And the people who protested against your release? What would you say to them if they were here?”

“I don’t have anything to say to them. Not anymore,” Danny said truthfully.

“Why is that?” she pressed.

“Because,” he started, cocking his head. Then, his eyes flickered to hers, and he wondered if maybe the outer rings of his pupils were hinting at a green glow. “I don’t have anything to say to a person who thinks that because of who I am, what I am, I should be destined to a life as a science experiment, torn apart and put back together over and over, beaten to the point of collapse and punished for not standing back up. Someone who thinks that when my hands were bound behind my back and I was forced to eat off the floor, or when I was locked for days or weeks in a dark cell, chained to the wall with no one to talk to except myself, that I deserved all this just because some of my blood cells were replaced with ectoplasm. And if that sounds blunt, I don’t care. Anyone who thinks a teenager they’d never met should live that sort of life isn’t a person I wish to try to reason with.”

****

00:00:00

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

Something was beating overhead. A large…bird? Maybe?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t important.

Lethargy wrapped his consciousness back in its warm blanket again, shielding him from the pouring rain that had soaked through every molecule of his body, and his mind…went…

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

It was louder now. Closer. He peeked out from the mental box he’d locked himself into, cracking the lid just enough to notice that the whomp, whomp, whomp didn’t really sound like a bird. And wow, it was really close.

Was that…an issue? It was weird, wasn’t it?

He tried to separate what was normal from what wasn’t, but it was hard, and he was exhausted. Why was he so tired? And wait…why was he wet? Why wasn’t he home in his bed?

Maybe he’d just forgotten to change after patrol that night. Yeah, that had to be it.

But the—wow, that noise was pretty weird.

He craned his neck further out of the box, but his exhaustion protested. If he went much further, he’d never be able to go back to sleep. He was already beginning to notice the crick in his neck, the aching in his back, and the green tint of what was supposed to be only noir behind his eyelids…

Wait.

Green?

He mentally patted his core, but it was completely dormant.

Green…why was…

He wasn’t in his bedroom, was he?

No.

Green! His consciousness yelled, cleaving him from his little mental box. His core spiked, and he ripped his head from his arms to see green lights reflecting off every surface, strobing into the rainy night air.

Adrenaline impaled his pores and snapped him upright, his hands high and glowing before he even knew what to aim at.

The lights flashed more aggressively, and Danny’s heart plummeted. They had him surrounded. Whoever was here, they had him surrounded.

He could have screamed in frustration and sorrow for being so stupid as to get his hopes up that he wasn’t in the streets of Chicago, homeless because the government exposed him and was determined to hunt him down and turn him into their little plaything.

Fucking hell, fuck, it hurt so bad, so fucking bad. It was only a few moments where he believed with every fiber of his being that he was safe and home but he wasn’t and he might as well have let the GIW drive a pike through his heart.

“Freeze,” a deep voice said to his left.

He tried to look up, right, everywhere, everywhere. The helicopter lit a spotlight down on him, and he winced, shielding his sensitive eyes from the glaring supernova of bright, hot light spearing him.

He tried to step away, but the light followed him, and he realized with horror as he turned invisible that the light was still casting a shadow where he stood.

Fuck.

FUCK.

“Stand down!” the voice repeated, deep and throaty.

Operative O, Danny realized, and the shadow mimicked his movements as he backed away from the two prowling figures at the alley entrance.

Lights began flicking on in the surrounding houses, further lighting up the scene around him.

His invisibility flickered in and out. It was useless, either way. All the Operatives were wearing their sunglasses, and Danny knew the only reason they’d be wearing them at two in the morning was if they did more than just block the sunlight.

He turned, and more operatives with more glowing guns stood at the other end of the alley.

Above them, a glowing dome shot out of the helicopter, plunging into the pavement where Danny knew it connected.

Shit. He was trapped.

He dove into the building to his right, stumbling into a hallway with a woman in a bathrobe and a satin hair wrap frozen on the staircase before him. She screamed as if Danny had stabbed her, throwing her body into the wall. Her head hit a picture frame, and it fell, cracking against the wooden planks on the stairs.

“No, no!” Danny raised his arms in a plea, but they were still glowing, and the woman screamed further.

A man appeared at the top of the staircase, a gun in his hand. He didn’t hesitate, shooting Danny at once.

Although human bullets had little effect on an intangible body, he still cried out, “Stop!”

Bullets whizzed through his chest, shoulder, and stomach, and he flinched as holes indented the wall behind him. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Oh god, oh god!” the woman wailed. “HELP! HELP, GERALD!”

“GET OUT!” The man, presumably Gerald, bellowed, shooting Danny square in the face. “LEAVE MY WIFE ALONE!”

Danny’s vision blurred, and he stumbled as though he’d actually been shot, “Please, stop! I’m–they’re—”

“Danny Fenton Phantom, we have you surrounded. Please come outside with your hands in the air.”

The woman sank to the floor. “Don’t hurt me. Oh god, don’t hurt me.”

The man was out of bullets now, but he wasn’t finished. He tossed his gun to the side and rolled up his sleeves. Storming down the stairs with fists clenched, he hollered, “You don’t fucking touch my family, you zombie freak!”

Danny stumbled into their kitchen, and green lights flashed into their windows. He tried to put his hands down to steady himself, but his intangibility nearly sent his body careening through a stack of magazines sitting on the table. His hands were shaking—badly—and lightheadedness was encompassing all of his senses and skin with a relentlessness that would surely drive the strongest man insane.

This is it, he thought. Behind him, Gerald’s footsteps had reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Please, stop,” Danny croaked. Though, he had no idea who he was talking to. His hands flew up to his scalp, and he tried to right his head as his throat narrowed into a coffee straw. Before him, green light blinded his vision, pulsing off the beige wallpaper and setting fire to Danny’s entire life.

He felt the man’s fist sail through his head and hit the wall, and he heard the slew of curse words that followed.

“Face me like a man!” Gerald snapped.

“I can’t,” Danny whispered. “I can’t do it. I can’t win.”

“Come out with your hands in the air,” the voice outside repeated.

Danny walked through the man and faced the woman crumbled on the staircase, clutching the picture frame to her heart and weeping gut-wrenching sobs that stabbed through all the layers of panic and adrenaline until he too was crouching down in the hall with Gerald still hovering over him, his intangible hands gripping intangible strands of his hair as he fought the urge to throw up bile all over their weathered wooden hallway.

“Oh god, oh god!” the woman howled.

“I can’t win,” Danny repeated. If he dove underground, the helicopter would just pull him up. If he stayed here, the GIW agents and SWAT would just capture him. But if he went outside, he would be walking straight into the lion’s den.

There was no winning. No way of escape. They knew he was Phantom—they must have been following him—and Danny didn’t have to test it to know that the shield was keyed to his ectosignature, able to affect him no matter which form he took. He could feel it more clearly than any shield-static he’d experienced as a ghost.

He’d been so fucking arrogant before to think he’d escaped them. This was the government, and he was just a kid. Just a goddamn kid from Amity Park with two weird parents and a nerdy sister and oh god, he’d never see them again, and he never got to say goodbye.

Gerald’s footsteps disappeared in front of Danny, and he almost breathed relief before he blinked, realizing what the man was doing.

“No!” Danny yelled, jumping up and tripping over his feet. His intangibility slipped from his skin, and he crashed into a side table, knocking an urn to the floor. It shattered, permeating the floor in gray powder, and Danny reeled, colliding into the bullet-ridden drywall.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, stricken, then turned to face them but it was too late. Gerald was yanking his wife into the foyer and reaching for the door.

“NO!” Danny shot forward, his hand brushing the door handle simultaneously with Gerald. Danny turned them both intangible, and the woman slipped through her husband’s grip with a shriek.

“June!” Gerald cried out, reaching for an arm that was no longer there.

Danny let go, stepping back. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Gerald turned to him once more, his face setting in fierce determination. “June, get out! I’ll hold him off!”

“No, Gerald!” June scrambled upright.

“GO!” Gerald commanded.

Danny looked into June’s grief and terror-stricken eyes as she pleaded, “Please don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him, please.” And for the first time in his life, Danny felt like every bit the grotesque monster whose eyes bore down from the GIW billboards across every city in America.

He took a step back, and nausea crept further up his throat. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The green light pulsed brighter, faster. The helicopter’s whomp, whomp, whomp swelled to a deafening pressure. The orchestra of dozens of boots arranging themselves in position, sirens wailing in the distance, commanding voices from the street, and the click of the megaphone that Danny could no longer understand blended together until he was sure he couldn’t discern reality from the madness of his mind anymore.

“Please don’t open the door. I’ll die.” Danny’s voice crackled. With dawning horror, he realized this was his final attempt at survival.

“Go, June,” Gerald said, ignoring him.

“I’ll die. They’ll kill me.”

June sobbed, reaching for her husband instead.

He batted her hand away. “I said, go!”

“Please,” Danny begged, his voice weak, but it was useless. This random couple wasn’t listening to him.

They didn’t think he was human enough to deserve a voice in the first place.

June hesitated, her amber eyes crashing into Danny’s one last time before she finally reached for the door.

Danny didn’t stop her.

She slipped out as Gerald made one last valiant attempt at charging Danny, his voice hollering a war cry that echoed down the block.

But Danny stood still, only barely caring enough to turn his body intangible for the man to pass through him before returning to his solid form.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing behind him, and Danny vaguely registered that they must have had a backdoor entrance in their kitchen, but he didn’t move. He could have, probably. He could have stopped Gerald from unlocking the deadbolt and dragged him back into the foyer to use his body like a shield against the GIW agents.

But he could see the billboard taunting him through the open door high above the white vans, green sirens, and teams of men and women dressed in GIW white, SWAT black, and police blue. That damn billboard with those damn eyes that ridiculed him with the warbling, “Is this what you really are?”

A second later, men poured into the foyer to slam Danny to the ground. They turned him over and cuffed his hands behind him. Another set of hands snapped an inhibitor around his neck, there was a shout, and then all touch left his body just before his world was overtaken by electricity. Hot, blazing lightning traveled through his skin, arteries, into the tendrils that connected his core from his body, severing each thread one by one.

It was the portal all over again. Blinding, catastrophic, screaming in his mind before some part of Danny realized it was his voice, it was his screams of pain and torment ripping his lungs from his body and spilling them onto the aged floor.

Then, it stopped, and the only thing left was the smell of burnt hair and his wavering vision.

“Clear!” a man shouted, and hands grabbed him again, this time hauling him up and dragging him across the floor.

“No,” Danny wheezed, but no one heard him. They lugged him down the front steps where dozens of guns were waiting to welcome him.

Suddenly, a hand gripped his scalp, and Danny cried out as his head was forced upright. He blinked, and once his eyes focused, he wished they hadn’t because before him was a lording, square-shouldered figure clothed in white.

“Daniel Fenon Phantom,” Operative O began. “You are in violation of Article 1, Section 1, Sub-section A of the federal Anti-Ecto Control Act and are hereby under arrest. As you are not considered human by federal law, you are not protected under the Fifth Amendment. You do not have Miranda Rights, nor do you have the right to due process. Do I make myself clear?”

Danny didn’t respond, but it didn’t seem to matter. He wasn’t human, so the GIW didn’t need something as silly as his confirmation before they began towing him to a white van that seemed to glow brighter by the second.

“Don’t worry,” Operative O continued, his voice a hiss. “After the last few years of terror you’ve put this country under, I’m going to make sure our time together is special. And you, you, you…”

Operative O threw Danny onto the cushioned GIW van. A click of a button later, and the walls of the car and cage separating the back of the van from the front were lined in an excruciating green light. It sizzled, lapping at Danny’s skin and hair. He squirmed, and it seemed to chortle in response, whispering to not even try, there’s no escape, Danny, no escape at all.

Not that he had the energy to try. His limbs felt like lead, and his head pounded in his ears.

Operative O’s hands were back on him, forcing him upright while another operative strapped his body and legs into the seat.

This was it. He was going to die. Painfully, and slowly, but he was going to die. He would never see his family again. He would never hear Sam and Tucker bicker about food, he’d never laugh at Mr. Lancer trying his hand at teen slang, and he’d never feel the warm, and sometimes crushing embrace of his parents wrapping him in a hug.

He was going to die.

“Let’s see if your nervous system is really as human-like as the reports say. And if it is? Well.” Operative O chuckled, propping an arm over the door. “Well, you’ll be in for a world of pain.”

He shut the door, the bang rattling Danny’s skull. Outside of the van, inaudible chatter of the officers filled the neighborhood, but inside, only the static whispers of the ghost shield spoke to him.

It’s over, they reminded him. You lost.

The end.

****

Thanks for reading!

[read more of my stuff here]

#danny phantom #ectoimplosion2023 #my writing #twelve hours #dp fanfic #angst #cw violence

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