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thelightsandtheroses · 3 days

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everywhere, everything | jm x female reader [au]

Summary: In recent months, the bar your family has owned for generations has changed. Now it can't keep a bouncer beyond one shift, attracts the 'wrong' crowd, and is an albatross around you and your cousin's neck. Your cousin's latest hire, Joel Miller, seems like he might just survive the shift and as time passes, you can't help but want to know him more. AKA the Bouncer!Joel fic Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence, RoadHouseBouncer!Joel AU, no outbreak, no specified age but reader has a cousin and inferred (not detailed) family deaths in the past, flirting, smut (p in v, and fingering), Joel Miller is his chaotic self, mentions of death of a child (canon), many scenes set in a bar and mentions of alcohol or drinking, your standard lolabee flangst and introspection, reader mentions music, singing and playing guitar. Notes: So much love for this fic goes to @trulybetty for encouraging my ideas and @rhoorl. Watching the new Road House movie at the same time as starting TLOU games created this concept in my head I couldn't let go of. Fic title from the Noah Kahan song of the same name.

It’s starting to weigh on you.

You see it in your cousin more though; the weariness in her eyes as the local gangs come in and inevitably cause trouble. Both of you know where it comes from, the reasons behind it, why it’s so much worse for your roadhouse than anywhere else in the town.

Most days, you want to leave and sell up. Sometimes a fight is too much, it isn’t worth the cost, there’s too high a loss, too tiresome a battle. Everything your cousin possesses is tied up in the bar though. It’s not that simple for her and you won’t walk away from your family. You can’t.

The two of you cannot be the ones who let decades of your family’s legacy just wash away to nothing.

That was why your cousin had started with the bouncers in the first place. The two of you can only afford one, but it’s a small building, a small town.

“This one will be different,” your cousin says with a firm nod and smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just know he will. He’s new in town, he starts tonight and he - when you meet him, you’ll see what I mean.”

You don’t say that she said the same thing about the last bouncer - what was his name? Dave, or Frankie, or something like that. You’ve stopped learning their names now - it’s pointless when they never last longer than a few days.

The bar is still quiet; tinny music coming through the speakers as you finish unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher.

“Are you playin’ tonight?” she asks.

“Might do. If the crowd let me,” you say, smiling at your cousin gently. It’s a joke now; the bar hasn’t been safe enough in months for that.

It used to be your favourite thing about this place; the music, the ability to perform songs and transport yourself to what could have been, what could be. It might not be Nashville, or the Sofi stadium, but it’s the closest you think you’ll ever get to feeling like a real musician. And now you don’t even have that.

“Good, they will. It’s going to be a good one tonight, you’ll see.”

The new bouncer is called Joel but your cousin calls him by his surname: Miller.

He’s quiet, not like the other one. Instead of stalking around and flexing, Miller sits in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool and staring into a cup of coffee as though it would answer all his queries about the universe.

You feel bad about the coffee; you should have warned him that it’s truly awful, pointed him in the direction of the small diner ten minutes away that serves some of the best coffee in the whole state. You think your own coffee isn’t too bad either; perfected and tweaked over years to figure out the perfect combination of beans and grind to bring the best out of your worn moka pot.

“Next time, I’d go for water,” you say lightly as you approach his side of the bar. It’s still quiet for this time of the evening but the trouble doesn’t usually start until after ten anyway.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m not sure we can even legally call this coffee. I think there’s more caffeine in the Kahlua.”

“You have Kahlua?” Miller asks.

“It’s a very old bottle, I really wouldn’t risk it.” You try and remember the last time someone ordered a drink with it here but it’s hazy. The Bar doesn’t exactly attract people for its cocktail list anymore.

“Pity.”

“I can get you a water if you’d prefer. Or something else?”

“It’s fine.” You notice Miller has pushed the cup slightly away from him though. He eyes it with mild disgust and you feel suddenly even more worried for him. If he can’t handle the coffee, he surely won’t be able to handle the patrons.

“You’re Joe, right?”

“Joel,” he corrects instantly.

“Joel, right. Sorry.”

“Are there that many of us passin’ through, that you don’t learn the names properly now? Is that why your boss calling me Miller?” He doesn’t know who you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t know it’s your family’s legacy here too and you’re not just a bartender. This place matters to you.

“It’s only your first shift.”

Joel sighs and meets your gaze. His eyes are deep brown and you take in the slight salt and pepper to his stubble, the surprisingly comfortable looking plaid flannel he’s wearing. At the same time, you notice the stoniness in his posture, the wariness in his eyes.

He isn’t spoiling for a fight because he lives for them, not like the other bouncers your cousin has hired.

You’ve already realised that Joel Miller fights in an entirely differently way to his predecessors. You can tell his biggest battles aren’t the ones in a bar like this. Without projecting too much, you think they’re probably inside his mind. No one has haunted eyes like that without a story. You’re a bartender, you can just tell.

“What have you have been told about this gig? Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“I know this place has some troubles,” he says carefully.

“I’ll say.”

You remember when things were different in the town, in the bar. It wasn’t like this back then. It used to be for families. Your aunt once joked that your dad’s cooking could bring the entire town together. It’s been a long time since the place was known for a family meal though.

You grew up with laughter and joy inside these walls. Now, it feels like it must have happened somewhere else entirely. This bar is still where you ran in after being asked on your first date ever, where you opened your SAT results, studied while the bar was closed, had every family significant gathering or event you can remember.

This isn’t just a job for you.

“How long have you been here? No offence, but you don’t seem the type -”

“It’s my family’s bar. Your boss you mentioned, she’s my cousin. The two of us run it these days, well I mean, I only help out. It’s her bar now more than mine but it’s been our family’s place for generations. We’re what’s left.” All that’s left.

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Of course, Miller.” His words weren’t meant with offence but he had still managed to pick at your vulnerability that you don’t truly belong and cut at your soul.

Your family never thought you’d keep up with the bar, your cousin was the clear front runner to inherit it and you supported that. You wanted to leave your hometown, that had never been a secret and your childhood bedroom had been covered in posters and postcards for exciting and different places.

Once, you dreamt of Nashville, of music venues and guitar calloused hands playing idle melodies as a tour bus drove you to your next city across a starlit sky.

Life had different plans for you thought.

“This town didn’t used to be like this,” you add, “We’ve had a lot of bad luck and - the whole town is suffering. You wouldn’t have recognised this place if you passed through even just a few years ago.”

”I’m -“

The door to the bar crashes open before Joel can finish his sentence. You notice the first of the regular troublemakers walking in and warily look around the bar. You can tell by their posture, the look on their face exactly what type of night it’s going to be.

“Looks like your work will be getting started soon, Miller. I’d drink up.”

He might just survive his first shift. That’s annoying - you have five bucks counting on him either walking out or be stretchered out like any of the bouncers by the end of the night.

You try and pay attention to your surroundings. It’s sensible in your line of work. For so many people that line between a good night and becoming the worst version of themselves is wafer thin and you’re often the first line of defence, you’re the one who has to say when someone’s not being served anymore.

Your cousin is in the back office, trying to sort out the multitude of paperwork that comes with owning a bar or business that nobody ever thinks about.

He’s calm, polite even for the most part.

He doesn’t escalate the situation, not like some of the bouncers who have spent a shift here recently. Mostly he sits and observes. His calmness is almost disconcerting and contrasts sharply with the danger in his posture, the readiness to move he’s concealing.

There hasn’t been too much trouble so far tonight; a mild fight which was easily taken outside but you can feel the tension in the air.

“Can I get ‘nother whiskey?” Robert slurs. He’s a regular to the bar now and has a particular penchant for not being able to handle his alcohol, being very resentful at being cut off, and worse of all never has enough money to cover his bill or damages.

“I think you’re done for tonight,” you say lightly.

“Nah, I say when I’m done.”

“Not according to the liquor licence,” you snark back.

“Look, just pour me -”

“You’re done.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Robert slams his fist down on the bar.

“I think it’s time to go,” Joel says politely, suddenly standing next to Robert in the bar. You’re not sure if he’ll last as a bouncer here but you’ll give him points for stealthiness. You hadn’t even heard him approaching.

“I think -“ Robert starts before pulling a sloppy punch. Joel easily dodges it, raising his eyebrow incredulously at Robert.

“C’mon, now, it’s time to go.”

He places a hand on Robert’s shoulder and guides him out. You’re struck that he didn’t escalate the situation - that was the last bouncer’s mistake. What he hadn’t counted on was what Robert is a mean drunk and often gets a second wind of energy.

Joel walks back up to you at the bar. “The way people talk about this place. That wasn’t so -“

“That, Miller, that was nothing.”

You watch as another troublemaker, Owen, walks in, all biker vest and swagger. It’s never a good night when he’s here. Usually his presence signals a full moon style night of fights, shouting and misery. He hasn’t been in for weeks to your joy; you’d heard a rumour he was in jail. Not any more though.

“Miller you see now the trouble’s really going to start. That wasn’t even your warmup.”

Sunlight streams through the window as you finish wiping over the table. It’s your favourite time of day in the bar. Your cousin is catching up on admin, sleep and supplier deliveries, the bar is empty and it’s just you, the stereo and sunlight.

You can’t help but lose yourself in the music just for a moment. You love this song, the beat, the lyrics, the way it ebbs and flows in all the right places. Music is magic.

You’re not in a rundown bar, not weighed down by obligation and memories and self-doubt. You’re not here, you’re somewhere else. In a city, in a crowd, on a stage or even just dancing around somewhere else. You’re lighter and freer and desperate for the song to continue just a little more as you spin around, humming along with the lyrics.

You hear the door open and turn around quickly. You heard about the diner getting robbed a couple of weeks ago. You should have locked the door.

Miller’s there, some light discolouration to his jaw from the one punch he didn’t dodge, but otherwise intact.

“You seem surprised to see me,” he says.

“You’ve cost me five bucks,” you reply simply.

He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I could hack it*?*”

“The odds are the odds.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your money.”

“Yep, that five bucks was my ticket out of this town,” you joke.

“Not sure that would even cover a bus ticket,” he replies dryly.

“Maybe the coffee for on the bus?”

“Maybe.”

“So, day two,” you say awkwardly, swinging your arms around you and then immediately wondering why on earth you did that. You busy yourself by turning down the speakers.

“Yep,” Miller says casually, sitting on a bar stool.

“Have - are you hungry?” you ask, suddenly conscious that it’s lunchtime and Joel not doubt has another difficult day ahead.

“I could eat.”

”It’s nothing fancy, because the kitchen’s not open, but it is homemade - well, it was. I froze it but it’s defrosted and it’s really good. Also, frozen food still retains its nutrients well, and in the case of cake, freezing it makes it even better.”

“I see.” Miller pauses, “It’s not cake, is it? I don’t think I can eat frozen cake before a shift. ”

“No,” you argue, “it’s Tuesday, that’s what we’d do on a Wednesday! Today it’s lasagne.”

Miller smiles then. It’s a good smile. Slightly crooked and his eyes crease a little, the way you always associate someone smiling when they mean it. His deep eyes are momentarily lighter, there’s a change in him.

You want to tease more smiles out of this man, want to identify each and every changed in his face or the way his hands tap against the old bar. You want to keep him like this, bask in the glow that you’ve bought that expression to his face.

“Lasagne sounds great,” he says after a moment.

“Sure, okay, Miller. Coming right up.”

“Call me Joel. Please.”

“Okay, Joel.”

You like how his name sounds against your teeth, the way he smiles once more when you say his name.

It becomes a habit. Joel survives shift after shift and inevitably turns up to the bar early the following day when you’re there.

He’s lasted longer than fourteen bouncers now. He might just make it. He’s quiet, yes, but you’ve seen the violence in his movements when needed, the way he tries to be polite and then it’s over, then it’s a line. There’s something that compels and terrifies you about the violence he holds, its contradiction because he speaks to you so softly and how can a man be capable of both?

“You need a second bouncer,” he says one morning as you’re trying and failing to sort the back door out.

The employee room in the bar is a barely functioning space. Cliche after cliche with the cheap red IKEA futon, mismatching furniture and chairs and elderly microwave and kettle. The air conditioning has never worked in the room and now the back door is jammed too.

The place is falling apart.

“Can’t afford it,” you reply nonchalantly. “We’re doing our best.”

“I know. But then someone could try and watch at the door, stop some of these people coming in.”

“I know. But no one’s coming in because they’re there so we can’t afford a bouncer. It’s uh, a catch 22. Can’t even afford to replace the damn -” You shove your weight against the door to no avail.

“I can fix that,” Joel says softly as you kick the door one more time.

“The gangs? That’s ambitious.”

“The door.”

“Oh, it’s just the weather and it always gets stuck now. Replacing it would cost-”

“I can fix it. I uh, used to be a contractor.”

“A contractor?” Joel hasn’t talked about his past much before. You know he has a brother, he’s the oldest and that he’s from Texas. Joel carries that

“Did you have to say that with the air of a cowboy in an old movie?”

“I wasn’t aware I did,” he replies, cocking his eyebrow in a way.

“What sort of contractor were you?”

“Building, just the general type.”

“Oh, okay. So you could actually fix the door?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“How do you get from contractor to bouncer?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d expect so.”

Joel squirms awkwardly. You’ve watched him easily apprehend aggressive gang members shouting the vilest things to Joel and move them outside. You’ve seen him barely blink over ill drunks spilling their souls on his shoes. You’ve seen him so strong and resolute.

He looks at his watch which, for the first time, you notice is broken and then at the ground.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you say, “you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

He keeps coming back, night after night and things start to change. It’s small, a fixed door and then a window catch replaced, the fact the gangs start coming around less. It’s change but the quiet type of change you only discover through previously entrenched routines.

You’ve spent time cataloguing his details, each scar or line, the way he takes his coffee (black, but a two to one ratio of sugar that makes you wince a little). Joel Miller has a sweet tooth.

You’re used to Joel now, you like talking to him in quiet moments in the bar, before or after shifts as he hangs around just a little longer. You tell him about the town, about how it was growing up, he lets it slip he’s from Texas, mentions a brother, Tommy, and you want to unpeel his secrets more and more.

You proudly place the slab of cake in front of him. Rain hammers against the windows and roof, creating great echoes as it sounds like the bar will come down around you. It’s unseasonal, the rain, an omen of quiet days. Today you don’t mind.

“What’s the occasion?” Joel asks, looking at the cake curiously.

“It’s a Wednesday.” You take a bite of your own slice, savouring the flavours, the delicate balance of sponge and icing. If you can say so, it’s a pretty great cake. You really have improved over recent months and while this was experimental, you’re happy with the result.

“Ah. Say no more.”

“Also, congrats, you’ve officially been here for eight and half weeks.”

“I pass probation then?” Joel looks around dubiously, clearly concerned your cousin or others will suddenly pop out in some surprise party or sense of occasion.

“Pretty much passed that by coming back on day two, but that’s my cousin’s domain. I just pour drinks.”

“And provide frozen food to the bouncers.”

“Only the ones who come back. Besides, it’s defrosted. I can take that cake back you know.”

“No, don’t you dare.” Joel takes a large forkful of the cake. “So why the cake though, sweetheart?”

“You, Joel Miller, are officially our longest standing bouncer.” You clap lightly in mock celebration as he cocks an eyebrow in response.

“What an honour,” he replies sardonically.

”You’re welcome.”

“Do I need to make a speech?”

“I think it was the speech that bought the previous record holder down.” Clint had lasted forty-five minutes after that speech. It was a bad night - a particularly nasty gang fight.

“Hubris,” Joel says lightly.

“Exactly.”

“Not bad for a contractor turned bouncer though.”

Joel laughs. “You going to tell me that story one day?” you ask, hoping your teasing expression hides how genuine your question is.

“Maybe,” he says. “You’ve not hit my records yet.”

“That a challenge?”

He shrugs and walks towards the door to ready the bar for opening.

You hand Joel the frozen peas wrapped in an old cloth. After the commotion, your cousin’s closed the bar early. It’s hard to recover the night from a scene like that and you’re pretty sure the broken table and glass amount to some sort of safety violation at the least.

“Thanks,” Joel says gruffly.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I'm fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Joel looks at his cracked knuckles and raises a finger to the cut on his head, lightly touching it and observing the blood that comes away on his hand. “’m fine.”

“You hit the bar.”

“Standard night on the job.”

“You hit it with your head.”

Joel shrugs, nonchalance and mischief at once.

“How’s the idiot?” Owen had come in with the intention of causing trouble; something about the rival gang, or his girlfriend, or something that would never justify his trail of destruction. Joel had maintained his usual rules; polite, carefully moving Owen outside the bar, even as he tried to fight back. You’re not sure how it went so wrong, how instead of getting Owen outside suddenly there were more of the gang, broken tables and chaos.

It’s been weeks since a night like that. It makes it feel brand new, the hurt starker somehow.

“He needs to go to hospital,” you say, wrapping your jacket around you after you lock the bar door, keys heavy in your hand.

“Oh.”

“He’ll be fine. His friends are taking him. You probably need the hospital too, I’ll drive you.”

“’m fine.”

“You’re not. Get in the damn car, Joel.”

“I’m -”

“The car, Joel. Don’t make me start calling you Miller again.”

Joel holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” you say with a sweet smile.

You drive in near silence but once you’re both in the hospital waiting room, he talks. He talks more than he ever usually does.

“I didn't need to come here,” he grumbles.

“Are you on the lam?”

“What?” He asks incredulously.

“You seem reluctant to be in a hospital that takes down personal information. It’s a reasonable question.”

He sighs, pinches between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not on the damn lam. I just - I just don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think a lot of people do. I guess it’s an occupational habit with your work.”

“I patch myself up usually. Last time I was in one of these places, it was … I was …”

“Joel, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You reach for his bloody hand and squeeze, unsure if the blood on it is from his own split knuckles or the fight. The violence of his body contrasts so much with the man you talk to, the friend you’ve made.

“When I told you it was a long story, how I went from a contractor to this … it’s, I don’t know.”

You shift so you can face Joel and try and model your best supportive expression. Joel and you talk about everything now, but he’s guarded and this is the first time he’s volunteered this story to you.

“We can talk about it later.”

“I had a daughter,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him. “And then I had a chance, a second chance to - but it’s been a mess. I’ve been a mess. I’ve got a lot wrong.”

So much of Joel Miller makes sense to you know and you can understand the sadness that crosses his eyes sometimes, the reluctance to talk about his past.

“Haven’t we all?” You pause. “I’m really sorry about your daughter, Joel.“

“I don’t know how to make it right now though.”

“I think,” you say gently, “all you can do is try. For what it’s worth, you’re making a difference here, you’re making a difference with me.”

“Really?” He glances up at you, suddenly years younger and as you nod a slight smile light up his face briefly.

“Why don’t you tell me about her? If you want to.”

He smiles. “I do, but not tonight, but I will.”

“Joel Miller,” a doctor calls.

“C’mon, you’re up.” You squeeze Joel’s arm before standing up.

The balance has shifted and something’s changed.

The bar changes gradually like the way spring teases itself for weeks. It’s all subtle shifts, blossoms of hope and shoots of a future you didn’t dare think of too much. The bar might survive, your cousin is smiling again.

And then there’s you and Joel. Joel, who still pops in to talk to you even on his days off. Joel, who you sit out with after the bar closes and drink beer and play guitar to the stars.

“You should play here,” he says, taking a sip of his beer, “you’re good.” “You’re better. I can’t play guitar like you.” “Nah. Just had more practice at best. Your voice is pretty, so pretty.” “Oh, I’m not so good at playing. I’m better at singing,” you say. “Four basic chords are about my limit on the guitar.” “Don’t do yourself down.” “Trust me, I’m not.” You pause. ”Joel, you could - you could play with me. If I ever played here. it’s probably stupid.” There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’d like that.”

You’re accustomed to his presence, his low but grounding voice, his calm demeanour throughout all chaos.

He’s told you more about his past now. About Sarah and how her loss tore him apart for years, and also about the foster daughter he took in, Ellie. He won’t tell you much about Ellie though, except they stopped talking around about the time he became a bouncer. He once asked you if you would do anything to save the life of someone you love and you said yes. He nodded and moved on. You think it’s connected, you’re not sure.

You’ve worked at a bar long enough to know when it’ll be a bad night. There’s an electricity in the air, a tension that is so tight anything could snap it. You look over at Joel to see if he’s picked up on the same energy.

He’s sitting on the stool, observing quietly, but you notice the slight furrow in his brows. He looks at you and his mouth twitches into the smallest of smiles, but there’s anxiety in his eyes.

“I heard that Owen’s gang declared war on the Rattlers,” you say in a low voice. You don’t like Owen, or his friends, but the Rattlers are worst. Owen’s gang is the typical cliched grouping of a small town that’s become lost. They drink too much, throw punches without thinking and cause trouble. They’re not evil though.

The Rattlers are.

“Didn’t hear the Rattlers came through here,” Joel says in a low voice. “I heard of their reputation at a previous gig.”

“Their uh, second in command, is that the term? Anyway, he’s had a thing with someone in town for years. On and off. Guess it’s on again.”

“They cause trouble when they’re here?”

You scoff. “This was starting to feel like -”

“It still is, it still will. Let me do my job,” Joel says firmly.

You want to trust him; you do trust him. It’s the Rattlers that worry you, the feeling in your gut that this hard sought over peace is threatened, the deep and terrifying fear that this bar can never change. Not now. Not even with Joel.

Joel smiles at you, the picture of reassurance. “Owen might not come in here. This is hardly a welcome environment for his group anymore.”

“Joel,” you say nervously, “I just … I have a feeling.”

Joel doesn’t laugh or dismiss you; he straightens up and nods.

You’re not sure how things fall apart so quickly. One moment the bar was quiet, then Owen was there and before Joel could get him to leave, the Rattlers were here too. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was what they all wanted.

“Evening, unfortunately I need to ask you all to leave tonight,” Joel says politely, standing from his barstool. “I’m afraid the business is at capacity and we have a private function on.”

“Well,” Owen begins.

“Leave.”

“Look, Miller, it’s not -”

“I’m not asking, Owen.” Joel’s voice is low, deadly, the tone he uses when polite words fall flat, when it’s time to not be nice. “That goes to all of you.”

Owen falters slightly at the sound of that, you wonder if he remembers how things went the last time Joel used that voice.

“Y’all got a function on?” one of the Rattlers asks you. He’s covered in tattoos and is wearing a leather vest with numerous patches with no other top underneath. You wonder if he based his outfit on the existing tropes, if he’s intentionally as cliched as possible or if it truly is just an unspoken truth now. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail that highlights his receding hairline and a puckered scar that runs from his brow to his nose.

“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. While we, uh appreciate the desire to visit, I’m afraid Mr Miller is correct.“”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. It doesn’t look so-”

“Please,” you say quietly.

For a moment you wonder if it will work, you’re on bated breath as the Rattler steps back and moves to say something to his gang. However, that’s the very moment Owen smashes a chair on his back and hell breaks loose.

“Oh, thank you so fucking much for that,” Joel says in an irritated voice, immediately pulled into action to try and get the situation outside, away from the patrons, from you.

You step backwards, hoping the protection of the bar will be enough.

People are running out of the bar as the chaos unfolds. It’s a flood of sound,

Someone pushes Owen onto the bar, pummelling him as you try and back away. “Please stop,” you say.

Then a flash and searing heat.

That’s when you hear Joel swear, you notice his eyes have darkened, his entire demeanour has changed.

Your vision is blurred by something and you can feel a sharp pain on your face along with something sticky and hot when you touch it.

You shut your eyes, willing the events away and allowing yourself to crouch under the bar and wait for the noises to stop.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re fine.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise but we do have to close early today.”

There’s a pause, noise around you and then something cool on your face. “I need to see the damage, okay? It’s me, it’s Joel, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You open your eyes to see Joel crouched in front of you. He’s holding a damp cloth that is already soaked in red.

“You’ll need stitches, I’ll drive you.” Joel moves your head gently and nods. “Your eye looks okay; can you see normally?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

”Fucking - it was Owen, he grabbed a glass from the bar and instead of hitting the rattler - ”

“Got me.”

“Yeah. It’s deep but um ‘”

“I’ll live. I’m okay. Don’t need hospital.”

“Huh, you trying to prove a point here? How annoyin’ it is when someone who needs hospital won’t go?”

”It’s fine, Joel.”

“You’re hurt,” he says and he looks disappointed.

You feel a burst of shame, you should have defended yourself better.

“I’m going to call your cousin and tell her what happened and then I’m driving you to hospital. No arguments, okay?”

You try and smile weakly in acquiescence which seems to only make Joel frown more.

His hand lingers on your shoulder slightly as he hands you the seatbelt after bundling you into his truck. He moved quickly, closing the bar, making a hushed call in the corner to your cousin and then immediately guiding you out, a clean cloth placed in your hands to hold against your cut.

There’s a nodding dog ornament on the dash, something that doesn’t seem like Joel at all.

“Ellie,” he says quietly as he notices you looking at it. “Keep the pressure on that wound, okay?”

He turns out of the bar.

“Didn’t seem your sort of ornament,” you reply placidly.

“She called it Ernie, I - that kid.” Joel sighs heavily.

“You could call her,” you say, braver in the wake of your injury.

“I would. But she doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me.” He mumbles something else you can’t make out.

“You’re a good person, Joel. She -”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you say, “trust me, I know bad men, but you aren’t one of them. Owen? The Rattlers?”

“The bar’s pretty damn low there.”

“You know the town I live in.”

Joel chuckles mirthlessly.

“I was going to play tonight,” you say quietly, “I thought it was time. That’ll teach me.”

“You could still play, maybe tomorrow though.”

“It would be harder with the blood right now.”

“Just a tad.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Of course.”

You wonder if he’s trying to return a favour, whether he’s the sort of person who just can’t feel indebted to someone else. Now you’ve bled on his car too, now you’re even?

He looked worried though. You think about the way he sounded too, the forced calmness when he checked on you.

You’re friends.

That’s normal, right?

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “You shouldn’t have got hurt.”

“Joel, it’s … you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s not on you.”

“I should have -”

“Miller,” you say sharply, “it’s not on you. Not one bit. Do you think I can bar Owen for good now?”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon so.

“Good, well that’s something, isn’t it? Almost makes it worth it. Do you think it will scar?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

You pause. It’s vanity, you know, but the idea of this leaving a permanent scar on your face hurts worse than the injury itself.

“That’s not ideal. I-it’s stupid.” It feels so foolish to be worried about a scar when things could be so much worse, for your own vanity to say ‘well, now, you’ll never make it as a musician or star’ or to focus on your looks. It’s normal, it’s human, but it makes you feel guilty.

Joel looks at you carefully and he places a warm, solid hand on your hand that is not holding a compress to your face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” he says in a low voice. “This won’t change that. It couldn’t, okay?”

No-one calls you beautiful. There’s been half-hearted claims of your ‘hotness’ with exes, of your friends’ encouragement when you make a particular effort in your appearance, but nothing like this. Nothing that feels this sincere either.

He takes his hand away as the doctor joins you. You can feel the heat lingering like butterflies as the doctor attends to your wound.

Joel stays with you the whole time.

You hear the guitar before you can see him. Soft, melodic chords that reach a crescendo as you walk closer to the small cabin style house he’s renting. You’re not sure if it’s a complete betrayal of the trust from when you dropped him off after his hospital trip weeks ago, but you need to see him outside of the bar.

“Hey,” he says in surprise when he sees you. He places the guitar carefully down before standing up to greet you.

“I’m sorry to just turn up, I hope it’s okay.” You awkwardly clasp your hands and wring them together. “I was passing through and I thought - I thought I’d say hi.”

This is a complete lie; you are not passing through at all.

You’re wearing your favourite outfit and you sprayed an extra two spritzes of your best perfume on this morning. In fact, you have made considerable effort when you think about all of this.

“No, it’s great. I’m happy you stopped by.”

“You’re good. The guitar, it was … really good. I’ve not heard you play that before.”

“Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s really good.”

“Nah, not really.”

You frown, hands on your hips and he raises his own hands in defence.

“Can I - do you want a drink?” Joel indicates inside the cabin and you nod enthusiastically.

“That would be great, thanks Joel.”

There are three cabins in the area that a local businessman rents out. Joel’s cabin is the closest to the woods, the one that’s slightly hidden away. Inside it looks like a typical rental; the slightly shabby furniture and neutral demeanour that feels void of any character, the aged kitchen stove and units, an abundance of wood furniture.

There are touches of Joel too though. There’s a vinyl player and box of records on the coffee table, a plaid blanket over the sofa and a couple of photos on the fireplace mantle. You think they might be Sarah, maybe Ellie, but you don’t want to pry.

This changes things. It’s not the bar, neither of you are at work, or hanging out outside after a shift. This feels more personal, more intimate. This is Joel Miller, the real Joel, the one you can’t hide your feelings for now.

You do have feelings for Joel.

It’s funny, when he started you wanted to keep him at a distance because you expected him to leave like everyone else, you thought the bar was beyond help. You wondered if you were beyond your dreams. He’s helping bring you back though.

It’s his calm demeanour, the wry expressions and dry humour, his plaid shirts and the way when he smiles, which is rare but you’ve seen it, his whole face softens and lightens up. It’s electric.

You think about him all the time; reading articles you try and remember to bring up at the bar, when you hear a song he’d like. Joel’s found his way into your life and you don’t want to let him go.

He’ll leave though. The bouncers inevitably do, most people in your life do. You just don’t want that with him. You want him to stay.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks.

“Why?”

“You have that serious thought face on.”

“I have a serious thought face?”

Joel scoffs. “So, what’s up?”

“I just - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Joel frowns then. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, c’mon I said I’d get you a drink, right?” Joel indicates the sturdy wooden table and you sit obligingly. “So I’ve got a choice of tea, well It says it’s tea anyway. Uh, some whiskey, beer, water …. I’m out of coffee.”

“That should be illegal.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“I might just leave now.”

“Wouldn’t blame ya.”

He’s close to you now and you feel emboldened by the fact you’re here, you’re with him and he’s not pushing you away or looking like he wants to leave. Maybe, just maybe this is a great idea.

“Now I think about it though, I’m not sure that I’m thirsty after all,�� you say boldly.

“Oh no?” He leans in closer, hands hovering just over your waist. “Look, you don’t want -”

“I do. I do want.”

Joel swallows. “Really?” He’s looking at you as though you’re something mythical, something intangible he could lose at any second. There’s reverence in his eyes and it’s overwhelming and beautiful at once.

You nod. “I’m not the only one here who - I’m not though, right?” There’s a hint of nervousness in your voice now, a sense that perhaps this isn’t the great idea you thought it was just seconds ago. It’s like whiplash. This is why you should just focus on music instead.

“No,” Joel says softly, “you’re not.”

His hands, hands you’ve seen both acts of violence and hold your injured face so gently, skim your body. Joel’s hands, like him, are contradictions. He steps minutely closer, a little more into your space and oh so welcome.

He smells like soap and coffee, with the faint hints of autumn you noticed around the cabin and there’s something magic in this Joel Miller. Something in every sense of him, the way he touches you, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin and sound of his voice that instantly draws you closer, that makes heat pool in your stomach.

He kisses you and you reach for his hands, entwines them together. He stops, concern mounting over his face. “You’re injured, I should have -”

“Doesn’t hurt,” you say softly, drawing him close again.

You’re a mess of hands and lips, a clash of sensations and finally, finally this is happening you think as h guides you further into the cabin. Towards his bedroom.

He guides you past the kitchenette, down the narrow corridor to his room.

You want to drink him in, absorb every detail of his body and commit it to memory.

There’s a ragged scar on his abdomen, a light scattering of stories across his body from other bars, other jobs, other Joels.

There are other details you want to remember though, especially the look in his eyes right now, heavy with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. You’ve heard the words before in similar settings but it’s been clear to you it’s the lust, it’s the ‘right’ thing to say. You know when isn’t meant, the lack sincerity signalling a paint by the numbers dalliance at best.

Joel’s voice is fervent though. Honest. He means this.

The majority of your clothes are soon discarded, both yours and his in a combined mess on the floor.

Your hands are running through his hair as he guides you onto the bed, as his fingers hover over the edge of your underwear.

He pauses, just for a moment. You wonder if it’s recognition of the line you’re both about to cross, if it’s to give you the space to confirm that yes, you still want him, to offer an out just in case.

You reach for his face, run your hand down his stubbly cheek. You’re trying to sum up your thoughts, to bring everything you want to say together into a neat sentence.

You smile and gently say, “I want you, want this. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d want me. Been driving myself crazy thinkin’ about you lately.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you show me what you thought about?” you ask.

He smiles as his fingers finally reach beneath your underwear, carefully pulling them down and then gently gliding his finger.

You’re wet, almost embarrassingly so, you think, for just making out.

“This all for me?” He asks with a devilishly teasing tone.

You don’t immediately answer, just smirk as he teases up to your clit and traces circles around it, smiling as you finally make a groan of contentment.

He slides a finger inside you, lazily moving it within you, finding that spot that makes you moan, adding another finger.

You feel close already, but he withdraws his fingers and then, looking at you, brings them to his mouth one at a time in a move that makes your cheeks heat up.

He moves to his bedside drawer, fumbling for a box of condoms you suppose. You’re still lost in catching your breath, in replaying the last few moments, in anticipating what’s about to happen.

He kisses you before positioning himself and you ready yourself for him.

You’re entwined, adjusting yourself for the feel of him, the weight of him. Hands interlocked with his as he finally moves, as he meets your kiss once again.

He adapts quickly, noticing micro=movements or sounds and changing his rhythm to draw every one of them out, to bring you to the edge once more.

You’re both a mess of rushed breaths, a chorus of names and gasps, ebbing and flowing to tease each other apart.

He’s everything and nothing like you expected. Hoped for even.

The feeling builds in your stomach, the rush of pleasure building almost unbearably.

Finally, finally you get your release. The ripples of pleasure ride through your body as the two of you lie together, boneless, catching your breath.

You usually feel a need to say something, to fill a silence, but it’s comfortable. You roll over, daringly placing an arm over Joel’s chest and leaning close. He pulls you towards you, kissing your brow lazily

You can feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.

You feel like you could stay here forever.

Instead though, you’re practical. You excuse yourself to his bathroom to clean up.

You take in your reflection; the telltale signs of your exploits feel so visible to you as you freshen up.

He’s not in bed when you return. You pull your clothes on and head back into the main room of the cabin.

Joel’s wearing his jeans and not much else, humming as he concentrates on something by the stove.

“I promised tea, didn’t I?”

“We did get sidetracked.”

“Well, that was welcome,” Joel says. His voice is so much softer than you’ve heard it in the bar. There’s a vulnerability leaking through with each moment you stay here. It’s two sided, you can feel your own edges softening, a desire to open yourself even more to the man in front of you.

“I agree.”

The kettle boils and you watch Joel making the tea, try and not lose yourself in the broadness of his shoulders.

“So …” you break off, swinging your arms nervously and then wrapping them around yourself.

Joel hands you a steaming mug. “So,” he says. His voice is calm though, relaxed and somehow that helps.

“That wasn’t exactly ”

“Would you have been wearing a trench coat?”

“That a fantasy or something, Joel?”

He laughs. “Maybe, maybe it is.”

“Okay then. Logging that for another day.”

“Oh really?” Joel’s smile warms his entire face, it softens each feature and it’s something you never want to stop seeing.

It feels like you’ve known him so much longer. You feel comfortable in his house, you feel comfortable around him.

“So we’re opening back up at the weekend,” you say, “Got any plans for this time off?”

“Nope. You?”

You shake your head. “How about that?”

“Hmm, that’s not right. We should do something about that. Let me take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?“

“People still do that, right?”

“Yes, but - I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll uh, defer to your recommendation, seeing as you know this area more.” It hits you then. Joel doesn’t have roots here and the bar, except for the Rattlers, has improved. What does this town, what do you have to offer?

“Are you going to leave?” you ask suddenly, the anxious thought you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

“Leave?”

“When the bar’s open, when there’s no trouble.”

“There’s always some trouble.”

“Don’t. You know what I mean.”

Joel sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “Usually, I would.”

“But this isn’t usual?”

He points his hand at you and adds, “I don’t make a habit of this. I don’t …. Usually, yes I go in and out of places and I don’t stay long.”

Your heart sinks. “I understand,” you lie.

“I think, I think maybe there are some reasons to stick around here though?” It’s a question, not a confirmation. It strikes you then that maybe Joel feels just as exposed as you do.

“I think there could be,” you say.

“Good. I’m glad.“

The bar looks like the Rattlers never came through here. Everything is neat, clean and in its place. There are no broken chairs or tables. It seems almost impossible for how short a time ago it was.

Joel helped, you realise, he helped your cousin bring this place back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, “I can cover the bar if you need -”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure.”

You pause and run your hand over the smooth, clean bar surface. You think of Joel, of the conversations over so many nights about music, about what makes you happy. “Can you still cover the bar for a bit?”

“Sure.” Your cousin pauses and hesitantly puts down the crate of soda bottles. “Is everything -”

“I want to play tonight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to stop waiting right for the right moment, right? Just do it,” you say.

“And this has nothing to do with a certain bouncer?”

“No,” you say, thinking of the scar on your face, the battles you’ve won and will win in the future. “It’s for me.”

You can feel his eyes on you. It doesn’t make you feel nervous or under a spotlight though as you carefully sit on the stool.

It’s almost as though it’s just the two of you. Another night after work under the stars and messing around with a guitar. Or outside his cabin, thick flannel wrapped around you as you both play.

The bar feels safer somehow. It’s funny considering the recent Rattlers attack. Maybe that’s why - they came in and they tried to wreck the place, you were caught in that crossfire, but you survived. The bar survived. And the locals are back, the locals you wanted back. If you shut your eyes, it almost feels like before when your family ran the place.

It’s different though, because it’s your cousins. Because even though it might not be on paper, it’s yours too. Your legacy. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You don’t want to feel cynical about this town.

You look at Joel and smile and then you start playing.

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

#joel miller x reader #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us #tlou fic #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us

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stinmybubs · 2 days

Text

“Rot my brain.”

Roommate B. Katsuki in love with a girl whose addicted to video games.

B. Katsuki x AFAB! Reader

Bakugou never understood why you were so glued to your PC or any console you could get your little hands on. Sitting there for hours and hours playing brain rotting video games.

It pissed him the fuck off.

You barley left your room other to use the bathroom, shower, eat, and clean out your room. He was a bit glad you were a clean type of gamer instead of a stinky messy one.

Random packages you’d order always piling up at the door, he almost tripped over them when he had to leave for work. How the fuck were you able to afford so much shit without a job?

He would make dinner in hopes you would eat with him, but of course you always ate ramen or some sort of frozen meal before he even got home.

He felt as if he was living alone with some girl coming and going at random times, he barley saw you. Which he should be thankful for, but he was head over heels for you, why? He doesn’t even know.

Maybe it was the time you helped him back in the apartment when he was drunk, letting him rant to you on your shared couch before you slipped away to your cave.

Or the time he accidentally walked in on you cosplaying a character in a skimpy outfit, taking pictures of yourself in lewd positions before you screamed at him to get out of your room.

Or maybe it was the little conversations you two would have at the most unexpected times. The conversations that made it seem you two knew each other for a life time.

He had to find out what the hype was about, so he barged into your room while you were playing a very competitive game. Clearly you didn’t notice his hand placed on the back of your chair as he hovered over you.

He didn’t know what game you were playing, it was a first person shooter so it could honestly be any game in the world.

“One flank.” You speaking spooked him a bit, he hasn’t seen you so focused on something ever.

Soon the game ended, with him sitting there next to you the whole time. You took of your headphones, letting them slide down your neck while you leaned back in your chair with a long sigh. “I’m loosing my mind…” turning to grab your water you jump in fear at the man sitting next to you.

“HOLY SHIT BAKUGOU!” You scream, leaning so back your chair almost falls backwards but Katsuki was quick enough to catch you.

“What the fuck are you doing in here!? When did you even get in??”

“I jst’ wanted to see what the hype was all about. You’re always in your room playin this shit.”

“Oh…uh, I don’t know why I’m so into this game, it makes me so fucking mad I hate it so much.”

“Then why do ya’ keep playin it.”

“Cuz it’s fun.”

Katsuki just looked at you like you said the most dumbest shit he’s ever heard. Which made you burst into laughter.

“Here I’ll teach you how to play! And maybe you could be my duo!” You cheered letting him take your spot in your chair.

After that day Katsuki played with you whenever had had free time, forcing you to eat dinner with him outside your room and stop eating all that processed shit you always ate.

This way you two got closer, he of course didn’t play all the time since he didn’t want his brain to rot and he had a full time job. So he stopped to watch you in your room, hanging out on your bed watching you closely. Probably making fun of your plays too.

You ended up opening up to katsuki, getting out of your room more whenever he got home, you at the door greeting him was always the best part of his day. He loved having movie night with you, he never shows it but he was just so happy to be closer to you.

Sooner or later, you two were more than just roommates.

AN: school is kicking my butt cuz of graduation. I am trying to finish all my 100 follower specials!

(;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

#mha x reader #mha fanfiction #mha writing #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugo katuski #bakugou smut #katsuki bakugou

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vivwritesfics · 2 days

Note

ok now that i got confirmation u like 5sos... may i pls request down bad rookie logan based on try hard 🤪

Noelle I love you but i couldn't work a song fic for this one, tried it from several angles, so i am gifting you an angsty bestie logan thing

idk if Fort Lauderdale has a beach, now it does

"I hate it when you're not here," she said down the phone as she laid back on her bed.

Her alarm clock sitting on the dresser flashed a ridiculous time in the morning, but she knew that wasn't the time where Logan was. The exhaustion was worth it to get to speak to him.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, sounding just as tired as she was. But this was because he had just woken up, not that he hadn't yet slept (like her). "But I'm coming back soon."

"Home."

But it wasn't his home, was it? Not anymore. No, his home was shitty shitty England, wasn't it?

Florida didn't feel right without him there.

But he was out living his dream, so she couldn't bring herself to hate him. She could never bring herself to hate him.

Her favourite time of year was when Logan came home. For the Miami Grand prix, for Christmas, for her birthday. Yeah, he'd never miss her birthday, if he could help it. It had been that way since his karting days, but back then his parent's used to pay for him to come home. Now he could afford it himself.

She let out a yawn, one she hoped he couldn't hear.

"Jesus, what time is it there?"

She didn't answer it right away, but Logan worked it out in his head. "Three in the morning, right?" He asked and she let out a hum. "Shit, go to sleep, you psycho," he said through a laugh.

She rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn't hide her smile. Not that she needed to hide her smile on the other side of the world. "I'll be awake for the race," she mumbled, her voice groggy.

"Just sleep," he said, voice soft. But it always was with her.

This was the way it always was around the Miami Grand Prix. She had the day marked in the calendar, and it couldn't come sooner.

Logan was all she had in Florida. It was pathetic, wasn't it? That he was her only friend in Florida. Without him there, she was lost. Working, sleeping. Working, sleeping. Working, sleeping.

But then Logan was back. Her best friend had returned. He was there before the rest of the grid, spent as much time as he could in Fort Lauderdale with his family.

And, of course, her.

His best friend, the one he had left behind to go out and live his life.

He'd missed her, missed her so fucking much. But he was busy. He had his family to spend time with, had a race to prepare for. No matter how hard he tried, he just didn't have time.

And that fucking sucked.

Oh well, at least their phone calls were at normal times.

(Not oh well, she really wanted to see him, really wanted to spend time with her best fucking friend).

And then Logan got mad. Maybe she was trying too hard to spend some time with him. He was a busy guy. If he could have, he would have made time for her. But he absolutely did not have time for her. And her constant insisting was getting grating.

It was stress, too. That was what had Logan shouting at her down the phone.

It wasn't taken well, to say the least. She hung up on him, tears springing to her eyes. Fucking asshole. All she wanted to do was spend fucking time with him. Fuck that fucking asshole.

She ended up at the beach, with almost no idea how she got there. The beach was empty as she sat in the sand, but that wasn't surprising. Even spring breakers didn't stay on the beach this late. But there was something about staring at the waves as they crashed against the sand.

Of course, Logan felt incredibly guilty about losing his shit at her. He stared down at his phone for a good minute before he tried to call her back.

He tried again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

Eventually he bit the bullet, got into his car and headed to his house. He didn't see her own car in the drive, but didn't let that bother him as he climbed out and knocked on the door.

He should have guessed that she wasn't there. It made sense the more he thought about it, where else was her car?

If her parents knew where she was, they would have told him. But Logan could take a guess. He climbed back into his car, backed out of the drive, and headed to the beach.

When Logan saw her, his heart dropped.

She hadn't done this in years, and it had never been his fault. When they were kids he'd sit there with her. He'd let her sit with her head on his shoulder, he'd drive her home after. And now she was there and it was his fault.

Slowly, Logan climbed out of his car. His hands were shoved into his pockets as he headed towards her.

Even kicking the sand, she didn't hear him. Not until he was sitting down beside her, copying her pose. Logan opened his mouth, ready to apologise.

But he didn't get that far.

"Do you ever feel so... out of place?" She wasn't looking at him, instead looking at the reflection of the moon on the water. "Like everyone else has left you behind?"

Logan sucked in a breath. After a year on the grid, it was a feeling he knew all too well. Hesitantly, he placed his arms over her shoulders. "Maybe you should leave Fort Lauderdale." His voice came out as more of a mumble, a struggle to hear. "You know, travel for a while."

She sucked in a shuddering breath. "Where the hell would I go, Logan?" She spat. But her head fell forward. "I didn't mean to say it like that."

"No, it's okay." he squeezed her tighter. "You could come stay in London with me, come travelling to races with me. God knows I miss the fuck out of you when you're not here."

The noise she made was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Come stay with you? Are you serious?"

He nodded.

She leaned back, digging her palms into the sand. "Okay, Logie Bear, I'll take you up on it. Just... try not to fall in love with me."

It was a joke, of course it was a joke. Why else would she have said it like that?

"No promises," he mumbled, voice barely audible as he pulled her closer.

If you enjoyed this, please feel free to buy me a coffee

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant x you #ls2 #ls2 imagine #ls2 x reader #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 day

Text

The Eye of the Hurricane [22] - Newcomers

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: New deals mean new players.

Word Count: 2300

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

You had always loved watching the city at night.

When you were little, after making sure everyone else at home were asleep, you would sneak out of your room to get to the terrace, and sit there for hours, watching the glimmering stars and the city lights. Even after you grew up, it still filled you with a sense of peace-

Well.

Until now.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you only noticed Bucky’s presence in the living room when he touched your arm to hold out a cup of coffee. You paused for a moment, then shook your head.

“No thank you,” you murmured and he put it on the coffee table, then clicked his tongue.

“You didn’t sleep last night?”

“I couldn’t,” you managed to say. “I know I said I’d come to bed, but…”

A silence fell upon you before Bucky heaved a sigh from behind you.

“Charm, last night—”

“Was the proof, wasn’t it?” you asked. “He doesn’t believe in me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It makes it official.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s official or not.”

You shook your head again and he clasped his hands over your shoulders, your eyes fluttering close for a moment despite your better judgement, a warmth spreading over your skin before you opened your eyes again.

“The therapist said open communication,” he told you, making you roll your eyes.

“You don’t even believe in all that.”

“You do,” he said. “And he said we’re supposed to talk about our feelings so, how do you feel?”

“I want to kill Ian.”

“I don’t think that counts as a feeling, Charm.”

“Not with that attitude, it doesn’t.”

A small chuckle spilled from his lips.

“Listen, you know I have no problems with killing him, but you told me yourself that it’s not the way to putting you on top. Besides—” he paused and shook his head. “Your father named him his heir, and he’s not an idiot. He would know that we killed him, which is fine by me but…”

“That’d officially put an end to the truce,” you finished his sentence for him. “It’d make me look just like Ian, and then no one would back me up because the whole reason why we’re doing this is to keep the truce.”

“Not the whole reason.”

You turned your head to look at him and he scoffed a laugh.

“Come on Charm,” he said. “You can tell everyone else whatever you want but part of the reason why you want that crown is because you want power. It’s not the worst thing in the world.”

You swallowed thickly and turned around to see him better.

“I want to keep the peace.”

“Never said you didn’t,” he murmured. “But someone has to be on that throne while keeping the peace.”

You ran a hand over your face.

“The meeting is next month with the rest of the bosses,” you said. “If my father named him heir, it means he gave him some sort of responsibility, something to give him the opportunity to show off. A part of the territory, or…”

“He wouldn’t give him a part of the territory,” Bucky told you. “Not with HYDRA attacking every territory. He can’t afford any security flaws.”

You arched a brow. “Shipment?”

“Shipment,” Bucky said with a nod of his head and you tapped your lips with your finger, stepping away from him.

“That could make things easier for me,” you said. “And to make sure he makes a mistake.”

Bucky grinned at you.

“You know how it works,” he said. “A lot of things could go wrong with the shipments.”

The question you wanted to ask him was on the tip of your tongue but before you could open your mouth, his phone started vibrating and he took a look at the screen, then held it up.

“Speaking of shipment,” he said. “Excuse me.”

He answered the phone and walked away from you, and you bit inside your cheek, massaging your temples. Your headache from last night was getting heavier by the minute the more you thought about it, so you pressed your palms on your eyes, then dropped your hands.

“I need a nap,” you muttered to yourself and made your way to the bedroom with Alpine following you.

When you woke up from your nap to the nonstop vibration of your phone, it was already afternoon and as the note on bedside table told you, Bucky had already left for work. You rubbed at your eyes and grabbed your phone, pressing your lips together when you saw your father’s name flashing on the screen. For a couple of seconds, you considered not answering but the old habits were hard to shake off so you touched the screen and took the phone to your ear.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he said. “I hope you weren’t busy?”

You bit inside your cheek, commanding yourself to be calm.

“Father.”

“We could barely talk last night,” he said. “How are you?”

“How do you think?” you asked back and he heaved a sigh.

“I’d rather it if we didn’t have this conversation on the phone,” he said, making you let out a dry chuckle.

“I agree.”

“But I’d like to invite you and Bucky for dinner whenever you’re free this week,” he said. “Your aunt is back in the city, she arrived this morning and she’s so excited to see you again.”

You rolled your eyes and made a face.

“She said that?”

“Of course. Despite some disagreements, we’re still a family and she knows it. So does Ian.”

You dragged the tip of your tongue over your teeth, willing yourself not to take the bait.

“I know you’re angry,” he said, making you raise your brows. “But in time, you will see that I’m looking out for you.”

“Oh do you now?”

“Y/N…”

“I’ll ask Bucky when he’s free this week,” you told him. “I can let your assistant know.”

“You can just let me know,” he told you. “It’d be a nice change, getting a phone call from you. Just saying.”

You bit back the retort and threw your shoulders back.

“Is there anything else, father?” you asked, your voice completely calm and he paused for a moment before heaving a sigh.

“No,” he said. “See you at dinner then.”

“Sure,” you said and hung up, then threw the phone on the other side of the bed with a groan. Alpine meowed from her spot on the floor and you hung your head off the side of the bed to see her better.

“Fathers, am I right?” you asked and she blinked at you, then made her way to you to plop down next to you. You reached out to scratch at her head and heaved a sigh.

“Do you want to come to that dinner?”

Alpine meowed again and ran back to her spot, making you click your tongue.

“Of course you don’t,” you said and sat up, then pushed yourself off the bed. “Very well then. Let’s text auntie Becca and Leila to see what they’re up to and if they want to go shopping with me. Some distraction can’t hurt.”

As it turned out, Becca and Leila were busy; Becca had therapy while Leila had to drop by her office to take care of some last minute changes. You did manage to distract yourself a little with shopping, and once you got bored you decided to pick up sandwiches from the shop you knew Bucky liked, then told your driver to take you to Bucky’s office.

When you got to Bucky’s office, his assistant greeted you and stood up.

“He’s about to be finished with his meeting, Mrs. Barnes,” she said as Bucky’s laughter reached outside, making you tilt your head.

“Sounds like a fun meeting.”

She offered you an apologetic smile.

“The sign of a deal gone well,” she said. “Miss Williams was already sure of herself when she walked in, I’m not surprised."

That made you arch a brow.

“Miss Williams?” you asked and she nodded.

“Mr. Barnes’ appointment,” she said, motioning inside and you nodded.

“Ah,” you said, your stomach doing an unpleasant flip for some reason before you threw your shoulders back. “I’m in a bit of a hurry actually, I’ll just—”

You didn’t even bother finishing your sentence as you walked to the door and knocked, then stepped inside and closed the door behind you. Bucky’s smile widened when he saw you and the woman sitting on the armchair across from his desk looked over her shoulder, letting you see her face.

Oh.

Well, apparently this Miss Williams was not only funny, but also very beautiful.

What you were feeling couldn’t possibly be jealousy of course, perhaps just mild irritation but you didn’t dwell on it as Bucky stood up to walk to you.

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss on your temple. “Anna, this is Y/N, my wife. Y/N, this is Anna, our new shipment manager.”

You willed a smile on your face and walked to her as she stood up as well, then offered your hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Barnes,” she said with a smile as she shook your hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“So have I,” you said as Bucky went to sit behind his desk again and you took the armchair across from her. “Sam speaks very highly of you, Miss Williams.”

“Please call me Anna,” she said with a wave of her hand. “And I’m forever in Sam’s debt. He was the first person to actually give me a chance in all this.”

“Sam has a talent for finding the best people for the job,” Bucky said, making Anna grin.

“I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

“No no, don’t,” Bucky told her. “He will hold it over my head forever.”

You bit inside your cheek, trying to shake off the discomfort pulling at your stomach before you crossed your legs.

“Oh but I must tell him,” Anna teased him. “He’s my first reference after all. There has to be some loyalty.”

“Can I by any chance buy your loyalty?”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if anyone could buy my loyalty,” Anna said with a grin, making Bucky chuckle.

“Very well then.”

It wasn’t jealousy.

Of course it wasn’t, you and Bucky weren’t even together.

In any case, you were irritated because this was a business decision and Bucky had decided to hire her without so much as your input, that was all.

That had to be it.

Anna’s phone beeped and she took a look at the screen, then gasped.

“Oh I completely lost the track of time!” she said, jumping on her feet. “I had another meeting, I’m so sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Bucky said, standing up as well. “So my people will send your people the details then.”

“That sounds good,” she said and shook his hand. “Looking forward to doing business with you, Bucky.”

First name basis.

Great.

“And it was a pleasure to meet you,” she told you and you nodded, giving her a smile.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

“I’ll see you later then,” she told Bucky and walked out of the office, then closed the door behind her. You tried to get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth, then cleared your throat, shifting your weight.

“The new shipment manager?” you asked and Bucky nodded.

“She’s a genius,” he told you, making you arch a brow. “Seriously, I thought Sam was exaggerating it, but apparently he downplayed it.”

You picked at a piece of lint on your dress, humming.

“I thought I was going to be involved in the business decisions,” you said, making him frown slightly.

“Yeah but this has nothing to do with your father’s business,” he said. “Or the plan. It’s just shipment, and I killed the last guy because he tried to kill me. You were there.”

“Right.”

“Sam vouched for her,” he reminded you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah I know, it’s just…” you trailed off and shook your head. “Never mind.”

“Charm.”

“I just think it’s funny you had no problem involving me when it was a guy, and now that it’s a very hot woman, you decided not to involve me.”

“That’s not what it’s—are you actually jealous?” he asked as if the mere idea was ridiculous and you let out a small laugh.

“Jealous?” you repeated. “Get over yourself Buck. You told me I would be involved in the business decisions, you can’t blame me for questioning whether it has changed.”

He gave you a chiding look.

“It hasn't,” he said. “Sam vouched for her, and it’s just one shipment right now as a trial period. I can give you her file if you want.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“No, if you decided she’s good, I’m not going to muddy the waters,” you said. “Trial period it is.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “And you’re sure it’s just the business side of things?”

You scoffed.

“No, this is me telling you I desire you carnally,” you spat, making him chuckle and hold up his hands.

“Fine,” he said. “Just asking.”

“I brought you lunch but if you’re going to be like this, I’ll eat what I brought in front of you—”

“You brought lunch?” he cut you off, staring at you and you nodded.

“Yeah, why?”

“Marry me.”

“Way ahead of you on that one,” you deadpanned, then let out a laugh. “Why?”

“I haven’t eaten anything whole day,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “What did you bring?”

“Sandwiches from that shop you like.”

“Jesus, you’re amazing,” he told you and you grinned, then stood up from the armchair.

“I really am,” you told him as you walked to get the paper bags from the waiting room. “Make sure to keep that in mind, will you?”

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barbwritesstuff · 1 day

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Congratulations on the update! I loved so many things about Nathan's romance scene. The wonderful and hilarious telephone part, the soft concerned Nathan when MC hurt themselves rather than bite him. Ahhhhh. Can't wait to see Iliya's scene! I have a lore question: how long could a vampire live without their hunger getting so bad they just can't not kill humans to survive? How long would animal/dead blood be enough? What if they are "hunters" and for example kill human murderers or can afford/steal from blood banks or something like that?

Every vampire is different. It can happen sooner, or later. It might take a hundred years. It might take a thousand.

But eventually animal blood won't satisfy.

Dead blood won't satisfy.

Eventually, the sheer amount of blood a vampire needs to survive will necessitate killing every night.

Perhaps you'll justify it by only killing 'bad' people. You wouldn't be the first vampire to go down that road. But how can you find that many monsters? What exactly makes a human deserving of death? What happens when you can't find anyone?

Nathan's asking... at what point will you end it? Because, eventually, if you survive that long, that'll be your choice. Your eternity vs human life.

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orionremastered · 17 hours

Note

Hello!

I recently read your shifter!reader and i wonder if you could do something like the wolf walkers movie? Please? Like reader shifting in to a big wolf when they're sleeping and theyr body is there but theyr soul become a physical wolf

Masterlist

idk why but i can't tag anyone rn? tf? anyhoo no taglist

Rare

Rare. That's the word they described you with; your name synonymous with it. By being a dire wolf shifter, you are part of the small group within the already small amount of shifters in the world; the shifters that could turn into extinct creatures.

Rare. Like your favourite painting. An art nerd you shall forever stay, especially with your recently obtained degree in Art History, gazing upon the intricate colours and strokes, perfectly placed and perfectly designed. It tells a story that you can only hear if you strain your ears.

Rare. There's only one of that painting and it's being displayed, the original copy, in Gotham. Most thieves ignore the paintings in Gotham because these museums usually have alarms that don't call the cops, but something worse. You've just chosen to watch over it because you're broke and can't afford a ticket to the gallery it's important to you and should stay safe.

Rare. Thieves thinking that it'd be funny to try and steal it while a wolf whose head reaches their chests stalks the art exhibit. You sense them far before they notice you, and decide to politely alert them so with a snarl. Their heads whip around and all six of them pull out rifles, beginning to fire.

Rare. The chances of you still being in one piece as you duck behind a stone sculpture, snarling as they damage the statue. Then screams as some of the gunfire lessens. You charge out, teeth bared to defend the masterpieces all around you. Taking one down is easy when his back is turned, and you take down the last one just as fast.

Rare. The chances of three shifters, two well-known 'friends' that often work together as vigilantes Golden and Wraith, and then you. A dire wolf shifter and larger than both. They stare at each other and then back at you.

Rare. That's what a mental link between shifters is, and it's even more strange for them to include a new shifter into their link so quickly.

Wraith: Who are you?

You: I could ask the same.

Golden: You're a dire wolf shifter? Aren't those rare?

You: They are rare.

One of the windows slowly opens as two figures enter the exhibit, sighing at the thieves at your feet (paws?). Then they see you and exchange a glance of disbelief.

"What's this? A dire wolf shifter?" Nightwing asks, patting Golden on the head. You're aware that the two vigilante shifters have a good reputation with the human-form vigilantes, especially the youngest, Robin, who stands beside Nightwing. According to Wraith, he's an animal lover.

"They're quite rare," Robin muses, slowly scratching behind your ear to test the waters.

Rare. That's what you are, and now that's who you are.

#batfam #batfamily x reader #damian wayne x reader #batfamily #dick grayson x reader #shifter reader #shifters

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doodle-pops · 1 day

Text

Love Language

CEO & Sugar Daddy!Fingolfin x f!reader

Request: Sending you a request for CEO+Sugar Daddy Fingolfin x reader, where reader doesn’t do well on one of her tests at school so he ‘punishes’ her / ‘helps’ her study for the next one? - Anon

A/N: Not gonna lie, it’s such a perfect time to post this fic when lots of you already finished your exams and are awaiting your results. Hehe, enjoy :)

Warnings: female reader, smut, CEO & Sugar Daddy!Fingolfin, dom!Fingolfin, sub!reader, fingering, blindfolding, rough sex, orgasm denial, spanking, daddy & authority kink (used once), punishment, dirty talking

Words: 3k

Synopsis: Failing your exams was one thing, however, lying while keeping it hidden was another, and Fingolfin made sure you remembered that.

Manspreading on the edge of his bed, left arm resting on his knee while the right was busy unfastening his tie, he followed up his actions with the unbuttoning of the first two buttons. A small peak of his chiselled chest as the two buttons became undone, leaving the mouth-watering sight of the neck you so loved covering in hickeys and teeth marks when he took you hard. His sleeves were already rolled to his elbows, veins prominent and delicately wrapping around his arms, leading to his large hands that always gripped you like his life depended on it. A quick shuffle of his arms as he tugged the tie from around his neck, and his biceps curled under his sleeves, looking beefy and sturdy—all his years of hitting the gym paid off wonderfully.

“Do you have any idea how much I invested in your success?” His voice was a low, dangerous murmur, dripping with controlled anger. He slowly rose off the bed and chartered over to his mini bar to pour himself a shot of brandy, something to add heat to the fire already building within his core. The entire time, his eyes never left yours as he tilted the glass to his lips, staring at your meek form across the room. His eyes were filled with disappointment and frustration. “And you dare lie to me, thinking I wouldn’t find out?”

His words cut through the silence, sharp and authoritative. You could barely manage a syllable, much less a guttural sound from the waves of anger rolling off him. You felt the heat in your stomach travelling to regions it shouldn’t, knowing how things were about to escalate. Nevertheless, your panties started soaking as your arousal slowly seeped through your fold and you shifted on your feet, something Fingolfin noticed.

Gently resting the glass down, Fingolfin wiggled out of his dress shoes, followed by his socks and pushed them aside to stand bare feet on the carpet. You weren’t even aware of his presence before you, as he crossed the room with blinding speed to tower above you, intimidatingly. “Strip. Now.” The command was issued with such finality that you didn’t dare hesitate to resist or sass. Your hands trembled slightly as you undressed, feeling the weight of his disapproval heavy in the air.

Once you were completely bare, he circled you slowly, inspecting you as if deciding your fate. Goosebumps appeared in every area his cold eyes fell upon. “You failed me,” he said, his tone cold. “I expected much more from you, and worse, you tried to hide it from me. Such behaviour needs to be rectified, and what better way than to clarify it via my favourite method? Do you not agree?”

“Yes,” you curtly responded, not wanting to bore him with any extra syllables in his current state of dissatisfaction, while further understanding what you had signed up for. Walking for the next few days was out of the question. Thankful, you were on holiday, so you could more than afford to lounge in bed all day and night—just not in the manner he was about to make it.

There was a low grumble in his chest at your reply. His head dipped to lowly his lips to your ear. “Yes, who?”

“Yes, sir,” you corrected your posture immediately at attention.

There was a distinctive clicking of his tongue behind you and the faint whisps of his breath against your neck. Then, very delicately, you felt his fingers pressing against your lower back, guiding you to his pristine sheets and positioning you to kneel with your face pressed into the mattress. Fingolfin’s fingers traced along your spine, a deceptive gentleness in his touch. “You need to understand the consequences of your actions,” he continued, his voice softening just enough to send shivers down your spine and while leaving you anticipating.

Moving behind you stealthy, you missed the sound of his hand slicing through the air yet felt the stinging pain of the contact it made with your ass. The suddenness made you gasp, but there was no reprieve. Another smack followed, then another, each one harder than the last, until your skin was flushed and stinging. His hand placement was strategic as he lowered it with each slap until his fingertips brushed against your wet folds with intensity. Your body naturally recoiled, however, his left hand reached out to entangle your tresses, giving you a slight arch. “No running. Count them,” he commanded with a hint of seduction. “I want to hear you acknowledge every single one.”

Unable to retaliate given the situation and the level it would become should you, your lips parted with a faint whisper that grew into a quiver, under the attempt to not moan. “One…two…three…” Each number was punctuated by another sharp spank, his hand firm and unyielding. Fingolfin’s other hand drifted from your hair to firmly, without aggression, grip the nape of your neck, holding you in place, ensuring that you couldn’t run from your punishment.

After the tenth strike, he paused, his hand resting on your reddened skin, soothingly rubbing the area. There was a moment where he admired the welts of hands left on your ass. You felt the bed dip to your left before the ghosting of his hot breath on the tip of your ear. “Do you think you deserve mercy?” he taunted, kissing the tip of your ear before biting it. “After lying to me, do you think you deserve any kindness?”

In a broken whimper, you managed to stutter out. “P-Please, ‘m sorry.” In return, you missed the way his eyes rolled but felt his heavy exhale before he removed his hand from your ass to dangle the tie before your eyes. You knew what came next.

Not waiting for you to comply, he released his hold on your neck to neatly secure the tie around your eyes, cutting your sight away from the world. The fresh scent of his cologne waffled through your senses and made your head spin. He always smelt delicious—a blend of mint and spices.

Once you were decorated, he pressed his hand against your back, pushing you head first, into the mattress whilst parting your legs to run his fingers through your wet cunt. He wasted no time in executing the second part of your punishment the way his fingers glided through your folds, toying with your clit. Already needy and dripping despite the harsh treatment. “Look at you.” His voice held no form of adoration like it usually did whenever he admired your form. Instead, they were filled with condescension. “Undeserving of what’s being given.”

His words hung over you like threads had woven themselves into each syllable to taunt you further. You felt one of his hands press into your upper shoulder while his other continued working their way through your, avoiding your clit. The sound of his rich laughter ghosted through the air as he mocked the way you squirmed, turned into a hiss as he sunk them deep inside and crooked them directly towards your sweet spot. In no way were you allowed to shift away from his wicked touch as his hand curled around the back of your neck.

“F-Fuck! P–…lease! God I hate you!” you cried out, finally finding your voice to match his tempo. Your fingers curled into the sheets, fisting at it due to your lack of sight and inability to turn your head and glare at him. The immediate trembling of your body as he continued to twist and crook his finger through your slick, releasing a loud and lewd squelching signalled how close you already were.

But Fingolfin was always a mile ahead of you in terms of making a comeback because he wasted no time growling. “That’s a lot of words coming from a smart mouth that was unable to produce a single Valarin lexicon for your orals. Since when did you get so clever?”

Before you could reply, using the grip around your neck, he hoisted you to your knees and pressed the tips of his fingers against your sweet spot, bringing you close to the edge but never allowing you the release you craved. “Go ahead, mumble some more. Be a smart ass for me princess. Show me how skilled your pretty little tongue is!”

As his words left his lips, you didn’t have the chance to respond as his two fingers curled and thrust into you with blinding speed, leaving you trembling. Whining in choked sobs as drool dribbled down your chin as he squeezed the air out your lungs with his actions, you vibrated. There was nowhere for you to escape but his embrace that loomed behind like a menacing figure with purpose. With every torturous rub, your body bowed and buckled like a worm, and he laughed with a deep rumble in his chest, revelling in the pleasure of your reactions. Nevertheless, this was all a walk in the park the more his fingers flexed against your spongey walls, feeling them clamp around him like a vice grip. “‘M sorry, daddy. Won’t…do…again.”

“Sound to me like you would," he scoffed. “Your cunt seems to enjoy my fingers...feel how tight she is around me. Gripping me with absolute want.” Indeed he was right. Your walls clung to him, refusing to let him slip out smoothly and forcefully sucking him back in deeper.

You shook your head as high-pitched squeals slipped out, your hips moving on their own accord, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“Really? Do you think I should let you cum, hm? After your poor performance that I spent thousands of dollars on for the best results,” he hissed in your ear, nibbling on the lobe and giving it small tugs before dipping his head to bite the junction of your shoulder. “You gave me nothing good in return except a pathetic excuse. Do I not spoil you enough? Answer me!”

Your fingers found a way to dig into his thighs, unfortunately, they were still covered in his pants, reducing your attempts at marking him. However, it provided support for the wicked torment he delivered. You were constantly trapped in purgatory as his fingers provided pleasure while denying you relief. “P-Plea—”

“Pardon? I didn’t hear you,” he reminded in a patronising tone. His eyes fluttered upwards to glance at you through his dark lashes, enjoying the way your face twisted as the waves of pleasure came on harder. “Speak up, loud and clear, or you’ll regret it.”

Choking on a silent scream, your breath came out in pants and broken sighs. “Oh fuck, please! Just let me cum!”

“You don’t deserve to cum,” he taunted, pulling his hand away just as you were about to orgasm. “Not yet.”

Ignoring your pathetic cries, his hand around your neck travelled down your back to position you into a foul arch while he kicked your legs apart. Easily he wasted no time positioning himself behind you, undoing his trousers—erection spring free, heavy with want and anger at the wait—and rubbing the tip of his aching cock through your puffed-up folds, deeply inhaling at the sensation of your wetness coating him. You were dripping wet, just the way he enjoyed having you for every session. All flushed with ache and want, begging him to put out the flames and stuff you till thy kingdom come.

And indeed he loved every second of the torture he took, applying his patience as he rubbed your clit and nudged it with his tip. Your cries went in one ear and escaped the other without care since you didn’t have any regard for the finances you wasted. Then, without warning, he pushed into you roughly, a sharp contrast to the teasing touches from before. “You don’t get to enjoy this,” he growled, not wasting a second to build his tempo, and going directly for the kill. “This is for me, not you. You’re not the one frustrated and in need of relief after your stunt—you could never be.”

It turned out that learning of your failure at the same time one of his clients entered a lawsuit, created a torrent of pent-up frustration. His plan was to spend the entire evening with you—not much had changed, only with a minor adjustment of your orgasmic denial and increase of roughness.

One hand, firm around your neck while the other gripped your hips, you were forced into a profoundly painful arch to take the rough pounding of his hips meeting your ass. Every thrust caused his cock to faintly brush against your sweet spot, tickling your sensitivity and never granting you a reprieve. With great precision, Fingolfin ensured that you felt every vein on his cock and thrust, as he pushed deeper and harder with dominance. You could feel the way his veins rubbed your walls just right, fitting in all the cracks and crevices just the way you were moulded from the start. At the same time, it was disgusting that he hadn’t removed his clothes to grant you the opportunity to let you feel his silky skin on yours.

You wanted to feel the ripple of his muscles as he clenched and flexed his thighs against your body the deeper and harder he went. This materialistic barrier only fuelled your anxiety at the wreck of punishment this was turning out to be.

“Even when being…punished, you’re still wet…and tight. Fuck!” he groaned. “Do you think you deserve to cum?”

“S-Sir, p–…please. ‘M sorry,” you cried out, hands fisting the sheets as you sought after your orgasm. “Won’t…do…again…”

“Of course, you would not perform that same stunt again,” he growled and tightened his grip on your hip. His rapid, deep strokes never stopped as he pressed you into the bed, pinning you under his weight. “You wouldn’t want to miss the feeling of my cock in your pussy, would you? How good it feels to claim you over and over again as mine.”

Squeaking, unable to form a coherent reply, he slowed his pace and pulled all the way out, leaving his tip inside before pushing back in roughly. Your body rattled, the air knocked out of your lungs and the scream lodged in your throat. Soundless sobs were your relief as you prayed he would grant you mercy with each powerful thrust from his cock. And yet, he continued to purposefully miss your sweet spot, aiming to get himself off alone. “Do you understand now? he asked as he leaned down, voice deeply rooted in your ear as he panted. “Do you understand what happens when you lie to me? Failing is one thing, but lying to me…”

You could only nod—or hope that you did—your voice lost in the intensity of the moment. Only the sound of his hips meeting your ass and his cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt echoed. Like music to his ears on a stressful day. His grip was unyielding as he continued to pound into you, slow and deep, relishing in the power he held over you. Each thrust was a reminder of his authority in your life.

The elaborate rolls of his hips and the articulate angle of his cock left you in a frenzy. He did everything to miss your sweet spot, focusing on pleasuring his cock with the softness and warmth you provided. The lewd echoes of his cock penetrating deeper fuelled your pussy to grow wetter, on the verge of squirting, but not quite there. Ever so rarely, he would laugh in your ear as you attempted to squeeze him, wanting him to stay longer. The sweet grips of your lips around him was sinful and made his head spin.

You were going to be the dead of him. No wonder why he picked you at first sight. It was pure instincts telling him how good you would feel wrapped around him even if you were to disappoint. Your pussy had a magic to it that he couldn’t get enough off—the relentless pounding and groans told it all. He’d always choose to fuck you as his life depended on it as a punishment, and who were you to resist.

There was a moment when you could barely keep it together as your head started spinning. Toes curling into the bedsheets, nails fisting the pillows, and head buried into the mattress, you muffled your whines as he finally brushed his tip against you. But you should have known his strategy from the start. Rapid and deep thrusts against it left you fighting for your life as the fire pooled in your abdomen. Your walls clamped harder around him, forcing his pace to stutter and pants to turn into groans.

“You like that...don’t you? You wanna cum all over my cock for free,” he groans, gyrating his hips to rub his tip against your sweet spot. “Maybe I should let you, but not now.”

And with ease, his groans turned into deep grunts before you felt his cock pulsating and his thrusts faltering. The fluid motion of his hips stuttered as he tried to continue the powerful rolls of his hips, wanting the sound of his heavy balls to slap loudly against your wet pussy. Yet soon, with a satisfied groan, Fingolfin’s hips stilled, and his grip tightened around your neck and hips, as he spilled his hot, sticky cum inside you. He was quick and sharp to pull out, dabbing his forehead to remove any beads of sweat while gazing at your trembling, weeping form that held his cum, slowly oozing out.

Straightening his posture and rising to full height, he gave a light tap to your ass and commanded. “Get up. On your knees on the floor, now,” he muttered, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt to discard it, along with his trousers. He observed how clumsy you were as you carefully climbed off the bed and onto the floor to kneel before him. Reaching out to grip your chin, he focused you on his authoritative figure towering above with his rigid cock, pronounced and ready for another round. Even with the blindfold covering your eyes, you could feel the intensity of his gaze burning holes into yours.

“I want you to remember this night carefully because I would hate to repeat this all over again,” he whispered lowly, cupping your chin to tilt your head upwards and running his thumb over your lips. “Now part your pretty lips for me while the night is still young. I have a lesson to teach…”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @sakurayaxd @addaigio @elficially-done-with-life @involuntaryspasms @eunoiaastralwings

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glitterguts13 · 23 hours

Note

sending you well wishes for your dad's surgery!! Hope it goes well

Aventurine x ratio, when his belly starting to show/swell?

WELL since I just got to answering this over a month later, I think you can guess how it went. Also, I'm going to assume you mean Aventurine is the pregnant one here ^^;; "I hope you're nearly finished, the gala starts in twenty minutes and we can not afford to be late." rapping his knuckles against the bathroom door, Ratio listens for a response.

Aventurine was well known for taking his sweet time getting ready, preening in the mirror till he was fully satisfied. Another cover for the face of insecurity he so desperately tried to hide.

"Aventurine?" Ratio raises his voice, frowning when he still doesn't receive a response. He knocks again, harder.

"Darling? Is everything alright...?" the door flies open before his knuckles land their last strike against the wood. The blonde stood there with only a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still dripping wet, tears brimming in his beautiful eyes.

Ratio feels sick with worry, a thousand thoughts running through his head at once. He cups Aventurine's face, rubbing his thumb over his cheeks.

"What happened? Are you hurting, do you need a medic-" his words are silenced as a kiss is pressed to his lips, and Aventurine laughs through his tears.

"I'm fine, I just, I noticed something." Ratio was still puzzled, but hearing his lover say nothing was medically wrong brought some degree of comfort. He looks the blonde up and down, not seeing any new cuts or bruises, no scars out of place.

"Oh." it finally clicks, and for a moment, the doctor falls silent. Aventurine's usually flat belly was starting to curve. It was slight, and if he wasn't so intimately aware of his body, might have just written it off as a heavy meal or bloating.

But no, that tiny swell just below his navel was certainly more than that. He brings a hand up, running it gently over the bump and marveling at how firm it felt under his touch. It isn't much, and once Aventurine dresses for the evening, no one else will have a clue about their child growing inside of him.

Ratio is filled with pride, nuzzling into his lover's neck and mumbling a string of praises into his ear. Giggling, Aventurine wraps his arms around Ratio's neck and holds him tightly.

"You still gonna find me attractive in a few months when I'm all fat and gross?"

Ratio scoffs,

"If only you had the slightest idea how excited I am to see you full and round with my child. How could I ever find such a thing repulsive?" he presses a kiss to the side of Aventurine's neck, "You're beautiful, and you'll be even more stunning as our child grows inside of you."

#mpreg #hsr #aventurine #dr ratio

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third-arch · 3 days

Text

Law would be really good in an apocalypse AU, so I’m talking about it.

Something that I think is really cool about Law is that he has a ton of qualities that would make him perfect for any survival AU:

Self Designated leader

Mature

Doctor

Quiet

Always has a plan

Brave

Intelligent

Violence as last resort

Curious

Cautious

Survival Skills

In control of his emotions

Protector

There are more, but it made me wonder how these would apply to a survival AU.

So, I thought I’d talk about a basic scenario:

“The zombies are taking over. The outbreak just happened and it’s not terribly far away from Law. How would he handle it?”

I think Law would already be planning.

Let’s say he’s working at a clinic and lives in a nice apartment.

He’d be focused on some things.

He’d always be keeping track of the news. -The latest on the death toll, updates on a cure, how the zombies behave, statistics, politics, etc.

He’d already have supplies packed-everything he learned as a child and through the years and his clinical experience.

He’d already be planning an escape route and base.-I think depending on where he lives, he’d be planning to find a secluded shelter. I don’t think he’d trust living around other people in his apartment.

(I think this would be hard for him since he’s having to leave home again, but again, he’s mature and won’t let his emotions get in the way, especially during the apocalypse.)

He’d probably contact people from his clinic and those he trusts and might (big emphasis on might) ask them to come along.

He’s always doing research too and keeping medical records. If he sees something that relates to zombies, he’s looking into it.

If he takes people with him, the rations are fair, they’re a team, and nobody gets left behind.

He’d make it a rule that they all eat together for two reasons: keep themselves together/sane and strengthen their bonds. He cannot afford to have someone turn on them or someone fall behind. He’s not doing it out of love as much as he’s doing it just to make sure things don’t fall apart.

He’s assigning jobs and tending to injuries. He’s doing all of the negotiating and taking advantage of every opportunity he can.

If there’s a decided grocery store, he’s looting it. If there’s an empty house with running water, he’s using it. If there’s a vehicle another gang left behind, he’s taking it.

Would he fight the zombies?

Unless absolutely necessary. If anything, he’d be observant of their movements, behaviors, weaknesses and characteristics. He’d have armor or a repellant of some sort made for confronting zombies. He’d ultimately make sure the areas cleared before letting his group through.

Which leads to potential faults.

The faults

I think his curiosity, brattiness and over confidence in his decisions would ultimately get him in trouble.

I think his over dedication to his leadership and independence would get him in trouble, too. Even bitten

He’d definitely sacrifice himself multiple times for the sake of his group. I think in once instance, he might get bitten and have to lose an arm or leg.

As far as confidence and brattiness, he’d probably get in trouble with another group and cause unnecessary conflict due to his stubbornness. Nothing would come of it other than wasted resources and possibly a destroyed camp.

Something that I’d be curious about is the idea of “give and take” with Law.

I think as much as he despises the concept, he’d use it a lot.

For instance, he’d help out a group of injured travelers, but expect a payment or advantage that they can provide.

This could lead to problems with betrayal and softening. More conflict would be due to him (at least that’s what Law would think), so doing these kinds of assistance calls would bring a lot of stress and overthinking into the mix.

Would he survive?

Honestly, I think it’s either a yes or a no.

If he survives, then he’s managed to save his entire crew and make it out alive. He probably managed to relocate to a permanent safe and secluded location that will keep them safe and supplied for years to come. He managed to keep his emotions in check and was diligent.

If he didn’t, he did it sacrificing his life for someone or a group of people. His death would probably be the saddest by far because of how greatly his love poured through his hard work. It would be an honorable death, and those people would continue to live on for a very long time because of him.

I don’t think he’d let his emotions or pride get to the best of him in the face of death, but rather it was simply his job that caught up to him: Saving lives.

#one piece #op #trafalgar law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece art #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #op imagines #one piece imagine

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delirious-donna · 6 hours

Note

Also, this just sprung to mind with the anon asking about impact play but

What if Nanami using the broad side of his blade like a paddle?

tw: impact play, Curse User!Nanami AU

The secrecy was slowly killing you. Frissons of charged particles seeming to twist and writhe in the air above and around your body and his. The dance was not a new one, more like a practiced two step that felt more natural each time you indulged, and even though those times were few and far between, they still had the same impact like the very first time.

Kento smoothed his hand across your back, fixing your hair and watching your eyes grow hazy and lust-blown. Your upper torso melded against rich cotton sheets, the thread count far higher than you ever could have afforded in your previous life, and your lower half was draped over Kento’s legs. Naked and trembling, you wished he would get on with it, but knew that the building anticipation and tension was half of the fun. You’d endure his caresses and soft pets as long as he wished for you to do so, and no argument would change that.

“Are you ready, little dove? Remember, I said I’d like to try something different,” he emphasised whilst massaging the meat of your backside. You almost missed those last words, lost in the bliss of being kneaded and spread apart. His fingertips deliberately grazed your folds, teasing and taunting you, goading your heart rate to increase until it felt like the damn thing might burst out of your body.

A short, sharp tap to the back of your thigh was all the incentive you needed to pay proper attention. You winced at the stinging pain as it dissipated into an ache that would be the least of your worries when this was over.

“Uh-huh, ready. Ken… I’ll be fine.”

His head turned away, hiding the smirk that subtly curved his mouth. Throwing a leg over yours, you failed to notice when he grabbed for something near his feet. Your eyes were already shut, attempting to calm your breathing and stop yourself from clenching so damn hard in want.

You didn’t see the familiar weapon. The handle encased in his broad palm, fingers tight in place to control it with practiced ease. White fabric marked with black spots covered the metal of the knife and whilst most would think that would dull its potency… they would be wrong, not when it was in Kento’s hand.

He brought it down in one measured swoop, enough that you cried out at the impact but restrained enough that it wasn’t with his full force behind it. Your head whipped around, pushing up onto your arms to see what had caused the first ache of your arse, and you gasped when you realised he had landed the flat side of the blade against you. You throbbed, and not just from the smack.

Kento’s hazel eyes narrowed then widened, following your every inhale and twitch to assess your overall state. You fucking liked it… he knew it. Dirty girl.

“Lie back down or I will hold you down,” he threatened quietly. “Take your medicine, dirty girl. You know better than anyone that I can make this really hurt if I want to.”

#delirious answers #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut

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icebergscrashingtogeather-10 · 8 hours

Text

Things in The Sunshine court that brought ligit tears to my eyes

- “Wymack fell into his role like he’d done this song and dance so many times he’d forgot to watch for the curtain to fall”

- Wymack and Jean’s whole relationship

- “I am a Raven. If I am not a Raven then who am I”

- “‘Evermore was a grave, and the only other color was blood. I’d forgotten that anything could be….’ beautiful.”

- “he was furious at Abby for implying. He never tried to fight, and more furious at the foxes for keeping it together when he’s broken. they hadn’t been up against Rico except for two of them had and both Nathaniel and Kevin had walked away. coward washout trader sell out reject whore.”

- “he he still tapped his thumb to his index finger and thought the cool evening breeze he felt foolish as he did it, but he felt alive, somehow grounded, something other than his teams vitriol”

- “He was… King now he’s a martyr… Pop and he was gone it’s impressive. Isn’t it how easily these monsters die in the end.”

- When Jean starts calling Neil Neil and not Nathaniel

- The conversation with Renee, right people wrong time

- When Jean picks out his first USC shirt of his own choice

- “I didn’t ask”

-Jean’s panic attack at the pool and his response being that it wouldn’t be a problem

- “Jean couldn’t remember the last time someone allowed him boundaries and the feeling was as novel as it was addicting”

- “it’s all I am coach”

- When They found Jean’s notebooks and the call to Kevin (ie “They don’t know”

- When Jeremy hugged him and told him he was sorry and that he couldn’t be sorry that Riko was gone and the subsequent “Neither can I”

- When Jean and Cat went on a ride together and ate dinner

- When Jean gave his racket to Rhemann because he wasn’t progressing

- “I will not look away”

- Neil ordering a hit through his uncle on Grayson

- Elodie, yellow ducks, blackberries

- “Exercise a little freedom once in a while you might like how it feels.”

- “‘I am just Moreau… I am not—‘ ‘… so was Elodie remember that next time you think you aren’t worth saving?”’

The shift that happens here. the exact moment when Jean Moreau decided to live!

- “Will you help me” “Anything you need” “A blank check is a dangerous thing to offer” “Try me…I can afford it”

Literally these two!!! I can’t with them they are so cute.

- “A cool evening breeze, Rainbows, open roads. Teammates…. [he] thought and tried again. Friends?”

#AAHAAAAAHAHAAAAA #!!!#tsc #jean moreau #jeremy knox #neil josten #cat alvarez #laila dermott #coach wymack #like are you fucking kidding me I am screaming this is so good #and so sad #this an attempt to not read it all the way through again

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sonkitty · 1 day

Text

Crowley S2 Hair Post #52

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 3, I Know Where I'm Going, too late

...

Sideburns Check

The above image is brightened. The sideburns are still long, as expected for this last part of the episode where the only other known character presence is Gabriel.

...

Brighter Red Streak Check

As is often the case when Gabriel is around as well, the more saturated red streak of hair can be found. From the camera looking at Crowley's left earlier in the scene, it looks more like two streaks.

...

Hairstyle Changes

The hair changed in various ways in the preceding scene, so I'm comparing a front view to before Crowley closed the door in Shax's face.

Here, the lighting has a stronger contrast while it favors Crowley's left. With the hair going up and curling down toward Crowley's right, there are two bigger evident tendrils that split from the hair above about where Crowley's right eye meets his nose.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects)

I've mentioned this scene in Earthly Objects Part 2 and Post #28 (shoemaker).

Neither Crowley nor Gabriel have any evident earthly object touches. Gabriel was last seen holding two books, but his hands are not on screen. His jacket pocket on his chest is shown in the first cut of him looking at his front, then disappears.

Meanwhile, Crowley had been near a rug, but his actual shoes touching that rug are not confirmed on screen.

The keys had been in his hand and ended up on the desk without Crowley or the camera work bothering to show us he put them there.

The only touch I can see that he makes is his left hand does touch his jacket. However, other usual signs of pocket trickery with retying the Tied Hands don't happen. The Belt Head is visible, and there are lights visibly above Crowley's ears but instead of them being on Crowley's left...the lights are on both sides. There are three smaller ones collectively to Crowley's right and one to Crowley's left. That puts Crowley as "pocketed" between those lights.

...

Story Commentary

The scene doesn't seem especially deceptive though the lacking earthly object touches have me on alert. I consider it a match to the scene where Aziraphale told Gabriel he used to be "awful" in the previous episode.

And it's a bit foreshadowing to the Final Fifteen, which will have tension between Crowley and Aziraphale instead, while they both avoid earthly object touches.

Crowley ending the episode with, "It's always too late," is rather ominous.

It sounds like he already knows how the season is going to end.

Also, the Good Omens book has the following to say about Crowley's fancy watch:

It was custom-made for Crowley. Getting just one chip custom-made is incredibly expensive but he could afford it. This watch gave the time in twenty world capitals and in a capital city in Another Place, where it was always one time, and that was Too Late.

...

When I first read the book, I just assumed something somewhere was always "too late". These days, I don't know if it meant something more than that.

I'll certainly keep this scene in mind whenever season 3 comes along.

...

That's it for this post. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

#crowley #david tennant #good omens 2 #good omens #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens crowley #crowley good omens #good omens clues #good omens theory #good omens theories

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nuncscioquidsitamor-13 · 2 days

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do you think we'll be in love?

⋆˙⟡♡ (summary): you get a blast from the past when a phone call interrupts your dance practice.

⋆˙⟡♡ (warnings): nothing serious, slight cussing ig

⋆˙⟡♡ (notes): this is a lot fluffier than my piper fic. Nothing serious is gonna happen I think, its def giving romcom. Credit to @ssparksflyy for sparking (hehe pun intended) my inspiration with her post

Masterlist Next

⋆˙⟡♡ (taglist): @kozumesphone @mershellscape @solangelotus @angelscherryblossoms lmk if you want to be added/removed)

"What is my luck?." You grumbled, staring up at the rain that was preventing you from getting to your dance studio.

Normally you walked to the studio since it was only a few blocks away from your apartment. You walked so often, you weren't sure your car had any gas in its tank. The safe option was to just tough it through the rain and hope it wouldn't soak through your leotard and leave you freezing.

Carefully you tucked your phone and keys into your tote bag, covering them with your ballet flats. Then you put on your most oversized hoodie in hopes it would keep you from shivering .

"I am an incredibly strong and smart, independent woman. A little rain won't hurt me." You said to yourself, hoping that little pep talk would hype you enough to rush out and start the journey.

Finally done with being a wimp, you opened the lobby door and sped walked out. You did your best to weave your way through the other city goers, wanting to get out of the rain as quick as possible.

Were you being a tad dramatic? Sure, but everybody needs a little flavor in their lives. It took longer than you would have liked but you finally made it to the studio.

The door squeaked and the floor creaked, noises familiar to your ears. You weren't exactly wealthy, so you couldn't afford to fix up the studio. Then again, it was homey this way. You liked it.

Your bag plopped on the floor and you slipped off your sneakers to trade them for ballet shoes. You weren't teaching today, you had a chance to just dance and be free.

Once you were all set, you turned on the music and just began. It wasn't anything spectacular or crazy but you could feel each moment in the depths of your soul. Like you were painting the world of your feelings, using your body as the brush.

Pirouette after pirouette. Every move and position came straight from your heart. Your feet tracing the words to the song in your soul on the wooden panels on the floor.

Just like a dagger through the heart, a familiar ringtone cuts through the air and slices the moment. You sighed and stopped your dance, allowing yourself to catch a breath.

Then you grabbed your water and paraded over to where your cellphone was stuffed deeply in your bag. Taking a sip of the clear and cold liquid, you answered the call.

"Hello?" You said, wishing your voice sounded even slightly less heavy. It was strange being embarrassed that you had been caught in the middle of a vulnerable moment, even if the person on the other side had no clue. (Unless you had somehow transported into a Scream movie.)

"Hi, this is Piper Mclean. I'm Jason Grace's agent. I'm sure you've heard of him. Anyway, I'm calling to request a meeting with you tomorrow 10 Am sharp." She explained, her voice charming and sweet. It was strange how easily you felt compelled to listen to her. She must be very good at her job

Lava settled in the bottom of your tummy when you heard that name. You hadn't heard about Jason in a long, long time. And you had been grateful for that. Your childhood enemy long forgotten and moved on. So why was he calling? Or rather "his agent" calling?

"Why do you want a meeting with me?" You inquired, unable to leave your curiosities and confusion on your tongue. It was ridiculous; you should have hung up by now.

"It's not something Mr.Grace and I are comfortable discussing on the phone. Please come to the meeting and we'll explain the details further. I'm messaging you the address right now." Ms.Mclean said, and you could almost hear a smirk on her lips. Weird.

Just as you were about to ask another question, she interrupted and said, "I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Then she hung up, leaving you confused as hell. You must have gotten sick from the rain and now you're delirious. Yes, that's the only explanation.

Why else would Jason (eugh) have his agent call you and request a meeting? It's ridiculous.

You went on your phone back into your bag, trying to look up any info you've heard about him throughout the years. He was apparently a famous baseball player and has been known to date around. (How scandalous)

There were a few mentions of a controversy in an article you pulled up, but you couldn't see what it was about. Whatever, why does it matter? You're not going to that meeting anyway!

Something in the back of your mind disagreed. You're going to that meeting, alright.

You consoled yourself, saying it was just to figure out whatever the heck is was Jason wanted from you. Yeah, that's definitely the only reason.

#heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo fandom #pjo hoo toa #pjo series #Amorwrites #jason grace x y/n #jason grace #jason grace x you #x you #x y/n #x you fluff #x y/n fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #multi chap fic #multi chapter

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theboywithburninghands · 3 days

Text

Morning guys, or afternoon/evening depending on where you are. So, I know I said the @rottentricks story was only gonna be three chapters, but chapter two has gotten so big I wouldn’t feel right slapping a giant wall of text onto your timeline. So, it’s being split into two parts. Here you are, hope you like it!

T/W: Blood, discussions of suicide/murder, fantasy racism

Animals Ch. 2: Sheep, Part 1

What do you get for pretending the danger’s not real?

—

Pomni fell out of bed with a jolt at the sound of her telephone ringing. She hurriedly detangled her quilt from around her foot as the phone rang again, followed by the caller ID loudly and robotically blurting out:

“CALL FROM- PRIVATE CALLER.”

“Gee, thanks…” Pomni mumbled. She had no idea why her parents got her a phone with caller ID. It almost never worked unless the person had a private cell, and the only people she knew who could afford one of those were her parents… Hm, she might have just answered her own question.

She grabbed the phone off the charging dock and hit talk before it could ring again.

“Hello…?” she said sleepily.

“Hey Pomni, it’s Ragatha! Did I wake you up?”

Pomni cleared her throat. She checked her watch. 12:47 PM… sweet Jesus. How embarrassing.

“Uh- n-no, you didn’t… what’s up? You okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, hun, but have you seen what’s going on downtown?” Ragatha asked, her tone hushed. A faint susurrus could be heard in the background of the phone call.

“Uh… no. I’ve been at my apartment since I got steak from Kingston’s Charcuterie yesterday morning… Working on stuff for school, you know? What’s happening?”

“You were at Kingston’s yesterday…? You know Jax then?” Ragatha’s tone turned much more serious.

“Uh, yeah..?”

“Honey, he was arrested.”

Pomni covered up the mouthpiece of the phone and loudly swore. She uncovered it and kept talking.

“Are you serious..? Why?” she asked. Her concern was quite genuine, but her surprise was not. She knew why.

“They’re saying that it looks like someone killed Kaufmo with a knife and hung him up a tree to make it look like a suicide… oh god, it’s horrible. But they found a knife from Jax’s store in the woods nearby, and they said that was good enough evidence to arrest him. They took him in last night around 6 PM…”

Pomni sighed. She knew it would happen… Those stupid cops already had him pegged for the murderer. There was some evidence sure, but-

Well… maybe she was wrong. Maybe they did find some evidence incriminating him that came up, fingerprints (like she demanded they look for), a piece of purple fur or something… Maybe she really was just letting her biases get in the way.

“…all over Main Street. …Pomni, baby, you there?”

Pomni blinked back into her apartment, and realized that Ragatha had been talking the entire time she’d been arguing with herself.

“Uh- s-sorry you broke up for a minute, what did you say?”

“I said that someone must have said something, because there’s a huge protest going on outside the station, saying it was an unfair arrest! There’s out-of-towners, some locals, they’re all over Main Street! I think I see a news van out there..! You can probably hear ‘em right now!”

“Oh god, is that what that background noise is? Holy shit. Are… you okay, Ragatha?” Pomni asked.

“Me? I’m a little shaken up. Jax has been providing supplies for the café for years! He gives us our steak, our burgers, our bacon, our sausages… and he’s my friend. He can be a bit rude and he’s scary looking, but… I don’t think he’s capable of…killing people.” Ragatha whispered the last two words.

“I don’t think he is either,” Pomni said. “And-And I only met him for a few minutes yesterday. Sure, it’s suspicious about the knife, but he sells knives! Someone could have used one they already bought or stole one. And-And I was there when those cops showed up, and I saw how they acted! They looked ready to shoot him and one of them said something really nasty…”

Ragatha sighed. “You wanna know the sad part, honey? That doesn’t surprise me even a little. Autumnvale is a nice place, but some people around here like things in their place, and if you fall outta that place… It can be hard for you. But I hope you don’t think our whole town is like that.”

“Oh- No- No, not at all! I love the friends I’ve made here. You’ve been amazing…” Pomni said. She meant it. Ragatha had basically taken on the role of her big sister here.

“Aww… That’s so sweet of you, Pomni. You’ve got enough to eat, right? I’m sorry I closed the café yesterday…”

“No, Ragatha, don’t worry. I was fine, and you needed the day off. But I can come see you now if you want? I haven’t had breakfast yet and I ate my whole steak yesterday…”

She could practically feel Ragatha’s luminous smile through the phone. “Well sure, hun, come and visit! I’ll make you something special. Just be careful, okay? These protesters are making me nervous…”

“I will. See you in a bit, okay?” Pomni said with a smile.

“Bye.~” Ragatha said, and there was a click at the other end.

Pomni hopped off her bed and got herself dressed. Fresh underwear, then shirt, then pants, then fleece, then puffer, then purse. She looked out her window, saw it was snowing, and added a pair of black gloves and a white scarf, topped with her gray university beanie. It didn’t match her outfit, but maybe with this on, the protestors wouldn’t yell at her. She was on their side, after all, she thought something was fishy about the whole thing too…

She stepped outside, looking around at the falling snow. Big, fat flakes that looked like wisps of cotton. She held out a black-gloved hand and caught one. The flake remained on her palm for a moment before the heat from her hand caused the fluff to recede into water on her glove. She smiled.

She put her glove back on the strap of her purse, then turned to look at the stairs. They were dusted with snow, and no doubt slippery.

She huffed and gripped the railing tight. One step at a time, never let go. Repeat for all thirteen steps.

An excruciating minute later and she was at the bottom, panting and sending up plumes of steam. She appreciated being on the second floor to avoid the rats and bugs, but having to climb up and especially down these icy stairs was brutal… One of these days she was going to slip and fall and it was gonna suck.

“You okay, Miss?”

Pomni looked up at the unfamiliar voice. An abstract person sat atop a horse. They had a triangular head, bright pink, with no visible mouth and a shiny metal hook for a left hand. They wore a heavy poncho, colored dark green with yellow diamonds, and a brown cowboy hat. They sat atop a horse with an unusual coat, a nearly perfect split between black and white stripes and plain white fur.

“Um… hi. Yeah, I’m fine, just… uh… stairs.” Pomni pointed to the offending structure, still out of breath.

“Mmm. You headed into town?” the person on the horse asked.

“Yeah. You heading there too? Have you heard about the protests..?” Pomni asked.

“Yeah. I’m close friends with the guy that got arrested. I’m gonna see if I can post his bail.” they said.

Pomni perked up a bit. “Oh, great! Uh, I’m a friend of his as well! I saw the way the cops treated him…”

“Really? Tell me about it, I’ll give you a lift into town.”

The person on the horse turned their mount around the opposite direction, offering their non-hook hand. Pomni took it, carefully sliding her feet into the stirrups and climbing up onto the horse, sitting herself a bit clumsily behind the rider. The horse shook their head and snorted in annoyance.

“I’m Zooble. This is ZigZag.”

Zooble patted the side of their horse, gently tugging on their reins so they turned back towards town, then flicked the reins with a soft “giddyup.” ZigZag chuffed and trotted forward, leaving horseshoe prints in the new fallen snow.

“Hi, I’m Pomni. I’m here on an art scholarship.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot Mayor Mason started doing that. You’re here a full year, then?” Zooble asked without turning around.

“Yeah. Until I get my Master’s in May… I really love it here though… Well I love most of here. Winter has been pretty rough.” Pomni admitted.

Zooble chuckled. “Yeah, we have harsh winters. Our nights are especially bad. You’ve been staying inside after dark, right?”

“Mhm, always. If I die, my parents will have wasted money. Worse still, the college will have to liquidate my loans.” Pomni replied, putting her gloves to her cheeks in mock horror.

Zooble chuckled once again. “I’m not surprised you fit in here, you came pre-fit with small-town snark.”

“Thanks. Oh, so, yeah, I saw Jax yesterday. The cops were already gung-ho about arresting him… You’re his friend, right? You don't think he would do something like that, right…?”

Zooble was silent for a moment. “To someone like Kaufmo? No.”

“Wait- what do you mean?” Pomni asked, leaning a ways off of ZigZag to get a better look at the rider’s face.

“What I mean is that… He would never hurt anyone that didn’t really have it coming. I don’t know if you know, but the other kids made his life hell growing up. They called him a freak and said his parents abandoned him ‘cause he was so ugly and a half-breed. But… he fought back one day. It was bad. And ever since then, he hasn’t taken shit from anybody. I bet the only reason he even went with the cops is because if he put out one of their eyes or snapped one of their arms, he’d get his brains blown out or thrown away to rot. He’s got a temper, and he’s capable of a lot when you push the right buttons… but no. He wouldn’t hurt Kaufmo. Or me, or Gangle, or Rags.”

“…Or me?” Pomni asked.

“…I dunno. Are you a good person?” Zooble retorted.

“I’d like to think so…” Pomni replied meekly. “He seems to like me okay. He let me have a steak yesterday.”

“Really? He almost never gives anyone free food. He mumbles and grumbles about just giving me enough beef chuck to make stew.”

“Is that right..?” Pomni felt her face warm up again.

As they approached the town, they faintly heard the chanting of a good-sized crowd.

“AUTUMNVALE ISN’T FAIR! RACIST PEOPLE EVERYWHERE! AUTUMNVALE ISN’T FAIR! RACIST PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!”

Zooble tugged gently on ZigZag’s reins, slowing her to a stop. ZigZag nickered uneasily at the commotion up ahead, Zooble putting a hand out to pet her neck.

“Yeah, I know it’s loud, princess. Don’t worry, we’ll tie you off right here, okay?” they soothed.

Zooble then hopped down off the horse, landing firmly on both feet. They looked up at Pomni.

“Need help, city girl?”

Pomni bristled a tiny bit at that comment. Sure, it wasn’t a lie or anything, but it always made her feel… inexperienced. Sheltered.

“I got it,” Pomni replied. She looked down at the snowy ground. It was a drop for sure, especially for someone her size. Well, what did she have to lose other than the use of her ankles?

She slid off the horse, hitting the snow with both feet a bit too hard and fast, buckling and being forced to catch herself with her hands. She stood up immediately and dusted the snow off her gloves.

“You go on ahead. I gotta tie her off and put on her blanket.” Zooble said.

“Okay, thanks for the ride… Do you really think you can cover Jax’s bail?” Pomni asked, looking down at the snow.

Zooble sighed. Their breath steamed.

“Hope so. I’m just one person, and the bail for suspicion of murder is gonna be a small fortune. But I got a lot in savings. You didn’t hear it from me though.”

“I… don’t have much money, but I can try and help.” Pomni said. She desperately needed that money for groceries and art supplies, truth be told… She wasn’t sure why she even offered.

“Nah. Thanks, but nah.” Zooble said, tying ZigZag’s halter to a wooden perimeter fence nearby. “Do have a quick question, though.”

“Yeah?”

Zooble opened one of the saddle bags and looked at Pomni. Even though they had no visible mouth, looking at their eyes made it clear that they were smiling.

“You said you only met Jax yesterday, and you’re dead-set on helping him out. Why’s that?” Zooble asked, removing a green and yellow horse blanket.

“Because…” Pomni swallowed and felt her already rosy cheeks darken. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yup, that is true…” Zooble replied expectantly, shaking out the blanket.

“Y-Yeah. I’m… I’ll see you up ahead. Thanks again.”

“Be seeing you.” Zooble said, a laugh on the edge of their voice.

Pomni put her hands in her jacket pockets and crunched her way towards town. The roar of emotions in her belly distracted her long enough for her to reach the hubbub on Main Street.

A crowd of around four dozen people had gathered outside the Autumnvale police station, some familiar faces from around town, some people Pomni didn’t recognize that must have come from neighboring towns, maybe even her city. A few people held signs written on bright yellow or green poster paper, a few having opted for foam boards instead. They read things such as:

“DIFFERENT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE”

“YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN BLACK AND BLUE”

“AUTUMN-FAIL”

“WHERE’S THE EVIDENCE?”

“JUSTICE FOR JAX!”

An older chickadee birdman in an orangish-brown leather jacket and black toque stood at the head of the crowd. Pomni recognized him as the town doctor. She’d seen him a few times. He seemed to be the leader of the group, but that could be because he was the only one that had a bullhorn. He turned it on and spoke into it.

“We aren’t going to lay down and let the police continue to treat crossbreeds like second-class citizens! Not here, not in any other city!”

He then led the crowd in another chant of “AUTUMNVALE ISN’T FAIR, RACIST PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!”

Nearby, a news anchor and her cameraman interviewed a chess piece shaped fellow in a red flannel jacket and a fishing hat, who wrung his hands nervously.

“And you raised him, Mr. Kingston?” the anchor asked into her mic before offering it to the man.

“Y-Yes my wife and I raised Jax, the mayor found him abandoned in a cabin in the woods and brought him to us when he was just bite-sized.”

Pomni tried to walk a little closer inconspicuously.

“And you believe he’s innocent?” The anchor asked.

“Of course. Jax is a good boy. People around town have treated him so rotten.” Mr. Kingston said adamantly.

“You think that there’s bias in the arrest?” The reporter asked.

“Definitely, definitely. Some people around here still call him a cannibal, can you believe that? Just because he’s part wolf and needs meat in his diet, they call him a cannibal.” Mr. Kingston said, wounded.

“And what do you have to say about the knife that was found near the crime scene, Mr. Kingston?” The anchor asked.

“I say ‘malarkey.’ Jax sells those knives in his shop, anyone could have taken one and put it there. They probably picked him on purpose!”

Pomni listened a while longer before looking out amongst the crowd again. A few of the same cops from the crime scene the previous day stood in front of the station behind sawhorses, along with some new ones. Autumnvale must have brought in other precincts to keep the situation under control. One particular officer, a human with a gold badge and in a wide brimmed white cowboy hat and aviator shades, stood along with them, hands on his hips. Probably the sheriff.

The protest leader spoke into his bullhorn again.

“The detectives who made the arrest are nowhere to be seen! Isn’t that intriguing, everyone?”

The crowd booed.

“It seems that they feel perfectly comfortable bullying a man when they outnumber him, but once we show up, they go missing! Isn’t that intriguing?!”

Another round of booing and hissing from the crowd, one person shouting “Fuckin’ cowards!”

“Yes, these enforcers of justice seem to only bother enforcing said justice if it’s against people they don’t like!”

He continued on as Pomni slipped behind the crowd. The café was located just beyond the protest. No doubt, they were all going to head there after the demonstrations finished. Although from the amount of fervor in the crowd, it didn’t seem to be losing momentum anytime soon.

As she crossed to the other side of the road to the café, she spotted Trevor leaning against the post office next door. He locked eyes with her, a cigarette smoldering in his teeth, and grinned spitefully. Pomni hurried into the café.

“Hey! Good afternoon hun!” Ragatha waved. Pomni couldn’t help but smile and wave back. That sunny smile could cure sickness if someone could figure out how to bottle it.

“Good afternoon to you, miss.” another voice chimed in. A woman composed of a white mask and red ribbons sat at the counter, a black beret on her head and a cup of coffee in her hands. Er… ribbons.

“Come and sit, Pomni! You’ve met Gangle, right?” Ragatha poured another cup of coffee for the art student.

She stomped the snow off of her boots before going to sit at the counter, taking off her puffer jacket and hanging it over the back of her usual chair before climbing up into it.

“Um, I don’t think in person, but I saw your production of A Streetcar Named Desire. You were an amazing Stella!” Pomni said.

Gangle gave a worried smile. “Oh no, you weren’t there the night I forgot my lines, were you?”

“I don’t think so, I don’t remember any mistakes. Um, the guy who played Stanley was amazing too, so intense… Thank you.” Pomni accepted her mug from Ragatha.

“Ahh, yeah, Gummigoo. You know he’s actually a complete sweetheart in real life? We had to practice the scene where his character hits mine over and over with the stunt coordinator since he didn’t even want to pretend to hit me.”

Pomni added sugar and cream to her coffee, two blue packets and one little plastic cup, and stirred it.

“So how are you holding up this morning, baby? You said you saw those detectives get onto Jax, right?” Ragatha asked, leaning both her hands on the counter.

“Oh. Yeah, I did. I hid for a bit because I didn’t want to get in trouble just for being there… but then one of them said something really horrible and I yelled at them.” Pomni sipped her coffee. Bitter stuff, but it had a pleasant chocolatey taste on the edge of the flavor.

“What did they say? They didn’t call him a… you know…” Gangle whispered.

“No. They weren’t that blatant, but one guy, I think his name was Wexley, basically said Jax lived by himself ‘cause he’s a crossbreed. Said it was ‘understandable.’”

Ragatha made a disgusted noise as she went over to the griddle, pouring batter onto it. “I don’t understand how people that pea-brained are allowed to carry badges. Well it’s no wonder they’re not showing their faces right now. Probably got sent back to the big city with their tails between their legs. Buncha bullies…”

“Yeah… I’ve been meaning to ask, how did they find out so quickly..? The-The demonstrators, I mean. I thought Jax only got arrested last night…” Pomni inquired.

“It was probably Dr. Wren that found out,” Gangle replied, pointing out the window. Her ribbon pointed towards the older bird fellow with the megaphone. “Our town doctor. He’s always been about issues like this. You know, institutional racism and stuff? My guess is he jumped at the chance to get a crowd together. And look at the turnout!”

Pomni hummed. “Well, I’m glad he did.”

“Hm, I dunno,” Ragatha replied from over at the griddle. “Personally, I wish he’d have just waited a day or two so we could at least lay Kaufmo to rest. So many people here in town are still processing the fact that he might have been murdered, and he’s out there hollering his lungs out, disturbing everyone’s grieving.”

“B-But what about Jax? Doesn’t he deserve justice?” Pomni replied.

“Well of course he does, baby, but if he’s really done nothing wrong, he’ll be out of the jailhouse in 72 hours..” Ragatha flipped a pancake.

“He’ll- huh?” Pomni tilted her head.

“She’s right, I almost forgot…” Gangle chimed in. “This town has a Speedy Trial law. Since we’re such a small community, there’s not many trials. So there’s a 72-hour limit in place for someone being held in custody without substantial evidence… If Jax really didn’t do anything, and I don’t think he did, they’ll have to let him go in a couple days.

“And I’ll betcha the only people that are itching to find evidence on him are those detectives, and who knows where they went? With that protest out there, all our cops are busy keeping that under control. No time to be sniffing around for clues.” Ragatha added, testing the firmness of her pancakes with her spatula.

Pomni felt herself relax. That was… good news.. There was a pretty decent chance that they’d let Jax go tonight. Maybe she’d wait for him if the crowd had died down by then…

“W-Wait, so that means that the knife..?”

“Unless it had his DNA or prints on it, it’s not good enough. It’s like people have been saying, anyone could have bought it and hid it out there.” Gangle explained.

Ragatha gave a surprised smile over her shoulder at Gangle as she stacked the pancakes on a plate. “Well, look at you, Nancy Drew! Who taught you all this detective stuff?”

Gangle gained red blush marks under her eyes and looked down at the counter. “Oh, you know… I do a lot of research for my roles. We did an Agatha Christie play once…”

Ragatha brought over a short stack of pancakes, dusted with powdered sugar and topped with whipped cream and some fresh strawberry slices. She set the plate down in front of Pomni, along with a boat of maple syrup.

“Eat it while it’s warm, honey.” Ragatha cooed, pecking the art student on the cheek.

“Thank you Ragatha…” Pomni sighed. How this absolute peach of a woman remained single was a mystery to her. Wasn’t any of her business, anyway. She dug into the food. It was delicious, fluffy and moist cake mixed in with rich, hand churned cream and the bright flavor of strawberry. She could eat this every day for the rest of her life and never get tired of it.

The door to the café swung open, and a person in a yellow and green poncho stepped inside, stomping off their boots chasing snowflakes from their hat.

“Zooble! I was wondering when you’d show up! You want the regular… Zooble?”

Ragatha’s sunny voice darkened with worry as she saw a stain of red on their hand, which they were currently wiping off on their poncho.

“Zooble, are you bleeding?!” Pomni cried out.

“No, it’s not my blood. I punched Trevor in the nose. Might’ve busted it.” Zooble’s voice sounded hollow and distant. Their hand reasonably clean, they sank down into a chair by the window, resting their arms on top of the table.

“Trevor? The wolf?” Pomni asked. No, Trevor the marmoset, stupid.

“Yeah. He laughed at me when the sheriff turned me away. ‘Tough luck, pizza-head.’ I heard a crunch.” Zooble looked at their hand and clenched it a few times. “Anyway. Couldn’t post his bail. The Sheriff told me it was 500 thousand. ‘Possible homicide.’ I don’t even have half of that.”

“Oh, Zooble…” Ragatha opened the counter hatch and went around to see them. “Honey, I’m so sorry… But, we were just talking about the speedy trial law. If all they have is a knife that came from his store-”

“Horseshit…” Zooble mumbled.

“If there’s no DNA on the knife, then-”

“HORSESHIT!” Zooble bellowed, banging on the table with their fist. The sound rattled the glass salt and pepper shakers. Everyone jumped.

“Zooble, I’m sorry-” Ragatha began, but Zooble cut her off.

“You know how the system is! It doesn’t matter how many angry people wave signs around out there, or if the doctor gives some nice speeches on a megaphone! Jax is a crossbreed, and they’re gonna find some ‘new evidence’ or dig up some old law that makes it so he gets put away for good! Don’t you get it?! Those sheep big city detectives they hired took one look at Jax and saw he was a freak, so he must’ve done it! And our redneck-ass, no-brain FUCK of a sheriff agrees with them! They’ve been waiting to do this- they…”

Tears beaded in Zooble’s eyes, and they collapsed into their chair, shoulders shaking.

“They’ve been waiting…” they moaned.

For a while, there were no sounds other than the faint din outside and Zooble’s soft sobbing. Pomni couldn’t blame them… if her best friend was being put away on flimsy evidence based on prejudice alone, she’d have cried like a baby. Hell, she felt a little bit like crying now…

She pushed her half-eaten plate of food away and shyly walked over to Zooble. The cowboy looked at her through red, puffy eyes.

“What?” they spat.

“…I… I want to help.” Pomni said.

“I just told you there’s nothing we can do, kid… unless your mommy and daddy have $500,000 sitting around the house, this is the end of the line…” Zooble wiped their eyes on the non-bloodied parts of their poncho.

“Don’t say that. We can look for more evidence.”

“How? They’ve got the crime scene cordoned off… we’ll get in huge trouble if we go there…” Gangle said.

“What about Jax’s sales log? That’s like a list of suspects!” Pomni proposed.

“Cops already took it. I saw ‘em carrying it out of the shop when they hauled him away in cuffs…”

“Dammit…” Pomni chewed on her thumbnail. “Okay. Okay, what about this? Does anyone know where Kaufmo lived?”

“He lived not far from here,” Ragatha said. “His house was over near Gangle’s theater.”

“Do you think we could get a look inside it?”

“What? Pomni, what for?” Gangle asked.

“I dunno… anything! Clues about who might have it out for him!”

“Look, city girl. I appreciate your enthusiasm… I do. But the cops-” Zooble began.

“Are all busy, dealing with that.” Pomni pointed out the window at the crowd. “All we have to do is see if those three asshole detectives aren’t sniffing around the place, and we can look inside, right?”

“Pomni…”

“Look, Zooble’s right. Unless a miracle happens, the system is gonna do what it can to get Jax put behind bars for good. We need to at least try. Right?”

“I… But… Pomni, what about you? Aren’t you worried about losing your scholarship?” Gangle asked.

“Yeah. But… I think I… I want to make a difference in this town more than I want to just use it to further myself. You guys… this place has done so much for me, and I… I want to give something back.”

Zooble used a napkin to wipe their eyes. “It helps she also has a crush on Jax.”

Pomni turned bright red. “Hey! That’s not-”

“Aw, Pomni… that’s so romantic. A lover, wrongly imprisoned... It’s like a Carolinian play!” Gangle said, looping her ribbons together as though she was clasping her hands.

“Wh- He’s not my lover! We only met for like five minutes!” Pomni grabbed her beanie and tugged it down over her face.

“And yet you’re willing to risk your higher education to save him. Yup, you’ve totally got it bad, honey.” Ragatha added, crossing her arms and smiling.

“Sh-Shut uuuuuuuup!” Pomni whined.

“Well… I wouldn’t be much of a best friend if I didn’t do something incredibly stupid for him. Alright, let’s go, kid.” Zooble got to their feet, drying their eyes one more time.

“I’m twenty-fiiiiiiive!”

“You’re twenty-five? Jeez, you coulda fooled me. What are you, four foot two?”

“Four foot NINE!” Pomni snapped, shuffling out the door as Zooble held it open for her. Zooble said their goodbyes to Ragatha and Gangle before following after Pomni.

“Do you think they’ll find anything?” Gangle asked.

“Honey, I hope so. I… doubt it. But I hope so.” Ragatha replied.

#the amazing digital circus #funnybunny #jax x pomni #tadc jax #tadc pomni #oh no cringe #tadc #tadc ragatha #murder mystery au #tadc zooble #tadc gangle #tadc kaufmo #tadc kinger #tw sui talk

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