#“these boots were made for walking” and I get to crouch down on the edge of the stage in my combat boots and sing “one of these days these | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

macfrog · 1 year ago

Text

illicit affairs

cowboy like me chapter eleven

howdy everyone it's me again 🤠 latest chapter of cowboy like me is now yours. do with it as you wish. love u all so much. see ya soon x

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: your relationship with joel is getting harder and harder to hide, especially when a surprise visit from your dad threatens to spoil your romantic weekend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is a lil hungover, gluten bagels, lots of LIES, reader and joel being horny devils, gene kelly, unprotected piv sex, sex tape, praise kink, fluff, cockwarming, angst!!! and pain!!!!, reader and joel fight, cheating....??, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 8.4k

series masterlist | main masterlist

You wake in the same position you fell asleep in just hours ago: curled up in Joel’s bed, the curve of his body safely encasing yours. His lips are still by your ear, breath gentle against your lobe. You lean over to lift your phone from the nightstand.

8:14. You’ve had less than four hours’ sleep.

Below the time there’s a text message, sent a couple hours ago.

Dad: Remember to take the trash out before you pass out kiddo. Hope you had a good night 👍

Well, that was never happening, was it? As far as your dad knows, his best friend had picked you up from Frank’s and given you a ride home. Probably walked you to the house on his steady arm, made sure you downed a glass of water before seeing you off upstairs to bed. Polite. Respectful.

Of course, your dad is blissfully unaware that, in actual fact, at 6AM you were in said best friend’s bed, pressed up against him, no clothes between you, fast asleep. Definitely not making sure the trash was out.

The bright screen burns into your eyes as you squint at the notification below his text, decorated with alarm emojis – your way of ensuring you remembered to get back before him. DAD HOME stares back at you ominously, eventually persuading you to push yourself up off the mattress, loosen Joel’s lazy hold on your waist, and slip out of bed.

Joel, still asleep, rolls across your side of the bed onto his stomach when you sit up, sighing into your pillow as you prop yourself on the edge of the bed. You sit for a minute, dumb smile wide across your lips with no one to conceal it from, staring at him. Studying every part of him in his content, sleepy state.

The sharp curve of his jawline, the flecks of gray through his beard. The soft brush of hair falling on his forehead, deep brown curling just above his eyebrows. His toned shoulder, round and strong, flexing some with the grip his arm has around your pillow. His face buried in the cotton, breathing you in.

You jump when your phone starts vibrating in your hand, pad across to the door and slip out, closing it gently behind you.

“Hello?” you whisper.

Your dad’s voice is like a foghorn in your hungover ear. “Mornin’, kiddo! Wake ya?”

You wince, clutching your forehead as the quick movement from Joel’s bed to his hallway catches up with your aching brain. “Mighta done, yeah.”

He chuckles. The car hums in the background while he talks, meaning he yells even louder to compensate. “I’m about an hour out, thought I’d bring in some breakfast. You want anythin’?”

“I’m good with whatever. You’ll be back soon?”

“Nine-thirty or so, looks like. Why?”

“Nothin’, just wondered. I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

“Hey, d’you take the trash out?”

“Uh, I can’t– You’re breakin’ up, there, Dad, I’ll see you when you get home. Alright, cool, see ya then, bye.”

You cut his babbling voice and hang up, clutching the phone to your chest, close your eyes and exhale. When you swing back into the room quietly, Joel’s still sleeping.

You slip back into your dress and pull your boots on, scanning the room for your panties. No sign of them, though, and it’s not like you got all the time in the world to search. They’re probably underneath Joel’s deadweight body, anyway.

You tiptoe over to the side of the bed and crouch, kissing his neck softly.

He stirs, hand lets go of the pillowcase and finds yours, intertwining your fingers sleepily.

“I gotta go, baby,” you whisper, running your fingers through his unkempt hair.

His voice mumbles into the cotton, deep and groggy. You catch the tail end of his sentence: “…give you a ride.”

“No,” you reply, laughing a little as you sweep hair from his forehead. “I’m good, I’ll walk. You sleep. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Text me when you’re…home…”

The words barely pass through his lips as he begins to drop off again, and you kiss his head before straightening up, grabbing your bag, and heading downstairs.

You dip into the kitchen before you go, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. You’re fucking parched. Hungover, exhausted, you roll the freezing cold bottle across your forehead. It does little to soothe the throbbing pain, but it takes the edge off of it for a few seconds before you’re slinging the bottle under your arm and searching through Joel’s cupboard.

You steal a bagel. Feels kinda hard, probably a day past its best, but it’ll do. You set off, picking at the dry bread as you walk, holding it between two fingers as you gulp at the water.

It’s the blandest walk of shame that ever happened.

Twenty minutes later and you’re pushing through your front door, fucking drenched in sweat. Your jacket’s tied around your waist, leather hot and stiff. You toss your keys on the kitchen counter and collapse into the couch, letting your heartrate settle and waiting for the room to stop pulling in and out of focus.

Your head is pounding now, your throat feels like sandpaper. Your body aches, though if you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure that’s just from the hangover.

Once you’re in a fitter state, pulse no longer beating through your eyeballs, you head upstairs and tears your clothes off to jump in the shower. You keep it on a low heat, only warm, and it soothes your skin and flushes the smell of alcohol, sweat, and Joel down the drain.

You’re back in the kitchen, hunched over the counter nursing a coffee, when your dad waltzes through the front door. You lift your towel-wrapped head from your hand and look up.

“Well, hello,” he calls. “I notice ours is the only house in the street with no tra–”

“How was your trip?” you cut in, eyes screwing shut.

��Ha. Good. Nice drive, up that way. I got us bagels. Want one?”

Sometimes it’s like some twisted fucker is sat writing this comedy into your life. He brought home bagels? After you just choked one down walking home in the blistering heat? Whatever, dude.

“Thanks,” you mutter flatly against your mug, reaching out for the paper bag he’s offering.

Your dad lifts his own bagel, takes a huge bite, then looks up at you and gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. When you bite into yours, you’re…less enthusiastic. It does taste better than the dry one you just had, though. The cream cheese helps.

“I, uh…I’ll be headin’ out again soon,” you tell him.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Staying at Anna’s tonight,” you lie, setting your coffee down. “Said we’d have a pool day.”

He nods, mouth full of food. “Sounds nice, kiddo. Nice day for a tan. Hey, uh, how was Joel?”

You almost choke on your bagel. “Wh-what?”

“Joel. He alright?”

You shrug, picking at the bread. Unable to meet your dad’s eye. “I dunno. Why don’t you ask ‘im? I don’t know how he is.”

He stares at you. Brows knit, a line between them pointing upward. “I was just wonderin’…since he…He did pick you up last night, right?”

Oh, fuck.

“Oh,” you bat a hand, tucking it back under the counter when you notice it trembling. “Oh, right. I thought you meant this morning. Yeah, he was fine. He…Yeah. Fine.”

“Uhuh,” your dad nods, eyes narrow.

You don’t have the energy or the brainpower to be convincing. Not right now. There’s alcohol still drying up in your blood, muscles still tight from that fucking hike home, and your mind isn’t even in the room with your dad right now. It’s elsewhere – wrapped up in Joel’s bedsheets with him.

“I hope you didn’t keep him up too late.”

“It was, like, 2AM or somethin’. Wasn’t so bad. He said he was up watching TV anyways. So.”

He seems to believe this – swallows it down with the last few bites of his breakfast. You continue chatting, covering over your blunder like packing dirt back into a hole in the earth, conversation drifting from how your girls night went, to how his trip was, to an awkward apology for ‘forgetting’ the trash. He won’t let that go, will he?

But it’s short-lived. Soon, you both fall into silence, and the air between you feels muggy. Thick with lies and secrecy. Things you can’t say – I wanted a McDonald’s, but Joel wouldn’t budge, then I caught him watching Grey’s Anatomy, did you know he’s only slept with ten – I mean nine people?

Your dad glances up a few times, studies your face. You hide behind your bagel, guilt and shame across your cheeks like a wine stain. But he only smiles pleasantly, until he’s throwing the last bite into his mouth and rubbing his hands together, announcing he’s going for a shower.

“I’ll take your bag to your room,” you crumble the paper wrapped inside your fist, toss it across to him, “I gotta pack anyways.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says, patting your back as you pass him.

You don’t look back when you lift the leather straps of his bag and lug it upstairs.

It drops from your clutches with a thud at the foot of his bed. And then you’re quite literally skipping through to your own room, grabbing a black tote from your closet and blindly tossing clothes into it. A spare t-shirt, underwear, socks. Who gives a fuck what you pack? You’re going to Joel’s – the clothes will probably last five minutes on your body before you’re peeling them off again.

One thing you do take time picking is your bikini, opting for a red strappy one. Your old roommate once told you it made you look like you were in an episode of Baywatch. Which, y’know, seems like Joel’s kinda thing.

Your dad’s stood by his bed, hair damp from his shower, unpacking his bag when you emerge from your room.

“That you leaving your old man?” he asks with a tut, folding a t-shirt onto the mattress in front of him.

You wander through, sweet smile on your face, and kiss his cheek. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Have fun, honey.”

And then you’re gone. Straight back to Joel’s.

You’ve been away a couple hours, if that, but when you wander up his driveway, he’s not home. He keeps a spare key under a plant by his door, so you let yourself in. Sink back into his couch, throw on an old episode of Love Island while you wait. Twenty minutes later, his truck pulls up and he shoulders the door open, grocery bags in his arms.

“Hi, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss your head as he passes.

You switch the TV off and follow him through to the kitchen to help him unpack, rocking into his side as you empty the bags with a giggle.

“He ask?”

You shake your head, chewing on a Twizzler.

“Nothin’? Really?”

“Didn’t really give him time to,” you reply. “Had breakfast, grabbed my stuff, left. And I parked a couple streets away, just on the off-chance.”

Joel looks down at you with a hesitant smile on his lips. He steals the Twizzler from between your teeth and puts it in his own mouth.

“Dick,” you mumble, and he chuckles quietly.

“You know, darlin’…all this lyin’, covering our tracks, I…”

“Joel,” you lean into him, standing on your tiptoes to peck his lips. “I don’t care. There’s nowhere else in the world I wanna be. Just with you. He’ll find somethin’ to do, you know he will.”

He gazes at you for a few seconds, eyes flitting back and forth between yours. You lean your head back and his arm snakes around your waist, squeezing you into his side.

“Trouble,” he mutters, taking a six-pack of beer over to the fridge.

----------

The summer sun blazes down over Joel’s backyard, and the pair of you spend the afternoon by his pool, keeping cool by having a dip every now and then. The red bikini is, as it turns out, a hit: Joel can’t keep his eyes – or his hands – off you, anytime you push up off your lounge chair and slink over to the pool edge, slipping in beside him.

You lock your arms around his neck, legs lazily draped over his hips as he floats you both through the water, and turn your head to the sky; eyes shut, the inside of your lids bright red with the sun screaming down through them. Joel idly kisses your chest, lips curving around your collarbones.

“I like this,” you say, looking down at him. Droplets run down the ends of his dark hair, beads of water rolling down his temples. “I could get used to it.”

“Wish we could,” he replies, bucking you up under his forearms. “I like it, too.”

It feels nice, if a little bit of an ache. Hearing him talk like that. Everything you two ever say, no matter how thick with sincerity, is laced with threat. Wish we could. Because you never will be able to get used to it, right? Something will always be swimming underneath you, a black shadow that disappears whenever you attempt one good glance at it.

Something always threatening to spill your secrets. Something threatening to blow everything apart.

Joel lifts a hand to cup the back of your head and pulls your lips down to meet his, moving backward until his back hits the wall of the pool. Your teeth pick up his bottom lip, tongue slips past into his mouth, and he groans, smiling into the kiss.

You begin to feel him harden under his trunks, and you grind your core against him.

“Inside?” he breathes between kisses.

“Mhm,” you whine, and he drags you out of the pool back into the house.

You spend the entire day following a pattern: eat, chill, tease, fuck. Eat, chill, tease, fuck. As the sun begins to melt behind the trees lining Joel’s backyard, you’ve spend more time on your knees, underneath, or on top of Joel than you have actually tanning.

Can you blame yourselves? Whenever you get alone time with no risk of being caught, it’s hard to keep your hands off one another. With no reason to keep quiet or hidden, you can fuck around all you want without a care in the world, right?

Right.

You order pizza, laze in the slow-dying sun to eat it, talking about nothing and everything before one of you steers the conversation and, before you know it…your bikini bottoms are pushed to the side, or otherwise torn from your body.

Eat, chill, tease, fuck. It’s too easy.

When the yard is finally drowned by dusk, Joel grabs some blankets and you spend the evening on his couch, talking some more and then deciding which movie to watch. You’ve never seen Singin’ in the Rain. Joel takes obscene offense to this fact.

“What kind of film student ain’t seen Singin’ in the Rain?”

“We actually did study it for one of my classes,” you mutter, tossing popcorn into your mouth. “Flicked through the important parts. Wasn’t my thing.”

“Well, you gotta watch the whole film. It’s a classic. Won at the Oscars ‘n everythin’.”

His enthusiasm almost makes you hold back – the way he’s sat on the edge of his seat, twisted around to chastise you properly for your ignorance of musical film. This could be the most animated you’ve ever seen him – over Gene Kelly. So, you almost bite your tongue.

Almost.

“Didn’t it…famously get nothing?”

His face sours in a heartbeat. Expression drops like a sack of bricks. He turns away from you and throws himself back into the couch, grumbling. “Alright, smartass. Watch it, and we’ll talk after.”

“I’m just sayin’, it–”

“We’ll talk. After.”

It’s still not your thing. For a multitude of reasons, but the newest one, the most difficult of all to let go: you can’t get the way Joel spoke out of your mind.

Just shut you right up, didn’t he? With three flat words, and a look in his eye that warned you not to push him. But fuck, you want to. You want to make him talk. Now.

Fifteen minutes into the film, you sit forward and swipe his phone from the coffee table.

“What are you doin’?” he asks in that monotone voice, the one he always uses whenever you’re pissing him off. Whenever you’re…getting to him.

“Bored,” you state, thumbs tapping in his passcode. You’ve been around him enough by now, studying every little move he makes, to just absorb dumb little things about him like the fact that his passcode is 0908, because those are the three numbers his thumb can reach easiest.

The phone clicks open and your eyes dance over the screen, deciding which app to load first.

Joel says your name. Just once. But it’s enough.

You angle your head in his direction. Bat your eyelashes.

“Enough. Watch the damn movie, would ya?”

Your head rolls back around to his phone. You click the photos app.

Joel curses under his breath, shaking his head and turning back to the screen. His eyes are boring into the pixels, mumbling things you’re too busy scrolling through his camera roll to listen to.

It’s mostly screenshots. Contracts, invoices, receipts. Boring Joel stuff. There’s the odd photo of his backyard, a few where the sunset rips across the tops of the trees in a fiery glow. They’re a little tilted, a little off balance. You smile at his attempt at photography.

“You gotta learn how to straighten your pictures, dude.”

“Took that for you,” he utters through a mouthful of popcorn. “Thought you’d like the sky with the trees in front, ‘n all.”

“Coulda text me it,” you say, letting him swipe through the photos to show you, each one from a slightly different angle to get more of the trees in, crop the pool out, hide the horrendous rosebush his neighbor has creeping over his fence.

He shrugs, pulling his hand away. “Musta been distracted by all the dumb stuff you send me.”

“Fine, no more funny videos. You’ve done it now, Miller.”

He chuckles and his attention turns back to the film. You’re slowly creeping further back through his pictures – measurements for something he’s building, different thicknesses of lumber propped against each other under the fluorescent light of Home Depot. And then –

You recognize the huge arching window first. Sunlight casting across a white tablecloth, polished cutlery shimmering. The velvet curtains in the background, and the made-up diners dotted around behind you and Sarah, both grinning into her phone camera.

“When did you…?”

Joel’s lips press the crown of your head. “Saw her gettin’ her phone out ‘n thought it’d be a nice picture from that angle, too.”

“Joel…” you breathe, eyes stuck on the image of your swollen cheeks, more centered in the frame than Sarah’s brown curls.

Your thumb swipes once and there’s a second photo: Sarah’s arm is lowered, she’s typing out her caption. You’re still smiling, looking over her shoulder as she selects the perfect cocktail of emojis.

She’s barely in the frame. It’s all you. Only you.

“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, limp hands dropping the phone to your stomach.

“’s just a photo, baby.”

And he’s right. Or – he’d be right, if it weren’t the only two photos of a human being in his entire camera roll. The only person he deems worth taking a picture of. The only one, in amongst trees, and emails, and wooden planks. The things that make up Joel, in your mind. His work, his home, and…you.

As quick as the thought delights you, it’s already terrifying you. Thrill barging through your veins, competing with fear to shock through your system the hardest.

“Alright,” you mutter, switching to his camera app and turning the phone to aim at him, “just a photo.”

You watch on the screen as he gives you a telling glance, holds his hand up to block the lens, and says, “Baby. Will you put that–? Hey. Watch the damn movie, now.”

“No,” you reply, avoiding his palm to snap a picture of his face. You twist in your seat until you’re at a ninety-degree angle to him, your feet in his lap, pulling a cushion to swipe at his attempts to grab the phone. “No, c’mon. We gotta fill your camera roll with more ‘n just contracting stuff.”

“Oh, do we?”

“Yeah.”

Your thumb swipes to video mode, hitting the bright red button and giggling when Joel’s deadpan face turns to watch you behind his phone.

“Quit – it,” he chuckles, swatting the phone from his face.

“You wanna watch a movie, maybe I wanna make one.”

His stare darkens. A smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. You hear it how he heard it seconds after, and you mirror his expression.

“Enough,” he tells you again, voice low, but it’s less of a telling as it is…a warning.

You put the phone down. Lock it, slide it across the couch to Joel. Silent. Giving him the choice.

His fingers lock around it, clicking the button to light the screen back up. He studies it for a second, deliberating, and then leans forward, setting it on the coffee table.

When you turn to look, the phone is sat on its side, screen reflecting back the image of the two of you; Joel, sat upright in the couch, and you, strewn out beside him. The oversized shirt you’re wearing has ridden up past your underwear, pooling on your stomach.

He’s staring at you. You can see it in his phone. You turn to look back, and he lifts his palm. Ball’s back in your court.

“Turn the TV off,” you mutter. You’re not fucking him with Singin’ in the Rain in the background.

He keeps his eyes on you, reaching for the remote. The screen cuts to black.

“Sure you wanna–?”

“C’mere,” you cut in, tossing the cushion and pulling him into you when he moves.

Somewhere between Joel leaning down on top of you and taking a grip of your hair in his hands, he presses the record button. The tiny ding sound shines a spotlight on you that lights your skin with nerves, a little bit of embarrassment, but…thrill. Excitement. Arousal.

Joel grinds his hips into yours and you both moan, your head falling back to allow him room to bruise your neck with his lips. His fingers knead roughly into the soft skin around your hips, pressing divots into your waist, sneaking their way up to cup your tits.

And then you’re turning, craning your neck to watch yourselves on his phone screen. Joel’s lips on your neck, his hands beneath your shirt.

He lifts his jaw for two seconds, coming up for breath and noticing your gaze.

“You wanna watch it, baby?”

You laugh in response, nodding when he turns your jaw to look at him.

In two seconds, you’re on your front, flipped by Joel’s hands. He takes your hips and lifts them, lining them with his own. You cross your arms and rest your chin atop them, watching in the reflected image as he slips his tee over his head and pulls your ass back to meet his stiff crotch.

Both of your heads are just cut out of shot. Yours at the left-hand side of the screen, and Joel’s at the top. The only recognizable traits are your hair and his beard. Those – and the sounds escaping your lips.

He wastes no time undressing you. Just lets your tee fall down your spine to your shoulders, pushes your panties to the side, and tugs his sweatpants low enough that he can comfortably slip inside you.

It’s sloppy. And quick. It barely lasts five minutes. As far as sex tapes go, it’s a pitiful attempt. But it’s hot – pretending that someone might fucking see it one day, see you and Joel, arguably doing what you do best.

And it’s even hotter seeing it from a different angle; feeling the stretch of him inside you, and watching it happen in real-time on his phone. Thinking of him rewatching it once the weekend’s over, his cock in his fist, shooting cum all over his belly.

Joel thrusts into you, pulling your ass back until you’re swallowing every inch of his cock. Your fists ball and you bite down on your arm to counter the shallow pain of him deep inside you, groaning with pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispers from behind, slipping back only halfway and pushing in again.

You breathe a laugh, whispering, “Harder,” and he listens.

His hips crack against yours, a whimper calling from your lips, knees slipping further apart on the leather beneath you to accommodate the fucking size of him.

“Yeah? You want it harder, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you whine, bottom lip between your teeth.

He picks up the pace, pushing deeper every time your ass comes into contact with his hips. His skin slaps against yours, squeals of delight and pleasure cutting from your throat with each movement he makes.

Your hand slips between your legs, fingers run quick circles over your clit.

“Good girl,” he grits, “make yourself feel good, baby.”

You whine his name, forehead flat against the couch cushion as he fucks you, pleasure building between your legs like a tornado, tightening, tightening, tightening.

And then you’re being hauled up from the couch, flat against Joel’s body, cock still buried deep inside you. His hand replaces yours, his fingers on your clit, rubbing faster and harder than you think you can take.

He’s whispering in your ear like he always does. Saying everything he knows you like to hear. You’re a good girl, you’re his girl, you’re taking him so well. It’s desperate, and messy, and you know you’re both just racing to the finish line, aching for the relief that only you two know how to bring to one another.

And you cum, hard, fighting against his hold in a desperate attempt to fall flat against the couch. Joel keeps you upright, fingers slowing on your aching cunt as you clench and squeeze his cock, your orgasm ripping through your body.

He lets go of you, settling you on all fours in front of him before he pulls out, spilling all over your back.

You sink lower, ass still in the air, tits pressed against the cool leather of the couch as his warm cum slowly trickles down your spine.

Joel groans, a deep, guttural groan, still holding his cock between your ass cheeks as he stills, watching every rope of cum coating your back.

You catch your breath, panting mixed with laughing, and turn, rolling over and staring up at him. He leans back over, grabs the phone, and stops recording.

“Fuck…” you breathe.

“Fuck,” Joel agrees.

You laugh again, the last of your energy going into taking his shoulder and pulling him down against your body as he examines the footage. Tender kisses along his neck, dipping between his collarbones, listening to the grunts and groans from the speaker by your ear.

“Jesus, darlin’,” Joel breathes, eyes never leaving the screen. “We’re a fuckin’ mess.”

Your head tilts back with laughter, and Joel’s lips ghost across your throat. “We are not,” you finally reply, taking hold of the phone and scrolling quickly through the video. “I liked that part,” you turn it to show him your bodies held to one another by Joel’s strong arms.

“Yeah?” he asks behind a chuckle. Then he takes the phone from your hands, locks it, and tosses it to the other side of the couch, pulling you up into his arms until you’re sat on his lap, noses brushing against one another. “I liked all of it.”

“I like all of you,” you say, and he presses his lips to yours.

Joel kisses you gently, running his hands under your shirt and across your back, still covered in his release. He presses you closer to his body, almost painfully, as if the cotton of your shirt, the skin of your bodies, the cages of ribs inside are all keeping you too far apart from him.

You pull your jaw from his, run two delicate fingers across his lips.

“Don’t go fallin’ in love, cowboy,” you whisper.

----------

Joel carries you to his room just after midnight – sun-kissed, chlorine-coated, fucked-out, exhausted. He slips into bed behind you, curling his body around your frame, and, when his leg lifts to slot between yours, your hand stops it.

“No?” he asks, head lifting.

“Don’t want your thigh,” you mumble.

“How come?”

“Want you to…want somethin’ else.”

Joel understands without another word. He kisses your shoulder once, then takes your hips in both hands and pulls your ass to his front. You feel him pull the elastic of his underwear, stroke himself a couple times, and then push his tip in.

You gasp when he enters you – half-hard, slow, but even still. You’ll never get used to the feeling of him filling you, of his body connecting with yours, of him knowing and feeling you this intimately. Knowing and feeling you more intimately than anyone in your life ever has. Ever will, maybe.

When you’re full of him, he steadies. You scoot your hips back a little, and he growls in your ear.

“Careful, pretty girl.”

“Just gettin’ comfy,” you sleepily sing, almost teasingly.

He snakes one arm under your neck, cradling your head in the crook of his elbow. The other lies lazily over your waist. A satisfied sigh runs from his lips past your ear. He sounds and feels the most relaxed you’ve ever known him to be.

And you wish you could say the same.

Your eyes close over, heavy and tired, but you don’t fall asleep as quick as Joel. Something’s tugging at your heart. Something solid, that drags it down to the bottom of your stomach, and pools like ice water there. Something that nips at your lungs, stealing breath from you whenever you think too hard about it.

Something you’ve been patting down, stamping out with your foot every time the flame relights. And suddenly it feels as though the entire room just caught fire from under you.

Sheer exhaustion sends you off to sleep, with dreams of conversations and confessions you’re sure would never happen. Could never happen.

Should. Never. Happen.

----------

Warm water pours down over you, soaking your hair and chasing down your shoulders, your arms, past your breasts and over your stomach. You grab some more of the shampoo you’d stolen from Sarah’s bathroom and lather it up, covering your hair in it and drowning yourself under the water again.

Joel’s bathroom is one of three in his house; Sarah’s is slightly roomier, and the guest bathroom has the best water pressure, but you don’t care. Something inside you goes wild knowing you’re naked and washing in Joel Miller’s shower, even though you two have been fooling around for almost a month now.

You’re busy relishing over how perfect the last couple of days have been, wondering what breakfast Joel’s cooking up downstairs when the bathroom door bursts open.

“Hey,” he says, pulling on the shower door. “Out.”

“Huh?” you reply, eyes screwed shut, hair covered in soapy bubbles.

“I said get out. He’s here. Your damn dad’s here.”

Joel reaches around you and hands you a towel as he pulls you out of the cubicle and quickly wrings your hair for you. In a daze, you throw his tee over your shoulders and take his hand, following him out of the shower room and across his bedroom to the closet.

He turns you, hands tight on your shoulders, and ushers you inside.

“What’s he doin–?”

“I got a leaking pipe. He was passin’ by, dropped in to take a look. You stay here, do not make a sound, you hear?”

He closes over the slatted door gently, and you peer through the wood with narrow eyes. You hear footsteps approaching, your dad’s unmistakable chortle as the bedroom door is pushed open again and Joel shows him to the leaking pipe.

“Somewhere under there,” he mutters, hands resting on his knees to point to the space underneath his sink. “Had a look myself, tried some stuff, but it ain’t for fixin’.”

“Let’s have a look,” your dad bends down, groaning when his bad knees reach the tile. He’s almost shoulder deep under Joel’s cabinet, flashlight on, when Joel steals a glance in your direction.

He shakes his head, holding a hand up. Stay quiet.

He gives the room a quick scan, frantic eyes searching for any evidence of your being there. He swivels on the spot, twisting behind himself, noticing your cell on the nightstand at the same time you do.

Joel leans back, feet still rooted to the carpet, and fishes the phone between two fingers, slipping it into his back pocket. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Ah!” your dad exclaims, and Joel shoots straight back around. “It’s your trap.”

“Is that right? I had a look at it.”

“Mhm. Is your eyesight failin’? Look at this, son.” Your dad’s hand reaches blindly behind him into his toolbox and grabs a wrench. “Just the joint’s loose.”

Joel grumbles in response.

You hear the squeak of metal as your dad tightens the pipe and then the clank of his wrench being thrown back into his toolbox. With maximum effort – thanks to his bad joints – he straightens back up alongside Joel, who thanks him.

“Better be the last of my issues.”

“Ha! So little faith in me, ol’ boy. Anyway. I’ll get out of your hair. That’s a mighty good smell comin’ from your kitchen, don’t wanna hold you back from enjoying it.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” Joel says, and you can see him trying to usher your dad out.

But your dad, though you love him, is kinda fuckin’ annoying.

“Anyone special?”

“Huh?”

“You, cookin’? Naw. ‘s gotta be for someone good. Anyone comin’ over for a breakfast date? A…receptionist from a plant hire, perhaps?”

Joel’s eyes squint as he looks your dad up and down, taking his bottom lip under his teeth. “Nope,” he grumbles after a beat, with one shake of his head.

Your dad laughs a little, and then looks to something behind Joel’s back.

“Nice hat,” he scoffs, pointing a finger.

Joel doesn’t reply for a few seconds. You know he’s having the same realization you’re having: your cowgirl hat is hooked over the corner of his headboard.

He laughs. Nervously. Though maybe only you can hear that.

“Yeah, uh…yeah.”

“Looks a hell of a lot like a hat my daughter has.”

“Yeah?” Joel asks, sensing the same accusatory tone you do. Your forehead falls into your palm, hearing the almost pissed-off tone in which he asks, “And what would your daughter’s hat be doin’ in my bedroom?”

For fuck’s sake, Joel. Subtle, much?

“No, no,” your dad’s almost protesting, “I ain’t meanin’…” He sighs. “You know what I meant. Alright, I’m gone. I’m outta your hair.”

His boots recede down the hallway, then downstairs. Your breath doesn’t come back until you hear his car door slam shut, and the tires drive off.

When Joel pulls the closet door back, you’re still stood, towel in your hair, head in your hands. You can’t even look at him.

He doesn’t say anything like you expect him to. No, Sorry, baby, I didn’t know he was comin’. No, Come get breakfast, I’ll make it up to you.

He just wanders off back downstairs, leaving you to get dressed by yourself.

When you enter the kitchen, he’s plating up pancakes and drizzling them in syrup just the way you like. You pass him and run a hand over his shoulder blades, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch.

When you sit at the table, he puts the plate down in front of you. Silently. Then sits across from you.

You watch his every move. He picks up his knife and fork, and begins cutting into his own breakfast. Staring down at the plate. Then out of the kitchen window to the backyard. Then back to the plate.

You give his calf a light kick under the table, and his eyes lift, but only to your plate.

“You gonna eat?” he asks. Toneless. Less emotion than he talked to your dad with.

Without a word, you pick up your cutlery and start on your own pancakes, though your appetite suddenly disappears.

He made them with banana – your favorite – but the way he’s being with you right now, they taste sour and dry. You chew your way through as much as you can until you’re staring him down, desperate for him to –

“Would you just say somethin’?”

He looks up. Finally looks you in the eye. “What?”

“Say something. Get mad. Yell at me or something, I dunno.”

“Why would I yell at you?” He plants his fork into a scrap of pancake and drags his knife alongside it.

“I mean, you seem pretty mad right now.”

“I ain’t gonna yell at you.”

“But you are mad?”

Joel doesn’t reply. He leans to one side, fishes in his back pocket for something, then slides your cell across the wooden table toward you. He nods down at it, and you click to unlock it.

Dad: Hey, I’m heading over to Joel’s to check something out for him. Wanna meet me there?

Dad: If your slumber party’s over, that is

He sent them an hour ago. If you’d fucking looked, you’d have known.

“Fuck…” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, jaw chewing, “fuck.”

“He didn’t– I mean, he didn’t see me, though. Right?”

“He saw your hat.”

You lean back in your chair, cutlery clattering against your plate. “He didn’t know it was mine.” A smile forms on your lips, you can’t help it, but it quickly vanishes when Joel’s tone doesn’t shift. Not even a note.

“And how do I know he ain’t drive by your car on his way?”

“Aw, c’mon, man, I’m parked, like, four streets away.”

Joel shakes his head, eyebrows arched. “You’re unbelievable,” he whispers.

“Uh, okay. Thanks. Jeez.” You fold your arms and glare out to the backyard, face beginning to heat. Eyes beginning to sting. Joel’s never like this with you. Never mad, never disappointed. Never makes you feel like a kid being told off.

“I mean, your bikini’s hangin’ up out there,” he points his fork toward the backyard, “and ain’t your bag sat in my hallway? How in the hell he didn’t see that, I have no idea.”

“But he obviously didn’t, so what’s the big deal? It’s only a black tote, it could’ve been anyone’s.”

“The big deal is that he could’ve seen it, baby! And it’s not just anyone’s, is it? It’s his daughter’s.”

And the thing is – he’s not even wrong. You can’t argue back much, ‘cause you know as well as he does that everything he’s saying is true. It’s valid. Your dad would’ve walked right by that bag – twice. The same bag he saw you hook over your shoulder right before you kissed his cheek and skipped out of his room.

This whole time, you’ve been dancing on a knife edge. Waiting to be caught. You came too close this time, and Joel tells you as much.

“Alright, well, what do you want me to do? I can’t go back in time and move the damn bag. I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t fucking mean to let him see–”

“That’s not the point,” he interjects, which is another thing Joel rarely does.

This whole argument is something Joel – something you rarely do. The two of you. The last time you saw him this animated, this angry over something, it was Arthur Kennedy eyeing you up at the barbecue. And even that – that wasn’t directed at you. He wasn’t mad at you.

“Then what’s your point?” you ask, hands slapping down on the table.

“My point is – how many times are we gonna come within touching distance of someone finding out about this? If it wasn’t Hank almost finding us upstairs, it was your dad waltzing right in while I had you fuckin’– while I was…” He sighs, and then throws his cutlery down onto his plate.

Your head drops, thinking back to the seconds of panic between your dad opening your front door and him seeing you two, an awkward, guilty distance apart. Your shorts under the couch. Your wet on Joel’s fingers.

Joel’s kitchen table blurs in and out of focus, tears swimming across your eyes. You rapidly blink them away, but they’re forming quicker than you can rid yourself of them. When he speaks again, you can’t look at him.

“Look,” he runs an almost trembling hand through his hair, rising from the table, “I gotta go. I got some things I need to do today.”

You stand to height opposite him. “You…gotta go? Right now?”

“Yes, darlin’. I got work stuff to see to.”

“Right. Sure.” You lift your plate, turning away, and hear him sigh.

“I’ll only be a couple hours. We’ll talk more when I’m back.”

You spin then, pursing your lips. “So, I’m to wait here for you? That what you’re sayin’?”

Joel’s already picking up his keys. “No…If you wanna go, you can go. Just…if you wanna talk, then stay. We’ll talk.”

You look up at him, no more words coming to the surface to say. He moves a lock of hair from your face, and heads for the door.

Wait here for him. What a fuckin’ joke.

Still, that’s exactly what you do.

You throw yourself down on his couch, flick on his TV. Put on another episode of Love Island. Think over which boy you’d pick, then decide it’d be none of them, and wonder why the hell you’re watching it in the first place.

You wander upstairs to his room. Sift through the shirts hanging in his closet – all different variations and prints of flannel because it’s Joel fucking Miller. Pull the sleeves to your nose, breathe in the smell of him. The sweet, sandalwood smell that wraps over you like a warm blanket; comforting, calming. Fix the pillows on his bed, punch out the lumps where you lay huddled against him last night, his body against – and inside – yours.

You feel hot with anger. Frustration. A little bit of guilt. It sits heavy on your head, drips down to your stomach, swirls around and mixes with the anxiety already in there. If he’d just come home, you could argue it out. Force whatever he really wants to say out of his mouth. Say a few things of your own back to him.

You never fight. It’s the one thing – you never fight. You bicker, you toss back and forth. You piss him off and he shuts you up with his words, or his lips, or with more. But you never really fight.

It’s like something’s different. As if something’s changed, right from under your feet.

Joel comes home two hours later. Lets the door shudder closed behind him, sighs as he kicks his boots off. You’re still upstairs in his room, perched on his side of the bed reading some stupid book on Alcatraz you found in a drawer.

“Baby?” he calls, and you don’t reply. You’ve little right to be as mad as you are, but he can search for you for a minute as reparation for walking out earlier.

“Hey…” he whispers when he pushes the door open, spotting you with the book resting on your thighs. “Alcatraz, huh?”

“It ain’t that good,” you huff, slamming it shut and sliding it across the nightstand.

He breathes a Hmph, then sweeps around the bed. Like he’s scared to make a sound. Like he’s trying not to be noticed. When he reaches you, he sinks into the mattress at your feet, elbow resting on your knees.

“We gotta talk.”

Do I want to hear this? you ask him with your eyes.

He sucks a deep, unsteady breath in, and his brows furrow. He sighs again.

And you know what he’s about to say.

“This…We’ve pushed this too far, now. We’re way beyond reining this in.”

You stare at his lips. Waiting for them to offer something more. When they fall silent, your gaze trails up the shape of his nose, curving around his brows and then finally falling onto his eyes. They reveal all you need to know.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. You’re not serious, right? Joel.”

“Kid, I…”

“No. What? Because of a bag?”

“Not because of a bag.” He looks you in the eye and shakes his head, whispers your name., then, “…because of the lying.”

“It’s never been a problem up until now.”

“It’s never been as bad as now. You ain’t been home in almost two days. Your dad has no idea where you are.”

“I’m not in danger, Joel.”

“You think he’d be happy? If he knew where you were really at right now? Knew you’d lied to his face this entire weekend?”

You sink back against the headboard, defeated. Desperately trying to find another way through what he’s saying. “What, then? What do we do? Come clean?”

He almost fucking laughs. Plays it off by pushing the air from his cheeks. “No. I don’t think we should…No.”

You shrug. “Then, tell me. Just fucking say it.”

Joel shakes his head, holds his hands out. “You’re lookin’ at me like I’m breakin’ this off outta the blue, baby. Like it’s comin’ outta left field.”

“So you’re breaking it off?”

“No, I’m– It’s not– I don’t…” He sighs, fingers pressing into his eyes.

You stand up, towering over him, silhouetted by the window behind you. “Just – fucking – say it. End it. I’ll go.”

“That’s not what I’m tryna do, kid.”

“What are you tryna do, then? There are two of us in this, Joel. You’ve been lying just as much as I have.”

“You don’t think I know that?” he hisses, standing up until you’re chest to chest, inches apart from one another. “Jesus, kid. I’m checking myself every fuckin’ conversation I have with your dad. Makin’ sure nothin’ I say will clue him in. Makin’ sure I don’t accidentally let slip what the hell’s been goin’ on!”

“I’ve been doin’ the same!” you yell back. “It ain’t just you, Joel, but that doesn’t seem to mean nothin’ to you!”

“Mean nothin’,” he repeats with a laugh, turning away and running his hands through his hair. “You don’t mean nothin’ to me? That what you think?”

“What else am I supposed to take from this, asshole? That you’re fuckin’ in love with me?”

He falls silent. His lips pull into a frown. He backs off.

Downstairs, his phone starts ringing. He glances to the doorway, shifts between his feet.

“You don’t get to do this, you know,” your voice trembles, “you don’t get to pull me in and then just drop me when it becomes inconvenient. Once you’re done with me.”

“Don’t.” Joel’s voice cuts like glass. “Don’t.”

You step back. Stare him down, try to make him say something. Try to make him do something. Your hands are on his biceps, eyes boring into his, swelling with tears you’re trying desperately to hold back.

Nothing. Not a word.

“I can’t read your mind anymore…” you whisper.

Joel takes a deep breath, his eyes flicker across your lips just for a second. He looks sad, eyes glassy, lines around his eyes where his eyebrows meet. But they tell you nothing.

His phone’s still ringing out, echoing through the silent house like an alarm bell.

You look at him blankly now. “Phone’s ringin’, Joel.”

He says nothing back, just looks at you from under his low brows.

You back out of his bedroom, shaking your head and stumbling a little over thin air. You’re staring at each other; you, trying to work out who the man is standing in front of you, and Joel, trying to plead with you to hear him out.

When you reach the threshold, you turn as if to run.

“Darlin’, come back. Hey.”

He follows you into the hallway and you feel his hand around your wrist. You whip it to your chest and turn to face him.

“Darlin’? Not your darlin’ anymore, am I? ’m just some girl you were fucking for a month.”

“C’mon, now, you know that’s not true.”

You lead downstairs, shoes thudding as you go. Joel’s right behind you, trying any combination of words to slow you down, make you look at him, stop for five seconds.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, your arm swoops down to grab your bag, and as you straighten up, Joel’s ringtone cuts and his machine beeps.

“Hey, Joel,” a woman’s voice fills the space between you both. Your head whips around to stare at the machine.

“It’s Lois. I was just callin’ to…to check in. It was really nice seein’ you today. Give me a call when you can, okay?”

The voicemail cuts and the two of you are plunged back into silence. Silence, save for the heaving of your breath. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your heart ready to burst through it. You haven’t taken your eyes off of the machine, red light blinking menacingly.

Joel lifts his hands. “That is not…It’s not what it sounds like…” he says, slowly, calmly. Quiet. Like you’ve never heard him speak before. Not We’re about to be caught quiet. Not even Quit arguin’ back quiet.

This is desperate quiet. And desperate’s not something you’ve ever heard pass Joel’s lips.

Your whole body is shaking, and you’re not sure whether it’s from adrenaline, or fear, or hurt, or pain. It takes most of the life inside you just for your lungs to open and close. You can’t fucking look at him. You can’t – fuck, you can’t even look in his direction.

You turn slowly toward the front door. You unlock it in a daze, and pull on the handle. The heat from outside hits you like you’ve opened an oven door.

“Baby…” Joel whispers.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Joel.”

----------

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mild-and-hammered · 6 months ago

Text

When I asked for prompts @unshatters-your-teacup blessed me with

"Teeny tiny superbat prompts 👀 what about them hanging out on a rooftop mid-patrol?"

and

"Or maybe Clark interviewing Batman? (writers choice if they know each other’s identities)"

So here we go!

The Rooftop

“We can stop here,” Kal El said, floating down beside Bruce, where he crouched beside a gargoyle. “It’s been slow tonight.”

“Mmh,” Bruce grunted. He needed a rest,he knew, recently bruised ribs presenting their bill. He knew Superman knew it too.

Kal El –Clark– sat on the edge, feet dangling off the side of the building in his bright red boots. He kicked them a little, like a little kid. Bruce scowled at the way it made him want to smile, and settled from his crouch into a seated pose that mirrored Clark’s. He did not kick his legs.

Gotham often ranked among the top five, regularly top three, ugliest cities in the United States. Bruce had never thought so, but then, most people didn’t get to see it from the vantage point that he did. He wondered what Clark thought of it, comparing it to the mirrored glass and sparkle of Metropolis. Was he disgusted by the fetid Finger River to the north? Could he smell it from here? In the middle of summer Bruce could sometimes. That insalubrious bit of Old Gotham generally known as the Cauldron was certainly not the prettiest part of the city, but Bruce stared to the southeast, in the direction of the Belfry and some of Gotham’s better kept older buildings. Through the fine, misting rain, everything looked like a watercolor done in deep purples and navy shadows, here and there the amber of a street light flickered.

“It’s gorgeous,” Superman said, smiling softly.

Bruce studied him, then decided he was indeed being sincere. He reached into his utility belt and found the lollipops he usually kept for frightened kids. He handed one to Clark, who grinned and unwrapped it.

“You don’t even need to eat,” Bruce snarked, but there was no edge to it.

“I don’t need to read books, go for walks, or visit friends either,” Clark said. He leaned back bracing himself on his arms. One red-gloved hand brushed against Bruce’s fingertips. Clark didn’t seem to notice.

“I suppose you think that’s what you’re doing now? Visiting a friend?”

Clark grinned again, teasingly, and Bruce was glad of the cowl to hide his expression.

“Aren’t I?”

“You’re certainly visiting.”

“You love it,” Clark said.

Bruce stared at him, feeling the solar-flare warmth of him even through both of their gloves, burning away just at his fingertips. The bat signal lit the sky, briefly framing Clark’s profile in a halo.

“I do,” he said, shooting a grappling hook at the next building over.

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

The Interview

Bruce had agreed to be interviewed as Batman for one reason only. It was a stupid reason, and when all of his various kids had expressed utter disbelief that he was being interviewed, he’d dodged their questions neatly, passing it off vaguely as a favor.

It wasn’t a favor.

Bruce was, well, he was just a little bit jealous maybe. The thing was, he and Superman had gotten close lately. Really close, really. He was probably one of Bruce’s closest friends, even if they didn’t know each other’s identities yet. Admittedly, Bruce’s other closest friends were Ollie and Dinah, Diana, and Harvey whenever he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of Bruce.

He didn’t feel the same about Ollie and Dinah as he did about Kal El, though. Kal made his stomach swoop like he’d mistimed a grapple. And Kal spent a lot of time rescuing Lois Lane. Lois was smart, beautiful, and accomplished, Bruce had no issue with her as a person, he just wanted to know.

So when she’d asked if the Daily Planet could get the inside scoop when Batman had saved a gala, he’d agreed. The interview could go both ways, perhaps. Although, he’d be much more subtle about inquiring into her dating life, of course. All things considered, he was ready for Lois Lane to meet him in Grant Park that evening. He was not prepared for Clark Kent, who was sitting on a bench hunched over a tiny notebook. Bruce only recognized the man from the blurry photo they put next to the byline in the Planet.

“Oh!” The man said, standing up and promptly dropping the notebook, then, when he bent to pick up the notebook, the pen he’d stuck in his shirt pocket fell to the ground. He nearly brained himself on the underside of the bench scrabbling to pick it up. Behind the cowl, Bruce rolled his eyes. He was running on eight hours of sleep in the past three or four days, and the last thing he wanted was to sit through a half hour interview with the Daily Planet’s village idiot.

A voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Alfred reminded him that he got rather mean when he was tired.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kent said, at last standing and shifting pen and notebook to his left hand so he could offer his right to shake. Bruce did not shake his hand.

“I was expecting Miss Lane,” he said simply, letting his voice modulator turn it into a growl.

“Oh, I’m sorry, she was really excited that the Planet got the exclusive with you, but she’s been scheduled for an interview with the mayor and–” Bruce waved a hand, dismissing the issue.

“Go on,” he said. “Ask questions.”

“Why did you decide to fight crime?”

Bruce answered a few standard, rather banal questions, eyes flicking mostly around the park to make sure they weren’t being followed or otherwise hunted. He was secretly hoping to see the Bat Signal so he could have an excuse to leave without insulting the reporter who was, likely, a perfectly nice man. He just couldn’t tell Bruce what he wanted to know…probably.

“You work closely with Miss Lane?” Bruce asked, next time Kent was scribbling something. He finally really looked at the man, the line of his nose, the curve of his chin…

“Oh, yeah, we share a desk actually, Lois is great.”

“Must get annoying, all the flowers Superman gets her probably take up a lot of desk space.” It was not Bruce’s most subtle play. It was, in fact, a disastrously obvious one, but hopefully he could play it off as him being interested in Miss Lane, as opposed to Superman. Considering that half the tabloids in Gotham thought Batman was dating Bruce Wayne, he could deal with the rumor mill spinning that Batman had a crush on a reporter.

Kent was blinking at him, full lips parted, dark brow furrowed. He was remarkably pretty, in a way that niggled at Bruce’s mind. He’d seen the man before, but sleep deprivation and deja vu were mixing in an odd way.

“You mean the daisies she got for her birthday? How did you– world’s greatest detective, of course, but um, I think those were from her dad, she didn’t like them all that much.”

“Hmm,” Bruce said, keeping his face carefully neutral. At least Superman wasn’t dropping roses off for her every day or anything.

“Speaking of Superman, do you like him?”

“What?” Bruce worked hard to keep the shock from his voice.

“Oh, I mean working with him, you’re both Justice League members, and all that. Are you two friends or just colleagues?”

Ah, of course Metropolis’ newspaper actually wanted to interview Batman about their local golden boy. He wasn’t particularly upset about it.

“Superman is one of my closest friends,” he said simply, trying not to panic at being so plain about it.

“That’s very high praise,” Kent said. Was he blushing? Why was he blushing?

“Not exactly, I have very few,” Bruce said, feeling the poison of sleep deprivation sinking hooks further into his brain. The stupid reporter was cute when he blushed.

“However,” Bruce continued, realizing how his statement could be construed. “Kal El is someone I trust completely to have my back. He’s an asset to the Justice League, and those of us that get a chance to know him are truly lucky.”

“Wow,” Clark breathed, scribbling. “What about you Mister, uh, Batman, who knows you?”

Bruce froze at the question and blue eyes widened behind thick-framed glasses.

“Oh no, I meant uh, when you aren’t in the cape…readers want to know…there’s rumors you’re dating Brucie Wayne.”

“Mister Wayne is an acquaintance,” Bruce said, simply. Of course, the gossip mill did love to turn.

“No comment, then,” Kent said wryly. “Understood. Between the two of us, I think you could do better.”

“Do you?”

“W-well,” Kent stuttered. “All I mean is that you deserve someone who…understands the burden, I think. Of the cape.”

“And what do you know of the ‘burden of the cape’,” Bruce said, smirking slightly.

“Nothing, obviously, it was just a silly thought.” Kent’s face was so red, scarlet even in the dim light as the sun set and lamps flickered on in the park. Scarlet like a cape… The man bit his lip and the dimple on his chin…

“Kal?” Bruce whispered.

Mortification, then guilt flickered across Kent’s face. Then he sighed, resignation tipping his broad shoulders downward. He pulled off the glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I guess I should know better than to try and fool you, B,” he said. “Sorry for the–” he waved a hand at himself, the notebook, the park in general. “Everything. Lois really is busy, though, and the Planet still wanted the interview.”

“You have a day job at the Daily Planet?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” Kal said, then, for the second time that night, he stuck out his hand to shake. “Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter from Kansas, at your service.”

“Batman, bad mannered protector of Gotham,” Bruce said, shaking his hand. Kal– Clark– laughed.

“Why ask about Bruce?” Bruce asked. He wasn’t opposed to Kal knowing, certainly not now that Bruce had uncovered his secret, but he wanted to know if he had let something slip.

“Oh,” Kal said, blushing. He looked more human, much more like a Clark-from-Kansas when he did that, as opposed to Kal El-from-Krypton. “It’s very silly, please don’t tell anyone.”

“Who would I tell?”

“I wanted to know if you were seeing someone,” Kal said. “I don’t know, I guess I just wondered if…”

“Mmh,” Bruce grunted as Kal trailed off miserably. “I agreed to the interview to find out if you were dating Lois Lane.”

“What?” Kal’s head came up, eyes confused. “Why–oh, I guess my dating life could be a liability for the league. Especially since Lois gets kidnapped so much now, when we’re just friends.”

“Just friends?”

“Yeah.”

Bruce hesitated a long while. “I was not considering the league in my inquiries,” he said at last.

“No?”

“No. Do you really think I could do better than Bruce Wayne?”

“Um, I don’t know if better was actually fair of me to say–”

“What about you, do you think you could do better than Bruce Wayne?”

Kal, Clark, gaped at Bruce. “I’d never really–”

Bruce pulled off the cowl.

#dc #superbat #clark kent #batman #superman #bruce wayne #ficlet #my writing #ask answers #prompts #identity reveal

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silverstudios · 6 months ago

Text

New friends on Halloween

It just needed something to eat...but it'll happily take new friends too~

Alone.

It was realizing that it hated that word, and this feeling.

It trouted out of their-...its cave at 5:55pm, claws shaking slightly, an awful gnawing at its center and the slash across its side wasn’t making it feel any better. At least the costume was doing its purpose, keeping the stinging wound protected from outside invasion and helping in the regeneration process, but the costume alone wasn’t enough.

It needed something, someone, anything to eat- it’s been too long since it gotten this stupid injury, too long since winfrey was taken from it, and far too long since it's even eaten an animal-

It was starving…in more than just the physical sense.

Its eyes still felt raw after all the crying was done- it hates crying, it hates feeling so incomplete…

It stopped at the edge of the tree line, hidden by the dense leaves of a bush and watched, blinking heavily and tail raised in confusion.

Had it gotten the time wrong? The sun was down, it was dark, but yet there were still so many humans out and about. It was a lot of the little humans too, and they were wearing…costumes? Since when did humans wear costumes???

It hesitated at first, glanced back the way it came, but the growl that raced from it made it look back to the oddity happening on the street. It just needed One human, one good sized meal, and then it could flee and heal.

It stepped out of the bush, straightened its back, and began walking about. It waited for screaming, for panic….but all it got was the occasional glance, and one human smiled at it.

“Dude, love the costume!” it blinked, tail twitched, and before it could respond that tall yet not mature- teenager?-teenagers- humans had walked off, laughing alongside each other. Did….were they not able to tell? They did smell weird, an awful fermented smell, so not good prey-it could not afford to get sick.

It walked a little bit longer, glancing around, sticking to the side of the street with less houses and less lights- awful bright things they are- and looked for someone separated, someone else Alone.

It tried not to focus on the fact that so many of these humans had a pair, tried not to tear up and blinked away the stinging in its eyes. Now is not the time-

“C’mon John!! Just a little higher, I can almost reach it!!” It blinked, glanced toward the darkened yard and crouched, claws digging into the damp grass as it snuck closer. That voice was little, and upset, and sounded tired. It peaked around the side of the…what do humans call these mini buildings again? Shed- yes, shed, it peaked around the side of this shed, all covered in pumpkin stickers and….broken eggs? It resisted the urge to lick them off, maybe later.

And standing before it, on top of each other's shoulders, were two little ones. Little boys, one dressed up in a brown hat and vest with boots that were too big and the other had his costume of white sheets and see through lace hung around his shoulders as he lifted the other up. The little cowboy was reaching up, hand outstretched and balance unsteady, grasping at a small orange and yellow bucket above them. Both their faces were red- they’ve been crying recently too- and teeth gritted.

“Jason I can’t get any higher!!” “Well we have to get Ashley’s basket! We promised!” The little cowboy- Jason- shifted and reached a little bit closer while on his tiptoes-

Clyde didn’t have time to process what happened, one second it watched them, the next it stood next to them, Jason wrapped up in its tail upside down and both little ones staring at it in surprise. It blinked, letting the actions make sense in its mind- John had lost his grip, Jason had slipped, a fall from even that small of a height would have broken his neck, instinct had overtaken thought- and smiled slightly as it set him down.

“....Um- Thanks.” Jason coughed, cheeks tinted red and glanced away, rubbing the back of his head. It hesitated to speak…but smiled. “WeLcOmE.” It was raspy, and not human like, and it waited for them to run…but it blinked at the sympathetic looks.

“You got that bug too?” John chuckled. “My brother and dad both got it and they sound just as raspy as you.”

Bug- cold, illness. It hesitated, glancing away before nodding. It looked up at the tree, at the little basket in it, and pointed at it and tilted its head. “WhY?” “Oh- Some buttheads bully older kids!” Jason stomped his feet. “They got mad that we saw them egging Miss Camper’s house and when we said we’d tell her, they threw Ashley’s basket up there.” John sighed. “We’ve been trying to get it down for her so she could trick or treat with us…”

Well that is just rude. It glared slightly at the story-tail thrashed against the ground in shared frustration and moved over to the tree. The children made questioning sounds as it grabbed onto the rough wood-this tree was old, and sick, and if it had to guess it wouldn't be here come next year- and raised itself up. Those two didn’t have claws, they weren’t made to climb trees- it was. Up and up, spiral around that branch, knock down that old plastic toy with its tail, and onto the branch. Its tail hooked around the fabric handle of the little plastic pumpkin, and lowered the prize down the onlooking children- whose eyes seemed to sparkle in amazement. Once Jason took it, it dropped itself from the branch- the ground made a quiet squelch sound as it landed hard onto the damp grass, and looked down at the two. It smiled. “ThErE.” “That was Amazing!!!” John raised his arms up and bounced. “Oh you HAVE to teach me how to climb trees like that!!!”

It blinked and snickered, tail swinging in amusement, then blinked as a glove covered hand took hold of one of it’s fingers.

“C’mon, let’s go find Ashley!” Jason beamed and began to move. It could have pulled away- or it could have pulled this one closer, its inside gurgled angrily at the lack of substance within…but it followed, tail curled, head tilted. It was…nice, to have this little bit of company right now. It waited a few weeks for its wound to heal enough to move, it can wait until they find Ashley.

“Oh, my name is John by the way!” John, now confirmed to be the little boy in the ghost costume, smiled up at it. “That’s Jason.” “Yuuup!” It smiled at those silly little ones… “...ClYdE.” “Nice to meet cha, clyde!” It squinted its eyes happily at that, tail swinging a little faster. It had to wonder why they hadn't noticed it wasn’t human yet…but then again, some of the costumes it is seeing as the trio walks down the path looked pretty similar to it.

“....WhY CoStUmEs?” “....It’s halloween.” John smiled at it, and then blinked at it when it tilted its head. “.....You…do know what halloween is, right?” The small gasp that came from him when it shook its head brought a grin to its face and a quiet snicker. “Dude- Halloween is like- The best time of the year!!! You get to dress up, you get to see all the cool spooky stuff, you get to trick or treat and get free candy!!!” John shakes his arms up and down to add to his point, and Clyde couldn’t help but snicker a little louder at the action. “Jason we have to let Clyde trick or treat with us, this is an outrage.” “Yeah- Ashley!!” Jason let go of its finger and raced forward into a small crowd. It hesitated, tail stopping dead mid swing, breath held- and then released as the small cowboy returned, a little girl in tow. She wore a puffy dress that sparkled and a small gold crown on her head, her eyes were puffy and red and she held a small wand alongside her returned basket. She was smiling, tears in her eyes as the two came over. “This is Clyde, they got it down!” Jason made a small gesture to it, and Ashley looked up at it- and then slammed into its leg, arms wrapped around it.

It froze, the entire body went stiff, tail raised….and it knelt down and patted her back. Careful to not touch exposed skin, thank Six she had long sleeves, and a quiet rumble came from it. “T-Thank you so much.” She sniffled out, looking up at it with tear filled eyes but a large grin before stepping back and rubbing her eyes. Jason held onto her and wiggled side to side, and John sighed and poked her. “We’ll tell Miss Camper about the egging tomorrow, for now let's have fun for the rest of the night with our new friend!”

It blinked, looking down at the three little ones. “....FrIeNd?” “Well- yeah!! You helped get her basket and you’re cool!” John beamed at it, and it blinked a few more times.

Friend…friend is like partner, friend is companion…friend is someone to spend time with and enjoy, and to hunt and play and sleep-

But these are humans- these are little lives that will fade in the time it takes to blink, and can be snuffed out even faster. Human are prey, it was predator…but humans were also sentient, also had small souls-

It held onto sentience and souls within-

Its stomach growled, its pupils dilated- and it smiled wide.

“FrIeNdS!” it wrapped up all three into its arms and rose to its full height, moving them side to side as it turned on its heels and walked back toward the darker side of town. It didn’t want a crowd to see this, this was just for it and its new friends. The three of them let out startled, then excited and giggling sounds. It curled them up, particular to keep a good grip on the wiggling things, and particular to see how Big they were….

…

It could fit all three of them in whole, Combined they were barely the size of its torso. It rumbled as it kept walking, and John stopped wiggling and looked around. “Um…..Clyde?” “Hm?” “Where are we going?” It giggled. “....TrEaT.” “...Oh, you know a good house or something?” “SoMeThInG.” There, nice and quiet and dark- a few lights but for the most part, isolated.

Perfect. They were looking around, pointing at the houses with lights on, wondering which of these houses were its special treat spot- None of them noticed it open its mouth. It wouldn’t chew, its teeth were sharp, that would hurt and it didn’t want to hurt its little pals…. John had glanced up- and didn’t even get to yell. One. Ashley had gone to a door, banging on it, but it scooped her up before the door opened. Two.

It was surprised by how fast Jason was with those oversized boots, but it caught up just as fast. Three. In the distant, it could hear people raising their voices, calling out little names.

It couldn’t stop purring as it slinked around the edges of town, its claw resting on its chest. They were trying to get comfortable, shifting and squirming, muffled sounds and voices. It felt so warm… It should likely return to its home, to rest- but it wanted to keep experiencing this “Halloween”, it wanted to keep going- just for a little while longer. Maybe it’ll find itself more little treats. More little friends. They were warm, and soon to be its friends forever more- but they were quite small. It could fit a couple more within-

Something latched onto its leg, and it jerked. Eyes looking downward, it blinked. A small boy, sniffling and rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry…” The little boy sniffled. “I did the one thing you told me not to do and I lost them…” It blinked… and ruffled their hair slightly. The boy sniffled- and then yawned. “I wanna go home, Alex…” He yawned, arms wrapped further around its leg and face pressed in a little. “.....I’m sleepy and I'm upset.”

It smiled and reached down, claws hooked under little arms and lifted him up. He certainly did seem sleepy, eyes squinted and mostly shut, slightly bags under them. This little guy needed a nap…

Surely he wouldn’t mind joining this little friendship, he seems like such a sweet kid- and it’d be so wrong to leave someone alone when they asked for help. It smiled, large and bright for him.

“Night Nighy~” Ah, it’s voice sounds so much better with its three little friends added to it, less like it had an awful cold. He squinted and paled. “You’re not Ale-” Four. It stood there, a purr racing from it and tail swinging in glee, another warm weight tucked within, another new friend for it to keep. “.........L-Lewis….?” It froze, and looked over its shoulder. Two boys, pale as the moon above, one holding a trembling flashlight in their hand and the other had dropped his basket, hands covering his mouth. Tears in their eyes, faces filled with dread.

Ah ...They must be friends with the sleepy one… The air was silent as they stared at one another, the two boys frozen in place…And Clyde grinned brightly, teeth shown and mouth open slightly. Well, 6 Was its favorite number and it would be so wrong to separate such a cute little group of friends…

“.....Norman.” The one with the flashlight whispered as it turned fully to face them, taking a slow step forward. “.....Y-yeah Sam?” “Run.”

Oh how fun, they’re playing Tag. Clyde has to guess that it is It.

It Loves this game!

It caught Sam first, the boy was a slow runner, limping on his left leg and he seemed to know it. He had turned and grabbed onto it- and he went down screaming the whole time.

Five.

It slowed as it approached the tree, the sounds of panicked breath badly muffled behind hands. It grinned and lowered itself, the grass had dried, its tail slamming across the sidewalk so that the boy would look in the other direction…

His yelp of surprise when it tapped his shoulder had made him taste all the sweeter.

Six.

By now, the night wasn’t quiet, shrieks and yelling of little names and worried cries filled the air, but it didn’t mind. Afterall, it had its fill and it had its friends, it was as good as any time to return to the cave- “I wanna go home” A muffled voice echoed from it, and it purred and wrapped its arms around itself, nuzzling itself with glee.

“Don’t worry, we’re going home now~” It purred, and entered the tree line at 7pm.

#silver rambles #silver writes #doai clyde #doai the six children #doai sitcom au #Promise unkept timeline #Long post #this was like- 7 pages in my google doc #no beta we die like men #Enjoy!#dreams of an insomniac

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thedevilrisen · 3 months ago

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Mr. 73

Matt Rempe x rangers!daughter Word Count: 1.3k

Description: When left alone in a big rink with nothing but a desire for the ice, but no supervision she turns to an almost stranger to assist her and in return camaraderie and bonds are shared.

The translucent ice groaned under the sharp creases Matt made with his blades, edges gripping as his stick cradled the puck. Predicting and intercepting its every move, he sent it soaring at the net, sighing in satisfaction as the puck collided into the netting with a thwack.

Spinning around, taking off with a start towards the other end of the ice, careening around the net, Matt smiled gently as he heard the childish joy expressed in a gentle giggle, muffled by a tiny hand swaddled by fleeced gloves. Looking around for the source of the sound Matt couldn’t spot the child it belonged too.

It was common for players’ kids to hang around the rink, especially if they shared their fathers’ love for hockey or figure skating. However there were strict times that the kids were allowed on the ice and it was almost always accompanied by a parent.

With no sign of a parent nearby, and expecting one to appear any minute with their little skater in tow, Matt shrugged and returned to his drills. Skating from on end of the rink to the other, puck caressed and tenderly manipulated to portray his skill.

Matt however was greatly surprised when he saw two fluorescent pink gloves feel along the top of the boards and a mop of brown hair peek over.

“‘xcuse me, Mister 73?” a young girl spoke, she would barely reach Matt’s hip off skates, let alone on them. Yet there she was, wide brown eyes with blown out pupils, reflecting the ice making her look like the sweetest little thing. “My daddy can’t help me practice today, he said I should find someone else instead.”

A smile graced the tall man’s lips and he subconsciously leaned down and rested his head on his stick, “Did he now? It’s a shame he can’t help you!”

“It is!” she spoke, little voice speaking with the conviction only a young child would, unless you were Matt in this situation then he matched her energy perfectly. “I- I was wondering if you could help me practice?”

“Yeah, sure honey!” Matt murmured, skating over and propping his stick on on the inside of the bench, and pulling open the heavy metal door to the bench, swinging it open, being careful not to accidentally hit the young girl. When he stepped onto the bench and his gaze fell upon her pink clad figure, from the little skirt to the hot pink skate covers with little bows on the toes of her boots.

“Dressed for the occasion, huh?” Matt smiled, crouching down, half on the bench and his other half on the ice, “What are we going to work on?”

She toddled closer to him, reaching down to pull her pink skate guards off of her blades and tuck them neatly in the pocket next to the door, before beaming up at him. “My backwards crossovers! In a circle!”

Matt took a second to contemplate what she was talking about, anyone walking by could very obviously see the gears turning in his head as he tried to vividly picture what the young girl meant. “Can you show me?”

If he thought the young girl’s smile couldn’t get any bigger, he was wrong. With a shining smile, brighter than her dazzling little leotard she moved past him and took to the ice. Little legs gliding along the ice rhythmically, before coming to a stop in the centre. “Like this, Mister 73!” she called as she turned and started her little backwards half pumps.

Matt watched as the young girl gracefully moved around in a circle and once she had done two laps she brought her foot up and crossed over, albeit with a fair wobble. Subconsciously the man winced each time she did it, he could very clearly see how the situation could end in her beautifully almost permanently adorned smile cracking and tears filling the crevices.

He flicked his hair out of his face and counted her sixth lap, he was contemplating telling her to take a break so he could maybe help her with technique when she tried her third crossover and her feet got caught and she went tumbling to the ice. Matt scrambled up and towards her, skating the majority of the way on his knees.

“Are you alright, honey?” he whispered, leaning down, delicately taking her small hand and helping her raise into a sitting position. It was only the two of them in the rink so their voices carried decibels louder than they were spoken.

“I’m okay, Mister 73.” she spoke through glistening eyes, lip wobbling slightly, “I hurt my buttbone though, because I left my pad at home.”

“Your buttbone?” He couldn’t help but smile, the young girls terminology for her tailbone absolutely adorable. He looked around for a padding alternative, spotting his gloves and a roll of hockey tape nearby as idea flooded his mind. “I think I can make you a pad, how does that sound.”

Joy filled her juvenile features as she watched Matt get up and skate to his discarded gloves, she rose from the ice and followed him as he grabbed the tape too, he crouched down behind her and grabbed the gloves, positioning them almost like a cushion on her backside and taping all the way around. Revelling in her gentle giggles as she lifted her arms and watched him do it.

“Give that a try!” he smiled, standing up but not to his full height as he was preparing to catch the little girl if he needed. She fell back gently onto the ice, and laughed wholeheartedly.

“It worked Mister 73!” She giggled, the little bounce making her laugh.

“Yeah it did! Matt smiled, “C’mon, let’s master these backwards crossovers!” He smiled, taking her little hand, lifting her to her feet and trying to copy her moves as she skated backwards in a circle. Matt fell sometimes after she fell, becoming slowly more infatuated with her antics every breath he took.

After several more rounds, with each attempt becoming steadier than the last, the girl finally managed to execute her crossovers smoothly, gliding with newfound confidence. She spun around to face Matt, her eyes glowing with pride. “Did you see that, Mister 73? I did it!”

Matt’s heart swelled at the sight of her joy. He knelt down beside her, grinning as he gave her a celebratory fist bump. “You sure did, honey! That was perfect. You’ve got it down now.”

The girl giggled, puffing out her chest proudly. “Maybe one day I’ll be as good as you!”

Matt chuckled, ruffling her hair gently. “Maybe one day you’ll be even better.”

The distant clatter of footsteps echoed from the tunnel, signaling the end of their impromptu practice. As the girl’s father appeared at the edge of the rink, a look of surprise mixed with gratitude crossed his face upon seeing his daughter’s progress.

“There you are, kiddo! I see you found yourself a pretty great coach.”

The girl beamed, rushing over to her dad and hugging his leg. “Mister 73 helped me with my crossovers, Daddy! And he made me a buttbone pad so I wouldn’t hurt myself!”

The man laughed, exchanging a nod of thanks with Matt, who couldn’t help but smile back. “She’s got a lot of potential,” Matt said, tapping his skate against the ice. “You’ve got a future star here.”

As the father and daughter left the rink, the girl waved enthusiastically over her shoulder. “Bye, Mister 73! Thanks for helping me!”

Matt watched them go, a lingering smile on his face. He took a moment to savor the warmth that spread through his chest—a warmth different from the adrenaline that usually fueled his time on the ice. With a last glance at the door where the little girl had exited, he turned back towards the center of the rink.

Practice hadn’t gone as planned, but as Matt resumed his drills, he found himself smiling more than usual. Sometimes, the joy in the game wasn’t in perfecting a move, but in sharing it with someone just discovering the magic of the ice. It reminded him of why he fell in love with hockey in the first place—the pure, unfiltered joy that came with every glide, every challenge, and every unexpected connection.

#risen rambles :d #matt rempe #matt rempe fic #matt rempe imagine #matt rempe x reader #nhl #nhl hockey #new york rangers #ny rangers #matt rempe x you #matt rempe x y/n #thedevilrisen fics

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dearanakin · 5 months ago

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trust you | anakin skywalker: episode VII

Summary: After Anakin's breakdown, you're face to face again. This time, you both talk about his relationship with his former Jedi Master — something he doesn't like to reminisce.

Warnings: None, just vulgar words as always

Word count: 3.9k

Previous chapter | Read on Wattpad

----

(Y/N):

I haven't really talked or seen Anakin much after what happened at the event last week. I mean, sure he was always walking down the Temple, probably doing his job and taking care of Luke, but somehow he managed to retreat himself from interacting with other people, even the men he goes on missions with. I watched as he would always show up on the hallways, not looking at anyone either, as his face was holding a different look this time. It seemed... darker, if that's even possible.

I was having lunch with Cal and Adeline - another engineer - in the coffee room. We were trying not to gossip about things that happen around the Temple, but we would always end up going down that path. The redhead was leaning on his chair with his legs sprawled out over the table, his dirty boots almost touching the surface of it. I hate when people don't have good manners, but it's not like he has many flaws like that.

He told me Anakin dismissed him from the next two assignments without giving him a reason, which made him pretty angry at this point. Kestis already had an issue with his partner, and it seemed like the issue was getting over the limits - as he told me. I'm not sure as to why, even though I can think of one motive he would do it. And I know I said we gossip all the time, but that doesn't give me the right to say what happened to him that day.

It literally haunted me. I remember clearly how I ran after him, expecting to question him about the way he ran off like that. Only to find the Jedi Master having a really huge mental breakdown as well as a panic attack. I watched as his eyes turned to yellow in a slight second, throwing me off and catching me off guard.

I was feeling nauseous watching Anakin almost whimper from the pain he must have been going through. When he sat down and leaned against the wall, saying he's not good for anyone around him. His eyes were carrying so much weight from the panic he just had, I don't think he even has the energy to go out there again and face everyone. His son had no idea his father was on the brink of becoming dark.

I stood there facing the Jedi, without moving an inch of my body and I had a feeling I needed to do something but I didn't know exactly what it was. Anakin was pressing his face against both of his trembling hands, resting his elbows against his knees. His feet were tapping the floor incessantly, running his fingers through his hair every now and then.

When I crouched down to his level and tried to gently touch his flesh hand, he flinched and pulled it to himself. He didn't look at me though. I could hear how shallow his breathing still was, how his chest was heaving fast and the way his body struggled to stay steady. This time I sat down next to him and Anakin shuffled, moving a few inches away from me. And that's when I knew I should keep my boundaries and not stay too close.

"You're gonna be okay" My voice was barely coming out as I was feeling on edge after what I just saw "You need to fight it, Anakin"

"I'm not the Jedi I should be" He shook his head, still hanging it low on his hands. His tremulant voice made my heart flinch a little "I never will be"

I forced myself to give him some kind of support, enough that he wouldn't feel pressed or annoyed about it. But it didn't work as it should, because he lifted up and in five seconds he was already rushing out the door, leaving me behind.

I've only heard of something like that years ago, something that Palpatine himself mentioned when he was trying to take down the Jedi Order. And then, after that, we got to know about Anakin's history behind his relationship with the Sith. He lost his wife, he lost Obi-Wan, who left him after disagreements. It only left him with his son, and I understand why he keeps his distance, why he doesn't want to let his guard down and won't let Luke make acquaintances.

"Dude just showed up to the office, told me I was dismissed and left the room" Cal explained, shrugging his shoulders. Me and Adeline nodded, exchanging glances knowing Anakin was always this obvious when it comes to his temper.

"Probably for the best, one of these days he's going to cut off your head during missions" She quipped, pulling a laugh out of us.

"I'm usually his wingman, we never really disagreed this much until that day" He didn't have to go into much detail as we recall when I was pushed against a corner and was threatened.

This is what really makes me wonder his limits, because when I saw how fragile he was, I could barely remember he was the same douchebag who cornered me. I wonder if he can actually hold himself up from doing something bad, and how much he can suppress the urge of killing someone. Although, for a few seconds I saw a glimpse of what he could've turned into. And I'm sure it wasn't going to end up well.

I've seen some pretty fucked up things before while being around duels enough to realize that was beyond anything I've come to face in this life.

"Maybe he needs to get laid" Kestis goes on, while using his force to play with a dart before shooting it at the dartboard. "Bullseye!"

He looks at us fascinated with the achievement, both me and Adeline gasping in shock as it was the first time he hit the middle of it.

"You're such a nerd" I roll my eyes in amusement, crossing my arms as we watch him stand up from his seat walking towards the board.

Cal feigns an offended look and slams his palm to his chest. "Coming from the nerd who fixes fucking computers and shit like that, you sure have the audacity!"

We all laugh about it, using the rest of our time to pester each other before going back to work.

I was leaving the room right after the two of them had already left, fishing for the keys in my bag as I closed the door behind me. I'm not usually one person that gets terrified or scared of things with ease, but I wasn't expecting to stumble across a wall of bricks without noticing. The keys drop from my hands, the sound of it echoing through the empty hallway. I grimace before even meeting eyes with the person that stands right in front of me.

And when I do, I watch as his bloodshot eyes and furrowed eyebrows inconspicuously roam across my face before I spill a rushed "I'm so sorry". Two seconds later, he was out of sight just like he pulled a lightspeed of how fast he walked out. Jesus Christ, this man sure is a fucking incognito.

It was late in the night when I was still working on Obi's lightsaber grip. For some reason, I thought it would be entertaining if I took some time to at least fix it and maybe give it some meaning back again. My focus was on figuring out how to attach each missing piece together without ruining the entire blade. It was very hard to find all of the components, considering it's a very one of a kind sword. It might seem useless and insignificant to other people, but I've always had feelings for this.

It's the only thing left that makes me feel somewhat closer to him. I might've not been around him much, but whenever we met it was always heartwarming. As someone who admires every Master and every fighter, I've always looked up at him as a role model.

The dim warm light from the corner of the room was bright enough for me to handle the small pieces, while the coffee machine hummed a low sound as it was still on. I didn't notice the presence shuffling through the room, walking toward the cupboard to grab a mug from the cabinet. I lifted my head up, surprised to see Anakin standing there as he was making himself a cup of tea.

He slowly pulls himself the liquid, leaning against the wooden counter fixing his gaze at some blank point, not saying anything. From his demeanor, I can tell he hasn't had a good night of sleep considering his eyes were bloodshot - as always - and his eyes had dark circles around them. I try to ignore his presence and focus on my task, carefully using the tools for each part of the lightsaber.

I remember when Skywalker seemed stunned when he saw I was holding the grip a while ago, his face held an unreadable expression, but I know he didn't expect to see something that reminds him of his past.

Now that he is here with me, Anakin will probably face it again at some point. Unless he just decides to completely ignore me and walk back to his room without even looking at me. So I just keep myself in my little bubble and ignore him as well.

"Are- Are you okay?" I hear myself ask and roll my eyes to the back of my head. I hate myself.

He clearly doesn't answer or doesn't even mention listening to me, still sipping his tea and staring blankly ahead of him. I huff and shrug, of course he wouldn't say anything to me and it's not like we're friends anyway. He doesn't need to tell me anything either way, I'm just trying to make a small conversation, probably for no reason whatsoever.

It's been a couple of minutes since the man was standing there against the counter, slowly drinking his liquid and minding his own business. Then, I notice the sparkly jewelry around his finger and my eyes go wide. Did he ever take that ring off? Does he walk around with it even after all those years? There are so many things I can't stop wondering and I'm sure it probably doesn't help him get over his past.

This is probably why he's always acting defensive and angry. I have no idea what it's like to lose someone like he lost Padmé, and maybe I would've been in the same situation as he is now. Only I'm not a Jedi, and I'm not holding myself off to avoid getting taken by the dark side.

I hesitated for a few seconds before asking anything that would make me regret living, but I don't think there's anything better than to help the others. And I know he needs it more than anyone I've met until today.

"Can't sleep either?" I try again, not daring to look at him as I handle the tool for the blade emitter of the lightsaber.

He still doesn't answer, I can barely even hear Anakin sipping his tea at this point. I shake my head in disappointment at my decision, like he would give me answers and talk to me as if we were close enough for that.

He doesn't move his lips when he mutters a "uh-uh", his eyes still fixed to the wall across the room. This is better than no answer at all, but Skywalker doesn't feel like he wants to do anything other than just drink the tea. So, I nod and hold the saber grip up to my eye level, scanning the missing pieces.

I unintentionally look from the corner of my eye when I realize he snapped his head to where I was sitting. Anakin squints his blue eyes to adjust his sight from the lack of enough brightness in the room, his right hand almost dropping the mug on the floor when he takes in what I'm holding against the light.

I literally have to hold my breath for a few seconds in order to disguise the shakiness that was taking over my body from his sudden action. I know this is a big deal to him, but I'm not sure how he's going to react towards it.

"What are you doing?" His raspy tone echoed through the room, his voice was deep and it had a tinge of nostalgia.

I didn't want to look back at him because I know how intimidating his eyes are. And I'm not talking about the color itself, it's more likely the way they bore into your soul and it feeds itself off your fear. I keep my gaze focused on the piece in front of me, my palms getting sweaty.

"Trying to fix the lightsaber. Maybe give it some meaning" I can't speak like I usually do when I'm around other people. This time, it seems like my vocal cords weren't even being used.

His footsteps finally approach the table I'm working on, his body language reluctantly wondering if he should come closer or just stand a few feet away from me. I look up and see how his eyes carry sorrow and pain, while he still stares at the piece being held in my hand. Anakin struggles to let the words come off of his mouth, which he keeps it shut in a thin line, repressing his feelings. I don't push him, and I don't offer any other word because it's not right to.

He slowly pushes a chair back and sits on it, his slumped shoulders seem to be rigid for whatever reason. It's like he's fighting back his own body to stand this close to me, he shifts in his seat and places his mug on the table. Both of his legs are stretched as he rests one foot above the other, crossing his arms like it's shielding him from any harm.

"How do you know how to manage it?" I hear him ask, voice low but still carrying a bit of roughness, like he doesn't want to give in to talking.

.... It's my job? I try not to answer the question with sarcasm, because I don't think he knows everything I work with. But I ignore that thought and give him a polite explanation. I don't want him going full dark side mode on me again.

"Well, there's a lot of things I do that people don't know about" I give him a light chuckle to lighten the mood. "I've learned that with a former Master from the Temple. She thought it would be a nicety to have a different skill"

He nodded, hanging his head low as his chin touched his chest.

"I think he would've loved to see this was fixed. He would never let go of it" I hold the grip tightly, spinning it around my fingers.

There wasn't a straight response to that and I feel like he would agree with my statement. Kenobi never really had an intention of leaving his weapon behind him.

"Yeah, of course" Anakin spat sternly and bitterly. "If he wasn't such a fucking stupid son of a bitch"

I recognize the hurt in his voice. He feels like he was left behind when he decided that he wanted to kill Palpatine. We all heard about it back then, but no one would ever bring it up in a conversation with him. I keep my hands busy, but my body is rigid from his comment.

"The amazing Obi-Wan Kenobi would just love to have his piece of shit of lightsaber after being gone for six fucking years" I watch him as he huffed a sarcastic laugh. "God, you have no idea who he is, do you?"

Anakin shot a hard glance at me, his brows were knitted together and his lips were pouty with anger. He literally could've been compared to a child with the pissed look. I immediately tense and avert my eyes back to the grip, now it seemed pointless talking about the piece with him.

"He fucking left me. After all I've been through all those years, after I've lost everything he decided that the best option was to give up on me and turn his back on me. He didn't want me to be his friend anymore" Anakin started to raise his voice, his body was still in a defensive position while his hands gripped his arms with violence.

"I'm sorry, Anakin. But I think he just didn't want to see you get hurt" Saying it out loud makes me feel like my throat is getting dry and at this point I'm just fiddling with the lightsaber piece.

"No. No, he just thought that leaving me behind would get the weight off his shoulders. He is literally the most selfish asshole I've ever met" I can hear him breathing through his nose, his fingers digging deep into his tunic.

With a sudden motion, I feel his robotic hand reach out to mine and quickly remove the lightsaber handle from me. I gasp at the reaction, watching as Skywalker holds it to his eye level and spins it around.

"You know..." He speaks up again, eyes roaming through the piece. "This used to be something I would kill to have. A lightsaber owned by the one and only would've made me feel like I was worth it"

There's something about the deepness of his voice and the way his eyes wouldn't tear away from the grip that made my stomach drop. I could hear my heart beating too fast in my ears and my hands were shaking so bad that I didn't know how to stop it.

"Anakin, he-"

He let out a breathy laugh, his chest was vibrating and his shoulders were shaking from the laughter. The kind of laugh only an unhinged person would have when they were in their worst state of mine.

"He will never fucking come back, (Y/L/N). And you know why?" He stood from his chair, facing me with his pupils now too dilated for a normal person. This is the first time he mentions my last name when talking to me. "Because he doesn't give a fuck about anyone anymore. He is the one who gave up on us! And what the fuck is this?"

Anakin extended his hand still gripping the weapon, forcing me to look at the piece. I shifted my eyes back to him and watched as he was still frowning. God, don't let this be another breakdown please.

"This is what he fucking left! It wasn't a fucking letter, no. He didn't leave anything remotely close enough made by him. This piece of shit doesn't mean anything!"

He brings the robotic arm back to him again, looking down at it for a few seconds. I can see him panting heavily as his chest raises rapidly from the moment of anger. And then again, he laughs audibly. Anakin starts pacing back and forth, still a few feet away from me. The amount of cursing made my head hurt because it wasn't something I was used to hearing coming from him.

"He made it clear what he wanted when he left me. He said I was his brother, that he loved me. He said it in the past because he'd made up his mind pretty quickly. I was nothing to him anymore!"

I didn't know if I should offer a hug or even sit down with him and just talk him out of his nervousness. But I know better than to actually get in the way of that, when he clearly seems too deep into his thoughts.

"And now what? While you fix this-" He holds the grip up at me "Which isn't even your fucking issue, he is out there doing God-knows-what. Because let me tell you, he doesn't give a shit about you- about us"

"I'm sure he would come back if he could, Anakin. He was too careful enough to look out for all of us, there must be something else-" He didn't let me finish as he took a few steps closer to me.

"Mhmm, yeah. Sure. God, of course!" He says sternly, faking another laugh "Almighty Obi-Wan is so sweet he would never do shit like that, right?"

He was still looking down at me like he needed an answer, his metal hand was gripping the lightsaber grip so tight that it could easily break into pieces. "I asked you a question", Anakin raised his voice.

"I- I don't thin-"

Next thing I knew, he threw the object over the wall with no remorse. It broke into pieces I might never be able to fix, and I gasped from the sudden reaction. I should've seen it coming. Anakin didn't move his body when he did that, only then slightly turning his head to look at me again. On instinct, I stepped backwards from him trying to avoid another fight.

"You should've known by now that he won't ever come back. Stop playing nice to someone who doesn't give a fuck about you. And if you ever even try to get that shit fixed, you'll regret it" He whispered, leaving me dumbfounded from what just happened.

"What the hell was that for?" I throw my arms up and raise my voice at him. That was completely and utterly unnecessary.

"That thing-" He pointed at the broken lightsaber grip before continuing "Isn't your concern anymore!"

I furrow my brows in annoyance and roll my eyes. "And who are you to say what is and isn't my concern? You don't dictate rules here, and especially not at me!"

Anakin straightened his back and balled his hands into fists, inching closer to me, almost bumping his nose into mine. "You are gonna regret touching that thing"

I know I shouldn't gaslight him, but he always strikes a nerve when he starts to act all cocky. "Maybe that's why Obi-Wan left you behind after all"

His expression hardened in a matter of seconds and his eyes darkened, his pupils hiding his blue eyes. "What the fuck did you just say?"

He was fuming with anger, and I'm sure his eyes would become yellow again. I decided to shrug and not give him the answer he expected. Anakin was still panting, still facing me as I tried to avoid eye contact for too long. For a moment, I thought he was going to choke me like he did the last time he was this angry, but he motioned his hands and just stepped away from me.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with, I hope you know that" Anakin muttered before turning on his back and leaving the coffee room, vanishing through the door.

Why do I always open my damn mouth?

I drop to my knees, picking up the broken pieces of the sword with my hands still trembling. Most of it was too shattered to even get fixed, and even if I really wanted to try again, it would take me too long. Long enough for me to give up on the idea, and I was trying to avoid getting killed by Anakin either way.

Taking a sharp breath, I gather the objects in my hands and bring them to the box. "I'm so sorry, Obi-Wan" My voice wavered as I put it in the box.

I don't know what it was, but I suddenly felt an odd sensation close to my body. But when I snapped my head back and looked around myself, I saw nothing.

@jackie-on-the-loose @adorbzliz @himesuedi @kingdomhate @himesuedi @cl0esblogg @littlecoffeeadict @readingthingsonhere

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfic #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin imagine #star wars fanfic #hayden christensen imagine #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker #usersavana #clonecaptains #userlace

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simonrileyscumsock · 1 month ago

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omg hai! could i ask for a könig x reader where they get back from a mission and könig is kind of pushing the reader away but ends up confessing his feelings? like they’ve been friends at base for a while but as soon as they’re deployed together, he gets so scared that one of them will get hurt on a mission and is just scared of getting into a relationship :(( and reader is so fed up because obviously they’ve fallen for him too and just want to make him theirs <3 bonus if there’s some sweet smut!! i just feel like this gentle giant would be so hesitant and want to protect his best friend/love

THIS IS TOO FUCKING CUTE OMG!

Okay so I absolutely adore this idea, i may even turn this into a series tbh... if I end up doing a part 2 there will be smut but this one is just fluffy with a little bit of hurt/comfort :)

CW: sort of Hurt/comfort, fluff, use of Y/N, GN!Reader,

1,206 words

Falling for the Sargent💌

In the shadows of a crumbling city, the air thick with tension and the distant echoes of gunfire, König stood at the edge of a rooftop, scanning the streets below. His eyes were sharp, alert to every movement. But his mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of unspoken feelings for his teammate, Sargent Y/N.

König had always been the stoic type, a man of discipline and focus. He admired Y/N's strength and the way they charged into danger without hesitation. But with every shared training and every fleeting glance, a quiet ache grew in his chest. This was their first real mission together and instead of focusing on the task at hand, he was focused on wrestling with his emotions, attempting to push them deep down, convinced that in a world where survival was paramount, love was a weakness.

Hours passed, filled with adrenaline and danger, until they finally found themselves alone, crouched behind a barricade. They could hear the distant shouts of enemy combatants, and the thud of boots on pavement. The mission demanded their focus, but König’s thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N, the unrelenting pull of his heart that he fought so hard to ignore.

“Why do you always act like you don’t care?” Y/N suddenly asked, breaking through the silence. There was an intensity in their gaze that made his pulse quicken.

“What do you mean?” he replied, masking his feelings with practiced indifference.

“Come on, König. You’re always so… distant. We’re fighting side by side, but it feels like there’s a wall between us.”

He felt the weight of their words. The truth was, he cared too much. He had seen too many good people fall in the line of duty, and the thought of losing Y/N was unbearable to him. “I don’t need distractions,” he said, the words sharp as a blade.

König kept his distance, believing that love would only make him weak. He watched the reader dive into danger with confidence, feeling a mix of admiration and fear. What if he lost them? What if his feelings got in the way? So he pushed those thoughts down, focusing on the mission instead.

“Let’s move,” he said, his voice steady as they prepared to head into the heart of enemy territory. They were a great team, covering each other’s backs as they moved through the streets. But every time their eyes met, König felt a jolt of something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Hours passed and the dust finally settled, the two of them coming out victorious, to no one's surprise. As they walked through the desolate town, returning to the safehouse, Konig finally spoke up after a long awkward silence. "Y/N? May I ask you a question?"

Y/N doesn't break their gaze from the ground in front of them. "Sure, go ahead." They keep walking, not really caring or paying attention.

"Why did you ask me that earlier?" Konig stops in his tracks and looks down at them.

Y/N pauses, glancing up at König with surprise. “What do you mean?” Their brow furrows, and they stop too, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

König takes a deep breath, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. “About me acting distant. Why do you care?” His voice is steady, but inside, he’s a storm of uncertainty.

“Because it feels like you’re shutting me out,” Y/N replies, their tone softer now. “We’re in this together, right? I thought we had each other’s backs.”

He studies them for a moment, trying to read the sincerity in their gaze. It’s the truth, but admitting that he feels something deeper terrifies him. “I thought… I thought it was better this way,” he says finally, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Better how?” Y/N presses, stepping closer, their eyes unwavering. “You think pushing me away makes it easier? You think it keeps us safe?”

“I’ve lost people before,” he admits, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I can’t bear to lose anyone else. Especially not you.”

Y/N’s expression shifts from confusion to understanding. “You think you’re protecting me by keeping your distance? It’s the opposite, König. You’re just making it harder for both of us.”

For a moment, the tension crackles between them. König feels the urge to reach out, to close that gap, but fear holds him back. “I don’t want to be a distraction,” he finally says, though the words feel weak even to him.

Y/N takes a step closer, determination in their eyes. “You’re not a distraction. You’re a teammate. A friend. I want to be here for you. But you have to let me in.”

König's heart races. He wants to share his feelings, to let them know how much they mean to him, but he’s terrified of what that might cost them both. “It’s complicated,” he replies, struggling to find the right words.

“Life is complicated,” Y/N says softly. “But that doesn’t mean we have to go through it alone.”

König takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of their words sink in. The intensity in Y/N's eyes makes his pulse quicken, and he can no longer ignore the connection that’s been building between them. “You make it sound so easy,” he says, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

Y/N steps even closer, closing the distance that had felt so insurmountable. “It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. We fight together; we should share everything. That includes our fears.”

König looks down, grappling with his thoughts. “What if I fail? What if I can’t protect you?” The words spill out, raw and honest. “That’s what scares me the most.”

“Failing doesn’t mean you’re weak,” Y/N replies gently. “It means you’re human. We all have our fears. But shutting me out won’t help either of us.”

For a moment, they stand in silence, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging between them. König finally meets Y/N’s gaze, his resolve slowly crumbling. “I’ve cared about you for a long time,” he admits, each word a step closer to the truth he’s been avoiding.

Y/N’s eyes widen, surprise flickering across their face. “You have?”

König nods, his heart racing. “Yeah. I thought if I kept my distance, it would protect us. But it’s only made things harder.”

A smile breaks across Y/N’s face, warm and inviting. “König, you don’t have to protect me from your feelings. I want to be here for you. I want us to face everything together.”

In that moment, a rush of warmth fills him, a sense of relief washing over him like a tide. “I want that too,” he confesses, his voice steady now. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Y/N just stood there for a moment, staring at König. They stood there like that for a few moments before Y/N pulled him into a soft hug, wrapping their arms loosely around Königs waist and nuzzling their face into his chest. König stands there in shock for a moment before reluctantly wrapping his arms around Y/N's shoulder. Muffled by the fabric of Königs gear Y/N speaks up. "You don't have to say anything, just let it happen."

König nods and rests his head on Y/N's head. "Thank you. Let's get back."

#konig x reader #konig mw2 #cod mw2 #konig

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patchworkorphan · 11 months ago

Text

Heroic Betrayal: part three

Read part one

Continued from this part here

*~*~*~*~*

They stopped at a car parked right on the edge of the park, pulled in on the other side of the road. Secluded, and remote. Villain was already on the other side of the road, and when they saw Hero and Flynn they walked around the car and opened the boot, then turned to smile at Hero.

Hero stepped back unconsciously, shaking their head. “No. No. No.”

Flynn grabbed the crook of Hero’s elbow and pulled them forward but Hero made themselves grow heavy, dead weight. Flynn’s hand slipped off Hero when they landed on their arse on the frozen muck. They pushed themselves back on their feet, trying to escape.

“No! No! Flynn don’t, please! Please don’t do this!” Hero cried. They kicked out a leg at Flynn when they came closer. “Please, please don’t put me in the trunk please.”

Flynn put a placating hand out to Villain as they crouched down in front of Hero. “I’ll make you forget,” Flynn said softly. Hero’s heart slammed against their chest as tears pooled in their water line.

“No, Flynn. You can’t. I’ll know! You can’t please, please—”

“Hero,” Flynn said, tone a little more firm. “If you drive with us in the car, I can’t trust you not to crash the car or do something stupid.”

“I—” Hero said but the words were whisked away with the hitch in their breath. They couldn’t go into the trunk. Hero reached pathetically for their power as Flynn advanced but it was silenced by the power dampeners and Hero cursed.

They didn’t notice Flynn getting closer until it was too late. Flynn wrapped a hand around Hero’s ankle and yanked them forward. Hero yelped, then screamed for “someone! Someone help! So—”

“Flynn shut them up!” Villain yelled, as Flynn grabbed each side of Hero’s head and locked their gaze on Hero’s panicked ones. Hero felt their body go numb with Flynn’s gaze alone.

“Ssh, there we go. Hero you’re going to forget the journey to Supervillain’s house. You won’t remember you were trapped in the boot the whole ride there. Tell me.”

“I won’t remember the journey to Supervillain’s house. I won’t remember being trapped in the boot.”

“Good,” Flynn said with a smile. Then he took the opportunity to get the dazed Hero to their feet and walk them over to Villain.

“It’s so creepy when you do that,” said Villain. Flynn flashed a grin in reply. Villain grabbed Hero's arm and said, “start the car. I’ll put them in the boot. Knowing you, you’d let them ride in the passenger seat in a heartbeat.”

“You’re not wrong,” Flynn laughed. He left the pair of them and walked around the car to the driver’s seat before sliding in and shutting the door. He let out a sigh as he turned the key in the ignition. He forgot Hero was claustrophobic. How could he forget that? He remembered Hero telling them that fact in confidence, during one of their late night stake outs. How scared they sounded.

He should have made them forget before they saw the car, but it was too late now anyhow. Villain climbed into the backseat where the windows were blacked out, and closed the door. Flynn put the car into drive and pulled out onto the road, as nonchalant as ever.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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chaotic-orphan · 11 months ago

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Would you pretty please make another part of heroic betrayal? It’s sooooo good and I love your writing!

Heroic Betrayal — part three

Anything for you @aarika-merrill, happy New Years Eve!

(TW for claustrophobia)

Read part one here

Continued from here

*~*~*~*~*

They stopped at a car parked at the edge of the park. Villain walked around the car and opened the boot, then turned to smile at Hero.