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cloveroctobers · 2 days

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I CAME HOME LATE — Terry Richmond [September Prompts] 🩶

A/N: listen…I’ve been wanted to write for this man since he was Mid-sized Sedan 😆 but he definitely wasn’t being talked about enough then. This isn’t anything big but I’m here to feed the tag a little with this thing so I hope you enjoy it!

PROMPT IS FROM HERE & I’m using: ²¹⁾ steaming cups of sake + ²²⁾ an airport terminal at midnight.

WARNINGS: language and some angst?

<- check out my previous anthology prompt here.

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Being a night owl wasn’t foreign for you.

You were born when the twilight hit the evening sky and your mother always had a hard time getting you down for the night as a baby. For as long as Terry’s known you—since high school—it was no surprise to learn that night shifts were where you thrived best.

He’s at the airport terminal, not knowing your schedule but taking the risk to show up where you worked. He had the urge to be near you again once it was set in motion that he was selling his food truck to head east to start over with his cousin, Mike. Terry had no issue adjusting to change as long as it has substance in the end. He couldn’t leave without seeing you and although it’s been a minute since you both spoke, he didn’t take it personally.

You were his ex-wife after all but that didn’t mean that the utmost respect for you vanished. Ever. Terry made himself comfortable in the crisp cool of the quiet pale blue airport, sticking to the front of the large building but couldn’t help his eyes searching the area every so often for you. He had a feeling that you would be coming around sooner than later and exactly at 12:03am, he spots you being led to the revolving doors with a man who was dressed in security attire.

Your light laughter is almost childlike, a little raspy and airy as the both of you squeeze each other’s shoulders lightly in farewell for the night before you turn to face Terry’s direction.

“Terry,” your voice is hushed with a hint of croaking in it, which is unusual since you were normally upbeat once the moon shined but from the sound of it, the day at the airport must have been a long one.

Terry says your name with a dip of his head, eye contact always on lock, which you held before slowly closing your eyes, not knowing what to expect of this appearance.

“Everything good?” The security guard asks based on your reaction and you raise a hand up with a nod of your head, informing him that it was.

Terry briefly stared at the security guard underneath his lashes, who must have been a good friend of yours—not that good if he was letting you walk out into the night to your car on your own—sure you could handle yourself if it ever came down to it but it was the right thing to do.

“Y’all take care.” The security guard states as he realizes that Terry is no danger to you.

Terry gives a crooked smile, “you as well, man.”

You step to him, fixing the strap to your backpack on your left shoulder—your better shoulder that didn’t suffer from a extreme tear that took two surgeries to fix—, “what’s happening?”

“Hm…I thought it was a nice night so I took a ride.” Terry smirks at you while you roll your eyes and begin walking towards the automatic doors.

Throwing your head back as you stood on the sidewalk you glance at Terry and begin to walk backwards, “A nice night to throw my mind for a loop? You never did have good timing.”

He would have thought that was a jab, considering that the papers he sent your way two weeks before he got honorable discharge arrived in your shared mailbox the same day your elderly dog died. It’s not like the papers were a shock, it’s been discussed over many video chats but like you said, Terry Richmond didn’t have the best timing when it came to certain things.

He was a marine after all so timing kind of came with the profession…perhaps if you were looking for something to blame it would be that.

“Now we both know that isn’t a hundred percent true,” Terry lightly points, head downwards and a sly smile playing on the corner of his lips, “is it a crime to come see my favorite girl?”

Letting out an exaggerated yawn, you give him an expressionless face afterwards before spinning back around to head to the parking lot, with Terry following you into the foggy low sixty degree night. He’s holding the car door open for you after you unlocked it with your clicker and you’re shoving your things into the passenger side before taking a seat in the driver’s side.

You peer up at him, “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” Terry starts, “come with me to Liu’s…just to talk.”

Raising your brows you say, “Why now?”

“He hasn’t said anything to you?” Terry questions.

Lifting your once slumped shoulders, you stare back at Terry and he’s never known you to be a liar.

“Should he have?” You press, “He’s never gotten into our shit before so why would he? If you wanted your business told, you should have said something to Ken.”

Terry snorts at the mention of Mr. Liu’s nephew.

He was a good guy but he was crap at secrets and excellent at taking direction.

“You’re not wrong,” The man with the goatee inhales, “look I won’t hold you…yet I’m leaving in the morning and i don’t know when I’ll be back. I just thought I should come by.”

He thought of you in the moment and there’s neber been a day where you didn’t think about Terry, all bright eyed and imagining the what if’s. The divorce had to happen, it was the right decision but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss him.

Terry gave you the space you needed, he couldn’t keep coming around as if the whole trajectory of your relationship wasn’t altered. It never got disrespectful however you were very vocal once you returned home from work, finding every trace of him erased from the home except for pictures. A conversation was eventually had over dinner, a passionate night was shared and just like that he was gone in the morning. You feared that you would run into him in town often, since Mr. Liu’s was pretty popular and Terry’s truck was more lowkey and out the way with a good amount of locals— just how he preferred it.

You did the best staying away from that side of town for a while before you realized how silly you were being. Life didn’t have to stop because Terry was no longer in it. That was your choice. You were never the type of person to be so dependent on anybody before.

So you thought.

Being surrounded by family constantly…you never had to feel alone. Terry was the opposite, an only child raised by a single mother who was a pediatric nurse and worked nights. He found a bonus home with your family and became part of it, no questions asked.

“You’re leaving?” You quiz, “for how long?”

Terry can see you visibly flinch after the words slipped through your lips. You were trying to put up a shield or maybe even a boundary for not caring as much. Like a concerned wife should. Just like he said before, just because you’re no longer romantically involved didn’t mean he didn’t value your friendship.

“Don��t know. Heading out to Shelby Springs for Mike and a fresh start.” Terry states and it’s not like you can feel a way about that.

Inhaling air through your teeth you say, “that bama ass place?”

Terry tells, “I know. It’s a in and out type of thing. Getting a pick up and starting a business from as far as we can get from there.”

You don’t say anything but the look on your face says enough.

“…Don’t worry.” He starts.

Scoffing you reply, “who’s worried?”

“That pretty little face is.” Terry even pokes your cheek with his free hand that’s not holding the door open but you slap his hand away, leaving him smiling softly, “so…are you coming with me?”

“To Shelby springs? Hell no!” You jest with a wink, “I can go for a vegetable spring roll though.”

There’s amusement in Terry’s eyes as he nods, “that’s it?”

“I don’t like to eat heavy at night, remember?” You defend.

A hearty breakfast was always more your speed.

“Yin and Yang,” Terry smiles at a memory you don’t push for him to share because you’ve probably thought about it plenty times before whenever you had breakfast alone, “You’ll lead?”

“Course.” You give a small smile and Terry makes sure you’re all the way in before shutting the door behind you.

He follows behind you on his bike and the airport is a good distance from downtown. It’s not long before you’re trying to pull over but Terry just zooms past you, grinning back at you over his shoulder while you’re shaking your head in disbelief behind the wheel.

This was a challenge for Terry, a norm to not only test himself but you and you never backed down from a competition.

Letting out a low-whistle you comment, “Moving like that and you’re traveling to Shelby in the morning?” You say as you walk up to the doors where Terry is waiting, “you might be taking a long nap instead.”

The both of you were hardly sleepers, you with your hint of OCD and mind racing always finding something to do and Terry was always on military time even before he went into the field. He was the earliest riser and believed in that old saying, “the early bird catches the worm.” Your rest time together involved pillow talk, just breathing the same air either facing each other or you being the little spoon, and of course there were times where you both didn’t mind helping the other go to sleep.

After locking up his bike, he shifts the keys around on the ring to unlock the restaurant holding the door open, “Nah, I’ve got the best stamina in the world.”

Spinning to face Terry after he locks the door behind you two, you’re pushing your lips out with a tilt of your head once his eyes settle back on you. It’s a teasing smile and he’s leans towards you on his way by, “get your head outta the gutter.”

Laughing in between the stools, you turn to rest your elbows on the counter which Terry is behind now. He asks, “You down for some of Ken’s sake?”

“Ah…now I see.” You sigh dramatically, “you brought me here to get me drunk.”

Terry laughs, “no. I just remembered that you enjoyed it a lot back in Japan and Ken’s been experimenting thanks to his dad’s recipe all while offending Mr. Liu.”

Where you got married.

“I can’t even tell you the last time—fuck it! It’s your going away night and you should be honored that I’m here so why not?”

“How did this turn into praising yourself?” Terry jokes as he gets ready to prepare the warm beverage.

You grumble, “Somebody besides myself needs to.”

Terry flicks his spring green hues to you, “so you’re not seeing anyone?”

“It’s not the security guard.”

Terry frowns, “funny how I didn’t even mention him.”

Wagging your finger at him you respond, “I saw the way you were analyzing my friend with that high opacity setting that you call eyes.”

He pauses and snickers, “oh yeah? And what did they say?”

“You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt because that’s just how you are but…you were curious about us.”

“That was a thing then?” He quirks up a brow while you press your cheek into your fist.

“Nope!” You answer as you move to sit up on one of the chairs, “That gorgeous chocolate man is happily taken with four kids, with three of them being triplets.”

“Damn!”

“Terry.”

He laughs and then shrugs, “what? I’m only kidding…kids are blessings.”

You hummed as you watched him work for a while before he’s placing steaming sake in front of you.

“What should we toast to?” You ask, pinching at the glass before finding a safe spot of the cup to hold up, “Goodbye’s?”

Terry immediately furrows his brows, “come on now…you know that’s what I’m actually not good at. Look at this as more of an…until next time.”

Clinking your cup against his as a response, you both slowly sip at the hot sake and its sweetness is felt with its warmth. “Not bad, Ken. Not bad.”

You both share a laugh, letting the silence hit while the sake cools off some. The silence doesn’t last long before you’re both poking fun at each other and falling into more conversation. It flows even when it gets tense, blood burning as your feelings come to the surface with Terry listening to you intently and speaks to you calmly.

“When I brought up divorce the first time it was never to be manipulative…it was to save us both the heartache of this ongoing distance.”

You open your mouth to interupt but Terry stared at you from underneath your eyelashes, which makes you deeply sigh, “We grew apart but we tried. You know it and I know it. No matter how long you would have held me down it happened and I felt like you deserved better than that. I thought you felt the same way when you agreed and signed.”

It’s not like you signed right away! You actually took your sweet ass time, even when he pulled what he pulled.

“I mainly signed because you pissed me off, sneaking through the house to get your things like a thief in the night while I was at work. I should ask how you managed to do it all but then I remembered who you are.” You exhale, “I’ve got to get some hobbies besides working myself to the bone and constantly thinking about you. I should be over this already. It’s been months.”

“We did put in a solid five years of marriage though.”

Dated since senior year just for him to go off to the military three years later. The love and the effort was there but you been around a lot of military significant others at group meetings and their stories were much worse. So you tried to be thankful of the time shared but that didn’t mean you didn’t have your own sorrow too.

‘It’s not something you can just get over.’ Terry thinks.

“That we did.”

And it’s back to the eye game again and it makes your stomach feel like flipped flapjacks.

You can’t stand Terry Richmond.

He intertwined your fingers once you’re both outside. This was happening, he was leaving again and you chose to be numb about it on the outside but slightly achy on the inside. It was weird really, how you could both live in the same town and never run into each other but it still felt comforting to know that you were both out there carrying on—even if it wasn’t beside one another.

You wish he would hold you instead of your hand but Terry didn’t want to cross that line. Not when you revealed that your heart wasn’t really in it to sign the papers in the first place.

Squeezing his rough hand back before letting go, you’re aware that he’s crashing at the restaurant tonight so it’s closer in the direction he’ll be heading in the morning. Yet there’s still a part of you that wishes he would come home.

It’s early when your eyes peel open to focus on your block out curtains. They were the best investment you made (from a cousin you didn’t like—but no one can say you were never supportive) since it’s always sunny in this town and the only time you preferred light was in your kitchen and living room but you still have a feeling that it’s early morning. You sit up in bed, ears searching for any sound in your bungalow.

Your feet are sliding into your slippers, knuckles rubbing into your eyes as you peek at the clock on the nightstand to see it’s another 5am. As you’re handling your business in the bathroom across the hall from your bedroom, you can’t help that pull in your gut that brings you to the front of your home.

Flicking on the lights, you yelp at the sight of Terry sitting in the dark of the living room staring off in space.

It’s been days since you last saw him.

You pushed him to the back of your mind like you trained yourself to do. Putting your attention elsewhere and even picked up a hobby to keep yourself preoccupied besides just those long double shifts at the airport.

Now he was back and something shifted within him again that didn’t sit well to you. You carefully took a step towards him and his eyes followed you but much slower this time.

“Terry,” breathe his name, “…what’s wrong?”

He simply flips the palm of his hand over that’s resting on his knee and you reach out to place yours right in his while you move to sit next to him. Terry squeezes your hand like his life depends on it and it makes your heart rate spike, it doesn’t hurt—he’d never purposely do so—but it’s strong enough to let you know that he needs you.

“Can I get you something? Water? Those shady over easy eggs you like so much?”

That gets a snicker to escape his lips, always finding your issue with eggs to be humorous. You were not an egg person and commonly called it, “the devil’s snot,” which let Terry know you might have been spending too much time with your granny and great-aunties.

“Maybe later,” he says, “can you just be here with me?”

You don’t hesitate to cup his face once he turns his gaze to you and not this daze he seems to be in. He slowly blinks at your touch, head moving to press a kiss into the palm of your hand. You nod and he moved again to lay in you lap, hands wrapping around your hips tight that you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Something was wrong and you were determined to fix it—if he would let you. You didn’t push him and let Terry rest as you squeezed one of his shoulders being trailing your fingers across his back to the other.

That’s when you felt it underneath his shirt, a bandage of some sorts. You kept it to yourself for now, knowing he would tell you as you continued rubbing circles across his back to soothe him.

It had to have been a half hour when Terry dozed off and your legs were aching. You forgot to put a pillow down for extra cushion but Terry never had any problems using your body as his personal pillow. Some things never change.

Your attempt to weasel out of his hold was a challenge before you realized he was holding onto you on purpose. It was good to still see some humor in him due to whatever happened once he left this town.

“Be for real,” you tell him as he looks back at you, “I’m trying to get up and make breakfast and this is what we’re doing?”

Terry sits up, always the light sleeper but there’s a weight in his chest that won’t ever subside, “wanted to see if you still had it in you to get out of my hold…you need some more work.”

“I lug baggage at the airport that’s heavier.” You sass pushing yourself off the couch, “I didn’t get my stretches in yet so excuuuse me, Mr. Richmond.”

Terry mutters playfully, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“You know what? It’s too early for your irritation so why don’t you take another nap?”

Terry shakes his head as you make your way over to the fridge, “nah, I much rather watch your face while you mentally fuss over the eggs.”

“Ah so I’m your source of entertainment for you this morning am I?” You place your hands on your hips as Terry places his elbows into his knees, “let me go find my flapper dress.”

“…I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a dress again.” He admits, eyes burning into you from across the room.

Rolling your eyes you turn right back around so he couldn’t see how much of an effect that had on you. It shouldn’t by any means but here your insides were acting up!

When you turn around with the carton in your hands, you’re met with Terry’s chest that catches you by surprise. His arms lock over your shoulders as you carefully hold onto the eggs and feel him relax against you. He always smelled like leather and pine and that also hasn’t changed. Slowly you snake a free arm across his waist and lean your ear into his chest, finding his heartbeat. It’s always the most soothing thing, equivalent to your hands on his back.

You’re not sure how long you’re holding onto each other but you don’t question what this is all about or what this is for. You didn’t need to, you knew Terry Richmond and you knew when something was up, regardless of the distance that was between the two of you. He came to you in the middle of night at your job and again in the early morning. The pull was still there and perhaps it would always be that way.

He wants to help you make breakfast, after he lets go of you and you almost tell him to sit his big behind down, sensing that he was injured in more than one way but he’s not exactly a guest in this home. So he puts in the work beside you, just like old times and begins to open up about his time in Shelby springs much to your own heartache for him.

Terry arrived back home after all this time and as you sat from across each other just listening, you realized him being here was better late than never.

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Continue with my September anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #queued #aaron pierre #rebel ridge #rebel ridge netflix #terry richmond #Terry Richmond x reader #Aaron Pierre x reader #september prompts

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almostempty · 2 months

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Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Looking for an escape from a horrible day, you take a sexy stranger home from the bar.

Warnings: drinking, smoking, smut, glorification of substance use as a coping mechanism, using sex to avoid processing emotions, PWP, like mostly just porn and emotions, spit, one (1) pussy slap, pussy pronouns, size kink, sort of pleasuredom!javi, AU unprotected sex has no risks bc i like it that way, piv sex, fingering, creampie,

Notes: cigarette vending machines were real, part 2 exists and if one single person asks for it i’ll post it

please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to @auteurdelabre , u know what u did

WC: 6.7K

AO3: here

Part 2: here

Masterlist: Here

It’s not enough.

You feel the inescapable temptation racing like wildfire through your veins. Thick, hot air whips your hair into your face, and you laugh, throaty and as loud as a barking German Shepherd with saliva frothing against their teeth. The thought of jerking the wheel and rolling your car into oncoming traffic causes your fingers to twitch. The roar of the semi-truck you pass drowns out everything else, your music, the wind surging through the windows, and your violent intrusive thoughts. You decide not to opt for a head-on collision. Heading towards your side of town, you slow to a less reckless speed, immediately missing the road noise.

The temptation still pounds in your head, unbearable. Something stronger. You need something stronger before you drive to his house and choke on the smoke while you burn it to the ground.

But you’re free! You grin as you race directionless through the streets, the kind of grin that would unsettle a small child. The evening sun blinds you whenever you choose a street facing west, and you welcome the jarring obtrusion, the pain. But driving into the sun isn’t enough.

You pull over at the first parking spot you can see, ripping off your seatbelt and twisting around to dig under your seat. Nails catch on the carpeting, but you only recognize some change, receipts, and a petrified french fry. The muscles in your shoulder could tear from the tendons for all you care as you contort yourself to check under the passenger seat before digging through every compartment you can fit your fingers into.

A cigarette seems healthy in comparison to crashing your car or lighting your ex’s house on fire. You swore there was a forgotten pack of smokes under one of the seats in your car, stashed away in case of emotional emergencies months ago before you committed to quitting. Nate must have found them and tossed them. Of course, he could still keep making this day worse. Even after you’d walked out on him mid-rant about how it was somehow your fault that he’d become even more of a repulsive asshole during the months you’d spent apart. “Hope you’re happy with how you chose to use your last ‘second chance,’” you had spat at him, already halfway to the door. You imagined the look cemented on his face as you left. You hope to never imagine his face again.

Dried tears sting the corners of your eyes. Rubbing at the raw skin burns. You stare at your red eyes in your rearview mirror, and you can see the flicker of your soul nearly snuffed out from the years of despair. Blood pounding in your ears, you roll your head on your shoulders, and popping and grinding noises in your neck add to the symphony of your pulse. Tipping back against the headrest, you refocus and take in your surroundings. A bar. A beacon in the fading golden hour as dusk overtakes her glow.

Bars have cigarettes. A drink, or four, would help, too. You need to feel something else. Find something strong enough to break through the numbness of anger and embarrassment. Something to override your loquacious internal monologue. It’s not enough.

Your demons materialize on your shoulders, prepared to fight your morality. The neon beer signs in the window sing a siren song. Temptation wins in the first round, she’s a seductress not to be outclassed.

The gravel crunches under your feet as you cross the parking lot, kicking up little clouds of dust in your wake. Inside, you swerve between the pool tables, crossing the dimly lit space in a beeline to the cigarette vending machine for a new pack and matches before lasering in on an empty stool at the bar. Tunnel vision.

Cold beer soothes the burn in your throat from the tequila shot you slammed before you even settled your full weight on the barstool. The liquid waterfalls down your throat until the bottle runs dry. The surly bartender replaces it with another, and her eyes flick from yours to the empty shot glass and back.

“I’ll just stick to beer for now,” you answer. A barely perceptible snicker yanks your attention to your right. He’s smirking to himself, trying to hide it with a swig from his bottle. Your scowl softens by a hair as you rake your eyes down his profile. Strong features, sparkling dark eyes, well-groomed, and an open collar that teases you with a glimpse of the skin of his chest. His look piques your interest. But that smug curl of his lip raises your hackles as you return to your mission: a neurochemical intervention. Maybe he knows where you could procure a lobotomy if nicotine and booze don’t help.

You slam the second beer, signaling for another. Your head weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you can start to feel the warmth of the alcohol blooming within your chest. A welcome warmth despite the suffocatingly thick air in the bar. You feel the layer of sweat coating your torso. The skin bared on your thighs sticks to the vinyl stool, but you don’t care about being warm and sticky. Your assignment is simple. Get the liquor to your brain before you recruit Smug Mustache and Silent Barkeep to your crew. She can drive; he can be the lookout. Accomplice to arson shouldn’t be a hard sell.

You smile to yourself at the thought.

The tiny muscles in your face start to relax, and the line between your brows softens. The racing thoughts get quieter, and you can process your environment more easily. The clack of the billiard balls on the pool table, the rock ballad barely audible over the buzz of the patrons. A variety of mostly bald or bearded men occupy different seats, and women with brassy hair and loud laughs hold all the secrets. You and the man seated next to you don’t quite fit the demographic, but nobody seems bothered.

You slide a cigarette out of your pack, and before you tuck it between your lips, the man next to you pushes the amber-colored ashtray he’d been hoarding towards you and offers you a light.

Leaning towards him, you’re hit with an intoxicating rush of spicy aftershave, leather, and tobacco. You seize the opportunity to take in his features head-on, inhaling deeply while he unabashedly sweeps his dark eyes over you in turn. Sinfully dark, they flick back up to yours. He drags his thumb across his bottom lip, and you’re entranced momentarily by the need to feel that plush lip between your teeth.

Sex.

That could work. Ease the restlessness and the deepening impulse to scream. Maybe that’s the third ingredient to your impulsive master plan.

“Thanks,” you exhale, breaking the heady silence. The rush of nicotine entwined with alcohol begins to replace the rage in your veins. Vengeful racing thoughts are replaced with a mantra. A dull pounding in the back of your skull. More. You smile. More. More. He tracks your mouth as you press the cold glass bottle to your lips. You swallow and swallow. He raises one eyebrow, head cocked, as you drain the bottle.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I’m not sure you’d taste it at this rate,” he teases in a voice thick as molasses.

You consider your frenzied rate of consumption. Might be time to slow down.

“Maybe you could convince me to savor it,” you challenge. He nods and orders. He studies your lips as you take another drag from your cigarette. More. He doesn’t shy from holding your gaze. Not when you smile or when you look him up and down again. You usually aren’t so forward. The cocktail of substances and the emotional hangover from your failed reconciliation emboldens you. But, one tiny crack fractures, and for a brief moment, you’re gone.

Your eyes lose focus. Disconnected from your body, the bar, and reality. He watches with amusement. He knows that look. He wears it often.

Your thoughts flash and crack like a lightning storm. Nate’s face. Livid, red, and sputtering foul insults at you. Enraged that you’re drinking, smoking, and desperate to whore yourself out to the first man you see. Worse. You don’t care. Nate wasted your time and shattered your goodwill. You want to be set free. Erase him and his pathetic voice altogether.

You take another sip and another drag, hoping one of them will detach his grubby claws from your conscience. You blink, and the horrifying hallucination is gone.

“Drinking to forget, cariño?” the man you’d been staring past interrupts your thoughts. His tone is genuine. But why? Is that his schtick? Offering to fix broken women with a well-timed light and teasing glance?

“Something like that,” you muse, taking another drag. You hadn’t realized how close you were sat until now. It’s intimate. Smoke curls in a delicate dance between you, alluring as it winds and flares. You feel drawn to him, connected by chance. Something new to focus on. To study. He watches you with such intensity you note. Unwavering. Too sober and too shiny to be a regular old barfly. It’s not a bar full of singles. He’s out of place. Maybe he got lost along a warpath like you. Good. More.

He’s still watching. Waiting for you to elaborate? You let your knee slide forward until it’s pressing into his firm thigh. “Just trying to feel something,” you answer honestly.

“Mm,” he takes another swig, and you watch his neck in slow motion as he swallows.

“And you?”

“Same goal, I guess,” he confirms. His hand drags slowly down his thigh and slides onto your knee. Your mouth parts at the contact of his palm. A new fire rips through your veins, but it’s not rage. More.

“Would you say it’s working?” you gesture to the bottles coated in beads of condensation on the bar top.

“No.” He stares at you openly. His carnivorous mouth splits into a grin.

His boldness makes a giggle bubble up in your throat. You tilt your head back with a laugh. Your hair slides behind your shoulders, exposing the delicate flesh of your neck.

“No,” you repeat in agreement. You match his physicality and grasp his own thigh firmly with your hand, studying his face for any hint of a response. “It’s not enough,” you add, dragging your hand further up his leg. Slowly.

“You’re looking for more, cariño?” he dares with cloying charm. Yes! More!

You might've rolled your eyes at the whole situation if you weren’t so many drinks in with a sinister desire for escapism. You’ve barely spoken to each other, engaged in an elite-level erotic staring competition instead.

The best you could do was exchange names.

“Javier Peña,” you repeated back to him. Deciding if you liked the way it sounded on your tongue. You wet your lips.

“Just Javi is fine,” he counters while leaving enough cash on the bar to cover both your tabs with a generous tip.

“Smooth, Just Javi,” you bait, looking at the cash and back to him. He flashes a wolfish smile back. It makes you want to fuck him right here on the bar. More, you scream at him with your eyes.

He removes the nearly finished cigarette between your much smaller fingers, takes the last drag, and stubs it out in the ashtray.

If you weren’t so aroused by everything about him, you’d chastise him for trying to get you out of here so quickly. But you feel it rolling off of him, too. It feels like taking a narcotic. Time is syrupy and slow. You feel your smile sticking longer than you meant, your eyes linger hotly, and you squeeze his upper arm harder than intended. It’s an addictive rush to feel your desire reciprocated. And with such urgency. You take in his height and broad frame now that you stand face to face. He stills. Observant. You don’t need any more time to decide what you want. You need to feel him and only him as soon as possible.

“Let’s go. Now,” you order as you lead him out of the dingy establishment into the clear night.

You expect him to cage you against the cool metal of his pickup, but he’s a suave gentleman opening the passenger door for you instead. Fine. You slide across the bench seat just as he’s turning the key in the ignition, pressing your curves into the side of his firm body. Restless and grabby, your fingers dance over him, unsure where to start when he grips your chin in his large palm and tilts your face towards his.

Rage flashes behind your eyes at his interruption. Never far from the surface, ready to lash out.

“Be good for me, cariño,” he says sternly.

“Oh, I’ll be so good,” you purr, dragging your hand down his chest towards the bulge in his too-tight jeans and batting your lashes before he grabs your hand.

You huff, indignant. Rolling your eyes.

“I’d like to give you my full attention.”

“You can have mine.”

“No.”

“Who put you in charge?” you spit out with a fierceness.

He laughs, harsh and mean. You flush with irritation, recoiling like his grip suddenly burned. What is this? You thought you were reading everything right; you’re in his truck, ready and wanting. Frustrating man. You need something to ease your anger, or you’ll spit venom.

He leans into your ear like he has a secret despite the privacy of the cab of his truck. Dragging his voice over broken glass and gravel, he murmurs, “You want to feel something?” his hand is suddenly wedged between your legs. “You want more?” He squeezes tight, pressing his fingers against the seam of your denim shorts, and you choke back a moan. His spiced scent fills your nose. You feel his smile against your ear. Your head spins. Yes. You need it now. No games. Your nails dig marks into his wrist, pleading.

“You get to touch, but I don’t? What is this, Javier? Afraid you won’t last?” You jeer at him.

His hot laugh fans down your neck. Your body betrays your mind in search of friction. Shamelessly, your hips roll against his hand.

“Such a sharp tongue,” he tuts at you, pulling back to look into your eyes, “for such a needy pussy,” he pulls his hand away. You fight to still your body and level his stare, feeling the heat of anger and lust in your face. He lists his demands.

Be good for me. Until we get home.

Simple.

Then I will give you what you need.

Bold.

Something different washes over you, but you keep pushing at him.

“And what do I need, Javi?”

“Need to be stuffed full of this cock until you forget what ‘more’ means.”

Soaked. Your traitorous pussy floods your already ruined panties. But you can’t shut yourself up. You have to push him harder.

“Awfully confident, Javi. Hope you aren’t the type to oversell and underdeliver–” Your snide remark is cut off when he covers your hand with his and presses it into the hard bulge in his jeans.

“Does it feel like an oversell?”

You barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. No, it most definitely does not feel like an oversell; you refuse to admit it out loud. He grazes the edges of his teeth down tender skin. At the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, he snaps you back into reality with a sharp bite. A small gasp escapes you that he definitely doesn’t miss.

You catch the smirk. Cocky bastard.

“Now,” he demands your attention, “you’ll be good for me all the way home.”

It’s definitely not a question, but he stares like he’s waiting for a response.

You fold your hands in your lap begrudgingly and nod. But something in your chest blooms brightly. The dance for dominance does exhilarate you. He grips your upper thigh like he’s the only thing holding you to the earth. Like you might fly out the window if he lets go. Or, like you might crawl into his lap, sink down onto his cock, and cause you both to launch through the windshield when he crashes into a ditch.

His fingers tease under the edge of your shorts, white-hot flesh against flesh. You’re wired.

You direct him to your place. It’s close, and you’ve no patience. He doesn’t argue.

You lead him into your home. He doesn’t take you ferociously against the back of the door. Infuriating. You behaved all the way home. He’s a curious juxtaposition of lewd and polite. Restrained, he takes his shoes off at the door and asks for a glass of water. Like he’s your neighbor invited over for tea. But, you can feel the carnality radiating off him as he watches to see if you’ll show good manners. More.

“That’s good, cariño,” he praises, soft and raspy, taking the icy glass from your hand. “Show me your room,” he instructs. How is it your turf, but he’s still in charge? You glare at him briefly before you acquiesce and traipse down your hallway to your bedroom.

He places the glass of water on your nightstand, still full, and turns to assess you. You furrow your brows. Was the water some kind of test? Whatever. You behaved in the car. You behaved all the way to your bedroom. You’re nearly dizzy with need. Every breath feels like a lifetime.

His golden skin glows in the lamplight. You’d describe it as angelic if he wasn’t driving you mad. Morbid desire crawls under your skin, itchy and tense. He gestures for you to sit on your bed, and you do. If he insists on leading, you’ll follow.

You fold your hands in your lap again as if awaiting his next command. He cradles your cheek in his palm, and you look up through your lashes. You are not the saint of patience; your fingers twitch with the urge to tear his clothes into shreds. Why is he taking his time? Your mind is racing for a snarky comment when he interrupts your thoughts like he could hear them.

His touch is so gentle. Patient. Like he’s experienced in domesticating rabid animals.

“Shhh, I know,” his voice is earnest. Not teasing. Not mocking.

It catches you off guard. Grounding you. Strange.

His expression seems to slip into something unguarded as well. A moment of understanding. You see him. Something is building in the distance in your mind. Like the shore is receding before a tidal wave hits. But it’s too quiet without the waves breaking on the rocks. More.

“Make me feel something, Javier,” you reply.

It hangs delicately in the air. You aren’t provoking or begging. It’s a genuine expression of your desire to run from your internal state.

“I intend to,” he confirms with confidence. Like that’s the permission he was waiting for, the wait is over. Your lips connect. He kisses you with a bright and burning passion. Plush lips and wet tongues slide together expertly. Sharp little nips pull whiny melodies out of you. Your hands tug and pull at his hair, shoulders, and shirt. It’s not enough to just have his mouth.

“More,” you demand into his tongue.

“So needy,” he condescends, and you feel your cheeks warm.

He peels off your shirt, and his hands fly to exposed breasts.

“No bra?” he tuts as if he didn’t put that together while ogling you at the bar. You shake your head in response as he kneads at your soft skin. “Of course not.” He pinches at your nipples with precision, pleasure bridging on pain coursing through your body. You feel your chest arch towards him for relief, deep moans falling from your mouth. You want him to consume you. He looks like he might.

Javi hums at the way your body responds to him. Pliant but strong. You move into his touch, seeking intensity. He increases pressure and maps out your body.

He lets all his thoughts be filled with you. Your warm skin and soft vanilla scent are hidden until his nose trails behind your ear. You freely let all the sounds and breath spill from your mouth as he caresses you reverently. He wants to know how many sounds you can make.

You were a delightful surprise, crashing into the bar next to him. He recognized the look in your eyes. He’s going to give you what you need. Because you want it. And because he wants to drown himself in it. He feels drawn to you somehow.

Despite how good it feels to have his hands and mouth on your body, your neglected clit aches for attention. He continues on, almost obliviously, and you reach a fever pitch that splits your eyes wide open. Possessed by one word. More.

Your fingers come to life and work rapidly, yanking at his belt and the button on his jeans before slipping a hand in to feel. You’re struck with a surge of delight as your hand skates over his hot flesh and coarse hair. A hedonic sense of imminent victory unfurls in your core.

“No underwear?” you tut back at him.

“Nope,” you swear he winked at you as he said it.

He pulls you up to stand, stripping the rest of both of your clothes off quickly. You push him back a step to get a better look at his now fully naked form.

“Shit.” “Fuck.”

You mutter over each other at the same time. Like you’ve been compelled, you reach for him, needing to immediately taste and touch him everywhere. You knew he was a gem in that dive bar, but in front of you in your bedroom, you realize: he’s fucking gorgeous.

Of course, he won’t allow you to touch him. Nasty man with his beautiful body and devilish disposition. He scoops you up like the petulant child you are about to become and drops you onto your back in the middle of your bed with ease. You bounce against the mattress.

He catches the sour pout on your face as he settles himself between your legs.

“No need to think now, princesa,” he kisses just inside your left knee, “that’s my job now.” His mustache tickles the soft skin of your inner thighs, but it’s the spark in his dark eyes that makes you squirm. You groan in frustration at being deprived of the freedom to touch him once again, but you remain malleable.

“I need you to lay back and spread these legs for me.”

You comply. Parting your legs wider as his hands slide towards your center. Your eyes are locked on his, and his eyes are locked on your glistening folds in front of his face.

“Fuck, cariño, yes, just like that.”

You curse your body for needing to blink. Enraptured with the look on his face, you don’t want to see anything else. Floating and lightheaded, nobody has ever seen you like this. Seen the truth in your eyes so easily. Seen your blaring evidence of need pooling and dripping. And still looked at you the way he does. Desperate to be touched, you are grounded in the present. No other conscious thoughts. More.

He pulls at the skin on the top of your thighs, nowhere near close enough for your liking, but fully exposing your achy clit and fluttering entrance to his eyes. You’ve needed his touch since you left the bar, or maybe since you first felt his husky voice frazzle your brain.

He stares and stares as you watch impatiently.

“Such a gorgeous pussy,” he says to himself before he hovers closer and blows a stream of cool air over your swollen folds.

You could slap him for that or scream, but what comes out is a breathy “fuck,” and you clench your fists in an attempt to remain composed through this macabre sexual torture. You feel like he’s been down there for an eternity. And still, he’s given you no relief.

You brace for another stream of air, but instead, you watch agape as a glob of spit falls in slow motion from his lips to your clit. The barely there sensation snaps something in your mind as his saliva flows downward.

“You just gonna look, or you gonna touch any time soon?” you goad.

Javi’s eyes shoot to yours, narrowed. You’ve interrupted a private conversation. Vague and meaningless threats start flowing from your mouth, and you shift to reach for him when an abrupt slap to your pussy jolts your nervous system.

Before your brain and mouth can comment on his audacity, your body betrays you. You feel the patchy flush on your chest burning and the gush of lubrication in anticipation. He clocks both signs.

“Cariño,” he coos at you darkly. “I told you,” head shaking with disappointment, “no need to think.” He looks back down, “Now look, she’s crying for me, and I haven’t even had a taste yet.”

Your head sinks into your pillows with an exasperated sigh. How can torture feel exquisite? Wretched man.

“No. You don’t take your eyes off me,” the edge in his tone suggests you don’t want to disobey.

You find the strength to tilt your head back towards him. And it’s just in time to watch as he runs two fingers up and down your glossy folds. He ghosts around your clit, avoiding what you need most until he’s satisfied with his coated fingers. He plunges them both into your eagerly awaiting hole, petting at your velvety walls. An animalistic noise that must come from you fills the room in competition with the slick, wet sounds of his fingers.

“That’s right. Keep those pretty eyes on me while I play with your pussy.” Javi looks down to watch for himself. “You look so good swallowing my fingers,” he rasps thickly. Your walls clench and constrict around his fingers as his voice carves out a home in your mind.

Your room is cool, thanks to the hum of your window AC unit, but your body runs hot. You’ve never had a man in your bed who was this good with his words before. It forces you to stay focused. Present and aware of every sensation. Your ex was too insecure to be vocal. Other partners lacked tact or creativity. None of them ever took charge like this or took their time. You feel your chest heaving and see the wide smile break across his face. Your skin tingles as a sheen of sweat breaks out.

Javi takes his time experimenting with the ways your body responds. He speeds up and slows down, changes pressure and patterns, tapping and tracing, petting and prodding. It’s like the nine extra settings you don’t need your vibrator to have, but better. It’s not careless. You watch, like he instructed. He seems studious, observing how you respond, scanning your face and body. Microexpressions on his face calculating and plotting.

You flex, tense, and writhe as much as you dare, trying to maintain some control over your body. Your eyebrows are pinched, and your hips are tight as you strain.

Javier can tell. Do you not trust him? He needs you to give in to him.

“Let me take you there, cariño,” he urges. “Can feel she wants it; just relax for me, breathe.”

“Fuck,” you confirm with a whisper and do your best to let go of some of the rigid tension. He maintains a steady rhythm for you to focus on. He slowly builds in intensity, and he continues to murmur encouragement to you. Breathe. There you go. Easy.

You slowly melt into it and let him puppet your mind and body. Building and building. Breathing and breathing. Allowed to be out of control. That does it. Your climax crashes violently against your loose frame. Yes, cariño, just like that, fuck. Contracting muscles in your core pull your chest forward. Jerking and spasming, you raise with stuttering gasps. You aren’t sure if you should laugh or be embarrassed as you pant, feeling like he just performed an exorcism on you. His expression settles you. Pleased with an edge of ravenous.

He slides his fingers from you and sits up, looming tall and strong on his knees over your damp, limp body. Your eyes are glued to his weeping cock, softly bobbing at your eye level. Saliva pools in your mouth, craving the weight of it sliding over your tongue. You swallow and blink. Recalibrating your senses and figuring out what he just said to you.

He runs his fingers back through your overly sensitive folds to get your attention. Your entire body twitches, wrenching your attention to his face. He already has you at his mercy.

“Close your mouth, baby,” he commands. You weren’t aware it had been hanging open and snap it shut. He laughs gently at your stupor. Enamored. Then he’s running his slick coated fingers over your lips like a debauched lipgloss. Your mouth parts to question him, and he slides them onto your tongue before a word gets out.

“Good,” he praises, “suck.” You do. And as he drags his fingers out he replaces them with his tongue. He sucks and nips at your lips, tasting everything. The bright flavor of your arousal, the lingering beer from the bar, the smoky tobacco, and the gum you tried to sneak on your way out of the bar. It’s a potent concoction, and it fuels his thirst. You run your tongue along his neck and commit the flavor of his sweat-salted skin to memory.

You can feel the rumbly groans filling his chest, and you’re back to needing more. Clawing at his skin and tugging at his hair. One of your soft hands finds his throbbing cock, and wrapping your fingers around it causes you to exchange throaty moans. You slip your thumb around the head, coating it in precome and using it to glide your full fist down his shaft. It’s stupid how big his cock is, and part of you is loathe to admit it. You just know he’s already aware, but a mindless so big slips out of your mouth anyway. You feel him smile against you.

“Y’think so?” he breathes against your neck.

You roll your eyes at him and tease, “Don’t be trite, Javi.” You tug firmly at his length. “I’m sure all the ladies you pick up in shitty dive bars fawn over your pretty cock.”

A distant look flickers across his face before he flashes a sly grin at you.

“Y’think it’s pretty?” Is that all he heard?

“Oh my god,” you groan in feigned annoyance at him.

He looks down to watch your hand stroke him and decides that is a pretty sight.

You hope he was right in the cab of his truck. That when he fills you up, you’ll forget how to think. He pulls back from your greedy little grasp. I know, I know. He says with the marks he leaves along your skin.

“You think she’s ready for me?” he asks as he adjusts to line up with you. You’re too entranced to respond. He slides himself through your folds, and you whimper at the pressure. He’s still waiting for an answer. He pauses and stares at your face. He gives your clit a playful swat with the weight of his cock.

You blink back up to him, “huh?”

“You think she’s ready to take me?” he repeats.

“Yes, Javi, m’ready.”

He gives you a disapproving look, for god knows why. And shifts further away from you. You feel your face shift into a pout.

”I think she can give me a couple more first.”

Something in you loosens, and you realize you’re defenseless. Willing.

This time, he doesn’t toy with you. He strikes swiftly. Overwhelming your senses when his fingers slide back inside of you and the hot furnace of his mouth envelopes your no longer neglected clit. He brings you over the edge rapidly with the combination of his curling fingers and the firm pressure of the flat of his tongue.

He praises you adoringly, but he doesn’t let up. That’s it. Dámelo. Breathe. You can take it. Another. Know she wants it. Like that. Taking you further than you thought you could go. Again and again. You’re blind and boneless, a sticky mess. He could watch you like this for hours. Writhing against his fingers as his other arm wraps over your belly, holding you in place.

“What’d you say?” he asks as you come down from another flood of endorphins. You weren’t aware you could form words. You blink dazedly before you can figure it out.

“Please, Javi, please,” you repeat. You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore.

His lips are pressed to your sweaty forehead. When he pulls back, a mischievous grin spreads across his face. You’re trying to think of what you were trying to communicate, but it’s hazy.

“Doing so good for me, cariño, you deserve it now.”

You can only nod and whisper another “please.” He slides the head of his cock through your dripping, sensitive folds. That’s what you wanted. More.

“Yes,” you chant, “please, oh god, yes, Javi, please, fuck.” You exercise the full extent of your current vocabulary in quick succession.

“Beautiful, cariño,” his words drip over you like honey.

“Yes, Javi, please,” you continue your chant.

Slowly. Painfully slowly, he begins to feed his cock into you, eyes rapidly flipping between studying the expressions crossing your face and the view of your pussy stretching around him.

“Oh god, oh,” you repeat mindlessly as he works his way inside of you.

“Fuck” he exhales and locks his eyes on your face before pushing the rest of the way in. When your eyes widen, and your jaw falls slack, he knows the image will be seared into his memory.

“Yes, Javi, fuck–” your mantra is cut off with a deep moan as he grinds his hips into yours. You're so full. You run your hands down his back, trying to force him closer. Trying to merge solid bodies into liquid pleasure. Transform physical vessels into the intangible. More.

He begins to slide in and out, never leaving the clutch of your warm walls all the way. His pace steadily increases, along with the intensity of the snap of his hips once he’s as deep as possible inside of you. He folds your knees towards your chest and thrusts with fervor, captivated by the way your tits bounce.

A cacophony of lewd noises bounces off the walls in your room. Your shared panting, the rocking bedframe, the wet slip of his cock sawing into you, the skin-to-skin slap of his heavy balls bouncing against your ass, it’s all a debased symphony together.

A delirious giggle pours from you as the realization strikes. He was right, no need to think; all you need is to feel how perfectly he fills you up. He’s not thrown by your fit of laughter. You think he knows. His mouth is moving, though. He’s speaking to you. You focus with all the effort you can muster.

“Again, cariño. You’re going to come on my cock for me,” he breathes like he’s the one ready to beg. You obey. It takes the slightest touch, swirling your fingers around your sensitive nerves. Watching the tense expression on his face. The weight of his body fucking you into your mattress. You’re clenching around him like you could pull him any deeper.

“Fuck, that’s right,” he drops his mouth to your salty neck, “so well-behaved for me.”

You preen at that. Breathing each other's air.

“These legs still work?” he asks, swatting at your thighs.

“A little,” you shrug.

“Good.” He sits up, pulling your chest into his, breathing with you for a minute as you wrap your legs around him and settle on his lap. “Not done with you yet,” he growls into your hair. You think about the moment at the bar earlier, when he lit your cigarette for you. You hoped he’d be good. You didn’t think he’d be this good.

“Yes, Javi,” you agree as if you know what’s next. He shifts, and you let him arrange your body as he pleases. It’s blissful. Not having to think. He maneuvers you like a doll, but you know you aren’t an object to him. Not with the way he gently rolls you onto your belly, arranging a pillow under your head. You rest your cheek against it and peer dreamily at him. He lifts your hips, propping you up on your knees, and pauses for a second to admire the way your pussy glistens readily for him. The way your smooth back arches in presentation just for him. But it’s the expression on your face, the insatiable more in your eyes, that gives him purpose.

He kneels behind you and sinks in easily, a groan ripping through his throat as you push your hips back into him with more energy than he expected. You moan loudly in response, attempting to muffle it into the pillow.

“Oh my god, Javi,” you rasp at him. “How can you possibly get any deeper?” you ask incredulously.

“How are you still talking, cariño?” he taunts, picking up an unyielding and brutal pace.

“M’not” you decide, “no thoughts.”

“Fuck” you both echo as he hits a new angle.

“Please, don’t stop,” you beg openly, “just like that, Javi, holy shit.” He slips one hand underneath you to play with your swollen clit.

“Yes,” you begin chanting again. But you want him to come. You need it. You slide your own hand under his to replace it. Reaching further to feel the way you’re stretched around him. You wish you could see it. The feeling alone turns your brain to mush.

“Javi?” you plead for his attention. You could sob with the intensity building in your core.

“Yes?” he asks without slowing down.

“Need you to come,” you whine into the pillow your face rocks into.

“Yes, cariño,” he consents.

“No, now. I need you to fill me up, please; I need to feel it,” you beg like you were invented for him in a dream. So perfect.

“I know,” he asserts, “gonna stuff you full,” and that sends you.

“Fuck, Javi, yes, I need it,” you sob out as your muscles flex and contract around him once more.

He grips your spineless frame and tugs your back into his chest. You might be drooling as your head rolls into his shoulder. You register a hand squeezing at your tits as he gives you what you want. A few more harsh thrusts and he’s filling you up. You can feel his cock flexing and straining to give you everything he’s got. Javier’s rough breaths reverberate through your blissfully quiet mind. It’s enough.

He lowers you back to your pillow, still on your knees, and he slides out of you with a soft groan. You echo it, feeling immediately emptier without him.

You stretch across the bed to fish for your cigarettes in your pile of discarded belongings from earlier or maybe a lifetime ago.

He accepts one when you offer and, in turn, offers you the water he asked for earlier. You gratefully accept. You ask if the water trick works on all the women he picks up in dive bars. He argues that it’s not really a trick if the sex happens before you drink it, and you share a real belly laugh at that, realizing he’s right. You finish your cigarettes in a calm silence next to each other. Your mind is quiet. You let out a satisfied little sigh.

He gets up and starts pulling on his jeans. Reality hits you like a brick smashing into your skull. Leaving blood and bone fragments across your pillow. Substances and sex are temporary. Distractions, not solutions. A fleeting release to quell your demons. The ones that reappear back on your shoulders, cackling with glee over the chaos. Your mind is back in action racing. You drag your hands down your face. Holding your eyes shut tightly. You wait, holding your breath. Listening for the sound of your front door opening and closing any second.

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mintmatcha · 5 months

Text

The Inevitable Things: chapter four

aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

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Five messages.

Four texts, one video.

The message preview stares back at you, the LED screen aglimmer in the morning sun, screen bouncing with the tremor of your hand. You're breathing, you're sure of that, but you also think you may have died; no matter how hard you breathe, your chest feels like a popped balloon, deflated and too ripped to hold air. The rush of something whizzing past your ear must be blood, it's too resonant and all encompassing to be anything else--

Five fucking messages.

You can’t bring yourself to open any of them.

You stand there for longer than you’d like to admit, trying to process exactly what you’re looking at. Maybe it’s a glitch, or a typo, but when you turn your phone off and back on again, the unread messages pop up the same. Five unread messages from Aizawa Shouta. It makes sense logically; Aizawa is right above AVOID AT ALL COST in your contacts, you must have just clicked the incorrect thing in your drunken stupor--

But what doesn’t make sense is the fact that he replied-- and he replied positively. Aizawa Shouta does not respond positively to anything. Not the first cup of coffee in the morning, not his interns, probably not even kittens and rainbows, and yet he messaged you back. I’ve always wanted you. You refuse to reread anything from last night, but that sticks in your head.

I’ve always wanted you.

You think about it the entire train ride, nibbling on the edges of your nails to kill the anxious buzz that builds in your jaw. Maybe you should quit. You could change your name and move to some mid-sized city; that’d be easier than the inevitable mess you're headed towards. Suddenly, you miss yesterday, the yelling, the aggression--

It goes back to Touya. You know the question on everyone’s mind when they see you together, when they hear about the fights and the tension and the isolation: why? Why him, why stay, why wait, why, why, why? The answer is as simple as it is stupid: you stay because it's what you know. The turbulence feels like home.

It's like sea legs. When sailors are on boats for a long time, they stop feeling the rock and roll of each wave. It becomes easy to walk straight, to live life like normal, until they return to shore. There, on level streets, long after the tide has pulled away, is where the waves hit.

You've learned to live in rocky waters- you’ve practically perfected it. Touya is your ship and you know his yaws and keels better than you know stability.

This whole situation is the equivalent of stepping ashore and being immediately hit by a semi truck.

The train pulls into your station and you debate staying on for a moment too long. I’ve always wanted you. That sentence makes your stomach turn. What does that mean? Is it solely physical? Is it more?

No, it can’t be. This man hates your guts; there’s no feelings between you other than mild, stupid lust.

Which makes you debate your own feelings. He's certainly… well, he’s not ugly. You’d even say, maybe, perhaps, in the right angles, he’s attractive, especially with this thick thighs and thicker cock-

The train doors almost close before you can scuttle out. Focus, girl, focus. Fighting through your surprisingly aching body and returning headache, you briskly walk the rest of the way to work, trying to think about anything other than the shitshow you’re about to walk into.

Prome is a half mile walk from the station, with only one tiny dash across a busy road. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only option you have right now. The interns have started a carpool, but you’re too old to be riding with them. Besides, Bakugo Katsuki’s car is nice. It’s embarrassing the have worse things than a college student-

A familiar dented, red car squeaks to a halt inches from your ass, so close that you can feel the wind displaced. The squeal of tires steals your breath away and your body clenches in fear, so hard that your muscles scream. You jump and start blabbering in surprise, shouting out unearned apologies as you skitter back. It takes a second to gather yourself, but, when you do, you see a boy jut his head out of the window, all toothy smiles and bleach blonde hair.

“Hey!” he shouts. “If it isn’t my hero!”

“Denki?”

Kaminari Denki waves to you, sunshine personified behind the wheel of a truck without a bumper.

“Hold on, lemme park!”

The red monstrosity barely fits in a space. In its prime, it was probably a pretty car, but being owned by Denki clearly took a toll. The inside is littered with empty energy drink cans, clinking and sloshing as he throws the car into park and launches himself out. There's a reason he's not a part of the group's carpool.

“I could fucking kiss you right now!” He envelopes you in open arms, manhandling you side to side over and over in an overly friendly display.

“Oh, please don't-- Denki!”

He smashes his face into your cheek with a chaste, yet somehow wet smooch. When you try to squirm away, he doubles down; his lips actually make contact with yours, just for a moment, awful and impossibly damp.

“Ew, gross! Get off!” You pry him off and wipe the slime off of your lips with the back of your hand. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, my bad, I’m just--” he laughs, “Izuku told me you saved my ass!”

You don’t mention the fact you’re the reason he was in trouble in the first place because you're too busy processing this information.

“Aizawa rehired you?”

“He called me yesterday and apologized, which was, holy shit, it was insane,” Denki says, with a wave of his hands, like it isn’t a shocking turn of events. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I just, uh--” You grimace at the thought. “I talked to Toshinori. And cried a little.”

In retrospect, it does seem like overkill, but it worked.

“Do that more often!” He goes in for another hug and you reluctantly let him. He smells like axe body spray and cheap deodorant. God, he’s so young-- even the accidental kiss feels dirty. You have to remind yourself that he’s early twenties, really only a couple years younger than you-- wait, no. You’re thirty. “I owe you my life! And my diploma!”

You still can't believe it. Aizawa, hard ass Aizawa, changed his mind? That couldn't be because of you. He's made people cry before, why would you be different-?

Oh. I've always wanted you.

That thought hits you like a punch to the gut.

Maybe it isn't just physical.

You have to shake your head to clear away that thought. You brush your clothes off and adjust yourself. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’ll buy you a coffee.” He coos as you walk in. The security guard gives you both a curious look, eyebrows wiggling conspiratorially. You just ignore that and focus on getting to your desk. It's almost nine; you're both late. “And anything you want-- alcohol, weed-”

“-We drug test here?”

“We do?” Denki gapes. “Fuck, good to know.”

Maybe saving him wasn’t a good career move. You make it to your desk and drop your stuff on the group. Denki has been following you like a puppy, nipping at your heels the whole way.

“Just… please don’t get fired again." You jerk a head towards his department. "Go do your work."

“Absolutely!” He prances down the hall, wrinkled tie flapping in his wake. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You can’t believe he’s here. Truly. All of that worry and stress yesterday feels worth it as you settle into your desk. You clack a couple of keys to wake up your screen-- but there’s no response. After a moment, you try again, then again. A wiggle of the mouse does the trick, but the keyboard still doesn’t wake up when you try to type in your password.

Crap. You split that coffee yesterday. The circuit or whatever must be fried. Great. Today is going to be pretty unproductive if you don’t solve this issue.

Engineering probably has a couple of extras, but you aren’t sure you’re ready to walk straight into the lion’s den, especially now that you aren’t sure how you feel about it all. The fact he rehired Denki does make you feel a bit better; maybe Hizashi and Nemuri were right and he’s actually a good guy. And, you can’t deny that you’re a tiny bit attracted to him now that you’ve seen… everything.

Ugh, you need to make up your fucking mind and decide how you feel about all of this--

At that moment, Aizawa Shouta stomps down the hall, expression as flat and hard as ever. He looks the same as he always does, stupid yellow sweatshirt, messy black hair, under eye circles deep enough to worry about, but your chest hiccups at the sight. You don’t have a plan for this, no prepared speech or anything. For a moment, you wonder if he’s coming to kiss you or ravage you, like in one of those romance novels that are popular online-

And then he passes you and heads straight for the coffee machine. Relief washes over you, then confusion. Not even a hint of attention thrown your way. That’s fairly strange-- you usually get at least a nod or a lukewarm greeting. You push off of your chair and join him the the station.

“Hey, um-” Your idle hands dig into the sugar packets, jostling them side to side. The pitch of the coffee hitting the inside of his mug changes as he pours, pitch creeping higher and higher. His jawline is dusted with a five o’clock shadow, flickers of salt and pepper across his skin and down to the curve of his adam’s apple. You said something about shaving last night, you think. You wonder if he listened or if this is how it’s always been-

“Do you need something?” He interrupts your thoughts, not even looking away from the station.

“I-” What do you need? Confirmation? Reassurance? An explanation? “Uh-”

You suck in a breath and steel yourself, legs shoulder width again from that extra boost of stability. Your voice comes out as a whisper, much shakier than it should be. I've always wanted you. You don't feel the same, but maybe, just maybe, you could learn to.

“Yesterday-- or, uh, last night- I just want to--”

“Let’s save each other the embarrassment and forget everything that happened yesterday.” The coffee pot clinks back into place, only the legs of droplets left to cling to the glass. “We’re out, by the way.”

And with that, he’s gone.

And a second truck has sideswiped you.

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tribetrailers0 · 2 months

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Why a Medium Size Truck Camper is Perfect for Your Next Adventure

The ultimate in adaptability is a camper made from a medium-sized vehicle. In contrast to larger RVs, a mid-size truck camper is perfect for adventurers who enjoy visiting off-the-beaten-path locations because it can easily fit through small spaces and narrow trails.

#mid-size truck camper

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leclerc-drives-in-circles · 1 year

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Nails

pairing: Rafe x fem!Reader

Summary: you have a nail appointment and ask Rafe if he wants to go with.

A/n: random fucking idea

Enjoy this really fucking stupid story I randomly thought of <333

Dividers by @saradika

You knew you wanted to get your nails done but you didn't know what color to get. This debate started when you were invited to your friends wedding a week before your summer vacation started. Two completely different occasions, and considering you had less than a week until the wedding you had to choose fast. It didn't help that the wedding dress-code was 'minimalistic and old-fashioned' so you couldn't choose a super bold color.

You were annoyed at everything when your boyfriend Rafe walked in.

"Hey baby what're you doing?" He said whole plopping down on the bed in your shared room.

"Looking at subtle but summer-y colors for my nai-" you stopped yourself mid-sentence and just look at him with mischief in your eyes.

"Hmmm" He hummed contemplating whether or not to say anything about your face. He decided on the latter. "What does that face mean, gorgeous?" He said after a bit of complete silence.

"Wanna go with me and pick out the color?" You say eagerly knowing damn well he won't turn down a chance to hang out with his best girl.

"Yes. What time is the appointment?" He asks simply.

"The appointment starts at 2:00 buy we can get there a bit early so you can see all of the colors we'll. And if you want you can choose the style and design." You say in not-so-chill tone.

"I will choose a nice sage green for the color and maybe coffin shape and them little flowers for design." He says feigning excitement.

You stare at him, mouth agape, trying to figure out where he learned all of this knowledge.

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asks curiously.

"How did you know that? Also what color will the flowers be?" You ask incredibly confused.

"Mmm the flowers will be baby blue with little yellow middle thingys and Baby, I've been waiting for you to ask me for so long that I have learned all there is to know about nails. Also I have designs in my mind for every occasion so I'm REALLY prepared." He says as if you're not staring at him in pure disbelief.

"You blow my mind everyday with the amount of knowledge you can fit into that head with the size of that ego." You snap jokingly. Would he really believe it if you were serious?

"Wow, Baby, you're so nice to me." He says sarcastically while pulling you in for a sweet kiss, probably the sweetest kiss you've experienced with him.

"Okay, we have to leave in about...Forty-five minutes so be ready by then and I'll close out my pinterest and get dressed." You said pulling away from him reluctantly.

"Okay, Princess." He says giving you a quick peck on the cheek before walking to your closet and getting the two of you matching outfits in a beautiful muted orange color.

"Ooh, cute outfit, my love." You say happily grabbing it and walking to the bathroom that is attached to your room.

When you walked out you swear you can feel all of the air being sucked out of the room because of the incredible gasp you hear your adorable boyfriend take. "Beautiful, absolutely beautiful, have I told yiu today that I love you?" He says dumbfounded almost.

"I don't think you have. Do you love me?" You say trying to fuck with him.

"You have no clue how much I love you, Darling." He says quietly, almost silently.

》》——>>

At the nail salon you picked out the colors for your nails and sat down. You picked, as stated before, a sage green, a baby blue and a yellow that could be seen from a mile away.

The whole time the lady wah painting you nails Rafe wasn't even paying attention, he was staring at you as if you were the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth. And to him you were.

He was lovesick and at this point him being utterly obsessed with you made Topper and Kelse annoyed constantly.

After you were done you walked out to his truck and he opened the door for you and you climbed into the comfortable seat whole Rafe scurried to the drivers side and climbed into the truck the exact same way as you.

"Lemme see, Baby." He says making grabbing hands toward your hands.

"Okay, okay. Be patient, Rafey." You mumbled whole basically throwing your hands at him.

"Oh my Goodness, Baby, they look amazing!" He cheered in excitement.

"It was all you, Handsome." You said reassuringly.

And you both lives happily ever after-ish

Thank you for reading this hope you enjoyed as much as I enjoyed writing it.

If there are any typos I'm so sorry I was writing this half asleep and reread it and was like "Okay then!" And now I'm posting it

Taglist: NOBODY YET BUT LMK

Also, sorry if it seemed rushed

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe fluff #rafe x you #obx rafe cameron

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inthe-dark-tonight · 1 year

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whatever’s on tonight

joel miller x fem!reader

part 2

summary: a weekend in the desert is anything but lonely with joel miller around

word count: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ (mdni), no outbreak AU, established relationship, no mention of age difference, fluff, unsafe p in v, creampie, swearing, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, hot tub sex with joel miller ;)

notes: came up with this idea while listening to the next best american record by lana del rey <3 i wrote this all last night and barely looked it over so sorry about any mistakes and thank you for reading!!

Whatever's on tonight // I just wanna party with you // Topanga's hot tonight // I'm takin' off my bathing suit // You made me feel like.., // There's somethin' that I never knew−I wanted

You and Joel decided to rent a bungalow outside of big bend national park for the weekend, somewhere you can both relax and disconnect. It was a last minute decision, you can’t even remember the last time the two of you got a chance to do something like this. You made sure to book a place that was a little more secluded so you could enjoy the peacefulness of the desert, and having a hot tub to relax was a necessity.

You both took a half day at work, packed up the truck then headed out. It was nearly a 7 hour drive, you spent the time talking and listened to music while looking at the scenery to pass the time. About half way through your trip you stopped at a little diner to have dinner, then got back on the road.

As you get closer to the bungalow the two of you are staying in, you begin to feel more excited about the little get away. As Joel drives down the winding desert road leading to the house, the sky is fading into a dark blue shade, dusk slowly taking over. You look over at Joel as he drives, the silhouette of his side profile made more prominent by the fading light behind him. A smile grows on your face as your eyes trail over his features.

“What?” He smirks and glances at you for a second before looking back to the road.

You shake your head. “Nothing,” you break into a smile. “Just excited that’s all.”

He takes one hand off the steering wheel to find yours on your lap and intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing lightly. You sit in silence until he’s parked in front of the bungalow, only letting go of your hand to get out of the car.

“Here we are.” He gives you a content look as you both unbuckle your seatbelts and climb out of the car.

You stop for a second after closing the passenger door staring up at sky in awe, now filled with stars as the moon takes the suns place in the night sky. Joel comes up behind you, wrapping his large arms around your waist. You rest your arms on top of his and lay your head back onto his shoulder, eyes never leaving the sky.

“Beautiful” He whispers, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Mhm” You hum, unaware that he was talking about you.

“Let’s bring our stuff in.” His voice is soft, you turn your head to look up at him and his lips immediately meet yours in a gentle kiss.

You let out a sigh before he moves to unpack the truck, hands lingering on your hips for a short moment. You help him grab a few things before the two of you walk up to the house. Joel sets down his bag while he fiddles with the lock box that holds the key for a minute, and you can’t help but laugh.

Once he finally unlocks the door, you walk in and the space is beautiful, a small kitchen lined with floor to ceiling windows that leads into a cozy living room. You set down your bags to take a look around, the home is mid century style and it’s exactly what you hoped for when you booked it. You walk to the other side of the living room and find another wall filled with floor to ceiling windows, a small bathroom, and a door that leads to the bedroom.

Joel trails behind you as you enter the room, a large king size bed facing a sliding glass door that leads to the patio and hot tub, and a bathroom with a huge walk-in glass shower across from a vanity with a giant wall to wall mirror. You turn around and walk over to Joel, a thrilled smile on your face as you jump up and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Woah there.” He chuckles and wraps his arms around you, squeezing tight as he buries his face in your neck.

“Sorry, I’m excited.” Your voice is muffled as you nuzzle into him.

He pulls back from you, planting his hands on your hips and kissing the tip of your nose.

“How ‘bout I grab us some drinks and we go out back?” He’s resting his forehead against yours now.

“Only if you go in the hot tub with me.” You give him a playful look.

“Whatever you want, baby. We’re here to relax.” He squeezes your waist before turning around to head for the kitchen.

You grab your bag from the living room and dig around for your bathing suit and snag a shirt from Joel’s bag to slip over it. As you’re putting on your bathing suit, you hear music coming from the living room. You tie your bathing suit top as quickly as you can and throw on Joel’s shirt before walking towards the music.

You see Joel in the corner messing with an old radio, switching through the staticky channels until he stops on one that’s coming through mostly clear. You recognize the song that’s coming through the speakers, and he turns around setting his beer on the coffee table before walking over to you.

Anyone who’s ever had a heart

Wouldn’t turn around and break it

He grabs your hips pulling you into him, hands resting on the small of your back as he holds you close. You rest both your hands on his shoulders.

“Dance with me.” He whispers before starting to sway back and forth.

You move your hands up to wrap around his neck,and rest your head on his shoulder, listening to his heart beat as you sway back and forth with him. Your eyes close, getting lost in the moment just feeling his warm chest move under you with each breath. As you sway back and forth, you lift your head to look up at him and rest your hands on his chest. His nose gently brushes against yours as he stares at you with heavy lidded eyes.

Heavenly wine and roses

Seem to whisper to me when you smile

Joel spins you around causing you to let out a laugh before pulling you back in, his lips meeting with yours in a feverish kiss. One of his hands moves up to cup your cheek, pulling you closer as he lets out a content sigh.

Sweet Jane

Oh sweet, sweet Jane

He breaks the kiss still holding you close, eyes locked on yours as he continues to sway with you until the end of the song. He gently tucks a hair behind your ear before breaking the silence.

“Let me get changed and I’ll meet you outside.” He whispers to you, and you nod in agreement.

He plants one last gentle kiss on your lips before you walk to the bedroom and open the sliding door to the deck. When you step outside it’s a bit chilly, you quickly remove the cover from the hot tub and dip your hand into the warm water. When you look up towards the sliding glass door you see the silhouette of Joel’s broad frame in the dim light of the room as he walks towards the door. He’s holding two beers in his hand when he steps out, his eyes meet yours before closing the door.

You stand there with your hand in the water still as he sets the beers on the edge of the hot tub. He walks over to you and you turn around, leaning up against the hot tub facing him. Your eyes roam over his exposed chest and shoulders as he saunters towards you wearing a pair of dark blue swim trunks that hang dangerously low on his waist. He reaches out to grab the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, knuckles skimming the skin on your thighs as he slowly lifts it. You raise your arms allowing him to remove it before throwing it off to the side somewhere, leaving you in just your black bathing suit. His warm hands run up and down your sides caressing your soft skin as his eyes roam over your body.

“You’re heavenly.” He squeezes your hips, shaking his head in disbelief.

You rest your hands on his stomach right above the hem of his swim trunks, he sucks in a deep breath as you slowly move your hands up his soft stomach, over his chest and rest them on his solid shoulders. His hands move to squeeze your ass and you let out a small yelp causing Joel to chuckle.

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes giving him a playful smile as you grab his hand. “C’mon.”

You pull him along as you walk towards the steps to get in the hot tub. As you climb in, he rests his hand on your lower back. Once you're sitting he climbs in after you letting out a low groan as he sinks into the warm water. He grabs the beers from the ledge of the hot tub and hands you one, eyes staying locked on you as he takes a sip of his own. You’re sitting across from him, watching him as you sink further down into the water. He rests his arm over the edge of the hot tub holding his beer, and runs his other hand through his hair dampening it slightly.

“C’mere baby.” He sets his beer down and sits up straight.

You push yourself off the edge of your seat and swiftly lift yourself to straddle his lap, your drink forgotten on the other side of the hot tub. You settle in his lap, hands resting on the sides of his neck as he looks up at you. He trails his warm hands lightly up and down your back, causing goosebumps to form all over your damp skin.

“Joel…” you breathe out, rolling your hips into his.

“Goddamn.” He lets out a low moan.

You lightly pull at the hair on the back of his neck causing him to close his eyes for a moment, tongue sticking out to wet his lips. You can feel his hardening length start to grow beneath you, and when he opens his eyes again they’re immediately glued to your chest.

As his warm breath fans across your skin you move one of your hands to find the tie on the back of your bikini, pulling at the string once you find it. Your bathing suit top loosens and his eyes widen, darting up to yours. Then you move both your hands to the tie at your neck, pulling it loose and letting your top fall into the water before placing your hands on the ledge behind him. You can feel Joel’s fully hardened cock underneath you now as he takes in the sight of your bare chest.

“Fuck.” His hips lift and you press yourself into him.

“Like what you see?” You grind your hips into his again.

He looks up at you with wide eyes and a slack jaw as he nods in agreement. You grab his hands from your hips and lift them up to your tits, his eyes falling back to your chest. Your hands cover his as he lightly squeezes and kneads them while you continue to roll your hips into him.

“So pretty.” He hums.

You let out a small moan and his eyes turn dark as they snap up to yours. You remove your hands from his and slowly move yourself back, reaching into the water for his swim trunks. He sees what you’re doing and lifts his hips up as you pull them down, exposing his fully hardened cock.

He removes his hands from your breast to untie the strings on the bottoms of your bikini, pulling them out from under you and tossing them to the other side of the hot tub causing the water to slightly splash on you. You flinch and let out a small shout, leaning into Joel.

“Sorry” he says between laughs.

You wrap your arms around his solid form, laying your bare chest against his before meeting his lips with a passionate kiss. A long sigh leaves you lips as your body relaxes into him. His hard length is flush against your folds, tip nudging at your clit as you slowly thrust against him.

You’re breathing heavily as you break the kiss. “Need you.” It comes out quiet and soft.

“I’m all yours baby.” He grabs your face, placing his lips on yours again.

You slowly lift your hips until you feel his tip catch at your entrance, causing him to let out a low moan that vibrates through your chest. Joel slips his tongue past your lips deepening the kiss as you start to slowly sink down onto his cock. You remove your lips from his and let out another soft moan.

“Oh my god Joel, feels so good.” You mumble against his lips, nose nudging against his.

He’s speechless, both hands on your face as he looks up at you. You slowly move yourself up and down on his cock at a steady pace, just taking in the way he feels slowly stretching you. You tug at his hair causing his head to tilt up towards you more, and that sets something off in him.

He lets out a low growl before lifting you up off of him, spinning you around so your back is to him. Then he starts gently pushing you to the other side of the hot tub, his hands rest on your hips as you settle on your knees and your hands grip the ledge. Seconds later he’s thrusting his cock back into you, causing your body to jolt forward as you let out a gasp.

His pace starts out slow as he trails kisses down your bare back and shoulders. Then he starts to pick up his pace resting one of his hands over yours, the other on your hip as his broad frame leans over you. You turn your head to get a glimpse of him, and he leans forward, removing his hand from yours to grab your jaw as he kisses you.

“Take me so well baby.” He hums as his pace quickens.

Heat is building in your stomach, ready to snap at any second. His hand on your hip moves to wrap around you, holding you flush against him.

“I’m close.” It comes out barely audible.

The hand that’s holding your chin moves to rest on your shoulder as he lets out low grunts into the side of your neck, leaving hot kisses on your skin.

“Let me feel you, sweet thing.” He whispers into your ear, his deep voice making you shudder.

It’s enough to make the coil in your stomach finally snap, eyes fluttering shut as your walls clench around him. He lets out a groan as he fucks you through your orgasm, your name falling from his lips in low moans as his pace starts to faulter. He starts to pull out and you quickly grab his hand that’s resting on your shoulder, stopping him.

“Inside Joel,” You let out a breath. “Please.”

He slows down and plants both his hands on your hips, your words were enough to send him over the edge as he releases himself into you. A whimper leaves your mouth as you feel his warm load coat your walls. His forehead rests on your shoulder as he comes down from his high, breathing heavily while trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck, baby.” He leaves a soft kiss on your shoulder before pulling out of you with a low hiss.

After a moment Joel sits up and turns his body towards you, one hand resting on your inner thigh, the other draped along the edge of the hot tub. You sit up a little and your eyes meet his.

Both of his hands move to rest on on your cheeks, caressing your soft skin with his thumbs as you wrap your arms around his neck. He leans in to kiss you again, deep and slow as your lips move in sync. He breaks this kiss too soon leaning his forehead against yours, eyes closed and he takes in a deep breath. You keep your eyes closed, carding your fingers through his hair as you take in this moment.

Your chest swells, as you open your eyes you find him peering at you through heavy lidded eyes.

“Joel…”

“It’s true, all the roads lead to you. Everything I want and do.” He takes a deep breath.

Your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you brush your lips against his, taking in what he just confessed to you.

“I love you.” It’s barely audible, lower than a whisper.

Your lips fully meet with his and he grabs your legs to swing them over his lap, lips still attached to yours.

“I love you too.” He nuzzles his nose against your cheek.

You curl up closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder. His large hand runs up and down your back as you both sit there taking in the moment, listening to each other's breathing and the faint noises of the night.

tagging a few moots <3

@sscorpiiio @gracieheartsspedro @ilovepedro @pedrospartner @joelsversion @javiscigarette @jenispunk @beskarandblasters @tinygarbage @shatteredbaby @nostalxgic @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @isitmeulookin4

thanks for reading 🤍 and thank you @pr0ximamidnight for letting me ramble and send updates ily AND thank you for the summary 🫡

thinking about a part 2 also if anyone’s interested 👀 my asks box is open to chat!

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #soft!joel miller #joel miller #joel miller fic #couldn’t stop thinking about hot tub sex with joel

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crabs-brencil · 7 months

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rahhh finally a full illo, and this one comes with lore

basically i was listening to 2000s-y edm as i drew this and as such: connorkus as either highschool seniors or university students in 2009. they're all from some shitty mid-size city in the middle of nowhere. the manfreds are obv That One Family TM so markus is like the golden boy with way too much pressure put on him, and north and connor are the only friends that he can actually be chill with. ofc ppl think that they shouldn't hang out together because north and connor are Bad Influences TM, since north has the worlds shortest fuse and will butt heads with anyone that she feels deserves it, and connor because he's the alcoholic lieutenant's adopted son and a snarky bitch when he feels like it. also north's family owns a farm and the truck they are in is north's dad's. connor def lifted those beers off of hank "to help him quit"

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh markus #dbh north #rk800 #rk200 #wr400 #connor rk800 #markus rk200 #north wr400 #connorkus #dbh human au #dbh fanart #krita #asfhj im tempted to actually write this help #2009 au

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suzukiblu · 1 year

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Lil' excerpt from the self-indulgent DC fic I was working on yesterday for my birthday fun times.

Context: "My Adventures With Superman" meets Superboy.

Clark is talking to Lois and Jimmy in their office at the Planet when he hears it.

It's a heartbeat.

Clark hears those all the time these days. He can hear Lois and Jimmy's right now. Can hear everyone in the whole newsroom's; the whole building's; the whole city's.

And he can hear his own heartbeat, though he's so used to it that he usually tunes it out.

So . . . why is he hearing his own heartbeat, he wonders slowly, trying not to frown. Not sure what about his own heartbeat would make him want to frown, when–

Oh, he realizes.

It's not his heartbeat. It's not even in the building; it's blocks and blocks away.

Why on earth would he have thought a stranger's heartbeat on the other side of the city was his own? That doesn't make–

ta-tum

. . . sense.

Clark blinks, very slowly. The heartbeat carries on, sounding excited and eager and . . .

And . . . and strong.

He isn't sure why he cares so much, that it's strong. That it sounds . . . healthy. It's not like he ever wants to hear a weak heartbeat, after all. A weak heartbeat is never, ever a good thing, except when the alternative is no heartbeat at all.

But this specific heartbeat . . . for some reason, he cares that this specific heartbeat is strong.

Why does he . . .

ta-tum ta-tum

That's not how human heartbeats sound, Clark realizes, slowly. That's not–no, that's not a human heartbeat. Maybe not any kind of heartbeat he's ever heard before at all.

But it sounds so familiar all the same. It sounds . . .

Right.

He doesn't know how else to explain it.

Clark frowns. He glances towards the wall in the direction of the ta-tum heartbeat, letting his glasses slip low on his nose so he can look over them.

Specifically, so he can use his X-ray and telescopic vision over them. There's . . . the heartbeat is twelve blocks away. It's coming from a body on the street, one that's standing in place but not staying still, gesturing expansively and speaking to someone in a . . . food truck? Looks like a food truck, yeah. The heartbeat's owner isn't especially tall or broad, but it looks like all their growth plates are still open, so they're probably not physically mature yet. Judging by their posture and body language, they're likely male. And a teenager, given both their size and those growth plates. Younger to mid-teens, he thinks? Maybe?

Clark tunes in his hearing. The heartbeat's owner gestures at themselves and says, "Look, if this was cosplay, I'd have done a better job, okay? Like, I'd be more accurate!"

They do sound male, yes. Male, and young. And . . .

And a little . . . odd, somehow.

"So what is it, then?" the person in the food truck asks, clearly amused by whatever they're discussing. Female; probably ten or fifteen years older than the heartbeat's owner.

"Would you believe I just didn't have anything else to wear?" he says, sounding sheepish.

"That's a pretty extreme version of laundry day, kid," she says with a laugh. "But I appreciate the assist with those assholes either way. Want some chili fries? On the house."

"What're chili fries?" the heartbeat's owner asks as he leans in a bit, sounding curious.

"Oh, lemme rock your world, kid. One sec."

The food truck operator starts bustling around her truck, presumably in pursuit of chili fries. Clark frowns a little. Well, chili fries are probably fine for a teenager, he figures, even if the kid's really never had them before. Though chili fries do seem weird for a teenager to not have heard of?

Maybe he's an immigrant or a tourist, or home-schooled, or just from a particularly small town. Smallville admittedly is not the ideal place to get chili fries, so Clark assumes that's probably normal in other small towns too and–

"CLARK!" Lois yells, waving both hands in front of his face. Clark startles in surprise, then blinks at her.

"Uh, sorry," he says. "Did you need something?"

#superman #superboy #clark kent #kon el #my adventures with superman #rinfic #wip: weird kryptonian bonding rituals

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toms-cherry-trees · 1 month

Text

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 4

Summary: Charlotte realises that she doesn't know her employer as well as she thought she did. Clouded by indecisions, she takes a path that may have unexpected consequences when things take a turn for the worst

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Mentions of PTSD. Tommy gets violent. No beta reading we die like John

Author’s note: I have NO excuse. Not even I know why I dropped the ball on this, but I will just say that 2024 has been sucker punching me in the face since January 1st and has not given me respite. I am hoping that this time I will be able to post more consistently, but again, who knows with me?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NOTICE ANY GRAMMAR ERRORS

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark @zablife

《Prev part -

Bright sunlight peeked into the bedroom through the gaps in the curtains, bathing everything in golden warmth. Blackbirds and nightingales chirped in their branches, their cheerful songs mingling with the sounds of the daily bustling of the state; horses neighing in their paddocks, hounds barking at the sight of wild rabbits; the old truck coming up the road bringing fresh meat and groceries for the week. It all sounded so typical, so average, not a toe out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. Except Charlotte.

The first thing she noticed was that the bed under her aching body was not hers. Albeit top quality, the mattress she slept in had obviously been used before; softer around the middle and with a characteristic indent in the exact position where she sat every morning to slip on her stockings and shoes. But the one under her was much firmer and sturdy, and her back had definitely noticed it. The pillows also felt different, as did the sheets. The sun shone on the wrong side, not landing on the bed like she preferred. But it was all forgotten when she noticed a hand clinging to hers, fingers intertwined with her own on a gentle grip.

Her eyes opened abruptly, and she sat up so quickly bright lights danced in her vision. She was used to being awoken in a startle; injured and dying soldiers didn’t wait for her to wash her face and tighten her corset before coming in. But waking up in Tommy’s bed, dressed in only her nightgown and robe and with his hand laced with hers surpassed any startle.

The memories from the last 24 hours flooded her mind like a horror movie. Doctor Keller’s visit, the uncertainty of the wait, the abrupt waking up with Thomas moaning in pain in the dead of the night, and the horrifying discovery of the punctures on his back, crimson blood soaking through gauzes and clothes onto the bed sheets.

The man next to her slept so peacefully, face buried in the pillows and soft snores escaping his lips, one could hardly believe the suffering he had been subjected to just hours prior. The laudanum dosage Charlotte administered should keep him out of it until midday at least, but that didn’t worry her; he definitely looked like he needed that rest.

Carefully, with the same gentleness one would handle a newborn with, Lottie turned him on his side, propping his body with pillows to properly assess the damage. At least he hadn’t bled through his clothes again, but that small relief did little to placate the cold feeling that settled at the bottom of her stomach after she cut off the bandages.

The wounds on his back had already begun to scab, surrounded by near black bruises of various sizes, from his mid back all the way down to the top of his tailbone. The punctures were evenly spaced both sideways and lengthwise, and Charlotte soon realised they were meant to follow the length of his spine. She could not even fathom the pain those must have caused, nerve damage or not.

Charlotte didn’t know how to proceed from there. Every fibre of her being urged her to run to Mrs. Gray, expose Doctor Keller for a charlatan, and let the Peaky Blinders dispose of him as they saw fit. But on the other hand, acting behind his back would surely shatter the feeble bond of trust Lottie and Tommy had developed. It didn’t matter that she only did it with his best interests in mind; he would perceive it as betrayal on her part, and would set back the small but significant progress she had made with him. She had a duty with her patient, but that duty had divided in two widely different roads, both pulling at her with equal strength.

A firm knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. In a panic, she realised it was a quarter past 10 in the morning, much later than the hour in which she usually fetched Tommy’s breakfast tray from the kitchens, a little after 9. A second, much larger panic overcame her as she took note of her state of dress, or rather, undress. She had no proper excuse to be in her nightgown only, and even if she explained that she had spent the night watching over Thomas, it still did not give her reason to look like she had just risen from bed, his bed.

She paced back and forth, debating whether to answer the door or just feign deafness and pretend she wasn’t there. She could not hide there forever, but she much preferred to step out with no witnesses present. And God forbid it was Mrs. Gray on the other side; she held the woman in high esteem, and being found by her in such a compromising situation was mortifying, even if nothing less than honourable had happened.

A third knock urged her to make a decision, and a small, female voice coming from the other side

“Nurse Tindall, are you in there? I’ve brought up the breakfast tray for Mr. Shelby, may I come in?”

Lottie breathed a sigh of relief as she recognised the voice of Ella, a new maid who was as sweet as she was witless. It would not be hard to distract her, as she did anything she was asked to, no matter how stupid the request sounded. Charlotte cleared her throat and walked closer to the door, making deliberate sounds around to appear busy.

“Mr. Shelby is getting dressed, come back later please” She did her best to sound firm in a kind way, not wanting to trigger another of the girl’s crying episodes over feeling herself scolded. But much to her unluckiness, Ella seemed committed to delivering the food, surely not wanting to unleash the cook’s wrath upon her. Peeling a cartful of potatoes surely drivers the lesson home to not let the eggs go cold.

“But I’ve already brought the tray over, and Mrs. Bird will be upset if I go back down with it. May I come in? I promise I won’t look!” Lottie could hear the distress in the girl’s voice; she knew that Ella would not survive long in the house’s service like that.

“I said no, Ella. Mr. Shelby needs his privacy” Her words came a little harsher than she had originally intended, and she could practically see Ella flinching and the wobble of her lower lip. Not wanting to send the maid back down defeated and in tears, she spoke again, a little softer this time “Leave the tray on the side table and I’ll bring it in once we’re finished here”

Lottie waited with bated breath, ears perked up as she heard Ella push aside some ornaments to place the silver tray down, catching even the soft tinkling of saucers and teacups. Her relief lasted only until she heard footsteps going down the stairs, for soon a deeper, slurred voice came from behind her.

“With that level of quick minded resourcefulness, you could work for my company”

Tommy was awake, no doubt aroused from his slumber by her banter with the maid. Charlotte had been certain that the sleeping tinctures would keep him under until at least after lunch, but again, what could half a cup of laudanum do against a man who had been using morphine and opium freely for the best part of the last five years?

Her nurse instincts kicked in and she immediately rushed to his side, taking a motherly stance as she gently brushed hair away from his forehead, discreetly checking for any rise in his temperature; although he felt sweaty, he didn’t seem to be running a fever. Her fingers circled his wrist, counting the steady beats of his heart, and her ears perked up, ready to detect any change in the pattern of his breathing.

“I am not dying, not yet at least” Thomas huffed, in what turned out to be a poor attempt at lightening the severity of the situation. But even then he couldn’t deny he had been left extremely weakened; even opening his eyes appeared to be a struggle, and the dark circles under them cut sharply against the sickly paleness of his complexion.

Charlotte felt grief tugging at her heartstrings at his sight, alongside an overcoming sense of guilt for not having stopped Doctor Keller; she should have trusted her gut and dragged them all out by the ankles the second they kept her from accompanying Thomas through the treatment. Nothing good ever came from things happening behind closed doors. And certainly nothing good could ever come from a treatment that required him to be gagged and held down.

She reached over to the basin to retrieve a damp cloth, gently dabbing away the sweat from Tommy’s temples and brow. His eyes closed again, tongue darting out to moisten his cracked lips. Lottie wanted to ask, she needed a what, a how and a why, but she didn’t want to push him when he looked like that, so miserable and battered. The sight of his back pierced and stabbed, his limp body lying on blood soaked sheets, and the helplessness and vulnerability in his eyes, had been forever engraved in her memory. To see a man like him brought down to that, it made her heart ache.

“Are you hungry?” She asked quietly, swallowing down her other questions and worries to focus first and foremost on his comfort. “I could ask the cook to make you something light if your stomach is upset. Maybe some soup and toast?”

He shook his head, opening one eye just enough to gauge Charlotte’s expression. Just like his aunt’s, there was something unsettling about Thomas’s gaze. While Mrs. Gray looked like she could know all your secrets with just one look, Thomas had a certain determination in his eyes, a glint of mischief added with something that Lottie couldn’t quite pinpoint; but she knew for certain that Mr. Shelby could convince anyone to do his bidding only by staring them down. But she also noticed he possessed the same perennial shadow that all war veterans did; a mark that they all shared and would never fade.

“I suppose asking you for a glass of whiskey and to pass me cigarettes won’t work even now, eh?”

Charlotte had always had more than a few opinions about Thomas’ average diet of eating nothing, but the fact that he felt well enough to joke about it did manage to lighten her spirits. She noticed he kept trying to dampen his lips and his tongue appeared quite parched; with a teaspoon she managed to give him some sips of water, since she didn’t feel confident enough to sit him up just yet.

A pregnant silence hovered in the air, with Charlotte knowing both had things they wanted to say. Her thoughts continued to swirl around aimlessly, torn between rushing straight to Mrs. Gray to tell her everything she knew so far, or to wait to hear the complete story from Tommy’s lips. But would he be willing to tell? Did he remember even, or had the memories been wiped away by the trauma and the pain medicines?

Even if she wished to avoid it forever, she couldn’t. She needed to redo the dressings on his back, and she had learned through experience the way some veterans reacted when their wounds were touched, as if the contact triggered the memories they so desperately tried to bury deep, deep down. And so, she figured she might try while the laudanum still lingered, hoping that the remaining opioids in his system would keep him tame should he lash out.

“Tommy, there’s some wounds left on your back from your…treatment” Calling that medicine left a bitter taste on Charlotte’s mouth, but she couldn’t go and call it torture to his face “I need to bandage them again but I promise to be careful. You need to let me know if anything is bothering you, is that okay?” A part of herself felt she was talking him down like a child, but that had worked before with other veterans in similar situations, and at worse, Thomas would get mad at her, which would be no different than usual.

But much to her surprise, Tommy appeared awfully calm with the information she had just given her, as if the notion of having been poked full of holes didn’t faze him at all. A chill ran down Charlotte’s spine as she began to consider the option that Tommy knew what had been done to him, or worse, that he had willingly submitted to it.

While she gathered her supplies, she noticed some dried blood lingered under her nails from the previous night’s ordeal. The sight of all that blood, gauzes dripping with it, the liquid pooling since the sheets could not soak up any more…She had seen ten times worse over the years in the front, and had faced it all with a sternness that unnerved even her colleagues. Why could she not detach herself this time? Was it because she could not stand the desperate being taken advantage of? Or had she grown attached at last to her insufferable patient?

Suddenly her common sense decided to abandon her. She dropped what she had on her hands and rounded the bed to face Thomas, leaning down until she was eye to eye with him. She had to gauge the truth from him, she needed the story straight so she could put a stop to this.

“Thomas…Thomas do you know what that doctor did to you?” She breathed through her nose once, to keep her voice from faltering “Did he tell you what he did exactly?” She reached to take one of his hands. The previous night the contact had been an act of desperation, and now it bore similar purpose “I don’t know if you remember but last night you woke up and..and you were-”

“Bloodied and in pain? Yes, I remember” The way he said it, with such carelessness as if he were simply saying he woke up thirsty, didn’t sit quite right with Charlotte. Far too calm, even for a man like him. “Doctor Keller warned me that the first couple of nights would be difficult to get by. He told me to rely on the laudanum, but I thought I could toughen it out. I should have listened…the doctor always knows best.”

His dovish words confirmed her worst fears, and Lottie felt her stomach drop to her knees. He knew. He knew everything that had been done to him. How could he not? Thomas Shelby wouldn’t let a doctor put a single finger on him without knowing first what would be done to him.

Her grip on his fingers tightened, and she leaned closer, far closer than their faces had even been before “Tommy, what he’s done to you is inhuman. It’s barbaric. I’m sure men who have been tortured have endured less than what you did yesterday. You cannot let him get away with it, or he will do it again to others. I will tell Mrs. Gray to deal with him, we won’t let him get close to you again”

“No” That time, his hand gripped hers, with such strength that made her fingers ache. “You will not do such a thing. You will leave that man alone, and let him do what he must. Understood?” There, in that moment, Charlotte caught a glimpse of what Tommy used to be like, when he was the man that terrorised Small Heath and had half of Birmingham bending the knee like he were some sort of king. A man who had built an empire from scratch and, rumour had it, ruled it like a tyrant.

“Thomas, look at yourself!” She protested, not allowing herself to be intimidated “Look at what he’s done to you. What treatment can be worth being punctured by needles the length of your hand all down your back? Do you even know what’s been injected?”

“I don’t need to know. All I need it’s for it to work” He had to have lost his mind, That was the only answer as to how Thomas could so blindly trust Keller. That quacksalver had sweet spoken his way into Tommy’s mind, and had used his fear and hopelessness as grounds to plant the seed of hope. He saw Tommy as a drowning man, and appeared before him offering him a raft, which turned out to be only a rotten piece of wood.

“No” Determination laced Lottie’s words “I will not allow this to continue. You have been taken for a fool, Thomas, and it is my duty as your nurse to make you see reason when you can’t for yourself. I know a trickster when I see one, and God knows I’ve seen plenty” She felt anger loaded in her words; but not directed at her patient. Rather directed at Keller, and the dozens of men like him who saw chance for profit in the suffering of the war veterans who had lost everything fighting for their lives “I will not allow that man to set foot here again. I’ll barricade the door myself if I must, and I know Mrs. Gray will agree with me” Charlotte knew that Mrs Gray tried to antagonise her nephew as little as possible, only in extreme circumstances; well, this was definitely one of those.

What happened next took Lottie completely aback. Thomas let go of her hand, but instead gripped her chin, his fingers holding her with such strength that she felt the pain radiate up her jaw. His eyes were pure ice, cold and unforgiving, and he pulled her face down, forcing her to meet his gaze

“You won’t do shit. You will do what you do, what you are paid to do, and nothing more. For everything else, you keep your head down. I believe Polly told you that you would be expected to turn a blind eye for some things; well, this is one of those things. You are not family, you are just a worker, and you do what you are told, eh?”

“But-”

“But nothing” His grip tightened even more, if possible, forcing a whine out of Charlotte’s lips. She had never seen him like this before, not even during her first days in the manor when he did everything in his power to be a nuisance to her and scare her away. He had screamed, he had slammed tables, he had thrown to the wall cups and glasses and trays, but not even once had he laid a hand on her “You do what I say, and nothing more. If you tell Polly, I will fire you on the spot. If you try to interfere with Doctor Keller, things can get very ugly very quickly. Am I clear?”

Charlotte felt fear. For the first time since her arrival to Arrow House, she felt fear. Her heart hammered her ribs and her knees felt weak. This man before her was not the Tommy who had shown weakness just the night before, asking her to keep him company for the night and holding her hand; not even the man who had flipped over a table because she begged him to eat. Lottie recognised in him the first tendrils of the madness proper of someone with nothing left to lose. Tommy saw Keller as his last chance, and he would not let anything or anyone take that chance away. He had become obsessed, and obsession was just a step away from madness.

She nodded at his words, if anything to get Tommy to let go of her face. After a few more seconds of staredown, in which she felt diminished to the size of a mouse, Tommy let her go and laid back down

“Good. Now fuck off. Doctor Keller said that the wounds need to be aired to heal faster, and I want to sleep”

Somehow, Charlotte found enough control of her legs to stand and walk away, tripping on the carpet and crashing against an armchair on her way out. Her heart beat rampantly, the thumping booming on her ears and temples. She held herself until she had closed the double doors behind her, and only then collapsed against the panelled wall, burying her face in her hands. She had been threatened before, plenty of times, by men far too deep in their cups, or their drugs, or in the demons inside their heads.

But never before by a true threat.

She knew as well as any what the Peaky Blinders did, and she knew they had no qualms on the choosing of their victims. And something in the way Tommy said those words, the intensity of his gaze, the strength of his grip, told Charlotte that he wouldn’t doubt acting upon his words should she cross him.

She immediately thought of telling Mrs Gray everything. Every last detail, her position in the house be damned; Thomas could fire her but he could not rid himself of his aunt. With that steely determination Charlotte walked down the stairs, her steps resonating in the emptiness of the house. But that lasted only until she reached the landing. Would Mrs Gray side with her? Or would she let her nephew entertain his false hopes, if only to give him a false sense of happiness? Would she find in the older woman an ally, or would she just waste her time and her job entertaining her sense of justice? After all, just like Thomas said, she was just a worker, not family, and she should not speak above her station.

And yet.

Clinging onto her morals as only support, Charlotte set out to find Mrs Gray and tell her exactly what had happened; it might cause her to lose the best job she had held since the war ended, but at least she would leave that house at peace with her morals. But her mission finished as quickly as it began. She asked Frances the whereabouts of Mrs Gray, and a bucket of ice water was dropped upon her head when she was informed that Mrs. Gray had left to tend business in London and would not return for at least a week. Speaking face to face with her, locked in the privacy of the older woman’s office was one thing. But telephone her all the way to London, and possibly interrupt her affairs to basically snitch on her nephew…

A week. She would have to wait a week. And Charlotte hoped her resolve would last that long.

She felt out of place, wearing her blouses and skirts after spending the best part of half a year in only her nurse uniforms. Lottie sat on the terrace of a fancy French cafe, enjoying an espresso and a small assortment of pastries. She had a few magazines before her, and pen and paper to finally write down those letters she had due for weeks, but she simply could not concentrate, not on a day like that. The bells of a nearby church rang five times; in the blink of an eye two hours of her life had escaped her, for it was a few minutes past three when she sat on that chair, feeling her knees weak and her hands clammy.

After Tommy’s threat, things had gone down as well as one could expect. Charlotte spent the following week walking on eggshells around him, scared to even look him in the eye. Tommy had been a particularly obedient patient, dutifully drinking all his medicines and eating all his meals like he had never done before, but he had once more condemned Lottie to the silent treatment, not giving her more word than the occasional command to bring him something or, more specifically, to leave him alone. She had anxiously awaited the return of Mrs. Gray, hoping his aunt would help him see reason where she had failed so spectacularly.

The showdown between them had surely been heard all through the county, the tone of their argument escalating steadily to the point Charlotte could clearly listen to every word they said, even sitting at the foot of the staircase, her elbows resting on her knees and her thumbs pressing on her brow in hopes of alleviating what had become a chronic headache. Perhaps she had committed a calamitous mistake telling everything to Mrs. Gray. Or perhaps her first big mistake had been taking that job.

When Mrs. Gray finally came down to meet her, she looked absolutely defeated; and Lottie knew right away that she had risked it all for nothing.

Thomas had absolutely refused to back down on his treatment, quoting over and over that Keller said it had to get worse before it got better. He had said horrible things about his aunt and Charlotte, about how they wished him ill and had no desire to see him recover his life because it suited them better to keep him chairbound. Mrs. Gray had let the hurtful words sweep past her like breeze, but Charlotte felt them more like stones thrown to her face, even if they were just lies.

In the end, Lottie had not been fired, her job position saved by Mrs Gray’s resilience to not let go of the first caretaker who had made it past the three month mark. She did however insist that Lottie cash in all the days off she was owed, plus an extra paid day on the house. That gave her exactly a week of holiday, and therefore, would keep her away the day Doctor Keller was scheduled to come for his next appointment.

When she boarded the car that would take her to the station that Sunday morning, wearing her navy blue coat and her prettiest hat, a part of her wondered if she should leave for good; mail in her resignation and have someone else pick up the rest of her belongings. She could not envision what future she could have there now, as her relationship with Tommy had surely been permanently and irreparably damaged by their rift. He would never trust her completely again, and she couldn’t stand by idly and watch him pay himself into an early, horrific death.

Not wishing to spend her week in good old Birmingham, Lottie decided her salary allowed her to take her time off in London. She found lodging on a small bed and breakfast near Camden, and put her time to good use, hoping to keep herself distracted. She got new books to read, dined in a different place each night, and finally gave her wardrobe a much overdue refresh. But she could never shake off the knowledge that, each day that passed, was a day closer to Doctor Keller returning to Tommy’s side. It remained a perpetual nagging feeling on the back of her mind. She could not go a single day without something reminding her of it.

Charlotte felt her blood boil whenever she thought about how many men had been tricked before Thomas. Perhaps if she found one or two who had undergone the same treatment, with obviously less than satisfactory results, they could help her convince Tommy to abandon before it was too late. Hoping against hope, she set aside money to post a few small, as inconspicuous as possible advertisements, avoiding directly mentioning the doctor by name. At worst, it would all end in a few wasted coins and nothing else.

Saturday she spent in a continuous fright, obsessively checking the hour everywhere she could. By 3 pm, she knew that awful man and his equally awful aids would be crossing the threshold. By 6, she figured they would be done cleaning up whatever gruesome mess they had left behind, with Tommy tucked in bed, absolutely knocked out by double and triple doses of opioids.

She couldn’t find sleep that night, tossing and turning until the blankets were tangled in her legs. Even through emotional exhaustion her mind refused to quiet down. Was Tommy sleeping well? Was he comfortable? Would he wake again in the dead of the night in agony and alone, with no one to wipe his brow or change the sheets? Charlotte tried and failed again and again to force the thoughts out of her mind, but they refused to budge; even if she chastised herself for caring so deeply, she couldn’t help herself.

Sunday she spent no better, and after a short walk she decided to return to her room and give herself a lazy day, rearranging her suitcase and indulging in one of her new books alongside some cookies she bought nearby. She wasn’t expected back on the manor until Tuesday morning, yet she kept all her belongings packed and ready to go fleeing out the door.

After a humble dinner in a nearby pub, Lottie returned to her lodgings, deciding to indulge herself with a long bath, taking advantage of having a private bathroom. But just as she had crossed the entrance, a bellboy came to meet her, telling her there was a call for her on the front desk.

Puzzled, Lottie followed the boy, wondering who could be calling her at that hour, since no one knew her whereabouts. Trepidation creeping up her spine, she picked the apparatus, trying to ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in her gut

“Hello?”

“Charlotte” Mrs Gray's voice resounded from the other side. Despite the familiarity, the knowledge that it was her calling didn’t reassure her one bit. A woman like her didn’t call at that hour to talk about the weather

“Mrs Gray, is everything okay?” She didn’t even bother to ask why or how she had Charlotte’s current address. They knew everything about everyone; they probably knew more about Charlotte than she herself did.

“No, things are not okay. Doctor Keller came yesterday; only God knows what he did, but Tommy didn’t wake up until today after midday, and he didn’t let me or any of the maids touch him or feed him”

Charlotte sighed, sensing immediately where the conversation was heading “Mrs. Gray, if you think that I can get past his thick head-”

“No” The older woman cut short “I don’t think you can, and that’s not why I called. Around dinner I went to check on him, try to get him to eat. Force feed him if I must. And I found him” Charlotte could hear her sigh slowly “I found him unconscious. So pale he was grey, laying in a pool of sweat. He had vomited too, I think. Couldn’t even wake him with a slap to the back”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, and her heart raced at the information she received, immediately noticing how bad the situation had turned “Mrs Gray, that is very serious. He needs to be seen by a doctor! Did you-”

“I called the ambulance. They’ve taken him right away. It’s the hospital I’m calling from. The doctor says he has an infection and that it’s reaching his blood”

Charlotte swallowed. Infections of the blood never had a good prognosis in the field, not even in the hospitals. Yet she clung to false hope when she asked her next question

“Did he…did he say it was bad?”

The pause that followed seemed to stretch for days, but that wasn’t half as bad as hearing Mrs. Gray voice crack for the first time

“They say he’s likely to die”

#marsie writes #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x fem oc #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby series #tommy shelby one shot #charlotte tindall #female oc #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #don't hold my hand (i'll break your heart)

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chvoswxtch · 9 months

Note

Hi,

I had a request… I’m currently obsessed with Frank Castle (he’s just so 🥵) and had an idea, it’s not super original so I understand if you don’t want to write it!

A non-binary (they/she) character who is plus-sized and younger than him (in their mid-20s) taking him home to meet her family for the holidays. And she is very insecure and worried about how their family will react. Maybe while there, a family member says something hateful about her weight and/or being non-binary, and Frank goes to comfort/reassure her, and maybe even gets mad and defends her to her family?

Can be smut or just fluff (or both!)

I just thought it would be cute to see his more protective/caring side, mixed with his possessive and angry side. I love that dynamic (:

hello my love!

so i'm not sure if you've watched the bear (i'm still working through it myself) but there's a scene where jon flips a table and goes on a rampage and I just thought that was super fitting for this prompt so I drew a lot of inspiration from that & I hope you enjoy!

I also hope you're having a wonderful day or night wherever you are and that the holidays are being kind to you 🖤

warning: swearing, frank being frank word count: 1.5k

dessert.

It was so quiet in the cab of Frank’s truck, you swore you could almost hear the delicate noise of fresh snowflakes carelessly colliding with the windshield over the dull roar of the heat coming through the vents. The holidays were always a complicated time for you with your family. In the earlier months of the year, there was a welcoming sense of freedom to be exactly who you were without judgment. But when the colder weather started to seep in, so did the impending dread. All you had wanted to do was introduce your family to the man you had fallen in love with, and celebrate your first holiday together in a special way. You had anticipated a little bit of uncomfortable tension, prepared yourself for a few tasteless passive aggressive comments, but you didn’t think it would be this bad.

Bringing Frank home to meet your family hadn’t been the mistake. It was underestimating his protective nature and forgetting the caliber of his restless temper.

Things had already been off to a rocky start as soon as you walked through the door. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be shamelessly sticking to the way your outfit clung to the soft and full curves of your figure. The same outfit that had Frank nearly pulling over to the side of the road impatiently because he couldn’t keep his eyes ahead was currently the topic being whispered about by your aunts. However their attention was quickly stolen as soon as Frank walked in behind you. Their hushed gossip rang loudly in your ears, causing the confidence Frank had built up within you to fizzle out into insecure embers.

He’s so…normal looking. What’s he doing with her?

She’s not a her, remember? She’s…oh I forget what it’s called. Another complicated thing these kids have come up with. I swear it’s something new everyday. I can’t keep up.

He seems much too old for her, and look how fit he is. They seem way too different, there’s no way they’re actually dating.

It only got progressively worse from there. By the time everyone sat down to have dinner, it was like you weren’t even there. Everyone asked Frank a million and one questions, but no one asked you a single thing. No one asked how you were, or how the new job was going that you were so excited about. No one asked how you and Frank met, or how long you had been dating for. Everyone seemed to be trying to figure out the puzzle of what Frank was doing here with you, and eventually, you found yourself trying to solve that exact same riddle. It was almost incredible how your family managed to ruin all the trust and love that the two of you had built up over the past few months. All the promises of reassurance that flowed so easily from his lips seemed to vanish from your memory, and the quieter you got, the angrier Frank became.

He was polite at first, answering the simple questions with appropriate responses, but the more they tried to exclude you from the conversation, the more he tried to aggressively incorporate you into it. His frustration was evident in the way his voice became more rough and coarse, a detail only you were able to pick up on. That should’ve been the first warning bell in your head. But you were so wrapped up in your own insecurities that it didn’t occur to you to reach for his hand under the table to calm him like you normally did when he got worked up. Frank was doing his best to contain his rage at the way your family treated you, but one hateful comment from your alcoholic of an uncle about your weight caused him to erupt.

It all happened so fast, that you were stunned. Your uncle was in the middle of following up his weight comment with an insult about your non-binary identity when Frank suddenly stood and flipped the table out of his way so he could rush forward and strike his fist across your uncle's face. In a split second, everything had descended into chaos. Your mom and aunts were screaming, your father and uncles were trying to pull Frank off your drunk uncle, but they weren’t a match for his strength and tenacity. It wasn’t until you fought your way through them and tugged at Frank’s shirt in a panic that he finally relented and let you drag him out of the house.

For the past fifteen minutes, the two of you had been sitting in his truck where it was parked in front of your family’s house, both of you attempting to calm down. Frank was trying to quell his anger while you were coming down from the shock of what had just happened. The longer you sat in silence watching the waves of snowflakes caress the glass of the windshield, the more uneasy Frank became. Letting out a deep exhale through his large nose, he finally couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

“Look I…I didn’t…m’sorry, alright? Can you just…will you please say somethin’?”

“I can’t believe you flipped a table.”

Frank blinked in dumbfoundment a few times, his dark brows pinching together in the center of his forehead. He was expecting you to yell, to go off on him, maybe even break up with him right then and there, but not to hear you sound so amused about his explosive behavior.

“Huh?”

“That was ‘real housewives’ of you.”

When you finally turned to face him, he noticed the faint smirk on your lips, and that one little gesture eased all the anxiety that had been building up within him for the past fifteen minutes. He let out a puff of air through his lips, looking ahead as he shook his head slowly and glanced at his side mirror while trying to fight the crooked grin that threatened to spill across his lips.

“Yeah well, dinner was dull. Thought I’d spice it up a bit.”

“I’d say you spiced it up a lot.”

Frank turned his head to look over at you, and you could see a faint apologetic twinkle in his eye from the glow of the street lamp above.

“You mad?”

It was your turn to look at him in dumbfoundment. Arching one of your brows, you let out a soft laugh while tilting your head to the side in slight curiosity.

“Am I mad that you stuck up for me?”

“I coulda handled it better.”

Scooting over to the middle seat of the cab, you brought your hand up to gently caress his jaw while staring into his warm brown eyes with a soft smile.

“No Frankie, I’m not mad. I promise.”

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss, letting him feel the sincerity behind your words. You weren’t mad at all. No one had ever been so protective or defensive of you before, and while some would’ve thought his reaction was a little extreme, you knew it was just Frank’s way of showing you how much he loved and cared about you.

“Thank you.”

“For ruinin’ the holidays with your family?”

“Baby, they were ruined before we even got here. And honestly, this is the best holiday season I’ve ever had, thanks to you. You made it special for me. It was probably a bad idea to come here, but I just wanted to show you off. Show them all how happy I was. I thought they would be happy for me-”

“Hey, to hell with ‘em. They don’t deserve to see that pretty smile after the way they treated you. That asshole’s lucky I don’t go back in there-”

“Frank.”

Letting out a soft laugh, you redirected his angry glare from your family’s house back towards you as you pulled him in for another soft kiss.

“Let’s just go home. We can order something in.”

Frank took one last irritated look at your family’s house, letting out a soft grunt of disapproval.

“Goddamn chicken was dry anyway.”

For some reason the frustration coveting his sharp features and the grumpy tone of his voice just made you laugh. Giving his thigh a gentle squeeze, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and smiled adoringly at him.

“We can have something else for dinner.”

Frank turned his head to look at you, his gaze wandering slowly up and down your figure before settling on your eyes once more. The ravenous look reflected back at you simultaneously sent a shiver down your spine and filled your lower half with a sense of heat. He reached out to place one of his large hands on your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze as his voice dropped to a husky whisper.

“Think I’m ready for dessert, sweetheart.”

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