#Nasty Ronnie

[leather-rebel]

[explotetheexplotation]

[rye-kin]

Overly self indulgent art of them!!!,

[thefixations-ofmine]

Imagine how I feel writing my Eddie x Kim stache fic now 🥲😭 good lord...

Like part of it makes sense that he wanted to recreate everything but FUCK!!

my buddietommy fic is set at a cabin on a lake but now i'm having emotions about eddie and lakes

how am i supposed to write porn in peace under these conditions

[unholyhelbig]

request: oversight au, nat and reader run into reader’s ex or ronnie’s father who was abusive to them… how will mob nat react?

Title: Old Flames [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When reader has an unexpected run-in with an old flame and things go less than well, Natasha takes things into her own hands.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): Talks of past domestic abuse, talks of abortion, buried alive references, broken glass, blood (always), Heights, threatening statements, non-consensual kiss, horrible grammar (aways).

[a/n: Okay, I had way too much fun with this. While I loved writing the main story, it's also super great to branch out into some more dynamics with Mob Boss Nat, because I haven't made her mean enough yet.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The apartment building on the corner of twelfth and Hawke was a large midcentury brick building that structure that stretched to the sky. A metal fire escape latticed up the side and stretched clotheslines dripping with shirts and pants connected it to the adjacent building that had long since been used for storage.

Up until this point, you had avoided this building. Luckily, the tenants were quite timely with their rent and left little need for an enforcer to knock door to door. But it was right after the holidays and things were tough. That much, you understood. But it didn’t’ change the fact that three units were more than two months behind on their rent.

Them, you could appeal to with hot chocolate and some gentle urging. But according to Clint, there was a particularly nasty group of people living on the top floor that had gotten multiple noise complaints thrown their way.

The address hadn’t seemed familiar until you stood at the entrance and got a good look at the golden door that contrasted the rest of the structure. You’d written the code to the door on your palm, and you were having trouble differentiating the last number. It was a zero, or it was an eight.

“Gross, you’re sweaty.” Kate had pulled your hand a small distance from her scrutinizing stare, trying to read the smeared purple markings. “I knew we should have used the napkin.”

The woman dropped your hand and stepped up to the small box on the side of the entryway. She hit every button known to man until the fragile voice cracked through the speaker. “Yeah, uh-huh, pizza. I have pizza. Pepperoni-“Her ramblings were cut off by the loud buzz in.

You were treated to an innocent smile as she wrenched open the door and allowed you to follow her in. She was innovative, annoyingly so. Most of the time it worked in your favor but sometimes you found her testing your temper just to prove a point. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed your hesitation.

It was coming back to you now; the large entryway that was lined with lock and key mail slots and a bolstered wooden staircase that was scarcely used compared to the elevator. Natasha kept good care of the place, had repainted and made sure every single lightbulb was humming in synch.

Some would say that she improved the neighborhood, block by block. But there were still those who liked the way things used to be; living paycheck to paycheck with an angry and withering stare being sent your way with each collection call.

“I’ve got Miss Henderson.”

“Oh, come on.” You protested “She sounds so cool.”

Miss Henderson was an older woman who lived on the fifth floor. Most of the time, her rent was late because it had simply slipped her mind. One look at Kate and she’d write a check before offering some of the sweetest cookies you’d ever tasted, often sending her back with a plateful.

From what you had heard, she used to travel with a circus as an acrobatic performer. Her act was death-defying; a performance that relied on her partners quick bladework. The Swordsman and his Enchantress. There were illustrations of their travels hung up around her unit- ones that you would kill to see.

“Too bad, next time.” Kate mock pouted at you before clapping you on the back. “Don’t make too much of a mess up on the top floor, alright? I don’t want to scrub carpets today.”

She took the stairs two at a time and left you alone in the lobby. A cool blast of wind hit your back as a tenant walked in with their dalmatian, pink tongue lolling to the side as his owner checked the mail, barely sparing you a glance.

The type of New York residents that occupied this space had changed greatly. The last time you’d been here was a walk of shame that left your feet raw and bleeding. You’d rushed from the apartment with so much fever that you never returned for your shoes, or your dignity, for that matter.

This time, you had shoes on, ones that you had scrubbed free of blood until they looked presentable. They were leaden on the stairs up to the top floor. Once you reached the fifth, you could hear Kate’s distinctive laugh behind the oak door. At least she was close.

The top floor was nearly silent. You could hear a television, a hockey game that you’d been listening to sparingly on the way over here. It sounded like Toronto was pulling through. The sound of a beer cracking pulled you away from the muffled announcers words.

A radio was resting in an upper window. You and Kate had heard it from the street below, a French Pop station that you could barely make out the words of. French was never your strong suite, one language requirement in high school was enough for you.

Silently, you prayed, that it was a coincidence. That the radio didn’t’ belong to the very men that you were meant to speak to. They were flighty, you told yourself. They weren’t ones to stay and if they chose to stick around after all these years- well, you’d be impressed.

You knocked twice on the center door, the deep forest-green paint threatening to chip under the elements. The music stopped abruptly, and while you could hear that someone was whispering quietly in French, you couldn’t make out the words.

The man that opened the door was too familiar for your liking; his pale waxy skin, his deep brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black, the tattoos that were smattered in different designs against his throat, down his collarbone. Pockmarked on his arms. His hair was longer than you remembered, greasier and tied up in a bun.

He took you in for a singular moment, shock reflecting in his stare, but before he moved to shut the door. You stopped the action with one strong hand, putting your boot between the frame and the wood for extra measure. “Don’t be like that, Kazi.”

“All these years, and now you’re coming back for child support?”

He raked his eyes up and down your body in a way that made you feel violated. You held your stance. He seemed impressed by the bout of strength.

You tsked “if I wanted child support, I would have gone after it by now. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

He scratched under the sleeve of his tank-top, considering you the same way you considered him. Eventually, he seemed to figure he had nothing to lose pulling the door back and letting you enter the apartment. Waves of memory washed over you.

Kazi still had the same futon covered in the same ratty blanket. There was a kitchen table that was stacked with different folders that he would never, in a million years, let you view. A blue funnel was drying on the dishrack, and countless liquor bottles that had been emptied and cleaned were lined up, ready to be filled with the slightest bit of homebrewed alcohol.

He was still running the same scam after all of these years. You remembered liking the danger about him, the way his stubble felt against you when you straddled him. He’d been so alluring to a good girl like you. He would street race at night with another guy you’d met a handful of times, Robbie Reyes.

God, you had been so naive back then. He was drawn in by your innocence and you were entrapped by his experience. If only you knew where you’d end up in seven years; with Kazi’s biological daughter being raised by the most powerful woman in the city.

The moment you told him you were pregnant, he told you bluntly to get rid of it. That same night, he’d thrown an empty liquor bottle at you, just barely missing your head. You’d refused outright and accepted his anger in turn. Glass shards cut into the soles of your feet, and stained the snow all the way back to your dorm room.

The way he stared at you now infuriated you. “What do you want, then?”

“You’re two months late on rent.”

“I figured you’d keep tabs. Most women do. But my rent? That’s a new one.”

You picked up a small paperweight that you remember being fond of when you returned to this apartment after a first date where Kazi was a perfect gentleman. He’d bought dinner, and walked you back to his place. The glass object was tinted yellow, a small mosquito suspended in the center. He must have gotten it in a museum gift shop.

“Truthfully, I’m shocked you still live here.” You tested the weight of the object. “Most landlords aren’t very lenient about tardiness.”

“Yeah, well. She’s not very attentive. What can I say?”

Oh, but Natasha was quite attentive in more than one aspect, at that. You couldn’t’ help the smile that spread against your lips. Kazi was growing agitated with your presence, always quick to temper.

With all the strength you could muster, you threw the paperweight at the wall directly behind him. In its innate cheapness, it shattered into a million pieces, littering the carpet and slicing little bites into his skin. Kazi flinched and covered his face with his arms.

“Fuck! Y/n, what the hell!” He screamed.

“You have two weeks to backdate the rent, Kazi. Another week to get us this month’s amount. That sounds reasonable to me. Attentive, even.”

He reached into the back of his sweatpants and pulled out a silver Kimber, pumping the top chamber and aiming it at you with a shaky hand. He was too lax with his hold. A pinprick of crimson was dripping from a cut on his cheek.

“Come on, Kazi. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure you can push some half-rate liquor. Sell a few of your gold fillings, and come up with the money my employer is required.”

“Employer? You work for that… monster?”

“Now, there’s a big word.” You closed the distance between the two of you, not giving him a moment to react before you wrenched the gun from his hand and threw it onto that ratty old blanket that adorned the futon he’d found on the side of the road. “So much horrible implication behind it too. You shouldn’t name call.”

Your boots crunched against the shattered glass. Kazi was barefoot, he flinched as flesh was dug into by uneven shards. You could smell the rancid coffee on his breath. He had a mole just on small of his nose.

“What happened to you?” he whispered, “Where’s that girl that stormed out of my apartment because she didn’t get her way?”

“A lot can change in seven years, Kaz.” You glanced around his apartment. “Well, most people change. Some people don’t go anywhere in life.”

Kazi pressed forward, his dry lips suddenly against yours. You froze in an instant, appalled by the acrid taste of cigarettes and stale morning coffee that he had no-doubt heated up in the microwave and drank black. The kiss was strong, rushed and painful in the way that his teeth knocked against yours.

It took less than a second for you to push him away. His head hit the cabinet behind it, rattling the glasses inside. Your hand was splayed out on his chest, nails digging into the stained tank-top he wore. He grinned wolfishly at you. Your teeth had dug so hard into his lip that it drew blood.

“I like this rough version of you, sweetheart. It’s hot.”

You reeled back and slapped him across the face with as much force as you could muster in your close proximity. The radio in the window seemed to flicker out of power at that moment, or maybe they had just run out of shitty pop music to play. Either way, the two of you were engulfed in silence.

“Shit, baby, hit me again!”

He had no idea how much you wanted to abide by that, though, you were quite positive that it would do nothing but spur on his arousal. This wasn’t going to work. If he kept pushing the way he was, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from pulling your own weapon.

It suddenly became too much, standing in the middle of this time-capsule of an apartment. The memories were too strong. When the two of you were together, everything you did was for his benefit. And while this had been fun at first, testing him like this, it was too much.

You grabbed the collar of his sweat-soiled shirt, wrapping it around your fingers with enough force to tear the fabric away. “Two weeks, you fucking asshole. If you don’t have the money by then, I’m sure the city will have a fun time scrubbing your brain matter from the sidewalk.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He sneered.

You pressed your booted foot down on the top of his, listening as the glass dug deeper into the soft skin. This time, he did cry out in pain, the grinding of pieces close to bone making his eyes water. You placed your hand over his mouth, muffling his protest. “I will make your miserable existence a living hell, with or without the money, for what you did to me. Do you understand?”

“You’re so full of shit-“ you pressed your full weight down and you squirmed under your hold. “Yes! Yes, I get it. Fuck!”

You pulled yourself away from Kazi entirely, straightening his shirt. He was slumped against the counter, staring at you with pure rage in his eyes. He shifted his full weight to his other foot, grimacing at the edged stain on the wooden floor.

“You should really clean that up.” You gritted, mouth still tasting of stale smoke. “Glass can be dangerous, Kazimirez.”

By the time you got to the car the only thing on your mind was taking the hottestshower possible. You’d pawed through Kate’s glovebox rather frantically and counted it a small blessing that that there was a single unwrapped piece of gum at the very bottom.

She cringed as you popped it in your mouth and let the minty dusty taste coat your tongue. If you could, without raising suspicion, you would have dumped solvent on it, just to take the taste of Kazi out of your mouth.

“I don’t know how long that’s been in there.” Kate said, watching you warily as you picked up her water bottle and downed half of that too. It seemed to take the rest of the rancid flavor away.

“I don’t care”

“You should care, I bought this car used.” She frowned, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Okay, I didn’t’ buy it. I bought the license plates though, that’s my civic duty.”

Her words were enough for you to roll your window down and toss the gum from it. Despite your profession, you weren’t a very good liar. Not when it came to Natasha. She’d ask you about your day like usual and you’d crumble under her seemingly innocent gaze.

Nothing Natasha did was innocent.

“What happened up there?” Kate asked.

The two of you were well out of the city by now, and still had about a half-hour until you got to the mansion. The family liked their privacy, and after a year of living there permanently, so did you.

When you didn’t answer right away, she kept going. “Because I got cookies. Nearly choked on one when Miss Henderson insisted on a private show. It’s seriously a wonder that a woman her age can still bend like that.”

“Katie,” You warned, “Gross.”

“Impressive actually. She kept her clothes on, which I am eternally grateful for. It looks like you had a more eventful visit with the French dudes upstairs.” She scoffed, “Who the fuck is French anymore?”

You rolled your eyes and slumped further into your seat. Kazi was French. You used to crumble when he gave you the choppiest lines that he could remember. According to him, the language is harder to speak than it is to read and write. You never questioned him, just like you didn’t question a lot of things.

“I have a… history with the man who rents 807.”

“A history, or a… history?”

“The first one. The second one. Shit- I don’t know, both! He’s Ronnie’s dad.”

Kate slammed on the brakes with enough force for a layer of rubber to be peeled from the tires of her mostly stolen care. The seatbelt cut into your neck and you figured yourself lucky that you’d taken a back road that was rarely used, god forbid she cause an accident.

“Dude!” You shouted as she put the car into park.

Kate twisted her entire body in the seat, placing her hand on the back of your seat. The motor was sputtering wildly, trying to compensate for her abrupt stop. Something had to be damaged, you thought, with her force on the pedal.

“Don’t dude me. Are you really that dense? If you haven’t noticed, Natasha is possessive over her things. And you? Well, you’re one of her favorite things. She’s not going to take this well in the slightest.”

“Kate, I think I know how to handle my girlfriend.”

“No, you know how to handle Natasha, the sweet, loving woman who would die for you and your child. Admirable, really. But you don’t know how to handle Miss Romanoff, mob boss extraordinaire.”

But you had seen Natasha in action before, countless times. She’d always kept this calm coolness about her that you were in awe of. Maybe Kate was right. You’d only seen a fraction of her jealous side at the first party you had ever attended in the house. That night she ripped the dress she’d picked out specifically for you to shreds.  

“I was dating a man named Eli when I was first taken in by the Romanoff’s, He turned out to be… not so favorable despite my constant reassurances. Natasha just knows. She had him dig a grave right off I-25 and then she made him lay in it.”

Your jaw threatened to drop at the simple fact. Kate removed her hand from the back of the seat and eased off the brake before she slowly got the two of you back up to an acceptable speed.

“All Eli did was cheat on me one night in a club. It wasn’t great, but I wasn’t sure if it warranted that kind of reaction. I never knew if she was proving a point to me, or to Eli. Either way, the smallest offense against any of us is met with archaic conviction.”

You didn’t respond to Kate, instead you stared at the trees that were whizzing by in a lush green wall of color. You’d decided that she was right- any type of reaction Natasha was going to have to Kazi would be severe.

“You’ll be fine.” Kate tapped her fingers nervously on the wheel, trying to backtrack her words. “As long as he didn’t’ touch you.”

It didn’t seem to matter how ferociously you scrubbed your skin with the honey scented soap you shared with Natasha, you swore you still smelled like smoke. It clung to your clothes, and lingered in the air after you’d shoved them to the bottom of the clothes basket.

The water was blazingly hot, filling the bathroom with a thick mist that made it slow to breathe. Natasha had chosen a dark blue tile that seemed to transport you into another world. Even without the scaring remembrance of Kazi’s lips against yours, his hands where you didn’t want them, you could stay here for hours.

Her hands were freezing cold and startling as they splayed against your naked stomach. You let out a small noise, going rigid before registering Natasha behind you. Her front was pressed against your back, and you’d know the curve of her body anywhere.

“Izvinite, moya lyubov', I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turned in her arms and took in the state of her. She’d stripped down just as you had, small drops of water littering her skin like a constellation in the sky. She’d been in the sun today, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose giving her away.

There was a bruise forming against the side of her jaw, one that you ran your waterlogged fingers over. Her eyes were an intoxicating shade of green, playing off the indigo tiles. You wanted to scold her for getting the bruise in the first place, but you were so entrapped by her simple presence, the way she fit so perfectly against you.

Natasha closed the distance between you both, pressing her lips against yours in a hurried kiss. You moaned into the embrace, allowing her tongue to find purchase in your mouth. God- you had missed her in the short few hours you’d been apart.

“Did you take up smoking?” she asked, barely pulling away, the words were spoken flushed to your lips. “It’s a terrible habit, darling.”

The glovebox gum hadn’t done its job, and apparently the swish of mouthwash and subsequent teeth brushing hadn’t done anything either. Of course, Natasha noticed. Of course. You weren’t going to try to hide it, though the thought did occur to you to save some heartache. But you were hoping you could placate her in a less slippery spot of the house when you were less naked and incredibly turned on by her presence.

A groan of a different cadence than she was used to escaped you as you dropped your head to her shoulder and clenched your eyes shut. “No, I didn’t take up smoking.”

“You taste like you have,” She gently led your eyes to hers. It was tender compared to the first time she had done so. “Licking ash trays again?”

“Gross, no.”

Natasha valued honesty above all. That much had been clear from the moment you met her. She’d nearly taken your head off in the gym when you repeated your one-night-stand with the enemy. The devil incarnate who happened to only be decent in bed. You remembered her hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to give her the answers she craved.

“What is it, pet? You can tell me.”

“Do you… I’ve been with men before.”

She let out a small chuckle that reverberated off the deep tile. “Yes, I know. I didn’t want to make assumptions, of course, but Ronnie does have a father.”

The way you stared at her in the silence that followed the statement made the smile on her face falter until it dropped entirely. She must have seen something behind your eyes, something that weighed the situation down more than she was intending on a typical Wednesday night.

“I’d completely blacked it out and didn’t realize it until I stepped foot into the lobby, but he still lives in the same apartment on the top floor. He thought I was after child support, or something but things sort of… escalated.”

You felt like a child, spilling your secrets about a vase you had broken. This time it was a cheap paperweight with a bug in the center that you frankly felt bad for. The words came out like emotional vomit, granted, Natasha had become used to your rapid admissions.

Her grip tightened against your chin, “Escalated how?”

“He kissed me, and I hit him hard enough to break his jaw.”

That same silence enveloped you again. The scalding water had lost its effect, numb and beating against your back. The two of you were still impossibly close and there wasn’t much escape for you in a shower this size. The glass door having fogged up and only giving you a stunted view of the large bathroom.

Natasha had an immeasurable rage behind her stare, her lidded expression ran as dark as old blood. It chilled you to your core. She reached beside you and shut off the constant flow of water. You’d been in here for about an hour now and the cold air that touched your skin felt like an assault of needles. You instinctively wrapped your arms around your center to preserve warmth.

“He laid his hands on you.”

“Yeah, Nat, he did.”

“He touched you.”

“I gave him hell for it, but it didn’t seem like it was enough.”

“Without permission.”

“He’ll never do it again.”

Whatever split-second decision she made; it was done without the usual calculation behind her eyes. She threw the door to the shower open and forcefully shoved a towel into your arms. While you revered in the warmth, you watched as she sauntered in her usual way out of the bathroom and into your shared bedroom. She was dripping wet.

“Natty!” You stumbled over the partition and nearly slid on the bathroom floor. It was much colder outside of your cocoon of warmth and subsequent mist. She thankfully hadn’t left the room and was pawing through her side of the dresser. You nearly lost your footing once you reached hardwood. “Fuck,”

She seemed to find what she was looking for, a plain black tank top that hugged her sides and looked entirely uncomfortable to wiggle into while damp. You watched with baited breath in a sloping towel as she adorned herself with underwear and pants, before turning towards you.

“Get dressed.” She ordered in a dangerous tone.

Shit. She was going to make you dig your own grave. You’d just showered all of the grime from Kazi’s apartment off and in a matter of minutes you would have dirt up to your knees. Natasha may have let Eli live after his blunder, but maybe she’d cover you completely and let you suffocate in your own efforts.

Numbly, you put on a pair of sweatpants and the closest shirt you had. There was no need to get dressed for your own funeral, you supposed. The worms would chew through whatever you wore regardless.

Clint was stretched out on the chase in the foyer, a pair of thick-lensed glasses balancing on the tip of his nose. Regardless, he still squinted at the book in his hands. You wondered why he wasn’t in the living room, but caught a glimpse of a particularly intense game of twister between Ronnie, Yelena, and Kate.

Darcy held onto the board, flicking the small plastic needle and calling out the colors. When Kate clocked the anger in Natasha’s eyes, she dropped to her back, taking down Yelena and Ronnie with her.

She gave you a pleading look, but you were already too far gone to return anything other than a flushed expression. You followed obediently after Natasha. She opened the front door and watched you with a calculated expression before slamming the front door hard enough to shake the glass fronting.

“Get in the car.”

“Do you want me to grab a shovel?”

“What?”

She contemplated this for a minute, growling softly. The near silence was terrifying. Her arms crossed over her chest was terrifying. Your mouth with incredibly dry, and you wished that you were back under the constant stream of water.

“No. I don’t think we’ll need that. Get in the car.”

Numbly, you did as you were told, placing your hands in your lap. This was quite possibly the last time you would be sitting in any car, much less, next to Natasha. She reached across you and pulled your seatbelt into place, tugging on the upper portion until she was sure you weren’t going anywhere.

The tires picked up traction on the gravel and the drive that usually took an hour seemed to whiz by. Natasha was quiet, the route to the city more than familiar by now. She run her hands against the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. You could hear her breathing deeply, trying to ease her nerves. You didn’t dare say a word.

For a moment, you figured that she’d abandoned the idea of burying you alive and switched her ideals to something much more sinister and public. She pulled her car up to the front of the very building you had left a few hours ago, the sun just barely setting behind the skyline. You blinked at her, and then up at the very property that she owned.

“Come on.”

There was no room for discussion. The air here was clouded with the scent of smoke and the coolness of the cement structures around you. It was moments like these where you much preferred the country.

Of course, Natasha knew the code, she had recited it to you earlier as you and Kate ate lunch by the docks, stretched out on the hood of her car. It was wrong then and your nerves were too elevated to pay attention now. She got in without the theatrics.

There seemed to be more activity as the day for working folks began to wind down. Two people halted their conversation by the mail-slots, nodding solemnly at the woman. On the third floor, you caught a glimpse of a woman struggling to push her keys into the lock, juggling her gym bag. The sixth floor held a small boy who darted from one apartment to another, edging across the hall.

She kept climbing until that same irritating French pop filled your ears. He must keep it on at all hours of the day, just to drown out his own miserable thoughts. “What apartment?”

You lifted your chin slightly, hands shoved in the pockets of your sweatpants to ward off the biting chill. “807.”

“Spasibo, lyubimyy.”

Natasha’s booted foot connected with the center of the very door you had politely knocked on earlier in the day. You flinched, covering your face with a guarded arm. The wood of the doorframe seemed to splinter, slivers reigning across both sides of the entrance.

“What the fuck!”

Kazi was hunched over the kitchen table, the funnel that had been drying by the sink was positioned perfectly in the mouth of a soaked and peeled liquor bottle. He had a stack of his own labels ready to place evenly on the finished product. Both of his feet were haphazardly wrapped with gauze, small sprouts of blood worming through the soft material.

He’d taken care to clean up the glass, but with the way Natasha headed straight towards him, that didn’t matter much. More of it fell to the floor and shattered upon impact. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and started walking him backwards across the living room. Kazi seemed too stunned to speak, his words caught in his throat.

“I-I-I didn’t mean it! Please!”

“When you speak to me, you’ll do it clearly.” She gritted, shoving him towards the window. Somewhere in the scuffle, the radio had fallen from its perch on the cracked windowsill, crashing to the alleyway below with one last fizzled cry. “You had no trouble saying whatever you wanted earlier, did you?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I told that bitch I would have the rent!”

“Yeah? Was that before or after you shoved your tongue down her throat?”

Natasha bent Kazi’s torso fully over the screenless window. He grasped frantically at her hands, clawing at them as the balanced him over the long drop to the pavement below. His bare feet kicked, trying to throw her off her equilibrium, but he was much too weak for any type of damage.

“You walked out on them.”

“What? Oh, my god, what?! I told her to get rid of it- I didn’t walk out on anyone! You’re batshit lady!”

To you, it didn’t’ seem very wise to throw insults at the woman holding you above an eight-story drop, but Kazi never was known for his intelligence. His bravado, maybe, but never anything more. He looked so small compared to Natasha’s anger.

“She didn’t get rid of it, Kazi. She kept the kid that you couldn’t have bothered to give another thought to. She made a life for both of them. She fucking loves that kid enough to fill the absence you left.” Natasha let her hand slip, letting him waver in his height for a moment before pulling him back up. He was crying, sobbing for his life. “And you have the nerve, to touch her, to break her and then come rushing back when she was strong enough to pick up the pieces?”

“I wasn’t ready,” he moaned out “I couldn’t be a dad.”

“It seems like there are a lot of things you can’t do, doesn’t it? You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. A pathetic excuse for a human being and once we leave here- I never want to see your face in my city again. Am I clear?”

Kazi let out another course of intelligible, wet, words. His back was nearly breaking under the force of Natasha’s hold, her knee directly up against his crotch, pushing down with all the strength she could muster.

“Y/n, I think this is a teaching moment, don’t you?”

The softness of her words as she addressed you caught you off guard. There was no malice. In fact, she beckoned to you as if she was calling you into the living room to join her under the blankets for a movie. Your heart raced fast enough for your chest to ache as you closed the distance between you both.

“See, the trick is making them think that you’re going to let them go.”

She said this to you as if Kazi wasn’t a slobbering mess under her touch. He’d carved little half-moon marks against the tops of her hand, some of them starting to leak blood with the sheer force of his struggle.

“You have to get creative with the fear aspect. If they think they’re going to die, it tends to work in our favor. Doesn’t it, Kazi?”

“Please,” He whimpered, “I’ll do whatever you want. I’m sorry, y/n, I’m sorry.”

Natasha did the seemingly impossible, she pushed him further out the window, his calves struggling for purchase against the drywall. “Oh, now that simply won’t do. You must keep her name out of your mouth.”

“In situations like these, darling, it’s best to keep full control. If he was anything other than wretched, then maybe you’d have to worry about him fighting back. You’ll get some people like that, but that trick is having leverage, literal and physical in cases like this.”

“I see,” You let the words escape you in a single breath “and how long do we play this game?”

“Until they know it’s not one.”

It took little effort for Natasha to push Kazi the rest of the way out the window. In spite of his clinging grip, the force of gravity was enough to do the work for her. His cry stunted in his throat and it only took a few seconds for a dull thud to echo through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable sound of a car alarm going off.

With a small gasp, you leaned over the window yourself, staring down at the white Toyota that now had a sizeable dent in the top, the windshield spiderwebbing. Kazi let out a groan that you could hear from up here, blinking up at the sky with malice and shock in his eyes.

“Nat,” You breathed.

“Please, eight stories is survivable. Some people need to be taught a lesson.” She shrugged, pulling you back into the apartment by the sleeve of your shirt. “I’ll pay for the car repairs, if that makes you feel better, detka.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“Of course I did.” She reached forward and cupped both of your cheeks, forcing you to look at her. It was impossible to ignore the gesture, the words that she had said with so much blind passion. Tears threatened to overtake your waterline. “moya lyubov', he put his hands on you without permission and before that… before that he hurt you in ways unimaginable. I meant every word I said.”

You could hear sirens in the distance, a hazard of living in the city. They could be for Kazi, you supposed, something to take care of the surely broken ribs and the bruised ego. But, they could be for something more important.

You pushed forward and kissed Natasha delicately. You wanted to be impossibly close to her. Most gestures you had received in the past had come in the form of flowers, maybe the occasional box of chocolate from the drug store. Once again- Natasha had proved something to you.

Her chuckle vibrated into the kiss, “Mm, we should probably leave.”

You couldn’t agree more. You wanted to get out of this stupid apartment that was teeming with memories of your time with Kazi. The way he claimed his love for you, and forced you to make a horrible decision all in one exhale.

As the two of you walked down the long and winding steps, Natasha asked, “What was with the shovel thing?”

You laughed, suddenly feeling foolish for fearing Natasha in the first place. Her silence caused waves, and somehow, that was worse than if she’d threatened you outright, something that she never did with much heat.

“Kate, she told me about her ex-boyfriend, Eli, I think she said his name was.”

“Ah, Eli.” She frowned, “He cheated on her, and I only made him dig for an hour.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, as long as you never make me dig my own grave.”

 “I would never do that. There is no punishment in things you can’t control.” Natasha gave your hand a squeeze, her solemn words punctuated with a slowly creeping smile. “Besides, detka, that’s simply not my style. It was much too messy.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[the-hottest-band-tournament]

Submissions for the hottest 80s male musicians

Go wild everyone! We have 256 slots to fill!

Submissions 204/256

List of submitted people

Phil Collins 

Michael Monroe

Duff McKagan

Vince Neil

Kee Marcello

Michael Sweet

Roger Taylor 

Joe Elliott

Sting

Michael Hutchence

Bono

Larry Mullen Jr.

Tom Petty

Axl Rose 

Razzle Dingley

Eddie Van Halen

Dave Mustaine

Nikki Sixx 

Morten Harket

Tommy Lee

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Zakk Wylde

Steven Adler

Slash 

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Jon Bon Jovi

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Eric Brittingham

Steven Tyler

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Paul Stanley

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Prince

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Sami Yaffa

Angus Young

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Morrissey

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Rick Savage

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Daryl Hall

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Rod Stewart

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Nasty Suicide

Geddy Lee

David Coverdale

George Lynch

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Alice Cooper

David Bryan

Steven Sweet

Freddie Mercury

Terry Hall

Stone Gossard

Nuno Bettencourt

Bruce Kulick

Leif Garett

Adam Yauch

Mike Tramp

Blixa Bargeld

Dave Vanian

Nick Cave

Gary Numan

C.C. DeVille

Bryan Adams

Eazy-E

Bob Dylan

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Richard Marx

Lionel Richie

Patrick Swayze

Billy Ocean

Michael Stipe

Corey Hart

Murray Head

David Byrne

Warren Cuccurullo

Rob Zombie

Russell Mael

Mark Mothersbaugh

Martin L. Gore

Dave Gahan

Tracii Guns

Phil Lewis

John Cougar Mellencamp

Jon Farriss

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Yoshiki

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MC Hammer

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Meat Loaf

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Dave Stewart

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Falco

Rick Springfield

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Howard Jones

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Dr. Robert (Robert Howard)

Rick Wright

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Tony Thompson

Robert Palmer

Brian Johnson

Neil Murray

Rudy Sarzo

Vivian Campbell

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Steve Vai

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[lady-olive-oil]

Aaron Pierre Masterlist

Author Note: So I finally caved🤣and started something for the green eyed Scar, I mean Mufasa. This whole thing is gonna be for one OC (original Character). Enjoy and let me know if you wanna be tagged in anything.

Terry Richmond:

**Nasty, Filthy, Disguting

Snippets:

Wash Day

Summer Time**

Snow Day**

Don’t Leave Me (inspired by Don’t Leave Me by Blackstreet)

Gun Range

Video Games

Rodeo**

Say Yes** (Inspired by Say Yes by Floetry)

Fanfics:

1. Me & You (inspired by Me & You by Cassie)

Terry and Ronnie haven’t seen each other in years, since meeting in Houston. He went to the marines and she went back home to Dallas, Texas. One random day, they ran into each other and everything changed.

Prologue | Characters | Leading Lady | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Epilogue

_________________________________________________

Aaron Pierre

**Nasty, Filthy, Disguting

Snippets:

Cultural Differences

Sun Kissed

Skin** (inspired by Skin by Rihanna)

Renaissance

You (inspired by You by Lloyd)

Disney World

Gun Range**

Talk you Through It**

Fanfics:

1. Southern Comfort

Veronica is anything but your typical southern woman. She has a take no nonsense attitude and a drive to match. That is until she met Aaron through a mutual friend.

Characters | Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Epilogue

____________________________________________________

[whinlatter]

What about the dynamic between Ron and Ginny? I don’t see too many people talk about them other than the one time he tried to sl*t shame her.

this is a lovely one, thank you so much anon. the two baby weasleys. two beloved bruisers who will squabble til the cows come home but who would absolutely take bullets for each other in a heart beat... it's the loves of my life, ron and ginny weasley.

the dynamic between ron and ginny is, as you say, deeply misunderstood, deeply underrated and, ultimately, deeply loving. the ron haters will say ron's a misogynistic slut shamer towards his sister: the ginny haters (these are, i fear, much more numerous...) will say that ginny is a nasty bully towards her big brother, the family/molly's favourite who basks in greater limelight and parental love than poor tormented ronnie. i think that says more about fandom's inability to a) remember we are talking about children/teenagers, b) remember that tripping your brother to humble him when he's being openly horny about his future in sister in law is praxis, and c) grasp that conflict between characters does not preclude the presence of real love, care and mutual respect in their relationship. ron and ginny's dynamic is interesting because it brings out each characters' insecurities and flaws (for ron, his anxieties about his reputation among his own peers and his position within his own family, his worry about his family's wider reputation and wellbeing, his particular overbearing concern about ginny's safety post CoS; for ginny, her resentment of being overprotected, her inability to stomach hypocrisy and tendency to fly off the handle when confronted with it, her righteous temper in general...) but i think if the characters were, er, real, and you were able to show them the fandom takes/discourse around their relationship they'd be like, er, what? obviously we love each other to death. we're very very close. we're mates who enjoy each other's company and increasingly hang out a ton and treasure each other as dearly beloved family, what are you on about? like, yes, of course they bicker. of course they fight. but those two, in their core, are good. i think as adults they'd be closer still.

(there's been a horrid fanon tendency in the last few years to make a lot of hay out of the idea that molly desperately wanted a daughter and mistreated ron, her sixth son, as a result. this is an allegation that seems to have its sole canon basis in what the horcrux screams at ron ('least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter'). looking past the fact that the horcrux is, er, expressing ron's fears not reality (in its next breath claims hermione is .... in love with harry lads! tiktok fandom discourse do not like to remember this!), i think it's very important that even if this is ron's fear - that his mum loves him less than his siblings and only had him because she was trying to have a girl - it doesn't actually ever inform any resentment or jealousy towards ginny by ron. ron and ginny fight, of course, they do, but ron never makes this apparent anxiety ginny's problem. ginny could be someone ron bitterly resents, someone his mother and, by 1997, his best friend prefers. but he doesn't ever do that. ron just really loves his sister and wants her to be safe, and yeah, sometimes that pisses her off, but it doesn't come from a place of envy or resentment, which, given ron has oodles of that in other relationships, is saying something.)

my favourite ron and ginny moments:

in CoS when ron's desperate to see ginny get sorted and then gutted that he missed it :(

in CoS when ron teases ginny sweetly about her crush on harry but as soon as malfoy does it is ready to commit bodily harm

in PoA when ginny's suffering with the dementors and she goes looking for ron (even though the last thing he told her was to go away, lmao. just sibling things. fuck off and die! but also i would give you both my kidneys)

in GoF where ginny really is trying not to laugh at ron for asking out fleur when that is plainly fucking funny

in OotP when ron gets one singular look at michael corner and decides he is NOT good enough for his sister and also probably a traitor

in HBP when ron and ginny are at war with each other but ginny names her pygmy puff after him and as soon as ron is poisoned ginny is the first person on the scene (with hermione) and does up poirot with harry trying to solve the mystery of her beloved brother's assassination attempt. he will be avenged!

in DH when the catalyst for the ron/harry fight escalating and ron leaving is the moment ron accuses harry of not caring enough about ginny........ king shit sorry!

bonus in DH when ron's like yeah ofc i didn't go home are you mad. fred and george would have been fuming. and ginny, my moral weather vane, would have run me through with the rustiest of pikes

thank you for humouring me with this ask game anon!

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 28)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (27) | Next (29)

Content Warning: Threat of vore, nudity

Word Count 4.3k

------ Chapter 28: Lemonade ------

The giant gardener grumbled under his breath as he entered the castle to access the kitchen. The nerve of that bratty prince, to order him around, when he was only there to tend to the plants! As much of an inconvenience as the errand was, though, he knew better than to refuse. He stepped into the chaos of the kitchen and accosted the first person he ran into, Chef Cruor. Cruor was holding a jar, stroking the glass reverently with the tip of his finger. 

“Prince Ronny demands food and drink,” the gardener informed him. Chef Cruor frowned and looked over at the giant covered in dirt with a curled lip.  

“Ask somebody else. I’m busy,” he growled. He turned his violet eyes back to the glass with a softened expression. The gardener glowered at the snooty chef but left to find someone else. He went up to Chef Gore, who was washing dishes with such violent movements that the gardener was surprised none of them shattered. 

“Prince Ronny is requesting refreshments,” he repeated. 

“I’m busy,” Gore grunted. Bucky, who happened to be walking by, stopped. 

“Gore! Get that taken care of!” he barked.  

Gore groaned loudly. “I said I’m BUSY! Why are you always heckling me when I’m in the middle of something?” 

Bucky slapped his hand on Gore’s brawny shoulder and wrapped his thick, hairy arm around his fat neck, leaning in close. “Gore…” he drawled with a nasty sneer. Gore pulled his head back and winced at the reek of his breath. “Get it done, or else I’ll make you work more overtime…” His voice raised at the end of his sentence in a teasing tone. Gore scowled and his face flamed hot to match his beard. 

“Ugh, fine,” he mumbled, shoving Bucky away roughly. Bucky grinned with crooked yellow teeth. Gore shook his head, muttering curses as he slapped together an assortment of snacks appropriate for a hot summer day. He finished off with some chilled lemonade with ice cubes. Hunter, the royal sorcerer, had provided the kitchen with magic-infused stones that emanated cold, so the chefs had access to miraculous luxuries like ice and cold water. 

Gore lumbered over to the human tanks, planted his hands on his hips, and surveyed his options. Most of the humans cowered in fear, but Eren glared back with her arms crossed. Gore glowered at her darkly before baring his teeth at her in the grin of a feral beast. He remembered this obnoxious human: how she refused to cooperate, threw clumps of risotto at him, fought him and yelled at him. He would get his revenge. Eren blanched but stood her ground. 

The chef plucked her out of her tank by her leg and dangled her high up in the air, upside-down at his eye level. He continued to grin as Eren swung her arms towards his immense face and swore viciously. He glanced down at the tray, stroking his beard as he debated what to do with her. Normally, he’d just stuff her in the fruit salad or something, but with how uncooperative she was, he knew she wouldn’t stay in place. Besides, he wanted to make the experience awful for her. 

He plunked her into one of the tall glasses of lemonade. Eren yelped in shock as she plummeted a long distance and was suddenly submerged in frigid cold liquid. Sticky sweetness forced its way into her mouth. She gasped for air and oscillated her arms to stay afloat. She clawed at the walls of the glass, too slick and high for her to climb out, and tried to scale monstrous cubes of ice larger than her entire body. The ice rotated with her weight, foiling her frantic efforts to climb out. She slid down the slippery edges and plopped back into the drink with every attempt. 

“H-hey! Let me out!” she shouted, but this time she sounded more afraid than angry. Her teeth chattered and her flesh quivered with the freezing cold. The giant chef, miles above her, looked down his nose at the tiny woman with a devious smirk. He was enjoying her suffering. 

“Okay, it’s ready,” Gore announced, directing his attention to the gardener as he shoved the tray into his dirt-encrusted hands. Eren cried out as the lemonade became a tumultuous sea and she was battered by titanic chunks of ice. She was not the strongest swimmer under the best of circumstances, but with the cold paralyzing her muscles and choppy waves threatening to pull her under, she could barely keep her head above the yellow liquid. She tried to grab the lip of the glass when the lemonade splashed higher, but the top was too far away for her hand to grasp. 

“Ahh! Help!” she sputtered as another wave doused her head and stung her eyes with sour lemon and sugar. The giant gardener ignored her. He wanted to deliver the tray and be done with his errand already, so he picked up the pace to reach the prince faster. Eren bumped into the hard glass and shouted in frustration as she was slapped directly in the face by a wall of liquid. The clink of the ice and sloshing of the drink was much louder to her ears, like a battle between ships at sea. She became dizzy from all the rocking and floundered to stay afloat as she was dunked under another wave. Eren began to fear she would drown. 

In a last-ditch effort, she called out again with the limited breath she could spare: “Help! Help! Get me outta here! I-I can’t swim!” To her surprise, the giant strides stopped and the tray was set down, allowing the liquid to settle. Even so, with her muscles chilled and exhausted, Eren still had to strain to keep from sinking into sugary death. She blinked lemon juice out of her eyes and squinted up. A plaintive shriek escaped her lips as she saw the fate that awaited her. 

There were two giants towering over her, and she recognized them both with dread. One giant was the prince, the man she had insulted and berated at dinner before he threatened to crush her bones and then swallowed her whole, without a second thought. The other was the giant she attacked with arrows, who had grabbed her in the forest. She had barely escaped with her life, saved only when she valiantly stabbed his finger with an arrow. He was also a member of the giant party that hauled her in a cage with the other humans to Giganterra. Eren realized she was doomed. Neither of them had any reason to show mercy, and both had ample reason to hate her and cause her harm. 

Prince Ronny’s dark eyes landed on her, chilling her even more than the ice cubes in the drink. His giant hand wrapped around the glass, obscuring her view of the outside world with layers of skin, and effortlessly lifted up the lake of lemonade she was swimming in. Eren splashed in the drink as the waves licked at her again, trying to drag her into the depths. Fresh terror stained her heart as the prince’s giant lips perched on the edge of the glass. She wasn’t ready for the horrors of being swallowed alive again. She recoiled to the opposite end of the glass, but the flow of the liquid pulled her toward the prince’s mouth with an inescapable force. She cried out sharply as her hands contacted the giant lips and she pushed hard against them. 

“NO, STOP!” a giant man’s voice thundered, shattering the air. The powerful suction dragging Eren in halted. She exhaled, heart slamming into her ribs, as she splashed back into the center of the glass. 

“What?” Ronny questioned, cocking a brow with a frosty stare at Joey. Eren shivered, realizing how close she had been to disaster. 

Joey gulped. “You’re not… actually going to drink up that human, are you?” he inquired in a tremulous tone, still stricken with shock at what he’d nearly witnessed. 

Ronny’s black eyebrows turned down. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” He absently swirled the glass in his hand. Eren squeaked as a vortex spun her in erratic circles. 

“S-stop, I can’t-” Her terrified voice was drowned out as a burst of cold lemonade submerged her head. She flailed to resurface, sucking in air greedily. 

Joey started to sweat. “You can’t do that…” 

Ronny glared at the lowly squire, radiating the full force of his regal authority. “Excuse me?” Joey was cowed into silence, his eyes darting from the giant prince to the poor victim drowning in his drink. Ronny raised the glass back up to his lips to take another sip. 

Joey panicked, not knowing what to do. Defying the prince was extremely dangerous, but he couldn’t just sit there and watch him swallow down a poor innocent girl. Not only did neglecting a maiden in need violate his code of chivalry as a knight in training, but also such an act was morally reprehensible. He owed her his protection, especially after what he had done to her. Before he could second-guess his foolish decision, he surged forward and wrenched the glass out of Ronny’s grip. He pulled the miniature woman out to rescue her from drowning and clapped her to his chest protectively. 

Ronny blinked in shock, not believing for a moment that Joey had been insolent enough to steal his drink. Joey stared back at him, wide-eyed and mortified, with his hand clasped firmly to his body. He could feel Eren’s small form trembling against him. He wasn’t sure if she was chilly or afraid, or a mix of both, as her body was very cold. All he knew was that he would protect her to the death, if needed. 

“Joey!” Ronny roared, finding his voice again. “What have you done?” 

Joey opened his mouth, but no words came out. His heart was racing. Ronny’s countenance darkened with rage and he took a deliberate step forward. Joey stumbled back, nearly toppling into the fountain, but recovered his balance. 

“Give it back,” the prince ordered with an intimidating scowl. 

“No,” Joey answered, hardening his resolve. The prince clenched his fists and advanced another step. Joey responded by thrusting the glass in his face and emptying the contents all over his white fencing outfit, staining it yellow. Ronny flinched back as the ice cubes tumbled down his sticky suit, shedding sugary droplets.  

The prince bristled with fury. Joey realized he’d made a terrible mistake, but he couldn’t turn back now. He prepared himself for the worst: If the encounter turned violent, he would not be able to defend himself. Ronny’s face turned red and he raised his hand to strike. Joey settled his lips into a firm line and wrapped both his hands around Eren. Ronny stared, ready to destroy the squire, poised in place like a statue. His eyes rotated from Joey’s determined face to the protective cocoon of his hands. All at once, he was reminded of Tanya. 

“Why?” he finally choked.  

Joey, expecting a violent smack rather than a question, paused. He knew he needed to weigh his words carefully. “She’s a person, and a woman,” he answered firmly. “She deserves basic respect and care.” He held her tighter. As he dug in his heels, his voice raised with passion. “You can’t just... eat her! That’s sickening!” 

Ronny’s expression tangled into a conflicting knot of emotions. Joey wasn’t sure if he was about to scream, lash out physically, or crumble into a sobbing heap. The prince lowered his hand. He flashed Joey a hateful scowl before spinning around and storming off, trampling on the flower beds instead of the paved pathway and kicking over the smaller plants near his feet. The gardener, who had been eavesdropping on the whole commotion from a safe distance, grunted with intense annoyance. 

Joey watched him leave with a shuddering sigh. The tension drained out of his muscles and he slumped down on the side of the fountain. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest. He took a moment to recover, breathing heavily. He wasn’t sure what terrible consequences he may face for his actions down the line, but at least for now the tiny human was safe. 

Eren had listened to the whole exchange with increasing bafflement. When Joey snatched her away from Ronny, she didn’t understand what was going on. She was highly disoriented as she anticipated being imbibed in a drink, only to be tossed around, grabbed by giant fingers, and smashed against a vast warm chest instead. Initially, she believed Joey had saved her for selfish reasons, to keep her for himself. As the two giants bickered, with Joey’s enormous voice blaring through his chest and rattling her bones, she could do nothing but shiver from cold, fatigue, and fear. She was too overwhelmed to resist.  

The giant’s hands and body were burning hot and throbbing with his vitals, but after swimming in icy liquid the heat felt like heaven. Eren appreciated the fleeting moment of comfort before the horrors resumed, despite how small and defenseless she felt pressed up against a man of unfathomable proportions. The giant’s body shifted around her and he exhaled with the bluster of a hurricane. Eren cringed. She was so scared and exhausted; she felt, for the moment, as if her spirit was breaking. She couldn’t handle another giant with his hands and mouth all over her, ready to take advantage of her and devour her—least of all one who held a grudge against her. 

His hands peeled back from his chest, exposing Eren to the sunlight. She ducked down in his palm helplessly as she stared up at his gargantuan face. She started to hyperventilate. Her hands compulsively searched the folds of the larger hand encompassing her, seeking an out that failed to materialize. 

“Are you alright?” he asked in a soft voice that rumbled through the walls of flesh towering above her. Eren couldn’t seem to comprehend what he was saying as his warm chocolate eyes, as big as windows, examined her from behind his glasses. 

“D-don’t hurt me...” she breathed. Joey couldn’t hear her, so he leaned in closer. To Eren, the sight was like a living mountain collapsing down over her. She yelped in terror and covered her head with her arms. Joey’s expression softened and he backed off. 

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m just trying to help.” The vibrations of his voice through his body reminded Eren of just how miniscule and vulnerable she was. She was completely at his mercy. The giant went quiet as Eren failed to answer. He opened his hands more so she wouldn’t feel so trapped, though he curled his fingers over her head to conceal her and keep her from falling. 

Joey glanced around to ensure that nobody was watching him. The gardener had disappeared, not wanting to deal with Ronny’s mess. He realized now was his chance to help her. “Let’s go,” he whispered to her. “I can save you. I can free you. I’ll get you out of here!” He jumped to his feet and began to hurry away from the castle. 

“W-wait!” Eren protested as she was jumbled in his hands. Joey stopped and looked at her intently. Eren hesitated. She was sorely tempted to take him up on his offer, even if she didn’t trust him, since he was a giant, an enemy. She wanted to be free of this hell, back at home where she belonged. She didn’t want to be eaten again. She didn’t want to be treated like a piece of meat, naked and on display in a glass box for all the giants to gawk at or drool over. 

Yet, she hadn’t forgotten her reason for coming here. She hated giants. She thirsted for blood. She’d feel like a failure if she didn’t succeed in her quest. She wanted more than anything to slay a giant, to prove she could kill one of the behemoths. Even more, she wished to slaughter the repulsive king, or the prince. Now that her enemy possessed a face, a head to claim, she couldn’t just give up. She was done with being powerless. 

“No,” she asserted. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Joey tilted his head and adjusted his glasses on his nose. “Huh?” 

“Give me a weapon and take me back to the kitchen,” Eren requested. 

“What? No way! I can’t do that!” Joey balked. 

Eren folded her arms. “Why the hell not?” 

“Because—because that would put you in danger!” 

“So? What do you care? Since when did you care about any of us humans? Weren’t you one of the giants that collected us from Minimaterra?” She punched one of his fingers for emphasis. 

Joey crumbled as the truth of her words sank in. “Y-yeah…” His legs lost their strength and he leaned against the trunk of a tree. “I didn’t want to do it.” He knew any excuses or abdications of responsibility would ring hollow. He hung his head with shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I felt like I didn’t have a choice.” 

Eren scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Sure.” Joey felt even worse as he looked at her. As saucy as she was in her defiance, to a giant as big as him she looked fragile and small. He was fully aware how easily he could close his huge fist around her and squish her like a bug. How could he have been so beastly, to bring harm to such a tiny being?  

His face crinkled up with poignant sadness at his own moral failures, and tears began to form at the corners of his eyes. He was a horrible person. He should be ashamed of himself. He should’ve resisted and protected her, like when he stood up to the prince. He wanted to pour out his apologies, to show the little woman just how remorseful he was, but the words stuck in his throat as it grew thick with despair. 

“Are you… crying?” Eren asked with confusion. Joey sniffled and averted his gaze, too embarrassed to answer. “Oh my God, you are. You’re actually crying.” Eren shook her head. “I didn’t realize you giants could be so sensitive.” Truthfully, she didn’t believe that giants were capable of feeling any empathy for humans. To see this huge man crying over her was shocking. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I wish I had never gone to Minimaterra. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to make things right.” 

Eren pointed up at him aggressively. “You know how you can make it up to me? Do what I asked for! Give me a weapon so I can kill the giant king!” 

Joey’s eyebrows shot up at her blatant statement of treason. “But-” 

“No buts! Don’t you dare think you can just override my wishes because you’re bigger than me! That makes you no better than the rest of them!” 

Joey perceived the truth in her logic, and realized using his size against her would hardly be chivalrous, but he felt he should at least try to dissuade her from her perilous intentions. “But you’ll get eaten! You’ll die! I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let that happen!” 

Eren stared at him. “Don’t you know?” 

“Know what?” 

“Being eaten isn’t pleasant by any means, but it’s not a death sentence around here. There’s a magic serum they give us that protects us from digestion.” 

Joey gaped. “What? No way. So the prince... wasn’t about to kill you just now?” 

“No.” Eren gave Joey a pointed look. “Do you not eat humans?” 

“Of course not!” Joey replied hotly. “I would never!” 

“Oh.” Eren was surprised. She had assumed that all giants were barbaric man-eaters, but she could plainly see that the squire was telling the truth. She was learning more about giants than she ever cared to know. They weren’t all the same after all.  

“Well, okay then.” Another awkward pause hung between them, before Eren decided to get the conversation back on track. “Now that we got that all sorted out, do you have something I could use as a weapon? Please?” 

Joey sighed, knowing nothing he would say could convince the stubborn warrior to choose a different path. “You’re sure this is what you want?” Eren nodded. “Alright.” Joey thought for a moment before pulling his sewing kit out of his pocket. He removed a few needles, but each one was as long as Eren was tall. 

“Those are too big,” Eren admitted. “I need one I can hopefully conceal on my person somehow...” She looked down. With all the excitement, Eren had forgotten she was stark naked. Apparently, Joey had been too preoccupied with saving her to notice as well, nor had he properly seen the details of her delicate bits with how miniscule she was. His face burned as hot and red as metal heating up in a furnace when he abruptly became aware of her nudity. He turned his eyes away, but he couldn’t avoid the incontrovertible fact that he was holding a tiny nude woman in his hand. His nerve endings lit up as his skin touched hers. He could feel in his palm her dainty limbs, soft and shapely, but still sticky from the lemonade. 

“S-sorry,” he stammered, mortified by the inappropriate desire unexpectedly aroused within him. He needed to set her down, but he feared someone would see her and try to steal her. He brought her back to the fountain and placed her on the ledge, shielding her from view with his body while keeping his visual focus on the ground. 

“It’s okay,” she consoled him. “It’s not your fault. I’m used to it by now.” She shrugged. “It’s not like any of the giants here actually see me as a person anyway.” 

Joey handed her one of his fabric scraps so she could cover up. He finally got the courage to glance at her, his eyes sad and soft. “I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing,” Eren insisted. 

“Sor—I mean, okay.” Joey sheepishly searched through his sewing kit. He found a sharp sliver of a broken needle. “How about this?” Eren gripped the metal strand, about as long as her forearm, and flicked it around like a sword. Joey smiled down at the mini warrior, so fierce and ready to fight, yet so cute. 

“This’ll work. I still need to find a way to hide it though.” Eren frowned with concentration, which made her look even more adorable to the giant squire. Joey, not wishing to offend her, made an effort not to acknowledge these sentiments or act patronizing. 

“I have an idea.” Joey tore a strip of cloth that was roughly the same flesh tone as Eren’s skin and handed it to her. “You can affix it to your arm. You’re so small, I doubt anyone would notice unless they were looking closely.” He considered helping her tie it on, but he worried he might break her skinny arm if he accidentally twisted it the wrong way. 

“Thanks! That will do.” Eren looked down at her sticky skin. “I need to wash first.” Before Joey could react, Eren cast aside her new possessions and jumped into the fountain. Joey gasped and reached his hands into the flowing water to rescue her. 

“Don’t worry, I’m fine!” Eren assured him as she resurfaced. The water was cold, but not as frigid or tumultuous as the iced lemonade. Even so, Joey cupped his hands beneath her tiny feet so she had a base of support. Eren appreciated his consideration for her needs as she rinsed herself off. He tried to avoid staring at her as she bathed in his hands. When she was done, Joey gently lifted her out and gave her some cloth to use as a towel.  

Eren attempted to secure her weapon to her arm by herself, but she struggled to tighten the knot with only one hand. After some hesitation, Joey pinched the edges of the cloth with his fingertips and cautiously pulled the ends snug. He couldn’t help but observe that her entire head was smaller than his smallest fingernail. He removed his fingers and examined her. From his height, he couldn’t discern the needle fragment concealed under her arm, unless he squinted. He doubted a metal splinter would be enough to slay a giant, although he could see how a jab from the inside might be sufficient to cause internal bleeding. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked a second time. Eren affirmed, her eyes blazing with determination. She had reclaimed her fire with a fresh chance at success. Joey sighed. He didn’t want to send her back to the kitchen: Such a fate seemed too cruel. More than anything, he wanted to rescue the damsel and spirit her away to safety. 

However, he had to admire her bravery and resolve. He couldn’t bear to crush that indomitable spirit with his own hands and betray her trust by using his power as a giant against her. To overpower her will through brute force felt immoral to him, not to mention ungentlemanly. He offered her his hand. Eren paused, a fleeting doubt passing over her features, before she climbed up into his gigantic palm. He curled his hand around her and raised her up to his chest level. 

“By the way... I never caught your name,” Joey admitted. 

“I’m Eren,” the little woman informed him with a smile. “You’re Joey, right? Thank you for helping me. And... for respecting my autonomy.” Her bright eyes shined as she stared up at him. 

“I hope to see you again, Eren,” Joey said to her solemnly, a trickle of melancholy in his tone. “I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors.” Weighed down by the gravity of his decision, Joey reluctantly chauffeured her back to the giant kitchen. He hoped he wouldn’t come to regret his choice. 

Chapter 29

Tag list: @yummynomms @tinycoded360

[bullet-prooflove]

Three things for Ed Green:

Pajamas, beer, and a movie

Tagging: @kmc1989@baconeggndcheez@mel-eficent@to-grow-in-and-to-love @marlena-marlena

Companion piece to:

Spend the Night - Ed asks you to spend the night when the two of you cross the line.

A Casual Thing - You return to Ed's apartment despite what you agreed.

Quits - Ed calls time on the relationship.

Ed’s in his pyjama bottoms, a bottle of beer in his hand and an old movie on the TV when he hears that familiar rap on his apartment door.

It’s you, he knows it is and for a moment he debates just ignoring it because right now the last thing he wants is a booty call, especially since he has three bruised ribs from a nasty takedown. He groans as he raises to his feet, shuffling towards the door with as much speed as he can muster before he opens it.

“I’m not going to fuck you.” He says frankly when he sees you standing there.

“I don’t expect you to, given the shape you’re in.” You respond as you let yourself into his apartment and start busying yourself in his kitchen. “I didn’t think you’d want to cook so I brought dinner…”

“Ronnie.” He says, slamming the door shut behind you. “What are you doing? You said you didn’t want anything serious and now you’re turning up here, acting like you give a shit about me.”

“I do give a shit about you.” You say with a sigh as you turn to face him. “That’s part of the problem, because you’re not going to care about me when I say what I need to say.”

“I don’t understand.” He says, his dark eyebrows etching into a frown and you lean back against the counter biting your lower lip  before you begin to speak.

“Back when we were partners in the Gang Unit, I was approached by IAB. They knew someone in the unit was feeding information to the Nine Sevens and they thought it was you because of the history you had with gambling.” You tell him and Ed feels an apprehension in this chest because he knows where this is going.

“You investigated me.” He says, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. “When I was telling you all the shit I was going through, you were feeding it back to IAB…”

This shit being that he’d just lost a baby with the woman that he was in love with, that he was struggling to take care of her because she thought it was her fault when really, it was just nature. A cruel twist of fate that neither of them could have seen coming.

“No, I didn’t.” You say softly, your eyes on his as he moves towards you. “Anything you said to me about that stayed with me but I recorded your movements, made sure they knew there was no way you could be involved.”

“Did you think it was me?” He asks you, his palms coming to rest on either side of you caging you in. “Did you take the job because you thought I was selling information?”

“Never.” You said fiercely. “But they would have jammed you and I couldn’t have that, not when you were already going through so much so I thought better the devil you know.”

“Is that how you see yourself Ronnie?” He asks you, leaning in close as he looks into your eyes. “You think you’re the devil?”

“You tell me.” You murmur as the heat from his body rolls over your skin. “You don’t lie to the ones you love, you don’t a keep  secret like this from someone you care about.”

“Is that why you’ve been holding back from me?” He whispers, his hand cupping your jaw, ensuring he has your full attention. “Keeping your distance?”

“I thought…” You trail off then because you can’t vocalise how twisted up you’ve been about this whole thing, how hard it’s been to walk away when all you’ve ever wanted to do is stay.

“You thought wrong Ronnie.” He murmurs against your lips. “You saved my job back then, my sanity and I can ever express how grateful I am for that. Now if you want something with me, something real, you can have it, you just need to say the word.”

“Alright.” You say, your fingers lacing at the base of his neck, your mouth pressing against his. “Word.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[dailyjameshunt]

To mark New Year's Day, here is a link to a strange little doco about James, from 2001. It features Niki, Murray Walker, Taormina Rieck, Bubbles Horsley, Lord Hesketh, Chris Jones, and Helen Dyson, so people who were genuinely close to James.

I watched it and made notes in real time, so I'd kind of committed to this post (and spent a fair bit of time on it) before I got to the segment where they show CCTV footage of James throwing hot coffee on a doorman in Doncaster and being arrested. They interviewed the doorman who was balanced and non-sensationalist, but tbh I don't love including the footage of the incident in a documentary about a man who isn't here to defend himself (although interviewing the doorman seems like good practice to me, victim first).

There is a lot of footage of Ronnie Peterson's crash and an interview with James about his experience of it, which wouldn't fly today.

It also leans heavily on the Hunt-as-a-brilliant-asshole-playboy narrative which is contradicted by everyone (except Murray) in the content of their interviews. There's no mention of his success and gifts as a commentator, nor of his activism. If you want to read some details of James Hunt as a more fully rounded person than his reductive and insulting "playboy" image, Cazzy has a brilliant post here which sums it up really well and I also recommend this one.

Aside: @cazzyf1 is the gold standard for classic F1 posts and especially for research.

Anyway, with those caveats, here are some highlights and my thoughts!

His teenage girlfriend, Taormina Rieck, seems absolutely beautiful and lovely

James around 11 minutes in giggling about Hesketh hiring him when no one else would, and playing hard to get. My heart.

There is a truly ludicrous song about Hesketh Racing with original 1970s footage partway through. It is so cringe I almost had to stop watching.

Frankenstein-esque footage of Hesketh bringing James to life. Wtf.

Murray gets to say a few nasty things about his old pal. My favourite is around 13.50 when he repeats a string of insults to add new ones each time. Oh, Murray.

Niki's eyes and smile talking about James around 23:33 - beyond adorable

James's overtake on Niki for the lead of the British Grand Prix in 76 is around 26:10 and it is GORGEOUS

There's a lovely moment where James's friend Chris Jones says that no one could blame Niki for bailing out in Fuji, directly followed by footage of one of Niki's team putting a very gentle arm around him as he walks away from the car (from about 28:15)

Niki's sweet little James smile makes a reappearance around 31:55. I melted. "I preferred to lose it to James."

From 33:00 onwards, lots on Ronnie Peterson's death. From 34:28 onwards is James's own account of it. I've never much liked that interview - I don't think a driver who had pulled his friend from a flaming car would be subjected to that today. There is also a LOT of crash footage so take care of yourselves if viewing.

This segment also includes Patrese and Murray Walker on James's treatment of Patrese after Ronnie's accident.

Murray concedes that James had an especially sensitive nature so was more affected by Ronnie's death and the general dangers of F1 than others.

Lots of discussion of James's depression from around 38 minutes in.

40:47 an actual photo of James's Light Green cock (trust me it's SFW)

41:30-ish, Niki recounts the famous lunch where James arrived with a puncture and couldn't pay for his lunch.

The doorman coffee incident is around 42:00-44:00

Thereafter there's a brief bit on Helen Dyson, who always seems lovely, and then it's mostly his death. Interestingly, he spent about four years at the end of his life with Helen Dyson, living pretty happily, being an involved dad, but that gets a disproportionately small share of the screentime. If I didn't know that, I'd assume they were just together a few months which isn't the case at all.

Niki's comments about James's death are at 47:20-47:40 - he calls James "a real friend" with obvious sincerity that's just heartbreaking, especially as Niki has said in later interviews (particularly his long interview with Graham Bensinger) that he doesn't consider himself to have friends.

[hedgiwithapen]

Man in the mask ronnie + his reunion with team flash and caitlin

All any of them wanted to do was sleep. Grief was a blanket that even the relief of victory could not shift. The world was safe, at least for now, at least from Zoom.  That couldn’t mop up the blood. That couldn’t erase the terror inflicted on two Central Cities. But they couldn’t, yet. Some things couldn’t wait.  Barry ran through the breach again, and back, after Zoom’s last prisoner. He needed to save someone. Caitlin understood that deeply. It was easy to switch into autopilot, to be Dr. Snow instead of Caitlin.  She took the masked prisoner’s wrist in her hand, feeling his pulse, the way his skin tented. “He’s severely dehydrated. Barry, get me an IV, Cisco, I need this mask off yesterday.” She moved briskly to pull away, gather her tools-- the equivalent of Barry’s cowl and Cisco’s gauntlets: her gloves, her bandages.  With greater speed and strength than she’d thought possible, the man twisted in her grip so that he held her wrist instead. Caitlin froze. His hand closed, warm, over the place Zoom’s shackle had once bit in, She expected to panic, unable as she was to pull away.  She didn’t. Cisco returned with his tools, Harry yammering about the merits of some earth two specialty screwdriver. “Out,” Caitlin said without looking up. She was out of patience.  Something in her tone rang clear enough, and Harry retreated to his daughter’s side, still muttering. “Just a second,” Cisco said, peering at the locking mechanism. “Oof, this thing’s nasty. Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there. Trust me. Or trust the screwdriver.” Caitlin looked at the hand around her wrist, and felt her heart drop, then soar in recognition. “Cisco, hurry,” she breathed, her eyes tracing the simple silver band she knew. “Hurrying,” Cisco confirmed. “ and-- there.” The latch clicked. The mask came away. “Cait,” Ronnie said, too quietly for her ears to pick up. She didn’t need them to know. She took his other hand, and did not let go. 

[my-favourite-zhent]

He was going to keep his promise :'(

[kyberphilosopher]

Pass the Dutchie

Word Count: 7908 Requested: Nah Warning[s]: 4/20 special, so drug and substance abuse, crude language, crude humor, adult themes, not my strongest piece ever probably, long, Billy sticks to character sorry, general fanfiction cringe warnings. When Billy assumes you might sell to him, you get back at him by stealing his stash. But after you realize he's not so unbearable, your relationship with each other, and even yourselves, seems to change.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The summer months came quickly, even quicker than the actual summer. The crisp April morning, tainted with spring rain that left the reek of petrichor hanging in the air for the rest of the day, had given way to a dry and beating heat. Not enough to make you sweat, but enough to fill the school with shorts and skirts over the typical swarm of bell bottoms. You almost felt like you'd missed the memo that day in your own denim jeans, but you were comfortable, and that was what mattered.

You wouldn't miss highschool, you thought, but you might miss senior year. By now, everyone around you had almost completely grown out of bullying. Why continue it? Everyone was about to graduate. You were all adults now. There was no point in nastiness. Mostly, it seemed your class had a fondness for sex and drugs and rock n' roll and not much else. There wasn't much to complain about there. All the popular kids were too wrapped up in all that to harass you at work anymore, or to spread rumors that you were a drug supplier and addict. You're more than thankful for that as you stare at the bouncing, burnt orange basketball being dribbled up the court by Billy Hargrove.

A gust of outside air sweeps through the highschool gymnasium from the double doors to your left. Sunshine leaks through the gap, straining your eyes when you look at it. It makes the rest of the gymnasium appear shadowed in a darker and far more boring grey than it really was. It might've looked exceptionally creepy if it weren't for the few kids such as yourself who decorated the bleachers, and the group of boys playing basketball just a few steps away. The students gave the school a bustling, warm atmosphere that you were more than willing to admit to now that you'd outgrown a lot of your younger angst and cynicism. The air from through the doors smells like your childhood- and something else in the distance.

"Yo, Y/N," a voice from behind you calls.

You let your eyes fall closed in instant exhaustion as you exhale a breath. You already know who it is. "Yeah?" you practically wince.

Ronnie Waters slithers up beside your ear like a snake. You don't hate him- he's funny sometimes. Sometimes. What, with his mousy mullet and sparce beard hairs around his crooked teeth, but mostly he likes just yanking your chain. "Smell that?" he questions, chip breath hitting your nose like a freight train. "Smells like dope outside, man. You gonna celebrate the 20th this year? You selling?"

A common misconception. You'd first smoked pot in the girls bathroom sophomore year and ended up getting busted- without the three other girls who had been smoking the blunt with you. You were quickly labeled as a pothead since then, which snowballed into being a full blown dealer in junior year. Funny how everyone who had previously never spoken a word to you, now threw themselves at your feet for some bud. Sometimes you'd play the prank of handing them a bag of oregano, but for most people, the answer was the same: 'Not selling.'

"I don't sell," you tell Ronnie, not even bothering to look over at him. He still hovers by your side like a bee.

"Come on," Ronnie whines and prods. "I just need some flower for the 20th... please?"

You turn towards him, tone becoming firmer but not angry. "I don't sell."

Ronnie pouts a frog faced frown, mutters a "whatever bro", and slithers away back to his group of snickering friends at the top of the bleachers. Your eyes turn back to the basketball game ahead of you, not really invested, just in time to watch Billy Hargrove dunk a clean one over Steve Harrington's head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Ronnie Waters wasn't the only one who prodded you for an April 20th deal. Back in the locker room, Connie Rachel tossed her blond curls over her shoulder before batting her eyes and taking a 20 out of her bra. You'd felt bad about rejecting it.

Most seniors had partial days from completing all their required credits early on, leaving little classes in the days for them. You were one of the lucky ones who made the cut, which had honestly helped your fondness for senior year. The freedom you felt hopping in your car, waving a polite and quiet goodbye to your fellow classmates was a dignified one. Ronnie Waters, the little rat face, couldn't take it from you. Your feet pick up the pace as you exit the building, rounding the brick corner, converse to asphalt.

It did feel like summer. The sun, the wind, the scent of rain and flowers. The great boulder that jumped out at you causing you to flinch back.

You stumble a few steps, raising your head to see in front of you. Then your brows crease. It was no brick boulder at all, it was just Billy Hargrove. Well, you supposed that was the same thing. He certainly was a great rock of a man.

You weren't close by any means- you know each other by few interactions and by name. You don't hate him, you don't love him. You've seen him break Tommy's kegstand record and become Keg King, shove freshman to the ground in PE, and charm the teacher out of actually teaching the class through pure flirtation. So, he seemed fine in your book. A very upstanding young man.

"Woah," Billy smiles charmingly- a smile you've seen him use before on others- and an annoyance bubbles in anticipation. "Hey there. Watch where you're goin' much?"

You just want to get to your car. You can see the cherry red paint from here, glistening in the sun. But it won't be so easy. Billy Hargrove was pretty popular. Obeying to highschool politics, you couldn't really be rude to him without him using his influence to tarnish your reputation. In a small town like Hawkins, that was certainly something to consider. When Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington had called it quits, he'd plastered her name all over the Hawkins movie theater, complete with profanities. Not only that, but you were fairly unpopular. You didn't have any close friends who could come and save you out of nowhere, or even defend your honor. Now, you weren't hated by any means. But you were a loser. This was just one of the cons of being so.

"I'm just heading to my car," you get out.

Billy looks you up and down, still smirking. You hate it. You could tell what he's thinking from his mouth alone. "Red one, right? The 79'? Nice ride."

So, he's watching you in the parking lot now?

"Thanks."

A minute of silence. A breeze, similar to the gusts in the gymnasium earlier, sweeps through the air. It turns back to spring within the instant, rustling Billy Hargrove's cinnamon brown curls. His eyes light up in the sun like ocean water, rippling and dancing florescently with every movement. He looks nice for a moment, almost boyish with his dimples and muscle tee, still sweaty from the free period gym.

"I heard you might have something I'm looking for," he says. "I was hoping to maybe take it off ya', if ya' catch my drift."

Your eyes flit around the scene. You see the other seniors walking towards their cars ahead of you, pulling out of the parking lot, some disappearing into the trees nearby in walking groups. Did Billy have enough credits to be on a partial schedule? You could've sworn you'd seen him pull out of the parking lot at the same time as yourself a couple times, but he'd been a transfer student. He should've still been catching up technically.

You answer him very calmly, tiredly, monotone. "What's your drift?"

Billy's smile fades, his eyes returning to a wide shape as his face sinks. Another blow from the wind makes his curls dance. His maroon shirt ripples, tanned skin shining. You hadn't seen many men that were quite like him, you realized-whatever you meant by that. When Billy Hargrove doesn't answer you, you question again. "What's your drift, Billy?"

His face is stone, as you're reminded. Billy's tone is a little more annoyed, in his voice and on his face. He must never have been challenged, dared, outright shut down many times in his life. "I wanna buy some dope."

Should you give him a bag of oregano? Tell him you'll come by later and leave it out on his doorstep? Maybe drop a crumb of the real thing in it so it smells just right? You rub your palm up and down the strap of your backpack, thinking. Billy Hargrove sees as you look him up and down. He resembles an angry bull, you the matador. Should you?

"I don't sell," you say, looking down at the pavement under you. "You'd have bought from me already if I did."

You start walking once more, keeping your eyes down. You can hear the younger kids playing in the fields, the other grades practicing soccer, the cars leaving the lot blasting Scorpions and Madonna. Billy says nothing as you shuffle your way past him. He doesn't say anything until you're a few steps up the hill from him.

"I don't believe you!"

You roll your eyes and walk faster, worried suddenly that you may be run down by a familiar Camero.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove wasn't great, you knew that. But Billy was far, far from the worst. He was cool, you liked him. You wanted to be out of highschool as fast as possible, which kept you from holding grudges or holding hatred. Billy was probably the same way about it at this point. But man, man, oh man- oh, man- did you find yourself wanting to put Billy Hargrove in a room with no windows or doors alone. The little prick really thought he could charm his way into some weed- weed you don't even possess. You've been buying your shit from the super senior Eddie Munson since last summer. It's all based on one nasty rumor.

Billy Hargrove was smart enough to see that certainly. Yet, he chose not to for his own ideas. He knows it is a nasty rumor but plays into it anyway. Why? Because he wants to? Because he has to? Neither? Both? Maybe you should've knocked that smile right off his face. Once for thinking you'd be easily manipulated, and twice for really accusing you of dealing.

No, perhaps not.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next day was smoother. Air conditioning wouldn't be brought into schools for another few years, making the school hot and stuffy, but the library was so empty it was cooler. You spent your free period there instead of the gym, doing nothing of great importance. The joint you had in your car at lunch break was mostly faded from your system. With 4/20 right around the corner, you would need more. It was in- what? A week? The nug you had sitting in a carefully wrapped napkin in the cup holder was a rather small nug.

Eddie would have a sale. You knew that much at least. Of course, that's what you're thinking of when you see him standing by your locker.

Not Eddie, of course. His hair is too light, arms too thick, body too tall. Eddie would never carry such a natural and tired smugness to his face. As soon as you see Billy leaning against it, you feel your heart drop to your stomach. An odd anxiety washes over you, one you're not quite familiar with. But Billy hasn't seen you yet- you could turn around and walk away. You can wait it out in your car and circle back for your things.

You don't do that.

"Locker," you only say to Billy after he notices you approaching. That's all you need to say apparently, as he slides his back from its position against your metal box.

"You're a charmer, aren't you?" Billy says sarcastically, a bored expression on his face. "Very chatty."

You open the door and slide your backpack from your person, twisting it around so you can switch out a few books and grab your jacket and keys. "What do you need Billy?" you ask tiredly, wrapping your oversized hunting jacket around your shoulders and adjusting the hood.

He looks you up and down, but not lustfully. Just observantly. Judgmentally, somewhere in there. Billy's eyebrows are creased in a dull annoyance you recognize on him. He is the stone man you think of. You wonder, are his lips always so ever so slightly pursed when he's thinking? Or is that just the natural, bitchy look of his face? His handsome doll face. "Can I help you?" you repeat.

Billy's ocean blue eyes land back on yours. Through the dark eyebrows, they create a strong contrast. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday," the boy drawls out. But... he feels genuine. "Maybe I was a little too aggressive. With the 20th coming up I think it's easy to understand why I might be a lil' antsy."

You blink.

"Walk out to m' car with me. I'll treat you to a sesh."

You blink again, harder this time. Then you blink again, slightly faster. Billy's lips are in a thin and serious line. You realize, somewhere in the moment, that he has this disposition with you because you saw through his guise of charisma. He saw he couldn't get in your pants and let that way go. This must be the realest Billy's been to anyone since he arrived at Hawkins high.

Your fingers find the door of the locker, close, and lock it. Then you follow Billy, you slightly behind him at his side, to his car. The air smells like leaves and grass. "You're not stopping at your locker?"

Billy's tone is slightly more exasperated than usual. "Why would I?"

You say nothing.

Through the parking lot, you catch a few stares. Billy was just so popular- you should've known you'd see at least one pair of girls giggling. You watch as he unlocks his car- a blue 79' Chevrolet Camero, and the two of you bend inside in unison. Even your doors close at the same time.

Billy Hargrove's car smells like a mix of several, but very recognizable, smells. A musky cologne, the familiar stench of weed, cigarettes... sweat? Must've been old workout clothes littered somewhere in the car.

Billy Hargrove's head rolls over to you, the back of his pretty mullet getting mussed against the headrest.

"Nice car," you offer dryly.

Billy is still stone, offering no reaction to your words. "I apologize for yesterday. Open the glovebox."

An apathetic sounding apology directly followed by an order. How charming.

Still, curiosity overpowers everything else. Your hands do as the man says, undoing the glovebox and letting it fall open. It's stuffed to the brim inside, random papers spilling all over your feet. A single loose cigarette joins them. "Pick that up," Billy Hargrove tells you, though he doesn't sound so stern or demanding just then.

"The papers?" You begin to gather a few of them up- just a few statements about the vehicle and math papers that must've never found their way to the teacher.

"Nah," Billy gestures towards the white and orange cylinder. "Just the cig'."

You're slightly flabbergasted, but quickly muffle the feeling with, indeed, leaving the papers on the floor and instead offering him the cig between two fingers. Billy slips it into his mouth and lets it hang towards the side, as you're sure he's done a thousand times over already. "There's a lil' plastic baggie in there," Billy continues. "Get it."

Turning attention back towards the glovebox, you root around for a second or two before finding it. Instantly, you know what's inside. Pulling it out into the light only confirms your suspicions, if you could even call it that. You're careful to keep it low and out of sight through the windows, deciding to sit it on the surface between you two.

The bag has to contain two 1/8's, minimum. Inside, the bag does little to contain the stench of the dope, which is somehow strong enough to make you feel a little buzzed just looking at it. Most of the nugs inside are a dark green- but there's more colors than just that. Lime green, deep purple that's practically black. When Billy Hargrove picks up his bag of goodies after a classic man-spits-loogie-out-the-car-window move, the nug he picks out is a forest green with tiny orange veins running up it, spreading all around.

"Having a sesh?" you question, somewhat quietly, all while keeping your eyes fixated on the nug.

"Yeah," Billy rolls the nugget over in his fingers. His eyes are stuck on it too, making him sound just as far away as you are. "If that's cool?"

You mutter a response with only half a thought to it. "Reeks like shit."

Billy Hargrove's nostrils flare, and he rolls his head along with his eyes back over to you. It's brief, however, as he quickly rolls them back ahead. With his right hand, he leans forward to snatch a pack of rolling papers from the dashboard. "Fuck outta my car then," he mumbles.

Your reply is immediate: "No."

Billy Hargrove's mouth curves up into a smile as he scoffs. "Alright," he starts, his voice devoid of all anger. "Hold this. Now, this is the shit from California. All kinds of stuff up there."

He gives you the nugget, and takes the cigarette from his lips to place behind his left ear instead. You inspect the weed yourself now, noticing a faint sparkle from somewhere deep within it. The stench is certainly... potent. Being so close certainly can't help it. But there's something else you can smell too. Something fruity?

"Had no idea," you say.

"Here, you crush that up while I roll."

Your eyes switch from the dope in your hand to Billy in the drivers seat. Your brows crease slightly in shock and confusion as you look at him, and you realize in the back of your head that this is the closest you've ever been to each other. You know he's noticing your face- he has to. Something about that throws you off. Something about Billy Hargrove specifically noticing it- having this moment in his memory forever- makes the sides of your face feel hot. "You don't have a grinder?" you ask in disbelief.

Billy's orbs flicker between your own. His face is back to something like grumpiness again. "You talkin' about that little twisty thing?"

"Y... yeah?" you say. "It makes crushing up weed way easier. It catches the kief?"

Billy Hargrove somewhat resembles an agitated bull about to charge. You can see the gears twisting in his brain, however, and you know what he's thinking. He thinks you're playing a prank on him, or trying to make him look stupid. "I'm not shitting you," you say quickly.

With an annoyed breath he turns back to the paper in his hands. It goes quiet, uncomfortably so, so you turn back towards the nugget too. You take a paper that fell from the glovebox from the floor- an old science quiz that he'd managed to score a 79% on- and wrap it over the nugget. It's not the biggest nug you've seen, but it's more than enough for one joint split between the two of you. You simply begin smashing it carefully inside the paper, then opening it to pick out any loose pieces of stem.

It's once you've practically finished the task that you hear Billy's gruff voice from beside you. "You think you're so smart, huh?"

What?

You turn to him, catching the humored smile on his face as he continues rolling. He's shaking his head slightly all the while.

You're not upset. On the contrary, you're relaxed. You let the paper, now swarmed with little weed crumbs all piled messily towards the center, sit gentle on your lap as you lean back. "Not really."

Billy Hargrove does pause for a second, so fast you would've missed it with a blink, but you see it. "Could've fooled me," he mutters. Then he gestures for the substance in your lap. "Here."

You pick up the paper gently, with two hands, the way a child might hold a dinner plate. Billy Hargrove meticulously picks the crumbs between his two fingers, lips slightly pursed and brows furrowed in concentration, and lays it in the dip of the rolling paper.

"Promise it's not laced?" you whisper out hoarsely.

Billy freezes again, before a smirk takes up on his mouth. He turns to you, eyes wide, and leans forward. Although his hands are filled, he still finds a way to wiggle his fingers at you. "Oh, scared?"

Your face drops into sarcasm. Really? your face asks him. "You think so?"

Billy Hargrove turns back to the joint, and finishes packing after a few seconds. "Clearly," he snarks. He rolls his head back over to you, face suddenly very, very pretty. "You want the first hit?"

"If you're actually offering," you decide slowly.

Billy passes the joint to you as you reach into your pants pocket for a lighter. With a bit of wiggling, you manage to pull it from the fabric. "Here, I'll light," he says. So, you switch hands. Billy giving you the joint, you giving Billy the lighter. Billy fucking Hargrove.

With one final suspicious glance around the parking lot, you place the joint between your lips eagerly before leaning down. You can practically taste the hemp on your tongue. Billy Hargrove follows suit, leaning down out of sight of the windows and flicking the lighter to life.

"It's pretty strong shit," he tells you as his hand wanes closer toward the paper. You pray he doesn't decide to blue ball you right in that moment and fall back into typical Billy Hargrove fashion, and he doesn't. The end of the joint lights up orange and yellow, dancing and sparkling right before your eyes. The inhale is smokey and sudden, hitting the back of your throat like a train. You can only take it for two seconds before squeezing your eyes shut, at which point Billy grabs the joint right from your mouth.

You feel it fill your lungs, stilling yourself before letting it expel from you. It comes out through your mouth in a gentle stream, and when your eyes turn to Billy, smoke is pouring from his nose for a second longer than yours. Then you both lean back into the seats of the car.

Billy dips his head down and stares out into the parking lot before reaching down and rolling the window up. He glances to check if yours is closed before bringing the joint to his mouth again.

You watch him inhale. Already, you feel your eyes fall half lidded. You're certain the turning of your head is ungodly slow, more snail like than anything. But you don't care about that. You're watching Billy Hargrove's adam's apple bob once with the inhale, then your eyes wander up to his jaw. His nose shape isn't half ugly. Well, actually now that you're here, it's sort of cute. Has his hair always been so curly?

Billy Hargrove breathes this hit out of his nose again, eyes falling closed. He lets his head fall back against the car seat so that his face is pointed towards the roof, relaxed but still Billy.

Cautiously, your fingers dance towards the smoking joint still in his hand that rests on his lap. It's the closest you've been to physical contact with him, which would surely end in you getting your shit rocked if you make one wrong move, so you're sure to move slow. Almost comedically slow.

When the man feels the joint ease out of his grasp, his eyes snap open with a breath. Billy's blue orbs roll down to see your hand greedily try to snag it from his own, but he just lets it happen. He doesn't even look like he's going to rock your shit. Not even one little punch. His hand simply loosens until you pull the jay away for yourself.

"Light."

Billy side eyes you somewhat as he lifts the lighter up to the joint for you once more. "Good shit, right?" he lulls, face and eyes empty of emotion. He looks grumpy again.

You nod lazily, closing your eyes and taking your second hit. It's more bearable this time, and you manage to inhale for three seconds instead of two. You hold it for a moment in your lungs before letting it go, breathing out through your nose and mouth. "Can't remember the last time I hotboxed," you manage to drawl, though you immediately forget doing so. You're almost confused when Billy Hargrove responds.

"I probably do it..." he swallows and lets his eyes close again. "Probably every day."

"You're stronger than me."

"My tolerance is probably fuckin' crazy," Billy says as his eyes peel open. "My hit."

You pass it back to him.

"So you got any plans for the 20th?" he asks, and suddenly you're moved at the contribution he gives to continue the conversation.

You shrug. "Smoke."

Billy nods his head with a smirk, mid hit. "Yeah, that's the plan," he says after breathing out. "You gonna have any special deals that day? Any, uh, discounts?"

Your brows crease as much as they can through lazy senses, which isn't a lot at all. "I told you I don't sell."

Billy's eyes flicker between your own for a moment- again you can see the gears turn inside him. "You were serious about that?"

You nod. "Yeah, I'm not a dealer."

Billy Hargrove's eyes look you up and down for a second, again so missably quick, pretty and blue and distracting. (Distracting? How strong is this strain?) "So where'd you get your shit from then."

"Eddie Munson."

Billy's face splits into loud humor. Eyes light up, go big, mouth scoffing in disbelief. "The super senior?! You're fuckin' with me."

You playfully throw up your palms in mock surrender. "He has good stuff."

"But isn't that guy like, fuckin' crazy? He's always playin' that dumb nerd shit."

"He's pretty nice to me," you offer. "But, dude, he never plays Kill Em' All if we smoke?"

Billy takes the joint right from your hand, just how you did to him. His dark brows furrow much easier than yours as his eyes fall to you once more. "The Metallica piece?"

You nod.

"You're shittin'."

You shake your head.

"Jesus," Billy puts the joint in his mouth and holds the lighter to it. "What a fuckin' loser."

You can't help it. Really, you can't. Billy's words aren't that funny- probably aren't funny at all- but the laugh that escapes the back of your throat comes out in a scoff-snort combo that causes even Billy Hargrove to remove the joint prematurely to cough out smoke.

It's a nice moment. You don't find yourself resenting him or judging him and if he's doing so to you, you can't feel it. At all. You're just two idiots getting high in the car, being idiots high in the car. Billy's presence is welcomed by you, shockingly enough. It shocks you twice over- once, because it's Billy Hargrove. Twice, because for the first time in a while, you feel like you might just have a friend. Just for the moment- just for the moment.

"Ah, shit," you hear Billy break. "Fuckin' idiot."

You pull yourself a little closer to the present (as much as you possibly can as your body seemingly floats to the sky), and turn your eyes out the windshield. Through the hazy white mist that's settled in the car, you can make out a large and annoying figure by the name of Tommy, waving his arms over his head and grinning like a dull fish. His girlfriend, Carol, follows a few steps behind him, similar smile plastered to her face as her brown curls bounce.

"Damn," Billy Hargrove's face drops. "Just when I was startin' to enjoy it." He moves to open the door, and that's when you say something that makes him falter and look back to you.

"I gotta take off anyway."

Billy can't decide between taking a step forward or taking a step back it seems, almost like he's glitching. The boy leans down, turns his head to you. If you hadn't just smoked with him, you might not be able to tell he was high. His eyes aren't red, just pulled into that sarcastic, grumpy, pursed lipped look he's always wearing. "You sure?"

You shrug. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

Billy holds your eyes for a second more, jaw clenching. He decides not to say anything, however, and closes- a soft slam, really- his door closed. You watch him strut out to greet Tommy and Carol as Tommy points to you in the passengers seat with a grin you just loathe.

Quickly, you gather your backpack up from the floor. Out of courtesy, you find yourself quickly and inexplicably pulling the papers on the floor into a stack to place back in the glovebox. You click it closed without thinking, turning to leave when you stop.

The baggie still sits in the cupholder. Unattended, California bred and strong. You know how dumb it would be to take. You're not stupid enough to steal from Billy fucking Hargrove. But a few nuggets? Billy wouldn't notice. Especially not now, high off his ass, talking it up with Tommy about probably fucking nothing.

So, a nug or two wouldn't hurt...

Your brain convinces you you're a ninja. You swipe two medium sized nuggets, one dark green and one light, and cram them deep into your pocket. You're sure to zip the bag back into place to avoid suspicion as a rain of confetti seemingly falls around you.

The guilt is already washing over you somewhat, but it's deep, deep down inside. You almost can't even recognize it. You open the car door, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and watch the smoke ooze from the vehicle like a thick cloud. You must look like Zeus right now.

After the door closes, you're quick to walk away. Luckily, the lot is small, and you can see your car from here. Your foggy brain almost forgets about Tommy and Carol, who can somehow still see you even through your fast pace. "Hey!" Carol calls. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

You just walk faster and keep your head down. You feel two things just then- Carol's laughter filling the air, and Billy Hargrove's eyes on your back.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Much to your own surprise, you do not grind up and smoke those two nuggets that night. Nor do you do so the day after, or the day after that. You highly consider it on the third day, though Billy Hargrove manages to completely deter your mind from it.

He doesn't do anything outright ruining- oh no. Billy just so happened to hold eye contact with you in the lunch line after rolling his eyes at something. It only lasts two, maybe three seconds. But it's enough to turn you off from smoking his-your- weed.

On day five, two days before the 20th, Billy Hargrove receives a test back in math that makes the right corner of his lips twitch up. You know, because you watch him very carefully from your corner of the room.

Billy tries to disguise it, of course. The man of rock and stone is always cautious to keep up appearances. Always frowning, always angry, always too good for something. But whatever he got on that test was, and is, worth more than that little mask. In your head, Billy Hargrove is proud of himself. He worked hard for something and he got a reward for it. Just like you, just like the people you admire, just like everyone else on the planet.

And you stole from him.

On day six, you find, once again, that Billy Hargrove has made himself at home against your locker. Again, you do not run away. From deep, deep in you, you're almost happy to see him. Almost.

"Billy," you greet flatly. The boy once again slides away from your locker so that you can open it, sly as a fox.

"Y/N," Billy greets back. He watches your face as you trade some books and binders, packing your bag to go home. You might be worried about him confronting you about his missing nuggets if you didn't know any better. No, Billy Hargrove was a hot headed bull. If he had noticed, he would've said something by now. Hell, you'd probably have a broken arm or something. "Still planning on smokin' tomorrow?"

God, don't bring it up. "Yeah, hoping to." You close the locker and clutch your jacket in your arms. Billy walks in time with you, neither of you acknowledging the accidental bumping of shoulders that's brought about through the crowded hallway. "Why do you ask?"

Billy Hargrove doesn't look at you. He looks straight ahead, almost as if he's in pain from what he's about to say. He looks like this is some great task for him, saying whatever he's about to say. Taller than you, you watch his sullen eyes as he speaks. "Was wonderin' if you wanted to smoke in the car again."

Your brows crease for a split second. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

The sun illuminates you both as you walk through the open doors and out the side exit of Hawkins High. The spring breeze dances with the summer air gloriously. "Any particular reason you're asking me and not Tommy?"

Billy wastes no time in responding. "Tommy's a fuckin' idiot."

The laugh almost spills out of your mouth, but you manage to catch it with a cough. "Oh, okay. Yeah, he is."

Your walking slows as you approach your car, which catches the glint of the bright, bright sun. Billy turns to you, watching with his usual casual swagger as you fumble to get your keys out. "So you in?"

I stole your weed! you want to blurt out. I stole it and I actually feel kind of bad about it!

Instead, you glance down at your shoes, instantly giving away your poker face. "Oh, uh, maybe."

Something washes over Billy's face, but only for a second of a second. Maybe not even. Disappointment? Whatever it is, it's replaced by his usual expression. Pursed lips, unimpressed eyes, and the feeling that he's cursing you in his brain. "Well," he glances around the parking lot. The sun bounces off of him too, but in a way that looks better than it does on your car. It looks like it's meant to bounce off of him. "Let me know. You've got a phone book." And then he's already walking away with his back to you before you can say anything more.

You don't like watching him go. Sure, Billy's ass did look fantastic in the jeans he typically wore, but it did little to negate the odd feeling of despair and loneliness you suddenly felt. But Billy Hargrove wasn't your friend. He wasn't anything- you weren't anything to him. He just wanted weed out of you anyway. Ironic, considering.

It was true, you could always look up Billy's last name in your home phone book and come clean. You think about this as you seat yourself in your car, which feels and smells like a microwave from the oncoming heat. You knew you should really just call him. Just take your beating and get on with it.

But there was a little voice in your brain that said otherwise. It was that voice that gave you the idea.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove lived on 4819 Cherry Lane, in a little pale house. It was cute, only one story. Very family friendly. It looked like his mother had taken a great bit of care in taking care of the family's plants, which bloomed in shades of poppy red and cherry blossom pink in the bushes right outside. You felt some guilt in thinking that Billy didn't deserve this.

It looked too juxtaposing compared to him, even in the dark of night. It looked too quaint, too warm and nurtured. But you knew better. Even though you're about to commit breaking and entering- or preferably just entering- you know better. There's something in that house that hardened Billy Hargrove. His mother? His father? Something buried deep under his bed? Whatever it was, now wasn't the time to poke.

The leaves crunch under your shoes with every step, but the hum of the cicadas drowns it out for the most part. You round the house so you're at the right side, relieved that all the lights are off. You can see through the little half sliding window, covered in dust and pollen, that it leads to an empty hallway with more pale walls.

There's no doubt in your mind. You're already committed. One hand on the window and another against the house's siding for support, you push the window apart. It comes off easier than expected, wheezing from friction as you slowly ease the panel open. No going back, there is still no doubt in your mind. Returning Billy's weed is the best thing you could do for him. And would you look at that- can anyone really call it breaking and entering if you haven't broken anything?

Both palms clasping the edge of the window, you vault yourself up and over. Exiting the summer night air and entering the Hargrove home comes faster than expected, but your shoes touch down nonetheless. You'd say it feels like a dream, but it's too fast to be a dream. The wooden floors are too solid, and the smell of Billy is too strong.

Billy Hargrove's bedroom isn't far from the window you climbed through. It's a few steps forward from your position down the hallway and then to the left. You expect to see the door closed, probably locked, which was why you'd brought two long and thin hairpins to pick it open, but the door is open. Every single light in the house is off, and Billy Hargrove's room is dark.

Silently- and bravely- you peak your head into the room. Again, you expect to maybe see him in a limp heap on the bed, but yet again, it's empty. Better for you, you suppose. Easier to get in and out unnoticed.

You see the Metallica poster by his bed, the laundry shoved into the corner of the room. You see the plain blue curtains with the little tiny hole burnt into the fabric, the unmade bed, the bottles of cologne and hair product and combs. You see the closet, hastily left open. Even with the lights off, you see it all. You see Billy Hargrove's life.

It moves something inside of you. You're not sure why. But then you only use it as an incentive to not be weird, to not be a creep anymore then you've made yourself into. Hastily, eyes already adjusting to the dark, you pull the two nuggets of Billy Hargrove's strong California weed- one light green and one dark- and quickly walk over to the boys bedside table. There's nowhere to leave it organically really, so you opt for just placing it by the little table lamp. Not sure what Billy Hargrove has that for, you can't imagine he's doing much reading before bed.

And then it's done. The weed you stole is returned. All is well.

You back away slowly, almost as if the nuggets were cursed objects in a horror movie. Then you turn around, practically flying back down the hallway and launching yourself back through the window with ease. Maybe it's the anxiety, or the adrenaline, but you're quick as a cat and silent as a mouse. Your shoes crunch the grass once more and you feel the warm nights breeze caress your face, protecting you from any danger. You turn around and slide the window back shut until you hear the hissing turns into a final click.

Your shoulders soften, and you turn away from the house. The crickets are loud tonight, you realize, and the cicadas. They tell you that you did the right thing. They tell you that you did it out of something good instead of fear. It's enough.

When you come back to the front of the house, you expect to see the same emptiness you'd seen before. The street, some trees, the darkness and the moon. But you're met with the opposite.

Billy Hargrove stares at you. He leans against his blue car parked on the street right outside 4819 Cherry Lane. Cigarette in hand, he raises it to his lips and takes a drag, but his eyes never-not once- stray from your own. They're just piercing into yours yet again, daring you.

You are so fucked.

Billy takes the cigarette from his lips and breathes the air out. He reaches a finger out to you and pulls it back towards him in a 'come here' motion.

All you want to do is run away before he beats your skull into the dirt and breaks your arm. But if you imagine he's leaning against your locker instead of his car in the dead of night, suddenly it's not so scary. You swallow, and begin towards him.

When you're finally there, right in front of him, Billy's the one to speak first. His voice is low, but his face isn't outright fuming. You can't tell if that's better or worse. Billy Hargrove plotting doesn't exactly sit right with you, but you're not sure how much experience he has in that realm anyway.

"You broke into my house?"

"No. I didn't break anything."

Billy holds your stare. His face is the stone man once again. "You're funny," he says, in a tone that makes you believe you're not really all that funny at all. The pretty brunette takes another hit. From this close up, you realize it's not a cigarette at all, but a blunt. A skinny one sure, but the smell and shape is more than familiar. "What are you doin' in my house, L/N?"

Nope, don't say a word, your brain says. You obey. "Just browsing."

"Browsing?" Billy deadpans.

"Browsing."

It's silent. His blue eyes flicker back and forth between your own, digging out the truth. He'll find it sooner or later, you know that for sure. "You know, I've had some crazy girls do some crazy things for my attention," Billy Hargrove starts. "But this might just be the craziest."

The word slips out before you can control it. "Gross."

Of course, it wasn't gross. Billy accusing you of wanting his attention? It was half true. Maybe you cared for him just a little. You mean, he'd been sort of welcoming to you, hadn't he? That day in the car? And yesterday, at your locker?

There's another minute of silence. Billy Hargrove's eyes are still dancing between yours, and you're still holding it. There's no anxious pit in your stomach. There's no desire to take a step away. If he swings, he swings.

Instead, he says, "Want a hit?"

Your brows furrow in confusion. "I- I mean, yeah?"

"Take it." Billy takes a short hit himself before practically cramming the joint in your hand. "It's 4/20."

You observe the jay carefully, twisting it around in your fingers as your eyes scan it. It's not laced or poisoned, at least, given that it looks like Billy's been puffing on the thing for a while. But there's no reason at all for him to share with you. He did, after all, just catch you in a blatantly illegal act on his property. Simply informing you that it's April 20th isn't enough.

"You really want to smoke with me that bad?" you ask, tone genuine as you hesitantly raise it to your own mouth.

Billy shrugs.

"Thought you'd be more pissed," you only say instead. Then you accept your fate, inhaling the still light cherry.

It's much easier on your throat than the other time, not as harsh. It fills your lungs with peace, sucking up any last remnants of anxiety that might've lingered. When you open your eyes, Billy Hargrove is just as pretty as he was before you closed them. With all that effort going into his appearance, you guess he'd have to be. But Billy Hargrove probably would've been pretty no matter what. If he kept his hair long or short, messy or tamed, skin tanned or pale. Oddly enough, you really believed that. You really, truly did.

You pass the joint back to Billy. "Where's your parents?"

Billy shrugs once more, this time mid hit. "Hell if I know," he replies. "Vacation, I think? Little brat's off at a friends house til Sunday. Place is all mine."

His tone is easing up already, which you think to take as a good sign. When you open your hand, Billy passes the joint back to you with no hesitation. "Lucky," you offer back, taking your hit.

"Gonna need to light it again soon," the boy says. "Got a light here."

Sure enough, Billy produces a little metal lighter from his back pocket. Different from the one he used before, but smoother on the flame. He raises it up to the blunt, and you eye him for a moment before leaning in.

This hit is better than the last few. You want to smile after this one. "How'd you even know I was here?"

Billy Hargrove crosses his arms and settles back into his lean. "Divine providence," he drawls with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't be fuckin' lame."

"I'm sorry?" Billy's dark eyebrow quips up attentively. "Who just broke into who's house?"

You smirk a little- just a smug little twitch that you find you can't help. Whether it be the bud or the conversation, you stifle it best you can to no avail. "I already told you I didn't break anything."

"Mm," Billy hums. His face is full of sarcastic disbelief as he snatches the jay right out of your hand so fast, it burns the tip of your finger.

"I promise. I'd never."

Billy takes his hit. Both of his eyebrows raise in thought before he makes a point to blow the smoke in the exact direction of your face. Immediately, your eyes flutter close at the impact, which rivals that of a brick wall. Even your nose twitches at the force. "You think I'm going to trust the word of a criminal?"

You look at Billy Hargrove. Curly taupe hair. Big, blue, dollface eyes framed by perfectly full brows. A cute button nose. Tanned skin basking in the summer anticipation. He wasn't so bad, you supposed.

You can't help but dip your head as you smile, shaking your head as you find yourself growing shy.

Unknown to you, Billy smiles a little too, before raising the joint back to his lips and inhaling.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I HAVEN'T POSTED IN YEARS LMFAOOOOO. Hope everyone's doing well. This is just a little treat for you guys for the holiday if you celebrate. If not, just enjoy Billy. I actually kinda liked this pairing. I'd make a part 2, and I actually mean that. I do intend on getting back into posting but I need to do it at my own pace. I'm gonna close requests again so I don't get overwhelmed and just move slow. I am, as always, apologetic for any spelling errors I may have missed, and grammar errors, and I apologize if this at all feels rushed even though I've been working on it for the whole week. Sorta felt like I had to speed it up at the end since there is a word or paragraph cap on tumblr and i was getting hella nervous about hitting it. Anyway, stay safe, take care.

[mars-ipan]

hell yeah for the driving progress :D i still need to learn to myself lmao

for some random questions...

how's the prsk going? i've been distracted from it the last few days.

do you speak any other languages? any you'd want to learn?

any hot takes on DR you don't see talked about?

THANK YOU!!! it’s scary but i’m better at it than i think i am and also i Love My Car (veronica aka ronnie my darling <3333) so. progress yay!!

to answer your questions:

pretty solid! i haven’t been playing as much but i do my dailies (i want that 30 consecutive days title and then the fc grind goes until i stop having fun) i got up to master rank songs a few days ago and omg they are SO hard i always have trouble quickly reading charts with a bunch of hold notes in ‘em and “do shit with the hold notes” is basically the main gimmick so i’m getting. TURNED AROUND !!!! but it’s fun also. AND THESE EVENTS ARE BEING NICE TO ME MY GACHA LUCK IS IMPROVING !!! I’M PULLING MORE 4 STARS :D thank god for that i was gonna go crazy. i can finally start leveling non-vbs characters (almost have my birthday akito maxxed out tho… just need to get his skill up one more time <3)

i’m not fluent in any languages other than english BUT !!! i took 3 years of spanish in school and bc i live in texas i maintain enough of what i need to know to have a (very broken) conversation. i tried to learn japanese for a bit which WAS really fun but i have a hatred for duolingo and when it got to kanji i very quickly realized that there was no way in hell duolingo would be able to teach me kanji. so i haven’t been back since. i would love to properly learn japanese some day tho. and there is one more language i really wanna learn! that being german ^_^ my dad was stationed in germany when he was in the army in the 90s and it left an imprint on him so i grew up with a fair bit of german culture stuff (mostly food (i could fuck UP a bowl of saurkraut don’t even need anything else. though mustard is nice. ouugh and wurst i love german wurst)). like in my household it’s normal to say danke/bitte in place of thanks/you’re welcome. and i loveee the way german sounds. i was actually gonna take a college course on it! but uh . that was the semester i had to withdraw from </3 maybe i’ll try again tho i’ve been wanting to see what minors my school offers.

oh god dr hot takes . hmmmm. let’s see if this one works: i think a lot of western fans (americans especially) are Not Very Good at recognizing the cultural context that dr exists in. it is very much a story that is Set In Japan and western fans…. do not always get that. i think it can be fun to go “what if i viewed these characters through an american lense” (there is a reason priest au is set in the midwest. i wanted to see what they’d be like in american culture) but a lot of the time people will like… criticize the writing of the game over just. cultural misconceptions. nothing in particular is coming to mind right now for examples (which . kinda relieved i do not wish to invite discourse) but it is something i’ve seen in the fandom and i wish there were less of it. this even goes for the poor writing choices btw— like yes we can absolutely criticize kodaka for some of the writing choices/jokes he makes, but japan in 2010/2012 (my issues with v3 bias me too much to have good commentary wrt this and also iirc kodaka was less involved with the writing here) was not exactly the most progressive place. (neither was america btw but ppl don’t always like to admit that). so like one writer isn’t gonna be capable of being perfectly sensitive of everything— i doubt he even knew much about some of the things ppl criticize dangan about. am i saying he Did Nothing Wrong and everyone is being mean? no. there is some nasty shit in these games. but we gotta like. acknowledge that this was a series that started in japan in 2010, and nobody knew it was gonna take off and get translated to english. like english speakers are NOT the target audience n i feel like a lot of people forget that. the stories get so much more interesting when you consider them from a japanese cultural perspective imo. this isn’t ace attorney we can’t japanifornia it. it is Important that they are japanese because one of the main things danganronpa is is a Criticism Of The Japanese School/Work System. like it is integral. anywho i’ve rambled about that enough i think

[unholyhelbig]

MORE RONNIE AND NAT FICS PLEASE🥺🥺🥺

Title: Chyornaya Redka [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: With Reader is away on a job and Ronnie comes down with a nasty cold, it's up to Natasha to come to the rescue.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): general sickness, gross sludge, mentions of kidnapping, blood and saliva, and horrible grammar

[a/n: This is shorter than I usually like to write, but it was a little harder for me to put together (I'm a wuss and I miss my mom, ok?) but you can't go wrong with a good sickfic!]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Natasha Romanoff hunched over her laptop, the blue light making her eyes water. When she started running the better part of the city, she hadn’t anticipated all of the paperwork that awaited her. There were zoning laws, and countless rolls of red tape. Each shipment from the harbor was accompanied by a ledger, always brittle from the canal air.

She sighed, hugging her robe closer. It was getting difficult for her to concentrate in her office, so she’d relocated to the living room. The television was on, the volume low and keeping her company. She ached impossibly for you, in these moments.

The irony did not escape her. She was the one who had sent you and Yelena across the country for a stuttered shipment of firearms. The two of you together looked unassuming enough to not turn heads in Florida. You’d taken a mini-van, and the last time she checked in, you were in Louisianna, staving off the heat in the hotel room.

Natasha leaned back into the softness of the couch cushions and contemplated calling it a night. She squeezed the bridge of her nose, letting out another sigh that nearly made her lungs twitch. She was drowsy, body heavy with the idea of sleep. But Natasha couldn’t bring herself to move just yet.

She startled awake with the click of the light switch in the kitchen. It was followed by the sound of water streaming from the fridge and into a cup. Natasha blinked a few times. She frowned and looked at the clock. It was nearly two in the morning.

Natasha wandered into the kitchen. She wasn’t shocked to see Ronnie, hungrily gulping down the icy water. Her curled hair fell in ringlets against her shoulders. She was the spitting image of you and it made her heart ache. A smaller, quieter version that had taken a liking to Natasha.

She finished her water with one last gulp and stood on her tip-toes to place the glass in the sink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Natasha didn’t like the look of her right now. She was paler than usual, a strange brittle stance.

Ronnie was small for her age, an eight-year-old that was shorter than her classmates. It was a point of contention and frustration for her. But you were always gentle with her, softly reminding her that she was beautiful.

Her bangs were stuck to her forehead with a cold sweat. Natasha had never seen the girl like this, not in the two years that she’d been ushered into the household. Dutifully, Natasha knelt until she was at the same level as Ronnie.

“Are you feeling okay, baby?” She rasped, pressing her hand gently against the girls head. She radiated heat, letting out the smallest of whimpers before slumping into Natasha’s touch. Up close, she was frailer, a whisp of a thing.

Oh. Oh God. This was bad.

Natasha felt a rush of panic. She’d never taken care of a sick child before, especially not by herself. Veronica had a stomach ache here and there, a pain in her ear after the three of you went on vacation and she’d gotten waterlogged. But nothing like this.

She contemplated calling Clint. He’d dealt with dozens of runny noses and vomit-filled waste baskets. But, she remembered the time just as quickly as she’d forgotten it. No, this was something she’d have to figure out on her own.

“I don’t feel good,”

Ronnie’s voice was small and gentle, but it was also the saddest thing that Natasha had ever heard. She swore that her heart broke right down the center at the sound, moving her hand to the girls shoulder. It was so frail under her touch.

“milaya devochka” Natasha tsked and scooped her up, placing her on the kitchen island. Ronnie whimpered “I have just the thing.”

Melina was a woman of science, she always had been, but there were a few Russian folk remedies that she adhered to. There was often Garlic broken around the house, and ginger tea that was shoved into her hands at the first sign of a scratchy throat.

Her least favorite, but most effective, revolved around a black radish. Melina would methodically cut the top from the spiced vegetable. She’d core it and filter honey into a cup. It was a rancid mix that would always leave her choking on the taste. The sweetness never outweighed the bitter. But it worked without fail.

By the following morning, Natasha was right as rain.

“chyornaya redka and honey. It won’t taste good, I’m afraid.”

A mason jar was kept in the furthest reaches of the fridge. Yelena would crinkle her nose and shove it to the side each time she caught a glimpse of the dull gray liquid. One spoonful was all it would take, but the overwhelming spice of that single gulp was startling enough.

Ronnie started to play with her fingers, nervously winding them as if they were knots that needed to be untangled. It was a nervous habit, one of her many ticks that Natasha had picked up on over the last two years. It was endearing, really.

She dunked a spoon into the frothy gray sludge. When she turned, she recognized the grimace and the way that Ronnie pressed her lips together. She was just short of crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

The girl turned her head to the side for extra show, not even letting Natasha get close with the mix. Her breath caught, but it sounded like gravel under a tire. Her chest needed some serious clearing, and Natasha was always willing to be the bad guy.

“Vee, it’s not that bad. Just one spoonful and your fever will break.”

She lifted an unimpressed eyebrow, “you first”

It clearly hurt her to talk. She swallowed twice and winced with each movement. Natasha Romanoff was not going to let a child bully her into taking a spoonful of radish surprise, so sir, she wasn’t. But that tear clouded eyes were boring into the mob boss, cutting, really.

Natasha shifted from one foot to another, frowning at the liquid that slowly started to congeal. It would just get worse the longer it sat. She glared down at the spoon and then back up the unbudging girl on the counter. She certainly was your daughter.

With a reluctant sigh, she clenched her eyes shut and placed the spoon in her mouth. Somehow, it was fouler than she remembered. Somehow spicy and sour all at once. The honey did little to buffer the flavor. Yet, she schooled her features into something unbothered for the sake of Veronica.

“Okay, kiddo, open wide.”

She was met with a skeptical stare, but a deal was a deal. It wasn’t something they took lightly in this house. Veronica had conned Kate out of more than one full-sized chocolate bar on the principal alone.

Natasha dutifully guided the spoon to Ronnie’s mouth, and she gave the kid credit. She swallowed it with tears building in her eyes and a frown that was unmatched, but she swallowed it none the less before producing a grumble and slumping forward into Natasha’s arms.

She was burning up, an immense force of heat that wasn’t prepared for. Still, Natasha acted on instinct and scooped her into her arms, letting the young girl curl effortlessly into the small of her neck, small fingers gripping onto the edge of Natasha’s robe.

“Okay, moy malen'kiy strelok, it’ll be okay”

Natasha wasn’t sure about that, a small bit of anxiety still creeping along the back of her neck. There were a million questions that she didn’t’ have the answer to. What if it was more than just a cold? It could be appendicitis, or the scarlet fever. You’d never forgive her if you came home to a child with consumption.

She’d made it to the top of the stairs by the time her thoughts calmed down. Ronnie was sniffing into her neck with pitiful cries that continued to sink Natasha’s resolve. Veronica’s room was illuminated by a night light, an oscillating fan creating a white noise.

Natasha lowered the drowsy girl back into bed before diligently tucking her in. “I know it’s warm, kiddo, but we have to break that fever of yours.”

“Blaze,” Ronnie swallowed again, voice already sounding clearer “please”

Blaze the Dragon. It was a little on the nose, a dark green stuffed animal that Natasha had picked up in an airport earlier in the year. It was meant as a small gift, an apology for being late, but Ronnie took to it easily. The little dragon went with her everywhere, the stuffing worn around the middle where it was clutched to her little chest.

Natasha pushed Ronnie’s damp bangs from her forehead. She was already cooling down, but her eyes drooped with exhaustion as she hugged the little dragon closer. Her other hand reached for Natasha, holding her wrist with as much conviction as she could muster.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, milaya devochka. I promise.”

And she wouldn’t. All sense of urgency to finish her paperwork had left Natasha. She settled herself on Ronnie’s twin sized bed, the small girl curling into her side. Her warmth was overwhelming, and she shivered as she clung onto her, breathing from a small parted mouth around a clogged nose.

Natasha traced soft line’s down Ronnie’s back and waited for her to fall asleep. Even in a deep slumber, she didn’t’ release her hold. Tears had soaked through Natasha’s shirt, wicking the fabric. There was an ache deep within Natasha’s chest that she could only recognize as undying affection.

Children were never in the cards for her. Not with the childhood she had. She never wanted for a single thing, but that came at a cost. Her family was constantly in danger. There were times where they’d rush from a public place, or duck down in a tinted vehicle.

Melina made encounters like these like a game, but the older Natasha got, the more the cold reality began to sunk in. Those were times of great danger, and she swore to never fall in love, to never put anyone else in an unassuming position.

But then, there was you.

She wanted to call it love at first sight, but that seemed much too dire. Your head was hanging, chin to chest, a steady stream of blood and saliva dripping from your lips and painting your jeans. Your eye was swollen shut, but she noted how your shoulders refused to tremble.

People didn’t tend to look Natasha Romanoff in the eyes, but you had. As best you could, you pulled against your binds and clenched your jaw and disregarded all of your pain just to level her with an unimpressed stare.

It should have caused anger, discontent. This was someone who had wronged her, after-all, but it did the opposite. She was intrigued by you, and you continued to surprise her with every single day. Two years living together, and a ring resting at the back of her side of the closet.

A grumble escaped Ronnie. She cuddled deeper into the perfumed comfort that Natasha had to offer. A string of words leaving her mouth. “Thank you, Mama”

Natasha’s heart seized. Mama.

Veronica was not a girl of many words. She said what she meant, and figured that silence served to convey the rest of her emotions. Little squeals of joy when Kate scooped her up and swung her around, or words of affirmation when Yelena would joking spar with her, were normal.

This was said in a state of grogginess, but meant all the same. It should scare her. But it doesn’t.

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