#So they got in the habit of cutting corners and not paying me
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rotzaprachim · 1 year ago
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Local neighborhood drama thing I feel conflicted about with this family I babysat for for a year or so who are the epitome of the white waspy (kinda) expats who think they’re more progressive than they are and were just…. Not good employers. And how bad I feel for their whole situation because it’s a mom saddled with two kids with no family in the area who as far as I can figure out only gets respite from when she can pay babysitters, and who has been struggling with her mental health a lot recently. But also I do not particularly enjoy spending time with their kids (I don’t know if it’s me being not great with kids but I space out like no other time) and I really really do not enjoy their ve tu large untrained dogs climbing on me, but like, damn is society and the patriarchy extremely fucked up for putting this situation on women
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osaemu · 1 year ago
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GOJO SATORU: KISS & MAKE UP
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✩ ‧ ˚. streamer!au: after the breakup, you two decide to make up in the traditional way—by having sex! NSFW
contents: fem!reader. oral (f. recieving), p –> v, teasing, praise, hair pulling (m. recieving), missionary, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, use of pet names (too many to list here). not proofread bc you couldn't pay me to read all this again. 2.5k words. read this fic beforehand for better understanding of the context, but you don't have to.
author's note: tumblr hates me and that's why the banner quality's trash. if u wanna see the details, click here. anyways the streamer!gojo smut has finally arrived, tagging @satorena @screampied @cultrise, enjoyyy ;)
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“did you tell them we’re back together?”
satoru nods in response to your question, plopping down on the couch next to you. he's spent the last hour chatting with his stream, and eventually he broke the news that you and him were back together after the breakup.
“yeah, i did,” he confirms, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. your hands automatically move to his hair and you thread your fingers through the soft white strands, pausing after a couple seconds to give him a quick kiss on the forehead.
a week ago, you and satoru had an admittedly messy breakup—not messy in the sense that it got toxic or dramatic, but messy in the way that it could’ve easily been avoided. it wasn’t that big of a deal, but thankfully, you and satoru resolved your misunderstanding within a relatively short time.
since then, things have been a little different—satoru’s been taking a break from streaming, which gave him move time to spend with you and away from his thousands of fans. it was his suggestion, and not surprisingly, it worked. but all good things have to come to an end, and your “honeymoon” away from satoru’s stream seems to be coming to a close.
“something smells good,” satoru notes, lifting his head and glancing at the kitchen. “wait, is that ramen?” your boyfriend gasps, eyes rounding as he looks at you hopefully. 
“yeah, you said you were craving it, so i made some,” you reply with a smile, untangling yourself from his arms and walking over to the kitchen. satoru blows you a flurry of kisses that you see out of the corner of your eye as you check on the ramen, which looks pretty much done.
“y’know, i still haven’t forgiven you for the shit you pulled last week,” you say dryly, turning off the stove and draining the water from the ramen into your sink. the steam rises up as the boiling water slips down into the drain, clouding your face for a moment before it dissipates into thin air. 
“...does that mean i don’t get to eat that ramen?” satoru asks tentatively, a nervous smile on his lips as you empty a packet of flavored powder into the ramen. you shoot him a look and raise an eyebrow, turning back to the stove to hide your smile.
“maybe, maybe not,” you reply coyly, not wanting to give in too soon.
“boo, you whore.”
you roll your eyes and divide the ramen into two bowls, one for you and one for your boyfriend. “you’re lucky i’m too nice to let you starve, regina,” you say pointedly, walking back over to the couch and handing one of the bowls to him, which satoru takes with both hands—a habit from his childhood that never went away. “otherwise you’d be—”
satoru cuts you off by poking your lips with his chopsticks, steaming hot ramen wrapped around them. you reluctantly open your mouth and let him feed you, smiling when he seals the bite with a kiss. 
“best girlfriend ever,” satoru proclaims when he pulls away, a lazy smile playing on his lips. his soft blue eyes study your own, observing your unusually guarded expression and frowning.
“how many times do i gotta apologize for my bullshit before you stop making that face at me?” he grumbles, twirling his chopsticks in his bowl and taking a bite of the ramen. it’s cute how satoru’s face lights up at the taste, and it’s even cuter how his eyes round at you in awe when he takes another bite. “i didn’t know instant ramen could be this good,” he muses, licking any lingering flavor off of his lips.
“very funny, satoru,” you laugh, swirling your chopsticks around the broth and watching the rest of the steam rise from your bowl. “and to answer your question, i don’t really know.”
satoru tilts his head and takes a sip of his water, ice clinking against the side of the glass. when you respond to his question, he pauses and tilts his head in confusion. “...wait, what does that mean?”
you think for a second, choosing your words carefully. “i’m not sure how long it’ll take until we’re back to… normal,” you say cautiously. in all honesty, you weren’t that pissed off at him—you never were. but the fact that satoru was so ready to throw your relationship away over something as small as that was upsetting, to say the least. and you weren’t entirely sure it wouldn’t happen again.
satoru looks at you thoughtfully, more serious than you’ve seen him in a while. you can almost see the gears turning in his head before he replies. “any idea how i can make it up to you?”
you shrug, swallowing another bite of ramen before you meet his eyes. “you tell me. actions speak louder than words.”
your boyfriend drops his chopsticks, letting them clatter around in the bowl before he stands up. he extends a hand to you, a determined glint in his eye. “then lemme prove it to you.”
“satoru, you can’t bribe me with sex.”
“that’s not all i’ll be doing, sweetheart. trust me.”
and that’s how you ended up in his room, hands tangled in satoru’s soft white hair as he eats you out. his tongue laps at your cunt with quick, kitten-like strokes, and he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. “feels s’good, satoru,” you breathe, involuntarily tugging on his hair and dragging out a groan from his lips. “sorry—”
“don’t apologize,” satoru mumbles in reply, nose brushing against your dripping thighs as his tongue slips past your folds and goes in deeper. he looks up and locks eyes with you, unable to resist smiling at the way your legs tremble around him. “aw, you’re so fuckin’ cute,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue in and out of your cunt with a grin. “and i’m the one who should be—fuck, you’re gorgeous—apologizing.”
this isn’t the first time satoru’s eaten you out, but it feels like it every single time—somehow, his tongue has a talent of rendering you unable to focus on anything else but him. you grind your hips against satoru’s face, eyes squinted shut as your boyfriend flattens his tongue before lapping your slick up with cloudy eyes. “shit, i don’t know what i’d be without you,” he murmurs, voice low and steady—and something about his tone makes you certain he’s being completely honest with you.
“you’re so—fuck, satoru, i’m gonna cum,” you breathe, back automatically arching when satoru’s tongue reaches that spot inside you. he laughs, and the vibration of the soft sound against your puffy, sensitive cunt almost makes your legs give out—but thankfully, satoru’s hands are secured around your thighs, holding you in place. “‘toru, i can’t—”
“yeah, y’can, just relax that pretty pussy for me,” he cooes, licking up the slick dripping down his chin. “c’mon, you’re doing so good f’me, keep going, baby.” and just like that, his tongue slips out of your cunt and he lets you cum—the sheer force of your orgasm hits you like a truck, and your hips roll against satoru’s face in a choppy rhythm as you desperately ride it out, hands gripping and accidentally yanking his hair.
you stutter out his name a couple more times, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of satoru’s mouth on your sensitive, gushing pussy. your boyfriend praises you the whole way, gently murmuring soft words about how sweet you are for letting him taste you, even while your relationship was rocky. when your voice steadies enough for satoru to make out what you’re begging him to do, he’s not at all surprised to hear you plea for him to fuck you—so stands up and tugs you down onto his bed, hand intertwined with yours as he pulls the sheets over your bodies. 
you squeeze satoru’s hand and lean in to kiss him, chest still heaving from your earlier orgasm. naturally, you miss his lips and end up kissing the side of his face, which is flushed bright red from the way his body reacts to the taste of your pussy. “don’t ever leave me like that again,” you whisper, tears pricking at your eyes for some reason—maybe it’s the lovesick way satoru looks at you, or maybe it’s the way he’s holding onto you like there’s no place he’d rather be.
“i won’t,” satoru promises, pressing an affectionate kiss to your forehead and pulling your head into his chest. his lips touch the top of your head as he murmurs, “and if i do, shoot me.” it sounds like a joke, but you both know that he’s dead serious.
“good thing i won’t have to do that,” you say with a soft giggle. your smile is heart-achingly familiar to satoru, and it feels like home—and that’s the realization that has him stripping off what little clothing the two of you still have on before he climbs on top of you. 
satoru touches the tip of his dick to your pussy, waiting for your nod to allow him to go in all the way. after a second, you dip your chin and trail your fingers down satoru’s jaw, grabbing his chin and pulling him down into another kiss. his lips linger for a couple seconds, still-minty breath tickling your face, before he pulls away. satoru slowly lowers his hips and nudges his dick inside of your desperate cunt, hands resting on either side of you.
even though it’s only been a little over a week since you last had sex with satoru, it feels like it’s been forever—your boyfriend curses when he feels how tight you are, mumbling something about missing you “so fucking much” as he goes in deeper and deeper. it hurts a little at first, but you quickly get used to the feeling of him inside of you. 
“fuckin’ hell, i’m never gonna get tired of this,” satoru breathes, dipping his head and kissing your collarbone. a single drop of sweat drips down the side of his face as he watches you squirm, eyes soft and endearing as you do so. he starts rolling his hips back and forth against you to loosen you up a little, dragging out soft moans from you as he does so. 
“yeah, you better not,” you mutter, tilting your head back and drawing in a long breath of air. you can’t remember the last time you felt this good—maybe it was the last time satoru fucked you. “satoru, y’re going so slow—”
your boyfriend cuts you off with a particularly harsh thrust, making your body jolt against his mattress. satoru lifts his head and looks you in the eye, a breathy laugh slipping out of him when he sees the pout on your lips. “the fuck you mean, i’m going slow? you want me to tear you apart? silly girl,” he tuts, back to his usual cocky self. he shakes his head and goes deep enough in you to force you to arch your back, starting to grin at the way you paw at his chest. “always so selfish, aren’t you?” he cooes, dipping his head and giving you a sloppy kiss on the forehead. “but you’re always—so—fuckin’—sweet,” satoru whispers, punctuating each word with a thrust hard enough for you to moan out his name more times than you can count.
“you’re the selfish one,” you mumble, lips trembling enough to muffle your voice. satoru huffs out a sigh and kisses your mouth, teeth gently brushing against your bottom lip. “you broke up with me for no reason,” you continue, tears pricking at your eyes again. “you think i’m gonna forgive you this fast?” 
satoru shakes his head again and caresses the side of your face. “will you?” he asks, slowing his pace enough for you to notice. you mutter something about him edging you on purpose, to which satoru shushes you and repeats his question.
“maybe.”
“you gotta stop giving me maybe’s, baby—y’re drivin’ me crazy here.”
in the past week, satoru’s done so much for you, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. on the day after your breakup, he picked you up from your house and took you for a picnic entirely curated by him. on the second day, he made you breakfast, lunch and dinner—it wasn’t the best food you ever had, but it was definitely the most memorable (in more ways than one). on the third day, he took you out to your favorite amusement park and did everything he could to make you smile—by then, you had pretty much forgiven him, and the giant teddy bear he dropped in your bedroom only made you love him more. the rest of the days were filled with longing glances and little gifts left around your house, which only helped him earn more and more of you back.
so, you figure that satoru deserves what comes next.
“okay,” you whisper. 
satoru’s eyes widen and he hesitates before he tentatively asks, “does this mean—”
you don’t let him finish his question, instead grabbing his face and tugging him down into a full kiss. he lets out a soft hm? in surprise, but kisses you back more than gratefully. “c’mon, make me cum,” you breathe when he finally pulls away. satoru nods dazedly and mouths “i love you” before he goes back in you, pace faster than before.
one of his hands snakes down to your waist, holding it in pace while the other caresses your face. you gaze up at him with a soft smile, eyes fluttering open and closed every time his dick hits your sweet spot—which is more times than your body can handle, but you welcome the feeling of him deep inside of you. after barely a couple thrusts, a coil forms in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter with each movement of satoru’s hips. 
satoru laughs, chest heaving as he grins down at you cheekily. “i knew you’d forgive me,” he murmurs, pinching your cheek affectionately. “m’ so sorry—”
“shut up and fuck me,” you interrupt, tongue starting to loll out of your mouth as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming all over satoru’s dick. 
“as you wish, princess.”
satoru’s breathing slowly changes, becoming more choppy and uneven the closer you watch him get to his high—it’s so, so close for both of you, and when it comes, it takes over both of your minds like a drug. satoru curses and groans out your name, thrusts growing sloppy as he desperately rides out his orgasm. cum shoots out from his dick and coats the inside of your cunt white, dripping out once you physically can’t take any more.
you run your hands all over satoru’s body, clawing and gripping at every inch of skin you can latch onto—satoru’s always been your anchor, and you hope that he always will be. one of his hands leaves the side of your face and tangles with your fingers, holding it down against the mattress as he promises to never screw you over like that again, and you’re only too welcoming to him and his words as you squirt all over his dick. “fuck, satoru—”
he lifts his eyes and meets your own, and unlike you, his vision is clearer than ever. “shoot me if i ever leave you again, baby. i’m serious.”
you raise a shaky hand and touch the side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you murmur, “i know i won’t have to.”
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all-purpose-dish-soap · 5 months ago
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49 / 1.5k / TF141's free use medic + lil riff on @majinbangus's words about Ghost trying to teach Soap how to take care of his toys.
...
"Is the collar really necessary?"
Ghost smirks, pulling the leash taut. "Are you really in any position to question us, love?"
You're forced to lean into him. A haughty scowl flashes across your face, but you smooth it back into cold, professional disdain. "No."
"That’s right. You’re not." His voice is a low, gruff rasp as he uses the leash to yank you closer against his solid body. "You’re not in any position to do anything except what you’re told, yeah? You got a problem with that?"
"No. Not one."
"Good." He smirks, his eyes running over you appraisingly. "Now, get on your knees."
You do as he says.
Gaz and Soap observe you and Ghost, stances relaxed and eyes sharp as knives.
"Look at that," Soap murmurs to Gaz. "She's already trained."
⬇ nsfw, dom/sub dynamics, free use, objectification, toxic polyamory
You cut a sideways glare at Soap out of the corner of your eye, but Ghost's fingers are still hooked into your o-ring. He forces you to look back up at him.
"Eyes on me," he growls. "You don't look at my boys without my permission, understood?" His cold voice is as soft as a knife sliding between your ribs, and he gives the steel o-ring a sharp, warning tug. "Or are you gonna be a handful this time?"
You stare up at him. You're aching, mind exhausted, body wired with too much energy. Restless. "Haven't decided," you tell him, voice low.
He likes it when you’re bratty. "Careful, love. You know the consequences for disobedience." You feel his hand thread into your hair, tugging it just a bit, forcing you to arch back against his grip. "If you’re gonna get smart with me, I'll gag that pretty mouth."
You shift, pulse speeding up. "Promise?"
Ghost's eyes darken. "Open."
You open your mouth just in time for him to grip your hair and slide his cock down your throat.
He keeps a tight hold, controlling you as you take him in. "That's right. Just like I trained you."
Soap can’t help but let out a soft groan of approval. His jaw is already tight from watching Ghost dominate you. You’re a pretty sight on your knees, even with your eyes turned away from him, even with the stab of jealousy in his gut. But you look so good like this Soap would watch you gag on anyone. Ghost isn't the worst option, anyway. Not when Soap knows you're still gonna be thinking about him.
But then Ghost starts rocking against your mouth, and Soap makes a soft, ragged sound, the sound of a man struggling to keep himself in check. "I want a go," he tells Ghost.
"No. Sit down."
Soap sulks, but obeys. With a grunt, he drops back onto the bed to watch. His pants are tight--he grips a fistful of fabric on each thigh in an attempt to keep himself occupied--but he won’t touch you until Ghost gives him permission.
His blue eyes smolder. He wants you. But Ghost is possessive about you, and Soap knows he has to follow his lead. He knows better than to go against a direct order.
Gaz smirks. He, too, knows better than to stir up conflict. He also knows better than to tease Soap right now.
"Gaz," Ghost says.
Gaz snaps to attention. "Sir."
"Bring the leather cuffs."
"Rog'."
Ghost's eyes never leave you as Gaz retrieves the leather cuffs from a duffel. They're soft with wear, but strong enough to withstand whatever bratting you intend to do. Strong enough to withstand the punishment, too.
"On her," Ghost orders Gaz, nodding toward your hands.
They're resting on Ghost's thighs as you continue working him in and out of your throat. You're hardly paying attention to their conversation until Gaz pulls your arms behind your back instead. You pull your arms away, gripping the back of Ghost's knee with one and slotting the other between your legs. You're not in the habit of making yourself easy to work with.
"What did I say, love?" Ghost's words are a low, warning growl. "Keep testing my patience. Give me a reason." He punctuates his words with a sharp, firm tug on your hair. "You want me to show you what happens when you misbehave?"
Gaz smirks, watching you lean away from him and into Ghost. He runs his fingertips down your arm, letting his hand travel between your legs to join yours. He grips it hard, pushing your greedy fingertips against your bare folds.
"Easy, doc," he mutters. "Nice 'n easy, yeah?"
You choke out a groan around Ghost, vision blurring at the rough handling. Your hips twitch forward. You need more.
And you feel Johnny's eyes on you, burning to be where Gaz is. So close to you.
Soap's body is taut, stretched far too tight, gripping his pant legs the way he's dying to get a grip on you. He can’t look away.
"Gaz," Ghost says, his eyes on Soap. "Don't be too rough. We don't want to break our toy again."
"Yeah, I remember," Gaz says with a smirk. He watches you grind against his fingers intertwined with yours, working on Ghost all the while. "Still. She looks like she can take a little bit of roughing up."
"Fuck off," Soap mutters.
"Careful, MacTavish," Gaz replies, cool as ever. "Jealousy’s not a good look on you."
"I get my turn," Soap snaps. "We've been over this."
"You get your turn with the medic when you learn to treat her nicer. Gaz," Ghost grunts, "that’s enough. Give her a second to breathe, and then get her wrists in those cuffs."
Ghost hooks his fingers through your collar again and pulls you away. You slide off him with a frustrated groan, fighting his grip. "Simon--"
"Greedy slut." He runs his palm down your cheek, possessive. He can feel how wound up you are right now, how much you want to play. He knows you need to be owned. "Pushing your limits won't get you rougher treatment. Not tonight. We're doing things how I want. You understand?" He gives your leash a sharp tug. "You're my medic. You do what I say."
You suppress an angry sigh, gulping in air instead as he strokes your face. The gesture is sweet, almost tender, and you don't want that. You want pain. You want tears. You want to be hollowed out and forget who you are.
"Fuck you." You let your head loll to the side and look over at the bed, leveling your heated gaze at Soap. "I want Johnny to touch me."
Soap's gaze glows with heat when you lock eyes with him. He hears you say his name, sees those pretty lips wrap around the syllables. The desire in his eyes is enough to make you shiver.
"Eyes on me." Ghost grips your face, forcing your traitorous eyes back to him. "You’re not getting him. He's not as gentle with you as I am. You know what happened last time."
"I like how he hurts me," you mutter. Shame prickles down your throat.
"Don't say that." A possessive edge sharpens his tone. He's not going to let Soap have you. "You want me to give you more. You don't want to be hurt. Soap is too rough."
You stare up into Ghost's face, naked as you are except for the collar and the cuffs as Gaz finishes securing them. But your gaze is cold and serious. You've never lied to Ghost before. Why would you start now?
He holds your gaze. You pretend at rebellion, but it's a ploy. You're already wet and malleable; you're still aching to wrap your lips around his cock again.
Still. He doesn't like when you get stubborn like this. Doesn't like being wrong. Doesn't like the thought of not satisfying you as much as Soap does. You should know he can give you the pain you need. He knows your limits; Soap doesn't. He can't give you to him. Not when Soap has demonstrated how little he's willing to control himself with you.
"That so?" Ghost's voice is a low snarl. "I’m sure Johnny wants that too." He glances back over at Soap, who's starting to look uneasy. "Looks like he's already trying to imagine it. Should we give him a better view, love?"
"Si--!"
Before his name can leave your mouth, Ghost is wrenching you up and forward, bending you over the dingy hotel room's countertop. He pulls the leash taut and winds the end several times around your leather wrist cuffs to force your back to arch.
Gaz smirks to himself, watching you arch against Ghost's grip. He sits on the bed, eyes on you as you struggle against his Lieutenant.
Soap has to lean forward from his position on the bed, jaw tight, eyes glittering as he drinks in the sight. Ghost grabs your ass and spreads you apart to make sure Soap can see.
"You think he's entitled to your body," Ghost growls, lining his cock up with your weeping slit and prodding his thumb cruelly hard against your asshole. "Fine. I'll show you both what happens to broken toys."
...
more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / more free use medic / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag
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takumiraine · 2 months ago
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Once Upon A Time chapter 4
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Danny should avoid him, because of his father. Danny should just brush him off and let him drown. Danny should keep his distance from anyone and everyone, but especially him.
Danny was never the best at doing what he should do, and worse, he was hungry.
—-
The cafe on campus was quaint, filled with light chatter and Jason was hating every second of it. Danny showed up just as he said he would, which meant he met Jason there, the man having already taken a back corner table for them. Danny walked up and set his books down. Jason had to wonder, did the kid not have a backpack?
“Any idea what you want?” Jason asked instead, standing. Danny looked over to the menu, eyes skimming it over.
“Uh… burger and fries okay?” Danny seemed uncomfortable. Jason would feel bad if it didn’t put him at the tactical advantage.
Jason nodded at his request. “The works?”
“Please.” Danny bit his lip and Jason waited, while he worked up the nerve for something, “and a coffee? Black?” Was that it? Jason almost rolled his eyes.
“Sure thing.” Jason went off to place the order and leave a hefty tip, because one, he wanted someone to bring it out and two he wasn’t that kind of asshole. He came back and sat on the chair he had been occupying, back to the corner, and resisted the urge to spread out.
Jason the Red Hood man-spreaded, Jason Todd-Wayne did not.
So he sat. And he rested his forearms on the table. “You do not need to look so nervous Danny.” Jason tried for the patented Wayne smile, certain he was coming up short.
“Huh…?” Danny turned to look at him, “oh, sorry. Long day.” The young man raked his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Jason knew it was a lie, but it seemed a familiar one. Danny tried to position himself so he could have the most visibility while drawing the least attention to himself. The position of a man hunted or used to being ambushed.
Danny refocused his attention after a moment, and looked at Jason, tilting his head slightly. “I hope it wasn’t a drain on your day to wait for me.” Jason waved his hand in response, the perfect practiced rich-bitch wave he hated.
“Nah, my friend works in the library on days when she doesn’t have class. I bothered her.” Danny seemed to relax a bit at the words.
“Oh good. I know I’m like… doing this for you, but…”
Jason cut him off there, turning the train of thought. “Speaking of, have you thought about what you want to be paid?”
“Oh… uh… not really. Most campus jobs make minimum wage right? Is that cool?” Jason wanted to throw Tim at this guy to teach him business sense in negotiation. If he really was 19, what had happened his whole life to make him feel like he needed to be invisible, while also walking away with a literal knife to the stomach and show up to class the next day?
“Most campus jobs do make minimum wage,” Jason agreed, “but nobody in my family is in the habit of paying just that. Just because I think my father is…. Well, words not fit for the polite company he insists I keep, doesn’t mean I’m going to stiff someone out of a well earned wage just to spite him. Twenty an hour is the lowest I’ll go.” He grinned now, all teeth, and something in him got a sick little thrill at watching Danny go even paler at the amount of money.
“Are you sure?” Danny asked, as their food and drinks were brought to them on a brown plastic tray.
“Say yes Dan. It’s a good deal.” Jason offered his hand to shake over the food.
Danny looked like he was offering his soul to the devil as Jason heard the man’s stomach rumble. “Okay. Yes.” Danny took his hand, and while the hand was ice cold, Danny shook with a surprisingly firm grip. Maybe the kid had a spine after all.
“Good. Now dig in,” Jason said after they parted. He picked up a fry off of his own plate and bit it, watching Danny with a sort of idle curiosity, as the boy - no, young man, went about his food with a carefully controlled gusto. Jason couldn’t help but wonder when the last time Danny ate was. He made a mental note to have Oracle check where he lived so he could do some recon later.
By the time dinner was finished, Danny seemed much more alive. His skin seemed to have better color, his eyes seemed more bright, and his energy was up. The kid was definitely going hungry if those changes were so immediate. Since Danny was scrawny, he assumed it wasn’t a new problem.
“So what makes math so difficult for you?” He asked, wiping his mouth and tilting his head. The question was blunt, but there was no open malice behind those bright blue eyes. The same kind of blue as his own when he wasn’t pit mad.
Jason shrugged. “Not really sure. It’s always been my weakest subject.” Not a lie. “Beyond money, my brain doesn’t seem to care.” Half a lie, but plays into the rags to rich bitch stereotype.
“I get that. I told you about me and literature right? For me it seems like there’s poetry in the way the math just… works.” Danny paused then, skin flushing red. “Sorry, that was…. Really stupid.”
In another life, Jason would have really liked this kid he thinks.
“No, not at all. Whoever told you your insights weren’t good obviously never stopped to listen to you.” Was he flirting? Should he be flirting? He flirted to maintain a cover or gain intel all the time. That’s all this was.
He almost missed the way Danny’s skin flushed deeper, from his ears down his neck. Almost.
“Well…. You’re in the minority then.” It came out a little bitter. He watched Danny take a breath and “Anyways.” Danny waved a hand, banishing the thought and something serious took over his expression instead. “I’m not going to take it easy on you just because you’re paying me. I expect you to put in the work too.”
Jason was right, the guy did have a spine. “Sure thing.” He waved his hand and stood, grabbing his bag and the tray. Danny stood and grabbed his books too. “Library?”
“Library.” Danny agreed.
Over the next week Jason was “surprised” to find out that they had three classes together. Math, Lit and Comp and History. All three remedial, and really the only one that Danny seemed borderline to deserve was the Introduction to Literature and Composition course. What he was genuinely surprised to find was that he enjoyed spending the combined nine hours of classes a week with the kid. Although in ‘basic mathematic principles’ Danny was quiet and allowed Jason to focus so they could work on their tutoring more effectively, in their history and English classes Danny was witty and sarcastic. A second thing he had noticed was that now that the tutoring sessions were happening, an hour, sometimes more, after every class, to make sure he ‘got it’, Danny was almost always eating.
Jason had learned that Danny’s ‘big life goal’ was a roof over his head, where his friends and family could visit or stay as they liked and room to tinker. A job that let him help people.
It was that information that made Jason fully convinced that even though he hated the Justice League with a viciousness that most rogues would balk at, for reasons he had yet to disclose, Danny was not really likely to become a rogue unless something big happened.
He should stop the college charade now. It was no longer needed for recon, and the other birds were starting to get suspicious. Bruce was looking at him differently too now. Something like how he used to.
A pen tapped on his notebook and Jason brought his attention back. Danny didn’t say anything, or even look at him, he was too busy sketching what looked like a circuit board in a secondary notebook. Jason quickly wrote down the notes before the slide changed, not looking forward to a disappointed look from his tutor.
Surprisingly, he ran into Danny as Red Hood once more that week. He was doing surveillance on a rooftop, when a sound caught his attention from the fire escape. Jason dipped back into the shadows and around the concrete and brick entrance from inside the building as a familiar mass of unruly black hair appeared and Danny hauled himself up with a surprising amount of finesse for someone who didn’t look muscular in the slightest.
“Damn it. Where’d you go guy? I thought I saw you land here.” Danny grumbled to himself, hands on his hips as he looked around “stupid not a bat disappearing just like the real ones…” While Jason was certain that he wasn’t meant to hear that, he finished his route and appeared almost behind Danny.
“What do you need?” He asked, thankful for the voice modulator as he knew Danny would have recognized his voice by now even if muffled by a helmet.
As it was, Danny startled with a yelp, swinging around and aiming a punch right for his solar plexus. Jason caught his wrist with practiced ease. “Fuck! Don’t scare a guy like that!” Danny yanked his arm back in a way that was meant to break unpracticed holds. Clever.
Jason waited while the kid caught his breath. “Well?”
“What? Oh. Uh. The guy. That…” Danny mimed the stabbing. “Is he okay?”
“Checked himself into the hospital about two hours later. He’s fine.” Oracle’s voice sounded in his ear. He nodded.
“Good, good…” Danny pushed his hair out of his eyes again, looking up at Jason through his helmet. Jason was hit with the disconcerting thought that somehow Danny was seeing through the bullet resistant one way visor. “Um… do you need the knife back? Or…. Should I….keep….it….? Or dump it? What’s…. I don’t know the protocol here, but I think ‘hey officer I was stabbed with this knife and the not-a-bat down in Crime Alley beat him up and then I accidentally stole it’ is a bad one.”
Jason snorted at the rambling, while Oracle laughed in his ear. “Even static filled he seems hilarious. I know why you like him.” He was going to kill Babs next time he saw her. “Knowing what he looks like doesn’t hurt either.”
“I can take it for you.” Jason said instead.
“Great! Wait here.” Danny turned and hopped back over the edge of the fire escape with the ease of someone who had years of training or practice.
“Is he like this all the time?” Babs asked, and Jason shrugged.
“Off and on.” Jason answered, sliding back down the fire escape completely silently as opposed to the obnoxious clatter Danny had made. He had seen and heard Danny move silently, like in the library, even on those creaky metal ladders for the top of the stacks, but he just assumed this was some sort of half assed survival mechanism.
Danny appeared again a few minutes later, with the knife wrapped in a towel in a bag. “I didn’t know how you wanted it so…” like Danny was bringing him coffee or ordering a pizza. Jason opened the bag and took the knife out, examining it.
“Good job kid. Now go home. It’s late.” It was barely ten. But he knew the Alley got more dangerous the later it got.
“Yeah. Okay.” Danny turned.
“Red Hood.”
Danny turned back. “What?”
“My name. Not-a-Bat isn’t as effective at striking fear into the enemy.”
Danny scoffed some. “I don’t need to use you as a shield.”
Jason held up the knife. Danny crossed his arms. “that was under control.”
“Right.”
“It was.”
Jason shook his head and pulled out his grapnel, firing it into the distance. As he swung off he had more questions about Danny than he was sure he would ever have answers.
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dixons-sunshine · 9 months ago
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hii, i just saw a post with a few daryl headcanons, and one of them were about how attentive he would be his partner in general (like her mannerisms or habits), and i think he would really pay attention to some really specific things about her and everyone including reader would be like ¿¿¿¿¿, 😂so i was just thinking if maybe you could write something about that? i love your writtings!!
Observe | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader
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Summary: Daryl Dixon is an extremely observant guy. He notices things that people normally wouldn't pick up on. That didn't change when the two of you got together. In fact, it increased by a tenfold.
Or, four different scenarios where the archer shows he knows more about you than you think.
Genre: Fluff, smut.
Era: Prison, season 4; Alexandria, pre Saviour arc.
Warnings: Swearing, oral (f receiving), mentions of unprotected p in v.
Word count: 1.8k.
A/n: I'm so close to being done with a young!Daryl fic, but my mind is struggling to work towards the ending, so I wrote this instead. By the way, I suck at writing smut, so I'm so sorry if it's bad. However, I hope you like this!
➳༻❀✿❀༺➳
“Zach, please, I beg of you, just shut up,” you laughed, settling back against the passenger seat of the car with your legs propped up on the dashboard.
The eighteen year old laughed at you, propping his head up against your seat. “Come on, one more.”
“Zach, don't,” you warned him, sending him a mocking glare.
Daryl watched the interaction in amusement. The run the three of you had gone on went relatively smoothly, and the teenager had taken it upon himself to celebrate the victory by reading jokes from a book he had found, albeit they were rather terrible. However, even he had to admit that the horribleness of the jokes made them rather funny, and Zach used that to his advantage.
“What did one toilet say to the other?” Zach asked, laughing at the joke from his book.
“Zach—” you started warningly, but Zach cut you off.
“You appear to be a bit flushed!” Zach finished, laughing loudly at the lame joke.
You let out an audible groan, rolling your eyes at him. However, Daryl could instantly tell that you did find the joke rather funny. The subtle changes in your facial expression gave it all away.
“That was terrible,” you told him with a shake of your head, folding your arms over your chest.
“You thought it was funny, though,” Zach pointed out, flipping to the next page in the book.
“Do you see me laughing?”
“Nah, but tha' ain't necessary,” Daryl piped in, talking for the first time since Zach had started his onslaught of terrible jokes. “Ya did find it funny. Yer nose slightly scrunches when ya think somethin' is amusin'. And yer eyes crinkle at the corners, too. Plus ya mouth slightly twitches up into a smile before disappearin'.”
The car got immensely silent after that. The only sound that could be heard was the rumble of the engine as the car descended back towards the prison. You were staring at Daryl in surprise, but he could see the way your mouth slightly twitched up into a small smile. It made Daryl's face heat up, and he ducked his head.
“Well,” Zach started, clearing his throat and shutting the book again. “Aren't you just an observant lover, Daryl?”
“Shut up, kid,” Daryl mumbled, his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel.
“No, it's cute! Who would've thought that a guy like you would pick up on something like that? You know, Beth—”
As Zach yammered on, Daryl's eyes drifted back to you. You were holding your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them, but your head was turned towards him. You were staring at him with a lovesick smile, and he felt his heart start pounding against his ribcage. He wished that he could just reach out and hold one of your hands in his own. However, he wasn't big on public displays of affection, and Zach would tease him relentlessly if he did so in the teenager's presence, so he opted instead to send you a small smile.
Luckily, later that night when you were both on watch duty, he could hold you in his arms to his heart's content.
➳༻❀✿❀༺➳
“I'm telling you, that Spencer guy is such a fucking jerk,” you started, walking into your Alexandrian home with Daryl, Michonne and Rick hot om your tail.
Rick nodded in agreement. “Yeah. He is a real asshole. I don't know how the people here put up with him.”
Michonne practically flopped herself down on the couch, kicking off her boots that came clad with the constable uniform. “He's Deanna's son. He's practically royalty here. That means he's untouchable.”
Rick was eyeing the loveseat couch, ready to fall down and just relax, but Daryl's hand gripping his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. Rick sent the archer a confused look, but Daryl wasn't even watching the former sherrif—he was watching you. Rick followed his gaze and saw you sit on the couch, bringing your legs up to rest on the plush seat. You leaned your back against the back of the couch as you listened to Michonne talk about her day, adding your own comments every now and again.
“She's been doin' tha' everyday since we got here,” Daryl offered a quiet explanation when Rick sent him another look. “She rarely sits on any couch 'sides tha' one. Tha's her favourite spot.”
“Did she tell you that?” Rick asked, glancing in your direction.
“Nah,” Daryl replied, shaking his head. “I can see it on her face every time she has to sit on any other couch. She prefers the loveseat.”
Rick sent the archer a teasing smile, lightly patting him on the shoulder. “I didn't even notice that. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you did, though. When you're not hunting or going on runs, you're watching her. It's really cute.”
Daryl scoffed and shrugged the man's hand from his shoulder. “I dun' always watch her. S'jus' somethin' I picked up on. Ain't gotta read into it or anythin'.”
“You don't need to be ashamed of admitting you know little things about the person you love, Daryl,” Rick assured him, giving him another light pat on the back. “Knowing things like that just shows that you care.”
Daryl looked back over at you again, your melodic laughter filling the air when Michonne said something funny. Daryl could feel his heart swell with love, and he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.
Rick chuckled and nudged Daryl. “C'mon, you lovestruck fool. Let's relax.”
➳༻❀✿❀༺➳
Daryl walked back into the community, a slight skip in his step, something extremely uncommon for the otherwise serious archer. He had a string of rabbits over his shoulder, and he couldn't wait to skin them and make some stew with them for you. From all of the animals he's ever brought back from his hunts, he had noticed that you seemed to have a huge liking for rabbit. Today he had managed to find a few rabbits, and he intended to surprise you.
When he got to the porch of the house, he sat down in his usual spot and began the skinning process. His hands made quick work of skinning his kills, and in no time at all, he was done. When he was sure that he had cleaned up the blood to ensure that Carol didn't bite his head off again for messing up the porch, he made his way inside and into the kitchen.
However, Daryl stopped in his tracks when he saw you already in the kitchen.
Perking up when you saw your partner, you sent him a smile. “Hey, Dar! You're back.”
Daryl nodded. “Yeah, uh... Wasn't much to find out there 'cept, uh, rabbit.”
Daryl's lips twitched up into a small smile when he saw how you visibly perked up at the mere mention of something you enjoyed. He admired the way a smile lit up your face, your eyes crinkling slightly.
“Rabbit?”
“Yeah,” Daryl confirmed, holding up the skinned animal. “Wanted to surprise ya with some rabbit stew. S'why I came home earlier. But yer already home and stuff, so tha' kinda fell through the rug.”
You stepped forward and embraced the man in a hug, and Daryl returned it after a few moments, careful to keep the meat away from you. He felt the way you nuzzled your face against his chest, and he smiled.
“It doesn't matter. Thank you anyways,” you told him, withdrawing from the hug. “How about you bring that and we'll make some rabbit stew together?”
Daryl nodded. “Alrigh'. Sounds like a good plan to me.”
➳༻❀✿❀༺➳
“Daryl, oh my god!” Your moans filled the room, your back arching off the bed as you tightly gripped onto Daryl's hair.
Daryl hummed against your core as his tongue licked another stripe from your clit down to your entrance, matching the pace of his fingers that were thrusting into you. His mouth latched onto your clit and started sucking, successfully coaxing moans from you that were downright sinful. Your grip on his hair tightened as you practically shoved his head deeper against you.
After a few moments, your grip on his hair loosened. You instead opted to grip onto the sheets beneath you, your hands clenching into fists before unclenching again, the only sounds from you being garbled words that Daryl couldn't understand and high-pitched moans. Daryl smirked against your pussy, and started speeding up the pace.
Daryl knew those signs meant that you were close to unraveling. Whether he was eating you out like a starved man or he was stuffed deep inside of you, it didn't matter. You always did that when the coil in your stomach was close to snapping. It's something that didn't even register in your mind, the haze of pleasure evaporating any and all thoughts from your head.
Not too long after, you finally came undone. Daryl didn't ease up, licking up every drop that came gushing from your core. When he was done, he lifted his head, and you could see the way your slick was dripping from his face. You couldn't see the blues of his eyes anymore, his pupils blown wide with lust.
Daryl clambered upwards and caught your lips in a passionate kiss. You moaned at the taste of you in his mouth and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your nails lightly digging into his skin. Daryl smirked against your lips, before pulling away and gazing into your eyes.
“Think ya can handle another one, sunshine?”
You didn't give him a verbal response, but Daryl didn't need one. The way you licked your lips and tightened your hold against him was enough. He leaned down for another quick kiss before quickly making work of removing his pants, not missing the way your eyes followed his hands as they freed his cock from his jeans. He also didn't miss the way you swallowed deeply.
“Dun' worry, peach,” Daryl voiced, finally removing his jeans and rejoining you on the bed again. “I know what ya need. I can see it.”
Yeah, it was safe to say that Daryl Dixon was the most observant guy ever.
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angelfic · 1 year ago
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Heyyy
I don't know if your still doing this but if you are, I would LOVE a Mattheo Riddle, mutual pining, prompt 1. Love you so much.
ask and you shall receive😚💌
mattheo riddle x reader + mutual pining + “who did this to you?”
➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game
The castle is silent when you make your way to the Astronomy tower. Over the last week, you’ve figured out the best possible route to get there after curfew without bumping into Peeves or the Baron while avoiding any particularly loud portraits.
Ever since Hermione started pacing around the dorm while knitting, the Muffliato charm has been rendered useless and the clicking of the needles has driven you crazy. Combined with Fred and George’s experiments in the common room until early hours of the morning, the Astronomy tower is the only place you can get a moment’s peace.
Your footsteps into the tower become hesitant though, when you spot a wisp of smoke coming from behind one of the pillars. After taking a few tentative steps further, you realise with a jolt that it’s none other than Mattheo Riddle sat there, cigarette loosely held between his fingers. You recognise him from the barely visible angle pretty quickly, owing to the fact you’ve found yourself staring at him from afar more times than you’d care to admit.
He doesn’t turn around, flicking at his cigarette and when you shuffle, making a noise, he lets his head fall back to rest against the pillar. “Enzo, if you’re here to pester me again, you can fuck off.”
“Er, not Lorenzo,” you reply, voice quiet in the echoing tower. Mattheo sits up straight immediately, twisting around to look at you with wide eyes. “Sorry…”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly, giving you a hint of a smile. He nods over to a spot near him. “You can come sit if you want.”
You contemplate politely refusing since you probably won’t get any work done with Mattheo right in front of you, but another glance at him has your feet moving of their own accord.
Once he comes into full view, you notice in the moonlight that Mattheo’s nose shows the remnants of dried blood, there’s a bruise blossoming on his cheekbone and his knuckles are split open. It isn’t an unusual sight and you’ve often seen him around the castle either in the middle of a fight or with cuts and bruises as a result of one, yet you still find yourself staring.
Mattheo raises an eyebrow and smirks, despite the cut on his lip. “What, have I got something on my face?”
You blink, silent for a couple beats before clearing your throat. “Who, uhm, who did… this… to you?”
He shrugs, bringing the cigarette back to his lips to inhale. “Some Ravenclaw prick this morning.”
“How come you haven’t healed yourself?” you ask, tilting your head in curiosity. “You normally do by this point.”
Mattheo’s lips quirk up in sort of a pleased smile, his eyes crinkling. “You pay attention to me, do you?”
“No, I- It’s just,” you stammer, fiddling with the corner of your planner and avoiding his gaze. You most definitely do pay attention to him, but you’d much rather jump off the Astronomy tower than admit to it. “You’re always getting into fights. It’s kind of hard not to.”
It isn’t clear if he believes you or not, since his face still displays an unwavering smile, but he nods slowly before answering your previous question. “Enzo usually does it. The healing spells.”
You consider this and hesitate for a few seconds, biting your bottom lip in nervous habit before abruptly standing up and walking over to the Slytherin. Plopping down next to him, you take your wand out of your pocket, which he eyes warily.
“I know some healing spells,” you explain. Raising your eyebrows in question, you point your wand at his face and wait for his consent, which he gives in the form of a nod. Starting with his lip, you mutter “Episkey.” The cut seals itself up, so you do the same with his knuckles before using ‘Tergeo’ to siphon off the dried blood around his hands and nose.
“Back to looking flawless?” he asks with a cheeky grin and you choke out a laugh, surprised at how relaxed he’s being with you. Mattheo isn’t as brooding as the rest of his friends, but he certainly isn’t all sunshine and giggles with people he isn’t close with. And it’s not like the two of you have ever conversed before, so you’re a little more than puzzled. Not that you’re complaining. “What’s had you so exhausted this week?”
“Hermione’s been staying up knitting and I can’t sleep through it like the others,” you sigh, moving back to sit against the pillar like Mattheo is. This is your first night coming to the Astronomy Tower though, so you furrow your brows and turn to Mattheo to tell him exactly that. “How do you-”
“You’ve been nodding off at breakfast,” he says, matter-of-fact. You don’t know how to respond, opening your mouth but not having anything to say. Mattheo notices your loss for words and swallows, suddenly sheepish. The tips of his ears have turned a light pink and he shuffles, making your shoulders touch slightly. “I pay attention to you too.”
“Oh,” you breathe out, heart about to burst out of your chest. You look down to where his hand is on the floor next to yours and in a brave move, you move your own so your pinkies are touching.
Mattheo is silent when he interlocks your fingers, meeting your eyes. His smile reappears, one that feels reserved for you. You’ve never seen him look more gentle before, and when he finally reaches over to kiss you in the quiet, moonlit tower surrounded by the stars, you begin wishing you’d started losing sleep weeks ago.
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2demondogs · 2 months ago
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With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?
Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T
Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3
Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit
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It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.
The house is warm enough, anyways.
There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.
Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.
During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.
Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.
You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.
Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.
Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.
"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.
"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.
Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.
Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.
The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.
He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.
Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.
For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.
Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.
Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.
"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.
"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.
The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.
The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.
It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.
Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.
"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.
"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."
"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."
"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."
The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.
A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.
"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."
The army knife was Hosea's.
"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"
"Yessir."
He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"
"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."
He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.
"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"
"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.
Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.
"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."
Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"
Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.
"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.
He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.
Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.
One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.
Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.
"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."
"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."
He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.
Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.
The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.
"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.
"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."
Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.
Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.
"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."
Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.
And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.
"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.
The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.
When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"
Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."
His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.
Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.
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dippindaz · 1 month ago
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Ride or Die, Part 1, (Billy Hargrove x Reader)
Please enjoy this Bonnie and Clyde/Partners in crime fic for Billy <3 I don't know how many parts it will be yet, but know there's more to come!
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The world felt quieter in the late hours of summer, the kind of silence that made you aware of every creak of a floorboard or whisper of the wind. The Hargrove-Mayfield house was unusually still, the tension that usually filled its walls replaced by an uneasy calm. Billy was perched on the edge of the couch, the glow of a cigarette illuminating his sharp features in the dim light.
“You can’t keep doing that,” you said, stepping into the living room. Your arms were crossed, but your tone lacked the sharpness you wanted.
“Doing what?” he muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke.
“Walking into fights like you’ve got nothing to lose.”
Billy’s laugh was low and humorless. “You think I don’t?”
You faltered, hating the way his words made your chest tighten. “That’s not what I meant,” you said softly, sitting beside him. “I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
He glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve been through worse, haven’t I?”
You didn’t reply, your silence enough of an answer. Billy might have a habit of brushing off danger like it didn’t matter, but you saw through it—the way his hands clenched when he thought no one was watching, the way his jaw tightened at the sound of raised voices.
“I’m serious, Billy,” you said, your voice firmer now. “You don’t have to keep proving yourself to people who don’t care about you.”
He dropped his cigarette into an empty soda can, the hiss of the embers snuffed out breaking the quiet. “What do you want me to do, then? Let people walk all over me? Let them—”
“Let them what?” you pressed when he cut himself off.
His jaw clenched, his gaze flicking away. “Forget it.”
Before you could push further, a sudden, sharp knock on the door shattered the fragile peace. Billy was on his feet in an instant, his shoulders tense as he crossed the room.
“Who the hell shows up this late?” he muttered, throwing the door open without bothering to check who it was.
The man on the other side was big, his frame filling the doorway. You didn’t recognize him, but there was something about the way he looked at you—his eyes cold and calculating—that made your stomach twist.
“You Rich’s daughter?” the man asked, his voice low and rough.
Billy crossed his arms, his stance rigid. “Who the hells askin’?”
The man glanced at Billy but didn’t answer, his gaze shifting back to you. Your blood ran cold. You didn’t recognize this man, but knowing your father you had a few good guesses. “What do you want?” You asked.
The man’s shoulders were rigid as he took another step closer, his boots scuffing against the worn carpet. Billy stood his ground, his jaw clenched, tension rippling through his frame like a coiled spring.
“What I want,” the man sneered, his voice low and venomous, “is for you to pay up. Your old man owes me, and if he’s not gonna settle, I’ll take what I’m owed from you.” His eyes flicked toward you, and your stomach dropped.
“Like hell you will,” Billy snapped, stepping in front of you. His voice was sharp enough to cut, vibrating with fury.
The man’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “That’s cute, kid. But you ain’t in a position to make threats.”
Time seemed to slow. The air was heavy, thick with unspoken violence. You could feel the tremor of fear threading through your chest, but you stayed rooted to the spot, too stunned to move.
Then the man lunged.
Billy reacted instantly, shoving you back so hard you stumbled against the wall. You barely registered the impact before they collided, their bodies slamming into each other like crashing waves.
“Billy!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet as they grappled.
The man was bigger, stronger, his fists swinging with brutal precision, but Billy fought like someone who had nothing to lose. His fury was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path, his movements raw and unrelenting.
Furniture toppled, the coffee table splintering under their combined weight. The lamp shattered, plunging the room into flickering darkness as shadows danced across the walls. You wanted to intervene, to stop this before it went too far, but you couldn’t move. Your voice was caught in your throat, swallowed by the chaos.
“Stay back!” Billy barked through gritted teeth; his eyes wild as he pinned the man against the couch. His knuckles were already bloodied, but he didn’t stop.
Then it happened.
The man twisted suddenly, grabbing something off the floor—a shard of glass from the broken lamp. It glinted in the dim light, and for a heart-stopping moment, it was aimed directly at Billy’s ribs.
“No!” you screamed, surging forward instinctively.
But Billy was faster. His hand closed around the man’s wrist, wrenching it away with a sickening crack. The man’s howl of pain was short-lived. In the next heartbeat, Billy’s fist connected with his jaw, and the man went down hard, his head hitting the edge of the broken coffee table with a dull, final thud.
Silence.
Billy stayed crouched over him, his chest heaving, his bloodied fists trembling. The man didn’t move.
“Billy…” your voice was barely a whisper, thick with disbelief.
Billy staggered back, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice barely audible. “He—he woulda hurt you, and I—”
He paused when your shaky form stepped towards the man. You crouched down and your trembling hand reached out to touch the man’s neck.
Nothing.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, your heart hammering in your chest. It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be possible, could it?
“Oh, god, baby, I—”
“We have to go,” you said, cutting him off. You jumped up from your position. “Billy, we have to go right now.”
He didn’t move, his gaze locked on the lifeless body. “I didn’t mean to,” he repeated, his voice cracking.
“Billy!” you snapped, grabbing his arm and shaking him. “Listen to me. We have to leave. You hear me? If we stay here, you are going to get in big big trouble.”
That seemed to snap him out of it. He nodded, swallowing hard, though he didn’t respond.
You moved swiftly from the living room of the house to your room. You grabbed your bag, dumping whatever notebooks and papers from school were in it on the floor and swiftly packed up some essentials and all the money you had hidden. It wasn’t much, you hoped it would be enough for now.
You went back out to the living room, where Billy still stood, staring at the body on the floor. For a brief moment you hesitated. What if you two wouldn’t get in trouble? It was self-defense, but a man died. He wouldn’t come back, and you knew self-defense wasn’t taken seriously enough in a court of law. With the death of a person involved? No. You needed to leave and get Billy out of here as quickly as you could.
You grabbed Billy’s arm and dragged him out to the Camaro. As you walked your eyes scanned the Hawkins trailer park. Nothing and no one. Not even a breeze. It disturbed you.
Billy pulled the keys to the Camaro out of his pocket, but you snatched them out of his hands. He wasn’t in the position to be driving right now; he was barely moving without you prompting him. And surprisingly, he didn’t fight you. You both jumped into the car, him in the passenger and you in the driver’s side. You threw your bag into the backseat as you started the car. The tires slide against the dirt driveway for half a second before gaining enough friction for you to properly drive away, your heart pounding in time with the roar of the engine.
Neither of you spoke as the miles rolled by, the weight of what had just happened settling over you like a storm cloud.
It wasn’t until you were far from Hawkins, the town already long gone in the rearview mirror, that Billy finally broke the silence.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said, his voice low but resolute.
You glanced at him, your stomach still twisted in knots. You were quiet. There wasn’t anything to take care of. There wasn’t any fixing this. There was no going back. But still, you asked, “Of what?”
“All of it,” he said, his voice a bit softer this time. “Whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
You wanted to believe him, but as you looked at his bloodied knuckles and the hard set of his jaw, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all his fault. At the same time, this happened because he already was keeping you safe. It was an accident. He hadn���t meant to. You knew that. You weren’t sure what to say, so instead you reached over, gently grabbing his hand.
And that was enough for him.
——————————————————————————————————
It had to have been at least 3 AM, at least 2 hours of straight driving, by the time Billy told you to take an exit off the highway and pull into some large, rundown parking lot. You were both hungry and thirsty but nowhere was open near you guys and even more than that, you were exhausted.
The parking lot was eerily silent, illuminated only by the flickering glow of a few broken streetlights. The Camaro came to a stop near the edge of the lot, far from the dim halo of light. You turned the key, and the engine sputtered into silence, leaving only the distant hum of the highway in the background.
Billy slumped against the passenger seat, running a hand over his face, smearing dried blood across his cheek. His knuckles were raw, and the faint tremor in his hands hadn’t stopped since you’d left Hawkins.
“I’ll figure something out,” he muttered, breaking the quiet. His voice was hoarse, strained, as if he didn’t believe the words himself.
You didn’t respond at first, leaning forward to rest your forehead against the steering wheel. The tension of the last few hours clung to you like a second skin, and the exhaustion weighed heavy in your limbs. When you finally looked up, Billy was staring out the windshield, his jaw tight, lost in whatever storm was brewing inside him.
“Billy,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “Let me clean you up.”
He shook his head, still not looking at you. “I don’t need help. I just—I need to think.”
“Stop,” you cut in firmly, your hand tightening on his arm. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not now, not ever. We’re in this together, okay?”
That made him turn to you, his blue eyes glassy with a mixture of anger and regret. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m no good for you.”
You felt your heart twist at his words. Gently, you cupped his face with your hands, ignoring the sting of dried blood against your palms. “You’re wrong,” you said, your voice steady. “You’re all I’ve got, Billy. We get through this together, or we don’t get through it at all.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, his walls faltering. Then he leaned into your touch, his forehead resting against yours. The proximity was grounding, the warmth of his breath against your skin a small comfort in the chaos.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Neither do I,” you replied honestly. “But we’ll figure it out.”
He nodded faintly, closing his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them again, there was a flicker of something more familiar—a spark of the fire that had always kept him moving forward, no matter how bad things got.
“We should sleep,” he said after a long silence, pulling back slightly.
You glanced around the empty lot, the worn leather of the Camaro seats creaking as you shifted. “Here?”
He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Just for a couple of hours. Then we’ll keep going.”
You hesitated, but the exhaustion was winning out over logic. “Okay. But you’re first,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’ll keep watch.”
Billy opened his mouth to argue, but the look you gave him silenced any protest. With a begrudging nod, he leaned the seat back and tried to settle in.
As the minutes passed, his breathing evened out, and you watched him in the faint glow of the distant streetlights. He looked younger, softer in sleep, though the blood and bruises on his skin were harsh reminders of the night’s events.
You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, holding on like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. And for now, it was enough.
You and Billy took your turns resting throughout what little was left of the night and Billy was swift to make you switch places with him. Once you did, the drive to nowhere began. The two of you still didn’t have a plan. You weren’t sure you ever would. What could you do? Right now, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let yourself get panicked over something you could do nothing about.
The miles passed slowly, the highway stretching endlessly ahead of you. The soft hum of the engine and the rhythmic whir of the tires on asphalt were the only sounds. You pulled your knees up to your chest, trying to push back the ache of exhaustion and anxiety gnawing at your insides.
You and Billy hadn’t spoken a word since the car started. The silence felt heavier than the night itself, pressing down on you as the endless ribbon of highway unfurled in front of the Camaro. You risked a glance at Billy, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were bone white. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, his jaw clenched in a way that made his bruised knuckles seem less noticeable.
“Billy,” you murmured, breaking the quiet, though you weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to say.
His eyes flicked toward you briefly, guarded, before returning to the road. “What?” he asked, his voice low and rough.
You hesitated. He wasn’t angry with you—at least, you didn’t think so. But he was angry. At the world, maybe. At himself.
“I’m... I’m just checking in,” you finally said, your voice softer. “You’ve been quiet.”
Billy let out a humorless laugh, a sharp exhale through his nose. “What’s there to say?”
You frowned, pulling your knees closer to your chest as you turned to face him. “I don’t know. Something. Anything. You’re acting like this is just another drive.”
He said nothing at first, his jaw working as if he were chewing on the words he didn’t want to say. “It’s not,” he muttered after a long pause. “But talking about it won’t change what happened.”
“No,” you admitted, “but it might make it feel... less like,” You paused and vaguely gestured around the car. “Less like this.”
Billy’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly, and he leaned back in his seat, exhaling sharply. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, glancing at you again. “I’ll handle it.”
You rolled your eyes, the words pulling an unexpected reaction from you. “You keep saying that like it’s all on you,” you snapped, your exhaustion and fear sharpening your tone. “It’s not, Billy. We’re in this together.”
His head turned, his blue eyes locking on yours for a moment before looking back at the road. “I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I’m not dragging you down with me. I won’t.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” you said, leaning forward, your tone firm but not unkind. “I’m here, Billy. With you and I’m staying.”
The weight of your words hung between you, and for a moment, the only sound was the hum of the Camaro’s engine.
Billy’s hand slipped from the wheel, reaching across the console toward you. Without thinking, you took it, your fingers threading through his. His hand was warm but trembling slightly, the cracks in his tough exterior showing in the smallest of ways.
“Thanks,” he muttered, almost too softly for you to hear.
You squeezed his hand, your thumb brushing over his bruised knuckles. “Always.”
The tension between you eased just slightly, enough for you to rest your head against the window. The two of you might not have a plan yet, but you had each other. For now, that would have to be enough.
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kcyars99 · 8 months ago
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omg
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[Verse 1]
Dear Adonis
I'm sorry that that man is your father, let me be honest
It takes a man to be a man, your dad is not responsive
I look at him and wish your grandpa woulda wore a condom
I'm sorry that you gotta grow up and then stand behind him
Life is hard, I know, the challenge is always gon' beat us home
Sometimes our parents make mistakes that affect us until we grown
And you're a good kid that need good leadership
Let me be your mentor since your daddy don't teach you shit
Never let a man piss on your leg, son
Either you die right there or pop that man in the head, son
Never fall in the escort business, that's bad religion
Please remember, you could be a bitch even if you got bitches
Never code-switch, whether right or wrong, you a Black man
Even if it don't benefit your goals, do some push-ups, get some discipline
Don't cut them corners like your daddy did, fuck what Ozempic did
Don't pay to play with them Brazilians, get a gym membership
Understand, no throwin' rocks and hidin' hands, that's law
Don't be ashamed 'bout who you wit', that's how he treat your moms
Don't have a kid to hide a kid to hide again, be sure
Five percent will comprehend, but ninety-five is lost
Be proud of who you are, your strength come from within
Lotta superstars that's real, but your daddy ain't one of them
And you nothing like him, you'll carry yourself as king
Can't understand me right now? Just play this when you eighteen
[Verse 2]
Dear Sandra
Your son got some habits, I hope you don't undermine them
Especially with all the girls that's hurt inside this climate
You a woman, so you know how it feels to be in alignment
With emotion, hopin' a man can see you and not be blinded
Dear Dennis, you gave birth to a master manipulator
Even usin' you to prove who he is is a huge favor
I think you should ask for more paper, and more paper
And more, uh, more paper
I'm blamin' you for all his gamblin' addictions
Psychopath intuition, the man that like to play victim
You raised a horrible fuckin' person, the nerve of you, Dennis
Sandra, sit down, what I'm about to say is heavy, now listen
Mm-mm, your son's a sick man with sick thoughts, I think niggas like him should die
Him and Weinstein should get fucked up in a cell for the rest they life
He hates Black women, hypersexualizes 'em with kinks of a nympho fetish
Grew facial hair because he understood bein' a beard just fit him better
He got sex offenders on ho-VO that he keep on a monthly allowance
A child should never be compromised and he keepin' his child around them
And we gotta raise our daughters knowin' there's predators like him lurkin'
Fuck a rap battle, he should die so all of these women can live with a purpose
I been in this industry twelve years, I'ma tell y'all one lil' secret
It's some weird shit goin' on and some of these artists be here to police it
They be streamlinin' victims all inside of they home and callin' 'em Tinder
Then leak videos of themselves to further push their agendas
To any woman that be playin' his music, know that you're playin' your sister
Or better, you're sellin' your niece, to the weirdos, not the good ones
Katt Williams said, "Get you the truth," so I'ma get mines
The Embassy 'bout to get raided, too, it's only a matter of time
Ayy, LeBron, keep the family away, hey, Curry, keep the family away
To anybody that embody the love for they kids, keep the family away
They lookin' at you too if you standin' by him, keep the family away
I'm lookin' to shoot through any pervert that lives, keep the family safe
[Verse 3]
Dear baby girl
I'm sorry that your father not active inside your world
He don't commit to much but his music, yeah, that's for sure
He a narcissist, misogynist, livin' inside his songs
Try destroy families rather than takin' care of his own
Should be teachin' you time tables or watchin' Frozen with you
Or at your eleventh birthday, singin' poems with you
Instead, he be in Turks, payin' for sex and poppin' Percs, examples that you don't deserve
I wanna tell you that you're loved, you're brave, you're kind
You got a gift to change the world, and could change your father's mind
'Cause our children is the future, but he lives inside confusion
Money's always been illusion, but that's the life he's used to
His father prolly didn't claim him neither
History do repeats itself, sometimes it don't need a reason
But I would like to say it's not your fault that he's hidin' another child
Give him grace, this the reason I made Mr. Morale
So our babies like you can cope later
Give you some confidence to go through somethin', it's hope later
I never wanna hear you chase a man 'cause his failed behavior
Sittin' in the club with sugar daddies for validation
You need to know that love is eternity and trumps all pain
I'll tell you who your father is, just play this song when it rains
Yes, he's a hitmaker, songwriter, superstar, right
And a fuckin' deadbeat that should never say "more life"
Meet the Grahams
[Verse 4]
Dear Aubrey
I know you probably thinkin' I wanted to crash your party
But truthfully, I don't have a hatin' bone in my body
This supposed to be a good exhibition within the game
But you fucked up the moment you called out my family's name
Why you had to stoop so low to discredit some decent people?
Guess integrity is lost when the metaphors doesn't reach you
And I like to understand 'cause your house was never a home
Thirty-seven, but you showin' up as a seven-year-old
You got gamblin' problems, drinkin' problems, pill-poppin' and spendin' problems
Bad with money, whorehouse
Solicitin' women problems, therapy's a lovely start
But I suggest some ayahuasca, strip the ego from the bottom
I try to empathize with you 'cause I know that you ain't been through nothin'
Crave entitlement, but wanna be liked so bad that it's puzzlin'
No dominance, let's recap moments when you didn't fit in
No secret handshakes with your friend
No cultural cachet to binge, just disrespectin' your mother
Identity's on the fence, don't know which family will love ya
The skin that you livin' in is compromised in personas
Can't channel your masculine even when standin' next to a woman
You a body shamer, you gon' hide them baby mamas, ain't ya?
You embarrassed of 'em, that's not right, that ain't how mama raised us
Take that mask off, I wanna see what's under them achievements
Why believe you? You never gave us nothin' to believe in
'Cause you lied about religious views, you lied about your surgery
You lied about your accent and your past tense, all is perjury
You lied about your ghostwriters, you lied about your crew members
They all pussy, you lied on 'em, I know they all got you in 'em
You lied about your son, you lied about your daughter, huh
You lied about them other kids that's out there hopin' that you come
You lied about the only artist that can offer you some help
Fuck a rap battle, this a long life battle with yourself
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Yeah Drake is done ATP just hang it up dude you’re better off doing mainstream pop rap or something
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romanestuffsposts · 2 years ago
Note
Can you do a Drabble of mafia stucky x little reader where they have a disorder where she gets low blood pressure spells and she has an episode when they take her to the office? 🥺🥺
Your account makes me feel small and safe ❤️❤️
Hi there! Of course 💜
I had a request like that before my account was delete and I don't know if it was you or not but i did some research on low blood pressure cause I wanted to write things right. I hope I made it okay and it looks like the reality of low blood pressure episodes. I didn't know what it was- no i'm lying. I knew what it was but I never made research on that before so Thank you for my general culture love ❤️
I'm happy that you feel like that about my account. it's to give these feelings that I started on this platform 🥰
Anyways, enjoy lovers <3
*****
Warnings : Low blood pressure episode, blood, scared reader, comfort, doctor, paci, cursing
Pairing : Mafia!Stucky x Daddy!Bucky x Papa!Steve x Little!Reader
Summary : ⬆️⬆️⬆️
A/N : thank you to be understandable if it is not perfect or not everything is realistic, I did my best with a subject that was unknown to me 💜
****
"Fucking hell" Steve curses under his breath as he rummages through his belongings and returns his office to try to find his folds "Steve watch your language" Bucky warns as he swings you on his hip
"Fucking he-" You start with a big smile at the new words you heard but your Daddy cuts you off with a finger against your lips "No" he shakes his head "that's one of the words you can't say, never. Understood ?" He says sternly
You nod and he moves his finger "what do we say now ?" he asks as he starts to swaying you again "I sowwy Daddy" You says and he shows you his smile making you giggle "Thank you, beautiful" he says kissing your nose
You rest your head on his shoulder and start to play with your Daddy's hair. Bucky turns his attention back to Steve "Can you please tell me what you're looking for ?" As he observes his husband, Bucky grabs your paci who was attached on your shirt and puts it in your mouth. Your Daddies have habits now, they hide the corner of the table when you hide under it and jump out to play so you wouldn't hurt yourself. They check fifthy times if the water of your bath isn't too hot for you without them noticing. Every time they walk around the house and step beside one of your stuffie, they would grab it and travel around the house with it until they rest your stuffie somewhere where you could easily find it. It's little attentions but you sure notice them
"I can't find my folds" Steve groans throwing on the ground the papers he has in his hand. You frown when you notice that you hear badly your Papa talking. Is it because your ear is against your Daddy's shoulder ? Probably. You don't really pay attention to that, it's grown-up problems, none of that for you right now
"what folds ?" Bucky frowns. They were at work all day and were working on important folds but Steve got distracted about a phone call and when he gets back to grab his jacket to go home, he completly forgot his folds at work, in his and Bucky's office. Even if Steve knows he forgot them at work, he still wish he can find them in their office at home.
"The one I have to do for tomorrow. We have an important meeting with investors tomorrow afternoon and I have to read and prepare the folds tonight. If I don't have them, we can't do the meeting and we'll lose a lot of money and I don't think you want to lose that much money" He says talking fast as he keeps throwing the papers away
"Steve you obviously forgot it at work" Bucky rolls his eyes making you giggle. Your Daddy always make funny face when he notices you look at him so you would giggle and he loves hearing those sounds when they come out of your mouth
Right after giggling, your face frowns once again as you barely heard your own sound. You heard your Daddies talking but you felt the exact same thing that you felt when your Papa were talking earlier. You simply shake that feeling away and you concentrate again on your Daddy's hair.
Steve sighs "I clearly don't want to go back to work. We promised her we'll go in the parc today before it's getting too dark. She needs to go out and plays, she needs to move those little legs around and somewhere else than home" Bucky looks at you and sees you still concentrate on his hair. he looks back a Steve "We'll go to the parc, we have times. It will take us twenty minutes to go grab the folds so you'll have what you need and she'll have what she wants" he says caressing your cheek with his finger. You smile looking up at your Daddy's face
"Stop worrying, please. You're going to worry her and then i'll be frustrate and we'll all have a bad evening so let's not do that" Bucky says and Steve snorts "Okay I give in, you win" He sighs getting up from the ground "I'm sorry, i'm what ?" Bucky smirks and Steve laughs pushing his shoulder. The movement of pushing made you move too and you feel a wave of nausea running up your belly
Fortunately for you, before you say something to your Daddies about that, the feeling is gone and you just throw it away, maybe it's the vegetable you eat at dinner. It's never good those things anyways so it's probably that
Your Daddy puts you on the ground and you whimper letting your paci fall from your mouth. You lift your arms back up to be carried by your Daddy but he kneels beside you "I can't carry you all day, baby" he says kissing your nose "you need to exercice your legs before running around the parc" he smiles and you nod trying to hide your pout "Otay, Daddy"
"Thank you, little one" he kisses your temple and stands up. You grab his T-shirt before he walks away making him turn around "Can I twy to put my soes lone, pwease ?" You ask shyly and he nods winking "of course, princess but if you can't do it call us"
"pwomise, Daddy" You say running happily to find your shoes
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Your Papa opens your car door and he lifts you up to puts you back on the ground just after. While your Papa closes the door behind you, you rest your hand on the car beside you as a dizziness is erupting in your head. You feel this feeling traveling around your eyes to the back of your throat without forgetting the smallest recesses of your head.
You blink hard as your vision got blurred. You feel your Papa holding your shoulders and pushes you forward so you'll start walking. You whimper and turn around, you look up and lift your arms to your papa who only shake his head "I won't carry you, sweetness. I agree with Daddy, you need to use those little legs of yours" he smiles grabbing your hand "either way they couldn't carry you to the kitchen when you're hungry" he teases and you give in.
You walk beside your Papa, your grip on his hand is tight, you're scared cause you don't see well and you still feel dizzi. The fast steps of your Papa isn't helping you but you know they are in a hurry so you just shut your mouth and go along with the hurry of your Daddie.
Once you three walk inside the big building, Steve hands you at Bucky and he starts to go faster toward the stairs "why Papa didn took the eleva ?" You ask your Daddy
"because he want to be quick so he decides to run up the stairs" he says before frowning and gazes back down at you "but that's not something you can do. You can not run in the stairs, never. Understood ?" You look up at him and nod "Yes Daddy"
He smiles down at you and calls the elevator. He runs his fingers on your hand who is still in his as you both wait the elevator to arrive. You always repeat the sound the elevator does when he warns that he is here. However, you didn't made any sounds this time which confuse your Daddy. He looks down at you as he walks inside, he almost has to drag you in the elevator "baby are you alright ?" he asks looking down at you once the door are close
He clicks on the button of their office's floor and get his attention back down at you "beautiful ?" He kneels before you and his eyes widen when he sees your face "Babydoll, your nose is bleeding" he says shocked as he grabs your cheeks to have a better look of your face
"M not feeling well, daddy" you quietly say as you battle yourself to keep your eyes open. Bucky frowns "where does it hurt, baby ?" he asks. Before you can answer, you feel your body letting you down and the panic inside you is getting bigger. Your Daddy is quick to grab you before you fall on the ground "fucking hell" He curses, he stands up once the door opens and when he turns around to leave the elevator, he sees Steve with the folds in his hands. The smile on his face disappears when he looks at the view infront of him. His blood runs cold and he lets the folds falling on the ground "Buck ?" he rushes inside the elevator "What happened ? Is she hurt ? Did she fell ? What the hell is happening ?!" he says panicking.
"Steve, I don't know what she has but I do know that we need to keep our calm for her. She can't have us panicked. She needs us right now and we'll be there for her" he says trying to calm his husband "Call the doctor and tell him to meet us at home, right now"
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"how is she ?" Bucky asks finally allowing himself to worry "is it serious ?" Steve asks behind Bucky.
They quickly took you back at home and made sure to keep an eye on you. Steve never left your side in the car, he sat in the back seat so he could have you in his arms the whole time. Bucky kept eyeing the backseat from the mirror in the car to make sure you were fine. He puts all his strengh in his body to stop his hands from shaking
"she had a drop in her blood pressure. That's what caused her nosebleed. It's possible that she had warning signs like dizziness or nausea. She may have felt sick or confused or maybe weak. It's also possible that she didn't feel anything coming and that it happened like that" Doctor Martin says
"What can we do about that ?" Bucky asks "I mean, do we have to get her medications or bringing her to the hospital ? Cause we'll do it if we need to" Bucky says and Steve agrees quickly
‘’Well, no need to go to the hospital just yet, but keep an eye on her. She only has to do it slowly when she is sitting down and about to get up. She should be careful not to get up too quickly when getting out of bed or whenever getting up from a lying position. It's better if she lays down or sits for a long time right after eating." He says looking at your Daddies "She can increase the amount of water she drinks too"
Steve nods "Alright, thank you doctor. We'll take care of her, we promise" Bucky goes back in your room while Steve walks the doctor out of the house
"Hi there, beautiful" Bucky smiles when he sees you turning his head toward him "how are you feeling ?" he asks sitting on the bed beside you "M tiwed and I don know what is happening" You mumble frowning. Your Daddy caresses your forehead "I know, doll. But we're here to make you feel better. It's just a bad moment that we need to get over with" he says kissing her temple
You nod as your Papa walks in the room with a glass of water in his hands. He smiles "I got you something to drink, sweetness" He says sitting on the other side of the bed. You shake your head when he goes to sit you. He stops his movement "you're not thirsty ?"
You shake your head again and he sighs "Okay but you'll drink this glass of water before bedtime" You nod "I pwomise, Papa"
Your Daddy gives you your stuffie and put your paci in your mouth "Let's make it comfy" He whispers and Steve goes soften the light before laying back down beside you
"No pawc ?" You ask and Your Daddies shake their head "No, baby. We'll go to the parc when you'll feel better, we promise" Says your Papa and you nod again trying to not be too sad
"But we're here and we'll go slowly, step by step" Your Daddy says lifting your chin. "And you know what it means ?" You shake your head before gazing up your daddy "It means we'll play a lot together and have a lot of cuddles infront of the tv or during the night until late in the morning" He brings his closer to yours "because we take a break from work to watch you and take care of you" He smiles pocking your nose with his
You smile "weally ?" Your Papa chuckles "yes, sweetie. We won't leave you" You smile bigger
"cuddles now ?" You shyly ask bitting your lips. Steve kisses your cheek as Bucky wraps his arms around you "we'll cuddle you until the end of the world" He whispers kissing your ear
"We love you, our sweet and beautiful baby"
"I love you too, daddies"
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booksooks · 4 months ago
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"Merry Christmas, Doll."
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Author's Note: Posting all of my fics on here too. Or at least the ones I have access to. This was written in 2020, so it's not my best work but... I miss being able to see my writing. I'm aware the banner is cringe. Anyways, enjoy please. 💙
Contents: Mild gore/treating wounds, confessing feelings, probably Dabi being wildly out of character, swearing.
Word Count: 2196
Summary: Dabi isn't around as often as you'd like, but this Christmas, he is.
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“Merry Christmas, doll,” purred a rasping voice from behind you. You gasped, waking from your drowsy half-sleep and popping up from the couch with a start, the remote that had been resting in your hand and blanket tumbling to the floor. You rushed towards him, half-tripping over your own feet in your haste to see him.
“Dabi?” You asked, staring at the man who stood in your doorway. “What happened?”
“I got my ass handed to me,” he responded, finally moving forward and out of your living room doorway. “As I said, Merry Christmas.”
He was littered with bruises and cuts, his shirt a bloody brown and crusted over. He limped with every step, wincing as his torso shifted, and his shirt, sticky with blood, pulled at the open edges of wounds.
You gaped at his state, speechless as he walked past you, patting you on the shoulder affectionately. He sat on your couch and picked up your TV remote and blanket, placing the remote on your coffee table, and wrapping himself in the blanket. He smiled gently at the sight of you, blood dripping out of the corners of his mutilated eyes and mouth where his staples were pulling loose.
Dabi had been visiting you sporadically for the past two years, usually injured, and expecting you to patch him up. After a while, he eventually started coming over without injuries “just to chill, doll. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Drunken kisses and late-night confessions later, and the next thing you knew, you were a thing. You knew he was a villain. He knew you knew. You trusted him not to kill you and he trusted you not to go to the police, which was all either of you could ask for. You liked to think of it as friends-with-romantic-benefits-who-occasionally-make-out-with-each-other.
But now, on Christmas Fucking Eve, having not seen him for a month, he came back with injuries that looked like they should have landed the man in a hospital. You sputtered as he looked around at your living room, fully-decorated for Christmas, in a blasé manner, as if he weren’t dripping blood on your couch.
“Dabi,” you whispered softly, moving to sit next to him and run your knuckles over his cheek. You didn’t comment on how he leaned into your cool touch. He hummed. “Tell me what happened. Where does it hurt?”
He was silent for a minute, basking in the feeling of your fingers on his scalding skin. “My ribs,” he started. “My face. My hands and arms, too, but it’s mostly my ribs. Think you can fix me?”
You bit your lip. You knew he had a habit of being tossed around, although you knew that wasn’t his fault. “Did you hear a crack when you were fighting?”
“Couldn’t really tell.” Dabi sighed and sat back, wincing more, while you thought.
“Well, you know I’m going to tell you that you need to go to a hospital,” you said, getting up and moving to your bathroom to retrieve your first aid kit.
Dabi merely hummed again, his eyes closed, as if he were asleep. He knew you’d treat him anyway; it was one of the things he loved about you. He waited patiently for you to come back, already settled in the familiar routine you both had when he came to you injured.
You returned moments later, the small green bag in one hand and a glass of water in the other. You stopped in the living room doorway, watching Dabi in his rare state of peace.
“Stop staring and get on with it, please,” he rasped, not bothering to open his eyes. Blood rushed to heat your face, and you rolled your eyes to regain composure.
You lowered yourself carefully next to him, setting the glass of water and a painkiller on the table. You opened the first aid kit, which you had modified to include a skin stapler and remover, burn cream, and heavy-duty painkillers for when Dabi overused his quirk and seared himself from the inside out - stumbling to your door reeking of cooked flesh and day old anger.
“Think you can take your coat and shirt off?” You asked, pulling on gloves, after having furiously scrubbed your hands in the bathroom. He just grunted and sat forward, pulling his shoulders back and sucking a breath in between his teeth as his coat fell from his arms.
“Don’t know if I can take my shirt off,” he grunted, falling into a pretense of strength. You nodded and got up to get some scissors. You came back and swiftly cut his shirt in half, slowly peeling it off of his sticky skin, careful not to agitate his skin anymore.
You stopped after peeling his shirt completely off, and offered him the painkiller and water. “Take this,” you murmured, not wanting to disturb the gentle silence that had fallen over the both of you.
You looked closely at his wounds, cleaning them gently with a cotton rag and warm, soapy water. He hissed occasionally, and his muscles would twitch when the water became too cool, but other than that, he made no noise and didn’t move. When you deemed the wounds clean (to your satisfaction), Dabi exhaled heavily, and braced for the pain of re-stapling his grafts to skin, as some of the staples had popped loose.
“Do you wanna take a break?” You whispered, sitting back and dropping the rag in the dirty water, which was now steadily cooling. Dabi merely shook his head, and you nodded. You moved to load up the staple gun, patting Dabi on the leg affectionately. He seemed to relax at your touch, so as you lined the stapler up with his skin, you kept your hand on his too-skinny leg, giving it a gentle squeeze every time he hissed in pain.
“Almost done,” you murmured, moving quickly.
“What about my ribs?” Dabi asked when you were done.
“Do they feel like they move when you walk?” You asked, getting up and peeling your gloves off. You picked up the medical supplies, packing most of it away and collecting the trash in one hand.
“No.” Dabi said after a minute of thinking.
You nodded. “Well, that's good. I looked it up and if the pain doesn’t start to go away in a few weeks, then you need to go see some underground doctor. For now I’ll keep giving you painkillers and we should probably put some ice on your ribcage.”
Dabi sighed and slung his body around, splaying out on your couch like a large, lazy cat. “If you wanna feel up my body, you don’t have to pretend, doll.”
You rolled your eyes and switched on the radio and your Christmas tree. The lights gave the room a warm glow, and the holiday music that floated around the room made you feel happy, despite the bloody man on your couch.
When you were done putting everything away, you made your way back over to the couch and motioned with your head for Dabi to sit up.
He groaned, but used his elbows to lift his torso while you slotted yourself behind him. When you were fully situated, Dabi flopped back down onto you, his head resting on your chest with your legs at his hips. You both sighed, long, drawn-out sighs that spoke of content and peace.
“Those painkillers kicking in?” Dabi felt your chest vibrating as you asked.
It was a comforting feeling, one he wanted to have forever to curl into like a kitten in front of a fireplace. But you were his friend. Someone that put him back together when he fell apart. And someone he kissed on occasion.
But that wasn’t something he was willing to risk, not for the weird, half-sickening, half-whimsical feelings that were blooming somewhere in his heart.
So Dabi kept his mouth shut and leaned into your calming presence more while you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and settled deeper into the comfort of the patchwork man in your arms.
Dabi was on the edge of a blissful, pain-free sleep when he felt your hand run through his hair, making him melt and let out a sigh so near to ‘dreamy’ that you could call him a crushing schoolgirl. You giggled softly and moved his hair back so that you could plant a light kiss on his forehead.
“Merry Christmas, Dabi,” you whispered. As he slipped into a dreamless sleep, Dabi could have sworn you said “I love you,” but his eyes fell shut and he didn’t get to ask.
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When you woke up, the strong smell of menthol and leather made you recoil your head, before you realized it was just Dabi and snuggled deeper into him. The last you remembered was running your hands through his hair and whispering sweet nothings to him as he slept on your chest. You must have shifted in your sleep, however, because your legs were now tangled with his and you were eye level with his collar bones.
Precious moments, you thought, wanting to stop time and keep Dabi in your arms. He would get up and try to move around a few minutes after he woke up, you knew, but it didn’t hurt less. You tightened your hold around him, snuggling your face firmly into the warm crook of his neck and inhaling deeply. He smelled strongly of burning mint, something that would always be comforting to you. You stayed like that for a few minutes, relishing in the quiet of the -
It was Christmas morning. And you were spending it with Dabi. You smiled fiercely, torn between wanting to get up to make Dabi and yourself some coffee and wanting to spend more time cuddled up to him.
Eventually, your stomach won out, and you wriggled around Dabi with minimal groans from him to get up and make breakfast. You put on your headphones and played some ambient Christmas music, collecting ingredients to make waffles. You were so focused on the quiet simplicity of making waffles for Dabi - such a domestic moment that you never truly got and were now determined to appreciate - that you didn’t hear him walk up behind you to wrap his arms around you.
You yelped and nearly elbowed him in the ribs, which would have been a very bad start to your morning, but Dabi grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing your knuckles while keeping his other arm snugly around your stomach. His head rested on your shoulder, a smug smile in his voice.
“What’re you making, doll?”
You fought the heat rising in your cheeks, and responded with, “Waffles. There’s coffee for you, too, if you want it.”
Dabi’s attention moved to the coffee, and you relaxed. You really weren’t used to domesticity, you thought as your heated face cooled down. You finished making two large waffles for the both of you, Dabi’s topped with maple syrup and butter, while you made up your own.
You both sat on the couch, eating happily and quietly. It was so rare to see Dabi like this, relaxed and quiet. Normally there was a certain fire in his eyes that never wavered, never died out. But this morning, with you… it was gone. Not that there was no life to him, but he looked truly happy.
And that made you happy. You broke yourself out of your thoughts when you noticed Dabi staring back at you, his eyes trained on your lips.
“What?” You asked, licking your lips. “Is there something on my mouth?”
“Yeah,” Dabi murmured, setting his plate down to kiss you gently, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. “Syrup.”
You smiled and put your plate next to Dabi’s on the coffee table. He tasted like coffee and maple and warm butter. God, I love you, you thought, tilting your head to the side, only to feel Dabi freeze.
“What’s wrong?” You asked, pulling away. “Are you okay?”
Dabi just stared at you, his blue eyes clouded and his mouth hanging open. Then he was kissing you again, his hands coming to rest on your hip and the other at the nape of your neck.
“I love you, too,” he sighed, rubbing circles over your hip before you pulled his head away, tugging on his hair.
“I said that out loud, didn’t I,” you whispered, wide-eyed and giddy, “and you said it back.”
Dabi just nodded, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. “Merry Christmas, doll.”
You laughed, bringing his face down to yours again and kissing him between satisfied giggles. Dabi just chuckled along with you, laying his body on top of yours, careful to mind his hardly healed wounds that you’d treated the night before. His body had seen so little care you often wondered if you were the only one to ever touch it without the intent to harm. But you wouldn’t think of that now, because he was here, with you, safe and warm and good.
It was safe to say that it was the best Christmas you’d had in a while, and it was even snowing.
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End Notes: I'm aware it's nowhere near christmas. Shut up and lemme have this.
AO3 Link
ABSOLUTELY NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK TO ANY SITE.
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adder24 · 1 year ago
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Vigilante
Pairing: Female Reader X John Nolan
Rating: R cause my god I did things i didn't think I could write, holy shit. Authors note: Okay I think I am getting the hang of writing utter filth, it's been a while so bit rusty but hey...enjoy. Summary: You're the new vigilante in town, taking the law into your own hands and doing the work of the local law enforcement. You always manage to avoid getting caught, until one night you cross paths with John Nolan.
Tagging: @untilthe12ofnever @captkatecastle @nuggsmum @alwayscaskett810 @hellostickerdoodle @nikki-rook @izhunny @imwithyoualways @superlc529 @happiness-in-the-dark @my-happy-corner @idiotdotdotdot @moviesaremylife @dilfbatch
Please do tag on, reblog, do what you must!!! Story below the cut and can be found here
Being a Vigilante was your choice, you were a victim to a crime that went unpunished, Law enforcement couldn’t find enough evidence to put the criminal in handcuffs and allowed them to walk free. You felt betrayed by the law that was designed to protect you, the victim, which led you down the path of being what you are now. 
You made sure that Karma was paid back to the criminal who made you a victim but you got the taste for it, the satisfaction from making sure a crime committed was dealt with swiftly and fairly. You never killed anyone, you only knocked them out or disabled them temporarily, long enough to hand deliver them to the police with a note that said “Another job done for you”
You dress up, wearing a skull mask to protect your identity, black beanie, Black cargo pants, T-shirt and a tactical vest filled with all the tricks of the trade.
You had your supporters and you had those who stood against you, determined to bring you in and make you pay for the crimes you committed in your pursuit to deliver justice fairly. Sure, you had a few close shaves but you always found a way to wriggle out of it but not tonight, tonight you slipped up, cornered as you chased down a petty criminal who snatched bags to fuel a habit.  Of all the criminals to slip up on, it had to be one that did a basic crime. You followed them down a dead end alley, knocked them out, took the bag back from them and got caught red handed by a cop.
“Put your hands above your head and face me. Slowly!” You hear him bark
You roll your eyes and slowly turn to face him, half expecting it to be some old crotechy officer close to retirement but what you got was a middle aged man over six foot in height, well built and easy on the eyes. He had an authoritative stance and a stern look on his face, clearly not in the mood for any shenanigans.
“When will you wannabe heroes learn not to take the law into your own hands?” He growled as he slowly approached you “Get on your knees”
“You say that to all the ladies you meet?” You ask sarcastically.
“Only the ones breaking the law” He replied as he approached, slowly releasing the handcuffs from their holder, gun still trained on you.
You were compliant, allowing him to grab your hands and put them behind your back before he helped you to your feet. You got a good look at him, mousy brown hair, blue eyes, strong jaw, firm grip and a little authority about him. It was a bit of a turn on, a man that was able to take charge and manhandle you in the right ways and you could sense this one could take charge in bed, just by the way he guided you to the car and the hold he had on you.
He got the door and eased you into the back of his Patrol car, an SUV of some description, one that had plenty of room in the back and was quite comfortable considering.
“The Illusive Skull Face, finally in the back of my truck” You hear him say as he starts the engine. “Wasn’t expecting you to be a woman though”
“Women can’t be badasses?” You ask him as you quietly work on undoing the cuffs, retrieving the small pin you had hidden in your gloves
“Of course they can, you’ve seen the women I have to work with right? They’d kick my ass” He says, keeping his eyes on the road.
You smile as you wiggle the pin in the lock, getting a quiet little click to signify their release, you keep them on your wrists for the time being while you work on an escape and your only viable solution was to feign travel sickness, knowing he would need to pull over to the side of the road or endure the stench of vomit in the back of the truck for the duration of the journey.
"Hey…you think you could pull over, I'm not feeling so good" You groan, feigning the sickness as best you can.
"Skull face is a little travel sick? That's a new one for me" He says.
"What's your name?" You ask him.
"Officer Nolan. What's yours skull face?" Nolan replied
"Skull Face. You want your car to reek of Vomit?" You ask him as you slump a little.
"Not really no," Nolan replied calmly.
"Then pull over and let me throw up" You demand as you begin to fake heave.
The action caused Nolan to drastically pull over his patrol car, near an abandoned warehouse. This was your chance to make a run for it, escape the clutches of the law and continue to do the job they can't. You waited for him to open the door, for him to help you out before you made your move.
You dropped the cuffs and made a run for it, sprinting towards the warehouse, aware he would follow. You manage to climb the wire fence and jump down on the opposite side, landing a little awkwardly but managing to get back on your feet again. Nolan in hot pursuit as he made light work of the fence. 
You keep running, trying to make decisions on the fly but not paying attention to your surroundings cost you, you don’t notice the discarded pole on the floor and consequently you trip over it, landing face first on the hard floor. Thankfully the mask takes the brunt but before you know it, Nolan took his chance, pouncing on you to stop you getting away. 
You end up wrestling with him,rolling onto your back to help you flip him, rolling him to the ground putting you on top and a chance to run, but he was quick, as soon as you got him down he had grabbed you and switched positions, wrestling with you to get you back in the cuffs but you was having none of it, you fought with him, wrestled for some time, you even managed to somehow turn off his body camera before he eventually had you pinned. He managed to remove your mask during the tussle and this was the first time he got to see you unmasked
He paused as he studied you, taking a mental photo of you. You should have used that moment to slip away, avoid getting caught but that wasn't what you wanted. The struggle had got you worked up, his firm hold stoking the fire in your stomach, causing you to bite your bottom lip as you studied him, liking the fact he was in a commanding position and you sensed there was a little heat in that gaze he held with you.
"Your move officer" you say invitingly 
A smirk spread across his lips before he leaned down and kissed you tenderly, his lips gently brushing against your own. You reciprocate the kiss, your hands snaking along his arms and up his shoulders while your lips fight for dominance. The kiss becomes more heated and it’s not long before you submit and part your lips, allowing his tongue to enter, tasting you and dancing with your tongue, causing small little moans to fall from your lips. You feel calloused fingers gently caress your cheek before he breaks off the kiss and puts his forehead to yours.
“I shouldn’t really be doing this” He whispered  as he ran his thumb along your jaw 
“I won’t tell and no one is going to know…managed to turn off your body cam” You purr as you start to unbutton a few buttons on his shirt “It can be our thing”
You feel him claim your lips once more, slipping in some tongue as his kiss becomes more heated, driven by a want and a need to punish you by other means. He breaks off the kiss and gets to his feet, pulling you up from the ground and leading you back to the car, looking around to see if anyone was watching but thankfully the location was quiet, no one walking around and there were hardly any cars driving by. It was a perfect spot.
He puts on a bit of a show just in case, making it look like he had arrested you and was putting you in the back before he then walked round to the other side and joined you in the back, closing the door behind him. You slide across the seats towards him and straddle his lap, your hands getting back to work on his shirt, making light work at unfastening the remaining buttons. You feel his hands slip under your top, his fingers tip toeing, slowly along your sides, reaching for your bra strap, grumbling when he realises you have one of them fiddly sports bras on, his reaction causing you to giggle a little.
“Need me to undo it?” You ask him playfully
“No…just tell me what it is, is it a zip at the front or Zip and hooks?” He asks huskily as he pushes your top up,studying the black sports bra that you have on underneath.
“It’s a zip and hooks” You reply as you remove your top and throw it on the seats next to you.
You feel him get to work, his fingers making light work of unfastening your bra, freeing your breasts from their material cage, He gently kisses down your cleavage, before his fingers start to gently tease and caress your hardened nipples. Your breath hitches in your throat, you can feel your nerves spark and spring into life, making you more responsive to his touch as you start to feel the bulge in his pants grow and become more hardened. You bite your lip and smirk a little.
“Officer Nolan, is that your Baton in your pants?” You ask playfully
“You wanna find out?” He asks in a seductive manner, guiding your hands down to his gun belt You grin and slowly unfasten his belt, carefully moving it to one side before you then unfasten his work pants, slowly pulling them down along with his boxers, giving you a good look at his impressive package in all its glory. You lick your lips in anticipation as you run your hands slowly along his inner thighs, pushing yourself between his legs, placing his hardened manhood in between your breasts. You then bend down and gently suck and lick the tip, giving you a taste of him while one of your hands works his shaft. It’s like music to your ears as you hear the little grunts and moans tumble from his mouth, his fingers running through your hair, tugging it a little, urging you to keep going.
You get him riled up, bringing the teasing to a halt, causing him to crave more from you. You run your hands over his toned body, feeling his skin erupt with goosebumps as he hums deep in his throat. You then start undoing your trousers, fumbling a little as you pull them off, somehow managing to remove them without taking off your boots, a skill that seemingly impressed Nolan before you straddle him once more, positioning yourself carefully as you kiss him deeply, letting your tongues dance before you lower yourself down, allowing him to enter, your silkened walls stretching to his size.
You let out a tiny gasp as you feel every inch of him inside of you. You feel his hands grip your hips, thumbs doing small circular movements while his long fingers grip your ass cheeks , urging you on. You bite your lip and begin to slowly rock your hips, a euphoric sense of pleasure slowly building as you move up and down his length. You can feel yourself start to clamp around him, drawing him deeper within you. You can feel your sweet nectar slowly begin to trickle from your core as he buries his head between your breasts. You can hear small little grunts fall from his lips as you place your hands on his shoulders using them to help build momentum.
You up your rhythm, pleasure consuming you as you feel him start to move in rhythm with you, the sensation causing you to moan in pleasure as you feel him begin to suck and lick one of your nipples. Your toes curl in ecstasy as you throw your head back, feeling one of his hands move up your spine, supporting you as the other hand gently spanks your ass. You yelp a little, the mix of pain and pleasure sending you into a frenzy.
“More” You pant
This time he spanks you harder, you cry out and then moan in pleasure as your body trembles under his touch. Your body feels electric as you feel yourself beginning to reach your climax, you can feel your juices oozing down his shaft, making it easier to ride his length, your tempo getting faster and faster as you become undone, your orgasm becoming similar to that of an inner, pleasurable explosion, causing you to cry out his name, your sweet nectar soaking him, listening to his loud guttural moans and groans as you become lost in a blissful haze while he rides out his own sexual high,
You have two, maybe three more orgasms after, each one more intense than the last. You’re spent and so is he as you both rest in each others arms, catching your breaths, skin glistening with sweat as you both enjoy the blissful state you are in, basking in the afterglow.
After a while, you find yourself claiming his lips momentarily before you gaze upon him in a seductive manner.
“So officer… Am I still under arrest?” You ask with a purr
“I think you’ve served your punishment.” He pants as he steals a kiss “You’re free to go Skull face”
“What you going to tell your boss?” you ask
“You overpowered me and got away” He says calmly, gently stroking your cheek.
You smile, stealing one more kiss as your carefully dismount him, grabbing your discarded clothes and hastily getting dressed, watching him do the same as you both steal a few more glances. You then open the door and slide out of the car, turning round to look at him, a cheeky grin on your lips
“Hope to bump into you again Officer Nolan, maybe next time you’ll overpower me” You say before giving him a playful wink.
You walk away from the car, confident and slightly cocky before you then disappear into the shadows once more.
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claudy-writes-stuff · 1 year ago
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Hii
I would love to read:
Fred Durst x Reader
Jon Davis/KoRn x Reader
Chester Bennington x Reader
Any story would be nice. Maybe enemy or friends to lovers. Thanks already!
Sure thing Anon! Hope you enjoy (if my idea was similar to another creators idea I’m just gonna note rn this isn’t exaclty original but yh)
The Biggest, Stupidest idiot, Fred Durst x Reader, Enemies to Lovers
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You got signed to be Limp Bizkit’s manager and also this bus driver thingy for them. You were the one driving the trailer for them whenever they went on tour, the first few days you enjoyed the job and it wasn’t hard. The guys were funny, Well, That’s what you thought, (That’s what she said), They we’re jerks sometimes. Especially Fred, Although it was just some playful pranks and jokes friends and all just playing and not legit, they got on your nerves. Numerous times where you couldn’t even count had Fred and Wes woke you up and tricked you that there was and emergency. As soon as you ran out the door then you’d get milk and feathers All over you, Even Lethal would come in laughing.
Sometimes the jokes or pranks were funny. Sometimes not. Just straight up annoying as fuck
You didn’t even talk to Fred for a few days after that, “Oh come on Y/N talk to me!” “Shut up Fred” was how it was last week. Today they were wanting to hangout at a local bar/Pub to relax and have some fun after their tour as it was kind of draining they were performing Al day, not to mention you’ve definetely been the workaholic these days!, You drove the bus as they were all inside. Fred being the loudest as he nudged Wes with his elbow. None of them really containing their laughter. Before Fred stopped and nudged you now “Atleast were driving and this time we ain’t getting a single scratch from a certain someone!” You shot him a side glare and slapped his hand “Shut up Fred” He only laughed and rubbed his arm. “Ow!” He said, shooting you a look, You rolled your eyes and looked away from him, Even in your contacts you had him named as ‘Annoying guy’ or ‘Jerk’
They didn’t wanna go to the bar instead they decided on going to go to one of their tours. They still didn’t finish them, “Hey Y/N pull over we want some snacks-“ Before John could finish his sentence Wes smacked him on the face. Before they started wrestling and Fred started recording “Yo look at this shit!” They were laughing their asses off. Your eye twitched. Why were they so annoying sometimes? You had already been in a bad mood because of earlier today, As you pulled over at the snack store you all got out the car. As if they were children they ran inside like kids first time seeing a candy store.
Fred wanted to bother you a bit. As you held the cart zoning out you were startled by a lot of things dropping inside at once. It was chocolates- Candies chips and all sorts- “Yo why’s there a apple in here?” Fred peeked in. He saw the apple just plain right sitting in the corner of the cart. It wasn’t even in one of those white small bags. “Who wanna play frisbee?” Wes took the apple and passed it over to the others. You scoffed and grumbled. Snatching the apple away. Making Fred pout, “Food isn’t to be played with, Stop and come on I don’t wanna be here all day!” Fred only nudged you. As you were paying Fred came up behind you wrapping an arm around your shoulders pulling your head and a bit of your body to him and ruffling your hair a lot. “Cut it out!” You snapped. He only held tighter and just whispered back “Nope”,
After what seemed like two years and a half. You arrived at the tour, getting out the car, it didn’t take that long for the band to be swarmed by the crowd and getting autographs. They were all distracted. You were sat in the back, Yet again. A bad habit of yours. Chewing your lip. Lightly blinking as you were in deep thought. A arm wrapped around you from behind, a slurred voice talking “You’ve got- you really looking fine today..You wanna come over to my place?” This wasn’t any of the people you knew, a creep randomly came in through from the crowd. Slowly pulling you behind a wall. You looked at him, panic clear in your eyes, his hand moved to your hip. Grasping it. You looked down. He started groping you, “Please don’t do that. I don’t feel comfortable” You tried to be polite and your eyes darted left and right as you panicked for help. The man seemed angry
He forced himself onto you and whispered “I know you want it. Stop playing hard to get” His breath reeked of alcohol and cigars. Wanting to make you gag, his hand went under your dress (or pants anything you can choose), before he could touch you there a fist connected to his face making you jerk back in fear and yelp. “What the hell is wrong with you? She’s saying no dude she doesn’t like you!” It was Fred. He snapped at the man before punching him again square in the face. Making sure to angle it near the man’s nose. Brisk sing it. Knocking him out cold. The others were trying to pull Fred away, Fred turned to you. His heart sinking into his stomach seeing you shivering in the corner of the wall. Big round tears in your eyes. “Come on Y/N let’s get you inside..�� he gently took your hand in his and led you to the trailer or bus. Sitting down next to you, It was silent until you whispered “Thank you” to him, trying to wipe away your tears. He looked down at you. His thumb lightly brushing your cheek and wiping away your tears. His eyes glancing at your lips. “It’s okay, trust me when I say this. I’m sorry for bothering you with those pranks and stuff. I won’t do it again if it annoys you” He was very sincere, soft. And quiet. Unlike how he was so upbeat and loud. He gently took your hands into his and pulled you onto his lap. Taking your chin and making you face him, “I love you, Y/N, Please. But I just didn’t have naughty courage to tell you this” your eyes widened. You couldn’t react as his nose pressed to yours. Gently. His lips pressing on yours before he closed his eyes. His other hand gently stroking your hair back and away from your eyes.
“I love you too”
The band did make sure to take pictures of this moment and tease you and Fred in the future about it.
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cosmicgrapevine · 23 days ago
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“What if today’s the day?” Tabby whispered to herself. The day she’d come home, let herself in, and find Rita dead on the floor. The day she’d call 911 to report another overdose, but this time, Rita wouldn’t wake up.
She turned the corner. Dad’s car was on the street, with Uncle Randall leaning on the trunk and having a beer. Rita wasn’t dead, then. If she was, they’d both be dancing in the street. “Damn,” said Tabby. “Better luck tomorrow.” Randall waved and smiled, asking how school was going. She ignored him, as usual.
Dad was in the kitchen, counting out his monthly alimony. Rita insisted on cash. Like everything else in her world, banks were full of ‘liars and crooks’. “Alright,” Dad said. “Twelve hundred. Make it last this time. ‘Boss, I need overtime to pay for my ex-wife’s pill habit’ ain’t exactly a winner at work.”
Rita didn’t listen. She was glaring at Tabby, who was trying to sneak upstairs. “”Where the hell have you been? When I say 4:30, I mean 4:30!”
“Blame Sister Margaret. She made me stay late.” Tabby admitted defeat and trudged into the kitchen for some water.
“Oh, does she know, too? What am I saying, of course she does. The whole damn neighborhood knows my daughter is a whore.”
“She kept me to talk about an assignment,” Tabby snapped. That was half true. The assignment was an oral report on immigration to Chicago in the 19th century. At some point, Jessica and Beth (aka Satan and Satan Jr.) swapped her notes out for their own writing: a detailed account of her sexual escapades at Bishop Maloney, the boys’ school a few blocks down.
She’d tried to get out of it quietly by asking Sister Margaret if she could go tomorrow. Her teacher responded by reading every name and act on the list with increasing shock and disgust. Tabby argued that some of the names were just lies and slander, but that came with admitting that some of them weren’t.
The old hag had then crumpled the paper and pitched it at Tabby’s face, and told her in front of the whole class that if she kept “disgracing this school” she’d find herself expelled. Tabby responded “Do it then. Right here, right now.” It would make her life worse, in so many ways, but it would be something. Something new, something different. Sister Margaret backed down, but told Tabby she’d stay after class until she rewrote the paper.
“Don’t you snap at me! If I could trust you, I wouldn’t have to ask. So who’d Sister Margaret catch you with, huh? Was it that Davies boy?”
“She didn’t catch me with anyone, Mom, because she doesn’t care. None of the teachers do. It’s you. That’s your obsession.”
“Oh, I’m obsessed with stopping my only child from prostituting herself, what a terrible mother I am,” she said. “Someone has to. Your father sure doesn’t give a shit. And if I had two working legs I’d be chasing you down myself.”
Dad sighed, eyes to the ceiling. “You want me to talk to her? Fine, I’ll talk,” like she’d just told him to weed the front lawn.
The only photos left on the sitting room wall were of Rita and Tabby, and none from the past few years. Dad’s presence had been erased. “Christ. Why’d I ever marry that bitch?” he muttered. Then, to Tabby “Is that all true? You’ve been, well…”
“It’s called having sex, Dad. And not as much as she thinks, but yeah. Know why?”
He folded his arms. “Enlighten me.”
“Because Rita,” Tabby spat the word out like a curse, “controls how I dress, what I eat, what CDs I can buy. She won’t even let me cut my hair. But she can’t control that. And it pisses her off. Trust me, it’s not because I like these guys.”
“It pisses me off!” He said. “I mean, you of all people…you wanna be like her in twenty years? ‘Cause that’s how she got this way.”
“Yeah, I know. I was at eeevery one of those custody hearings. I remember all the juicy details. Rita made me go to show the judge how naive and innocent I was. Well, that sure backfired.” She folded her arms right back. “Ever since eighth grade I’ve been hearing what a slut I am. Teachers, other kids. Her, every day. Might as well prove them right.”
Dad rubbed his forehead. “You got one year of high school left. Hell, when you turn eighteen, a big chunk of that child support goes right to you. You can be out of both of our lives,” he said a little too happily. “Until then just…just make it work, OK? Your ma’s a big enough pain in my ass already.”
“Thanks for the support.”
“I know I’m a shit dad, alright? Been made very clear to me.” Like that made it better. “But you can’t keep living like this. Uncle Randall keeps trying to help you and you keep pushing him away.”
“Randall? Mobbed up, money laundering, scapegoated himself to keep his higher-ups out of jail? That Randall?”
“God, you sound just like your mother. Yeah, he screwed up. And you know what? He turned it around. So why can’t you?”
“Because I’m not out of prison yet.” She jerked her head back toward the kitchen. “So the healing cannot yet begin. If he wants to help me tell him to build a time machine.”
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nemo-draco · 8 months ago
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gemme a snippet of Coming Clean 👀 (if that is ok w u of course )
No prob! Been kicking around this particular one a lot, keep debating whether or not I should break it up into two. Especially seeing as it's at about 33 pages now and we're kind of midway through what I would consider the second part. Coming Clean's a follow up for a previous story, To Be Or Not To Be Dinner, which are both kind of meant to lead into a longer AU called Sing Together. Thing was that I haven't seen many stories about Whitty actually telling his friends Carol and Hex what's going on with his life. Especially since there is a fair amount going on, and a lot of weird habits that are probably going to get everyone's attention.
Got some of the opening under the cut!
He couldn’t say that he’d paid too much attention, and that was yet another mistake he’d made during this whole…thing. Not paying attention, not noticing how things were aligning until he’d been all but backed into a corner.
Except not really, because it was so stupid in retrospect. He’d gotten upset over a stupid, stupid kid’s movie, because he was a moron who’s emotions could be all over the place and wasn’t that just lovely, wasn’t it all just so damn great, why couldn’t you keep your stupid mess to yourself you walking WRECK—
…Well, either way. He should have known better.
It was an interesting thought to have in retrospect towards the very end of the movie, after watching this absolutely tiny, completely trusting mouse go through hell after hell to find his family, only to end up in an alleyway tearfully proclaiming that this was his home now—
—Whitty’s lungs were burning when he finally stopped, crouching behind a dumpster as he tried to get his air back. His clothes were in shambles, his old leather jacket a tattered wreck around his arms. The body had pretty much disintegrated after he’d crawled out of the smoldering remains of the building he’d-
Don’t think about it. You can’t do anything about it now, don’t think about it.
He called me a FAILURE, he told me to leave, I thought he cared! Didn’t he care at all?!
Don’t think about it.
Even with the mantra thumping away in his mind, Whitty couldn’t help a sob from coming up as he huddled there, feeling more alone than he’d ever had before. At least before, he hadn’t known what it was like to have something you cared about, to have people who cared for you.
Or at least, people who’d seemed like they cared…
Not that it mattered anyway. It was gone now. He was on his own.
It didn’t stop the crying, the gasping sobbing that felt less like tears and more like he was trying to flail away from that realization. That no one was coming. There wasn’t any rescue, YOU’RE ALL ALONE NOW AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT—
And it wasn’t helping how things were playing out on the screen, hitting Whitty with that gut-punch of familiar emotions, that horrible reminder, and then whisking it away by having that last minute save.
One that he’d never gotten to see.
Whitty couldn’t tell if his breathing was growing faster because he was upset or angry, but he’d clearly gotten someone’s attention given that the screen paused on that happy reunion, a soft call of his name coming from somewhere off to the side.
It could have been Hex, Carol, maybe even Sunday, weren’t they still in the house somewhere? Either way, Whitty didn’t answer and he didn’t let himself think. He just bolted to his feet and went right down the hall to the bathroom, throwing the door closed and leaning against it as he tried to breathe.
The light had been on already, the sight of himself in the mirror snapping Whitty out of his turbulent emotions better than a bucket of cold water to the face.
There were black tears forming in the corners of his eyes, a few spots already dotting the front of his shirt. He was shaking with how heavily he was breathing, his eyes wide and growing wider as he took in his current state.
And worse still, his wick was smoking.
Immediately Whitty reached behind his head, grasping and attempting to smother the brewing fire with his own hands. Though fire itself didn’t bother him, the somewhat metallic threads of the wick were searing enough that he quickly felt a flash of pain go through his fingers.
It didn’t help that not a second after he did that, someone knocked on the doorway. Before Whitty could stop himself a pained yelp tore through his throat, his body jolting itself to the side and right into the open shower. The bomb’s head cracked against the tile, the whole world turning incomprehensible as he slid down to sit on the cool plastic floor. Whitty could hear noise, a couple different voices talking outside before the telltale sound of the bathroom door opening made him jump out of his skin.
“Whitty? Are you okay?”
Hex?
The robot peeking around the corner did catch Whitty’s attention, and though he recognized Hex, the bomb still flinched away with a yelp as Hex tried to come closer. Immediately Hex stopped, though he knelt after a moment, not retreating as he spoke to Whitty.
“Whitty? It’s alright. It’s me. Hex. Remember?”
The bomb nodded, though he couldn’t stop a tremble from reverberating through his arms as he huddled in on himself. It still felt like the air was being sucked from the room, but there was a little bit of space. Enough that Whitty could tell his wick had stopped smoking, though he couldn’t say the same for his eyes tearing. He had to stop that, had to calm down…
“Here. Whitty, look at me. Just focus on me right now,” Hex murmured, a softer smile taking root over his screen as the bomb’s orange eyes zeroed in on the electronic display. The robot’s smile blinked away, becoming a glowing circle that softly swirled into existence, and then out, and then back in. It really only occurred to Whitty what was happening when he caught sight of a corresponding line of text, instructing him to breathe in and out in time with the circle appearing and disappearing.
And it was working, the shivering gulps of air turning into slow, deep breaths, one right after the other. The adrenaline was running slowly out of the bomb’s frame, his head lolling forward a bit as he continued to breathe. He couldn’t help wincing at the feeling of a few oily tears slipping down his face, but it was better than the veritable waterfalls that had been primed to break free before. And a lot safer, especially since Whitty could see Carol peeking around the corner, clearly wondering what the heck was going on.
Why don’t you tell them.
The thought had the bomb wincing, averting his eyes like there was some shameful secret in plain view. He hadn’t forgotten the talk he’d had with Cyrix, following the whole soccer field incident, but, he hadn’t found the time to bring things up with Hex like he’d wanted to. Of course, there’d been a part of Whitty that never wanted to, to just have things keep going like they had been. Though he knew it would only be a matter of time now, just a matter of asking the right questions and while they’d been polite before surely that politeness was just about to run out…
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townsenddecades · 7 months ago
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All You Want To Know And More
Why, hello there! Glad you made it to my corner of the internet.
This blog is meant to chronicle my most recent playthrough of Morbid Gamer’s Ultimate Decades Challenge, following a family of sims for many generations from the 1300s onwards. I started my first playthrough sometime in the first half of 2023 and had got to the end of the 15th century before the urge struck me to start another one in a more medieval world.
This is the challenge you’ll be seeing on this blog. More infos under the cut.
A note on my posting habits: I have a queue that puts out one post per day. Initially, I wanted to refill that queue after every five years played, but I'll probably switch that to after every year played so it isn't so much work at once.
I am also currently playing a supernatural 1800s UDC over at my side blog @moonlightfallsdiaries
Current Households: Townsend Branches | Junior Branches (spoilers if you aren't caught up, obviously)
Family Tree (spoilers up to 1331)
Navigation:
Introducing the Challenge
Gen 0: Benedict & Anne Townsend | 1300 | 1305 | Recap 1300 - 1309
Gen 1: Benjamin & Malika Townsend | 1312 | Recap 1310 - 1319 | 1325 | Recap 1320 - 1329
Gen 2: Malcolm & Hawise Townsend | 1330
Links:
Morbid Gamer’s Ultimate Decades Challenge
Plumbob’s and the Past’s UDC
My Mods and CC
If anyone is interested, I could upload my spread sheet as well, but I currently don't have it online.
Some technical details
I’ll be playing this challenge in The Sims 3, which means no Ye Olde Cookbook, Royalty Mod, Simple Living Lot Trait or the like, but I’ve heavily modded my game to achieve a more immersive gameplay.  This challenge will start – but likely not remain in -  the gorgeous custom world of Praaven, which is both medieval and completely roadless.
A link to a post with the mods I use can be found above.
This challenge will be more historically inspired than historically authentic, both because the game has its limitations and because my scant historical expertise lies more in the early 20th century.
For the most part, I’ll be following the rules defined by Morbid Gamer, with some deviations:
I’ll take some inspiration from Plumbobs and the Past’s ideas to make the challenge a bit more interesting. For example, when my sims go fishing, I’ll have them pay a fee, I’ll deduct 10% of the proceeds for whatever they harvest or sell from household funds, I will use PATP's dowry rules, and probably more.
Instead of starting with three teenagers, I decided to start with two young adults that have already been married for a bit and have two children and a toddler. I had a bit of a story in mind involving the proverbial lady of the house and the local Earl, so I wanted to jump right into the action.
As Sims 3 has no option to plead with the Grim Reaper (although you can play a match of chess with him or be saved by your pet, but you would have to have a pet that likes you for that to work, or both a chess table and enough skill points) I substitute that action with rolling a d4 when a Sim I’d like to live rolls to die. If it’s a 4, they survive.
Since I think it’s boring if most sims (barring historical events) die at exactly 6/13/20/30, I’ll sometimes roll a die to see how many years of life a sim has left. Those years can never be more than the sim would have to live until the next life stage. If, for example, a sim fails their young adult roll, I’ll roll a d10. 10 means the sim dies immediately, 5 means they live to be 25, etc. A teenager or a child, accordingly, can only roll a d7.
Illegitimate children are not automatically out of the running, they just rank after all their legitimate siblings in the succession. So it's legitimate sons, then legitimate daughters, then illegitimate sons, then illegitimate daughters, and after that the nearest-related side household. Rule may be taken liberty with as is dramatically convenient.
For the most part, no re-marriages for side households. The heir, however, can and will remarry as necessary.
I’ll be starting with a family of farmers, the Townsends, but just for the fun of it, I’ll also be rolling for the two resident noble families, that of the Earl of Petersmarch, who resides in the city of Praaven, and that of Baron Elbenhawke, whose family seat is in the hills just above the Townsend’s village. As they are not even proper side households, I’ll only mention the nobles’ fates on the side, mostly as a little info text at the end or mentioned in the story as relevant.
Honestly, I’m just curious about how long their lines will last.
I've taken some heavy inspiration for the layout of this info page from @lilabella12, whose wonderful Decades Challenge you should really go check out.
Trigger Warnings:
Death (even of children, toddlers and infants) due to a plethora of causes
War
Epi- and pandemics,
Maternal death
Stillbirths
Likely at least mentions of miscarriages
Mentions or depictions of various substance abuses
References to sexual assault/coercion
Religion
Adultery
The sims featured in this likely often just won’t have a good time
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