#also i do NOT get enough keys for the locks and its pissing me off. stop giving me bread u bitch

[aliferous-ly]

I started playing Minecraft again . what the fuck is a trial chamber

[roachsideblog]

WIP GAME

Tagged by @youredyingthatsallthereis

Tysm for the tag aaaaa 🫶🫶🫶 I am siccing my followers on you to read the soaproach WIP you posted!! Tagging some of my lovelies:

@randomwordsandstormydays @grechka-zhest @boxofthings and any other fic writers that follow me who wanna join in!!

Here's a little soaproach thing of my own under the cut. Older and only slightly 🤏 edited so I'm sorry if its bad XD

~~

Sanderson hunched on the stoop under a yellow sconce light. Hearing Soap approach, he glanced up from his phone, quickly slamming it in his pocket and removing his hand from the other one in hopes that Soap wouldn’t notice. Futile, but Soap was too exhausted to call him on it and decided to pick his battles.

“Morning, Captain!” Roach said with a salute. His rifle in its sling peaked over his shoulder while his helmet sat on the step, night vision goggles already attached.

“Sergeant,” he nodded. “Hope ye weren’t waitin’ long.”

“Better waiting in the cold than late,” Sanderson muttered. He didn’t seem to want to be there either.

“Smart lad.”

Soap unclipped the carabiner on his belt with the keyring and fumbled them, trying to find the correct one with numb fingers. The frozen brass stuck to them as it finally turned, only after he’d tried every key and circled around to the first. Apparently, the warmth of his curse-laden breath melted what ice stuck the lock. Now that the knob turned the door should have moved, but of course its old wood had swollen and jammed. Soap bodied it with his shoulder once, twice as it squeaked in protest, then a third finally dislodged it from the frame.

He was rewarded with a tumble into stale air only moderately warmer than that outside. Sanderson flicked on the lights while they set up, since the Captain b-lined for a flock of space heaters bunched in the corner and searched for one with unbent prongs and unexposed wiring.

The bay ran along the front of the building, only deep enough for a small walkway behind where soldiers lay prone to test their weapons. Past this, the range itself stretched a few hundred feet to the far wall where targets were hung--where Sanderson busied himself.

Luck graced Soap with two non-hazardous heaters. He plugged them in at the closest outlets framing Sanderson’s lane. Looking out at the Sergeant, Soap noticed he put out a target for his captain as well. Soap also noticed how quickly he grew frustrated as his cold, uncoordinated fingers stuck to the tape when he tried to fix it in place, and how he stormed back to the bay under the assumption he went unwatched.

Sanderson returned with a huff and straightened his shoulders. He had on a hat and scarf to stave off the cold, covering his brown buzz cut that was a little longer on top. Just long enough it tried to curl. Without goggles, his green eyes looked everywhere but at Soap’s own. He wore his typical combat gaiter, covering a strong jawline; pointed chin; and thin, chapped lips. Not the most expressive, resting face usually neutral at worst, more commonly with eyebrows raised in polite attention and a slight smile Soap know to look for. Now, even through the fabric, the Sergeant frowned so harshly it furrowed his brow.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Soap half-joked. The last thing he needed was an underling with an attitude. He hated doing it to Sanderson, but he’d chew him up and spit him out for it if need be. He just wanted their shitty morning over with so he could eat.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Captain. Just… cold.”

“Mhm. You asked for this, Sanderson. What did ye think was gonna fookin’ happen? We get here n’ the birds ’re chirpin’ and we have a lovely time?”

Soap didn’t think he sounded that pissed. Unfortunately, Sanderson only responded with a quiet, “No, sorry. Guess I—I guess I should’ve expected this.” Then, he skirted around Soap to the loading table and pulled ammo boxes from his pockets, retrieving the rifle from across his back afterward. His helmet sat next to him, and as he checked that his rifle was in working order nearly knocked it off. Soap saw anger bubble up inside him before he cracked his knuckles to release the tension.

Rifle loaded, he squatted beside the sandbags in his lane and replaced his hat with his helmet. “Hit the lights for me, Cap?”

Noticing the man hadn’t donned earmuffs yet, Soap grabbed a pair for each of them and sauntered over. Honestly, such a basic mistake warranted an ass-chewing; however, Soap didn’t have the energy for it, and something told him neither did Sanderson.

Instead, he teased with a sly smile, “Come oan. Don’t tell me yer goin’ unprotected. Yer smarter than that, lad.”

Sanderson stared straight ahead and took the earmuffs his captain dangled on a finger.

Soap crouched there in his personal space and waited for the grateful response a man of his title was due from an inferior. From an inferior he was going easy on. As the moments passed, Sanderson’s knuckles only turned white squeezing the headband of the muffs. Soap squinted and leaned in closer, trying to pressure any sort of thanks out of Sanderson before being forced to reprimand his attitude.

Nothing.

“Sergeant.”

“Captain?”

“Let’s nip this in the bud.” Soap leaned impossibly close and hissed in his ear, “Listen to me. I know yer tired, ‘cause I’m tired, too. It’s too early fer this, n’ it’s waaaay too cold. But, through hell n’ high water, I wrestled the range master n’ RSOs to get approval for this. I had to resubmit the same damn form three damn times after they gave me the wrong one. Had to submit it a fourth after they fooked up in the admin section and couldn’t just white it out for some shite reason. I set this all up, walked all the way out here in the dead of winter in the middle of the night ‘cause you asked fer it, and now I’m tryin’ to make the most of it while yer makin' rookie mistakes and bein’ a right cunt!”

Roach remained stupidly quiet.

Soap's nostrils flared as he scowled. He couldn’t contain it any longer. He pulled away and exploded, “Well, this is the last fookin’ time I’ll ever do somethin’ nice fer ye! I don’t even know why I bother goin' outta my way fer an ungrateful sergeant brat. I've had recruits act better than this. Yer not worth it, Sanderson. Yer not fookin’ worth my time.”

With shaking fingers Sanderson checked that the safety of his rifle was engaged and set it aside. Then he blinked rapidly, brought his knuckles to his eyes, and his face contorted like a child’s, and Soap realized he wasn't shaking from the cold. There Roach was, ripping at the seams like he'd never been yelled at before—which was unbelievably false. He was a soldier, for heaven’s sake. He’d been yelled at daily since the day he signed enlistment papers.

It made Soap's stomach sick, half fed up with the sorry excuse in front of him, half worried. “Hold it to-fucking-gether! The hell's wrong with ye‽” He asked.

[b1adie]

Oh my bad I should've elaborated! What I meant exactly was that it seems REALLY buggy/glitch-y and a lot of people online are complaining about it and that the EN voiceovers are bad is another popular complaint rn

Is that true? In your experience at least :0

OHHHH okay well here are my thoughts

well i don’t seem to be getting nearly as many crashes/disconnections as i’ve seen people complain about (it’s never crashed for me, but it occasionally will say “reconnecting” for a few seconds). kind of glitchy, but not in a way that really effects anything too badly. like 90% of the time you can just run straight up a wall, which honestly? hope they never patch that, i love it. also you don’t take fall damage which rocks. leave that.

the en voices though,, yeah, they’re not great. really flat and peculiar imo. like you can tell they’re reading off a script and it sounds like it’s the first time they’ve ever read it. not much of an issue for me since i rarely play games with sound on, but it is kind of disappointing (and sometimes irritating…)

they’re also just throwing a bunch of words at me all the time and its so much of a lore dump that i didnt even bother trying to keep up and just started skipping cutscenes LMAO like yeah i’d like to know more but i dont know half the shit they’re saying to me and they’re not making me interested enough to find out. i was only playing the main story for the xp and shit but i got to a point in it where it was like “you have to increase your level more before you can continue” so ive just been running around exploring and fighting shit. which! is mostly what i like doing, anyway. i like to pick flowers and kick the shit out of monsters

i’ve been having fun but i am disappointed with the story and the voiceovers. like, they really just start throwing so many words at you and dont give you a second to catch up… i LOVE video game lore, but they didnt even let me get a slight grip of the world before saying a bunch of new shit to me, so i lost interest in trying to figure out what anyone was talking about.

but! like i said, i just love running around. i’m a big fan of open world games and exploration. if you knew anything about the story/characters and were interested in those you probably won’t be too happy.

OH BUT YOU KNOW WHAT PISSES ME OFF?? they make you click the scroll wheel of the mouse to lock on to enemies, if you don’t click it you don’t auto target enemies and just kinda fire at whatever. I DONT HAVE A MOUSE I PLAY WITH A TRACKPAD!!! so i had a harder time starting off but now i’m really good at rotating my camera fast as fuck. still, super annoying that they won’t even let me change the key input for it in settings…

[the-whispers-of-death]

i feel like sylvester would never get a ranch on his own. too much work for that and its a hassle to drive so far out just to get to work every day

however, i feel like the constant encounters with Līva do end up pissing him off enough to where he leaves London. he's telling me he'd find some mid-sized city and move there with Mārīte. he gets private property that comes with a backyard so he can still mess around with growing his own flowers and tomatoes and whatnot. also his work is way closer now: probably just in an office building of sorts, working as the tech guy

i wonder how grim reaper!stone and sylvester even knew each other before him appearing on his doorstep there. eh for now imma say that they met at work and at some point and time, sylvester casually said "yah if you need anything done for you outside of work, come find me" .. maybe he only said that because mārīte still really liked him and he figured "eh the kid likes him, might as well offer to help"

and thats on him for not specifying he originally meant that only for tech that needs fixing. but yknow. too late now

when grim reaper!stone appears on his doorstep late in the evening, bloody and wet, he probably takes a double take at him, before cooing ".. awh, look at you.. cashing in the favor? alright... come on, lets getcha cleaned up... just dont be too loud, kid's asleep, yea?"

imagining that after coaxing grim reaper!stone to shower and putting his clothes in the wash+dryer, he either offers to patch up any injuries, or places the medkit in front of him so stone can do it by himself

stone can take the guest bedroom. theres a lock and key in the door if he so chooses to use it. but something's telling me that sylvester will wake up with grim reaper!stone in his bedroom. either in bed next to him, or on the floor... ((cue chiding that the floor's not good for his back and how he should just get in bed))

at some point, stone will need to explain whats going on, mostly because mārīte's getting antsy and wants to genuinely talk to her 2nd favorite person. but sylvester is also mildly curious about how he found them

sylvester's also telling me right now that they moved before he fucked up his back via falling down the stairs. rare sylvester W right there, so he can do more stuff now

~ rusty

I was leaning towards Grim Reaper!Stone just randomly finding Sylvester with no clue as to who he and Mārīte were, but this is better.

Even Grim Reaper!Stone doesn't know why he took Sylvester's offer for help. He should've been a good weapon and just let himself die on the battlefield, but he just... didn't?

It's not even like he panicked for the first time since he was a very young child and suddenly developed a fear of death. No, it was just him being oddly enough hopeful/naïve enough to think that the Marine Corps didn't mean to leave him behind to die. They just had no choice because the helo was full and they're clearly just waiting for him to come back to base on his own, it wouldn't be the first time he wandered onto base when there was no room for him on the transport back.

(All of those previous times were actually times the Marine Corps had tried and failed in leaving him behind to die, because Grim Reaper!Stone was starting to get old and not be as efficient ((in their eyes)). He just kept surviving and coming back to the base he was stationed at, much to numerous superior officers' dismay.)

I feel like Sylvester and Mārïte wake up in the middle of the night the first few weeks that Grim Reaper!Stone is healing to just see the man towering over them as they sleep. Because he's like "They may be threats, even the child."

Sylvester, I hope you can give this man a wake-up call because as soon as he's healed enough, Grim Reaper!Stone is going to try and go back to the base he was stationed at. Maybe be gentle when you tell him that the Marine Corps deemed him no longer a good weapon to use, though, because the news/realization will just break him.

[atangledfate]

Sonic crossed his arms and looked rather focused for a change. His mind was still on Surge and her determination to let herself be locked up. Maybe Blaze was right, maybe he was more like his father then the wanted to believe. But the thought of Surge giving up her freedom, letting herself be locked up still did not sit well with him. He really did struggle with that and in a way it hurt him. It hurt him to think he'd failed her, because to him that's how he felt. Like he let her down, like he failed to save someone again.

He rubbed his nose as he stared between the two copies. One of them was Tangle's Uncle and the other a psychopath. If Tails was here he'd know the perfect way to get the truth out of them. But he wasn't sur ehe bought Surge's argument either. Being concerned for one's family was normal, especially after what she just went through. He didn't think that alone was enough, but he also didn't think hostility alone was an indicator either. Mimic was to careful for that, to controlled and maybe that was the key--- real people made mistakes, got angry, and lashed out. Especially when you hurt there family!

" She's Cool, a little rough around the edges... like sand paper really but, honestly she's grown on me... like a wart... "

There was that humor, which he used to hide his emotions and make others feel more at ease.

" But i think i agree with her, If it was me and you hurt my brother--- I'd be pretty pissed to. I'd lash out and be angry, get emotional! But you can't do that can you Mimic! emotions i mean ... real emotions... real concern... can't express something you've never felt... right? "

This was the tip off for Sonic, Rowan was pissed, angry, ready to tear Mimic apart! Sure he was probably worried about Tangle but he knew she was with Whisper. She was safe, and so what emotion was left for him? Just Rage and a desire for revenge. He trusted Surge on this, and his own gut told him the same answer!

Mimic could see his own story falling apart, one second at a time. He didn't know Rowan really. Normally he spent days, hours, weeks even studying his victim so he could copy them. He barely knew a thing about Rowan and sure he could lie but and fib but these two saw through him almost instantly. But was it really so easy to discern he was the fake? How did they see it? he didn't have a flaw i his performance and they don't know rowan anymore then he did!

" So im worried about my niece! she wasn't even moving last i saw her! is it wrong for me to show concern? to be worried? how is that a false emotion! do either of you even have family? do you even know what that's like? I just wanted to make sure she was ok! "

There was Panic in his voice now and Sonic could hear him starting to show fear. He knew he was had but what really sold this for Sonic was how much he was overselling his worry. How much he wanted them to empathize with his plight. It was to much, a great flaw many actors had and one Mimic seemed to fall prey to far to easy.

" Yeaaaa its defiantly him... sorry Mimic you really are just overselling yourself here--- Ya know surge we do have a nice opportunity here... a chance to meet in the middle right? You said you wanted to get rid of him, and i said i don't like the idea of killing someone right? "

He turned to look at Surge clearly having something up his sleeve

" The Wisp here can lock him in Stasis... no chance to escape.. no chance to get free. He can't hurt anyone, and has a LOOONG time to think about what he did and the people he hurt. So i'll let you decide how long--- How long does he need to be locked up and as long as Mom is ok with being his Warden i say we leave him here... and let her be his keeper till his time is up... "

" We both Win... Mimic is locked up with zero chances to escape... and nobody has to die... call it a middle ground. I mean the guy deserves it... he killed people good people... and i'm sure he did something to tick off Mom here... So what do you say? "

Mimic started to struggle again more intently as the two discussed locking him in Stasis! which was in a way the worst fate he could think of. No way to get out, stuck for who knows how long! His entire world would disappear for who knows how long! worse Sonic was leaving the duration up to Surge! for all he knew she'd leave him stuck for a 1000 years or longer! that was messed up even for him! he'd rather be a corpse! You could just see the fear in his eyes as what ever control over his form was being lost! his eyes turning black as he started to lose his shape!

" FUCK YOU! FUCK THE BOTH OF YOU! RAAHH! LE ME GO! LET ME GO!!! I SWEAR WHEN I GET FREE! I'LL GUT YOU BOTH! LIKE FISH! RAAAAHHHHH!!! "

Mimic screamed at them struggling to be free! as he finally got his arm loose and in a last act of utter desperation! He drove his knife down into the Wisps Tentacle with all his might! It was all he had left and he couldn't reach a weapon, or had any wisps left! he needed to be free! needed to escape! he couldn't end up a frozen statue for all time!

He craved REVENGE! He wouldn't be denied! not by these two!

"Don't think this conversation is over because I'm not changing my mind." Surge wanted to deal with Mimic, though he's been wherever the fuck that other lemur dragged him into. Can't really end someone when you have no idea where they are and how to get to them. Now there was a giant fucking Wisp that she was sure would get in her way. Whisper is going to be pretty pissed, well, more pissed than she more than likely is about this situation.

"Oh, I know who you are Sonic. All the Wisp Mother's know of the one who saved our children from Eggman, and I speak for all of us when we say thank you. You are correct about the situation, and neither are giving straight answers. One is insisting I turn them in and the other is simply making threats." To say the Wisp was annoyed was an understatement. "Whoever is the fake I will put in a shadow statis so they can't move until I lift it." Being a Mother Wisp meant her Hyper-Go-On energy wouldn't run out for centuries so holding it would be easy.

"The one asking if Tangle is okay the fake. It'd be pointless to ask if she's fine if you already got Mimic away from her and know she's still breathing, right?" Surge guessed working along side Mimic for a bit gave her an advantage. "Besides, a guy willing to fight you one on one? I'm pretty sure he'd want to do more than make you talk." The tenrec was sure that whoever this guy was intended to end Mimic.

"That's, actually a lot of good points. Though I can't say I was going to kill him. Maybe give him a LOT of broken bones, though only because I'm sure Tangle would be pretty steamed at me for doing that." Rowan knew Tangle's stance on stuff like that, at least given all the story about how she stopped Whisper from ending Mimic already.

The Wisp could also agree, though she didn't know this Surge so would put her focus on Sonic. "She's with you, so, what do you think about her choice and reasoning?" Someone willing to save all the Wisp had more than earned her trust for life so whatever he decided she'd go with it.

[headcannonsbutwrittenbyasnake]

Remember that Lucifer weapon that Dante used in dmc 4? Imagine Yuu using it and saying the same voice lines as Dante did while throwing the spikes to make a heart and a rose that crumbled the heart

The scene:

I forgot how the jokes made up for Dante's more lackluster sections of DMC4

Note: I kinda really fucking hate my writing here, may brain hasn't been working at 100% these past few months. So this is unedited and I haven't read it over.

Since arriving in Twisted wonderland, Yuu hasn't had a boring day. But that also meant she didn't have her usual routines to do when bored. She couldn't Frisbee pizza boxes at Dante or Vergil, or go out with Nico to demon hotspots to test her new weapons. She couldn't ask Nero if she could play with some of the kids from the orphanage... So Yuu found another way to cure her boredom, the devil arms! She let them roam Ramshackle and the forest behind is as long as they caused no trouble. Neaven often enjoyed staying inside and doing small domestic task she hasn't done before. She didn't have to dust her opera stage in Temen-ni-gru, nor did she have anywhere to plant pretty flowers! And in Dante's hands she spent all of her time as a weapon, so Yuu letting her wander was a welcome change of pace. Agni and Rudra guarded out side, falling back into their old routine. The only devil arm Yuu couldn't let roam was King Cuerburus. If she did he would probably destroy Nrc, maybe even all of Sage Isle! So he was kept under metaphorical lock and key.

The only issue is stupid nosy students who think they're invincible. No, not Ace and Deuce, they've been warned many times about the weapons. The only time the devil arms are off her person is when she has P.E class. Yuu has a bad habit of being on edge and always ready to protect her self, and since P.E can get physical she didn't want to kill anyone.

So leaving her weapons on the table. Yuu left for class, locking the door behind her. Agni and Rudra where in a deep sleep in the back yard, and Neaven on her way to Mr.S's mystery shop to pick up some plants she ordered. No one would be dumb enough to break into Ramshackle, steal arguable the most dangerous devil arm in her possession, and go deep into the forest to 'test' it.

...

...

Yuu felt a familiar shiver run down her spine.

"Oh shit..."

"Why are you 'Oh shit'-ing?" The trio of two humans and a monster cat looked at her with panicked and confused faces. Yuu quickly moved to the spot under the tree where she left her coat, and picked up the small knife that fell out of the pocket, and shrugged it on.

"Tell the teacher or dorm leaders to round up all the students and get them somewhere safe, I ...have to deal with something." Grim gripped the edge of Yuu's coat. "You have to go with them Grim, it's to dangerous to come with me."

" What'dya mean, henchman? What's going on? Tell us!" Grim refused to let go of her coat. She could see Ace and Deuce agree with him.

Yuu sighed "Something happened that caused a devil arm to go haywire and get out, no I have to clean up its mess." Yuu looked over at the forest to only to see smoke rising, "Well at least I can swing by the house on my way."

Yuu started off in the direction of Ramshackle "Now go tell an adult! Things could get more messy!" And with that, she ran off.

"Agni! Rudra!" Ariving at Ramshackle Yuu saw the Devil swords in the back, still asleep. It'd take to long to wake them. So she turned to go inside.

...

Someone broke the lock on the front door. Yuu walked in and looked at the table. King Cuerburus was missing. Most likely they stole it because it was the lightest looking weapon. Yuu sighed again and rubbed her face, thinking about what to do. Something long range would be best, but Yuu wouldn't be able to stop that mutt with only summon swords. Bullets would only piss the dog off more. Neaven isn't home and electric attacks wouldn't do much anyway. All that's left is Pandora's box and Lucifer. Since the box is tricky and kinda finicky to use, Yuu picked up Lucifer putting the... thing on her back, how it stayed on no one knows.

Finally making her way to the mutt, Yuu had to brace herself. She hasn't fought any Cuerburus, let alone the so-called 'king'. Yuu just hoped those three didn't get any ideas.

Yuu arrived at the spot in the woods. Two students passed out and tossed in the bushes. Alive, she thinks.

"Sparta!" Spittled flew every where.

"Well, hello puppy dog! Goin' alittle stir crazy, maybe I should walk you more." Yuu took a large, mocking step in front of him.

"You mock me, just like your father! Unfortunately you won't be able to see him again!" And with that the fight begun.

After some time and what was pretty much Yuu beatting down King Cuerburus with him getting a few lucky hits in.

"HEEY, PERFECT! WE'RE HERE AS BACK UUUP!" Ace... it was Ace, Deuce and Grim doing exactly what she told the NOT to do!

"Are you stupid or suicidal? I told you three to get somewhere safe!"

"Well, you didn't say that part,"

"WELL IT WAS IMPLIED!" Not having her full attention on the fight, Yuu missed the ice forming on her path. She slipped and got hit with an icicle.. "You stupid mutt! I'm getting tired of this!" Yuu yelled at the Cuerburus. "Fine you three wanna help? Shoot those icicles outta the air,"

"Alright!"

After wearing him down with the small explosive spikes, one finally stuck in his skin. Shooting more, Yuu decided to teach the dog a lesson.

She formed a heart with the spikes, and while holding one, she quoted her dad. "And in the end we're all satisfied!" She threw the final spike, "And you are set free..." The mocking heart exploded, " in spirit, you know I can't really let you go, now can I? I'm a sentimental person at heart." With how much damage the mutt did to the surrounding forest, he deserved to be bullied.

"Spaarta," he wheezed "just like him, unkillable, undefeated..." where his final words before he returned to his weapon form. Yuu scooped up the nunchucks and de-materialized them.

THWUNK! Ace walked Yuu over the head "Why the hell did you fight that weird dog monster on your own? What if something happened! You're lucky Grim is a sniffer hound when it counts."

"HEEEENCHMAAAAN~" Yuu crouched down letting Grim run at her, jump, and wrap his arms around her neck. "DON'T DO THAT AGAIN! DON'T GIVE CRYPTIC INSTRUCTIONS AND THEN LEAVE ALL WORRIED! IF SOMETHING HAPPENED WHO WOULD OPEN MY TUNA CANS FOR ME~" Grim held on tight, still crying and rubbing his face into the neckline of her jacket. She just rubbed his back and let him continue. She was happy to comfort Grim and the duo, after all, they where the closest thing to family she had at the moment.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#259

“Seth? Right? C’mon in. Your brother told you who I am? Good. Want a beer?... Here you go. Let’s go out to the back deck. The sun went down, and the cool evening air is starting to kick in. Have a seat…. Ok. Seth, do you know why you are here? Let me be blunt. Your brother David owes me a lot of money. A lot. He’s been doing jobs for me that I need someone I can trust to do. But that’s barely covering the interest. I told him he needs to start working down the principal. So, he offered me… you….

“That’s right he sold you to me. You are going to whore off his debt…. Shut the fuck up. The deal is set. Have some more beer; it will help you to deal with what I need to go over with you….

“Your brother probably told you that I am a powerful man. Hopefully he didn’t tell you what I did. I will share with you one part of my business that you will be a part of. I have several whore agencies across several states. They ain’t like the whorehouses in the movies. The girls never see money; they show up at a set time and do whatever the man wants. They do not say no. They get to live in city, and they show their clients the best the city has to offer. They have everything paid for and get a nice credit card too.

“A few years ago—hell it’s more like ten or so, —I was convinced to do the same but on the fag side. Now, I knew nothing about fag sex, and it disgusted me. Once I got over the visuals, the business was just like the girls. The difference I found out was that I had to have two sets of whores—fag boys like yourself, and men old enough to be your father.

“It was Frankie, one of my goons, who told me that there is a lot money to be made by men taking the dominant role. I didn’t believe it. So, he arranged for me to watch him from a distance him work over this faggot. He didn’t tell me how much he was earning. When I saw this fag hand over three hundred bucks, I knew I needed to get into this. I mean my guy did barely anything other than smack the fag around, call him names, and sit on the faggot’s face at the end. That fag ate that fat ass while pounding its pud. Frankie even went over to the fag’s wallet and took an additional hundred out of it. And wouldn’t you know, that fag boy was loving life.

“Needless to say, that was how I got into the fag whoring business. I had Frankie lead it; he even got somewhat in shape, and now he’s my most popular whore men. Wait a minute, you know him. He fucked you behind a dumpster in the alley behind that fag bar a couple weeks ago. When I saw you at David’s birthday partner at my tavern and he told me that you were his sperm burping brother, I sent Frankie to find out more about you. I know that you can take a good pounding, face slaps, rough housing. Frankie also told me that you cleaned off his cock after we was done and that you drank his piss. You even begged him for more as he walked away from you, naked covered in piss behind the dumpster. That’s all I needed to hear.

“After meeting with your brother, all I had to do was press the massive debt. I knew how self-serving he was. He sold you out so fucking fast. And now I own you. Now strip faggot….

“You do realize who I am? No one ever disobeys one of my direct commands. Now think about your next move real carefully. STRIP YOU FUCKING FAGGOT. Take your time standing up. That drug I put in your beer will make you kinda dizzy if you stand too fast. Yeah, I didn’t want you to run back to your car. Kid, when you came in that door, you were mine. That’s it. Accept your fate. Good boy.

“Yeah, after Frankie roughed up that fag, I was curious. He arranged for me to use one of his regulars who was blindfolded. It was so much fun to kick and punch that faggot only to have him crawl to me, begging for more. With each time, I got more wicked, and they wanted more. I had a few fags over the years locked up and had the best of all worlds. My wife provides me with companionship. My girlfriend offers sensual making love and snuggling. And my faggot takes all my rage filled abuse.

“Underwear needs to go too. Let’s see what you have. Not bad. Looks like you are excited about being naked in front of me. That’s a lot of pre-cum. Decent sized balls. I’d say you are about six inches long. The shaft is a bit thin, but the head is good size. Your foreskin is not too long. That’s good. If there’s going to be one sweaty stinky dick around here, it will be mine. If yours becomes a problem, we’ll get you circumcised.

“What? Faggot, you are nothing more to me than my pickup. If I want to modify you out, I sure as hell am going to. I modify all my property. Tattoos, piercing, permanent hair removal, castration, branding, and so on. But actually, I am a bit cautious. I made the mistake of castrating a fag and regretted it afterwards. He just didn’t seem right to me. The cutter I went to tried to put in fake balls, but it still didn’t seem right. I ended up replacing that fag with another.

“I am looking for my perfect fag. I’m planning on letting my girlfriend go, but sometimes I need that close touch. Not going to do that with my wife. Every day now I realize that I want to be with faggots over women. Faggots are so much easier to mold into what I want. And every now and then I might snuggle with one.

“I like what I see. I want to see your cumload. Jerk off for me. I’ll give you a few minutes to do so. When you do, shoot in your spare hand. I want to see the quantity. I’m going to get your collar; it’s probably done charging. I’m also going to take your car keys. You ain’t going anywhere. Continue jacking….

“….Did you cum? You did! Good fag. When was the last time you came? Yesterday morning? Well that’s a good load. Here, lock this collar around your neck. Ok, so here’s the deal. You can jack off as often as you like, whenever you like as long as I am not using you. If I catch you jacking off, don’t stop. If you are watching porn, continue. But know this, no matter if you haven’t cum in days or you just had a massive orgasm, should I require your use, I fully expect 100% horniness and enthusiasm.

“This remote is hooked up to your collar. With this button… you fall to the floor just like that. Hurt’s like a mother fucker hunh? That’s on low. Remember that. It is also set up to shock you should you cross a 20-foot perimeter of the house. I am notified by an app on my phone when you do something that stupid. Also, the garage and my office on the third floor are completely off limits. You will not fare well should you cross that threshold without me.

“Bring your cock over here. Is your dick head sensitive. It is! Fuck yes! As you get soft, it’s driving you crazy. Good. Good. I see a problem here. Your pubic hair is all over the place. You shouldn’t have hair down here. Look how long this hair is. There’s enough so that I can twirl a bunch around my finger. With a firm yank,… it comes out in one clump. Aww shut the fuck up. Most of the time your screams of pain will turn me on, but now it’s just annoying. Another clump on the other side, and it doesn’t even look like you lost any.

“Look at me faggot. Say ‘Thank you.’ Good fag. Open your mouth. Here eat your pubic hair. Go on chew it. Nasty? I know, now swallow. And here’s… another bunch. Swallow these…. And these… And these… You’ll be permanently shaved in the near future so you won’t have to do much pubic hair eating.

“While you finish your snack, let me take you around the place and show you your duties. This is the kitchen. David told me that you went to culinary school but then dropped out. Well, you will be doing all the cooking here. Cleaning too.

“Let’s go downstairs…. This is your room, although you really don’t have privacy. Over there is your cot. Next to it is the plug you will put into your collar every night. I am notified on my app should the power level drop below 75%. That’s equivalent for not charging for a full week. Unless I just slam you with shocks, I should never get one of those notifications.

“You have a wash basin there, and your toilet is there. There’s your douche hose over there in the shower. No, I haven’t gotten around to buying it a toilet seat; the cold porcelain is fine. And I haven’t hooked up the hot water down here.

“Let’s go up to the Master bedroom…. You never climb into my bed unless I invite you in. In fact no non-sexual furniture for you either without permission. Through that door is the master bath. You will keep this place spotless. That includes licking clean my toilet. The rimseat next to it is when I want to make you toilet paper or a full toilet.

“And here’s the playroom. It’s totally soundproofed. You are going to suffer a lot in here. Screaming is encouraged. In fact, what time is it? Seven. Well we might as well start now. Get on all fours—knees and elbows. Spread those knees wide. Every night you will present yourself in this position, as you will every morning.

“Don’t get too excited. I am going to fuck you good, long, and deep. But that won’t until the end. We got a long way to go. You see, the only people who knows my affinity for preferring the boys to the girls are Frankie, me, and now you. Your brother thinks I’m adding you to my harem of fags. This is something that cannot get out. And if it does, I will know it came from you, and I want you to know the perpetual hell that will come your way.

“Tonight is a test of what you can expect, but keep in mind, tonight’s suffering will be only five hours long, much shorter than what will be if my preference is ever widely known.

“And after the paddling your ass to a welted mess, whipping your back until it turns to bloody hamburger, kicking your balls until they are swollen to twice their size, bruising up your face, and fucking you with very little lube, I may feel the need to snuggle up with you afterwards.

“But first, there’s a lot to do before we do that. Oh look your balls are just ripe for a good old fashioned full-force kick. Every night and every morning you will get one to always remind you what you are.

“Faggot right now with this kick your hell begins.”

[neopuppy]

Dive Into You: Part 2. (M)

Preview: “You’re not seriously just fucking with her to get back at me are you? It’s not like everyones talking about you being dads problem child here.” Jeno’s arms fold over his chest. Bicep muscles straining under tight sleeves.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? I’m allowing you to spend alone time with your church girl. You should be thanking me nono.”

Pairing: brothers Jeno/Haechan x female reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Genre: pwp, church boys AU, smut, love triangle, brothers nohyuck

Warning: daddy issues, sacrilegious themes, explicit language, master manipulator Haechan, innocent Jeno, virgin reader, corruption, bible quotes

Smut Warning: oral(F receiving), slight sensory deprivation, fingering, all in church.

Intro—>

Part 1–>

“I told the new family in town that you’d be showing their daughter around boys. I expect you to be on your best behavior.” Pastor Lee slaps a hand over Jeno’s shoulder with a firm grip. “No funny business.”

“You got it, father. You know, like because you’re a pastor.” Haechan snorts, pouring hot steaming coffee into a ceramic mug.

“Ha ha ha, you’re hilarious. Make sure your brother acts right. People around town are already talking enough about my atrocious parenting skills. Word travels fast in these small towns you know.” Pastor Lee adjusts his tie in the mirror. Stepping out of the front door with not even a wave goodbye. Jeno left rubbing at his shoulder with irritation.

“What time do you want to head out?” He questions, eyes burning into Haechans back.

“Oh, I can’t do that ‘show the new townies’ around thing today. Got a brunch date in the next town over with someones mom.” Haechan turns, leaned back along the kitchen counter blowing steam from his coffee.

“What?? She’s your girlfriend now. Aren’t you supposed to hang out with her tonight?” Jeno’s eyes widen befuddled. More in disbelief his brother would be two timing you, familiar with his antics.

“Your point?” Haechan scoffs, checking messages through his phone. Petty smirk on his lips sending you a ‘miss you’ text.

“You’re a dog. You’re not seriously just fucking with her to get back at me are you? It’s not like everyones talking about you being dads problem child here.” Jeno’s arms fold over his chest. Bicep muscles straining under tight sleeves.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? I’m allowing you to spend alone time with your church girl. Should be thanking me nono.”

“Dick..” Jeno mutters, grabbing his bag to head out. Not wanting to spend another minute around his brother.

“Wait a minute..” Haechan grabs a hold on Jeno’s arm, pulling him back into the kitchen. “Take good care of my girl today yea?” Jeno’s eyes squint as his brother sneaks a $20 bill into his side jacket pocket.

“Maybe get her a milk shake or something. Whatever it is you kids drink. We’re not really going on a date tonight if you know what I mean.” Haechans eyes shift around mischievously. Knowing damn well Jeno knows. Knowing exactly what to say to get under his skin.

Jeno grips at Haechans collar, huffing against his face. Anger seething through fingertips aching to bring his brother physical pain. Jaw tightening, resisting the deep urge inside building for years everyday.

“Gonna give me a black eye nono? What will father think when he finds out his bad seed is also abusive?” Lips curling with a slick grin. Haechan the expert on how to push Jeno’s buttons. Worked on himself well to get exactly what he wants.

“That’s what you want isn’t it?” Jeno clenches the fabric between his fist, arms shaking with rage. “You’re the perfect one, I’m the fuck up. You’re the one dad brags about, I’m the one he pretends doesn’t exist.”

“You think your daddy issues would get your little church girl turned on? Should I tell her how you cry yourself to sleep wishing you were me?” Haechan snorts, loosening from of Jeno’s grip. Hands smoothing out his freshly ironed shirt.

“I’ve never wanted to be anything like you. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“That’s not true nono..” Haechan pulls on a jacket. Fingers twirling around keys. “You know how much I love my car” with a cocky wink matching a shit eating grin Haechan heads out. Leaving Jeno festering in his anger. Fists slamming against the counter. Back tense with underlying hatred, hatred for himself. Tired of how easily Haechan manages to provoke him.

——————————————————————————

Jeno’s nervous, pissed off, feeling anxious. Pacing back and forth in front of your house. He didn’t have much of a choice with the looming threat of getting shipped back off to Jesus camp hovering his mind. The idea to ditch this whole ordeal passing his thoughts more than once. It’s not that he liked you, but it’s also not necessarily that he didn’t like you. Convincing himself he just hasn’t gotten any for too long now. Dick probably desperate for anything at this point. Nothing related to how cute you looked with your lips all swollen after kissing him. Jacking off at home that night reliving the events long forgotten.

Forget about stroking himself off in the shower the next morning again. Or the other five more times since. No he didn’t like you, not really..

“Aren’t you one of Pastor Lee’s sons??” And older woman carrying bags of groceries approaches. Lipstick covering her two front teeth, over sized dress hanging from her body.

“Oh uh.. yes I am. I’m supposed to.. show your.. daughter? Around today..” Jeno stutters out, mentally slapping himself.

“Oh..” the woman adjusts a bag in her hold, throat clearing. “What about that lovely brother of yours? What’s his name again?”

“Haechan..” Jeno’s eyes shift, looking away. How did his brother manage to convince everyone he was such an angel. A modern day fallen angel, roaming earth in disguise.

“Ah that’s it..” she makes a sound of disapproval, bag dropping on the porch. “A polite young boy would have offered assistance.” Voice lowly whispering as she unlocks the front door. Jeno’s eyes darting between the groceries and woman, cursing himself yet again for coming off exactly how everyone says.

“I’ll call her down.” She steps inside. Loud shouting vocals calling out your name. The sound of foot steps against stairs following. Your figure appearing, dressed up to impress. Jeno’s throat itching, swallowing, adjusting his collar.

“That’s not your bike- is it?!” Your mothers shrieking voice questions. Eyes bulging out, taking in the sleek black motorcycle off the sidewalk.

“I’m here!” Your smile falls, only spotting one brother waiting for you outside. Not the one you’d expect even. You subtly give a look around, searching for someone else maybe hiding in surprise. Jeno unfortunately does not fail to notice.

“That is my bike Ma’m.. it’s safe. I promise.” He holds up two helmets. Craving to crawl into a hole under your moms scrutinizing gaze.

“I’m not so sure about this..” she mumbles. Eyes glaring into Jeno, trying to put the fear of God...fear of a strict crazy mother, in him.

“It’ll be fine mom! He has a helmet! I’ve been on a motorcycle with dad before!” You lean up, pecking your mothers cheek. Summer dress twirling up with air as you run forward. Jeno catching a glimpse of your underwear. Shifting a helmet over his groin momentarily.

“I thought Haechan was coming too?” You asks, taking the helmet held out for you. Typically being his brothers helmet, little did you know.

“He’s busy.. errands out of town or something.” Jeno mumbles, avoiding your eyes. He’s being weird, but then again you didn’t know him well enough to confirm he wasn’t always this way.

“Oh.. well I guess I’ll see him later anyway.” You frown, tugging at the light fabric of your dress. What a waste. “You ride a motorcycle?”

“Yea.. I don’t have a car so.. you’ve been on one before you said?” Jeno’s brows furrow. Eyes trained on your feet, teeth digging into his lower lip. You had to wear cute strappy sandals with a summer dress. That just made sense, to show off your cute freshly painted toes..Jeno’s brain feels like its turning in his skull. Lips begging for mercy to let out a scream.

“I actually haven’t. Just said that to make my mom shut up.” You lean in close. Lips grazing his earlobe as you whisper. Words muffled, Jeno blinking slowly. Perfume wafting around his head, as if this could get any worse.

“Uh..” Jeno steps away abruptly. “Put that on!” His voice awkwardly shouts to you, chin jerking toward the helmet in your hands. Head shaking, pulling on his own. Straddling around the bike seat, engine coming to life.

“Am I supposed to hold on to you?” You stand to Jeno’s side. Admiring the shining black bike, fitting for his character. At least physically.

“I..” Jeno’s breath catches under his helmet shield. Only now realizing you’ll be riding with him around today. Legs parted on him.. arms squeezing his abdomen.

“Jeno??..” you pull on your helmet with confusion. He wasn’t much for words it seemed. So opposite of his brother.

“Uh.. yea.. just hold on to me..” he sighs to himself. Sounding more displeased than intended. Uncomfortable awkwardness travels through you watching his shoulders slump. With reluctance, you lift your leg. Straddling Jeno’s back, bad day to wear a short dress..

“This is kind of..” your lips purse together, center a little too close to Jeno’s body. More than close, right on him. Cotton airy smell coming off his black jean jacket. Scent fresh and clean, hair lingering of lightly scented shampoo. His broad shoulders covering majority of your view.

“You should.. hold on tight.” Jeno licks his cracking lips. Foot kicking up the bikes lock. With another look toward your mom motioning the sign of the cross. You lean your body forward, chest pressed up on Jeno’s wide back. Arms circling around his small waist.

Jeno’s own thoughts rolling in like rapid fire. Throat squeezing in, heat between your bodies pressed together moving between his legs. Trying to focus on anything, anything but your breasts pressing into him. Anything besides your smooth thighs around him. The memory of kissing you too vividly choosing to repeat itself.

“God be with you!” Your mothers voice screams out. Bike engine too loud as Jeno rides off. Your dress blowing behind you, smile covering your face. Chin on his shoulder, admiring the view of your new home.

Could only be an even more perfect moment if it was Haechan you were wrapped around..

——————————————————————————

“That’s it? A diner? That’s the tour of the town?” You twirl around the cherry sat atop melting whipped cream. Chocolate shake looking unblended and less than appetizing.

“There really isn’t much to do here..” Jeno mumbles, chin tucked into his chest. Basket of half eaten fries more interesting than you apparently.

“I could have told you that..” you murmur in response. Sitting back in the booth with boredom. Jeno does the same, brows furrowing in thought. A minute or five of silence passing. He grunts lowly, pulling his phone out.

“Look at you two!” Mark jogs over sporting a huge smile stretched across his cheeks. Red and white striped apron covering what looks like an all white uniform.

“You work here?!” You sit up, eyeing the uniform. Almost too fitting, a too old altar boy working part time at a cheap fifties diner.

“Well of course, phone bills don’t pay themselves! Timothy 6:10 For the love of money, is the root of all kinds of evil!” Mark proclaims, finger waggling about like a mad man. Your lips pulling back over your teeth in...displeasure.

“Right..”

“Fucking shit” Jeno groans, kicking at a foot under the table. Tsking as thumbs slam down at his phone screen.

“Ah Jeno! Proverbs 21:23! Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble!” Mark places hands on his hips. Lips pursed together with disappointment.

“Yea..sorry Jesus. Whatever.” Jeno mumbles again, eyes not moving from his phone.

“Gamers right” Mark shakes his head your way. Eyes lighting up, taking your own phone out.

“What do you play??” you scoot in closer to Jeno. Closing the space between the two of you in the booth. His shoulders stiffen, curling in hunched over the table.

“Kartrider..” Jeno barely whispers. Catching enough of it, familiar with the game.

“I play too! Oh! I bet I have a better rank than you!” Laughing unlocking your phone, swiping the game open. “Look at my character, she’s so cute!”

“There’s no way you’re better than me....I’m always top ranking in this county..” Jeno’s eyes widen. Forgetting about his current race, watching you hold up your phone with laughter.

“Come on, let’s race. I’m gonna kick your ass!” You lean in closer, reading out Jeno’s ID as you enter it in. “Add me!”

“Language!” Mark sighs, head shaking with both of you. “God’s children have truly fallen. After everything the lord has done for us.”

“Come on Jeno! Play me! I’ll go easy on you” nudging at his side with a wink. Your smile grows, finally something you can do together. Jeno dragging you around downtown past rusty antique shops. The only thing that caught your interest a quant little family owned bookstore. Learning fast he wasn’t much for conversation. Face appearing pained and uninterested with every word from you.

“Don’t feel like playing anymore..” Jeno shuts his phone, screen turning black.

“What?! Aw come on. Can’t stand the thought of a girl beating you?” Jeno leans back, eyes taking in your face slowly. All he cared about was winning, competing in stupid games just to achieve a high ranking. You’d win of course, he’d never let you lose.

“Just don’t feel like playing anymore.”

——————————————————————————-

“Thanks for showing me around, the one street you took me to.” Your voice drips with sarcasm. Hopping off the back of Jeno’s bike. He removes his own helmet, hair flopping around messily. “Was fun I guess.”

“Yea well” Jeno holds out his hand for the helmet you borrowed. You hold it under your arm, brow quirking in confusion. Your hand slowly lifting, placing in his. Jeno’s eyes widen, staring at your hands held together. Too many feelings rushing at him all at once.

“Helmet!” Jeno shouts abruptly, hand flying away from yours like you’re too disgusting to touch.

“Geeze, fine. Sorry...” you place the helmet on the back end of Jeno’s bike. Turning away, without even a goodbye. He grabs your elbow, your foot stopping mid-air.

“You..” head turning, staring down where he holds you.

“Yes?” You implore him to continue. Jeno’s hand dropping from you when you fully turn to face him again.

“You.. you really like my brother..?” Jeno’s eyes fall to the ground. Thick dark eyelashes shadowing across his cheeks.

“Yea of course. Is that what this is about Jeno? I really do like him, I would never use someone.” You smile, bouncing back on your heels. Jeno’s lips suck in with frustration.

“Wish I could say the same about him.” Jeno mumbles, turning his engine back on.

“What was that?” Voice raising, trying to speak above the loud roar from the motorcycle. Jeno flicks down his helmet shield, speeding off. Cloud of dust surrounding you. Smacking at the air coughing out, bike disappearing behind dusts.

“Fucking jerk.”

—————————————————————————-

“Haechan! Where are we going? The church?!” Your shoes lift up dust. Arm in his hold pulling you toward the small old building.

“Where else would we go baby? Can’t go to my place, the holy spirit’s home.” Haechan laughs, pulling a lanyard from his back pocket. “Besides, this is my dads church you know right? It’s like my property too, we’re safe here under God’s watchful eye.”

“Isn’t this.. I don’t know. Sacrilegious?!” You anxiously follow him inside. Haechans easy smile comforting you, arms wrapping around your waist. He steps back down the center aisle. Pews displayed at your sides, Haechan leading you one in front. He pulls you to the center of the pew, sitting with hands on your hips.

“This feels..” you start, chest rising and falling faster as guilt passes through you.

“Wrong? God didn’t make us this way..” his hand smooths down your bare thigh. Passing the fresh new dress just for your date tonight. Fingers skirting between your thighs, one playing at a side covering your mound. “..for us to not touch and explore..”

“It’s just..” your hands grip at the front of the pew behind you. Where you’d normally kneel to pray..

“Just?..” Haechans eyes gaze up at you. Pure sin and danger hidden in the face of an angel. Tongue sliding up your other thigh. “You’re so sweet.”

You sigh in defeat, legs quivering, upper body doing the work to hold you up. His head dipping under your dress, nose pressing into your slit. Cotton from your panties shoving between you. Soft moans sounding from underneath, Haechans tongue licking at your underwear. Enough to properly soak them up, allowing drool to freely fall from his mouth. You gnaw at your lip, gathering up your dress fabric in one hand. Admiring the way the beautiful boy between your legs eats you up.

Haechan lets out a dreamy sigh. Long fingers stroking up and down your thighs. Teeth biting your at core with cloth between. Your stomach folds in, curling closer to where he sits below you. Fingers wrapping around the sides of your panties, tongue lapping at your inner thighs.

“Body of a virgin can heal more sins than body of christ you know..” underwear at your knees. Haechan leans back in, lips wrapping around your clit. Tongue swirling around, suctioning between. Your other hand lifting to your mouth, biting down on your thumb. Muffled moans and whines echoing around the church walls.

Haechans eyes stay on your face, tongue rolling your clit around. Hands squeezing your inner thighs, pulling back, clapping down slaps. Your hips jolting forward with suppressed cries. Everything about him was absolutely depraved. Looks deceiving from the boy your mother had always warned you about.

“Don’t hide your pretty sounds baby.” Haechan pulls away. Lips shining, coated in your wetness. Glares from the colored glass reflecting off his skin. Red tinted eyes sparkling up at you. Haechan reaches for your wrist, yanking your hand out from your mouth. His lips part open, tongue swirling around your entrance. Sucking up the wetness gathering around.

“Oh God!” You shout out, neck loosely dropping back. Tears on the brink of escaping the corners of your eyes.

“That’s it baby. You pray to me now.” Haechan groans, mouth closing over your entire mound. Eyes rolling back into his head, swiping up and down your core. Hands finding his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. Haechans tongue thrusts into your tight entrance, muscle working extra hard to enter.

“Oh my God!” Body shaking, ass digging into the pew. Hips twitching forward, grinding against Haechans face. Chin covered in your wetness, tongue wiggling inside you. Fingers finding way to your clit, pinching and rolling the bud. “Oh my God!!”

Haechan groans inside you, scalp in pain from your pulling. Cock hardening in his jeans, taste of innocence in his mouth nearly orgasmic. You taste too fucking good, nothing like that used up whore from earlier..

“I-I c-can’t!” Haechans fingers work at your clit. Rapidly sweeping back and forth. Tongue sliding out, jaw hung open. Eyes return to your face, smile breaking out over his cheeks.

“You can.” He pants, tongue hung out lazily lapping at your hole. Clit pinched between two fingers, massaging every little nerve. “Cum on my tongue.”

Your head drops forward, tear slipping free. Haechans raspy tone saying those words driving you past your limit. Ass lifted off the pew, core convulsing. Haechans tongue placed against your fluttering entrance. Catching all of your release. You weakly fall forward again, forehead resting on top of his messed up hair.

“So good.” Haechan moans words out, licking clean the wetness seeping from you. Neck lifting, hands cupping your cheeks. “Taste.”

Tongue pushing between your parted lips, trying to catch your breath. Haechan laps at your tongue, realization hitting you in seconds what he’s making you do. Tasting yourself between your lips. His tongue covering every corner inside your mouth. Haechans hands return to your hips, pulling you off the front of the pew to straddle his lap.

“You want it?” His hand digs into the back of your hair. Jean clad dick shoving between your thighs at your heated core. Weakly nodding, eyes half open lazily pecking pouty lips. Haechan lays back down flat across the pew. Warm hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly. “Come here.”

Your head nods, under his command. Mind controlled by whatever he’s saying, telling you ‘I want it- no matter what it is.’ If it’s from Haechan- give it to me, now. You lay down on his chest, kisses continuing. Hands squeezing around your ass, pulling up your dress. Hands flying down hard with mean slaps. Fingers gliding down finding way between your legs again. Skimming up and down your slit from the back. Soft moans passing between your swollen lips.

Body tensing, sounds of the large entrance doors opening up with a slam. Haechans eyes open up staring into yours, brows lifted. His lips purse out with a silent ‘shhh’, earning a rapid head shake from you. Familiar smirk pulling at his lips, free hand clamping over your mouth. Your eyes widen, lips pressing into the palm of Haechans hand. Fingertips circling around your needy entrance. Panic rushing through you as loud foot steps approach closer and closer.

Your forehead shoved up against Haechans. Mouth closed off, silent whimpers falling out behind his hand. Finger sliding inside you, his lit up eyes watching your expressive eyes react. The fear and curiosity alone could make him cum.

“Are you kidding me!” A flash light shines over your faces. Mark standing at the end of the pew in disgust. Your head lifts quickly, ripping Haechans hand off your mouth. Cheeks heating up absolutely mortified. Moving fast, adjusting your dress to cover up. Haechan stays laid down, eyes fluttering shut with irritation.

“Fucking cock block.” He whispers to himself, sitting up. Tent in his jeans extremely evident.

“I knew you stole my keys again Haechan!” Mark clicks the flash light on and off angrily. Both of you covering your eyes. “and you! Mary of Magdala! You should be ashamed! Think of your mother!”

“Dude, chill.” Haechan stands, hands held up trying to block the bright light from his eyes. “We weren’t doing anything.”

“Weren’t doing anything?!? If people found out what you were doing, this one would be getting pelted with stones!” Mark passes the light over your face. You cringe, hands coming up to hide yourself.

“Mark, quick, what’s the verse about fucking that really cute voice of an angel choir boy?” Haechan throws him a knowing look, pulling a lanyard from his pocket. Marks eyes widen, snatching his keys away.

“Don’t steal my keys again! Next time I will be telling your father!” Mark scurries away, door slamming behind him.

“Oh my God he’s gonna tell your dad!” You panic, pulling your dress down. Attempting to wipe away any mascara that could be on your cheeks.

“Nah he’d never, can’t risk everyone finding out about Renjun. Don’t worry baby, I got something on everyone.” Haechan pulls you in, gently pecking your lips. Your senses relax, mind torn with stress still. Who the fuck were you right now..

“You know..” Haechan turns you around, hand scooping your chin. “I’m gonna fuck you. Right there.” He holds your jaw up. Eyes on landing on the altar.

“Jesus will know all your sins after I’m done with you.”

Part 3–>

Taglist:

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[kindnessisweakness2]

Perfect Chaos - Part 2

Leaning against his bike, Angel lit a cigarette as he watched Riley frantically search for her keys. Her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment as she turned to face Angel. “Erm your not gonna believe this. I think Jake has my keys. Im so sorry Angel, Ill walk back to the clubhouse.” Riley quickly pleaded with him, tears welling in her eyes. Angel couldn’t believe the panic in her eyes over something so simple as a house key. “Riley, its ok.” Shaking her head frantically she became so flustered. “Im So So sorry. Im stupid. Im useless. Im good for nothing!” Tears spilled over her cheeks as she tried to start walking down the street back towards the Clubhouse. “Hey......Riley, look at me...Its ok!” Angel made a grab for her arm trying to reassure her but she flinched away. Anger spread through him in an instant. Locking eyes with Riley as she turned to face him, Angel felt tears in his own eyes. Laying his hands gently on her shoulders he looked straight in her Green eyes. “Its ok. Honestly. You can come to my place.” Worry settled on her face instantly, but before she could speak Angel smiled at her. “You can take my bed, Ill sleep on the couch. Just please come with me.” Riley took a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. Making her way back towards Angels bike, Riley didnt know what to do. She wanted nothing more than to go with Angel, but Jake would be so furious with her. He would be angry enough when he finds out she asked Angel to take her home after specifically telling her not to. When he finds out she stayed the night at his? God, he’ll be livid. Quickly turning to face Angel, helmet still in her hands, Riley looked up at him fear clearly in her eyes. “Actually Angel i dont think this is a good idea. Jake will be so pissed if he finds out. I dont want to put you at risk.” Angel grinned as he took the helmet from her hands and plonked it on her head, clipping the straps safely together. “Oh Baby, dont worry about me. I can handle myself.” 

30 Minutes later Riley sat in Angels Living room as he quickly changed his bed sheets. Reappearing in his cluttered hallway, Angel nodded to Riley that it was ok for her to come through. “I’ve changed the sheets to try and make you more comfortable, but honestly its only been me sleeping in them.” Angel laughed at her shocked facial expression. “and theres a pair of my boxers and a t-shirt on the bed just incase you want to change. I cant imagine sleeping in Jeans will be very comfortable.” Riley nodded at him trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Jake has never been this nice to her. “If you want to get changed ill make us a drink.” Riley picked up the clothes on his bed and made her way to the bathroom as Angel went to the kitchen. God Angel was so nervous around her. He felt like a stupid teenager again. Shaking his head at himself, he filled the kettle and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “You got anything stronger than coffee?” Turning to look at her, Angel felt the air instantly leave his body. There she was stood on her tip toes looking in his drink cabinet. His red flannel buttoned Halfway, hair loose in waves and her legs bare. Fuck. Maybe asking her to stay was a bad idea after all. How the fuck is he supposed to keep his hands off her? “Sorry my mom always said i was too nosey.” Riley blushed bright red as she looked down at her bare legs. “Oh your boxers are too big for me! Dont panic still got my pants on!” Angel swallowed thickly as he reached to grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Following Riley to the Sofa, he poured them both a glass and sank down next to her. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither one of them willing to break it. Riley knew he was going to ask questions. How could he not? She had to admit it, part of her was glad she asked Angel for a lift tonight. Even if it did disobey Jake. The 6 ft Brooding man intrigued her. There was also no denying he was the epitome of sex on legs either. He was out of her league for sure. “So why Jake?” Angel couldn’t resist. He had to know how this beautiful woman ended up in the arms of an absolute asshole that didnt deserve her. Not that Angel thought he deserved her by any means. God he’s dirt compared to her. Fucking worthless. Shrugging her shoulders as she lifted her legs underneath her. Riley didnt know what to say. “He swept me off my feet. i think. Came from nowhere kinda thing.” Angel nodded, taking a sip of whiskey to try and hide his scowl. “Well, in all honesty no lad had ever really shown an interest in me before. Jake was my first everything. Date. Kiss. Everything. I guess this is me realizing that this is how relationships are. Maybe i had too many unrealistic expectations going into it. Like the whole fireworks when you kiss kinda thing ya’know?” Angel shook his head not even bothering to hide his shock. “I’m sorry but i never would’ve guessed Jake was your first. And from what I’ve seen tonight he clearly doesn’t deserve you Riley. He doesn’t treat you right. I mean the panic in your face over a fucking house key.” Angel looked down into his whiskey trying to control his emotions. There was nothing stopping him from making his move. He wanted to show her how she should be cared for. How good relationships could be. How good HE could be for her. Riley gently grabbed Angels Jaw and lifted him to face her. The words that Riley was going to say instantly left her. The Look in Angels eyes made her chest feel warm and butterfly’s flood her stomach. Angel’s eyes flickered to her lips and before anything could make him second guess his decision, he leaned forward capturing her lips in his own.

Riley couldn’t hold in the gasp that escaped her lips as Angel kissed her. God the fireworks she was missing when she kissed Jake were all there with Angel. Grabbing his face, Riley pulled him closer and deeper into the kiss. Angel blindly shoved the Whiskey glasses to the floor not caring about spilling the auburn liquid. Riley moaned as Angel pushed her back into the couch and moved to hover over her. Wow. He wanted to stay in this moment forever with her. Right there in that moment neither of them cared about anything or anyone else.  

[gotnofucks]

Chemical Romance

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Chris won’t have you running away from him. You’re his. He owns your heart, and now he’ll own all of you.

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: RPF, smut, slight dubcon(ish), jealous and possessive Chris, toxic relationship, recording without permission, forced marriage

A/N: I wrote this months ago and pulled it out to share it with my bestie @donutloverxo​ . Berry finally convinced me to post this and helped me beta this. Babe, I love you!

You were way past your teenage years, and yet you had the urge to giggle like one. If you licked your lips, you could still taste the trace of wine that had stained his lips. The memory of them pressing against you, brushing gently until they tangled in a mix of tongue and teeth had a delicious heat burning in your face. This was a good date, the third good date with a good man you met, and you were excited for more.

Looking over your shoulder you saw the lights of his car disappearing in the dark of night and you sighed contently, shutting your door behind you and dropping your keys in the bowl by the door. All of a sudden, your body broke into goosepimples, a chill settling over you and it took you a moment to understand why. Your body was recognizing the dark presence before your mind could.

“Good evening sweetheart. Had a good date?”                                                      

The door was right behind you, you could easily grab your car keys right now and run away. And yet all you could do was hold onto the wall as your knees trembled. You’d never been good at running away from him anyway.

Chris was lounging on your sofa, watching you with those arresting blue eyes that you knew changed shades with his mood. His beard was thicker than the last you’d seen him, and his lips were pulled into a sardonic smirk, eyes glinting furiously.

“How?” You sputtered, still rooted to your spot. You could run, you should run, but you knew you wouldn’t go far. He let you go only so far to give you a false sense of achievement, a mere taste of relief and freedom until he snatched you back to himself.

“I always think that every time you leave, it would be the last. You’ll realize that its futile, you’ll realize that we’re meant to be together.” Chris said, “But never did I imagine you to be stupid enough to be with another man.”

His voice had been described as dreamy by many, even by yourself, but right now it only rang of danger and anger. Softness was Chris’s weapon, to deliver the meanest words with a smile that was poison sweet. One time, you had loved to taste that poison yourself. Did it still run in your veins and taint you?

Looking at you from under his lashes, he spread his legs and beckoned you to him. You gulped before following, not daring to look away from him until you were before him.

“Kneel” He ordered softly. You knees hit the ground, the rug digging into your skin. He watched you watch him, eyes locked in a dialog of their own until his rough hand caressed the skin of your cheek. You leaned into his touch, hating yourself for being a slave to him and your desire. Even on your knees, the familiar feeling of peace flooded your senses. Nothing made you feel as alive as worshiping him. And nothing killed you as much as loving him.

“Please” You begged, pressing a kiss into his palm. “Don’t do this to me.”

Chris regarded you with a look that was almost tender, his blue eyes staring into your own as if unearthing every secret you had ever kept from him. He pulled you closer, close enough to have you raise up and hold his shoulders while his lips brushed gently against yours.

“For as long as I live, you are mine. You know that. Why must you fight it?”

It had been a couple months since you last saw him, since the pads of his fingers had glided over the curves of your body and claimed you as his. You melted, you melted like the butter in a hot pan, sizzling with the heat of his ardor. One taste of him and you were ready to forget why you had left him, why you had packed up and left his house when he was out. Chris Evans didn’t just play your body, he also played your heart. He loved you so hard that it hurt.

You wondered if you should fight, if you should scream or cry. But you knew it the moment you walked inside your house tonight: you were going nowhere but to him. He held you as you captured his lips in yours, a hand fisting his hair and tugging. He pulled until you were on his lap, his beard scratching your skin and reminding you of all the ways he had marked you before.

Panting, you pulled away when he breathily whispered your name, eyes liquid and feral and kind. He was a man of many layers and you had unveiled the darkest of them. He no longer hid the rawest parts of him, and you never knew if it was a good thing or not.

“Pack up, I’m taking you back home.” He said, hands settling on your waist. “I am not spending one more night in a bed without you.”

You nodded, stealing another kiss until you surrendered to his demands. Again.

Dodger ran to you, whining and wagging his tail as you sat down to give him better access. You’d missed your furry companion, his coat soft on your cheek when you nuzzled into him. Chris chuckled, rolling your bags into his room while you and Dodger had your little reunion.

“I am so sorry Bubba” You cooed to him, scratching behind his ears. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me, hmm?”

Dodger barked, rubbing his body against you. You laughed, cuddling your little boy. You’d missed waking upto him snuggled by your feet and the soft pattering of his feet as he followed you around.

“He didn’t eat right for a week after you left. You were being a bad mommy.” Chris said coming behind you. He petted Dodger before pulling you up by your arm, your chest flushed to his. You loved how he smelled of coffee and beer and cinnamon. He tasted of them too, bitter and addictive.

Your fingers traced a path in his beard, lips pressing into the hollow of his throat. It scared you how much power he had over you. You’d promised yourself you’ll break away from his hold when you found him snooping in your phone again. His possessiveness knew no bounds. If Chris had it his way, he’d hide you in a castle made only for his eyes. But right now, in the heaven of his arms, you couldn’t remember why you left him in the first place.

“I am sorry.” You whispered, hugging him tight. His arms came around you, holding you so possessively close that even death couldn’t rip you apart. Chemical romance, that’s how Scott had explained your relationship once. Your friends had stopped complaining, had stopped warning after losing count over how often you broke up and got back together.

“I am so pissed at you.” He said in your ear, breath warm on your skin. “I want to erase every lingering trace of that man’s touch from your body. But more than that, I need to remind you who you belong to.”

You refused to look at him, burying your head in his chest even as you held him tighter.

“I belong to you. I know it baby, I made a mistake.” You said, voice muffled. Chris tutted, pushing your face away firmly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze.

“Here I am, feeling guilty for even touching other women during a scene that is supposed to be my job. And my girl goes around fucking other men because we had an argument?” He hissed, a nerve throbbing in his temple. You pouted, bottom lip wobbling as you tried not to cry. You were raised to be a strong woman, someone who could speak for herself. How was it so easy for this man to reduce you to a sniveling woman for something that wasn’t even your fault.

“I didn’t fuck him.” You countered and Chris’s eyes flashed. You stared at each other until Chris practically growled and dragged you towards the bedroom. Dodger trailed behind you, stopping once Chris ordered him to stay put.

His bedroom, a space you had shared and abandoned all too many times was the same as always. It reeked of his aftershave and cologne, the stars winking at you from the window that overlooked the ground. Chris shut the door, rounding on you and pushing you towards the bed.

“You didn’t fuck him?” He spat, ticked off. “You let him touch you, you let him put his hands on what belongs to me.”

You shivered as your back met the cold sheets, bouncing slightly on the mattress. His anger was scary, but more than that it was exciting. It was you who had brought this strong, powerful man to this animalistic side. You, who could make him scowl and shout and get his heart pumping enough to bring blood to his face. You, who made him primitive as he held you down and fucked you into submission.

“We only kissed.” You said, knowing how to provoke him. That kiss was nice, it was sweet. But your body craved rough and hard, it craved to be possessed and used and worshiped. It craved Chris who left his handprints on your butt and his spent in your cunt. It craved Chris who kissed you until you were out of breath, who whispered the filthiest things to you as he buried himself in your warmth over and over until you were too hoarse to even cry.

He knew it, he read that in your eyes and in your touch that seared through the layers of clothes on his body. He knew you were getting under his skin on purpose, hurting him the way he hurt you so many times. Neither of you held back.

You tore away at his clothes, bucking your hips frantically in a bid to get closer. Chris cursed, squeezing your ass in his large hands and grounding his hardness on your thigh.

“You are testing me” He warned, naked flesh touching yours and hands entwining. You ignored him, the wetness dripping down your core begging his attention.

“Eat me” You cried, wiggling under him. He held fast, rubbing his cock on your abdomen, groaning softly. He nuzzled your neck, kissing softly on the spot he knew drove you wild. His weight prevented you from moving too much, not allowing you to do anything for yourself.

“You don’t tell me what to do baby. Not after letting another man touch you. Not after you walked out on me again.” He said angrily, forcing his gentle touch on your body that craved his roughness. You sobbed against his mouth, getting drunk on his lazy kisses and feather soft caresses. You knew what he was doing, you knew he wanted you to break and beg. And you had no dignity.

“Please” You begged, pathetically with tears in your eyes. “Give me what I want Chris. I’ll be good to you, I promise.”

He smirked, sucking a pert nipple in his mouth and rolling it between his tongue. You moaned, struggling to move more. It wasn’t enough to have you under him. He needed more than your compliance. He needed your surrender, he needed you to love him with a hunger as great as his. He was greedy.

“Even when you beg, you look like a goddess. You’re my angel, but I’m not gonna let you go to heaven. We’ll sin together in hell.”

He dove in, tongue swiping away your juice in a practiced move as you howled at the suddenness of his attack. Your thighs held his head captive between their plump flesh, mewls spilling from your mouth without restraint as he finally gave you what you wanted. You pulled on his hair, steering him closer to your core that was flaming under his mouth and flooding with pleasure.

“Oh Chris!” You moaned, writhing and trembling. You had missed his beard scratching the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, missed his nails digging in your flesh to keep you steady, missed his tongue poking inside your warm cavern to taste your sweet nectar. Chris never worshiped you like a devotee to the lord. He worshipped you like a man summoning the devil, by spilling blood and leaving marks that stain the soul.

“Look at you go darling, so beautiful” He praised, easing a finger inside you and curling it. You threw your head back, shattering with an orgasm that took your breath away. Pleasure was a feeling you were familiar with, but combined with Chris’s love and anger, it formed the most intoxicating mix that got you dizzy.

He kissed the swollen head of your clit, gently easing you down from your high with praises whispered directly to your leaking cunt. He cupped your pussy, grinding his heels against you as your eyes met.

“Nobody else will touch you here. Or anywhere else for that matter.” He ordered and you nodded, still desperate for him. His cock was red and angry, warm drops of precum leaking over your stomach and you tugged at him, asking to fill you up.

“Chris, I need you inside me. Please.”

He crawled up and laid beside you, jerking you on top of him. Your hands found his chest, lightly playing with his nipples and the spattering of hair there before moving down to cup his hardness and his balls. He jerked at the first contact, closing his eyes as his breath hitched and you smiled at your own effect over him. You could reduce him to a mess just as well he could to you.

Pumping his length, you licked it slowly, lathering it with your saliva. You remembered the day you’d named it Cumstopher Rogers and he’d slapped you with it, making you choke on him until you had to apologize.

“Put me inside you now because if I have to take over, I’ll choose which hole it goes in and you probably won’t like it.” He growled in impatience. You clenched, his threats going straight to your core.

You positioned yourself over him, sinking slowly and gently, feeling every part of him against your spongy walls. With your thighs flush to his, you stopped to just let the feeling of fullness last a little longer. No matter how many times you’d been with each other, the feeling of Chris being so deep inside you never got old. If you could, you’d never be empty.

“All my holes like your cock Mr. Evans. And I? I love it and your butt and your chest and arms and face and everything else.”

You moved at a slow pace, bouncing gently while holding onto his thighs. Taking his hand in yours, you placed it on your chest, asking him to play with your nipples as you rode him.

“You feeling powerful, baby? You feeling good bouncing on my dick?” He asked, pinching a nipple almost to the point of pain. You nodded, leaning down to kiss him as he started thrusting up a little, hitting your cervix when he went too deep. You rolled your belly, clenching your muscles around his length so that his eyes flew open and hands dug into the softness of your butt.

“Oh Chris, I missed this.” You told him, tasting the sweat on his temple. He nodded, his huge arms wrapping around you and pulling you intimately close.

“I missed you too, which is why I will make sure you never leave me. This is not your power move, this is mine.” He darkly murmured and your eyes met his in confusion. He looked at the side and you followed his gaze, mouth dropping open at the camera that blinked at you with a red light on.

“What the fuck, Chris?” You shout, trying to move away when he rolled you over and under him, thrusting in hard.

“Oh yes, what the fuck baby” He said, holding your wrists as he picked up his pace. “You think it’s okay to pack a bag and leave me every time? You think it’s okay to date other men, to kiss other men? You are mine. And if anyone needs proof of that, now I can show it to them.”

You cried out as he went harder, a pressure building deep inside your belly. Tears escaped your eyes, gazing into blue ones that you loved and hated with a passion. You could have asked him to stop now, you could shout that you don’t want him and he’s sick. But you didn’t. You knew he would stop if you really wanted him to, and as much as your heart broke and your chest tightened with hurt, you loved him. You loved his twisted ways to keep you with him. You loved it when he went above and beyond, got crazy in his desire for you. You were wanted. You were cherished.

“Fuck you.” You cursed, meeting every thrust of his with a raise of your hips. Your eyes closed, sweat dripping down your body as you let the animalistic part of you take over, screaming and tearing and fucking each other like two people whose only goal in life was to be embedded in the other’s heart and psyche.

“I’d like to see you try to walk out tomorrow after tonight.” Chris said, delivering punishing strokes that were agonizing and titillating, that were fire and ice. You held onto him, leaving crescent shaped scars to join the numerous tattoos across his body. He took you apart, fucked you so good all you could do was say him name and fall in a glittery haze of his presence. He came inside you, filling you to the brim and crushing your body with his weight.

You weren’t leaving, that much was obvious.

Throwing in your clothes haphazardly in the bag, you promised yourself this would be the last time you did this. You will not come back to this house and this bed. Chris and you were done for good. The past few months had followed the same pattern. You both rekindling the dying flame of your relationship, mending the broken hearts and trust until it went back to hell.

There were too many arguments, too much shouting and angry sex. Every time you sat down to talk, it ended with your legs in the air. Your mother was right. He wasn’t right for you. Chris wanted to be your hero and your villain. He wanted you to think of nobody but him. Any friends and family that warned you against him had to be cut off. He’ll dismiss every article the paparazzi published about him but would throw a fit if you so much as smiled at the cashier in the grocery store. He kept you close like a dog on a leash, feeling jealous at the very sight of you talking to any man. You’d wanted to give this relationship a chance, but as of twenty minutes ago, Chris had made sure it was over.

You wondered about taking your pictures, but it was better to stay away from any temptations. This was happening, and as much as it broke your heart, you will not come back to him. Zipping up your bag, you straightened just as Chris stormed inside the room, jaw clenched in anger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He barked, “Put your stuff back. I’ll be damned if I let you leave me again.”

You scowled at him, wiping the stray tears from your eyes. He had no right to ask anything of you, not after what he had just done.

“Fuck off Chris. I am leaving, and you can’t stop me.” You shouldered past him, sadly looking at Dodger who was whining softly as he watched you move. He had seen this happen enough times to know that you’re not coming home.

Chris marched behind you, snatching your wrist and pulling you back to himself. The blue in his eyes was darker, like the sky covered in thunder clouds. You squirmed, pushing against him.

“You. Are. Not. Leaving.” He hissed, looking scary and mad.

“How dare you? After what you did today?” You sobbed, hitting your fists on his chest. He held your jaw, bringing your face closer to him so he could peer into your watery eyes.

“I proposed! I got down on one knee. What the fuck is your problem?” He shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

You shook your head, looking at him with an expression of disbelief. Is he that oblivious?

“Marriage is permanent Chris” You said, voice suddenly soft. “Marriage is living your life devoted to your partner. We can’t break up and leave and come back again. It’s a responsibility. You and I, we haven’t been able to keep a stable relationship. How the hell will we keep a happy marriage?”

Chris frowned, not liking what you said. He pushed you against the wall, caging you in with his huge arms on either side. You could smell the chocolate and wine on his breath from dinner, his hair all messed up from when he ran his hands through it. On his neck still hung the necklace you’d got him.

“Look at me” He said, pressing his forehead to yours. You breathed deeply, finding it difficult to maintain an eye contact as charged with anger and passion as this one. “You love me, you still love me. It’s all in your eyes. Why won’t you marry me?”

You wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Why did loving him have to be so difficult? Was love worth the fights, the tears and pain and loss of independence? Was loving him enough to keep you going? You were so tired of this back and forth with him. You’d never even talked about marriage before, having been too busy trying to keep any sort of relationship alive. Why would he do this to you?

As your limbs got heavier, you leaned forward and hugged him. You held him to yourself, soaking in his warmth and smell inside you for what would be the last time. You could not give up so much of yourself to sustain this love. Soon enough, there would be nothing more to give and the love would be dead.

“You need to let me go Christopher” You said to him, lips close to his ear. “You need to understand that love is only the beginning. I can’t keep doing this anymore. Please, just let me go.”

Chris hugged you tighter, his head resting over yours and heart beating strong beneath your hand. He was your night, full of twinkling stars and dark mysteries. But dawn was approaching fast, and you needed to bid goodbye to the moon to greet the sun that awaited you.

“Never.” He promised, “You are never leaving me again. I’ll fucking make sure of it.”

He picked you up suddenly, ignoring your protests as he carried you back into the bedroom. Kicking your bag aside, he dropped you on the bed, raising a finger to stop you. He took out the ring from his pocket, the very one you had refused this evening and held it to you.

“Put this on.” He ordered and you rubbed your eyes in exasperation.

“No.”

You both glared at each other, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Fighting with Chris had always been a thrill, more often than not ending with wild sex on any and all surfaces in sight. But today you were determined to end it. You’d not let yourself become weak at the sight of his cock.

“Okay then, you’ve left me no choice.” Chris said. He picked up his phone and tapped away on it, doing god knows what. You sighed, getting up and putting your stuff together again, ignoring his presence behind you. Chris threw his phone on the bed, looking stoically at you work. You were just folding the last of your clothes when your phone started buzzing. You ignored it for a minute, but it kept up, almost falling off the table with its vibrations.

“What the fuck” You gasped, looking at the hundreds of notifications pouring in as more followed. You quickly opened your Instagram to see you’d been tagged by Chris.

And she said YES!

Below that caption was a picture of the both of you from a couple months ago, cuddled up and smiling at each other.

Comments and likes from everyone were popping in, and soon enough, you saw your mother’s call. You stared at Chris, utterly in disbelief. What had he done?

“Try saying no now. You’d be the bitch who broke Chris Evans’s heart, the bitch who played him. Try walking in public between people who’d see you only as a slut and nothing more.”

Your world came crashing down. You were not some hotshot celebrity like Chris. You were just a girl trying to live her life the best way she knew how to, and how it ended up entangled with this man you’d never understand. Even if you shouted from the rooftops the truth of today, no one would believe you. Chris’s fans would tear you to shreds, destroy your life with their mean comments and attacks. And your family would not be spared either. They’ll be exposed to a celebrity scandal, dragged through the mud along with your good name.

“Oh god Chris, what have you done?” You choked out, falling to your knees. He came before you, gently caressing your head before kneeling in front of you. Cupping your face, he kissed you deep and hard, countering your hate with his love that hit you like your own kryptonite.

“I told you. I told you I’ll never let you leave.” He breathed against your mouth, pulling you closer. You dug your nails in his arms, hurting him with the hurt he just caused you, but he didn’t even flinch.

“You’re a monster” You said, chest heaving with emotions.

“Yes, I am. But you know what darling?” He said sweetly, “Even after this, you still love me. I am a monster, but I am a monster you created and one you love.”

You ended up on the bed, sprawled underneath him again. Even with icy hate in your eyes, your heart burned with love for him. It was unnatural, it was chemical and wrong. And yet, it was your reality. He was yours, no matter what he did. And you were his, regardless of every protest that you ever made.

“Now, I’ll ask this one more time. Will you marry me?” He asked softly, looking at you like you were all he ever saw.

“Yes” You breathed, watching silently as he slipped the ring on your finger and kissed it. Meeting your eyes, he settled over your body, his arousal pulsing over your thigh. Sealing the deal with a kiss, Chris went to remove your shirt.

“Then let’s celebrate. After we’re done, we can call our families with the good news.”

[spunkpunx]

Say You Love Me - Jimmy Darling

Plot: Reader is heartbroken when she hears Jimmy has lost his hands, but when they're replaced he decides to make up for lost time

Word count: 3105

Warnings: Smut, Smoking, Mild violence

The words hit me like a ton of bricks when Dell brought the news. Jimmy's hands were gone. My Jimmy's hands were gone. Taken. That no good piece of shit Richard Spencer and his lies. I couldn't believe Elsa had fallen for his bollocks, but I supposed that was his game. The rest of the freaks stood in shock.

"Oh no, not Jimmy!" Ima cried over dramatically. I felt my blood boil. My skin crawled as she wailed. I felt my ears burn up with my rage. She'd been here not five minutes and here she was, caterwauling over what they had done to him. I couldn't out loud admit what I felt about Jimmy, but I sure as hell could let it be known how I felt about her. I ran at her and swung one hard punch to the side of her head. The force did not knock her over, but the shock certainly did. 

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I spat out the words repeatedly as I continued to hit her face and chest once she had fallen. I felt my eyes prick as I screamed at her, before Paul and Eve pulled me away. The second the anger cleared I collapsed in tears. Penny came over to me as Eve followed Dell out the tent. She held me tight as I sobbed into her chest. Ima was taken out the tent, bloodied and bruised and sniveling. I lifted my head only to spit in her direction.

"Shh, shh," Penny cooed, stroking my hair. 

"What have they done to him?" I whimpered, my voice coming out far more feeble and cracked then I had ever heard it. "How's he going to survive in there without his hands?"

"I don't know," Penny told me, honestly. "I'm sure he'll find a way."

She took me back to my caravan and I poured myself a drink. I pulled an ashtray out the cupboard and lit a cigarette.

"You don't have to watch over me Penny. I'm sure you probably best go check on your man."

"I don't want to leave you like this," she admitted, sat delicately on the edge of my bed. She was still so beautiful, despite the lizard tattoo, and so kind as well. I couldn't bear to be around anyone at the minute though.

"I'll be fine," I told her softly, but when she didn't move I snapped at her. "Piss off! I don't want you here!" I hadn't meant to be so harsh, but she gathered herself up and left. I knocked back my drink in one. It burned my eyes and stung my throat but I hoped for my own sake it would help me sleep.

I went through more alcohol and more cigarettes. My ashtray overflowed. My head was spinning as I reached toward the bottom of the bottle. With my head heavy I fell over into my bed and pulled the covers round myself, only bothering to clumsily remove my shoes before shutting my eyes tight and trying to forget my thoughts. I lay there, my mind playing a reel of horrors of what could have happened to Jimmy. I pictured him beaten in a jail cell, battered to death like Meep was, or sat in despair at his own situation. I knew he couldn't have killed those women, even if he didn't, because he was here in this caravan when it happened. I knotted my fingers into my hair, reeling drunk. I was just as bad as he had been. 

I eventually passed out, but kept waking, sweaty and restless after nightmares. At one point my stomach turned and I chugged up my guts off the side of my bed. I rolled back over after that and caught half an hours rest before I woke again. The night went on like that until the sun rose and Eve came in to get me up. 

"Oh sweetheart," she muttered upon seeing my sorry state. She delicately picked her way to the bed past the vomit and brought me out of bed to go sit on the seat I had. I blubbered pathetically while she tossed a towel over my mess and brought me a glass of water. I was still slightly drunk, but tried to be as co-operative as possible. Eve sat next to me, pulling me in for a hug while I continued to feel like a maudlin burden on her. She took me over to have breakfast with the others, and I hiccuped my way through some bread and butter, as everyone threw pitiful stares my way. I began to sober up. 

"I'm sorry, Eve. I'm sorry I'm so useless."

"Don't be silly, come with me," she directed, taking my hand and leading me away from the show ground. As we walked further away I wiped my eyes with my sleeve.

"It's awful nice of you to try cheer me up but I'd rather not go anywhere," I told Eve, following her through the undergrowth. We passed the spot where Ethel had ended her life, which brought back more memories of how Jimmy had been after she passed. My eyes welled, but I tried hard to keep it suppressed. I didn't want anyone to think I was being such a pathetic mess over Jimmy Darling. I didn't want to be another of the freaks that he's fucked and now loves him.

"It's Elsa who said you ought to come here," Eve explained. It was probably her plan to distract me from my wallowing, or punish me for what I did to Ima. I expected hard labour ahead of me.  We reached a small barn with the doors locked. Eve produced a key, unlocking the chains. "Now listen. Elsa says its your job to look after him," she instructed pulling the door open to let me see inside. It took me a minute to realise there was a bed, a bed and a familiar face. 

"Jimmy!" I gasped, rushing to his side. I burst into tears again, this time from pure relief. "Oh baby your hands!" 

By his side lay two bloodied stumps wrapped in bandage. His eyes filled with tears when he looked at me. 

"Princess I haven't ever seen you cry before," he told me lightheartedly, but his voice cracked and he wept. I placed my hand on his face and he leaned into my touch as I wiped his tear with my thumb. I turned back to give Eve a thank you but she had left. I turned to Jimmy. 

"I thought you were gonna be gone forever," I told him, sniffling. 

"Me too baby." I bent down and pressed my lips down against his. We shared a salty kiss. I felt him flinch hard and cut off the kiss when he lifted his arm hold me. He immediately broke down in tears again. "I'm never going to be able to hold you again," he whimpered, and I sensed that there was certainly more to it than that. It stung to see him in such a sorry state.

"Oh Jimmy don't upset yourself," I tried to comfort him. "I have to change your bandages. Okay?" He shook his head. "I let you do it for me," I reminded him.

"Well you have no fucking idea how much it hurts," he snapped. I understood his frustration, but I couldn't help but pull away, hurt. His eyes softened. "I'm sorry (y/n), I just... I just don't know what I'm gonna do."

"Hold, still." I ran my hand down his arm slowly until I reached the bandage trying to cause minimum pain. I unwrapped it slowly, Jimmy putting on a brave face. As I pulled the bloodied part away from his wound he flinched and gritted his teeth. "This is really gonna sting," I warned as I poured alcohol onto cotton to clean his injury. He bit down on his pillow and nodded for me to go ahead. I wiped it as gently as I could and tried to ignore his muffled howl. "I'm sorry." He let the pillow from his teeth.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, doll," he assured, breathless from pain. I took his stump in my hands, wrapping it in bandage.

"I tried to tell the police it wasn't you, but they wouldn't listen."

"It might have been me, I was there, I was blind drunk."

"It wasn't, Jimmy. You were in my caravan. You said you loved me."

"I do." He looked at me sincerely. I avoided his eye, focusing my attention back to binding up his arm.

"You don't Jimmy, you love Maggie, you only wanted me because you were scared she might leave you and you thought I wouldn't." I sighed. 

"That's not true, I kept coming back because I love you." Tears pricked my eyes again. He probably thought Maggie had left and was settling for me. I tied off the bandage and he raised his arm up to my face, sucking in his breath sharply as his stump brushed my cheek. "And you love me too."

"No, I don't," I lied. He watched me, his stare breaking me apart like it always had.

"Paul came by before you. I haven't seen you cry once before, (y/n), but he said you have been tearful all morning. He also told me about Ima," he teased, smugly. I didn't know it was possible to sound both so weak and so smug at the same time. 

"I was worried, it doesn't mean-" 

"Please just tell me it does. Just tell me you love me, it's all I ever wanted to hear." I let out a breath I never realised I was holding.

"I love you, Jimmy Darling." He smiled at me. I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before taking a few draws. I put it between his lips for him so he could take a puff. 

"Look at me," he complained. "Can't even hold my own cigarette."

"Hush now Jimmy. Things will take time," I reassured him, to little effect. We shared the rest of the cigarette and I moved round to change the bandage on the other side. Jimmy didn't speak until I'd finished and stood up to leave.

"Thank you, (y/n)," he said sincerely. I went back to his bedside, leaned down a pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

"I'll be here to change your bandages again tomorrow,"  I told him softly.

Although Elsa had not left, she had still sold the show to Chester, who although had a definite screw loose, seemed harmless enough. He was bright, chirpy and certainly not bossy. His odd qualities only came from the wooden ventriloquist doll he was so attached to. The twins seemed quite smitten with him, and, if I didn't know any better, I'd say they were screwing him. 

I was civil with Maggie after her trickery, especially knowing how difficult the world could be, but Jimmy had far from forgiven her. This was a hard situation to negotiate. She had asked about him, and I knew she cared, but Jimmy was set in his hatred of her. It was hard to sympathise with a woman who had been part in a scheme resulting in the death of Ma Petite and the loss of Jimmy's hands. For the most part I told the truth. Jimmy was not going to soften any time soon.

I apologised to Ima too, hard as it was. She didn't really take my apology, but it hardly bothered me. It was mainly for the sake of the others, and to keep the peace. 

That night, Dell was shot. He, it turned out, had been the one to kill Ma Petite. I felt bad for his death. As shitty as his actions were, I always felt he was trying his hardest for a better life. Still, killing another freak was unforgivable, and Ma Petite was innocence itself. It was my job to deliver the news to Jimmy, which was horrible.

"He was my father!" 

"I know Jimmy! I'm sorry!"

"Don't you dare start apologising for those murderers, (y/n)!"

"Jimmy he killed Ma Petite!" I ended up snapping. "He killed an innocent and he paid the price." Jimmy broke down into tears again, and I ended up wrapping my arms around him.

"I'm losing everything."

"Come on, baby. It hurts to see you cry so much," I mumbled into his neck. He sobbed into my shoulder.

"Don't ever leave me (y/n). Don't ever break my heart.”

The day Jimmy's hands were ready was the happiest I had seen him in months. I came into the barn again to see him, when I spotted him sat on the bed. The moment he saw me he stood up and rushed toward me. I opened my arms to him and he caught me in his grasp, lifting me off my toes. He kissed me, properly. His dark eyes seemed full of hope. I took his arms from around me and held one of his new hands in mine. Mr. Dolcefino had created perfect wooden hands, still with Jimmy's finger shapes. They were works of art.

"They're beautiful, baby," I told him, smiling.

"They ain't half as functional as they were, but my hands have never looked so good."

"Your hands always looked good." I kissed him again, harder this time. He pulled me flush against him.

"It kills me I can't touch you the same baby," he told me, running his wrists down my side in place of his hands.

"I don't care, Jimmy. I love you," I said, and it was the first time I'd said it since he asked me to. He pulled me in again for another kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth and pushing the backs of my knees against the bed. "Easy tiger," I teased.

"I haven't held you in so long (y/n)," he replied, pushing himself even closer to me, my body flush with his own. I felt him, hard against my thigh. I kissed him again, hard, and let him push me onto the bed, his own weight on top of mine. He began to nip at my neck, and I sighed contentedly. He went to cup my breast with his hand, but came short when he realised his hands could not move the same, could not feel. "Baby, I'm sorry," he apologised, sitting up on his knees and pulling away. I sat up with him and put my hands around his neck, fiddling with the hair at its nape.

"You aren't giving up that easy are you?" I jibed. "After all, you have a mouth in perfect working order." He grinned at me, pulling me into another hungry kiss. He nibbled down my neck again.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to undress yourself, doll." I did as instructed, pulling my jumper over my head while Jimmy watched. He returned to kissing my collarbone as I undid my bra. His kisses travelled over my breasts, wooden hand against my side. He kissed along my chest, eventually moving to take one of my nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue over it as I sighed. He bit down on it and I yelped, scolding him lightly by giving him a little slap on the arm. He grinned again at my reaction, before kissing his way down my sternum. He stopped for a second, giving me an opportunity to pull my trousers off for him. I went to pull my underwear down but he stopped me, instead using his teeth to pull them down and bringing them the rest of the way with his prosthetic. I laughed at his actions, until he buried his face into my heat, licking over my clit again and again. I felt myself get quickly wetter as he flicked his tongue up my slit. His attention went back to my clit, circling it as I dug my fingers into his hair, pulling at it and moaning as I did. I felt my cheeks flush when he came back up the bed to kiss me again, my taste still on his lips. "I'm feeling a little uncomfortable in these pants, do you think you can help doll?" he asked. I happily obliged.

"Of course baby." I pulled his shirt of his shoulders slowly, the removed his vest, taking my time to run my hands all across his chest and take it all in again. I ran my hand over his stomach and reached to palm him through his trousers. He groaned and closed his eyes. Then I took off the trousers, getting him to sit up in order to help me. I could see the shame in his eyes so as soon as they were off I kissed him hard and put my hands into his pants, stroking his cock. He let out the most delicious moan into the kiss. After a minute of this we were both desperate for it so I bit his earlobe and pulled his cock out of his pants, guiding it to the right place. He pushed into me slowly.

"Fuck," he swore, before capturing my mouth with his and thrusting again. I let out another moan into his mouth as he bit down hard on my lip. He pressed wet kisses into my neck, speeding up his thrusts with considerable lack of control. It had been a while since we had sex, so the desperation in his movements was very apparent. He let out the most beautiful gasps and moans, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers into his hair as he continued to nip and suck at my collarbone. I tugged at his brown curls and he groaned breathily. He recaptured my lips in his own and I let out a moan as he pushed deeper into me.

"Jimmy," I panted into his ear, before pulling on his earlobe with my teeth. He let out what was almost a growl and fucked me even harder. I felt myself drawing closer to finishing and let out a desperate string of swears.

“Come on, baby doll, fuckin finish for me,” Jimmy murmured deeply, kissing along my jaw and neck before biting down on my collarbone. I let out a gasp as I felt a wave of pleasure over me, clenching around him and digging my nails into his back. He kept going, his thrusts sloppy, coaxing me through my orgasm until a faltering moan fell from his lips and he pulled out, spilling his load onto my stomach. He lay on top of me, spent, and I pulled my fingers through his hair, running my nails against his scalp.

“You really love me?” I asked, as his hot breath brushed my neck. Before he answered he pressed soft kisses against my shoulder.

“Of course I do, doll face.”

[simping-hours-are-24-7]

A Deal to Save What You Have Lost

After the Fall of MC, Mammon is hoping that Lucifer will come help him. But someone else arrives and offers a deal to save what he is losing.

(Mammon x GN!MC, Diavolo x GN!MC)

TW: Heavy angst, forced relationship, elements of non-con, minor descriptions of gore

An alternative (angstier) ending for the fic, Promise That You'll Fall for Me? (tagging @sevendeadlymorons bc you were the one who kinda made it well known and @cherryjkj who asked for a part 2. Not exactly a continuation, but I hope this suffice! also thank you @beepboop0987 for helping me out with this) AO3 Link

Mammon catches their shaky hand in his own, clasping it tightly. “MC, don’t move. Lucifer… Help will come I promise. Please MC, please” he said brokenly, tears now dripping off his face and landing on theirs. “Please hold on just a bit longer.”

MC shook their head, or tried to before groaning, their face and body twisting into pain. Eventually, their body relaxed only somewhat as they met Mammon’s blue eyes through a squinted eye. A shaky grin stretches across their face, “Hey Mammon… looks like I kept my promise.” Another groan escapes them as their face scrunches up again, “Mammon, it hurts…it hurts so much.”

“I know MC, I know.” He whispers out. “Lucifer will come. I promise. He’ll...He’ll help us. So hang on just a bit longer.”

“Oh? This is a rather familiar scene, isn’t it Barbatos?” A deep voice mused above the two lovers. Mammon’s head snaps up and locks eyes with the golden gaze of the Prince.

“Quite familiar indeed. Although to be frank, I didn’t predict this would happen.” Barbatos responds, a placid smile on his face. It pisses Mammon off seeing the butler smile all while MC is suffering beneath him. He wants to tear the smug demon to shreds, but he can’t. Not with MC still struggling to catch their breath without choking. The Avatar glances down at MC and squeezes their hand.

“Help them,” he says weakly, his voice cracking slightly. Now Mammon knew he wasn’t always the sharpest crayon in the box, but he knew shit, important shit. After The Attic Incident, he confronted Lucifer about what he, MC, and Diavolo revealed about Lillith, or at least what little they told everyone else. It took a bit more effort than planned, but Lucifer caved. He spoke of his oath to Lord Diavolo, the promise he made. He clears his throat and stares into Diavolo’s strangely glowing eyes, “I’ll make a deal with you like you did with Lucifer, I’ll do anything. Just help them.”

At the word “anything” Diavolo’s relaxed face shifts into something akin to shock. “Ho? So you know about me and Lucifer’s agreement then. And yet you’ll swear an oath with me?”

Mammon’s eyes flicker down to MC’s barely open ones. He can feel something dark growing within them eating away the last bits of holy energy, the kind of darkness he's grown familiar with for the past millennium. Leaning down, he rests his forehead against theirs, “MC don’t worry, I’m going to help you, I promise you.”

He can feel MC frantically squeezing his hand as if to stop him and hear their weak protests, but he ignores them to look straight into the prince’s still glowing eyes. “I’ll do it, I’ll swear absolute loyalty to you, Prince Diavolo, on my name as Mammon, the Avatar of Greed. In exchange, help MC. They're already halfway to becoming a demon, isn't there something you could do to help them?"

Diavolo's head cocks to the side, "There is. Luckily for you two, not only am I rather fond of our dear MC, they are already halfway to becoming a demon and they still have their pacts with you brothers scarred into their soul." The Prince shakes his head. "I won't ask you the same I asked of Lucifer. As I have said, I am rather fond of them myself. How’s this for a deal Mammon, the second-born, Avatar of Greed? I do what you ask and turn our dear MC into a proper demon with just as much strength as you brothers. However, I take MC as my consort. After all, they’ve been the key to the success of my exchange problem. And where else will we ever meet someone who has been of all Three Realms? But-”

“But what?!” Mammon growls out and pulls the broken, but slowly corrupting form of MC closer to him, still ignoring their weak protests. “What more do you want?! You’re already taking away MC from me!” He can feel his true form boiling under his skin, aching to come out and take MC away, to keep his dearest treasure away from the thief who’s trying to steal away his heart. “You already have my brother, why do you need MC? They’re MINE!”

Diavolo just sighs like a parent watching an unruly child throw a tantrum. It pisses Mammon even more. “Enough Mammon, you didn’t let me finish.” He breaks into a smile, but there is nothing like the kind-hearted demon behind it. It’s sharp and calculating with a slight tinge of amusement, as if eagerly waiting to see what will happen next. “I am already well aware of your feelings for each other. I’m also near certain that their Fall has something to do with you as well. So this will be the deal, Mammon, I use the infernal magic fueling the pacts with you brothers as a way to help their transformation and take them in as my consort. However,” he emphasizes, “I’ll allow you two to be… close shall we say. How’s this? You can be their paramour as long as you swear to never steal away MC from me or the Throne, I’ll do all that I promised.” The prince lets out a hearty laugh, “Quite honestly Mammon you get quite a lot out of this, so what you say Mammon, do we have a deal?”

He stares at the prince’s outreached hand and down to MC. Their eyes have rolled back into their head, probably passed out to pain during his “conversation” with the Prince. He can even see the black horns begin to force its way out from their skull, no longer bleeding gold, but instead a pitch-black tar. And he thinks; either way he’s going to lose them, either to death or to Diavolo. Something within him says just to keep them with him for eternity. They wouldn’t be the first dead body kept within the House. But he can’t. He can’t let MC, the holder of his heart and the only one he truly loved die. Even if it means to let them go.

He leans down and softly kisses MC’s bloody forehead, ignoring the slight sting of both holy and unholy blood left on his lips. “Everything will be alright, I promise.” He whispers, before turning his face up to face Diavolo and plasters a cocky grin on his face. Fake, it feels fake as all hell, but he can’t crack. He’s selling his heart away and one day he’ll get it back, even if he has to steal it away. Clasping his blood-stained hand into the Prince’s, “You have a deal, Lord Diavolo. But don’t go whining about a broken deal if MC elopes with me in the end.”

Diavolo’s grin is just as fake and sharp as his and as he shakes the Avatar’s hand a cloud of Infernal magic swirls around them. “We shall see Mammon. We shall see.”

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[songbirdstyles]

sparks

summary: you’re a music journalist assigned to covering one of harry styles’ gigs, and he’s absolutely smitten with you. (part one.)

warnings: slight fluff, excessive liberties taken about music journalism; smut in later chapters, angst in later chapters

word count: 8.2k

inspo.: almost famous - cameron crowe; sparks - the who; hello, i love you - the doors

You’d never truly gotten a big assignment before - sure, you’d gotten a few pieces here and there detailing local LA bands that you knew would never live to see more than 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, and they mostly ended up buried by your higher-ranking coworker’s higher end stories on the front covers - and, for the most part, you’d honestly been fine with it. You’re fresh out of college, the newest recruit to your company and your colleagues who are sent out to tour with big bands and artists have been here for years, some even decades, and you suppose they deserve the opportunities more than you, don’t they?

You work your way up, your boss had told you the first day you’d started working, following him around like an eager puppy as he showed you the office. Eventually - if I’m impressed with you - you’ll get something big.

It’s enough for you. Small bands playing in hole-in-the-wall clubs and restaurants may not be the exact thing you’d envisioned when you’d set your sights on being a music journalist but it’s worked out well for you so far, hasn’t it? You’ve made friends - even dated the lead singer of an underground rock band who cheated on you hardly two weeks into the relationship - and your portfolio is slowly building, stacked with exposés and detailed recounts of small gigs that you’d watched from backstage. Eventually, you’ll leave this company and move on to something bigger, like Rolling Stone, and your career will take off until you’re practically the face of music journalism.

And, really, those dreams have carried you through college and the first year of your career, putting your all into every article and every piece just so your boss can tug you into his office one day with a rarely-seen grin to finally tell you -

“I want you to write an article on Harry Styles.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in the cushy office seat that your boss has for guests in his office. It’s a facade that you’ve learned to acknowledge, because, no matter how much he makes it look like he appreciates guests in his office, you know he regards you as nothing more than an interloper, even if he’d invited you there to begin with. “Harry Styles?”

“You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” Mike asks, light shining off his bald head, and your mouth opens and closes a few times uselessly. 

“Of course I have!” You push yourself to sit up straighter in your seat, staring up at your boss with shock written in every feature of your face. You, writing about Harry Styles? God, you nearly want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. “Write an article about - about what?”

Mike scoffs in that pretentious way that makes you hate ever having to talk to him, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “He’s coming to do a few shows along the West Coast. You can go to one or two - talk to him a bit, talk to his band - you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“With small bands, sure - Tacocat and - and the Mystery Lights -” You swallow thickly, and Mike stares down at you in your seat like he’s unimpressed with your enthusiasm, or lack thereof. And it’s not that you aren’t executed - but, Christ. Going from bands performing in underground clubs to Harry Styles is like going straight from crawling to flying a fucking plane and you’re not sure if any of your experience with the musical locality in LA could prepare you for that. “I mean, that’s huge, Mike.”

“It is huge,” Mike confirms, crossing his thick arms over his chest, leaning against the desk before you as though he’s immune to sitting in his seat behind his desk like a normal boss. “Do you not want to do it? Because Melissa, you know - she’d love to, was going on and on about it last week -”

“No!” Your cheeks flush at the volume your voice raises to, and if you didn’t know better you could swear you see the ghost of a grin on Mike’s face. “I want to, Mike, I really want to - it’s just crazy.” There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, your boss nodding smugly down at you as you struggle for words, before you ask the question burning the tip of your tongue with its desire to be heard. “But - why me? I’m sure you have people more qualified for it -”

“Easy,” Mike says, cutting you off and you’d be annoyed in any other instance but you’re too desperate to hear his answer. “Look, Harry’s a young guy. Younger than anyone else our people have interviewed - I think he’ll respond more to a young, pretty girl like yourself than someone older than him.”

Well, that makes sense, you suppose. The only coworker even close to you in age is Melissa, and she’s pushing 30 as it is. You’re 23 - graduated college just over a year ago, and by far the newest recruit this company has taken in years - but you had always imagined that was the main reason you wouldn’t get many big articles, and here it’s the main factor in you getting what will surely be the highlight of your portfolio once you apply to Rolling Stone. An interview with Harry Styles - God, they’ll probably foam at the mouth when they see it, and a grin spreads across your face as you think of it.

“Is that a yes?” Mike questions, blonde eyebrows raised high and nearly disappearing into his scalp. 

“Of course,” you respond without another moment of hesitation, and you push yourself to stand, office chair rolling behind you with the force, and it hits the wall behind you with a soft thump. “Yes - of course - of course.”

“Great.” And he crosses to the other side of his desk, pushing aside a few loose papers and folders on his desk, and you clutch your hands in front of your stomach as you watch him, practically bouncing up and down with uncontained joy and fear bubbling inside of you. The last time you’d felt like this was the first time you got a real assignment - more than just ranking songs and discussing new album releases - and you’d been sent to a strip club to cover a gig from an up-and-coming band. Back then, you’d never expected to ever feel more excited over anything in your life, and yet, here you are, eight months later, fighting back the urge to burst into joyful tears. “They come in a week - I’ll send you the address - if you need help with your questions -”

“I’ll ask Francine,” you finish the same advice he gives you every time you’re assigned an article, referring to your oldest coworker - a little old woman who’s been with the company since the 70s. She’s always been more than willing to help you with your assignments but this - you need to do this by yourself. “Thank you so much, Mike, this is - this is great.”

“Don’t let me down,” he says, pointing his finger at you, and you nod furiously. “I’m trusting you on this - it’s a big opportunity.”

“I won’t disappoint you,” you promise, holding up your crossed fingers just to show him how much you mean it, and you know it’s the truth - you’ll make this piece the best damn one this company has ever seen if it’s the last thing you ever do. 

 ~~

 The night begins a bit - rocky, to say the least.

For one, you couldn’t decide what to wear, even after spending nearly a half hour trying on every variation of clothes in your closet and tossing them onto the floor of your studio apartment when they didn’t satisfy your needs. In the past you’d worn to gigs what you’d wear if you were a simple concertgoer, albeit a bit more modestly, but you can’t decide what you would wear to a Harry Styles concert if you got the regular chance to - and you’d never even dreamt that it would happen in the first place -

Well, you peruse your closet intently and land on a pair of patterned flare pants and a long sleeve sweater. It only seems fitting for the chilly weather outside, and you fold a shirt into your bag in case you need to change if it gets hot backstage. You’re not dressed to impress, necessarily - you’re dressed to get a job done, as Mike would always say, but how could you be expected to not attempt to impress Harry Styles? It’s a preposterous idea. You’re sure anyone would understand.

Journalism pass - phone - keys - deodorant - when you’ve checked your bag over three times to ensure you have everything necessary you finally leave, locking your door shut behind you and ordering an Uber to take you to the concert.

You hadn’t anticipated Uber and Lyft being absolutely overloaded with patrons due to the concert just a half hour away and you need to be there by 6:30 at the very latest to ensure you get in and can at least talk to Harry before he goes on - a quarter of your questions are geared towards how he feels pre show and you can’t get pre show questions after the show - that’s barbaric. But the minutes inch closer to 5:30 and your Uber driver is still ten minutes away and your heart beats so fast against your chest you think you might vomit right into the street in front of your building -

You’re in the car by 5:45. It’s not ideal, and you know you’re cutting it close, but hopefully you’ll be there before the soundcheck ends. It’s always an ideal time to take photos, watching the band warm up and check mics, and with a piece like this, you need all the opportunities for pictures you can get.

And traffic is horrible - you suppose that’s also to be expected, and your Uber driver curses in a language you can’t recognize as cars cut him off on the highway and if you were a different person, you’d recommend a shortcut he takes, but he doesn’t look like he wants to hear a single word come from your mouth. He had given you a dirty look when you entered the car, and that’s enough to make you shut up and pray for the entire car ride that you make it on time.

6:27. Mike would piss himself if he knew how close you cut it, and you hop out of the car with a speed you didn’t even know you could muster, pushing past the buzzing crowd standing in front of the main entrance. The hoard of people seems to have a steady heartbeat, pulsing with excitement much like your own, and you can’t help but smile as you make your way around the group, goosebumps cropping up over your skin as your teeth chatter in the coldness. For a moment you fear that the directions to the backstage entrance that Mike had given you were total bullshit - but then you see the door, blocked by a burly security guard that glowers at you as you walk up to him like you’re something sticky beneath his shoe.

“Hi!” you call, breath exploding in a white cloud in front of you in the cool night air. The security guard smells so strongly of booze that you need to try harder than you’d care to admit not to scrunch your nose - you cough softly. “Let me - um - find my pass - I’m with Autoamerican, the magazine?”

Fingers grab onto your journalism pass, deep within your bag, and you tug it out, flashing it to the security guard with a slightly nervous grin. All of the gigs you’d been to before hadn’t even had backstage doors - to get backstage, you just had to climb onto the stage and walk behind the wings - but this is a fucking stadium, not just a measly club, and a big one, at that. In your youth you’re sure you could recall your dad watching a football game that occurred in this very stadium - funny how life turns out, sometimes.

“Autoamerican?” the security guard questions, bringing his face closer to your badge as the wafting smell of alcohol increases, and he raises his eyebrows with a scoff. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling your teeth beginning to chatter in the cool February air. You’re not quite sure what to say - you’d assumed Mike had called to arrange the entire thing, hadn’t he? And this is the time you’re supposed to be here - “well, we’re not as big as Rolling Stone magazine, but - we’ve done interviews with The Cure, The Smiths - even Zeppelin, at one point -”

Your voice trails off into silence. He doesn’t care. He’s looking at you like you’re some innocent teenage girl, trying to bribe your way backstage so you can bombard the artist and not a fully grown woman here on business, goddammit. And you’re not sure what to say - he doesn’t believe you, clearly, and you hadn’t anticipated that even as you listed all the ways tonight could go wrong.

“Look, kid,” he begins, and that really has your blood boiling, eyes narrowing to glare at him. “We get this all the time. I’m a journalist - I’m with the crew - it’s a bunch of bullshit. Now go to the front with your general admission tickets like the rest of them -”

“I have a pass - I’m a journalist!”

“Sure -”

“I can call my boss if you want proof!”

And before you can reach into your bag to search relentlessly for your phone to follow through on the promise like you intend to, the door the man is guarding suddenly swings open, nearly hitting the guard in the ass as it opens out. You take a step back as dim light from inside floods the darkness, and a man steps out of the doorway, his eyes darting between you and the security guard.

“Are you with Autoamerican?” the man questions, raising his finger to point at you as though he could be speaking to anyone else. You nod furiously, and you hold up your journalism pass again just to prove it. “You can come inside, then - c’mon, Steve, she’s got a pass, for God’s sake -”

And you can’t resist flashing the guard a smug smile as he steps to the side to let you inside, rolling his eyes so far back into his head that all you can see is a strip of white.

The man lets you inside and the door shuts behind you, and you nearly knock straight into a second security guard standing by the door inside, as though trying to stop people from going out. And, well - you’ve been backstage at more concerts than you could count but this is certainly bigger, better, bustling with people carrying equipment and makeup artists and more people you couldn’t possibly identify. You’re half inclined to reach into your bag and grab your notebook to jot down exactly what you’re seeing so you can make sure to include it in the article, but you have a distinct feeling you’ll never forget it.

“I’m Jeff,” the man tells you, already setting off through the people, and you’re quick to follow, trying to maintain your pace beside him. After a second of walking in silence you realize he’s waiting for you to say yours - you clear your throat and introduce yourself, and he sends you a smile. “The band just finished their soundcheck, if you’d like to have a word with them before they go on - what’s the article about, anyway?”

Jeff shoulders the two of you through lingering groups of people until you emerge into a small hallway lined with doors, and you can hear bustling noise coming from the one closest to you - holy shit, is that Harry? 

“Um - just about the shows, the tour, how everything’s going. My boss basically told me to do what I want with it, so I’ll have a better idea once I speak to the band.” It’s the loosest instruction you’ve ever been given for a piece - you’d expected a clear cut outline - but perhaps with an artist this big, Mike trusts you to know what to write. “It likely won’t be anything too personal, but I’d love to get a chance to speak with Harry before and after.”

“Sounds great,” and you can tell he’s stressed - you wonder if he’s always anxious before his client’s shows, or if there’s something special about tonight that has him worried - and then he reaches past you, twisting the doorknob closest to you and holding the door open for you to enter before him, and you give him a gracious smile before walking in.

The room isn’t as crowded with people as you’d expected but they’re bustling with energy - a woman and a man, holding a guitar, lean against the wall with each other - two other women sip water bottles, laughing loudly amongst each other - another woman leans above someone, their body hidden from view except for their legs, covered in silk, floral printed pants -

Your breath catches in your throat as Jeff shuts the door behind you both, and the sound of the door clicking shut draws far more attention to yourself than you’d expected - it seems like every pair of eyes lands on you and Jeff, and you’d decided on being a music journalist to keep away from being the center of attention. You’ve always preferred being behind the scenes, a bit, at least until your career progresses until you’re a household name for music journalism, and now -

You feel very much in the scenes, eyes on you as Rhiannon plays in the background.

And then Jeff is tapping you on your shoulder, leading you around the room to the small groups of people lingering - you shake hands with Mitch and Sarah, the couple against the wall, and the rest of his band, and they’re so nice your smile feels like it’s going to break your face in half. You’ll need to interview them at some point - nothing too intense, and you may not even need to, if Harry’s answers are satisfactory enough - and you can already feel yourself building a strange sort of rapport with the band, their kindness rubbing off on you until you practically glide beside Jeff to the woman bent over Mr. Floral Pants, whose identity you’re fairly certain you’ve already deduced.

It doesn’t make it any more surprising when the woman steps aside where she’s carefully applying powder to the man’s face, and then Harry fucking Styles is staring up at her with a smile and an outstretched hand, suit jacket matching the floral pattern of his pants. His curls are carefully slicked back from his face, skin matte with the powder the woman resumes applying to the side of his face that isn’t turned to you, and you swallow your shock before reaching to shake his hand, Rhiannon turning into Hello, I Love You, playing from a source you can’t identify.

“Nice t’meet you,” Harry says when you’ve told him your name and the magazine you work for - Jeff had already mentioned it, but it is customary to repeat it to whomever you may have to interview. “Y’know, I love Autoamerican - told Jeff, s’the only magazine I’d let interview me backstage. Don’t usually allow it.”

“Really?” your stomach flips as Harry stops bouncing his arm, but it takes just another half second for him to untwine his hand from yours - you’re sure it’s because the makeup artist fretting above him is using her thumb to wipe off powder from his nose, but it still makes your heart thump faster against your chest. “I assumed most people haven’t heard of it - it’s nowhere near Rolling Stone.”

“I love it,” he insists, dropping your hand, and he looks so casual, as if this interaction isn’t blowing up your entire life, and you’re brought back to the many moments you’d spent as a teenager fawning over him in his One Direction days - God, this feels like a dream, and you’re half inclined to pinch yourself in case it is. Maybe you’ll wake up in Mike’s office to him giving you another shitty underground LA band to interview. “The interview with Sublime s’great - read it all the time.”

You swallow thickly, grin spreading wider across your face, and before you can open your mouth to tell him about Francine’s go-to story about how Eric Wilson had flirted with her while she interviewed them for the story, Jeff interjects - “Steve hadn’t even heard of it.”

“Steve’s an idiot,” Harry starts, and you giggle - his lips lilt upwards just a bit. “Hope he wasn’t hasslin’ you ‘bout it.”

“Just a little,” you say, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder just as the makeup artist drops the powder back into the apron slung around her waist, and her manicured nails tilt Harry’s head around for a moment before she seemingly deems his makeup satisfactory before leaving, sending you a tight lipped smile as she goes. “I’d love to ask you a few questions before the show - nothing too heavy - and then I’ll observe the concert and how everything goes, ask a few questions after.”

“Sounds great,” Harry responds, lifting his fist with his thumb up and you didn’t think your heartbeat could grow any faster or louder but you suppose today is just proving you wrong time and time again. “D’you need t’record m’answers? S’a bit loud in here.”

The truth is, you’re sure you’ll have this entire experience engraved in your brain for years to come - you’ll remember every word he utters for you until your dying days - but it is more practical to have a recording. You swing your bag off your arm and open it, digging through the jumbled mess of items inside until you find your phone, and you hold it up with a nod. “Yeah - there isn’t anywhere a bit quieter, is there?”

It takes a minute of bustling - Jeff tells you two instructions to go down the hall into another room where you may find more silence - and Harry promises, accent thick and eyes rolling, to be back in twenty minutes or less, if tha’s enough time for you, ma’am, and you try to trick yourself into thinking the burn flushing up your cheeks is due to the heat of the room.

Down the hall is another door that Harry opens for you, letting you walk in first. It’s a small room, clearly meant for storage, and he shuts the door behind the pair of you. There’s - luckily, or perhaps unluckily - just enough room for you two have at least a few feet between you, and he leans against the wall with an air of casual elegance you couldn’t hope to achieve as you scroll through your phone to search for the voice recorder app.

“Hope this s’good enough - is it?” Harry inquires, leaning his head closer to yours, and you nod. “Good - wish there was a nicer spot for you, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interject, smiling up at him, and he grins back, and your stomach churns violently. You almost feel like you could vomit - when he goes on, you’ll go and have a bit to eat at the table set up with foods that Jeff had wheeled you past when you arrived. Eating seems to solve more of your nerves than you’d care to admit, and you feel like you’re nearly 95% nerves right now. Your fingers fiddle with the voice recorder app, adding a title to the recording while entirely too focused on the sounds of Harry’s breathing above you, and you can practically fear his eyes boring into your face before you press record. 

And, for the most part, it does go smoothly. Harry introduces himself with an ease that only comes with years of practice, so much time spent being interviewed that it must feel like as much of a second nature to him as interviewing is to you. He’s charming and charismatic - flirtatious, even - making jokes and adding lines that you make a mental note to be sure to include in your final piece - whatever direction you go - and you can’t say you’re bothered by the way he leans closer to the phone, and thus closer to you, in order for his voice to be heard more on the recording when occasional noise bustles in from outside.

You don’t need to look at the questions you’d spent weeks laboring over - every question you inquire derives directly from his answers like he’s practically feeding them to you, and then you’re interviewing him so naturally, you could nearly fool yourself into thinking it’s an organic conversation between friends. 

What’s his process to prepare for shows? Well, listening to Fleetwood Mac and eating finger foods, of course - he loves mozzarella sticks. Does Fleetwood Mac make you less nervous for shows? No, he doesn’t get too anxious before shows, now that he’s out of the band. He just loves Fleetwood Mac - he could listen to them at any time of the day. What do you think makes your solo career less anxiety-inducing than being in the band? Different fans let him be himself more. There’s less pressure to be someone he isn’t - do you think he could’ve worn a floral printed suit at a One Direction concert?

And, in the end, twenty minutes hardly feels like it, and by the time Harry tilts his head over the screen of your phone to check the time, you could nearly convince yourself that you’d merely spent a minute with the heartthrob, and it pains you to stop the recording.

“How’d I do?” he questions, cheeky smile indenting the dimple in his cheek, and you feel like you need to dip your face in ice once he goes on stage - your face hasn’t felt anything less than piping hot since the first moment he rested eyes on you, and his kind-bordering-on-flirtatious nature only makes your skin heat more under his gaze.

It isn’t as though you’d have it any other way, though.

“Perfect,” and you send him a smile. “I’ll watch the show - probably eat a bit, too, if I’m being honest - and maybe ask you a few questions. How many shows are you doing in LA?”

Harry reaches past you, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door for you once more, and you slip out with a small smile as he follows, face twisted in what’s clearly a show of being in deep thought. “Four. An’ a few more on the West Coast ‘fore we move out - reckon you’ll need t’come t’a few more?”

“Depends.” He looks at you curiously as the two of you make your way back to the room you’d been in before, and when you enter, it’s clearly in a more prominent state of preparation for the show - there’s more bustle and movement between every band member and Jeff, who looks entirely relieved to see you two come in as She’s a Rainbow thumps softly, volume clearly turned down on whatever produces the music. “If I feel like I’ve got enough material from this show, then that’ll be it - I usually just do reviews of specific gigs, and this is a lot broader - so I really don’t know.”

Harry nods, and you feel a flutter in your heart at how intently he seems to be listening to you, like he really cares, and you’re sure it’s a facade - he probably has a million other things on his mind as Jeff descends upon the both of you, whisking him away as he calls goodbye! to you - but still. When was the last time you’d felt listened to? By Mike, or by the security guard outside, or even from your own parents when you try to convince them over and over that you have a plan, that your degree wasn’t a waste of time when you could’ve been a doctor -

Well, Harry’s a gentleman, you decide, sliding your phone into the back pocket of your flares as you reach in your bag for your notepad. You can tell they’re preparing to go on soon and so you descend against the wall, grabbing your pen from deep inside the confines of your bag to scribble the essential notes of what you’ll need - it’ll make it easier when it’s time to write, rather than listening to the entire 20 minute interview again to try and find the important sections to include.

His responses to your question still burn fresh in your mind, and you began scribbling your bullet points on the small notepad in your hands. It’s decently easy to block out the chatter of the room you’re in along with its music, volume turned down further until it’s hardly audible, and it really is a skill you’ve mastered, though you suppose you’ve had to - trying to take notes for articles about gigs occurring in buildings so small that their noise reverberates off of every surface has made you a master in tuning out noise surrounding you.

You are aware, and acutely, at that, when the band starts exiting through the door beside you. They don’t look nervous, returning your encouraging smiles with ones of their own, and you watch them pour out the door with confidence practically radiating off of them. Well, that’s something to mention, isn’t it? Most of the bands you’d interviewed were practically vomiting with nerves -

Harry takes up the rear, fingers running through his slicked back hair, and you can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or if he’s simply trying to let his curls fall in front of his eyes more. Jeff walks in front of him, giving you a smile as he leaves, and the singer stops beside you.

Your breath just about catches in your throat as you look up at him, and he’s staring down at you with a decidedly ambiguous look in his eyes, and you smile at him. “Good luck out there.”

“You’re gonna come and watch?”

You nod. “Eventually - I’m gonna eat something first, finish my notes. Maybe give myself a tour of the backstage in case I decide to include it.”

“Sounds good t’me,” Harry says, but he doesn’t make a motion to leave, and then his eyes roll down your body and is he fucking checking you out? Because - no - that’s crazy. That would cement into your brain the knowledge that this is a dream, and not reality, because there’s no fucking way Harry Styles is checking you out, eyes roaming from your eyes to your stomach to your - “I like your pants. Where’d you get ‘em?”

Ah. Of course. Fashion icon, he is, inquiring about the pants you’d chosen specifically because they looked like something he may like. “These?” You glance down as though you’d forgotten what pants you’d donned, as though you hadn’t spent hours in front of your closet envisioning what outfit you could wear to impress him. “I think they’re from Zara. Got them a couple years back.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Why, thank you -”

“Harry!”

Jeff’s voice calling from outside the room snaps you both out of your conversation, a slightly embarrassed grin spreading across Harry’s face that you’re sure is mirroring your own. His cheeks are tinged pink and he clears his throat.

“Sorry - gotta go - make sure y’try the mozzarella sticks, ‘kay? They’re good,” Harry tells you, and you grin, drumming the pen clutched between your fingers against the notepad in your hands.

“Will do,” you reply, and then you lift your hand and point to the door, raising your eyebrows with a smile. “Go break a leg - and then be ready to talk about it when you’re done!”

He doesn’t say anything else - just gives you a thumbs up and slips out the door, and you can hear his frenzied apologies to Jeff as their voices fade away, surely preparing to get on stage and sing his heart out and blow the fucking stadium away, but you can hardly focus on it. Because - God, you really don’t want to sound like a narcissist - but he was joking around with you, complimented your pants, and he did technically check you out, even if it was just to see your pants. 

Was he flirting with you?

Surely not. No, that would be absurd. He’s probably just bored - maybe entertaining random people backstage is his way of dealing with his nerves.

That makes a bit more sense.

When you glance back down at your notepad, the page half filled with scribbled bullet points of things you’d sworn to remember, and when you click your pen open to continue your list, you find that you can’t quite think of anything else to write. All you can think about is the mozzarella sticks waiting for you, and then standing in the wings to watch him sing his heart out to a crowd of adoring fans that you, at one point, would have killed to be apart of -

You shove your pen and pad back into your bag with a determined spin of your heels. Food first - contemplation second.

 ~~~

 The show is - needless to say - amazing.

You’d feasted on slightly-cold mozzarella sticks that were, even in their lowered temperatures, immensely good, and clearly garnered all the affection Harry had for them. The food table was nearly completely empty, crew members repeatedly coming up to fill plates with vegetables and snacks, and so you simply gathered the last three sticks of celery once you were done with your sticks before taking a leisurely stroll along the backstage area. Celery firm between your teeth, you pulled out your notepad and your pen once more and jotted notes of what you could possibly include in the article to jog your memory later -

It takes a while, admittedly. You don’t want to leave anything out, and eventually you have two pages filled with notes in your handwriting that would surely be illegible to anyone else who happened upon them - and, sure, your pages are small, but still. Two pages is a lot, and you’re sure most of it won’t even make it into the article but you don’t want to risk forgetting any important information.

A trip to the bathroom - perusing the food table again to pick up the last few carrot sticks - and the show is nearly halfway over, so you decide it may be time to slip into the wings and watch. Take notes, possibly, but mainly just listen and absorb the music and the atmosphere and exactly how the fans react to his every move. That’s what the people want to know, isn’t it? It’s what you would want to know - so you slip past the lingering groups of people into the wings of the stage, where you get a clear view of Harry and his band, singing his heart out to a tune you know to be Kiwi.

It’s ear splitting, truly, in a way that none of the other gigs you’d witnessed had been. But it sounds good - better than good - and he’s as charismatic on stage as he is off,  waggling his eyebrows during the more suggestive lines and undoing the button of his suit jacket, and the latter garners a deafening scream from the adoring fans in the crowd. 

No, you won’t need to take notes, at least not yet. You’ll remember this forever, won’t you? Watching him work the crowd like he was born to do it, like it’s a second nature and you’re sure it is, at this point. It’s all you can do to stand there, watching him, and you’re sure you look no different from the other fans in the crowd, your eyes wide and lips parted in absolute awe of him -

His head turns to the side, briefly, as if he can sense your eyes on him above anyone else’s. In reality you’re sure he’d simply turned his head to flick a sweaty curl out of his face but it’s never a bad thing to dream right? And your gaze locks for just a moment, his eyebrows raising when he sees your face, and heat burns at your cheeks before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his right eye shuts in a quick wink before he’s turning back to the crowd as if his attention had never left them.

Shit. You nearly drop your damn carrot. God, he’s a fucking tease, and you’re not even sure he knows it - that this experience will never leave your brain for as long as you walk this Earth, watching him wink as he stared into the depths of your fucking soul, clad in a gorgeous suit with his gorgeous hair and -

Harry truly is a sight to behold, and you’re more than content to watch him forever.

Forever ends up being another half hour or so before you’re made entirely too aware of the fact that you have to pee - not insanely bad, but enough to make you shift uncomfortably from side to side before sighing, turning and making your way further backstage in your search for the bathroom. In your determined tour of the backstage you’d forgotten to search for the restroom, and you wander about for nearly five whole minutes before getting to it -

You do your business. There’s not much more explanation needed.

It’s when your washing your hands, though, water freezing cold against your palms, that you become slightly aware of a myriad of noises occurring outside the restroom. At first you choose not to focus on it, shoving your hands beneath the air dryer to ease your soaking, cold hands, and the noise of violent air assaulting your palms drowns out the scuffling sounds from outside.

When the dryer turns off, and you reach down to wipe your damp hands on your pants, the noises haven’t stopped. And, sure, no one could expect it to be completely silent backstage, but whatever you’re hearing isn’t the normal laughter and chatter and muffled music that you’re used to hearing -

It sounds like someone is fighting, and your hand freezes in its place on the cool metal doorknob. You lean forward, scrunching your nose as you plainly try harder to hear what’s happening -

But, Hell. You have a job to do - you need to get back to the wings to watch the remaining few minutes of the set before Harry leaves and, subsequently, returns for the encore, and you’d intended to write with detail about his closing repetition of Kiwi. So you grab the doorknob, swing the door open and step out, and freeze nearly immediately once you’ve exited.

There is a fight - not as violent as you’d expected - as the security guard from inside scuffles with Steve, who looks positively wasted in a way you’ve come to know all too well, doing gigs in LA. His face shines with a sheen layer of sweat, skin glowing in the artificial light, and his fists move slowly to pummel into the other security guard’s back. It’s, truthfully, a bit pathetic to watch - he isn’t putting up much of a fight against the guard trying to hold him, and your mouth parts with poorly-concealed confusion at the display in front of you.

You’re not sure what to say - or do - or think - standing in the doorway of the bathroom as you watch the poor excuse of a fight, Steve nearly toppling to the ground as the other guard tries to contain him.

“Come on, Steve - don’t be like this -”

Then the other security guard looks up and sees you, and the expression on his face nearly makes you burst into laughter, but you contain it with a bit more difficulty than you’d like to admit. He looks annoyed, like he’s absolutely done with his coworker, and also slightly embarrassed. Clearly, he’d dragged Steve into the hallway containing the bathrooms with the hopes of nobody seeing either of them, and you’ve interrupted his bid for privacy desperately. “Sorry, ma’am,” the guard says, grabbing one of Steve’s flailing fists in his hands. “Don’t mind us - he’s drunk - just trying to contain him.”

You’re doing a damn good job, you want to say, but you bite back the retort with a small nod and a whisper of a smile on your face, walking with your back to the wall past their display in the hopes of Steve not seeing you. He hadn’t been particularly nice to you when you’d first seen him and you can tell he’s in a much more heightened state, now - he’d been drunk when you’d seen him before and you can tell it’s only gotten worse.

Maybe you should’ve told Jeff the guard was drunk?

Well, it’s counterproductive to dwell on the past.

You’re not so lucky, though - you’ve barely made it down five steps down the hallway before Steve lifts his head, pupils blown and skin even stickier looking than before, and he gives you the same disgusted look as though you’re something his dog had left on the grass. “Hey - hey - Jim - do you know who that is?”

And the other security guard - Jim - just rolls his eyes. “No, Steve, I don’t - stop making a fool out of yourself.”

“She works at - at - Eat to the Beat - Parallel Lines - what is it?”

Do you answer him? You don’t quite know. You just swallow thickly, forcing yourself not to don the smile that’s urging its way onto your lips as you hear roaring screams from the crowd that alerts you to the fact that, if Harry isn’t done with his set yet, he’s close, and you need to watch the end. “Autoamerican. Those are all good albums, though.”

“She’s snarky - get off of me, Jim -”

In Steve’s final bid for freedom his legs kick out, and his sneakered foot knocks into your ankle, and it’s certainly not hard by any stretch of the definition but it’s enough to catch you off balance, his toe hooking into the loose fabric around your ankles as he brings his foot back to kick again. One kick did it, though - you tumble to the ground, legs flying out from under you until you land on your ass on the hard floor, your bag slipping off your shoulder, and its contents scatter across the ground.

Fuck. That hurt, more than you’d care to admit, as you brace your elbows behind you to stop your head from knocking into the ground. Your ass hurts and you can see Steve’s leg bracing backwards for another kick, and you push yourself backwards so his foot merely pushes against the air.

You can already see Jim opening his mouth to desperately say sorry when a set of footsteps interrupts his apology - you don’t have to look to your side to see who it is, the smell of expensive cologne wafting before him like an introduction. You practically feel him before you see him.

Your name falls off Harry’s lips entirely too easily, like he’d been looking for you in the overtly small window of space he has before he has to go back on stage - his hair is messy and his skin is sweaty and he bends down next to you with such sentimentality in his eyes - you almost feel like a child again.

“Are y���okay?” Harry questions, and his hand rests on the small of your back and warmth seems to seep through your body from its spawning point, palm moving in circles against your sweater so gently you can tell he’s scared to go much harder. “Wha’ -?”

For his eyes had just landed on the sight in front of you - Jim managed to pull Steve up, the latter clearly coming to his senses at least a little bit, and his eyes narrow at the sight of you on the floor and subsequently widen as he sees Harry next to you.

“Wha’ happened?” And you can hear anger quivering under his voice like boiling water, ready to overflow, and you instinctively reach up to press your hand against his forearm - you do it to your niece all the time when you can tell she’s on the verge of a tantrum and it always works on her - but she is five, and Harry’s twenty years her senior, so, needless to say, the motion doesn’t do much to soothe him. “Fightin’ back here, kickin’ her - you’re s’posed t’be security guards!”

“It’s okay, Harry -”

“S’not okay -”

And then there’s another set of footsteps jogging over to you, and you look up to see Jeff -

“Har, you need to get back out -” but you can see the confusion set into his features as he stands over the scene, eyes flickering to you and Harry on the floor to Jim and Steve, the former having settled the latter into a fairly calm position. The scent of alcohol is strong and you can practically watch as Jeff smells it, his nose crinkling. “Is he drunk?”

“He is drunk, an’ got into a fight wit’ -”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, squeezing Harry’s arm again as you push yourself to stand, attempting not to wince at the pain in your ass as your muscles tense. He’s looking at you like you’ve just been hit by a car instead of having a mild scuffle with a security guard, eyes wide and concerned, and you shake your head at him. “Didn’t get into a fight, Harry - he accidentally kicked me. It’s really fine - you need to go back out, anyway.”

“She’s right,” Jeff insists, reaching down to tug Harry up as his eyes bore into the sight in front of you, Steve slowly calming himself down until he’s simply red in the face and reeking of booze. “Come on, Har - you need to get on.”

But Harry’s already bending down again, grabbing your pen and your notebook and your phone (you can see a crack in the screen that most certainly hadn’t been there just a mere ten minutes ago) and you could nearly laugh at the display he’s putting on, shoving your items back into your back, if Jeff’s demeanor wasn’t bordering on murderous as he drags Harry up again. You reach down and grab your bag, now fully stocked again with all of the items that had clattered out, and you give the tussling security guards one final fleeting look before following Jeff and Harry as they make their way down the hall.

“Y’sure you’re okay?” Harry questions, slowing his pace so you can jog beside him, much to Jeff’s lingering annoyance as he brings his fingers up to rub at the space between his eyes. “Y’should know - tha’ doesn’t usually happen -”

“I get it,” you tell him.

“No, really.” You’ve reached the wings of the stage, and Jeff leaves the pair of you alone to descend on to where the band stands, clearly waiting for the cue to go on. Harry runs a hand through his hair, and he looks oddly exasperated and you wish you could get it through his head that it really isn’t a big deal - “Someone will take care of the guards, okay?”

“Don’t fire them,” you insist, even though you’re sure he has no say in it. “Not Jim, at least.”

“Jim -?”

“The sober one.”

“Oh.” He pauses, dropping his hands to his sides. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Just try.”

“Will do.”

There’s another brief second of silence before you nod towards the stage where he’s needed - the few lowly minutes between the end of the show and the encore has come to an end, and you’re sure people are beginning to wonder if he’s not coming back. “Go on, Har. There’s people waiting for you.”

“M’going!” And he isn’t going, just staring at you with his brows furrowed, and you raise your own with a confused stare. “Are y’gonna come t’any more shows?”

You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you contemplate your answer. “Well - maybe. If I need more information.” “You should,” he tells you, and you tilt your head to the side. “Look, I don’t want your only impression of m’shows t’be that they’re violent an’ crazy.”

“I don’t think -”

“Jus’ one more? In two days. I’ll send you th’address. I really want you t’come -”

Before you can process the request Jeff has stepped forward, hooking his arm in Harry’s and practically dragging him towards the stage, and you watch him prance back in front of the audience like it’s his God given purpose and perhaps it is. You’ve never quite met anyone like him, you don’t think, and you’d certainly had a perception of what you’d imagined him to be like based on the insane amount of time you’d spent obsessing over his band when you were younger -

Your mouth feels suddenly dry as you watch him begin, and the music seems to reverberate beneath your skin, and suddenly - without having to think about it much at all, really - you know it won’t take much convincing on his part to get you back for a second night.

[junova]

↬ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 | 𝐫. 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞

abstract — the one where ransom gets a taste of his own medicine, but you happen to be so much sweeter than he’s ever been. 

pairing — ooc!ransom drysdale x fem!reader 

wc — 4.1k+  im so sorry lmao 

warnings — cheating (if u squint its very vague), angst, fluff, slight self deprecation, ransom is kinda nice idk, i want a soft!ransom drysdale now pls, this is also very messy so read at ur own risk!

[m blabs] — howdy howdy! first time ransom fic. woot woot! still kinda finding my voice w writing so i hope you like it! <333 

His mouth set in a hard line as you continued to curl into his chest, the span of your confidence seemed to be wiped away with a nightmare from the past. Part of him was upset you hadn’t told him anything, the blind leading the blind, as you stepped foot into his family event. Seeing the last person you’d ever thought would be there. 

Surely by now, he thought you would trust him but it was more than evident you still didn’t. You persisted on hiding everything from him, anything you were sure might tick him off. 

Well, Ransom wasn’t necessarily known for biting his tongue.  Although, in your presence, he was learning what to say and where to say it. 

It really surprised him. Not one woman had been able to tame him, not since he’d be fucking everyone in sight. His desire was endless and not one single individual would be enough for his fill. 

Then, he found you drunk and sobbing on the concrete, right outside of the bar he was exiting. To this day, he still couldn’t tell you why he stopped for you. He never really paid attention to anyone if it wasn’t to his own benefit. Ultimately, meeting you was, even if he wouldn’t realize it then. 

You flinched from his touch when he patted your shoulder, gently asking if you were alright. If anyone asked him, Ransom would surely deny he felt you pull at the strings of his heart in an instant. 

He just knew. 

Maybe it’s why it took him so long to accept it, to believe in what he felt for you. Definitely not because you did nothing but be the most wonderful human he’d ever met. More had to do with him. 

Ransom dropped you off the first night you met in your small apartment downtown, definitely on the rougher side where he thought his Rolex sporting his wrist may get stolen. 

A cute little thing like you living in a neighborhood like this — didn’t make much sense to him. Then again, it certainly checked out with his privilege why he didn’t. 

Truly, Ransom didn’t realize how fortunate he truly was. Of course being a trust fund brat gave him the ignorance to live in an unmatched state of bliss. 

He still remembers the moment. 

Watching as you fumbled with your keys, finding it more than difficult to open your front door. It was cute, with your tongue poking out between your lips in concentration. Now, he wondered how he’d forgotten why he’d gone to get hammered at the bar in the first place. 

“Here, let me help.” New to Ransom, he offered a giving hand. Grabbing the key from your jittering fingertips before unlocking your door. He tried to hand you back your keys, but you pulled him so close, your chest touching his own. Dragging two rapid hearts through your apartment. 

“You smell like him.” A dopey smile on your face lighting every dark sight of Ransom, not that you’d know it did. “I smell like who?” 

“My ex-boyfriend.” Your hands cupping his cheek, but you were too drunk to realize how Ransom flinched from your touch. 

He didn’t push you away either. 

“But he definitely didn’t look this good.” Defying all laws of his own nature, Ransom let you stay in close proximity to him as you felt him up. Your hand resting on his chest, traveling lower stopping at his stomach. “Definitely didn’t feel this good.” 

He watched as you sighed, your puffy eyes were only slightly swollen and the mascara was still staining your skin with the rest of the makeup you wore. If anyone had asked him, you’d looked like a wreck but he still found you alluring. 

Ransom always liked his women looking more than fucked out, usually from gagging around his cock. Not crying over a broken heart. Nope. He definitely did not like dealing with a woman's sorrow. 

“He never let me touch him though. Guess that should have tipped me off.” You let your hands travel back up, wounding themselves around his neck before they applied more pressure — pulling him into you. 

Ransom found you pretty confident for not even knowing anything more than his first name and the car he drove you in. You were definitely craving attention and maybe he’d be more than happy to oblige but the little voice in his head Dr. Shoal told him to listen to was being a pestering, little bitch. 

What did Ransom want? 

Right now he wanted to drown himself in some sweet ass pussy. He knew you would give yourself easily to him, especially in your drunken state. Clinging onto him like he was a vine. 

The smaller part of him, the better part, knew you were drunk out of your mind. Absolutely plastered, but you had to stand there looking like a goddess. 

He didn’t really know why he was letting you touch him, maybe in hopes the deeper, darker side of him would win like it always did. Ransom knew better, even if he tried to hide it from everyone including himself. 

He liked you. From the very first moment, he knew he’d have to get you. Whether it cost your own sanity or his, Ransom didn’t care. 

It’s why he left you drunk and alone, safely tucked into the comfort of your sheets with his number left in your phone. Even taking the liberty of texting himself from it. 

He could never be too careful. Letting you slip through his fingers was simply not an option. 

Thanks to him, you didn’t forget about him. 

The next morning your memory only held vague images of a handsome stranger helping you home, thankfully he seemed to be nothing more than a doting gentlemen. The first for you to ever come across. 

Until later in the afternoon the following day, Ransom introduced himself and checked up on you, worming his presence into your life. 

Then he kept talking to you everyday, surprising even himself in the matter. Truly, he couldn’t help it. Part of him loved how gently you spoke to him on the phone. No one ever talked to him with such a level of care. 

He always warranted yelling, usually he was the one who stirred the pot. He enjoyed it, and thrived in a chaotic environment. It’s what he grew up in. Ransom was more than comfortable with his own family yelling and cursing him out until the sun came up. He did just the same. 

So, whenever you sweetly asked him how he was, it threw him off guard. 

Not a single soul even cared or bothered to ask him anything. Truth be told, Ransom was a sack of shit treating everyone like they were the gum beneath his shoe. It didn’t matter who talked to him — Ransom was simply more superior in every conceivable way. 

He would succumb to not a single soul. Paving his own way through life, with only the money from his trust fund of course. 

Then the two of you fell into each other and he could pinpoint the exact moment he did. 

The weeks and months blended together. He couldn’t really tell you why he was still lingering around, while he got nothing in return. You did get him off once or twice, but he wasn’t fucking you like he really wanted to. 

Maybe it was the innocence in your eyes pulling his soul into the very little good he still had left within him. Or maybe it was the way your thumb dragged over his cheek when you thought he was in slumber, blissfully unaware of your touch. 

More importantly his favorite thing, the way you let him hold you when the two of you cuddled. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, bouncy cheeks pressed into whatever knit sweater he decided to wear that day. 

It was all the little things, unknowingly making him fall in deep like he never had before. 

Unwelcoming to him, his mother came barreling in one Sunday afternoon, while you slept in his arms. Even as Linda screamed his name, you never jolted, out like a log. Safe in the peace he kept you in. 

Linda looked annoyed, irritated he even had company in the first place but not surprised. What truly shocked her was they both had clothes on.  Not truly believing Ransom was capable of such a sinless interaction. 

He knew what she wanted; he didn’t even have to move from his position to continue a private conversation. Not that it would get him off the couch, and out of your embrace in the first place. 

“I said no. Don’t know why you bothered coming here.” Linda angrily sighed. “You should at least show up.” 

Ransom didn’t notice, but subconsciously continued to run his fingertips up and down your spine. Linda did. She noticed that he didn’t even care she was judging him, but let you remain unbothered sleeping in her son’s embrace. 

“It’s for Walt. You need to be there.” She stepped closer, hoping the increase in her volume would wake you. “I expect you to grace us with your wonderful presence as does the rest of the family.” 

The sarcasm dripped, attempting to coax him out of the four walls he never seemed to leave. Not recently, anyhow. 

“I already told you, I can’t.” Now Ransom was irritated and he really wished she would calm the fuck down. It was one day, one event. There would always be another, that much wasn’t lost on him. “I have plans. Send him my best.” 

Assuming it was the rumbling of his chest when he spoke, you moved jolting yourself in his arms, before remaining still again. His heartbeat continues to soothe you. 

“You have plans? What else could be more important than your family?” The louder Linda’s voice grew the more you stirred, pissing him off. 

He really needed to change his locks. 

Even if he had no intention of going, he needed his mother to leave. Really for your own sake — trying to save you from Linda giving you a cold shoulder followed with a third degree burn. 

“Fine. I’ll go. Can you just leave?” She accepted Ransom’s submission, before looking at your figure. Sound asleep and clinging to her one and only, sinking your claws into him. 

She really didn’t like the way Ransom was looking at you. Linda was positive he would never be able to care about someone other than himself, but here he was, holding you close to his chest. 

Almost like his life depended on it. 

“Who is she to you?” With a raised eyebrow, eyes narrowing to you before meeting back with Ransom’s cerulean blues. 

“I don’t know yet.” Ransom paused looking down at you, so beautiful. Holding a light so pure, so radiant; he hoped no matter how cruel he could be, he’d never act like that towards you. “Maybe someone I don’t deserve, but want to be better for.” 

His rough, calloused fingers drawing mindless patterns on the exposed skin of your waist. He didn’t know what Linda said next or when she left. 

Time seemed to stand still, his confession hitting his chest fiercely. He let himself sit with it for a moment, before you woke up. Enjoying a moment where he didn’t have to deal with anything, he didn’t have to say a word. 

He could just enjoy the moment without eyes judging him or you questioning why his eyes seemed to shine just a bit brighter whenever you were around. 

It was the first of many. Moments where he felt small pieces of himself chipped away into your care. Planes of existences within him no one had ever scratched the surface of. 

Much like right now as you cried into his chest, begging for mercy. 

Because you were afraid. Terrified you had made the worst mistake, an unforgivable one. You lied about your past and to Ransom it felt like more than a betrayal. More accurately he felt a dagger in his heart placed strategically with your murderous hands. 

He’d never felt such empathy and pain at once. Maybe he’d never been empathetic a day in his life at all. 

Until now. 

To make matters worse, he knew his entire family was watching the whole scene from the window. It wasn’t from worry or concern for either one of you. Mainly all of them enjoying pain being inflicted on Ransom. 

Linda of course wallowing in her ego, he could practically see her bask in her own pride. Another thing she’d been right about checked off the list. 

The rest of the family watched the two of you fight with shiteating grins permanently stamped on their face. They’d never seen Ransom care about anyone but you. To watch the relationship he held so close to his heart blow up so publicly, only fueled the fire to Ransom’s rage. 

Except Harlan. 

Even through his hot, beating anger Ransom was trying his best to comfort you. To calm you down even if you had been the one to be caught red handed. Harlan couldn’t believe it, someone Ransom seemed to care about more than himself. 

More than any of his family. Not that Harlan was offended. Well, maybe a little, but more so he was thrilled his grandson finally found someone he had to grow up for. Someone he had to earn, not buy. 

No bribes. No schemes. No games. 

Just you. 

“Hugh, please talk to me.” How could he? It’s not like he had much to say. Maybe he did, he just wasn’t sure how to get the words out without hurting you or himself. 

“I know I lied and I fucked up, but please — we need to talk about it.” Soft hands reaching for his own, but he brushed them off, his hands snaked higher on your waist. “We should have talked about this the moment you met me.” 

Dead silence is all you were met with as he walked the fine line of pushing you away, leaving you behind and pulling you closer than he ever had. 

“You’re right. I should have told you the truth but can you blame me?” He met you with solemn eyes and his own heart beating rapidly. “Yes I can.” Ransom was trying to act cold and distant but the two windows to his soul told a different story. 

“That’s fair.” Even as he was holding you, Ransom still felt like he was a galaxy away. He was withholding himself from you like a turtle retracting into their own protection. A year ago, before he met you, he knew he would have never even recognized it. 

Now, you made it possible for him to be aware of just how much he had changed. He broke old habits of his own just to please you so when you disappointed him, this unreachable high standard he held you to, it shattered his sense of self. 

“Did you still love him?” Ransom questioned you. “I did. At the time, he’s all I ever really knew. I thought that’s what love felt like. The only image of love I had was the one he gave me. So, I ran with him and it crushed me.” 

Ransom had to pretend the words you were speaking didn’t split him into you two. The image of you falling in love with someone else was enough to make him wanna strangle your ex. 

His friend. 

“Then we just got into one really big blow out. Right in the bar in front of all of his friends I had met for the first time that night.” You reached for a chunk of his sweater, clenching the material in your hand, like you were trying to convince yourself to let the words fall from your mouth. 

“He told me how much I’d been irritating him and I couldn’t help but notice every girl he flirted with and touched right in front of me.” You tested the waters, placing both of your hands over his chest, the beat of his heart calming you down. 

“Then I just cracked. It was only one of the many fights we’d been having over the course of the past few months. Everyone single argument pushed me closer to the edge, until the last one actually did.” You sighed, watching as he frowned. 

“I ended things that night, before getting thoroughly plastered and soon enough crying on the cement. Wasted and lonely out of my mind, until I met you.” You moved your hand from his heart, cupping his clean shaven face. 

“You made me realize I never knew what love really meant or felt like.” This piqued Ransom’s interest. 

You said love. 

Could a tragedy bring out the words Ransom craved to hear more than anything in the world? 

Maybe you cared about him, more than anyone ever showed him. But loved him? How could someone be as hateful as him be worthy of someone like you? 

Even if you had broken his heart, he’d done far worse to more people than he could count. He wasn’t really in a place to judge but it didn’t change the fact it still hurt. A lot. 

“Hugh.” You heard him gulp rather loudly. “Yes?” His tone came out as more of a question than a response. 

The silence he gifted you was unsettling at the very least. “You've barely said a word.” He was surprised he didn’t scurry off in his beamer the second he saw the guilt reach your eyes. 

He was surprised he hadn’t let his anger take over and let the rage he felt inside body take it all out on you. 

He was surprised he somehow couldn’t inflict a single hateful word towards you, even as you sat with his heart in your hands. 

In pure bliss of just how much you owned him. 

“I hate it. This fucking corner you’ve back me into. Not to mention for the prying eyes of my entire family to watch the show.” The sharp tone he uses sensoring you. “You used me just to get back at him.” 

“Like I was some pawn in your game and I really even shouldn’t be mad.” He paused, trying to choose his words as carefully as he can. “I’ve done the same thing to so many different women. Used them and threw them out at my earliest inconvenience.” To your surprise, even Ransom’s, a single tear left his eye showing you how much you really meant to him. 

You hated yourself for letting it get to this point. 

“But you? I could never even think about hurting you. I could never live with myself if I treated you like everyone else because you’re so much more than that to me.” The tears continued to roll. The dame Ransom kept shut his entire life, opened because of you and he just wanted to make it stop. 

He would give anything — even you. 

He just wanted to not feel like a piece of shit for once in his life. For a moment, he thought he might have a chance to be something more than the picture he portrayed in everyone’s mind. You showed him maybe it was more complex than it seemed. 

“I just assumed I was that for you.” You sighed in frustration, softly wiping his tears away. “You are, though. You are more than that.” 

“Then how could you be so okay with lying to me?” The crease between his eyebrows only created more of an indention as he felt the anger trying to escape out of him. 

You let the tension get to you first. 

“Because I-I was scared if I told you the truth, you’d never tell me.” You puzzled him once again. You softly reach up between his furrowed eyebrows, the pad of your thumb smoothing it out. 

“Tell you what?” His mind was clouded with the possibilities of what he could have missed. 

“I can’t spell this one out for you.” You were tired of being the one to do everything first. Even if your intentions weren’t free from fault once you realized who he was, your feelings for him were anything but. 

“I don’t know what you want from me. You only let me fall for you because you knew how much it would hurt him.” He bit back, growing impatient and tired. “Any other time, I would have cared. Probably would have been more than happy to assist. But you made me-” 

Then Ransom cut himself off, jumping out of the swing and away from you. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I thought I could.” He literally sprinted to his beamer, but you chased him. 

You were hell bent and just as crazy as he was. Maybe it’s why it worked for as long as it did. 

“Hugh! Get back here.” You were running, thankful you’d gone for a more casual outfit today, the sneakers supporting your feet far better than the heels you’d usually wear. 

Maybe if it was someone with a normal childhood upbringing you would have just cut your losses but this was someone who chose to be called Ransom. 

This was someone who chose to run away from love and care because the only affectionate way he knew how to treat someone was to throw money at them. 

This was someone who had the communication of a ten year old because that’s when his own mother didn’t bother to mess with him anymore before sending him off to boarding school. 

This was someone who didn’t know how to love — and to be loved. 

By the time you caught up to him his was digging for his keys, but he couldn’t fucking find them. 

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” Your tone was sharp and he knew you meant business. “For once in your life, stop running away.” 

“Why not? What good has it ever done for me to stay?” His back was facing you, his broad shoulders stilled with the rest of his body. Almost like he was ashamed of what he was hiding. 

“I can’t speak for everyone else. I can’t speak for your mother or for Richard. For Harlan or for anyone else you thought might abandon you and really did.” You inched you way closer until you knew he felt how close you were to him.

“I can only speak for me.” Giving yourself, the final piece of you to a man who might run away from it. 

You were so close he felt your breath on his back, and it made him tremble. He was shaking, terrified of it all. You didn’t let him be for long. 

Intertwining your fingers with his, as he kept them at his sides, rubbing your thumb along the palm of his hand. 

“I’m sorry for the way I hurt you. Lied to you. You never deserved it. Never.” You thought it would be easier if he didn’t have to look at you while pouring your heart out to him. A theory proved to be right as he gave your hand a squeeze. 

“You’ve done nothing but treat me like a princess. You’ve done right by me, more than anyone else I’ve ever met in my life. It made me feel inadequate. My dark secret, always looming over us like a dark cloud of my own personal doing.” 

“I’m sorry I haven’t done the proper thing by us and made you feel like I used you. You had every right to feel it because I did.” You took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to face whatever the future held for the two of you. 

“I never expected to fall in love with a trust fund, playboy brat.” You felt him take a deep breath, like a breath he’d be holding all his life could finally be set free. 

“I love you, Hugh.” The next thing you knew he had you pushed up against the car, lips hungrily attacking your own. 

All forgiven because you love him. You actually were in love with him. 

He couldn’t fathom it really because you’d been the first. To accept him just as he was. The first to refuse to call him Ransom because you like the way Hugh rolled off your tongue better. 

You liked how he felt on your tongue, too. 

The first to tell him Fran and Marta should call him Hugh because you wanted to be the only one who got to. The first woman to cook for him, willingly and not attached to the Thrombey payroll. 

The first woman he had ever fallen in love with. 

The first one he’d stick around and not run away for. 

So, he kissed you. Hard. Softly whispering how much he loved you into the kiss, because maybe he wasn’t ready to say it outright. Loud and proud. 

Yet, he felt it with every bone of his body — no longer lost in the blues.

taglist: @tonystankschild @parkastoria @tinylumpiaa @brattycherubwrites

[justmypartner]

Just the Time

Summary: Part 2 to my fic Overtime. When Jay finally acquires the perfect ring for Hailey, he can’t decide on a plan to propose. However, his plans may need to shift when Hailey catches him in a lie.

Writer’s Note: Hi everyone!! I hope you are all surviving hiatus okay! I never thought I’d actually make a part 2 to Overtime (my first fic ever!), but that Upstead proposal had me feeling some type of way. So, in the spirit of proposals I thought it would be a perfect time to write part 2. You don’t have to read Overtime to know what’s going on, but it does provide additional context! As always, thank you so much for reading!!

“It’s perfect,” Jay said as he admired the beautifully dainty piece of jewelry that was finally his and soon to be Hailey’s. An uncontrollable smile came across his face thinking about finally giving it to her, and he knew it was going to be a hard secret to keep.

“I’ll go get a box for you,” the woman behind the counter told him with a friendly smile before disappearing into a back room.

It had been a long few months of saving money and taking overtime shifts, but he finally had enough to buy the ring. It wasn’t a fun or easy journey. He was working normal Intelligence cases, then putting on his old patrol uniform and working night shifts any time they came available. The first gig he and Hailey did together. She thought it was his idea of an unorthodox date and she jumped at the opportunity to see him on patrol, but when he continued to pursue overtime gigs without her, she began to question why he was so desperate for money. He was able to come up with an excuse that he wanted to do some modifications to his truck. Luckily, she wasn’t invested enough to question him further, but the extra work was beginning to wear him down and this did not go unnoticed by her. Seeing him continue to take the gigs despite how exhausted he was, led her to question his intentions once again. He was only one paycheck away from finally having enough money to pay off the ring when she suggested he slow things down for a while to recover from the heavy load he had taken on. He agreed and her skepticism began to cool back down.

The drive home was spent with a hundred ideas circulating in his brain about the proposal. He’d been trying to come up with an idea since he picked out the ring, but his indecisiveness stood in the way of any real plans. Their one year anniversary was coming up, and he knew he wanted to propose then, however, he just wasn’t sure how. Proposing after just one year together may be too soon for any normal couple, but they weren’t any normal couple. He spent years loving her, wasting time burying his feelings, but now he was done wasting time. She was his future, his forever person, and he wanted to make that official.

The ring was perfect, he just needed a proposal that matched its level of unique simplicity. He knew her, and he knew she wouldn’t want anything too traditionally girly or extravagant, but he also knew she deserved something special. Not something cliche like popping the question in a restaurant or hiding the ring in the bottom of a champagne glass. It needed to be deeper than that and it needed to represent them, he just wasn’t sure what that would look like. His brainstorming was cut short when he pulled up outside of their building. He eyed the ring resting on the seat beside him, and he knew whatever idea he came up with wouldn’t hold a flame to the happiness he’d have when he finally slipped that ring on her finger. He didn’t want to bring the box up to the apartment on the off chance she would accidentally come across it. She was an elite detective after all. So, he locked it in the glove compartment of his truck and made his way upstairs.

“There you are!” He heard her call out from the kitchen as he opened the door. The smell of coffee and waffles filled the room, and he smiled to himself, knowing her weekend routine like the back of his hand.

“Hi, beautiful,” he told her, making his way around the counter to leave a peck on her lips.

A frown came across her face when he pulled away as her eyes traveled down to his empty hands before making their way back up to his face.

“I thought you said you were going to the store?” She questioned, her brow furrowed as the words left her mouth.

It took everything in him not to express the panic in his mind. In the excitement of finally getting the ring, he forgot to actually go to the store, the errand he told her he was running when she questioned why he was quietly escaping the bed earlier that morning.

“I- well I got out the door and Will called saying he needed my help. He locked himself out of his car, so he called me for the spare. By the time I got over there, I figured it would be too late to go to the store, so I just came back here. I can go out after work,” he told her, leaning forward to leave another light kiss on her lips. He was grateful for his experience in undercover that allowed him to think of an excuse on the fly.

She nodded, but she wasn’t fully convinced of his story. She grew up in an environment that had her consistently questioning the truth behind what she was told by her loved ones. She never felt the need to do that with Jay, something she found comfort in. But in that moment, she noticed a familiar hesitation in his voice that made her uneasy. He also seemed nervous, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Yet, she trusted him, so she decided to let it rest. She knew if it were important enough, he would tell her whatever it was when he was ready. Jay was just relieved that she didn’t press him further.

They had breakfast together before heading into work. It was a strange day. They hadn’t been called onto a new case all morning, so they spent the day catching up on paperwork. It was the type of day that had Adam climbing the walls, but everyone else was grateful for the rare quiet. Particularly, Jay, who took advantage of the quiet by conjuring up proposal ideas in his head.

By the end of the day, they were all dragging, running off of coffee and pacing the bullpen floor between their bouts of paperwork.

“Alright, everyone is coming out to Molly’s tonight. I don’t care if you already have plans. Cancel them. After this slow ass day, we’re popping things off tonight,” Adam announced, shoving himself away from his desk and rising from his chair the second it was six o’clock.

After heading out of the district, they all made their way to Molly’s to meet Adam’s wishes. Adam was already there when Jay and Hailey arrived, sitting next to an amused looking Kevin who watched his friend challenge a bunch of Squad 3 guys to a drinking challenge.

Jay settled at a table near the back as Hailey made her way to the bar to get them drinks, leaving a kiss against his temple and sliding a hand across his back before stepping away. Will was at the bar, engaged in a conversation with Herrmann when she walked up.

“Hey Will,” she said, nudging her shoulder against his as she stepped up to the bar.

“Hey there,” he replied back with a smile, bringing his glass to his lips.

“Two beers please,” she said to Herrmann in a sweet tone before settling on the barstool next to the doctor.

“So did you end up finding your keys?” She asked, remembering the story Jay had told her earlier that morning.

“Uh, what?” Will questioned, sending her a look of confusion.

“Your keys? Jay said he had to meet you this morning to give you the spare…” her voice trailed off, a feeling of suspicion building up in her stomach at Will’s clueless expression.  

“Oh… yeah…” he let out as his eyes travelled over to his brother across the bar. “Yeah, I found them in my locker at work. Late shift last night, must have just blanked,” he admitted unconvincingly. Hailey’s eyes narrowed at him, and she bobbed her head slowly as she began to officially question why the two of them were lying to her. Herrmann set the drinks in front of her on the bar, and she thanked him, sending a departing nod to Will before making her way back over to Jay.

“So, Will found his keys,” she said, setting the bottles on the table between her and Jay before sliding onto the chair across from him.

“Wait, what?” He asked, causing her to raise a questioning brow at him, anger rising in her chest. He looked at her and then over at Will, confusion still forestalling his understanding. Then it hit him. His cover from earlier.

“Why are you lying to me Jay?” She questioned straightly, a steely tone in her voice.  

“What? No, I-“ he paused. He couldn’t lie to her again, but he also couldn’t tell her the truth without ruining the surprise. He sighed in defeat. “Look right now, I can’t tell you where I was. It’s nothing bad. I promise. I just can’t tell you and need you to trust me,” he pleaded.

Her lips folded together, and she nodded in annoyance before rising from her chair to walk away.

“Hailey, wait,” he said, grabbing gently at her arm before she could make her way past him.

“No, Jay. I don’t do lying and you know that. Whatever it is, good or bad, you could have just said you couldn’t tell me yet and I would have respected that. Instead, you lied, but don’t worry your brother did too,” she shook her head with frustration. Suddenly, an eerie feeling of déjà vu brought her back to the many times as a kid when her mother would cover her father’s stories and excuses with even more lies. “I’m going home,” she told him, tearing away from his grasp.

“Let me at least drive you,” he said, a softness in his eyes.

“No, I’ll call a car,” she said before walking away and out to the street.

Will must have noticed their interaction and was making his way over to his brother.

“Dude, what the hell is going on?” He questioned, sliding into the chair Hailey had just fled from.

“I picked up the ring this morning and had to lie about where I was so she wouldn’t find out. Now, she’s pissed,” Jay said, taking a large swig from his bottle.

“Why don’t you just go tell her?” Will questioned.

“I want it to be perfect. She deserves something special, and I haven’t had the chance to figure out what that is yet. Now is just not the time,” he admitted.

“Or now is just the time. Jay, no matter how you ask that girl, she’s going to say yes a million times over. There may never be a perfect time or place to ask her, and if you wait too long, it may be too late to get the answer you want. Don’t ruin this thing you’ve got because you’re too stuck in your head. The two of you are meant for each other, I know it. So don’t overthink it. Just do it,” Will shrugged, bringing a hand to Jay’s shoulder as he tried to talk sense into him. Jay nodded at his words, rising from his chair to go chase after her.

“Hailey,” he called out as he caught sight of the blonde waiting at the corner.

“Jay, I’m really not in the mood,” she breathed out, her body still facing the street.

“Hailey, please. I just need you to trust me.”

“Jay, you know I trust you,” she said, twirling around to face him. “I’ve trusted you from the day I met you-” she got out, and suddenly it clicked in his head. He knew exactly where and how he wanted to ask her. He pulled out his keys, clicking the lock for his truck before grabbing her hand and pulling her towards it.

“Jay, what are you doing?” She protested, pulling away as he tried to drag her towards the truck.

“Hailey, please. Cancel your ride and get in the truck, we have to go back to the district,” he said, continuing to pull her with him.

“The district? Jay, what is going on?” She frowned, planting her feet firmly when they reached outside the passenger door of his truck.

“I’m going to tell you everything, just get in the truck.”

She eyed him, crossing her arms as she stood her ground.

He stepped closer to her, hunching over so he was eye level with her and bringing his face inches away from hers.

“Get. In. The. Truck. Please,” he whispered. She gave in, shaking her head in annoyance before climbing in. He leaned forward, stealing a kiss from her lips, eliciting an eye roll and a reluctant smile out of her.

“For the record, I’m still pissed at you,” she said.

“Hopefully not for long,” he teased before shutting the door.  

Back at the district, he turned off the engine, jumping from the driver’s seat and running to her side of the truck to open the door.

“Jay. What are we doing here?” She questioned. He brought a finger up to his lips in response before offering her a hand to get out of the truck. Once she was out, he reached in, grabbing the ring from his glove compartment before putting it in his pocket and shutting the door. He grabbed her hand, leading her into the building and up the stairs into the district. He held tightly to her as he dragged her upstairs to the bullpen, the baffled look on her face growing the deeper into the district they went. Finally, he pulled her past the desks, through the dark hallway, and into the observation room. He turned on the low light and shut the door, moving to lean up against the glass as he eyed her perplexed and annoyed face across from him. He took a deep breath.

“This is not at all where I imagined we’d end up tonight,” he admitted, a slight smile on his face.

“Then why are we here?” She mocked, now equal parts annoyed and curious by his actions.

“You know to anyone else in the district, this is just a lowly observation room. A horribly lit, tiny little room they probably don’t even think twice about. But to me? To me this room…it’s special,” he said, taking a beat as his eyes circled the room before finding their way back to her.

“Three years ago we stood in this room as completely different people. You were with someone else, I was just beginning to come out of a bad place, and everything was just… different. But you said something to me that day that changed my life forever. I was in here beating myself up over a case, one that you backed me up with when I gave you no reason to, and you told me you trusted me from the day you met me. Same way you did tonight. You said that if you were to follow someone blind, you’d follow me. Well, that was the moment I realized I was in love with you, and every day since then, I’ve loved you Hailey Upton,” he said, tears filling his eyes as he smiled through his words. “Every moment with you since then, to the moment we kissed in that bar, to now, you have filled my heart in ways I never knew could be filled. A few months ago when you and Kim were working that UC case in that bar, there was a brief period of time when I thought I had lost you. That night, I decided I didn’t want to feel that way again. I decided I wanted to be with you forever. We’re better together, and the same way that you told me you’d follow me, I’m going to follow you… for the rest of my life,” he said, pulling the ring from his pocket and dropping to his knee.

“Hailey Anne Upton, marry me,” he breathed out. It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a command, it was a heartfelt plea that felt so natural falling from his lips. He watched as tears welled up in her eyes and a smile grew across her face. She stepped forward, cupping the sides of his face in her hands before nodding.

“I’ll marry you, Jay Halstead,” she affirmed as tears spilled out from her eyes. She kissed him hungrily, following his lips as they pulled back and tugged at hers. He stood, grabbing her up in his arms without breaking away, gently lifting her feet from the floor. Eventually, they pulled apart and she took in the sight of the ring for the first time. It was so perfect, and though she wasn’t much of a jewelry girl, she loved everything about it. Jay took it out of the box and slipped it onto her finger before wrapping her in his arms and twirling her around.

“Is this why you were working overtime so much?” she questioned, her glossy eyes continuing to spill out tears as he planted her back on her feet. He nodded.

“So you’re not actually doing modifications to your truck?” she questioned with a laugh, still trying to catch up to reality.

“No,” he laughed. “And this morning I never intended to go to the store. I was picking this up at the jeweler,” he laughed, playing with her hand that rested in his as he spoke.

“I’m sorry for lying. I never meant to hurt you, can you forgive me?” He questioned. She looked down at the ring on her finger and then back up at him.

“I guess,” she teased sarcastically, with a sly smile before rising on her tip toes and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

As Jay held her in his arms, he knew his brother was right. It was just the time, and he was surprisingly glad he didn’t have to wait until their anniversary. All of that overthinking would have never led to a moment more perfect than that one. Taking her back to that place he realized his love for her, a place that was so uniquely them wasn’t anything he could have planned without the spontaneity of that night. The ring was on her finger, and they were going to be each other’s forever, nothing could have been more perfect than that.

[heavenly-reaper]

Birthday Bewilderment • Spencer Reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: "I think [Y/N] broke Derek's nose."

request: Yello! Can I I request a spencer fic where they go to throw y/n a surprise party bc shes been feeling really down after cases and when she walks in she accidently punches Derek bc she got scared of them yelling surprise

warnings: one kiss, swearing, that's about it.

authors note: this is probably terrible but here we are. i also didn't include the case part, i hope that's okay???:)

masterlist

Spencer had been acting weird all week, bordering on sketchy. He had been extremely skittish -- only around you, funnily enough -- and trying to avoid you as much as possible. Which was abnormal for Spencer.

You had tried cornering at least once a day to try and figure out what was going on, but the sneaky bastard managed to wiggle his way out of any situation. How? You never knew, but it was getting old real fast.

----

“Hey, Pen?” You walked into Garcia's office and planted yourself on one of her desks, making her yell at you for sitting on her precious equipment. “Sorry.”

“No worries my lovely little cherub.” She smiled widely, swivelling in her swirly chair, motioning to one of the other ones in her lair. “Sit, sit!”

You grabbed it and made sure to position it right in front of her, “Can I ask you a question?”

Penelope’s brows furrowed slightly, confusion evident on her features. “Of course! What’s going on?”

You quickly shook your head, laughing slightly. “It’s nothing bad, it's just... Reid’s been acting kind of funny lately, and I was wondering if--” Before you could finish your sentence, Garcia spun her chair around to face her computers quicker than you could say the word ‘spin’.

“Nope, no.” You watched her shake her head as she muttered to herself.

“Penelope??” You tried to gain her attention, but ultimately failed.

“Oh would you look at that! I have a thing down at...thing.” she switched all her monitors off before standing up abruptly “It was good talking to you [Y/N]. Okay, bye now.” she walked out of the bat cave whilst shaking her head once again and muttering things you couldn't decipher, leaving you once again puzzled.

Not needing to be in the room anymore, you decided to leave and track down someone else who might know what was going on. And you had just the right person in mind; JJ. She of all people would know what would be going on with Spencer. She is the closest person to him, other than you after all.

As you walked back into the bullpen, you spotted Derek who was in an intense conversation with Garcia. Thing down at thing my ass. You waved at them as you walked past but didn't bother in engaging with them as they were obviously talking about something private.

Finally, you had made it to where JJ was which was in the round table room, going over some files like she normally would. As you walked in, you chose to go at it with a different angle. As the first way didn't work, maybe the second way would work.

“Hey Jayje.” You smiled politely at the blonde as you sat down on the seat next to her.

She smiled brightly back at you, shutting the case file she was reading. “Hey, I was just thinking of you.”

“Were you?” You asked her, cocking your head to the side slightly.

“Yeah, I just remembered that it’s your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?”

You groaned loudly and covered your face with your hands, “Ugh, don’t remind me.” You never did find birthdays worth celebrating. Wow, you are one year older. What a joy. Sarcasm intended.

“Oh come on, [Y/N]. It won't be that bad.” You sent her a pointed look, meaning that chances are you will be sent on a case like all the other birthdays had been. “Besides, you have all of us.”

“I had you guys last year. And the year before that, and the year before that. And then--”

“Okay,” she chuckled lightly, “I get it. Besides, I think that this birthday will make you want to celebrate them more often.”

Now that caught your attention. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid.” JJ said whilst smirking, beginning to gather up her stuff off the table.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“I'm off to have lunch with Will and the boys.” She clarified, shouldering her black bag. “See you later, [Y/N].” Before you had a chance to reply, she disappeared out the door with you once again being left alone with zero answers. You huffed and leaned back in your seat, arms folded over your front.

----

Before long, it was the end of the day and everyone was finally able to leave. Much to your dismay, you left the BAU with just as little information as you had at the beginning of the day. It was pissing you off tremendously.

Gathering up your stuff, you looked around briefly. It was oddly empty. And quiet. Which was extremely unusual for the BAU. You frowned for what felt like the ninetieth day that day and walked around a bit, trying to see if there was anyone in. Thankfully, there were some agents still on shift but not many, not as many as there should be. You were confused but decided not to give it any thought, opting to head home for some much needed rest.

Once you arrived at your apartment, you walked your way up the long stairs which just further added to your annoyed state, wishing you took the elevator. You managed to reach your door without stopping for a break, which happened much more often than you had liked to admit. You put your key in the lock and opened it, throwing it on the nearby counter. Just as you were about to turn around, the lights turned on. “Surprise!!” A cacophony of noise erupted from all around your apartment, making you panic. So panicked in fact, you accidentally punched the person to your left in the nose.

“Shit!” Your eyes widened in realisation, it was Derek you had punched.

“Oh my god! Jesus.”

“Happy Birthday.” He said, wincing slightly when he spoke. Turning around to face everyone else in the room, which turned out to be Spencer, Penelope, Hotch, Aaron, Emily, Will and the boys, you started laughing.

“My birthday’s tomorrow guys.” You pointed out, looking at Spencer mainly as he must have been the one to set the whole thing up.

“I know,” he smirked, walking towards you. “I do have an eidetic memory.”

“So then why did you do this,” you motioned to everything around you “today?”

Spencer carried on walking until he was directly in front of you, a hand lightly caressing the side of your face. He smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “Because I know how much I annoyed you this week by ignoring you and you wouldn't have lasted another day. And I know how much you hate your birthday and today isn’t technically your birthday, so…”

You stared at him, a smile playing at your lips and a blush making its way onto your face. “That’s really sweet.”

“Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t hear you.” Spencer teased, you hitting him playfully in return.

“Thank you.” You said softly. “I love you.”

He tilted your chin up towards him, staring down at you, “I love you.”

You felt Spencer’s lips on yours before you even knew he was kissing you. It was a soft yet passionate kiss, which made the moment even more amazing. You truly did love the man, no matter what.

“Guys,” JJ spoke, causing the two of you to break apart. “I think [Y/N] broke Derek’s nose.”