#and it used to just be my feet mostly my toes and the bottoms of them

[primrosebitch]

my circulation has been way worse than usual lately, like i've been needing to use a heating pad on my feet to fall asleep because my feet have been so cold it's keeping me up, and after just a few minutes in open air my hands will be uncomfortably freezing and i'll have to warm them up with the warmer parts of my body (i.e. neck, stomach, armpits, etc), and it's not like all of me is cold either, my face is still frequently uncomfortably warm and my torso has also felt warmer than usual (which i've just realized might actually be caused by my circulation worsening because now my blood won't be cooled in my extremities nearly as much), i have no clue why this is happening though because nothing i've been doing has changed at all, my routine and all that is the as before my circulation started getting worse and no medication changes have happened around the time it started (which wasn't even that long ago)

[queers-gambit]

Let the Bodies Hit the Floor

prompt: what happens when Tangerine's little lady is targeted in their home?

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 9.1k+

note: this got away from me. like wtf is this plot, Cherry?

warnings: author still runs with Tangerine's name being Aaron and Lemon's being Brian. inspired by GIF, established relationship, Russian Mafia vibes, physical violence / assault, blood, character injury, small angst, mostly hurt and comfort, Tan and Lem standing on business.

The skirt of the designer dress fanned around your thighs when you turned swiftly from the stovetop to a separate counter in order to collect the chopped vegetables. Light music filled the space between the sizzling of different dishes cooking, bare feet sticking to the linoleum floor of the kitchen.

"Right," your sweetheart, Aaron, announced as he jogged down the glass stairs while fixing his cuff link, entering the shared space, "know I hate t'do this, love, but I promise we won't be long."

You smirked, "Uh-huh, and where have I heard that before? Oh! That's right, when you - "

"Oi, oi, oi, you know I ain't mean to disappear in fuckin' Kyoto for 6 weeks, love," he repeated in exasperation, "please, stop holdin' that against me."

"I'm not," you sang in a singsong voice, dropping the vegetables to the stir fry you were preparing, "but you know, you say you won't be long, and then you disappear for random amounts of time."

"You know why," he sighed, buttoning his suit jacket as he closed the distance between you, "and you know it ain't my choice."

"Yeah, yeah, job first, girlfriend second."

"Not even close t'what my priorities are," he smirked, snatching your hand to twirl you around and tug you closer to face him. You grinned up at him, hands landing on his chest; letting his arms lock around you to keep you pressed against his impeccably sculpted body. "You look so beautiful tonight," he whispered, eyes flickering over you, "just love you in this dress. Could ravish you right here, right now."

"Yeah?" You cooed, "Recognize it?"

"Hm, feels rather expensive," he pet around your hips and waist, cheekily moving them around to grip both arse cheeks; causing you to gasp lightly, "thinkin' I must've gotten it for yah. Huh?"

"From Paris last month," you chuckled.

"Ah, yeah, I remember. Lemon was right hacked off we spent so much time shoppin', but no way was I gonna come home without something for yah." He sniffled and patted one hand in a gentle smack on your bottom, continuing, "Now, listen, sweetheart, I know tonight's real important to yah, so, I promise, Lemon and I will be back before the main course, yeah?"

You tisked, "Don't fucking call him that, you know I hate it."

"Apologies, lovely girl. Listen, I won't have my phone on, so, you need me, call Brian - "

"'If I need you'? See, now it's sounding like you're gonna disappear again, Aaron," you complained. "What the hell's this job anyway?"

"Nah, don't worry 'bout nothin'," he promised, "'cause we'll be back in time for your li'l dinner party."

"You know tonight's important for us - both of us!"

His eyes rolled, "Yes, yes, t'finally get your father's approval, right?"

"More like my whole family," you reminded with a roll of your eyes. "Goddamnit, I knew you weren't gonna take this seriously - "

"No, hey," he soothed, squeezing his hands to gently jostle you into silence, "tonight's very important to me, darlin'. I swear it, yeah? We'll be back in time, promise you."

"Good, you better."

"But in case, call Brian - "

"Aaron!"

He grinned, watching your own lips spread, "Jesus Christ, can't take a joke no more, can yah?"

"Maybe on less important days."

"Duly noted." The apartment's buzzer sounded, your boyfriend sighing, "Right, then. That'd be Lem - aht, ahem, Brian." He frowned, "Feel bad skippin' out on yah like this, but duty calls, baby."

"Mhm," you hummed, lifting on your toes to peck his lips. "Just be careful, please."

"I always am."

"You literally crashed a Bullet Train into an entire village - "

"Told yah, that was the Ladybug twat!"

"You also got shot! A centimeter to the side and you'd have bled out your fucking jugular."

"Again, the Ladybug twat."

"Potato, po-ta-toe."

Aaron chuckled, kissing you again, his mustache tickling your skin; groaning in annoyance when the buzzer sounded again - but for a prolonged time. "All right," he pulled back only to peck your lips again, "I'm off but I'll be back real soon. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good without me?"

"I have to be," you teased, petting the lapels of his suit jacket and readjusting his tie. "Go, before you give your brother a fucking aneurism."

"Right," he chirped, pecking your forehead with a loud smooch. Swiftly, Aaron reached over to pluck a carrot from the wok, hissing from the heat, "oh, hot, hot, hot!" You swatted his bottom as he stepped away, eating the veggie, knowing you hated when he sampled your cooking while in the midst of actually cooking. "Mh! Tastes divine, sweetheart, maybe a bit more garlic. Love you!" He called over his shoulder, dropping a quick wink.

"Love you," you repeated, smiling; feeling lucky in love. You watched him go; his curls slicked back, classic navy blue suit on to make the crisp white button-up stand out, his shiny dress shoes winking at you. With a sigh, you focused again on prepping an admirable meal for the evening, planning on hosting both your divorced parents, their partners, and three older siblings.

Obviously, as the youngest kid, any and everyone you dated fell under heavy scrutiny.

The plan was to shmooze them into accepting Aaron as your lover, something your father and eldest brother were specifically vehemently against. But you weren't a little girl anymore, they couldn't dictate who you loved, but you could do your part to make your contract killer boyfriend more appealing to your kin. Easier said than done, but tonight was about at least trying.

So, you cooked a series of dishes to present on the grand dining table your boyfriend had furnished your apartment with, yet never utilized. Humming to the music, you hopped around the cooking space, and about an hour later, the apartment's buzzer was sounding in an obnoxious echo.

Dusting your hands off, you rushed to the comms system and pressed the big green button that unlocked the door building's front door. You left the door to your flat unlocked for easier access, rushing back to the kitchen to finish plating dinner. Not a minute later, the door opened and in walked your family; bottle of wine in your father's hand and a bouquet of flowers in your mother's.

Your father, Edward, had his newest wife on his arm; in the tallest heels you ever saw and a dress made of sequins, being far too short for this kind of event.

You mother, Linda, powered walked ahead of everyone with her boytoy of the month kept a close distance to the matriarch. He was probably just a few years older than you - but you were dating a contract killer agent, there was no room for judgement.

Your eldest brother, Robert, or better known as Bobby, entered with an aurora of arrogance; instantly looking around and judging your home unfairly. You sister, Mabel, just looked stony and stoic; completely bored of that night already. Lastly, your brother older by just a single year, Jonathan, or John, or John Boy, followed behind your siblings, wearing a thick gold chain against a classless wife beater.

"Oh, I'm so glad you made it!" You squealed, opening your arms and practically skipping close to greet your parents and their partners. "About time, don't you think?" You smiled at your father, hugging him first and kissing his cheek.

"Well... Guess better late than never," he begrudgingly agreed. "You remember my wife, Crystal?"

"Of course," you tried to politely smile and offered the fake-blonde a greeting kiss to her cheek, "lovely to see you again."

"Thanks for the invite," her tired voice drawled; indicating she'd rather be literally anywhere else.

"Mum," you moved along, hugging and kissing her cheek, too. "You're look fit."

"Thank you," she sighed.

Looking to her boyfriend, you greeted, "Thanks for coming, Keith - "

"It's Toby."

You blinked, "Huh?"

"Name's Toby," he explained.

"Right, right, Toby, my fault," you apologized, ignoring the look he sent your mother as you greeted Bobby, Mabel, and John Boy.

After, your father stiffly asked, "So? Where is he? This boyfriend you want us all t'like so much, huh? Not even out here to greet us?"

"Running an errand, but he and his brother will be back for dinner."

Bobby scoffed, "So, we do all this for him and he's not even home? Wow... Real stand-up guy, innit he?"

"You're also here to see me, aren't you?"

"We see enough of you, we're here for your dumbass boyfriend you're so enamored with that you missed Christmas last year."

"Bobby," you warned, taking your mother's flowers and heading back into the open-concept kitchen to locate a vase and fill it with water. "You're gonna play nice tonight or I'm gonna be really pissed," you warned your family, "and I'll cancel the New Years trip."

"Woah, hang on," your sister, Mabel, interjected, "let's not be hasty, the night's only just beginning - no need for threats."

"I know," you smirked at her, "it's called incentive."

"Truly your father's daughter," you mother scoffed and rolled her eyes. Edward just mocked her and handed over the wine bottle; making your mother snip, "No drinks to offer us? Not a very diligent hostess, are you, darling?"

Her sickly sweet tone gave you a cavity, but this was simply how your mother behaved when around her ex-husband - all passive aggressive and holier than thou.

You pointed, "There's an entire cart behind you, there. Help yourself."

"Hm," she hummed, nodding, turning to make herself a hefty bourbon with Toby right behind her.

"Um," Crystal hummed, "do you have seltzers?"

You almost laughed but managed not to, "No, no, just win and whatever liquor's on the cart."

"It's a nice place you've got, love, if not overly expensive," Linda cut off anything Crystal might've said; complimenting you stiffly, looking around as the amber liquid was poured, "bit empty, though, innit? I don't see one single family photo, not a personable damn thing."

"Oh, well, Aaron and I just like the minimalistic aesthetic," you deflected; the truth being, Aaron was constantly on the move for his job, there was no real time or reason to decorate the flat. You began transporting the large dishes on the kitchen counters to the table, your other brother, John, springing into action to help.

To say it was awkward was the simplest way to put it. After pouring herself a second drink, Linda started to trade insults with Edward; both telling the other how pathetic it is to find younger lovers. Mabel rolled her eyes but listened carefully, ever the quiet mouse who opted to observe rather than be seen. Bobby was snooping through anything he could get a hand on; attempting to know Tangerine without outright meeting him yet. John Boy didn't care this way or that, happy to just be involved and set the table for you.

"Chow's on!" You announced, leading everyone to the table and take whatever seat they liked.

"You know," Bobby started, "think it's a bit weird."

"What is?" You asked, handing Mabel the steamed sticky rice.

Bobby gestured around, "The whole thing. I mean, I'm almost tempted to believe you've made this Aaron character up. What kinda man skips out on a family meal like this?"

"A man who has a very demanding job," you snapped, the table still passing dishes around to take their fill. "I didn't ask you guys here to fucking harp on him, I asked you to just give him a chance and get to know him."

"Why should we even bother?"

"Because he's important to me!"

"You honestly think this is gonna last?" Bobby scoffed, shaking his head and passing the vegetables.

"Of course I do, I know how strong my relationship is. What the hell do you expect me to say, do, think, or feel if Aaron and I get married, and my family's feuding with the groom - "

"I beg your pardon?" Edward snapped, making the table go silent. "You're gonna marry this bloke?"

"No, Daddy, he hasn't proposed or anything, but we have been together almost 7 years" you explained. "I just used it as an example. Aaron's going to be in my life for a long time, I'd really appreciate everyone getting along."

"I think that's reasonable," Crystal smiled.

"Oh, shove it, nobody asked you," Linda sneered.

"Could you maybe not be a raging bitch for five minutes?" Edward snapped, dropping the cutlery with a loud clatter. "Don't talk to her like that - "

"The trollop doesn't get an opinion on family affairs!"

"Now that we're married," he held up his left hand, golden band visible, "she does get an opinion. It's your newest toy that shouldn't talk!"

"I didn't even say anything, mate," Toby scoffed.

"I'm not your 'mate', silly boy - "

The table erupted in a busy and loud argument, you slumping back into your chair; listening to your siblings attempt to resolve the feud. You thanked yourself for making the conscious decision to have this little dinner party at home instead of a restaurant; knowing Linda and Edward were never able to resist a good screaming match, even if in public. You sipped your wine mutely, eyes darting back and forth between either sides of the table.

However, they were silenced when there came a pounding at your front door. Three distinct, punctuated knocks of a fist, your mind instantly jumping to thinking it was the police - nobody else knocked like that. You went rigid instantly, brow furrowing, your father asking, "Expecting more company, honey?"

"No," you shook your head, already out of your seat and heading for the door - when suddenly - it was kicked in. Your scream was shrill from shock. The force of the violent entry splintered the doorframe; knob colliding with drywall, indenting it from the jarring movement. You yelped in shock, trying to back up, but there came a flood of armed men that instantly rushed you. You were only briefly aware of chairs scraping on hardwood floor as your family leapt up in shock.

Long gone was the argument, your family mutually screaming in fear.

These intruders yelled in Russian, fanning out to gather you and your family in harsh grips; shoving everyone into the living room. You were forced to sit down, at least one armed man posted for each of you, the others spreading out and searching the flat.

"What's happening? What the hell is happening!?" Mabel squeaked through her huffy breath, the men exchanging a few words before one stepped forward with his gun drawn at the ready. "Please, there's some mistake! Please, please, why are you - what is happening!? You can't do this! We only - "

"You," one of the intruders spoke with a heavy accent and a thick, pointed finger, "quiet." From his utility belt, the Russian produced several zip ties, demanding, "Hands. Hands, together! Now! You understand, eh!? Hands! Your hands! Now! Right now!"

Another henchman barked in Russian, telling you to comply or things would get messy. "Just do what they say," you whispered, pressing your wrists together and presenting them. They were secured tightly, your parents, their partners, and siblings enduring the same, and by the time the last zip was tied, the other henchmen returned.

You identified what was reported: "He's not here, no trace where he went."

"No, hmmm," mused the man obviously in charge, "well, that's all right, his girlfriend is right here." Your eyes widened as the Russian turned to look at you with a sadistic smirk. "Heard he's real protective of you, likes you a lot. Huh? Heard he once broke a man's collarbone for just looking at you - must be very important, yeah. What do you think he will do when he finds you - ruined?"

"You're not gonna do anything," you seethed between gritted teeth, "because you know he'd kill you all. Now, there's been no harm done so far, so there's time to walk away and I'll guarantee he or his brother won't come after you."

The Russian chuckled, "Oh-ho! Hear that, boys? Good old Tangerine's domesticated now. Takes orders from his bitch, and boy, she likes to bark!" Other henchmen chuckled, a few picking at the abandoned dinner. "I think it's time we send him our message, no?" The leader grinned to his men, earning a chorus of agreement.

Your eyes widened when the man lunged forward and yanked you to your feet, yellowed teeth gnashing in your face. "Whole family can watch!" Another intruder barked, curating a wave of laughter, "Call it, uh, bonding? Trauma bonding?"

"Oh, I like that," the leader of the kill squad grinned.

You gasped when the Russian balled his fist and socked you directly in the diaphragm; winding you, bending you at the waist, and giving him the vantage point to rocket his fist upwards into your nose. There was a sickly snap, you whimpering when a different Russian shoved you from behind and forced you to your knees; three different men joining the relentless and savage beating. You were kicked, punched, breaking several bones, being spat on, shoved over, and made to bleed your own blood. Though you hadn't wanted to, wanting to appear strong and unfazed, you cried out when the pain became too much; heaving for breath and praying the next kick to the head was enough to knock you unconscious.

But you weren't so lucky and wishful thinking was simply that: wishful, not applied or actual. Your family begged and pleaded for mercy, flinching when you spat blood on numerous occasions; shoes squeaking when they stepped in the globs. Everyone helpless and powerless in the current predicament, no hero to swoop in and save the day; your family knowing they were yelling into thin air and their words fell upon deaf ears. They could only watch and listen as you took the brunt end of three angry Russian's brute strength.

The leader had lit up a cigarette, watching his men physically assault you with an air of entertainment and aloofness. This went on for several long, agonizing minutes; you eventually going limp. "Hm," he waved his hand through the smoke, inhaling nicotine, "enough, boys, that's enough. She gets it, she gets we mean business." His men complied and backed away from you, letting the leader kneel at your head on blood-smeared hardwood floor. "You tell Tangerine and Lemon who did this, huh? Yeah? You tell them for me."

You spat blood in the Russian's face, smirking in satisfaction when it hung off his nose in a humiliating display of your stubbornness.

"Ah, I see," he wiped the blood clear, regarding it on his hand before bare-knuckle punching your head back into the ground. You were instantly dazed, groaning, the man continuing, "Now that you got that out of your system, you will remember my name. Huh? Ivan, yes? You remember that? Ivan. Fucking Ivan Kostka, you tell Tangerine and Lemon Ivan Kostka did this."

"The fuck does it matter who you are!?" You whimpered, eyes burning and being kept screwed tight. "You're a deadman walking, nobody cares about your fucking name except whoever inscribes your tombstone."

"Because your fruity boyfriend and his twin took something very valuable from me," the Russian leered, "and I have come to collect it back into my possession. You tell them, Ivan did this to you. I want them to know they are not untouchable - not to me. Not to my men. Tangerine can try to protecting you all he wants, but there will always be a time and place to act." Then, he laughed, "Know how easy it was for us to get here? Huh? Bit too easy, I admit. See, we picked up Tangerine's trail and followed him here. All we had to do was be patient for our opportunity."

"Who the fuck is Tangerine?" John was heard whispering to the others, a series of shrugs replying. The Russian gave a new command and several men divided to use their weapons to wreck the flat you called home; tearing up pillows, smashing spider-web cracks to the windows, tossing plates and mugs, overturning a bookcase, throwing expensive crystal glasses to watch the shards scatter.

Ivan continued to explain, "Your stupid fucking family talk so loud, eh, it is miracle they are not in witness protection, huh? We see them at your door, and when you opened for them, oh, it was easy to, ehhh, just follow them inside. Yeah? And now, here we are," he smirked. "I am sorry about this, though. You've such a pretty face, I almost don't want t'taint it," he pet a finger down your bloodied cheek.

"Go to hell!" You hissed.

"Oh, I will be when the Reaper comes for me. Remember, tell Tangerine it was Ivan... Ivan Kostka did this," he gestured to your tattered form, "and that I want my Faberge Egg and little sister back or this will get a lot worse for everyone involved."

You coughed as the man stood, whistling sharply and commanding his men to follow. The moment they were gone, as your family erupted in panicked screams, Mabel raced for the kitchen and snatched up a knife from the counter. Returning, your sister carefully uncut everyone's ties, your mother gasping and dropping to her knees when freed.

"What have you gotten us into, you stupid girl!?" She cried, massaging her constricted wrists.

You manage to mumble before passing out, "Call Brian."

Tangerine and Lemon had been on their own stakeout, tracking a gang of Russians accused of money laundering. He had forgotten to put his phone on the charger the night before, it dying and being left behind at his flat; so when there came a vibration, he knew it was Lemon's phone.

He hate the sound of the vibrations in the cupholder. "Oi, gonna fuckin' answer that?" Tangerine snapped, staring out the windshield.

"Uh, bruv?" Lemon turned the phone for Tan to see, guessing, "It's for you, I'm sure." The contact name displayed your home number.

Tangerine sighed and accepted the call with it on speaker, "Yeah, hello? Love? That you?"

"A-Aaron?"

"Linda?" Tan questioned in curiosity, hearing your mother's soft sob. "What's goin' on? What's wrong? Why're you calling? Where's Y/N?"

"Th-There's been an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"The kind that involve angry Russians looking for some egg and someone's little sister? I don't know - "

"Oh, fuck me! Don't move, we're on our way," he rushed, hanging up. "Oi, fuck this, mate, get us back home," he barked at his brother, "we gotta get back now. Like right fucking now!"

"We can't just - "

"What? Leave our post?" Tan snapped. "Brian, you know where we are right now?"

He glanced outside, "Uh... Little Italy?"

"Fuckin' wanker," Aaron snapped. "No, this shipping yard is owned by the Kostka's - Russian crime family. You heard Linda, means the tip tonight was a set up t'get us away from the flat. They probably moved while we were absent. Now, c'mon, fucking hustle!"

Lemon connected the dots and started the engine, peeling away at a dangerous speed to navigate the city back to the high-rise apartment you and Tan shared. He couldn't explain why, but Tangerine could feel his heart in his throat; a sick feeling taking over at the thought of the Russians setting this entire thing up.

Why send he and Lemon to stakeout the shipping yard? Why remove them from the equation?

Upon arriving at the shattered front door, both men in pressed clothes came to a jarring halt, taking in the sight. The flat was a wreck, literal feathers from pillows still floating in the air, their dress shoes cracking over shattered glass.

Tan caught sight of your hunched body sitting on the couch. "Right, the fuck is this, then?" He demanded, striding up to where your family had surrounded you. "The hell happened? Swear t'God, I'll put a bullet... In... Whoever..." He trailed, pausing when he saw your state. Tangerine slowly squatted in front of you, gently trying to coax your chin up, "Lemme see, darlin', c'mon, c'mon, lemme see, c'mere."

When you met his baby blues, you could only watch as tears filled them - knowing they'd never fall. "I'm sorry," you whispered, throat soar from the beating; making you sound a lot hoarser than ever before.

"For what? You did nothing, love, nothing - couldn't have deserved this, now could yah?" He rushed to comfort, caressing your jaw in both hands to look you over. There was a long gash in your hairline that dripped racing drops of blood down your face. "This is my fault, I know it is, God fucking damn it. Who the fuck did this? Hey? You remember, darling? Remember anythin' 'bout these men?" But you were silent from shock. So, he addressed the room by barking, "Does anyone? What the hell happened here, tonight!?"

Your father cleared his throat before knocking back the last swig of his whiskey. "These Russian fuckers," Ed answered. "Big lot of 'em, too, all with scary lookin' tattoos and fucking guns. Some were automatic." He eyed your boyfriend, "Associates of yours?"

"Fucking hell," Tangerine looked up at his brother, "think they want the Faberge back?"

Lemon frowned, "Possibly, but that's only if - "

"Ivan," you whispered suddenly, Tangerine and Lemon both looking back at you in mild shock. "He said his name was Ivan and he wanted you two t'know there was no hiding from him. He wants back whatever it is you two took."

"Yeah, they want the fucking Egg," Tangerine's jaw flexed as he glared at the floor, sighing deeply, and then looking back at you. "Hey," he whispered, "I'm just glad you're alive and well-enough. Yeah? You're my priority, sweetheart, nothing else matters."

You sniffled, "I'm okay."

"Like hell you are," he shook his head, gently prodding around your bruised face and sighing, "look at yah. You're definitely not okay, sweetheart. Right, then, listen, we'll go to a safe house for the time being - "

"A what?" John asked incredulously.

"A safe house," Lemon repeated, "you know? Somewhere not on record to let us hide discreetly?"

"I know what it is - but why go?"

"Can't stay here, mate, it's compromised," Tan answered with a hardened tone. "Now, you gonna fuckin' stand there, questioning me, or go be useful and get ready to leave?"

"Tan," his brother offered softly, "lay off, they just watched our girl get the shit kicked outta her."

Tan nodded and looked back at you, "Yeah, all right, sorry, love, just a bit on edge. But I'm gonna fix this - "

Robert (or Bobby, he's also known as), scoffed a sarcastic laugh, arms crossed, approaching you and Tangerine. "You takin' the piss? Your fuckin' job is leadin' men t'my sister, breakin' in her own home, givin' her a beatin' meant for you, yah fuckin' twat! Yet that's all you got to say to us? That you're on edge?"

"What'chu want, then, bruv?" Tan snapped, standing to face Bobby. "Huh? Call it an occupational hazard, but just 'cause you wanna bring it up, know that we ain't never had no situation like this before. All right? Excuse us for tryna piece it best together."

"My fuckin' sister's still bleedin', and you're, what? Makin' it up as you go?" Bobby snarled. "You owe us a plan! Somethin'! Fuckin' anythin'! How the fuck are you gonna rectify this situation?"

Tan's mouth opened, ready to retort.

"All right, all right, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, no, no, quit it, cut it out, yah fucking ninnies!" Lemon stepped between them and forced distance between the two men. "That shit ain't gonna help us right now. We all need to think clearly, so let's try not to wind one another up. Yeah? Fair?"

"Fuck you," Bobby spat, "fuck the both of yahs, you're both responsible! Puttin' my sister in harms way! Fuckin' look at her!" He snarled and pointed, "Shakin' like a fuckin' leaf!"

"Yeah, all right, you what, mate?" Tan sneered.

"I'm not your mate."

"I'll just fuckin' handle this on my own - "

"Like hell you are," His brother interrupted. "They fucked with our family, ain't nowhere for them to hide."

Tangerine nodded, then asked, "How many men were here would you say? Ballpark number." It was quiet. "Someone better answer me!"

Linda sneered, "Some 12 or 15 men, most of whom carried assault rifles. Anything you wanna tell us, Aaron? Huh? Why were these men searching for you? What'd you do that was so bad, they hurt my little girl?"

Your boyfriend nodded and looked to his brother, stiffly nodding and stoically demanding, "Let's get fuckin' Biblical, then, yeah?"

Brian clicked his tongue and winked at his brother in agreement, Crystal handing you a bag of frozen peas to hold against your head.

"You're sure it's safe?" You whispered, holding onto your boyfriend like a crutch as you exited the elevator.

"They didn't want our protection, love, 'cause the Russians are after us," Tan answered. "Easy does it," he whispered, opening the door to the safe 'house' he and Lemon kept in downtown London - not terribly far from your actual flat. "At's a good girl, slowly - slowly," he kept one arm around you, the other holding the door for Lemon, who carried several duffels. "Right, see? Nice, ain't it?"

You nodded, still relatively drugged from the hospital you just left. After begging them to come with you, your family outright refused, saying Tangerine and Lemon were bad news and they wanted no part in whatever bullshit was happening; even though it meant leaving you alone. So, Lemon packed up the flat while Tan took you to the hospital, meeting again at the skyscraper that doubled as a fortress.

"Here we are," he sighed, lowering you to the couch; left wrist in a cast, a brace on your ankle, concussion, bandages and gauze stuck to random open wounds that required stitches. "Right," he knelt in front of you, "you saw the lobby, yeah? Ain't nobody gettin' in here without clearance, you're safe. Yeah?" He pushed a strand of hair from your face, hating how it was still crisp from dried blood.

"Okay," you whispered with a nod.

Aaron sighed, "I'm so sorry, love."

"Not your fault."

"But it is," he frowned, "'s all my fuckin' fault."

"Did you really take a Faberge Egg?"

"It's what our employer wanted, so... Yeah. Apparently, it was a right dime piece, thought lost in one of the wars. Very exclusive - "

"Most expensive Egg made," Brian added, dropping a couple of the duffels. "And it's not in our possession anymore, love."

"Fuck would we do with Faberge?" Aaron rolled his eyes.

"Hock it," his brother answered, bringing grocery bags into the kitchen and setting them on the counters.

"And the sister?" You asked, eye once being nearly swollen shut now just red and irritated; looking at him with profound sadness. "What happened to Ivan's sister?"

Aaron sighed, wiping a hand down his face, "She was placed in witness protection, she's an informant f'MI6 and Interpol. They want her 'cause she's been spillin' secrets, gettin' business all topsy-turvy."

"They wanna kill her?"

"Seems so," he nodded, smoothing his hands over both your thighs, "but don't you worry 'bout nothin', yeah? We'll handle this."

"How?"

"We've got a couple calls to make," he alluded, standing to his full height but bending at the waist to kiss your forehead gently. "Try to rest, love, we'll be here a bit."

You nodded and watched him stride out of the living room, grabbing one of the duffel bags Lemon had dropped and brought it to the glass dining room table. He ripped it open as you sunk into the plush fabric of the pillows, but perked up when Brian came into sight. "Here, darling," he set a mug of tea to the granite coffee table in front of you, "just a bit of something for your nerves, yeah? You all right? Need anything? A pain pill, maybe? You look uneasy."

"I'm all right," you promised, trying to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

"Mhm," he sent you a look, grabbing the pharmacy bag. "Don't be a hero, just keep yourself afloat. Here," he handed you a little, round, white pill and the tea. "Bottoms up, huh?"

You half-chuckled and did what he said, settling again as he grabbed a blanket and tossed it over you. "How often are you two here?" You asked.

"Ah, usually when we're doin' recon," he answered, handing over the remote. "All the streamin' you could want," he winked, pointing at the TV.

"Oi, mate," your boyfriend called, "thinkin' we should call Kiwi?"

"To stay with her?" He asked, caressing the top of your head affectionately; grabbing another duffel and meet his brother at the table. The London Eye was visible from the window, creating a picturesque scene.

"Yeah," Tan answered, "she's good company, ain't she? Handy with a gun. Usually shoots first, asks questions later."

Brian shrugged, "Couldn't hurt. But I think we need t'call Moss... See what he and The Agency can tell us 'bout Ivan."

"On it," Aaron agreed, rapidly typing on a nondescript laptop. But he paused suddenly, looking up and asking, "You gave her a pain pill?"

"Yeah."

"She should eat with it..."

"I'm right here, you know!" You snapped. "I can hear you!"

"I know, doll, sorry," Aaron sighed, going to the kitchen and grabbing you trail mix - knowing opioids gave you the munchies. "Here, love, just wanna make sure you stay all right," he handed the bag over, dropping to the spot beside you with a heavy sigh. "Listen, uh, we're gonna have some of the lads come over t'help."

"Who?"

"Well, Kiwi's a lass, but she works with us sometimes. She's handy t'have 'round inna pinch. That all right?"

"I'm not one for much company right now," you frowned.

"Nah, don't worry, she'll entertain herself," he chuckled slightly, eyes darting around to take in your appearance. In a low whisper, he breathed, "I'm so sorry this happened."

"You've said that," you half-smiled, placing an M&M at his lips. He accepted the treat. "We knew something was bound to happen eventually, right?"

"Not like this, this ain't acceptable," he shook his head. "Lookit, Ivan's one of them nasty fuckers, traffics narcotics into the country using a series of shipping yards. He's got a whole army at his fingertips, plenty of money t'sustain an all out war if he wants."

"When was the last time you dealt with this guy?"

Lemon joined you two, sitting on the other side of the L-shaped couch. He worked on the laptop now, but sent a look to Aaron that begged him to lie. But often, Tangerine never could to you, so, he told the truth, "Last we saw him was some 6 years ago."

Your head cocked, "That's when we first started dating."

"Yeah," he smirked, stretching his arm around you to bring you in close for both your comforts. "Remember that week you couldn't get ahold of me? I told yah I was on some bloody fishing trip?"

"Mhm."

"We were in Colombia, fuckin' up part of his operation."

Your eyes widened, "Colombia? You mean, this Russian's in league with South America? The cocaine capital of the world?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "but it's taken him apparently this long to get shit straightened out - else he would've come sooner."

"Or he was waitin' until our guard was down," Brian chimed in, rapidly tapping on the laptop. "Intel says... Ivan's been in the country 'bout 3 months."

"And before that?"

"Uh... Looks like... Ah, fuckin' hell, he was in Spain, Portugal, Nicaragua, even fuckin' Trinidad."

"Sounds like he's made some friends," Tangerine frowned. You nestled a little closer, his arm contracting to squeeze you tight. "Send word t'Kiwi and Moss, ask Moss t'bring only The Jailbird."

"Who the fuck - you know what? I don't want t'know," you whispered.

"The Jailbird is a brutal fucker," Lemon chuckled, typing faster, "took out an entire fright train by himself with a single shotgun and only a couple rounds of ammo."

"Brian," Tan warned, shaking his head.

"What? 'S not like she's gonna say shit, you picked the most loyal girl in the world," he grinned, winking at you. "Right, love?"

"Mhm."

"That pain pill kicking in yet?"

"Not yet," you yawned.

"Right," your lover chuckled, handing over the mug of tea, "we've got some work t'do, you sit tight. Need somethin', anythin', just ask. Please," he frowned, "don't try t'get up."

"All right," you whispered, lifting your chin slightly with intent. He smiled and met you the rest of the way, pressing a gentle kiss to your split lips.

The lads went back to the glass table, setting up a network of tools and technology, muttering to one another as they did what they knew to gather as much information as possible.

About an hour later, there was a knock at the door that made you flinch. "It's all right," Tangerine rushed, but pulled his gun in hand, "probably Kiwi - "

"It's me, fuckers!" A female called from the other side.

Your boyfriend checked through the peephole and sighed, holstering his gun and opening the door. "Kiwi," he greeted.

"Tangerine," she rolled her eyes, strolling into the flat with her arms full of food. "I brought lunch! Know you fuckers aren't payin' attention to time and shit. Oh!" She grinned when she saw you, "Oh, my word, you're her! Wow, you're even prettier in person! You know, Aaron's told me all about you - "

"Fuck off," Tan snapped.

"Fuck you," she sent right back, "been askin' t'meet your lady for years now, now I finally get to."

"I wish it were under better circumstances," you offered softly, watching the lass with stark white hair round into the living room to set coffee cups and paper bags down.

"Oh, hi, hello, you gorgeous girl," she grinned, sitting next to you and hugging you softly. You were shocked, eyes wide, but hugged her back. "Oh, it's real nice to meet yah, heard all about'cha!"

"Really?" You asked when she pulled back, "'Cause I didn't know a thing about you until an hour ago."

"Makes sense," her eyes rolled, "them two never talk 'bout shit. Makes 'em good agents, but shit lovers. Huh?"

"I'd have to disagree," you smiled softly, defending your love.

"Yeah," she grinned, "knew I'd like you. Lemon!" She greeted in a cheer, standing swiftly to set one coffee cup out for you and take the rest over to the table.

"Hi, Key," he chuckled, offering her a hug. "Lookin' fit, aren't yah?"

"Just got back from a 6 month stint in the DR," she nodded.

"R&R or mandatory?"

"Rehab," she shrugged casually, "but not for me."

"Makes no bloody sense," Tan rolled his eyes.

"I was there, cozyin' up t'fucking Francisco Juarez."

"No fuckin' shit," Lemon laughed. "How was that?"

"The man's mental, but shit, he's got some balls of steel."

"Jesus Christ," Tan groaned. "Can we focus, please? Where's Moss? Anyone heard from him?"

"Mh," Kiwi nodded, swallowing a mouthful of coffee as you gingerly reached for your own; trying not to strain the shattered ribs you earned. "He called me on my way here, said he was on his way, just had to pick something up."

Lemon and Tangerine shared a look as Kiwi practically skipped back over to you. She happily struck up a conversation, telling you all about how she first met Aaron and Brian on some recon mission in Moscow - the three apparently all tracking Ivan. So, no wonder she was asked to assist on this little mission.

The man named Moss arrived not long after, dropping another duffel in the foyer and silently approaching Tangerine and Lemon. Kiwi waved the behavior off, whispering, "That's one of the bosses. Not a man of many words, just a man of action, yeah?"

You nodded in understanding, accepting the Tylenol she handed you and answering her 20,000 questions. You heard the three men muttering together, papers shuffling over the tabletop and the laptop dinging every time there was new information.

"Oh, holy shit," Lemon gaped at the screen, earning everyone's attention. "You lot aren't gonna believe this."

"What's wrong?" Moss asked, moving to his shoulder and peering over to look at the laptop. "Well... Ain't that interesting?"

"What?" Kiwi asked.

"Looks like Ivan's here for some wedding..." Lemon muttered, tapping on the return key repeatedly. "No shit!"

"WHAT!?" Kiwi snapped, making you flinch. She instantly apologized, "Oh, shit, sorry, sorry, sorry, love, I get a bit excited when outta the loop."

"Ivan's sister's gettin' married," Moss reported, "to the Minister of Defense."

It was quiet for a long moment, the agents stewing in shock. "Well, that can't be good," you whispered to Kiwi.

"Not entirely, just means our jobs got a helluva lot more exciting, though," she grinned, dropping a wink.

Three days. Three bloody days, you've been confined to the safe house. You were under strict orders not to leave out of fear of retaliation, so you remained for Aaron's peace of mind.

Moss, Tangerine, Lemon, and Kiwi were preoccupied focusing on their plan of attack. They figured there be an altercation at the engagement party, designing a trustworthy team to help them infiltrate and keep an eye. The day of the party, you were curled up in bed, reading to pass the time, and when you noticed Tangerine leaning in the doorway, your book snapped shut.

"How long you gonna keep me here?" You asked. "Some of us have day jobs they need to get back to."

He smirked, "I covered for yah."

"How?"

"Said you had a funeral t'go to in the States," he eased, pushing off the doorframe and approaching your side of the bed. He grunted as he sat, sighing deeply, "Listen, sweetheart..."

"Oh, that's never good."

"Just listen," he smirked. "Tonight's the engagement party, so we're gonna make our move."

"Are you sure Ivan's gonna be there? That this is what needs done?"

"We got it worked out, love," he promised. "Just need yah t'stay here with Kiwi. Keep safe, yeah?"

You stared at him for a moment, cocking your head slightly, "Been meaning to ask - why refer to each other's codenames when alone, like we are?"

"Good habit t'have," Aaron shrugged, caressing your head and then petting a finger down your cheek softly. "Hate leavin' you like this, but I'm gonna kill the fuckers that dared touch you."

"I'm not usually one for violence or revenge, but in this case, go crazy."

He nodded and stood with a smirk, stooping slightly to press his lips against yours. There was a solemn tension in the air, foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, him whispering, "Love you, darlin'."

"Love you, too," you answered instantly. "Just make sure you come home, yeah?"

"As quick as I can," he swore.

You learned that day, you hated waiting. You despised being out of the know, having no connection to tell you what was happening on Aaron's side of things. Kiwi was a great distraction, though. She was chipper, talkative, wildly animated; sharing a joint with you, ordering take out that a security guard brought up, and making you watch all her favorite movies.

She checked her phone several times, eventually, you begging, "Any word?"

"Nah, don't worry," Kiwi smiled, "they usually don't give updates when on the job."

Unknown to you, on the other side of town, Tangerine and Lemon were changing into suits the hotel waiters would wear to serve the engagement party. Moss was in a nondescript white van, working surveillance, informing in the headset, "The Jailbird's in position."

"So are we," Lemon reported, nodding at his brother. "Ready, bruv?"

"It's gonna get messy," he nodded, cracking his neck and leading the charge into the event room with trays of champagne. He surveyed the room subtly, seeing The Jailbird working the catering table in a matching suit, and when the couple of the hour entered, it was showtime. However, before springing into action, the trio of trained and paid assassins had to wait for the first move else they'd blow their cover and alert Ivan they were onto him.

The future bride's name was once something traditionally Russian, now choosing to be Veronica, and her soon-to-be-husband, Gerald, was the very man who had established her witness protection. It was romantic, in a way, that the two fell in love; being naughty and a little forbidden, yet still tantalizing. Their families filled the room with the groom's colleagues, security lining the walls - yet being unable to do anything if the Russians decided to attack.

However, the moment Tangerine saw Ivan, he went rigid with anger. "Mate, hang on, don't do it - we have a plan for a reason," Lemon tried to warn, but sighed hotly when his brother stormed off. Into the comms system, he warned, "Heads up, lads, Tangerine's on the move. 'S bouta get real sticky, people, stay sharp."

Tangerine surged up behind Ivan, who was dressed similarly and indicating he, too, was undercover at this event. Tan felt his face redden with anger, tapping Ivan's shoulder, and when the Russian turned, he didn't hesitate to pull his fist back and launch it directly into Ivan's nose. It was the first punch thrown (literally) that spurred the other Russians into action.

People shrieked, heels clattered to flee, and security guards rushed to cover their employers; not knowing who the desired target was. Luck didn't seem on their side that evening as security managed to get Gerald out of the hall, but his fiancé, Ivan's sister, was separated in the stampeding crowd; gunshots making patrons scream in concern.

In their comms, Moss barked, "Veronica! Someone cover Veronica! She's the informant - get to Veronica!"

The Jailbird flipped the catering table to reveal several heavy-duty guns strapped for this very moment. He and Lemon made their selections, Tan preferring his fist; someway, somehow, missing getting shot by Ivan's men. But the Russian gangster was just as angry, fending off Tangerine and even getting a few punches in himself. All for nought, though, because Tangerine had the power of his anger propelling him; your face conjured in his mind, bloodied, making him hit harder - and harder - and harder.

"You! Dirty! Fuckin'! Scum!" Tan punctuated each word with a blow of his fist, keeping Ivan in his grip like a vice. "C'mere! You've done it now, haven't yah, you fuckin' bastard? Fucked up by touchin' my woman! I'll fuckin' gut you!"

Ivan's elbow cracked Tan's nose, making him stumble back a few steps. The Russian grinned, blood outlining his teeth, "She was real pretty, wasn't she, eh? I tried to leave her face for yah! Didn't wanna fuck that up too bad!"

"C'mere!" Tangerine roared, knuckles bloody. However, as he was winding up for another hit, one of Ivan's men tackled Tan from the side and knocked him into a banquet table - collapsing it.

The Russians were in an abundance, yet stood no chance when Tangerine got ahold of a handgun. The Jailbird preferred the larger shotgun, blowing gargantuan holes in people's chests; Lemon keeping it simple and just doing his job by taking out the enemy. It was Tan who was absolutely feral, sprayed in the blood of his enemies and sparing no life he came across; the party's occupants screaming in terror and trying to flee the event hall between gunshots.

"Tan!" The Jailbird barked, pointing off at someone, and when he looked, Tan locked onto Ivan again. The Jailbird located Veronica, trying to save her, but being unsuccessful when a Russian got to her first - disappearing from his line of sight as the chaos rampaged.

Growling, Tangerine started firing single shots to the heads of anyone in his way of his main target, but this time, the Russian saw him coming and was plenty prepared. The blade Ivan used cut Tan deep, filleting flesh; but did not stop the man wanting to avenge his love.

Bodies hit the floor left and right as Tangerine's anger swelled, there not being a single force in the world that could stop him now. Whatever Tan could get his hands on turned into a weapon, finding every single Russian responsible for what happened to you - the love and light of his life.

The engagement party was decorated with white table cloths and white roses, now stained and splattered in blood the longer the fight went. The musicians of the live band had fled, security encountering the Russian that had Veronica and shooting him dead, food covering the walls. Moss had tapped into the security cameras, informing his men when more Russians were racing towards the room; grunting when he threw off his headset, grabbed a gun, and left the van to take out anyone trying to get inside.

Lemon did his best to cover Tangerine's six, but the Russians kept coming in waves; far more prepared than they were that evening. Yet it didn't matter, their numbers might've been high but the anger Tangerine and Lemon felt was a gift from God Himself, spurring them to work harder and smarter.

Once inside, Moss brought The Jailbird to higher ground and strategically shot down their enemies while Lemon and Tangerine operated on the ground. When face-to-face with Ivan, Tan seethed, "You waited 6 years for a shot at me, would've thought you'd try harder."

"Don't need to," Ivan laughed, "I already got you!"

"Didn't get shit - "

"That why your girl's all alone? Don't worry, lad, I sent some boys to go deal with her. C'mon, then!" Ivan taunted, waving Tan in an antagonizing motion, weilding the 6-inch blade. As the two exchanged blows, Ivan laughed, "Never told me! Did you like my li'l gift? How I left your girl?"

Tangerine grit his teeth and used a chair to bash the Russian over his head. "I'll fucking gut you for touching her!" He shouted, people still squealing and screaming in fright.

"You stole my inheritance! That Faberge Egg's been in my family for generations!" Ivan roared, "And my fucking sister! If not for you," he grunted, taking a hacking swipe and missing, "she never would've opened her mouth!"

"Your sister, mate, fuckin' hates your guts!" Tan barked, kicking Ivan back and sending him crashing through a table. "She would've spoke even if we hadn't picked her up!"

"Bullshit!" Ivan snarled, swinging and his blade catching Tan's bicep, slicing shirt and flesh. "My sister knew loyalty! Until you rotten fucks showed up, kidnapping her, confusing her! Fucking brainwashing her!"

"She's the one who hired us, mate!"

"Liar!"

Tangerine earned the upper hand by flipping Ivan onto his back, dropping to his knees, and wailing his fist into the Russian's face. He kept hitting him, even when Ivan stopped moving; flesh tearing, meat flying, bones breaking, and blood spurting in every which direction.

Blood painted his face, droplets racing down to create streaks.

At the safe house, Kiwi was making tea when there came a series of distant banging from outside the flat's door. She met your worried eyes and pulled out a gun, holding a finger to her lips to indicate you to stay quiet. She checked the in-house security system, spying a few Russian Mafia members fighting through the security guards and getting closer.

"Right," she rushed, helping you off the couch, "you gotta hide and stay quiet, love, I'll handle this quickly."

"Handle what? What's going on?"

"They're here."

"A-Are we safe?"

"For now."

"Are the lads!?"

"We'll find out!" Kiwi stuffed you inside one of the closets, assuring, "No worries, I'll handle them, you just stay here. Aaron would kill me if he knew something happened to you on my watch."

You didn't even have time to register that she used his real name; finding no choice in the matter as she shut the doors, and through the slats, watched her brandish a gun. You flinched when you made out the sounds of a struggle and then several gunshots, not knowing who fired them, who was being shot at, or what was happening.

Tears of fear filled your eyes, holding your breath and just waiting with trembling appendages. You hated waiting. You hated not knowing. You hated the tension, the fear, the cultivation of stress.

When the doors ripped open, you gasped shrilly and stepped back into the wall, but calmed when you realized it was only Aaron. And then you realized - it was Aaron!

"Baby," you gasped, leaping into his embrace out of sheer relief; arms wrapping around his neck and being dampened with blood. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, you're okay - you're okay, you're really okay."

"Yeah, 's all right, love," he rushed, one arm holding your waist, the other petting the back of your head. "I'm all right, 's all right, I'm here. I've got yah, love, I'm here now. They're all dead, they're all dead, my love, we got 'em all, you're safe, it's all right. Nobody will touch you again - never again, sweetheart."

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" You sniffled, pulling back to take both his cheeks in hand and frowning, "Is this blood!?"

"Yeah," he whispered, gently taking your wrists to pull your hands down. "But it's all right, 's not mine. I'm not hurt." He didn't let you answer, rushing, "Are you all right? Hey? Not hurt?"

"No, no, Kiwi - she protected me," you nodded, sniffling. "Where is she? Is she all right!?" You suddenly panicked, but Tangerine shushed you gently.

"She's fine, love, she's safe. Not a single scratch on her. Had most of the Russians down and out by the time we got back."

"And Brian?"

"Lemon's fine," he promised softly, "just cleanin' up in the other bathroom. Which," he smirked gently, "we should probably do the same. C'mon."

You agreed, hating the sight of blood on your man. When in the shower together, you got a look of the cuts and bruises he earned that night; knowing that despite him being the reason you were attacked, he was also the man who would protect you from anything and anyone. No matter the cost.

There was nowhere you were safer.

Watching you wash his wounds in spite of your own, Tangerine realized he didn't need to ask your father for permission - he was gonna marry you. Come hell or high water, there wasn't anything or anyone - be it Edward or Ivan - that could keep him from loving you the rest of his life.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[honeyedmiller]

An Ode to Forever | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: mostly pwp, sex in a bathtub with lots of feelings, fluff, tenderness, they’re both so sickeningly in love, smut (vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, joel is handsy af, some butt stuff [lol]), light alcohol consumption, sort of erotic food consumption(not really tho???), use of daddy twice in this (idk what came over me), joel doesn’t have kids in this, no use of y/n.

word count: 3.2k

synopsis: after an arduous day, joel draws a bath to help you both relax.

or

an ode to how much you love joel miller, and he, you.

a/n: this is a lil valentine’s day one shot i wanted to put out. slowly getting my writing juju back. this is also a follower milestone celebration. thank you to everyone who supports my work. love you all <3

divider by @saradika-graphics

It’d been a rough day.

A day where bones ached, minds were exhausted and all that was yearned for was to be home with each other.

You’d texted Joel that you were stopping off at the store to get some wine because hell, you needed to relax. He instantly texted you back to be safe and that he loves you.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

A true love like this is something you’d never in a million years think you’d ever have to yourself. Someone who cares so much. Someone you can cherish. A love that was all your own. You were so wrapped up in the bliss of Joel Miller, and he, you.

It was the kind of love that was terrifying and beautiful and gut wrenching and so fucking rare. A love that made you feel like you were floating in the clouds, euphoria pumping through your veins every time you looked at him. The kind of love that was a forever thing. Something you never, ever thought you’d have.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

The lights were off when you got home. You call out his name, hanging your keys on your designated hook before toeing off your pumps.

“Up here.” He calls back, voice cascading down the stairs. You make your way up and into the bedroom, setting your work bag down before you look around in confusion.

“Joel?” You call out, and his broad frame emerges from the bathroom.

“Hey baby.” He says. You smile softly at the sight of him, body visibly relaxing in his presence. Joel notices and the corner of his mouth twitches upward into a smile.

“Hi.” Your voice is as soft as your expression, allowing him to envelope the whole of your being into his strong, warm arms. He kisses your temple before gently taking the pinot grigio out of your hands, humming at your wine choice.

“Take your work clothes off and meet me in the bathroom.” He gives your forehead a kiss before disappearing again. You cock your eyebrow in confusion, but oblige to his request anyhow. You strip off your clothes, leaving your body clad in just your bra and underwear. The plush carpet beneath your bare feet feels heavenly after a day of wearing those pumps for work.

The cold tile of the bathroom sends a chill up your spine, but you ignore the sensation when you take in all that’s in front of you—a bubble bath with rose petals scattered atop, candles lit on the side of the tub, and a small tray of chocolate covered strawberries waiting to be devoured. Wine glasses filled with two cubes of ice each sit perfectly next to the strawberries, along with the pinot grigio.

You feel the sting of tears immediately. Your eyes move over to Joel, who’s standing with his hands behind his back and a boyish grin adorning his handsome face.

“What—what’s this?” Your voice is meek, eyes glossy and bottom lip slightly trembling.

“I know we won’t get that much time to ourselves on Valentine’s Day, so I thought we’d celebrate a little early. Y‘know, a nice way to relax after a tough day.”

“Joel, honey, this is perfect.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

You turn to face him fully. “I love it. And I love you.” You close the distance between the both of you, pulling him in for a tender kiss. He hums against your lips, enveloping your body into his arms. He slides his hands down to your ass, giving it a playful tap.

He unravels his arms from you before taking a small step back, shucking off his shirt and his pants. He looks at you as you watch him, desire for him pooling your eyes. A glint of fascination crosses his gaze as he studies you studying him.

“One more thing.” Joel says before stepping out of the bathroom. A minute later, soft tunes of Frank Sinatra wafted throughout the bedroom and into the bathroom. He comes back in with a smile on his face as he grabs your hand and twirls you before kissing you. You couldn’t help but smile against him.

He pulls down his underwear and climbs into the tub, groaning at the warm water against his achy bones.

“C’mere, sweet girl.” He nudges his head, holding his hand out to you. You smile and remove your bra and underwear, climbing into the tub with him. The warm water eased the tension that was left in your body, rolling off your shoulders and dissipating into the aroma of scented bubbles. Lavender, you think.

Joel pulls you back against his body, warm and inviting as you lean on him and close your eyes. You sit like that for a minute—still, calm, and silent. It’s what you both needed. Days like this could be more than overstimulating, and Joel knew that. You both basked in the fact that you could sit in silence in each other’s presence and be perfectly content.

You felt movement behind you, only to see Joel reaching for the wine bottle. He opens it with ease and pours the wine into the two glasses, clinking his with yours in a soft ‘cheers.’

Joel set his glass down on the edge of the tub, hands landing on your shoulders. Water sloshed gingerly with his movements. He started to dig his thumbs into the tense muscle. You couldn’t help but groan, head lolling to the side slowly.

“Feel good?” Joel chuckles close to your ear, goosebumps raising at the low vibrato of his voice.

“Mhm,” You manage.

Joel leans his mouth down to the base of your neck, leaving tender kisses in his wake. Your nails trace patterns on his thick thighs, the slow drag pulling at the need for you within him.

Your touch, your smile, your voice, your laugh, you. You drove him absolutely crazy. This man loved you more than life itself. If he could give you the whole world, he would—but for once in his life he knew he was enough.

“I love you, darlin’.” Joel’s voice is nearly a whisper. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your soft flesh repeatedly.

You crane your neck to face him and his hands drop to your arms.

“I love you more, cowboy.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Not possible.”

“Mm.” You muse, leaning in to kiss him. Those same rumbling butterflies stir in your stomach, heart strings pulling at the softness of his lips and how perfect they feel slotted with yours.

His tongue easily made its way into your mouth as you slid a hand into his slightly graying curls. You moaned into him, your other free hand gripping his thigh tighter as the neediness ignites within your body.

See, that was the thing. Joel had you wrapped around his fingers. He knew exactly what made you tick.

His hands slowly slide to your breasts, kneading them with such care before pinching both of your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. You gasp into the kiss at the sensation as it travels down like hot liquid to your core, already pulsing with aching need.

Joel’s small chuckle separates the kiss, and you lean your forehead against his cheek as he continues to toy with your pillowy flesh. Your breathing begins to stagger, mind clouded with the carnal desire for the man who’s stolen your heart.

“Joel,” You’re breathless, legs mindlessly rubbing together for any friction you can get. “Please.”

“Please what, baby?” His chest rumbles with the low vibrato of his voice, goosebumps erupting on your skin once more.

“Fuck. Touch me. Please, Joel.”

“Fuckin’ love when my girl uses her manners. How do you want daddy to touch you?” His voice is a low growl, one hand easily gliding down the curves of your body before his fingertips brush over your mound. You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes you as he easily spreads your legs with his hand, running his middle finger down your slit. “Like this?”

You suck in a breath behind clenched teeth, head dropping back onto his shoulder as he starts to slowly drag his fingers over your slick sex. Even underwater, Joel could feel how aroused you are.

“Answer me, sweet girl. Tell me.”

“Y-yes. God, yes–please—fuck me with your fingers.”

You’ve come to learn how to be more vocal with Joel, always shying away from telling him what you wanted when it came to your pleasure at first. He eventually coaxed it out of you, telling you that there’s no reason to be shy around him. He’d take care of you all the same.

You knew that, but you were still grateful for the man being patient with you when words would get lodged into your throat, seemingly unwilling to be vocalized. It got easier over time, and the confidence you radiated when you and Joel initiated anything intimate was a show he’d always want a front seat to.

You moaned as he easily slipped a finger into you, disappearing down to the knuckle. It was a welcome stretch, his fingers always reaching places yours never could. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Another one, please.” You sigh, rutting your hips down to grind onto his hand. He easily complies, this time a little bit more of a tight fit. You moan at the sensation, and Joel has a crooked grin on his face as he starts to languidly pump his fingers in and out of you. He was teasing you, you think, because he wanted to hear you beg him to go faster. And, truthfully, you weren’t above doing so.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me, baby,” He starts to pick up his pace, and you subconsciously bite your lip to quiet yourself down. “Uh uh, don’t go all shy on me now, darlin’. Wanna hear you. Wanna hear how I make you feel.”

“You know—shit—you know how you make me feel, Joel,” You reason with him, “You drive me fucking crazy.”

“Good.”

That was all he said before he picked up the pace of his fingers, curling them to press against the spongy spot in you that had your eyes rolling back and your toes curling. He swiped his thumb over your clit, finding a steady rhythm with his fingers.

One of your hands had his thigh in a vice grip, likely to leave scratch marks on his tan skin while the other held onto the edge of the tub. That same liquid heat traveled throughout the course of your body, pooling at the bottom of your spine. Waiting. Wanting. Begging to be released. You grind your hips down to match his pace, just needed a bit more of a push.

The whimpers and moans that eluded you only added to Joel’s own arousal, the occasional grunt from him reverberating off of the bathroom walls. His cock was solid against your back, and you couldn’t help but think how much self control this man had.

“Can feel your pretty pussy clenchin’ my fingers, sweetheart. You gonna come on them? Hm?” His lips are at your ear now, poking his tongue out to lick your earlobe before nibbling on it.

“Yes—oh, fuckfuckfuck. Right there, Joel, please don’t stop. Pleasepleaseplease—” You’re a begging, whimpering mess before you come undone, whole body shuddering as your orgasm washes over you so intensely.

“There you go. That’s it. My girl always does so well, hm? So fuckin’ well.” Joel praises you, slowly sliding his fingers out of you before running them over your slit once more, featherlight and meticulous. You shudder at the sensation, a choked moan escaping the hollows of your throat.

“What do you say?” Joel teases, riling you up.

“Thank you, daddy.” You laugh softly, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze.

You sit up and turn yourself around, careful not to slosh any water outside of the tub. Joel has an amused look on his face and you huff a laugh through your nose before kissing him. It was passionate, like something you’d see in those romance movies on the big screen.

It’s a silent promise, something that can’t be put into words. It surges through your veins and exists in you all the time, heightened by the very man that made you feel these things again.

You pull apart from him, rubbing your nose against his before you lean back to take in his handsome features. His dark brown eyes gleamed with budding love.

Your gaze shifts to the untouched strawberries, and you pluck one off of the plate before taking a bite. It’s sweet; the mixture of chocolate and the fruit dancing on your taste buds. You hold the rest of the strawberry to Joel’s lips, and he grins before taking a bigger bite. You place the calyx back on the tray, gaze drifting to Joel again.

You grin when you see some chocolate on his bottom lip.

“You got a little…” Your words die in your throat as you lean forward, licking his bottom lip before kissing him again. You move to straddle his lap, hips flexing to fit around the broadness of him.

“Be mine forever.” He whispers against you.

“I’m already yours, Joel. You’ve always had me.”

You trail a hand down his chest, toying with his hair before sliding your palm down his torso as your nails slightly scrape his flesh. You plant soft kisses all along his collarbone, tongue poking out to lick his already wet skin.

Your wandering hand brushes through the tuft, wiry hair that sat atop his aching cock. You hum against him and wrap your hand around his length. He pulses in your hand, heavy and waiting to be relieved. You begin to slide your hand up and down his silky flesh, nipping at his collarbone as you did so.

Joel sucks in a breath behind clenched teeth, eyes closing in pure bliss as he tries to refrain from bucking up into your hand.

“Such a pretty cock. Love it so much.” You muse, and Joel groans at your words. He’ll never get used to you worshiping him and his body the way you do, he thinks.

But, he loves it all the same. It makes his heart fucking flutter, and even though he’ll probably never openly admit it, he loves it. It makes him feel worthy. Wanted. Loved.

“It’d look even prettier buried in that perfect pussy.” He says, and your movements falter for a split second. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to his filthy mouth, but it was something you couldn’t get enough of.

You look down at him with hooded eyes and a satiated grin before lifting your hips up to hover over him, swiping his tip over your folds before sinking down on him. You’re slow with your movements, wanting to feel every ridge and vein his pretty, pretty cock has.

You both moan in harmony as you reach the hilt.

“So-fuckin’-perfect.” Joel grits, head lolling back as he takes in the sensation of your warmth wrapped around him so perfectly, like you were specifically made to be there. And you are, you think.

Your hands rest on his shoulders as you start gliding up and down on him, the stretch so welcoming every time you fully sink back down. Joel’s hands settle onto your ass to guide you into a steady pace. He wraps his lips around one of your nipples, giving it a soft bite, and you gasp at the sensation. Joel could feel you clenching around him with every pass of his tongue on your sensitive bud.

One of your hands tangles itself into his curls once more, giving them a little tug. His eyes pop open and he lets go of your nipple with a small ‘pop’, gaze never wavering from yours. You toss him a saccharine smile before kissing the tip of his nose.

“So handsome.” You whisper, kissing every high point of his face before resting your forehead against his once more.

“Yeah?” He asks, fingers grazing down on your ass slotting themselves between the crevice of both cheeks.

“Mhm.” You bite your lip, knowing what was coming. It was something new that you tried around a month ago and really liked, so Joel would implement the action whenever he could.

The tip of his middle finger circled around the tight ring of your asshole, a wicked grin on his lips as your hips stuttered.

“Gotta fill you all the way up, darlin’.” He chuckles as he pushes his middle finger into your tight hole.

Your eyes clamp shut tight, feeling so full of the man you love.

“Fuck, god, Joel– feels s’good.” Your words are slurring together and you’re trying your damnedest to keep the pace of your hips steady, maybe even riding him a little faster if that means his finger in your ass will pump faster, too.

“I know, baby. Doin’ so well. So good for me, hm? Takin’ what I give ya, so full n’ all.” He cooes, nosing at your jaw as your mouth falls slack and eyebrows thread together.

The pleasure coursing through your body is devastatingly euphoric, the sensation of him everywhere driving you crazy in all the right ways.

You know it wouldn’t be long before you fell apart at the seams for him once more.

That deep, throaty growl he does while his eyes are shut in concentration, and the pulsing feeling of his cock is a dead giveaway that he’s going to fall apart for you, too.

“‘M close, Joel.” You’re clawing at his back now, his finger curling inside you as you bury your face into his neck.

Your hips burn from straddling his wide frame, desperate for a break, but you won’t stop. Not until You’re falling apart for him and he, you.

“I know, sweet girl. Can feel ya. Give it t’me, c’mon.” He groans, fucking up into you. His jaw ticks as his teeth clench, feeling you pulsing around him as you cry out his name in pure bliss. Another orgasm crashes through you, eyes rolling back as your body goes limp on his.

It only takes him a few more thrusts before he’s coming, filling you with everything he has. He moans with every stutter of his hips as his chest heaves up and down, body following suit with yours and going completely limp. He removes his finger from you slowly before you lift yourself off of him, already missing the feeling of being so full.

You stay wrapped up in eachother for a few minutes, giving yourselves the chance to catch your breaths. You kiss his chest repeatedly, placing your hand over his rapidly beating heart.

“I love you. So fucking much, Miller.” You laugh softly, tracing patterns on his chest as your head presses against the solidity of it.

The feeling of his beating heart surges life into you. Knowing that you get to exist at the same time as this gorgeous, loving man is a feeling you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. There really are no words for it, you think. At least not strong enough to describe the feeling.

“I love you too, darlin’. Forever.”

And then you think to yourself, you’d do life over and over again if it meant you got to meet Joel in every single one of them.

i’m such a fucking sap dude. lmfaooo anyway, hope y’all enjoyed <3

tags: @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @endlessthxxghts ; @punkshort ; @joelsgreys ; @pamasaur ; @cool-iguana ; @joeloverture

[norman-fucking-reedus]

So… Scud riding fem!reader’s strap-on?

YES YES YES YES YES FUCKING YES

UGHH When I tell y’all Scud fucking LOVES to ride. It puts so much power into his little hands he doesn’t even know what to do with himself

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOREVER IM GONNA ACTUALLY WRITE THIS OUT BC yall dont even understand the way this consumes my brain. Bottom Scud is for life I’m sorry hes my baby and my baby deserves to be fucked

“Fuck I almost forgot what the apartment looks like!” Scud sighed heavily as the door creaked out, kicking off his shoes and stretching as he walked over to the couch, dropping himself down onto it. You shut the door behind yourself and toe off your own shoes, leaving them in a messy pile right next to Scud’s.

You peeled off your coat and hung it up, keys following suit before you padded into the tiny kitchen “Do we have any food?” You groan as you open the door, fridge mostly empty and stuffed with mainly leftovers.

“We can get some takeout, fuck, I’d kill for a burger right now” Scud spoke as he moved onto the floor, banging on the shitty TV to boot it up and plugging in his PS2 controllers. “We don’t have enough money” You frown slightly, walking into the living room and plopping down on the couch, legs on either side of Scud’s head. He almost purred contently when your fingers began scratching his scalp.

Scud easily turned into putty at the faintest touches, slumping against you as you massaged his head. “Mmh, can we smoke a bowl?” He muttered, and you’d be crazy to deny.

“I think we only have a little left” You said as you leaned over the arm of the couch, grabbing a grinder and Scud’s bong. You tapped whatever remains were left in the gringer into the small glass bowl, reaching down to fish out the small bag you bought to better preserve the bud. “When’s Blade paying us again?”

Scud shrugged, fingers tapping and flying against his controls as he played some fighting game, leaning himself comfortably against your leg as he spoke. “Hopefully soon. I should asked for a raise” You stick a few sticky nubs into the grinder, twisting it around a couple times until it was finely grinded up into keef.

“Like he’d ever give you one” You snort, snatching a lighter and half dranken waterbottle off the coffee table. You pour the rest of the water into the bottom of the bong, sticking the long bowl inside and holding it steady by the long neck, gapping your lips through the whole at the top, flicking the lighter and bringing the flame down onto the small bowl on the side, inhaling until the water started to bubble and smoke started to form, swirling up and filling the long bong, your lungs shortly after.

It was a huge hit, the smoke turning a slight yellow color as it was built up and burning your chest where you held it in for a few seconds, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Hey no fair!” Scud snapped his head around and pouted at you, because he wanted you to shot gun that right down his throat.

“I’ll give you the next one” You comb fingers through his hair as he whines softly. You bring the flame back down to the bowl, inhaling and watching the yellow-ish smoke form inside and climb up into the neck, down into your lungs.

You held it in for a few seconds as you tilted Scud’s head back, pressing your slightly agape lips against his and exhaling your hit into his mouth, smirking softly at his tiny moan as he inhaled.

Scud sighed around his exhale, staring up at you from his upside down position. “What?” You mumbled, cupping his face with a small smile. “That make you happy?”

He nodded, leaning up to kiss you before turning his attention down to the bong in his lap, not wanting to knock it over. You handed him the lighter, and glanced over at the clock.

“We should just order a pizza” You murmured, rising to your feet and stepping around Scud who was mid-rip. He followed you with his eyes, taking a massive hit and coughing out, exhaling a huge cloud that fogged up your small living room more. “I thought we didn’t have money?” He croaked out, beating on his chest a little.

As he said that, you rummaged through your purse, fishing out your wallet and opening it, raising a brow. “I’ve got ten bucks”

Scud pats his pockets, digging through them and pulling out a few crumbled ones. Better than nothing. You took the bills out his hand and grabbed the landline, plopping back down on the couch as you clicked through the numbers, eventually landing on the local pizzeria.

Stoned, showered, and stuffed, you watched with half lidded eyes as Scud needily bounces on your strap, loud moans and whines coming from him.

“Feels so fucking good, mommy feels so fucking good, want her to fuck me so hard” Scud babbled, sobbing as he totally fucked himself stupid, fingers curling into the cushion of the couch. You watched, rocking your hips steady against the small vibe pressed to your clit, throbbing from all Scud’s sweet little sounds. “You don’t need my help pretty boy, you’ve got it” You coo, sliding your hands across his hips, running them up his shirt and wrapping them around his throat, squeezing tightly. He wheezed out a gasp, clenching around you and whimpering the best he could in your grip.

You pulled him down for a hot and sloppy kiss, Scud breathlessly panting into your mouth as his back arched, rolling his hips down and up against you. He was a complete mess, choking on his moans and grunts as he started to ride your dildo harder and faster, rocking his hips back and whining desperately. “Good boy. Ride me like the dirty little whore you are, hear how disgustingly wet you are for me baby?”

“Y-yes, love b-being so wet for mmngh!–mommy, always s-so ready for her” Scud gasped out his words, your grip around his throat still so blissfully tight that he was starting to become lighthead, shifting himself a little before grinding back down, a loud and choked off whimper tearing from him. “There! Please, please fuck me there- need mommy to fuck right there” Scud desperately cried, bouncing on the spot with all the strength in his body. You gripped his hips and thrust up into him, Scud heaving a groan as he caught his breath. You ruthlessly pounding into him from underneath, watching Scud’s pretty face twist and turn in pure pleasure.

His fingers tightly gripped the couch cushions, toes curled and his head rolling side to side, so utterly destroyed. “Ohh fuuck” He bit down on his spit-soaked bottom lip, loud moans and whimpers escaping past anyway. Each hard jab of your cock was sending him flying off the edge, his own cock twitching and oozing a mix of cum and pre-cum, the tip turning a cherry red as it start to swell up, painfully hard.

“Gonna cum aren’t you, Scud? Or do you need mommy’s help with that too?” You ghosted your hand near his cock.

Scud trembled like a leaf in your lap, “Can’t do it by myself– I can’t–“ sobbing as he pushed back against your thrusts, the head of your strap bumping the bundle of nerves inside him. “Need mommy to help, need her so bad” He rambled, continuing to rock back against you. His face was soaked with tears, sweat, and drool as he was almost riding you again, loud drawn out moans tearing from his chest as each snap of your hips took him further and further. “You poor little thing, begging for help cause you can’t get yourself off on my cock?”

You started to slow your hips, rocking into him at a quick but lazy pace. Scud whimpered and desperately pushed back against you, chasing the blissful build of his orgasm. “Hnnghh– I need- I can’t- Ughhh fuuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” Scud was so entirely gone, so very far gone. It felt like there were a million bees buzzing against his body, tossing his head back with a loud, broken and shaky sob of sheer pleasure, only a few more hard bounces before his jaw went totally slack, eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his untouched cock spasmed and twitched lewdly as he came, warm shots of white painting his shirt and landing on yours.

Scud slumped down against you, dropping his head onto your shoulder breathlessly and overfucked. He twitched slightly, and whined when you slipped yourself out, leaving his hole to feel uncomfortably empty.

You combed fingers through his hair, kissing his sweaty face and holding his limp body flush against yourself. “Wanna go to bed?” You whisper, kissing his cheek and letting your lips linger there. Scud nodded, but groaned when he realized that meant he had to get up. “Comfy” He mumbled, snaking his arms around you and squeezing, burying his face in your chest.

"We need to change, babyboy" You kiss the top of his head, feeling his sticky cum starting to seep through the fabric of your shirt. Scud whined, arms tightening.

You sighed, tired, high, and a little hungry again. Scud was starting to feel really heavy in your lap, pressing his whole weight down onto you. The clock in the kitchen ticked, and an idea crossed your mind, grunting as you pushed yourself up onto your feet suddenly, Scud flailing and scrambling to wrap his legs around you, eyes wide at the change in position. "Bed" Was all you said, hoisting him up and carrying him into your single shared bedroom.

When you went to drop your boyfriend down onto the bed, trying to get him a clean shirt, he tugged you down with him, rolling you onto your back and straddling you once again, staring down with a flushed and needy face. "Wanna go again, wanna ride mommy again" He huffed, grinding back against your strap. His skin burned, and the fabric of his shirt was uncomfortably sticking to his skin, leading him to pry it off, tossing it somewhere in the room.

You did the same, nothing wrong with sleeping naked, and moved a hand down to steady your dildo, holding it so that Scud could lower himself down, drawn out moan leaving his lips. Being so full of cock made him happy, especially when he could feel the hot drag of silicone against his walls.

Scud lifted himself up and almost immediately dropped back down, a shaky groan coming from his chest as he wasted no time eagerly bouncing his hips against you, whole body on display. You ran your fingers across his bare legs, up his jutting hips, and across his tattered belly, tickling his scars under your soft touch which made him giggle. He wasn't really one to feel insecure. Your fingers danced across his sensitive nipples, a tiny whimper in response.

“Such a spoiled little brat, aren’t you?” You coo as you watch Scud’s nude frame grind against yours, his cock bouncing and smacking against his abdomen. Scud whined and nodded, rolling his hips. It was true that he was very spoiled as saying no to him was genuinely the hardest task of your life. You could deny him, but never flat out refuse. In the end, Scud always got what he wanted, and right now, he really wanted to cum again, leaning down to needily kiss you.

You took the chance the place your feet on the bed, thrusting upwards into Scud who moaned into your mouth, gasping against you as you pounded into him. “Feels so good, mommy makes me feel so good” He slurred out breathlessly, moving to bury his face in your soft tits. He whimpered as you nailed his sweet spot, his cock rubbing against where it was sandwiched between your bodies.

Scud simply moaned and clung to you, dragging his tongue over one of your nipples and sucking it. Each rough snap of your hips lurched him forward, his hums vibrating your tit and his cock leaking all over your stomach.

He groaned and squirmed ontop of you, his hands squeezing the squishy flesh of your chest, pressing his face into their warmth. “Gonna cum, feels so good ‘m gonna cum” Scud babbled, his words muffled. You pressed his front closer to yours, making him rut his tender cock against you which each hard thrust. It was all that Scud needed to totally fall apart, whimpering out sobs as ropes of cum spurted from him, landing on both your stomachs.

You dropped your hips and completely pulled out of Scud, running fingers through his hair when he whined at the loss. “You made a mess of us both, Scud”

“M’sorry, just felt really good” He mumbled, head now pillowed on your chest, one of his hands mindlessly fondling a soft breast. “Can we take a bath?”

You smile softly, even though you had both just showered an hour ago. “Only if we make it bubble one”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

[childrenofcain-if]

All these buffet for the C stans, can us W lovers get some crumbs as well ??? Personally I'm mostly invested in how they were with the mc when they were kids ,, childhood flashbacks is my one true weakness

providence, rhode island / summer of ‘13

the summers in rhode island were always soft, the kind of soft that smelled like fresh grass and saltwater, and made the world seem so big yet so small, all at once.

your mother’s house sat at the edge of an endless horizon, the backwoods a labyrinth of hidden paths only you and W seemed to know. every summer, you’d roam that wilderness like two mini explorers, carving out a world for yourselves in the dense foliage and the thick, humid air that clung to you like a second skin.

W had always been different from the other children. not in a way that made them completely stand out, but in a way that made them blend in so perfectly that people forgot they were there. they were quiet, with tired eyes that saw more than they let on, and a smile that was as fleeting as the summer itself.

you had always been drawn to them, attached to the hip since you were both in diapers, your mother and their aunt swearing that you had been inseparable even then, even when the world was no bigger than the patchwork quilt you’d been laying side by side on.

there was something about the way the light filtered through the old oak trees that made W’s face look almost golden, as if they were something other than a mere child of seven, something pulled from the pages of a half-forgotten fairy tale you’d force your parents to read to you before bed.

at this age, W was taller than you by half a head, their limbs long and gangly, as if they were growing too fast for their body to keep up. their hair was the color of sun-bleached sand, their skin slightly tanned from the hours you’d spent under the providence sun so far. but it was their eyes that you remembered the most—their gentle, sapphire blue eyes, like the sky on a cloudless day. they didn’t talk much to other kids, not with words anyway. their silences were also a part of their language, and you had learned to speak it fluently over the summers you’d spent together.

today, you and W had found your way to the stream, your usual destination when the sun was at its peak, and the adults’ voices carried too far across the suburbs. it was your haunt, a place where the world seemed to slow down, where time didn’t matter and you could just be. you sat on the bank, knees drawn to your chest, your toes digging into the cool, damp earth. W was standing in the stream, balancing on one leg like some kind of bird, their arms stretched out to their sides as if they were reenacting a scene from the titanic with the breeze as their prop.

“elmo,” you called them by the nickname only you could utter, your voice barely above a whisper.

they turned their head to look at you, their balance never wavering. “hm?”

“i heard mama talking to mrs. renshaw,” you began, your voice taking on that conspiratorial tone that always made W listen more closely. “she said that if you close your eyes and wish really hard, you can see fairies.”

W raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of their lips. “fairies?”

you nodded, leaning forward, your eyes wide with the importance of what you were saying. “but you have to really believe. like, really believe.”

they stepped out of the stream, their feet squelching in the mud as plopped down beside you on the bank. “and do you?”

“do i what?”

“really believe.”

you thought about it for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip as you did. you wanted to believe, you really did. but believing in something so impossible was hard when the world around you was so solid, so real. but this was W, and with them, the impossible always felt just a little bit closer to your reach.

“i think i do,” you said finally, your voice soft, uncertain.

they reached out and took your hand in theirs, their fingers cool and wet from the stream. “then close your eyes.”

you did as they said, squeezing your eyes shut until all you could see was darkness. you could hear the stream babbling beside you, the rustle of the leaves overhead, and the soft, steady rhythm of W’s breathing. you could feel the warmth of the sun on your skin, the coolness of the earth beneath you, and the firm grip of W’s hand in yours.

“do you see them?” W’s voice came, so quiet it was almost lost in the sounds of the woods around you. you shook your head dejectedly.

“try harder,” they urged, their voice filled with that quiet assurance that always made you believe them, even when you didn’t want to. “they’re there, i know they are.”

you squeezed your eyes tighter, willing yourself to see something, anything. you wanted so badly to be the kind of person who could see fairies, the kind of person who could believe in things that didn’t make sense to other people. you wanted to be like W, who seemed to exist in a world where anything was possible, where magic was real and just waiting to be found.

“i see them,” you said at last, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“where?” W asked, their voice filled with that same curiosity that made them chase after every strange sound and shadows they observed in the woods.

“everywhere,” you breathed, your voice full of wonder you didn’t quite bring yourself to feel. “they’re everywhere.”

you weren’t lying, not really. in that moment, with your eyes closed and W’s hand in yours, it felt like anything could be true. maybe there were fairies in the woods, tiny, winged creatures flitting between the trees. maybe the stream was enchanted, its waters carrying secrets that only you and W could hear. maybe, just maybe, the world was more magical than what the adults who scoff at your stories would believe.

when you finally opened your eyes, the world looked the same as it always had. the trees were still tall and green, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze. the stream still wound its way through the woods, its waters crystal clear. W was still sitting beside you, their hand still holding yours, their eyes still that soft, sapphire blue.

but something had changed, something small but important. the world felt a little bigger, a little more magical, a little more full of possibilities. and you knew that as long as W was by your side, you would keep searching for those possibilities, keep believing in the impossible, keep seeing the magic that was hidden just beneath the veil of reality.

“did you really see them?” W asked after a long moment, their voice soft, almost hesitant.

you turned to look at them, a smile tugging at your lips. “i think i did.”

they smiled back, a real gap-toothed grin this time, the kind that lit up their whole face and made your heart feel like it was happily soaring in a way that no fairy tale could ever do.

“me too,” they said simply, and for the first time, you thought that maybe you really had seen something after all.

“come on,” they said as the sun started to set, their voice gentle. “we should get back before it gets dark.”

you took the hand they’d extended, and together you made your way back through the woods, the magic of the clearing lingering like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from. the path back seemed shorter, the woods less confusing now with the way W’s warm hand fit perfectly in yours.

“elmo,” you said quietly, not sure what you were going to say until the words were already out. “do you think we��ll always be friends?”

they looked at you, their blue eyes serious, and for a moment, you thought they might laugh or make a joke, but they didn’t. instead, they made a sign of the cross across their left chest.

“always,” they promised, and you knew they meant it. “cross my heart.”

you grinned at them, imitating the action. “me too! i cross my heart too!”

you both promptly burst into a fit of childish giggles, a turn from the solemn mood that your question had brought forth.

the fireflies in the woods had begun to wake and flicker around you two, their tiny lights a gentle reminder of the real magic of the world that not even the most hardened cynic could ignore. they circle you as if bounding you both in a golden thread of promise. to be remembered. to never being forgotten. forever.

[luveline]

if you’re up to it!! maybe a single dad!steve w twins? i cant stop thinkin about one of your posts saying he’d have a really rambunctious lil girl and a sweet shy lil boy 🥺 maybe a meet cute with r? or the lil boy warming up to r and letting her hold him for the first time? idk!! also no worries at all if you’re not feeling this! just thought i’d throw it out there okay ilysm mwah

thank you for your request, this was so fun, and I'd been thinking about the twins for a little while now so it was fun to actually write them!! ♥︎ single dad!steve x fem!reader 2.2k

"Sarah," Steve says loudly, "you gotta hold my hand, or we'll have to go home." 

Sarah's eyes widen and she grabs for Steve's bigger fingers. Her palm is sticky with ice cream. No part of her remains unscathed from the disastrous dairy — her blue dress is now purple in splotches, bubblegum ice cream stains like fingerprints, and her blonde hair is darker towards the tips where she'd accidentally leaned into her sundae. Steve doesn't mind, she looks like she enjoyed herself, and her little sighs of joy had proven it, but he worries other people will look at her and think he isn't looking after her properly. 

He's lucky in some ways to be a single dad instead of a single mom. Most people commend him for doing the bare minimum. He's a saint for 'giving mommy a break'. Oh, please, he thinks, rolling his eyes internally each time. 

"But, how come Charlie doesn't have to hold your hand?" she asks, pouting at the injustice of it all. 

"Your brother does need to hold my hand," Steve says. 

"He's holding onto your pants, dad," she grumbles. 

It would be more accurate to say Charlie is hiding behind Steve's pants, rather than holding them. 

He frowns. "Come on, buddy," he says softly, stroking the downy hair from Charlie's face. "It's alright. We're gonna go on the swings." 

His mentioning of the playground has Sarah's hand straining in his. She tugs her small family with huge willpower down the path until the top of the swingset and jungle gym are in sight, and she lets go of Steve's hand. Steve grabs her as kindly as he can. 

"Hey," he says, leaning down. His backpack shifts against his back, their water bottles no doubt crushed under the weight of their coats and lunchboxes. "What's the rules, Sar-bear?" 

She fizzes up like a can of soda as he brushes sticky strands of hair behind her ears. "Um, to be nice. And to not go where you can't see us, and," —she pauses as Steve wipes her mouth, the old spirit and polish marring his shirt sleeve— "to, uh…" 

"To be careful," he finishes for her pointedly. 

"Yes!" she agrees. 

Steve would ask for a kiss here but Sarah's already jumping on tip toes to give him one, her little kiss print more spit than anything else against his bottom lip. He snorts.

Sarah rushes through the gates and Steve and Charlie follow. There's only one other parent at the playground, a mom with a book in her hands and a stroller by her knees, a child Steve assumes to be hers swinging on the swingset. It's too many people for Charlie regardless, not half as eager as his sister.

Steve sits on the bench opposite the jungle gym where Sarah's already climbing, and Charlie holds his arms up to be lifted into his lap. He does so obligingly.

"You don't wanna play?" Steve murmurs warmly in his ear. 

"No," Charlie says succinctly. He's adorable. 

"I can push you on the swings?" 

"Not for now," he says. 

The twins are at mostly all the same developmental milestones. They sound clumsy when they talk, but they talk, big vocabularies and sentences that make Steve well up because they're getting older so quickly. Sarah tells stories like nobody's business. They're good enough to capture even her brother's attention, full of animals and magic and people. Charlie likes listening, will sit enthralled at her feet, and most people who meet him think he's quiet because his sister is so loud, but it's not true. Charlie likes to talk too, he's just timid. Only at home does he come out of his shell, playing out scenes with imaginary characters, singing gibberish karaoke at the top of his little lungs. 

Steve doesn't mind that Charlie's shy around others. He's grateful to see his baby boy's loud side at home. He wishes Charlie would put himself out there, though, for his own sake. 

"The little boy won't mind," Steve insists. "Come on, baby, it'll be fun. We don't wanna sit here watching Sarah all day, do we?" 

Charlie tips his head back against Steve's chest. "I like Sarah." 

Steve laughs, an extreme affection warming his heart. He wraps his arms around Charlie's front and rubs his baby's head with the tip of his nose. 

"I like Sarah, too," he says. His smile is audible and catching. 

They sit there for a while. The sun shines down, the sky a bright blue and dotted with eggshell clouds. Sarah races over rope fixtures and spring boards until she finally reaches the monkey bars. Steve regrets letting her up there when he realises how tall it is and how small she is, shepherding Charlie with him to stand at the side. 

"Daddy," she says, clearly pleased at his arrival and talking with near factual efficiency, "I need your help." 

"Yes you do, honey." 

He puts his arms out. She grabs one bar and tests it to see how her weight will feel, her bottom lip disappearing between white shiny baby teeth. 

"You want me to hold your waist?" he asks knowingly. 

"I think so." 

"I think so too." He holds her waist, her legs against his chest, and tries not to make it too obvious that he's holding the majority of her weight. "Have a go, honey. One hand at a time." 

Sarah 'swings' from handhold to handhold until she gets to the other end of the bars, where she uses his chest to push herself up onto the metal floor. She cheers and rushes to sit down at the top of the slide. 

Charlie stands at the bottom. Steve has to pluck him from in front of it before Sarah rockets her Mary Jane's into his chest, which makes Sarah laugh and cheer even more. 

"Woah, Charlie! I almos'd kicked your face!" 

"You want a turn?" Steve asks him. "We'll use the other side to go on the slide, should we?" 

Sarah had chosen the hard way up to the slide via monkey bars. Charlie takes the easier side, a gentle wooden ramp with a rope for him to hold onto. He climbs to the top of the slide, sits happily at the precipice, wind ruffling the hair out of his bright eyes, and Steve thinks he's going to be brave for a moment. 

Charlie looks at Steve worriedly. "You'll catch me at the end?" 

"Yeah, I'll catch you." 

Charlie slides down to the end, the metal squeaking under his pants, and Steve catches him before his feet can hit the floor as promised. 

Sarah is ecstatic, already at the top waiting for another turn. "Go Charlie!" she shouts, pushing down and slamming into Steve's knees at the end. 

"Excuse me?" 

Steve turns, one kid clinging to his chest, the other his legs. 

You're standing at the gate with a stack of fliers in your arms. Steve's worried he's about to get cold called, thinks, wow, she's a little too pretty to be selling vacuum cleaners curbside, as you hold out a flyer. 

"I'm looking for my friend's cat," you say. "I'm really sorry to interrupt you. Her name's Evangeline and she's orange. She's kinda chubby. Have you seen her?" 

Charlie's pressing his face as far into Steve's neck as physics will allow him to while Steve draws closer to you. His breath warms Steve's skin in hot puffs. 

"I don't think we have. Did you see a cat today, Sar-bear?"

Sarah holds her arms up for a flyer. A smile flickers across your face, and Steve can tell you're immediately indoctrinated into the Sarah fan club. She has this charm about her that can get just about anyone on her side, even Hopper. 

It helps that she's beautiful. Steve will admit to parental bias, sure, but Sarah is gorgeous. 

"Thank you," she says, mumbling but not shy as you give her a flyer of her own. 

LOST CAT, the poster says. PLEASE CALL THIS NUMBER IF YOU SEE ME. I AM VERY FRIENDLY. EVANGELINE, SEVEN YEARS OLD, GINGER. I DONT BITE BUT PLEASE DONT PET MY TUMMY, IM PREGNANT.

"Oh no," Steve says.

"Daddy, what does it say?" Sarah asks, pert nose wrinkling in confusion. 

"It says," he begins, "that she's a really nice cat, and she's about to be a mommy." 

"Ohh… I didn't see'd her today." 

"No, I didn't think so." Steve's arms are aching from holding Charlie for so long, but knows from experience he won't be put down. Steve doesn't bother trying it, just shifts Charlie on his hip to encourage his gaze to you where you're standing, patient and a smidge awkward. 

"How about you? Have you seen any cats today?" he asks Charlie. 

Charlie peeks up from Steve to assess you. You're wearing jeans and a dark green jacket, unzipped. There's a smiley face on your t-shirt, black against grey-white. Charlie sees this, sees the very real, very gentle smile you wear on your lips, and relaxes just a touch.

"I don't remember, sorry," he says quietly.

You visibly weaken. Steve gets it. His kids are ridiculously lovely. 

"Don't be sorry, babe," you say sweetly, leaning down to meet his eyes. "Can I ask you for a favour?"

Steve rubs his back. Charlie nods. 

"Could you keep an eye out for me, would that be okay? We don't want Eva to have her kittens by herself. Maybe if you see her daddy can call the number on the poster?" 

You look to him with a different kind of smile. 

"Sure we will!" Sarah says, eyes fixed on the black and white photo of Evangeline.

You fish a pen out of your pocket. "Maybe you could call me." You smile. "You know, if you find her." 

Steve blinks. It takes a second for his body to remember how to talk to girls, pretty girls who want to talk to him. It's been a while. 

"Uh, sure." He hates himself. He can still save it. "What's the reward?" 

He can't save it. 

"If you find Evangeline? We were hoping whoever helped get her home would do it from the goodness of their heart, but I think I could make an exception." Your eyes flit between the twins. You scribble down something Steve can't see on a new poster and offer it to Charlie with an encouraging nod. "Hey, thank you. Any help at all means the world. You guys go on and have a good day, alright? Thanks, handsome." 

"You're welcome," Steve says, a millisecond after he realises you'd been talking to Charlie. 

You laugh and wiggle your fingers at his kids. You're gone as quick as you came down the stone path to the ice cream parlour. 

Steve's boiling. It isn't from the sun. 

"What'd she write, daddy?" Sarah asks. 

He tears his eyes from your retreating figure and lowers Charlie to the ground with a tired groan. He sits on the end of the slide and the twins follow him as they always do, like magnets since the days they learned to crawl. They all squeeze on the end of the slide together. 

"Can I see yours, bud?" he asks.

Steve puts Charlie's flyer on top of his own. Next to Evangeline's chunky body, you've written a tightly packed message. Your handwriting looks like your voice sounds. Steve doesn't know how to explain it. 

You've put down your phone number. Under it, you've written a sloping message: 

find her and maybe we can celebrate! ♥︎ 

"Dad?" Sarah prompts. 

"Oh, right. It says if we find the cat we can celebrate."

"What's 'celebrate'?" 

"Uh, we can celebrate, we can have a reward and a little party."

"A party?" Sarah asks with a gasp. 

"Well, not always?" he says, his heart still pattering from the sight of your number. 

It's too late to amend what he's said. Sarah's heard party, and she wants a party, though her definition of what a party is inaccurate. She thinks parties with Aunt Robin are better than Christmas, movies and popcorn and jiffy pop and Depeche Mode singalong. 

"Dad, we have to find that cat!" 

Steve's thinking the same thing. Any excuse to call you is one he wants to take, not just because you'd been pretty, but because you'd seen him and the kids at the same time. He doesn't wanna be presumptuous, maybe you write your number on all the posters, but even as he thinks it he doubts it. 

Your biro heart feels like a beckoning. 

Or Steve's an idiot. It wouldn't be the first time he was.

"Can we go look, dad?" Charlie asks. 

Steve has a lot of chores waiting for him at home, laundry and dishes and bills he has to do over the phone. He doesn't have time to look for a wandering cat, even if you were super pretty, and you'd talked to the kids like they were golden, and the smile you'd given him at one point felt heavy with something unspoken… 

"Let me get my bag," he says, standing up. "You guys are gonna need your jackets if we're staying out. It's getting cold." 

The twins rush to join him. 

—

my requests are open so if you'd like to see more of steve and the twins let me know, hopefully they can find poor evangeline! and if you enjoyed please consider reblogging, it means the world <3<3<3<3

[chloeangelic]

Since hot slut - Seeking What is Desirable Joel - got BUTT ASS naked immediately in someone else's guest room with ladybug.....

Can you describe in a bit more detail what he looks like naked?

*Disrespectfully

Ask and you shall receive - everything under the cut~  

seeking what is desirable Joel - body and 🍆 HCs!

Rating: 18+ Warnings: Discussions about dick and cock and height/size difference kink, references to our lord and savior Manuel Ferrara

I see him as being about a foot taller than Ladybug - I’m 5’8 and my bf is a foot taller than me so it’s more about Joel being tall than Ladybug being short or small. He’s generally a big guy, and - not to ruin anyone’s immersion so LOOK AWAY if needed - but when I write for them I tend to visualize them as like 5’5 and 6’5 tbh. She's definitely not petite by any means, not skinny or small, just sort of average height. Jeremiah is about 6'1 I think.

Let’s do this head to toe, shall we? This Joel can be read as show or pixel Joel, however his nose and hair are more consistent with show Joel cause he’s my man. He has very broad shoulders, muscular arms and chest, definitely a dad bod cause he’s softer around the middle and has a solid insulation layer so nice soft tummy but if he were to flex when you poke him, you’d feel some abs under there. Nice chest hair, mix of brown and gray, not too thick but not sparse either, just a solid layer you can see his skin through. Normal amount of dark arm hair as well. We’ve all seen that screen grab of Ramon from that pornstar first date thing, of the tummy and the thigh grab? That’s a good representation haha 

He has a very nice and thick back, wide lats and nice lower back muscles. Can definitely see his traps well when he’s wearing t-shirts. Some veins on his forearms but mostly pronounced when he’s working or at the gym. 

He’s def the type to unintentionally have kind of a juicy ass and thick quads from working out - not as juicy of an ass as Manuel, however, but I have taken a lot of Seeking inspo from the video of him and Naomi Swann, especially for ch 1 (I sometimes watch that video just to get into the headspace to write for them lmfao, would recommend). He has hairy legs, the hair growth tapering off a little mid-thigh and up, and big feet. Probably shoe size 14/15.  

Dick and cock wise… Let’s see. He probably used to be in the habit of trimming his pubic hair but stopped giving a fuck a while before ch 1 - it’s mentioned that he looks like hasn’t seen a razor in a few months. It’s dark, thick, but definitely not too long. When Ladybug enters the picture, he goes back to slight trimming so it's still full coverage, still thick, perfect for rubbing against, but not long enough to wrap around your finger entirely, you feel me?

I’d say he’s 8.5-8.7” fully hard, very thick and proportional from base to tip with a very slight taper at the end, has a few thick veins that bulge but he’s definitely not covered in them, I think they mostly just run along the bottom half of his length. Proportionally sized balls - I know some people are into massive balls but one time my friend showed me a pic of a guy with massive balls and it honestly just freaked me out, like, his entire bulge was 90% BALLS and I was not into it. I see him as a shower tbh, like he’s probably 5-6 inches soft. His erection is so heavy that it doesn't stand out 45 degrees from his body like a lot of dicks do, I think it probably just sort of chills around parallel with the floor if he's standing.

New chapter on Tuesday !!!! Enjoy !!

[ladytauria]

i am soooo predictable but.... Hands firm on their thighs, keeping them from snapping them shut. for jaytim my beloved <33333

i combined this prompt with these two---or, well. this prompt from you and @waffleinator-inator <3

um. click under the cut for 3k of slow, tender jaytim body worship <3

this is. barely proofread. apologies for any mistakes ^^; pls don't be afraid to point out any typos <333 i will give this a more thorough edit tomorrow--probably. for now! enjoy <3

>> AO3 <<

Jason has a body made to be worshiped, in Tim’s opinion. How lucky he is to have him spread out on cotton sheets, naked as the day he was born, so utterly willing to let Tim have his way with him.

Tim starts at his feet. He cups his hand around one ankle, raising it in the air, pressing the softest of kisses to the sole. Tim isn’t particularly into feet, the way some people are—but he adores how sensitive they are. As if in testament, Jason jerks. Tim’s grip is firm, keeping him in place, but his toes curl.

“T-Tim,” he says, too tremulous to be properly chiding. Color blooms over his face, the loveliest shade of rose-red.

“Jason,” Tim replies, a little bit mocking, a little bit a reminder. He decides how this is going to go. Just to really let it sink in, he kisses again; this time with a hint of tongue. The bitten off noise he gets is delightful. His mouth curls.

He kisses Jason’s ankle next; lingering over the jut of it. He angles his neck to kiss the tendon, his achilles heel, before lifting the leg higher so he can trail a string of kisses up Jason’s calf.

Both of them are scarred all over—a hazard of the job. Tim gets grafts put on anything too obvious; anything else can be simply explained away by both the treacherous nature of Gotham City and his own athletic pursuits. Jason has not had the same luxury. Nor does Tim think he would take it if anyone offered it. Jason’s scars are part of him, whether he likes them or not, and he doesn’t let go of what belongs to him.

It’s a trait they share.

Jason doesn’t have many scars on his calves, though, and those that are there are faded. Tim pays extra attention to them anyway.

He doesn’t get another noise until he reaches the back of Jason’s knee—the skin there is thin and delicate, and he knows from experience that it’s one of Jason’s sensitive spots. He nuzzles first; relishing in Jason’s sharp intake of breath. Then he kisses with the slightest scrape of teeth. Jason makes a low, tremulous sound.

Tim glances up at him—he has an arm thrown over his face. His teeth dig into his lip, and his face and throat are both still painted red. His other hand fists the sheets.

Precious.

Tim repeats the process on the other leg—Jason trembles and twitches under the ministrations. Tim relishes each and every reaction. He loves how responsive Jason is. He reacts so beautifully to gentleness. It makes Tim want to keep him like this forever.

Tim skips over his thighs for now. Jason’s cock is still mostly soft. Tim can’t help the urge to plant a kiss on it, the flesh soft and hot under his lips. Jason makes a high, embarrassed sound, his flush darkening, spreading over his chest. Tim’s mouth twitches, unable to resist doing it again.

His firm grip on Jason’s thighs is all that keeps them from snapping shut; a second, higher noise escaping him at the same time. He looks up at Tim, eyes already wide and a little pleading.

It breaks Tim’s heart a little, how easily Jason folds under a bit of softness.

At the same time—it’s truly a pleasure to see him so sweet and vulnerable under him. “Ah-ah,” he scolds. “You’re mine right now. I want to enjoy you.”

Jason’s bottom lip is red and swollen, caught between his teeth again. His eyes are glossy. “Y-yes sir,” he whispers, a tremor in his voice.

Tim rubs his thighs reassuringly. “Just lie back and  relax, sweetheart.”

Jason hesitates a moment. Tim waits for him to use his safe word, or otherwise indicate he’s too overwhelmed to continue, but—then he settles back down again.

As soon as he’s relaxed again, Tim slides his hands up to Jason’s hips. He nuzzles his belly, before kissing down the trail of hair leading to his groin. Tim trails more kisses over his pelvic bone, nibbling a little at his love handles, and the pouch of fat over his groin. He lavishes his stretch marks with attention, too; following their paths with his tongue, tasting the salt of his skin.

Jason’s breaths come faster now; bitten off moans and gasps getting stuck in his throat. Tim hates how quiet he is—well. That’s not quite true. He wouldn’t mind if Jason was quiet naturally. What he hates is the way Jason suppresses all noise; like he’s afraid of letting on just how good he’s feeling.

That’s alright, though. Tim has time, and plenty of patience. He can coax those pretty sounds out of him.

He makes sure to pay special attention to the places on Jason’s sides where he’s most sensitive, delighting in the way he squirms. Then, finally, he goes back to Jason’s stomach, where the bottom of his Y-incision starts, and follows it up to Jason’s chest, kissing to each end, and then back to the middle again.

Jason’s breaths sound wetter now—Tim rubs his sides reassuringly, glancing up at him just as a quick check-in. Jason smiles tremulously; a sheen of tears over his eyes. Tim smiles back at him and nuzzles his collarbone.

He cups Jason’s chest in his hands; the relaxed muscle of his pecs not that different from a pair of tits. Jason arches into his hands when he squeezes, sighing sweetly. Tim tweaks his nipples with his thumbs; the buds already hard and pointed despite the heater warming the bedroom.

As much as Tim wants to suck one into his mouth, he decides the circuitous path is the better one. He follows the defined line of his pectorals with his lips and tongue—cups and squeezes them again so he can bite them.

Jason is panting now—his hands coming to rest on Tim’s ribs, the breadth of them almost spanning his whole ribcage. It’s insanely hot. He can feel his cock filling out more, the arousal in his gut starting to burn hotter, more insistent.

Tim takes one of his nipples in his mouth. He sucks, swirling his tongue around the bud—the low groan he gets in response reverberates through Jason’s chest. Tim suckles at it for a bit before gentling his mouth, licking at the skin a few times before scraping it with his teeth.

The whimper Jason makes is loud and unrestrained in the silence—followed quickly by the slap of skin on skin when he covers his mouth, cheeks blazing scarlet.

Tim immediately slides up, taking Jason’s wrist in his hand. He pulls his hand from his mouth, pressing a brief kiss to his palm before kissing his cheek as well. Then he nuzzles him too, mouth against his jaw as he whispers, “Let me hear you, baby. I want to know I’m making you feel good.” He pauses. “You deserve to feel good.”

Another, quieter whimper. Jason squeezes his eyes shut—moisture gathers in the corner of his eyes.

Tim hums, lingering there, giving Jason time to compose himself. Eventually his eyes open again. He blinks quickly to dispel the tears, and then says softly, “I— I’ll try, sir.”

Tim smiles at him, kissing his nose. “Good boy. Thank you.”

That makes him close his eyes again, a shiver rocking his body. Tim gives him another second, and then returns to Jason’s chest. He follows the same path around the other pec; gives his right nipple the same attention as his left.

Jason does well at first, soft sighs and sounds escaping him. But the first higher, louder noise he makes startles him, his mouth immediately clamping shut again.

He opens it again as Tim trails kisses over his shoulders. He sits back so he can kiss down his arm;  over his bicep, the inner part of his elbow, down his forearm, his wrists. He kisses his palms, and each fingertip.

Back up again—down the other. Tears trickle down Jason’s cheeks now; his breaths hitching softly. He’s so pretty when he cries. Tim admits he gets a little eager, going back over his shoulders, his neck, not lingering as long as he means to. (Though he does, at least, remember to spend a little extra time on his throat scar.) 

At his face again, Tim rubs noses with him before kissing the tears away; licking the salt from his lips. “You’re doing so well for me, darling,” he murmurs. As much as he wants to lay the praise on thick, he doesn’t dare—not yet. Instead he kisses his chin, jaw, and cheeks. He nuzzles their noses again, kisses the corners of his mouth, over his eyelids, and the center of his forehead. He kisses back down his nose and ends at his mouth, kissing Jason deep and sweet.

Jason utterly melts beneath him. His mouth opens easily to Tim’s tongue. It’s Tim’s mouth that muffles his moan this time, but otherwise, there’s nothing restrained about it.

It’s music.

Makes Tim linger a little longer, just to hear more of them. And Jason gives them to him, his hands spasming on Tim’s skin.

When he pulls away, a line of spit connects them. It breaks when Tim pecks him again, and then slides down his body. Jason’s cock bumps his stomach on the way down—no longer soft but half-hard. Tim rubs his cheek against it when he passes it, returning to Jason’s thighs.

Fuck.

Jason’s thighs are glorious. Strong, muscular, easily capable of crushing a man’s skull. Dusted with fine hair, shimmering with stretch marks, and textured with a few ridged scars. Tim explores all of it with his lips, tongue, and teeth.

Jason tries—Tim can tell he does. But he keeps muffling himself, automatically biting his lip and clenching his jaw when he thinks he’s going to be too loud.

Tim finishes with his thighs. He nuzzled the base of his cock, cupping his balls in one hand and squeezing. That gets him a breathy sound, his thighs trembling. Tim kisses up his shaft, all the way to the flared mushroom head at the top. He rubs his cheeks against it; precome smearing sticky on his skin.

More high, whimpery moans come from Jason. His body shakes. The musk of his arousal fills Tim’s nose, making his mouth water.

He kisses the head; probes the slit with his tongue. Jason yelps at that, biting it back too late, causing a squeaky sort of sound at the end Tim almost wants to coo at.

He doesn’t. There are more important things to focus on.

Like lavishing his whole cock with little kitten licks. Jason is squirming now; not trying to get away, but the pleasure is clearly getting to him.

Gorgeous.

Tim sucks Jason into his mouth. The taste of him is thick; the girth of him heavy on his tongue. It’s good. Better is the way Jason shouts, body curling up automatically; chest heaving as he pants harsh and rough.

He collapses back into the bed; fingers tangling loosely in Tim’s hair. Tim would smile if his mouth wasn’t full.

He bobs his head a few times—and then swallows him down, nose buried in the thatch of hair at the base. Jason’s whimper sounds strangled. Tim pays him little mind, devoting his attention entirely to Jason’s cock

Tim uses his hands to cup and squeeze Jason’s balls, occasionally dipping behind to press and rub at his perineum. He can feel Jason’s muscles jumping; the way his legs twitch, his chest heaves, his fingers tugging at Tim’s hair. But he doesn’t buck into Tim’s mouth or try to guide his head.

He lets Tim set the pace.

Such a sweet boy.

Still—Tim can tell that, through the pleasure, he’s getting frustrated with himself. It’s in the tension in his belly, the way some of his noises sound more pained than others, the way sometimes he huffs when he should be sighing instead.

Poor darling. Tim eases Jason’s cock from his mouth. He suckles at the bundle of nerves under the head, then trails kisses down the shaft, over his balls. He cups them in his hand, lifting them to expose his [taint]. The high, reedy noise Jason makes when he kisses there is quickly cut off—and followed by a frustrated breath.

Tim kisses again, then turns to nuzzle his thigh before pulling back.

Jason whines. There’s no pleasure in the sound. It’s all panic and fear, and Tim rushes to cup his face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over his cheeks as he hushes him.

“Shh-hh, darling. I’m not upset,” he soothes. “You’re trying so hard for me, aren’t you?”

Jason blinks up at him. He looks so upset, his poor boy. 

Tim nuzzles him. “Don’t worry, baby. I know it’s hard. Let me help you.”

Jason makes a soft, inquisitive noise.

Tim smiles slyly as he lets go of Jason’s face. “Open up.”

Jason’s brow furrows, but his jaw drops obediently. Tim cups his jaw with one hand; his thumb sliding over Jason’s tongue, pressing down, forcing his mouth open.

Jason’s eyes go wide with realization. He can’t flush any darker, but Tim can see the embarrassment anyway. The way he leans into Tim’s hand, though, is distinctly thankful.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Tim tells him. He can’t not. Jason’s too damn pretty with his face all red and his mouth hanging open, drool already starting to collect on his bottom lip and spill down his chin. Tim wants. Besides—he can’t hold his mouth open and rim him too, so that’s off the table for now.

He can do that later.

With Jason’s help, Tim gets his knees hooked over Tim’s shoulders. There’s already a pillow supporting his hips, making it easy for him to reach under him and grip the plug he’d worked into him earlier. He pumps it a few times, grinning at the way Jason moans, before pulling it out and tossing it to the side.

He reaches for the lube. It’s a bit of a trick, getting it open one handed. He can’t exactly pour it onto his hand, either, so he just drizzles it right on his dick, flinching a little at the cold. He smears some on Jason’s hole, too, though he’s still fairly slick from the plug.

Jason shivers when he does, the tight ring of muscle fluttering under his touch. He makes a breathy noise, soft and sweet, his breath hot on Tim’s thumb.

It’s strangely erotic, keeping his finger in Jason’s mouth as he lines his cock up, slowly pushing inside. Jason’s body gives to him beautifully, swallowing his cock eagerly. The head slips into his rim with a soft ‘pop’—Tim’s hand moving from his dick to the back of Jason’s thigh.

“Nn—look at you,” Tim breathes. “So eager to be full, aren’t you, baby? Fuck. You fit me so well, like you were built for me. My gorgeous little cocksleeve.”

The sound he makes is beautiful, high and needy, a moan tinged with a whine. His eyes are wide and pleading when he looks at Tim. “Pl’s,” he says, around Tim’s finger.

Tim taps his jaw. “Ah-ah, darling. We don’t speak with our mouths full.”

His hips stutter at the noise that gets him. Tim grips his thigh tight enough to bruise, fighting the urge to snap his pelvis forward and bury himself to the root.

Slow. He’s going to take this slow.

Speed can come later.

For now he watches Jason’s face; each minute twitch of muscle. His eyes get more and more hazy, eyelids drooping. He pants in between moans and sighs. Drool drips down his chin, onto his neck and chest. He’s so fucking pretty.

Tim wants to eat him.

Jason’s body is a furnace. His walls flutter and clench around Tim’s cock; drawing him deeper, deeper. It’s both forever and no time and all before Tim is fully seated in him; his balls slapping Jason’s ass.

Jason’s got his head thrown back, now, the column of his throat pretty and exposed. Tim can’t resist leaning down, scraping his teeth over his adam’s apple before finding the spot where neck meets shoulder and sinking his teeth in.

He doesn’t draw blood, but he sure as hell leaves a bruise, worrying it with lips and teeth until he’s sure it will be a nice, lurid shade of purple by morning.

Jason’s moans, no longer stifled, are high and sweet. They’re softer than Tim might have expected. He adores them. He can’t help but kiss over Jason’s cheeks—smiling indulgently at the way Jason tips his face up to receive them.

He steadies his grip on Jason’s thigh. Rolls his hips, just to test—delights when Jason mewls, clenching tight-tight-tight around him in response. A fresh pair of tears roll down his cheeks, dripping into the puddle of drool on his neck.

Tim presses a little firmer on his tongue—and then he fucks him.

Not fast and punishing, although he knows Jason takes that beautifully, but slow and deep; rolling his hips in a way he knows will leave him a little sore tomorrow. It’s worth it for the way Jason responds. His cries are so beautiful—and each and every one of them is for Tim. Because of Tim.

All the praise he’d held back before tumbles from him now. “Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect. S-sound so pretty. Wanna keep you like this all the time, split open on my fingers, my cock. Nn—” Tim’s hips stutter as Jason clenches around him. His breath catches, too. “A-and— shit. You’re so— You’re gorgeous. J-just— All I wanna do is w-worship you.”

Jason’s cock is twitching. Precome drips onto his belly; pearly liquid beading on his hair, shining on his skin.

“U-unh.” Tim lifts his leg a little higher; angling his hips to thrust deeper, the head of his cock bumping right up against Jason’s prostate. Jason mewls again. His body is shaking. Tim can feel his own legs starting to tremble.

“F-f— Jason,” he gasps. “Baby. You’re so good for me. T-take me so well.”

He squeezes Jason’s thigh before letting go, slipping his hand under where their bodies meet. He waits until he bottoms out—and then he presses two fingers against Jason’s perineum.

Jason shouts. His hips buck, cock spasming as come paints his chest and belly. His walls clamp around Tim’s cock like a vice. Tim switches to short, shallow thrusts, fucking Jason through his orgasm. His own is close at hand—there’s a part of him that wants to pull out, stroke himself until he adds to the mess painting Jason’s body, but. He won’t. He’ll leave his claim deep inside Jason, the way he’s earned.

Jason loosens after a moment, but his walls are still spasming, like they’re milking Tim’s cock. It leaves him breathless.

“Nn— Jay— So beautiful,” Tim praises. Jason’s expression is one of utter bliss. Tim keeps fucking him—faster, now, using Jason’s body to chase his own pleasure. Jason makes encouraging noises beneath him; gripping Tim’s ass, pulling him forward, deeper, kneading the muscle with his fingers.

With that kind of attention, it doesn’t take long for Tim to spill, body bowing forward, Jason’s name on his lips.

His hips move shallowly, fucking Jason through the aftershocks. Come trickles out, onto the sheets—it makes Jason shiver, whine. Tim rubs his side soothingly, easing his legs off his shoulders and pulling out slowly. More come spills. The sight of his hole clenching just about does Tim in.

He swallows hard. Slips his thumb from Jason’s mouth. Jason whines at that too. So needy. Tim loves it.

“Shh-hh. I’m not going far, babe,” he reassures. He doesn’t, either; barely has the energy to shift over a few inches so he can collapse beside him. Jason snuggles into him immediately. Tim kisses his forehead, wrapping his arms around him. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“L’ve y’ too,” Jason mumbles, nuzzling into him.

Tim knows they can’t stay like that long. The mess will start to dry soon, and stick, and— He knows neither of them have any interest in waking up like that.

But for now… 

He closes his eyes and basks in the warmth of Jason beside him.

[quietblueriver]

fingers crossed for your writing! prompt for you: mask

Hi!! Thank you so much for the prompt and the crossed fingers. Very happy to be writing Avatrice again. Here’s a short, soft thing and a play on both mask and masc that’s hopefully not too far off the mark. 💜💜💜

Ava leans against the doorway and watches as Beatrice stares at a black t-shirt that she assumes came from the basket of clean clothes beside the bed, lips pulled down at the corners, a few locks of newly shorn hair falling over her forehead with the angle. Ava wants to tuck it back, run her own thumbs over the buzzed sides in that way that makes Beatrice close her eyes and breathe a little deeper.

“Hey,” she says more quietly than she normally would, smiling gently as Bea’s attention snaps to her, body visibly tightening in the moment it takes for her to assess Ava’s threat level. Once a soldier and all that.

“Sorry to surprise you.” She sticks out a socked foot and wiggles it, thick pink and purple stripes on display. “Got a comfy assist with my stealth game. Camila was not joking with this yarn.”

The tension leaves Bea’s body as she lifts her left leg from where it hangs over the side of the bed to wiggle back with her own pair, a more muted blue and gray sticking out from the bottom of gray sweatpants. She doesn’t say anything, but she puts the shirt down and shifts on the bed, tucking socked feet criss-cross underneath her knees and creating a space that Ava fills happily, crossing her own legs so that their thighs are pressed together.

“You good?”

“Yes,” Beatrice offers quickly before she catches herself, shrugging a shoulder at Ava with a small smile. “Mostly,” she amends, and Ava indulges her earlier impulse and presses Bea’s hair back from her forehead before running her thumb over the clipped hair just above her ear. As she’d hoped, she gets fluttering eyes and a content sigh.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Brown eyes blink open and she runs a hand through her hair before turning her head to face the mirror that hangs from their closet door. Ava’s eyes follow, and they meet in the glass, Ava leaning over to rest her chin on Bea’s shoulder.

“‘Sup, handsome?” Her breath tickles Bea’s cheek and she rolls her eyes even as she smiles that smile she saves for Ava, a little bit of pink in her cheeks.

Her eyes drift and Ava presses a kiss to her cheek before settling back and giving her some space.

“I look like my uncle.”

Ava stops fiddling with their duvet, brings her eyes slowly back to Beatrice in the mirror. She’s waiting for her, lips turned up just slightly and eyes soft, and she dips her head a little to let Ava know it’s okay to keep looking, to keep checking.

And she does, eyes tracking the movement of Bea’s chest and the twitch of her toes where they’re pressed under her knee, a flash of soft blue wool.

“Jacob. His name was Jacob. He was…” The shift in her expression as she searches for the words she needs brings her lips to a pout, but her tone isn’t sad or angry when she finds what she’s looking for. “I wanted very badly to be like him, when I was small. He laughed a lot, and he was very smart but he didn’t…he didn’t use it to make me feel small. He was silly with me, in a very intentional way. Always sought me out and asked me questions and told me jokes that…well, you would have liked them.” Ava sticks her tongue out at her and Bea looks a little proud and a lot fond. “Exactly. I didn’t know what to do with that, but I liked it.” She pulls at the silver chain around her neck, the ghost of a prayer. “He died when I was eight. A car accident. I think…looking back on his funeral and the people who were there, I think maybe he was…like me.” Her jaw clenches, determined, and Ava loves her as she says, voice firm, “Gay. I think he was gay.”

Ava moves a hand to the small of Bea’s back, and Bea puts a hand on her knee, skin warm through the fabric of Ava’s leggings.

“It…as far as I know it was a surprise to my father. Uncle Jacob always brought dates to the big Christmas party and to all of the family events, beautiful women that were funny like he was and talked to me like they cared what I had to say but also like I was still a child, like I was only expected to be a child. One of them snuck me extra cake when my mother wasn’t looking, but when she winked at me, suddenly I couldn’t eat anything else.”

She’s blushing a little, and Ava presses her lips to the cotton covering her shoulder, smiling into it.

“Uh-huh.”

The blush deepens, and Ava smothers the rest of her grin against Bea, grasping and squeezing at her forearm to encourage her to keep talking.

She does, smile dimming a little as she says, “They were there at the service, those women, but so were a lot of other people I’d never seen before, all in a big group together.” Her fingers move against the fabric of her sweats, tug at her black tee, the twin to the one discarded a few minutes ago. “They were in the back of the line to greet us, at the wake, and my father was so…” Fingers run with agitation through already mussed hair. “He was so rude to them, Ava. Gritting his teeth and saying nothing when they offered condolences and shaking hands hard enough that he made people wince. I went to the bathroom and heard two of them talking about how it wasn’t any wonder ‘Jay’ lived like he did. I’d never heard anyone call him Jay before, and I didn’t know what they meant, but I knew better than to ask my parents.”

She swallows and Ava covers the hand on her knee with her own, quiet because she’s not sure if Bea is finished and she is trying her very best these days to give Bea the same space that Bea gives her to say what she wants to say. Even if it makes Ava squirm with the desire to comfort, to fill the silence.

“We left the wake as soon as we could without it being socially unacceptable to the people my parents cared about. My father was so angry on the ride home that my mom was afraid to talk to him, and…” The shaky breath makes Ava so fiercely protective that the halo starts humming under her skin. “After he pulled me into the car, I made myself as small as I could. He went into his study and slammed the door when we got home. They never talked about Uncle Jacob again. It was like he died twice.”

“Bea.” Her hand moves to rest between shoulder blades, presses in in comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

Beatrice smiles at her in the mirror before breaking their connection to turn and kiss her. The angle is a little awkward, their bodies having twisted over the course of the conversation, so she moves to fix it, adjusting so her knees are pressed to Bea’s thigh and making her hands at home on the sides of her neck. When Beatrice pulls back, she backs herself against the headboard and lifts an arm, and Ava’s chest is tight with affection as she moves into the space and settles, hand gripping the front of Bea’s shirt a little possessively. They’ve had this now for months, this bed and this apartment and this time together without world-ending bullshit, but she’s still not used to the luxury of it, of open, unapologetic affection, of Bea’s heartbeat steady under her ear, of time stretching out instead of bearing down.

“It surprised me, when I looked into the mirror and saw him.” Her voice is quieter like this, and Ava feels her words as she says them, cheek pressed against her chest. “In a good way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Fingers run through her hair and Ava lets her eyes close. “I wish I could have known him. I wish he could have known me.”

Ava nods against her. “Me too. He sounds way better than the rest of your family, not that that’s a high bar.” The words slip out thoughtlessly but she doesn’t want to retract them. They’re past pretending Ava wouldn’t halo blast Bea’s parents into the nearest body of water on sight and mostly past Bea feeling guilty for wanting her to. “I’m sorry you didn’t have him for longer.”

“Mmm.” It’s a little absent. A beat. “I used to be a nun.”

Ava opens her eyes at that, pushes up a little to raise an eyebrow at Beatrice.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t know.”

Beatrice pokes her in the ribs and she giggles as she settles back down.

“Yes, thank you.” Her voice softens, quiets. “I understand him. Or I think I do. Why Uncle Jay lived the way that he did.”

Ava splays her hand across Bea’s ribs.

“You used to be a nun.”

“Yes.” Lips touch her hairline. “I am glad that I’m not anymore.”

Ava presses her own lips against the body underneath her. “Me too.” She traces a pattern on Bea’s ribs. “I think he would be proud of you. Of who you are. Of how brave you are.”

Her body moves with Beatrice’s exhale. “I think he would have liked you.”

Ava pulls her chin up to rest against Bea’s sternum and grins her best roguish grin. “Well, I’m very charming.”

Her stomach swoops at the look Bea gives her, adoration undisguised and voice earnest. “Yes. You are. You’re wonderful.”

The kiss is short but sure, leaving Ava a little breathless. Affection thrums in her veins, and she pulls and pushes at Bea’s body until they’re reversed, Bea’s head pillowed on her chest and Ava’s fingers running through short hair, scratching at the nape of her neck. She runs her fingers under the silver chain and turns her head to watch their reflection. Bea’s eyes are closed, her breath slowing, and Ava takes the opportunity to look at her, sees for a moment Sister Beatrice as she was when Ava met her, ashamed and hiding so much of herself, desperately trying to be what everyone wanted and needed her to be.

Her heart breaks a little, for little Beatrice who became Sister Beatrice and for a man she never met. She blinks away the specters in the mirror and sees Bea again, soft and sleepy and brave, and presses a kiss of gratitude to her head.

[thevelria]

The day I met you (Future Trunks x Reader)

Author's note: This story contains swearing and some soft lemon. Because I think Future Trunks would be a softy in the bed anyway ;)

When did this madness start? I didn’t even remember anymore, all the pain, fear, bleakness washed the memories away. Dead bodies everywhere on the street, buildings still on fire or totally ruined to the ground. 

I was trying to make my way to a safe place I heard of the other day. That was my only goal at that moment, reaching a place where a saiyan was hidden as well. I might have a tiny bit of a chance to survive, if he would have been around.

-Where in the hell do I have to turn left? -I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to remember what the man said to me, while explaining the direction -This corner, I suppose -I took a deep breath, but regretted my decision in an instant. 

Seeing Black fighting with a lavender hair colored man frightened me to death.

-Wrong corner, wrong corner! -I panicked, trying to stay invisible. But Black spotted me easily, smirking at me with that disgusting devilish smile on his face. I couldn’t understand how such a good looking man could be such a freaking prick.

-Shit! Shit! Holy shit! -my eyes popped wide open as I made eye contact with the villain- Okay, that’s it. I’m going to die now on this filthy street, no one ever will remember me -thoughts rushing through my mind rapidly.

-Watch out! -I’ve heard someone yelling, grabbing me by my waist, flying me up high in the sky just the second before a huge blast slammed into the spot I’ve been standing a blink before. 

-Oh my God! -I grabbed the man's hand hard, digging my nails into his skin, drops of blood forming and starting to run down on his arm.

-Auch! -he hissed out loud.

-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry -softened my grip, looking still shocked- Please don’t let me fall! -I closed my eyes, my whole body shaking in fear.

-Don’t worry, I hold you still -he murmured in my ears. His warm breath slightly caressed my skin.

After a few minutes, at least it felt like it, we landed. His arm slowly was pulled back from around my waist and even if I felt the solid ground under my feet I still kept my eyes closed.

-You can open your eyes now -he giggled- You are safe.

-Oh, yeah, sure -I carefully opened them, blinking a few times to make my sight clear.

-I’m Trunks -he held his hand to me, smiling.

-I’m Y/N -I stared at him, while accepting the offered hand. His figure mesmerized me immediately, his beautiful blue eyes, the lavender hair, that handsome face and perfectly toned body. I felt blush rushing through my face, so I turned away in an instant.

Trunks smirked as he noticed how I reacted from seeing him. 

-Come inside! -he said- You’ll be safe here.

-Thank you -I looked at him again- For everything -I sighed deeply- I would be dead by now, if you didn’t save me from that maniac. 

-And that would be a shame. You are too beautiful to be dead -he winked at me and chuckled as he saw me blushing from head to toe one more time. 

*** 

6 months later:

I got used to the safe place and tried my best to be a useful member of the community. Since I was a nurse before it all started I mostly handled the injured soldiers, who were lucky enough to come back alive after a fight with Black. 

-Oh my God, Trunks! -I screamed as I saw the saiyan badly bleeding from several wounds all around his body. His face was covered with cuts and bruises, his bottom lip was ripped, just as his right eyebrow -Let me help you! -I ran to him, spinning my hand around his back to give him the opportunity to lean on my shoulder. 

Mai appeared in front of us and pushed me away immediately.

-Help the others! -she hissed at me- I will handle him myself. 

She never really liked me, because she was madly in love with the saiyan and hated the fact that Trunks didn’t feel the way she wanted him. 

-Don’t be rude to her! -Trunks gritted between his teeth, he hated the way Mai treated me and had an argument with her every single time. Now, on the other hand he was too injured to be able to stand up for me. At least I thought so.

-It’s okay -I smiled at Trunks- I will help the others -I spun on my heels, about heading to the opposite way. 

-No! -Trunks shrugged Mai’s hand off of him- She will be the one, who’s going to help them -he said with a cold tone, strictly. 

-Fuck you, Trunks! -Mai’s eyes widened, clenching her jaw and storming away. 

-Sorry, it’s going to be uncomfortable -I poured some alcohol on a cotton ball, pressing it gently against the cut on his lip. 

-Uhh… -he hissed.

-I’m trying to be as gentle as possible -I smiled awkwardly.

-I know -he put his big hand on mine, squeezing it softly.

After I took care of all of his wounds, bandaged them well, I was standing in front of him, staring blankly.

-What’s wrong? -he wrinkled his forehead, sitting on a chair.

-This eats me up alive -I sighed deeply.

-What do you mean? 

-I don’t know how much longer I can do this…Being terrified every single time you go out there to fight that bastard. The single thought of you not coming back frightens me to death -I clenched my jaw.

-Hey…hey come here -he held out his hands, grabbing mine, pulling me into his lap- Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay. Goku and Vegeta must arrive soon, they will help us to end this madness. And then we will be able to live a normal life. I will be able to take you on a proper date as well -he smiled at me, blushing slightly.

-You promise? -I caressed his face gently.

-I promise -he rested his cheek on my palm.

***

-Deal? -Mai asked Black with a devilish smile on her face.

-Hmm…I will consider your request, however tell me one reason not to kill you right here, right now.

-Because if you kill Y/N as I asked you, I will lead you to the biggest safe place we have in the town. And you can finish more than 200 people at once. I think it’s totally worth it.

-Well, alright mortal. But if you try to trick me… -he smirked at Mai- Death will be the most wonderful thing you will desire.

-Don’t worry, I’ll keep my words, just vanish that freaking bitch out from this world.

-Why do you hate her that much? -Black raised an eyebrow, trying to understand the situation more.

-She…she is just an annoying brat -Mai clenched her jaw- All was perfect til she showed up one day and ruined everything between me and… -she stopped mid sentence.

-Oh… -Black laughed out loud arrogantly- It’s about some kind of meaningless human feelings? You mortals really deserve to be exterminated. 

-Whatever -Mai shrugged her shoulders, heading back to the safe place.

-Y/N! -Mai ran to me in panic, totally freaked out-Y/N, you need to come with me. It’s Trunks! He got into a fight with Black and he’s barely alive. You are the best nurse here, you need to come and save him -lies were spluttering from her mouth. 

-Oh my God! -my eyes widened, as my heart was about to jump out of my body.

You can call me naive, but I would have never thought she could be this mean. Lying about Trunks being in danger, knowing I would never refuse to help him. 

The way she tried to hide her smile made me suspicious. I started to think she might have tricked me, but I had no idea how.

-Where is he exactly? -I asked following Mai into a questionable area.

-This way! Here…hurry! -she kept mumbling- We are almost there.

-But it’s not the place Trunks told me he was heading to before he left the safe place -I stopped walking, folding my arms in front of my chest.

-So what?  -Mai was getting impatient- They fought around and they ended up here. Don’t you want to help him or what? 

-No, of course I will -shaking my head slightly, following her again. 

-There we are -she smiled widely, spotting Black at the top of a building.

-What the fuck? -I looked terrified- Mai?!

But she didn’t answer me, while walking in the direction of Black, who landed on the ground in the meantime. 

-You bitch! -I yelled- You fooled me! I’m so going to kill you for that -my eyes were burning in fury.

-Well, good luck with that -she pushed her long black hair behind- It will be difficult, though…since you will be dead in a few minutes -she laughed maniacally.

I gulped hard, thoughts were running through my mind, trying to find a solution which could have saved me from this fucked up situation. Mai was chatting with Black, smiling at him, pointing in the direction of the safe place. 

-No way, she’s giving up everything -I hissed, fisting my hands in anger- What the fuck is wrong with this stupid bitch? 

-Alright! -I heard Black low voice- I keep my word and kill that meaningless mortal for you.

I froze and stood still. Running away? Hiding somewhere? But where? I sighed and took a deep breath through my nose, thinking of Trunks. I wanted him to be my last thought before I was seemingly going to die within seconds. 

Black didn’t use any blast or energy ball, he landed in front of me and grabbed me by my neck, pulling me up in the air, my legs waving in panic as I kept hitting his fist around my throat. 

-Please… -I tried to form words, feeling the air slowly disappearing from my body.

-Such a weak, useless body this is -he tilted his head slightly, examining my look as I was fighting for my life.

-Let her go! You fucking bastard! -I’ve heard Trunk’s voice behind.

-What? -Black hissed, dropping me to the ground hard. As I gasped for air, massaging my neck I looked back above my shoulder, seeing Trunks in his fighting stance, holding his sword tight. 

-Bitch, you lied to me! -he looked Mai in the eye, who now became more terrified than me. 

Trunks and Black started to fight, giving in everything, flying up high in the sky. Punches here and there, cuts and bleeding bruises started to cover them both up. When finally Trunks had the chance to cut into Black’s chest deep and hard. The villain screamed in agony, trying to land at the top of a building. 

Mai in the meantime was about to escape, running away, hiding from Black, because she knew exactly that the man wouldn’t believe her. He was going to think she was the one who let the saiyan know his whereabouts. And that was exactly what happened.

-Stop running, you sneaky little brat! -Black shouted, blinded by anger- You really thought you could have tricked me -sending a huge blast in the direction of Mai, which killed her instantly. 

Trunks used the situation to land next to me, grabbing me hard by my waist, flying away immediately. He didn’t even look back.

-Trunks…I think Mai told Black where the safe place was -I tried to collect myself.

-WHAT? -he yelled- I’ve heard them talking about a deal. If Black kills me, she tells him where the safe place is. But I didn't hear her say it out loud exactly.

-I don’t know… -I started to cry, the whole situation was so freaking overwhelming I couldn’t control myself. 

As we landed in front of the place, Trunks blinked quickly, trying to figure out what to do. 

-I wounded him pretty badly -he finally sighed- He will need some time to recover. One or two days maybe. Let’s go inside, we will find out something.

-Alright -I nodded- I will need to take care of your wounds, he harmed you pretty well, too.

Trunks didn’t say a thing, but let me guide him into one of the nursing rooms.

-I still can’t believe Mai was able to do this -he shook his head in disbelief.

-She loved you, Trunks -I pressed my lips together as I was taking care of his cuts on his chest. His shirt was torn apart, revealing his muscled torso. 

-That doesn’t mean she had the right to try taking away from me the woman I love -he said, slowly looking up into my eyes.

As I didn’t say a thing, he grabbed my waist slowly, pulling me into his lap, resting his face on my chest. 

-Trunks… -I took a deep breath, running my fingers through his silky, lavender hair.

He stood up, pushing me gently against the table and pressed his lips against mine passionately. We have never ever shared a kiss before, hence I was craving it from the first time I saw him. I kissed him back, throwing my hands around his neck as the kiss was deepend.

-I was waiting for this moment for so long -he smiled into the kiss, breaking it afterwards.

-So I was not the only one craving it? -I smirked at him, which made him smile devilishly.  

When he started to unbutton my shirt I felt the tension rushing through my body, I wanted him so bad. I grabbed the bottom of his jacket, which he pulled down immediately, tossing it away. After I looked at his already torn shirt, which he ripped off of him with one move, sliding it aside.

-Damn…you are so hot -I bit my lower lip, staring at his abs, at his perfectly muscled torso.

Trunks didn’t say a word, licking his upper lip, while eagerly unzipping my jeans. Pushing it down, guiding me to step out of it and leaving me standing in front of him, only wearing my underwear. 

-Fuck… -I moaned as he stepped closer, massaging my breast with one hand, grabbing my ass with his other hand, licking my neck with passion.

I felt his hand wandering down from my breast through my body until he reached my penties. 

-Can I? -he looked me in the eye. I gulped as I nodded yes slightly.

-Oh, Trunks -I threw my head back, when his finger slipped in my pussy. Moving the tip of his index finger on my clit made me wild.

I eagerly grabbed the buckle of his belt, trying to free him from his trousers. He smirked at me, while pulling me into a passionate kiss, still moving his finger in my now wet pussy.

-Damn…- he growled, breaking the kiss as I started to rub his bulge through his boxers. I felt he was already hard, ready to take me anytime. His eyes widened, when I slid my hand into his underwear, gently pressing my palm against his hardened shaft 

-Y/N -he murmured- you drive me crazy. I won’t be able to control myself -he breathed heavily under my touch.

-Then don’t… -I whispered, which made him wild, pushing his boxers down, grabbing my penties, ripping it off, turning me around, so my back faced him.

-Oh my God, Trunks… -I moaned out loud as I felt his huge cock entering me.

-You are so tight -he growled as started to thrust me gently with a decent speed.

When he slid one of his hands down to my pussy, slipping a finger in, I lost my control. I pushed my hip backwards.

-Fuck… -I panted- fuck me hard, Trunks! Please! -I begged and he obeyed. 

Speeding up, pounding me faster and faster from behind. The tension he made me feel sent shivers down my spine, I felt my climax could burst out in any minute.

-Don’t stop -I whined- Please, don’t stop, I’m so close -I grabbed the edge of the table hard.

-Come for me, darling -he murmured into my ear. 

He kept kissing my neck, while I was riding out my orgasm under him. When I finished he immediately pulled out. Turned me to face him, pushing me down on my knees. He didn’t have to ask anything, I automatically started to stroke him, massaging his balls gently.

-Yes…right there! -he threw his head back- Fuck, I’m almost there -he hissed, releasing his hot semen on my breast. I stroked him twice more, before I stood up smiling, trying to find something I could clean my chest with. 

-Sorry! -he chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

-It’s okay -I smiled, wiping the cum off with a towel. 

-Trunks -I looked at him seriously, while getting dressed.

-Yes, Y/N? 

-Will we survive? -I took a deep breath.

-I’m going to kill Black and I will take you on that date, I promise -he pulled me into one more passionate kiss. 

[lostonehero]

For any of my mech aus, these are cannon to the crew mostly appearances

Jonny

He has long ears that fan out from his head like cow ears.

His nails are black and sharp like claws on his hands and feet

He has horns that would curve along from his forehead over his scalpe if he ever grew them out he keeps them obsessively short

He has a long tail that's also like a cow but semi prehensile

His teeth are pointed

The bottom of his feet are calloused so hard like hooves. They are made to handle hot sand in the desert. He has absolutely no traction barefooted, so you will never catch him out of his room without anything on his feet.

Gunpowder Tim

He's the only human on the crew so I'll just throw in headcannons

The boy went mad and circled back to sanity

He hates the heat

He hates cake of any kind

Best shot on the Aurora

Ashes

They got scales on her hands and feet

Clawed fingers and toes but less thick and sturdy than Jonny's, they are for fighting, not climbing or harsh terrain

Their ears are only slightly pointed

They have antennas hidden in their hair, and the crew forgets constantly that they have them.

Their tongue is forked

They have a few large spines on her back. Jonny helps keep short because Ashes helps with his horns.

Drumbot Brian

He's mostly metal save for his heart

What his species is has long been forgotten since Carmilla made him human shape.

After DTTM his metal body is slowly changing to reflect what he actually was

His morality switch doesn't work anymore, but he doesn't have the heart to tell the others, so he plays pretend.

Raphealla has been studying the changes in Brian's form, and both have a deep seeded interest on what species he actually is.

Brian remembers before his machinery but rather not talk about it

Ivy

She's got gills!

Her species was mostly aquatic but also land dwelling.

Her room is like a swamp

Her feet are mostly delicate outside of water, so she always has to keep them covered.

She has claws as well, but they are mostly for display

She has fins, but again, they are covered and semi internal outside of water

Her ears fan out with a fin like patter, but they aren't big.

All her books have been made waterproof

Nastya

Blue skin like a corpse

She is from an extremely cold planet and thusly can't handle heat at all

She has a velvet like fur that's barely noticeable unless you touch her across her body

Her ears are pointed, and she has a short rabbit like tail

Her teeth are sharp and made for ripping and tearing.

Like Jonny, her feet have thick callous but for the cold as well as fur.

Marius Von Raum

His hair is alive and full of nerves it can move based on his move.

His ears are pointy like an elf and incredibly sensitive like Jonny's. Both of the men wear earplugs when it's too much.

He has a long tail, and it has a hard tip used for slashing it is prehensile, and he uses it like a third arm most of the time.

He has a second set of teeth in his mouth.

He's actually poisonous. Again, Jonny learned this, trying to eat him, death was slow, and mushrooms wouldn't stop growing in his mouth for weeks

He can see in the dark

Raphealla

Her wings used to have feathers.

Her skin is an odd purple and covered in scales. Nobody knows if this is natural or from experiments. The color changes daily but purple seems the most consistent.

She has talon like feet and doesn't wear shoes for that reason

She does have remaining feathers on her shoulders and lower back

Her eyes are two different colors. What colors? Depends on the day, really

Her ears are like human ears

She has retractable claws on her hands

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Falling For Your Fools Gold: Chapter 9

A/N: I have to say, this was one of my favorite chapters to write for this fic! It was just so fun, and truly felt like pirates vibes through and through. So, I hope everyone enjoys! :) TW: implied human trafficking and violence/murder/blood

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Nesta’s head pounds, a steady beat that throbs from her temples all the way to the back of her skull. She swears she can feel the thrum of it all the way down to her toes, in the tips of her fingers. Her whole body seems to ache, deep in the muscles, leaving her limbs feeling heavy. Between the pain and the way her stomach seems to lurch every other second, Nesta fears that she’s going to be sick.

She tries to focus on her surroundings, to catalog everything. It takes her a moment too long to recognize the rock of a ship beneath her. When did she get aboard again? She can’t remember returning to the docks and the ship. And yet, she can practically taste the sea air on her tongue, the salty quality to it. But there’s something different about it, something that doesn’t hold that familiarity, that grounding ability of the sea breeze she’s grown used to. It’s more damp somehow, the way it settles across her skin, almost foul.

Slowly, carefully, Nesta flexes her fingers, but it’s not the soft blankets that cover the bed in the captain’s cabin she expects beneath her, it’s wood. With a soft groan, she tries to sit up, but her stomach gives another betraying lurch. She scrabbles for purchase with her hand, desperate to steady herself, her other hand grasping at her still pounding head. She tries to breathe through the pain, through the onslaught of sickness, but that foul stench seems to become more potent with every inhale, cloying over her skin and settling like a bad taste at the back of her throat.

She blinks open her eyes, bracing and preparing for cutting sunlight, but all she’s greeted by is cold, damp darkness. It takes a few more blinks for her eyes to fully adjust. She takes in the oil lantern hanging from the ceiling a few feet away from her, the barrels stacked and pressed up against the far wall. But most importantly, she takes in the metal bars surrounding her.

A brig.

She’s in the brig of a ship.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.”

Nesta snaps her attention to the right. Cresseida is curled up on the floor, Emerie’s head cradled in her lap, the bookstore owner still unconscious. Cresseida already has a bruise forming on her cheek, a scab on her bottom lip proof of it being split earlier. It’s a stark reminder of what happened, of the way she fought back. All of the memories of the men in the alleyway flood back to the front of Nesta’s mind, and this time when her stomach lurches, it has nothing to do with the rocking of the ship they’re on. Instinctually, her hand flies to her belt, to her sword there—

“They already took it,” Cresseida offers quietly, her tone almost defeated. She runs a hand through Emerie’s hair, though who exactly the gesture is meant to soothe, Nesta isn’t sure.

Nesta swallows hard, needing another moment before she finds her voice again. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours. You all were unconscious when they brought you in,” another voice answers.

Nesta turns to the left, surprised to find another woman in the brig with them. Her red hair hangs around her shoulders and face, almost obscuring a pair of teal eyes and freckled cheeks. She has her knees curled up to her chest, but she raises her head enough to offer Nesta a small, tentative smile.

“I’m Gwyn,” the woman tells them.

“How long have you been here?” Cresseida asks, her eyes dancing around their surroundings. “Wherever here is.”

“A couple of days I think? It’s hard to tell. I mostly use whenever someone throws me some bread down here as an indicator.”

“Any idea where they’re taking us?” Nesta dares to ask, a question she’s sure is weighing on them all.

“Nowhere good,” Emerie answers, finally awake and pushing up from Cresseida’s lap to sit up properly. “I’ve heard stories about men like these, taking women to Ironcrest to be sold.”

“Sold?” Gwyn whispers, her voice small and horrified.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Nesta assures them, looking around at the women here with her. “I’m going to get us out of this.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?” Cresseida asks, raising an expectant eyebrow and looking pointedly down at Nesta’s empty belt, at the sword now missing there.

Nesta can’t help her smirk. She lifts her skirts up and reaches down into her boot, her fingers curling around the cool hilt of her dagger. Using the obvious to keep what’s hidden worked. Perhaps, she’ll have to thank Cassian for that advice after all. If she ever gets to see the pirate captain again. Even if they make it out of this, Nesta has no idea how she’d ever be able to find him and his crew, how she’d navigate back to Windhaven or wherever they may be.

But she can’t worry about that right now.

Nesta pulls her dagger free, brandishing it for the other women to see. She staggers up to her feet and walks over to the door of their cell, reaching a hand outside the bars until she finds the iron of the lock. She frowns as she feels around, trying to get an understanding of the mechanism.

“Give me one of the pins from your hair,” Emerie speaks up from behind Nesta, having gotten to her feet as well.

Nesta nods, reaching up into her hair and pulling the pins out. Her braid untwists and falls down her back, but she hands over the pins and her dagger to Emerie. Emerie steps forward and reaches around to the lock. It takes a few moments of her fiddling, but then the distinct sound of the lock giving way echoes through the space around them.

Nesta pushes open the door, careful to not make too much noise. “I’ll go first to make sure it’s clear, okay?”

When the other women nod their understanding, Nesta takes her dagger back from Emerie. She steps completely out of the cell and makes her way toward the door to the room the brig is in. She pauses, pressing her ear to the wood and listening for any hint of someone on the other side. As the seconds tick by with no sound that Nesta can hear, she pulls the door open enough for her to peek out.

She spots a man sitting atop a barrel further down from the door, and with a quiet gasp she pulls back and out of sight again. She holds her breath, waiting for the sound of footsteps, of shouts, but they never come, just the drip of water from the ceiling and the slosh of the waves against the hull. Tentatively, Nesta leans back out the door again, noticing the man’s back is to her, still blissfully unaware of her presence.

Nesta opens the door wider, taking a small step outside and then another. Every step closer has her heart thundering between her ribs, her chest starting to heave with every deep breath she tries to squeeze through her lungs. She readjusts her grip on her dagger, flexing and unflexing her fingers and praying it doesn’t fall to the ground thanks to her sweaty palm.

A heavy lurch of the ship has Nesta losing her balance and sends her stumbling into the wall. She’s unable to hold in her surprised grunt at being jostled, and the man’s head snaps around at the sound. A moment passes where the two just stare at each other, the man frowning, but then he’s jumping to his feet.

“What the fuck?” the man declares, already reaching toward the sword hanging from his belt. “How did you get out here?”

It’s now or never Nesta realizes.

She rushes forward, her momentum causing her and the man to tumble toward the ground before he can pull his sword from the scabbard. The advantage doesn’t last for long, though. The man certainly has size on his side, and he overpowers Nesta quickly, pinning her down against the wood. Nesta squirms and writhes until she’s able to get a hand free. She uses the heel of her now free hand and drives it straight up against the man’s nose until she feels a distinct crunch, until blood starts to drip down and onto her cheek.

The man howls in pain, rearing back from her. It gives Nesta the chance to roll away and hop back to her feet. The man finally lifts his head again to meet her gaze, and the rage burning across his expression is clear. He clambers to his own feet, lunging toward Nesta, but she’s quicker, dodging under his outstretched arms and landing a punch to his side.

The man stumbles from the blow, his face shifting from anger to bewilderment. “You’re a woman. Where’d you learn to fight?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nesta snaps, bending low enough that she can sweep the man’s feet out from under him.

The man’s hand fists into the skirts of Nesta’s dress, taking her down with him, but this time, she falls on top of him, both of her hands free. She brings her dagger to the man’s neck, pressing it firmly in both a threat and a promise. It does the trick, keeping him pinned to the ground. His eyes drop down to where the metal is poised against his skin, brows furrowing and jaw slackening like he can’t believe what’s happening, can’t quite comprehend this turn of events. The expression has sick satisfaction curling deep in Nesta’s gut.

“Didn’t you know?” Nesta asks innocently, a smirk tugging across her face. “There’s no such thing as a fair fight, especially with a pirate.”

Nesta pulls back her hand and the dagger just long enough that she can gain momentum, slicing the blade across the man’s throat in a thick, deep line. Blood pours from the wound, pooling beneath the man and seeping into the wood, while he splutters and chokes. And then the man stops moving all together, his eyes open and unseeing.

Nesta’s chest heaves with the exertion of the fight, with the adrenaline. She scrambles off of the man and back to her feet. She waits for the dread to sink in, expects uneasiness at what just occurred to roil her stomach, for her hands to start shaking, but it never comes. Instead, she just feels strong, feels powerful. She thinks back to those times growing up in Adriata, thinks back to the balls and to Tomas, back to all those times she felt weak, but not anymore. She’ll never feel weak again.

She wipes her dagger blade off on her skirts before sliding it back into her boot. She reaches down and pulls free the sword from the now dead man’s scabbard. When she straightens up again, Emerie, Cresseida, and Gwyn are standing in the open doorway leading back into the brig.

“Come on,” Nesta calls to them, gesturing forward with her head.

Nesta keeps the sword raised, poised and ready for any other men they might encounter. They continue down the makeshift hallway and up the ladder to the next level of the ship. It’s there that they run into more of this ship’s crew. Nesta is quick to slice down as many as she can, but Emerie and Cresseida quickly grab the discarded swords to join in.

They fight their way up to the deck, the early dawn light bouncing in golden rays off the black sails pulled taut in the sea breeze overhead. It gives Nesta pause for a moment, the pink and yellow sky, the sun beginning its rise above the horizon. Clearly, she’d been unconscious longer than she realized. How far had they sailed?

The glint of the sun off metal catches Nesta’s attention out of the corner of her eye, drawing her back to reality. She raises her sword just in time for it to clash against another, the clang of metal on metal reverberating all the way down her arm. She turns and shifts her stance, prepared to face off in yet another fight, but her attention is drawn away again, this time by a ship.

A familiar ship.

Pulling up right alongside the current ship she’s on.

A rallying shout echoes out across the waves and morning air, the chaos across the deck skittering to a halt. All eyes turn in the direction of the shout, just in time to watch men swinging across the space between the two ships. Cassian lands firmly on the railing beside Nesta. The sea air ruffles the curls of his hair across his shoulders, the morning light catching on the dark strands and leaving them almost glowing. His eyes burn golden, and when that gaze finds Nesta’s face, that cocksure smirk of his tugs up the left side of his lips. He hops down onto the deck, pulling his sword free with casual ease.

“Miss me, princess?”

Nesta scowls at the dramatics. “What are you doing here?”

“Most would call this rescuing you,” Cassian tells her, turning to take care of the man who’s taken to openly gaping rather than continuing to fight, cutting him down effortlessly.

“I wouldn’t,” Nesta shoots back dryly. “In fact, I had this perfectly under control before you arrived.”

Another man lunges toward them, sword at the ready, and just to prove her point, Nesta steps forward before Cassian can. She disarms the man with a flick of her wrist, swinging her sword in a wide arching motion that slices clean across the man’s chest. He goes stumbling back and falls onto the deck, and Nesta turns back to Cassian, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cassian drawls sarcastically. “Should I just take my ship and leave then?”

“Yes,” Nesta seethes, stepping closer to him and baring her teeth.

“And what exactly was your plan after you finished with the crew? Unless you’ve been secretly harboring sailing skills this whole time.”

An awkward throat clear has both their heads snapping in that direction, Baz standing there with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. We uh… we identified the captain of this crew.”

With a nod, Baz turns to walk away, Cassian following behind him. Nesta gives herself a moment to take a steadying breath before following behind them both, glad that Cassian has his back turned to her. Somehow the pirate captain has always been able to read her the way no one else ever has, and Nesta knows that if he had time to study her face closer, he’d see the relief hiding beneath the annoyance there. She still can’t believe that he came for her. There’s certainly no real ties between them, no reason for him not to just sail off without her, continue his business as normal just as he had before raiding Nesta’s father’s ship, but here Cassian and his crew stand.

Cassian and Baz come to a stop near the quarter deck, but to Nesta’s surprise, they both turn back to look at her expectantly. It’s an offering. She continues forward until she is standing in front of a man on his knees, his hands tied behind his back by Cormac. His black hair is haphazard around his face, but it’s his hateful, black eyes that have Nesta’s own anger simmering and rising back to the surface to meet it. She straightens her spine and looks down her nose at this man with cool disdain.

“So you’re the captain that thinks you can just snatch women and sell them?” Nesta demands.

“I don’t have to answer to you, female,” the captain snarls, spitting at Nesta’s feet.

Cormac fists a hand into the captain’s hair and yanks his head back hard. “You’ll regret that.”

The captain pulls his head free from Cormac’s grasp, but the threat has clearly been delivered. Wariness clings to the corner of the captain’s dark eyes, pinches the sides of his mouth. His gaze darts toward Cassian, his expression both expectant and accepting of his fate.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at me for,” Cassian comments, his tone cold. “It’s Lady Death you have to answer to now.”

Four pairs of eyes land back on Nesta, and she realizes with a near silent jolt that she’s Lady Death. The name washes over her and unlocks something deep within her soul, that beast within her purring contently at being recognized, at being named. It’s a key turning in a lock, settles comfortably around her like a second skin.

Nesta steps closer to the ship’s captain. She holds her sword point beneath his chin, lifting until his gaze is forced to meet her own. Whatever he sees on her face finally has his dark eyes widening. She leans down enough that she’s right in his face, that he’ll be able to hear every word that she speaks.

“Most captains get to go down with their ship, but after what you’ve done to me, to my friends, to who knows how many women before us? You don’t deserve that honor. The only thing you deserve is to rot on the ocean floors.”

The captain starts to splutter a response, but Nesta doesn’t even let him get a word out. She pulls her sword back just enough that she can sink the blade into his chest. He lets out a pained grunt, red bubbling up in his mouth and spilling from his lips. Nesta presses deeper still, twisting the hilt of the sword.

“You bitch,” the captain gasps, eyes already glazing over and face paling.

“Burn in hell,” Nesta snarls, finally pulling the sword free and leaving the captain to crumble against the wood of the deck.

“Dispose of him and the rest of the crew,” Cassian orders from behind her.

Baz and Cormac both nod and get to work, but a gentle hand at her elbow has Nesta turning away from them. She comes face to face with Cassian again. His eyebrows are dipped low, concern swimming amongst the greens and golds of his hazel eyes. He reaches into one of the pockets of his jacket, pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, his hand comes up, sliding the fabric against her cheek, the gentle tenderness of the gesture at odds with the blood that comes away from her face.

“Alright, Nes?” Cassian asks quietly.

“I’m fine,” Nesta assures him, curling her fingers around his wrist and keeping his hand there. “Besides, shouldn’t you be calling me Lady Death now?”

“It seemed a fitting name given the way you took down most of the crew before we even arrived. I guess all that training paid off after all.”

“I was just trying to…”

Nesta trails off. Her friends. She was just trying to protect and help her friends. She turns her head, searching the different faces across the deck until she locates Gwyn, Emerie, and Cresseida standing together. Cresseida has a tear in the sleeve of her dress and Emerie has blood streaked across her own face, but all three of them are alive and whole. The relief at the sight is enough to nearly knock Nesta off her feet.

The four of them have a bond like no other now after what’s happened to them, and Nesta knows she’ll never be able to leave them behind. She thinks about how Emerie and Cresseida may not be able to return to Windhaven again after what’s transpired. She thinks about Cresseida’s wish to travel and see the world. She thinks about that almost too familiar shadow she had recognized in Gwyn’s eyes.

With determination settling with steely resolve in Nesta’s veins, she turns back to Cassian. “My new friends are joining the crew.”

“Are they?” Cassian chuckles lightly. “Last time I checked, it was my ship and my crew.”

“They are joining the crew,” Nesta repeats, enunciating each word slowly so there’s no room for argument.

“And what do I get out of it?”

“What? You get three new crew members.”

Cassian hums unconvinced, tilting his head. “I don’t know if that’s a bargain I want to make.”

Nesta lets out an annoyed huff, rolling her eyes. “What do you want then?”

“A favor.”

“A… favor?”

“Just one, little favor from you that I can use when I decide.”

Nesta worries at her bottom lip with her teeth, glancing toward her friends once more. “Fine. One, single favor. That’s it.”

The smile that pulls across Cassian’s face is almost feline, but he holds out his hand toward Nesta. “It’s a deal then.”

“You’re insufferable,” Nesta mutters with another roll of her eyes, but she slides her hand into Cassian’s regardless.

“Always such a sweet talker, Lady Death,” Cassian teases, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to Nesta’s knuckles.

Nesta scoffs and pulls her hand free from Cassian’s grip, spinning on her heel and heading toward her friends. She pointedly ignores the way Emerie is once again smirking, that knowing glint in the shop owner’s brown eyes. Instead she focuses on Cresseida’s wide eyes, on the way Gwyn is openly gaping.

“Great news. You all can join the crew,” Nesta announces after awkwardly clearing her throat. “Until the next port or however long you’d like.”

“Isn’t that…” Gwyn starts, still staring over Nesta’s shoulder.

“Yep,” Emerie answers smugly.

“And Nesta just—” Cresseida begins to ask.

“Yep.”

Nesta scowls at Emerie. “You’re the worst. Now, come on.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta rings out the remaining water in her hair over the bucket she’s been using to wash herself following the events of the past day. She straightens and grabs her brush, carefully detangling the strands. With each pull of the bristles through her hair, she thinks about being back on this ship, being back in this cabin. She thinks about spending the afternoon introducing Gwyn, Emerie, and Cresseida to everyone on the crew, showing them around, and chatting with Baz about them joining the daily training sessions.

Nesta sets down her brush and begins to separate her hair into three strands, braiding it back and away from her face. The click of the door opening and closing behind her signals Cassian’s arrival. She hears the shuffle of fabric that indicates him removing his jacket, but she finishes her braid, tying the strands together with a ribbon. Once that’s finished, she finally stands up and turns around, watching as Cassian washes the blood from his hands in the water basin.

“So, when can I expect you to cash in your favor?” Nesta asks, stepping toward the bed and the book she had left abandoned there before they went ashore in Windhaven.

“How about right now?” Cassian counters, turning to face her properly.

“Oh? And what—”

Nesta’s words die in the back of her throat as Cassian stalks toward her, backing her up until she’s hitting the edge of the desk. His arms come up, hands settling against the wood either side of her hips, effectively caging her in. Nesta’s breath hitches in her chest at his closeness. Her fingers bury and twist in her skirts, daring him to speak first.

“A kiss,” Cassian tells her, his voice low and rough.

Nesta feels a spark ricochet through her veins at his words, but she keeps her face perfectly neutral, keeps her spine straight, and doesn’t betray even an flicker of how she’s affected. She leans up and presses a quick kiss to Cassian’s cheek before leaning back against the desk again.

“There. Deal done,” Nesta informs him.

“That is not what I meant.”

“But that was a kiss, was it not? Which is exactly what you asked for. And you only get one favor as part of the deal.”

Cassian’s low laugh skitters across Nesta’s skin, leaving goosebumps erupting in its wake. “I should’ve known you’d somehow find a loophole.”

For a moment, neither of them speak, neither of them move, stuck in a staring contest that Nesta is quite confident she is currently losing judging by the way her heart has started to thunder between her ribs. Cassian’s hand comes up between them, gently tugging the ribbon from the ends of Nesta’s hair, fingers carding through the braid until her hair tumbles around her shoulders and down her back. His palm finds her jaw, cradling it there, and despite the rough calluses from years spent at sea, the touch is gentle.

“You tell me to stop, and we stop,” Cassian promises quietly, leaning in so there's only a breath between them.

“What if I say stop right now?” Nesta dares to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then we stop.”

Nesta knows that she should. Knows that she’s still technically a lady, and this isn’t proper, and by the Cauldron, would her mother be rolling in her grave if she could see Nesta now. But this close together, Nesta can count every gold fleck that makes up the maze of Cassian’s hazel eyes. She can trace the slash through his eyebrow, the pink scar along his cheek. She can feel his own heart galloping away where her hand has settled on his chest, seemingly of its own accord.

And she wants to.

Gods, does she want to, propriety and being a proper lady be damned. Something about Cassian has been drawing her in closer and closer for days now, weeks even. Maybe even since that first day on her father’s ship. Something about the way he never balks from her, never tries to diminish her fire the way she was always taught she should, instead seeming to relish in it, rising to meet it happily. Something about the way he sees her and allows her and her alone to see the true side of him hiding behind the pirate captain's mantle. He gave her a sword and his secrets, and now he’s offering her something more. All Nesta has to do is take it.

Her silence must be answer enough, or perhaps Cassian merely sees something in her expressions, but Nesta doesn’t miss the spark that flares in his eyes, the way the corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk. His grip tightens on her jaw, just enough that he can tilt her face up more. And then he’s closing the space between them.

Nesta’s eyes flutter closed at the feel of Cassian’s lips pressed against her own. She’s not sure what exactly she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the almost delicate slide of their lips together. Too soon it seems Cassian is pulling away, disappointment cold and heavy in Nesta’s gut, but before she can even open her eyes again, Cassian kisses her again.

This time, the kiss is firmer, more insistent. His hands drop to Nesta’s waist, hoisting her up and onto the desk, all without breaking the way their lips slot and slide together. He settles easily into the cradle between her thighs, and Nesta buries her own hands in his hair, tugging until she can feel Cassian’s groan reverberate against her lips, until she can swallow it down. Cassian presses his tongue into her mouth, and Nesta feels like a livewire. Fire licks up her spine and sends her skin sparking, the feel of his lips against her own, of his hands grasping her waist, a delicious brand.

Cassian pulls away again, and Nesta finds herself leaning forward, chasing the kiss. It’s only when Cassian chuckles softly that her eyes snap open again. She’s intoxicated by the glazed over quality of his eyes, the way his pupils are wide and blown out. The way his lips are tinged red and slightly swollen.

“I didn’t say stop,” Nesta says, her voice breathless even to her own ears.

Cassian gently pulls Nesta’s hands free from his hair, pressing a kiss to the pulse point of each wrist. “Another time.”

It’s a promise, a new bargain, and one that Nesta finds herself itching to collect.

—

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[fumifooms]

Hi! I really love your Chilchuck analysis and headcanons. Are there any songs that remind you of him/think suits his character?

😏Why yes indeed I do! I have a couple playlists for him, not one for just him quite yet, but there are still songs that are more about him than the relationship/them in every playlist bc that’s just how playlists are with me, I have this one about him & his wife, (songs aren’t ordered) this marchil one, (ony partially with a song order) this marchil angst one… (believe it or not the songs are fully ordered except the last few songs) And this one I actually haven’t shared yet but just bc of the whole ~working class ethnicity~ thing I see a lot of my culture in Chil/half-foots so have a french canadian Quebecer Chilchuck playlist but uh yeah the songs are all in french, it’s mostly folk. If I worked any faster and better I’d love to make some animatics with some of these… I still got some plans though. So far my favorite Chilchuck playlist not by me that’s underrated banger after banger and each reallt fits is one by my buddy @lyril ! It’s short and sweet, prob with more of the character focus that you’re looking for. Little Lion Man oh my god 😭😭

These playlists are for trudging through lists of songs and finding the good bits & meaning in them yourself buuut I have picked out a bunch of specific lyrics and songs I really like for him in this post before, and not unlike that, I have a couple web weavings with song lyrics for him, one on Chilchuck & wife and a marchil one, and again if you’re not interested in the relationships there are still stuff in there that fit him specifically so I still recommend skimming.

Jackrabbit by San Fermin, Dead Inside by Younger Hunger, TrusT by Half-alive, Cheap Liquor by Ericdoa, Heart-shaped Box by Nirvana... Some songs that come to mind for him rn. TrusT is one of my top songs for him I looove it and I think the music does enhance the lyrics it’s soo…

Trust is like a pond of murky water Too dark to see, mysteriously undercover I can't jump off the high dive, even though I really want to My toes are hanging off the ledge Trust is like the middle of the ocean Can't see the bottom, but I'm floating here, supported I know that it can take me even deeper if I let it But my limbs are trying to swim away It's like a tree that towers 50 feet above us Grown over time through many seasons Believing in something more than just the surface I trust that this is worth it But my toes are hanging off the ledge Hold to this significance And lean into the process Rest and know the love you hold It won't be taken back, no I have faith that the world I'm in Will be redeemed to its place again But there's a weight that I can't explain So tell me why I feel this way tell me why I feel this way (Speaking slowly when I'm out of breath) (Losing confidence between the steps) tell me why I feel this way how sweet, the taste of certainty (Wasting water in a desert bed) (Chasing wind outside the promised land) releasing hope to carry me (Know the story isn't over yet)

Anyone who knows me knows my favorite Chil & Chilwife song is Little Soldiers by The Crane Wives. And well, there’s a reason Hurry Hurry is on almost every Chil playlist. Drunk by The Living Tombstone is a staple for me too. And oughh I recommend this animatic of Well it’s better than the alternative it’s so 😭 10/10 please please watch

Ohh and one of my fav Chil fanart ever is this one if you scroll all the way down and the song that goes with it is Call Boy by Syudou. It’s the only place where you can see it rn sorry, this ask is incredibly timed actually bc just yesterday I went looking for this fanart again and saw that the artist’s twitter got deleted and there’s still the art on Pixiv but there used to be a video and that’s the one that truly fully git my heart </3 I dmed the artist asking on if the video is still up anywhere so crossing my fingers about when/if I get a reply… Here’s the lyrics for Call Boy, give it a listen it gets me keeling over to the floor. CW alcoholism and also gotta scroll through suggestive stuff bc the art link is Pixiv 🎶

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Lovers & Friends (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Keigo Takami x Black!Fem!Reader (Friends to Lovers)

Synopsis: In which you and Keigo have begun to realize the strange new feelings you both have for each other after one drunken night at a close friend’s wedding that ends with you in his bed, but because of your longtime friendship and committed relationships with other people, you’re more than happy to forget that night even happened and keep your mutual feelings in the dark…for now, at least. 

Story Warnings: Smutty smut; 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY); Cheating/Infidelity; Mating; Light Degradation; Spanking; Exhibitionism; Multiple Positions; Creampie; Unprotected PIV Sex; Facials; Scent Play; Marking; Spitting; Deepthroating; Cunnilingus; Begging; Edgeplay; Power Play; Daddy Kink; Some Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Mild Violence

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic (except for Rei and Haruko). However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Just as note, Dabi isn't a member of LOV in this fic. I explain all of it in the chapter, but I didn't want to make him a villain in this fic, mostly cuz that's my baby daddy & he deserves better. Enjoy! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Bonus Chapter.

Read on AO3 here!

************

Chapter Four: We're All Friends Here.

“Can you stop doing that, please?” Rei sighs from behind the wheel of his Benz. 

You, sitting in the passenger’s seat beside him, barely spare him a glance. “Doing what?” you ask dryly.

You watch as trees and cars whiz by as Rei drives slightly above the speed limit to get to Fatgum’s wedding. Your feet are up on the dashboard, your painted toes in some sexy-looking Steve Madden heels to match your peach-colored sundress and go along with your braids that you tied up in a bun on your head. 

“Acting like you’re not pissed when you are,” Rei replies. He clenches the wheel so tight that his knuckles are white. “Look, I said I was sorry, Y/N, but I can’t help that I lost my wallet.” 

“No, you can’t,” you begin, about to drag his ass to hell and back, “but you can help that you didn’t show up on time when you specifically told me 9 AM and showed up at 11 PM. The wedding started at 11 PM, Rei.” 

“I’m aware of that,” he growls, forced to stop at a red light. “That’s why I’m hurrying as fast as I can without risking getting a ticket. Cut me some lack, Y/N. I was out patrolling last night.” 

You turn to him, irked. Despite how clean and handsome he looks in his crisp button-down to match your dress, slacks, and red-bottom shoes, that does nothing to distract you from your anger. You had promised Keigo you’d show up on time and you never go back on your promises unless something serious happens. So for Rei to not respect that and make this about his lost wallet (which he found under his car seat later) is really starting to work your nerve.

“You didn’t have to come with me today, Rei,” you say, bite in your tone. “I told you you didn’t have to last night, but you refused. Now we’re two hours late for the wedding! Fatgum is probably already married by now!” 

“We’ll get there,” Rei reassures you, pressing down on the gas as soon as the traffic light flicks to green. “Just chill out, okay? I don’t want us going in here mad at each other.” You feel his hand move to squeeze your knee, but you don’t move to hold his hand or push it away. You try to act like it’s not there, like some pestering fly. 

There is a part of you that feels guilty for being so mad at your boyfriend. You know you can’t help what comes with the job as a pro, but you also know he can sure as hell take off from a night of patrolling, especially on the night before a very important event for you, which he said he’d attend. Even you got your patrols and other pro work out the way this week to prepare for Fatgum’s wedding. 

Rei’s decisions only validate what is more important to him than you are: his ranking. While you understand the pressure he’s under to be the best in the eyes of the public and the Hero’s Commission, you also understand that there is more to life than just a higher popularity number.

Like healthy communication and good sex. And while Rei is a great pro and an even better person, he doesn’t understand that more is needed to be a good boyfriend. 

Your mood only gets lower and lower with every passing minute as you sink deeper into your thoughts. You wonder how it’s possible to have a relationship like Fatgum and Haruko’s. How do two people survive for six years? When do you realize you want to be with someone for the rest of your life? How does it happen? 

You’re hoping for answers when Rei finally gets to the park and parks his car in the lot. By the time you get out of the car, fix your hair, and get Fatgum and Haruko’s wedding gift, the reception has already started. Everyone is now out and about, enjoying the dance floor. Some are on the dance floor, enjoying the tunes the DJ is spinning, while others are lounging at their tables or enjoying the pleasures of the park by snapping photos in the gazebos or taking walks. 

Others are circling the snack table where you find Fatgum and Haruko standing at their large, towering wedding cake drizzled in strawberry and vanilla frosting. Fatgum kisses Haruko’s cheek as they cut the first slice together, their wedding bands glinting in the sun. He catches sight of you and gives you a wink, glad to see you. 

The long snack table they stand at is covered in delicacies and expensive foods only Fatgum thought to add: fruit and cracker towers; charcuterie plates; bowls of salads and soups; spreads of potato salad, collard greens, mac n’ cheese, and every meat and fish known to man: ribeye steaks, grilled salmon, tilapia, chicken, and fried wings coated in hot sauce. Your stomach growls and you realize you haven’t eaten yet. 

“Y/N!” someone calls to you. You find Rumi waving you over to a table where she, Keigo, Sakura, Yu, and Nemuri are all sitting. Keigo is the first to greet you and you have to say that the man certainly knows how to clean up: he looks incredibly handsome in his tailored black suit and red bottom shoes. 

The scent of his cologne fills your nose as you hug him, tickling your senses. “Glad you finally made it,” he says, giving you an adoring smile. Seeing his face seems to make everything better until you notice his smile falter a bit at the sight of Rei behind you. “Tempo!” he happily greets, putting his hand out for a shake. “So you decided to join us losers today.” 

Rei’s eyes tick to Keigo’s hand hesitantly before he slowly takes it, as if unsure if the winged pro is serious with his cordial attitude or not. “Promised to be her date. Of course, I’d show up.” You inwardly sigh, already knowing that Rei’s dislike for Keigo will be an issue today. For some reason, he just doesn’t like your best friend. 

Rumi sidles up to you in her red dress, looking like a damn Amazon. “I bet,” she snickers, “with you lookin’ like that. Tryna take someone else home tonight, sexy?”

You shoo her away with a laugh before walking over to the table where Yu, Nemuri, and Sakura sit, Fatgum and Haruko’s wedding gift still in your hands. “Hey,” you greet, hugging each girl. “Sorry we’re so late. You take pictures of the wedding?” 

“Absolutely!” Nemuri giggles, already moving to show you the slew of pictures on her phone. Your heart melts at the sight of Eri as the flower girl and Fatgum slipping a wedding band onto Haruko’s finger. How you would’ve loved to witness such a beautiful moment! Now, you’re pissed at Rei even more. “But you’re here now!” Yu says with a bright smile. “And you look just as amazing as Sakura does.” 

Sakura blushes at the compliment. “She is right about that,” you giggle, sitting down next to the pink-haired girl. “You do look amazing.” Sakura giggles softly, reminding you of the cutest fairy: tiny, innocent, and pure. “Thank you, but your outfit definitely beats mine with those shoes. I’d die if I walked in those things.” 

Keigo takes a seat between you and Sakura, a new glass of champagne in his hand. You look around, noticing the empty seat that belongs to your renowned good guy, ex-villain friend. “Dabi couldn’t make it?” you mutter to him. 

“More like he couldn’t bribe the warden to give him back his perks after that riot, but he’s workin’ on it,” Keigo whispers back before taking a big gulp of champagne.

You sit back in your seat, disappointed that Dabi won’t be coming, but you should’ve known something would go wrong. He is in prison, after all. 

Dabi has been in your life just as long as Keigo and Rumi. While you met Keigo long before UA, you met Dabi and Rumi at the same time while attending UA for high school. Dabi, you went by Touya Todoroki back then, was training to be a hero and took a liking to you three almost immediately. It was the four of you all day, every day; a special quartet…. 

That is the one day Dabi cracked when his baby brother Shoto was born and his shit father Enji aka no. 1 pro Endeavor became more fond of him than Dabi. After that, he ditched the white hair for stark black, stayed to himself, and started skipping classes until he was finally kicked out. You had no idea what happened. 

Years later when Shoto started attending UA himself was when Dabi finally showed back up. When you and Keigo were called about a LOV attack downtown, you were beyond dumbfounded to see your old friend, all scars and staples, his beautiful, porcelain skin ruined. Even more dumbfounded to realize that he was now a villain and was against his friends. You had cried for weeks over this, being held by Keigo and Rumi, the only two who understood the pain and guilt you felt over Dabi’s new life path. 

However, that was then. Dabi has since changed his tune. After exposing Endeavor’s abusive past to all of Japan and getting him blackballed, Dabi sacrificed himself to save Shoto from a villain attack orchestrated by the LOV, nearly getting killed.

He was in a coma for a month after that. You, Keigo, and Rumi were right there beside him all that time. When he awakened, it was as if he had completely flipped a switch. You don’t know what he experienced while in his coma, but it caused him to wash out his hair dye, leave LOV, and turn himself into the police for his wrongdoings. “I have to atone for my sins,” was all he said. 

It was all over the news for weeks until, like all news, it faded over time. Because Dabi saved Shoto’s life, he and his family (minus Endeavor) implored the judge to shorten his sentence of 50 years behind bars. Now, as part of his deal, Dabi is in prison until his 40th birthday with the possibility of parole with good behavior. Since then, you’ve been visiting and calling him, making sure he’s keeping up with his good track record. 

The last time you saw him was a month ago over drinks. He had strode in with his snow-white hair and an ankle monitor on his ankle that would shock the fuck out of him if he tried to run. As part of his perks, he is given one day of freedom outside of prison every two weeks. He was saving up his days to visit after Fatgum’s wedding, but things took a negative turn when a riot thrown by quirked inmates broke out a week ago. Believing Dabi was the one who orchestrated it, the warden “momentarily” took away Dabi’s perks.

But Dabi is smart, so you know he has some tricks up his sleeve. He was a villain, after all. 

But damn, you wish he was here now to liven up this terribly tense silence that settles on the table. Yu and Nemuri look at Rumi who stares at Keigo who stares at Rei who stares right back at him. You gnaw at your bottom lip, the urge to flee too much. “So, Sakura!” you squeak, cutting through the horrible silence. “How’s work going for you?” 

Sakura looks almost glad that you asked, obviously feeling the tension too. “As soon as it can go when you’re working as a nurse plus customer service,” she sighs tiredly. “I do it for the kids, but those parents try my nerves.” 

“I definitely get it,” you reply empathetically. “As a pro, you have to work well with people too, especially when patrolling.” Sakura’s eyes light up at the mention of your hero work. “Speaking of which, will you be attending the Heroes’ Gala later next month? Are you up for any awards?” 

“Yep!” you proudly say. “I’m up for best fighter, so I’ve been really trying to go hard with my training.”

Keigo smirks at you. “I got the bruises to prove it,” he chuckles, alluding to your training sessions that have taken a pause due to Fatgum’s wedding and because you didn’t want to give Keigo any more bruises that he couldn’t cover. Yet another reason why Rei strongly dislikes your friend: your closeness. He doesn’t quite understand that this is just the relationship you and Keigo share. It’s like the bond between brother and sister. 

“What about you, Rei?” Sakura asks. Rei smiles at her, and you can tell he’s overjoyed that she asked. “I’m nominated for most fearless,” he proudly states as he sips his champagne. “Then at the end of the year, I’m heading for no. 8. That’s why I’ve been working like the world is gonna end lately. Y/N definitely knows.” 

You duck your head to hide your irked expression. “Yeah,” you mutter before you can stop yourself. “I definitely know.” Luckily, only Keigo and Rumi hear you and share a look between each other. One of them has to get you out of here before you start stabbing your boyfriend. “Seesh, look at that waterfall!” Rumi hollers, pointing to the foundation at the snack table overflowing with chocolate fondu and surrounded by guests. 

“Y/N, help me fight to get at that fondu fountain. My sweet tooth is talkin’ to me.” Rumi gets out of her seat and loops your arm in hers, dragging you away from the table. “Bring back some wings!” Keigo shouts after you both as you walk away from the group and head towards the snack table. 

As you do, Rumi snatches a glass of champagne from a random tray and hands it to you. “Had to get you out of there,” she whispers. “That shit was awkward. You looked like you were about to choke Rei out.” 

“I can’t help it,” you groan defeatedly. “This morning was a shit show! It wasn’t the fact he lost his wallet, but he showed up so late when he promised he’d be at our condo by 9. I missed the wedding because of his negligence.” 

“Seems like he’s been negligent with a few things lately,” Rumi replies knowingly. “I can tell. When he’s over, all I hear is him and no you.” You stare at her wide-eyed. “Yes, I can hear y’all have sex, Y/N,” she chuckles, pointing at her ears. “With these things, I can hear a tree fall in the forest.” 

“That’s so embarrassing,” you groan. You’re not sure if you’re referring to the fact that your friend has heard you and your boyfriend have sex or to the fact that you’re crickets compared to Rei.  “So I’m guessin’ the sex has been lacking too?” Rumi questions, raising a brow when you finally make it to the snack table. 

You busy yourself with gathering some salad with a side of grilled chicken and potato salad to hide your embarrassment. “It’s only because he’s been working so hard to get his award and a high rank,” you say in a hushed tone for Rumi’s ears only. “And when we do have sex, he’s not as attentive as I want him to be. Either that or I’m not connecting with him.” 

Rumi scowls confusedly at you, a kabob of fruit for fondu in her hand. “I’m not following.”

You sigh, realizing you’ll have to be a bit clearer. “I love Rei,” you explain, “but I feel nothing when we have sex. When we kiss or have any other physical contact that isn’t sexual, I get the urge to fuck him, but when I actually do it, there are no fireworks setting off in my head.” 

Even saying it makes you feel ill. “Sex is a big part of relationships for me. Without that, what do we have?”

Rumi whistles lowly, a hand on her toned hip. “A very dry relationship in need of some lubin’ up,” she replies. “Either that or just dumb the guy.” You glare at her angrily and she puts her hands up in defense. “Look, I know you don’t want to break up with him over this, but if you’re this upset over it, why even bother? You don’t even look happy, girl!” 

You want to point out to Rumi that it isn’t like Rei is a casual hookup or a guy you’ve only been dating for a few weeks. You’ve been together for a year! You have history and he’s truly a great boyfriend despite the dry spell and your feelings of being neglected because of his work. “I love him, Rumi,” you say, exasperated, “and I wanna try with him.” 

That’s all the reason you give Rumi but it’s enough to shut her up. “Give me some advice,” you plead. “You have good sex, right? And don’t act like you don’t ‘cause you’re not exactly quiet either.” 

You raise a knowing brow at her. Many times you’ve heard the bunny hero going at it in her bedroom with her hookups of the week, most of them during nights when you’re in need of sleep before work. 

Rumi gives you a sheepish smile. “Guilty as charged,” she chuckles. “Well, have you ever talked to him about your kinks?” 

Her simple question makes you reach back into the furthest parts of your brain for an answer. Have you talked about your kinks with Rei? You’ve tried the handcuffs, but since that didn’t work, kink never saw the light of day again in your relationship.

However, you can’t remember ever flat-out telling him you loved spankings or for a guy to spit on your pussy. And what about your degradation kink? Or your desire for exhibitionism? He’d look at you like you’re crazy! 

You shake your head silently at Rumi. “Start there then,” she encourages. “Or maybe try to do something more adventurous with him to spice things up. That usually always works.” She passes you a fresh glass of champagne. “I’d suggest gettin’ some alcohol in him first.” 

You turn back to stare at Rei, finding him chatting with Jeanist and Ms. Joke. Nervous butterflies flutter in your stomach at Rumi’s advice, but it’s something you know will probably be easier than you believe it will be…right? 

“Hey, you two!” Keigo grabs you and Rumi’s attention, looking impatient. “You gonna gossip or get some wings for me? I need some before I pick either one of you as a dance partner.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at both of you and begins subtly moving his hips to the band playing a cover of Rihanna, the lead singer crooning into the mic. 

Rumi looks at him in playful disgust. “With your big ass wings?” she scoffs. “No, thanks. You’d knock me over.” Keigo gives her a mock offended look as she sashays by him, heading back to the table. “Come on, you two!” she shouts over her shoulder. 

You inwardly groan, not wanting to sit back down in the awkwardness of that table. But when Keigo gives you that reassuring smile that everything will be okay, all of that dread vanishes. “Well, she’s waiting for us, baby bird.” He hooks his arm through yours, smiling at you. “Better not keep her waiting.” 

Without another word, you let Keigo drag you back to the table with your food and much-needed champagne in hand. 

[calivide]

Here are some fun facts about injuries and scars for writing purposes for those who don't have any major ones based on my experience of getting a large portion of my foot cut out last year. I will start this with the warning that these are my personal experiences about a large surgical scar on the bottom of my foot, so they may not encompass everyone's experience, but I learned a lot about scars from this experience as someone who's initial exposure to scars was mostly just media or small childhood injuries.

1- they fucking hurt. Once the injury heals, you're not done. The scar tissue is far, far more sensitive than your other skin, and can feel intense pain from something that wouldn't even make you flinch before the injury. In addition, the skin around the scar is sensitive. The only way I can describe it is if your scar was the center of a spider's web and the pain radiated out from there, and if its pushed or pulled too much it kinda feels like hairs being plucked under your skin. Some days the skin around the scar hurts far more than the scar itself.

2- they are raised skin, not indented skin. This may be common sense, but when it comes to drawings a lot of times it looks like the skin is dug out when that's just not how it heals. I had a hole dug outta my foot and it's still an incredibly raised scar. This is because if the injury is too wide to pull together, the injury has to basically grow out, the skin and scab coming from the inside of the injury out.

3- If it's a massive, thick scar it'll probably feel and look like a callous on the outside. If the scar is somewhere that has constant bracing, like a character having an injured hand and wearing thick leather gloves, you can feel the scar getting pushed a bit, and this can be very physically taxing over a prolonged window of time if it's a part of your body you use a lot like feet or hands.

4- the scar tissue effects the rest of the mobility of the area that any nerves or muscles are attached to. For me, the scar is about the size of two dimes placed side by side length wise on the bottom of my foot and went about half-way through my foot, and I still can't feel my toes most days. If a character has a massive scar on their face, there's a chance one of their eyebrows wouldn't move as much or they'd have a lopsided smile, etc.

5- they are a constant annoyance. You never forget that the scar's there, and it's not just for "I almost died/I've been disfigured" reasons. the skin always feels just a little dry, a little bit numb, it always aches somewhat, in my experience the foot that had the surgery gets tired and sore much faster than the other one even a year after the surgery. It's physically uncomfortable.

6- a very important part of helping a scar heal is breaking up the tissue on the layers of skin underneath. This entails massaging it, pummeling it, stretching it, just really kinda beating the hell out of it to help that tissue underneath break up and allow new skin to come in. This really doesn't feel good, typically feeling like a combination of the sensation in point 1 and like fingernails are being dug into the skin. Usually after a night of massaging, my foot absolutely kills me the next day, and the process stings like hell, but you could have a display of friendship/romance/familial love by having character A strong arm character B into holding still to let them help break up and stretch out the scar tissue because it's for your own good dammit.

7- a bit of an add on with the last one, you really have to convince your body that it's okay to use that bodypart/having things touching that body part afterwards. After spending a prolonged period of time thinking "can't touch the injury can't touch the injury can't touch the injury" it's hard to convince the brain that you can touch the injury. That in fact, you should touch it! The nerves themselves at times may even send a jolt of pain out of surprise because everything your body has been going through has convinced your brain of the logical conclusion that nothing should ever ever touch that part of your body again because that part of the body is weak and fragile and It Will Kill You.

8- just because you/your character is generally unaffected by outside gore like blood, roadkill, bodies/injuries due to work, etc, doesn't mean you're going to be chill with the injury being on your own body. It can be a bit surreal seeing a bunch of staples or stitches in you, stuff that used to make you go ew now might make you go OH FUCK- and you don't know that you won't handle it the same until you think "Oh, I can do this by myself" when you're home alone and then suddenly are sitting with an open wound for 30 minutes trying to convince yourself to look at the injury long enough to change the bandage because your brain goes into Emergency Mode at the sight of it.

Of course, not using any of these doesn't mean you're writing scars wrong or anything the like. It's just a fun list of facts/inconveniences to give your characters if you wanna make a scar or wound just a little more annoying

[dustedmagazine]

Music for Films, Vol. IV: Once upon a Time…in Benedict Canyon or, Tarantino, Redux

(N.B., I wrote an earlier piece in this series about Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof [2007], which seemed to me to represent the apotheosis of that director’s postmodern sensibility, for cinema and for its use of pop music. That still seems accurate to me. But Tarantino’s Once upon a Time…in Hollywood [2019] turns out to be a much more interesting engagement with both of those aspects of his filmmaking, and with postmodernism, generally — and it’s also a film I admire a bit more. So we go around again. If, however, you are sick of Tarantino and of chatter about his films, I get it. For sure, he’s irritating as hell in interviews — and below, I start with some of my own irritation at his winking and ironical guffawing. But, as is the case with someone like Richard Hell, it’s useful to separate the man from the work, and if you can pull that off, the work can be pretty great.)

There are moments in Once upon a Time…in Hollywood at which Quentin Tarantino’s auto-referentiality tips over from risible cleverness into unsavory self-obsession. See the scene about 80 minutes into the film, during which Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt, effortlessly cool) finally picks up the always hitching and emphatically sexually available Pussycat (Margaret Qualley, breathlessly feral). After they connect on their shared histories with Spahn Movie Ranch, Pussycat settles into the Coupe de Ville’s massive bench seat and, inevitably, puts her feet up on the dash. Her toes smush into the windshield; the bottoms of her feet are filthy. You can just about feel Tarantino hyperventilating — or maybe he’s laughing his ass off at us. Tarantino and feet, it’s an exhausted punchline by now. And the moment is almost a direct quotation, a visually inverted rendition of the opening shot of the narrative portion of Death Proof, in which Butterfly’s (Vanessa Ferlito) feet rest on the dash of Shanna’s (Jordan Ladd) Honda Civic. Tarantino seems to want you to make the connection, and, perhaps, to feel a little bit gross about the fact that you can.

The whole scene is shot through with problematic erotic energies, generated less so by Pussycat’s directness (“Obviously I’m not too young to fuck you, but obviously you are too old to fuck me”), more so by Cliff’s reasons for not pursuing her (“What I’m too old to do is go to jail for poontang”). And Tarantino has Dee Clark’s “Hey Little Girl” lasciviously jangling from the Coupe de Ville’s radio: “Hey little girl in the high school sweater / Gee, but I’d like to know you better / Just a-swinging your books and chewing gum / A-looking just like a juicy plum.” Gee. I get the crassness of the choice, which provides an intensification of the more playful song accompanying Cliff’s first look at Pussycat on a different LA street (and about 63 minutes earlier in the film), Simon & Garfunkel’s “Mrs. Robinson.” With all the signaling, ogling and panting, it’s easy to forget the song that immediately proceeds “Hey Little Girl,” sonically framing the initial gestures of Cliff and Pussycat’s conversation.

The song is typical of Neil Diamond’s peculiar talent for constructing gravid schmaltz that is neither too serious nor too cloyingly mawkish (mostly, anyways). That emotional tonality seems a less than intuitive choice for Cliff and Pussycat’s encounter — until we remember why she wants a lift to Spahn Ranch, and who might be there to meet them. Diamond’s Brother Love is a religious huckster, a metaphysical con man, and so, in part, was Charles Manson, a wannabe acid-soaked Svengali who managed to bewitch more folks than seems believable. Pussycat’s passionate desire for Cliff to meet him (“Charlie is reeeeally gonna dig you”) suggests Manson’s poisonous influence over her. She is thus the fictional avatar of numerous women and girls, like Mary Brunner, Susan Atkins and Squeaky Fromme, who fell under Manson’s influence, utterly convinced of his psychic and prophetic powers.

Manson, as is widely known, was erstwhile friends with Beach Boy Dennis Wilson and with producer Terry Melcher. Manson first went to the house at 10050 Cielo Drive, where Manson Family members would eventually murder Sharon Tate and several others, looking for Melcher. Manson was attempting a career as sort of demented folksinger manque, and he wanted to bug Melcher about it. By 1969 Melcher was coasting on the rep he had built producing the Byrds’ hit records from 1965 and most of Paul Revere & the Raiders’ sides from 1965 to 1968 (and that band’s singer Mark Lindsay also briefly lived at 10050 Cielo), including this tune:

Watching Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) bounce around the room is a charming experience, and Robbie’s still-youthful beauty is an interesting counterpoint to the aesthetic pleasures of Pitt’s middle-aged body. In truth, Robbie isn’t given all that much to do in Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood; mostly Tarantino seems to have told her, “Okay, be adorable” (though we should also note that it isn’t hugely easy to be adorable on demand). There may be an intent in that: to revise the dominant filmic profile on Tate, the sex kitten in Valley of the Dolls (1967) and half-naked beach bunny in Don’t Make Waves (1967), presentations underscored by a nude-photo-supplemented article on the actor in Playboy. Tarantino renders Tate beautiful — not much else one can do with Robbie — but never insists on her as a libidinally charged presence (save for a shot or two of her feet …).

Hence the smart choice of the Paul Revere & the Raiders tune. Their goofy costumes and bright vocal harmonies cast them very much in the mold of the British Invasion, with Beatles-ish overtones of mop-topped sweetness, and the explicitly anti-dope messaging of the band’s hit “Kicks” further associated them with a cleaned-up vibe, distinct from druggy counterculture. In the film, Tate teases Jay Sebring (Emile Hirsch), “Aw, what’s the matter? You afraid I’ll tell your friend Jim Morrison you were dancing to Paul Revere & the Raiders?” Morrison doesn’t appear in the movie, but in just another minute of screen time, Manson (Damon Herriman) does. Sebring stops him at the front door of 10050 Cielo, and when Tate approaches (walking past a massive reproduction of a poster for Don’t Make Waves, Tarantino just can’t help himself), Sebring tells her, “It’s okay, honey, it’s a friend of Terry’s.”

Of course, the arc of history tells us that it’s not okay. The sheen of good feeling and innocent kicks pop culture was attempting to sell in the late Sixties had been mussed up by all the “fucking hippies” that Cliff and Rick Dalton (Leo DiCaprio) continuously curse at as they drive the Strip. Even Spahn Ranch, in the film formerly the production site for Dalton’s hit cowboy show Bounty Law!, has been overrun by Manson’s accumulating freaks. That’s another historical fact that Tarantino lovingly recreates, reducing the Ranch to a relic, a dusty ghost town haunted by sweaty, fried, raggedy heads and a legion of young women, Pussycat among them (Dakota Fanning turns in a terrific performance as Squeaky: paranoid, overheated, drenched in weird, wanton ambiguities).

Their presence is disorienting, but it can’t entirely dislodge the visual logic of the cowboy film, the Western. In part, that’s due to the sheer amount of time the film devotes to painstaking reconstructions of Westerns, in cinema and TV, in LA and Italy; see especially all the minutes of Dalton on set, filming his guest appearance for the pilot of Lancer, a Western that ran on CBS through the late 1960s (and we should note that Bruce Dern, who portrays George Spahn in Tarantino’s film, did some work on Lancer early in his career). But the more interesting nods and allusions to the Western cluster around Cliff: buckling on a holster-style work belt when he fixes Rick’s TV antenna; staring down the line-up of Manson Family women who gather across the dirt lane in Spahn Ranch, like bandits inviting a gunfight; and most emphatically, his shoot-out-style stand-off with Tex Watson (Austin Butler, and more on that just below). Appropriately, when Cliff gets his first few minutes of solo camera time early on in the film, Tarantino scores it with a song that works through numerous tropes of the Western antihero.

Some might assert that a Gram Parsons tune would better suit both the Western style and LA in 1969. But I’ll argue for the Seger song, even though it was recorded when he styled his band as the Bob Seger System, not yet the Silver Bullet Band (which would get us semiotically closer to the gun and the cowboy). “Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man” (1969) is certainly a rhythmic match for Cliff, as he careens through the city’s streets and freeways in his beat-to-shit Karmann Ghia. And check out the lyrics: a tale of a “ramblin’ man” who left home at thirteen; a past-master of roulette and dice; rugged and a little ugly, but full of macho sexual confidence. All he needs is the horse. Most significant, the song’s lyric speaker eventually notes, “Gotta keep moving, never gonna slow down / You can have your funky world, see you around.” That’s Cliff to a tee, but it’s also Sergio Leone’s Man with No Name, who is always ready to ditch the scene when the civilized world becomes too much its petulant, cynical self. Better out in the bush, among the cacti and canyons. And while the usage of “funky” seems a poor fit for a cowboy’s mouth, it’s right on point for the film’s take on LA, as it lurches into counterculture’s violent dissolution.

It's unfair to counterculture to peg that dissolution to the Tate-Labianca murders. We can more meaningfully reference the 1970 explosion at 18 West 11th Street in NYC, or Eldridge Cleaver’s fugitive conversion to evangelical Christianity, or Altamont, or any number of other events, betrayals and tragedies. But the Manson Family’s perverted use of countercultural language (“revolution,” “the pigs,” “grokking”) is particularly galling in its confusions and lunatic bloody mindedness. Tarantino is tuned into it: see Sadie’s (Mikey Madison) deranged rant about “pigs” and “fascists.” Even a year earlier, other speakers were using the terms with much greater clarity, and many of those speakers were black.

So what do we do with this:

Black confronts white. Bad guys threaten good guy. The stand-off morphs into a massacre, but not before Cliff brings up the Western again, reminding us of Spahn Ranch and of Tex on his “horsie,” belittling him and adding to Cliff’s inability to take Manson’s minions at all seriously (Cliff, to Tex: “Uh, you are?” Tex, intoning: “I’m the devil, and I’m here to do the devil’s business.” Cliff, dismissive: “No, it was dumber than that…”). Soon Brandy the pit bull is chewing Tex and Sadie to pieces, and Cliff is hammering Katie’s (Madisen Beaty) head into any number of hard, angled surfaces. (Let’s not linger on Dalton’s flamethrower.) The violence is gratuitous, meaty, precisely staged and shot. It’s a Tarantino film, after all. And in this brutally antic sequence, the film and the director shift into another generic form, very dear to Tarantino: the revenge drama.

A number of Tarantino’s films have employed revenge plots: all of Kill Bill (2003, 2004), Death Proof (2007), Django Unchained (2012). Inglourious Basterds (2009, featuring a cartoonish but still satisfying performance from Pitt) expanded its revenge to world-historical scale, using film as a weapon for culture to take its vengeance on Hitler, and on the Nazi Party’s development of cinema as a vector for political propaganda. Once upon a Time…in Hollywood is less expansive but still has complex dimensions: American pop takes its revenge on Manson, rolling back his invasion of LA’s industrial and cultural turf and reversing — if only symbolically — his extinguishment of Tate and her career, of all the images and roles she might have given us.

But it’s possible to discern other layers to the vengeance, if one listens. Running throughout the fight sequence is the Vanilla Fudge’s bombastic, psych-rock rendition of “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” (1967), which is both a suitable and a strange choice. Suitable, in that its acid intensities resonate with Manson and with Cliff, who is tripping throughout the scene. Strange, though, in its lack of a clear thematic relation to the scene’s action, which seems to have guided other songs’ selections — certainly “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show,” and “Hey Little Girl,” and “Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man” and even, in its limited way, “Good Thing.” So why would Tarantino abandon that logic here, at the film’s big, bloody climax?

As ever, with Tarantino, the layers have histories.

“You Keep Me Hangin’ On,” of course, was first recorded and released by the Supremes, for whom it was a #1 charting single in 1966. There’s a sort of pattern suggested by the film, of utterances and meanings developed in black American culture that are quickly adopted and refitted, frequently rendered vanilla (hello) and commodified, by white culture. To be sure, the Supremes also produced a successful commodity with their version of the tune. But the play among those songs and vinyl sides suggests a more problematic set of appropriations — among them, Weatherman’s use of the revolutionary language developed by the Black Panthers and Stokely Carmichael, which Billy Ayers, Bernardine Dohrn and others spouted and spun out to fringe actors, like Manson, who degraded it, rendering it nearly meaningless.

“Helter Skelter” was another of the Manson Family’s watchwords, and another of Manson’s nutty notions, alleging that the Beatles song was endowed with the power to launch a race war in America. Manson’s racism mixed paranoia with his megalomania. He envisioned an America in which blacks would murder all the white people, save for him and his followers. In his view, blacks were too incompetent to govern themselves; they would need a white leader, and it would be Manson. So while Ayers and Dohrn called cops pigs in an attempt to make common cause with black revolutionaries (who were deeply skeptical of the white kids and their enthusiasms), Manson and his minions called cops pigs out of a chaotic psycho-social melange of persecution, ressentiment and bizarre apocalyptic divination.

So maybe we should linger on Dalton’s flamethrower a bit, after all. He uses it to torch Sadie to death, the Mansonite most earnest in her identification of him as another “piggie.” Close to the film’s beginning, there’s an ersatz movie clip drawn from The Fourteen Fists of McCluskey, in which Dalton, as the fictive hero McCluskey, uses the same flamethrower to burn a bunch of Nazi officers to death. It’s another Tarantino callback, to the climax of Inglourious Basterds and the incineration of many, many more fascists (and that scene had the benefit of the fever dream of Shoshanna Dreyfus’s [Melanie Laurent] face, projected onto the celluloid-fed inferno and madly laughing, surely one of the best images Tarantino has ever concocted). But the visual synonymy identifies Sadie with the Nazis. She seems to be the fascist. She has certainly been infected by Manson’s racist manias and linguistic depredations.

That may be too clever, by half — but with Tarantino, that sort of playful cascade of images and associations that ends up feeling meaningful is generally what we get, and in this case, there is a sort of critique to be made. If the postmodern in part emerged amid the collapse of counterculture’s revolutionary agendas, Once upon a Time…in Hollywood directs its wrath at a symbol of that collapse, and of the resulting nightmares borne on dope, irrationally enraged agony (especially over Vietnam, news of which occasionally issues from car radios in the film) and harebrained political analysis by kids reading texts that had currency amid a very, very different conjuncture. While Tarantino’s revenge narrative morphs generic forms again at the end, into alternate history, there’s a way in which that mutation can be read as a useful provocation. Not just a thought experiment, or a gesture lionizing fiction’s weirding power, in some ironized celebration of relativist spectacle. But a reminder that while history has to happen the way it happens, our histories are constructions, and they tell very partial and very particular stories. It’s an old saw, now, to recommend postmodernity’s meta- moves and pop cultural saturations as testing grounds for our reading strategies, but that doesn’t make the assertion any less cogent. Perhaps, to burn through the layers of images, to burn down the funhouse of contemporary revisionisms and to fight the fascists, who continue to manipulate media, what we need is a powerful instrument: our minds, tempered by their interactions with tempting narratives that wish to tell us pleasant stories.

Or mavbe we just want to watch Sharon dance, Manson be damned.

Jonathan Shaw