#bill how did you fumble THAT man

[mosslingg]

doodles

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt 4

"THOSE FUCKING BITCHES SAM!" Danny shouted as he stormed into his apartment, slinging his backpack off by the door as he toes his shoes off.

Rounding the corner of the hallway, Danny was met with Tucker, shirtless with only a pair of plaid boxers on, staring at him with sleep glazed eyes, he had a box of cereal in one hand, and a bottle of oat milk in the other, raising the bottle in a salute, Tucker stuffed a handful of cereal into his mouth before taking a swig of the milk, holding up a hand to stop Danny from speaking as he chewed, only letting his hand fall before he spoke.

"What?"

"The Bats are fucking assholes!"

Tucker looked back at the bottle of oat milk, sighed and placed it back in the refrigerator, chucking the box of cereal on the counter, Tucker grabbed Danny by the shoulders.

"Of course they are Jerks Danny..." his grip tightened as he started to shake the Halfa, "I have ten deadlines and 5 missed calls, I really want to geek out right now about you meeting the local heroes but I really don't have the time, so yes, jerks, tell me about it later okay?"

Danny phased through the tough grip on his shoulders, letting out a giggle as he watched Tucker fumble as he no longer had someone to help steady himself, "I did yell specifically for Sam, Tuck so you can't get mad at me! Go huant the Wanyetech building, I know for sure those dudes are way more dead inside than I am!"

Getting a groan from his friend at his dead pun, Danny continued into the apartment, snatching Tuckers cereal box off the counter as he went to sit in the living room.

Spotting Sam typing something on a lap top, her big over the ear headphones blaring as he flops down next to her, which thankfully was enough for her to notice him.

Offering g the box of cereal to her, she sent him a tired smile as she slipped the head phones off and took some of the fruit flavored rings, "Hey there Deadstuff...how was work?"

Danny sent her a grin, "Well, Clocky decided to throw me a bone and I think I got this? He is a little bitch boy that sends me all over the place but this time it was a dined, Lunch Lady taught me how to cook." Pasuing to stuff a new handful of tasty fruity goodness, Danny spoke around the cereal in his mouth "Cookin' ish so much more cool when da food isn't trying to kill you"

Slapping Danny's arm as she rolled her "Don't eat with your mind full and tell me what got you so riled up" Sliding her laptop of her self she tucked her knees up before stretching them out over Danny, who was already going off on his story.

"Wait wait! You had Nightwing in you're restaurant and you didn't get me an autograph?" Same shot Danny a scowl, who at least had the decency to look sorry

"I was going to but they fucking dined and dashed Sam! Even when I was actively Phantom, I never, ever just left a bill!"

---

Dick knew that perhaps eating the food was a slightly bad idea, given the look B gave them when him and Tim pulled into the Cave.

He was standing there, arms crossed, thankfully cowl down, what made the sight infinitely less intimidating was Damian doing the same next to him, his head tilted to look down at them and perhaps standing on his tittpy toes a little bit.

Dick wanted to coo at the father son bonding, but remembered he had to act at least a little chastised at the moment "Yes I am sorry B, It was my decision to head in, there was no outward danger so we just took a chance."

Wincing at the gruff grunt he got from that Dick powered on, "I will write a more detailed report, but personally if anything wrong it's likely that the kid working there is Meta? I dont-"

"He can't be meta! He is very clearly a ghost Dick!" Tim interrupted already flipping through some notes he had made on the way back home, "its the only explanation...or he is a 5th dimensional Imp with a passion for cooking but I really hope not those guys suck to deal with..."

Dick nodded at that, but had to say some thing foe his own superfan imp "Nightmite is a chill dude helps sometimes with cases back in Bludhaven!"

Giving a sigh, Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose, "No mites, no metas, no ghost, go to Medbay I am running blood tests on what sweet hell you have ingested."

---

Bruce ran the test again, sure that it was wrong, praying that it was wrong.

TEST COMPLETE

TRACE LAZARUS WATERS DETECTED

Underneath was lists of chemical make ups of the samples Tim took and his sons blood, there were varying levels through out the food samples, some lighter but others were heavy on it.

What was stumping him was...it was nearly perfectly pure, the pits naturally over time get polluted, with the dirt and sediment that falls in, and with the various amounts of bodily parts and fluids that are dipped in it.

But the trace amounts Bruce was finding were a better quality than Ra's own personal pool, not the one he dips in to regain his youth that the LOA make a ritual out of, no the privet one in the Alps that was clear as glacial water.

It didn't make any sense to Bruce, who would be spreading Lazarus water around? Ra's would not simply share his secret pure stash...

Lost in thought, Bruce sat back glaring at the test results.

---

"And after I thought I was giving great service, they fucking left, no bill, no tip! I didn't even get to see Nightwings ass as he left! People say it's a godly experience! I was robbed!" Letting out a huff Danny shot Sam an incredulous look at her sudden burst of laughter. "Sa~am, this isn't funny! Never meet your heroes! I am taking this to Twitter! They shall know my fury!" His words only served to make Sam laugh even harder.

Stifling a grin Danny took out hos phone, a old busted thing that was more ducktape and prayers than actual technology, but dear go's did it still work.

<@i-haunt-spirit-holloween

[@.realwing @not-that-red-robin.real yall are toxic twinks came in to my workplace and fucking dined and dashed 0/10 Nightwing has a flat ass.]

Hitting send, Danny put his phone down, choosing to let the nights happenings go past his mind and just hang out with Sam before showering and finally going to bed.

---

Tim was hunched over his lap top, going frame by frame of his body cam footage, he *needed* to figure this out, it was like an itch in his brain that he would go through bone to get through.

His work payed off as he clicked forward another time, his feed went static before it showed a blurry blue blob in place of the diner! Proof! It was there!

Jumping at the sudden bang of his bedroom door being thrown open, Tim whirled to around to see Dicks distressed face, standing up, Tim prepared for the worst, something happened. Bruce was dead agian it had to be-

"TIMMY I AM A TWINK AM I??" Was Dicks wail as he flopped down on Tim's bed.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Tim looked longingly at his laptop before closing it, "Dick, what the fuck."

Rolling around on the bed, Dick finally looked up at Tim "Littlewing sent me a tweet and...ugh just look!" Thrusting out his phone as he spoke

Pasuing at the mention of Jason, Tim  looked down at the screen and froze

"Holy shit...we forgot to pay didn't we...fuck Jason is never going to let us live that down."

Tim still remembered the first time he witnessed one of Jason's famous "make Bruce spend more money" rants about tipping.

It was glorious.

Tim now realized he would be one of two that was likely going to have to face it next.

"UGH?? You focus on the money and not the other parts? Tim I was called a toxic twink with no ass! This is a declaration of war! I have never been so offended!" Dick sat up, eyes narrowd while Tim opened up the tweet on his own phone.

"The comments agree Dick, I am sorry, you now have a flat ass congrats and welcome to the club" Tim said dryly, trying to go to the posters page, since it was clearly Danny who posted it.

Only the app crashed when he tried to. And again when he tried to a second time, and his web browser crashed when he tried opening it there

Tim was baffled on what was happening while Dick lemented on his bed before deciding to hack it later.

<@not-that-red-robin.real

[@i-haunt-spirit-holloween super sorry about that send me venmo and I'll pay with tip]

<@i-haunt-spirit-holloween

[@not-that-red-robin.real Fuck that face me like a coward bitch bet you wont]

<@not-that-red-robin.real

[@i-haunt-spirit-holloween...bet]

---

Somewhere in a safe house in Crime Ally, Jason let out a little giggled as he scrolled through the comments on the funniest post he had found in a while, Jason was surely going to have to speak to Timberly and Dickiebird about paying their bills but right now?

He was kicking his feet watching Dick have a public meltdown as Nightwing.

Finally, he wouldn't be the only one who had to retake the Bat Media course.

How was he supposed to know doing peace signs next to a person he just shot wasn't allowed?

[ckret2]

One of my favourite things about the book of Bill has to be how hard it has cemented that, for all the airs Bill likes to put on, he's actually awful at manipulating people. Like if you look at the just the show, on the surface his record isn't bad. 2 1/2 successful manipulations out of 3 shown on-screen is solid. ((That is until you examine it further and realize that the 2 successful ones were done to 12 year old children who 1. Weren't exactly in the best states of mind at the time due to severe sleep deprivation/a difficult emotional state and 2. he still had to trick via his power (the fake timer on the laptop/possessing blendin so Mabel didn't know it was him)) But now? Oh man! Ford wasn't just lucky, he joined a tradition dating back all the way to humanities beginnings! Bill has been trying to get people to do his bidding literally since people had gotten good enough at resource-gathering and tool-usage to be able to potentially build his portal! And he failed over and over and over again and he never learned shit! That would be bad enough but not only did he fail at manipulating several civilzations worth of people, they ALSO constantly thwarted him in ways beyond that! He got himself banished, trapped, and annoyed to hell and back and thats just the stuff he told us! Thats not even speaking of his latest and possibly greatest fumble, failing the convince us, the reader of the Book of Bill who is canonically a fan of Bill or at least Gravity Falls into striking a deal with him. In short, if I asked Bill to manipulate a child into eating ice cream with just his words I wouldn't trust him to get it done within my or the kids life time.

Except, Bill IS good at manipulating people. You JUST DESCRIBED several examples of him being good at manipulating people.

Identifying the most vulnerable targets, the "weakest link" most likely to cave and do what you want—like children (or elderly people with dementia, or immigrants who don't understand the language well)—is part of being good at manipulation.

Identifying and taking advantage of people in a compromised mental state when they're not thinking clearly and are more likely to do what you want is part of being good at manipulation. (He didn't try to persuade Mabel to destroy the laptop, BECAUSE HE KNEW DIPPER WAS MORE VULNERABLE. He didn't approach Dipper or Ford dressed as Blendin—BECAUSE HE KNEW MABEL WAS MORE VULNERABLE.)

Just straight up lying to people—about a situation (the timer), about a person (Blendin)—is a manipulation tactic.

Fabricating a totally artificial emergency and pressuring a target to ACT NOW to prevent disaster is a common con artist trick. (See: scammers who cold call strangers, say they're from the IRS and the stranger is behind on taxes, and demand they transfer a large amount of money from their bank RIGHT NOW or go to jail—WHICH ACTUALLY WORKS A LOT, especially because people CAN'T THINK AS CLEARLY when they're panicking.)

Disguising yourself as somebody trustworthy or somebody intimidating to trick a target into obeying you is also a common con artist trick.

Not to mention ALL the work we see into how he manipulates Ford: he makes note of Ford's social isolation and how Bill can use that to his advantage; he identifies the thing Ford wants most (respect & acknowledgment for his intellectual achievements) and weaves that into his manipulation; he uses both Ford's ego AND Ford's insecurity against him; he almost effortlessly turns Ford against the one friend who adores him, making Ford think his friend's kindest attempts to help are evidence of backstabbing; and even though ultimately it didn't work, you can't say that threatening to destroy Ford's life from inside his own body was a BAD manipulation tactic.

Plus the entire muse schtick. Fooling people into thinking you're doing something magical or supernatural is such a common manipulation tactic that there's a whole name for it: "mystical manipulation." Bill does this NON STOP with Ford, and with many of his other victims.

We see him successfully talk an entire tribe into helping him build a working redwood portal—and they only turned against him when the portal started petrifying people, unleashing monsters, and creating bottomless pits. He talked the Aztecs into sacrificing 9,000 people to build a portal that didn't even work. He talked not-Disney into making a cartoon about Bill that included UNLEASHING LIVE BEES IN THE THEATER. Who the hell would think that's a good idea!

And to top it all off, he formed multiple successful cults that were ride or die for him until the bitter end. That's like the crown jewel of being good at manipulating. Bill talked a whole town into joining his cult in under a month in spite of the fact that he kept calling them plasma bags and chugging formaldehyde. Based on the dates in the document about Silas Birchtree, people were marrying into Ciphertology at least five years after Bill's puppet disintegrated and he ditched them.

Bill was good at manipulating people!

Do you know what Bill WASN'T good at? Getting people to finish and open a portal.

Largely because portals are difficult to make, and because he can only get so far into the process before it becomes obvious that this thing will destroy the world and that's usually enough to override any other threats or promises he makes.

Yeah, he says some stupid things that should obviously give him away—like talking about setting off all the nukes. He's kinda pathetic and a bit of a dumbass sometimes. But, here's the thing about successful manipulators, con artists, and cult leaders: MOST of them are kinda pathetic dumbasses. Cult leaders are idiots. There's a cult leader who preached his followers should be on minimal vegetarian diets, had his chauffeur take him out to a big fancy steak dinner, then told his chauffeur he did that to test his faith—and the chauffeur was like well okay. Cult leaders are idiots, AND YET SUCCEED. When Bill says you can get anyone to hum along with your tune if you've got charisma? He's right—that's true in real life.

Manipulators get away with manipulation not because they tell such brilliant impeccable lies that the most clear-headed rational person in the world would believe them... but because they know to tell their lies to people who aren't clear-headed and rational, and because they know using cheap tricks and false identities and lies that the victim WANTS to be true works better than a flawless story, and because they know most people tend to give other people the benefit of the doubt that what they're saying is probably true.

So yeah, he's too cocky, he's a bit pathetic, he lost a lot, he loses at the end of the book... but that doesn't mean he's a bad manipulator. It means that being good at manipulating can only carry you so far, and Bill didn't have what it takes to carry him the rest of the way.

[heich0e]

“Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Your head pops up as the unexpected voice makes itself known, twisting your face towards the sound only to see a figure standing at the end of the alley. He’s silhouetted where he stands—a shape more than a person. You can tell he’s tall, broad, and has a knot of hair tied up loosely at his crown. 

Geto Suguru steps into the light where you can see him better, though it makes his sudden appearance no less surprising. 

“Did you drink too much?” he asks, treading a few steps closer as he eyes you worriedly. You pull yourself up from where you’d been crouching on the ground.

“No, no. Just getting some air,” you reply with a stiff smile, dipping in a bow and quickly adjusting your pencil skirt once you’re back upright.

He has his tie loosened over his shirt with the top button undone, and his suit jacket is nowhere to be seen. He considers you for a moment, and his attention makes you want to fidget but you fight the urge.

You watch as he pulls packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his shirt and offers it out to you. “Do you smoke?”

“No, thank you,” you say with a quick shake of your head, smoothing your hands along the front of your skirt and then moving to step past him back towards the entrance of the restaurant. “I should go.”

He angles his body in your way before you can.

“No need to leave on my account,” he says, peering down at you. His face is partially in shadow because of how he’s standing, angled between you and the mouth of the alleyway that leads back to the busy street, caught in a small dark patch between the streetlights and the light affixed to the grungy brick wall. He tips his face up and the light touches his features once more, catching in his brown eyes as he waits in anticipation of your response.

“I should get back inside.” It’s strangely difficult to meet his gaze, so instead you look past him towards the street as an unwelcome heat surges up your throat to flood your face. A car passes quickly by the alley, and you watch as the headlights come and go in a flash.

“Why?” the man before you asks, placing the cigarette he’d fished out of the pack to his lips. He uses his teeth to keep it there while he fumbles through his pockets for a lighter. “You’re clearly having a terrible time in there.”

Your eyes snap up to meet his in shock.

“No I’m not,” your reply is notably indignant, even though his accusation is valid.

How would he know anyway?

“The smiley, nice-girl bit’s gotta be getting old, isn’t it? Pouring everyones drinks. Cleaning up everyones messes.” He laughs, though it’s only to himself, before clicking his lighter to life and holding it to the tip of his cigarette until it catches. The cherry burns red and bright on an inhale, and smoke slips from his lips as he adds, “You don’t have to lie to me, I’m not your boss.”

“I’m not lying,” you insist, but your performance isn’t particularly convincing. 

Truthfully, the very last thing you wanted to do after a ten-hour work day—capping off a fifty-hour work week—was come out drinking with your colleagues. You’ve never really liked these kinds of gatherings, even if the company is the one footing the bill. They always get a bit too rowdy for your liking. Always drag on a bit too long. And you know that you’ll inevitably be the one stuck forcing your plastered boss into a taxi in the wee hours of the morning, while the rest of your equally-sloshed coworkers find their own ways home.

But the department chair, the very same one you’re sure will be singing karaoke with his tie around his forehead in only a few short hours, had been adamant that everyone in marketing attend the gathering since the sales section was joining in too. 

Hence the sales employee standing toe-to-toe with you, blocking your path.

You know Geto Suguru, but only indirectly. The sales and marketing departments are separated by a single floor in your company’s office building, and often work on projects together. Geto is a section lead in sales, with a long, illustrious history behind him before he worked his way up to that role. He’s made a lot of money for the company, and a lot of friends along the way—what with his easy charm, silver tongue, and undeniable good looks. His reputation precedes him—in both good ways and bad.

The fact that he’s here talking to you—a fresh-faced, relatively new-to-role nobody in comparison to his lengthy history with the business—is what you have a hard time wrapping your head around.

“Sure, sure.” Geto waves his hand dismissively, ash fluttering off in tiny specks from the end of his lit cigarette. “I’m sure you just love making all those copies, remembering coffee orders, and running that section lead of yours’s errands too. Oh, and don’t forget when he takes credit for your ideas.”

Your stomach drops. 

He keeps going.

“This upcoming brand collaboration is exciting,”—he takes a puff of his cigarette, his eyes sparkling as he looks at you—“too bad no one knows it was you who came up with it, huh?” 

Your fists clench tightly at your sides, your lips pressing together in a thin line.

Geto blows the last of the smoke in his lungs from the corner of his pursed lips, away from you.

“That’s the first honest expression I’ve seen on your face all night,” he says with a sly smile tugging at his lips.

Your hands are shaking.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask him weakly.

He tilts his head to the side, like your question confounds him.

“I’m not doing anything,” he says, and he sounds like he genuinely means it. “Have I said anything that isn’t true?”

You bite your lip, staring down at your pretty, professional pumps as you stand on the craggy pavement of the alley.

“You’re allowed to be angry, but don’t direct it at me for pointing out the people who keep screwing you over,” Geto says, and the way his voice sounds a bit nearer and the smell of his cigarette gets stronger tells you that he’s dipped down closer to you even though you don’t watch him do it. “No one’s gonna hand anything to you if you don’t fight for it.”

You glance up at him, your expression and your tone equally flat. “And what if I’m not a fighter?”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” he says, chuckling a bit as he backs away from you.

You watch him as he watches you—contemplates you, like he’s sizing you up. He drops cigarette suddenly to the ground, still only half-burned, and crushes it with the toe of his shoe. You hold your breath as he takes another step towards you.

He leans forward.

“Hit me.”

“Pardon me?” The bewildered question rushes out of you all in one gasping breath, and you take a loping step back in shock.

“Come on, just one,” the man goads you further, rapping against his jaw with the knuckle of his index finger as a smile twists his lips up at the corners.

“You’re drunk,” you spit out incredulously, shaking your head and quickly moving to step past him.

“I’m not.” He sidles smoothly into your path once more before you get the chance to flee, like he’s half-a-step ahead of you at all times. 

It’s infuriating.

“Alright, then you’re just insane,” you offer instead.

You knew the sales department had a reputation for being a bit wild, but this is beyond all your expectations. This is nothing like the charming, easy going Geto that you’ve heard all your female colleague gossiping about in the break room.

His smile falls, and he crosses his arms over his chest. You try not to pay too much attention to the way his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“I’m still your senior, y’know,” he says, and his voice is a little bit colder now. More admonishing.

You’re very acutely aware of that fact without him saying it.

You huff out a frustrated little breath through your nose, crossing your own arms over your chest in a mirror of his stance.

“I’m not hitting you.”

Geto’s brow quirks curiously.

“Why not?”

You can’t believe you’re having this conversation.

“Because that’s assault,” you counter his question shortly.

“It’s only assault if I press charges—which I won’t.” You know he’s telling the truth but it doesn’t make it any more convincing. He tilts his head to the side again, and a silky strand of his dark hair slips into his eyes. “Haven’t you ever hit anyone before? It’s cathartic.”

Your lips part in an expression of astonishment. “Of course I haven’t.”

The man in front of you looks mildly surprised at your answer.

“Do I look like someone who goes around fighting people?” you ask him incredulously.

“You look like you’ve got some repressed rage in you,” he says with a smirk, and the expression only worsens when he sees the way you react to it.

He taps his cheek again before tucking both his hands behind his back and leaning in close to you, like a man offering himself up to the executioner’s block. He shuts his eyes.

“C’mon, just a little one.”

“I won’t.”

“You should.”

“I won’t.”

“How come?”

You take his face in your hands suddenly, tilting it up to meet your gaze.

“Geto-san,” you say quietly, your tone bordering on desperate. “I’m not going to hit you, so please stop asking.”

He opens his eyes slowly, his dark lashes fluttering as he blinks up at you. After a moment he smiles, and his eyes curve into narrow crescents as he leans subtly into your touch.

It’s quiet in the alley, but your heartbeat is quick underneath your skin.

“Can you blame a guy for trying?” he asks you coyly.

You’re still cupping his cheeks in your hands. 

They’re warm.

“You really are crazy,” you reply softly to his question, though it’s not much of a reply at all.

He hums, turning his face so his nose drags across your wrist. His lips brush against your palm as he speaks once more. “I’ve been called worse.”

You don’t doubt he’s telling the truth.

Slowly, the dark haired man picks himself up to his usual height. He’s closer to you now than he’s ever been—and thanks to the little cat and mouse game that the two of you have been playing, you’re very nearly pressed against the alley wall. You can’t even see the street anymore beyond the expanse of his wide shoulders.

Everywhere you look, you only see him.

The realization sits hot and heavy in the pit of your stomach.

“I know you’re a good girl, but what are we gonna do about all that stuff you’ve got pent up in there?” Geto lifts his hand and presses a featherlight touch to your sternum over your diaphragm, his fingertips trailing delicately against the smooth plane where the arch of your ribs ends. Your breath hitches painfully as you stare up at him, a sticky knot at the back of your throat preventing you from forming any response—not that you can think of anything to say. 

Geto smiles down at you, his expression soft.

You see the faintest flash of sharp teeth behind his pink lips.

“Don’t you want me to help you let it out?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Price to Pay

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, violence, blood, death, grief and trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: a robbery changes your entire life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bone-nanza! Happy Birthday. Enjoy. I've cooked you up some Mob AU+Andy Barber.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The flashing lights fade away with the squall of the siren. The smell of iron tinges the air and stains your every breath. You shudder as you stare through the tight squares between the bars across the windows.

That grating did little to deter the robber. No, he made you do it. You had no choice. 

You look down at your hands. Will the shaking ever stop? There’s blood crusted around your nails despite the frantic scrubbing in the bathroom. Once the officers took their evidence, you couldn’t stop trying to wash away the taint. 

The floor shows the crimson imprint of where the men fell. Where you went to hold him in the throes of death. The fate you fired into his chest. It was you or him. That’s what you told yourself. It’s what the police said too as they wrote out the report. Come down tomorrow and sign your statement, ma’am. 

Stan couldn’t be bothered to come down to the corner shop. He owns the place but is doesn’t mean he gives a shit. The officers waited for him to show but resigned themselves to following up later. 

He had a gun. You couldn’t do anything else but open the drawer and scoop out the bills. You weren’t going to do anything but hand over the money but then he fumbled and you did too. The scramble for the pistol under the counter slowed time. The pull of the trigger put it into overdrive. 

You can feel the recoil in your forearm. The rest of you is just as stiff. You can’t untie the tension left by the night’s deadly end. You killed that man. He's rolled him out under a sheet.

He bled out in your arms, even as you desperately tried to stem the flow with the dirty rag. Why did you shoot him? Over fifty bucks worth of change? 

Adrenaline. That’s what the cops told you. Stupidity is what you believe. This job isn’t worth all that. 

And you still have to finish your shift. You look away from the faded stain on the floor. He was so young. He just made a stupid decision and you took everything from him. He’s dead. You killed him. 

🚨

You stand outside the convenience store. Strange how it seems just the same as it was. The dingy moniker flaps at one corner as a tear rents the fabric.

Customers come and go as you stand on the curb. You’ve been standing there for an hour now, trying to make yourself go inside. You have to work. If you want to stay in the hell-hole you call a home, you need the stingy paycheck. 

You check the time. You’re not late yet. You only came early because you couldn’t stand to be alone in your apartment. Now that you’re here, you just want to go back. 

A bang jars you and you cry out, spinning to search for the source. A rusty old Chrysler chuffs out black smoke and rumbles loudly. Just a backfire. You knot your shaking hands together and search the block. 

“Heard something about a robbery,” a voice draws your attention towards another car. The model is too nice for a neighbourhood like this. A man leans against it, his hands in his pockets. “Young kid. They took him down to the morgue.” 

You squint at the man in confusion. His suit is finely tailored and his beard trimmed to a tee. He stands out among the sagging jeans and worn leather. You shake your head. 

“I heard...” you croak.  

“Sad. Stupid kid, huh? Stupid decision. All for a couple bucks.” He tuts and shakes his head. 

“Yeah, um, tragic. I...” you look over your shoulder. “I gotta work.” 

You turn away and march across the pavement. Something about the man’s cool demeanour sets you on edge. Or maybe it’s the reminder of the night before. Not that you could forget. 

You enter with the chirp of the bell and greet Mauricio as he plays solitaire on the counter top. Your sneakers squeak to a halt before you can step on the cracked tile with the red splotches. You stare down at the festering memory. 

“Tough night,” Mauricio says. “I never shot one, ya know? Always shoot past ‘em. Give ‘em a scare.” 

You tuck your chin down and step over the tile. Mauricio lets you in through the door and you sidle behind the counter. You put your purse in the cupboard by the cigarettes and sniff. You wring your hands and lean on the shelf as you wait for your shift to start. 

Mauricio shuffles the cards and packs them away. 

“You okay? Police were here earlier.” 

“They were?” You gulp. 

“Might be back. Think they just wanted some Coke,” he snickers and tosses the cards under the till. The gun is still gone, probably down in some evidence locker. “Stan is pissed about the pistol, ya know?” 

“Mm, I didn’t... didn’t mean to.” 

He sniffs as he pats his back pocket, making sure he has his wallet. “Sorry, senorita. It can’t be easy, wish I had some way to help but Stan isn’t gonna pay me nothin’ to stay and I got that gig down at Jethro’s.” 

“I’m fine.” The lie is less than convincing. 

“Told him, shouldn’t have you on nights.” He shakes his head as you move to let him past. 

“It’s work.” 

“Eh, it’s somethin’,” he scoffs and hands over the keys. “Whole thing was plastered in the paper and all over the internet. Should keep the bad ones away for a while. Place is hot now. No one wants to get their ass blown off over pocket change.” 

“Sure.” 

You clip the keys on your belt. You back up and cross our arms. You lean again as you wait for him to go. You can’t say what’s worse, being alone or talking about it. 

As Mauricio goes, a customer enters. She wants a pack of menthol and some scratchers. You ring her through as she snaps her gum between her teeth. The bell chimes with her exit and stutters as another enters. 

It’s the man in the nice suit. He stops at the newspaper rack and grabs an issue. He struts up to the counter and throws it down.  

“Just the paper?” You ask. 

He steps closer and opens the newsprint. The crinkle is deafening in the drone of the local radio station buzzing from the speaker above you. He taps the page. 

“Kid was eighteen.” 

You bite down and stare back at him. You don’t know what to say or do. Is he some sort of detective? His suit might suggest as much but he hasn’t flashed a badge. 

“It was a BB gun. Looked pretty real, didn’t it?” He spits. 

You wince and shrug. You trace your knuckles nervous as you look down at the paper. Your nose tingles, your eyes too. 

He backs up and heaves out a sigh. He glances around and strides up to the stained tile. He looks down at it emphatically. 

“Blood don’t come out easy. No matter how much you scrub or bleach. It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story...” he raises his chin and closes his eyes, taking another deep. “Do you hear it? His heartbeat? Racing as the life drains out of him?” 

Your lip quivers and you shake your head. You flick away tears before they can fall, “I didn’t mean to.” 

His cheek twitches and he snorts. He turns to your stiffly. He comes back to the counter and you tense as he reaches under his jacket. You shudder and peek at the empty shelf beneath the till where the pistol should be. He slips out a photo and lays it down, his thumb lingering on the frame.  

You gasp. It’s that boy. He’s young and smiling. He doesn’t look scary like the night before. 

“You didn’t mean to kill my son? Over a bunch of piss-stained bills? You couldn’t tell the gun was a fucking toy?!” 

You cower and your eyes well. You rub them with your sleeves. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You fucking will be, sweetheart. Do you know who I am?” 

You stare and your mouth falls open. 

“His name was Jacob. Jacob Barber.” He swipes up the photo and snarls. “Any bells ringing?” 

You gape at him in horror. Barber. Yes, you’ve heard of him. He’s no detective. That suit is just a disguise. His business is deadly. His business is his ego. The personal is professional and you just stepped over the line. 

You brace yourself and drop your arms straight. You watch him, waiting. He looks back at you, agitation rippling above his brow. 

“Nothing else to say?” He sneers. 

“I deserve it.” 

He arches a brow, “deserve what?” 

“To die. So do it, please.” 

He laughs sardonically. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s cute.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m gonna do a lot fucking worse.” His eyes flick up and down and he pushes off. “You owe me and I always get what’s mine.” 

He twists on his heel and marches out. You gulp, frozen in fear, and watch after him. You don’t move until the next customer enters. Even then, you can hardly make your body listen to your fractured mind. 

🚨

There is no coming back. Thing’s don’t get better. You don’t calm down. You don’t sleep. You barely eat.  

All you can think about is the blood gushing from that boy’s chest. When you manage to close your eyes, you feel the hot stream flowing through your fingers. You smell it in the air. Beneath it all, you hear his father’s threat. 

‘You owe me...’ 

How can you repay that sort of debt? You killed his child. You didn’t have to. You could have handed over the money and told Stan the kid had a gun pointed right at you. Why did you do it? That question is as torturous as the memory. 

A week goes by. Ragged nights followed by desolate days. You stand behind that counter and stand at the reddened tile, or sit at home and rot. You wait for him to come back. Maybe then he’ll just end it. 

Another week of purgatory and your dissociation gives way to paranoia. Every time the shop door opens, you expect to see him. Barber and his tailored-jacket, a gun in his hand, ready to claim what’s owed. Every stranger on the street is just him in disguise, every shadow in your apartment is him haunting you. 

When he does appear, a month to the day, you’re almost relieved. There he is at your apartment door, stood as he was the first time you saw him. Arms crossed, leaning, looming. You stop and stare at him.  

He looks you in the eye and nods at the door. You unlock it and let him in. He isn’t in a suit this time. He’s dressed down, a hoodie and jeans. He doesn’t seem the type for denim. He struts inside and you close the door behind him. 

The air is static as he examines the bachelor suite. Your whole life in a single room. He is unimpressed as he stops by the table. Stan lets you take the old papers. You’ve brought home every single issue with a mention of the boy; Jacob. You don’t know why. 

His blue eyes are darkened in the gloom of your apartment. His beard is thick across his cheeks and defines his square jaw. His features are stony in determination. 

He pushes them to the floor and huffs. He stalks around the space as you stand by the door. You imagine him spinning to you, pulling a gun from under his sweater and firing. You could smile at the thought of it ending. 

He stops at the foot of your bed. The lumpy mattress sits on a metal frame. Beige sheets are pulled to the corners, a plaid comforter strewn carelessly below a single pillow. A used double you got from the thrift shop with your first pay. It smells like cigarettes. 

You stare at his broad shoulders as he runs his hand up his front. His zipper slices through the silence as he pulls it down. He shrugs off the hoodie and spins on his heel. He slings it over the only chair, right beside the table. He looks up at you, eyes blazing. 

“Strip.” 

His demand shakes you. It’s the first you’ve felt anything but horrible grief and self-pity. You’re afraid. You weren’t before. Just anxious. 

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he snarls as he tugs at his long-sleeved tee. 

You untie your sneakers and leave them by the door. You cross the room, staying far from him as you take in every inch. The apartment feels even smaller now.  

You unzip your jacket and fold it over the side of the plastic hamper in the corner. You pull of your socks and drop them into the depth of unwashed clothes. You undo your fly, your hands clumsy and shaking. The rustle behind you adds to the speckle of ember under your skin. 

You push your jeans down and step out of them. You throw them into the basket and peek over your shoulder. He stands at the foot of the bed once more. His hands are on his hips as he glares at the mattress. He wears only a pair of dark briefs. 

His intent isn’t hard to fathom. It’s not about the act itself, it’s the power, the humiliation. You ruined his life; he’ll do the same. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” he barks. 

You pull your shirt off and fumble with the back of your bra. You can barely get a grip as you quake. You push down your underwear and hang your head. You turn and march forward. He shoves down the elastic of his briefs at your approach. 

He’s a big man. Tall, muscular, stronger than you, without a doubt. Even if he wasn’t, he has all the power to keep you in line. 

“I don’t want to see your fucking face. Get on your stomach.” He commands as he peels off his last layer. 

You put your hands on the mattress and crawl over it. You cry out as he strikes you across your ass and sends you flat. You brace yourself on your elbows and whimper. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed.  

He hauls your legs over the edge so your feet are on the floor. He growls and scratches up the back of your thigh. You whine and he swats the back of your head. 

“Quiet,” he warns. 

He leans over you and plants his hands on either side of you. You stare up at the pillow, focusing on it as you desperately search for the numbness of those last weeks. It’s all gone now. You feel everything. The sting of flesh, the futility, the horror. 

He lifts a hand, the bed shifting with him, and traces along your spine. He dips along your ass and kicks your legs wider. He feels between your thighs and jams his fingers against your folds. He’s impatient and cruel. He rams two fingers into you and you squeak, spine arching as you grasp the linen comforter. 

He hushes you as he pushes deep. His knuckles press against you and he draws back. He jerks his hand gruffly, fucking your dry cunt raw. You hold your breath as he plumes out around you. Each intrusion is dull and achy. 

He tears free of your cunt and angles over you. He guides his tip along the swell of your ass and presses to your entrance. There is no time to be ready for him. 

You cry out and throw your head up. It’s like a red-hot iron inside of you, burning from inside out. He snarls and hooks his arm around you, smothering your mouth in his hand. You smell yourself on his fingers as the press against your nose. 

He snaps his hips and buries himself in you. You kick the floor and slap the mattress. Your muscles tighten and your bones thrum. He pushes his nose into your hair and ruts again. You squeal into his palm as your eyes bead with tears. 

He’s methodical. He pumps into you. Long, slow strokes so you feel every inch. He’s taunting you. He’s punishing you. His hot breath wraps around your scalp as he puffs. 

He bends his other arm, elbow digging into the limp mattress, and stretches his fingers around your throat.  He collapses onto you, crushing you beneath him as he squeezes your neck and jaw. He has you trapped in his grip. 

His pace quickens with his breath. He grunts and growls against your temple as the bed frame whines with his rhythm. His flesh slaps between the squeaky tempo and your pathetic mewling stays cupped behind his rough hand. 

He pounds you into the mattress, each dip of his hips heavier than the last. Every ounce of emotion; anger, grief, resent, hatred, is hammered into your helpless body. 

He puts his teeth around the brim of your ear and pinches. He growls and you feel the rumble roll through him. His thrusts turn snappy, punctuated by the bite of your flesh. Harder, harder, harder. He spasms but doesn’t let up. 

He untangles his arms from under you and pins your shoulders. He fucks his cum into you as he lifts himself up. His weight threatens to pop your bones out of joint. He pushes his thighs against yours, splaying you as far as he can. 

His furious onslaught doesn’t let up until your thighs and cunt are painted in him. Until your breathless and babbling, head lolling, defeated as he leaves you smeared across the blankets. He burrows in as deep as he can before he pulls out. 

He pushes off the bed, jarring the world around you, and his shadow hangs over you. He inhales and lets it out slowly. 

“My son. My only child,” he grits out. He bends and feels along your cunt, spreading the slimy mess leaking from your cunt. “You owe me and I will get exactly what you took from me.” 

[gremlinmodetweeker]

To Market to Market, to Buy A Fat Hog

Okay so this one made me really sad guys. Yes this is more alpha König and omega reader. This one actually made me feel really bad for König. I promise you it will get better! I do!!! I keep saying it because I really do mean it!!! AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Anyways, in this part, König sends you out to market to pick up groceries, and you find a cute alpha who actually seems to like you. Meanwhile, König struggles with appearances and his feelings.

Anyways!

TW: near infidelity (does not actually happen but comes close to a kiss), König feeling very sad and conflicted

Wordcount: 3.8K words (about 9 pages in google docs guys this is big)

Art from this post

Story Below the Cut

To Market to Market, to Buy A Fat Hog

As it turned out, cooking for König was no joke. He was an alpha, so it wasn't a surprise to figure out that the man liked to eat, but what you didn’t realize was that he was picky about it to boot. He was so picky that you’d had to resort to finding your own transportation to go down to the grocery store to find more ingredients.

“What are you you doing?”

You turned around to see König standing behind you in the front hall, posed somewhere between the stairs and the landing.

“We’re out of tomatoes,” you replied, “I need to go to the store to get some more.”

“Why do you need tomatoes?” König asked.

“To make the ratatouille that you wanted so badly,” you explained as you sat on a wooden bench to put on your shoes, “you asked for it last night, remember?”

König nodded, “You’re right, I’m sorry. I forgot about that.”

“Didn’t you say you were looking forward to this?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve been looking forward to the whole week,” König replied with a smirk.

“That’s just great,” you sighed as you brought yourself up to your feet.

“You know it’s going to rain out there, right?” König asked curiously.

“Oh,” you reached down to pick up an umbrella, "thanks.”

König watched as you fumbled with your keys before he asked, “So you’re going out like that?”

You looked over your shoulder at him, “Is there something wrong with how I look?”

König shook his head, “No, no not like that. I’m just wondering if… Well, maybe you should wear something a bit nicer?”

“Why?’ you scoffed, “are you worried about your ‘image’ again?”

König said nothing, letting you fill in the blanks for him.

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes before brushing by him to head back upstairs, “then tell me what to wear.”

“Something nicer,” was all the clarification König gave you before heading off to the backyard. To do what, you didn’t particularly care enough to think about.

Once you were upstairs in your bathroom, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Maybe König did have a point; you looked like you’d been hit with a truck that morning. The bags under your eyes were deep and heavy, and your hoodie had stains all over the bottom and along the cuffs of your sleeves. If you sat on a corner and held out a cup, you’d probably be able to make up your entire grocery bill in an afternoon. What a miserable state you were in!

You decided that what you were looking at was not up to snuff, not for you at least. Evidently not for König either, but that wasn’t the point.

With a few brushes of powder and a nice new set of clothes, you were able to face your reflection with a smile. It was a hollow, fragile smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. You tried to focus on the victories, no matter how pyrrhic they felt.

You sashayed back down the stairs with a self confident grin only to be faced with the man who sent you upstairs in the first place.

His icy eyes were wide, glancing around frantically before settling them on his feet.

“Is this good enough?” you asked.

He didn’t say a word, just nodded quickly. You figured that was about as much flattery as you’d get out of him on a good day.

“What store are you going to?” König asked in a quiet voice.

“To the big one,” you replied, “you know, the one down the road.”

König set his lips into a line, then asked, “Why don’t you go to the farmer’s market? It's a Saturday. They should be open today.”

“How would I get there?” you asked.

König dug his hands through his wallet and pulled out a blue and green card, “This is for the bus. You know how to use the GPS on your phone, right?”

You nodded.

“Just look up farmer’s market on the app,” König offered, “it should get you there quickly.”

“But what about money?” you asked.

“Ach,” König hissed as he pulled his wallet from his jeans again, “take this. It should be enough for the groceries and then some for yourself.”

“Are you suggesting I get myself something nice?” you smirked dryly at the irony.

König paused to tilt his head so he could look you in the eyes, “Maybe. You can keep the bus card, too. You’ll need it more than me.”

“Is there enough money on it?” you asked.

“It’s synced to my card,” König replied, “it’ll charge me automatically. Don’t worry about loading it.”

You tucked the card into your own wallet, thinner than his by a landslide. With all your bearings checked, you patted down your dress and gave König an award-winning smile.

“I’ll be back soon,” you grinned.

“Text me when you’re coming home,” König told you as he turned to retreat into the home, “and when you get there. And when-" he clenched his jaw, "just keep me updated, bitte.”

You didn’t say a word, instead stepping through the door and slipping outside. You pulled out your phone and punched in König’s suggestion to find what you expected to be the farmer’s market. You didn’t stop to see if König was waving you goodbye from the window, instead marching to the nearest bus stop to get started on your route.

The bus wasn’t particularly crowded, but there was a beta male in rut that had evidently forgotten to take his pills this morning, making the entire bus reek of oceanic vinegar. He’d obviously tried to hide it with extra scent blocker deodorant, but he was failing miserably. Most of the others on the bus shot the poor fellow cruel looks, to which he withered in on himself. It wouldn’t surprise you if he’d been sent home from work to get himself some pills to stop stinking up the office.

Thankfully, aside from the beta male, there weren’t any great upsets along the way. The walk to the market was thankfully brief, though a drizzle started and you had to put up your polka dotted umbrella as a shield against the weathers. You’d spent too much time perfecting your lipstick to have it smudged by a few drops of rain. Just once, you wanted to feel like you looked nice. It wasn’t like König did anything to help you in that regard. Rather, you felt that when you were around him, you were about as attractive as plain cardboard or white wallpaper. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even let himself look at you, which though while a regular occurrence, still smacked of obstinate rudeness that cut you like a thousand papercuts. Each nervous glance away was another slit upon you. At this point, you were surprised your heart was still beating in its place in your chest.

You skulked through the market in a search for ingredients. You didn’t really need to go out today, but you wanted a break from the silence of the home. After spending so much time in the silence, the hustle and bustle of the market jostled you to and fro with the crowds. You were twirled around this way and that before you were able to stumble you way towards a decent-enough looking stall filled to the brim with bright red fruits.

Only once you were too close to be ignored did you realize that the stall was advertising cider and vinegar, made fresh from the very same apples that had drawn you in.

“Hey!” a tall alpha stepped up to greet you, “see anything you like?”

You, you wanted to say but you held your tongue. Instead, you looked over the merchandise before picking up a small bottle.

“Um, how much is this?” you asked as you passed over the cider.

“Oh this is on sale, actually,” the alpha laughed, exposing his bright white canines, “it’s just for today though.”

“Only today?” you parroted.

“Only for today,” the alpha agreed before screwing you with a strange look, “say, where’s your collar?”

You blinked as you reached up to your neck.

“Oh, I must have forgotten it at home,” you admitted shyly, ashamed you’d forgotten such an important piece of protection for yourself.

“How long have you been here?” the alpha frowned.

“Not long,” you said as you fingered the empty air around your neck, “I must’ve forgotten it when I went out this morning.”

“Well it’s not safe for an unclaimed omega to go around without a collar,” the alpha hummed before holding up a hand, “just wait right there. I’m gonna go talk to someone.”

You nodded and let the man hurry off to talk to an alpha woman who worked the other side of the stall. She glanced over at you with a quick smile before looking back at her coworker, letting him return back to you with a comment accompanied by a nod of her head.

The alpha stepped back from behind the stall to stand by your side, awkwardly squeezing into the space beside you as carefully as he could to avoid actively pressing in on your inner bubble.

“So, I talked to my boss, and she said it’s okay if I take a break and help you around the market,” the alpha smiled timidly, “it’s just… I’m worried somebody might hurt you.”

“Wait, really?” you blinked owlishly as you looked up at the man.

“I mean it’s not safe to be without a collar,” the alpha insisted, “so it only makes sense that I watch over you. I, uh, I have a lot of omega friends and they tell me it’s nice to have someone around to keep them safe.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” you felt a bit fuzzy as you smiled at the messy-haired brunette, “but you don’t have to if it’s too much-”

“It’s nothing,” the alpha interjected before wincing, “sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt it’s just, you know, I’d hate to let you go and have you get hurt or-”

“No I get it,” you helped the poor man out, “I just didn’t want to pull you away from work and…”

You both smiled fondly at each other. Maybe it was something about not being used to an alpha’s affection, but the man’s brown eyes were warm like honey and tea as he took you in. You were suddenly grateful for König insisting that you wear something nice. Wait, König!

“Oh, um, I’m sorry but I should probably just call my alpha to come get me,” you cringed at the thought of having to phone up that miserable lout to drag you back into that horrible home.

“Wait, your alpha let you out like this?” the alpha frowned, almost looking crestfallen, “that’s weird.”

“Well,” you sighed, “we’re in a weird relationship. I’m supposed to be his mate or whatever, but I just… He’s not really in it.”

“Oh you got matched?” the alpha perked up, “I had a few friends in the matching program.”

“You did?” you asked.

“Yeah! They’re all like, ‘Shaun you really gotta sign up for this matching program’ way back in high school, but now they’re all sad and miserable with their matches,” the man laughed before catching himself, “my name’s Shaun, by the way! Sorry about that, I forgot to introduce myself. What’s your name?”

You gave your name with a laugh, “I guess I forgot to introduce myself too!”

“Makes the two of us, I guess,” Shaun chuckled, turning with you to start walking the aisles with you, “so, what’re you here for anyways?”

“Just a few veggies and stuff,” you replied, “my alpha wants me to cook for him.”

“So he let you out in public but expects you to be a perfect little omega for him?” Shaun scoffed, “sounds like a great guy for sure.”

“Well,” you bit your lip, “it’s more complicated than that. See, I really wanted him to just, you know, be my partner but he wasn’t too keen on it. So I was thinking that maybe if I made him jealous, maybe he’d be more interested or something?”

“And how did that go?” Shaun chuckled.

“Well, he called me out pretty quickly and then told me I could make it up to him by cooking for him,” you explained, “so I guess I really got myself in this mess.”

“But you only did it because he wasn’t paying any attention to you?” Shaun asked, helping you navigate around a tight bend by using his body as a battering ram through the crowd.

You blushed furiously, “I mean, is it too much to ask? I really thought the matching system would work, but… Well…”

“Usually it works,” Shaun offered, “but not always,” he helped you step out of the way of a passing baby stroller, “some people say it takes a couple of years to work, but I just think it’s a bit overrated.”

“So you never signed up?” you asked.

“Nah, it’s not like people would really want me, anyways,” Shaun admitted, “I’m an alpha O with a degree in agriculture working at a small farm. I don’t make much, and not many people are into alpha Os.”

“Really?” you asked curiously, “why not?”

“Not as big as alpha Bs and not as stable as beta As,” Shaun explained, “but whatever. I bet you get it as an omega.”

“Omega O, actually,” you laughed when Shaun winced, “yeah, it’s not always fun. But hey, I get by.”

“So I’m guessing you’re matched with an alpha A?” Shaun cringed.

“Yeah! I’m told the matching system puts alpha As and omega Os together for some reason?” you shook your head, “it’s crazy to me.”

“Absolutely,” Shaun agreed, “oh look! You said you needed veggies, right? My friend runs that stand over there!”

Shaun pointed somewhere but the crowd obscured your vision. So thus you pushed forth behind him before coming into a small clearing.

“Shaun! Long time no see!” a tall beta woman leaned on the wood stand.

“Laura, we literally just talked two hours ago,” Shaun rolled his eyes before standing to the side, “I’m just here because this little omega over here forgot her collar back home. But yeah, you wanted to get some things, right?”

After a bit of social chit-chat, you left with a couple of baskets brimming with fresh produce. Included i the bundle was a jar of fresh tomato paste and a bottle of olive oil, courtesy of the Italian pasta maker in the stand beside you. The beta man running the store had been more than glad to help you out when he overheard you explaining your situation with König, though he had tried to make you take a particularly spicy sausage to try and ‘get back at the swine’ but you’d had to turn him down.

After touring the market once more, you sat down at a bench with a paper bag of cinnamon sugar doughnuts between you and Shaun.

“Thanks for helping me around here,” you said before taking another bite of the fresh-baked treat, “wow these are so good. You were totally right about these.”

“Those old ladies know what they’re talking about,” Shaun agreed as he took another doughnut, “but yeah, don’t worry about it. I’m just happy you’re safe and all that.”

“It’s nice to meet an alpha that’s not a major dickface,” you grinned, wiping the sticky sugar away from your fingers.

“Most alphas are pretty chill actually,” Shaun wrapped his sticky fingers together, “I mean, we have to take those emotional regulation classes all the way from grade one until we graduate. Most of us learn how to chill out a bit.”

“So that’s why you’re so nice?” you asked cheekily.

“I mean, I like to think I’ve always been pretty cool,” Shaun tossed you a sly grin, “just don’t tell Laura that. She thinks I’m weird.”

“And why’s that?” you kicked your feet beneath you on the bench.

“Oh, I dunno, because I like comics? Or maybe it’s ‘cause I can quote entire movies in one go,” Shaun laughed, “but I think that just makes me cooler.”

“You might be on to something,” you agreed before you heard a small ping! came from your pocket, “one sec I just need to check something,” you said as you pulled it out to check your notifications. König. “Shit,” you hissed, “it’s König.”

“König? Is that foreign?” Shaun asked.

“One sec I just gotta text him back…”

Hello? Is everything alright? You haven’t texted me in a while and I want to make sure you’re safe.

You hissed and typed out a quick reply before hitting ‘send’ and pocketing your phone again.

“Is this ‘König’ guy your alpha?” Shaun asked, looking at you with a melancholic expression.

“Yeah,” you admitted, “he was just checking if I was okay.”

“Really?” Shaun snorted, “from the way you put it, it didn’t sound like he cared about you at all.”

“Well he doesn’t,” you sighed, “but he has to keep up ‘appearances’ all the time.”

Shaun groaned, “That sounds fucking awful.”

“It can be,” you agreed, “but sometimes… Sometimes I wonder if maybe he does care.”

“If he did, he wouldn’t let you out of the house without a collar,” Shaun reasoned with you.

You hummed, looking down at your sugar-dusted fingers ass they fiddled among each other. You could feel the granules of sugar melting into a sticky paste against your skin, sticking with each brush of your hands against each other.

“It would be nice if my alpha cared about me,” you sighed.

“Well, why do you need him to care about you?” Shaun asked, “and anyways, can’t you break the match?”

“Omegas can’t break matches,” you informed him dutifully, “only alphas and betas have the right to break matches.”

Shaun slumped in his seat.

“Oh…”

“It’s stupid,” you spat.

“It’s sad ‘cause like…” Shaun shrugged awkwardly, “you seem really cool.”

“Do I?” you laughed, “because I’m not.”

“People say I’m not cool either,” Shaun smiled, “so I guess we’d work pretty well together.”

You turned slightly to look at him from the corner of your eyes. He wasn’t looking at you, instead focussing on his own hands, coated just like yours were. His shaggy hair hung low over his face, giving him an innocently youthful expression. He seemed so sweet, so different from the alpha that kept you caged in his home…

“We would,” you agreed, carefully reaching your hand out to his.

He took it carefully, almost afraid to respond to your touch.

“Your alpha wouldn’t like this, would he,” Shaun turned to look at you, his eyes almost golden in the sunlight.

“He wouldn’t,” you agreed, “but I don’t really care.”

You leaned in close, but just as you closed your eyes, your phone rang.

You snapped back to attention and wrenched it out of your pocket. It was König. You watched it ring once, twice, then tucked it back into your pocket.

“I don’t really care what he thinks,” you huffed.

“So, um, I guess you gotta go home now?” Shaun laughed, the tension between you thoroughly shattered.

“I guess,” you sighed before perking up briefly, “can I get your number? We can still talk and stuff. I’ve only just moved here, so it would be nice to know someone locally.”

“Sure, uh, just hand it over,” Shaun took your phone from you, trying to suck the sugar off his fingers before typing away and handing it back to you, “sorry about all the, uh, sugar and stuff.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you tucked your phone back into your pocket before typing your number into his and giving it back to him, “but yeah, it was great meeting you Shaun.”

“It was great to meet you too,” Shaun grinned.

“Well,” you looked at the bus stop across the street, “I guess I gotta go now.”

“Call me when you get home, yeah?” Shaun asked as you walked off.

“I will!” you promised and turned back to the bus.

“Where were you?” König hounded you as soon as you stepped through the door.

“I was out at the market,” you replied as you hauled the groceries into the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you text me?” König asked, drumming his fingers against the countertop nervously.

“I forgot,” you said as you put away a bag of carrots, “it happens.”

“But you…” König squinted and frowned, “where’s your collar? Did you already take it off?”

“I forgot to take it with me,” you replied quickly as you whirled around to put away a bunch of tomatoes.

You turned back to the counter but slammed into König’s chest. You stumbled back to glare up at him, but his worried face caught you off guard.

“Were you okay?” König asked, placing his palms on your shoulders, “nobody hurt you, did they? How could you forget your collar? You need to take care of yourself, ja?”

“I was fine,” you pushed back from him coldly.

König stepped to the side to let you carry on putting away the produce, shrinking in on himself awkwardly.

“Are you sure?” König asked nervously, “you smell… Different.”

“Somebody helped me around,” you explained easily as you turned away. When you turned back, König’s face had become downright stormy.

“Who helped you,” König’s voice was flat and cold like an iron sword.

“Some guy at a stall,” you tried to shake off the nerves that crawled up your back.

“An alpha?” König stepped in close.

You stopped what you were doing to look back at König closely. He had leaned in close, almost menacing in how he now crowded your form.

“Maybe?” you shrugged, “I didn’t really pay attention.”

König stopped you from turning away and leaned in close. Before you could say anything, he rubbed his neck against yours quickly, once on each side. He stepped back, but kept his grip on your shoulders.

“Better,” he said quietly.

“What’s wrong with you?” you spat.

König watched you carefully, taking in how you puffed up with frustration in his hold. A part of him seemed to soften as he took in your form.

“We need to keep up appearances,” König replied dryly.

“That’s bullshit,” you scoffed.

König ducked his head, but the grip on your shoulders tightened. He grimaced, then turned back and tucked you into his chest.

“Appearances matter,” his voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t mention it.

Instead, when you stepped back you trailed a hand on his chest, “Why do you care so much?”

“Appearances,” König choked out.

“That’s not why you care,” you tried to let your hand fall on his cheek but he was quick to duck away.

“It’s all that matters,” König’s voice was faint as he left the room, “it’s what keeps us safe.”

You watched him leave the room quietly. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, but you weren’t as eager to pick up the phone this time.

AU Masterlist

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Wildflower: 06

The Secret Garden

John Wick x Reader

Category: Short Series

Warning: Stalking, mentions of violence

Note: John is relatively younger in this fic( late thirties to early forties)

*Thank you the original creator for making such an amazing GIF. I downloaded it from Google.

Unedited

Wildflower 05

According to John’s rational, calculating mind, his job was done. He got her to the hospital, paid the bills, played his part in Winston’s unexplained act of taking the young woman under his wing, and ensured his name was nowhere in the records. 

The hospital's owner knew’ John and was an old acquaintance of Winston. By now, John was sure Winston learned of John’s visit and that he brought her to be admitted there.

According to John's rational mind, he should be at the Continental, or at least answer Winston's messages (only two since the morning– he was too refined to send more than that).

But for once, his rational mind was conflicting with his instincts. It was not the first time, but it was a rare occurrence. But there he was, blended among the hustle and bustle, hiding in plain sight— keeping his eyes on the hospital. The entrance, precisely. She could be walking out any moment and with the concussion, he might have to—

His jaws clenched at the sight of Norton helping her out. The younger male’s hand rested on her waist, supporting her. Something was burning in John’s chest because he realised that he had been thinking of being at Norton’s place.

John frowned, realising how irrational he would sound if he vocalised his thoughts. Where were his thoughts going anyway?

What the hell was he doing?

He had an explanation for… his ‘treatment’ of the petty criminal. He needed to take back her mother’s ring for her. 

But this?

This was not how he was supposed to feel. He felt like he was losing control over his instincts and John hated losing control. Having control over himself helped. There was a feeling that at least he had some control over his life, some sort of freedom.

Losing that control threatened the little freedom and control he had over his life that was perhaps sealed for hell the moment he was born.

He was a man who moved with a purpose— what was his purpose there? He should be relieved, she would not need any help and he could just go home, or to the Continental. 

Instead, he stood there, discreet with his eyes and body language but could not help the scowl that faintly appeared on his otherwise unreadable face. 

His eyes followed them as they got into a taxi. With his gaze zeroed on the vehicle, he quickly noted the number in his mind before getting inside his car. He knew he could not rest until she was safe in her home. 

Without the shadow of Alex Norton lingering around.

John found himself feeling slightly at ease after Alex left. Another open contract. John received the message already.

Three million dollars was a lot. No wonder Alex chose to take it. But John could not bring himself to leave just yet. He sat in his car, just watching her window. At nightfall, it was easier to make out what was happening with the lights on and her fumbling around. Her shadow stumbled a bit now and then, and John found himself frowning in frustration.

Why was she moving so much?

Stupid girl!

John was surprised at the level of obliviousness that surrounded her. Who would go to a park near dawn? And for what? To watch the sunrise?

Not that John did not appreciate such peaceful moments, but he was John Wick. But she? He could tell she had never even thrown a punch at anyone. He felt it when he first shook her hand. He was taken aback by the softness. He was not used to it, but he would admit it felt… good.

John gulped. 

He would rather not remember how her form felt pressed against his. He could be gentle, he was gentle with the women when he wasn’t fighting them for survival, and even then, he was never brutal with the kills. He made it quick.

But touching her felt different. It made him think twice about pressing too hard, holding too tight, even the day he just let her bump into him, he somehow regretted wearing the vest because he could see that it hurt her.

John was not a boy. He was old enough to understand where this was going. He simply could not bring himself to look into its eyes and admit it. 

If he did…

He tore his gaze away from the window and busied himself with drinking some water. He stubbornly kept his gaze down, refusing to look up again. His phone dinged with an alert.

An exclusive contract. 

There were people he could not deny, after all. 

With one last glance at her apartment window, John twisted the keys and drove away into the night. It was time to hunt.

—------

Laying on his bed with a bandaged ankle was not something ‘normal’ people would enjoy. John, on the other hand, was thankful. He was half-expecting a fracture. A sprain was no big deal— nothing compared to what he was trained to endure, or what he endured growing up. 

John had turned numb to the pain. He would go on, despite the pain. He would go on without acknowledging it, at least until he was done with his task at hand. People might say he had a formidable sense of commitment and focus. But in reality, it was all he knew. To John, it was the way of life. It was how he was trained, and how he grew up.

The world outside gave him much more agency. Not exactly freedom—but the chain binding him loosened up, and the cage expanded. But he was owned; the whole jungle was the High Table’s prison, after all.

He had been a part of this ‘jungle’ for as long as he could remember. Ruska Roma was simply a prison within this prison— this great ‘system’ he was pulled into the moment he was left orphaned. He thought he could live with it because this was all he knew.

But then came (Y/N) (L/N)...

With her expressive eyes brimming with determination, a smile so kind and sweet it made him sigh. A laugh that sounded like bells of spring and a carefree, oblivious kind of happiness he knew he could not have and a touch so soft, so non-deliberate, it irked him. 

Everything about her was simultaneously off-putting and intriguing. 

John was compelled to admit, that it irked him because her existence, her presence itself felt like a mockery to his life. She was not chained, unlike him, even though she was born to a woman who once belonged to the same hell he was now a part of. It irked him because she was everything he used to dream of as a child. She had everything he wanted so desperately during his naive years before he was finally disillusioned. 

It irked him how many times a day he thought about her. About how vulnerable she was and yet had a certain fire within that he knew would burn him down if he dared venture close enough. This flame, or whatever was within her was soothing for now, but he was afraid of it. Afraid of nurturing something he could not contain, he could not control.

Like his thoughts moving to her now and then—each day, he thought longer, more about her, each time he did, he felt himself softening in ways he never thought he was capable of. He thought he had turned completely numb. She proved him wrong even without trying to. 

And it irked him in every way possible.

Even the simplest of proximity they shared, he felt it all over his skin, in each of his veins, he felt it in his heart, he felt it in his mind. It was bizarre, bewildering, and infuriating.

But if he found her infuriating, why did he end up doing all the things he had done so far? Why did he end up watching over her behind the quiet shadows of the night, watching her sleep from the darkest corner of her room? Why would he follow her to her little trips at the parks and bicycle rides if her presence irked him? Why would he fracture the ribs of the man who hurt her, and tried to mug her? He broke his fingers, that man’s wrist would never be the same…

John felt the rage that he used to feel while growing up in Ruska Roma and watching helplessly how unfair everything was, and how powerless other children like him were. 

Maybe that was why he felt that rage—he had become someone his younger self would run to for protection. When he watched, the man hurt her. Something in him seared, it stung in all the worst ways possible, and he could not stand the feeling until his knuckles were marred with that rat’s blood.

He had been rather merciful, though. 

Anyone with a sane mind would call him a monster. Was he not a monster anyway? But at this point, he had no care for morals anymore— he was only surviving, as every other assassin like him was. To hell with the morals, John knew he was strong enough to be feared.

And if fear was the way to keep the little freedom he had earned, he would let fear reign.

—---

It was another day. Just another day of the same cycle. Waking up, having breakfast, taking the prescribed medication a week after being discharged, and going to work. Yes, that was the ‘regular’ part of the day. It was after work, when she was passing by the park, that (Y/N) noticed a familiar figure on the bench.

His hair was brushed back but seemed a bit fluffier—casual. Yes, that was the difference. He was in a plain white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She had seen, John Wick only in dark suits. Black. Yes, that was his preferred colour, it seemed. But as she watched him sitting on the bench, a sandwich in his hand and a coffee cup by his side, he appeared so...unreal.

It did not make sense. He was a stranger, more or less, and she had seen him hardly four times(?). But he looked almost angelic to (Y/N). Especially with the setting sun casting a glow on the side of his face. 

What the hell are you even doing?

Too late, she was already within his earshot. He turned to her, alerted by the disturbance in the otherwise tranquil park. And just as she thought, the sunlight fell just the right way on his eyes, and they seemed ethereal—perhaps brown was the most loved by nature.

She was expecting some surprise in his eyes but they were so calm, so hypnotic, it surprised her instead.

“Hi.”

“Good evening.”

Wow, even his greetings were classy.

“Um, yes, good day—I mean, good evening.” (Y/N) felt the warmth of embarrassment on her cheeks before noticing the mirth in his eyes. It was faint, but it was there. 

“I saw here, and just thought, I would say hi.”

This time, the corner of his lips rose higher “Oh, you live here?”

“Yes, just a few blocks ahead…You come here often?”

He took a moment to answer, and throughout that tiny moment (it felt stretched to an hour), his eyes seemed to assess her before he replied.

“Sometimes.”

John did not verbally invite her, only removing the cup from the bench, leaving space for her to sit before turning his gaze ahead. And while, yes, this was a silent invitation, her mind had gained expertise in overthinking.

Did he really want her to sit?

Or was it him being polite?

He looked fine by himself. At peace too.

And then—

He turned to her again “Are you in a rush?”

“Uh…no?”

“Then, please...” He gestured with his hand, glancing at her. It seemed more like a side-eye but, whatever.

“You like to sit here alone?” She asked, taking a seat beside him, not too close, but not noticeably far.

“Solitude is good for my sanity.”

Stoic and quiet, he seemed every bit of a man who would appreciate solitude over company, like her.

“You seemed so to me.”

From the corner of her eyes, she could see him turn to her. Even seated, he towered over her, sitting straight—as if a soldier were on alert. 

“How much of me do you know?”

“Enough to draw precise conclusions, I believe.” (Y/N) turned to him. The last of the sun’s rays kissed his face tenderly. He was a sight to behold, she realised.

There was a twinkle in his eyes, and the shade of brown softened. “You know only what you see from afar. There is no reason or good for you to get any closer.”

“Why? My mother was a part of this world.”

“And she kept you away. That is for a reason. There is nothing to see here, (Y/N).”

“I have unanswered questions. If Winston could—”

“I believe he does what he sees as best. Especially for you.”

“Why does he care so much about me? Why did my mother trust him over anyone else?”

John sighed “I’m afraid I have no answer.” 

He answered with a contemplative frown and looked away, setting his sight once more on the darkening sky as the remnants of the set sun remained.

“Sorry, I am not great at conversations, and the past months of moving in all the information have taken a toll, I guess.”

“I understand.” He assured her kindly.

A long silence followed after that. It was indeed awkward initially. She had no new words or energy to set another tone. But it grew to be comfortable, at least for her. They sat there in silence until the street lights blinked on and the moon turned more prominent against the black sky.

“It’s late; I should go now.” (Y/N) stated, but made no effort to stand up.

“Sure”

“It was good talking to you.”

Faint amusement danced in his eyes as he turned to her. “I do not recall much talking.”

Yes, they had been sitting in silence for at least fifteen minutes. The of sight of mirth in his eyes made her smile

 “I cannot say I hated it.”

He smiled at her. It reminded her of an intimidating and misunderstood large canine trying to socialise. An awkward smile that came with a nod. But nothing mattered because it was in his eyes.  The soulful and melancholic pools of molten chocolate had the perfect tinge of golden brown when the sunrays fell on them a few moments ago before the sky darkened.

“Okay, so, see you around? I guess?” (Y/N) forced her gaze away, not wanting to come off as creepy.

“Maybe.” John replied, “Let me walk you home.”

“Oh no, there’s no need. My house is just a few blocks away…”

 By the time she was closer to finishing the sentence, he was on on his legs.

“Even better, it’s not far then.”

“Yes and—”

And he was already walking ahead. It turned out, that walking home in a comfortable silence was not that bad.

****

[demxters]

—LOVING YOU IS A LOSING GAME

frat!jake seresin x f!reader

dagger squad college!au

summary: jake's attempt to see his girl the week before finals backfires on him leading them to their first fight and an outcome neither of them saw coming.

wc: 3.8k

warning(s): 18+, fem!reader, no y/n (reader goes by nickname ace), angst galore, swearing, mentions of alcohol and weed, drunk driving (don't do it), bad parental relationships, academic pressure

part of the loving you universe || also find it on ao3 here

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!

Finals sucked. Balancing studying and your social life sucked. Balancing studying, your social life, and your relationship sucked. This was the third week you’ve had to drive Jake away and you hated it. In the beginning he was understanding, giving you a kiss to your forehead when you asked him to leave. Or dropping by the apartment with some take out because he knew you weren’t taking care of yourself. He’d even send the occasional Don’t forget to hydrate! text, to which he would get nothing more than a thumbs up in response. 

He got it, really he did. He understood how much your studies meant to you. You made it very clear at the beginning of your relationship that you weren’t going to drop everything for him. And he respected that. Hell, he admired you for it. He definitely didn’t have the guts to do it.  But it’s been three weeks of him trying to chase you down. Three weeks of quick hugs in passing and good night and good morning texts. Jake missed you. He missed you so fucking much and it seemed like you’ve barely given him a second thought. 

Jake knew he was being irrational. Of course you missed him. You wouldn’t have promised him to go out to lunch today if you didn’t. Yet here he was sitting alone at your favorite diner, reaching the top of the hour, and you still hadn’t shown up. His leg is bouncing up and down impatiently and the apples of his cheeks are red in embarrassment. An older couple a few booths away eye him with pitiful looks and not so silently whisper to each other, Poor boy got stood up. 

He checks his phone for the fifth time in the last three minutes to find no texts or calls from you. Jake desperately tries again, clicking on your contact and sending a distressed Where are you??? He barely waits another minute until he’s calling you once more. 

“Hey, this is Ace, sorry I missed your call. Please leave a message–Jake, stop tickling me! Leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon.”

“Unless you're a guy. In that case lose this number! She’s taken!” 

“Jake!” 

He sighs longingly at the sound of the dial tone, remembering the day you two recorded that message. Jake hadn’t seen you in so long. You felt like a lifetime ago. He missed his girl so much that his chest hurt. He’s frustrated beyond comprehension. Before he can even take a second to think about what he’s doing, he slams a wad of dollar bills onto the table, storms out of the diner, and hops into his truck like a man on a mission. 

Jake reaches your apartment in record time. Looking back on it now, he probably should’ve just called Nat, Bob, or Mickey. They would know where you were. Though in his defense, he took your radio silence as a sign that something was wrong. Maybe you were hurt or in trouble and couldn’t reach your phone. In this day and age, anything seemed possible. Could you blame him for being paranoid? 

Hastily making his way to the second floor, he barely blinks an eye until he makes it to the front of your apartment door. The faded gold 86 number plaque is staring him straight in the face and he can barely remember the last time he saw it. Out of respect for you, in case he really was overthinking things, he knocks on the door once. Twice. Three times. 

When he still doesn’t get a response, his heart begins to race, breathing heavy. He fumbles with his keys, fingers trembling as he tries to find the bright pink Hello Kitty replica key to your apartment. So it’s easy to find in emergencies, you had reasoned with him. He thought you were teasing him in the moment, but right now he has never been more thankful for your sharp thinking. 

He jams the key into the knob, turning it counterclockwise a little too strongly, and bursts through the door by his shoulders. 

“Ace?” He hollers into the quiet apartment. 

Jake looks around for any signs that you were there, only to be met with a spick and span living room and kitchen. Curse your stress cleaning intuition. He practically runs down the hall to your room. He sees nothing but your door and the yellow light illuminating from beneath. 

He’s barely thinking as he barrels into your room. He all but falls to the floor as you bolt up from your desk chair at the sight of him. 

“Jake?” You exclaim, rushing over to where he has fallen onto your floor. 

You grab him by the elbows, gently pulling him up. He groans into your touch, just now realizing how much he missed the feeling of your skin on his. Jake has to bite his tongue to stop the moan that wants to leave his lips. 

“Jesus, Ace, you scared me,” he breathes, steadying himself in your hold. Standing back up on his feet, he releases his hold on your arms and brings them up to your face. “You okay?” 

You nod as he continues to look you up and down with concern shining in his eyes. It makes you laugh lightly when he squishes your cheeks just a little more. “I’m fine, are you okay? I think I almost gave you a heart attack…” 

Jake opens his mouth to speak when a slightly staticy sounding voice cuts him off. 

“Hey, Ace? I think I’ll just call you later, yeah?” 

Jake’s heart drops to his stomach at the sound, and not in the way it did when you kissed him for the first time. This feeling was something less comforting and much more painful. It made him want to throw up on your linoleum floor. 

“Yeah, yeah Connor, I’ll call you back later,” you say, rushing back to your desk where your phone was lying face up on an open FaceTime call. You don’t even wait for him to say goodbye as you end the call. 

A burning heat crawls its way up Jake’s features. He’s sure his cheeks are probably inflamed in dark red. Who the hell was Connor and how the hell did you have time for him and not for your own boyfriend? 

“Jake?” You call out, breaking him from the fury that begins to build up in his chest. 

He doesn’t want to be that guy. He will not be that guy. He trusts you and he knows you would never do that to him. That still doesn’t stop the hurt that floods his senses. 

His mouth is open before he can even process the rest. “Do you know what today is?” 

You look at him with wide eyes and your lips quirked downward. “Saturday?” 

He hums. “Yeah, the Saturday we were supposed to have lunch at–” He pauses, giving you the benefit of the doubt. Hoping that you hadn’t forgotten and were just running late. But you don’t jump in and that makes his heart hurt even more. You just continue to look at him questioningly in a way that he would’ve found adorable in any other circumstance. “Rosie’s,” He finishes for you. “We were supposed to have lunch at Rosie’s.” 

“Rosie’s, shit!” You come rushing back towards him, grabbing his hands. You caress the back of his hands with your thumbs and you can only hope that he could feel how sorry you are; how horrible you feel for forgetting about your date. “I’m so, so sorry, Jake. I just caught up with…” 

“Connor,” he deadpans. “Yeah, I know.” 

He doesn’t meet your eye, and you pout at his clear irritation. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. I can do next Saturday? We could do Rosie’s then walk down the coast by The Hard Deck.” 

Jake doesn’t mean to, but he scoffs–much too harshly for your taste. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m afraid my girlfriend won’t be available again. Or worse, she might even forget.” 

You drop his hands, stepping back with obvious hurt in your eyes. “I’m sorry, what else do you want me to say?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe that you’ll try harder to make some time for me? I haven’t heard from you in days! Hell, I haven’t seen you in weeks! Yet, somehow, you have the time of day to call this Connor dude, on the day we’re supposed to see each other!” 

You’re pacing the floor with your own anger bubbling up inside you. You clench your fist before pointing at him with your other hand. “It is not my fault that finals are right around the corner! I have been studying my ass off night and day. Which you obviously wouldn’t understand.” You take a deep breath. “As for Connor, we were just studying together! Something that I can’t do with you!” 

“Cheap hit, Ace.” It was a known fact that he wasn’t the best at academics, but you knew better than anyone how hard he was trying, making your words hurt more than he cared to admit. Jake exhales deeply from his mouth, attempting to calm his beating heart so he doesn’t say something he doesn’t mean. “Finals aren’t until another week! All I’m asking for is a day. Just one day.” 

“It’s not just finals, Jake,” you groan. “Not to me, you know that.” The two of you have been going in circles for the last fifteen minutes. You get where Jake is coming from, really you do. But you also need him to understand you. He knew going into this how important your studies were to you. One day could jeopardize your entire study schedule. 

“I know. But is it so bad for me to want to spend some time with my girlfriend? I mean, we haven’t gone on a proper date in months. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time we had an actual conversation!” 

You turn to him with narrowed eyes, furiously shutting your physics book. “So now I’m the bad guy? It’s my fault that we can’t hang out?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Jake frustratingly runs his hands through his already messy blond hair. He doesn’t know what to do with the overwhelming flood of emotions passing over him. 

You’re sat on the edge of your bed now, too worked up from all your pacing. “You know, I just don’t get you, Seresin. I’ve asked if you wanted to sit in with me. You’ve denied me every time.”

The sound of his last name falling from your lips feels like salt in an open wound. He hasn’t heard you call him that in ages. He knows he’s in deep shit now, but his pride won’t let him admit it. “Sweetheart, it’s not my fault that I don’t find Plato and standard deviation appealing, ” he sasses. 

“So, what? You’d rather I go out and party all night because, ‘Hey! It’s just finals!’” You throw your hands up in anguish as you deepen your voice in a clearly mocking tone of his voice. 

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you even hear yourself right now, Ace? You need to take a break! I’m trying to look out for you. It’s not healthy to be cooped up inside like this all day.” 

“Well, I’m sorry I have other priorities that don’t involve you, Jake,” you sigh. 

“And yet, you don’t have a problem making Connor one of them,” he sneers. 

“He’s helping me study!” 

“I offered to help you study, but instead you told me to sit back because you could do it yourself.” He swallows harshly, feeling the reality of your admission sink in. 

If it hadn’t been for the tension between the two of you, you would’ve been able to bite your tongue and let the moment pass. However, you were so high strung at the moment that you let your temper get the best of you. “Well, it’s not my fault that I can’t just charm my professors and tutors into giving me a pass. Unlike some people, I have actually put in the work.” The moment the words leave your lips, you regret it. Jake’s shoulders fall and you see the way he visibly deflates and shrinks into himself. You desperately want to take it back, but you did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you felt guilty. 

A moment of silence passes between you both. The only sound to be heard is the heavy breathing that escapes you both. 

Amidst the silence, Jake stifles the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes by running a hand down his face. Of all the people to insult his intelligence, you were the last person he ever expected to do so. Not once, even before you started dating, had you said anything about how he struggled with school. Sure, you got frustrated with him, but you of all people knew how much work he put into his studies. Unlike everyone else, you were able to see him as something more than the dumb blond frat boy people joked that he was. When everyone else would claim to be teasing Jake about his studies, you were always the first to stand up for him. Saying, Jake Seresin is capable of more than you know!, making him feel validated and more confident in himself. Now, your words felt like a slap to the face and for the first time, he found himself questioning everything you’ve said about him. 

He should’ve known the honeymoon phase wouldn’t last forever. Everything was going so well, he didn’t have any reason to think things would go downhill so fast. Of course, Jake was too overconfident about your infatuation with him. He shouldn’t have assumed that you were as in love with him as he was with you. That was his first mistake. 

“You know what? I really thought you were different,” he says softly. 

“Jake–” Take it back! The voice in your head shouts. Take it back, you idiot! But the apology, the words of affirmation, the reassurances–they all get stuck in the back of your throat like molasses. 

“I guess I was wrong about you, Ace.” 

You furiously shake your head. You didn’t mean it, you swear you didn’t mean it. In the heat of the moment, you let your emotions get the best of you. You knew it wasn’t an excuse, but you needed him to know that you would never mean what you said. 

You thought the world of Jake Seresin. He is smart and he has so much potential. He was better than you at physics and knew all the parts to an F/A-18 Super Hornet. He could calculate distance, time, and speed, like it was nobody's business. He impressed you in so many ways and you were so proud of him and how much he has improved. Deep down, you knew he was right too. This wasn’t healthy. You should’ve tried harder to make time for him after everything he has done for you. But the shame of the hurt you’ve caused, the shame of what you did prevented you from saying it. 

“You know what? You can have all the time you need with Connor because I’m done.” 

You push yourself to a stand with teary eyes. “Done? Jake, what are you saying?” It was like a nightmare come true, hearing the words you’ve feared to hear since the moment you called it official. But it was probably inevitable, right? You always bring yourself to your own demise. You’re not sure what hurt you more–Jake’s words or the fact that you weren’t so surprised to hear him say it? It was almost like you were waiting for this day to come, knowing Jake Seresin was just too good to be true. 

His heart is fighting against itself. One part of him is begging him to stay and work this out with you. The other is too hurt to even look at you right now. In the end, he ends up listening to the side of him he didn’t even think existed until now: the side that didn’t want him to be with you. “I don’t know. I think I need some time.” 

You nod, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you need, Jake.” 

He sighs before turning on his heel and grabbing the door knob. 

“Wait,” your voice cracks. “I love you.” 

Jake swings the door open and leaves. It takes everything in him to not turn around and gather you up in his arms right then and there. For the first time, he doesn’t say it back. 

__________

You don’t see him for a week after that. You’re so distraught that you throw your entire study schedule out the window. This was all your fault. You know it is, there was no denying it. All Jake wanted was to be with you and you couldn’t give him that. You were so obsessed with the fact that everyone expected you to get perfect grades each semester, that you didn’t even notice you driving away one of the most important people in your life who didn’t care about any of that. That loved you with or without the academic achievements. The only person who cared more about your wellbeing than your stupid grade point average. 

The truth is, you were scared. Things with Jake have been going so good that the fear of something bursting into your little bubble and setting it all aflame only continued to intensify. 

Because you don’t deserve good things unless you earn it, your mother had warned. Because you can’t be loved unless you’re perfect, your father berated you. 

And you are far from perfect, you know that. You also knew that Jake wasn’t your parents. But no matter how many times you told yourself your parents were wrong, their words continued to seep in every single time Jake reminded you that love shouldn’t be conditional. 

So you did what you did best, you studied. You strived for perfection. You hoped that Jake could see that you were worth sticking around for. 

He left and in the end, it just confirmed that nothing you do could guarantee anyone to stay. 

You ended up failing your finals. They don’t hurt your overall grade too much, only bringing them down one letter grade from your solid A’s. 

You don’t tell anyone about the fight you had with Jake. You don’t want to burden them with anything else. Everyone was busy. Nat was happy with Javy and Bob and Mickey were busy planning their San Diego Comic Con trip. You hadn’t talked to Bradley and you assumed that Jake had already told him everything. You hadn’t even texted Reuben about joining him for trivia night at a nearby bar. 

But you do text Jake. You don’t know if he’s read any of them or not, but you text him anyway. You told him that you failed. You told him that you weren’t planning on going home for the summer because you didn’t want to face your parents. You told him you missed him and that you hoped this isn’t the end. But most importantly, you told him that you loved him and that if you could take it all back you would. 

You so desperately wanted to knock on his door and apologize for what you said. To continue apologizing until he knew it in his heart and soul that you didn’t mean a damn thing. You’d imagine how it would go. He would open the door and you would quite literally pour your heart out to him. Then you’d throw your arms around him and tell him you love him before kissing him senseless. 

You imagine that he’d smile against your lips, an action that you loved so much. He’d pull away and tell you that he forgives you. He would hold you close and tell you that he still loves you. 

However, you weren’t naive. He probably hated you now and you wouldn’t blame him if he actually did because you hate yourself too. 

Heartbroken and intoxicated to the bone is how you find yourself after another unanswered text to Jake. You remember him telling you to let loose and take a break so that is exactly what you did. 

The frat house is loud. You’re not sure what’s more surprising, the fact that you showed up to a frat party without telling any of your friends or that you’ve had more alcohol than the amount of water you’ve had in a day. 

Everyone knew about Delta Chi’s rivalry with Alpha Sig, so you didn’t have to worry about running into anyone you knew here. 

You had lost count of how many drinks you’ve had three cups ago and you’re a bit impressed with your own resilience considering how much you hate the smell of alcohol, let alone the taste of it. You find yourself wishing that Jake were here to see you taking a break. That way you could prove to him that you were capable of doing things for him too. 

The Alpha Sig house is packed to the brim with people. Everyone’s faces are a blur as you stumble your way through the crowded rooms and hallways, following the smells of sweat and weed to take you where you want to go. 

You end up making your way to the patio and meeting some Alpha Sigs and sorority girls who were planning on driving into the city to hang out at a bar instead. They shockingly invite you to tag along and your inebriated self happily accepts. 

You find yourself forgetting all about Jake, grades, and your shitty parents. You were just a girl in college who stopped giving a fuck and decided to have some fun. As you continue to giggle with some of the girls in the backseat of a car you don’t even remember getting into, for a moment, you see yourself with Nat, Javy, Bradley, Mickey, Reuben, and Bob. You hear Bradley’s dad jokes and Natasha’s giggles. Mickey and Reuben’s obnoxious singing and Bob’s own laughter follows. Then you see the guy sitting beside you with his arm around you. It takes you a second to recognize that his eyes aren’t your favorite shade of green. Hell, they weren’t green at all. 

Your world comes crashing down in an instant. You’re not with your friends and you’re not with Jake. You don’t even know where and who you are with. You just know that you want to go home, that you want to be with Jake. 

Before you can even think about begging the person in the driver’s seat to stop the car, you hear a scream then suddenly, your vision goes dark. 

a/n: in my defense, i haven't done a good angsty fic in awhile*immediately goes into hiding* pls don’t hate me….. and again, as always the inbox is always open and thank you all for reading!!

a/n 2: also ty @intrepidacious for giving me their first fight idea it was a big help!!

add yourself to my taglist!

tgm taglist: @joaquinwhorres @harrycherrylove @smoothdogsgirl @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @ollyoxenfrees @potato-girl99981 @averyhotchner @2guysonascooter @loveforaugust @blue-aconite @fandom-life-12 @stiles-banshees @iamdannyday @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @bradshawseresinbabe @breezemood @emorychase @eli2447 @angelbabyange @finelytaylored @pono-pura-vida @hecate-steps-on-me @blueoorchid @aviatorobsessed @blackwidownat2814

[safekeeperscosm]

Little surprised you haven't been joining the Billford resurgence after Book of Bill pretty much made it canon

ME TOO HAHAHGSHS it's hard when I have 2 other fixations at the same time as well 😅

I have been kinda keeping up tho! on my gf @arson-of-dreams sideblog. tbh billford is second to the euclydia side of things, next to jheselbraum,, but either way TBOB has definitely been vindicating to me about my own hcs and view of their characters in canon. unfortunately all I want to do is silly light-hearted jokey stuff cause man they weren't kidding about the heavy things. I loved every word of torture and torment its heartbreaking and terrifying AND the pines especially ford gets their closure/happy ending 🥺 I hope the theraprism is a nice rehab cause on one hand bill my silly billy bill needs help and kindness and compassion, but on the other hand I got some bad vibes with the asylum side of things...

it really popped off with the bill stories of possessing the undead, eating people, all good stuff. AND PACIFICA GETS SOME LOVE how did both my fave characters end up covered in blood teeheehee

haven't heard much of gideon, but the parallels go soo hand in hand

I've always believed in ford was obsessed with bill, then the turn tables with bill obsessed with ford after the breakup, and ford is still obsessed but that admiration adoration has turned into vengeance and hatred, they are so divorced and ford is so over him, bill fumbled so hard he died lmaoo I never expected sympathetic bill to be canon but I've always known it ever since the penthouse scene. AND JHESELBRAUM LORE I REALLY THOUGHT WHAT WE HAD WAS ALL WE WERE GONNA GET

excuse me I'm very sleep deprived and have been very sick, take some doodles 💝

I did the last two before the website happened 💀 also look at my billford hatechild I made from my last gf fixiation teehee

[whiskeynwriting]

A New Home

Joel Miller x Curvy!Female Reader

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Word Count: 11.5k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Brief alcohol consumption, some angst, age gap, size difference, curvy reader, body insecurity, brief body shaming, lil makeout session, mentions of sex, mentions of past trauma and loss, mentions of death

◆

A/N: Part two is in the works and will be posted next Monday! Co-written with @fishingforpike

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Joel Miller Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

It’s not safe, not like the world used to be. But in its own way, it will have to do. Not that you have many choices, anyway. And in multiple ways, you can’t complain. The community was welcoming, Tommy especially. It was surprising just how quick they were to accept you. Once your health scans were cleared, they were thrilled to have you. But you suppose a clean bill of health is all it takes to make friends with people these days. 

“Anything else?”

“Um…” Glancing around, you take one last look at the truck, now empty. “No.”

You’re almost embarrassed by it. Three boxes? How do you not have more things? But Tommy just smiles, a warm expression you see when turning back to him.

“C’mon,” Jerking his head, he offers, “Let’s go see your new home.” Home.

If it weren’t for the occasional jingle of the box’s items a few paces behind you, his existence would have completely gone over your head. He doesn’t say much, not anything, really. Didn’t even bother to say hi, but you don’t necessarily mind. You like the quiet. 

With each of you carrying a box, the walk is easy. Tommy would have driven the truck closer if your house wasn’t already right next to his. 

“Right here,” He grunts with a small sigh, setting your box down on the lawn. 

“This one is mine?”

“I know she’s not too pretty, but we plan on fixin’ her up. Right Joel?”

His wording prompts you to turn, eyeing the quieter man. All he does is nod, eyes furrowed as they look away into the distance. 

“We’ve already got some furniture in there for you.” Tommy redirects the conversation, picking the box up once again. “And the key’s inside.” 

The cement porch is small, with absolutely nothing on it. And the door creaks when it’s opened, but it seems sturdy enough to reassure you. Inside, it’s dusty, some of the windows still boarded with wooden planks. Peeling along the walls is a layer of floral wallpaper, the colorful hues faded from the time of its abandonment. It smells funny, too, like a funeral home. But it’s your home. 

“I know it’s still a bit dark, but we’ll take care of that soon. We’ll even start today, if that’s alright with you.”

Smiling, you accept his offer with a small nod. “That would be really great, Tommy. Thank you.” 

It’s still light out, only early afternoon. The wind is bitter, though, stinging your cheeks until you’re under the cover of this new space. You’re surprised they’re both willing to work in such extreme temperatures. Well, not necessarily extreme for them. But to you, it might as well be Antarctica. You never did like the cold. 

Internally, Joel is thanking the Lord when you finally decide to wander about, curiosity leading you upstairs to your bedroom. With a sigh of relief, he sets your box down on the one table Tommy had given you. It has three chairs, and further in the living room sits one couch, and an end table. Not much else, but then again, some people don’t even have a living room.

Joel isn’t a clumsy man, but he’s been fumbling all over his actions and words since you stepped into town. Since Tess’s passing, he hasn’t really focused on other women. Not just because of her but because he just hasn’t had time to. Romance is a luxury he cannot afford, even in Jackson. He’s convinced himself of that. But it didn’t stop his heart from beating just a little too fast when he first saw you, your pretty face quickly distracting him. You’re gorgeous, which shocks him. With everyone struggling, nobody really looks… cute, these days. But you do. 

Smitten isn’t a word he’d use, but Tommy definitely would. It was easy to see how taken Joel immediately was with you. Joel’s brother had never seen him act so dumb around a new woman. He was dropping things whenever you came into the room, stumbling over his words whenever you’d ask a question until you just stopped asking. You thought he was strange but really, Joel was feeling shy. He can’t even bring himself to make eye contact with you, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks far too quickly. It’s been ages since he’s been nervous around a woman, and he feels overtly foolish because of it. 

Jesus, I need to get my shit together. 

Watching Joel avoid you prompts a small feeling of self-consciousness inside of your belly. The first time you came down from your bedroom, he immediately dropped a hammer on his foot, quickly jerking his leg away with a firm fuck slipping from his mouth. Eyeing him suspiciously, you turned in the opposite direction, asking Tommy about your bed. 

“I know it’s not much, but we -”

“Tommy, this is amazing. I just wanted to come thank you. I haven’t slept on a mattress in years, years.”

Without hesitation, you step in to hug him, an act Tommy wholeheartedly accepts. And Joel’s jaw clicks slightly when he sees it, finding himself feeling childish and wishing it were him. He’d call himself pathetic if he felt this way in general around women. But he hasn’t. What is it about you? 

To distract himself, Joel works on the boards along your windows, tearing them down and fixing up any markings around the glass. It’s repetitive work, tear down, fix, tear down, fix. The wood will likely be used for a fire soon. There’s a fireplace in your living room, off to his right. Maybe he could offer that to you. 

“Your name is Joel, right?” Stepping over gently, you approach him, intending to offer the same thanks you gave Tommy.

Straightening up, Joel’s eyes drop from your face to your body; not to ogle at you, but purely from the anxiety ballooning in his chest. Nodding, he sighs quietly. “Yeah.” 

“Well, thank you. For everything. I… I really appreciate it.” You offer him your kindest smile and still, he looks away. He doesn’t know what to say.

It almost hurts him, your sweet smile. How he’d love to keep that expression on your face, to continue to be the reason for it. He remembers a time when Tess smiled at him like that, a time when he believed he was the reason for her happiness, a time where he was convinced he was keeping her safe. But that was never the case, Tess didn’t depend on him. Joel wasn’t the reason for her happiness, he wasn’t the reason she was safe. She fought for herself, and in ways Joel would never even know. He felt like a fool, trying so hard for a woman that didn’t need him. 

But, but, the fact that you’ve gone out of your way to thank him, plucks at one of his heartstrings. Maybe his help is finally needed. You really can be sweet. And it only makes you more attractive to him. 

“O… kay.” Voice wavering slightly, you end up walking away, wondering why he’s acting this way. So far, everyone’s been nice to you. So, what is it about him? Little do you know, Joel is just trapped in his own head. 

“Hey,” Tommy nudges your shoulder when you return to the kitchen, testing the sink. Wow, running water.

“Yeah?”

“I know Joel can be a little rough around the edges, but he means well.”

“He’s ignoring me.” You’ve known Tommy long enough to call him your friend, one of the few people who’s allowed you in. You trust him.

“Yeah, I…” Rubbing the back of his head, he sighs. “I don’t know why he does that.” But Tommy does know, he can see the explanation written all over Joel’s face. 

The Miller brothers take it upon themselves to make your house a home, Tommy bringing your boxes up to the bedroom before tearing down the old wallpaper scattered throughout the rooms. And Joel continues with the windows, chopping the wood into manageable pieces before tossing them into the fireplace. 

“I have a proposition for ya.” Tommy then says, slapping his hands together to knock the dust off of them. “Maria’s making dinner. I’m gonna head over and I can bring some back to you?” 

“That’d be really nice, Tommy.” Pleasantly surprised by his continuing hospitality, you grin. “I’ll be here.”

Patting your shoulder, Tommy returns your happy expression. “And I’ll be right back.” 

On his way out, he passes by Joel, shoving his shoulder and knocking him a bit off balance. Brows furrowed, Joel glared at his brother, leaning in to ask why the hell he just did that. But before he can get the words out, Tommy’s grumbling, “Go say something to her.” 

Joel grimaces, not from the push but from the words. But his brother means well, he should be more welcoming toward you. He’s just… nervous. But he can be friendly, all he has to be is friendly. 

Once Tommy is gone, the atmosphere shifts. It’s not a huge change, just a slight… movement. Turning, you catch Joel’s wandering eyes, now immediately darting down. Raising a brow at him, you brush it off, just like you have been.

Originally, you found Joel quite attractive. You felt drawn to him as soon as you’d climbed into Tommy’s truck. He’s tall and handsome, older and growing into a silver fox. He looked hardened, and you pondered whether or not you could soften him. But Joel’s attitude quickly turned you away. 

Going about your business, you find the last box, holding an assortment of your clothes. Bending down, your fingers find its bottom edge, and with one breath, you’re lifting it. 

“H-Here,” Joel’s guttural voice finally speaks up. Taking a quick step in your direction, he reaches out, placing one hand on the edge. “Let me help.”

“I don’t need your help, I can do it myself.” Your recent thoughts prompt your quick snap. It feels childish, but his unintentional rejection has made you mad. 

Your words shove down every ounce of confidence he’d managed to bring to the surface. Briefly, he wonders what he’s done wrong. But he knows this world isn’t as kind as it used to be; you don’t owe anything to anybody. Lowering his hand, he gulps, looking into your eyes before turning away. And something about your first, true gaze stirs something in your bones. But still, you make your way upstairs.

In your bedroom, there isn’t much, your mattress isn’t even supported on anything but a few wooden palettes. But there’s a fitted sheet on it, along with two pillows and a comforter. And the first time you saw it, the sight brought a tear to your eye. This is your home, you have a home again. There’s even a bathroom, there’s two! Two bathrooms in your house. A half-bath downstairs, and a full across the hall from your bedroom. Problem is, when you turn on the faucet, every drop of water sprays directly at you.

Your shrill scream can be heard from down the damn street, and you already feel foolish from it. But it surprised the hell out of you, and apparently surprised the hell out of Joel, too. 

“What?! What is it?! What’s wrong?!” Scrambling up the stairs, he slips when he rounds the corner. Looking up, he finds you absolutely soaked. For a split second, he’s surprised, but all too quickly, a laugh is bursting from him. Turning over onto his hands and knees, he reaches for the plumbing beneath the sink. 

“Stop! I can do it!” You angrily shout, leaning down and swatting his hand away. 

“Please let me help.” He practically pleads, eyes going wide as he stares up at you. 

Your hair is sticking to your cheeks and forehead, clothes tightening around your body. Gulping, he eyes you, the curves your clothing is so openly revealing. Immediately, you find what he’s staring at, wrapping your arms around your midsection. 

“Does that mean I can help?” That deep voice calls out, watching you rush into your bedroom.

Harshly, you snap back with, “Fine!”

He’s not sure what he did to make you dislike him so much, but the entire situation has him grinning. Something about the interaction has changed the energy between you two. It’s perplexing, really. Even after your rejection, even after his personal turmoil, Joel finds himself wanting you. You seem so genuinely happy, and you've been kind to everyone… except him. But even so, you’re friendly, that much is true, and that’s so very new to him. And his level of attraction to you surprises him. He really can’t ignore it. And he knows you can take care of yourself, clearly, but he sees a pretty woman like you and immediately, he wants to care for you - protect you. It’s in his nature. You may not need it, but he wants to offer it. He wants to be your safety net. 

*

*

*

“So, how’d it go yesterday?”

You’re upstairs unpacking, setting up your bedroom. Tommy thought it’d be a good idea to get some paint to spruce up the rooms, extending their stay. 

“Fine.” Shaking his head, Joel tries to rattle the memory out of his brain. 

“Well… what did you say?” Tommy pries, glancing over at his brother. He’d been painting the space next to your fireplace, stopping mid-stroke. 

“Just… tried to help. I dunno.” 

“Jesus, were you always this weird?”

“What?” Joel replies, offense in his tone.

“How the hell did you ever get a girlfriend?”

“Well, it hasn’t exactly been easy during a global pandemic.”

“Even before all of this.” Tommy points out, eyeing Joel beside him. “What’s making you so nervous around her?” 

Turning back to the wall, Joel releases an aggravated breath. “This is hard for me, Tommy.”

“Why?”

“She’s pretty, alright?” He doesn’t even look at his brother, not quite sure how to explain it. “Pretty like I’ve never seen.” 

“Then ask her out.” Tommy’s trying to keep his voice down, but his brother’s attitude is aggravating him, to say the least.

“She just got here, man.” 

“Even better! Take her out, introduce her to the town. We just got done upgrading the bar.”

“Really?” Huh, that might not be a bad idea.

“Yeah, really.” Joel offers an unamused glare at his brother’s mockery. “It can’t hurt to try.” 

And maybe Tommy’s right. He’s into you, that much is true. Joel’s only known you for half a day and yet, you seem to have him hooked. But while he has one foot leaping forward, he has the other holding him back. There are so many ways this could go wrong, he could ruin this town being your home if he fucks up bad enough. And he doesn’t want to bother you, even though it seems like he already has. There are so many other things he could do with his time but you’re occupying his mind. 

What caught his eye before a single word came out of your mouth was your body. Your hips are wide, thighs bigger than most of the women he’s been with. You have a little tummy that makes him grin, that makes him feel the need to grab. Any pair of pants hugs your ass tightly, the jeans you wore today honestly testing his patience. And when his eyes rose to your chest… the sight of you took his breath. He’d give anything to touch you, to cup and squeeze your breasts. It takes everything in him to have a normal conversation when you’re around, because the majority of the time, he’s off in his own dreamland. But is that all this is? Physical attraction? It would be if you didn’t have such a fiery personality, your kindness still shining through. You’re a woman who can be hard when she needs to be, and he admires that, he respects that. Everything he’s seen, everything you’ve said, every fucking ounce of you is drawing him in.

Joel figures, since the two of you haven’t talked yet today, that maybe it could be a fresh start for the two of you. He knows you’re upstairs, so, with a heavy and encouraging breath, he makes his way up to you. 

He does his best to be quiet, not wanting to spook you. Though, in retrospect he figures it should have been the other way around. Regardless, when he approaches your open bedroom door, he sees you crouched down. And Jesus, seeing you in these jeans forces out an internal groan from within. The way it hugs your curves, your hips, it’s making him lose his mind. 

Standing from your crouched position, you sigh, turning to only be startled by him. But you don’t jump, your eyes just widen. And seeing that reaction intimidates him. You can clearly hold your own, and that coupled with your beauty makes him nervous all over again.

“Hey, I, um…” Shoving his hands into his front pockets, he swallows. “We’re almost done downstairs. And uh, Tommy… well, he knows this great bar, and -”

“The only bar in town?” You say, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Yeah… the only bar in town.” Joel mutters, sighing. He’s already fucked this up. “Well, I was thinkin’. Would you wanna go with me, there? Sometime? Maybe I could, I dunno, maybe I could show you around.”

At this, your eyes widen, the hairs above them raising. This was him asking you out? After ignoring you, randomly staring at you, and barely even responding to you, he decides to come up and say this? 

“Thanks, but…” Turning, you crouch back down, going through your belongings. “No thanks.” 

Without another word, Joel is spinning around. His ego is hurt, to say the very fucking least, and to reject his offer is one thing, but to completely reject him as a person is another. Why don’t you like him? 

“Hey, how’d it -”

“I’m goin’ home.” Joel grumbles, already making a beeline for the door. He feels childish, but if you’re this adamant about not liking him, he might as well not even be in your home. 

Joel’s naturally loud footsteps echo throughout the fairly empty house, his harsh push on the screen door making you look up. Standing, you peer out of the open window, watching him walk off. Turns out he lives kitty-corner to you. 

Watching him go makes you feel bad, regret sinking heavily in your stomach. You’ve been so stubborn with him, and without any real reason. Sure, he’s acted a little strange, but maybe you misread him. Maybe he was just being shy. After being in survival mode for so long, you sometimes don’t know what to think about other’s expressions. For years, all you’ve had to do was focus on yourself, on simply staying alive. Will life in Jackson offer you more than that? Will it offer you the luxury of friendship? Of connection? 

“Ellie?” He calls out, glancing up at the staircase only to be met with silence. “Ellie!”

Stomping around the house, he searches for her, having expected her to be home. There aren’t too many places to go in Jackson, and not too many kids for her to make friends with. One person she has befriended, though, is Maria. After a while, Joel supposes they just got used to each other. 

“Jesus,” Joel grumbles, shaking his head as he storms out of the house. 

Closing the door behind him, he makes his way over to Tommy’s, only just across the street. Knocking on the door, the first one to answer is the culprit herself. 

“Welcome home.” Ellie greets with a huge, sarcastic smile on her face. It might as well be their second home.

“Why are you always bothering them?” Furrowing his brows, those hands gravitate to his hips, his signature pose. 

“Joel! Come in!” Glancing past Ellie, he sees Maria, currently holding a bowl of pasta. “We’re settling in for dinner.”

If he’s completely honest, Ellie did most of the cooking between the two of them. Joel often bought snacks - bags of chips and canned goods. But Ellie enjoyed making meals, and he wasn’t one to complain. 

“Well, thanks for havin’ us.” He nods, sitting down at the table after he’s closed the door. 

“Any time.” She insists, scooching her chair in. “Do you know when Tommy’ll be here?”

“Not sure. I uh, left early.”

“Why?” Ellie raises one eyebrow, already digging into her food.

“Because I wanted to.” Joel responds sternly, wanting the questions to stop at just one. 

Maria grins, twirling her fork. “Is it because of the new girl?” 

Joel glances up from beneath his brow, annoyed that this conversation is even happening. He expected to be home decompressing, not talking everything out. 

“No.”

“It is.” Ellie gasps dramatically. 

“It definitely is.” Tommy adds on, walking in through the front door. 

“Tommy.”

“And you know what, she’s got a liking for you, too.” Gesturing toward his brother on his way to the kitchen, Tommy watches Joel’s eyes widen at this. 

After Joel left, Tommy took it upon himself to go upstairs and see what the hell bothered him so badly. He found you, still completely wet while searching for new clothes to change into. And after you dried off, the two of you got to talking. Tommy started to explain his brother’s intentions, how the pandemic has really hardened him. He might’ve even told you about Joel’s liking for you, and asked you to give him another chance. 

“You think?”

“I think she’s warmin’ up to you.”

“This is so cute,” Ellie smirks, punching him on the shoulder. “The old man has a crush.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, though a grin pulls on his lips at the new information. 

“Am I gonna have a new mom?” Ellie teases, making Joel sigh. 

“Don’t you have homework to do or somethin’?” And his random comment reminds him of Sarah. This type of banter was so typical between them. And he misses her dearly, but especially in moments like these. Ellie is happy for him, that much is clear. He thinks Sarah would be, too. 

Maria talks about her garden for the remainder of dinner, that and Tommy’s dam. Every now and then, Tommy mentions the patrols and how they’ve been. Some were riskier than others, and Joel wasn’t looking forward to going back to them. He and Tommy had taken time off to gather things for you, but they still heard the reports. And whether they’re talking about hunters or clickers or the new vegetable they’ve grown, Joel’s just happy the conversation has shifted. Although he’s still grinning from his brother’s comment. 

Maria and Tommy can talk up a storm around people they consider family, but after so long, it’s only natural that dinner comes to an end. And Joel’s happy to see Ellie stand when Maria starts to clean. Seems like her manners are finally starting to show through. 

“Okay,” Tommy starts in a hushed tone, scooching closer to his brother. “What’s got you all riled up about this girl, anyway? I mean, she’s not exactly your… type.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Joel wonders aloud, “What do you mean?” 

“She’s curvier than your usual gals, isn’t she?”

For a moment, it looks like Joel zones out. He’s thinking about you. And with a subtle shrug, he sighs. “I don’t know… there’s just somethin’ about the way she looks, way she walks… I’ve seen the shape of her hips.” Briefly, he shakes his head. “Perfect ‘lil divots for grabbin’.” 

“Oh…” Tommy grins, “So you’re into curvy girls now?” 

Something about the way Tommy says it has him bushing. He’s almost embarrassed because he’s really been caught, he couldn't have hid this if his life depended on it. And it’s such a new revelation for him, so much so that it makes him antsy. 

“It’s not just about that.” He explains, “She’s fiery, Tommy. I’ve seen her be nice but she’s got some sass.” 

“That she does.” Tommy’s seen it, too. “But you can be pretty sassy yourself.”

Frowning, Joel chews his corner lip. “What do you mean?”

“Your looks aren’t exactly… friendly.” 

“What?”

“Kind of aggressive.”

“And judgmental!” Ellie chimes in from the kitchen.

“Hey!” Joel quickly swivels in his seat, eyeing her. 

“She’s not wrong. Besides, don’t you want to welcome her to the town? There aren’t many people her age here, it’d be nice if she had a friend.”

“She has you.” Joel comments, raising his brows both quickly and sarcastically.

“Yeah, but she could have you.” 

“Wait, wait,” Ellie steps in, strolling into the dining room again. “How old is this girl?”

Tommy shrugs, “Mid-twenties?”

“Holy shit!” Wide-eyed, she stares down at Joel. “She’s like half your age!”

Groaning, Joel leans an elbow on the table and covers his face. He knew this was strange.

“Nothing wrong with that.” Tommy grins, already knowing Joel’s reasoning. 

Leaving Tommy’s house, Joel feels… unsure. Not conflicted necessarily but different. He’s attracted to a curvier body now more than ever and it’s because of you. It makes him feel like he’s learning new things about himself. In a world so cold and hard, he just wants someone to hold, someone to hold him. Someone that’s just warm and soft. Someone to let in again.

*

*

*

“Just be nice.” He whispers, rolling his shoulders a bit. “Be nice and smile. Don’t forget to smile.” Small mumbles spill from his mouth as he looks into the mirror, buttoning his flannel. Ellie made sure to wash his clothes last night, wanting him to look nice. Joel insisted it was only him asking, not going on the actual date. But she didn’t care. 

Digging deep down inside of him, Joel was able to find that sense of carefree excitement that came along with dating, with pursuing someone. You already said no to him, but he wants to try again, when he can present himself a little better. And knowing that you don’t hate him also helps. If you say no again, he’ll drop it, he wouldn’t want to force anything. And he especially wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable in a new town; you only just got here. But he’s decided that he’s going to try, he’s going to put himself out there with you. 

“I can do this.” Nodding in the mirror, he sighs, trying to release his anxieties. “I can be… warm. Friendly.” 

Looking to his right, he grabs the cluster of flowers he’d bought at the market this morning. He’d been out shopping for food, Ellie wanted to try a new recipe sometime soon. But when he came across the barrel of flowers, he knew it would be the perfect gift to give you. He’s not sure what kinds you like, but he didn’t really have many options. There was one bouquet that was particularly bright and perky, so he went with that one. 

You’re only just across the street, so he doesn’t have much time to gather himself on the walk. He has to be ready pretty much as soon as he opens the door. And when he’s convinced himself that he has the confidence to do this, he makes his way down.

Today, you didn’t request Tommy and Joel’s help. You wanted some time to yourself, reassuring Tommy that you’d come to him if you needed any more repairs, or really, anything. He and Maria were more than willing to help. And while you appreciated this, you were looking forward to your day alone, which is why you were so surprised to hear a knock at your door. 

“Joel?” Your voice wavers slightly, unsure of his reasoning for being here. But then your eyes drop to the colorful bouquet, and your brows raise a little. 

“Hey,” His voice is deep and a bit ragged, just like it always is. The hand not holding the bouquet is shoved in his front pocket. And then he does something that surprises you, he smiles. It’s a nervous expression, but genuine. “How uh, how are you?”

“I’m doing okay…” Stepping forward, you move onto your porch, Joel still standing on your walkway. “What’s… what’s up?”

“I, well… I wanted to apologize.” When your brows raise higher, he continues with a slight stammer. “F-For my demeanor, the past few nights. I’m, well we… don’t get many women like you here.” Forcing out a small chuckle, he tries to keep his friendly grin. But he’s nervous.

“What do you mean women like me?” By your tone of voice, you’re clearly offended.

“Pretty.” Joel blurts out, deciding on full transparency. “I, I think you’re beautiful.” It’s the first time he’s said anything like this to you, and you’re clearly taken aback. “I wanted to try another shot at askin’ you out.” 

“Why?” You ask, crossing your arms. Not defensively but protectively. You haven’t been intimate with someone in years; and pretty isn’t enough, in your opinion, to date someone. 

“You seem kind.” Shrugging, he finishes with, “I’d just like to get to know you more.” 

Now that, that is enough of a reason to date someone. A small smirk curls on your lips, deciding to respond with, “I’m not very kind to you.” 

“That you aren’t.” Joel grins, and it makes you feel bashful. “But I haven’t been the nicest, either.” There’s a sparkle in your eye that makes him grin, one he doesn’t have to force to the surface. “And besides, I like a little sass.” 

After his comment, a moment of silence passes, and your smirk only grows with it. It’s only the first time he’s flirted with you and you’re already burning up with excitement. To have this older man be so interested in you is beyond flattering. When you rejected him yesterday, it was because of his attitude, not because of his looks. Even with his graying hair and crows feet, he’s handsome, handsome and broad. Truthfully, you’re interested to see what he looks like underneath that flannel, if you even get that far. But really, you’re interested in getting to know him, too. He’s already shown that he’s not the callous man you thought he was. 

“Okay.” 

And with that, his insides light up. “Okay.” He returns with a nod, and an incredibly bright smile on his face. One so big you almost work up the nerve to calm him cute. Almost. 

After that, things were easier than he could have imagined. Within minutes, you were setting up your date, you finally stepping down onto the walkway so he could give you the bouquet. Joel’s face was lit up with a handsome smile the entire conversation, something you haven’t seen before today.  

“Well, I’m not doing anything tonight.” You offer, peeking up at him from beneath your lashes. Was that too eager of you? 

If it were even possible, his smile grows. “Me either! I am, would you…” Pointing behind him, he offers, “Would you want to come over? I could make us somethin’?” 

The idea of having your first date in Joel’s home, conversing over homemade food while it’s just the two of you, sounds so cozy to you. Nothing too fancy or expensive. Simple and sweet, just like first dates should be. 

“That sounds really nice.” 

Dreamily, he sighs. You’re already cuter than he’d imagined you to be. “Alright. Well I’m, I’ll go freshen up and… see you in a little bit?”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Awkwardly, you exchange eager smiles and slightly wandering eyes, your hands on your bouquet while his are in the pockets of his pants. Slowly, you back away, retreating into your home. But even after you’ve turned your back, Joel watches you, smiling. He has a good feeling about this. 

*

*

*

“She said yes?!” 

“Yeah, that’s why I need you to teach me!” Joel replies impatiently. 

“Joel,” Ellie states, very matter-of-factly. “The instructions are on the box. It’s not that complicated.”

“Well I -”

“Do you know how to work a stove?”

“Well, yeah…”

Slapping him on the back, she stares up into those dark eyes. “Then you should be fine. I’m going to Tommy’s.” 

Filling the pot, he then sets it on the stove. “Stop buggin’ them!” He calls out after her, but she’s already through the front door. 

“Hey!” She then says, a little too enthusiastically. And when Joel hears your returned hi, he’s spinning on his heels. 

“So you’re the woman Joel likes.”

Rushing toward the door, Joel’s eyes scan your figure, your beautiful face. You’re wearing makeup. 

“I’m Ellie.” Firmly sticking her hand out, you then take it, giving her your name. But as soon as Joel gets to the door, Ellie’s already running off. 

“Sorry about that.” Joel laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That your daughter?” You ask, raising a brow while you join in on his small chuckle.

“Uh…” He trails off, watching Ellie make her way down the street. “Somethin’ like that.” After a moment, though, he snaps back to reality. “Oh, come in!” 

It’s far too easy to see that this is all so new for him. But he’s trying, that much is true. So, you follow his prompts, walking into his home. And it’s clear to see that this is his home. He’s furnished it quite well, with multiple couches and even a small TV in the living room. The wallpaper is fresh and so are the coats of paint coloring the different rooms. But none of that surprises you. What catches your attention are his decorations, he has decorations. Pictures on the walls and books on the shelves, even a few plants near the windows. There are curtains and throw blankets and candles, too. Oh, how you've yearned for this sense of comfort. 

“So I, um…” Joel begins to mutter while walking past you. 

You watch him stroll into the kitchen, looking around. “I don’t have much but we… I got, that instant pasta?”

Grinning, you make your way over to the dining table, just beside the kitchen. While sitting, you sling your purse on the back of your chair, staring over at him. He continues to ramble while stirring the pasta he’d already placed in the boiling pot, but you don’t hear much. Oddly enough, you find yourself eyeing him, almost sizing him up. 

“That sounds really nice but I…” The way you trail off makes him turn, eyes furrowing with concern. “I um…” Releasing an airy laugh, you then sigh. “I hate to be a burden, but I can’t have um, gluten.” 

“Oh, shit.” Widening his eyes, he takes a glance back at the pasta, turning back with a hand held out to you. “I’m sorry I, I had no idea.” 

“It’s okay Joel, I haven’t eaten it yet.” Your response makes him grin, happy with your reassurance. 

“Well, we’ve got uh… oh! Actually…” Walking over to the fridge, he explains, “We just got some new fish. Uh…” And then he’s reaching in to retrieve a small, wrapped package. “Salmon?”

“That sounds great.” Joel watches as your cheeks plump up with your grin, your adorable expression softening him. 

“Well,” Joel replies, releasing a breath while he begins to fry it. “I hope you like it. We’ve got broccoli, too, if you’re not…”

“No,” Laughing, you shake your head. “I’m not allergic to broccoli.”

For how nervous he was to cook pasta, you’re shocked at how quickly he’s able to prepare the vegetables and fish. Not only quickly but easily, so easily that it impresses you. Maybe you’re the reason he was so nervous. After all, that is what Tommy told you. But you can help to wonder… why is that? 

“We uh, we’ve got water? Oh, and milk!”

His words make you smile. Nobody has much right now but he’s trying so very hard with you. 

“Water would be great.” 

The smile he gives you makes your insides stir; he looks so happy, almost careless. Nothing like how he’d been the few days after you met. And when he comes back with your drink, he’s still grinning, humming quietly. 

“How…” Starting conversation is a little difficult, just because you’re not really sure what to say. Seen any good movies lately? Do you have any hobbies? What do you do for work? All luxuries of the past. But, you figure you can begin with the obvious.

“How did you make it to Jackson?”

At this, Joel gives his head a single shake. “Long story.” And then, silence. But he doesn’t want that. “How about you? Tommy said you were by yourself?”

“Yeah, I was living on my own. Have been since I was an early teen. My parents were, well… they ate a lot of bread.” You can chuckle about it now, but it wasn’t so funny then. “I have a gluten intolerance, so…”

“It was easy to avoid.” Joel finishes, nodding. “Yeah, I was on Atkins.” And then, he’s laughing too. 

But when your laughter dies down, you sigh. Memories of the past bubble to the surface, the remembrance of your life beyond the city walls. With your tone hushed, you tell him, “It was scary out there.”

“Yeah, I know. It still is, if you find yourself in the wrong areas.”

“Where were you? Originally?” 

Inside, Joel feels unsure. These are all questions he kept hidden away for so, so long. It was done with the intent to keep himself safe. But he told himself that he wanted this, and that means opening up to you.

“Texas. Made my way here from Boston, though.” He finally responds before gesturing in your direction. “You?” 

Nodding, you swallow, staring at your plate. “Arizona.”

“Shit,” Joel cocks his head, “We coulda met even before all this.” 

When you started thinking about home, something akin to sadness sank into your bones. But the way Joel changes the conversation’s mood almost changes something about you. 

Smiling, you agree, responding with, “Yeah, we could have.” 

“What did you do down there? Y’know, before all this happened?”

Looking up, you find those deep, dark eyes. They’re full of excitement and wonder, his full attention on you. 

“Well, I… I was pretty young, when the outbreak started.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was honestly a baby. Only four or five years old.”

Holy shit, Joel internally curses. Ellie was right, she’s so much younger than me.

“Is… that okay? With you?”

It’s the first time either of you have brought it up, your obvious difference in age. While you were attracted to Joel, you weren’t sure about this possible gap in maturity. And if you’re being honest, it was another reason for your initial rejection. But the second time around… you really couldn’t resist.

“You know…” He counters, his expression thoughtful. “Would it be strange if I said it made me like you more?”

His response makes you laugh, a big belly one, too. “Maybe.” Eyeing him, you smirk. “But I don’t know. Maybe I feel the same.”

“Really?” He’s teasing you, you just know it. 

“Maybe.” 

“Well, tell me about your interests, then. Let me learn about ya.” 

At this point, you’re more interested in each other than the food, and you find yourself liking that. It’s honestly astounding how easy this is for the two of you. And at this point, Joel’s forgotten all about the pasta he was starting to make. Looks like that will be Ellie’s dinner. 

“I really like to be creative, when I can.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Smiling, you think back to it, to a time when you still had acrylics and a canvas. “I’d paint when I was young, but can only really afford to find pencils and paper now. But still, I like to draw. I like to read, too. Keeps me distracted.” 

“Sounds like an alright distraction to me.”

Grinning, you tilt your head. “What about you?”

Taking a sip from his glass, Joel clears his throat before responding with, “Used to be a musician. Loved to play the guitar - did so for a number of years.” 

“I can see that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He responds sarcastically.

“I don’t know, something about your flannels and southern accent screams musician.”

“What, you don’t like flannels?” Joel grins, that silly expression warming your cheeks.

“Eh, not always.” Shrugging, you take a drink from your glass in an otherwise nonchalant fashion. “But I like ‘em on you.”

And then Joel Miller fucking blushes. 

“I kind of like your accent, too.”

From then on out, Joel swears an internal promise to himself to up the ante of his accent for you. Usually, people disliked when he’d mumble or drawl, but doing so at dinner didn’t bother you. And even when he snuck in his first honey, he saw your shy grin. That beautiful expression made him want to use it more often. 

“I really liked the dinner you made.” Striding beside him, you admire his slow gait. He’s trying to stretch out the time, the walk back to your house a pretty short one.

“I really liked having you over.” Joel remarks right back, his walk languid, unhurried. “It was nice talkin’ with you, honey.” 

There’s that cute hum again, the hum you purr quietly whenever you’re happy. 

You thought it was incredibly gentlemanly of him to walk you back to your house, even if it’s only across the street. Neither of you wanted the date to end but, Ellie had to come back home before midnight if she was going to meet her curfew. And it’s not that she couldn’t be around you, Joel just wanted his privacy with you. 

“You know, it’s already really comfortable here.” Stepping onto your walkway, you turn, gazing up at him. “In my own house, my own home… and when I go to yours, too.”

Before he can stop it, he replies with, “I wanna be able to give that to you.” Looking into your eyes, his expression softens. “Comfort.” 

It’s a surprising statement to hear, but one that warms your chilly bones. Everything about this night with Joel has just been reassuring you of your decision, the one you made to come here. 

“It’s nice to have a home again.” Smiling, your eyes twinkle with affection. “And a friend.” 

That last word would have his heart sinking if you weren’t already leaning up to hug him, nuzzling your face into his neck when he returns the act. Those strong arms hold you against him, wrapping around your back. He’s so sturdy and broad, and feels so good pressed up against you. His smell is more apparent, too, an earthy scent that reminds you of the forest. But it’s also sweet, a few spices close to sandalwood mixing in. And while you’re taking him in, Joel is doing the exact same to you, memorizing the softness of your skin and the smell of your hair, the way you feel beneath him. To finally be touching you, hugging you, feels surreal to him. It’s only been a few days and still, he’s thought about you, dreamt about hugging and just holding you. All night, you talked about home, but for Joel, this is it. 

Before he can even register it, you’re pulling back. Just barely, your lips brush over his ear, whispering a gentle goodnight Joel, before moving over the scruff of his jaw so you can kiss his cheek. 

*

*

*

It’s a foolish thought, you should be happy with your new home. And for the most part, you are. But with everything running efficiently, that meant no more Joel coming by. You haven’t seen him since your first date, and that was about four days ago now. Of course, you could just ask for another date, but would that be too… desperate? Needy? After more than an hour of thought, you’ve decided that yes, it would very much be needy. So, what the hell are you gonna do to get him back over here? 

“Joel?” You couldn't help it, your feet carried you his way before you could even think twice about it. It was hard enough to keep yourself from not showing up on his doorstep for the past four days. 

“Oh,” His unsuspecting expression turns joyful as he walks up to the door. It had been open, with only the screen keeping the brutal wind away. Ellie probably didn’t care to lock it. “Hey.”

That quirky little smile pulls on his lips, those large hands propping open the door for you. Shifting your weight, you feel a small sensation fizzle in your veins with nerves growing in your belly. It’s strange to think that only a couple days ago, you couldn't stand him. 

“Hey um… my, I’m having trouble with my sink again. And I was, well, I was wondering… if you could…” It’s the only excuse you could make up in your head. And it’s not like it’s anything major, just a small white lie. 

Almost instantly, he sees through your little act. His knowing glance makes your pulse pound a bit harder in your neck, one hand moving to balance itself on his hip. 

“Sure, honey.” Honey. Lord, you’re swooning so easily. “Give me a minute, and I’ll be right over.” 

The fact that he said yes right on the spot makes your heart skip a beat. And your feet nearly do the same as you make your way back home. Smiling from ear to ear, you trot up to your bedroom, awaiting his arrival. Your first instinct is to clean, to make everything neat, but there’s not much to do. There’s not much here in general. So, you just sit and wait. 

While you’d been thinking about him the past four days, you weren’t the only person on Joel’s mind. Sure, he thought about you, thought about your pretty face and fiery attitude, your amazing body and witty personality. But he was also thinking about her, about how he lost her too soon, and so abruptly. So tragically and violently. She made him feel safe when no one else could. When he was supposed to be everyone’s rock, Tess was his. Is he ready to move on from that? Is he ready to find someone new? Someone to hold and care for and protect? He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t long for companionship, for someone to warm his bed and fill his days with fun and just… simple happiness. Someone who can swap out the bad memories in his head with ones he can return to at night that won’t make him cry. Someone that makes him want to continue on with life.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Come in!” You’d left your door unlocked, feeling safe with the knowledge of his visit.

The front door creaks open as Joel steps inside, stomping the snow off of his boots and onto your mat before leaving them beside the door. Something jingles beside him and it sounds heavy, maybe he’d brought a toolbox with him. And that jingle only amplifies as he walks up the stairs, heavy footsteps thudding against the dark wood. 

“There you are.” Joel grunts as he reaches the top step, striding down the hall to your open bedroom. For just a moment, he stands there, taking a look at you. You’re sitting on your bed, a sketchpad laying beside your hip. Your hair is down and you’re wearing an oversized hoodie, something he hadn’t seen beneath your coat when you came to him. With no makeup on your face, you look refreshed, refreshed and cozy. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you chuckle awkwardly. “What? Did you expect to find me wet again?” Almost immediately, heat rushes to your cheeks, not realizing the double meaning until it’s already been said. And immediately, Joel is smirking, laughing at your reaction. 

“Maybe.” He mutters to himself as he turns, walking down your hall. 

It’s only a few feet to the bathroom, and as soon as he steps inside, he’s getting to work. Settling on his knees, he leans forward to mess with the valves, trying to see where the problem is. He’ll play along. And after only a moment, you follow him, standing behind his bent form as he works. 

Eyes traveling down, you nibble on the corner of your lower lip as you take him in. He’s wearing another flannel, of course, with a pair of dark-wash jeans hanging on his hips. And with him facing away, you’re able to wander down a bit further without him noticing. Huh, he has a pretty cute butt. 

“What did you say the problem was again?” Cocking an eyebrow, he looks back at you with confusion. 

“Oh, um…” Shit, I didn’t think about that. “It wasn’t… there wasn’t any hot water coming out.” 

Standing, he flips on the faucet, turning it to the hottest setting. “Seems to be workin’ just fine now.” 

Shutting it off, Joel grabs the hand towel to wipe the water away while turning to look at you. And… wow, he’s so much taller than you. So much taller and broader, too. 

“There any other reason you wanted me here?” That eyebrow stays cocked and it just makes you feel dumb. 

Shrugging, you glance down. “I kinda… missed you.” 

Instantly, a bright grin cracks across his face. “What was that?” 

Glancing up at him from beneath your brow, you smirk at his teasing. “I missed you.” 

“Well color me surprised.” Raising his eyebrows, he placed the hand towel back on its hook as he says, “I thought you couldn’t stand me.” 

“Yeah well, I found out you’re actually kind of cute.” Shrugging, you turn, wandering into your bedroom. It’s like your cheeks have been set ablaze. 

Slowly, Joel follows, leaning against your doorframe when he gets back to your room. Again, you’re sitting on your bed, sketchpad and pencil in hand. He nods at you, crossing his arms. 

“What’s that?” 

“Some of my drawings. Haven’t really had time to look at it since I got here.” 

Strolling over to the side of your bed, Joel looks down at you, wondering aloud, “Can I see?” 

Nervously, you hand it to him. No one’s ever wanted to look at your artwork before, so you're curious to see his reaction. To your surprise, Joel lays down on your bed, resting on his stomach across the end as he flips through. 

“You can definitely see the progress.” He comments, nodding. “Your flowers are so detailed.” 

“You think so?” Grinning, you orient yourself toward him, folding your legs up on the bed. 

“Yeah, I really do. But…” 

Frowning, you tilt your head. “What?”

“I think addin’ some portraits to your collection would make it even better.” 

“What? Why?”

“I dunno, just think fillin’ it with pretty people would make it nicer to look at.”

“Oh, yeah?” You chuckle, “Like who?”

Turning his head, Joel gives you a knowing look. “You.”

And no matter how hard you roll your eyes, you can’t hide your smirk. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Made you smile though, didn’t it?” 

Another eye roll and he’s closing the book, tossing it on the ground before climbing up to sit beside your smaller frame. Resting his back against your headboard, you again turn to face him, barely an inch away now. 

Joel sighs, those warm eyes staring into your own. “Don’t you know how pretty you are?”

He’s yet to be so forward with you, and it’s making your limbs tingle with a gentle sense of bashfulness. And this sensation only intensifies when he sits up, crossing his legs and leaning toward you just a bit. Gently, his hand lands on your knee, thumb rubbing you kindly. 

Licking his lower lip, his eyes dart down to your mouth before returning to your entrancing orbs, taking in a deep breath when you say, “I think I’m starting to.” 

And after that, his hand is lifting to your face, each of his advances made with slow intention so you have room to deny him at any point. But you don’t, you only lean into him. 

Keeping your hands in your lap, you let him take the lead, swallowing timidly just before your lips meet. It feels like taking a breath of fresh air, but it also feels like you just jumped out of a plane. Something about Joel is so exciting yet calming, so new yet reassuring. 

Joel’s hand settles warmly on your cheek, holding you close to him as he experiences you this way. To know that you accepted this advance makes his heart soar with pride and gratitude. He hasn’t felt something like this in so long, and it’s been calling out to him; ever since she left. And he thinks Tess would’ve liked you. 

“Why don’t you come here?” Joel mumbles against your lips after only one kiss. And like the love-struck girl you are, you do as you’re told.

Joel only intends for you to shift closer to him, to lean into his lap, but you interpret his request differently. Taking things to a new level, you climb onto him, his legs straightening out as you do. And even though his eyes widen in surprise, he doesn’t reject you. Your pulse is drumming an erratic rhythm in your ears, your lungs quivering inside your chest as you situate yourself over him. But then, you’re not quite sure what to do, your hands dropping to your thighs awkwardly. But Joel knows what he wants from you. Grabbing them, he urges you to place your palms on his shoulders, and once you do, both of his hands quickly reach out for you. 

“C’mere…” It’s a small whisper, one said as his eyes flutter shut and your lips meet again.

The scruff of his graying facial hair rubs against your lips and cheeks, but you don’t mind; you actually like the sting. Your thighs tense on either side of his hips, chest resting against his while your palms run across the soft fabric covering his shoulders. It’s the first time you’ve done this together, and Joel decides to take his time with you because of it. Slowly, his lips run across your own, repeatedly returning to your mouth. Tilting your head, you move with him, sighing into every single kiss he gives. 

He almost has to refrain from being too forward with you, from lowering his hands to paw at your ass. Jesus, he’d love to just grip you in hand, kiss you breathless while you rub yourself down on his lap. 

Before Joel has the chance to do so himself, you’re sliding your tongue across his bottom lip, leaning even further into him. It takes him by surprise, but he accepts it, and does so wholeheartedly. Lowering both hands, they easily find your waist, his fingers squeezing you gently. And when you moan, lord, when you moan into him, it takes everything he’s got not to toss you down on the bed. 

Your breaths are already heavy, feeling the first true slide of your tongue across his. Joel’s warm sigh hits your skin when it happens, a small groan slipping from his throat. And those fingers tighten on your waist when you do it again, your lips curling into a smile at his reaction. 

“You’re really doin’ things to me.” His voice is low - rough and gravely. And it only stokes the flames burning in your belly. 

“You know,” Wiggling slightly, you hum playfully, feeling him grow between your legs. “I can kinda tell.”

He doesn't think he’s ever been more embarrassed. Already rosy cheeks turn a full, bright shade of red, his neck following suit as he flushes before you. But all you do is grin, leaning in to kiss him again. 

“And I kinda like it.” 

Usually, you wouldn’t be so forward with a man so early on. But honestly, what do you have to lose? The unwavering dominance Joel so openly exudes is something you’ve admired since you met him. And you’ve continued to discover more of his attractive qualities ever since. He’s strong, mentally and physically; he could make you feel safe, safe and cared for. You can already imagine it, him holding you in bed, his warm body protecting you through the night. You haven’t felt this sense of security in such a long time and you want that, you’re dying for that. 

Joel’s hands curl around to your back, caressing you fondly while your own slide down to the back of his neck. And for just a moment, Joel stills against you, taking a breath. 

“You know,” He sighs, swallowing quickly. Lifting his hand, he brushes it over the side of your face, cupping your cheek again. “I’m really taking a likin’ to you.” 

“I really like you, Joel.” Leaning in, you rest your forehead against his, fingers petting timidly at his neck. “At first you were kind of an ass,” And at this, you both breathe out a laugh. “But I think I’m starting to see through that now.” 

“I’m sorry.” His expression is genuine, a small ounce of hurt in his eyes. He never wanted to push you away. 

Shaking your head, you reassure him, “You don’t have to be.” And then, a thought wanders into your head. Timidly, you glance down, licking your lower lip. “How, um… how long has it been? For you?”

When you look back up you’re met with a somber expression, not outwardly, but you can tell by the wrinkles in his face that he’s hurting. “Couple years.” Comes his quiet mumble, his own eyes darting away, too. “Lost her pretty quick and I, well… it’s been hard.” He nods firmly at this, as if to show his own agreement with the statement. “You?” 

“A while,” You have nothing to hide from him, and feel that this is the time to truly be open. “At least six years since I’ve let someone in like that.”

“It’s hard to trust.” Joel comments, warm eyes looking deeply into your own.

“Yeah…” Sighing out your emotions, you try to keep yourself collected. “There are just so many things that have happened around me, to me, I just… I didn’t exactly have a normal upbringing.” 

“I can imagine.” He can’t even comprehend how difficult it must have been to grow up during this pandemic. 

“On top of my own insecurities,” Shaking your head, you breathe out a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t know how I survived long enough to get here.”

“Insecurities?” Cocking his head, his forehead crinkles with confusion. “What do you have to be insecure about?” 

Shrugging, you close your eyes, feeling your emotions bubble inside. “Haven’t always been happy with how I look, I guess.”

“Has a man never told you how pretty you are, honey?” Joel asks, his words warm and caring. And it makes your cheeks tingle. 

“Not just my face.” 

“Your body?” All you do is nod. “Jesus…” Turning his head, Joel takes in a breath. “Honey, if I’m speaking freely… my hands feel like wanderin’ every time I see your body.” 

At this, your eyes widen ever so slightly, your heart lurching into your throat when he says it. You’re not sure what you expected him to say from your timid confession, but you definitely weren’t expecting that. Though, it’s not like you don’t favor his reaction. 

“Really?” You giggle in disbelief, raising a brow at him. You’d always been insecure about your body, mainly your midsection. There are some rolls on your sides that extend to your back that you’ve always despised. And no matter how hard you tried to get rid of them, they never left. 

“Hell yes.” He emphasizes with a firm  squeeze on your waist again. “You’re just the type of woman I wanna curl up with at night.” 

Grinning, your arms slide up and around his neck, bringing you even closer to him. With the tip of your nose rubbing against his, you reply, “Maybe we can arrange that sometime.” 

Joel grins at your offer, humming happily while his palms run down your back. “I’d like that.” 

A breath of contentment leaves him, both of you enjoying the brief silence that then consumes the room. He’s sturdy beneath you, fingers continuing to move slowly over your covered skin. And you don’t move your faces away, either, simply resting in each other’s embrace. 

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Joel then says, staring down at your lips. “How about I take you out? Really take you out. Maybe buy you a drink?” He feels like it’s only right. It doesn’t sit well with him, knowing that you’re on his lap kissing him breathless before he’s even taken you out to eat. 

“Oh? At the only bar in town?” You tease, referencing the first time he worked up the nerve to ask you out. 

Chuckling, he nods. “At the only bar in town.” 

*

*

*

It’s not exactly a fancy establishment, but you still change into nicer clothes for your small outing. And while your pair of jeans and black long sleeve may not seem so special to you, Joel is having a hard time not outwardly ogling you. Everything just conforms to your body so nicely, fitting snugly along your hips and backside, up your tummy to your full chest. You’re such a pretty thing to look at, such a sexy thing to look at. 

“You feelin’ hungry?” Joel asks, releasing a sigh at his inner thoughts.

Shrugging, you climb onto one of the bar stools with Joel taking a seat beside you. “I could eat.”

The bartender comes by, introducing himself as Grant. He seems nice enough, an older gentleman wearing a thick jumper that makes him look larger than he actually is. 

“Just an IPA.” Joel nods, offering a friendly grin. 

“And for our new lady?” Grant asks, having not been introduced to you yet. 

“A vodka tonic?”

“Comin’ right up.” He nods, turning to walk off. 

“There’s a menu here,” Joel tells you, reaching over to grab and then hand it to you. “They’ve got some ‘lil appetizers.” 

In less than five minutes, your drinks are on their designated coasters, and your food order is in. You’d picked out the spinach artichoke dip, the dish happening to be one of Joel’s favorites. 

“So, how’re you likin’ the town so far?” 

While Joel takes a sip from his bottle, you watch him, eyeing the way his Adam’s apple bobs when the drink is swallowed.

“Haven’t seen much of it other than an angry cowboy and his brother.” 

“An angry cowboy?” Joel snickers, “That what I am?”

“Well, I mean, you’ve got the accent to match.”

“You like my accent.” He remarks sassily, looking away with a cheeky grin. 

“Maybe.” Stirring your own drink, you then comment, “This is nice. But… I kinda miss your food.” 

He’s surprised by this, turning back to you as he says, “Really?”

“Yeah.” Smiling, you reminisce on the recent memory. “I really liked having you cook for me.” 

“Honestly, I liked doin’ it.” 

“Seems like she’s had enough to eat.” 

Immediately, your eyes widen, blood running hot beneath your skin. 

The comment came from behind you, and was made by a man you’ve yet to see or meet, but one that Joel has interacted with quite frequently. And not in the most pleasant of ways. 

His friend then returns, “Clearly. Haven’t seen a girl that size since I came to Jackson.” 

Forcing away the sting in your eyes and the lump growing in your throat, you internalize your rising emotions. You’re angered you’d even let their comments affect you. According to most of the men you’ve interacted with throughout the pandemic, you should be much smaller than you actually are. What with there being food shortages. People even had the nerve to call you greedy. 

But while you’re trying to brush off your reaction, Joel can’t hide his anger. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him. It almost scares you, the way his face twists, the furrow in his brow and the scowl on his face. Turning in his chair, Joel glares at the men. They’re sitting at a table only a few feet away from you. 

“It’s okay, Joel.” You really don’t want to make a scene. 

“I don’t think it is.” Standing from his chair, he takes a step toward them, but you reach out with a pleading hand. Placing it on his chest, his eyes shoot down to your face upon feeling the contact. 

“Joel.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, and there’s real worry in his eyes. 

Nodding, you release a saddened and defeated breath. “I’m fine. Can we just… could you walk me home?” 

You’ve gone quiet and it breaks him, it fucking breaks his heart. He only just convinced you of his attraction for you, for your wonderful mind and gorgeous body. 

“Okay.” 

After asking Grant for a box, he packs up the rest of your food and pays the tab, leading you towards the door. For the first time, his hand moves to your lower back, already feeling a sense of protectiveness overcome him. And he keeps it there on the walk back, allowing you to snuggle up against him. 

As you continue you on through the snow, Joel’s hand gradually moves from the small of your back to fully wrapping around your frame, hugging you to his side. He’s warm, keeping you snug against him while he walks you home. 

Turning his head, he presses his lips to your temple once your feet reach the front door. “Would it be alright if I came in?”

“Sure.” You’re still quiet, timid. 

Stepping into the warmth of your home, you both kick off your shoes, Joel following you into the living room. He watches you sit on the couch, folding your arms around yourself. And he sits, too. 

“Were you… embarrassed?” You can’t even bring yourself to look at him. 

“What?” He asks, something akin to disheartened concern washing over his face. “Sweetheart, no.” Your insides jump at the new word. It’s the first time he’s ever called you that. 

Shuffling closer to you, he swallows, trying to compose himself. “You, you have to know how beautiful you are.” 

Almost unable to help himself, he reaches for you, but hesitancy then takes over. Retracting his hands, his thumbs shuffle over the knuckles of his fingers, feeling nervous but determined. 

“You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, even before I came to Jackson.” He expresses wholeheartedly to you, briefly referencing the man’s comment but trying to make it better with his own twist. 

“I think, I mean…” Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighs. Will his next words be comforting, or too much? “I think your body is amazing.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“Exactly.” His response is immediate, his tone prompting your eyes to find his. “No one’s making me say that, I’m sayin’ that.”

You can tell he’s trying his damndest to reassure you, to make sure you know how lovely he finds you. And not only this, but he wants you to feel better about yourself, too.

But inside, you’re crumbling. You’d distanced yourself from people for so long and for so many reasons. You were barely Ellie’s age when you so suddenly found yourself alone. Traveling across state lines with absolutely no sense of direction, no indication of where to go or what to do. All you knew was you had to get away from people, you couldn’t trust anyone’s intentions, and you were scared to death of the disease. For the most part, you camped in the woods, and it’s been quite a while since you heard a comment like that. It seems silly to worry about now, about someone’s words instead of finding food for yourself. But if you know anything about people, it’s that they can gossip. You’re new in town, after all, it was only a matter of time. 

“I just…” Sighing out a small shiver, your eyes drop again. “I think I need some time.” Joel’s compliments are overwhelming, in both good and bad ways. You’re not sure how to feel.

“Did I do anything wrong?” He feels like he’s breaking inside, like his emotions are so swollen they could burst right in his chest. This hasn’t lasted long but he doesn’t want this to end, please don’t let this end.

“No, it’s not about you, Joel.” You’re muttering, feeling shameful. You’re embarrassed you’re letting your own insecurities and pasta traumas get in the way of this, of the most exciting thing you’ve experienced in years. “I just need to think about this.” 

Without even meaning to, Joel’s head hangs a little low. The fabric of your faded brown couch looks pretty interesting right about now; it serves as a small distraction, and is the only reason he can think of to prolong his time here. But he won’t overstay his welcome. 

“Okay.” He returns, voice quiet and low. And if you think on it, you swear you heard it crack, too. “I’ll uh, um… I’ll go, if you want me to.” 

Tears pooling in your eyes, you can’t even look up when you say, “I think that’d be best.” 

With another timid nod, Joel stands, and slowly, too. Rubbing his hands together, it takes him a second to turn, but when he does, he keeps walking until he’s through your front door. And once he closes it behind him, the havoc inside your mind consumes the quiet space around you. 

[sashaisready]

Chapter Three - Call me Bucky

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

18+ - please see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Series Masterlist

Chapter 4

A few days had passed and everything seemed to be bumbling along as normal. No more surprise visits from mobsters, no more outlandish tips. The bakery had its steady buzz of happy customers and business was good.

You'd been trying out a new carrot cake recipe during a late afternoon lull the following Monday. Wanda was out sick so it was just you, but that was okay because Mondays were always quiet and you could handle things alone. You hadn't had a customer in over an hour so were in the back mixing when you heard the bell going.

"Be right there!" You called to the front of the shop.

You wiped your hands on your apron, cursing at what a mess you'd made. Your forehead was sweaty and you had butter and flour over your clothes in spite of the apron. Oh well. Hopefully you wouldn't scare the customer off...

You wandered back to the front of the store to find a tall gentleman in a fancy suit with his back to you, engrossed in his phone. Probably a business type popping in for a late afternoon sugar hit. You got a lot of those.

"Hi sir, how can I help today?" You ask as you take your place at the counter.

The man spins to face you and you can't help but gasp in surprise when you see who it is. James Barnes. He's back. He looks as slick as he did last time, immaculate in his tailored suit. His hair is carefully coiffed with a hint of gel, not a single strand out of place. Still gorgeous, too.

He smirks at your reaction.

"Surprised to see me, Doll?" He asks playfully.

"Sorry Mr Barnes, I didn't realise it was you" you explain. You try to ignore how his nickname for you sends shivers down your back.

"Well, I just enjoyed your merchandise so much last week I had to drop by again".

You smile at him warmly, dropping his gaze because it's so intense that it almost feels wrong to look at him directly.

"Great to hear that. So what would you like today?" Your professional veneer is hanging on by a thread.

He ignores your question and his eyes drop to your messy apron.

"What are you making?" He asks.

You fumble with the apron, embarrassed by your dishevelled appearance in contrast to his well-groomed figure. You must look like such a messy slob to him.

"Oh...just some carrot cake. I'm tweaking the recipe. Had a bit of a quiet period so thought I'd get a jump start" you chuckle nervously.

Why are you nervous?

You know why you're nervous.

He nods and smiles, scrutinising your appearance briefly before he looks back to the counter.

He begins to pick out cakes and pastries again, meticulously studying each section of the display case as he points out what he wants with a gloved finger. He asks for specific choices too. 'That doughnut third from the back' or 'that cookie second from the front'. You begin to understand that James Barnes is a man who likes things just so. And you would bet good money that he's like that in his day job, too.

You pack up his selections and ring him up, it's harder to keep up this time without Wanda. You take his credit card once again and he tries to pass you another obscenely high bill from his wallet.

"Oh I can't accept that" you explain, waving your hand at it.

He laughs. "Why not?"

"You already over tipped me last week. Honestly, Mr Barnes, you don't need to do that. Thank you, but really. You already spend so much here". You smile awkwardly at him, knowing full well he's going to fight you on this.

James chuckles. "I hope you're not telling me what I can or can't do with my own money, Doll..."

"Oh, no, of course not. It's just..." but you have no words for him. No excuses. Not without telling him that you feel uncomfortable taking cash from a mob boss, anyway.

He nods. "That's what I thought" he tells your firmly. In a single fluid motion he rolls the note up and leans over the counter, placing it inside your apron pocket.

You laugh. "Ass" you mutter quietly as you smile to yourself.

The word slips out before you can stop it. You clasp your hand over your mouth in surprise as if you can put it back in, but that horse has already bolted.

James' brows furrow. "What did you say?" He asks you accusingly. His eyes narrow and you see a brief glimpse of the scary man you'd seen on the news.

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry...nothing" you reply casually, busying yourself with stacking up his boxes. You feel sick suddenly.

How could you forget yourself so carelessly?

He leans forward, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. "Did you just call me an ass?" he asks as his eyes burn into you.

You try to think of a lie but his smirk is contagious and suddenly you're giggling.

"Oh, this is funny is it?" He asks. But his voice is soft, his face amused. It's clear this has tickled him.

"God, I genuinely am sorry" you tell him as you compose yourself. "That was so unprofessional. Really - I'm sorry".

"Why did you call me that?" He asks, watching you.

"Just...." You motion with your hand and copy the gesture he did of putting the money in your pocket. "I don't know. It just came out. The money thing was so smooth" you try to explain.

James stares at you like you're insane for a moment before chuckling earnestly. It stops you in your tracks briefly because it sounds like an authentic laugh, not the hollow snigger he seems to try to and undermine you with.

"Okay. You get that one for free, but only because nobody else is here" he advises as he shoots you a wink.

You laugh but part of you is shaken by his warning. You know full well it might have been a different story if you'd done that in front of his men.

As he begins to pick up the boxes you realise he's outnumbered - metal arm or not.

"Do you want help carrying those?" You ask.

James shakes his head and curls his lip like you've offended him. But then he tries to balance them all in his arms with one under his chin and it's clear it's not a one man job. Even a notorious man.

"Let me just take some. Are you parked up out front? C'mon, let me earn my tip. It'll make me feel better about taking all your money" you smile at him.

James smirks back at you. "Fine. But only for your sake, not mine".

You nod, grabbing a few boxes and opening the door. You follow him to his car parked on the street, a slick black SUV with windows so heavily tinted you don't think they can be legal. The trunk flies open despite James' full hands and for a second you think it's got motion detectors or something equally clever before you notice the man in the front seat.

"Hi again" the bearded blond turns and waves to you.

You smile back at him. Thor? No. Steve. Steve was his name.

"Hi" you reply shyly.

James begins packing the boxes up in the trunk and you follow with yours, ensuring they're secure and that the contents aren't likely to fly out if Steve makes a particularly sharp turn.

"There you go" you tell James sweetly as he slams the trunk down.

"Five star service" James says with a wink. "Thank-you, Doll".

"You're welcome Mr. Barnes" you nod as you wave and walk back to the bakery.

"Doll..." he calls to you.

You turn to face him once more.

"Call me Bucky" he grins.

"Bucky" you repeat back to him, feeling the name on your tongue, rolling it around in your mouth, trying it on for size.

[dont-f-with-moogles]

The Envelope

Characters: Dazai x Reader Word count: 937 words Osamu Dazai is one of the regulars at the café where you work. Whilst conversations with him are never dull, your tireless to-and-fro often takes you away from the subject of his ever-growing tab. Instead, you are forced to sidestep his constant invitations into a ‘lover’s suicide’ and remind him that such a pursuit can be accomplished alone by any individual in possession of a good life insurance policy. If anything, the living spouse would then at least profit financially. And yet, Dazai neither seems satisfied with your responses nor deterred in his efforts to change your mind.

One day, at the end of a long shift, you were approaching the double doors, keys in hand, when Dazai slouched past the glass. Startled, you opened one door to admit him. It had been some time since he had visited the café and the lateness of the hour only added to your sense of trepidation.

“Just thought I’d stop by… I’m sure you missed me!” he called out jovially. As he perched upon one of stools which lined the counter, you set your ring of keys down noisily.

“Oh, I made do with the customers who actually pay their bills,” you snapped back at him. Your hands flexed at your sides; suddenly you wished you still had something to occupy them with. “Still, it has been a while. I saw on the news that there were arrest warrants out for the ADA…”

“It was horrible,” Dazai agreed mournfully. “Prison was the worst! My cell was tiny, the company was just dreadful and don’t even get me started on the food!”

There was always something so captivating about his performance, even if that’s all it ever was; an act. And yet, the dull, monochrome day-to-day was flooded with colour in his presence. For one so preoccupied with death, he possessed the singular ability to rouse the world around him into life. Hearing his voice after all those weeks was enough to lift your lips into a shy smile. Despite yourself, your earlier resolve was already crumbling. With an effort, you tore your eyes away from his own.

“Look Dazai, it’s closing time and I need to get home. How about I make you a coffee to go? Consider this one - and only this one - on the house. I guess it's the least I can do after everything you’ve been through.” Fumbling, you laid down a fresh filter and sprinkled in several, hasty spoonfuls of ground coffee.

“Actually…” Dazai drummed his fingertips upon the counter. “…I’m here to ask you out.”

The handle of the kettle almost slipped from your grasp.

“I know, I know!” he waved away your protests before you had even uttered them, “…but hear me out, just once more will you? I’ve been preparing for this moment you know!” To add further mystery to his words, he slid an unmarked envelope across the bar. “I even asked around for advice on what to say to you!” Dazai leaned back so luxuriously on his stool that you were certain he would fall. Quickly, he righted himself. “That being said, my cell mate was nothing short of psychotic. He insisted that I get you fired from your job and isolate you from your loved ones so then you’d have no choice but to crawl to me!”

“Wow. What a romantic.” Somehow, you managed to flatten the tremor in your voice. It was fortunate that, by now, the rich coffee decoction had dripped down into the lower basin, for you were able to occupy yourself with an open cupboard. You made a performance of retrieving a fresh takeaway cup before he could notice the warmth in your cheeks.

"So…” Turned away from him, you smiled down into the empty cup. “...you were thinking about me whilst you were in there…?”

”…of course. And, whilst I didn’t take that man’s advice… I did come prepared.“

Finally connecting his statement to the white envelope, you placed the items down and returned his attention.

"Six months’ tab paid up.” Dazai winked roguishly. “Plus tips.”

“Who did you rob?” You turned the paper over in your hands, conscious of the deepening flush upon your face.

He laughed. “Would that matter to you?”

In answer, you placed the envelope over on the other side of the counter.

“I guess in the end, it wasn’t so hard to figure out what to say.” Dazai rose, hands stowed in the pockets of his trench coat. “I just had to prove to you that I’m a man of my word…” He nodded and, taking up the coffee you had made for him, turned to leave.

As Dazai approached the doors, he spoke again. His voice was losing its theatrical quality with every word. It was as though he was breaking character; opening up to reveal some hidden quality. There was something new there; something nervous, tentative, sincere. “…I’m also doing a little better now, I think. Maybe, someday, I’ll die with a beautiful woman… but first, first we’ll live.” He gave a small sigh. And, with that, he raised the cup in a brief gesture of farewell.

“Wait-”

Dazai glanced back over his shoulder, eyebrows lifted in interest.

“Maybe… this time, I’ll let you take me somewhere…” You were untying the white bow of your apron with clumsy fingers. “There’s just one condition…”

He opened his mouth to reply but you interrupted with a raised hand.

”…I’m not heading anywhere near the riverside with you, got it?”

He laughed. Then, pushing his palm against the glass, he held the door open to the fading evening light.

Part 2 (NSFW)

[octuscle]

Hello, support? I’m not sure if this is something you can help me with, but I feel like I’m in the wrong body. I’m a nerdy skinny dude with boring metro style. Deep down, though, I love heavy metal music and anarchy, and I think I was meant to be a punk rocker. Can you make me a proper punk? Do whatever you have to.

You're sitting in your favourite café. You're reading the newspaper, drinking a coffee or two. You're almost invisible. Asking a waiter to bring you a coffee is a challenge every time. But that's changing. You realise that more and more people are looking at you. You're still an inconspicuous nerd with narrow shoulders dressed in a black turtleneck jumper, black jeans and a grey flannel jacket… But something is different. Very different. There's a mohawk on your head. A harmless variant. More like an extreme undercut. But the hair is… Purple! You don't even notice it at first, but suddenly every waiter stops in front of you and asks if he can bring you something else. One of them holds a silver tray pressed against his chest. You vaguely recognise your reflection. Bloody hell!

You stand up. Staggering a little. Have you grown? You walk briskly to the toilet. Shit, you can't see, you're going blind! You take off your glasses to splash some cold water on your face. And without your glasses, you can suddenly see everything crystal clear. You see a man who literally screams "manly". Your facial features are angular, as if chiselled from granite. But your head and muscular neck don't match your body. Your stud earrings and hairstyle don't match your stuffy clothes either.

You can't get enough of your reflection in the mirror. You scrutinise and feel your face. You get a hard-on. And you have to pee too. You stand at a urinal and fumble your pathetic cock out of your trousers. Yes, it's hard. But nothing to brag about. Nevertheless, you have to wank your cock. No matter if someone comes in now. It feels so great. The rustling of the fabric slowly turns into the creaking of leather. The moment you hear footsteps next to you and someone stands at the urinal next to you, you come. You come powerfully. As was to be expected with the size of your impressive balls and your impressive cock. You squeeze the last bit of cum out of your glans and suck it off your finger while looking at the guy next to you. "Disgusting," he groans. "Oh, fuck off, Nazi bourgeois," you hiss back as you painstakingly stuff your cock into your jeans. You rub your hands on your jeans and walk back to your seat with heavy steps. Almost everyone in the café follows you with glances. Fuck, you might not look like anarchy. But you look like a veritable rock star.

But that's not the end of your transformation…

A waiter asks you if you'd like another coffee. He has a visible bulge in his trousers. You growl at him if you look like a coffee and order a whiskey. Pure. No ice. The waiter stands at attention and thanks you for your order. The only thing missing is a salute.

As you sip your whiskey and play with your mobile phone, you notice a smell. An odour of nicotine, sweat, booze and leather… And then you realise that the smell is coming from you. Your mobile phone is full of scratches, the display is cracked. And then you see the first tattoos appearing on the back of your hand. You pull up the sleeves of your leather jacket. Your entire forearms are covered in tattoos. Nothing from an expensive studio. Cheap tattoos, the kind you get in prison or in a dark backyard.

The next waiter who approaches you no longer has a bulge in his trousers. He asks you to pay and leave. Shit, your wallet was in your flannel jacket. There's no wallet in your leather jacket. You rummage a few crumpled notes and coins out of various trouser and jacket pockets. With great difficulty you just manage to pay the bill. You give the waiter and the customers staring at you the middle finger and walk out of the café. Shit, why did you go there in the first place? And how are you going to get money for tobacco and a beer?

This area is bad for scrounging. Intellectuals and snobs. They're generous in themselves, but they don't use cash any more. And you don't take credit cards. That's why you and your mates usually hang out in front of dicounters or in cheap shopping centres. That's where you get the most money. Just to make a statement, you piss next to the entrance of the café and give them the finger again. And then you make your way to the next bus stop. If things go well, you can bum a fag right there.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wasted 11

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥

The other girl in this one is from Black Light

Part of The Club AU

Throughout the night, you find yourself thinking of Bucky. Not in any meaningful way, merely wondering how someone as nice as the man beside you came to be friends with a pill-pushing brute like him. Steve is too sweet to believe and you know better than to buy anything at face-value but you’ve yet to find a crack in the veneer.

As he asks for the check, you pull your purse into your lap. He peers over, “oh, don’t… I got it.”

“Really, it’s nice of you to offer,” you try to factor out the chunk from your cut for the night. “I don’t mind going half–”

“My mother would pale if I didn’t insist,” he reaches over to clasp his hand over your purse before you can pop open the flap. It’s the boldest move he’s mad all night. You relent, he doesn’t have to twist your arm, your bills are already doing most of that. “I had a really good night, it’s worth it.”

You smile. A real smile. You can’t lie and say you didn’t. 

“I did too,” you say, “thank you, Steve.”

He blushes and turns to watch the server as she approaches again. He fumbles around his jacket and takes out his wallet. His hands are shaking. You’d finally calmed his nerves but they just as quickly bubble up. Bucky is less than an honest man but you suspect he didn’t lie about everything.

But what did he tell Steve? Is this a date? Or are you a hired escort? That makes your chest twinge. You’ve never been overly sentimental, you’ve had your share of one night stands, but you don’t want this to be like those.

As Steve folds up his wallet and thanks the server, you brush his arm with your knuckles, “hey, do you wanna walk through the park? Elizabeth Square is near here, I’ve never been to see the fountain.”

He turns to you with wide eyes, “really?”

“Sure, why not? Unless… I’m keeping you.”

He shakes his head and a broad grin spreads across his pointed features, “I’d love that.”

You nod and gather up your purse. You stand and pull on your jacket as Steve rises on the other side of the table and smooths his jacket. His pants are a little too long but he looks nice. You can tell he put a lot of thought into tonight.

He gestures you ahead of him, “ladies first.”

You accept and lead him between the tables. He’s quick as you reach the front door and flits around to open it for you. He really is playing the gentleman well.

As you get outside, you wait for him on the sidewalk and as he nears, you turn to walk parallel with him down the wide pavement. He’s quiet as he twiddles his slender fingers at his side. You take out your lip gloss to retouch your lips, twisting the cap on and tucking it away before you figure out what to say.

“You don’t really think I’m a lady, do you?” You kid.

He peeks over at you, “of course I do.”

“Steve,” you hum, flattered by his sincerity. You don’t know what to say. 

You sidle closer with your next step and take his hand, twining your fingers through his as he flinches. He jitters then squeezes. You can feel him beaming.

“I like you, Steve,” you say, “but I think I might disappoint you.”

“You could never,” he counters.

“We barely know each other.”

“Yet.”

“Steve,” you chide as you turn through the archway of Elizabeth Square. You look up at the big letters wrought in iron. “I’m trying to warn you.”

“I don’t need to be warned,” he says, “I can handle it. I can handle you.”

You almost laugh. He’s brave when he wants to be. Just like back in the coffee shop.

You near the fountain and sigh, watching the water lap down over the lit basin. Heat seeps into you from your interlocked hands as he stops beside you. You both just stare at the spouting streams.

You tug on his arm and turn to him. He glances over shyly, “this is romantic, isn’t it?”

He chuckles nervously, “sure.”

“I think… if you want to,” you push your shoulder up and tilt your head, “it might be the perfect time to kiss me.”

He gulps and shifts to face you, “really?”

You arch a brow, “my lip gloss tastes like cherry.”

His mouth opens slightly and he sways, “cherry?”

You smile and lean in, stopping just before him as you pucker your lips. His brows rise high on his forehead and his cheeks brighten rosily. He steps close and meets your lips with his as he closes your eyes and you do the same. He presses against your lips before he shyly recoils.

He lets go of your hand and covers his mouth, “sorry, I never– was that bad.”

“Not at all,” you flick your lashes open, “that was sweet.”

“Sweet?” He murmurs.

“Come on,” you turn and sit on the wide ledges of the fountain, “we can work on it.”

“Work on it?” He squeaks.

You slap the marble next to you, “Steve, let me show you how to work in the tongue, that’s the fun part.” He looks like he’s about to faint. You laugh as he sits stiffly and you rub his back, “or not.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t like.”

“No, I want to,” he pokes his tongue out to lick his lips, turning his head to you slowly, “you’re right, it’s cherry.”

You giggle and lean on the heel of your hand, bringing your other hand to his cheek. He grabs your wrist and pulls your touch away, surprising you as he frames your face instead. He grips your chin as he leans in and smushes his lips to yours again. 

You open your mouth slightly and slip your tongue along his lips, welcoming him in. He takes your invitation as his hand crawls up your jaw, firmly holding your head. You lean into him, purring as you rest your hand just above his knee. Why hadn’t you tried a nice guy before?

[prettyflyshyguy]

Hi everyone in true Shy fashion I've been violently bouncing projects, energy levels and motivation and I'm still furiously trying to get my shit together for the latter half of the year; I'm cooking up big things but in the meantime, here's something extremely silly, and extremely fun, and extremely inFAMOUS.

It's a chunk of a WIP I'm writing that I'll hopefully release a few chapters of down the line.

Zeke rolled the near empty glass in his hands, watching the liquid swirl around and bubble softly. Under the blacklight it glowed an almost putrid green, and it tasted worse than it looked, but he couldn’t resist the siren song of the Pyre Night specials. Nothing good cost under five dollars, but he wanted something to do while he waited. The bar was packed full, and he was starting to regret the choice of location. He had hoped to mingle with the locals, maybe use Cole’s good name and face to chat up some beautiful goth women, but the Devil’s Sacrament had been overrun by commoners and rabble. He glanced up from staring into the green portal that had settled in his drink as the bartender gestured at the near empty glass. Zeke slid it across the bar with one finger, sighing as he checked his watch. It was too busy, and too early, to even bother trying to attempt to flirt with the venue staff, and he’d given up hope of even trying with anyone else since setting foot on the stairs leading into the basement. He’d had to fight tooth and nail to even make it to the bar, and he was growing tired of overhearing the drabble of conversation from plastered partiers who were at best simply uncultured, and at worse hillbilly’s out of the league of the regulars of the finest establishment in all of New Marais. 

“What is this music?” a man drunkenly slurred as he bumped into Zeke’s back, either apathetic or purposefully ignoring him.

“Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” the unimpressed feminine voice responded. 

“Oh my god, that’s like, so sad, how did he die?” 

Zeke groaned, loud and exaggerated, as he placed a few bills on the table before skulling the refilled glass. He had been waiting for over half an hour, and he was starting to get worried. Something felt off, and the artificial watermelon flavored wannabe-cruiser only made the feeling worse. Cole could handle himself, but this was supposed to be their night off. One night to party, one night to pretend things were like they had been once before. A night for themselves, before the powers, the responsibility. Before he had gone and messed everything up. Maybe Cole wasn’t coming back to meet him. Maybe he was off hanging out with Nix, or even Kuo. The conduit club, no Zeke’s allowed. That’d be right, he thought, as he considered flagging the bartender over for a third round. The eerie, somewhat festive music rumbled through the bar, and as he was lost in the swirl of green at the bottom of his near empty glass once more, Zeke didn’t notice the rhythmic buzzing coming from his short’s back pocket. 

His phone rang twice before he registered it, and he fumbled as he struggled to pull it out amongst the stumbling bodies of the crowd pressing against his back. Peering at the screen, he could just make out the caller ID in the dim smoke filled room. “Oh, oh shit.” he waved away the bartender as he slid off the stool, one arm holding the phone to his ear, the other tapping people on the shoulder and carving a path for him to escape the animals that continued to pour into the already cramped bar. 

“Hey Brother, where you at?” Zeke yelled over the booming sound system and rowdy crowd, “I’m starting to get worried over here. Everything ok under the church, did someone let off a firework on accident?”

He frowned as he struggled to hear Cole over the noise as he pushed his way up the stairs towards the exit and the outdoors. He could barely make out what the man was saying, but whatever it was, it hardly sounded good. 

“Woah woah woah slow down brother, can you uh repeat that last part?”

As he pushed open the door, the cool evening breeze washed over him and he admired the beautiful dark purple and blue of the night sky. Taking a few steps away from the bar and out into the street, despite the footraffic and explosions of nearby fireworks, he could hear the phone much more clearly. He pushed his sunglasses up to rest on his head as he wiped his eyes, trying not to laugh at what Cole was blabbering over the phone as the line crackled. He’d done his best to insulate the mobile, but given Cole’s situation, you can’t do much to stop electromagnetism messing with things when he was near them. 

“Ha Ha… Really?” Zeke grinned ear to ear as he shook his head. 

“Do you look more handsome than normal?” he chuckled, “Do teenage girls suddenly find you irresistible?” 

“Seriously, brother, I know I told you to get out and have some fun tonight but how many drinks have you had?” he added after a pause, “and why didn't you meet up with me first?”

He started making his way down the street back in the direction of their home base, smiling as Cole continued. “Yeah, brother those are your incisors, it is very normal if they're pointier than your other teeth.” he frowned, “Ok ok calm down, meet me at my place and Dr zeke will take a look at ya.”

“Are you sure you haven't had anything to drink?”

“Booze, Cole. I'm talking about booze.”

“OK brother, I'll Meet you there.”

Zeke hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket as he chuckled to himself. “Hoooo… that boy is plastered.” 

His smile dampened slightly as the thought returned. Plastered without him. They’d always gone out together, he always promised Trish he’d make sure Cole didn’t do anything stupid, they’d look after each other. That was then, things were different now, he supposed. 

Guess being the Hero of Empire City, and now New Marais, earns you free drinks too. Guess ol’ Zeke’s only useful when thing’s go wrong. Only worth a dime when–

He cut the thought in half and attempted to distract himself with the sights and scenes of the festival as it began to truly come alive as the last embers of sunlight had faded. Something had gone wrong, that much was clear. Plenty of people might want to hurt Cole, put him in a vulnerable position, try and manipulate him, or just try and abuse his good nature. Sure a little penicillin smoothed things over last time Zeke made a grand mistake in New Marais, but things had changed. That was then, and this was now. It was out of character for Cole to flip out like this though, he recognised perhaps he had been too harsh. He’d hold the thought and see what the hell was going on once they met up. He was starting to get more worried. 

No part of the south island was devoid of activity, with performers, food trucks and spectacles on every corner. By the time Zeke arrived back at the building they’d camped out on the roof of he’d picked up multiple glow stick wristbands that had been shoved into his hands, and he’d narrowly avoided a group of youths armed with silly-string. It’d taken him long enough to return by foot, and even in a compromised state, he knew Cole was faster, having no doubt ridden the power lines. As he arrived on familiar gravel atop the stairwell, he announced his presence before even confirming if his friend was even there. His tone was jovial, but he couldn’t hide the twinge of pain underpinning it. “Alright brother now I won’t judge you if you’re into some freaky shit, I mean hell, tonight’s the night for it! I just wish you’d gotten me in on the action.” He continued to speak as he rounded the corner of the stairwell access. “But Cole man c’mon, I know you’re freaking out but it's ok, you’re not a vamp- HOLY MOTHER OF BABY JESUS!!”

[purelyfiction]

the name of someone i no longer know

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,406 words

Summary: it's stick season what can i say? also maybe this is whump-tober coded who knows

Content Warning:  alcohol use/abuse, maybe alcoholism, dui mention, police interaction, drunk jake, a little aggression, heartbreak and all around sad

Author Note: what the summary said

Jake had loved California for the reasons that it never seemed to rain. It was flooded with lots of sunshine, beaches and bars. Good music, good friends, good girls and bad decisions to be made.

Until he was sent back to the thick of it - sent to Annapolis to be shipped off for some form of deployment, only to be delayed due to concerns for the ship. Instead of sending him back to California, they'd kept him in Maryland.

Maryland was his personal Hell on Earth.

Flooded with memories of the cooler months, pumpkin patches filled with your laugh, dive bars he'd lost himself in like corn mazes he'd held onto you in. This place haunted him. Especially when it rained and God, did it rain in this damned state.

Another Friday of work slips away from him, until he's at the old bar whose name had been a weapon in the fallout. Jake sits peeling labels of a local beer - they were out of Bud. The jukebox plays a song he doesn't recognize and a couple laughs in the corner of the bar top.

That corner had housed the two of you all those years ago. Conversations about drunken college nights, holidays spent with friends instead of family while deployed, promises made that he'd broken only months later.

His collection of beer bottle caps is turning into a small mountain in front of him. Until the bartender is tapping the wood in front of him. "Last one, pal."

Green eyes groggily flip up to meet his, brows furrowing. "Huh?"

"You've had enough for the night, man." The bartender slides his receipt toward him, the pen alongside it rolling off and onto the floor. The blonde sits up with annoyance.

"I'm fine, first off," Jake slides from the barstool to retrieve the pen off the floor - only to crack his head on the underside of the bar when he stands up, "fuck!"

The man from the corner comes to his side, "Are you alright? That looked like it hurt." When the stranger grabs his arm, Jake rights himself and shoves him back into a barstool.

"Don't touch me." He spits. The stranger holds up his hands to show he's backing off.

"You need a ride." The bartender is pulling his phone from his pocket, Jake shakes his head.

"No, no I'm-" a hiccup breaks his train of thought. The sum of the bill catches his eye and he groans, dropping his initials onto the paper.

"I'll just order you an Uber, where you going?"

"I said no, I can drive." The barkeep nearly gives Jake the stink eye now. As the blonde fumbles his way to the front door, he nearly eats it at the front stoop. He manages to find his way to his truck - a rental no less - he pauses at the sight of an old Jeep Liberty.

The last time he was in Annapolis, he'd bought a cheap one exactly like it off of Facebook Marketplace. He'd needed a way to get around, and considering how often he bounced around, there was no need to buy anything worthwhile.

That same Jeep that you'd refused to get into the passenger seat of one night. You were leaving a friend's Thanksgiving. He'd had too much to drink. You begged him to let you drive, seeing that you were sober - he wouldn't have any of it.

He'd left you in the driveway of your friend's place along the water, snow and all. Annapolis police had him in their custody not even twenty minutes later. Jake had friends in the navy ranks in Maryland, that had helped him avoid a dishonorable discharge at the time - he no longer had those friends.

He also no longer had you.

Jake makes sure his rental is locked before he starts down the road in the direction of the naval base.

His steps are uneasy, a bit sporadic as he walks aimlessly in one direction. A film reel serves as his entertainment for his walk back. Scenes from two years of love, a whole six months of downward spiral toward heartbreak. Total, gut-wrenching and life wrecking heartache. Self-inflicted he now realizes.

The breakup was sharp. His things were packed up. Put into the Liberty. You'd taken your key back, deleted your number from his phone and told him to forget you even lived on the same continent. He'd promised you'd never hear from him.

Jake looks up after a cold round drop plops onto his head. Followed by another. His feet stop walking as he stares up at the rain beginning to fall, the street lamps serving as a backdrop as the downpour begins. He stands there. Watching the rain. His head drops to meet the river running under him, the bridge he stands on giving a viewing point as the speed picks up.

A car slows to a stop just behind him. The headlights make him squint, slowly moving a hand up to block the LEDs that blind him.

"It's a bit wet out here, don't you think?" A voice calls from the side of the vehicle, the door shutting in tandem to another on the symmetrical side of the car.

"Rain'll do that." He snidely retorts, leaning into the jersey barrier along the bridge.

"You think you might wanna find a dry place to settle in? It's getting late, afterall." A second voice consoles him, and Jake realizes why the lights are so damn bright. He'd recognize the striping of the Anapolis police anywhere.

"Ah, I'm-" Another hiccup, "I'm trying to." An older male comes in the rain, graying facial hair, a well trimmed beard as he approaches.

"You look a little lost there, boy."

If only this damn officer knew the half of it.

Neither of them mention his slow reaction times. Or reveal that they'd received a tip from a rather concerned bartender. Instead, they carefully guide him to the backseat of the cruiser. No handcuffs are involved, no harsh words spoken, not a single arrest made.

That doesn't stop Jake from reciting your name, your address and phone number.

Anapolis' police station is dated. The linoleum is scuffed and worn - a creamier brown than he remembers.

"You.. wanna call somebody to come get you, son?"

"I've got- I'll just call her. She'll come." When he pulls his phone from his pocket it's either too cold, too wet, or too dead - or some combination of the three.

The officer with the mustache that matched that of an old friend's hands him two dollars in change, pointing him in the direction of the payphones.

Nine digits. He's got them memorized, though he swore he would forget them.

One ring. Two rings. Four.

Finally- "Hello?"

Your name leaves his lips like a prayer.

The end tone sounds like a gunshot.

Another pair of quarters.

Dial tone. Ring three. Ring four. Voicemail.

Two dollars gone.

"Alright, kid, lets get you sat down for a minute." Jake firms up like an oak tree when the officer grabs his shoulder.

"Hold on, just- I need a charger. Something- she'll call. You've got more change? Just a quarter-" He turns to a nearby woman, desperately leaning toward her, his balance wavering enough that the cop comes to his shoulder again to keep him upright.

"Have you had much to drink tonight, son?"

"I- Didn't- she's gonna call." He mumbles as the officer slowly guides him to a seat. Green eyes look up at the older man and then to the tinted window at the end of the corridor.

"Hate to tell you this... but I don't think she will."

Jake shoots up again, almost falling on his ass.

"She will- I- let me call her again- just one more time-"

The officer resists Jake and his sluggish effort to move back to the phones, finally gripping onto the pilot.

"Sit. I'm gonna get you some water and we-"

"Fuck that. Sir. I just need to get her on the phone- she's not far she-" His words begin on a carousel. Coming back again and again, repeating in the same pattern.

The plastic cup of water in his hands grows warm as he sits in the station. Two officers talk among themselves as they keep an eye on him, mentioning your name. Your address.

The phone number you refuse to use if he is on the other end of the line.

And he waits.