#candy coated fury

[biweeklydavekat]

day 325

[opiepebbles]

reel big fish reel big fish reel big fish reel big fish reel big fish!!!

[skapocolypse]

GOD DAMN IT I LOVE THIS ALBUM

[slashersilly]

celebrating me snagging the CD :)

[gravitycoill]

lil thing inspired by the album candy coated fury by reel big fish!!

[gripefroot]

Taken in the Night

You wake with a gasp, muffled by the hand covering your mouth. A hard body presses against yours from behind, the bedroom dark enough to indicate it can’t be long past midnight. Then, warm breath on your neck, a whisper:

“Don’t make a sound.”

In an upper bedroom of the baker’s house in town, your winter abode, the danger of the baker finding Law in your bedroom and then throwing him out in a fury was more than a distant fear. Across the house, something creaks. All you hear is your breathing, Law’s, and the frantic thudding of your heart. The baker is a man to throw out not only Law for uninvited entry, but you, too, for disregarding the baker’s fastidious rules about guests. 

Law, knowing little of all this, groans softly in your ear. 

“I missed you bad.” 

Your fingers grip his hand, pulling it away from your mouth. “You couldn’t have sent a note?” you hiss. “Don’t wake me up like that again!” 

“Okay.” Amenable of him, wasn’t it? Or he was distracted, with his arm tight around your middle, fingers groping. Then you feel his lips on your hairline, hot and insistent. A responding moan rises in your throat, but you swallow it. The baker, the baker…

“We can’t do that here,” you whisper. “They’ll hear for sure.”

Another creak. A cough. Above the roof, a whine of winter wind. The clouds yesterday promised a storm. It must have started, the early cries of a worse tantrum to come. 

“Come with me?” Law asks in a ragged voice. 

Even if you want to be annoyed with him, it’s impossible. It’s impossible with the heat he presses into you, the hard angles of his body encompassing yours. Something about your racing heart and how hungry he sounds could get you to agree to anything. 

“We can’t take the stairs,” you murmur.

“Won’t have to. Hold on tight.” He squeezes tighter. You grip his arm, fingernails digging into bare skin - hadn’t he worn a coat? - for the split second before the world tilts and shifts and bursts around you. 

“Ouch!” 

The landing was hard, a slab of metal with all your weight and Law’s weight sending you straight to bruises. When you try to sit up, your head hits something equally hard, but this time, it’s his head. 

“Ouch!” you cry again. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Unusual repentance for him. “I thought the pillows were on the bed but they must have fallen to the floor. It’s storming outside.”

Orientation came in stages. The storm - wherever Law has whisked you off to is shaking side to side, slowly, in great swells that make your stomach churn uncomfortably. Your eyes adjust to the milky blue lights glowing from various points of the room. A bedroom. A bedroom with a small bed with blue covers (or they were simply blue in the light) and a desk and cupboards and shelves. The books and knickknacks on the shelves must be secured in place, to not be falling off with each rise and fall of the room. Law sits back on his haunches, strangely abashed as he watches your face. The blue light makes his eyes as velvety black as a summer night, and just as warm. Abashed? Now why would he be…

“This is your ship,” you say faintly. The throb from where his head bashed into yours heightens in intensity. “You brought me to your ship.”

“Sorry.” There, that’s more normal. He’s not sorry at all. That devilish smile transforms his face. “I’ve heard stories about your landlord. And I’m not gonna give you up. Even if it’s just for a night.”

Just for a night? 

Law plucks off his hat, running his opposite hand through his inky hair, making it stand on end. “We’re only passing through,” he says. “My crew wanted to go deeper to avoid the storm to make it to our next port by morning, but…”

There’s a wealth of sentiment in what he doesn’t say. The room rises and falls twice more before you give in and have mercy on the man, smiling as you get onto your knees. It’s more stable - somewhat. The familiar twist of sadness and joy winds around your sternum, again and again, making your insides a proper candy cane of contrasts. Everything about Law was so good and so wretched, all at once. It was horrible. And wonderful. 

“Well, it’s only fair,” you purr, scooting closer. Law doesn’t move, his eyes hooded as his eyes rivet on your face. Then, your mouth. “You know my bed. It’s time I acquaint myself with yours.”

His throat bobs. You lean in. “Only fair,” he repeats in a croak. “But - most of the crew is sleeping. There’s two on watch. You’ll have to be quiet.” 

“The crash of our entrance is okay but a few little moans aren’t?” The question is a whisper, breathed against his skin. He’s near enough to kiss, but why ruin perfectly good foreplay? One side of his mouth lifts. 

“Crashes are normal,” he murmurs, reaching up to touch the ends of your hair. “Moaning is not, I’m afraid.” 

“What a sad life your crew must live.” 

“If I’m doomed to sleep alone, they oughtta, too.”

“So. You’re a tyrant as well as a thief, a tease, and a bully.” All three things which you’ve called him before. He remembers, too, because he snorts true amusement despite the sardonic gleam of his eyes. The blue light is enough. Enough to treasure every feature of his face, but not too much to ruin the hazy dreaminess soaking around in a mysterious place in a storm. 

“Don’t see you complaining,” Law says. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Thinking you’re about to kiss him, most likely. He’s eager. He’s eager and he’s charming and he’s Law, which is the best part of all. 

“Do you think of me while you’re here?” you ask softly. 

“Yes,” he says at once.

“What do you think of me doing?” It’s bait. He knows it, too, because he snorts again. Undeterred, you suggest, “Reading some of those books, perhaps? Writing letters at the desk? Folding blankets?” 

“Definitely,” Law plays along in his characteristically dry tone. “In fact, my favorite way to think of you is sweeping the floors.”

“Sweeping! Where’s the broom, then? We can play into this little fantasy of yours.” 

“Later.” He seizes your wrist when you make you stand, keeping you in place. “Why not a different fantasy first?” 

“Oh?” It’s impossible not to smile. It’s impossible to keep the joke going, too, because if it’s only going to be one night, the desire to spend it teasing each other pales in appeal. Law must sense this, because he lowers his head, stealing a kiss that makes your heart pound and your skin to go tingly from head to toe. 

His thumb strokes the inside of your wrist when he pulls away. A good kiss, but not enough. Never enough. Rising on your knees, you shake his hand off to wrap your arms around his neck, dislodging his hat once and for all. 

There. That’s better. A longer, deeper kiss; the rasp of his facial hair on your sensitive skin while his hands roam up and down the shape of your curves before resting on your hips. And every second your body moves, moves with the waves of the sea and the desire Law so skillfully conjures. Life is so still when he’s not around - expectant patterns that repeat every day. And then he shows up and whisks you away in the middle of the night because he wants you, because he wants to see you.

But not because he loves you. He’ll never say it. Maybe he doesn’t need to. That old conversation rankles, from time to time, but only when he isn’t there. And right now, he is. 

Your hands slide beneath his shirt, taking advantage of perpetually-undone buttons to slide the entire garment right off his shoulders. His skin is smooth, rippling from muscles as delicious to feel as they are to see. The hardness of the metal floor sends aches through your knees when he drags you closer, by the hips, until every heave of breath touches your chest to his, his eager mouth plundering where you’d meant to do the plundering. Lungs tight, you break away for air. Law does hesitate: his whiskered chin scrapes against your neck while his lips and tongue do wonders on your neck. 

“Oh, Law,” you say, half-piteously. “Why can’t it be longer than one night?”

He doesn’t answer. Why would he? You know, and he knows you know. His response is to grip you by the backside, standing steadily despite the gale outside and all around, to tip you onto the bed. 

His eyes are the dark depths of a sea, black and beckoning. He doesn’t look away while he undoes his belt and pants button. Gnawing on your lips, your legs squeeze together, as if that’ll help. 

“Kinda like your nightgown,” he drawls. 

“Oh,” you say again, with just as much self-pity. ��If I’d known you were coming, I’d have worn something different.” It’s an old wool thing, meant for warmth during the winter more than seducing handsome ship captains coming to claim their woman. Consciously, you put a hand to the ratty ribbon around the collar, mercilessly cut in several places from tickly threads over the years.  

“I ain’t lying,” Law says. “I mean it.” 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” you say crossly. 

A mischievous light catches in his eyes. Oh, no. Whatever brilliant inspiration he just had, probably won’t end well for you. 

“I’ll just have to prove it to you, then,” he says. Pants shaken off, he crawls onto the bed stark-naked. Apprehension about his intention makes it less of a thrill than usual. “Oh, c’mon,” Law says with a hint of exasperation. “Stop looking at me like I’m some kinda creep.” A laugh huffs out of him as he shakes his head. That reaction makes you more mulish. 

“Only a creep would be turned on by this rag,” you say. 

“Ever considered that I’m turned on by you, not by what you wear?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do,” he says. “Until then - ”

He ropes his arm around your back, dragging you across the bed and over his body. Your leg swings over his hips in an attempt to stay balanced, which mostly, you think, gets him what he wants. He settles in against the mattress, shining with lazy triumph. Your breasts are pushed against his chest until his arm loosens enough to allow you to rise. He’s successfully perched you right on his groin, skirt of the nightdress flowing around like a shroud of modesty. 

“Trafalgar Law,” you say severely, though the irresistible urge to laugh bubbles incessantly in your throat. 

“Present,” he says, lacing fingers behind his head. He gazes up at you, like a child would the night sky. When the fondness in your chest makes it hard to speak, he tacks on, “Leave the nightgown on. I want you to think of me whenever you wear it from now on.” 

He’s too much. Too cocky, too sweet, too honest. It hurts. 

His smile doesn’t fade when you lean over him again, this time kissing him with all those feelings wanting to get out. Law isn’t one for feelings, and frankly, you aren’t either. Not when the recipient can use them to hurt you. And Law could hurt you like no one else, because he’s like no one else. Would he? Would he be so cruel? Perhaps not - but he also never stays, so he is cruel, even if he doesn’t mean to be. 

He accepts the tender pace. His hands are all over the nightgown, plucking at the fabric with theatrical, appreciative groans. 

“The hem,” you pant. “You can grope me from the inside.”

Evidently, Law can’t take the joke much further, because he takes your advice and slides his hands inside the nightgown. His hands go up your bare legs, down your back, making paths from limb to limb. Without warning, his hips bucks and his teeth bite down on your bottom lip. 

“Ouch!” Hopefully, cries of pain are also normal on the ship. You sit back, rubbing your mouth with a scowl. 

“Sorry. It was the storm.” His hands stop on your hips, hindered by underwear. His eyes are shadowed, squinting slightly. “Will you believe that it’s the storm if I rip these off?”

“No,” you laugh. “But go ahead. They’re old, too.” 

Underwear discarded in three pieces (ripping one seam would make a tidier job, but this is Law), there’s nothing left between skin. His lips are parted, breathing steadily between them, though his expression is anything but steady. Tipping your hips forward, the sensation of his erection rubs against you. 

The kissing made you sensitive. The slippery sensation brings out a tiny moan, not too loud, and Law’s response is much louder. 

“I only tease you because it makes you wet,” he says, his voice low and rough enough to be a growl. 

“You make me wet,” you tell him, sliding over his cock again. “Not the teasing. Like you said about my nightgown.” 

His crooked half-smile promises more teasing, so you bend over to kiss him to keep him quiet. It works - partially. No teasing, but his responsive noises to each little motion are enough to turn your veins to fire. 

Time stops. Each swell of stormy wave feels longer than a passing moment, each whoosh of desire flooding your body saunters instead of shoots. Law’s fingers make paths in your bare skin, one inch at a time, as if he, too, feels the yawning stretch at the cusp and refuses to rush it. 

Why does it have to be only one night? 

Better one night than no night. 

The ship rises and falls. When waiting feels like a shackle instead of a long-lasting sunset, you reach between your bodies to slide him inside. The waves help with that, rocking up and down and up and down. Law’s eyes are almost inscrutable, hiding what he doesn’t want to say or share behind those walls he puts up. Silly man. He’s let you in too far already; almost as long as you’ve known him - hiding can’t erase that. 

“You’re so good,” he says. “You’re my good girl.” 

A shiver spreads from your neck downward, the tips of his fingers brushing gently against your throat. Eyes close. Your hips go forward and back, fighting against and moving with the storm while pleasure swells thunder. Moans vibrate your throat, but go no further. Finally, with a gasp, your eyes flutter open, though you don’t stop riding him. 

So, this is what he looks like in his own bed. The blue softens his face, the swallowing blankets and pillows make him less the tattooed vagrant and more…well, more an ordinary man. The kind that could stay, if he wanted, not the phantom who comes and leaves like a storm. Gold earrings wink reflections of blue. And his expression…it must be nice for him, you muse, putting in the lesser amount of work. But it’s nice for you, too, to watch him experience it with such a lovely view. 

“That’s it,” he mumbles, a little like thunder himself. “Tell me how much you like it.”

“Why don’t you?” you say. “You’re the one being lazy.”

Law peeks open an eye, but he only grins. “I like it alot,” he says. “And I like that you’re sassing me.”

“I can tell.” With a smile, you slow your pace, taking your sweet time to take him deeply. A short grunt from him betrays how much he likes it. His eyes glaze over. His fingers dig into your hips, trying to move you more. 

“I want you to come.” The words rasp out of him. “Then I wanna switch.” To prove his statement, he thrusts upward, slow but delicious as stars burst behind your eyelids. A gasp parts your lips. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay. Keep going. Do what feels good.” 

It must be near dawn by the time the bedroom is as quiet as Law threatened it had to be. Cuddled up in the blankets (the nightgown was discarded long ago), you breathe deeply the scent of his bed. Of him. Because he only came for one night. And now that night is ending, the prickling pain deepens. 

“Hey.” Law pulls your shoulder back, leaving a kiss on your bare skin. “Are you falling asleep?”

“No.” 

“I think I did.”

Bemused, you twist your head back, smiling at the glaring evidence: one of his cheeks is visibly red, even in the blue light, and a wrinkle from the sheets stretches from his jaw to his forehead. 

“Cute.” You reach up to pat his cheek. “You did enough work to earn a nap.” 

“I wanted to keep going,” Law says. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Because if you’d had to go from lovemaking straight back to your tiny room in the baker’s house with your heart still racing and your skin still tacky from sweat, Law’s departure would have felt a thousand times more raw. Idly, you stroke his facial hair, then jingle his earrings together. His eyes crinkle with a smile, sweeter than you’re used to, but it’s still very him. 

“You’re gonna be tired all day,” he prophesies. 

“I don’t care,” you say. “I work less in the winter. I’ll take my nap later.” 

Later, when he isn’t there and you won’t lose your last moments with him. You don’t say it, but he must guess, because those dark eyes soften. 

“But you got your nap, so you’ll be fine,” you tease, rolling onto your back. Law hovers over you, grinning all the while like a satisfied cat. The storm had stopped - when? The rocking of the ship had noticeably slackened before Law had collapsed on the bed (and evidently fallen asleep) but it must have ceased completely while you were lost in dreary thoughts. Missing him before he left. 

Perhaps he reads some of that misery in your face, because his brows crinkle and he says, “Sorry I have to go.”

“You’re so full of sorrys today,” you say, put-out that you hadn’t concealed the truth of your feelings and he’d latched onto them. 

“Strange.” He picks up one of your hands, kissing each knuckle tenderly. What he is hiding, you can’t tell, because his eyes are lowered, hidden behind lashes and lids. “You know what?” he says suddenly. “I’ll buy you a new nightgown one of these days.”

“I thought you liked this one.”

“I do. But you don’t. And I want you to like it.” 

How could he say such sweet things and then leave? It’s the one part of him that you can’t understand. He goes out of his way to see you but still happily departs with the dawn? What logic was he clinging to? 

“Want me to take you back naked?” Law’s eyes shine at the prospect. “Bet your baker is awake and won’t notice all the noises we make.” 

Pursing your lips together, you seize a pillow to whack him in the face. He startles, then laughs. And laughs and laughs, when the pillow turns into a ball of dust. Your fingers close on nothing, the dust ball lost somewhere in the sheets when he tackles you. 

“Where did the pillow go!” you ask indignantly. 

“Don’t worry about it!”

But you don’t have the heart to exacerbate the joke, giving him the upper hand. The sun might be rising, but this night had more light in it than any day for a long, long time. 

If he has to leave, at least he leaves laughing.

[kayhi808]

First Crush 16 - Happy Halloween

I know this is late but technically it's still Halloween in Hawaii. I hope everyone has fun tonight! 🥰

"Honey, you're going to need to stay still."

Abby is squirmy in the make up chair, "But N'asha, I soooo 'cited!" Raising her little fists up in the air, ready for Halloween to begin.

Stepping back with her hands on her hip, "Well, if you stuck to being a Widow, we don't have to do this part."

Sitting still as can be, "No tank you. I needs to be Diwctor Fuwy! I stay still." Natasha continues to glue down the skull cap to Abby's head.

You enter the room with Abby's utility belt stocked with snacks and her trench coat. "Ok I think...." You stop in your tracks to stare at your daughter. The cap has made her completely bald looking. You're still undecided on how to feel about her costume of choice. Once Abby sets her mind to something it's hard to convince her otherwise. You had drawn in her goatee earlier, so she was just about done. She's still wearing the Widow suit underneath the trench.

"Mama, lookit! I no more hairs!" Abby cackles as Natasha sets her down.

She skips over to you, "Yes, I can see that." You strap on her utility belt. "While we're out, you only eat the snacks in here. You cannot touch the candy you collect, ok? I'll need to check it first."

"Okies, Mama!"

You help her on with her trenchcoat and runs over to the mirror & she squeals. " Do you like it?"

She jumps up and down, "I loves it so much!" She runs over to hug Natasha "Tank you!"

"Have fun tonight," she places the final touch of the eye patch on. "Listen to your Mama."

******

Chloe, Mia and their mothers were going to meet up at the Tower before hitting the nearby neighborhoods with the girls. You dressed yourself up as a hobbit. Brown capris & vest with a white poet shirt, a green hooded cape and a walking stick. It was the same costume as last year. You had always thought the stick could double as a weapon if need be. Bucky scoffed at your idea. He said him and Sam would be joining you for protection. He refused to have you and Abby out and about on a crazy night like Halloween unprotected.

You let Abby make her entrance and you watched the looks on Bucky and Sam's faces. Speechless. Horrified. Abby did her little sashay around the room, stopping in front of Bucky, jumping up and down with her hands clasped. "Do yous loves it?!" She plays with the trench to make the bottom swish.

Bucky's mouth is open & closing like a fish out of water. He turns to Sam, "Don't look at me. She asked you."

"Wow! Abigail. Wow!" Bucky's eyes meet yours and you give him a smirk.

"This whole...look? It's going to be embedded in my brain FOREVER," Sam nods at Abby.

Abby claps her hands, "Tank you!!"

The horror hasn't left Bucky's eyes as you laugh, "We better head downstairs."

While on the elevator ride down, both Bucky and Sam try touching Abby's bald skull cap without her knowing. "Stop," you hiss at them.

The elevators open to the lobby and when the little girls see each other they all squeal and scream, running to hug each other. They are so cute! Chloe is dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and Mia is Ren from Star Wars. The 3 girls gush over the sparkly shoes, Mia's mini light saber and of course Abby's bald head. Quick introductions are made amongst the adults. Bucky had met their husbands at the father/daughter dance at the daycare so they were a little familiar with each other. And Sam is so personable, he makes everyone feel at ease.

They were about to head out when the glass door slide open and Nick Fury and Maria Hill walk in. All 3 little girls gasp. Eyes wide and mouths shaped as little "o". Just like the time before, very intimidating and frightening, trench coat flowing behind him, cutting a striking figure across the lobby.

Abby runs across the lobby, followed by her 2 best friends. "Diwector Fuwy!!" She hugs his leg, "Happy Hanoween!"

He frowns down at her, 'Who the hell are you supposed to be?!"

Chloe is afraid of his tone and Mia hold her hand. The parents quickly follow.

Abby covers her mouth and giggles. "I'm you!!" She does a little turn making sure her trench swishes out. She slides her hand in his. "You wikes it?"

"Just say you like it," Bucky says with a little growl in his voice.

You try to distract & gather everyone to head out.

Abby looks at her friends, "Him's my fwend. He's so smart and braves. Him's the big boss to my Mama, Bucky, Captain America, Black Widow, Fawcon, Iron Man, Green Man, Lightning Man, Arrow Man....all dem Avengers. He protects the whole world and even space!" Fury doesn't look as angry & gives her little hand a squeeze. "And keeps us safe." Poking her eyepatch, "So no one steals our eyeballs, right?" His frown is back in full force and her drops her hand. He takes out his money clip and drops some money into the girls bags. "Get the hell out of my lobby. Go get some ice cream or something."

Again the girls gasp and a chorus of "Tank you, Diwector Fuwy! Happy Hanoween!" They all giggle and wave like the mini fan club that they are now.

"Ok, let's get started." You all start heading out and you turn to Bucky, "I thought Steve would join us tonight."

Abby pipes up, "Uncle Steve is on important dates. He cannot."

Bucky narrows his eyes at Abby, "How do you know he's on an important date?"

Abby shrugs before running off to join her friends, "Him tells me tings."

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood @jvanilly

[salaimoi]

“How long?”

“…”

“For how goddamn long, TOJI!?”

“Baby, listen plea-“

An antique and well-known wine brand bottle hurtles across the room, shattering into a million fragments dangerously close to your husband’s head. The absurdly overpriced wine once filling your cup now coats the entirety of the hotel room walls, bearing witness to your betrayal in a vivid crimson-red. Yet, even as anger wells in your chest, it sinks like a stone in your gut, leaving you too hollow to feel the fury you know is there. You’re almost grateful for it — without that sinking weight, you’re sure cardiac arrest would’ve been the one knocking at your door in the next 3 seconds, rather than housekeeping.

You scoff, clenching up your fists until the tender flesh of your palms goes numb from the pressure. It was nothing compared to the internal agony. “Baby.” The word repeats in your mind like a faithless prayer, an echo of something once comforting, now tainted. Baby — a moniker that was never yours alone. Some sweet pet name wasn’t going to get him out of years of deceit and manipulation. Years of him convincing you you were crazy and nothing more.

It hurt. But truth was, as much as you knew you still needed him here, all the proof you needed to leave was spelled out in the agonizing pain gripped in your chest whenever you pictured him doing what you were right about all along. But how could he? How could he lie to you all these years, tearing you apart piece by piece in the process?

Your train of thought is suddenly derailed halfway to the station when you feel a pair of warm hands caressing your own; a blatantly shameless man squatting before you in an attempt to meet your gaze.

“You think I don’t know what you did?” Toji shakes his head in response, a pathetic expression plastered across his, once lovable, face. Now all it was to you was punchable, but he interrupted you before the thought could even process.

“I know you know,” he sighs defeatedly. “But I promise you, we can get through this.”

When you made your vows to each other, you promised yourselves: through thick and thin, for better or for worse. But was a signed piece of paper there to comfort you late at night when you lay inconsolable, picturing your lover holding someone else in his arms? You didn’t need to hire the city’s best photographer to picture what it was like — it played vividly in your mind: them together, moments after he’d hung up the phone with you. An empty verbal agreement wasn’t going to fill your cup while your deceitful husband was busy pouring an alcohol one down his throat, a sweet piece of candy nestled on his lap.

But whatever excuse he had concocted to coerce you back into his life wouldn’t work this time around, because he made it clear you weren’t the only one he wanted in it.

pt 1 here.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - Y

Y is for the volatile yes, no, maybe Wally slings at you when you show him you're coming to your senses. It's a word followed closely by 'not' as you stare Wally down for the answer. And Wally's heart is racing, his anger burning a pit in his stomach because you're not supposed to do this to him.

Anyone but you. Anything but this.

As you turn away, poised to leave, he presses himself to your back, hand on your throat—firm, not tight—angles your head to hover his lips near your ear and whisper, "You're not going anywhere, baby."

His body thrums with jealousy, hurt, rage, want; all for you. Always for you. Janet's somewhere, foot tapping and eyes boring a hole into her phone screen as she watches the time since Wally was only supposed to be gone for five minutes. His fucks are all used up, though. Vanished the moment he overheard assclown Alex Greenberg ask you out. And you had the fucking nerve to say you'll think about it, voice candy-coated and flattered, as if you don't have Wally by the dick.

"If you want me to stay," You murmur, a subtle smirk curling the corner of your mouth, "then answer the question." You turn in his hold, siren eyes locked on his, "Why. Not?"

Wally answers by pushing you back against the wall, towering over you, chest heaving and fists clenched above your head as he stares down his nose at you. You should know by now. He's said it enough times.

"Because you're mine, baby," He nudges his thigh between your legs, hard muscle to soft pussy through your panties. The ones Wally bought you for Christmas, along with four other gifts Wally fiercely denies have anything to do with feelings. And, yeah, you've mentioned that's the problem. The very reason you let Greenberg close enough to invite you to dinner and a movie. Fucking bland, unimaginative dipshit.

"Am I?" You question as if you're checking your cuticles, but he can see the heat in your cheeks as he grinds his thigh against you, can hear the hitch in your breathing, "Aren't you with Janet?"

"Jesus, baby, I've told you it's not really like that." Wally snaps, stills, grabs you by the thighs and lifts you to pin you to the wall with his hips. "I don't share, sweet girl," He warns you for the umpteenth time, "You let him near you and I'll break his fucking neck." And he bites your bottom lip, vicious, sucks it before claiming your lips in fever and fury.

Oh, God, that's it, baby, his hands on your ass as he sinks to his knees, forcing you to hump his cock through his jeans. He has one hand braced against the wall, the other moving to your thigh, his lips violent as they possess yours, and he keeps grinding, keeps showing you how fucking good you make him feel. Your legs brace around his waist when he rips your hands from his shoulders and secures them on the wall, pulling back to take in your red lips and dark eyes. Yielding for him like you always do because you know no one else can even come close to getting you this wet.

"That's it, baby," Wally purrs, hoarse and low, "Tell me who you belong to." A whimper. A shaky breath. But you shake your head, disobedient little brat, which only serves to drive Wally fucking wild. His hips rock against yours, hard cock teasing the imprint of your pussy, and he repeats, "Tell me you're mine, baby...say it," he dips his head, lips grazing your neck, tongue peeking against your hot skin to taste you, "and I'll make you come the way you need it."

This gets him a response, a weak moan and, "Fuck, Wally," said in a breathy whine. Thing is, Wally can be patient when he needs to be. Can wait you out for as long as it takes for you to prove him right. And it pays off when, a few more thrusts and his fingers grazing your pussy through your panties, you keen, "I'm yours."

"Yeah?" He wants more than that, "Who else gets to see you like this, baby?"

"No one," You promise, "Only you."

That's right, sweet girl, only him. He drops back onto his haunches, doesn't bother standing you up to do the sane thing; rather finds a gap in the lace and fucking tears your panties off. His fly is undone in record time, cock out and leaking, and then it's desperate, sloppy, absolutely nonpareil sin on the administrative office floor. He drives into you, punching those slutty little noises from your throat, your shirt and bra bunched above your tits, his teeth on your nipple, his hands gripping your hips so hard his fingerprints indent the flesh.

"Mine," He grunts, tasting your tongue, cock beating your g-spot harder and sharper and so precise he can feel you get to the edge. "I want you to scream my name, baby."

"Wally..." You gasp, and that's not good enough.

"Louder, baby," Wally commands, wanting everyone still in the building to know who owns you. "Scream it." And when you do, Wally comes so hard the universe explodes behind his eyes, yanking you into euphoria with him.

The next school day, you apologize to assclown Alex Greenberg, but I can't go out with you, the bite marks on your neck emphasizing how he'll never have a chance with you.

Wally watches the whole thing with a predatory grin.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

alphabetical navigation:

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

linear navigation:

B T K A F P V R M S D C I J H W N O E X G L Y U Q Z

[zablife]

Shut Up

Jack Nelson x gf reader

Summary: You were meant to be Jack's arm candy at a meeting with Tommy Shelby. What happens when you open your mouth?

A/N: Ty to @evita-shelbyfor the prompt "Make me shut up then!" I changed the wording slightly, but the meaning is the same.

Warnings: language, toxic relationship, brief mention of infidelity

With this afternoon's contentious business meeting swirling in your head, you exited the Atlantic Hotel onto the snow covered steps. Gloved fingers fumbling with your cigarettes and lighter, you waited for Jack despite the stinging cold against your cheeks. He'd insisted you give him time to speak with Thomas Shelby alone and you begrudgingly agreed, having stated your opinion on their merger long before cocktails.

You knew it went against Jack's intentions for bringing you as he'd hoped to merely distract Mr. Shelby with your ruby red pout. However, you couldn't help but interject your advice in an attempt to give Jack the upper hand. As you watched the snow swirl around you like glitter in a snow globe, you felt a surge of excitement for your bright, shining future.

Moments later, Jack pushed past two cowering doormen, a thunderous look of fury settling over his brow. Without a backward glance, he made his way down the stairs, crossing the street as he cursed under his breath.

You quickly shook free any notion of his gratitude, clutching the coat you hadn't had time or sense to button. Running after him through the daze of falling snowflakes, you found it nearly impossible to catch up. As you stumbled in your high heels, you failed to keep pace with his long strides, eventually calling after him in desperation.

"Jack, stop! Jack!" you shrieked.

Jack continued on to his waiting car, tossing his cigar away with a puff of smoke in response. His irreverent demeanor toward social niceties usually amused you, but today you felt like teaching him a lesson in manners. "I'm talking to you!" you shouted at him, slipping on the ice. "You fucking prick!" you added as you hit the ground with a thud.

Finally acknowledging your presence, he strode toward you and captured your elbow in a painful hold. Jerking you up harshly, he hissed in your ear, "I thought I told you to shut your mouth back there."

"Because you were doing so well on your own," you retorted, heels teetering precariously along the icy path.

Shaking your arm for emphasis, he seethed, "You don't get it, do you? I give 'em money and liquor and all you do is smile. What the fuck's so hard about that?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, he had no intention of signing those documents,” you spat at him.

"Listening to doubt never worked for me," he growled, finger poised in the air as he intended to continue with his usual boastful tirade on superior American business tactics, but you cut him off.

"But your arrogance did?" you scoffed. "That's your problem, Jack. You never fucking listen!!"

Jack’s scarred upper lip curled into a sneer as he studied you. “You know what, sweetheart, you aren't half as smart as you pretend to be. If you think I'd let you negotiate with the likes of Thomas Shelby, you're crazy!"

"I'm crazy? You just stormed out of a meeting that could have made us millions!"

"And whose fucking fault was that?" he yelled, volume garnering the attention of the people passing on the street. "You've fucked up one time too many, doll. And mark my words, this is the end," he warned with a menacing scowl.

"You should make more moves and less announcements," you advised, coming to stand face to face with your lover.

"You have no control, you know that?" he countered in a disgusted tone, hand snaking around the back of your neck to grip you in a possessive hold.

"Me? Weren't you the one to sleep with his wife?" you accused, eyes blazing with fury.

"You wanna hear about her running her fingers through my hair?" he teased indelicately.

You shot him a warning look as you pushed yourself away from him and he cocked his head at you incredulously. "It was your goddamn idea!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Sighing in exhaustion, you quietly admitted, "It was my idea and it didn't work the way I planned, alright? That's why I wanted this meeting so badly. I couldn't stand to see it wasted."

Finally Jack relented, understanding this would always be your pattern. Your relationship forever caught in a battle of wills, but accepting it because you relied on one another. As he looked past your stoic expression to your watery eyes, he knew you were thinking the same thing. All the times it had come to this, you’d scarcely lasted a day apart.

All the empty threats falling away, he closed the distance between you, sliding his large hands beneath your coat. Then tilting your chin up toward him, he chuckled, his signature grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He stroked your cheek lightly, venturing a coded apology, “Can we forget all this and go back to the hotel now?"

Donning a playful pout you asked, "What makes you think I want to fuck you?"

"Cause you always do," he replied, nipping at your jawline.

"Cocky bastard," you smirked against his lips as he stole a kiss.

"Well, lack of confidence is very unAmerican," he winked at you as he ushered you toward the car, one hand resting over your ass.

"Are you ready to discuss the Shelby strategy like grown ups?" you asked, swaying your hips suggestively beneath his palm.

"I got a better idea. How about you get in and shut up," he commanded in the low growl that made your stomach flip.

"Make me," you challenged, shooting a devilish look over your shoulder.

"Oh, that can be arranged," he assured you, delivering a harsh spank that made you gasp.

----------------

TAG LIST:

@peakyswritings

@shelbydelrey

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@helen06dreamer

@pietroxreader 

@galactict3a

@ietss

@mostly-marvel-musings

@writeroutoftime

@yolobloggers

@outlanderuniverse

@anilovessadbooks

@tremendousstarlighttragedy

@elliaze

@leenieweenie

@snickersmee

@niktwazny303

@brummiereader

@cillmequick

@call-sign-shark

@mischievouslittlecreature

@justrainandcoffee

@copinghex

@wonderlanddreamer

@thegreatdragonfruta

@fablesfolklore

@thomaslittlegirl

@reiwanwan

@novashelby

@ryecosse

@skinny-bitch-juice

@babayaga67

[ashyslashyy]

Everyone listen to this right now btw. its sooo fucking good. but also i have major nostalgia for reel big fish (my dad loves ska and candy coated fury has been stuck in the van's cd player for like a decade now) and ink is one of my fav bands so like obviously i lovw it but Dudeee. its been out for months i know but every time i listen to it im like Are you guys hearing this. anyway. soundcloud link because u can listen to it in tumblr

[ieatshiteveryday222]

Reel big fishy sout park candy coated furry redraw hello I love ska.

Candy coated fury was my first Reel Big Fish album, and I still love it so dearly...

Original photo and close ups of my drawing under the cut 😋

[differentpostrebel]

Lost and Found: A Pirates Promise

Hey Guys! As Promised here are the next chapters sneak peaks which I will drop at 7pm tonight! But like always let the adventure begin!

Chapter 54: Tea Party Begins

I made my way towards the drink table, eyeing a champagne flute filled to the brim. Just as I reached for it, another hand intercepted mine. I looked up, and there he was—King.

"King!" I said, my voice filled with relief and happiness. King grinned. "I know you're on edge, princess."

"You read me so well," I sighed, my tension momentarily easing in his presence. "Did security give you a hard time?" I asked, my eyes scanning him.

He smirked, shaking his head. "They didn’t take these babies," he said, showing off the rings on his fingers, "or my sword either." He tapped his suit coat, where his sword was well-hidden.

"Good," I nodded, relieved. "When the time comes, I’m going to need you to look for a man with a straw hat. He’ll be the one facing Big Mom, okay? And if you can’t find him, look for a skeleton or a jaguar."

King raised an eyebrow. "You have such peculiar friends, princess."

I smiled softly. "Yeah, but I love them," I said truthfully, my voice betraying a hint of warmth. They were my family in a way that no one else could be.

King’s expression softened, but his eyes remained sharp. "Please stay close to me," I whispered, my voice faltering as I looked at him. "It’s bad enough that Big Mom invited you. I don’t..." I hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I don’t want anything bad to happen to you."

Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. King’s smirk softened as he noticed the tears welling in my eyes. He leaned in slightly, his presence both comforting and commanding. "Princess," he said in a low voice, "you know I’m not easy to take down. I’ve got your back, and no one—no one—will lay a hand on you while I’m around."

I blinked away the tears, nodding as I tried to compose myself. His confidence gave me a strange sense of security, even in this chaotic, dangerous situation. The masquerade of the wedding reception continued around us—glamorous guests, laughter, and music—but everything felt like a façade, a ticking clock counting down to the chaos I knew was coming.

"Thanks, King," I whispered, my voice tight with emotion. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

He took another sip of his champagne, eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger, his calm demeanor unwavering. "You won’t have to find out, princess," he said, his tone firm but protective. "Now, keep your wits about you. We’ve got a lot of moving pieces in play, and things are about to get messy."

.

.

.

.

And Now here is Chapter 55!

Chapter 55: Operation Wedding Crash

Perospero’s smirk only deepened as he stepped even closer. "The princess has quite a mouth on her," he said mockingly, his scepter inching toward my face. "Your death is going to be quite the scene."

I spat in his face, my fury spilling over. For a moment, everything was still. Then, with a cold, furious gleam in his eyes, Perospero wiped the spit from his cheek and brought his candy scepter down, striking me hard across the face. Pain exploded in my skull as my head snapped to the side, blood instantly pouring from the wound. I gasped, the sharp sting blurring my vision as I struggled to stay conscious, my breathing now heavy and ragged.

"Y/N!" Ichiji’s voice rang out, a raw edge of rage searing through the air. I barely turned my head toward him, the pounding in my skull making it difficult to focus. His usual calm demeanor was shattered, replaced by a burning fury I hadn’t seen before.

"Ichiji..." I whispered, forcing a weak smile despite the sharp pain radiating through my body. "I’m fine..."

His face twisted in anger, eyes darkening as his fist clenched. “Perospero, if you touch her again, I’ll kill you where you stand!” His voice was low, vibrating with fury, barely contained.

Perospero glanced lazily in Ichiji's direction, amusement glinting in his eyes. He didn't seem the least bit concerned by Ichiji’s threat, almost savoring the tension in the air. “Touchy, touchy, aren’t we? Such strong feelings for the princess.” His grin widened wickedly, clearly enjoying the power he held over us.

Ichiji's gaze sharpened, his stance tense with barely restrained violence. “She’s my wife!” he yelled, the words a growl that was almost feral.

Perospero chuckled, a low, mocking sound. “For someone who was born without a lick of emotions, it seems your wife here causes quite the stir in your heart," he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Who knew the ice-cold Vinsmoke could be so... possessive?” He eyed me with a smirk, the gleam of amusement never leaving his face.

Ichiji’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as his grip on the situation became even more dangerous. “Don’t mistake my control for weakness, Perospero,” he growled, the tension in the air thickening. “I don’t take kindly to anyone touching what’s mine.”

"Answer me!" Judge demanded, his voice trembling with frustration and anger.

"A little late to whine about it now, Father," Ichiji shot back, his tone laced with bitterness. He turned to me, his gaze softening slightly. "We sure walked into this one, huh? This candy has us bound."

Yonji chimed in, his voice full of frustration but tinged with humor. "They swiped all our weapons at the gate. They even have our raid suits. And since the princess can’t reach for her weapons… well, we’re pretty much screwed." He smirked at me. "By the way, sister-in-law, nice spit landing on Perospero. Hot-blooded women have my heart."

"Really, Yonji? At a time like this?" I replied, shaking my head, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.

"Hey, I’m just making a statement, that’s all," Yonji said, trying to lighten the mood despite the tension surrounding us.

"Hopeless," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as the dire situation settled in.

.

.

..

[skapocolypse]

I really love Candy Coated Fury

[liaromancewriter]

This Little Bunny

Premise: The kids are out trick-or-treating, but there’s one bunny too many for Max to handle.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC); feat. OC children Rating/Category: General. Fluff. Words: 1,650

A/N: Ages ago, I received a prompt from @jerzwriter about any of my characters losing their kids while out and about. Finally found the inspiration for it. I'm using @choicesflashfics week 57, prompt 3. Submission to @choicesprompts Flufftober.

Amelia Valentine was excited for her first Halloween. Her siblings had done it millions of times, but then they were older than her. Of course, it wasn’t really her first Halloween; she was four years old, after all. But she didn’t remember the last ones on account of being too little. So, as far as she was concerned, they didn’t count.

Her big brother Noah boasted about all the candy he was going to get, but Amelia was more excited about Daddy taking them trick-or-treating and her costume. The white bunny with big blue eyes and floppy, pink ears was her favorite character from an old children’s movie.

Amelia squirmed in excitement, her eyes locked on the furry bunny suit laid out on the bed. She was already wearing thick leggings and a thick sweater since it was cold out. She didn’t want to wear a coat on top of her costume because then no one would see it.

“Hold still, Melly,” scolded Mommy as she brushed the tangles out of her hair.

“Is Daddy home yet?” Amelia asked, trying to hold herself still, but her body was vibrating with excitement. “He promised to take us trick-or-treating!”

“Yes, he came home while you were taking a bath,” Sienna Valentine said, rolling her eyes at Amelia’s apparent preference for Max.

What am I, chopped liver? Sienna thought in amused exasperation. Still, she was well used to females of all ages falling for her husband’s charm. Their daughters were hardly an exception.

She tightened her hold to keep the little girl still while she finished making her hair. Amelia was the only one of their children to have blonde curls, and taming them was an exercise in patience.

“There, all done,” Sienna said, sighing in relief. “Now, let’s turn you into Snowball.”

Amelia stepped into the jumpsuit, and Sienna zipped up the front and adjusted the hood with its floppy ears over her head. She applied a little gloss on her lips, drew thin whiskers with an eyeliner and dabbed some blush on the tip of her daughter’s nose to complete the look.

“Look,” she said, turning Amelia around to face the mirror.

When Amelia gasped in delight, preening at her reflection, Sienna smiled and snapped a picture on her phone. She would post them on the family group chat shortly for both sets of grandparents to gush over.

At the last minute, she remembered to pin a card with her name and phone number behind one of the ears. It was probably not needed, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Cute bunny ears,” Max commented as they joined him and the other kids in the foyer. Amelia ran toward him, and he lifted her up in his arms for a hug. “Ready for trick-or-treating, Amelia Mai?”

“Are you sure about this?” Sienna pursed her lips worriedly as they stepped into the outside hallway.

With two of Belle’s friends joining them, Max would be responsible for supervising five children under the age of ten. Usually, Sienna would go trick-or-treating with them, but the baby was running a slight fever, and she didn’t feel right leaving him with the nanny.

“Please,” Max scoffed, raising one brow arrogantly. “I run a multi-billion dollar company. I can handle five kids. Piece of cake.”

A short while later, Max waited for the light to change and gripped Amelia’s hand in his as they crossed the street. He glanced at the gradually darkening skies and hoped the rain would hold off for another couple of hours.

Noah and Belle walked ahead of them with their friends, heads together, planning their route for optimal candy collection. His son was dressed up as Nick Fury, declaring him the coolest character from the Marvel universe. Belle was still in her princess phase and wore a tiara and poofy gown under her thick coat.

They reached a section of their neighborhood that had been closed off to traffic for the evening. Here, the houses were decked out for Halloween, from the macabre to the absurd.

The air was filled with the sounds of children shouting and running around and music from a band of musicians dressed like ghouls that had set up in the center of the street.

“Look, Daddy, there’s another Snowball.” Amelia tugged at his hand for attention.

Max glanced at the other trick-or-treaters on the pavement. There were a number of animal costumes, including several white bunnies, clearly a popular choice this year.

“My costume is better,” she sniffed dismissively.

He smirked at the hint of competitiveness in her tone. She could be shy at times, but Amelia was a Valentine through and through, he chuckled.

Letting go of her hand so she could join her siblings, he followed close behind while they visited the first few houses. He remarked on their candy haul, carried Amelia’s bag when she got tired after the third house and snapped a few pictures to send to Sienna.

It was all going well until they reached the sixth house. While the kids did their thing, Max leaned against a wrought iron railing and scrolled through the messages on his phones.

A few minutes later, the kids came tumbling down the steps, and he spied a white bunny out of the corner of his eyes. He absently grabbed Amelia’s hand, finished sending a text with one hand and pocketed the device as they continued down the street.

Two or three houses later, Max glanced down at the top of Amelia’s covered head and wondered why she was so quiet.

“Everything okay, honey?” he asked, frowning when she didn’t reply. “Amelia?”

He placed a hand on her shoulder to hold her in place while keeping one eye on the four walking up ahead.

“Noah, Belle, hold up,” Max called out and saw the older kids stop and start to walk back.

He crouched down on his haunches, turned Amelia around to face him, and almost fell on his ass when a stranger stared back at him from below the hood.

“Who are you?” Max whispered, his voice coming out strangled.

“Tommy,” the other boy said, scrunching his nose as he shrugged.

Max peered intently and realized it was a little boy roughly Amelia’s age and height. Given the similarity in their costumes, he reasoned it was an easy enough mistake to make. Not that it mattered. Sienna was going to kill him anyway!

“Dad, where’s Melly?” Noah asked, staring at the little boy in the white bunny costume. Max held up one hand in a gesture for Noah to wait.

Max tamped down the fear gripping his heart. It was a useless emotion. What he needed right now was to focus, find his daughter and return Tommy to his parents. He would have plenty of time later to relive this nightmare.

“Do you know your parents’ names, Tommy?” Max kept his tone gentle so as to not scare the kid. He sighed in relief when Tommy nodded and plopped a thumb in his mouth.

“What are their names?” Max prompted.

Tommy removed the thumb and whispered, “Mommy and Daddy.”

Okay then, Max thought, trying to hide his amusement at the response. “Did you come trick-or-treating with them?”

“Daddy brung me,” Tommy said.

“Let’s go find him. Okay?”

Formulating a plan, Max rose from the pavement, took Tommy’s hand and gazed at his son, who was looking worried.

“Noah, it’ll be alright. Please get Belle, Emma and Amy and follow me. And stay close,” he added when Noah turned to do as he asked.

Keeping all five kids in tow, Max retraced his steps to where he thought the switch might have occurred.

He remembered being distracted on his phone a few houses down and grabbing hold of what he thought was Amelia. But he hadn’t seen her face under the costume, and she hadn’t come running down the steps to show him her candy as she’d done before.

They were halfway there when his phone started ringing. He saw Sienna’s name on the screen and accepted the call, signaling the kids to stop and stand off to the side.

“How’s it going?” she asked, amusement coloring her voice.

“Oh, you know, fine,” Max stalled, sending a silent prayer that she couldn’t see the panic in his eyes.

“I see,” she said neutrally. “So, the phone call I just got from Tommy’s dad was a hoax, and he doesn’t have our daughter?”

Crap, crap, crap. Max closed his eyes briefly.

“I’m sorry, Si,” Max said, sighing deeply. “I’ll explain when we get home, but I’m pretty sure I know how this happened.”

“I can’t wait to hear this story. I’ll have the wine waiting,” Sienna laughed. “I’m texting you the dad’s number so you can meet up. If it’s any consolation, he’s just as embarrassed as you.”

A few minutes later, Max met up with Tommy’s dad and made the exchange. Both hemmed and hawed as they explained how they’d made a mistake, but they were also relieved at averting disaster.

The father and son waved goodbye and disappeared into the crowd of trick-or-treaters.

Noah and Belle surrounded Amelia, asking lots of questions, but Max plucked her into his arms and hugged her tight.

“Daddy, that’s too tight,” she complained against his neck.

“You really scared me, kiddo,” he said, loosening his hold to gaze into her eyes. “I’m so sorry I lost you.”

Almost an hour later, and after dropping Belle’s friends off, Max unlocked the front door and shepherded his kids inside. They rushed into the living room while he hung up his coat in the hall closet.

He walked in to find them gathered around Sienna, who was nodding and smiling as they narrated their adventures and showed off their bags of candy and snacks.

She glanced at Max, her eyes brimming with mischievous laughter. “Piece of cake, huh?”

------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Max & Sienna only: @aallotarenunelma @storyofmychoices @kyra75

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Everyone Else Is An Asshole • Punisher • She's Not The End Of The World • Don't Let Me Down Gently • I Know You Too Well To Like You Anymore • Hiding In My Headphones • I Dare You To Break My Heart • Your Girlfriend Sucks • Don't Stop Skankin' / Oh, Rudy • Famous Last Words • Lost Cause • I Love/You Suck • P.S. I Hate You • The Promise

Spotify ♪ YouTube