#he’s got the whimsy in him but he’s a LOSER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-jordie-things · 8 days ago

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happy halloween, loverboy - okkotsu yuuta

word count: 7.3k warnings: heavy making out, alcohol (everyone's of age) summary: you leave your halloween costume a surprise to yuuta. and he's very surprised. other notes: unestablished relationship, lots of flirting/teasing, down bad yuuta

happy halloween everyone! 🎃

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“I don’t care what time you show up. All that really matters is you show up in costume- you guys do have costumes… right?” Nobara’s eyes shift away from where she was dutifully filing her nails to send a sharp look across her friends.

Halloween was a very important holiday. But it would lose all of it’s whimsy if even one of them showed up without a costume. She couldn’t bear to be seen with a loser that thought they were better than dressing up for the hell of it.

“Of course!” You’re the first to speak, over enthusiastic with a grin that displays just how excited you really are.

It had been quite some time since you’d celebrated the holiday- you think maybe you dressed up once or twice as a child, but soon after being whisked away by Jujutsu Higher Ups you’d forgotten the fun of the festivities. So when Nobara found a bar that was encouraging it’s patrons to dress up for the 31st, the plan was set and you were agreeing in a heartbeat.

You’d chosen your costume fast, rushing to the store with Maki and Nobara to find something fun- it was your only requirement, you had to be excited by whatever you chose. And when your eyes landed on what you deemed to be the cutest package, you skipped right over to your friends with it, grinning like a fool as you held it on display for them. The girls gave you their approval instantly, barely looking at the details of your costume before matching your grin and nodding their heads. You’d assumed they were just as eager as you were for the whole ordeal.

“You got a costume already?” Yuuta spoke up from where he sat next to you. There was an air of indifference about him, the way he was tilted back in his chair with his arms crossed over the white jacket he always wore. But something in the way he asked, and the way he turned to you with a slight pout told a different story.

“I might’ve gone at the beginning of the month…” You admitted, a guilty smile on your face when his frown deepened. Had he wanted to go costume shopping together? You weren’t sure why exactly he was pouting. You and Yuuta were close- really close- but he hadn’t voiced an interest in shopping for the occasion until now.

“I already went too, I’m going to be a pirate!” Yuji announced from the other end of the table, sparking a few others to pitch in what they were planning on dressing up as. But none of them stole Yuuta’s attention, he remained focused on you.

“What are you going to be?” He asked, leaning into the table with his elbow now so that he could prop his head on his hand.

“Not telling,” Your guilty smile turned cheshire as he raised an eyebrow. “It’s a surprise!” You added, just so he knew he wouldn't be able to coax the information out of you. Although if he really tried, you’d probably give in. Yuuta huffs, accepting defeat.

“Fine. I s’pose I’ll surprise you, too” He decides he’ll have to do some last minute shopping on his own. He could only hope there was still a good selection, and he wouldn’t wind up with something embarrassing.

“Really?” You lean forward as you beam, delighted by the idea. Yuuta nods his head in agreement, and it’s decided. You’ll both show up at the bar in undisclosed costumes to surprise each other with. It’s a simple thing, but you can’t deny your curiosity for what sort of thing Yuuta would pick.

And Yuuta’s nerves start to eat him alive as his mind wanders to all the things you could’ve possibly chosen… it only gets worse when Maki catches his eye with a tell-tale smirk. That truly peaked his interest.

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The bar is full of zombies, fairies, devils, and miscellaneous characters each trying to get a buzz and have a good time. It’s entertaining enough just to look around at the creative costumes every person who entered wore.

Yuuta had arrived fairly early in the night, he and Inumaki agreeing to meet up around nine to find a decent enough table for all of their friends. And, of course, they got a head start on drinking.

Inumaki was a very convincing vampire, complete with fangs and a little bit of fake blood- even going so far as to cut his bangs into a neat v shape. He’d certainly committed to the bit. Yuuta couldn’t help but wonder if he’d come to regret the impulsive haircut come tomorrow, but he’d wait to put money on it until the rest of his friends were here. Or at least, until you were here.

He couldn’t deny he was antsy to see you. It was no secret that he spent most of his time waiting for you to walk into the room- or seeking you out if he had to- but tonight there was an electricity in the air as he awaited your arrival. Yuuta had been racking his mind for days, wondering what sort of costume you’d show up in. That character you’re always gushing about? Or one of those simple animal costumes? Something with fishnets? His leg was bouncing underneath the stool he was seated at.

No one had given him any hints- least of all you- but Maki and Nobara couldn’t contain their giggles and secret looks anytime the subject of your costume came up. It only dialed up his curiosity- and he couldn’t be sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Yuuta’s own costume he felt was a bit lackluster, but he’d put as much effort into it as he could have. A white doctor’s coat- you had said white suited him- with blood splattered over it meticulously by his own hand, with blue scrubs underneath with the same red dye all over it. To him it was obvious that the halloween store was too picked over for him to get his first or second costume pick, but this would have to do. It was sort of cool, he supposed, but he didn’t care much. He only hoped you would feel differently when you saw him, that you wouldn’t be disappointed after he’d said he’d surprise you.

Their other friends began to filter in one by one, each with a costume that seemed fitting enough to them. Nobara and Maki were first, clearly having pregamed during their getting ready process. Nobara was in a striking red dress with a long wig of red hair, and Maki at her side in a form fitting red jumpsuit with a little cottontail pinned to the back and bunny ears on a headband in her hair. Jessica and Roger Rabbit, that was unexpected, but no one could be shocked. Nobara was clearly very proud of her wig styling abilities, as she tossed it over her shoulder constantly as they sat and ordered drinks.

Next came Megumi, who got a frown from Nobara when he approached the group in a blue cargo jumpsuit.

“What are you supposed to be?” She asked, her finger tapping the rim of her margarita with an irritated tap tap tap of her nail. “A mechanic?” Her disgust is evident in the snarl on her glossy red lips.

Megumi fishes into the pocket to pull out a crumpled rubber mask- clearly Mike Meyers- but once his costume is revealed he stuffs the mask back into his pocket. Nobara opens her mouth to protest that by not wearing the mask, he’s barely in a costume, but Maki is quick to whisk her away for another drink from the bar.

Yuji is never far behind Megumi, and he shows up with you in tow. Megumi raises his hand to the pink haired boy at the door, letting him know where their table was, and everyone turns to catch a glimpse of his costume.

He looks great, in raggedy black pants and a half buttoned striped shirt. He even got an eye patch and a bog captain’s hat. He’d wanted to get the peg leg and the bird to pin to his shoulder- but Megumi had talked him out of spending a stupid amount of money for one night of dress up.

Yuuta can’t say he really noticed Yuji’s perfectly put together pirate costume, because right behind Yuji came you.

He choked on his drink, coughing loudly and spitting some of it back into the glass. Inumaki tries to pat his back to get the last of the burning rum out of his throat, but it’s no use. With Yuuta’s eyes still trained on the girl beside the pirate, he continues to cough up a lung.

It dawns on him now that he’s rarely seen you outside of your uniform. Even then, you were a jeans and hoodie kind of girl. So watching you stride through the bar dressed to the nines as a french maid had him in a chokehold. He couldn’t help but stare, not blinking once as his eyes tracked every movement you made. The frill of your shirt skirt bounced softly against your upper thighs, and in perfect time with the gentle bounce of your tits in the perfectly tight top of the dress.

Yuuta had to cover his mouth with his hand- the coughs had subsided but the gape in his jaw couldn’t be helped and he needed to hide it somehow before you noticed him and caught the shameless way he watched you.

The table is silent, all eyes on you- except Megumi who’s made room for Yuji to sit next to him where he instantly complains that a parrot would’ve suited his costume better- and when you aren’t the one being stared at, Yuuta is. Toge’s already giggling to himself, knowing this night was about to get way more exciting.

“Happy halloween!” Your smile is too sweet, too angelic for the costume you’re wearing. Yuuta’s still covering half his face, the slow drag of his eyes over your long, fishnet covered legs not going unnoticed. With all the ruckus of the partygoers, your table seems particularly silent. “What’s wrong?” You pout, worriedly glancing over your friends for an explanation as to why they seem so bored compared to everyone else.

Your eyes land on Yuuta, who’s straining to maintain eye contact with you, but with his large hand covering his mouth, he’s unable to answer your question. Fuck, when is his voice going to come back?

Maki and Nobara get back at the table then, and they bring the energy back with them.

Nobara’s drunk squealing when she sees you, fleeing Maki’s side to oggle you up close, her hands wandering over your figure but never quite touching. Some words are making it out of her mouth, you think you hear ‘damn’ and ‘sexy’ a few times, but for the most part she’s just bouncing and making high pitched noises of approval.

“Holy shit, (y/n/n),” Maki is standing still, eyeing you just as slowly as Yuuta had. “I knew it was sexy but I didn’t know it was that sexy” She mutters in surprise.

You glance down at yourself, your hands smoothing over the little white apron on the front of your skirt as you start to second guess the costume.

“Is it too much?” You ask, but just as a frown is starting to form, you’re being directed away from the table.

“Let’s go get a drink”

Yuuta is on his feet, at your side, and practically pulling you towards the bar with an arm around your waist in an instant. You think you even feel a tingle of his cursed energy, but just as soon as you feel it, it’s gone.

“Yeah, alright,” You smile at him, finally taking a moment to notice his costume. Wow, he looks good in white even when it’s covered in blood. “I like your costume,” You tell him, looking him up and down one more time once you’ve reached the bar. “You’re like a… evil hot doctor”

The laugh that Yuuta lets out is strained, as he has to push past the lump in his throat first, but it seems to make your smile last a minute longer as he nods back at you, finally removing his arm from around your waist.

“I wasn’t really going for evil, or hot,” He admits, and you shrug a shoulder too casually in disagreement. “This is sort of all they had left”

“Well, it works,” You say, again, too casual in the way your eyes move up and down over his figure. Shouldn’t he be the one looking at you like that? “Have I ever told you that you look good in white?” You ask him in a tone that seems serious, like you really want him to know this. Yuuta chuckles, and he has to pretend to be interested in the handles of liquor on the wall behind the bar when he responds.

“You might’ve mentioned it,” He mumbles, before turning his gaze back to you. It’s hard to look away from you too long. His eyes land on the frilly white piece of laze you’ve attached to the top of your hair, a cute little maid’s headpiece, and something he can focus on without feeling like a dog. “Looks good on you too” He compliments, reaching out to brush his fingers over the lace. He’s just as quick to retract them though, his mind wandering too far as he connects the dots between you and lace.

Your giggle brings his attention back to you, and he’s surprised to see a blush blooming across your cheeks.

“Thank you, Yuuta,” You hum sweetly. Too sweet. You can’t look at him like that, don’t you know he’s going to drop dead any second? He rubs his nose, discreetly trying to check for any blood. “So you like my costume then?”

His hand is covering his mouth again as he gives you a once over, as if he hadn’t gotten the full image when you’d arrived. Of course he had, the little black dress with white accents and a frilly skirt that sat perfectly around the curve of your ass, the fishnets that wrapped up your legs so perfectly, the pair of black heels that still didn’t have you reaching his height but god you even made shoes sexy.

And then you had the audacity to give him a little twirl, to showcase your costume, just for him- although Yuuta’s not naive enough to believe he’s the only one with eyes on you right now, he knows you’re doing it just for him. His heart hammers in his chest.

There’s a pretty white bow tied around your waist, laying neatly at the dip in your back where your skirt fans out. The urge to reach out to it, to tug on the end of the ribbon and bring you closer, has him latching his hands around the edge of the bartop. It was a strange feeling, not being able to trust your own hands, but Yuuta refused to perv on you.

(Any more than he already allowed himself to anyway).

A dry spell spreads from his lips, through his mouth and down his throat- there’s not a single appropriate thing he can say to you right now. So a nod of his head and a wobbly smile will have to do. You seem amused by this, smiling up at him in a way that makes your pretty eyes crinkle. Even your makeup has a grip on him- flawless, every part of you.

“A good surprise then?”

“Great surprise” His voice betrays him, coming out in a low rasp you’re just barely able to hear over the music and chatter at the bar, but again, you only brighten up at him.

“Well, I’m glad you think so”

Was he still in fantasy land or was that… cheeky?

The bartender, a perfect depiction of Beetlejuice, finally gets to the pair of you, and you’re quick to order two shots and two rum and cokes. Yuuta can’t argue, but he’ll always be amused by your ability to throw back alcohol only to order the easiest thing on the menu.

“Should we bring a round of shots back to the table?” Yuuta asks, thanking the bartender once the drinks are poured before they’re off to take the next order. You hum in thought as you pick up the tiny glass and turn towards him.

“Maybe later,” You shrug. “I just want to hang out with you for a bit”

The dryness in his throat is back. This shot is going to burn.

“Just me?” He asks, wondering if you’d pregamed as hard as Nobara and forgot who you were with. You nod. “You sure?”

You nod again, this time followed by a string of laughter.

“Yes, Yuuta, I’m sure,” You tease, before lifting your shot towards him, beckoning him to take his. “Now are we toasting to halloween or what?”

Yuuta hopes you don’t notice the shake in his hands as he grabs his glass. Suddenly, he’s fifteen again, and seeing you enter Gojo’s classroom for the first time with your cute braided pigtails and a pretty smile. The air is sucked out of his lungs, and his eyes are trained to follow you, and only you.

“Happy halloween” He touches the rim of the small glass to yours, making a small spill as some liquor drips over the edge of the glass. The grin that stretches across your lips is beautiful and unhinged, and he knows this won’t be the only shot you take tonight.

“Happy halloween” You repeat in your sugary voice.

And just like that you both tilt your heads back and let the liquor burn down your throats. Yuuta still feels like a teenager, fighting the urge to couch as he gulps it down his dry throat. He slams the shooter back on the bar top and is quick to reach for his drink, taking large swigs.

Chasing rum with more rum wasn’t his greatest idea, but he wouldn’t come to realize that until a little later.

“So,” When his voice sounds normal again, he turns back towards you. You look back at him with your full attention. “Did you pick this yourself?” He asks, gesturing vaguely to your outfit.

“I did,” You answer, a slow smile stretching across your lips. “Thought it was pretty” You add, giving yourself a once over.

You couldn’t deny the confidence boost this particular costume gave you. It sure beat out the sheet you cut holes into when you were a kid and thought you were the perfect spooky ghost.

“Mhm, mhm” Yuuta hums a few times as he nods his head, and you hardly notice your toes twisting your foot back and forth at the ground, your heel lifted just enough to swing back and forth in a slow motion.

“You think so too?” You ask.

“Huh- what?”

“You also think it’s pretty?” You clarify, trying not to appear too amused by the nervous look on his face, or the flush creeping up his neck that was starting to reach his cheeks. You weren’t totally blind, it was clear that Yuuta was having some sort of reaction to your costume, but you’d like to have some fun with him before making him outright admit it.

“Yes,” His answer tumbles out of his mouth too quickly, his eyes widening just a bit before he tries to give you a more normal answer. “Yeah, I mean- yeah, it’s pretty, you’re pretty, you look pretty in it”

He flatters you too much, especially with his habit of nervous stammering, it has you giggling and beaming like he’s paid you the most romantic compliment. You know he has, he just lets his nerves get on top of him and then his vocabulary is depleted.

“Why thank you, loverboy,” You swirl your straw in your glass a few times before you bring it to your lips to take a sip.

Your teasing is going to be the death of him, it truly is a cruel torture. Not to mention loverboy spoken by your voice, curled in one ear, muddled up his brain, and flew out the other. You’d never called him that before- you never called him anything before! Maybe a slurred ‘Yuu’ in passing after a rough mission, late at night and when you were more asleep than you were awake. But before that, there was only ever Okkotsu, and Yuuta.

Never loverboy.

His face was effectively pink now. He took a few more gulps of his drink.

“I was hoping you’d think so” You finish your thought after a few more sips. Not an ounce of your amusement in Yuuta’s pink cheeks is contained.

“You were?” He asks, far too quickly.

“Mhm” You smile and nod, seemingly distracted when you catch sight of Panda entering the bar. He seems proud of his clown costume- a rainbow afro, polka dot tie, and ridiculously large shoes- you have to agree, it’s impressive. Although the other patrons of the bar were more impressed by his ‘panda suit’ than the silly clown accessories.

Yuuta barely glanced at his bear friend squeezing through the crowd of drunks before he was looking right back at you again.

Was this all purposeful? A carefully calculated plan of torment?

You turn back to him with a pretty smile, your lipstick still perfectly intact even after all this drinking. Before he could stop it, all he could think about was ruining it for himself.

Were you evil?

His adam's apple noticeably bobs as he takes a dry swallow. Your smile only brightens.

“And uh- why’s that?” It’s hard to control his stutter, so his words come out a bit choppy and awkward. With a large sip of his drink, he hopes you’ll brush it off as an after effect of the alcohol and nothing more.

“I dunno,” You shrug a shoulder and Yuuta wonders if you’re feigning indifference or if this is all part of the torture. “Guess I care more about your opinion than the others”

His glass is almost empty. If he didn’t order another one soon he’d have nothing to keep his attention- respectfully- on.

But your confession is delayed to his ears, and it’s obvious in the way that his eyes soften on you a few moments later, his empty glass forgotten on the counter.

“Y-you do?” The stutter is back, but it’s hard to cringe when she looks at him so sweetly, as if just standing there with him was all the more company you wanted for the night. Was it?

You place your empty glass beside his, catching eyes with the bartender long enough to swirl your finger over them both, sending the message that a second round would be required soon. When you look back at Yuuta, you find that he’s managed to keep his eyes at your level this whole time. You have to laugh, even if it makes his neck flush pink.

“I do,” You answer his question a bit too late, as if you’ve almost forgotten to respond at all. To be fair, his gaze is piercing and it’s hard to think about anything else at all. Carefully, you take a step closer to him, which is already a few steps closer than you’ve ever been to him before. Like this, anyways, purposefully, when there’s plenty of space for you to situate yourself at the bar, you’re choosing to invade his own space. When his eyes remain locked on yours, you tilt your head a bit, curiously. Your voice drops to a whisper, but you’re close enough now that he can hear you just fine even in the loud environment, “Even when you’re feeding me a bunch of respectful bullshit,” You add.

Yuuta allows his eyes to lower just a little bit, just enough to watch the movement of your lips as you speak. He doesn’t dare let them stray any further, too afraid that if he caught sight of how close you were standing now that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from pulling you in the rest of the way until your frilly little thing you called a costume was ruffled and ruined up against how own-

His throat bobs again, and he’s trying desperately to think of something to say, but all words are getting blocked up and make less and less sense the more he tries to say something.

Your eyes sweep his features, lashes fluttering softly as you take in the color in his cheeks, the part of his lips, the hooded gaze he greets you with that makes your insides shiver and melt all at once. You’re not sure he has any idea, you’re not sure there’s much thought behind those eyes at all.

Something tells you Yuuta’s put all of his energy towards keeping eye contact with you.

“Yuuta,”

You call his name softly when it’s been a few beats too long of basking in the tension. While you love the tension, you’re going to need him to say something, do something, before you combust. Glazed over blue eyes flicker back to life when he drags them away from your red painted lips and back to your own gaze. He’s blushing, probably since he’d been caught staring for so long, but there’s no sign of embarrassment when his eyes refocus on yours.

Beetlejuice replaces your empty glasses for refreshed ones, knocking twice on the counter to get your attention before walking away. They clearly weren’t sure either one of you would notice the fresh drinks waiting for you since you were so busy eating each other up with your eyes, but they don’t linger too long, off to take another order at the other end of the bar just as quickly as they had gotten yours.

“I feel like you’re holding something back,” You say, reaching for your drink while only tearing your attention away from him for a split second. That split second was long enough for you to miss him, although he’s standing so close to you that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Straw between your lips, being held in place by your teeth crushing it hard to maintain your air of indifference, you bat your eyelashes at him tauntingly. “And I’d really like to know what it is”

“No, you don’t” He finally speaks, the words coming to him in perfect time. It catches your interest, your eyes lighting up with amusement.

“Now I really do!” You say, a girlish giggle overtaking you before you could help it. It forces a smile on his lips, although it’s more nervous than anything else.

“No, you just want to get a rise out of me” He argues, gritting his teeth to maintain some semblance of composure. He’s not doing a very good job, but the attempt is there.

“So you’re saying I am getting a rise out of you, loverboy?” You ask, and you look all too excited by the idea. If Yuuta wasn’t sure before, he is now- you’re evil.

He takes his drink, forcing himself to look away from you as long as he could stand. He can’t deny he misses the sight of you as soon as it’s gone, and he cheats a little by keeping an eye on you in his peripheral vision. If Inumaki were around, he’d tell him he’s whipped. Cooked. Done for. He wouldn’t be wrong, either.

You’re getting comfortable with the little nickname, with a cheeky smile as you press in closer to him again, invading his view when he’s trying to remind himself of the value in your friendship, of how much he respects you, and not about things like how plush your chest feels when you lean up against his arm.

He takes a few long gulps of his drink, half the glass depleted by the time he releases the straw.

You decide to give him a little break, leaning off him in exchange for wrapping your hand around his forearm, tugging just enough to pull his attention away from the bar.

“Will you walk with me over to the touchtunes box? I left my phone with Yuji, and he and Megumi disappeared ages ago”

When did you even have time to notice that? Yuuta wonders as he finally gives the table of your friends a glance. He almost could have forgotten they were here. Sure enough, Yuji and Megumi were nowhere to be found. Typical.

“Yeah, let’s go,” He agrees, nodding for you to lead the way. You hold your drink close as you plot out the best path through the crowd, and Yuuta follows close behind.

His hand reaches for your waist, but he hesitates before placing it there, so he lets it hover, just enough that if he needed to in a moment’s notice, he could grab hold of you. But trailing behind you is enough for now.

Besides, from behind, you won’t notice the deadly look on his face when he catches anyone else looking at you. It doesn’t matter where their eyes are directed, you’re not there for any of them.

His fingers twitch, barely tapping you on the hip as you slither through the crowd. It’s enough to gain your attention, your head tilting to glance at him from over your shoulder. His eyes are elsewhere, still scanning the people you’re passing by. You smile, amused by his antics, before you wrap your free hand around his wrist. Yuuta’s looking at you again as you both pull him closer, and place his hand properly at the dip in your waist. Then you’re facing forward again as you reach the modern jukebox.

It appears there’s a long queue already going- figures, with this crowd, everyone has already added their favorite songs to the playlist- but you figure you’ll be here a while anyways, so no harm in adding your own.

“How many times do we really need the Monster Mash in one night, hm?” You mumble to yourself as you scroll through the long list of songs already on the queue. “Spice it up a little, people”

Yuuta’s not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself, too focused on the soft silk of your dress under his palm. He has yet to work up the strength to pull his hand away from you, and if anything, his grip has only tightened since you’d led it there. He hovers behind you like an apparition that’s been chained to your soul. Tall, dark, and looming, with no intent of moving.

Not that you mind, tapping away at the screen to find the song of your choice to add to the mix. If anything, you seem more delighted with yourself than before, singing along to the Monster Mash despite your complaints, and sipping on your drink.

“Any recommendations?” You ask after you’ve selected a few songs for yourself, and one that you know Nobara would love to hear.

“Hm?” Yuuta hums in question when he realizes you’d been talking to him, and he’d been too deep in his thoughts to catch it.

“Songs, loverboy, any songs you want added?” You tease him for spacing out, casting him a grin he can only describe as wicked.

“Oh,” He pouts at your teasing, and then shakes his head. “No, pick whatever you want”

“Okay,” Your eyelashes flutter at him and his hand tenses against your hip. But you’re already focused on the touchtunes screen again, finishing up your work.

When you’re done, though, you return your attention to him completely. You spin around, your frilly little skirt bouncing with your movement, brushing against his legs with how close you stand. You make sure to keep a gentle hold on his arm, that way he won’t try to put any distance between you now that you’re face to face.

“Now what to do while we wait for the decent music to come on?” You ask, your tone suggesting you had a few ideas, but you’ve been waiting for Yuuta to open up and let loose all night, so you hope he’ll read your mind and pick out something he likes for himself.

He takes a swallow, eyes flickering between the small smirk curling at the corner of your lips and your impatient gaze. Your friends were sure to notice your absence eventually, but then again Yuji and Megumi seemed to be missing as well and no one had come searching for you both yet. So maybe you had a little more time to yourselves.

So with a surge of confidence, Yuuta leans a little closer towards you, until his lips are close enough to your ear that he doesn’t have to speak much louder than a murmur for you to hear him.

“Why’d you really want to hang out with me all night?”

He leans back to get a good look at you after he asks his question, basking in the heat rising to your cheeks. Your smile almost looks bashful now, and his eyes linger on your lips a bit too long as he waits for your answer.

“Like you said…” You speak slowly, “I thought it’d be fun to get a rise out of you,” You admit, trying to maintain the confidence that you’d come into the night with. It gets a little harder as Yuuta’s the one initiating entering your personal space. His fingers had started to draw lazy circles against the silky fabric you wore, and it proved to be enough stimulation to make your mind a little foggy. “Which… I was right”

“Well I’m glad you’ve had your fun” He sounds a little bitter that you’ve had so much fun all on your own and at his expense, but you’re quick to lift his spirits, and curiosity.

“I’d like to have s’more,” You say, peeking up at him from under your long eyelashes with enough hope and excitement behind your eyes that Yuuta’s stomach flips, and his hand stills at your waist again.

He’s silent for a beat too long, and you tilt your head at him as you gauge his reaction. His words are stuck in his throat again, and his face is turning that shade of pink you think is so cute- you can’t stand it any longer.

“Yuuta, if you don’t make a move I think I might have to start begging” You whisper, a breathless laugh following your words as a nervous chill spreads down your spine, covering you in goosebumps.

A similar shock courses through Yuuta’s system, and it’s like his body finally comes to life. Both of your drinks are on a table and his hands are wrapping around your waist so fast and this time you’re sure that’s his cursed energy prickling in the air like static electricity. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s backed you into the touchtunes box and pinned you there.

“C’mere then” His lips brush yours as one of his hands slide around your jaw to guide your lips to his. You’re able to suck in a breath at the last second before his lips envelop yours, but it reduces you to a weak little gasp that he swallows instantly.

Your last shred of dignity thrown out the window, you melt under Yuuta’s kiss and give in completely. Turns out with enough pushing and shoving, you could get him to break, and what a well played game it was. His mouth is dominating over yours so perfectly, controlling the kiss to his every whim and desire, leaving you no choice but to follow his lead and submit.

With all of your inhibitions lowered, and no thought left on your mind that didn’t revolve around Yuuta, your every move was delayed yet frantic. It takes a few minutes of lip locking before you realize your hands are dreadfully empty, and the next thing you know they’re all over him. Grabbing his arms, the front of the jacket he wore, then his shoulders- and your touch was far from gentle. You gripped onto him like your life depended on it, as if you would fall down if it weren’t for him grounding you. Even though you were pinned against the jukebox with no wiggle room for escape thanks to Yuuta’s larger frame.

He tilts your head back further, teeth grazing your swollen lips before diving back in and deepening your kiss. There’s so much he wants to tell you now that this line has been crossed between you, but he doesn’t want to waste even a second of this moment, so his lips cover yours again and soon enough he gives into the need to explore your mouth with his tongue.

Your knees are growing weak, so you let all of your weight rest between his hold on you and against the machine. You’re hardly on the planet earth right now, and it shows in the way you make sweet noises against his mouth and the way your hands tug him closer by the front of his shirt, pulling as if there was any possible way he could crowd you even more than he was. If you had any control over your own legs, you’d climb up his torso like a tree just to get closer, but you don’t, so you settle for pulling and tugging on him.

Amongst the little whimpers and whines between kisses, you finally let out a strangled noise that sounds close enough to his name that Yuuta finally breaks away. He’s not far, his nose still pressed against yours, his lips still close enough that he can feel every pant, but he can no longer push down the desire to get a good look at you, at what he’s reduced you to.

Your lipstick is ruined, smudged all around your lips and staining your skin, and he probably looks the same. It takes you a second to open your eyes, and gather your bearings, but you don’t fare much better than him. Your grip on his shirt remains firm, letting him know that you won’t be letting him break for long. And you haven’t even caught your breath.

“You make the prettiest maid, baby,” He murmurs, his thoughts catching up to him when your eyes finally flutter open, heavy and tired but still light up with a look that has him wanting to devour you again. Baby rings in your ears the way he says it, low and murmured, his voice a little raspy, you’d like to hear it a dozen more times. Yuuta must be able to tell by the way your cheeks flush and your lips twitch. “You’ve been messing with me all night, don’t get all bashful on me now” He chuckles, grinning from ear to ear as he watches you try to hide it, too.

Knowing you wouldn’t be able to hide the butterflies currently destroying you from the inside out, you decide on the next best thing, wrapping your hand around the nape of his neck and pulling him back in for another kiss. You’re both just as lost in it as the other, with Yuuta’s hands roaming up and down your sides, tickling your ribs and setting fires with every new inch of your body he touched.

When his reach lowers, trailing down the skirt of your dress and grazing over your upper thigh, you don’t think twice about lifting your leg, and he doesn’t think twice about pushing in closer with a new grip on your leg keeping you snug against him. You finally get a noise out of him, the faintest groan against your mouth as his teeth graze your lip again, this time giving into impulse and biting down on the plump swollen flesh. Simultaneously, his fingers dig into the plush of your thigh and you hardly remember where you are when you start to tug on his hair in an attempt to elicit more noise out of him.

You’re floating away, focused on nothing other than the way he feels against you. Any shred of awareness- social or physical- is lost or destroyed. You couldn’t care about much other than the feeling of his hand creeping up your leg and skimming under your skirt, or how his tongue feels like velvet when it rolls against yours.

“Oh my god, sluts!”

You come crashing down when you’re so rudely interrupted, Yuuta’s lips tearing away from yours, and at the same time, you both catch your friends, catching you, with a mix of emotion on their faces.

Maki was the one that barked at you both, pulling you out of your trance and reminding you of where you were. She’s rolling her eyes, while beside her, Nobara is giggling behind her hands and bouncing on her feet.

As you and Yuuta both scan your friends’ reactions, you slowly pry apart. His hand sliding back out from under your skirt and finding a more respectful spot on your waist, steadying you as you lower your leg from his hip and set a wobbly heeled foot back on the floor.

“Were you guys watchinggg?” You drawl, a tipsy giggle tumbling out of your lips as you cover your pink cheeks with your hand.

“No!”

“Bonito flakes!”

“We just wanted to check out the queue on touchtunes, but you two were too busy fucking on it-!”

“Maki!” Nobara squeals through her laughter as she scolds her girlfriend.

“We were not!” Yuuta finds his voice to defend himself, but with a face as red as his, he loses all credibility.

“Were too!” Maki argues.

“Your hand was up my skirt” You mumble up at him, and he shoots you a perplexed look.

“Who’s side are you on?” He mutters, and you bat your eyelashes a few times to regain his affections.

“The side that gets us out of here faster?” You suggest.

“Gross!” Maki shouts, grabbing Nobara by the hand. “We’re not looking for the other two, I’ve watched enough smut for tonight!” She’s still shouting her distaste while Nobara waltzes beside her.

Inumaki mutters a few rice ball ingredients before he heads to the bar. You have a feeling he’s ordering himself a shot of the strongest thing they have to offer.

Panda just grins, straightens his clown tie, and follows after his vampire-dressed friend.

Leaving you and Yuuta alone again.

You smile prettily up at him, your hands resting against his chest, one finger tracing a splotch of fake blood.

“That was kind of exciting” You admit, your eyes focused on the movement of your finger while Yuuta was gazing down at you.

“Which part? Making out or getting caught?” He asks, his brows already furrowed as he was afraid of your answer being the latter.

“Both?” You muse, glancing up at him and smiling devilishly at the worry in his features. “You wanna go get caught somewhere else?”

“You’re serious?”

He’s dancing the line of concern and amusement, but it only takes a little tug from you to drag him towards the hallway where the bathrooms were and he’s following your lead. Was it a good idea? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Following behind you he could watch the perfect way your frilly little skirt bounced and any rational thought flew far from his mind.

“You’re gonna keep this costume, right?” He asks when you drag him into a stall and lock the door behind him. This time, you’re the one backing him up against the wall as your hands dive back into his hair.

“I would if you asked nicely,” You murmur against his lips, stealing one sweet kiss before tilting your head back again. “Might take a little convincing, though”

Yuuta sighs helplessly, chasing after your lips and pulling you in closer. He had the perfect argument in mind. As well as a few other ideas of what to dress you up in.

193 notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 5 months ago

Text

FABLE OF THE DOG : 2. Sugar, Not so Sweet

Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1,

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol Use; Allusions to Attempted Suicide; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Past Teenage Crush; Yearning and Longing Galore; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: This is a deeply, deeply unserious chapter, and I make no apologies—I was taken away by whimsy!!!!

Apologies however, for the French people slander, I went on a truly heinous date with a oui oui baguette loser last month. I’m still working through my anger.

Word Count: 13.4K

Read on AO3

2. Sugar, Not so Sweet

They appear at the break of dawn, the young man and the boy.

“How many heads’ve you got total?”

Joel appraises him, the fresh-faced look, a boy just crossed over into the cusp of manhood—though he’s large and strong and earnest in the eyes. He’d be a good hire, if not for—

He glances over at the young boy sitting on the bunk’s couch, snickering quietly with Ellie as his brother tries to barter a place for the two of them.

“Near to thirty large about now. We’re fixin’ to breed, but we’re pushin’ our limitations.”

“So you need hands,” he says eagerly.

“We do,” Joel returns slowly, chewing on the mint he’d plucked from out front. His stomach is in knots, has been since—days and days and days ago, last night, and so much worse now. There’s a sick heat settled deep that he doesn’t know how he’ll scourge out and quick.

“Listen, I know it’s unconventional, but—”

“Where’s his parents?” He tips his chin at the boy, and Ellie peers slyly over her shoulder at him. He’ll get hell for this later, he knows, she knows.

“Our momma’s down south—by way of Odessa. She cowboys during the summer too, and—”

Joel sits up in his seat. “Texas?”

“Come on, Texas,” Tommy slinks behind him, sneaking an arm over his shoulder to thump Joel roughly on the chest. “Just say yes.” He lets out a gruff sound masking a cough, fucking Tommy, and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ellie rise from the sofa and leave the bunk quietly with a parting pat on the boy's head.

“You’re from Texas, too?” The young man asks brightly, that look of hope in his eyes that Joel’s about to quash.

“We’re from Austin,” Tommy says from the coffee pot, his mustache spreading wide over a shit-eating grin. “Southerners way up here, we gotta stay united amongst all these Yanks’,” his brother puts on the drawl heavy, and Joel rolls his eyes. Clown.

“Listen, Henry,” he says, trying to turn the conversation back to business. He looks at the boy again, the back of the small head bent and silent and something that could, perhaps, be thought of as guilt pulses through him, but to be honest, there’s so much of that moving about Joel’s system right about now, that it’s just one more drop of poison filling his cup. It doesn’t matter. He needs to do what’s right.

For who? He can’t very well tell yet.

“I’m sure you’re a hard worker, son, and I’d not hesitate to give you a place were we in different circumstances, but I just don’t see how this would work—”

Henry leans forward in his chair too, ready to plead his case, fight for his brother and the generously paying jobs the Kelly’s are famous for. There’s something about the boy newly turned man that reminds Joel of himself. Perhaps during that young and fragile youth of his twenties, when he’d been alone with a newborn baby, trying to figure out the whole world and himself.

“I know it’s unconventional, but he’s a good kid. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, and it’d only be for the summer, sir. We head back down for the start of the school year. It’s difficult, but it’s harder for my momma to get work with a kid than it is for me.” He trips over his words with the speed at which he’s spitting them at Joel, trying to convince him, and he knows that the fair thing would be to take them in. To give this man a chance the way Joel had been given one so many years ago, the mercy of safe harbor. But he’s got a finite amount of goodness in him now, he’s got to save it all for only one person. There’s none left for anyone else. And Joel doesn't want trouble, he’s got enough of that around here right about now. “He’s got his books and his summer worksheets, and he knows how to manage on his own while I work. I swear, he won’t be in any sort of way. You can—”

And then, amidst the young strangers' rambling plea, Joel's heart falls through his stomach. Here comes that trouble anyways.

“What’s going on here?” In that soft, lovely voice that haunted his dreams last night.

All the cowboys rise from their seats at the sound of your presence.

From over your shoulder, Joel sees Ellie’s face twisted in a grimace at him, the flash of her middle finger and then her tongue.

“Goddamnit, Ellie,” he growls low.

You look exhausted, eyes red rimmed and swollen—as if you’d been crying all night, and Joel’s tongue is a swollen, poisoned thing in his mouth—a husk of guilt is all he is. He swallows convulsively, trying to find his words, trying to not scream at the thought of being what’s made you cry, trying not to look down the length of you and failing. Silky sleep shorts end way too high up on the long length of those too pretty thighs, an oversized pullover with Yale emblazoned across the front, a little hole at the neck and a large dark stain marr the front of it. You’ve got on a too big robe, dark and plaid, draped over your shoulders with your hair all a mess. He can see Ellie’s trying to pull it into some semblance of a braid behind your back discreetly while you stare at him with those eyes that, and he’s being damn honest now, fucking terrify him. Those puffy, ridiculous tan boots women wear, the impractical ones that become a sogging mess in the snow or wet despite the fact he understands they’re supposed to be worn in winter, are on your feet, two mismatched socks peek out above the tops.

He’s pretty sure one of them has bombs with a capital ‘F’ in the tiny centers printed over it. The other, some sort of Easter bunny carrot print. Absolutely ridiculous, and he can’t help it, he notices it all.

And worst of all, in your grip is that World’s Best Dad mug you’d sent the old fucker for Christmas several years ago, a little holiday fuck you from his best daughter. It’d been one of the years he hadn’t let you come home for the winter break, forced you to spend the holiday alone at that boarding school of yours. The whole ranch had known and whispered about it, and he’d felt embarrassed and offended on your behalf, that they’d all gossiped about the girl you were behind your back when they should’ve respected you for the woman you’d become one day, the one that’d eventually pay all of their earnings.

And the jackass had the audacity to use the mug all the time afterwards. Joel was pretty sure it’d been his favorite.

“We were just wrapping up,” Joel says, clearing his throat, finally finding his voice. It’s almost physically painful to look at you directly in the eyes, and the heat of shame and regret claws its way up his throat at the hollow look he sees there. You’re so angry at him, and he deserves it.

“This is the new Kelly,” Ellie tells Henry, cutting him off, pressing you forward with her hands wrapped around your shoulders. Your shorts are way too short to be in here right now, and Joel feels something else, even hotter than shame, stirring inside him. “If you want work here, this is who you need to talk to. The big boss.”

“Miss Kelly,” Henry says reverently, pulling his cap off to press against his chest. “It’s a mighty fine honor gettin’ to meet you. I was just telling your foreman here,” he motions the cap towards Joel, and he feels like a bear who’s about to rip it out of his grip and stuff it down his throat. Fucking Ellie going and snitching on him. “How me and my brother Henry travel for the summer. I’ve got letters here, I’ve worked at the King before, and have a number your man can call if he needs more references. I’ve got lots of experience and—”

“What will you do with him?” Your gaze is on the little boy, has been the entire time. Joel steps forward and over the back of the couch he sees the kid, Sam, has a comic book in his lap he’s been reading this whole time, while adults who should have no bearing on his life decide what will and will not be for him. “While you work—”

Joel looks back at you, and he knows already what it’ll be.

Henry’s smile is wide and gleaming, putting on the charm. What he doesn’t see, what Joel does, is that bleak sadness in your gaze that he’d put there himself last night. He needs to speak with you, to explain, to make it right between the two of you.

“He’s good at entertaining himself. I promise he won’t be in the way or nothin’. He’s got books and summer work, and he’s learning to play the guitar. He won’t be in the way,” Henry says again.

“What about school?”

“We only travel during the summer. We’re back in Texas for the school year.” And at that, you finally look back at Joel, and his heart shoots from his belly to his throat, ready to be spit up at your feet.

You watch him for a long searing moment, and there's such sadness there. He doesn’t know what would have been better, what would have been the correct recourse, how to make that look go away. To give you what you want? To do what he thinks is right or what should be right? He’d never thought, never considered anything like this. It’s all too much too fast, and he feels suddenly lost and childlike in the face of you and all you stand for.

“They stay,” you say only for Joel.

Henry lets out a whoop of victory, rushing forward to thank you profusely, but Jesse, who’s standing by the door, blocks his rush forward with a hand to his chest before he can get too close to the new boss. You’re for protecting now, above all else, it’s the unspoken word they all suddenly understand keenly.

You stare solemnly at Joel for only a second longer, those sleep sloped doe eyes, before you’re turning without another word.

“He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”

The cricket song is a symphony of sound around the two of you, and you’re suspended for a second, he sees it come on—a rose hued haze, and then blink-of-an-eye donning a look that spells nothing but disaster. He’s thrown off course by it for a single second, that girl fantasy glow, before you’re launching yourself at him, and then it’s nothing but a soft wet mouth, smoked fruit and fired oak, the slick of your tongue against his bottom lip as you kiss him.

You’re kissing him.

He’s a frozen solid husk, eyes wide open as he stares down at the look on your face—something like agony. The tiny frown between your eyebrows, concentration, and a single diamond tear caught in the web of your lashes, and he can’t help but notice the soft press of your breasts against his chest, you’re not wearing a bra, before he’s shoving you back by the shoulders, scrambling to get as far away from you as quickly as he can.

His back hits the railing before he can get far enough. “What the fuck are you doing?” He spits, but can’t help but lick his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting where you’ve just been.

His stomach is suddenly hot.

You swallow convulsively, bleary eyed look turning to hurt, pressing your palm to your belly, twisting your fingers in the fabric of your sweater there. “I don’t— I didn’t—” Your eyelashes flutter shut, closing the hurt, confused look away from him for one blessed second. You press your other palm to your forehead, gripping yourself as if you’re trying to hold your very skin together.

What do you think you’re doing? He enunciates each word like the lash of a whip, and then licks his lips again to soften those same blows for himself.

Something is about to go inexplicably wrong here. Something already has. A tragedy worse than the death of a father

“I just thought that—” You blink your eyes open and they’re wet, and he’s about to bark at you to not fucking cry or he’ll lose it completely, but he swallows it or loses the thought to madness. He feels incomprehensibly insane, inconceivably triggered.

This is like nothing he’d ever imagined, and it tilts him on his axis, skews his vision, headlights blinding you in a dead-on collision.

What are you doing—thinking?

“I— I watched you grow up. I watched you—” You take an anxious step towards him, some word on your lips he can’t even make out because his hearing has gone out, and now he’s all of a sudden deaf in both ears instead of just one. He hardens his voice further. He makes sure you understand. “This is fucking wrong, and you need to get away from me right now,” reversing his movements, taking a threatening step forward, stomping his heavy boot against the floorboards beneath so that you’re jumping, skittering backwards like a frightened little rabbit.

And Joel, the beast, crushing her beneath his foot.

You wrap both of your hands around the delicate column of your throat; he imagines you’re holding in your hurt sounds, and it makes him even angrier.

“Listen to me—” he starts again.

But you cut him off, shaking your head, the confused sleep-look being blinked away so that now it’s spitting fire that is awake and angry in your gaze. “But you didn’t,” you say. “You barely know me. We’re almost strangers.” A scoff, and then switching again to soft, to girl-like, to hurt: “And I’m all grown up now, Joel.”

“I don’t know what you reckon is happenin’ here between us. Or what you think— what you—” He looks away, can’t bear the sight of it, you, fuck, he spits, again, fuck. “If I gave you the wrong impression, I’m sorry, but—”

Then in a broken little voice grasping for straws, “But we were born on the same day,” and you say it like a question. Like it should mean more. Like, and he realizes it now, like it means the world.

He turns back to look at you, and he feels full of everything but mercy—too much regret. “And what? What do you think that means? That we’re connected—meant to be?” His voice sounds full of cruelty. “Don’t be delusional. It’s also the day my daughter died. D’you know that?”

A blink. “What?”

“She died on my thirty-fourth birthday.”

Again. “But… Wh—at?” Broken up word, and your chin does a little wobbling dance, jutting this way and that, and you have a dimple in your cheek that comes out when you’re happy, but also when you’re sad. When you’re about to cry. He sees it now, and starkly.

He’s ruining something sacred.

Joel steels himself. “Whatever it is you’ve made up in your mind about us, it’s a fantasy. Something not real that you need to let go of. Are you hearin’ me?”

“I— I think…” You won’t stop blinking, your hands look like they’re about to strangle you, and he steps forward as if to stop you or save you from yourself. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

But instead of saving, “Why would I? Why would I ever tell you that?” He does not want to hurt you, and yet he cannot help it, and Joel wonders if this is how your father felt every time he failed you—like a lesser man. “Wasn’t for you to know—it doesn’t mean the same thing to us.” That day. He makes himself clear: “Whatever child’s fantasy you’re still holding onto, you need to let it go.”

He rushes out of the bunk after you, a growled, you little shit, at Ellie as he passes her.

“Man, what’d you fuckin’ do?” She calls after him in that tone that tells him that of course she knows what’s happened. You two’ve never been able to keep a single thing from each other. Asshole! She shouts at his back as he catches up to your slowly retreating form. Your movements are sluggish, exhausted.

He calls your name and tries to moderate his tone from being as aggressive as he feels right now. “We gotta talk.” He follows after you, hot on your heels and then jumping back like a scared mut when you spin around on your ridiculous boot to face him.

“Speak.” It’s a high-handed tone, that one. One that says he’s the grunt here, and you the queen, that you’d both forgotten it last night, but the battlelines are clearly drawn now. There’ll be no more forgetting.

And it’s all his fault.

“You can’t—” His heart thumps and thumps and thumps like a pitiful thing. “You can’t undermine me in front of the boys like that. There’s a reason I was saying no.”

“Which is?”

“That the kid’ll be in the way.”

And you flinch and Joel prays for a gun to the back of the skull. Fucking Christ, but this is difficult.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he gruffs. “You know what I mean. This is hard work we do here. I don’t want the kid gettin’ hurt, I don’t want to be responsible for that. What goes on here is on me. The people who get hurt, it’s all on me, and I take that responsibility damn serious.”

You tilt your head at him in that queer, inspecting way of yours. The one he’d watched you pull like a weapon against your father so many times. He finds he hates it now, detests it, being wielded against himself. You ignore his words, “What was your arrangement here—with him? How did this work with the ranch?”

There has been that thought always, and obviously, of you as something higher, that symbol of the family or the safe haven this place has been for Joel. The not-respect he had for your father, but surely the understanding—you've always been all wrapped up in that. He's at times felt grateful for your existence, perhaps, in ways. That something as good, as better, as you could exist in the same world Joel exists in. Perhaps he’d admired you in ways, even as a young girl, for your goodness, your sincerity. But he finds now, at this look of disdain you’re wearing against him, that he hates the feeling of being less than you, of not being good enough to even stand in your presence.

He’s done wrong, marred it all in ugliness. He’s put himself in this position somehow, by hurting you, by confusing you, by wanting—

“I do what I need to, what the ranch needs. Whatever decision I need to make, I call it and it’s on me. Monthly reports to him and that was it. He understood that what happens out here is different to what can be told and sometimes you can’t plan for certain shit. He focused on the business, I focus on the ranch.”

By wanting what?

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take a long sip, humming. It’s all a taunt. Joel realizes, suddenly, and with painful clarity, that this has all been a grave miscalculation on his part.

As uncomfortable as it is for even him to admit, you are, and undeservedly, a person used to not being wanted, used to rejection. Joel understands this with the quick fire blink of an eye. And he has, in his shock, or— or… he doesn't know—instantaneous awakening—unintentionally alienated you, made an enemy.

I see, you murmur quietly coupled with a bitter cough of laughter that doesn’t sound anything like the sweet sound he’s used to hearing from you. Yes, a very bad mistake has been made indeed. “Well, you’re practically king here, aren’t you then? Quite the partnership the two of you had.” You smile wide, all bright teeth.

The coffee sloshes in the mug held in your unsteady hand, and he worries there’s something stronger in there too.

“Not at all. I’m just good at what I do.” He shoves fisted hands into his pockets, trying to keep patient. Trying not to throttle you, check your drink for himself.

“And is this how you’d like to continue going forward? I mind my own business, and you do as you please?”

He shakes his head slow, grinds the pulverized mint between his molars, “I want whatever you think’s best. You’re the Kelly now, after all.” You get a look on your face like you don’t like the sound of that at all, and he turns to spit the greens between his teeth, coughing roughly.

“Yeah, I’m sure of that,” you say with teeth bared, and then whipping your head away from him as if you can’t bear the sight of him a second longer. The coffee sloshes the other way, splashing against your wrist. He hopes it’s not burning you. “You know, you’ve got some fucking nerve, Joel. You—”

The robe—all of a sudden, saturated by the dark liquid, it grabs his attention. It’s in a plaid print, expensive looking, like something you’d see an older man wearing. A man’s robe? He cocks his head, “Whose robe is that?” Cutting your tirade short.

What? You spit, all sass, his stomach burns, turning to look back at him as if he’s gone idiotic, grown a second head. He feels a little bit like he’s in the process of doing so—wracked with growing pains. “It’s my ex-boyfriend’s. Can you focus, please? I’m trying to have a fight with you right now.” And you scrunch your nose too adorably for him to find anything besides endearing. Certainly not intimidating.

He grunts, displeased.

“I know you don’t want to hear it—”

“Then keep it to yourself.” You turn, continuing on your way up to the house, coffee flies with your spin, boyfriend’s robe whipping out in your wake as he follows like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.

A little desperately, like a dog, too. A begging for scraps imitation game he hadn’t intended to play but feels obligated to now, and by his own doing.

“But I want to say—about last night…”

You turn on your heel out of nowhere again, and he stumbles to not rush head first into you, to not touch you.

The look on your face is all heartbreak. “Do you remember—when I was away at school—and I fell off the horse? When I came home with that broken arm and couldn’t get back on and you helped me? Do you remember that, Joel? How you reminded me how I was supposed to do it—”

He coughs, uncomfortable, shifting like that same scared dog. “You remember these things different than I do.” The words feel cowardly spilling from his tongue, but he should be honest. Shouldn’t he?

This is what he should be doing, isn’t it?

“I remember that you were kind. That you cared. That’s what I remember.” Your eyes are glossed again, and now it’s Joel that has to look away.

“I didn’t care. It was my job to serve your father. To do as he’d want me to. It was a responsibility.”

It’s happening again. A tale like any other you’ve too often heard. You know he’s not lying, and yet everything he says feels precariously close to it.

“Why are you being like this?” And you ask it very practically, like you really want to know, like you’ve asked the same sort of question to the same sort of figure before, and so now you’re extremely well practiced, an expert even.

“You remember these things differently. Wrong—That’s not how I meant any of it—whatever you’re thinkin’. It was just a kindness.”

“No, but I— but you…” That’s the point, you want to say, a kindness, but the words stick. You look away again, colored in shame, can’t bear the sight of him. “Maybe you’re right,” you whisper with that very remembered kindness of your lonely childhood thrown back in your face now. “Maybe I do.”

“Listen to me—I’d like for things between us to be— I’m not… I don’t now what to fuckin’ say to you.”

“Honey—” Dina calls from the porch, your father’s assistant, now yours by inheritance, you suppose. “We gotta go soon—gotta get you ready.”

“I have things to do with Dina. I don’t have time for you—for this. Do what you want, run it how you like,” the ranch, “But the kid stays. That’s final.”

You won’t look at him again, you decide. You’ll learn to want a new thing. You’ll learn to love a new thing.

If you had it in you, you’d laugh in his face.

Have you been in love with him? Probably not in any way that could’ve been called mature, it was the girl-fantasy of a neglected child latching on to a man who’d always seemed nothing but steady and kind.

So you’ll learn to grow up now, no choice left in the matter, let the fantasy go.

Despite your desire for debauchery and the three days of bad behavior you’d promised yourself, you’ve got shit to do.

An hour after your ridiculous non-conversation with the ridiculous man, you and Dina are stepping back out into the summer sunshine when your phone rings with a call from another ridiculous man for what promises to surely be another even more ridiculous conversation.

Jacopo.

You’d met through the friend of a friend at the party of someone or another in Monaco. Come from an Italian mother and a French father, you should’ve known he was going to be an arrogant asshole from the get go, but he’d been beautiful and momentarily distracting—things you knew you didn’t really want but told yourself would suffice. Really, all he was, was boring, the same as everyone else, wanting something from you without having to truly return anything in full.

Jacopo the jockey—sounds like a goddamn cartoon.

You liked to call him Jack, like he were the same sort of plebeian he saw all Americans as, and which he absolutely loathed with the sort of passion only an uppity French man could possess.

In the distance, you can see Joel, Frank and Bill propped up against the corral watching as Jesse runs Ellie atop a gorgeous chestnut Quarter. Sometimes she likes to compete, when she can get Joel to stop complaining about it for a second.

Dina makes her way towards them, “Tell them we’ll take the Ghibli,” you call after her to which she throws a thumbs up. At the sound of your voice he peers over his shoulder, finding your eyes immediately, catching there—fish on a burning hook. And then turns full around, leaning back to rest his elbows on the iron grate as you take French boys call, settling in to watch you.

“Hi, Jack, sweetie. How’s it hangin’?”

“I do not know what this means.”

Bore. “What do you want, Jacopo? I’m busy.”

“My love, we must speak. I have heard of your father. You should have call me, I will come to be with you now. Tell me where you are.”

“Why the hell would I want you to come be with me? We broke up. Remember?”

Joel watches you as the French idiot prattles on about how he loves you and how you need him and how the two of you belong together, blah blah. Odious man, you don’t know how you ever let him inside of you.

Across the lawn, he isn’t looking away, and his gaze burns where it touches. You feel—humiliated, hurt, rejected, so angry it’s a physical ache.

Not surprised.

Perhaps in some way, his rejection was what you’d wanted, had been looking for. Perhaps, it was your subconscious search for the easy way out. Because, and really, what else had you thought would happen when you’d thrown yourself at him half drunk? That he’d suddenly stop seeing you as the child he’d known you for always, take you as a woman, want you, fuck you right there on your newly dead father’s front deck?

Ridiculous.

You can’t even think about the birthday—about her. It’s a snipped lifeline, a crushed tether.

“Cherie, I must tell you I am feeling very neglected now by you. You don’t call. You do not love me no longer, or what is the problem?” More nonsense and really, this fuckin’ guy needs a boot in his ass pronto.

And the one still watching you—something even worse. He’s got his mangy brown cowboy hat pulled low over his brow, the one for the ranch, not the lovely dark one for escorting orphans to the funerals of dead fathers, and his jaw works the mint leaves you know he’s got between his teeth, slow and steady. You should hiss at him. Instead, your tummy smolders with heat and butterflies.

Stop looking at me, you horrible man, you want to shout.

Humming and hawing at the annoying voice coming through the phone, you smooth your palm over the silk of your dress. You’d wanted to look nice today, your first Kelly meeting. You wanted to look better than you feel, which is like shit, quite frankly.

There are tiny green paisleys patterned over the deep blue of the dress, a shock of dark red maroon for the cashmere knit of the cardigan tied over your shoulders, and a little silken kerchief wrapped around your throat, something from your mother’s things you’d gone through last night after Joel had ordered you to bed with your tail tucked between your legs and tears in your throat.

Twenty four years later, and your father still had all her things preserved in their bedroom as if she’d only stepped out for the afternoon. A veritable mausoleum right there in your house-not-home.

You’d never even stood a chance.

He watches you begin to pace across the deck, but the look on your face tells him you aren’t quite listening to whatever it is the person on the phone’s saying to you.

The gold and silver bangles that slide around your fine boned wrists jingle a song of temptation. Siren song, bird song, death march, something he’d follow with blind eyes, recognize deaf. And heavy gold and jeweled rings along your fingers that shine almost as bright as the spilled silk of your hair. Swathed in shades of jewel, you’re all woman, done up and ready to go out and devastate.

He doesn’t know how any man could ever look at you and not want you.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be the same from here on out.

“Who’s she talkin’ to?” He asks Dina, tipping his chin over at you. He can hear you raising your voice, something about you fucking French moron, and he doesn’t like the hunch he’s got about who it is.

“Boyfriend,” Dina says while she watches Ellie work the horse with hearts in her eyes.

“Thought he was an ex.”

She peers up at him suspiciously at that, a queer little smile tipping the corners of her mouth upwards. “Well maybe now that he knows how much she’s worth he’ll be coming back, huh?”

Joel swears all these fuckin’ women are conspiring against him, trying to send him to an early grave. “He steps foot on this ranch, and I’ll shoot him in the goddamn ass.”

She laughs, throwing her head back which inevitably draws Ellie’s attention. “You are literally so dramatic.”

“What’s he bein’ dramatic about now?” Ellie calls from behind, trotting up to the corral edge.

“Ohhh, nothin’. Just Joel being Joel. Right, old man?” Dina bumps her hip against his and he grunts, refusing to be goaded. He’s not being dramatic, it’s his responsibility to take care of you now, to watch over you.

That’s all.

“I’m never dramatic,” he tells them very seriously.

On the porch, the spat reaches a crescendo and they all turn to watch the show.

Why don’t you shove the whole Eiffel Tower up your ass, you fucking dipshit. And don’t you ever call me again!

“Little girl’s got a mouth on her,” Bill murmurs.

Ellie lets out a long whistle. Deserved, Dina adds. On the porch, you let out a strangled little screech, stomping the high heel of your boot as if you’ve got half a mind to throw a fit.

Joel feels hypnotized, speared through the gut.

He wants to know what the ex-boyfriend said. What his name is. Where he’s from and who he is and what he does and how he is and every single thing about him and how it was between the two of you.

He is suddenly desperate to know everything there is to know about you in a way that makes his throat feel swollen with guilt. In a way he didn’t ever think he’d want from you.

All the things you keep close, all the small intimacies that make you this person you are now, that’s what he wants.

You stomp down the steps, making your way towards them, eyes directly on his, and you’re too fucking beautiful for his own good, watching you feels like a sin.

Makes him feel in danger, like prey.

“All men should die,” you yell over.

See.

“I agree,” Dina says cheerfully.

“You know you can have a baby with the junk in your bones from another woman now,” Ellie adds helpfully.

“The junk in your bones?” Joel says.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Yeah, like really we don’t even need you for shit anymore.”

“They should all be put in a hole in the ground in the middle of Nebraska and only be let out when a girl wants to bone.”

“To bone—Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ellie.”

“I love that idea,” you say, finally coming to stand right before Joel. He swallows hard, stays silent—feels like the cat’s finally caught his tongue.

“Why Nebraska?” Franks asks, puzzled.

He’s got to stop looking at you, he’s got to get away from the sight of your eyes, feels like the colors of you seem to pulse brighter, and he feels it all like a touch against his skin. He turns to look at Ellie over his shoulder and with a huge, shit-eating grin she says, “Cause who the fuck knows where fuckin’ Nebraska is, huh?” Her eyes flash to you and then quickly back to Joel, winking, cheeky, knowing. He feels the noose tighten.

They’re definitely conspiring against him.

The three of you cackle—at his expense.

“Where’re you two headed?” Bill asks with a frown when the three little hyenas settle.

“She’s got a meeting in Jackson,” Dina tells him. “First part’ll be quick—she’s just gotta kick some pushy jackass to the curb and tell him we’re not leasing mineral rights to him no matter how hard he begs or how much money he throws at us. Then…” she trails off, throwing you a worried glance, but your eyes are on the far off mountains now, and Joel watches a shaky swallow pass through your throat.

“Then we’ve got the will reading,” you say.

A sharp ache starts up behind Joel’s left eye, all the easygoing laughter of a few moments ago sucked away with a few words and a single reminder. That you’re not the girl you used to be, laughing and playing with Ellie, that your father is dead, that you have a world of responsibility to face now.

“You shouldn’t have to go all the way into town. They should be comin’ to you here.”

“I want to get out—see his office.”

“S’only been a few days, honey,” Frank says gently. “You should take it easy.”

“Thanks, Frank,” you reach out to squeeze his arm, flush of emotion across the bridge of your nose. “I’m okay, promise.”

Joel takes you in, in full. You’ve got something shimmery swept across the highs of your cheekbones and glossy lips, the fine grain of your skin—pristine like you're made of sugar and everything good in the world. The silky wisps of baby hair at your temples that look softer than anything he’s probably ever touched in his whole life. And you’re so beautiful it almost hurts the eye to look at you, beautiful in a way that makes men cower at the sight, like you’d be the strongest thing in the whole world. But he sees all the rest too. The delicate curves of your shoulders, the fine swoop of your collarbone and the quick-fire beat of your pulse beneath the fragile skin of your throat. There’s fear all around you in a way, a desperate sort of sadness.

He wishes there was more he could do for you, that he could bear the burden of all this entirely in your stead, that he could be all you need and want him to be without having to sacrifice his soul to give it to you.

Your eyes flash back to his, and he worries for a second that you can read his mind.

Behind you, Jesse pulls up with the sleek black of your father’s favorite car. Of course you’d choose this for today, bets you’ll find a way to turn it into a pretzel before the days end.

“Take Jesse with you,” he says low at your back as you turn for the car.

You look over your shoulder at him and his spine throbs. “No.”

Following you around the front of the car, he pulls the door open for you. “You’re not moving around alone anymore. He’s going. Jesse—” he whistles, “You’re going into town with Miss Kelly.”

“Yezzir,” he smiles with the sunny easiness only he possesses.

“Excuse me,” you turn to frown up at him, stomping your foot again, and you’re a little bit of a brat, he’s realizing. “There’s no room in the car for him. He can’t come.”

“He’ll take a truck,” he says, leaving no room for discussion, but then gentles his voice again, “Things are gonna be different now. You’re the Kelly, you can’t go on all gung ho about your new reality. You need taking care of. Can you not fight me on this, please?”

“What I need—”

“Is to be protected.”

You give a delicate little huff through your nose that he finds to be just about the cutest damn thing he’s ever seen in his whole life. “Then it’ll be my choice how and who.”

“It’s easier if you just do as I say.” Grasping, grasping, praying for patience.

“You overbearing d—”

“You’ll be okay meeting this jackoff? Don’t need me to come with you?”

You glower at him.

“I’m bein’ serious with you. I know you’re capable,” he puts his hands out, palms up in a conceding gesture, “But this is new, and there’s no shame in asking for support.”

At that, you get a confused little pinch between your brows, softest rose shaped mouth he’s ever seen—felt—all pursed up, and he thinks it’s wrong now, trying to be sweet to you after last night, looking at you this way and seeing the things he’s seeing. He should stay away, go away forever, find a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere to bury himself in like you’d said, but he worries now, and quite desperately really, that he won’t ever be able to leave your side again after all this.

“I have Dina.”

“I know, but—”

“Can you please just… not. I think— I think it’s better if we just steer clear of each other. If I need something,” you look away now, hazy look from last night back in your gaze again, like you’re remembering, like you’re wanting something else he’s not willing, not capable of giving, “I’ll ask for it. Otherwise you can focus on what’s important to you.”

Gut punch.

He soldiers on, can’t help it.

“You feelin’ alright?”

Your eyes flit back to him for a fleeting second and there’s honesty in your gaze now, maybe something extremely vulnerable too, and then shuttering again, looking away again. He’d demand your gaze if he had the right, insist you tell him everything there is to know with just your eyes if you were his.

But really, he’s got no right to ask anything.

So instead, “Tell me what’s wrong,” he begs, praying you don’t say him.

What’s wrong? A laugh and—nothing. Like your father isn’t dead, like he hadn’t hurt you as he had last night, like you’re looking for answers etched into the mountains or the sky. You bring your thumb to your right temple and his own aches in response, digging there for some unseen pain to be gouged out. “Tired—was having bad dreams.” Your voice sounds full of air, and you’ve got a huge emerald on your ring finger, an even larger turquoise stone beside it, other hand is covered in a row of opals—you’re a treasure of a girl, all the way inside and out, and it’s like he’s staring at a work of art, knowing that if he were to touch, it’d all be ruined. Your voice full of air floats in his bad ear and booms out the good one full of forlorn want.

It feels like you’re the only two people left in the whole of Wyoming, standing here together under the sweet sun, maybe the whole world, and he’s ridden in guilt, wants to tell you he’s sorry again, beg or something, and thinks that God should give you the chance to rewind time when you’ve made someone feel this bad without meaning to.

You whisper at the Tetons, and he’s all but forgotten, “I feel a little bit like I’m the real nightmare.”

“You couldn’t ever be, sweetheart,” he tells you and means it with his whole heart.

It’s all agony swimming in your eyes, and if you don’t stop him, he’s going to take you into his arms right here in front of everyone. You need more than protecting, it’s clear, you need caring for, you need loving—the sort of something he can tell you’ve never had in your whole life.

“Ready to go, honey?” Dina calls from the other side of the car, her canoodling with Ellie finally come to a pause.

You’re snapped out of your reverie, looking down at your feet, impractical boots again, these ones sexy and tall and not for his admiring, blinking away the wash of heat that’s bloomed across the bridge of your freckled little nose.

“Did she eat?” He asks Dina over your head.

“Ehhhhh, but I brought a smoothie,” she pulls out a thermos from her large bag and smiles all beaming and large.

“A smoothie ain’t food. Get something else in town.”

“You're so prepared,” Ellie sighs dreamily beside her.

“You’re annoying me,” you grouch at him, tossing your bag into the backseat, sliding into the luxuriously leathered interior as he shuts the door gently behind you, bending down to brace his palms against the open window.

“Drive careful. Call me if you need anything.”

“You’re kinda a helicopter mom. You know that, Joel?” Dina tells him with that sweet smile of hers.

“Do not entertain his nonsense,” you snap.

“She’s just grumpy because Vogue France posted a piece on her and the funeral—the heiress to watch, they’ve called her.”

“I don’t know who they think I am—Kendall fucking Roy? This isn’t HBO, it’s my goddamn life.”

“It’s fine, drink your smoothie, here,” Dina soothes.

“I don’t got a clue what any of that means,” Joel says. “And do up your belt,” frowning at you and pulling away just in time when you speed off with half the admonishment still on his tongue

The bar is loud and sweaty and crowded enough there’s room for your spite, which he knows, is all this night out is.

The day had gone from terrible to horrible to heinous, and he’s officially reached his limit now. You’d returned from your late morning in Jackson toting a gray cloud that’d settled over the entire ranch and everyone in it. All work had come to a slow and grinding halt, the mood morose, knowing that the lady of the manor was grieving and angry.

And then a few hours into the evening, you, Ellie, and Dina had spun into the bunk, already giggling on drinks he was certain were too sugary and way too strong to end in anything good. Looking to rile up the boys into heading back to Jackson and finding a bar to terrorize.

And so here he now finds himself, stepping through the door of The Mushroom, ridiculous name for a bar if anyone asked him, eyes searching for the gleam of your hair, that tiny fucking outfit you’d draped yourself in. You were hunting for trouble, to aggravate him, trying to hurt him with your, you’re not invited, Joel—no one wants you to come.

Angry, angry as a spitting fire.

He’d felt like shit about himself and your upset for a second, and then had thought: Well, are you going to cowboy up, Joel? Or just lay here and bleed?

Now, there’s something sick in him that wants more of it, to take everything you’ve got to give, to see how far you can go, to push you just a little bit further too.

A masochist, is what he reckons he might actually be.

He finds Ellie’s bent head whispering into Dina’s ear, giggling and dragging her fingertips up the other girls bare arm, and he feels a thump of fondness for the two—happier than he can say that they’ve finally worked it all out after months of their will-they-won’t-they struggle.

Making his way over to them, he catches Frank in the distance, dancing to the countryfied Abba cover of Chiquitita the local band’s currently playing while Bill stands nearby, serious and menacing, keeping anyone from getting too close to his partner.

No sign of you, and the backs of his knees itch and burn.

“Where is she?” He demands when he reaches Ellie at their place against the bar.

“Oh, dude. She’s gonna be soooo pissed.”

“Where, Ellie?”

Get you anything to drink, sugar? The bartender calls and Joel shakes her away, panic thumping in his gut the longer he doesn’t have eyes on you.

Dina knocks her head towards the end of the L-shaped bar, closest to the throng of dancing patrons, and there in the last seat and partially obscured by someone’s shoulder and ridiculously feathered hat, you sit.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Can you please just leave her alone. She needs to blow some steam off.”

“Yeah, Joel, we’re watching her,” Dina adds, always the peacekeeper.

Or blow someone, Ellie adds in a snicker, and he gives her a death glare. “You need to quit the asshole act,” she tells him, purposefully thunking her beer hard enough on the bartop that some of it sloshes over the lip of the bottle onto his hand braced against the edge.

Real mature.

“Changed my mind,” he tells the bartender when she heads back their way, “Shot of Jameson.”

Beside him, Jesse appears, beer in hand as he leans against the bar to watch you also. “That might just be the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my whole life, honest to God,” he sighs wistfully.

Joel sees red—this is just too much. “Quit fuckin’ lookin’ at her,” he snaps.

Ellie snickers knowingly, and Frank and Bill join the group, picking up on the topic of conversation.

“That little girl can drink a grown man under the goddamn table,” Bill says.

“And looks good as hell doing it too—”

“Eyes off, you little shit,” Joel sends a threatening glance at Jesse again.

Ellie ignores them both. “He’s a finance bro or some shit—from New York—here to play cowboy dress up with the group he’s with. Nothing I can’t handle, and you need to cool it and leave or have a drink and let her have fun.”

“She’s vulnerable right now, Ellie—”

“Yeah, you would know.”

Joel’s turn to do the ignoring, “And she needs someone to watch her back.”

“I’m fuckin’ watching it, man. You’re so annoying, and I’ll have you know that—” The fucker’s got a thick lock of your long hair trapped between his probably manicured fucking fingers, smoothing it between his thumb and index and then looping it around and around, drawing you in closer.

Joel’s about to start howling.

You’ve done something to him, knocked something askew inside him, and he needs you to set it back to rights. Let him out of this saw trap he’s been caught in.

The man says something that has you throwing your head back in an overly eager laugh, loud and melodic in the most hypnotizing sort of way, meant to draw the eye or seduce or send his gut to twisting and aching.

Ellie’s saying something about how you need to have fun, how you need to find yourself, and all Joel can think is that he can be the one to give you that, to help you do all that while still making sure you’re alright, taken care of.

Over the wannabe cowboy’s shoulder, he sees your eyes land on him, and you give him one of those serenely beautiful smiles he knows means he’s about to lose his fucking mind and cause a scene.

A provocation of a smile is what it is.

You cross one long leg over the other, a flash of hot pink his eyes can’t help but flash to beneath the obscene hem of your skirt and lean in to whisper something, glossy lips right at his ear, and a tick starts up below Joel’s left eye. The fuckwit pulls you in closer, and you tip into him, hand on his shoulder—your eyes never leave Joel’s, and then you’re pulling him off the barstool and leading him into the throng of dancing people. He’s desperate to know what the back of your hot pink underwear looks like—string of lace wedged between the cleft of your ass, or silk wrapping around the full cheek like a perfect present? The man pulls you into himself, spinning you around, and you’re made up of blues and purples and pinks, shimmering like something that shouldn’t exist here amongst all the rest of them. Slinky little top made of silk like water and sparkles, your cheeks, flushed with drink or heat, but he’ll tell himself it’s because of him, because you’re still angry at him, thinking of him, and it soothes the tempest that’s brewing in his gut.

He spins you towards himself, the man Joel’s about to beat senseless, shooting the Jameson without really tasting anything but the insane jealousy souring to irrational fury on his tongue, it pulses in his throat once, twice, and the fucker tugs you into himself again by a handful of your ass in that too short skirt and sticks his tongue in your mouth. Joel slams the glass on the bartop, not seeing red anymore, something like dark spots now, he’s so fucking pissed off.

Ellie yelps his name, her and Jesse scrambling after him, but they’re too late and he’s there already, pulling you away, and gently because he might be feeling a little bit like a demon right now, but he knows what you are and how to handle you no matter what—and slams his fist into the fuckers nose, the satisfying crunch of broken bone and a pathetic cry sounds as he hits the sticky bar floor. The people around peer over in nothing more than mild curiosity, this is a cowboy bar after all.

He watches the man for a second, making sure he stays down, and then turns to look at you and isn’t at all surprised when he finds that look of victory on your face.

“Ready to go?” Voice all sweet innocence.

You’re going to kill him.

Spinning around on the toe of your boot, the hem of your little skirt flutters with your movements and he catches a flash of cheek, mystery of your panties still unsolved.

“You’re a real dumbass, you know that?” Ellie snarks as they pass the group of them.

He chooses to ignore that observation. “Don’t stay out too late. And let Bill drive back.”

Following you out into the night, he tries to take control of himself, to lie away the heat he feels sitting heavy in his stomach.

He wishes he had a mint leaf to pulverize between his molars, he wishes he could pull you over his knee and spank your ass for being such a bad girl. And looming behind you, he knows you’re not even a little bit intimidated by his size as you dance and prance across the parking lot towards his truck.

“I know you’re ticked off because of last night and today, but you can’t lash out just because you’re angry with me.”

All he gets in response is that head-thrown-back wind chime laughter—the real one, which is something.

“You need to stop misbehaving,” he breathes down your neck.

“Hmm, I don’t think I will,” you singsong.

“Are you drunk?” Refusing to be distracted, he’s going to stand strictly on business, he promises himself.

You spin around again—always catching him off guard and pissing him off—hooking yourself on his shirtfront, pulling yourself into him like you’re trying to dance some fucked up dance he doesn’t know the steps to.

“Not at all.”

“You need to not be touching me right now,” he warns, the threads of his control dangerously close to snapping, walking you backwards without putting his hands on you. Chest to chest, he feels like he could breathe fire if he really set his mind to it.

“Yes, sir,” you say sweetly, dragging your palms down his chest and belly before letting him go, skipping ahead of him, humming an off-key rendition of whatever kitschy, poor excuse for a country song they’d been playing at the end in there.

The even poorer excuse for a skirt bounces along the curve of your ass, driving him fucking mad—he’s goig to have a heart attack, he’s middle aged, he can’t handle this shit anymore—you.

Stop that, he growls.

“God, you don’t like anything—you’re no fun,” you pout.

Coming to the truck, he yanks the door open for you. “Get in the damn truck.” And he makes sure to turn away and not ogle your ass as you hop in, his palm hovering in the vicinity of your elbow if you need him.

The prospect of an hour and a half of the dark drive and the scent of your musky sweet perfume and sweat soaked skin has his heart pounding. When he pulls his door open, you’re turned in your seat expectantly waiting for him, folded knees up on the seat and pink triangle right there to taunt him.

“Sit right—put on your seatbelt.”

“You’re so bossy.” An exaggerated sigh and your voice is so fucking sassy, a tiny bit of a needy whine threaded through it, he feels his patience snap.

Grabbing hold of your damp cheeks he squeezes hard enough to force your full mouth into a pout and giving your head a little shake he says, “And you need managing, little girl. Put your fucking belt on, or I’ll put it on for you.”

Eyes all pupil and gone blurry, you lick your lips and he can smell the sweet fruit scent of your breath. He groans, pushing you back—mistake, mistake, putting his hands on you at all—and peels out of the parking lot, and he is not hard in his jeans for you.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask after several moments of forced silence.

“No.”

“Not even for last night?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it either.”

“Well, now I’ve changed my mind.”

Jesus, he mutters. “There’s nothing to discuss—already told you what I think and how it’s going to be and that’s final. You need to let it go, you hear me?”

You give a little groaning screech through your clenched teeth, turning away from him, still not wearing your goddamn seatbelt, never doing as he says.

Toeing your boots off roughly, the little skirt hitches high enough on your thighs he catches a glimpse of the smooth glowing skin of your hip, eyes trying to watch the road and your thighs at the same time.

“You’re horrible,” you say through a grimace, but your voice cracks a little bit at the end, and you’ve still got your face turned away so that he can’t tell if he’s made you cry or not now.

“Are you cryin’?” He demands.

“No,” you sniffle, wiping your cheek on a lifted shoulder

“Yes you are, liar.” Fuck—fuck, fuck.

“Well you’re bein’ mean,” you whine, finally turning to look at him again, and you’re all rose glow, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy, lips red as a cherry.

No man should be tested like this. It’s wrong—unnatural.

He tries to gentle his voice and steady the pounding of his heart, pressing down on the gas, wishing the road would disappear from beneath the tires of the truck and that he could have you home and away from him already. “Not bein’ mean, sweetheart. Just—just…” He sighs, “Goddamnit, just don’t how how to handle you,” he curses, losing the grasp on his gentleness.

“See—you are angry with me!” A tear slips down your cheek, and Joel’s mouth waters.

His heart kicks up another notch, hypnotized, “You make me fuckin’ crazy—is that what you wanna hear?”

“Yes.” You turn full in the seat to face him, bent knees against the center console block his view of the apex of your thighs. Fucking Christ.

“Sit right. You’re flashing your bits,” he tries and fails to focus on the road.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause I want you to see them, stupid.”

Jesus. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Only one High Noon.”

“The hell is that? And quit lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what?” Your knees shift against each other, and he’s gripping the steering wheel so tight he feels like he could rip it out of the dash.

“You fuckin’ know like what.”

“Well if you hadn’t been such a cock block earlier, I’d be looking at someone else like this right now.”

And the teasing is too much. The bare legs and the tiny skirt and the hair and the lips and the sound of your voice, the kiss last night replaying in his mind over and over and over again like some lovesick taunt, the look of hurt he’d put on your face and the idea of you bare and slick, taking some other man that isn’t him. It’s too much.

He jerks the truck roughly onto the road shoulder and into the grass, wheels spinning and gravel flying. Joel—you squeal, being jostled in your seat so that all he can see are soft thighs and pretty tits bouncing in his peripheral. He puts the truck in park, ripping his seat belt off, reaching over to tug you roughly forward by the nape, his fingers twisting in your hair in a hold he knows is too hard for something so delicate, his other hand grips below the bend of one knee squeezing hard.

“If you think I’m gonna let you spread your legs for anyone fucking else—” he growls.

“Anyone else?” You laugh in his face, eyes spinning with something a little maniacal.

He thought he’d been worried for his soul, that taking you would be the undoing of everything he’d tried so hard to mend back together after Sarah. And really, he had tried so hard—to be good, to be better, to atone for all he’d not done before her, all he’d done after her. He’d tried to make himself into something that was respectful of her memory and the second chance Kelly had given him.

But right here, and again because anytime he looks at you, is within a mile of your vicinity, it feels like you’re the only two people on the whole goddamn planet, he doesn’t think he really gives a fuck for being good or atoning or souls at all. Not even a little bit.

He follows your lead from last night and kisses you, is sure to take your tongue this time. Forcing his thumb and forefinger between the line of your molars, he presses down hard enough to hurt the baby soft skin, spreading your jaw open wide so that he can lick into your mouth deep and wet. He wants to scare you, cow you, intimidate you into behaving with this hunger that seems to swallow him whole—remind you that he’s let you have your fun thus far, but the both of you know who’s playing games and who’s not.

You let out a shocked little gasp onto his tongue, fingers twisting in the fabric over his shoulder, and he tightens his grip under your knee, tugging you just that little bit further forward, and when he pulls back to look at you, spit slick, swollen mouth and wide eyes, tits about to spill out of your top, you push his face away roughly, dragging your nails down the skin of his cheek with a tiny snarling growl.

Spoiled little brat.

“Don’t be fuckin’ childish,” he snarls back, and pulls you roughly over the console and into his lap.

“I can’t stand you,” you pant, settling above him, coming in to kiss him again, and he can’t deny it anymore. He’s hard as fuck for you.

You moan into his mouth, high and throaty at the same time, girlish little sigh at the end that has him gripping your hip tightly, trying to stop himself from thrusting up against you.

“Can you taste him?” You lick his tongue. “He kinda looked like you, didn’t he? That’s why I chose him.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He’s going to stop this now, at any moment. He’s going to push you away and tell you this is wrong and that the two of you can’t do this.

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your tits high against his chest and grinding your lace covered little cunt against his cock.

He groans into your mouth, pushed straight over the edge and free falling, cupping your ass to lift you off of himself a little bit, he just needs a second, before he takes a breath and presses you back down harder, rolling your hips against his lap. Little animal sounds, an ah, ah, ah and an oh, coupled with his mewled name. Cupping the soft of your ass in the palms of his hands, his calluses scrape against silken skin, and you fit him as if he’d dreamt you up just for himself; perfectly lush curves he can squeeze as hard as he wants because you’re not getting away from him now that he’s caught you in his snare. He drags his fingertips up the roundness of your asscheeks, and the mystery’s solved, it’s a thong. Catching the lace between his fingers he pulls the flimsy string upwards and tight against your pussy, a pained moan when he pulls even harder, making sure the fabric digs against your skin.

He knows if he cups you there you’ll be wet for him, for him, no one else but him. Knows he could bend you face first over the console, pull the soaked lace aside and suck on your wet little clit, make you come in his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans.

Joel, Joel, Joel, you hum in a dream voice.

He can feel two little dimples at the low of your back, imagines what they’d look like with his thumbs gripped there as your ass takes his cock.

He can’t say it enough—he feels fucking insane.

“Touch me,” you beg, sliding and pressing against him, long hair like water slipping all over and against him too.

Oh my God, he whisper moans when you spread your knees as wide as the seat allows, rocking your hips in short little hitches against the ridge of his cockhead. He knows your little clit is right there, cunt a knot of indescribable heat against him, and you pull your mouth away from his, letting your head fall back, hair a tangled curtain. He drags his nails back down your ass hard enough he hopes he’s leaving marks, leaning forward to lick along the salt tracks of your tears, watching you use him.

“Do not fucking come,” he orders. He can’t—he can’t watch you do it and not be inside you when it happens, and the two of you absolutely cannot take this that far.

He pulls your hips up again, forcing your movements still and you huff at him, whining.

“We gotta stop.”

Noooo. “No, Joel. Please,” you cry, trying to pull yourself towards him—your mouth is so swollen—trying to escape his hold and get what you want for yourself.

Grasping at the last vestiges of his sanity, “Fuck— No. No more.” He lifts you off his lap and back into your seat, sitting back to press himself against the door and adjusting the throbbing erection in his jeans, so hard it’s making him a little nauseous. If he doesn’t stop, he’s going to stuff his cock inside of you right here and now. He tucks the thick head up under his waistband, trying to find any sort of momentary relief.

There isn’t enough oxygen in this truck. He needs air, space, to taste you.

“Fine,” prim little nose in the air. You stretch one leg out across the console to dangle over his groin and let the other drop to the cab floor. “That’s fine—I’ll just take care of it myself then,” you tease provocatively, fingertips dragging up the inside of your thigh.

He shoots forward to stop your movement, gripping your wrist in a vice—baby bird bones beneath his fist, and you moan at his touch like the little wanton he’s coming to realize you are, writhing in your seat. “Don’t you fucking dare. I swear to God I’ll put you over my knee.”

“Jokes on you, I’d like that shit,” you sass back, ripping your wrist out of his hold, little socked foot kicking towards his face. He catches it, holding it in his grip and squeezing. “And I don’t really care if you’re not mad at me because I’m mad at you.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” and the mood changes, smolders into something more serious, more honest.

“Why didn’t you go today? The lawyer asked you to—” You’d wanted to find him as soon as you’d gotten home earlier, demand he give you an explanation. Cowardice had won over that desire, and going out to find a drink and a replacement man had seemed the easier alternative.

“Wasn’t my place.” Spreading his thighs wider in his seat to accommodate himself, he presses his hips forward, and you can make out the heft of his cock beneath his jeans—your belly twists all full of heat and bubbles.

“Did you know he was leaving you something?”

He laughs a bitter bark of a laugh. “No—never thought—” the words die in his throat and he stares out the window, lost to the memory of your father. “No, I didn’t think he was leaving me anything before I got the call.”

“It’ll make a good nest egg.”

“Don’t want it.”

He won’t turn to look at you now, and you know that this conversation in the aftermath of touching you shames him.

“You’re taking it. You don’t have a choice.” His eyes flash fire at you and then flit away. “He had all your banking information, it’s probably already there.”

Fucking Christ, he spits the murmured curse, bracing his elbow against the curve of the steering wheel, cupping his palm over his mouth as if to keep his anger and frustration in. The bulge of his bicep beneath his dark hoodie distracts you for a moment.

You’d spent enough time watching him over the years that you’d learned all the things you knew he tried to hide in plain sight. That gentleness, that patience, that heart—that he is an inconceivably good and honest man. Things that are ultimately impossible to hide.

Your eyes flash to the temple where a gristle of scar tissues is slashed across his skin. The meaning behind a scar like that, coupled with his bad ear and his green eyed photograph—it’s hard to hide. People can always tell when you’ve tried to kill yourself, you know.

Which all goes to say—and you’re quite certain of this—that yes, the two of you are strangers, in ways, but in others, or in your own way, you know this man. You understand his nature. You know he wouldn’t have ever wanted it—that he does not want it and never will. He isn’t the sort of man who’d ever look a million dollars in the eye and feel moved by them.

His humanity means more to him than his life, you’d heard Tommy say about him once to your father when you’d been an eavesdropping little girl. You hadn’t understood at the time, but now you do.

The dark pullover and jeans, incongruously boyish, the scuffed boots—he’s so himself and so fucking hot and you want him so, so badly, and looking at him sitting here now, gorgeous, hair mused by your fingers, and your slick smeared across his jeans—you look down at your own twisted fingers in your lap, a little ashamed now too—and you can’t fathom why or how he’d ever look at you and feel moved by the likes of you either.

You’re ashamed that you’re even angry at him for it at all, resentful of this gift your father has given him when really it is not only resentment, maybe not even truly that at all. More so, it’s a complicated mixing pot of feelings that these two men seem to have always been twisted up into knots together inside of you. Resentful, not because you don’t want him to have it. You want him to have everything he deserves or could ever think to want and more, but perhaps, because this was the final nail in the coffin scrap of proof that your father had cared about him in a very real way that you’d never experienced—in a way that was entirely Oswald Kelly’s own choice and not because of dead mothers or obligation or legacy.

“It’s good he left it for you,” you say gently and mean it.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, looks away, from under the cover of his palm says, “S’not fair to you.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with me. This is about you and you deserving this, and I’m glad he gave you your due. He should’ve left more.”

His eyes flutter shut, sighing deeply and shakes his head. “You’ve made me into something I’m not. You need to see that.”

“You’re not some sort of cautionary tale, Joel.”

“You don’t know a thing about it,” voice like he could he angry but is being very careful to remain not. “You don’t know the things I’ve done, the reasons why I came here. You should look at me and see nothin’ worthwhile.”

“My father saw something,” you argue. “You let my father see that something. And I do too, no matter what you say, no matter what you do or how hard you push me away; I’m used to it, and you won’t change my mind.”

He gives you a look like you’re hurting him, like your truths hurt him. “We’re goin’ home. This is enough,” he gruffs, pulling the truck into drive again and peeling out of the grassy knoll.

Fight dying in your throat, you feel suddenly exhausted, shivering coldly, belly an ember of unsated lust, your orgasm is tight and wet between your legs and you don’t want to argue or impose yourself on him anymore. You don’t want to feel like you’re imposing yourself now when he’d never made you feel like that before.

The night is a pitch dark blur falling away behind your glazed over eyes, and huddling into yourself against the door, you hide your face away in your shoulder, belly swooping with nausea.

“You drive too fast, I’m dizzy,” you mumble, and he immediately slows, foot easing off the gas.

“You gonna puke?”

“Yes, all over your face.”

“I’m serious, darlin’. Need me to stop?”

“No. I just want to be home,” said in as small a voice as you can manage, hoping he won’t catch your words, and soon he’s turning off into the long drive to the house.

When he pulls to a stop, you scramble to grab your boots before he can say anything else, but he’s unnaturally quick for such a large man, out the door and around the nose of the truck, pulling your own door open before you can even get a single boot on. He pulls them from your grasp, and then tugs you bodily out of your seat, slinging you over his shoulder as if you were some sack of nuisance prone potatoes. You screech, flailing, trying to knee him in the gut, but he bands a strong arm across the backs of your thighs, pinning you in obedient place. “Quit.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” You howl, hitting him repeatedly on the ass, trying to wriggle and make his life as difficult as you possibly can.

This man has absolutely no consideration or respect or sense of personal space!

Technically, neither do you—but that’s neither here nor there.

You scream like a hyena, shrill and long and he pinches your ass hard, right at the inner crease of your thigh and ass cheek, too close to your still wet pussy for comfort. “I said quit.”

“Everything alright out here?” You hear Jesse’s voice call from the direction of the bunk, they must’ve beat you two here while you’d been trying to seduce Joel into making you come.

The snap of Joel’s fingers and then, “Mind your own fucking business.”

“You are so rude.”

He bumps you on his shoulder, jostling you on the soft of your belly and making your cunt go even tighter. You hate him. “Quiet, you.”

Letting himself in the dark of your house, he makes his way up the stairs while you hang quietly upside down now, a little astounded, a lot turned on by how strong he is, lugging you all the way upstairs without even a change in his breathing.

But as soon as he steps foot into your bedroom, now set to rights from yesterday’s disaster, you feel the change come on him. The shift and deepening of his breaths, the expanse of his ribs going wide and winglike as he sucks in a big gulp of air. You press your palm flat to the center of his back, feeling the whistle of his breath go in and out of him until he’s slipping you off his shoulder to bounce gently backwards onto your soft bed.

He stands above you for a quiet moment, and you take in the broad shape of him backlit by the moonlight of your open drapes. He’s huge and imposing cast in this darkness, something out of a dream.

Literally—out of your own teenage fantasy dreams.

Has anyone in all the world ever wanted someone as badly as you want him?

You can feel the press of his left knee against the inside of your right one, and you wish he’d put it between your thighs, join you on the bed.

“Can I ask you something?” You reach your fingers out and he tangles his hand with yours and it’s a small victory.

“Yeah.”

“Would you come to my funeral?”

His fingers jolt— “What?”

“If I died.”

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“Tell me that you would—” You tug him forward and he lets himself come, bending over your prone form, braced on one arm and still holding onto your fingers with the other. “—That I wouldn't be alone even there.”

“You’re not alone.”

“Would you?”

“Makes me angry when you say shit like this—as if you don’t believe I’m going to take care of you.”

“Please tell me, Joel. Promise me—” and you reach up to gently touch the scar across his temple.

He goes frozen and understanding. “I’d come,” and you know it costs him something to give in to such an imagining and it makes you all the more grateful for it.

Fingers sliding back into the curls at his temple, silver speckled, you know, you pull him further towards you until he’s close enough to press a softly hot kiss to his mouth. The two of you hold there for a moment, another, another, you can feel the wash of his heavy breathing through his nose, the flutter of his long lashes tangling with yours—you hope he’s searching for you in the dark—and you lift your knee up onto the bed, bending to open yourself to him.

He pulls back, hand shooting to your jaw to grip you tightly in place, breath ragged, animal being hunted.

You smile.

“Not gonna fuck you,” he says low.

“Why not?” It’s what you want, you deserve to have what you want. He squeezes your face once, presses another hard, too quick kiss to your mouth and then flips you over onto your belly, turning your skirt up over your ass to expose you. He tugs once on the string of your thong, drawing his finger along the lace wedged between your ass cheeks and then pulls his hand away for a moment before he’s spanking you hard and quick.

Owwww, you whine, hitching your rump towards him, wanting more despite the sting. He bends his head and bites you even harder at the inner corner of your asscheek, teeth digging hard and long enough to leave a mark. You whine again, high and mewling, trying to escape his meanness and he smacks you again on the other cheek.

“Go to bed, little girl. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

And he’s leaving you, broad shouldered form slipping out your bedroom door and leaving you aching and angry to scream into your pillow.

You’re pretty sure you hear his deep laugh before the slam of the door sounds below, and you’re slipping your greedy fingers into the ruined wet of your panties, petting away the ache he’s left.

The late May night is cool, despite the daytime heat, and Ellie shivers in her Carhartt, watching as Joel slips out the back kitchen door of the big house.

“The hell is going on with those two?” Jesse says beside her, pulling long on his beer. The litter of yellow cans around them speaks to his mullish whining that he’d not been able to pull tonight. Sometimes he annoys her, but in that sort of endearing little brother way that makes her want to kick his ass and protect him at the same time.

“Nothin’, they’re fine—just gotta fuck it out.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Naw—just smarter than you, man.”

“They like each other?”

“God, Jesse, you wouldn’t see an obvious thing if it were a tipsy bison barrelin’ towards you full speed in the middle of the day.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he says a little pathetically. Moping men—Ellie really can’t be assed to deal with them all.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to understand. I do—I see all, I know all. You mere mortals wouldn’t understand.”

“S’kinda weird, no? Them two—him bein’ so much older, her bein’…well, you know— her.”

“Nope. Makes perfect sense—they need each other, you see.”

He shrugs, I guess—“You’re fuckin’ weird, too. You know that?”

She takes a swig of her beer now also, hoping the two idiots she loves most in the world, after Dina of course, figure each other out before the whole ranch has to suffer for it too.

“Wrong again, Jesse. Wrong again.”

Chapter 3; Little Freak

Netherfeildren’s Masterlist

Updates Blog

#fable of the dog fic #vic fic #joel miller x FMC #joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us au #joel miller fanfiction

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merakiui · 1 month ago

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Hi uh I was the one who asked if you see the new character and said that he looks like gojo... And from your recent post I actually fell for him too💔 (even though I don't like gojo but GAH DAMN HE'S HOT😍🥰) but, can you cook somethin with him I'm hungry asf and crave him🙏🙏🙏

(Also Can I be no. 1 furina kinnie anon? Thanks and lop you mera❤❤🫶🫶)

( ≧ᗜ≦) hi hiii, no. 1 furina kinnie anon!!!

I'm not a Gojo fan either, yet somehow the skeleton grew on me..... T_T he must be those zombie fungus types because how am I falling for him on my own!!!! ( •̀ ᴖ •́ ) it's impossible!!! Surely my brain is infected,,,, I refuse to fall for Elton John/Gojo/Dazai/[insert other look-alike here] Skellington!!! OTL

And yet. AND YET!!!!! I can't escape him,,, he's genuinely so fine. T_T I actually have so many thoughts about him, but I feel like they may be rendered ooc once he's officially out and we get to learn more about his personality. >_< nevertheless,,,, I think loser virgin Skellington is a very yummy thought. Nothing but whimsy and wonder in his brain until he discovers sex/good hole and suddenly it's a life-changing experience. Or soft non-con with him...... he's just so eager to please you, to show you what it is you've been missing out on as a virgin just like him!!!

Or or or!!! Skellington being obsessed with your period,,, or any other function of the human body that he isn't already familiar with. Pushing breeding kink and pregnancy appreciation onto him...... methinks he is so fascinated with the idea of you being so soft and round with child or you bleeding from between your legs....... it's hard to stop him once he's got an idea in his head, so you have no choice but to lie back as he laps sloppily at your folds or creampies you for the nth time that night... the real nightmare before Christmas is how exhausted and sore you'll be come morning, meanwhile he is very refreshed and thriving, living his best life (death?). ✨

Or soulmate au with him!!! Skellington who only sees in black and white until he stumbles upon a new world that's full of colorful things and there he finds you, and you allow him to see in color. >:) he's never going to let you go after that. Not when there are so many fascinating things here! And you're the most wonderful of them all. <3

#twisted chit chat #no. 1 furina kinnie anon #n/sfw #tw: periods #tw: pregnancy #i hate him (i say as i giddily kick my legs back and forth while awaiting more canon crumbs of him)

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getlancered · 5 months ago

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welcome to my 1 million turnabout bigtop headcanons

russell berry:

actual personality description because in the game he just kind of dies. stoic, generally serious man. bit of a blank slate to talk to. secretly TERRIFIED of confrontation, will do just about anything he can to avoid every problem in his life. this is not to be confused with avoiding responsibility, because he is the bossiest motherfucker around besides maybe trilo. runs the circus with an iron fist. no problems to fix if you never let them happen in the first place!

AUTISM

british weirdo

actually pretty connected in the entertainment industry

when he’s not wearing a suit he usually wears sweaters

takes first impressions so so seriously

DEAD wife that hes still not over

her death is unrelated to the circus because i think he wouldve shut that down in one singular second if it was

the circus was a passion project of her and moe’s, but russell was the only one competent enough with money and people that he ended up basically running it. neither of them wanted to do the technicalities

he wont consider his sexuality because he only loves his dead wife

moe:

nickname comes from highschool and the shit he used to get into, fabricated an identity to some stranger after vandalizing their house and it just stuck

took “class clown” a little too seriously

used to be an actual stand up comedian but being a party clown is just wayyyy easier

manchild. very silly and not serious all the time. completely aware of it by the way and encourages whimsy in the world

most insufferable case of hyperactive ADHD in the world

cannot sit normally anywhere ever

has many little odd hobbies

owns a bunch of really stupid graphic/text tshirts that do not apply to him in the slightest

likes to carry around those little plastic toys with the metal ball and a maze that u tilt around to solve. also those little water games where u push the button to try and get the rings on the hook. do u guys know what im talking about

can and will juggle any 3 items he can get his hands on

clings to russell all the time. follows him around. absolutely hates being alone so russell is his solution

gay as fuck for russell berry. this is not a secret. at all.

helped russell out with regina quite a bit, esp after his wife died

fine at confrontation unless it is of his own emotional issues

max galactia’s #1 hater

regina berry:

AUTISM

british loser too but fakes a french accent because it’s cuter and more posh

very good at imitating accents!

absolutely not mentally 16. very ditzy and carefree and childish

is not at all prepared for genuine reality because she was raised and surrounded her entire life by the members of the circus

very athletic!

has personalities for each of her animals and talks to/treats them like people

her mom died when she was 6, this is where her belief of dead people being stars comes from because russell genuinely could not tell her the truth

also why she wasn’t that upset about her lion or bat

closest to acro in the circus and still considers them to be best friends despite acro genuinely despising her

automatically assumes everyone is her friend unless they do or say something that shows otherwise

moe calls her “tiger” because she got facepaint as a kid and kept it on for days while acting like a tiger

amazing gift-giver

crow girl. drawn to anything and everything sparkly

enjoys those really elaborate lego sets

ben/trilo:

ft my backstory headcanon for how he entered the circus because its never established

AUTISM

trilo is ben’s non-loser persona essentially

ben has had severe social anxiety since childhood

^ where the stutter comes from

met moe as a teenager at his little sisters birthday party, was genuinely curious about how he can just go up on a stage in such a ridiculous get-up. talk to people. be social. he did not get it

when russell started the circus, he wanted to join and gtfo from his house

probably the neglected child to his little sister i think

joined the circus shortly after regina was born and was kind of the de facto babysitter so he considers regina his actual little sister (LIKE A NORMAL PERSON.)

trilo was created for regina when she was born. ben was kind of like a babysitter to her and made up a gag with this puppet and slapstick comedy to keep baby regina entertained. the whole circus loved it and trilo stuck!

what was once a coping mechanism became a depedancy. the only people he can speak to without trilo are the circus members

because he and the circus treats trilo like a completely separate being for his act and for regina, he never worked up the nerve to talk to people. there was no practice there because trilo isn’t him

doesn’t absolutely despise max because max is essentially like if moe was less obnoxious. flamboyant and outgoing and actually helpful!

great impressionist

max galactica:

entered the entertainment industry as a teenager after being scouted in high-school

genuinely does not give two shits about what other people think about him because he knows theyre all wrong. self-centered asshole

BAAAD anger issues. frequently smashes plates over dinner arguments. raises his voice quickly

only person spared from his eternal rage is regina berry

not getting his way makes him like genuinely upset

loves to threaten to quit to make everyone do what he wants

probably some sort of personality disorder

in a beautiful world he goes to therapy

he does actually genuinely want them to all be better performers but he’s literally terrible at showing it LMAO

lover of really obnoxious and clearly fabricated reality TV

massive drama whore. gossiper like no other.

the worst cook you’ve ever met in your life

drag queen!

into loser men (benjamin woodman)

acro/ken:

AUTISM

would both kill and die for every single member of the circus

including regina. not the kind of person to ever hold such a deep grudge so this is a first for him and he has very mixed feelings about it all

he gets physical therapy and his life is better ♥️

very emotional but great at regulating his feelings and self reflection. also great poker face!

terrible at accepting anyones act of kindness no matter how big or small. feels like he always has to pay everything back

tends to hide himself away if he is genuinely upset enough to the point of not being able to hide it

extremely observant person. in both behaviors and physical settings. always knows what to look for and what is out of place

very blunt but not. rude. just sort of speaks his thoughts and feelings. either honest about what he feels or dead silent

terrible liar

“will listen to anything” music kind of guy

actually quite prideful but like. in a healthy way.

tanktop wearer duh this we know but just generally a hater towards long sleeved shirts

decent artist! fun little hobby for him

#spade rambles #ace attorney #russell berry #moe curls #regina berry #benjamin woodman #max galactica #ken dingling #10 points to whoever can guess my fav character (hard edition)

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knizuu · 4 months ago

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Talk to me abt uhhh anything- Fang, Petey, OC, idc. ANYTHING U WANT💖💖

PLEASE IM GENUINELY INTERESTED IM NOT DOING THIS JUST CUS U LET ME- /gen

I get so nervous writing asks wtf

DUDE IM SO DUCKING HAPPY +omg same </33

COUGH well imma go in order lets go with the

FANG🫧….

SIGHH I LOVE HIM SM. tbh I see how people react to the recent idw miniseries which left the Hooligan fans really sour </33 to me, though, it wasn’t too bad?? I see how it works and honestly the only sad part to me is WHY DID HOOLIGANS BREAK UP AUH but im so used to “sonic canon ew” so like-I should’ve expected that sigh. So I can reason with how excited people headcannon/draw/make whatever of the guy it’s really cool since we all kinda agree? Like even with such a variety we all take the guy lovingly <33 which is sweet :> like its pretty chill-WHCIH IS FUNNY because Im actually really scared in small communities <- i made a post bout it once i-I EAT UP ANY FAN MADE FANG CONTENT FR i love all fangs really [so far] ^ ^ tbh even my school knows that-I did pottery of him, drawn him, spoke of him, my teacher saw a drawing of Fang I did and HE QUOTE: I was looking for that [SIR I GET IT IM PREDICATABLE/silly]

PETEY💠

Ok as much as heartfelt I feel about Fang-Petey is just some other freak of nature my family knows. I’m NOT EVEN JOKING-MY MOM SANG ABOUT HIM WHILE MAKING LUNCH/GEN GEN GEN-cough. Idk why but ever since my brother [the first dog man fan obviously] inserted dog man into my family [by 1. SHOWING MY FANART/BOOKS TO MUM 2. LETTING ME SING THE MUSICAL ALL DAY LON-/positive fs] its been insane/sILLY because-who expected everyone to say “Papa Petey” [i do NOT know how some typo made mo-ok my mom has a Petey problem/sILY AGAIN] in the car-at home…NOT ME THATS WHO. WHY IS PETEY SUCH A NORMAL THING IN MY HOUSEHOLD/positive sigh

OC🌸

OKK well they are ALMOST a wasteland but I have an original story to bring some ocs to life ^ ^ [including-sigh vague mention-the space dog lady and red haired lady ocs i have :3] ESSENTALLY: I’m calling it Brink of Bryony!! [Bryony is about a flower but in plot idk a city??] it’s just a human loser [red haired lady MAYBE] meeting alien folk [Cordella is there…i showed her ONCE] like my self insert hehe [Norolist] because OH NO beeg mister evil guy wants to take over Earth and this NICE alien people gonna protect it! That’s the entire thing, very unserious lmao. Pyrexavul is my precious <33 I don’t think I shared him?? I’ll share em all sometime hehe im too lazy LMAO. So yes yes I’ve been into making that story recently :> !!

ANYTHING🦐

OK SO my Luxury AU has been MANIFESTING MOI cuz i decided: why yes I WILL make a fic bout it!! Yknow just remaking the lore[cough this means me rewriting the first book of DogMan] and putting some stuff into one work ^ ^’ SO FAR I’m really getting into the vibes but what’s crazy is how I turned what I THOUGHT was oughta be a comedy-to a tragedy. No like I KNOW IM GONNA WRITE CUTE STUFF I WILL I JUST-….also might’ve included grief, addiction, ETC I dont even know how I got there 🙂‍↔️but it’s been fun! Especially since it makes me go down a nice study check with me lmao [I’ve been learning the medical field, laws, how media handles stuff, types of _, etc] hehe rubbing my hands together imma be so happy to write it all hehe and with that I’m learning about my characters a lot better! I thought of it more one noted because its a good start but now im actually learning more bout em :0 !! Love reworking stuff, redesigning, it’s been a huge part of me since idk when ^ ^’

COUGHHHH i think that all works out!! TYSM FOR ASKING I CANNOT EXPRESS THE WHIMSY I FEEL RN <33

#Knizuu yaps omg #Knizuu is well…knizuu #THIS #chatting idk :>#Chitter chatter #No fandom tags…this is just silly hehe #ask

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ubike-official · 2 months ago

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damn trespassing dude really does need to go back to therapy. Sounds like he's got a track record of sour friendships and relationships since high school that he never processed. He's basically the main character from colorless tsukuru tazaki but like 23 and not 34. Idk why i want to choose this little loser man and get to know him (besides he's cute and got a niche whimsy that I'm into ito) but I'm choosing him and making this work in whatever fucking way i can. It's soooo funny how much i reward ppl that don't give me the ick but should. Like idk he might think I'm this little happy go lucky, adopt all the strays ass, manic pixie dream girl but truth is i dont fuck w/ anyone I don't want to!!! my coworkers of 6 years did Not Know me bc I didn't want them to. i never bring food to the functions, I'm nice but not approachable. But like a select few that the universe aligned on will get me acting like 90% of the ppl who know me will never see me. like... i Need him to know

#why do men just not have friend groups until they get a gf who gives them one. this has happened to every man in our friend group...#and I'm abt to continue the cycle bc get in here !! tf!?

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neixins · 7 months ago

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yona of the dawn ofc :3

help i typed up whole paragraphs and then my browser crashed and none of it got saved 😭 i won’t be stopped though!

My rating (1-10): if it ends the way i think (hope) it will 10/10 no notes perfect historical fantasy shoujo series <3 if it doesn’t i hope we all explode

My favourite character: predictable answer but yona really is THEE protagonist of all time. she’s such a vibrant character even before she begins her journey and seeing her grow throughout the series is just so !!!! she cares so much and is ready to do anything to protect everyone and she’s clever and kind of insane but also silly and i love her so much!! also honorable mention to my special little guy gija <3 i adore his relentless optimism and how No Rational Thoughts Only Emotions And Actions he is 99% of the time. also he’s just so relatable To Me when he’s in poor little guy mode. i adore the entire hhb though, and so so so many of the side characters. they’re all just so well-written, it’s impossible not to love them

My least favourite character: probably chagol, mostly bc i keep seeing theories about how he’s not really dead and blah blah blah (in the famous words of kesha) and i’m sick of it. he’s a good villain and while i believe kusanagi could pull off his resurrection well if she so chose, as a meinyan fan, i LIKE that her abuser died so unceremoniously. let him rot, i say! even if he does get resurrected he’ll always be Just Some Gross Loser Guy to me

The character I think I'd be friends with: gija :) we’d get along so well on account of The Neuroses and The Only Child-isms

The character I think I won't hit off with: keishuk doesn’t seem like someone who’d appreciate my whimsy tbh

My favourite episode/scene: (don’t say gijaeha love potion shenanigans don’t say gijaeha love potion shenanigans) trying to pick One Scene in a 40+ volume series pains me so i’m gonna cheat and pick five (in no particular order) :3 (1) this scene from ch 163. all the hakyona scenes are so fucking good but this one’s just so so so sweet and i think about it all the time + it encapsulates so many elements of their relationship that i love, mainly how deeply they care about each other and help each other grow (where’s the post about austenian romance as a mechanism for self-actualization…), but also how goofy hak acts when he wants to cheer yona up

(2) yona getting the south kai envoys to admit to the shit they’ve been doing in kohka and then going “okie dokie now let’s get this meeting started shall we :)” she’s an icon and a legend <3 (3) gija in ch 252. absolutely devastating chapter and i need my guys back posthaste but OHHHH!!!!!!! i have so many thoughts about gija and monstrousness but i’m just gonna link to this post lest i go on too many tangents again…. (4) the hot springs chapter of course OF COURSE what kind of gijaeha enthusiast would i be if i didn’t bring that chapter up. it’s one of the most crucial chapters for the development of their relationship and it so perfectly captures how different yet similar they are + getting to see so much of jaeha’s thoughts on page really helps contextualize a lot of his actions in general (also i find his tendency to overanalyze and act on his assumptions instead of just. talking to the guy who’s been nothing if not remarkably earnest from day one lest he accidentally makes the situation worse to be both very endearing and very funny). (5) the “he’s stronger than i am” moment in ch 168. actually that whole battle scene Fucks Severely on so many levels but that!!!! line!!!!!! it makes me so crazy like. jaeha’s not just trying to stall for time, he genuinely thinks gija’s stronger than him (“from good morning to good night” bonus chapter) but like. looking at it purely physically they Are equals. but gija doesn’t hold back like jaeha does (ch 75, ch 170) and also it’s clear from the hot springs chapter that jaeha admires gija for not letting himself get shackled by his past (even though he’s Literally Being Haunted). also the moment right before that, when jaeha fucking. obliterates the bow of the soldier who tries to shoot gija (he’s doing SUCH a good job pretending that they’re enemies btw) is soooOOUGHHH like jaeha doesn’t get angry often but he’s FURIOUS in that moment and it’s so delicious (i think it’s the “let’s deliver him as a gift to lord kuelbo” part specifically that gets to him bc like gija can dodge one (1) arrow just fine without help but he risked the whole plan—) (getting vaudeville hooked off the stage) wait i lied :) (6) the blue forest mini arc is soooo good and so dear to me i HAVE to mention it!! it really showcases how caring sinha is + there’s also the lore drops about ghosts and the hakyona/gijaeha parallels, both of which make me wanna explode <3

Whose clothing style I like best: jaeha. the slutty little crop top wins by a landslide <3 i wish we got to see it more often (wistful sigh)

Times I watched it (and if I would again): once all the way through but i’ve reread parts of it many times for fic research and while theorizing. i definitely wanna reread it front to back though, all the parallels and foreshadowing make it so perfect for rereads

#there’s something wrong with me teehee <3 #thank u for giving me this wonderful opportunity to ramble 🥰#asks #akayona

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grodyego · 10 months ago

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happy 25th dude!!! i have some OC questions for you. 1) what is the relationship like between rakesh and vega? 2) who is iggy's favorite and least favorite out of emma's friends? who's fish's favorite and least favorite? 3) how would nemo fare in our wexico universe?

THANK YOUUUUU !!! 🥳🎉✨✨✨ THESE ARE ALL REALLY GOOD OMG IM STOKED TO ANSWER THEM !!!

LOVE THIS QUESTION MIGHT BE MY FAVORITE ON THE LIST !!!!!! ive thought about their dynamic a lot. man without literally just copy and pasting a huge chunk from the. actual word document breaking down everyone in the trio's (IVE GOTTA GET A FUCKING NAME FOR THIS GROUP/STORY) relationships to each other: rakesh and vega are extremely close friends. arguably the closest friend the other has ever had. they were brought into T.A.R.G.I.T. at the same time (vega was 17, rakesh was 24) and to say both were not doing great is a severe understatement. they have fully seen the other genuinely at their worst, at rock fucking bottom, and as you can probably imagine that made for quite the rocky start ! initially rakesh was just kind thrown at vega under the guise of being a "lab assistant" to make treating him as a guinea pig less conspicuous (Unsuccessful) and neither of them were happy with that arrangement. over time though they got to get to know and understand each other better, and share in a lot of. ups and downs so to speak besides, and as a result they care so deeply for each other they basically view the other like a sibling ! they would never say as much out loud though, for their own reasons, but the care and affection shared between them is still quite open and obvious

oh another fantastic question. iggy's favorite i think surprisingly would be xavier. hes lacking in the rest of the group's whimsy and she too has a bit of that herself but i think she would actually find his somewhat long-suffering nature endearing because (as somebody who had to take custody of a teenager when she wasnt expecting to) i think she'd recognize that it comes from a pretty genuine place of like, worrying for everybody's safety, like that protective streak. She Would Get It. least favorite would be kevin. honestly nothing even that personal, its just that hes a guy named kevin. fish's favorite... maybe victoria ! we make jokes about her being kind of a dork and a loser woman but thats also kind of the reason fish came to take such a liking to iggy, among other things. somebody's gotta be weird in the mundane ways in this apocalypse anyhow. and besides victoria has very a very niche interest/aera of expertise and fish just loves hearing people talk about those sorts of things/collecting extremely second-hand eclectic trivia. least favorite. actually infinitely harder. might also be kevin. hes kind of an acquired taste even if he has his moments. its not an active dislike or anything though

IVE TRIED TO THINK OF THIS BEFORE ! he would honestly kind of be both better off and worse, depending. honestly in his own regular canon reality breaking and exposing him to horrible things he can't make much sense of is just another tuesday for him, but he would find himself way more distressed to be out of a job and without a way to get or store his frozen tv dinners. i think he would wander the vast landscapes of wexico aimlessly hoping at some point to encounter the world's lasting functioning computer-monitor combo, not even knowing what he would do if he did, just kind deciding he'll go from there, and then just kind of incidentally encounter other people/phenomena. on the plus side for him with complete societal collapse he would start to be a bit less afraid about exploring his gender and sexuality so at least he'd have that going for him

#oc tag #original tag #rakesh #vega #nemo #wexico

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staticl0ve · 1 year ago

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Sixty x Fem!Reader (2.7k words)

Exile - Part One - The Middle of Purgatory (hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending) Heartbreak’s a natural part of life. Rally and move on. But it’s impossible to live and let go when that someone is always around. Sixty’s stuck with you in long meetings, elevator rides and work functions. He can’t let you go and it’s not like you can let him go either. So… how are you two going to resolve this?

The air smells like butter and salt intermingling with rich, sugary confections. It springs forth a nostalgia for simpler times with red tickets crushed between sticky fingers. Multicolored lights flash above boardwalk game booths, drawing in crowds as the sun begins to dip behind striped tents. Employees sporting bright pink polos wave guests forward to spend their coin on games where the rules are simple and the odds stacked.

A crowd begins to form around one of the more entertaining delights at the boardwalk. It’s none other than the dunk tank where a large, frowning man sits above a tank of water. His eyes stare down any who approach, cigarette stained teeth widening in an arrogant grin. All night, he goads and taunts curious observers.

“You there! You look like you could knock the Great Armando off his seat.”

Sometimes he got a little mean.

“Hah! No arm that thin could throw a ball. Let’s see if you can even hold it!”

And sometimes, Armando was wrong and a loud splash of water would precede the sounds of excited laughter and applause. Despite the charm and whimsy of the setting, there is one man immune to it all.

Caiden moves with a slight sway and a belly full of champagne. The neon signs appear doubled in his vision and as he tumbles past park goers, dodges running children, he finds himself grinding his teeth in an effort to suppress a wave of nausea.

“Fuck,” he groans, wincing as an ache stirs in his chest. There’s a stinging, cloying pain that’s spreading around the back of his eyes, a blend of rage and something else he’s too proud to admit. He knows he’s looking a little pitiful. Wine stains his black suit, matte patches blotting out the otherwise shiny quality of the material. Around his neck is a black tie, barely hanging on and loosening further with every step. He’s only half sure his white shirt remains tucked into his pants and he counts his lucky stars that it managed to remain immaculate after your outburst. And oh, he’s absolutely not above blaming his current disheveled state on you.

The night was still young. A large event hall was decked out in gold, white and black. Bundles of balloons and streamers hovered around marble pillars. A band was playing some upbeat tunes and drinks were flowing freely enough that despite the affair being a white tie event, people were getting a bit loose and rowdy.

He was having a grand fucking time at the work party until he stumbled into you. You and your ugly mug of a boyfriend. Caiden hated him on the spot. The guy looked like beach weather and summer, sun kissed skin, short wavy, light brown locks and a suit that fit snug around toned muscles. He was taller than him and while Caiden was very secure about himself, a pit began forming in his stomach.

Questions formed against his will, clouding his enjoyment of the evening. Things like, what does this asshole have that I don’t? When’d you meet? How long has this been going on? Was this loser just a rebound? Because he better be. And when you laughed too enthusiastically at the unfunniest joke your boyfriend said, Caiden seethed. He knew what you sounded like when you really enjoyed a joke, hisjokes. He knew your tells, they way your eyes crinkled a little further, mouth open in hysterical laughter. How could you enjoy the company of this second rate, fucking, understudy?

How did he let this happen?

Fuck it. It didn’t matter, he had a cute girl hanging around his waist all night, pretty lips murmuring promises of filth as soon as the party ended. He’d been seeing her for a while, too, and basked a little too long in your pain when she shook your hand in passing. Still, the remains of what you and Caiden had bubbled to the surface and came crashing when the alcohol was rich in both of your systems.

“Where’d you find this guy? At the secondhand store?” he asked, waiting for a laugh which you did not give.

He cornered you by a quiet spot behind a pillar next to a table full of abandoned glasses and judging by your widened eyes, you weren’t expecting him. The reason may have something to do with how neither of you’ve spoken since the night your… unlabeled fling ended.

“Caiden,” you warned, tone firm as your hand clutched a half full wine glass. He caught your eyes drifting to the party, on the girl he brought, who was patiently waiting for his return. Your shoulders tensed and you answered, “What do you want?”

“What?” he teased with a slight drawl, tongue slow from a buzz. His palms rose up defensively. “I just wanted to learn more about your date.”

“Have you tried not snubbing him?”

Ah, yeah. Caiden was pretty sure your dumbo guy introduced himself around the drinks table and in arrogant fashion, Caiden placed a glass between his lips and grinned before giving him the cold shoulder.

“Wasn’t much to say,” he replied, smirk growing. Fuck, he was a lot of drinks in and couldn’t stop his mouth from running. “He looked lost.”

“Right,” you replied sarcastically. You fidgeted, eyes glancing from one object to the next, a table, waitstaff as they passed by with hor dourves, anywhere but at his brown eyes. Seconds ticked by and any hope that Caiden would bore and walk away dwindled the longer he lingered. He hovered like he still had some claim over you, at least in this moment he was soaking up what he could of you up close. You felt his eyes rake down your neck and chest, to your folded arm and fingers tensed around glass. Unused to the quiet, you spoke while he examined you with a wry grin.

“How… how’s your date liking the party?” you awkwardly offered, feeling yourself wrap another arm around your waist.

“She’s having a blast.” He propped an elbow on a table, leaning casually while taking another step to keep your distances the same.

“Good.”

Laughter erupted in the distance, drawing your eye. Caiden, unwilling to lose your attention, reached out to you with a warm palm on your bare shoulder. It worked, as your head snapped instantly back to him. He doubled down on his questioning, this time with a sharper tone than before.

“No, really. I wanna know. How’d you two meet? It’s gotta be some meet cute story right?”

His bitterness was obvious and the narrowing of your eyes told him he struck the right nerve.

“We met at the park. He was playing basketball with some friends,” you answered, quick and to the point. You pivoted, shoulders following the twist of your hips, readying your exit. “Listen, I should—”

“What? Not even a little curious about me?”

You were, but Caiden’s ego didn’t need to know. You sighed, arms dropping while being mindful of the wine that sloshed in your hand. He didn’t wait for you to reply as he had been dying for an opportunity to let you know.

“The record store. Y’know the cute, little shop in downtown?” he offered.

How could you not? He told you all about his dad being a vinyl collector and how he inherited the same burning passion for music pressed into plastic. It was you who discovered the shop and dragged him there on a lunch break for his birthday. He was as excited as a kid on Christmas when you told him to pick anything he wanted as a gift. It shouldn’t have meant anything, but Caiden asked for you to choose and his reason was a wicked grin.

The search began and you both dug through decades of music. And you were lucky it was a slow day at the office since you long over stayed your lunch break browsing through yellowed album covers, humming to songs on a shared headset. You decided that if you both knew most of the songs, that it would be the album to take home. When you found it, he made an effort to give it a special place in his home. For a while, it was displayed on a stand beside his record table and he had played it often on your visits. Now though, you wondered if it was still there, or if he had relocated it to the bottom of a trash bin.

“Small world,” you politely added, careful to keep your features neutral.

Caiden’s eyes glinted with delightful joy, contrasting against his growing sneer. “Yeah, she uh… she was just hanging around there, right place, right time. And really, great taste.” His tongue roved across his lips in a motion too slow to be accidental. “Yada, yada, yada… and now she’s my girlfriend.”

His vague retelling was enough to draw up flashes of hypotheticals. It was easy to imagine them together in that dusty, old shop, standing side by side and singing tunes as you have. A sour taste flooded your tongue. His words had you yearning for a time and place that didn’t exist. Silence filled the long, drawn out gap in conversation and Caiden was unable to mask the flicker of regret when his eyes met your reddening ones.

“Well, your girlfriend seems nice,” you admitted.

You said it like the label meant something to him, like you believed it when he threw it out there. Your voice broke around the syllables, a mournful sound because labels were why you weren’t the one he brought to the party and he said it like it was second nature. The words, it’s not fair, was trapped between your lips and it hung in the air like he knew.

It wasn’t fair because you fell for the type of guy that was always moving, whether it was up a career ladder or from studio apartments to penthouse condos. Caiden stopped for nothing and no one. He wasn’t a sentimental person, not when things came easily to a man as handsome, quick witted and charming as he was. So it shouldn’t have surprised you it ended this way, because it was his fault you were both inches from each other and miles apart all at once. And it was always his fault, wasn’t it?

That’s how he felt when you looked at him, watery eyed and bottom lip quivering. Instead of feeling sorry, his cheeks burned, insides curling with a force that burst out his lips. He wanted to poke and prod at your pain to catch a glimpse of the you that couldn’t entirely let him go.

“Oh, she’s nice. When I let her be,” he agreed, licking his lips.

The hurt that flashed across your face was masked quickly with anger. Brows furrowed, you lifted your chin and scowled.

“You can be such an ass, you know that?”

Caiden leaned in, mouth brushing across your ear, breath warm. His cologne smothered you, a familiar and intoxicating scent that brought forth flashes of sweaty, freckled skin against your lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he said it condescendingly, chuckling to himself. “Does your date know how nice you’ve been for me, too?”

And that was how your half empty glass of wine magically emptied itself onto his suit. He watched you turn on your heels, get swept off your feet by a partner who soothed your frown with an arm around your waist. The other man threw a cold glance in his direction as he laid a soft kiss to the crown of your head. Caiden could read the outline of his lips asking if you were alright and you sunk deeper into his arms. It made the ugly knot in Caiden’s chest twist and grow.

The night was a mess, mostly thanks to him. Caiden cleaned up in a bathroom, wiped the wine from his face, called a cab for his girl and gave her a half assed excuse about an upset stomach. He needed to clear his head. On his way out, he washed down a glass of champagne and found himself walking with no real destination in mind. He had gone until he stumbled into an old memory, the amusement park by the boardwalk and the location of your first ‘date’.

At least, that’s how Caiden thinks he got here. The time he spends leaning against a light fixture watching others enjoy their evening helps sober him up marginally. Halos of colorful lights make his head throb and there’s a subtle blur to the edges of his vision despite standing dead still. He smells of wine and worse, he swears your perfume lingers on him even though he barely touched you.

A couple takes a spot in front of a ring toss game, their arms wrapping around each other as they take turns throwing. For every ring that made its target, they squeal with delight and cheer each other on. There’s a sickeningly sweet exchange of short, innocent kisses for the big scores and the longer Caiden watches, the more their silhouettes morph, sharpening until they look more like him…and you.

Plastic wraps around his hand. The weight of the ring is light but off balance, designed to mess with the player. There are rows and rows of glass bottles of different heights and Caiden can tell the painted lines on the backdrop are designed to warp the perspective. His left wrist flicks, forearm swiping quickly to his right. The ring swirls as it hits the furthest and highest bottle top, joining the stack from his previous tries.

You make a noise, it’s girlish and giddy and he can feel himself watching you closer than he ever has before. He takes in your broad smile and in place of pride, he feels the tendrils of a soft emotion wrap around him from your unguarded enthusiasm. His hands move on their own accord, leaving the wood top of the booth to stroke the curve down your back.

“Impressed? Told you I could do it,” he boasts.

“How are you so good at this?” you reply, eyes wide in disbelief.

Your hip knocks into his and he returns with one of his own. His smile widens as he wraps one arm around the dip of your waist and lowers his face to yours. He holds up a sunflower yellow ring, the smallest of the set, but it’s blurry and out of focus as you’re more drawn to his face. Brown locks fall across his forehead. Soft pinks and yellows caress the sharp lines of his cheekbones and square jaw. His chest vibrates from a low chuckle. You can see his answer forming in his honey brown eyes and the wink which follows, promises trouble.

“Gonna need another good luck kiss, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes but oblige, leaning onto your tippy toes and Caiden takes that as a chance to pull you in for a deeper kiss. His lips curl against yours, tasting cotton candy on you and wraps his tongue around yours cause he can’t get enough. An ahem from an underpaid booth worker doesn’t slow his momentum. His hand wanders until it’s got a firm grip around the back of your neck and he’s clinging onto you, chasing every crumb he has left of you until all that’s left is a ghost.

Caiden feels a shiver as a breeze hits his damp coat and he’s pulled back to a harsh, nauseating reality where he’s now that guy who’s brooding presence causes parents to clutch their children tightly. Wrenching himself forward, he drags his feet across wooden boardwalks. Following the scent of the bay, he lets the wind take him to where the water is as dark as the night sky. Jubilant music fades, as do the sounds of bells and cheers. They drift off, along with your perfume which once clung to his skin. He stops when there’s nowhere left to go and parks himself on a bench beside a coin operated binocular.

His phone buzzes in his pant pocket. A reflection of their caller ID glows on his right wrist and the swelling in his chest is back because the name is all wrong. He lines his head with the horizon and takes in a long, slowly drawn inhale. Sitting as still as he can, Caiden mindlessly watches the tides rise and crash into the docks. Clouds roll and stretch across the atmosphere, covering a crescent moon. Stars twinkle back at him, like the skies are winking and laughing.

What a fool, they say.

Seconds tick by and he doesn��t let go of his breath until the buzzing stops. A breeze plays with his hair, tickles the back of his neck like a chaste kiss. It smells like the park, sweet and sticky cotton candy.

💙 Back to Exile Masterlist.

#my writing #exile #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reader insert #dbh sixty #rk800 60 #dbh sixty x reader #sixty x reader #rk800 60 x reader #dbh sixty x you #dbh x reader

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