#jameson is ONE HELL OF A SHOT

[hearthown]

Jameson - One Hell of A Shot

[requested by @aria-1105] - the ff begins during the time Jamie skipped school to find the next clue in the game (TIG) and before finding the clue on the Winchester rifle (it's kinda like an AU).

The Black Wood.

Jameson inhaled the scent of the forest - the fresh air, the wood, the metal tang of the grass. He knew that he should’ve been searching for clues, clues from the latest game his grandfather had left them.

He didn’t know why he had ended up here, out of all places. Ground targets surrounded him, half of them punched with holes, the other half brand new. He couldn’t remember when he last stood here, rifle in hand. Maybe he didn’t want to remember.

Then, his gaze moved to the many trees that surrounded the clearing. He had always known that trees were a representation of knowledge. Of memories. And it was memories that he was seeing in front of his eyes now.

——————————————————————

[Okay, let’s pretend that TTH taught Grayson and Jameson shooting on Jameson’s 12th birthday, as one of his “schemes” to get them to compete]

Jameson's 12th Birthday

“Alright, boys,” Tobias Hawthorne began. “The first thing you need to know about shooting is that you always treat a rifle as if it is loaded, even if it isn’t.”

Jameson watched as his grandfather started loading his own rifle. It was his 12th birthday and he had expected this. Well, not the fact that he’d have to learn shooting on the morning of his birthday, but the fact that Tobias Hawthorne loved making him and Grayson compete. On one day every year, he and Grayson were the same age, and his grandfather pulled out all the stops. Last year, they had to fight each other using the martial arts skills they had cultivated. Grayson had won. Today, Jameson was determined not to let history repeat itself.

He was determined to WIN. Just like any other Hawthorne, he loved to win. But today, he had to be better. He had to beat Grayson. And he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

As his grandfather took up position and showed them the different stances that would affect the accuracy of their shots, Jameson had eyes for nothing else in the world. He was always known to have laser focus. Once his attention was latched on to you, it would take a lot for it to be snatched away.

“You lose focus, you lose the game.” His grandfather’s words echoed in his head.

Tobias Hawthorne continued his lesson, now moving on to aiming techniques. “Make sure that you have proper sight alignment. A good shooter must not only have a good arm, but he must also be able to use his eyes.”

Jameson wiped sweat off his brow. If Grayson thought he had a chance of winning today, he was wrong.

BAM! His thoughts were cut off by an ear-splitting sound.

He looked at the target and… BULLSEYE. His grandfather had made the perfect shot. Tobias Hawthorne was as Hawthorne as the rest of them. Jameson might even go on to say that he was THE Hawthorne. Hawthorne values had been made by him. His lessons were ingrained in their minds, his blood their blood. It was no shock that everything he did was perfect.

Before he knew it, his grandfather had walked them through the whole process again, several times, one-on-one. It was time to compete.

Five ground targets were prepared. In order to win, they had to get the most number of bullseyes. As always, their grandfather expected perfection. Nothing less, but there was always room for more.

Grayson was up first. Every inch the heir apparent, he got into his shooting stance, his rifle raised to eye level. His first three targets were all bullseyes. Jameson clenched his hands into fists. On the fourth one, Grayson fumbled, and the shot went a little way off. He watched as Grayson noticed his mistake, as his muscles tensed. He must’ve pulled himself together before shooting the final time because that was a bullseye too.

“Now your turn, Jameson,” his grandfather patted him on the shoulder. Tobias Hawthorne might as well have been asking him to have his turn at the merry-go-round at the funfair. Hawthornes didn’t go to funfairs for leisure or fun. This was fun at Hawthorne House.

Jameson positioned himself in front of the first target and tightened his grip on the rifle. As he brought it up to his gaze, he noticed a word carved on the rifle’s stock. WINCHESTER. His middle name.

Electricity surged in Jameson’s body. This was meant for him, he knew it. He was going to prove to his grandfather that he could do this.

He closed his eyes, all of his five senses somehow sharpened. When he opened them, he fired his first shot.

BAM! Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye.

At the final target, he set his jaw. This was it. He lined up his shot one last time and… BULLSEYE.

He had done it. He had won.

He barely had time to process what had just happened when his grandfather appeared behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Very good, Jamie, very good.”

Jameson basked in the praise. Tobias Hawthorne was stingy with his compliments, to say the least. He didn’t exactly give them out like candy.

“I’ve never seen a shot like that before, especially one from a 12-year-old. You’re ahead of your time, Jamie. Keep this up and I’ll see to it that the rifle collection is passed on to you.”

Jameson’s eyes widened. He knew how much that rifle collection meant to his grandfather, how much time his grandfather had spent finding collector pieces all around the world.

“Happy Birthday, Jameson.” Tobias Hawthorne beamed.

Jameson grinned, and then turned back to find Grayson, offering him a rare smile although he knew that deep down, Grayson was disappointed of his loss.

——————————————————————

Present Day

“WINCHESTER.” Jameson repeated to himself. Within the next moment, he sprinted into the House and entered the armory.

He knew exactly where the next clue lied.

[absurdthirst]

Safe Haven {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 17.1k

Warnings: No Outbreak AU, domestic violence, spousal abuse, verbal/emotional abuse, Joel is a protector, oral sex, female receiving, fingering, vaginal sex, brief hair pulling, rough sex, aftercare, death, loss, kidnapping, threats of violence, feral Joel, threats of murder, happy endings. Reader is described as having hair that can be pulled.

Comments: Coming to Jackson had been a last resort, scared of your ex and running for your life. Meeting a cowboy in the bar your aunt owns will change the trajectory of your life, and his.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Joel groans as he steps out of his truck, the moon shining above and he adjusts his belt after he locks his vehicle. Making his way into the bar, he nods his head at the men who greet him. Locals in Jackson that he has known for years ever since he moved to the area to escape Texas. To escape the memories. He strides up to the bar and sits down on the stool, raising his hand to call over the bartender. He expects to see Jerry come over to give him his usual - beer and a shot of whiskey - but instead, a beautiful woman appears and Joel raises his eyebrows. "What can I get ya?" You ask him, wiping down the counter. "Yuengling...and shot of Jameson." He orders and you nod, walking along the bar to pour his drinks. His eyes dip down to your ass and he wonders where the hell you came from. This town is for rough ranchers, not pretty young things like you. "Here you go. Wanna open a tab or close out?" You ask and he snorts, "tab. Name is Miller. I have an ongoing tab." He says and you nod, having discovered that nearly everyone has an open tab. 

You add the drinks to his tab and sigh, leaning against the counter to look at the brooding man who saddled up to your bar. He's gorgeous. A rancher through and through with the hat on his head which he takes off to set down on the counter after taking a sip of his drink. He's the kind of man you'd be flirting with if you had any interest in that. You don't. That's why you moved to Jackson, to get away from men. Well, one man. Your husband. "So, you're new in town?" Joel asks when you refill his beer. "Yeah. Arrived yesterday." You reveal and he hums, "well, welcome to the most boring place in the USA." He snorts and you wince, remembering the fact that your husband called Jackson the exact same thing.

Joel notices the joke falls flat and he taps the bar, looking around the place. It’s pretty quiet for a Friday night, but the night is still young. You wipe down the counters and Joel tosses back the shot, setting the glass down on the counter. “Another?” You ask and he smirks slightly. “Hell, why not?” He shrugs, picking up his beer. “Nowhere else to be tonight.”

You nod, making your way over to the bottles to pour him another whiskey. After you set it down, he says, “you want a drink? I’ll buy you one.” He says and you shake your head, crossing your arms, “no thanks. I don’t drink while I’m working. My aunt owns the place and I don’t think she’d want me drinking on the job.” You reveal and Joel says your aunt’s name, “you’re her niece? She mentioned you’d be coming into town.” He hums and you hate the fact that those dark brown eyes of his are hard to look away from. “Yeah. I, uh, it was last minute. I needed to escape and she helped me.” You confess and Joel tilts his head, “from what? A boring 9-5?” He chuckles and you shake your head, “from my husband.”

Joel’s brow knits, instantly wondering what could have occurred and he stares at you for a moment before he nods. “Understood.” He grunts, taking another sip of his beer and glancing around the room, noticing a few of the other ranch’s hands are here, including his own. “You have a problem, you tell any of the boys from the Triple M to give you a hand.” He tells you, looking back at you. “You have a problem with them, you let me know. I’ll handle them.”

You nod, offering him a slight smile, “thanks.” You get called over to another patron but your eyes drift back over to Joel. He’s handsome. In a slightly depressed way. That’s probably why you can’t stop looking over at him. He’s damaged goods…like you. “Another round?” You ask Joel, someone now sitting next to him. “Yeah. And what do you want, asshole?” He asks the younger man who scoffs, “don’t be mean in front of the pretty lady.” He nudges Joel. You bite your lip at the compliment but you know it would sound better coming from the older man’s lips.

“Where’s your wife?” He looks around, not seeing Maria. His younger brother grins the sappy smile of a man in love, “she’s in the bathroom. Has to pee every time she gets out of the truck.” Joel snorts, although he’s slightly jealous. You walk back over and he jerks his head to the side. “Beer and a shot for this jerk and a ginger ale for his wife, pretty lady.” He smirks slightly, aware of the interest in your eyes and he wouldn’t mind peeling you out of those jeans.

You work fast to get their drinks, setting them down just as the woman you assume is Maria comes to the bar and sits down. “This baby is bouncing on my damn bladder.” She huffs, picking up the ginger ale you set down for her. “Not long now, baby.” Tommy says, leaning in to kiss her cheek and your stomach twists at the obvious love in his eyes for his wife. You set Joel’s beer down, “here you go, handsome.” You flirt back slightly, wanting him to know you find him attractive. You tell yourself it’s to get a bigger tip.

Tommy’s brow wings up, surprised that his brother is flirting with someone but it’s good to see him get back on the horse. “Well, fuck me, tonight’s gonna be a good night!” He slaps the bar top with a grin, making Joel roll his eyes. “Pay attention to your wife.” He grunts, sending you a wink. “Lady’s interested in me.”

Joel’s wink makes your cheeks heat up and you chuckle at the way Tommy rolls his eyes at his brother before he turns to nuzzle his nose against his wife’s cheek. Another customer calls you over and you walk down the bar passing Jerry who is serving someone else. “She’s pretty.” Maria hums, caressing her bump, “you should ask her out.”

“She’s flirtin’ to get a better tip.” Joel dismisses the idea, although he wouldn’t mind taking you out. It’s been a long time since he’s wanted someone. Hell, it was almost surprising that his cock twitches and he’s half hard. “If she wants to go out, she can let me know. I drink here, and I don’t want her aunt poisoning my whiskey.”

You watch Joel from the corner of your eye. It’s wrong to feel attracted to him. You came here to escape, not to get with a local rancher. You need to focus on yourself, not on a handsome man. You find it hard to trust anyone. Your aunt gave you a safe haven from your husband and you need to keep it that way. 

**** 

“You’re a fucking useless slut!” Your husband, Josh, yells at you, throwing the dinner you cooked him across the room. You hadn’t made the meatloaf he didn’t tell you he wanted. Apparently he expected you to be a mind reader and he’s not happy to have fettuccine Alfredo instead. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You didn’t -” You cut yourself off. 

“I didn’t tell you? You should fucking know. You know what I like to eat! Why did I marry you? I could’ve had Shelly from work. At least she sucks cock. Every guy gets a blowjob from her but no, I got stuck with you. You don’t give me shit. I got a useless cunt. All because you got pregnant.” He hisses and you shake your head, tears stinging in your eyes. You lost the baby at five months. It was traumatic for you and your husband seemed to be relieved but didn’t divorce you. You’ve been married for three years. The first year he was perfect. He took you out for dinner, treated you well. After you lost the baby, he changed. You should’ve left him when you lost the baby but you were so distraught and your only family is your aunt. You lost your parents when you were in college to a car accident. You had no one to lean on except Josh. 

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t - I can make you meatloaf.” You choke out and he scoffs, “too fucking late. I’m gonna go to the bar, get some wings. Clean up this goddamn mess.” He points at the dishes he threw on the floor and you nod, your throat closing as your hands shake. He slams the door behind him and you start to sob, sinking down to the floor. You need to get out of here. 

**** 

“Woah, watch you’re doing lady!” One of the ranch hands snaps his fingers in front of your face and you come back to yourself, gasping when you realize the beer you’re pouring hasn’t stopped because you are pulling down on the tap. “Shit.” You hiss, lifting the lever and setting the beer down. “I’m - I’m so sorry.” You choke, reaching for the rags to clean it up. Jerry comes over, his eyes widening at the mess on the floor and he shakes his head, “clean up this goddamn mess.” He hisses, clearly frustrated with you and you gasp, hands shaking as you fumble with the rags. “I- I-” You struggle to breathe, taken back to that night with Josh.

“Jerry, chill the fuck out.” Joel growls, seeing that you are as spooked as an unbroken foal and he immediately senses that you need a moment. He pushes away from the bar and walks over to the mess and takes the rags from you. “Go take a piss or wash your face.” He tells you quietly before looking back at Jerry. “It’s just some fucking beer and it’s not like this place is the goddamn Ritz.” He huffs, folding the rag and wiping up the beer himself as you edge away. Joel’s dark eyes find you watching warily, as if unsure if you should and he nods. “Go on, girl.” He tells you again.

Your hands are shaking as you make your way to the bathroom and you inhale deeply as you push the door open, rushing over to the sink and tears sting in your eyes as you try to control yourself. You are shaking and you’re taken right back to Josh. How he would say you’re a useless whore. You splash water on your face, trying to calm your racing heart. After ten minutes, you gather the strength to go back outside to finish your shift. The beer has been cleaned up and you decide to get Joel a round on you.

Joel watches as you set another beer down in front of him. Tommy and Maria are on the dance floor, holding each other close while the other couples zip around them. “You good?” He asks, watching you close and not liking that you were obviously crying at one point.

“I’m good.” You nod, “this one is on me.” You tell him, wiping your hands on your jeans. “Sorry about that. I- I freaked out and I shouldn’t have.” You confess, “I embarrassed myself.” You shake your head, “all because of pulling a beer.”

“More like a trauma response to some shit from your past.” Joel comments, watching you for a moment before he picks his beer up with a small nod of appreciation. His knuckles are scarred from his own trauma responses, so he knows what you are going through. “Best thing to do is to focus on something good. And talk to someone…..if you’re into that kind of shit.” He doesn’t feel comfortable expressing himself to a lot of people, but he doesn’t look down on those who do.

You stare at him, shocked that he’s read you like a book, and you nod after a few seconds. “I- I’ll try to do that. Thank you. It’s - it’s complicated.” You sigh and lean back against the counter. “I don’t really like talking.”

"Then don't talk." Joel shrugs slightly, knowing that he's the same way. "Better options are to either fuck through your feeling or raise hell." He takes a sip of his beer and eyes you. "Both of them have their merits."

You snort, “sex sounds pretty damn good actually.” You lean against the counter, “I’m not a raise hell kind of girl. More of a book and a coffee kind of girl.” You admit, “what’s your preference?”

Joel’s eyebrow ticks up and he wonders if you are feeling him out. “Fuckin’ wasn’t always an option.” He tosses out casually. “Sometimes you just gotta beat the shit out of someone’s face if you can’t make a woman scream in pleasure.” He shrugs, eyes meeting yours. “But I’d rather fuck, any day of the week.”

You inhale sharply at his words, your stomach twisting with arousal. Josh wouldn’t have sex with you since that night you fucked up his dinner. Deep down, you knew he was fucking someone else and you didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t coming to you for sex. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched with desire and the look in Joel’s eyes tells you he’s capable of making you feel things you’ve never felt before. “Me too. I’m not a fighter.” You confess, snorting at your own joke. You couldn’t fight against your husband when he would scream at you. “I’m guessing the options around here aren’t too plentiful for you. Seems like more ranch hands than anyone else.”

“Nah.” Joel huffs out a smirk. “And they ain’t exactly my type.” His eyes slide up and down your body and he knows you are interested. “Been a long time since I’ve had a pretty little thing like you.” He admits, ignoring the pang of loss from Tess. It’s been a few years and she’s gone.

You bite your lip, stomach twisting with lust at the dark look in his chocolate eyes. His hair is streaked with salt and pepper and his hands are calloused. He looks capable. Like he'd protect you with his entire being or he has the capacity to destroy you. You're not sure if you want to take the risk after escaping from Josh. "Been a long time since a handsome man took any interest in me." You confess, "damaged goods." You shrug, "but you seem to understand that. I'm new here...any tips on places to go, things to do?"

Joel sets his beer down and shrugs, leaning forward. “Ain’t too much to do around here.” He admits, licking his lips before he decides to proposition you. “Best thing is to watch the sun come up off the northern part of my land.” He tells you. “Might have to come stay the night to get there on time.”

“There’s a campfire breakfast option or a regular option with a thermos of coffee to take on horseback.” Joel nods. “Either one. I prefer to sleep under the stars when I get a chance, but you might prefer indoor plumbing.

You chuckle, “I am partial to a toilet but a night under the stars sounds perfect. Exactly what I need after all the shit I’ve gone through.” You confess. “You want another drink? Water?” You ask, “or coffee? Jerry has a pot going in the back.”

“Coffee.” Joel decides, finishing his beer and pushing the glass towards you. “Black. I’m a simple kind of man.”

You nod, taking the glass, and you head into the kitchen to grab him a cup of coffee. You bring it back to him and look over at his brother and his wife. “She’s due soon.” You jerk your chin over to the couple and Joel nods, “yeah. They got all the baby shit ready to go. I had to make up the crib. Good thing I used to be a contractor.” He snorts and you chuckle, “you’re gonna be a good uncle. I can tell. You got kids?” You ask, tilting your head.

Joel frowns, looking down into his coffee. “Got a foster kid.” He tells you, his heart aching when he remembers Sarah and how he had held her in his arms as she took her last breaths. “Pain in my ass.”

You snort, “she’s a teenager?” You assume from the look on his face but his eyes soften when he mentions her. “Well, I don’t work tomorrow night. My aunt wanted me to settle in after a rough first shift so if you’re free…maybe you could show me around town?”

“What time do you get off tonight?” Joel asks, weighing the work that needs to be done with the chance to just blow off some steam.

You look at your watch, “in an hour. Jerry said he’d close out my first night. Let me settle in with the locals first.” You reveal, “so…if you’re free…” You trail off, leaning against the countertop.

“Passenger seat in my truck is empty.” He points out, glancing back at Tommy and Maria, still dancing. “We can split the difference.” He decides. “Indoor sex tonight and outdoor sex tomorrow.” He smirks and winks. “See if you can ride a horse after I ride you all night.”

Your eyes widen and you inhale sharply, liking the cocky look on his face. You’ve been through hell and you want to have fun. You deserve to have fun. “Sure thing, cowboy. You ready? I can settle your tab and tell Jerry that I’m leaving.” You know you should play coy but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to like being messed around with. He nods, shifting to pull his wallet out of his jeans and he hands you enough bills to cover his tab and his family. “Thanks.” You say, heading over to the cash register. “Keep the change.” He orders when you come back over and you sigh, knowing it’s best to not argue. “I’ll go get my jacket if you still want me to come home with you?”

“I’ll wait.” He’s not the type of man to have you come out of the bar and search for him. Groaning slightly as he stands, he motions. “Go get your shit, I’ll say bye to my brother and hands that are here.” He tells you, turning to head towards the group of Triple M hands playing pool in the back corner.

You walk over to Jerry, telling him you're leaving, and his eyes dart over to Joel, a frown on his face. "I hope you know what you're doing." He clicks his tongue and you nod, "I'm having fun." He snorts, "go. I'll lock up." He orders and you rush into the back room to grab your jacket and your purse, coming out the front to find Joel waiting for you, his hands in his pockets. Your heart thumps in your chest at what you're doing. Both with nerves and excitement. It's been a long time since you felt this way.

​​He shouldn’t do this. You’ve got trouble written all over you. But it seems like Joel finds nothing but trouble and he’s always been a sucker for a nice ass. “Ready?” He pulls his hand out of his pocket and touches the small of your back as he guides you out of the bar and over to a large 4x4 dually with the Triple M logo on the side. He walks you to the passenger door and opens it for you. “If you’re gonna fuck the shit out of a woman, you can open the door for her.” He grunts when you look at him in surprise.

You are surprised by his actions and his words. “I just - I’m not used to having the door opened for me.” You confess and he shakes his head, “then you’ve been with mannerless assholes.” He scoffs and you chuckle, “that we can agree on.” You get up into the truck and it smells like him. He rounds the front after shutting your door and you inhale sharply, trying to calm your racing heart. “I just realized…I never got your name.” You frown, looking at him after he settles in the driver's seat.

Sliding the key into the ignition, Joel chuckles as he introduces himself. “Joel Miller.” He tells you quietly. “Rancher.” He wonders if you are second guessing yourself. “Own the Triple M spread. My brother Tommy and his wife own the next ranch over. Called it Fresh Start Ranch.” He snorts. “They rehabilitate horses and people.” He tells you. “Gives minors and first time offenders job skills.”

You nod, saying his name. It suits him. “Enough people know you to know that I’m safe.” You declare and he nods, “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He promises and you smile, telling him your name, “currently on the run from my crazy husband who tried to kill me. I own nothing. Don’t have a dollar. He took control of our joint account and I can’t use it otherwise he will find me.” You confess, revealing your reason for being here.

“Cash is king.” Joel nods, not liking the bastard from what little you’ve told him. “You can always open an account in our local bank.” He tells you. “They don’t ask too many questions. A lot of the hands open accounts.”

"Probably best to stick with cash. I - I barely made it out of there with my life. I can't - I can't risk him finding me." You confess, hands shaking slightly as you lean back in your seat. You close your eyes, remembering the way he held the knife in his hand. "Hey. Hey. Look at me." Joel murmurs and you inhale deeply before you turn to look at him. "I can escort you home. I ain't - you don't seem ready for anything." He observes and you sigh, "it's - I don't want to be alone. Can we go to yours and talk? I want to tell you why I'm like this." You say, voice a little stronger.

He doesn’t need another headache. He doesn’t need another responsibility. He’s got plenty on his plate without your shit added on, but he can’t turn down the naked plea in your eyes. He sighs and nods. “Sure.” He pulls out of the parking lot, resigned to the fact that the sex he had been anticipating is now off the table. “How did your aunt end up in Jackson?” He asks conversationally.

“She was married to a rancher. He died when he was fifty. Heart attack from the stress. So she sold the ranch and bought the bar and the apartment above. She lived there for ten years then decided to move into a home when she got remarried. So, she’s been around town for a while. Doesn’t manage the bar as much and needs a set of hands. She called me to check on me the week before he - she said I was welcome to escape here. Just call her and the apartment and job is mine.” You tell him and he hums, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Did he physically abuse you?” Joel asks, wanting to know what kind of prick you were married to. “Or more emotional and verbal?” He knows that if it’s physical, if the bastard shows up here, no one will even acknowledge that you are here, if you are sitting right in front of them. Everyone protects their own here in Jackson. Joel would be even more brutal. He would just take him out on the ranch and bury him.

“He was emotional and verbal. Everything I did…it was never enough. He would throw things at him but never hit me. Until - until the day he found out I was leaving. He came home early from work. He wanted me to make him lunch and he found my bags in the hall. I was in the shower, about to get dressed and leave before he got home from work and he - he came into the bathroom with the knife. I only managed to escape because I sprayed him with hot water. Ran to the car naked and I- I drove off after grabbing one bag in the hallway. I sold the car the next day, bought another one so he couldn’t track me and drove here to escape.” You reveal, hands shaking at the memory of him pulling back the shower curtain, the knife in his hand.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel hisses, tightening his fist on the steering wheel as he drives. “What a fucking psycho. You don’t need to worry, people around here don’t like fuckers period, but definitely not ones who would threaten someone they are supposed to protect.” He reaches out and offers your leg a light squeeze before he lets go. Remembering you might be skittish.

You feel safe with him. His touch is reassuring and something you haven’t felt in so long. “I- I escaped but he’s looking for me. I know he is. He was yelling at me, telling me he couldn’t let me go. I couldn’t leave. He screamed that he’d kill me before I left.” You choke, “I barely made it but I did and I refuse - I need to start fresh.”

Joel nods, knowing all about fresh starts. “Jackson is a good place for it.” He tells you. “Lots of folks are here because they got something they want to forget. You’ll blend in in no time.” He chuckles. “Then you’ll have half the patrons ready to whoop his ass if he shows his face in town.”

You smile, “thank you.” You reach for his hand, squeezing gently. He seems so capable and you love it. The strength in his touch but you’re not scared of it. You look out of the window, watching the town pass by, and he pulls into an estate with “Triple M” above the sign. “I really want to see the sunrise.” You reveal and you look back at him as he drives down the rubble road to his place. “I really want to see you.” You decide, feeling safe with him after telling him why you're so skittish.

Joel chuckles and he tries to ignore the harsh reality of that lie. He’s let so many women in his life down. His wife, his daughter, his lover. He’s terrified that he might let Ellie down and now you have just thrown him for a loop like he’s breaking a new colt. “You’re seein’ me, ain’t ya?” He asks, flashing you a grin. It takes five minutes to get from the gate of the property to the main house and he nods towards it when it comes into view. “Whaddya think?”

You inhale sharply at the beautiful lodge. Its setting against the mountains that will be seen when the sun rises has you nodding, “it’s beautiful. I see why you like it so much.” You tell him, “you gonna show me the inside?”

“Don’t plan on making you wait in the truck.” He snorts, pulling up to the front yard and parking it. “Come on. I’ll show you around and you can see what you like best.”

You smile at him as he gets out after killing the engine and rounds the truck to open the door for you. You get out and follow him inside his place, admiring his shoulders and back as he unlocks the door to reveal the comfortable and warm lodge. “Oh it’s gorgeous. I love it.” You exhale in awe, stepping in to admire the manly yet homey decor.

“It’s home.” He grunts, moving over to the bar area of the living room. “Want a drink? Coffee? Whatever you want, we can make it happen.”

“You have any whiskey?” You ask, walking over to the photo frames on the table in the living room. There’s a few different women in the photos. From two young girls to two older women. You can't figure out who is who. You turn to watch Joel pour out two glasses of whiskey, walking over to hand it to you after he’s done. “So who’s who?” You ask, gesturing to the photos.

Joel sighs softly, aware that you would ask about it, although he hadn’t expected it to be tonight. “That’s Ellie and Tess.” He tells you, pointing at one picture with his drink hand before taking a sip. “Foster kid and my late- erm, lover.” He settles on that title for Tess.

Your eyes widen and he continues, “she died a few years ago. It - it was fucking dumb. She was trying to rescue a stray dog on the property and it bit her. She got fucking rabies and - and she died.” He shakes his head, unable to believe it even after all these years. The worst part? She didn’t know that he loved her. “I’m so sorry.” You choke, reaching up to touch his arm.

Joel shakes his head and sighs. "Not a goddamn thing I could do." He admits softly, unsure why he is talking to you about this. He never talks to anyone about losing Tess, not even Tommy dares to bring up her name. Ellie had just been placed with them and it had been a long time before he opened up to the girl at all.

Your heart aches for him, he’s lost so much. “I’m - there’s no words.” You murmur, knowing there’s nothing you can say to remotely make the loss tolerable. He has to heal on his own time. “She has your eyes.” You point to the other teenager and Joel smiles sadly, “my Sarah. She - she was killed when she was thirteen. I used to live in Texas. Austin. She went to go get my watch repaired for my birthday and - and she was shot.” He confesses, “I tried to get there as quick as I could and she - she died in my arms.” He finishes quietly and your eyes widen, glistening with tears from the pain in his voice. 

“Joel…I-” You don’t continue, you just spin around and wrap your arms around him.

Joel grunts, absorbing the impact of the hug. You had pushed into him hard, probably trying to reconcile all that he’s endured and he awkwardly wraps his arms around you. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the hug, he just doesn’t know how to really handle the softness anymore. “It’s - I’m existing. I’m still here.” He doesn’t mention that his sole reason now is for Ellie, but he rubs your back gently. “If I can make it, you can too, pretty girl.”

You look at him, that small patch in his beard that doesn’t seem to grow, and you lean in to kiss it. “You don’t- we don’t have to do anything.” He reminds you but you kiss his jaw again. “I want to. I want to feel. I want to feel wanted. Desired. Can you do that for me? Can you fuck me like there’s no tomorrow?” You ask, “because that’s what I need right now.”

Joel’s eyes flatten, darkening with desire. “I fuck rough.” He warns you, voice dipping down and taking on a raspy quality. “I’ll make you feel good, but I’ll also make you hurt.” He’s not talking about a slap or any kind of violence, he doesn’t get off on beating women while he fucks them. However, you would feel him tomorrow, every step you take and when you are riding a horse.

You whimper at the gruffness in his voice but it’s arousal. You know he won’t actually harm you. You nod, “I want that. Just- just make me feel something other than what I’ve been feeling.” You demand, wanting to take control of your emotions after such a turbulent escape.

“I can do that.” He promises, lifting his drink. “Finish your whiskey and I’ll make you forget your own name by the time I’m done riding you.” He growls, cock starting to harden again at the thought of laying you out on his bed.

You let go of him, stepping back to grab your glass and you down it, wincing at the sting of the alcohol but you like it. He watches you as he sips, doesn’t down it like you do, and your body tingles from his intense stare.

Joel knows Ellie is in town. It was the entire reason he had gone to the bar. She’s spending the night at Dina’s house and the main house is empty except for you and him. “Take your clothes off.” He orders, leaning back against the bar. “Ex-excuse me?” You huff, making him smirk at you as he continues to drink. “You heard me, girl. Strip.” His eyes drag up and down your form possessively. “I want to see every beautiful inch of your body before I touch you.”

You should say no but the look on his face has you obeying. You shrug off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor before you reach for the hem of your shirt. You lift it over your head and expose your bra. You hear his soft groan and it makes your pussy start to throb with need at the desire. You reach behind you to unclasp it and drag it down your arms, exposing your tits to his hungry gaze as he sips the alcohol. He doesn’t say a word, encouraging you to continue with his silence so you kick off your sneakers and unbutton your jeans, pushing them down your legs until you’re left in your panties and socks. “All of it.” He demands and you nod, lifting your feet to remove your socks then you hook your fingers in your panties, pushing them down your legs until you are standing bare before him.

“Fuck.” Joel growls, draining the rest of his whiskey and slapping the glass down onto the bar before he shoves off of it. His blood is hot, cock aching for you and he’s going to show you exactly what that little show has done for him. Stomping up to you, he grabs your ass and hauls you close, his lips demanding and harsh when they descend on yours.

He tastes like whiskey and something sweet that makes you moan into his mouth. His fingers dig into your flesh and you tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper locks, pressing yourself against him. His hard cock is pressing against your hip and you moan when his tongue pushes into your mouth. He takes what he wants without forgiveness and you love it. You love that he’s taking all the need to think away from you.

Joel is strong, he’s manhandled bull calves and horses, throwing hay and everything else that is needed on a ranch. Grabbing your thighs, he hoists you up into his arms, making you gasp into his mouth. Clinging to him as your legs wrap around his waist. Still kissing you, he starts to carry you towards his bedroom, eager to lay you down.

You gasp when he tosses you down on his bed. Simple comforter and two pillows, you shift back onto them to watch him as he works on unbuttoning his shirt. “I want to do it.” You huff, shifting onto your knees and reaching out to continue removing his clothes. When his shirt is unbuttoned, you push it down his shoulders and caress his chest, admiring the salt and pepper hair there.

Joel groans at the feel of your warm hands on his skin. He hadn’t been lying, it’s been a long time since he’s had someone touch him. Your fingers comb through his chest hair and he leans in to bite your bottom lip. “Open my pants, pretty girl.” He growls, cupping your ass again.

Your hands slide lower to play with the buckle of his belt, working fast to undo it, and you whip it out of the loops, making him chuckle. You toss the belt to the floor and work on unbuttoning his pants, reaching in to pull his hard cock out and you moan at the way your fingers barely touch when you squeeze him. “Holy shit.” You gasp, looking down at his girth.

Joel smirks, watching your eyes widen. “Second thoughts, pretty girl?” He rasps out. “Don’t think you could take me?”

You swallow harshly, "I- I am going to take every inch." Your stomach twists in anticipation. Josh had a small dick and you never complained when he first started fucking you but he was selfish. You wonder if Joel is selfish or not. You lean over to spit onto his length, twisting your wrist to start pumping his cock.

“Un uh.” He almost grabs your face, not wanting you to blow him, but he just grunts in approval when you pump his cock in your fist. “You’re going to cream on every inch.” He warns you, rocking his hips forward into your grip. “Now, tell me right now before we get started.” He huffs. “Anything I can’t do to you?”

You shake your head, "he never - thank God. He didn't abuse me like that. He stopped touching me. We didn't - not for eighteen months." You confess, "I think he was cheating on me." You continue pumping his cock, leaning in to kiss his neck.

Joel grunts. “Then your pussy’s been neglected for far too long.” He grabs your wrist to pull you off his cock, stepping back and kicking off his boots and shucking his jeans. Making sure to pull out his wallet for a condom.

You shift back onto the bed, laying down as you watch him throw his wallet onto his nightstand, his jeans and briefs discarded on the floor. "Fuck, you're so hot." You murmur, eyes drinking in the sight of the strong and capable man.

He chuckles, knowing that he is old and wearing down, but he can still put on a good show for you. Grabbing your ankle, he flips you onto your stomach and ignores your shriek of surprise before his hand comes down on your ass.

You gasp in surprise, your finger curling in the sheets and you moan when he smacks your ass again. "Again." You plead, wanting him to consume you, to make you forget all of the shit you've endured recently.

“That’s a good girl.” He slaps your ass again, a bit harder this time, tempering the slap with a quick rub of the skin with the palm of his hand. Grabbing both globes and pulling them apart to look. “Stared at this ass while you got my beer.” He grunts, leaning in and spitting on the puckered hole. “Knew it would be killer.”

Your eyes roll back in bliss at the way he's manhandling you. "Swayed my hips to make sure you were looking." You confess, "I wanted you to - to want me." You admit, "want you to fuck me hard. Make me forget my own name."

His hand slides through your folds to your clit. “Have to make sure you can take me first.” He hums. “Want you to be sore, not bleeding.”

You rest your cheek on his sheets, moaning when he rubs your clit. You’re already wet for him but his cock is too girthy for you to take him without his fingers stretching you out first. “So good. Joel, baby. Shit. Want your fingers inside of me.”

Joel smirks, pulling his hand away so you whine. He slaps your ass once more and flips you onto your back again. “Want to see your face when you cum.” He slides two thick fingers into your cunt while he dives into your folds with his mouth ravenously.

Your shriek echoes off of his walls as his fingers drive into you, making your back arch and your fingers tangle into his hair as he sucks on your clit like a hard candy. “Fuck.” You gasp, loving the way his thick fingers stretch you out.

Joel groans against your clit, curling his fingers up inside you and scissoring them apart. Wanting to stretch you out. His other hand has your hip in a bruising grip to keep you from bucking up. Sucking on your clit harshly.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” You cry out, back arching as you try to not buck up. His hand squeezes your hip and you moan his name as he laps at your clit, your fingers tugging on his hair and your other hand squeezes your tit.

His dark eyes watch you carefully, tongue flicking over your clit before he sucks on it again. Pulling back his hand in order to push another finger inside you. Wanting to make sure you are going to take him with ease.

You pant as he stretches you out on his thick digits. No one has taken this much care with you. Most men would’ve been trying to stick their dick in you by now. You moan his name again, toes curling when he works you higher and higher until you’re crying out. “Oh fuck!” You squeal, clamping down on his fingers as you fall apart around them.

Joel lightens the pressure of his tongue, but he keeps pumping his fingers into you. Curling them and pushing deeper. Rocketing you higher until his name comes out as a squeak and another rush of liquid splashes his wrist. Your cunt squeezes his fingers like a vice and he knows you are going to feel amazing around his cock. Chuckling, he starts to slow down, letting you ride out your pleasure with a nice languid pace until your body goes boneless. “Now you’re ready.” He hums.

You nod, eyes still closed as he withdraws his digits and you manage to open them to watch him kneel on the bed. He grabs the condom, opening it, and he rolls it down his cock with a hiss from how hard his cock is. He was leaking pre-cum into the sheets while he was working you open. “I’m still not sure that’s gonna fit.” You declare and he chuckles, “it’s gonna.” His face turns serious, “but if it hurts, you tell me and I pull out.” You nod and he shuffles closer, gathering your slick from your folds to coat his length. “You ready?” He asks and you inhale deeply, “yeah. Fuck me.”

Joel hovers over you, flashing you a smirk as he braces one hand on the bed. The other is wrapped around his cock as he guides it to your entrance. “Wrap your legs around me when I push inside you, pretty girl.” He grunts. “And hang on. This ride will last longer than you’re used to.” He promises, snapping his hips forward and burying his length inside you.

​​You do as he says, wrapping your legs around his waist as he pushes inside of you. “Oh my fucking God!” You cry out, tilting your head back as you take his girth inside of you. He’s stretching you out but the slight hint of pain is delicious. Your mouth falls open and your legs tighten around him while he works himself completely inside of you. “I really didn’t think you’d fit.” You confess, gasping from the intensity and you love it. You feel alive.

He chuckles, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. “Knew it would.” He grunts, twitching when your walls clench down around him. You seem to like the rough rasp of his voice. “Tight little pussy fits like a glove.” He groans. “Now let’s see how you cum on my cock.” He hisses as he pulls his hips back, prepared to slam back into you again.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his lips back to yours, and your tongue slides against his as he starts to move inside of you. He eagerly swallows your moans of pleasure and you tilt your hips up, trying to meet his rhythm. “Fuck. You feel so good.” You pant against his lips, “more. Want you to - to wreck me.” You order, wanting him to make you forget your own name.

He chuckles again at how greedy you are, but his hips snap forward just a little harder on the next thrust. “Gonna wreck you.” He promises, ducking down slightly and starting to bite on your jaw.

You tilt your head to give him more access, your thighs tightening around him as he starts to fuck you hard. "Shit baby. Keep - keep going." You plead, knowing your expectations are low because of your husband who would barely last a couple of minutes.

Joel plants his hands on the bed bedside your head and starts to pound into you. Knowing that his back will start to scream, but he’s not going to let up until you are the one screaming. Hammering into you with rough, quick thrusts before pulling back to do it again.

Your eyes widen when he hammers into you. A squeal escaping your lips and you choke out his name. He steals your breath from you and his cock pushes deep enough that it feels like he's in your stomach. "Ho-holy shit." You moan, your heels pushing into his ass as he grunts above you.

He doesn’t have the breath to chuckle. Just continuing to fuck you like there is no tomorrow. Grunting and hissing every time he buries himself deep and pulls back for another thrust. He curls his hands into fists and he changes the angle of his hips until the pubic hair above his cock rubs against your clit.

“Ohhh myyyyy fuck - fucking Godddd!” You squeal endlessly, breathlessly as he rams into you. He’s rubbing your clit with his pelvis and your eyes squeeze shut. Your breath hitches as your body starts to shake. You moan his name and he rocks into you over and over. “I’m gonna- you’re gonna - shit. Joel. Joel. Jo-” Your voice breaks as you fall apart, clamping down on his cock.

Joel growls, something deep and feral from his being as he rocks into you harder. Watching as your eyes squeeze closed and your back arches. Your cry fills his ears as you cum around him. As soon as your body tenses for the last wave of pleasure, Joel is rearing up, breaking the hold your legs have on him to pull out of you and flip you back over. Wanting to fuck you from behind.

You scramble onto your hands and knees. Your back is arching as you still shake from your previous orgasm. “Fuck baby. I need - fuck me.” You plead, wiggling your ass.

It’s almost amusing how desperate you are for his cock, but he doesn’t chuckle or slap your ass. Just notching his cock and pushing back inside you with a groan of your name as he holds onto your hips.

“Shit. Oh fuck!” You cry out, fingers grabbing at the sheets as he fills you again, stretching you out even more in this position. “Joel!” You gasp, falling forward onto your elbows.

“That’s right.” Now he slaps your flank. “Told you I’d ride you hard.” He grunts, setting a harsh pace as your cunt squelches around him. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight, petty girl.”

He practically straddles you, his knees by yours as he bends you over so he can sink even deeper inside of you. “Fuckkkk.” Your voice rattles as he hammers into you. Your eyes close as you struggle to breathe under his weight but you love it.

He presses his weight into you, aware that you love it from the way you moan. He can’t help but hold you tight, pressing closer and his teeth scrape over your shoulder as he surrounds you.

You let him overtake your senses, letting him use your body however he wants. You moan his name loudly as he rams into you over and over. His cock punching your guts and your cries come out soundless as he wrecks your pussy.

Joel loses himself in you. Forgetting everything but the sound your cunt makes and the way it squeezes him. Growling as he feels himself get closer, knowing that you need to cum again before he finishes.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he adjusts his hips and hits a spot inside of you that makes your body shake. “Yessss right thereeee.” You hiss and he focuses on that spot, pushing against it time and time again until finally pushes you over the edge. Your cry is soundless as you cum, soaking him and your thighs shake.

Joel’s hand finds your hair, tangling into it as he yanks your head back. “That’s iiiiiiittttt.” He growls. “So good. Gonna cum, pussy’s too good.” He praises, pulling your head back more so he can kiss along your throat as his thrusts stutter. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” He groans your name and pushes deep, spilling into the condom and burying his face against your neck, relaxing his hold on your hair.

You pant as he presses his cheek against your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin. You let him ride out his high, rocking back against him as he twitches inside of you. “Fuck. That was - " You can’t even finish the words and Joel smiles against your neck. “That’s - that’s what I needed.”

“Me too.” He groans, reaching back to hold the base of the condom as he pulls out of you. When he moves back, you kind of slither forward to lay on the pillows and he chuckles. “Now, pretty girl.” He groans slightly as he climbs off the bed. “Have you had anything to eat? Want some water? Or just a piss and some sleep?”

“Piss. Water. Food - if you have any - sleep. In that order.” You murmur, feeling boneless, “gonna take me a little to be able to move.” You admit, “you fucked my skeleton out of me.” You chuckle softly, enjoying the scent of him on the pillows.

He snorts as he pulls the condom off and ties it closed. Moving to the en-suite door, he shuffles inside and lifts the toilet seat. “Pisser’s in here.” He calls out as he pees. “When you can move. I’ll go make you some food and get you that water.” He flushes and comes back out, smirking as he walks over and presses his lips to yours. “Steak and eggs good?”

“Where have you been all my life?” You tease, groaning as you shift to sit up as he grabs his briefs from the floor. You watch him pull them on and he winks at you. You groan as you shuffle off of the bed, plucking his shirt from the floor before you practically waddle into his bathroom. It’s clean. No decor and only a few towels. Typical man. You pee and wash your hand, splashing your face while Joel heads downstairs.

He’s got the steaks cooking on the grill pan, over the gas flame and he pokes it with his finger before he moves to the fridge to get the eggs out. He practically lives off steak and eggs, the simple, yet delicious meal one that Ellie loves as well. He hears you start to move around upstairs and chuckles to himself as he pours you a glass of water.

You make your way downstairs on shaky legs, finding the kitchen and you swallow when you see Joel's back muscles moving as he cooks. "A girl could get used to this." You tease, walking over to press a kiss to his back, "thank you for taking such good care of me."

Joel snorts, turning around and grabbing your ass as you walk by. “Sit down before you fall down.” He smirks with pride, he nods towards a chair at the bar with a glass of water sitting in front of it. “Steak’s almost done. You like your eggs scrambled or fried?”

"Fried. Over easy." You tell him as you sit down on the chair, wincing slightly, and you pick up the water to take a sip. You should be recoiling from a man but Joel makes you feel safe. After what happened at the bar, you know he understands you and knows how to handle you. You watch him crack the eggs, "you cook a lot?"

“Have to if I want to eat.” Joel snorts, looking over his shoulder at you. “We had a housekeeper, a while back, but she got married to the Rawlings boy a couple of ranches over and is expecting a little one.” He explains as he slides the eggs around the pan. “Ellie burns water, so if we’re gonna eat, I’ve got to cook.”

You chuckle, “sounds like you know what you’re doing.” You down most of the water and watch as he serves up the eggs. You moan when he sets the plate down in front of you before he sits beside you. “Thank you.” You murmur, reaching for his hand to squeeze it before he picks up his fork.

“Think I should be saying that to you.” He hums, nodding to the food. “Now that we’ve pissed and had water, we are on to the food portion of Joel’s after fucking care.” He jokes. “Eat up.”

You giggle, picking up your knife and fork. You dig in and groan at the taste of the steak and perfectly cooked eggs. “Fuck, you are the whole package. Good lay. Good cook. Just need to see if you can kill a spider.” You nudge him playfully and he chuckles, “I even put the seat down.” You smile and he continues eating. You’re quiet but it’s comfortable, something you’re not used to. You used to be on edge when Josh was quiet, wondering when he’d say something bad.

You finish your water and Joel doesn’t say a word. Just getting up with a slight groan and going to refill it. You are happily digging into the food and he wonders if you had a chance to eat at all while you were at work. He brings it back over and nods when you thank him. Finishing up his own food quickly and moving to load the dishwasher with the dirty plates while you eat the last bites of your food.

“I can do that. You don’t have to do that. You cooked. Let me -” You scramble to grab your plate, rushing over to the dishwasher. “Go sit down. I can - let me do it.” You plead, reminded of the way Josh would demand you load the dishwasher before he finished eating. He didn’t want to finish his meal with a dirty kitchen so you’d have to get up to clean it before he finished his food. If you weren’t fast enough, he’d throw his plate at you. He never hit you but you’d be hit with shards of ceramic from it smashing. He would call you a lazy whore and you’d have to clean up the smashed dishes.

Joel frowns at the panicked tone to your voice and he takes the plate from you gently. “Don’t worry about this.” He grumbles. “Just gonna throw it in. The kid can unload it tomorrow.” His brows scrunch when you freeze in confusion. “You’re my guest, pretty girl. Only thing you need to do for me is hop your sweet ass back in my bed to sleep.” He cocks an eyebrow up. “Unless you’ve decided you want to go home?”

You shake your head, hands shaking slightly, “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t - he used to make me - I had to clean up before he finished eating. He liked a clean house and I- shit. I’m so sorry.” You shake your head, knowing how ridiculous it sounds. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Joel closes the dishwasher and turns around to face you, leaning back against the counter. “You’ve got shit in your past that affects you, so do I.” He shrugs like it’s nothing too serious. “Just let it out when you need to, you ain’t gonna bother me.”

You walk over to him, cupping his cheeks. “Thank you.” You murmur, leaning in to softly kiss him. “Thank you.” You caress his cheek and you drop your hands, feeling silly for your reaction. “You ready to sleep? I’m exhausted and you promised me a sunrise.” You tap his chest.

Joel grabs your hand and squeezes it. “Sleep sounds good.” It’s late and you need some sleep. He needs some sleep, although he’s accustomed to only a few hours. You smile shyly and he turns to lead you out of the kitchen. “You need me to carry you upstairs?”

You nod, “yeah. I don’t think I’m gonna make it. My legs are like jello.” You confess, “can you- I can make it.” You promise and he nods, reaching down to wrap his arm around your legs, his other arm around your waist. He grunts and he lifts you into his arms and you wrap your arms around his neck.

He chuckles again at the dazed and slightly romanticized look on your face as he hauls you up the stairs. “Just like out of one of those books, huh?” He jokes, smirking at you. “Gotta be willing to carry them after you fuck the life of ‘em.”

You can't believe he carried you up the stairs. He sets you down on his bed and pulls the covers over you. "Let me grab you another water and then it's sleep time, baby." He declares and you nod, covering the yawn that escapes your lips.

By the time he grabs the water and comes back up, you are already passed out. It’s kind of cute how you are curled up in the pillow and he sets the water on the nightstand beside you. Climbing into the bed beside you, he turns off the light and closes his eyes, aware that he will be awake in a couple of hours.

"Sweetheart. Wake up." You wince at the slight nudge to your shoulder. "Wanna see the sunrise?" A gruff voice asks you and you open your eyes to look at Joel. "Thought you were gonna wake me up with oral?" You tease, voice rough with sleep.

“Is that what the sunrise is to you?” Joel smirks slightly and shrugs. “If we do that, you’ll miss the sun coming up as you cum.” He teases back.

You groan and sit up, excited to see the sunrise with a handsome man. You rub your eyes and yawn, “I gotta pee.” You murmur, shifting out of bed and you shuffle into the bathroom. Your body aches from his harsh fucking last night but you love it.

Joel had already gotten up and dressed. Laying out a spare toothbrush for you to use. He throws out a heavier jacket than you had worn last night on the bed for you to wear, not wanting you to get cold when you are riding. “Going downstairs to make coffee.” He calls out.

You gurgle around the toothbrush and you wash your face. Redressing in your clothes and sneakers, shrugging on the heavier jacket, you make your way downstairs to where Joel sets a cup of coffee on the counter. “Not sure if you want cream or sugar. Or that oat milk shit.” He grunts and you chuckle, “just cream.” He nods and grabs the creamer for you.

While you take your first sip, Joel pulls out a thermos and pours the rest of the pot into it. Adding creamer for you since he will drink coffee any kind of way. “You ever ridden before?” He asks, unsure of your skill or id he should just drive the truck.

You chuckle, waggling your eyebrows, “depends on what I’m riding.” He raises his eyebrows, a serious look on your face, and you nod, “yeah. Back when I was a kid. I used to ride a lot on my friend’s horse when I’d visit her.”

He nods, happy that he can get the horses out. “I’ve got a sweet little mare that is itching for some exercise.” He tells you. “We’ll make breakfast over the fire at the ridge.”

You feel like you’re in a dream as Joel gathers the bags and you make your way to the stables, it’s dark out but Joel flicks on the lights and you gasp at the set up he has. “Oh they are gorgeous.” You coo as you walk over to a horse, holding your hand out so you don’t spook them.

There’s something about girls and horses. He smirks as he moves to the tack room and grabs a couple of saddles. It won’t take him long to get the horses saddled and on the way. He’s too used to this kind of work. Even if the boys in the bunkhouse aren’t up yet. He walks back and hears you giggle as the horse, the mare he had wanted you to ride, sniffs your hair and attempts to taste it. “She’s a nibbler.” He warns with a grin.

"Like her daddy." You giggle, winking at Joel before ducking your head away from the horse. "She's beautiful." You murmur, stroking her nose and she nuzzles into your hand. "You wanna ride, sweetheart?" You ask her and she grunts into your palm. "We are gonna see the sunrise, beautiful girl." You coo, enamored with the horse.

Joel saddles his own horse and then moves over to you and Sweet Pea. He tells you her name and rolls his eyes playfully when you coo even more at the sweet name. He ties the bags onto the saddle and pats her flank gently. “Ready to go?”

You nod and he grabs the reins of his horse, making his way out of the stable and into the night. The stars are still shining and you follow Joel's lead as you begin to make your way across his land to the hills in the distance. "It's so peaceful out here." You declare, enjoying the solitude with Joel by your side.

“It is.” Joel agrees. “I feel like I can start over here. Maybe not fuck up this time.” He steers you towards the mountain that he wants to show you and watches out for holes or snakes. “Do right by the kid. Give her a fucking future.”

You smile softly, "you seem to really care about the people you love. You're protective. I understand...after everything. You're a good man, Joel. Even if you don't think so." You know his type, brooding and self loathing but he's shown you nothing but kindness.

“You’ve never seen me at my worst.” He reminds you, aware that the violent, brutal side of him could quickly change your mind on his goodness. A rabbit darts out from a burrow and he instinctively reaches for your horse's bridle as he tries to calm the slightly spooked horses. “Easy, easy there.” He grunts out, happy when they just side step nervously and then settle back down. “Good girl, good boy.” He soothes, patting them on the necks.

Your heart flutters at the way he handles the horses and you continue on your journey, the sky starting to lighten but no sunrise just yet. "Everyone has a bad side. It's about how we handle our demons. You have been nothing but kind to me." You shrug and the cool morning air hits your face.

He admires your positivity, despite the abuse from your ex. You are good to the very marrow of your bones. Ellie would like you. “Demons.” He grunts, “well, most of the time, I just shoot ‘em.” He guides you further onto his property, up the mountain to the little ridge he loves to watch the sunrise from. “Here we are.”

You gasp at the sight in front of you. The sky is brightening up and you see the mountains in the distance. “Wow.” You murmur, staring at the beauty in front of you. Joel dismounts and guides his horse over to the tree to tie him up, patting his side before he comes over to help you off of your horse. “It’s gorgeous.” You murmur when he helps you down and takes the reins.

“It’s my favorite place.” Joel confesses, motioning to the flat rock where he likes to sit. “I’ll get the coffee, and we can sit.” He tosses you a blanket to spread over the cold rock.

You spread the blanket out on the ground and settle down, watching him grab the bags from the saddle and carry them over. You eagerly take the flask of coffee and the two plastic mugs, pouring the hot liquid into them.

“After the sun comes up, I’ll make a fire and we’ll cook some breakfast.” Joel promises. “Bacon, eggs and toast sound good?” He smirks and holds up a can of beans. “Or are you a beans on toast kind of gal?” He tosses the can up and shrugs when he catches it. “It’s actually pretty good.”

“No beans.” You snort, taking a sip of your coffee. 

The steaming cup of coffee warms his hand and adds to the beauty of the moment. watching as the pink hues break and the bright sun flashes over the horizon and bathes the valley below in sunlight."Beautiful." Joel whispers softly.

You are silent, just taking in the sunrise and it takes your breath away. When the sun is above the horizon, you lift your cheek from his shoulder and turn to look at him. “Thank you for showing me this. When I - before I escaped, I thought I was destined to die at the hands of my husband - physically or mentally. I never imagined I’d be safe and watching the sunrise. Thank you for bringing me out here.”

"This is a place for new beginnings." He murmurs softly. "Never thought I would get one, but I know you damn sure deserve one." He looks into your eyes seriously. "You'll be safe here. No matter what."

You know he isn’t one for gushing gratitudes so you simply nod and lean in to kiss his cheek. You watch the sky for another few moments before he starts to set up the fire for breakfast. “Where did you learn all of this?” You ask, knowing you wouldn’t have a clue how to start a fire. “My Pa. Taught me and Tommy when we were kids. Used to go camping in the middle of nowhere in Texas.” He confesses, “he taught us how to survive. Figured the world was gonna end one day and we’d all have to fight for our lives.” He snorts at the memory of his father. You hum, “like a zombie apocalypse?” You ask and Joel snorts, “yeah.”

"After Tommy got out of the Army....he helped me for a while. We were contractors. Built houses and shopping malls." It seems like Joel is talking about another life. He is talking about another man. Life had been so simple back then. "Then...after Sarah....Tommy moved out west and when I- I couldn't stay anymore, I followed him. Came out here, started over."

You watch him as he prepares the breakfast, “at least you came out here. Started over. Some people…they wouldn’t survive what you went through.” You tell him and he sighs, “some days it doesn’t feel like it.” You understand that. “But you’re still here. And it takes time.” You tell him and he tuts, “wasn’t time. It was Ellie.” Your heart melts at that and you watch him place the bacon on the now hot pan. “And she’s lucky to have you.”

He doubts that, but he won't let her down. He pokes at the bacon and looks around the valley, the sun clearing the horizon. "Well, she's got me." He snorts, smirking slightly. "Sometimes she hates it. Says I'm too parentified. whatever that means."

You giggle, “maybe you need to loosen up a little. She’s a teenager, right? Just need to let her have a drink now and then and let her date someone stupid.” You tell him, “I know. I was a teenage girl.”

"She tries whiskey every time I drink some at home." Joel glances back over at you and grins. "Hates it every time." HIs grin widens when you laugh and he shrugs. "Hasn't seemed interested in anyone yet."

You shrug, "maybe she will, maybe she won't. You'll be a good father to her whatever happens." You can tell he's a strong character, strong in his resolve to be better. "You just gotta let her make some mistakes. Lord knows my parents let me fuck up...but they would've said no to Josh." You murmur, frowning at the realization that he was never the man you thought he was.

“Everyone needs to make mistakes, although I know she’s going to be making all new ones.” He hums, smirking slightly at the headstrong girl and her convictions. He looks back at the bacon and he frowns slightly. “Did your parents….are they gone?” He asks, understanding that they must be. 

You nod, “car accident. I was in college when I got the call. Some asshole drunk driver. I - they never got to see me graduate. I barely did. Got lost in the booze and partying to deal with my grief.” You confess, “nearly fucked everything up but they left me their house in the will. Josh made me sell it. Used half of the money for a down payment on our house and he - he spent the rest of the money. Gambling. He was - I was scared and alone and grieving. I just wanted to belong somewhere and he took advantage.”

Joel frowns, jaw clenched at the idea of you being taken advantage of while you were so vulnerable. While you were trapped in your grief. “Maybe you can find a new home. A new life where you don’t have to worry about being taken advantage of.” He offers quietly. “A life your parents would be proud of. One that you are happy in.” 

“That’s why I left. Why I moved here. I can’t touch the account. He’d be able to find me. I need time to figure out what to do next but one day…I’m hoping I find a home. A place I can relax and be happy in.” You confess, watching Joel serve up the food after he fried the eggs.

“You think he will come looking for you here?” Joel asks, sitting down beside you after handing you one of the tin plates the hands take on the trail. “Since your aunt is here? Would he remember?”

You shake your head, “she met him once, when we got married. He didn’t really know about her. Kinda cut me off from her after we got married. Said I was his new family.” You sigh and shake your head, knowing you made mistakes. “I hope he doesn’t find me. I never told him where she was. I - shit - I have been so careful to not let him know where I am.”

“Well, you can get close to her now, repair that relationship.” He points out. “Abusers like to isolate their victims. Make them feel like they have nowhere to turn, no one to talk to about what they are doing.” He’s seen it before.

“I know that now. In the beginning, he made me feel so special. I felt so stupid for believing him. I didn’t - shit. I got away from him and I want to start again. I want to live and not feel like I am constantly triggered by my asshole ex.” You shake your head and take the mess tin from his hand when he offers it to you.

“Look at you, talking shit out.” Joel teases softly, picking up the thermos to refill your coffees. “After fucking it out. You’re on the road to recovery.” He chuckles when you snort and roll your eyes, taking the cup back from him. “Shut up.” You huff and he nods. “When you eat your breakfast.”

You dig into the food, the sun making everything shimmer and it’s like the ushering in of your new life. “Thank you.” You say to him again and he shakes his head, “stop sayin’ thanks.” You chuckle and he winks at you, taking a bite of his eggs. 

**** 

“Thank-” Joel cuts you off with a stare and you close your mouth. You shift over in the cab of his truck, parked outside of the bar where your apartment is, and you reach up to cup his cheek. “If I can’t say it…” You trail off and lean in to kiss him. He cups your cheek, kissing you back, and you pull back after a moment, a smile on your face. “I had a good time. I’ll see you around hopefully?” You ask, tilting your head.

Nodding, Joel leans back. “Of course.” He smirks. “Coldest beer in town is served right under your apartment.” He teases. “And if I’m not showin’ up quick enough, you come out to the ranch. Even if I’m out, one of the boys can find me.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you in the bar.” You smirk and grab your purse to pull your keys out, realizing that you don’t want to wait too long to see Joel again. “Do you maybe want to come for dinner? I’m not working tomorrow night and I need to repay you for being so great.”

“You don’t need to repay me for anything.” Joel huffs. “But dinner sounds good.” He agrees. “Seven sound good?” He figures everyone will be done with the fence lines then and he’s not moving cattle between pastures. Only thing he was thinking about doing was going to an auction to see about some sheep.

You smile, “see you tomorrow at seven, handsome.” You get out of his truck and shut the door, walking up to the door that leads to the apartment above the bar. You turn to see him watching you and you offer him a small wave before unlocking the apartment and disappearing upstairs.

Joel sits in his truck for another minute, ignoring the few cowboys that are milling around in the parking lot before he puts the truck in reverse and backs out. He needs to go talk to Tommy, because he has a feeling that your ex will show up. You’re too good to let go of that easily.

You shower and change, getting ready for the rest of the day. You decide to head out and get some groceries for dinner tomorrow night. You do some laundry and sleep the day away, exhausted after Joel fucking you hard, until you open the bar for the night. It's an uneventful night but Jerry seems to treat you with kid gloves as you serve the locals. The next morning, you are excited to see Joel again and you head downstairs to the bar to clean up and take the cash to the bank. You're mopping the floor when you hear the door open. You could've sworn you locked it. "Hey. We’re closed!" You call out and turn when you don't hear the door close again. 

"I think you can make an exception for me, honey." You inhale sharply, spinning around to see Josh. "What - how - you're-?" You choke, heart pounding in your chest as your ex husband stands in front of you. He's found you. You shake your head, dropping the mop, and you run towards the bar to get the phone. 

"Ah ah ah. I don't think so. We need to talk." Josh rushes towards you, grabbing your arm, and you cry out. Shouting for help as he tries to physically restrain you. You fight, slapping and scratching him, but he jerks your body. "You stupid bitch. Thought you could run away. You will never be rid of me." He hisses and you scream, spinning around to hit him but he side steps and you fall forward, hitting your head on the bar. You crumble to the floor and your head pounds as Josh stands above you. "You are mine, baby." He reminds you and you wince as your eyes close, wondering what will happen to you now.

It’s not yet seven, but Joel had finished up early and decided that he could stop by and get a bottle of wine to bring, like he had good manners. He had thought that if you were too tired to cook after working, there’s a dinner that has a good meal. Or you order a pizza and call it good. He’s not that picky. Parking around back, he frowns slightly when he notices a van but he doesn’t think twice as he gets out and climbs up the stairs to your apartment to knock.

Your head lolls, pounding from the way you hit the edge of the bar, and you barely register that you have been tied to a chair. A rag wrapped around your head and covering your mouth to stop you from screaming. Your eyes widen when you gain more consciousness when the doorbell rings and you scream against the gag. "Don't be rude, honey. I bet that your auntie coming to say hello. Interfering old cunt will get what's coming to her. She should learn it is wrong to come between a man and his wife. Fucking old hag trying to take you away from me." Josh huffs, walking over to the door to open it and he is shocked when he sees a man, not your dear old aunt.

Joel’s eyes narrow and he tilts his head as he says your aunt’s name. “She’s not here, is she?” He asks, holding up the bottle of wine. “Told her I’d bring her a bottle the next time I was in town.” He’s got a good fucking idea who this bastard is, but he can’t give it away right now. Josh scoffs. “She’s not here.” He rolls his eyes and Joel nods, seeing a leg of a chair and a leg tied to it. He smiles blandly. “Well, I’ll try again next time.” He tells Josh. “Sorry to bother you.” He tips his hat and feigns turning to leave as the bastard closes the door.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you hear Joel leave. Part of you is relieved that he’s not involved in this, the other part feels hopeless as the only person who could save you leaves you. You sob against the gag and Josh comes over to you. “You must think I’m fucking stupid.” Josh hisses, “some guy comes to the apartment with wine and asks for your aunt? Seems too fucking suspicious. He was looking for you, wasn’t he? Goddamn. I turn my back for a minute and you’re already sitting on some other guy's dick. Jesus Christ. I married a whore. A useless fucking whore.” He strides over to you and slaps your cheek, making you gasp against the gag in pain.

Joel stomps down the steps noisily but then he’s creeping back up, trying to look in the window when he hears you cry out and a dark hiss. “I should just fucking kill you, you useless slut. We’re married!” You cry out, the sound muffled, as he hears a sharp slap. Joel clenches his jaw, knowing that he should call the Sheriff, but he would rather deal with this fucker himself. Lowering his shoulder, Joel slams it against the door, breaking through it and launching himself at your estranged husband.

Your eyes widen, full of tears as Joel drags your husband down to the floor. His fists immediately hitting his face and Josh kicks him to try and get him off. “You motherfucker!” Josh growls, “fucked my wife and-” Joel hits his jaw and he cries out in pain.

Joel sees red, looking up and seeing your panicked eyes, the swelling on your face. He climbs on top of Josh and pulls his fist back. Slamming it into the fucker’s nose to break it and from there, it’s just hit after hit. Blow after blow as Joel beat him unconscious.

You can't do anything but watch. Eyes wide as you witness Joel beat your husband to unconsciousness. You cry out against the gag, not wanting Joel to be arrested for killing your husband. He doesn't deserve a prison sentence when he has Ellie.

When you cry out again, you break through the rage fueled haze that Joel is in. Stopping before the last blow is delivered and he pants, dropping Josh back to the floor where he was holding him up by his shirt. The man’s head hits with a thud and he climbs off of him to pull out a knife. “I’m going to cut you out of there.” He promises, not wanting to spook you after you’ve obviously been tormented by your ex. “I’m going to get you out of here, pretty girl.”

You are breathing heavily as he cuts your ties and removes your gag. You swallow, your throat dry, and he helps you stand on shaky legs but you collapse, the fear draining your strength. “I got you.” Joel promises, wrapping his arm around your waist to help you stand up. “I- he - shit.” You finally choke out, “he found me.”

“It’s okay.” Joel promises you. “He’s not gonna hurt you ever again.” You choke out another sound, almost like you don’t believe him but Joel doesn’t say anything. Instead, he helps you towards the door. “Come on, pretty girl, we need to get you out of here.”

You let him guide you down the stairs on your shaky legs and you are struggling to breathe when the cool night air hits your face. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay. It’s me. It’s Joel. Just breathe.” He orders, cupping your cheeks, and you inhale deeply, trying to calm down.

Joel can see that you are trying not to break and he scoops you up, carrying you over to his truck. He opens the door and sets you in the seat. Pulling out his phone, he dials a number. “Tommy.” He grunts when the other end picks up. “Get the boys from my ranch and meet me at the bar.” He tells him. “We’ve got a critter needs disposed of.”

Your hands are shaking as you listen to Joel summon his brother and you aren't sure what to think. Josh threatened to kill you, Joel saved you and nearly beat Josh to death. "Are you - are you going to kill him?" You ask, "he's not worth jail time. I'm not worth jail time."

“Don’t worry about that.” Joel doesn’t want you to worry. He reaches out and cups your cheek. “Listen to me.” He tells you carefully. “He will never bother you again. Ever. You don’t have to look over your shoulder, you don’t have to be scared. You will never see him again.”

You nod, swallowing harshly as he settles you in his truck. "You - shit - you saved me." You murmur, surging forward to wrap your arms around his neck and breathe him in. "You saved me. He - he was gonna kill me."

“It’s okay, pretty girl.” Joel promises, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing gently. “You don’t have to worry any more.”

You breathe him in and relax knowing he's got you. "Your hands." You murmur, bringing his arm from around you so you can inspect the broken skin. "You need to bandage these." You realize that this is what he means by his demons, his method of coping. You want to take care of him like he took care of you.

“It’s okay.” He winces when you press on a knuckle, sure that he’s fractured it. But it’s only a hairline fracture. “I’ll take care of it later.” He’s more worried about you. “Do you need a doctor, pretty girl?”

You shake your head, "no. No. I- he didn't do anything more than bruise me. I'll heal." You promise and Joel nods, "I'll bring you back to my place after my brother arrives." He tells you and you nod, "okay. I- I just want to get away from him."

Joel knows that it won’t take long for Tommy to get there and he pulls out a blanket from the back. It’s an old horse blanket but it’s clean. Draping it over your legs, he pats your knee and sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

You shake your head, "you saved me. If you hadn't - I don't know what he would've done. He wanted to take me home and I think...he would've killed me." You choke, "you arrived just in time."

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” He promises, knowing he would have tracked that motherfucker down. He pulls back when he hears the truck pull up and turns to see Tommy jump out. “Let me go talk to my brother.” He murmurs softly.

You inhale deeply, trying to calm your racing heart. You watch in the wing mirror as Joel speaks to his brother. "What the fuck happened, man?" Tommy asks, seeing the state of his brother's fists.

Joel glances down at his hand and shakes his head. “Her ex found her.” He gestures back towards the truck. “He had her tied up in her apartment. I busted in.” He explains. “He’s unconscious upstairs.”

"You want me to - to get rid of him?" Tommy asks, tilting his head. "Don't - I mean, I nearly fucking killed him but she stopped me. Just get him the fuck out of here. Maybe drop him off at a hospital in Denver?" Joel suggests and Tommy snorts, "away from here. Got it." He nods, whistling to the boys to follow him upstairs. You look up as Joel gets into his truck, starting the engine. "Thank you, baby." You murmur, watching him as he pulls away from the bar.

“They’re going to make sure he knows to never come near you again.” Joel explains. “Next time he comes to Jackson, he will be a dead man walking.” If the man ever showed his face again, Joel would personally put a bullet in his head. “For now, I’m taking you home. You’re staying with me.”

You look out the window as Jackson passes by, the town turning to fields and you try to think about how Joel saved you, not about what he saved you from. When he pulls up outside of his house, you open the door but he's already there to help you out.

“Here we are.” You are shaking slightly and he knows that you are about to freak out. “Get inside and we’ll have a drink. Or three.” He moves you gently and speaks softly. “Get you cleaned up. You want to soak in a bath? Damn tub is good for when you’re sore.”

"A bath sounds amazing." You confess with a soft groan. He escorts you inside and when he shuts the door, you break down. Now that you're safe, you start to sob and wrap your arms around yourself.

Joel panics slightly, shuffling slightly and moving towards you before he stops. “I- I don’t know what you want me to do. Can I touch you?” He asks softly.

You nod, knowing he isn’t Josh. The fact that he asked about touching you makes you calm down a little and his arms immediately engulf you. You nuzzle your face into his chest, breathing him in. He saved you. He’s not Josh. He saved you. This is Joel.

Joel reaches up, caressing your head gently. He doesn’t speak, just holds you close and rocks you gently. Letting you break down like you need to, just keeping you safe while you work through your emotions.

You aren’t sure how long you sob into his chest. His hands caressing your back, and you soak his shirt. “I’m sorry, I - shit. I need - I don’t want to cry about that fucking asshole anymore.” You shake your head, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“You needed to get it out.” Joel grumbles softly. “Now how about that drink and bath?” You nod, sniffling and he nods too. “I’ll get you the drink.”

“As long as you get in the bath with me. You need to soak those fists.” You say and lean in to kiss his cheek, “come sit in the bath with me, baby.” You order, wanting to feel him surrounding you.

“Go start it.” Joel smirks, looking at you softly. “I’ll bring the drinks. We can have a drink in the bath. You relax and then I’ll put you to bed.”

You don’t waste time heading to his bathroom and turning on the water. You are exhausted now after everything that has happened and you pray that Josh will no longer be a problem. You want to file for divorce as soon as possible. Finding the bubble bath shoved deep in the cabinet under the sink, you pour a good amount in and start to strip, ignoring your face in the mirror. You don’t want to see what he did to you.

Joel decides that the night calls for full drinks, getting the juice glasses out of the kitchen and pouring out most of the bottle of whiskey between them. Carrying them upstairs and watching as you sit in the tub. “Here.” He holds one out to you. “Best sleep med I’ve got.”

You take the glass from him, sipping the liquor and you wince at the burn while he sets his drink down and starts to strip. “You wanna get in behind me?” You ask, shifting forward to allow him the room to get in the bath.

Joel grabs two towels and drops them by the tub before he steps in. Hissing slightly at how hot the water is. Apparently you wanted to sit for some time, so he cups his cock and balls before he sits down, needing to protect them from the sudden temperature change. “You like it hot.” He huffs and he settles down and pulls you back against him.

"I do. Sorry." You murmur as you lean back against him, sipping your drink before you set it down on the edge of the tub. You close your eyes as his arm wraps around you. "I can't thank you enough for this. For everything."

“I was going to kill him.” Joel admits quietly. “For hurting you. For fucking touching you.” His arm is draped over your stomach and his thumb brushes your hip gently. “Already alerted the sheriff that I would.” He chuckles quietly. “He told me to just make sure a bear found him before anybody else.”

"Sounds like a good sheriff." You chuckle before you swallow, "you were going to kill him for me? Baby...I- I've never known a man like you. I know we just met but I really like you, Joel. I want to stay in Jackson and I want to get to know you more. Know Ellie. I - I like you a lot." You confess, "I am damaged goods so I'm not sure if you want to deal with all that shit."

“You aren’t any more damaged than me. Than the kid.” Joel snorts. “You stay right here and get to know us. See if we don’t drive you crazy in two days.” He teases. “I’ve got plenty of shit that I’ve dealt with, helping a pretty girl cum and giving her a shoulder to lean on ain’t much of a problem to me.”

You grin, turning your head to kiss his jaw, “thank you. I would love to get to know you both. I want to stick around and make a life here.” You murmur and he turns his head, softly kissing you. “And I wouldn’t mind you making me cum a few more times.”

He hums against your lips, twitching against your back but he doesn’t start touching you. He wants to make sure you are in control of what happens right now. “You just tell me when, pretty girl.”

“Now.” You murmur, wanting to feel him inside of you. You want to make him feel good and you want to know that you’re safe in his arms. His lips meet yours, spurred in by the adrenaline of beating up your husband, and you shift to straddle him after setting your drink down on the ledge.

Joel would never take advantage of you, but he will give you what you need. Squeezing your ass as you grind down against him, “you want to cum, pretty girl?” He asks roughly, kissing down your jaw and pressing his tongue to an abrasion on your neck.

You moan, tilting your head for him, and you reach between you to grip his cock, pumping him between your bellies. “I’m on birth control. IUD. Want you to - want you inside of me. If you want.” You tell him breathlessly, moaning his name as he squeezes your ass.

“Fuuuuck.” Joel groans out, jerking his hips up in your grip. “I don’t mind that.” He murmurs, flicking his tongue against your pulse. “‘m clean. You just take what you want. Sit on my cock if you want it.”

You reach down to position him at your entrance, you slowly sink down onto him and he groans, his hands caressing your waist and back. “Fuck. You feel so good.” You pant, “saved me. Saved my life.” You murmur, starting to rock on top of him.

Joel groans, squeezes and caresses your ass and up your back as you work yourself on his cock. “You’re safe.” He grunts. “Not gonna let anything happen to you.” He doesn’t know why, but he’s attached to you, protective. Perhaps it’s crazy, but he would have killed for you.

His words wash over you, making your heart thump, and you caress his cheeks, leaning in to kiss him. It's crazy but you feel so comfortable and safe with him, like you've known him your entire life. He feels like home. "Baby." You gasp when he thrusts up into you, the water sloshing in the tub.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you.” Joel tightens his hold on you, not hard enough to hurt you but to take over. He takes one arm and slides it down to rub your clit. “You want to cum? You want to cream all over my cock? Feel like you are flying?” He grunts into your skin, face buried against your neck.

You nod, a cry escaping your throat as he rubs your clit, thrusting up into you. “Fuck, Joel. Yes. Yes. Right there.” You choke when he thrusts into the right spot. His hips focus on that angle, making you choke as he pushes you higher and higher until you fall apart with a squeal of his name. The water splashing on the floor as you convulse around him.

Joel groans your name, kissing your neck and along your shoulder as you ride out your high. Slowly rolling his hips as the water settles around you both. “Good, pretty girl?” He asks, smirking slightly when he hears you still panting. “Or you need another one?”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, dragging his face to yours to press your lips against his. Your tongue invades his mouth and he eagerly responds to your invasion, groaning softly. “I want one more. I’m greedy for you.” You confess, rocking down into him.

“Haven’t cum yet.” Joel leans back, cupping your tits in his hands as he squeezes them gently. “Use me, pretty girl.” He commands. “Ride my cock and rub your clit.”

You can’t deny him. You shift back to rock onto his cock, water sloshing as you gasp his name and rub your clit, rocking back onto him a little faster. His dark eyes watch you, flicking between your tits and where his cock disappears inside of you.

“That’s it.” He groans, twitching inside of you. “That’s it, pretty girl. You’re so good to me. Feel so good around my cock.” He praises. “He was a fool,” he grunts, squeezing your tits again. “Shoulda worshiped you. Taken care of you. You’re a prize to appreciate.”

His words wash over you, cleaning off the harsh insults of your husband and replaced by his praises. You clench around him and he groans, leaning in to kiss along your shoulder, and you rub your clit a little faster, wanting to fall apart for him.

Joel groans and hisses your name, feeling his own body start to tense, but he doesn’t want to cum yet. Not before you do again. “So fuckin’ tight.” He moans.

His moan works you up, making you bounce on his cock and the water splashes over the side of the tub. “Fuck. Oh fuck, baby. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me-” You squeal as you fall apart around his cock, soaking him as you shudder through your orgasm.

Joel doesn’t let up this time, taking over and thrusting up into you. Groaning out your name as he starts to cum, hips stuttering as he gives in and buries himself deep. Painting your walls with hot ropes of his cum.

You whimper at the feel of his hot seed coating your walls and you tangle your fingers in his hair, bringing his mouth back to yours. You’re so thankful he saved you. In more ways than you know right now. He saved you from your husband and he saved you from yourself. 

**** 

“Ellie. Keep up!” Joel yells over his shoulder at the teenager who decides to join you for your sunset ride. After Joel beat your husband up, he brought you home and after you were settled, he left to the place your husband was being kept. You don’t know to this day what he said to Josh but the next thing you knew, your divorce papers were filed. You managed to live in peace in Jackson, getting to know Joel more, getting to know his family. You’ve fallen for the rancher and you moved into his home a month ago, your aunt telling you to go for it. You were wary at first to take such a big step but you are happy you did. You love Joel and Ellie. Your family. The divorce came through last week, so you're officially a single woman. 

“She’s fine. She won’t miss it.” You tell Joel as you ride alongside him, trotting down to the river to watch the sunrise and have breakfast.

Joel grunts, shifting in his saddle and glances back at the girl before looking at you again. “She’s a pain in the ass.” He huffs, making you laugh. 

“You always say that.” You point out, making him roll his eyes. He’s been looking forward to this for a while. You have been happier, brighter, since the divorce came through. Happy that you can fully move on with your life and not be tied to him in any kind of way. Joel looks over at you with a small smirk. “Still sore, pretty girl?” He asks, thinking about how hard he had fucked you last night.

You chuckle, “nothing I can’t handle, cowboy.” You wink at him, “gotta be able to take what you give me.” You shift on the saddle, loving the slight ache in your body. He makes you feel loved, desired, even if he doesn’t say it often, you know how he feels.

“Good.” Hopefully you mean that. Since you’ve been here in his life, Joel’s been happier. Smiling more. Looking forward to the time where he’s back at the main house and spending time with you and Ellie. Not that he hasn’t enjoyed time with Ellie before, but the three of you feel like a family. He urges his horse faster. “Come on, or we are going to miss it. It’s a special sunrise.”

You follow him, Ellie behind you, and you arrive at the river just as the sun is about to appear over the horizon. Joel dismounts his horse, helping you down and then he helps Ellie down, tying up the horses. You grab the saddle bags and carry them over to the edge of the river to the rocks you usually sit on. Joel comes to sit next to you, opening the saddle bag to pull out the flask of coffee, handing it to you and he hands Ellie her flask of juice. She hates coffee. “I never get tired of this.” You murmur, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hope not.” Ellie knows what’s coming, he’s talked to her about it. Enduring her teasing and jokes even more than usual in order to make sure that she’s okay with the potential change. Joel sets his hand down on your free one and threads his thick fingers through yours. “Hopin’ you might want to stay.” He confesses quietly and pulls out a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. He had felt like a fool going into the jewelry store, but Willie’s wife had told him that you would love it. “Forever. Watch the sun rise with me until we are too damn old to get up here.” You pull away and look into his eyes in complete shock. “Love you, pretty girl. Will you marry me?”

Your heart pounds in your chest and you swallow harshly, throat suddenly dry but fuck, you are so in love with him. He's proven to be an incredible partner. Treating you as an equal, both of you damaged but understanding of the other. You feel like you're home when you're with him. No matter where you are. "Ye-yes. Yes. Oh my God. Yes." You choke, surging forward to press your lips to his just as the sun rises. His hand cups your cheek until he pulls back, fumbling with his thick fingers to take the delicate ring from the box.

"I hope you like it. Didn't know your style." He confesses as he slides it onto your finger and you stare at the diamond in awe. "It's perfect. This is perfect." You promise and Ellie comes over to hug you, "just make sure you guys don't put me in some frilly dress for the wedding." Ellie jokes and you giggle, tears in your eyes as you pull her close and Joel wraps his arms around you both. Your new family. You never imagined when you were trapped in a loveless marriage that you'd be happy one day yet here you are, engaged to a wonderful man with a step daughter you adore. Just like the sun rising over the horizon, your life is bright and colorful and full of hope.

[nightxcreature]

My House

Authors note: Written in about an hour based on absolutely nothing except an idea i had while I washed dishes this morning. 🤷‍♀️ Edited poorly. As always, criticism welcome.

REQUESTS OPEN!

Warnings: Cursing, Slight Spice toward the end I've never written smut so..., Blood and guts that are not MC's own, Dean Winchester.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Claire x Mentor!Reader, Jody x Friend!Reader.

______________________________________________________________

It was coming up on a quarter past two in the morning when Claire pushed open the door to Jody's home quietly, trying her hardest to keep anyone from knowing that they'd finally made it back. At least until she could get inside, shower, and change clothes. Claire had made a brutal mistake back on the hunt and she had taken the fall for it, something that Claire was reminded of the entire ride back home. The woman's usual soft footsteps were wet across the carpet in the hallway while Claire led the way through the dark, praying to anyone who would listen that no one could hear it through their bedroom door.

"Move." She grunted out as she shoved passed Clair toward the kitchen, "I need a drink."

Claire's arm shot out wrapping around her wrist, "No. Not until you get all that blood off of you and into a change of clothes."

She rolled her eyes and pushed Claire off of her, "Do you think I give two shits about a change of clothes right now? You almost killed me, twice, my back and my ass are killing me, and I have vamp brains in places that vamp brains shouldn't be. I want a drink, I want a drink, I want a drink."

"Sam and Dean will kill me if they see you like this. Please, go shower first. I'll bring a drink to you if it's that important." Claire pleaded to deaf ears as the woman continued her trek through the dark toward the kitchen. With a sigh, Claire followed behind her almost jumping out of her skin when the kitchen light flipped on, and Dean and Jody were found sitting at the breakfast table.

"Where have you been? I called fifty times, and I know Jody left about as many messages." Dean angrily snapped.

"Why are you covered in blood?!" Jody exclaimed, "Are you hurt?"

A dry chuckle left her lips as she reached for a glass and the bottle of Jameson on Jody's fridge, "Not mine." Turning to place her items on the table and pour a glass, she faced Dean, "Who are you, Molly Weasley? Where have you been? Car gone, no note!"

Dean scowled, "Lose the attitude, I was worried about you."

"I'm your girlfriend, not your daughter." She said after taking a long swig from her glass, "Besides, you and I've been doing this the same amount of time. It's not my first vamp nest, and it won't be my last. And after the way this hunt went, Claire needs the practice if she's going to keep doing this."

"What happened?" Jody questions, eyes narrowing in Claire's direction.

She turned in Claire's direction, crossing her arms, "You want to answer, or should I?"

"Uh..." The teenager started, cut off before she could even begin.

"Don't worry, I'll do it." The small woman turned back to her whiskey taking another long drink before beginning again, "This little brat decided to head out on her own after we went to bed last night. She was adamant that we should hit the nest then, even though I reminded her a million times that we needed to wait until we were sure there weren't others hiding out in there."

"I was sure!" Claire butt in, "I told her that I knew what I was doing!"

"And did you? Huh? Do I look like you knew what you were doing?!" She yelled, gesturing to the blood on her clothes, "I'm covered in blood that isn't mine and I lost my socks. How did I lose my socks Claire? I sure as hell don't know. What I do know is, if I hadn't shown up to save your ass you would be a blood smoothie by now. You're welcome!"

Claire looked at her feet, "I just wanted to do it on my own."

"You're not ready. There's nothing wrong with taking advice and help when it's offered, especially with a nest that size. If a more experienced hunter offers their help, you take it. I was just like you when I was a kid, and it almost cost me everything." The venom in her voice had started to dwindle as the whiskey took the edge away from the pain in her muscles, "You're strong, Kid, but you don't know everything."

Jody sighed from behind them, standing to put an arm on Claire's shoulder, "I've been trying to tell her that. She just doesn't like to listen to me."

With a roll of her eyes, Claire sent a small smile in her direction, "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here."

"You shouldn't be here; you should be in bed." Jody sent back, grinning at the woman on the other end of the table, "Thank you for taking care of my girl. I'd hug you, but..." She gestured toward the mess covering the woman and grimaced, "I really would take a shower soon if I were you."

She and Claire headed down the hallway giggling quietly, making the woman smile and sigh looking back at the bottle of liquor. The silence taking over the room and leading her hand to pour another, until Dean reached out to cover the glass.

"I don't think you need another; you've had enough for tonight." Dean said, standing to put the whiskey back on the fridge and place her glass in the sink, "But I do think you should tell me how those bloody handprints got on your ass..." He quirked a brow as he turned back to face her, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

She snapped her head around trying to get a look at the back of her pants, "Seriously? That big bitch tried to break me in half after I killed Edward, Bella, and the Lochness Monsters he was creating. I didn't know he left a mark on my ass, didn't even know he had blood on his hands. Claire took his head off before he could hurt me, that's where most of the blood came from. Pretty sure he wanted to add me to his little coven, I'd make a real pretty vampire bride. At least that's what he told me." She winked and giggled as Dean pursed his lips and nodded.

"And what did you say?" He quizzed, his gaze feeling like it could see straight through her.

"That I'm already spoken for," She smirked, "And then I kicked his ass."

"That's my girl." Dean stood from the table a shit-eating grin on his face as he bent to whisper in her ear, "What do you say we go get you cleaned up, and then I try to break you in half?"

"I'd like that a lot." She whispered, reaching to capture his lips with her own. Dean deepened the kiss, placing one hand on her hip and another in her hair as he led her toward the door. Their tongues danced together, and Dean slowly pushed her into the wall nipping at her bottom lip. His hands had just made their way down to cup her ass, palms matching the prints already on her pants, when a cough suddenly came from the doorway. Jumping apart, they looked everywhere except at Jody, who stood with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

"Not in my house."

"Yep. Just gonna go...uh, clean up." She whispered back awkwardly stepping around Jody as she headed toward the bathroom, a sheepish grin on her lips, "Sorry."

"I, uh, I'm gonna go help." Dean followed her out as Jody flipped the light off in the kitchen.

"Not in my house, Dean Winchester!" She called quietly on the way to her own room.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Jody!" He whispered back, a grin gracing his face as he slipped into the bathroom with his favorite girl.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: I still feel like I'm dusting the rust off my brain with these little one shots, but i dont think they're turning out too bad. I'm going to start potentially working on a series soon, so we'll see how that goes.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in my work!

Tag List:

@lmhf1

[inmyheaddd]

observe - j. hawthorne

wc: 1560

summary:your friends’ shitty actions lead up to you looking for a room alone in the party, when you end up running into a not so friendly face.

warnings: swearing, suggestive?

you were walking up the stairs, desperate to find a room alone. you couldn’t stand to talk with your friends for another second. the backhanded compliments, side glances, inside jokes, and leaving you out were pissing you off beyond belief. 

you roll your eyes as you remember one of the snide remarks one of them made, “i could never go out wearing something like… you know what i mean.” followed by that awful snicker. you didn’t know what she meant, but clearly everyone else did.

after walking in on one too many make-outs, you finally find an empty room. you close the door behind you and lean on it, huffing and shutting your eyes. 

“what’s got you so worked up?” a voice quickly snaps you out of your thoughts and elicits a yell out of you. 

your eyes are now wide open, and you notice a somewhat familiar figure sitting at the edge of the bed. 

“what the fuck?” you breathe out with your hand over your heart, quickly switching the light on. 

with a clearer view now, you can now label the person sitting on the bed as jameson. one of your friends’ boyfriends’ friends, and the boy who you have an ‘unspoken mutual hatred agreement’ with each other after an unsuccessful debate in your freshman year — that you both blame each other for.

every encounter you’ve had with him since has been somewhat unpleasant. 

“jameson? what the hell are you doing here?” you question him, your shock dissipating into anger. 

he shrugs at that and responds with another question. “i could ask you the same thing.” 

you cross your arms over your chest. “nothing,” you huff and pause, “and quite frankly, none of your business.” you debate just leaving, but weighing your options, sitting here with jameson would be slightly less insufferable than sitting with your friends again.

“it’s clearly something,”

“my friends are just pissing me off; that’s it.” you reply sharply as you sit directly opposite him on the bed, your back facing his and your legs crossed. staring at the wall was suddenly interesting.

“can’t blame them, pissing you off is fun,”

he retorts as he turns to look at you. you turn as well, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“you’re such a prick, you know that?”

he shrugs once again, “you like it though.” he turns back, looking at the wall in front of him. 

you get up in frustration, who does he think he is? “someone’s  got a fucking pea for a brain — i don’t like anything about you.” you mumble as you look through random drawers, trying to fufill your boredom.

he responds unaffectedly, “you don’t know me; you don’t know the full effects of my charm.” 

you’re now standing somewhat in his eye line, looking through a drawer a few feet infront of him. “i know enough,” you scoff, briefly turning around to shoot a glare at him. “oh really?” his eyebrows shot up in amusement. 

“yeah.”

“enlighten me then.” he cocks his head to the side, waiting for a response.

“fuck off,” you give him a response. ” i don’t have enough energy to talk to you right now.”

“you’re talking to me right now, sweetheart.”

you pause your movements suddenly, then turn around to look at him. you stay silent and raise your eyebrows in an effort to say “see?” to which he chuckles lowly at, and shakes his head. “crazy.”

you sit back down on the bed in silence in the same spot you were sitting at before. just about a minute passes of you not speaking just to prove a point, when jameson lets out a sigh and pulls out something from his pocket. 

you figure it’s his phone, but when you hear the sparking of a lighter, your head snaps in his direction.

he lights the blunt and smokes it. you’re not a big smoker, drinker, or anything for that matter. you don’t like the feeling of being in control of your own body and not being aware of your thoughts. but god, you’d do anything to not be aware of your thoughts right now. 

your eyes move over to his side profile, and you notice things you haven’t before, like the slope of his nose, his lashes and the way they are so enviably naturally perfect, the way his mouth fits around the joint— okay stop. why are you even looking at him? why are you still looking at him?

jameson on the other hand, is still facing the side, not looking at you. “you’re staring,” he mumbles with the joint still in his mouth, then takes it out and turns to you. 

“i’m observing.” you weren’t lying, you were technically observing his face. 

“tell me what you’ve observed, then.” he angles his body fully so that he’s facing you and offers you one of his half-grins. “you’ve got me hooked now.” 

“i’ve observed that you didn’t offer me a hit.”

that clearly intrigued him enough, as his eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “i didn’t take you as a smoker.” he looked you once over, and returned to that one smile that was practically default for him. 

“i’m not.” 

“what’s changed?” 

“jus’ wanna try it, that’s all.” you say with a shrug as you let your eyes drift away from him for a second, before they snap to his eyes again like magnets. 

his looks down at his lap and his grin widens before he tuts, “bad girl.”

coming from anyone else, you’d projectile vomit over the whole room, but from him, it weirdly made your insides flip. strange.

for all your bravado earlier, you were weirdly quiet now. the boy who was slightly less annoying than you remembered was now sitting next to you.

“d’you change your mind?” he says with a small chuckle that changes the atmosphere to lighthearted. 

you match his laugh, and then speak up, still looking down at your lap. “no,” you meet his eyes, and you notice how ridiculously perfect they are up close. life’s unfair. “only some small nerves.” 

“i’m right here. you won’t cough and die out on my watch.” you roll your eyes at this. it almost makes you want to cough and die, just to prove him wrong.

“yeah whatever, just give me to me.” you say as you place your palm out.

“no please? where are your manners?” he seems to just have a permanent grin on his face.

“please, give me the blunt.” 

“with a cherry on top?”

“im gonna smack you across the face.” 

“what if i like it?” 

“ew jameson.” you drag out his name and smack his hand. you weren’t sure what happened in the last 10 minutes that has you somewhat slightly enjoying his presence, but you were grateful for it. 

he hands you the blunt, and you sit there for a split second, staring at it. he stares at you staring. it was like he could read your confused thoughts, “take a shallow breath, inhale slowly.” 

you meet his eyes and bring the joint up to your lips, raising your eyebrows in question. he ever so slightly nods, urging you to go on.

you turn away, eyes now trained on the floor infront of you. you do as he says: shallow breath, inhale slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow and your face tightens as you try not to cough. jameson notices the obvious struggle, which elicits a dry laugh out of him. when you shoot him a side glare, it only results in another laugh.

nevertheless, you exhaled, and didn’t cough and die out. 

“that wasn’t so bad.” your eyes meet green ones again. 

“yeah, think you could handle another?” his eyes momentarily flicker down to your lips. if you two weren’t as close as you were right now, you probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“maybe,” now it was your turn to look at his lips. “what do you think?”

“i think you could.”

you took that as a challenge, lifting the joint back up to your lips, this time not inhaling as cautiously as you were before. and with a newfound confidence, or maybe the buzz already kicking in, you kept eyecontact.

jameson took the blunt from your hands once you were done, still maintaining eye contact, and took a hit of his own. 

the distance between you was mere inches now, and with every second passing, it seemed to get smaller. 

the blunt was long forgotten, somewhere on the floor, you presumed. jamesons hand snaked up to where your neck meets your jaw, and your hand rested atop his forearm.

you took a deep breath in, suddenly noticing the intoxicating smell coming from jameson. clean, woody, masculine, but so him. it only fueled you more.

your eyes met before he looked back at your lips once again, and finally leaned in.

just as your lips hardly grazed each other, you felt him tear away from you. 

fluttering your eyes open, you uttered a mere “wha-“ before the reason he had pulled away became increasingly more prevalent.

you heard your name being called multiple times, along with the clicks of heels, indistinct chatter, and drunk giggles. that was your call. you two looked at each other again, and he had moved to now lean against the headboard. you shrugged at him—you honestly didn’t have plans on leaving. they’d surely be fine without you. 

[slowd1ving]

I. THAT'S WHAT ALL THE PEOPLE SAY ･ﾟ FRANCIS MOSSES

"Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to. But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars. There's a reason you stuck with this shitty diner job: routine. So, why the hell does that keep changing for you? warnings + general: amab!reader, nsfw, depression, smoking + unhealthy habits, diner au, trauma, military background (made up unit for doppelgangers) so canon divergence, obsession lowkey

MISC. MASTERLIST

THAT'S LIFE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

NEXT PART・

‘That’s life (that’s life), that’s what all the people say.’

Tinny, crackling music permeates the small diner. Sound waves echo against the chequered tiles bathed azure in the blue hour, and return to the record player in an endless cycle. Rinse and repeat. Devour yourself and be devoured in exchange. Ouroboros.  

Is there particular meaning to be found in musing over such philosophy? Maybe, maybe not – the only witnesses to tell you otherwise are the winking lampposts stationed outside the building. Thus, these thoughts keep you company on such cold days; there’s no one to tell you otherwise, after all. 

There’s not much else to do here. You’d change the record, but the only vinyl left behind by the old owner is the old ‘66 Sinatra. You’d clean up, but that’s all you really do. You’d talk to someone, but this hour before sunset isn’t the time slot of any of the usual regulars. 

Day in, day out, they come at their methodical intervals: Mr Henryk Jameson at quarter to five, a new woman on his arm each time; Mr Steven Rudboys at six, desperately rushing home with two takeout boxes for himself and his retired father; and Miss Mia Stone at half-past twelve, who talks a big deal about her students while she tucks into her onion rings and beef burger on her lunch break. 

There are others, of course, but these are the ones who remain most salient in these changing times. 

Here, there’s never a rush. It’s a languid sort of pace, one that allows you to be one of only two workers that run this place. The quarterly margin for the books is awful narrow; it dances on the line between profit and loss, and occasionally plays jump-rope with it. But you’re not here at the edge of town to make money.

You like the quiet life. 

You leave making money to the businessmen in the city, with their pinstriped suits and powdered foreheads. They’re regulars at lunch: hands gingerly poised to avoid greasing their harsh charcoal three-pieces, mouths pursed like an asshole sphincter as they sip their scalding instant brew, and eyes constantly honed in on other businessmen hawkishly. 

Some things just never change, just like this diner. It was the same three years back: same red retro bar stools, same fluorescent neon graphics, same polished black counters that left behind countless fingerprints. 

Still no customers. 

You slip a pack of Old Gold from your apron, lighting the last stick with the stovetop. At least you have the courtesy to step outside while you smoke, unlike some of your uncouth patrons. Some people just won’t understand basic manners, and that’s fine (it's not fine). 

The heady nicotine rush soothes you. At times like this, it reminds you of the field ration pack new recruits received on a weekly basis. 

Doppelgänger Detection Department: Special Extermination Unit. Honourable discharge, May 7th, 1973. Humanity’s adapted to its challenges well. 

You breathe the smoke out; it trails grey against the blue fog of the sky. The taste lingers: slightly nutty, moderately sweet. 

You know this flavour well. 

It preludes the adrenaline of battle.

‘You’re riding high in April, shot down in May.’

Why does the Special Extermination Unit want its cadets high on the rush while they fight? The answer’s surprisingly simple. 

Forget fear.  

It’s drilled into each new recruit. Fear clouds your mind. Fear leads to irrationality. Fear tears apart that which must remain compartmentalised. 

Better have cadets slightly out of the loop of the mind than pissing their pants in the face of a doppelgänger. Or faces (plural). Or lack of one. 

On the quiet road, a small van emerges from the mist. It’s nothing special; a white standard model awash with the indigo haze of dusk. You take a drag whilst observing it; when it pulls up into the diner driveway, its wheels crunch on the gravel with a sound that suspiciously resembles a breaking ribcage.

This is new. 

Your universe has been slightly tilted on its axis of rotation. 

When he takes a step towards the fluorescent light blinking from the joint, his breath comes out in neon puffs. Just like you – except, you know, your lung damage is significantly worse. 

You’ve never seen him before. Methodically, you observe him in your scrupulous capacity: a habit from your regiment that you’re hard-pressed to let go of. He’s of shorter stature than you, just an inch or two. Dark brown hair is slicked back neatly under a cap that blatantly reads ‘MILKMAN’ in bold letters. While his white shirt and dark trousers have been ironed, there are slight wrinkles in the fabric that betray his hard labour. 

While you observe him, he observes you. Those tired eyes gleam brick-red when you jostle the stick of nicotine in your fingers, and you don’t doubt the gleam in your own. He moves closer, and you can see the pronounced eye bags under his eyes and the gentle arch of his nose. Closer still, and your eyes can pick up his lashes, while your olfactory senses notice the milky, powdery scent that breaks through the smoke. 

Wordlessly, he moves past you. The heavy glass door swings shut behind him, and you swear quietly as you step on your still-lit cigarette to snuff it out. 

He’s waiting when you go in; his hands roughly loosen his bow-tie as he stands at the counter. No, he leans against it with his hip: tiredness more pronounced in the harsh neon incandescence. 

Your routine has been broken for the first time in three years. 

“Hard day?” 

“Mm,” he acknowledges laconically with a hum, not a word more of affirmation. You give up in your meagre attempts to further crash and burn this aforementioned routine. 

“What will it be for you, then?” The end of your question is markedly more flat. Boredom has seeped in once again. 

“House special.” His voice is low when he replies, vibrating at a frequency that sticks into your own sternum. “And a coffee to-go.”

“It’ll be ready in five or so minutes, sir.” You rip the small receipt from the pager and hand it to him – that marks the end of your conversation. 

Whilst the onion and beef cooks on the griddle, you take the time to watch him. He’s a singularity – an anomaly – in your Frank Sinatra-hazed day. Though, despite his strange role in your life as an unexpected variable, he seems painfully ordinary. His head’s tipped back against the cherry-red leather booth: eyes shut in a way that relaxes his face and makes him look at peace rather than exhausted. No, scratch that. Who are you kidding? He looks even more exhausted like this – hands unfurled on his lap, shoulders loose in their sockets as he slumps. 

Even his hat looks exhausted, deflating slightly on the seat beside him. His hair loses its slick quality; it’s messy in a way that pushes you to add an extra shot of espresso to his cup. He deserves it more than those stick businessmen in their suits, you think. 

You turn down the volume dial of the record player. Just a bit, until the vocals and instruments blend together as a singular ode to swing. It creaks from disuse – you don’t think it’s ever been turned. 

When you walk to his table, you do so soundlessly. Doppelgänger senses extend further and better than human ones; you know from ample experience. In the welcome video for new cadets, the crackling voice mentions such every few minutes. Even with your boots that squeak on newly-mopped floors, you manage the walk silently. 

Just as softly, you place his order down on the table and take that instantaneous moment before the aroma reaches him to observe once more. 

His face is serene. Soot-black lashes flutter as he finally registers the source of warmth and the caramelised aroma of the dish, and you take a step back. 

“Mm,” his hum is quieter this time – sleep-tinged. “Thanks.”

That short exchange is nothing less than your galaxy finally exploding. 

You don’t know his name. But you’ve got a great memory, and he’s currently the crowning supernova in the middle of it. 

‘But I know I’m gonna change that tune, when I’m back on top, back on top in June.’

The unexpected variable turns into an expected one. 

You haven’t seen him for a week, but he shows up during your shift seven days later – eerily at the same time he had previously. He looks the same – you’d know the signs of a doppelgänger, of all people – and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

Wait. 

Why would you care?

You thoughtfully thumb the plastic of the pack in your apron pocket as you deliberate the question. You’re not one to get attached to people – you’ve blown through the brains of faces that looked almost identical to your comrades-in-arms, with nothing more than indifference. 

So, why?

You really shouldn’t have started the philosophical thoughts at this time. It appears you’ve Pavlov’ed yourself into introspecting when dusk begins. 

He sits in the same booth he did last time, half-pressed against a window on the left side. His hair is mussed once more, while his bow-tie is strewn haphazardly on his cap. It almost feels like a routine is beginning. Except it’s not, since he’s awake this time. 

He looks at you with those dark brown eyes, and you don’t look back. 

And you’re determined to stick to your pessimistic and mundane world-view, so once you place his food down, you head into the azure realm to light a stick once more. 

You watch his white van, parked neatly in between those two pale lines while a stray cat circles around the warm tires. He watches you in turn. You can feel those pinpricks of pupils, boring straight into your back as you breath the menthol in, and out, and in, and out. Those instincts and reflexes of yours have been honed to a furious degree, after all. This much is child’s play. 

Are you a deviation from his routine, as much as he is to yours?

You’re not sure what to think. 

‘I said that’s life (that’s life) and as funny as it may seem, some people get their kicks, stomping on a dream.’

It’s the third time meeting him that you learn his name. It’s not like you learn it on purpose, but you’ve finally got a name to put to your blue-tinged anomaly. 

“Your usual, sir?” Your voice is polite, yet anyone could sense your exhaustion clear in your cadence. It’s been a long day, filled with numerous Miss Mia Stones after she brought her colleagues over – an exponential increase of imaginary students to talk about. Ever since he began eating here, there seem to be more deviations to your peaceful boredom. 

“Francis Mosses,” he replies without a hum for the first time. You pause in pre-filling the pager. The world grinds to a halt for a brief, starry moment. 

“Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to. 

But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars. 

“Yes, please.” He maintains eye contact this time. Perhaps it’s the fatigue that’s trained his gaze on you. Perhaps he’s slightly delirious. Perhaps it’s neither. 

Regardless, you can feel a slight shift in attitude, and you don’t like it. 

It’s different when the Businessmen in Pinstripe Suits come by. They’re very Important, they proclaim, so don’t mess up their Coffee and get it done Pronto. They don’t give names, only business cards. They don’t give names, only leave smoke from their Marlboros behind. They don’t give names. That’s how you like it. 

Their seats remain fixed – prime positions to glare at each other while simultaneously flaunting their contracts and suits and new watches. These constellations remain constant. That’s the rule of nature you’ve noticed. It shouldn’t diverge.

It shouldn’t.

It can’t.

You won’t get close to anyone. This is fact.  

‘But I don’t let it, let it get me down.’

The typical reasons for joining the Doppelgänger Detection Department: Special Extermination Unit, colloquially dubbed “Execution Squad”, are one of three: a strong sense of patriotism, a keen desire for revenge, or a death wish. 

You are not a patriot, and you’re definitely unenthused at putting yourself through hell simply to die at the hands of a doppelgänger. Really, there are easier and quicker methods at killing yourself that don't involve this infernal training regime. 

Those invasive pests had broken apart your family. You pick up the weight of the gun to return the favour, losing a bit of your humanity in exchange. 

You take the dangerous jobs – risk is nothing with the nicotine and fury bubbling through your veins. You raid the abandoned warehouses, negotiate and exterminate the intelligent doppelgängers, and cull the ones impersonating animals. 

With each mission, you lose part of yourself. 

You shoot people who look like your friends, fellow humans like yourself. Children. Elderly. It’s exceedingly difficult to remind yourself it’s not human blood coagulating on your hands. 

Your sacrifice serves you well. Your anger bolsters your righteous path as Captain. It doesn't quite feel like revenge when it’s paved with gold and a heavy salary, but what do you know?

All stars burn bright before they die, right?

‘Cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin’ around.’

It’s been a little over two months, and the supernova has become part of your galaxy. 

He orders, he sits, he takes a short rest. While he eats, he watches you smoke. You think that’s the end of that, but it’s not. 

Mr Francis Mosses stops coming weekly. Rather, he’s begun coming nightly.

Just as the clouds begin turning that alizarin blue, he parks his compact van in the driveway. You hear him before you see him – senses enhanced by your years in this country’s pseudo-military, muscle and sinew tensed in anticipation. Each gravel crunch is a signal, each careful step a firework. You can hear the engine hum as though it was by your ear. 

You don’t know when the anticipation started. You don’t particularly like it. 

“Mm,” his voice has become slightly rougher. Those dark shadows beneath his eyes look particularly deep tonight, when the dusk coalesces faster. “What do you recommend?”

This is new. This is uncharted territory, but your supernova always throws out the map regardless. 

You blink, thoroughly perturbed by his sudden question. Self-consciously, your fingers thread through your apron ties. 

“I don’t know.” You’re carefully neutral, to the point where you’re even boring yourself. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

You really haven’t. It’s not like you particularly care about what you eat; smoke distorts your perception of hunger, and you just pick whatever’s closest to you.

“Pick something for me, then, anything at all,” he offers. You stare at him like he’s grown another eyeball. This, you think, is the most words you’ve heard in a row from him. It’s slightly disturbing. “I think I’ll like whatever you choose.”

You stay silent, with neon lights dancing on your impassive face as a response. 

When you make his strawberry milkshake and chicken club sandwich, he’s not closed his eyes. Rather, he watches while you work, much like you’d watched him when he first came to the diner. And rather than his usual booth, he sits right on the cherry-red stools at the bar counter, right in front of the kitchen station. 

It’s unnerving.

The streetlamps create halos around him. He’s a cerulean angel, you realise, one that’s tired and exhausted from the divine lifestyle. 

For the first time in three years, you can hear something other than the vinyl. If you stop to think about it, you think it’s your pulse drumming impatiently in your ears. But that would be absurd. 

Everyone knows that when you die, your heart shrivels cold and hard. 

You've died several times over. A pulse is impossible.

‘I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king.’

From the very beginning in the Execution Squad, you’re taught two fundamental rules. The first is that though these creatures may appear human, you should extricate any and all pity you may have for them. 

The second fundamental is that doppelgängers work alone. Amongst apex predators like these, they hunt alone and live alone. These truths were observed when they first arrived, and you don’t question them. As a Captain, you’ve repeated the same tenets to your subordinates dozens of times, and they have served you well. 

That is the ‘routine’ you’ve created. Nothing good comes from its mutations.  

Don’t feel pity for these creatures. They’ll take your weakness and slit your throat with it. 

It’s supposed to be a simple operation. 

Use their lack of cooperation amongst themselves against them. A natural rivalry is present in the species.

You’ve grown complacent. It seems you don’t remember the most pivotal tenet of them all. 

But don’t expect this species to remain constant. 

You’ve already sent your Lieutenant back to base on your foolish assumption that this is just a simple extermination job. 

“Two confirmed doppelgängers in the vicinity, may be more in hiding,” you mutter. Your pistol is strapped to your thigh, whilst your shotgun rests heavy against your back. It’s a comforting weight. 

It’s also a false security. 

No one can deny your experience. You know your subordinates inside and out; you’ve eliminated their doppelgängers countless times. You shoot their faces. You watch the viscera drip from your sleeve. You tuck away your weapon. 

The bile stops rising eventually when you use enough bullets. 

That’s enough reminiscing. 

When you light the stick, you’re under the eaves of a crumbling factory. Rain drizzles from forlorn clouds – it’s winter, and you’re starved for warmth. Anything will do, even if it’s the hot blood congealing off your body in dense rivulets. 

It’s sickening, but you’re sick in the head and have been for a long time now. 

It’s not bloodthirst, but a cold detachment. Even without the nicotine, you think you could stay compartmentalised enough to face hordes of doppelgängers. 

Slightly nutty, moderately sweet. A note of sourness, you appreciate. 

You can sense several figures moving around in the factory. Even though they appear closer to each other than usual, you don’t think anything of it. 

After all, this is your ‘routine’. 

When you stub the smoke out into the soaked pavement, you know it’s time to move. Though there’s some unease lingering in the back of your throat, you dismiss it. 

You shoot the lock open. Your dark coat whirls behind you as the door clicks inwards. 

Several pairs of eyes swing towards you, and you freeze. 

How could you not?

These aren’t the people you’ve spent each day with for the past few years. These are your parents, your siblings, your cousins.  

No one warned you about this. 

This wasn’t in the manuals you read. 

When they say your name, you crumple like the building you’re in. Your tears cascade like the rain outside. 

You know their faces. They’re real, breathing mementos of long-gone humans. You want to believe; you can feel your precious tenets disintegrating with each step you take towards your family. 

Your family.  

Through blurred eyes, you can’t examine them in detail. They croon towards you – hushed murmurings of love and comfort – and you cannot help but give in. The gun at your thigh, the gun at your back; they’re there because of them, your family. 

Those compartments in your mind. They’re gone, burst open as though they were floodgates. 

You’re held for the first time in a decade. Human warmth envelopes you, before it starts suffocating you. 

Give in, it says. 

You want to. You want to, damn it, more than anything. 

You lied when you said you didn’t want death. 

You crave it the most. 

“I’m sorry,” you plead. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” they coo, and for a minute it feels wrong to imagine otherwise. It feels like betrayal to think of them as anything other than kin. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat through sobs. Your guns are drawn, and you aim at the faces you wanted to see again more than anything. 

This is love, you think. You bear this pain because you love your family. You love them, to the point where you shoot them so they can finally rest beyond the veil. You love them, to the point where you point your gun at yourself and drop it wretchedly when it’s out of bullets. 

You love them, to the point where you’d rip your heart out of your chest to quell their sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Salty tears drip from your face as you shoot for the last time in your career. 

When your Lieutenant finds you, you’re drowning. You’re curled up inside the abandoned factory, bodies strewn around you as you clutch your mother’s face for the last time. It’s not a pretty sight – brain matter and blood drips from you in oceans. They bled like me. They bled like my parents.

You’re choking on the waves. You’ve gotten your revenge. 

You’ve gotten your warmth – the blood and tears and rain scald you. Devils burn when exposed to such liquids, after all; you’re too impure to carry on living. 

Your cries strangle you. Even when you gasp and heave, no oxygen enters your desperate mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Over and over, over and over, over and over, over and over, over and over, you repeat the same syllables. Even when the tears stop, your eyes are curiously blank and you continue the mantra. 

The lack of tears doesn’t matter anymore. The sky cries for you; weeks after the incident leave the area with relentless downpour that doesn’t cease even long after you’re taken away. 

I’m sorry. 

Revenge wasn’t meant to be like this. You had clear expectations; the doppelgänger was never meant to be family. You’d imagined a faceless creature. You hadn’t imagined this at all. 

I’m sorry. 

Episodes like this happen to even the most experienced within the unit. No one can shoulder this burden forever.

I’m sorry.

You’re honourably discharged. As of May 7th, 1973, you’re no longer part of the Execution Squad. 

“Go,” they say. “You’re free.”

No one says anything when you tumble in from hell into a small town on the edge of the city. There, you’ve been given a blank slate. They’ve scrubbed clean the blood from it – it smells like bleach and a myriad of cleaning chemicals. 

You’re allowed to keep your pistol. Though you’re not a part of the Execution Squad any longer, your badge allows you to keep it for self-defence against doppelgängers as a former Captain. It’s less work for the D.D.D – you take on the vigilant role, while they don’t need to put you on the payroll. It’s a pity for them, however. 

You don’t plan on touching it ever again.

When you sign the job contract for a shitty diner that only plays the same record on repeat, you savour it. Though your looping letters still come out bloody, it’s from beef patties rather than doppelgängers. 

It’s a fresh start. 

Here, you’ll create your painfully ordinary, mundane ‘routine’.

It can’t mutate again. 

Please. You plead with fate. Not again.

You don’t plan on feeling hurt ever again. 

‘I’ve been up and down and over and out and I know one thing.’

“My name?” 

“Mm,” Mr Francis Mosses hums. His eyes lazily trace you, and you know he can see the name tag pinned neatly on your chest. You say as much, with as little emotion as possible. 

This is dangerous. Your stomach churns in what could only be nervousness. 

“I’d like to hear it from you,” he comments neutrally. Or not. If you’re not mistaken, the earlier impassivity of his has melted slightly into amicability. You hope you’re mistaken.

Even so, your name leaves your lips like a promise. 

I hate myself. 

If he notices the hidden loathing, he doesn’t say anything. 

‘Each time I find myself flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race.’

It happens on the eve of ‘77. Snow softly powders the welkin and the earth, yet everything is still blue. There appears to be no purity where you reside; just a sorrowful, mournful despondency trailing behind you like a grave shroud fluttering on the funeral pyre. 

You’re about to light your second cigarette when you hear that familiar hum of machinery. It sings to you, breaks your blood vessels and rebuilds them once more. 

You hadn’t expected him to come today – it’s a day that should be spent with family, not at some diner where even the most rambunctious couldn’t be found today.

The stick is left between your lips like a kiss. 

When he gets out of his van, he doesn’t move past you. You, the Cerebus of the underworld. You, the mad dog who can do nothing but guard. You, who couldn’t do even that, and failed in your duty. Your honourable discharge is anything but. You’re a disgrace.  

No, he doesn’t move past you. 

His jacket slips off his shoulders and wraps around you. You blink in surprise, sturdy muscles poised to act to this unknown danger. What is this?

He still doesn’t move past you – his nose is slowly turning red in the below zero Celsius weather, while his breath comes out in silvery plumes. It’s unfathomable. 

When he pulls out a lighter, you almost go into anaphylactic shock. 

But you don’t, because your body is a traitor who can’t even die properly. 

You bend obediently at the waist to receive the flame instead. 

This is new. 

It seems like your supernova was able to reach past his limits.

This gravitational pull – it has to be a black hole.

Your galaxies need a thorough reshaping once more, it seems.

“Go, Mr Francis Mosses,” you mumble. “It’s too cold out here for you.”

When he enters the warm diner with a small hum, you miss the small smile on his tired face. 

The heavy glass doors swing shut. You’re alone in the blue world, drinking in the menthol and tobacco and tar and all the flavours that exist on this pitiful planet. Yes, you’re a speck on the planet, and Mr Francis Mosses is at the centre of the orbit. It all comes down to him. He’s the sudden singularity that continuously tilts the axis of motion. 

You don’t think the belt of stars can ever be the same. 

When was the last time you felt like this?

He’s not in his usual space by the counter when you shoulder open the door. Instead, he sits at the booth closest to the record player – Sinatra’s mellow tenor can be heard clearest at the point where the sound waves reach their zero order. It’s a good spot, especially for the eve of the next year; it’s in direct sight of the digital clock that currently reads a quarter to ten. 

You step silently towards him, but there’s no use in that. He’s watching each pace, after all. 

You don’t know what he’s thinking. All this time spent among doppelgängers, and you’ve lost the ability to read humans in return. 

He’s unusual. 

What’s he scheming?

“What would you like, Mr Francis Mosses?” you ask instead. It’ll be an easier answer for you to bear, you think. 

This corner is particularly dim, lit only by the back glow of fluorescence from the reflective walls. You can easily pick up the dilation of his eyes as you move closer; with your sharp eyes, you can even pick up the reflection of you and that coat in his irises. 

He should’ve moved to a brighter spot, you think. You’re not particularly discerning when it comes to these matters. 

“I’d like to share a meal with you for New Years’,” his voice is husky-low with exhaustion. You pity him, having to work to the bone each day. “You can decide what we have.”

“Go home, Mr Mosses,” you reply. 

Maybe he’s like you. Alone, without a supernova to shift his axis. 

“I can’t,” he tiredly remarks. “You’re good company.”

This time when you cook, he keeps his eyes closed with the jacket covering him like a blanket. You’re damn sure it smells like any pack of Old Gold, yet he’s conked out like a baby nonetheless. 

You frown.

What’s with this guy?

He’s out for quite a bit – you watch the minutes drag out until it’s half to eleven. By then, you’ve painstakingly made waffles, generously topped with strawberries. There’s other dishes too from the diner menu: burgers dripping with onions and beef fat, fries coated in powdered spices, and a bottle of cognac you were planning on drinking on the steps tonight. 

It’s New Years’ Eve, after all. 

Your hand reaches out to shake him awake, but you freeze just before collision. 

What’s with this feeling?

Your stomach feels tight, but before you can react, your hand’s already clasped around his deltoid. It’s startling how warm it is; you can feel each steady thrum of his heart, each gasp of lifeblood as it oxygenates and pulses through his cells. 

“Mr Francis Mosses,” you rasp, low and just barely above the strains of swing music. The crackle of the record player seems to be louder than your hushed cadence, but the man awakes quickly regardless of your volume. He takes a moment to register his surroundings, before stiffening slightly upon spotting your hand still on his shoulder. 

You quickly retract it as though burnt. 

For the first time in a while, you can taste the food. It doesn’t go up in smoke, and it doesn’t go anywhere save your stomach. 

When you drink the cognac, Mr Francis Mosses drinks with you. His flushed face is something to behold, something that makes your solar plexus tighter and tighter. 

There’s a burning sensation that claws from your chest. You can’t be sure, but you don’t think it’s the alcohol. 

“Mr Mosses,” you say, glancing at the sky beyond the windows. It’s no longer blue – rather, the black firmament reflects nothing but neon motifs. You step outside, lighting a fresh stick as he follows behind you in a tizzy. 

“It’s midnight,” you exhale. 

“It is.” It is, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile like that. Eyes crinkled at the edges, teeth slightly on display. Your breath catches, and the cigarette in your fingers twirls, forgotten in that moment. 

“Happy New Year, Mr Mosses.”

Everything is supercharged. 

For the first time, you truly don’t know what the future will bring. 

[lynnlovesspidahman]

this is me trying.

peter parker x reader

part 2. || part 1.

masterlist.

warnings : angst, mentions of violence, swearing, lots of self-doubt (peter im sorry)

word count : 2.7k

summary : There’s always two sides to a story. An apology is put into place.

Peter felt like he was living three different lives at once.

Each taking so, so much energy every single day.

His job, an assistant for Dr. Octavius at Octavius Industries. He felt guilty for arriving late every day, and still somehow having a job.

Peter was smarter than Doc, they both knew that. So that meant he would be called to office very, very often.

Usually because of some mistake Doc had made while working on the new prototypes of prosthetic limbs.

But the pressure it brought could get to be too much sometimes. One small mistake could cost millions of lives — or dollars — if not noticed early enough.

But he knew it would help the world someday, in so many ways. The exhaustion was totally worth it.

Spider-Man. Peter had loved and genuinely enjoyed playing his alter-ego.

Constantly, day and night, he was out. Out saving people everywhere. Sure, his work wasn’t appreciated by everyone but it was 100% worth it — to him.

But Spider-Man came with considerable costs. His everlasting lack of sleep. Peter can’t remember the last time he really got his 8 hours. The bags under his eyes made that apparent enough.

The physicality of the job, how many times had he stopped a car with his bare hands? He lost count years ago.

The bruises, cuts, broken limbs, brought immense pain, even to Spider-Man. Sure, he can heal faster — a nights rest, a heating pad, and your some soup is more than enough — But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

And the emotional weight it brought.

The crimes haven’t slowed, if anything they’ve gotten much more prominent all around the city.

The overwhelming amount of times he has to swing across New York to fight off large groups of thugs has become too much.

And honestly, he’s so sick of it.

And so, Peter stopped pulling his punches as much.

The guilt didn’t come until later.

He climbed through your apartment’s window after a long, long night of patrol.

You were sitting there — unaware of his presence— watching TV, all cuddled up on the corner of the couch with your mini Spidey plush.

“Hey, beautiful.” He called out to you.

“Holy shit-” You jumped and turned around to look at him. “You can’t just pop out of nowhere like that, you scared the hell out of me.”

You got up and walked towards him, “Was patrol okay?”

“Uh, yeah it was alright, kicked my ass tonight though. I’m worn out,” He stretched his arms above his head.

“Hm. Why?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Uhm, I mean I fought bad guys all night?” He scoffed, a stupid question, he thought.

“Or was it because you practically killed someone tonight?” You bluntly said.

You had taken a step away from him, like he was a danger to you too.

“They were a criminal!�� He shrugged.

“Why does that matter? You can’t just completely take someone’s life away. That’s not who you are. Before you say you didn’t, you came real close to.” You stood your position.

It felt like you shot him straight in the heart.

He should’ve listened to you. But instead, he took a shot right back at you, a shot to kill.

“Again, they’re criminals. I’m sorry I had to calm things down somehow. I’m sorry I needed to do something to catch a break for once in my damn life. And you’re not exactly helping that.” He looked away from you. He felt ashamed.

You were right, he knew that, even then. But his pride couldn’t let him admit it.

“What is wrong with you? You love Spider-Man. And you always talk about how killing sickens you. You’ve changed, Peter.” You spat back at him.

He should’ve just ended it there, stopped the excessive violence, stopped the fight. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been in your kitchen on that faithful Tuesday.

It had been two days since that argument.

His almost perfect rep was officially ruined (Jameson had a field trip that day, too). The stress was at an all-time high.

He almost couldn’t handle it. He didn’t want to anymore.

He was still so angry at you for being right. Because you always were.

You were the one who kept him balanced, who took care of him no matter the time of day or night.

He hadn’t been back to your apartment since the fight, either.

But he would return to it after a tough night the day after. And the next.

And you forgave him, so fast (He took you to see the Barbie movie, paid for every snack and drink you could’ve wanted. It was indisputable on your end). The guilt from what Peter’s put you through has just stacked on and on.

Now he really couldn’t handle it anymore. 

And so, there he was. Sat atop a random rooftop rethinking everything.

He debated his life. His three lives, more like. Which parts were worth it, and which weren’t. (It was really fucked up, who measures parts of their life in worth and just decides which to throw away?)

He couldn’t lose his job, how would he make money?

He couldn’t stop being Spider-Man, he knew that.

And there was you. The biggest and undoubtedly the most important part.

But you were also easy to throw away, he thought.

So much stress and time would be lifted off of his shoulders.

(Little did he know, it would be the complete opposite. His injuries didn’t heal all the way like they did when you took care of him. Every time he was hurt, it would linger for days at a time. He missed how much you’d worried for him. He really took you for granted.)

And so, he decided in the next couple of weeks, he would break it off.

And he did. On the Tuesday the following week.

He looks back on it — to this day — and realized everything he had said to you that evening, wasn’t directed at you. It was directed at himself.

Of course he enjoyed loving you. He didn’t enjoy being himself was what.

He needed to be his best for you because he couldn’t be with anything else. He failed at being the friendly and reliable Spider-man. Him and Doc didn’t get the grant they’d been needing for so long.

And when he did try to improve when you called him out that night, it just wasn’t enough.

He didn’t deserve you.

He took everything out on you, he didn’t mean a word he said. But you didn’t know that.

Peter never had an outlet to take anything out. He couldn’t leave you with every burden of his life, Doc and him weren’t that close, and May couldn’t know he was Spider-Man.

He snapped that Tuesday.

And there’s nothing more that he regrets in his entire life.

But he couldn’t burden you anymore. He wouldn’t.

He did nothing but keep you up late at night, hurt your feelings, and make you do everything for him.

Peter loved you. And he couldn’t let himself torture you like this.

So he forced himself to let you go. You would move on, anyways. He couldn’t.

He listened to every single one of the voicemails you sent.

Every. Single. One. He’s never heard you sound so down (Because of him, nonetheless).

It took so much out of him to not respond. More than what he had to give.

And after five weeks, he finally caved.

He texted you.

9:52 PM

Hey, beautiful.

You wouldn’t forgive him quick this time, he knew that. This time wasn’t just some fight. He tore your heart apart.

But he would work for your forgiveness, he swore to himself, God as his witness.

You read the message immediately. He knew you had gotten off of work, so it wasn’t completely abnormal.

But you didn’t respond. He checked his phone all night and the next morning (He was desperate for something, even if it was an angry text. He hated nothing more than you ignoring him).

So he texted you again. He just went straight for it this time, no holding back anymore.

1:16 PM

Can we meet up?? I think we can agree there’s still some loose ends we need to revisit, together.

Read 1:18 PM

He was patient this time. He tried stepping in your shoes, and it broke his heart. He couldn’t imagine you snapping on him like he had.

He couldn’t live if you were angry at him like he was at you. And if you weren’t going to respond again he was debating on just showing up to your apartment. Can’t ignore him that way.

2:12 PM

Y/N 💞 : “Loose ends” is a funny term. You mean when you randomly showed up to my apartment and broke up with me for the stupidest reason?

He cringed. This was a dumb decision.

2:12 PM

I know, trust me. I just want to talk. And explain myself.

Explain my biggest mistake. I’ve never regretted anything more than leaving you and taking the anger at myself onto you.

He debated on sending the message, but he didn’t.

You would just see it as him trying kiss your ass into forgiving him. It worked before.

2:14 PM

Y/N 💞 : Peter, why? Why are you only just know texting me? Why are you trying to meet up when you tore my heart into pieces? Why are you seeking forgiveness randomly?

Why are you asking such hard questions, he wanted to ask.

2:14 PM

Idk, I miss you?

I miss you and still love you. I regret that night so much.

Can you just hear me out? Please?

Nothing sounded right. But he just went for it, again. At this point, he was pacing across his rooftop, anxious for your response (If you even gave him one).

2:15 PM

Y/N 💞 : Peter, I swear. If you make me regret this, I’ll come for you. Worse than any enemy you’ve ever faced and ever will.

He laughed at that one. You wouldn’t —right?—

2:15 PM

I won’t, Y/N. I promise. Tomorrow, Micks at 3?

Read 2:16 PM

You left him on read, but he counted that as a success — you didn’t refuse his offer so.. —

He would come back from this. He has to.

Peter was late. Fuck him.

Why did you even give him your time of day anymore? This man could tear you apart and you still gave into his words.

3:13 PM

Peter 🕸️ : Babt, I’mso sotry. I got caugjt up with worl, I’m bloxks away I sqaer.

You could barely understand him, but you were used to his usually proper grammar slipping while he was swinging.

How dare he? How dare he beg you to come out here and he gets to show up late??

He practically busted the restaurant’s door open. He rushed to your table.

“Baby I-”

“No,” You interrupted. “You don’t get to call me that. Fuck you, asshole. You ask me to meet you and you show up late? Are you kidding me?” You crossed your arms and stood up from the booth you were sitting at.

“Y/N, I’m so, so sorry. I got caught up with Doc at work. Huuge internal wiring problem. I don’t even understand how he could’ve messed it up so badly,” He talked with his hands, he was so cute when he did that.

You took a step towards him, and slapped the shit out of his stupidly attractive face.

“You don’t get to break me and show up late when you wanted me here.” The tears were back. You were livid. You shoved your finger into his face as you scolded him.

“I know, I know. I keep fucking up and I’m sorry. Lets just sit down and let me explain everything. I promise you, it’s worth it.” He put his hands on both of your shoulders to keep you from leaving and tried to calm you down.

“Hands off,” You pulled his hands away from your shoulder and slumped back into the booth.

You wanted to go home.

“Okay, okay.” He sat down and stared at you.

“Well?” You waited, “Let’s hear this explanation,” You rolled your eyes.

“Well, uh-” He paused for a moment, ���I don’t know how to start.”

You waited for him to continue, arms still crossed. You really didn’t want to hear him out.

“Do you remember when I almost beat the life outta that guy? Like a month ago or something?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You rolled your eyes again, not exactly a good moment to bring up.

“I feel like that’s where it started,”

“Mhm..” You nodded for him to keep going.

“I started slipping. I stopped pulling my punches and I was so stressed out every moment of my life. A-and one day I just got so sick of it,” He started choking up, you almost felt bad for him.

“So I sat down and tried to organize my life. I wanted to rid myself of stress and try to free up time for myself in order to y’know, rejuvenate.”

You sat there, you were expecting plain excuses. But it seemed he had something real going here.

“I couldn’t rid myself of my job — how else would I be able to live? — and obviously Spider-Man isn’t a choice. And there came you. The best and biggest part of my life.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“I was stupid, I thought that by taking a break, I’d feel more free. And feel more.. well less stressed out. If I had something to myself then I would be better and feel okay? I don’t know.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, please. I was so overwhelmed with everything. I’ve been so behind on rent, and crime just never stops around here. Its like it raises more and more every week.”

“I thought-” He took a deep breath, “I thought that if I had one less chore — trust me you are not a chore to me — life would get easier.”

You’re guessing he tried to rephrase his words he said before, he’s almost repeating himself.

“But it didn’t. At all. I was in pain all the time — emotionally and physically — it didn’t help at all. I said I didn’t enjoy loving you. I lied. I didn’t enjoy loving myself- or being me.”

Your heart clenched for him. He hurt you so bad, but hearing how he truly felt made you slightly reconsider things.

“I didn’t enjoy the stress of my life, and I don’t have any outlet for my anger. And you forgave me so easily the last time we fought. And I guess I took advantage of that. I took all of the hate I had for myself onto you. I think that will forever be my biggest mistake.”

Your eyebrows scrunched.

“I love you. So much, Y/N. More than words can describe. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life and I can’t ever be away from you, again.”

“I broke it off thinking it would cause me less stress, but I understand now that it was you who took the pressure away. Being away from you, Y/N,” He laughed (At his own pain, seemingly). “I’ve never felt shittier in my life.”

Your tears flowed. Your expectations were well exceeded. He’s fucked up so much, but he makes up for it every time. And this time, it wasn’t done by kissing your ass and spoiling you, you recognized that.

“I can’t explain how sorry I am. I regret what I did to you that night so much. More than anything in the world. I just hope you can understand that.”

“I hope you can understand me.” He kept eye contact, his eyes were watery. “I know how complicated I can get,” He let out a breathy laugh.

“Pete.” You just about whispered his name.

“Yeah..?” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve before answering you.

“I forgive you.” You smiled, still crying from his well thought out (you had to give him credit) apology.

“Wait- Really?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He stood up and hugged you from across the table.

“But..”

“But..?” He repeated you, curiously. He let go of the hug to look you in the eyes.

“You’re gonna have to pay for the meal if you really want me back.”

He laughed.

“I love you.”

He grabbed your cheeks and pulled you in for a kiss. He’s never kissed you so hard.

Stunned, but pleasantly surprised, you sat there for a moment. Unsure of whether you should kiss him or not.

But you grabbed his collar and melted into the kiss.

No matter how hard he had broken you, his words brought you back to him.

And you wouldn’t regret it, you knew that.

part 2 is finished 🥹

just wanna explain a few things just in case:

peter is a lil ooc w the excessive violence and it’s not him to be like that but i feel like every body gets to that point where everything can be just too much. even spider-man.

i also feel like he needs a healthy outlet for his feelings, being spiderman, he’s constantly busy. not exactly easy to make friends. but also being spiderman, he doesn’t wanna leave y/n with all of his problems, he’s supposed to be the hero. so he bottles it all up. to the point where he just burst one day and took it out on her. (not good!!)

also i felt like him being a man, he’s going to feel insecure if y/n’s the one taking care of him all the time. he’s the man, it’s supposed to be the other way around, but it’s not. and that’s okay!! often times, old traditions still lies deep within all of us. men’s mental health matters too!! men can still feel insecure!! EVERYONE DOES. but that doesn’t mean we (as people) can take out our insecurities or anger at ourselves onto other people. most times, they don’t deserve the hate we bring onto ourselves.

that being said, not everyone can be perfect. (peter is a great example) we’re all going through something in life and are constantly being tested. but, the biggest thing is to always persevere no matter what. you’re never going to have more on your plate than you can handle. if you’re struggling, always remember to reach out to someone. a loved one, a professional, or even me. my dms are always open. i love you all. 🩷

anyways,

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated!!

i hope you all enjoyed this story as much as i liked writing it 💗💗

[aaal-iz-well]

What happens when you're tired, and angry, and feeling betrayed

Pairing: Avery and Jameson

Summary:

Jameson fucks up, again. But this time, Avery's had too much, and is too tired to hold back what's in her (heavy) heart.

(takes place sometime during The Hawthorne Legacy)

A/N: hello guys, so this is my first time posting my work over here, and i hope you guys like it. enjoy reading! AO3 LINK

Jameson, never the gentleman, opened the door for Avery before stepping in himself.

The lights flickered on automatically, and as if they knew he’d brought a girl, were dimmer, softer. Which surprised him, because why couldn’t they be like this when he stumbled in drunk? Instead of that eye-wateringly bright, which was mirrored on the insides of his eyelids for hours.

He’d have to look into that.

For now, he was looking at the state of his room, and wished he hadn’t been so bitchy about letting the staff clean it. As if letting someone see his stupid collection of riddles was a clear devaluation of them.

And it would’ve been cool if it was the sort of room that embraced the mess. Instead, the room seemed detached, its pristine surfaces glaring at the cluttered papers, just like Avery probably was.

Only when she quickly strode over to a wad of papers at the center of the mess did alarm bells go off in his head. But it was too late, as she was already straightening one against the floor, and turned to him with eyes that held so much—anger, betrayal, sadness, did he—

“You didn’t tell me about this,” she accused, and he wanted to rescue the paper from her clenching hands. That was the only copy he had; one she’d destroy if she didn’t control those shaking fingers. One he literally went to hell for.

He immediately moved towards her. Damage control. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, “just a—”

He stopped abruptly, grimacing at the way her fingers further tightened over it. “I thought we’d decided to tell each other everything,” she said indignantly. She wasn’t shouting, but the quake in her voice suggested she might as well be if she was that sort of person. “And, then let the other person decide what is and isn’t important.”

Jameson felt chagrined by his words to her upon discovering her letters thrown back at him.

But, he did what he did best in tight situations in front of disappointed teachers, and brothers, and grandfathers, alike. He shrugged in the boyish way he’d seen Avery admire from afar. “Well,” he tried to smile.

This only resulted in her crossing her arms over her chest, and the bitterness in her eyes as she appraised him felt more cutting than any barbs or threats or insults anyone had ever thrown at him.

His mind wanted to default to a wink, but he very much did not want to test her patience.

In a desperate attempt to avoid those eyes, he bent down and started collecting everything he’d discovered along with that zoomed in shot of Toby—which thankfully, wasn’t in a quite so bruising grip now.

Her hand clamped down on his wrist. She all but snatched them off the floor. Without sparing a glance at him, she quickly walked to his desk, and with exceeding force, pulled out the chair underneath it. Changing the lighting to that same blinding setting, she stacked the pages and tapped them against his desk, apparently determined to go through the whole load of them at this very instance.

He thought he saw her discreetly wipe off a tear over her cheek, which he doubted could be chalked up to the lighting.

His whole body felt tight, coiled up within the weight of her disapproval. His hands twitched to give something, that he didn’t think he had; to ease her shaking shoulders.

To convince himself he wasn’t a completely shitty person, he placed a hand on those shoulders, rubbing them slowly. “Heiress,” he said as softly as he could manage. “It’s been a really shitty long day. We- you can pick this up tomorrow. Why don’t you get some rest for now?”

She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing under his hands, and for a moment, he felt hopeful.

“Please,” she choked out, her eyes fixed on a zoomed-in image of Toby. “Don’t touch me.”

Jameson’s heart sunk, literally sunk. He felt it being dragged under, settling somewhere at the bottom of his gut; its rapid beat as it squirmed to be let free. Suddenly, he found his hands were still there, and lifted them as if burned, shifting back brokenly.

And he knew he couldn’t be in the same room as Avery with the knowledge that she didn’t even feel safe, after she’d said that. Before he knew what he was doing, he had collected a towel, and a spare change of clothes, thrown what he hoped was a coherent, “feeling like a shower” and locked himself in the bathroom.

Yes, he was a Hawthorne, hiding in his bathroom.

As he deposited what he’d brought over the hangers, a determination settled over his shoulders, giving them some strength.

An image started to form in his mind: of him exiting the bathroom, tragically handsomely. Steamed glasses, towel around his waist, backlit against the counter lights with steam condensing into his air-conditioned room. And have a heart to heart with Avery.

(He was yet unaware of the effects said heart to heart would have on him.)

As if to warn him, the striking hot water hit his skin, making him yelp, and he quickly switched to comfortably lukewarm. And got to doing something that had helped him crack so many stubborn riddles. Masterminding in the shower. So…

Toby was a mystery to Jameson. Something that made his hands itch to do something, everything, to find him. By hook or by crook. A part of him also thought of it as a race.

But he didn’t put a lot of thought into what he’d do after Toby was found. What was even left of a mystery when it was solved? Now that was a clear devaluation, the loss of allure. But he couldn’t picture anything significantly changed.

It couldn’t have been more different for Avery.

Those nimble hands kept filtering through everything, anything, when it came to Toby, eyes unblinking. Not because: Ha there you’re hiding. Nice place by the way, have to give it to you.

But because Toby was her friend, someone she bought breakfast, someone whom she let buy her breakfast. And by now, Jameson knew what an incredible feat that was, for Toby to have accomplished.

And then they found out he might be her father. Even with his eyes focused on the scribbled wall, he noticed her breathlessness as she ran out. Or how all the colour drained out of her already quite pale face, leaving her looking like something lifeless, when they were faced with the harrowing possibility that he might be hurt, or worse, dead.

For Avery, every thread unravelled was a nail bitten, an extra crease on her forehead, a pound lost.

What an incredibly senseless way to live, especially for someone as sensible as Avery, letting every hope hinge on something so uncertain.

***

Jameson got out the shower, not because he felt nearly composed after considering everything (quite the opposite actually), but because his hands were pruning, and his skin felt raw. He wrapped a towel around his torso, but the idea of going out like this felt ridiculous, so he quickly changed into the clothes he’d brought, and stepped out.

The result was rather anticlimactic, considering all his imagining, because Avery was slumped over the table, head to her side, over all the pages she’d earlier been determined to pour through all night.

Jameson had that feeling again, of those coils around him.

He gently shook her shoulder. “Heiress,” he said, “Avery!” Her eyes fluttered open, and it was a relief to see them look at him confusedly, rather than with malice. “Come on, get up, I’ll walk you to your room. Your back’ll thank you in the morning.”

Avery cracked both her eyes, quite painfully, it seemed, and they looked painfully red as well. It was then that he noticed the dried tears on her cheek. “Jamie,” she croaked.

The boy in question felt a pinch in his throat, at the sight of tears staining her face, and his nickname being used like that. For something other than the upper hand in a petty power play.

“Yes?” he whispered back.

She patted his shoulder, and it took him a while to understand, but he pulled back the other chair and sat down next to her.

He waited for her to say something, feeling uneasy.

She lifted her head up, somewhat. “Why’d you have to do that, Jameson?” she asked. “Every. Single. Time.” Her voice should have been demanding, claiming, but it felt like giving up instead. To sleep, to feelings— he didn’t know.

Her face scrunched up. “I think we’re even, you know. When I show you everything I’ve collected over the years, praying you don’t think me mad for holding onto garbage.” She stopped, and he noticed the tears pricking the redness in her eyes. “Can you imagine how hard it must be for me in this shiny place? How stupid I feel showing you mum’s postcards, my old life, for what is game, Jameson—” she poked his chest righteously, her voice quivering “—all a game to you.”

“Avery—” he said, shaking his head, but stopped when he realised what a selfish thing he’d wanted to ask of her. Please stop, don’t tell me how shitty I am.

She had paused, and seemed to know this as well. “Yeah,” she said knowingly, mirthlessly. “But it’s okay, I think, because you’re doing the same, like I’m not opening up to be shot at.” She paused again. “But then, then you pull something like this, and I feel so stupid—” she seemed to be clawing for words, but a broken sob was all that came out, tears following.

“I hate being stupid,” she managed. “And over a boy, my god.”

Only when the silence— broken by her trying to compose herself, furiously swiping at her eyes— stretched on too long did Jameson realise she was done.

He felt tears prickling his eyes as well. At his utter uselessness, just sitting there, staring at her; at the urge to spew an excuse, to say ‘oh, guilty as charged’; at his tied tongue.

But, mostly, at his capacity to hurt. So grievously and deeply. For a truly dark moment, he thought there was no difference between him and Emily. After all, wasn’t this exactly how she’d made him feel. He recalled his shrug earlier, how it must have felt like a slap in the face, the way it’d come naturally for him to minimize her anger.

And his thoughts felt scattered, dangerous in the way they were bubbling up, trying to come out his throat. And he knew that anything he said right now might very well break the thread he stood on with Avery.

“Avery, we’ll talk about this tomorrow, I promise,” he told her, just as he saw her head droop to one side. “You should head to bed right now.”

She buried her sleepy face into her hands, and sighed. “I don’t want to go to my room.”

“Oh,” Jameson breathed. “What do you want to do, then?”

Avery rubbed her hands over her eyes, mumbled something unintelligible, and Jameson waited, waited, but she didn’t seem keen to repeat herself.

He shook her shoulder, and when she cracked open her eye, she looked even more annoyed. But before she could say a word, he pulled her up to her feet. Avery seemed to understand, as she walked quickly, following his lead to navigate all the clutter, to the bed.

He let her ease herself onto the mattress, and, then removed her shoes. Picking a thin blanket from his armoire, he draped it over her. As he went to switch off the lights, her hand caught his.

“Jamie,” she said, and it did feel like a powerplay this time. “Don’t you dare hide anything from me again. I’m not lying when I say I’ll kick you out.”

He was certainly surprised by her words, but could only nod. As he was closing the door behind him, he heard Avery call out. “Jameson, please don’t tell Alisa I’m here.”

“Sure thing.”

[chiefdirector]

Sleep | Bobby Nash | 9-1-1

No. 2: Insomnia

Maybe it was all too much, or maybe he just wasn't enough. It could've been a manner of a hundred-million things, but every thought all came to one conclusion: it was all his fault. He had been through this before, but he didn't know how he could cope this time around.

He had lost his family before but he had a bottle of booze to indulge himself with as he forgot the world around him. He didn't have that anymore. Bobby never thought he would miss that part of his life but here he was, craving the amnesia only a bottle of Jameson could provide.

Moving to California had been hard, but his team at the 118 had made it easy. The regret of his actions had plagued him, and continued to do so, but loving these people, and subsequently being loved by them has made it easier. But despite all of his objections to the suggestion, Bobby had found a soft spot for Buck; he took the young man in and helped him mold himself to be the man he had grown up to be. Buck was the closest thing Bobby would ever get to a father-son relationship again, but God did he wish the treasured it more.

Bobby had seen Buck in a hospital bed a countless amoutn of times, but this time was different. This time Buck has a series of wires and tubes running in and out of his body. Some were providing pain relief, other blood, or nutritions. The one Bobby hated the most was the one that breathed for him. He hated that Buck couldnt breathe himself and needed some machine to do it for him, and he hated it that it was under his watch did this happen.

Deep down, Bobby knew that he couldn't control the weather, and he was sure as Hell that he couldn't have predicted that lightning would strike buck down from that ladder. But still, it was under his watch, command, and guidance that he went up that ladder. It was still his fault that he went up. It was his fault that Buck had to be rescued, and resuscitated, and revived.

It was all his fault and he didn't know if he could live with himself if he lost Buck also.

Days passed, the sun rose, and set, and rose once again. Nurses and doctors changed shifts, people came to see Buck and they left once again. The only constants were the pulsing of the heart rate monitor and Bobby himself. It all blended and blurred with each other, so much so that the sound of his phone pinging jolted him to attention.

Clicking the phone to life, he saw a singular message on his home screen from Athena.

Are you okay? Have you slept, it's late.

Bobby looked up and out the window, sure enough the sun had set once again. He then looked down to the date on his phone. Thursday. Time had passed a lot quicker than he had expected, but then again he wasn't very aware of much lately. As quickly as he could, he shot back a reply.

I haven’t slept in days, I don't think I can right now

At this, he switched his phone to silent and slid it into his pocket. he could argue about his self destructive tendencies with Athena another time. Right now he wanted to pour all of attention into Buck, just in case he woke up. Just in case.

Masterlist | Whumptober Masterlist

@ailesswhumptober

[desertfangs]

Drifting Across the Moon [AO3]

Armand/Daniel - Mature - 3,817 words

A St. Patrick's Day Story! Daniel returns to Chicago, the last place he was alive as a mortal, trying to figure some things out.

This is probably the epitome of "wrote it for myself but hope others will like it" so I hope you like it! I love exploring the weird time between Daniel's turning and when he and Armand finally split "for good" (or what Armand thinks is for good, anyhow). Plus vampire drunk is a fun thing to play with.

Short Excerpt:

The bar smells of sweat and stale beer. Drinks have been sloshed all over the floor which makes Daniel’s shoes stick to it as he walks. It’s barely after 10 pm, but everyone in Tom O’Doyle’s Irish Pub is wasted. They’ve all been drinking since early afternoon and the detritus of their celebrations litter the bar: discarded green leprechaun hats and green plastic glasses on tables, headbands and pins shaped like shamrocks scattered around, forgotten as their previous wearers down another pitcher of Guiness, another shot of Jameson. 

Daniel wears a green zip-front sweatshirt and jeans and a pair of thickly rimmed glasses he bought recently with a slight yellow tint to their lenses to help hide the preternatural glow of his eyes. He likes wearing glasses again, it feels right somehow. 

In a booth in the back room of the bar, past the shuffleboard tables and dart boards, Daniel finds a guy passed out. He’s wearing a green beaded necklace and a shirt that says “Kiss Me, I’m Irish.”

Don’t mind if I do, Daniel thinks wryly. Daniel slides into the booth next to him and checks his pulse. Alive, just drunk as hell. Well, Daniel has been there plenty of times. 

He searches the room but no one is paying attention to this poor guy. If he came here with friends, they aren’t worried about leaving him to sleep off the whiskey shots. 

Daniel’s fangs pierce the man’s throat and the blood floods into his mouth, rich and metallic, tinged with the acrid taste of alcohol. He drinks deeply as the blood buzzes into his veins and makes his heart hammer in his chest. This is his third drink from a reveler here and when he pulls away, his head swims. The edges of his vision go soft and he leans back against the booth.

Vampire drunk is not like mortal drunk. It doesn’t warm his belly or last nearly as long. But it does give him a pleasant little buzz that dulls the sharper edges of the world. 

Read the Rest on AO3!

[morganwrites12672]

Jameson Hawthorne x Reader

Summary: Your anxiety hits an all time high while all at a gala. Your least favorite Hawthorne brother comes to your aide.

Warnings: Anxiety, anxiety attack, panic attack, etc

.............................................................................................

The gala was far busier than anticipated. You knew there would be a decent amount of people, but you never imagined this.

The gala was packed. Almost every inch of space was occupied. It was suffocating. As you walked, people. So. Many. People. They brushed your shoulders, the bubbly voices made your head pound. You passed by the open bar on your way to somewhere, anywhere, a little more peaceful.

The stench of alcohol infected your nose as you continued walking. You could feel your chest tightening as you pushed your way through the crowd. The walls were getting smaller. It felt like the amount of people doubled.

Where had the door gone?

You swore there was an exit. A door that led out to the hall. There was. There had to be. So many people. Your hands shook, your stomach was in knots. No. Not here, not now.

You felt a firm hand on your arm. The person led you away. They found the door. They led you to the empty, and quiet hallway.Tears blurred your vision as someone led you to sit down on a bench. You instantly pulled your knees to your chest.

The hallway was comforting. So was the mysterious hand on your shoulder. It was quiet, there weren't people crowding around. It was more peaceful.

"I'm not leaving you, don't worry about it."

The voice was... familiar? Oh. Oh. Jameson. Of all people, it just had to be Jameson.

You wanted to make a witty remark, start some of the usual banter between the two of you, but you couldn't find it in you. Not between your racing heart and uneven breathing. You didn't hate Jameson, you just didn't like him.

You two had a complicated relationship. Your families often attended the same charity events and galas, so you two were stuck seeing each other frequently. You two had always fought. Little remarks, playful teasing. You couldn't stand him. His stupid smirk, his witty remark, he was simply intolerable.

But, he wasn't making witty remarks right now. He was... comforting you? And it made no goddamned sense. You two were never soft with each other. Never.

"I-i'm fine." You said. Your voice was to shaky for it be convincing and you mentally cursed. Panic attacks always pick the best times.

Jameson chuckled. He moved his hand from your shoulder. You looked up. His gaze was on you. Something like a flicker of worry and concern clouded his features.

"You look like shit." He said as he removed his hand from your shoulder and crossed his arms.

You narrowed your eyes. He was such a-

"Well, you are no longer freaking out in the ballroom-"

"I wasn't freaking out."

Jameson shot you a pointed look. He raised an eyebrow.

"You were freaking out. And now you aren't, so I will see you around." And with those words, he disappeared.

You were left wondering what the hell had happened. Out of everyone, why had he come to your rescue? You didn't ponder it for long. You wiped your eyes, stood, and then smoothed out your skirt.

You walked by a mirror, you looked presentable, enough. You walked back into the ballroom with a new found confidence. Well, the confidence was fake. But that didn't matter. People didn't need to know that.

As you walk in, Jameson gives you one of his signature smirks. You roll your eyes as you try and avoid getting bumped into by people as you walk to your families table.

You sink into a chair, hoping this stupid gala will end soon. You wonder, Why did Jameson look so concerned about you? You shook your head. That doesn't matter. You just need to focus on getting through the rest of the gala.

[jpitha]

The Dreams of Hyacinth 6

First / Previous / Next

The morning found all three of them sprawled asleep on Eastern's couch. They wound up just sleeping where they fell. Nothing other than sleep happened the night before - they were much too sore and tired for that but Nick was surprised how... comfortable it was to share space with the two of them.

All three got up and made their way into Eastern's tiny kitchen as Eastern's coffee maker bubbled and hissed. Eastern bustled and got tea going for Selkirk.

Nick's head was still sore, but the weakness and tiredness was much better. He felt almost normal. After the drinks were made, they all sat at the small table and woke up. "Okay Sel." Eastern takes another sip of her coffee. "We have to find an AI, her name is Yon." She looked up at Selkirk. "She's Jameson's daughter."

Sel's ears pricked up. "What? He has a daughter? How the hell does that work?"

Nick looked over at them. "Takes all kinds to be a family Sel, you know that. Yon's his daughter, we're not going to quibble."

"Fair enough." Selkirk flicked her tail and took a sip of tea. "So everyone thought she was in the coffin box, but she wasn't? Did Jameson let you keep the box?"

Eastern nods. "It's in my bag. He said we can use it to box her up if we need to."

Selkirk makes a face. "If we need to?"

"If she's been placed in a ship. Can't bring the wayward child back to their father if they're a Starjumper, now can we?"

Selkirk looks out the window. "I don't like that. I don't know much about coffin boxes, but I do know that most AIs hate being in them. I hope it doesn't come to that." She takes another sip of her tea. "Good on having it though. I can scan it and see if we can get some file data. Maybe find out how long ago she was moved off it, or if she was ever even on it." She stands up and stretches, all her fur poofing out as she does. "I don't know about you, I'm starving though. Let's throw on some clothes and get breakfast first. I do all my best work on a full stomach."

The three of them got dressed - Nick once again marveled at how... comfortable it was to be together, the three of them, naked in the room, putting on clothes and getting ready - and went out into Hyacinth.

This time, Selkirk took the lead, and brought them to a cafe a short metro ride from Eastern's apartment. As they walked, Nick looked around. Eastern lived off Gladiolus square, near the end of the arm.

The further away from the base of Hyacinth you were, the less expensive the housing was, but also the less desirable it was - until you got to the very end. During rush hour, a metro ride from Gladiolus to Congregation took more than an hour. An Omnibus ride that far took maybe two. One of the biggest benefits of living that far up the arm was that the apartments were bigger. If you were willing to live all the way near the top of the arm, you could own a house with a yard. Born and raised a city kid, Nick always thought that was odd. Why pay extra to live super far away and have to do more maintenance on your own place? Nick's place off Laurel was just about the size of Eastern's bedroom and bathroom together.

Nick realized that they'd probably have to go apartment shopping soon if they were going to keep giving this a shot. They might be able to save some money on one rent instead of three and be able to get a nicer place further down the arm.

The cafe Selkirk lead them too was small, and had a decent mix of K'laxi and Humans inside. It smelled like breakfast. A host sat them by a window, and a server brought steaming pots of coffee and tea and left them on the table.

"I've lived in Gladiolus for a year now and I never knew this place existed!" Eastern looked around. "Sel, you really do know everything there is to know about Hyacinth."

"Everything that matters at least." She flicked her ears playfully as she took a sip of tea. "This place goes pancakes and waffles with real Maple syrup. I don't know if it's Gord's Reserve, but we're close enough to Earth that we don't have to worry about it being fake."

Nick glanced at the menu while Selkirk talked. For what an order of pancakes cost, the maple syrup had better be platinum plated. "I'm just going to get a breakfast sandwich." Nick looked up at them. "You two go nuts though."

Selkirk rolled her eyes. "You can't go to a place that's famous for their pancakes and get the breakfast sandwich, Nick. This is my treat. Live a little. Get the pancakes. In fact..." Selkirk made a complex gesture with her hands and ears and tail.

A K'laxi server noticed and came right over. Surprising Nick, Selkirk ordered for everyone. It was pancakes for the table, extra syrup, a fruit plate and some Near Bacon. Selkrik knew Nick was a Lacto-ovo vegetarian, so she kept meat off the order.

A little while after that the food arrived. As the plates were placed down Eastern looked serious. "No business until after we eat, okay? I don't want to talk shop on an empty stomach." Nick and Selkirk nodded and they tucked in. It really was a good meal. Nick wasn't usually the type to eat a big breakfast, he was more a coffee and pastry kind of person. Selkirk was clearly in her element though. She tore through the pancakes and syrup, making sure there was no leftovers. She made sure Eastern and Nick got what they wanted and they didn't feel deprived, but this was an... event for Selkirk.

"I never had you pegged as a foodie, Sel." Eastern smiled and finished off her coffee."

"I fucking love pancakes." Selkirk said after finishing a bite. "I swear it's the best thing humans ever created. I could eat them every damn day."

Nick smiled. "Okay, now that we've eaten. We should talk next steps. Where do you want to talk?"

Selkirk looked around the cafe. It wasn't crowded but... "Not here. Let's go to your place Nick, you live down-arm, I bet your place is nice."

Nick was startled. His place was decidedly not nice. "Uh okay, but just to manage expectations, it's a little messy."

Eastern laughed. "Nick, if it's anything like it was when I saw it last, 'a little messy' is doing some heavy lifting." She stood. "Come on Sel, let's go see Nick's hovel. I'm sure you'll be horrified." Selkirk flipped a chit onto the table and they left.

They weren't in a hurry, so they took the omnibus down arm to Nick's place. He lived on the third floor of a 5 story apartment block, a couple minutes walk from the center of Laurel Square. On the bottom level of his building was a shop that sold kitschy antiques from Earth (all fake) and in the back had a small video game arcade of vintage games and consoles (all reproductions) They were never rowdy and the shop closed up right after dinner, so Nick never really minded.

Selkirk looked at the building as they walked up. It was anonymous with few windows, and the shop on the ground level had no customers. "Nick... Why do you live here? You're probably paying an arm and a leg for a place that looks like any other of the millions of anonymous apartments on Hyacinth. Yours is just closer to the base."

Nick shrugged. "I got it when I moved here. Then, I didn't know any better. Now?" Nick looked up at it. "I dunno. inertia I guess?"

Selkirk shot a look at Eastern who shrugged her shoulders.

"Nick, if this place is half as bad as Eastern makes it out to be, we're going to have to accelerate getting a place together. You can't live here."

"What? Why? At least look at the inside first." Nick was feeling defensive about his apartment and they haven't even gone inside it yet.

They went into the building. It was completely anonymous. They could have been in any of thousands of apartment buildings on Hyacinth. They went up the stairs and Eastern joked with Selkirk about how Nick lived in a 'Default Apartment' and she giggled.

Nick unlocked the door and Selkirk walked in.

"Oh Ancestors, Nick!" Selkirk coughed "This is a little messy??"

Nick stood in the doorway, mouth open.

His apartment was trashed. All the drawers open and tipped out, desk overturned, everything strewn about.

Eastern peered around Nick's shoulder and laughed. "Nick! What did you do? This isn't normal is it? Why is your place trashed?"

Nick whirled to Selkirk and Eastern. "No! Something happened! This isn't how my place usually is! Someone must've come in and... trashed it."

Selkirk turned back to look at Nick. "But why?"

"I have no idea. The last job I did was boosting the coffin box from Houndstooth and... I got... away clean..." He whirled. "Eastern! Do you still have the coffin box?"

She looked into her shoulder bag. "Yes, it's right here, why Nick?"

Nick gathered Eastern and Selkirk. "The only job i've done in at least two weeks is boost that coffin box. Whoever trashed my place must be looking for it. I think there's more to this than what Jameson is letting on."

Selkirk rolled her eyes. "Nick, it's fucking Jameson Winters. He runs all of Hyacinth that isn't owned by Houndstooth. If you thought things were on the straight and level, that's on you hon." She put her arms on her hips, mimicking a human gesture. "It sure is a good damn thing you're attractive, Nick."

Eastern looked around. "Well, we certainly can't stay here. Nick, grab some clothes, leave everything else. You're moving out."

Nick reached down and picked up a shirt. "But what about-"

Eastern shook her head. "No Nick. We don't know if they bugged anything. Everything here is suspect. I hope none of it was a memento or an antique, because it ain't coming with us."

Sighing, Nick went through the apartment. He really didn't have much to begin with. He kept his pad on him so he didn't have to worry about that, and it's not like he kept stores of currency or valuables here. He stood in his bedroom and looked at a photo on the wall. It was two adults standing stiffly proud, with a small boy, maybe 10 holding a trophy.

"Eastern, what about the photo? It's my only one I have of my parents."

Eastern yelped. Selkirk whirled around. "What is it Eastern?"

"Sorry sorry. Nick used our link to talk and I... forgot we had it." She sounded sheepish.

Selkirk flicked an ear. "You two can chat silently to each other? Don't forget about your girlfriend Selkirk now"

"No no, you're right Sel. We'll try not to use it unless we need to," Nick was sheepish. "I think you'll be able to chat too if you're wearing that coronet Jameson gave you. I just asked Eastern about taking this photo. It's the only one I have of my parents."

Selkirk and Eastern walked up to it and looked. Eastern took it off the wall and flipped it over. She sighed and looked at Nick. "Sorry." Then she threw it on the ground as hard as she could, and it came apart with a tinkle of smashed glass."

"Eastern? What the fuck?" Nick was aghast.

Selkirk reached down and picked up the shattered remains of the photo. She flipped over the frame and gasped.

On the back, under the cardboard, in between the photo and the backing was a wafer thin piece of plastic with lines and miniature components embedded on it. It was no larger than 3cm square.

Eastern gently took it from Selkirk and showed it to Nick. "They know you Nick. They know you're sentimental. Use your Pad to take a picture of the photo. Do it to any other ones you'd want to keep, but the originals have to stay. Like I said, this whole place is compromised. In fact-" Eastern looked at the clothes in his hand. "-put those down, we're going to buy you new threads" She looked around. "Everything here is burned. We can't take it, we shouldn't even touch it."

With a sigh, Nick tossed the clothes back on the floor and took out his pad. He went around the apartment and took a few quick pictures of his photos and mementos. After no time at all he was back in the kitchen. "Okay, I'm done." He turned back to the apartment and looked one more time. "Let's go."

When they came back outside Nick looked at Eastern and Selkirk "So, uh, what do I do about the trashed apartment?"

Selkirk waved a hand dismissively. "We'll call a cleanout service. They're around for when people die or fuck off without getting rid of their stuff. Were you on a lease or month to month?"

"Lease ran out 6 months ago, I was month to month."

Eastern nods. "Good. We just won't pay next month and you'll be free and clear."

Nick looked between the women. It was all too easy to erase any signs of his life. "But, how are we going to pay for it?"

Selkirk grinned. "Our lovely, scary, benefactor is going to pay for it. Jameson gave us a modest expense account. All the better, his people probably know cleaners who are... discrete."

Eastern looked out towards nothing as they walked. "And if Jameson was the one that did it?"

Selkirk flicked her tail. "Then he'll know why we're hiring the cleaners. They didn't get what they were after - I assume - so we should lay low and keep a look out." She sighed. "Our places are probably next - if they haven't been hit already. Come on, I want to go to my place and pack up some stuff before it gets trashed."

The three of them continued on into the morning towards the Metro station.

Figuring time was of the essence, they took the Metro to Selkirk's place. She lived in a K'laxi neighborhood just outside of Tulip square on the top floor of a 10 story apartment building. When they go to her door, Selkirk motioned for silence and her ears flicked. After a moment she slowly put her hand on the pad next to the door. With a chirrup and a click, the door unlocked.

Her apartment was neat and tidy and seemingly untouched. Being careful, they walked around looking, not touching anything. After making sure nobody was inside with them Selkirk looked at Nick and Eastern. "Can you two do something with your fancy new tech and see if there's anything off about my place?"

"Um, maybe?" Eastern thought a moment, and her eyes flashed blue as she accessed her implants. After a moment she said "I don't see any entries logged since you left yesterday Sel, but that doesn't mean they didn't come in any other ways. Nick, see what you can find."

Nick had spent time time reading over the tipsheets that Jameson's people had left him. He leaned his awareness back and accessed the implants. How do search? Hmm. Eastern checked out the door records, what about the windows? Looking, he saw that her security system had window sensors. The logs show no unauthorized access, but at 20:00 last night, they recorded an open and a close in her bedroom. Selkirk was at Eastern's place then.

"Looks like your bedroom window recorded an open and a close around 20 last night Sel. It wasn't marked as unauthorized though.

Selkirk's tair flicked irritatedly. "Looks like the goons that searched my place were less rowdy than the ones that ransacked yours Nick. Still, I think I have to assume my place is out of commission too. Come on."

Selkirk turned on her heel and walked out the door. Shrugging Eastern and Nick followed her.

First / Previous / Next

[hearthown]

The Middle Names

In this post, I explore why TTH gave the brothers their specific middle names. (Yes, I know it was for the game but there were 4 to choose from and as we know, there's a reason behind everything he does)

[These are my own interpretations!]

Davenport

Davenport was given to Grayson. In the game, the Davenport was a desk. Desks are all about seriousness because we use them to study and work. Everyone knows that seriousness is one of the prominent traits that Gray has and not only that, the Davenport desk has a secret larger compartment. Maybe TTH thought that Gray should have Davenport as his middle name bc he associated it with studiousness, seriousness, and bc he knew that Gray would always have to keep his deepest emotions, thoughts and weaknesses to himself (thus circling back to the secret compartment).

Winchester

Winchester was given to Jameson. In the game, the clue was found on a Winchester rifle. I personally associate rifles (and anything involving gunfire) with risks, adrenaline, spontaneity and thrill (sound familiar?). Jameson is all about taking risks and going out there and being adventurous. Also, TTH was a weapons collector (rifles, guns) and that can be considered as a favourite activity. It was mentioned several times that Jamie was his favourite grandson as he reminded him of Toby. Also, the whole family grew up shooting and something tells me that Jamie was one hell of a shot just like TTH.

Westbrook

Westbrook was Nash's. In the game, his middle name literally means west of a brook. Eventually, brooks flow out into oceans and oceans are vast and open. Nash is a free spirit with his nomadic lifestyle and his "don't care" attitude. I think TTH chose this one for him to represent the fact that you can never hold Nash back if he wants to be free. If Nash wants to go, nothing can stop him, but at the end of the day, he'll always return. (Like how seawater eventually becomes drinking water iygwim)

Blackwood

And finally, Xander's. In the game, his middle name represents The Black Wood which is the forest on the north side of the estate. Forests are filled with trees and where there are trees, there is knowledge. Xander is arguably the most intelligent Hawthorne (what with his ability to just CREATE contraptions, the number of patents he has and just XANDER in general). So as a summary, TTH chose Blackwood for Xander bc he might've heavily related it to knowledge and even growth. As a kid, Xan never really showed interest in the games but maybe TTH knew he would grow to love a good game and to love winning just like his brothers.

[ao3feed-petermj]

132nd Street

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/EsrwaUk by thejourneys “Oh,” Jonah said, waving his arm as if Peter was no more than an afterthought. “She’ll need pictures. Action shots, I’d assume. Your forte.” “Wait,” Michelle interrupted, “like, we’d be partners?” Next to her, Parker snorted. “No fucking way.” Jonah glanced between the two of them, clearly annoyed. “Yes,” he groused, “if you’d like me to put it into children’s terms for you. You’d be partners.” “No,” Michelle said, immediately. “Not a chance in hell.” Words: 5431, Chapters: 1/7, Language: English Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Michelle Jones (Marvel), Peter Parker, J. Jonah Jameson, Ned Leeds, Gloria Grant (The Amazing Spider-Man Comics), Robbie Robertson, Betty Brant, Flash Thompson, Hobie Brown Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Betty Brant & Michelle Jones, Gloria Grant (The Amazing Spider-Man Comics) & Peter Parker Additional Tags: the earth 616 one- sorry spider-verse friends, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Journalist!MJ, Kinda, Photographer Peter Parker, Enemies to Lovers, that's too strong tbh, more like, disgruntled co-workers to lovers, Peter's just kinda tired, Tired Peter Parker, Mystery, Personal Growth, Even though it's Scary, Sexual Content, canon is not real for any media type and also is real for all of them hope that helps, Mcu/asm fusion, Identity Reveal read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/EsrwaUk

[kitausuret]

I am disappointed in you, Michaela. PeterMac? SERIOUSLY?!

Listen, anon, sometimes you just see something and it's - it's funny, okay? Sometimes it just makes you giggle. But because you had the gall to call me by my given name on my blog like you're my mother, I'm going to write a little snippet for you. 💖

-----

"This is how you thank me, Mac? For all the times I saved your life?"

Scorpion wiggled mostly-helpless in his web-cocoon, dangling from a tall lightpost and trying to get his suit's tail free. "Saved it? Saved it?! You cocky, stupid, spandexed bastard, I'll tear you and that son of a bitch Jameson limb from limb from limb until you're both-"

"Ah, leave old Jonah alone. He's just too cranky to retire." Spider-Man lowered himself down a line until he was face to face with his foe. "What happened to the ol' Alchemax job, Mac?"

"What's it to you, bug."

"Come on, Scorpy; I know you know by now that spiders are arachnids." He tilted his head. "Hey, I'm serious. We've known each other too long to not be honest with each other." He reached out to give two gentle knocks on Scorpion's armored helmet.

Mac responded in kind by trying to twist himself enough to bite him. (Not even danger enough to set off the trusty spider-sense.)

"Careful, there. You don't have dental anymore. You don't wanna be needing another jaw surgery."

Something flashed over his face then - a kind of momentary panic.

...okay, maybe not the best thing to say.

Then the old anger came. "You- you broke my jaw clean off that day, you fucking-"

"Look, would you believe me if I said it wasn't me?"

"Then who the fuck else was it."

"I'm hardly the only Spider-Man." He pointed a finger in Mac's face, mostly out of some kind of cruel self-amusement to see if the Scorpion would try to bite him again. "Hell, even you tried on the alias for a while. Osborn's little errand-Venom."

"That... that ain't me anymore."

"See, then? People change."

Scorpion gave a heavy, tired kind of sigh. He seemed to finally give up the attempts to wriggle out of the bindings. "If you gotta know, I figured the Alchemax gig was too good to last anyways. So I got mixed up with the Black Cat and her crew. She was a good boss, y'know? Probably the best I had, next to Miss Allan. And then Venom put me in the fuckin' ICU."

"Sorry I forgot to send flowers."

"No you're not. You were workin' with him."

"Which one?"

"Ain't you got somethin' better to do, Spider? I don't hear sirens yet. Guy like me, they usually come a little quicker."

"Well..." Spider-Man did a little spin on his webline, contemplating. "You were breaking and entering an old OsCorp building. But you didn't actually steal anything. And me, I don't have a lot of love for that man's legacy." He stopped to flip himself right-side-up. "You still have Liz Allan's contact, Mac?"

"Why?"

"The lady's got an ever-growing corporate nightmare. She could probably use a reliable security guy again."

He grabbed the bundle of heavily-armored supervillain in his arm, turned Scorpion upright again, and then yanked at the webline until it tore free. Then, he carried his protesting bundle off to a nearby rooftop and tossed him onto it.

"Wh- hey! What're you doing!"

Spider-Man rolled the bundle over and stopped it with his foot, leaning down to look Mac in the eyes. "All right, here's what's gonna happen. In about 45 more minutes, this stuff is gonna dissolve enough for you and your fancy green suit to break out. Tomorrow morning, you're going to give Liz Allan a call. You're going to get on your knees and beg her for your job back."

"I don't owe that broad-"

"Hey, stop that. She's an old friend." He stepped down harder - not enough to risk even cracking the armor, but enough to apply pressure. "In exchange, you don't get sent back to Ryker's. All right?"

Mac stared up at him.

"It'd be real easy to roll you right off this roof."

"You wouldn't."

"You're sure about that?"

"...fine. I'll give it a shot."

"Good man." He patted Mac's cheek. After a moment, he rolled his mask up to his nose and leaned down to plant a kiss on the visor covering his old foe's eyes.

Scorpion made a disgusted noise, but didn't protest further.

[manchurian-barnes]

Coffee Shop Blues and Reds Part Two (Peter Parker x F! Reader)

Post NWH - Collage Peter!

Busy nights filled with college course work, leads to late nights in a crappy coffee shop, the only perk? Friendly neighbourhood company.

To keep updated heres the Series Masterlist and for my other works, you can find My Masterlist Here!

“So really what you’re telling me is that your boss is just an irredeemable asshole?” You laughed slightly as you leaned back in the familiar wooden chair of the coffee shop. Since that first night, you’d met up with Peter every couple of days, and texted frequently between it all. The guy was a total dork, he was awkward, he made stupid science jokes and he was one of the nicest guys you had ever spoken to. The two of you were also frequently so busy that these late-night meetings were the only times you both were truly free. Peter helped at homeless shelters and apparently was constantly trying to chase Spider-Man, trying to get clear photos of the hero. He laughed and brushed his hair back as he looked to you, his shoulders pulled up into a shrug and he sighed a bit, “I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying. He’s…He’s a…divisive character.”

Shaking your head you leaned forwards on the table a bit more, head tilting to the right, “You waste your photographic talents for that man.” You didn’t notice the way Peter had started to truly look at you, he felt so much… warmth around you. “We talk too much about me-“ He deflected, “You hardly talk about your job.”. He watched as you sucked in a breath, lips pulling tightly to a lopsided frown, “There’s not much to talk about Pete-“ “Come on.” “I work in a shitty diner, barely make enough to get by, and the rest of my time I’m taking a writing course- “

His eyes seemed to light up when you focused on yourself instead of him. “You’re a writer?” “I would like to be a journalist.” You sheepishly admitted to him. A small smirk dawned on his face; he bit his lip as he watched you shy away. “You know, I could help-“ He started to speak and he just stopped, “I won’t write slander about my hero.” You told him, oddly it was his face that went a bit red at that. You figured it was embarrassment about working for J Jonah Jameson. “Your hero-“ he uttered under his breath, he liked that, he wanted to be that, he already was… Peter sat more to attention as a shiver ran down his spine. “I have to go.“ he let out, and he stood, heading for the door. Weirdly cop cars went past and you let out a slight laugh, “You better go keep up, Spidey might be there, Mr. Paparazzi.” You waved but honestly as he rushed out the door a part of you ached.

The thing Peter didn’t know, the main thing you didn’t tell him, is that he might just be the only person in the city you regularly spoke to. You blipped, and your mom didn’t. Five years was a long time, and a lot could happen. You came home, to find she was gone. She’d gotten sick. You were on your own, and you’d barely finished high school. Peter was maybe the one friend you had. You pulled your jacket round yourself and stood up, clearing the table. Throwing away both cups and tugging your bag around your body. Holding the strap tightly as you went out into, the cold night air. Starting to walk towards your matchbox of an apartment.

Peter swung down the side of a building, shots firing past him as he dealt with a bank robbery. He fell against the wall and looked up, the white eyes of his mask going wide “C’mon guys! Make this easier for yourself!” He called to the band of criminals. “Money isn’t everything-What are you missing in your life-“ He yelped, fighting a man backwards, firing a web and tugging another back from the vault, “Self-reflect!” He called to him. “Do you ever shut the hell up?!” an angry man yelled as he pointed the gun right at Spider-Man. “Peters hand shot upwards and he pushed the gun at the ceiling and he just webbed up the men. No nonsense as he heard police sirens pulling towards the back. “It’s the boys in blue!” He called out, “Officers!” he stepped onto the street and then swung away.

Landing in an alley not too far from the bank, he let himself feel all the pain and exhaustion, half falling against a garbage can. Letting out a sigh of pain and tiredness. “Hello?!” He heard a soft, familiar voice. Your voice. Shit. Fucking. Fuck.

The clatter of the garbage can had startled you as you walked, stalling at the end of the alley as you watched a figure fall. “Hello?!” You called as you moved forwards a little. “IM OKAY!” a voice in a panic called back, making you shake your head. You stepped closer, “are you sure?” You asked back. At which point Peter half pulled his mask on, over his eyes as he stood. “Im great!” He yelled, and he froze when he was fully confronted with you. You stepped back in fright for a second before you looked at him with wide eyes. “SPIDER-MAN?!” you screamed. He moved forwards holding a finger to his lips. “YES! Yes but please just- I’m not here-“ He told you in a hiss of a whisper. He watched as your eyebrow quirked up. His voice. Fuck. You knew his voice. “…Are you okay?” You repeated in a more gentle tone, stepping closer, making him step back. That peaked your curiosity even more. “I’m alright.” He’d dropped his voice lower, stepping back again and tripping up on the lid of the garbage can he’d knocked over. “FU-“ He yelped. You moved quickly trying to hold your hand out with enough time to stop him falling but, you’d been just too slow.

You looked at him as he lay on the ground, his mask knocked more to the side of his face and you saw him. You saw his eye. “Peter?!” You gasped out. “I can explain!” He spoke back quickly, just relenting as he pulled his mask off. Still laying in the trash. “there’s not really much to explain-“ You tried, “I’m Spider-Man-“ “yeah I noticed that-“ “I am Spider-Man and you cant tell anyone-“ “Again, that was sort of a given from the mask-“ You couldn’t really process this, and had gone into some sort of state of shock.

 “You’re being too calm about this-“ “What? That the cute guy I met at a coffee shop just happens to be a fuckin’ avenger-“ You staggered backwards from him a bit as he stood up, his arm reached for you as you swayed. “Y/n?” “Your bleeding-“ You felt sick seeing Peter, nice coffee shop guy Peter, was Spider-Man, and was bleeding from presumably dangerous crime fighting. “I-I hate blood-“ “Y/N!” Peter called out as you fell backwards, fainting from being overwhelmed. He cradled you in his arms. Looking at your face and just feeling the need, that overwhelming need to protect the one person in the city that knew him.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered.

End Of Part Two - Part Three! (Coming March 1st!)

If you enjoy the series and are curious about my other works you can find them on My Masterlist!

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Six, Part 6

I stood up off the crate and brushed myself off, not that it mattered. I was just as filthy as Justin. We stepped back in. Food was all over the floor. The counter was covered in sauces and crumbs. The fryer oil was black and opaque. There was so much to do.

But we worked though it. It wasn't the first awful night we'd ever had. It happens, and as we cleaned, my anger at the front of house slowly faded. I was still going to have a chat with Sarah about how reservations worked. A table that big should be known. If I had had any inclination to how crazy things were going to go, I would've called for an extra hand or two. Most of it really wasn't anyone's fault. Sometimes days like this happen and the wave of tables seems to never stop. Honestly, there really was no way for us to have fullly prepared tonight.

By eleven, the kitchen looked better. Everything was back to silvers and whites. The fryer oil had been filtered. I sat finishing up the paperwork I had put off, plus tonight's. By quarter after, I punched out and headed out to the bar. If there was ever a night I needed a drink, it was tonight. Amber took look over at me, and left Justin to get me a beer. Without even asking, she poured a shot for me of Jameson. I knocked it back and started in on my beer. Maybe a little too fast, but at this point, I didn't really give a shit. I was miserable and angry.

I pulled out my phone, texting Chad about the 23rd. I didn't expect a response so I put my phone back in my pocket, and stared unseeing the TV playing some sports recap. Stuff i had no interest in.

"You alright?" Amber asked. I just nodded. I was tired and I was upset. It's hard to let go of a bad night. You can forget every good day you've had, but you'll always be haunted by the bad ones.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Tonight was just a fucking joke."

"I felt really bad for you guys. But, on the plus side, you two rocked it," she smiled. I looked at her with a grin. That was Amber, ever the optimist.

"It's over. At least it's over," I grunted. I looked at the clock. It was eleven thirty.

"Very true," she said, looking down the bar, to Justin drinking whatever liquor he had.

"Go. Maybe ask him for a drink sometime," I said, a little louder than I should've. I knew Justin wasn't paying attention and wouldn't hear me. It was still funny to watch Amber get all flustered.

"Shut up, asshole," she said as she walked away. Even as she said it, she was laughing and almost looking at Justin in hopes he'd heard. I gave my attention back to the silent TV. I started to nurse the second half of my beer. I still did have the walk home in front me, and I was to far to make it safe with a drunk on. That would probably be the day I would actually get mugged. I retreated into my head, barely giving any attention to the world around me. Some people call it disassociation, and that was probably the right word for it. I called it daydreaming.

"What you thinkin' bout?" A bright voice suddenly said. I hadn't even noticed her come in. I snapped back to reality in an instant, yanked by that angelic song of a voice. I turned around quickly in my chair, only to see Addison standing and smiling back at me. I hopped off my stool and took her in an embrace.

"What? Wait, what are you doing here?" I couldn't speak right. My bad mood was lifted and shattered into a million little pieces, sharp as glass.

"I figured, since I'm off tomorrow, I'd come bug you at work. I wasn't even sure you'd still be here," she said as Amber and Justin slowly came over by us. This was still fresh to me. Seeing me interact in this way with someone. Hell, seeing me interact with someone in general is kind of a shock.

"You came to visit me? What if I wasn't here?" I asked, still not quite sure I believed what was happening.

"What can I say? I missed my dork. If you weren't here, I was prepared to bug you at home," she smirked at me and kissed my cheek. My heart skipped when she said her dork. I was hers. That's how she saw me. Hers.

"What would you like to drink?" Amber asked, still smiling in awe at the situation they were witnessing. Justin was sitting only a stool away now, trying to remain stoic and quiet. Like stone. This girl had come in for a second time to talk to me, a guy they saw has one of the most antisocial people on the planet. I was the poster child for chosen solitude. I had the social skills of The Unabomber.