#not knowing of the answers and not even knowing if he wants the truth or not or if he's good just daydreaming it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shantechni · 2 days ago

Text

Natsume's Fear of Thunder

I'm gonna be honest, this can hardly be considered an analysis. It's more of a "sporadic and unnecessarily deep observation" of how Natsume's astraphobia has been presented in the series over the years, both in the anime and in the manga. So, please for the love of God take all of this with a grain of salt.

Yes, I'm using the term "phobia" very loosely, but I'm not about to get into that rn. Natsume has an irrational fear and strong dislike of thunder, that's an undeniable truth.

Before I dive in, I'd like to briefly explain why, of all the little bits of information Midorikawa has given us about Natsume, this one is the one to ceaselessly bump around in my brain like a DVD logo. This series is not in the horror genre (it's serialized in LaLa DX after all), but it does get suspenseful, and pretty disturbing depending on whatever topic it touches or the types of situations the characters may find themselves in. I don't fault anyone, particularly Natsume, for growing up with valid fears and preconceived misconceptions about most youkai; they can sound scary, they can look scary, and they can do some scary stuff if they really feel up to it.

That's why I'm so fascinated to see Natsume develop and still harbor an irrational fear for something like the everyday phenomena of storms. He's landed himself in all sorts of trouble and has come face to face with many beings, both natural and supernatural, who didn't have his best interests in mind, and yet the clap of thunder somehow keeps its spot on the list of things that has him scared stiff.

Aight, spoilers for both the anime and the manga beyond here, you've been warned👏🏽

Our first introduction to Natsume's fear is near the beginning of chapter 42, when he and Tanuma accidentally stumble across Taki's home while seeking shelter from a sudden shower. He questions how Nyanko-sensei ended up at her home as well and the youkai, much to Natsume's visible dismay, cheekily explains:

That doesn't end up happening since the rain remained light until its swift end, and the mention of Natsume's fear is glossed over rather quickly to save him the embarrassment, but it's an interesting mention made by Midorikawa nonetheless since it adds another layer to whatever image the audience has of Natsume and the series itself. Nyanko-sensei, having been around this kid long enough to know a lot of his vulnerabilities and insecurities (even the ones his dreams unwittingly reveal to the youkai), has seen and grown accustomed to a side of him that the audience had yet to be formally introduced to for once.

Right about now, you may be wondering how the anime adapted this scene. It didn't💀.

While the start of the episode (S3 EP5) is a one-to-one recreation of the chapter with virtually the same dialogue and scenery, any mention of Nyanko-sensei following Natsume to pick on him when it thunders is nonexistent and entirely skipped over so the gang can go straight to cleaning out the storeroom.

Most fans who have read the manga will tell you how notorious the anime is for excluding some of the characters' lines or scenes that take place in the manga, or just straight up rearranging or changing up those same factors. Sometimes those alterations work wonders, and other times they leave more to be desired, mainly if you know what happened in the manga counterpart of the episode. This such example is one of the times that'll leave people scratching their heads and wondering what warranted getting rid of a scene so insignificant that it'd have no effect on the plot of the episode whether or not it stayed. The only answer I can think of for that is the directors likely wanting a smoother progression of events to make for a viewing experience better tailored for an anime episode rather than a manga chapter.

Or, they genuinely didn't have enough space in the episode to squeeze in that little bit, which I highly doubt, but what would I know, I don't work for them. At the end of the day, we didn't get to see that scene in the episode.

After some more anime switcheroo shenanigans go on behind the scenes, along with an original episode pulling a retcon during a lightning storm, we receive our next moment in a surprising scene from the anime team in S3 EP10 (adaptation of chapter 28). Though the scene itself is short and not exactly an example of Natsume's astraphobia, I feel it should still be included because of its relation.

The chapter originally starts with Natsume and Nyanko-sensei searching for a tree that was struck by lightning during a storm the night before. However, the anime makes an addition of their own by rewinding time to that very night and showing Nyanko-sensei excitedly watching the storm take place while Natsume is tied up with his homework.

Nyanko-sensei goes on to tease him by suggesting that he doesn't want to watch the storm because he's scared, but Natsume dodges the youkai's mocking and begins to tell him to close the curtain before a crack of lightning cuts him off and illuminates his room.

Not only does Natsume not simply deny Nyanko-sensei's claim of him being scared, but his reaction to the thunder is seemingly more sudden than Nyanko-sensei's. Both of these points could subsequently lead the audience to interpret this entire sequence as the anime's first acknowledgement of his phobia, and it'd make for a very intriguing choice on the anime team's behalf after taking their ommitance of the previous scene into consideration. It could be a stretch though ngl, I tend to stretch like crazy, it makes sense to close a curtain when a pet is being noisy—

Finally moving on from S3, we eventually reach the most overt instance of Natsume's astraphobia, and potential origin or exacerbation of it, in the S4 finale (adaptation of chapter 46). This three episode arc is a largely intimate and heart wrenching one as it focuses on Natsume's journey to revisit his childhood home before it gets renovated by its new owners, a task he initially denied himself the permission of doing before realizing Touko and Shigeru would never deny him something so personal. Of course, he wouldn't be Natsume if he didn't attract a youkai along the way, and he's being pursued by one that seeks to feed on the tragic memories he formed while staying with the Aoi family, who was strongly implied to be the first family (if not, one of the first families) he was taken in by after his father's passing.

One of those memories shown to the audience is a younger Natsume relaxing in a shrine while memorizing where his childhood home is located, all in the hopes of gaining more discernible memories of his father and no longer being a burden to Miyoko and her parents.

Unfortunately, he falls asleep at the shrine and consequently loses track of time before having his slumber disturbed by a violent boom of thunder. He's so frightened by the ordeal that he can't even bring himself to rush back to the Aoi family's place, and his exhaustion puts him back to sleep until he's eventually found by some of the neighbors who went out searching for him.

The anime, with the natural strengths it has over the manga, goes the extra mile by not only keeping this portion relatively untouched, but further setting up the scenery and depicting just how rapidly the area goes from peaceful to turbulent. The character animation and voice acting make for a splendid combination and do a wonderful job of capturing this image of a helpless childhood version of Natsume.

What comes soon after this scene is a depressing sequence of events on its own, even more so when we can see he's still reeling from the storm and believing he caused the Aois to get into trouble by not getting back before dark. The adults obviously don't fault Natsume for getting stuck in the storm, but he doesn't see it that way in his shocked state.

The way Miyoko reacts by throwing her frustrations onto him doesn't help either.

And so, after aimlessly running off in his last unsuccessful attempt to find his childhood home, the memory fades away with a somber note as his present self recalls the moment he finally stopped calling for his long gone father.

Now, one could argue that Natsume had his fear of thunder prior to his time with the Aois since we don't have much reference material to work with when concerning his short period of time with his father, and they could be right for all I know. It's common for children to be startled by loud noises and bright flashes since they just aren't quite accustomed to those loud noises and bright flashes being customary for weather disturbances. Natsume, who we know grew up to be pretty sensitive to the things that go on around him, may have been one of those children who felt apprehension anytime a bad storm rolled in, and his father may have been the one to quell his fears back then. So, if we go with the conclusion that his fear didn't originate here, then this scene likely could've aggravated it. But I'm personally leaning a bit more towards the concept of this being the cause of it (partly due to how appealing that conclusion is to the obsessive part of my brain).

His initial reaction to the thunder is seemingly one of surprise rather than fear, and his behavior suggests that he's more concerned with making it back down the mountain before the thunder halts his progress. Although he's seen trying to talk himself down and fails to do so with how relentless the thunderstorm is proving to be, he doesn't need to have preexisting fears or anxieties over thunder to resort to calming himself down.

The dialogue differences strike me as something to consider too, but they're likely irrelevant.

Setting aside everything I just ranted about in the above paragraph, I should specify that I'm not simply pointing to the storm scene as the singular root cause for his future woes. Many psychological problems often aren't so black and white that someone can definitively point to one person or thing as the sole reason for the existence of their psychological problems. And phobias obviously don't always develop as a result of going through or observing a traumatic event; people can grow to fear or strongly dislike something merely by its association with an unpleasant memory or stressful situation. I know I'm starting to stretch hard rn, and this part of the post is getting awfully wordy, just hear me out—

Going back to that aforementioned short period of time with his dad, it's plain to see just how innocent of a time that was for Natsume. He was playful and affectionate with his dad like many children growing up in a healthy environment would be at that age. He doesn't even appear to have an awareness of youkai (if so, only slight enough for it to not become a problem for him just yet). We're shown later on that he would commonly draw around the house too, as evidenced by the nearly two decade old pieces of artwork his father never removed from the kitchen area and closet.

Natsume even proceeds to make a comment about this childhood version of himself likely being the mischievous type for him to run around drawing on surfaces without a care in the world.

He undeniably had his own troubles at that stage of his life though, with one of those troubles being his mom and the empty spot left behind by her passing away. Apart from his heartwarming portrait of a family with both parents, he's also shown lamenting to Miyoko after the death of his dad about not being able to remember his mom. We've seen with those two examples that her absence indeed left an impact on him early on in his life, but he doesn't stay too broken up over her considering how little he got to bond with her, and he doesn't openly despair about the loss of his dad until his growing sense of loneliness and longing becomes too much for him to smooth over.

The point I'm trying (and admittedly struggling) to make here is that after moving in with Miyoko and her parents, the worries on Natsume's plate increased tenfold and weighed him down far more than he was willing to accept at first. Suddenly, this kid had little to smile about in life, taking a glance at his only picture of his parents causes grief and envy to flare up in his chest, he's afraid of being a burden to those who took him under his wing, he's eating less than Miyoko because he's concerned with coming off as too greedy, he feels responsible for Miyoko getting picked on because of his relation to her, he's still learning the way back to the Aoi family's home, and now he's surrounded by all of these weird creatures that apparently no one else can see.

Suddenly, he's no longer that carefree toddler we saw sitting on his dad's lap as the two of them watched over his late mom's garden.

I feel moderately certain about Natsume's experience with the storm, coupled with this pivotal and devastating shift in his life, being the plausible cause for him developing his irrational fear of thunder as a child.

After this arc, we aren't greeted with another scene featuring or centered on his astraphobia until chapter 85 (which doesn't appear to be adapted in S7 judging from the PV😭), and it focuses on Natsume, Tanuma and Taki viewing a limited exhibition at an old inn that has a deep history with youkai. Not too long after the owner engages in conversation with Taki, Natsume and Tanuma briefly comment on how peaceful the inn is making the both of them feel, and a sudden lightning strike cuts through the tranquility of the inn.

It catches everyone off guard and, unsurprisingly, has Natsume frozen in place as Tanuma asks him and Taki if they're alright.

Much like Nyanko-sensei's first time mentioning Natsume's fear, the moment doesn't last long as the gang soon realizes they'll have to spend the night at the inn while they wait for the sudden storm to pass.

By this point in the manga though, Midorikawa has evidently decided to make Natsume's astraphobia a recurring element of the sorts. She could've easily left his astraphobia as another facet of his that we get to see once or twice and never again since it's not serviceable to the story as a whole, but she's started using his phobia as an additional means of displaying his discomfort in any given situation. Having a thunderstorm suddenly appear during a moment of serenity, immediately after Natsume tells Tanuma the place is making him feel strangely good, was a brilliant move of jarring him. And it works especially well here as a sign of the looming threat that'll find its way into the inn over night and slowly creep upon the group the longer they remain there.

Midorikawa pulls this same stunt again to slightly greater effect in chapter 117, where Natsume, Tanuma and Nyanko-sensei happen upon the Kisaragi Manor and find themselves taking part in a ritual for summoning youkai.

It starts with the trio meeting up in the evening to view the bamboo lanterns, but a woman claiming to be in search of a mansion requests their help to find it before it gets too dark, as well as to avoid getting caught in a downpour should the drizzle grow heavier. While Tanuma shows interest in the ritual, and the people they meet are treating them somewhat cordially, Natsume is disconcerted by the arrangement they've found themselves in. He's surrounded by five women he's never met in his life, is once again in an unfamiliar place that feels weird in Nyanko-sensei's own words, and is thrown for a loop by everyone's enthusiasm with the idea of meeting youkai rather than being put off by them.

The group isn't even a minute into their summoning ritual when a huge boom of thunder shakes the room and causes a power outage, sending them into a brief stint of darkness until Hitomi relights the candle.

While waiting for the candle though, Natsume answers Tanuma's question by for once admitting that he's bothered by thunder, leading to Nyanko-sensei characteristically picking on his phobia by calling him a chicken.

Again, the moment is subtle and restricted to one corner of the page, but it sticks the landing. Instead of using the lightning or thunder as a sign of things to come as she's done before, Midorikawa uses them here as an integrant of an already somewhat concerning scene slowly veering towards being disturbing. In addition to selling just how uncomfortable of a situation this is for Natsume, it also depicts how far along he is in his friendship with Tanuma to be honest about an irrational fear we know he'd rather not speak of.

Alas, chapter 117 was our last time seeing thunder scare Natsume, at least until the next time Midorikawa chooses to use his fear to her advantage, unless the anime miraculously surprises us with its own original take as we've seen it isn't afraid to do. What we've been given so far though is plentiful in comparison to many other plot points or quirks that get reused or called back to far less than this one. I won't throw a tantrum if his never gets referenced to or utilized again (which I doubt will happen knowing Midorikawa's writing), but I eagerly anticipate seeing it again should it reappear.

It's captivating to watch this minor detail frequently make it's way back into the story somehow, to the point that it eventually cemented itself as a miniscule yet effective way of shedding different shades of light on the many complexities of Natsume.

91 notes · View notes

milla-frenchy · 2 hours ago

Text

A/N: This one is gonna hurt. I’m so sorry.

Oh Ally... ngl, I'm a little scared 👀 Ok let's go!!

His black t-shirt is pulled up just slightly and his hand is what's mostly in focus, holding onto his cock that is peeking out of his flannel pajama pants. He is pulling his foreskin down tight making the head of his cock flush with color against his skin. The shadowiness makes his happy tail look even thicker and more unruly than what you have seen.

wtf, is your goal to make me horny before breaking my heart? Because if that's the case, congrats ��😭

“Mmm what are you doing to me, baby girl.”

Fuck

“I’ll call you, alright?” His voice is firm, there is no room for questions. “Alright.” You force a smile and he nods and heads to his truck. It was hard not to take that as asking you not to bother him. He wasn’t being unkind in his tone, but he wasn’t being truthful either. You can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

Aaaaaaah I already wanna cry 😭Ally 😭

“I never asked you for anything.” Tess utters quietly. Joel nods in agreement, silently reliving all the things he loved about her. Still loves about her. “Never had to.” Joel gives a gentle side smile. Their eyes meet. Eyes that are intimate and mourning all at once. Hopeful and nostalgic.

Oh damn this is so beautiful

Questioning why Tess was introducing you to the man you had been fucking for the past few weeks. The man who had naked photos of you on his phone. The man you were hopelessly besotted with. Joel’s eyes glance up at you and for the first time ever he looks sheepish. He holds his hand out standard and practical. Emotionless like it's a formal business greeting. “Joel. Nice to meet you.” You stare, dumbfounded by his words, spoken so nonchalant. Nice to meet me?

Oh fuuuuuck.

Joel stares him down as he walks away and you could have easily mistaken it for jealousy. The irony of it, as your harmless flirting was nothing compared to his potential relationship with your boss. You needed answers, whether or not Joel wanted to disavow you.

Omg I love this so much!!! I just love it, when joel is emotionally unavailable, breaks our heart, but shows evidence of jealousy and possessiveness, aaaaaaah 😍😍😍

The bartender interrupts you to hand you your drink and gives Joel the side eye, no doubt noticing how prickly he was and how much your demeanor had changed from earlier. “What are you staring at?” Joel snaps at the bartender. His intimidating tone was low but it was threatening. His misplaced anger was looking for any way to escape. “Relax, bud.” He puts his hands up in a submissive gesture and backs off. He glances back over to you but you look away and don’t make eye contact with him again. “She ain't’ interested.” He threatens and somehow makes himself look even bigger. The bartender nods with a knowing smile that might as well say ‘not worth the trouble’ as he grabs Joel’s empty beer bottle and moves on. He wasn’t interested enough to contest with Joel. You hate how much it turns you on to see him get protective over you.

DEAD.

I had to quote all of it because damn that was so fucking good!!

He presses up against you, pinning you against a stack of boxes. It is reserved but still so sensual. He pushes your hair behind your ear and combs his fingers through it, smelling your sweet scent mixing with his woodsy, pine cologne.

Fuck. I would fall for him 😭😂

And then, the song? Oh my heart... This is so good, Ally ❤️❤️

And I wonder what you got for us in the next part 😍😍

The Wolf You Feed (Part 4)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Part 4 / ? (Ongoing) A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T

Summary: Set in a fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Chapter Warnings: ANGST. Smut. POV-Switching. Rated Explicit. 18+ MDNI. See series masterlist for complete warnings.

A/N: This one is gonna hurt. I’m so sorry.

You get ready for bed and eye the flannel that you stole from Joel’s house. You hold it close to your chest and breathe in his scent that still lingers.

You strip down to nothing but your lacy panties and don his shirt. You precariously drape it off your shoulders and look at yourself in the mirror.

Joel would love this.

Your hair is still damp and messy from your shower but you look clean and bright. The I’m positively smitten glow you have makes you radiate.

You position yourself on your bed perched on your knees with your legs spread open. You adjust the shirt just right to hang over your shoulders and around your breasts, just barely covering your nipples.

With your phone positioned slightly above you, you snap a pic while making your most innocent face. Your full body is in the frame and perfectly teasing with your frumpy shirt placement. Your sluttiest black, lacey panties also help to conceal just enough to be a tease.

You: Getting ready for bed

You attach the photo and send it. You sit back on your heels and eagerly watch for the read receipt. He is quick to reply.

Joel: Goddamn

Joel: Beautiful

A brief pause.

Typing. Typing. Typing.

Joel: Got any more?

Your heart skips a beat. You absolutely want to give him more.

You: Maybe

You sit back and let the flannel shirt drape open, fully exposing your breasts and your hardened nipples. You sit more upright, and grab a fistfull of your hair and gaze up to the camera, looking a little deranged and lustful. You eye your photo before sending it, impressed with yourself.

Sent.

Joel: Fuck

Joel: Look at them tits

You smirk as you imagine him losing his mind and hope he is as horny as you are. You feel your heat begin to surge inside. You feel so needy for his cock.

You: Your turn

You weren’t too sure what to expect or if he would even play along but after a minute you got your answer.

The photo he sends is so poorly taken, it is endearing when you get over the disappointment of not having his dick perfectly photographed. It’s dark and grainy. You can just make out the navy blue sheets under his skin to deduce he is in his bed too. His black t-shirt is pulled up just slightly and his hand is what's mostly in focus, holding onto his cock that is peeking out of his flannel pajama pants. He is pulling his foreskin down tight making the head of his cock flush with color against his skin. The shadowiness makes his happy tail look even thicker and more unruly than what you have seen.

Nevertheless, it is undeniably Joel. The flutter you get inside that you only ever felt from him.

You: Joel, how naughty

One more photo, he earned it.

This time, you let the shirt fall off completely to your hips. You slide one of your hands into your panties and hook your thumb over the edge to pull them down. You make a “V” with your fingers and press yourself apart so your swollen clit is in full view. With your free hand you snap one last picture and send it. This one is more focused and does not show your face, but it certainly was an eyeful. You doubt he would even be looking elsewhere.

Your message is instantly read. After a moment Joels typing comes and goes until it stops completely. You wonder if he is touching himself. Hope he is touching himself. You impatiently rub your fingers against yourself while you wait, aching at the thought of him.

Your screen changes to an incoming call from Joel Miller.

Of course you answer it as calmly as you can.

“Hey, Mr. Miller.” You greet him with a flirty tone.

“Mmm what are you doing to me, baby girl.” He speaks low and sounds relaxed and groggy. You wonder if you woke him up when you sent the first pic and kind of hope you did.

“Just getting ready for bed and thinking about you.”

You hear him make a breathy acknowledgement and you know he is stroking himself just by how he is breathing. You feel bolder and more daring talking to him on the phone. You can be a tease and he can’t do anything about it.

You put it on speaker so you can have both your hands free.

“Wishing it was your fingers on me.” You lay back on your bed and slide your fingers over your clit until a moan escapes you. “Or your cock.”

“Mmm. Keep going,” he growls low.

Even on the phone he has to be bossy. His voice cuts straight through you. Always so commanding but spoken with a warmness that makes you melt.

You slide a finger inside your wet and needy cunt and use your other hand to tease your clit.

“Joel…” you rasp his name low as you moan. “How hard are you right now?”

You hear him chuff quietly.

“Bout ready to come, sweetheart.”

His shallow breathing and occasional grunt cheers you on. Your hands are so inadequate compared to his. You need to be filled by him. Want his rough hands putting friction in all the right spots.

You fumble with your nightstand drawer for your dildo. His ears pick up on the creak of the wooden drawer opening and he stops you in your tracks.

“No toys.” His stern voice commands. “I want you to get off with your fingers.”

You can hear his grin on the other end.

“... and beg for my cock.”

That wouldn’t be hard to do. You already are screaming inside for him to put you out of your misery. Your performative moans are now all too real.

“Joel… fuck.” You whine but bring your hand back to your opening and press inside with two of your fingers while you massage your clit.

His authoritative demands empower you. Hearing him breathing, groaning and barking orders at you makes it a lot easier to get yourself to the edge. Despite how tiny your hands are in comparison, your mind fills in all the gaps as his voice penetrates your ears.

“I want you to fill me,” you whine.

“Mmm. Gonna make a mess of me.” He sounds haggard. He has been holding back his own release for sure. The thought of making Joel Miller come undone over the phone is intoxicating.

You moan and your breath hitches as you can feel yourself teetering on the edge. Pleading to release.

“Joel…” You whimper. Begging.

“Come for me, baby.” His commanding tone returns, beckoning you to do as he asks.

“Let me hear you. Come for daddy.”

You gasp at his words. That was never something you thought you were into. It went straight to your pussy. Your walls flutter around your fingers as you replay his words in your head. You do come for him, hard, and let him hear you climaxing over the thoughts of him inside you.

“Mmmm.” He groans low as you ride your climax high and let your desperate sounds tip him over the edge.

His labored breathing and raspy moans pick up and you know he is coming.

He goes silent and You can just imagine him laying in his bed with his cock in his hand, pumping himself until he comes over his knuckles. Spent and sticky.

A moment passes as you both breathe heavily catching your breath. Enjoying the moment with one another and relishing in the aftermath of your shared experience. ��

“Such a good girl.” He praises. “Now, get some sleep.”

You roll your eyes. As if sleeping was going to come easy at this point.

“Night, sweetheart.”

“Night… daddy.” You smirk to yourself, amused and satisfied, and hang up.

You were pretty shocked to see Joel in your driveway come the next morning. He was scraping ice off your windshield and there was a fresh tossing of salt and sand on your walkway. There was some freezing rain overnight, unbeknownst to you.

“Hey, you really don’t have to do that for me.” You call out as you lock your door and make your way down the path.

“I know.” He scrapes at the last bits of frost. “Still gonna.”

You brighten at the way he says it. Feminism be damned, it felt really good to have this man looking out for you.

You were looking real cute in your Bean boots and beanie. Acting a little more timid compared to your late night activities.

You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets and walked over to your car with a cutesy spring in your step. Joel tried to hide his disdain for your carefree jaunt down the icy path. Still, he looked so handsome in his brown suede coat and his relentless refusal to wear a winter hat. Always wielding that power to make you melt in his presence.

“Thank you.” You smile at him as you approach him at arm's length. “Still not giving you the shirt back,” you tease.

“Don’t want it back.” He holds back a smirk and quickly looks you over. Reliving last night's photos, you can imagine. You suppress a wicked smile imagining him saving them in his main album like a heathen.

He takes a step towards you and with his gloved hand he gently holds your chin and brushes his thumb over. You note the subtle way his eyes soften. His longing stare makes it feel like he isn’t going to see you for a long time, and it lingers. He drops his hand and puts it on his hip. His other hand fidgets with his leg like he is unsure what to do.

“I’m not gonna be around for a little while” He hesitates and looks like he wants to say more and you pickup that something is off. Something he still has decided you are not privy to know about. Whatever has been bothering him the past few days is still weighing on him. “I got some stuff to take care of and I’ll be real busy.”

“Ok, Joel.” You don’t give away that you think he sounds suspicious. Guilty even. You want to press him, but you let it go, again. You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off.

“I’ll call you, alright?” His voice is firm, there is no room for questions.

“Alright.” You force a smile and he nods and heads to his truck. It was hard not to take that as asking you not to bother him. He wasn’t being unkind in his tone, but he wasn’t being truthful either.

You can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

You are dragging your feet at work. After your late night fun with Joel your mind was wide awake and you had trouble sleeping.

Marlene is extra bubbly today. She is riding the Friday wave and you are grateful she takes on more of the customer facing role while you just work mindlessly making endless orders of lattes and cold brews.

“So, do you wanna?”

“Huh?” she had been talking to you, apparently.

“Do you want to go out tonight?”

“Oh. Yeah, ok.”

“You sound really interested.” She says sarcastically while she stares at you and crosses her arms.

“Sorry, just tired. Yes, I’d love to.”

“Good. Meet at Copper’s around 8? They are doing all night happy hour and open mic.”

“Sounds good.” And it does sound good. Something to do to keep yourself busy and it’s better than going home and watching Netflix by yourself. You have no idea how long Joel is going to be occupied and Marlene is the only other person you would consider a friend since moving there. It would be nice to spend some real time with her outside of work.

“Its not the classiest place, but the crowd is good. Dress slutty and maybe we can get some free drinks.” Marlene jokes, but you have every intention to dress like a knockout and have a good time.

When you walk in it becomes obvious you are overdressed. Many eyes were on you. You stuck out and had a lot of attention, some unwanted, but it also was flattering. Your choice of black minidress was conventionally good for a night of drinking and letting loose, but less practical once you walked through the door and saw what you were working with.

Copper’s was just a few notches above a dive bar and significantly less upscale than the late night Boston clubs and speakeasy’s you frequented. It was mostly crawling with locals, many of which you recognized from Grind. Despite that, the energy felt good. Friendly faces lit up when they saw you and even more cast some not-so-conspicuous stares at your body when they thought you were not looking.

The expansive bar wrapped around the back wall and there was a small stage on the wall across from it. High tops and tables filled out most of the middle with little room to do much more than sit and socialize. Get drunk off beer and cocktails and fat off appetizers and hot wings. The whole place was a little chaotic and rough but it felt cherished. It embodied that small town feel that was brought to life by the patrons.

Marlene walks up to you with some sort of fruity cocktail in each hand. Dressed much more casually than you with a high waisted denim skirt and a low cut band tee.

“About time you get here. Damn, girl!” She looks you up and down as she hands you the drink. “You don’t play around.” You share a laugh, and relish your new, unexpected friendship.

The cocktail is overkill on the sweetness but the vodka hits you hard when you take a sip.

“You didn’t tell me this place was a dive!” You tease.

“Well it’s the only bar we have open year-round so don’t knock it.” She pretends to scold you.

“I’m joking. This is perfect.” And it was.

You and Marlene make quick work of your drinks as you float around the bar. She introduces you to new people and you get friendlier with familiar faces. The bartender flirts with you when he learns you are new to town and you indulge in some harmless fun.

The bar is quickly filling up and you think it must be a fire code violation at this point. You buy the second round of drinks and take a seat while you still can. Laughter and the high from your buzz set you on the right path and you are filled with gratitude for your new friendships and your new home.

[Joel POV]

Joel fiddles with his empty beer bottle, unsure what the hell he is doing. Tess should be arriving any moment now, and he is no closer to ending things with her.

He has his guitar in tow, stowed against the wall. He perches himself in the very last seat, enjoying some solitude while the bar slowly starts to fill in.

He raises two fingers at the bartender and signals that he is ready for another beer. The bartender returns a moment later with a fresh Budweiser.

“There he is!”

Joel spins on his bar stool to the familiar voice.

“Hey Frank. Bill.” He nods to them as Frank slaps his back enthusiastically and sits down next to him.

“Been a while. Tess coming too?”

“S’posed to.” Joel takes a swig of his beer and doesn't give them much of an opportunity to ask more.

Bill sits silently on the other side of Frank, orders two beers and slides one to Frank. He never was one to talk much compared to his counterpart.

“Well, we have missed you. It has been at least a month since we have seen you.” Frank turns to Bill, urging him to converse a little. They were all old friends, but Tess was the one that tended to be the glue between them.

Bill nods in agreement. “Ain’t like it used to be. Not missing much.” Joel keeps to himself, staying mostly quiet while the other two make small talk between themselves. They know Joel well enough to recognize when he is in a mood and to give him space.

Tess walks up to the bar shortly after and throws her arms around Frank in surprise.

“Hey Stranger!” She turns to Bill and does the same thing but he is much more reserved. She intentionally makes him uncomfortable with an embrace, making Frank laugh at his discomfort.

Joel turns his body so his legs are back under the counter and sips his beer. The three of them chatter for a few minutes while Joel broods.

“They are going to start soon. Lets grab a table before they are all taken.” Frank was already buzzed and it made him even more eccentric.

“I’m fine right here.” Joel declines.

“Alright, well join us if you want to later.” Frank taps his shoulder and shuffles off towards some tables closer to the stage. Bill follows behind after giving a silent nod to Joel and Tess and lifting his beer to gesture goodbye. Poor Bill was not one for going out and socializing, but he did it for Frank.

Tess takes Frank’s seat and hails the bartender right away. She notices it's not their regular guy and isn’t too impressed with him making her wait. A silence looms for a few moments. The air is awkward and tense.

“Two shots of whiskey.” She requests and glances over at Joel as the bartender pulls out two shot glasses. Joel nods in agreement.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d see you tonight.” Joel is the first to speak.

“Likewise.” Tess says sharply but follows up softer. “I’m glad to see you.”

The bartender finishes pouring the shots and pushes one to each of them. They knock them back.

“Look, I meant what I said.” Joel sounds like he is reassuring himself as much as her.

“I know.” She retorts. His eyes find doubt in her words. “Jesus, Joel, I know. Can’t we just have some drinks? Don’t be such a sour puss.”

Joel scoffs at her words. He pushes his empty shot glass away and taps near his glass when the bartender walks closer. He pours another round. Joel and Tess knock back a second shot. It isn’t nearly enough to help him deal with his issues but it does help him lighten up a little.

Tess leans against Joel's shoulder and presses her hand onto the top of his thigh. She always was a lightweight, and had no problems coming on to him. No doubt she had pre-gamed before coming out, same as Joel.

“Why can’t it just be like this?” she traces a circle on his leg and moves her finger closer to his groin. He shifts his leg as she grazes his zipper.

“Nothings’ ever easy with us, Tess.” Joel pauses and puts his hand over hers. Reluctantly he peels her hand away. “We don’t want the same things anymore.”

“You don’t want this anymore?” She slides her hand back over his zipper this time with more force and she feels him twitch under the denim. She strokes her fingers down his length pressing into his seam. He stifles a groan and stirs in his seat.

“Tess..” His words plead her to stop, but his body reacts to her touch as it always does. Betraying his good intentions. Their attraction for one another was never in question. It just made things a whole lot more complicated. It was hard for him to resist her advances, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. She wasn’t exactly cooperating with his poor attempts to resist either.

“‘Course I do.” He looks at her, wantonly and holds her gaze. He pauses and chooses his words carefully. “But it’s not enough.”

She was observant of his reaction, calculating what sort of leverage she had left with Joel. She could see his genuine anguish and was reminded too well of the circumstances that brought them together in the first place. She never said it in all those years, not once, but she did love him.

“We can make it work… we always do.” Tess tries to reason with him, but she has defeat in her voice.

“It’s too late for us, Tess.” Joel reaches a hand out to the side of her face and gently holds her. She removes her hand from his lap and wraps around his forearm and covers his hand with her own, leaning into his touch. The moment is intimate and despite a room full of people it felt like they were the only two. The unspoken love between them was always there as a thread to keep them together. This was not ending because the love was gone, it was ending because it had no more room to grow.

He could see that she was finally accepting what he was saying. At least she was trying to. He brushed his thumb over her cheek and reassured her with his touch that his feelings for her were not lost, but he was not going to give into them anymore.

“I need a clear mind.” He locks eyes with her as he takes his hand back. “I’m playing tonight.”

“You are?” She pulls away, surprised and easily distracted with the subject change. She looks down and eyes Joel’s guitar case leaning against the bar. “Singing too?” Joel nods. This feels familiar and comforting.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Tess’ smile fades and expression softens, filled with sadness. A realization that they had moved away so far from where they used to be. A silent moment lurks but it is not unwanted. It gives them both time to think.

“I never asked you for anything.” Tess utters quietly. Joel nods in agreement, silently reliving all the things he loved about her. Still loves about her.

“Never had to.” Joel gives a gentle side smile. Their eyes meet. Eyes that are intimate and mourning all at once. Hopeful and nostalgic.

He was always going to love Tess.

She stands to interrupt the silence and reaches for his hand to follow.

“Lets find Bill and Frank. I wanna sit with them while you play.”

“Alright.”

Joel leaves his guitar at the bar and follows close behind her. The room is getting more and more crowded by the minute. The first act is wrapping up and switching over to another singer. The bar is alive with excitement.

Following Tess into the crowd his heart drops. There you are, just a few tables in front of him, sitting at a hightop with Marlene. Dressed incredibly sexy with your short dress and your cropped leather jacket. Knee high boots and your hair flowy and free. He wished he could take you right there and have his way with you.

You looked so happy. So unaware of what was about to happen. Innocent and at peace.

Tess grabs his arm and pulls him towards your table, excited to see you and Marlene and she makes a beeline to say hello.

You shouldn’t be here. His brain screams and his heart races. His chest gets heavy and tight as he inches closer to your table, unable to stop the encounter. It was too late. You had already noticed him approaching when Tess called your name and you saw him in tow.

He should have told you from the start, but he didn’t. Even if nothing had happened with Tess since he started falling for you he was well aware how this was going to look.

He was finally making some progress with Tess and couldn’t risk that getting ruined. At your expense, too. There was no other way.

And he knew right at that moment he was the biggest asshole in the world.

[Reader POV]

You turn your head as you hear your name being called out. You see Tess first and just towering behind her is Joel. It was impossible to miss him with his broad shoulders and brooding scowl. For a brief moment, you light up to see him when your eyes catch his.

He was a sight to behold. Wearing a button up navy blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his tight forearms. Jeans hugging his body and perfectly accenting his burly frame. His hair was also slicked back and styled like he gelled it fresh out of the shower. The moody lighting masking his silver streaks more than usual. He looked absolutely delicious and it made you ache for him all over again. You had just put him out of your mind too. It didn’t take much to stir up those feelings again when your desire for him was relentless and insatiable. Your heart races, fueled by your longing.

Until you realize they are together.

A wave of dread washes over you. Joel immediately looks away from you in a panic, confirming your fear that something is wrong. He won’t look at you but you can’t take your eyes off of him and ignore everything else around you.

“This is my new star employee. She’s wonderful.” Tess lights up talking about you and playfully bumps into your shoulder. She is babbling on but you have no idea what she is saying because you aren't listening to her anymore. Too preoccupied with figuring out what was happening. Questioning why Tess was introducing you to the man you had been fucking for the past few weeks. The man who had naked photos of you on his phone. The man you were hopelessly besotted with.

Joel’s eyes glance up at you and for the first time ever he looks sheepish. He holds his hand out standard and practical. Emotionless like it's a formal business greeting.

“Joel. Nice to meet you.” You stare, dumbfounded by his words, spoken so nonchalant.

Nice to meet me?

He holds his hand out firmly, waiting for you to take it. His eyes plead with you to go along with it. You lightly grasp his hand. His fingertips drag tenderly as he pulls it away, as if they were apologizing. You say nothing but force a pathetic half-smile.

Tess clearly having one too many drinks hangs off of his shoulder and bumps into his hips. You try to hide the confusion and disgust on your face. Joel refuses to look at you again after your introduction.

He doesn’t reciprocate her energy at all. He looks like a lost dog. Uncomfortable and out of place. She seems oblivious to it, but you are dead focused on reading him to get some answers while she carries on talking. He is a stone wall, giving you nothing.

Marlene says something in response and the two of them laugh but you can’t hear anything but muddled voices over the loudness of your thoughts.

Joel nods at whatever she says but is silent. He looks so distant like he wants to shrink away. Guilty and cowardly.

Every piece of your being wants to scream. What is going on? You don’t want to assume anything. Maybe they are friends and you are overreacting. But then why wouldn’t he have said something sooner? Why did he pretend not to know you? Why won’t he even look at you? The questions keep piling up and your stomach is in knots.

“Come on, Joel.” She hooks her hand around his arm to pull him along. You’ve never seen him act so submissive. “See you girls later.”

As he brushes past you he catches your arm when no one is looking and he gives you the softest brush with the back of his hand. He tries to be inconspicuous and whispers in your ear as he passes.

“I’m so sorry.” His words stab you. They sound sincere and painful but offer no comfort or answers.

As Joel and Tess disappear into the crowded room of people, Marlene is quick to notice you are in your head but brushes it off as being a little drunk.

“God they are annoying.” Marlene shakes her head and takes a sip of her drink. You hear her talking, but still not really listening. You are preoccupied watching Tess take a seat a few tables away and see Joel make some brief small talk and wander off in the direction of the bar.

They didn’t look romantic, at least not from his angle. Are you just overreacting? The alcohol is probably just making you paranoid. You hate how insecure he makes you feel. The reality is that the more time you spend with him the harder it is to be apart. He was unlike any man you had ever been with on so many levels. He made you feel so needy for his attention, and jealous that he was with Tess in some capacity, instead of you. You feel foolish.

A singer briefly performs a song and the room gets loud again as voices rise between sets. You are silent and disassociating with everything around you, unsure if it's the buzz from the alcohol or your serotonin working overtime to calm you down.

“You ok?” Marlene asks.

“Yeah…”

Marlene prys. “You don’t look ok.”

It was obvious from that awkward moment earlier that she knew Joel. You wanted to spill and tell her everything and pick her brain, but your suspicions made you question where her loyalties may lie. You had never told her who your neighbor was and now you felt trapped and alone with this secret.

“I just need another drink.” You laugh and play it off coolly. “Gonna grab one at the bar, be right back.”

As you walk to the back of the room you take note of Tess still sitting at the table and talking to a few guys. It looks like they are familiar and catching up. Joel is standing at the crowded bar at the very end, mostly tucked away and probably how you missed seeing him sooner because you weren't looking for him. Against your better judgment you approach him.

You squeeze into the space next to him and try to keep a little distance from him, but your bare thigh rubs up against his leg as you step in and the person to your left pushes into you. He stays facing straight ahead and doesn’t acknowledge you, except to move his leg from its wide posture. His scowl works overtime to keep his composure. He takes a sip of his beer.

You hail the familiar bartender with your empty glass. He winks and goes to make you another. Drink three and he already has your order memorized and was probably hoping to get your number.

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?” Your voice is a little shaky, wavering through your anger and confusion.

“I owe you an explanation.” He nods, still staring off ahead.

You pause, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Your eyes bore into him and his ignoring you is making you fume more and more. You try to read him, and see the subtle changes as he gets more and more frustrated that you are not getting the hint to leave him alone.

“So… explain?” You push his chest, try to pry the information out of him. His jaw tenses. Glowering and annoyed. His calm facade being chiseled away by your incessant need for answers.

Joel looks at you with cold eyes. Sad eyes. Eyes you do not recognize. He recoils at your touch. Makes you feel like a dirty secret. He tips back his beer and downs the rest of the bottle.

“Can you please fucking say something?” You beg. You are annoyed at how he is acting. He was clearly frustrated by your being there and that anger was festering by the minute.

“This isn’t the time.” He says unphased by your request.

The bartender interrupts you to hand you your drink and gives Joel the side eye, no doubt noticing how prickly he was and how much your demeanor had changed from earlier.

“What are you staring at?” Joel snaps at the bartender. His intimidating tone was low but it was threatening. His misplaced anger was looking for any way to escape.

“Relax, bud.” He puts his hands up in a submissive gesture and backs off. He glances back over to you but you look away and don’t make eye contact with him again.

“She ain't’ interested.” He threatens and somehow makes himself look even bigger. The bartender nods with a knowing smile that might as well say ‘not worth the trouble’ as he grabs Joel’s empty beer bottle and moves on. He wasn’t interested enough to contest with Joel.

You hate how much it turns you on to see him get protective over you. His mixed signals were giving you whiplash. You suspect and even hope that his lashing out and acting this way is just a tactic to get you to leave the matter alone for now. It wasn’t going to work with you though. You were not afraid of him or intimidated.

His fingers curl over the counter and he flexes them, agitated. He taps his fingers in a rolling motion and pushes himself away from the bar with the heel of his hand.

“You should go home.” His words hurt and are spoken with finality through dark eyes that penetrate you. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“No.” Your brows furrow at the audacity. “I want to talk now.” You demand.

Joel ignores you and pushes past you to get to the back hallway. He makes you feel insignificant and like you are just an obstacle in his path to walk around. It makes you even more angry.

You tip back the bulk of your drink dangerously fast and follow him. There were so many people, no one was really paying attention to you and Joel, so why was he acting like this?

You stumble down the corridor to the bathrooms, instantly regretting your choices to drink so recklessly. It makes you feel gross and desperate that you have to chase him someplace so dark and secluded.

With his back to you he balls his hand into a fist and knocks on one of the bathroom doors with enough force to startle anyone in earshot. Someone inside yells that they need a minute.

He puts a hand on his hip and the other drags down his face as he paces and turns towards you. He knew you would follow. He fans his hand out in your direction, pleading with you to let this go.

“I said later.” His words sound tired from your persistence. He looks you up and down and you see something else in his eyes. Behind the anger, the hunger for you is still there.

“Joel.” Your anger starts to cool when you see how agitated he is. Afraid that you are just making everything worse. Maybe you should just leave this alone until later. You could be making a scene over nothing.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he speaks slowly and deliberately, trying to keep himself calm. You try to hold it back but you can’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. Impatiently he bangs on the door again and an angry yell returns, calling him an impatient prick.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.” You are not sure why you are the one defending yourself here. You feel the room spinning and reach to brace yourself on the wall before you stumble. The alcohol and the adrenaline of being afraid to lose Joel was just becoming too much.

Joel reaches out to you and grabs your wrist to steady you. He leads you a bit further down the hall, and just at the end is a small and dark alcove with storage boxes. You can still hear the loudness of Copper’s echoing through the hallway but at least it feels more private. Trashy, but discrete.

You back yourself against the wall, feeling overwhelmed by everything and your anger vanishing into nothing but hurt. Joel stands across from you with his arms crossed. He takes a deep breath.

“Listen. This ain’t got anything to do with you. Ok?” Now is your turn to respond with silence. You have a thousand questions but no words manage to come out, instead a tear drops down your face. You wipe it away quickly but he already noticed it.

“Sweetheart.” He closes the gap between you and holds your face in his hand, wiping his thumb over the wet trail on your cheek. You look up at him with glossy eyes and he looks pained to see you so upset. “Please don’t.”

You feel foolish crying given the real probability of infidelity. Still, you lean into his touch, craving the contact with him that he had been denying you. Soaking in his warmth and pushing the negative thoughts as far away as possible.

The heat from his cock feels so good against you, and you can feel him harden slightly when you push your hips into him. Even through tears your body can’t say no to Joel. His body towers over you and makes you feel calmer being in his clutches.

He sneaks a hand up the side of your leg and slips it under your dress. You feel his breath hot on your neck as he kisses you there. His scruff scrapes against the soft meat of your neck and makes you come undone. He presses his mouth into you, hedonic and greedy.

His thumb slides under the thin straps of your panties and he draws circles on your hip bone, dancing dangerously closer to your center. He doesn’t cross the threshold, and with restraint he slides his hand around to your hip over the top of your dress. He presses his forehead into yours and holds you there for a brief moment, relishing having you in his grasp.

As soon as the heated moment starts it fades and Joel takes a step back, holding you at arms length. With a desperation in his eyes, he speaks.

“Go home.” His words hurt. “Please. Go home.”

He turns and leaves you alone in the hallway, disappearing into the crowd. Discarding you like an unwanted problem. A mistake. Something to acknowledge only in the dark.

You feel absolutely blindsided and used and you don’t even know what is going on. You slide your back down the wall and curl your arms around your knees, hugging yourself. You have never felt more alone and abandoned. You hold yourself harder to keep back the tears.

Moments later you hear footsteps and a familiar voice rattles you back to earth. It’s Marlene, knocking on one of the bathroom doors asking if you are inside. You regain your composure and bring yourself to your feet and walk sheepishly towards her from the alcove. You adjust your dress and hair, both a little disrupted by Joel.

“There you are! Is everything ok? I’ve been looking for you.” You turn to face her and do your best to look composed and calm.

“Yeah I was just feeling my drink and had to get away for a minute.” You are a terrible liar.

“Uh huh...” She reaches her hand out and wipes some black makeup that still lingered on your cheek. “Don’t tell me you’re crying about that guy you’ve been seeing?” She tries to guess what could have you so upset. You fake a laugh and try to throw her off. She notices your messy hair. “Or did you makeout with that bartender that was hitting on you?” she asks excitedly.

“Nothing like that. I’m fine. Really.” You say with confidence but she is still skeptical. You take a few steps down the hallway. The words Joel begged of you before leaving you replay over and over.

“Hey, do you… know that guy?” You struggle to get his name out. “Joel?” She looks at you puzzled. Inquisitive. Amused at your question.

“Everyone knows Joel Miller.” She stares at you, her expression trying to hide some judgment but can’t resist. “Why?”

You don’t answer and just stare off blankly. You feel like a total idiot. A used trollop. She tries to read between the lines, assuming your drunk ass is crushing on him.

“Don’t get involved with Joel.” She warns and hooks her arm in yours and leads you back to the main room.

Your table had been scarfed up which was no surprise. There were so many people.

You are floating between being too drunk and carefree and on the verge of a mental breakdown. For now, the alcohol was keeping you afloat. This wasn’t the time or place to deal with whatever was going on with Joel and you were not in the right frame of mind to handle it.

You made up your mind. You were going to stay and try to salvage what was left of your night. You would stay clear of Joel. Why should he get to tell you what to do? You lose your footing and stumble but Marlene balances you.

“Ok… you need to drink water.” She mothers you and takes you by the shoulders to lead you back to the bar.

“Yes, mom.” You muster up a joke and take a deep breath.

Another half hour passes. You don’t see Joel but you don’t look for him either. You don’t want to see him or want him to see you. The water helps sober you up just slightly. The music is loud but soothing as it occupies your headspace. The current act was a man and woman duo singing something moody and playing guitar. They played a few songs and then the MC shared that they had just one more performer for tonight.

You lazily look at your phone and it’s so much later than you realized. You turn to ask Marlene if she is ready to go when you see him, walking towards the stage with a guitar slung on his back. Joel was the final performer? You watched him walk up to the stage with disbelief. He wanted you to go home so you wouldn’t see this? It felt forbidden to look and of course you needed to.

You had no idea he was the musical type. Realizing now you didn’t know much about him at all, apparently. The thought of that makes you feel sick.

You feel numb to everything around you. Maybe it was all just a bad dream. It had to be.

He takes his seat on a stool in front of the mic, propping up his guitar on his lap and strums a few chords. The audience is awakened. You hear people mumbling to their friends that they can’t believe Joel is playing again.

Apparently everyone but you.

You want to be angry. Upset that he was so deceptive to you and kept his life so secret. Dismissive about your desire to understand.

Your body betrays you, fluttering at the sight of him. The room is darkened and the light shining on him makes him look even more gorgeous, casting harsh shadows that accent his tight body. His silver streaks in his slicked hair catching the light and his broad frame defined perfectly in his well fitting shirt. His watch reflects the light as he positions his hand to cradle the neck of his guitar. His forearm flexes as he guides his hand over the strings. It makes you wet.

“This one’s…. for Tess.”

Your heart stops.

His voice wavers as he looks down to his guitar, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The room is deadly silent. He has everyone’s attention. You are certain your heartbeat is the loudest thing as you are filled with panic.

Did you hear that right?

He strums his guitar and a low and gravelly voice follows.

Love will abide

Take things in stride

He said… Tess?

Sounds like good advice

But there's no one at my side

You feel a pit in your stomach.

And time washes clean

Love's wounds unseen

He said Tess.

That's what someone told me

But I don't know what it means

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

The profound sadness in his voice hurts. It cuts you like a knife. His guttural but steady low singing moves you. You would never, but it makes you want to run up to him and hold him.

And I think I'm gonna love you

For a long, long time

You hate this. Being in this moment, trapped. It felt like listening to a private conversation. Still, you can’t look away.

Caught in my fears

Blinking back the tears

I can't say you hurt me

When you never let me near

The sharpness in his tone is notable and you see him clench his teeth at those words.

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

The pit in your stomach grows as your fears are being realized before your eyes.

And I think it's going to hurt me

For a long, long time

Joel was in love with her.

Wait for the day

You'll go away

Knowing that you warned me

Of the price I'd have to pay

You look over to where Tess was sitting earlier. She looks hurt and fragile, masked by anger. Not like anything you had seen before. You pity her. You pity yourself.

And life's full of flaws

Who knows the cause?

Living in the memory

Of a love that never was

Joel is hurting. Whatever their relationship was, he certainly wanted it to be different.

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and change your mind

And you are just a toy for him to play with. You need to leave. You need to be anywhere but right here.

And I think I'm going to miss you

For a long, long time

Suddenly the room is spinning. You are going to be sick. The alcohol and anxiety inside you mix together and you feel like you can’t breathe.

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

And I think I'm gonna love you

Joel looks up and his eyes accidentally find yours for the briefest moment. An unintentional stare. He looks away and down at his guitar, no doubt outraged that you didn’t go home. That you saw him spill his heart and soul out to another woman.

For a long, long time.

Angry that you caught him cheating. The only truth you know.

The loudest silence follows as he strums the last chord. Then, the room erupts in applause and many people stand up to clap and cheer. Even the drunkest person could have watched that performance and felt his pain. You suspected few people realized it was so good because it was so honest.

Marlene looks over at you and can clearly see how ghostly and unwell you look. You shake your head and try to hold back the flood of tears welling up in your eyes.

“Can we… can we go? Please?”

“Yeah, of course.” Marlene puts an arm around you and helps you up. The tears start falling and you can’t stop it. You can’t hold back the flood of sobs and emotion leaving your body.

“Whoa… Whats wrong?” She puts her hand on your cheek and tries in vain to wipe the tears away. Looking extremely concerned and no doubt piecing things together.

You can’t even think properly. You gasp at the air to save you.

“I just need to get out of here.”

You glance up to the stage and Joel has already left it. Probably going to his lover or whatever the fuck that was all about. That sickness feeling surges back. You want to throw up. You want to disappear and erase every moment you had with Joel.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

To be continued...

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N S

Comments / Reblogs are so incredibly appreciated 🧡

Thank you to @magpiepills for being my wonderful beta, ily 🧡

Tag List // @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @exquisiteserotonin @pink-whiskey-woman @youandmeand5bucks

@sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen @604to647 @ann782-blog1 @brittmb115

@broken-paper-wings @elizabeth4th @fanficlover1414 @getitoutofmymindwrites @gintheginger

@dollydaydreamsposts @guiltyasdave @immyowndefender @itwasntimethatdidit40 @joelsgreys

@katiexpunk @lizzie-cakes @lotusbxtch @loveisacowboyyy @mellymbee

@mermaidgirl30 @missannwinchester @mountainsandmayhem @pascalssbabyy @pastawench

@pearlessance @pedroswife69 @r4vens-cl4ws @saltytimemachinecat @stevie75

@survivingandenduring @swiftpascal @thischarmingmandalorian @toxicanonymity @untamedheart81

@vee-bees-blog @wintersquirrel @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @yxtkiwiyxt @unbeatablecurlgirl

#joel miller x reader #jmrecs #Ally

234 notes · View notes

softspokendove · 15 hours ago

Text

It was me

pairings: bsf!matt sturniolo x female!reader

summary: after your one night stand with ghost face, you can’t seem to forget that night. you confide in your best friend about your experience and how it’s been driving you crazy, all for you to find out he was the mystery man.

warnings: SMUT (who would’ve thought), knife play, slapping, p in v unprotected, degrading, rough kinda, pet names (sweetheart, baby, etc), name calling (slut, whore, etc), biting, multiple orgasms, crazy matt kinda, fingering, little blowjob f!receiving.

Important note: this is a part two, part one is posted before this one it’s called “ghostface matt”. I do recommend reading that one before this one since it has important “plot”. I’m sorry I don’t know how to link it :(

“Are you listening to me?”

you try to rack your brain for anything that Matt has said to you in the past 10 minutes but nothing comes to mind. You’ve been too busy inside your own head replaying previous events of the party last weekend. The more you think about it, the more you can feel his hands back on you again making you subconsciously squeeze your thighs together on Matt’s bed.

You look at Matt and he has an agitated look on his face. He’s been ranting to you for the past 20 minutes trying to get your opinion on the new video idea his brothers have, he doesn’t think they should do it and he wants you to back him up on it.

You quickly nod your head trying to be convincing, “yes I’m listening.”

Matt raises his eyebrows challenging you while he crosses his arms, “okay then what did I just say?”

You don’t even think before answering, “you asked if I was listening.” A sarcastic smile written all over your face.

“Very funny.” Matt blows air out of his mouth and walks over to sit beside you. His back now rested against the headboard, you sitting criss cross while facing him. “So what’s got you in a pickle?”

You snicker a bit at his choice of words, “a pickle?” He just shrugs, not a hint of humor shown on his face. You can tell by the look he’s giving you that he expects you to answer him truthfully. You feel your face grow a tad bit warmer as you think back to what you were previously day dreaming about.

You’ve told Matt before about your past sexual experiences and he’s told you his, it was a normal thing that was brought up time to time. But this time it was different. It felt different. You truly felt like that was your best sexual experience of your life and saying it out loud to your best friend didn’t sound appealing.

“I was just thinking about the party last weekend.” It’s not a lie, more like a half truth. You could be okay with that.

“Oh? What about it?” You feel your stomach twist and try to think of something to say other than the truth. You see a small glint appear in his eyes as he adjusts himself, getting more comfy.

“Nothing. It was just fun.” You copy Matt’s movements and adjust yourself a bit too, trying to look unsuspicious. But Matt can see right through you.

He squints his eyes and tilts his head, “c’mon it’s me, you can tell me anything.” You appreciate his words but it doesn’t help with the racing of your heart or the small patch of heat beginning to pool lower and lower. You don’t trust yourself to answer him, to concerned that your voice might wobble, instead you just lower your head and stare at your lap.

Matt knows this move all too well. When you’re too embarrassed or shy to answer someone you avoid any and all eye contact. “What did something happen?” You feel bad ignoring him so you shrug your shoulders as a response. A few more seconds go by, “Did you sleep with somebody?” Matt sees you visibly stiffen and he lets a small smile slip.

He finds it adorable how open you usually are about your sex life, but you can’t stop getting flustered everytime he’s asked you about the party. He’s been prying at you all week to get your side on what happened. To his luck all he got was you either avoiding his questions or changing the topic. He’s not letting you slip away this time.

“What is that it?” You slowly pull your head up your eyes finally meeting Matt’s deep blue ones. A small ‘yeah’ escapes your mouth. “Was it that bad?”

You shake your head, “no it was good.”

Matt’s small smile grows, “How good?”

Your eyes widen in surprise at his constant pestering questions. He’s not usually this interested in sex. “Really good. Like the best I’ve ever had.” You mumble the last bit but Matt heard you perfectly. Matt feels his heart swell up in pride. He made you feel so good, more than any other man has. He knew you were made for him and this is just more proof.

“Soo do you know who the guy is?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion at Matt’s question. How’d he know there was a mystery guy. For all he should know is that you just had a one night stand. He couldn’t know that even you didn’t know who it was.

Unless.

Unless he was there. Or someone told him. Like the mystery man himself. No, if you knew who was under the ghost face mask you would’ve known right? I mean you must have felt that you knew the person. But then again you carelessly let that man use you practically, it’d be worse if you didn’t know him and let a stranger do that. Right?

Matt can almost see the wheels turning in your head. Your eyes are rapidly looking all around his face as your poor little brain tries to figure out how he knew. To be honest he wasn’t going to tell you. He wanted to see if he could run into you again as ghost face and see how’d you react.

He loved it. He loved seeing your pretty face all flustered and in bliss as his cock worked your wet pussy. He came home and jerked himself off before bed, replaying the whole scene again so it was fresh in his mind. He’s had so many boners this week alone. Every time he’d cum it’d be to you, your name effortlessly rolling off his tongue. He’s had to stay in his room for most the week so his brothers can’t see the state that he’s in.

He’s addicted and it’s bad.

All he wants is you. All he can think about is you. When you walked into his room earlier for your usual movie night all he wanted to do was practically pounce on you. To kiss you, feel you, hear your beautiful moans again. He can’t stop himself.

So is he upset that the mystery man won’t be much of a mystery to you anymore? A little. Is his cock straining so hard against his pajama pants that it feels like he might explode? Yes. And that is all he needs for him to lose track of his other plan and just let you figure it out.

“How’d you know I didn’t know who it was?” Matt’s whole demeanor has changed now. His legs are spread more apart. His pupils are dark and blown. His hair is sitting messily on his head. One hand is rested on his thigh while the other one fiddles with his pajama pants string. He just gives you a one shoulder shrug, trying to let you do all the work.

“Matt how did you know?” This time you sit up on your knees and give Matt the most serious face you can manage while you’re freaking out on the inside.

He doesn’t answer. Of course not. He knew he had to give you something to lead you to the right idea. But what would be the fun in saying it? No he’d show you. See that pretty shocked face again.

Matt ignores you and instead gets up walking over to his closet. He bends down to pick something up and then walks to the bathroom, careful not to show you what he has in his hands.

What is wrong with him? He’s been acting strange all week and this is just the cherry on top. You get up and stomp over to the bathroom door. “Matt!” You go to raise your hand up and knock on the door, right then Matt whips open the door.

Matt smirks as he sees your face, your eyes wide and mouth open ajar as your eyes take him in. He’s wearing the same pj pants as before but his sweater is now gone leaving him shirtless, his arm covered in tattoos on full display. As your eyes go up you feel your oxygen get knocked out of your lungs and your legs feel wobbly.

He’s wearing the mask. The same one from the party.

It couldn’t have been him. No it can’t. He was at home that day, he didn’t want to go. Besides he’s your best friend he wouldn’t want to sleep with you.

You want to believe that you truly do, until your eyes land on an object in Matt’s hand. A knife. The exact same knife from the party. That can’t be a coincidence. Oh my god you fucked your best friend.

“Wh-Matt? It was you at the party?”

“Surprise.” His voice isn’t his anymore. It’s the same voice from all the movies and the same voice you let turn you on while having sex with him. His hands are now those same hands that you can’t stop thinking about. His cock is now the same one you’ve been needing back inside of you.

This is wrong. You slept with your best friend and you loved every second of it. You’ve been day dreaming about getting another chance with that guy and now you finally have it.

As you begin to put two and two together you clench your thighs together, you can already feel your slick sticking to your folds. Matt notices this and starts stalking towards you. This makes you back up, not yet sure if you should be doing this. This all stops when the back of your knees hit his bed, leaving you pinned between them two.

“Don’t you want it? I know I do.” Your stomach churns at Matt saying the same thing you said to him last time, giving one last confirmation that this is the man. He doesn’t let you answer, instead he pushes you backwards, letting you softly hit his bed. His fingers slip past your waistband and pull your shorts down. A dark spot on your panties giving him all the confirmation he needs to continue.

He backs away from you, walking towards the door, shutting and locking it. Now it’s just you and him, and he’s never letting you go. You’re his. He’ll show you that.

“Did you miss me?” Matt tilts his head to the side and slowly walks back over to you, admiring how puzzled and adorable your face still looks. He runs a hand down your cheek before giving it a light slap, not enough to hurt you but enough to regain your attention. “I said did you miss me?”

You feel another wave of wetness at the familiar dominance from the man above you. You want nothing but to feel his hands back on you. To cum on his cock again. To be able to scream his name now that you know he’s your best friend. You give in and nod your head, “yes Matt.”

Matt groans at the sound of your whiny voice saying his name. God he’s waited so long to hear that. He quickly lifts up his mask and doesn’t waste anytime before connecting his lips to yours. Your lips are so soft and taste so good. His hand is still rested against your cheek as his other hand runs the knife down your body. Goosebumps erupt from all across your skin as you feel a shiver run down your back.

Matt is relentless with attacking your mouth. You start needing oxygen and go to open your mouth. He feels you open your mouth slightly and he takes it as an opportunity to slide in his tongue. His grip tightens on your face and he forces you to tilt your head to give him better access. You both moan at the new feeling of your tongues sliding against one another. The sensation was short lived as you both pull away gasping for air.

Matt starts attacking your neck, kissing all over your soft skin. He then starts sucking and biting, leaving marks all over. As he gets lower he gets cut off by your shirt, grunting he pulls away to slip it off of you and then continues. He reaches your tits and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, moving his tongue in a circular motion as he sucks.

You arch your back into his mouth and let out a moan. Matt can’t help but smile against your nipple at the noise, something he’s been longing to hear again. He lets go of the nipple with a pop and moves on to the other one, giving the same attention to it.

You begin to grow needier and the lust filled pit in your stomach isn’t doing much to help. You start squirming under the man and let out a pathetic whine, “Matt.”

He lets go of your tits and moves lower, his kisses getting lower and lower to where you desperately need him. He moves two of his fingers against your drenched panties, the slight pressure on your pussy causing you to gasp.

“Always so wet for me.” He moves your panties to the side and lets his fingers finally come in contact with your cunt. He gathers up some of your slick before inserting a finger into you. You moan at the sudden intrusion and let your head fall back against the bed, enjoying your best friend playing with you.

Matt feels his cock twitch at how tight you are. You’re perfectly sprawled out for him, your legs open wide to give him all the room he needs. He can see how beautiful you are when you’re so open like this. Can see your cunt clinging to his finger and sucking him back in as he motions his finger in and out. He leans down and applies a light kiss to your clit. This makes your head start to spin.

Matt wants nothing more than to insert his tongue inside of you and suck on that pretty little clit, but with seeing you subconsciously start rocking your hips to his movement he knows your not gonna last very long. That’s okay he’ll make you ride him later as a midnight snack.

He can feel your pussy start to relax a bit more against him so he inserts another figure. This time he curls them, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes you let out a high pitched moan.

“Shh baby, I wanna hear you, but you have to be quiet. Don’t want anyone hearing how much of a slut you are do you?”

Without thinking you let out a no and continue to rock your hips. Your movements are on key to his, letting him hit deep inside you with the tip of his digits. You bite your lip to hold in your moans at the intense feeling.

Matt kisses your inner left thigh, opening his mouth and biting down on your flesh. You squeal at the surprising pain. The pain of the bite and the pleasure of his fingers leads you to reach closer and closer to your peak.

Matt kisses the bite mark, soothing the pain. He feels your juices drip down his hand and onto the floor. He knows you’re close when he feels your walls start pulsating against him. He licks strips up and down your clit pulling you closer and closer to the brink.

“Look at me.” You’re too much in a mind fog to listen to him. All you can think about is how good he’s making you feel and how you really wanna cum. A gasp soon escapes past your lips at the feeling of a slap coming down onto your right thigh.

“I said look at me. I wanna see my pretty girls face when she cums.” You reluctantly lift your head up and meet his masked face. His mask is still covering his top face as he works on your cunt. You notice his knife is nowhere to be seen as his empty hand soothes your skin.

The pressure gets more intense as his motions continue. You let out small moans as your come close to your brink. All that keeps repeating in your head is Matt. His fingers inside of you. His tongue working hard on your clit. Your best friend making you feel the best you’ve ever felt.

Your hand reaches down towards his empty one and intertwines itself with his. You grip his hand tightly trying to ground yourself as you finally snap. The pressure soon turned into absolute bliss. Your cum soaking his hand. Loud moans leaving your mouth.

Matt can’t even be mad at you disobeying him. You looked so good while cumming. Your walls wrapped tightly around his digits as your juices seek out around them. He slowly slides his fingers out of you causing you to whimper in protest, he takes them into his mouth, swirling his tongue around his digits and groaning at the taste of you. “God you always taste so good.”

You feel yourself getting wet again at the view of Matt sucking his fingers moaning in delight at how good you taste. You buck your hips up towards Matt's hand wanting more, "please Matt."

"Always so needy baby." He avoids meeting your hips and instead stands up, sliding down his pajama pants and his boxers follow suite. His cock springs free making him sigh in relief. The veins of his cock are throbbing as his cock twitches staring at you. The reality finally hits him that he's about to have sex with you, his best friend. He can't believe it, but he also loves it.

"Turn around for me." You obey him and turn around now on your hands and knees. You feel the bed dip behind you and Matt puts his body against yours. He puts his hand on your lower back and pushes, forcing your upper body to lay flat against the bed, leaving your ass sticking up in the air ready for his cock.

Matt takes his cock and plays with your pussy teasing you. He slides himself repeatedly through your folds hitting your sensitive clit causing you to jump. He pulls you back towards him and slaps your ass, "stay still." He adjusts his cock to your entrance and slowly pushes himself in making you whine, "ah fuck."

He shoves in his full length making you feel so full again. Your walls spasm around his cock getting used to his size. Matt lets out a few groans, "You're so tight sweetheart." He starts to slowly slide out, almost removing his whole cock from your sobbing tight cunt, then he roughly slams himself back in. The tip of his dick hitting your cervix causing you to accidentally let out a loud moan, this earns you another harsh smack to your ass cheek. "Be quiet."

Matt starts pulling his hips back then roughly slamming them back in continuously, his pace slow but hard. The slow drag of dick having a big effect on you. You feel so good, all you can think about is Matt's cock. You grab a fistful of the bed sheets and tighten your hold on it as Matt keeps thrusting into you.

His bed starts to move and hit the wall along with his thrusts, causing him to groan in frustration. His hands grip your hips tightly, almost leaving marks as he pushes and pulls your body to match his pace. Basically using you as if you were a toy. You get caught up in the bliss of his cock that you let out a few small moan, still holding back the big ones.

Your cunt starts to leak out more liquid, it mixes with Matt's movements causing the room to get filled with the wet noises of you. This pushes Matt further, the fact that you get so turned on for him and only him. Only he can make you feel this good. He is the only one that can see and touch you like this, he'll make sure of it.

He increases his pace making you have a harder time of concealing your loud noises. Matt grabs both of your wrists and pulls them behind your back, holding them with one hand. He then pulls on those which forces you backwards, your back against his chest.

"I thought I told you to be quiet? Guess I'll just have to do it myself." His other hand that's on your hip moves and cups around your mouth. Your moans now getting muffled. Knowing that noise isn't much of a problem anymore, Matt increases the pace even more. The pressure in your lower stomach now returns as you practically scream into his hand.

Matt's hips constantly rutting into yours, his cock smoothly sliding in and out of you thanks to how wet you are for him. He feels your walls start to slowly clamp down around him, signaling that your getting close. "You gonna cum?" You moan back as an answer and nod your head. Matt feels himself getting closer as well, his cock gives a small twitch here and there while inside of you. He tilts his hips at a certain angle to hit just the right spot, making you scream into his palm.

"Cum around my cock. Show me how much of a whore you are for me and maybe I'll cum inside of you." Your eyes roll back inside your head at his words. You move your hips on your own accord and meet with his. You hear Matt's moans and grunts as his mouth is beside your ear. You roll your head backwards against Matt's shoulder, which he takes advantage of and bites down on your exposed neck trying to muffle his noises as he reaches his peak.

You let out a squeal at the bliss of the pain mixing with the pleasure of your best friend's dick forcing you over the edge. The pressure once again snapping and your cunt pulsating as you squirt all over Matt and his bed.

Matt realizing that he just made you squirt sends him over the brink, he lets go of your neck and groans out your name, his cum shooting out of his tip and inside of you. You whimper at finally feeling his cum fill and warm you up.

Matt lets you go to which you collapse onto the bed and sigh out in exhaustion. He watches as his cum and your cum slowly seep of your cunt. His cock twitching again at the sight, wanting more of you. He pushes it down and goes to put his boxers back on. He unlocks the door disappearing into the hallway and returns without the mask but with a wash rag to clean up the mess.

You hiss at the sensitivity which Matt apologizes for. He puts the rag on the floor to soak up that liquid, making a mental note to change his bed sheets later. He climbs into bed beside you and reaches over, pulling your body onto his. You feel yourself start to fall asleep as he plays with your hair. Before you fall into the darkness of sleep you hear Matt one last time, "You are mine."

a/n: sorry this took so long for me to post, I've been busy with work and I've been HORRIBLY sick. Hopefully I'll start posting more now and I hope you enjoyed!

tags: @hesvoid34 @sturnl0ve @princesspeachthefroggy @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut

67 notes · View notes

theconstantsidekick · 2 days ago

Text

Everybody Loves A Clown

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x BestFriend!Reader

Genre: fluff covered angst

Summary: John died a week ago, and Dean's been weird. Sam's been up his ass about it but it finally comes to a head when Y/n decides to talk to him about the whole thing.

a/n: it has an open ending but i can write more if y'all eat this up

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of smoking, romanticisation of smoking, a lot of that yes, sorry. Don't smoke kids

“You were right,” Sam admits.

“About what?” Dean asks from where he stands over the Impala, wrench in hand.

“About me and Dad,” Sam answers with red eyes and a crack in his voice. “I’m sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I’m sorry that I spent most of my life angry with him. I mean, for all I know he died thinking that I hate him.” He pauses. “So, you’re right. What I’m doing right now, it’s too little… It’s too late.” His lips tremble. There’s a self-deprecating smile on his lips as he continues, “I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I’m not all-right. Not at all.” There’s tears in his eyes now as he stares directly at Dean. “But neither are you. That much I know.” He waits for a second, seeing if Dean might answer, and still knowing that he won’t. “I’ll let you get back to work.” With that he walks off.

Dean doesn’t know what to… do.

He fidgets.

He paces and fidgets.

He clenches his jaw hard enough for it to hurt and then he paces and fidgets some more.

Until his eyes fall on her.

“The fuck do you want?” He asks her.

In turn for his crude tone and cruder words, he is given half a smile. “Nothing,” she tells him.

“Then what the hell are you doin’ here?” He bites back.

To her credit, she doesn’t flinch away at his harshness. No, she just smiles wider.

She gets to her feet from where she was sitting on the steps of the shed behind them and walks over to Dean. She pulls something out of her pocket as she asks, “Asking, if you want a cigarette?”

The lack of pretence throws Dean off completely. “What?” is all that he can bring himself to say.

She shrugs, shaking the pack of menthols in her hands. “You want one?”

Dean, again, is met with the curiously unsolvable puzzle that is Y/N and left struck. “I didn’t know you smoked?” It’s a stupid thing to say, all things considered. But the fact that the answer is stupider consoles him some.

“I don’t!” she exclaims, a little too defensive to be God's honest truth. She pulls one cigarette out of the box. “Do you want one or not?” She throws the box at him.

Dean catches it on reflex.

“Fuckin’ menthols,” Dean curses looking at the box, but pulls one out for himself all the same.

“Might make your swimmers less effective,” she says a little too easily as she lights his cigarette, “but they’re a certified cure to sadness.” She smiles, lighting her own. And standing this close, with the flame from the lighter painting her all shades of yellow, Dean has to physically pull himself away. He has to will himself to take a step back and catch his breath. He gulps and takes a drag. He is clenching his jaw again.

“You should mind what you’re sayin’ while lighting a guy’s cigarette. Talking about my ‘swimmers’ when you’re an inch away from my face?” He shakes his head. “Another guy might take it the wrong way.”

“Or the right way,” she mutters, so jumbled and wrong, Dean’s not even sure he heard it correctly.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she dismisses him off handedly, a little too easily.

He decides to let it pass, because again, he’s not sure he heard it right. And if he did, he’s not sure he has the mental wherewithal to be able to deal with that implication. So, he lets it pass.

Besides, she doesn’t really give him any other option. “You remember how Sam was when Jess died last year?”

“It was last fucking year, yes! ‘Course I remember it,” Dean throws back, exhaling smoke out as he speaks.

She nods, “And?”

He knows what she’s getting at. “Sam was a mess,” he answers the unasked question. “I’m not like that.”

“That’s precisely the point I’m trying to make,” she states, taking a drag. “Not the second half, the first. Sam deals with emotions very openly. He… He lets himself fall apart and crumble. That’s what he’s gonna do now. He’s gonna get sad and he’s going to try and do things that John would have wanted him to do when he was alive. He is going to feel guilty and he is going to be a mess… because he deals with death, like he deals with everything else. He’s not emotionally constipated like you are. He’s normal…” She shakes her head slowly from side to side, reconsidering her words. “Or well, as normal as anyone in this line of work can be.”

Dean takes another puff. “Well, does he have to drag me into it?”

“Yes!” She answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And it fucking isn’t. “Why?!”

“Because he isn’t used to this.”

“What? Death? We just established that—”

She shakes her head at him like he’s being difficult for the sake of it… Maybe he is, but it’s not fair for her to be able to read him that easily. She cuts him off then, with, “No. He’s not used to you being like this.” And the words hit him hard. She must see it too because then she pauses and brings the cigarette to her lips and takes a long drag. “He’s used to the flirty, cocky Dean, who’s an overall dickhead.” When she exhales the smoke, it’s thick and white. Don’t smoke, my ass, Dean thinks to himself. “He’s going to ask you if you need something. He’s going to try to make you feel better and he’s going to keep checking up on you, because he has never seen you—his big brother—bereft before.”

And fuck, if she isn’t talking complete and utter sense.

He runs a tired hand over his face, cigarette clipped between the index and the middle finger. “And what, you have?”

He’s not very good at people assessing him and his brother emotionally so accurately, okay? He needs to retaliate.

“No,” she replies easily with a smile. “When your mom passed away you were too young, and with everything that followed, I’m not even sure you had the opportunity to deal with it. This might as well be your first time dealing with loss.”

He clicks his tongue and raises his brows briefly in semi-agreement. And having been assess accurately once again, “Well, isn’t that just fucked?”

She nods. “It is.” She brings the cigarette to her lips. “But at least you’ve got me.”

He laughs.

It’s kind of cruel that he does and he knows it.

But he laughs, because what the fucking hell?

And again, he’s fully aware of his cruelty in this moment and ready for the repercussions.

What he isn’t ready for is to look at her and see her wearing a smile instead of a hurt look on her face.

“You think you’re gonna save me, sweetheart?” He retorts, adding to his asshole-ry.

She shrugs. “I don’t think I’m meant to save you, Dean,” she says, all too politely while taking a puff from the cigarette. “I just meant…” she looks at him. “I know what you’re going through.”

“No, you fucking don’t.” His words are harsh and cold and painful and mean.

You’ll break her, he thinks. You’ll break her and it’ll hurt worse than anything ever could.

But she doesn’t seem to be breaking. “Your dad died ‘cause of a demon and you feel responsible for it—”

“I don’t feel responsible for it, I am responsible for it. He died to save my life. It was supposed to be me who you salt and burned, not him! It was me who was supposed to be dead, not him!” And he’ll carry that weight with him for the rest of his fucking life. “You have no fucking idea what I’m going through.”

Her eyes are locked to his as she counters without hesitation. “My brother died because of a demon and I feel responsible for it.”

Dean can do nothing but close his eyes and yell out in frustration, “It’s not the same!”

“Isn’t it?” she bites back, standing straight and unmoving in the face of Dean’s rage. She doesn’t let him answer. “It was supposed to be my job. I was supposed to be the one who got possessed by a demon and driven around like a meat-suit. I was supposed to be the one who died in a freakin’ basement like a rat. It was my job, Dean. I was the first call, the second and the third… But I just decided to ignore it. But he didn’t… ‘Cause he’s nicer than I am…” She winces, looking away. She looks hurt for the first time since they began this conversation. And it seems she’d done it to herself. Because then she corrects, “Was nicer…” She takes another drag from her cigarette. “So, fuck you. But I know what you’re going through.”

He bites his lips.

Then he lets his head fall.

Because as much as he’d like to fight her on this, he can’t.

She’s right… as usual.

He doesn’t know what to say to any of that so he stays quiet. Moreover, he thinks he’s kinda supposed to. Because she doesn’t swear often, even less so at him. So yeah, zipping it might be the right call here.

She takes charge then, as he begins pacing and smoking once more. “This might be your first go around at grief. Sam’s second. But, for once, I’m the season player.”

When he turns to look at her, she’s smiling.

“Does that mean you’re gonna keep fucking smiling at me like that?” He retaliates, again. He’s already told you the logic behind that one.

“Sorry,” she holds up her hands in surrender. “I don’t mean to. I’m not smiling at you—not really.” She smiles again. “It’s just… It’s just that look on your face. I’ve seen it before.”

“I thought we just established you’ve never seen me like this before?”

“No, not on you,” she clarifies.

“Then?”

“In the mirror,” she tells him honestly. “Every morning for the last three years.”

Fuck him. Fuck this. And fuck everything.

A part of him, a selfless and kind part of him wishes she didn’t get him, wishes she’d rather be hurt at his words than look at him with so much understanding.

But another part of him, the selfish and unkind part of him, is comforted by the fact that at least someone does, in fact, get him. Even more so, he’s comforted by the fact that it’s her.

“So, take it from someone with experience,” she begins then, breaking him out of his mind numbing miserable thoughts. “You’re gonna wanna explode. You’re gonna wanna break something.”

“You got a cure for that, oh experienced one?”

She smiles again. “Yeah, break it.”

“What??”

She shrugs all too easily, taking another drag. “If you can find something you can break, that won’t hurt anyone, that you could ideally fix, then yeah! Break it.”

He stops pacing to look at her and cocks her head. “Will it make me feel better?” He is genuinely curious.

She outright laughs at him then, “No!” She brings her foot up and butt the cigarette on the back of her boot, sending embers falling to the ground like fireworks. “Nothing ever will…” She looks back at him, still smiling, “But it'll help.”

Dean sighs.

He nods.

And then he throws the cigarette to the ground, steps on it and then walks over to the side. He picks up a crowbar, and then he walks back to the Impala. He grips the crowbar tighter and then he smashes the window.

Then he starts slamming it into the trunk, over and over and over and over again. It clatters to the ground.

He keeps at it till there’s a hole in the metal near as big as the one in his heart.

And when he’s done, he lets the crowbar fall to the ground and pulls the packet of smokes out of his pocket. He grabs a cigarette and places it right between his lips. When he looks up, she’s close to him again, lighter in hand.

She looks at him and he looks at her.

Then she lights his cigarette. “How’d it feel?”

“It didn’t make me feel any better,” he replies, handing her the packet back to her when she smiles at him. “But it helped.”

She nods, and takes the entire packet to her lips, with her teeth she pulls one cigarette out and then lights it, pocketing the packet and lighter in one go. “Look, I know you… You don’t know how to deal with this, and as much as I want to, I can’t really help you with it either but unlike me, Sam’s not gonna get it.”

“I know,” he tells her. Because he knows that his brother means well, but he has a tendency of being too in your face about it.

She hums in agreement, as if hearing her thoughts. And fuck, if he’s to go by her track record, maybe she can. “You’re gonna wanna get mad, go crazy and lash out. So… I’m suggesting that you do that with me, instead of him.” Her eyes are too fucking kind as she adds, “If you want to get mad, go crazy and lash out—lash out at me, get mad at me.”

Dean can’t fucking breathe.

“Why?” he asks.

“‘Cause he’s grieving too.”

“That the only reason?” he asks, hoping for… well, you know what he’s hoping for. You’re his inner monologue.

She tilts her head with a sweet smile. “You gotta mind what you’re saying, Winchester. Being emotionally vulnerable when you’re an inch away from my face? Another woman might take it the wrong way.”

He can’t help himself.

He snorts.

“Or the right way,” he says then with a smile of his own.

And fuck it all, her face turns red at the realisation that he’d heard her.

He loves it so fucking much that he’s not even bummed about her taking a step away from him.

“Asshole,” she curses him, but her heart’s not in it.

“I’ve got one condition though,” he says and watches confusion break onto her face. “For lashing out at you instead of Sam.”

She shakes her head fondly, at his wording. “What is it?”

“You promise to do the same.” It’s the kindest thing he can offer her. His misery, in exchange for hers.

She chuckles at that. Morbid as it may be, their sense of humor was always on par with each other. “Sure,” she says. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He raises his hand, cigarette still wedged between his fingers, “Shake on it?”

Apparently, that’s the wrong thing to say ‘cause then she makes a disgusted face like the hand he’s offered is covered in snot.

Slapping it away, she throws the smoke in her hands away and she steps closer. And then hugs him.

The action catches Dean off-guard.

It takes a second for his brain and his heart to have a meeting and catch up with each other. And then finally his brain sends the signal out for his to hands drop the cigarette and wrap around her.

Probably encouraged by him hugging her back, her grip on him tightens. And fuck if that doesn’t thaw Dean’s cold, broken, blackened heart. He happily does the same, snuggling his face into her neck and breathing her in.

They stay like that for a bit, until Dean realises she’s waiting on him, letting him have his fill.

Reluctantly, eventually, Dean lets her go.

When he does, if she can spot his misty eyes, she doesn’t mention it.

Instead she says, “Now, hand me the crowbar.”

“Huh?”

“What, you think I don’t wanna break shit?”

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #spn fic #dean winchester one shot

69 notes · View notes

itacats · 3 days ago

Text

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: The fragile joy of connection with Simon is quickly overshadowed by the suffocating weight of home. Confronted by Tom’s cruelty, you struggle to protect yourself, both physically and emotionally, while clinging to the small glimmers of kindness Simon offers. In a world defined by shadows, hope flickers like a hesitant flame, but it’s a light you’re not ready to embrace—yet.

A/N: Ah, the emotional whiplash chapter. One moment, you’re swooning over rolled-up sleeves and car repairs, and the next, you’re wading through the muck of heartbreak and resilience. Hang tight; the rollercoaster isn’t over yet. 🎢

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Part 3 - Cracks in the Foundation

The moment you step through the front door, the warmth and joy from your encounter with Simon evaporate like dew under the harsh light of the morning sun. The house is quiet, but not in a comforting way—it’s the kind of silence that makes your chest tighten and your senses sharpen. The faint creak of the floor beneath your shoes feels deafening as you step into the kitchen.

Tom is there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The shadows from the dim overhead light stretch across his face, making his expression even harder, more menacing. His eyes lock onto yours immediately, sharp and unrelenting. You can feel the judgment radiating from him, an oppressive weight settling on your shoulders.

"You’re late," he growls, his voice low and heavy, each syllable dripping with accusation.

Your heart races as you glance at the clock on the wall. It’s not that late—barely past eight—but you know it doesn’t matter. Tom’s moods don’t follow logic or reason; they’re a storm that sweeps in, indifferent to your explanations or pleas.

"I... I got stuck at the store," you begin, your voice trembling slightly. You hate how small it sounds, but before you can finish, he cuts you off.

"Out with someone else, are you?" he snaps, his voice rising. His face twists, his features contorted into something unrecognizable. "Who is it?"

The questions come at you like a barrage, cold and sharp, each one landing with a sting from his fists. You try to answer, to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Your mind flashes back to Simon—his gentle smile, the warmth in his eyes—and for a split second, you imagine what it would be like to tell Tom the truth. But you know better.

"Tom, please," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was just the car—"

"Don’t lie to me!" he shouts, slamming his hand down on the counter. The sound echoes through the room, and you flinch instinctively, your body betraying the fear you try so hard to conceal.

"I’m not lying," you say, your voice breaking. "Please, just—"

"What? Do you want kindness?" Tom interrupts, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. "You know kindness never looked good on me."

His words hit like a blow, the same venomous refrain you’ve heard countless times before. The bitterness in his tone is more cutting than the words themselves, a reminder of how far you are from the kindness you once hoped for in your life.

That night, you curl up on the couch, your knees drawn tightly to your chest. Silent tears trace cold paths down your cheeks as you replay the argument in your mind, each word cutting deeper than the last, the memory of his hands staining your skin in ugly hues. The house feels colder than ever, the darkness pressing in on you from every corner.

When morning comes, you force yourself to your feet, your body moving on autopilot. You reach for the makeup on the bathroom counter, your hands trembling slightly as you smooth the heavy foundation over the forming bruises on your cheek. It feels like a mask, a way to conceal not just the physical marks but the emotional scars that run much deeper. The person in the mirror doesn’t look like you anymore.

You step into the butcher shop later that day, the bell’s cheerful chime feeling oddly out of place against the weight in your chest. You paste on a smile, the same practiced expression you’ve perfected over time, and make your way to the counter.

Simon is there, his eyes lighting up as he spots you. But the excitement in his gaze dims slightly as he takes in your stiff posture, the way you shift uncomfortably as you dig into your bag for your wallet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice gentle and full of concern. The question is simple, but the way he asks it feels different—like he truly wants to know, like he’s ready to hear whatever you have to say.

For a moment, you hesitate. The warmth in Simon’s voice feels like a balm against the chill that’s settled deep in your bones, and you’re tempted—so tempted—to tell him the truth. To let someone else carry the weight for a little while.

But then the walls go up, as they always do. You smile, the expression tight and forced, and shake your head. "I’m fine," you say, the words hollow even to your own ears.

Simon doesn’t press, but the concern in his eyes doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might not let the matter drop. There’s something about him—his quiet determination, the steady strength you’ve seen in the way he carries himself—that makes you wonder if he could be the one to finally break through your defenses.

But you can’t let him. Not now. Not yet.

As you leave the shop, you glance back over your shoulder. Simon is still watching you, his gaze steady and unwavering. In that brief moment, you allow yourself to imagine a life where kindness isn’t just a fleeting encounter but a constant presence. Where the warmth of someone like Simon could replace the cold reality of your world.

"Maybe one day," you think, the words both a hope and a prayer. For now, you carry the thought of Simon with you, a small light in the darkness that has become your reality.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

Thank you to @ghostlythots for the extra tags that I should have added!

#bt extra #call of duty #fanfic #cod fic #cod #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #gn reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #butcher shop connection #simon ghost riley x reader #butcher!simon #butcher!ghost

73 notes · View notes

softshuji · 2 days ago

Text

Track 1 feat Ran Haitani (part of the campfire stories collection)

Ran remembers it clear as day. The day he gave up the Girl he loved for his baby brother. It was hardly a surprise.

They were both young and free and spirited and you had come at just the right time, when they were both finding themselves, finding a foothold in the world, a steep climb on an even steeper cliff and you had come just then like cool breeze in summer.

Truth be told, he hadn't expected Rindou to like you as well. You weren't the type of girl he assumes he'd like. Or himself for that matter. You're opinionated, independent, the kind of Girl that spells trouble for the both of them and he warns Rindou, and himself, to be careful of you when he realizes the turn things are taking. How serious they're getting when you leave a toothbrush at their place and they let you hunker down because your parents are giving you trouble and you're scared of going back and he wonders often, why the two of them even cared at first.

But it was hard not to. And in the beginning, it hadn't bothered Ran that you'd spend so much time eating convenience store food with Rindou at night. The two of you hunkered down under blankets watching a rerun of some show you'd already seen but wanted Rindou too as well.

And you turn to Ran who walks in after cleaning the kitchen and offer a bite of sushi and scoot over to make a place for him and his chest feels a bit funny at it all. But he's watching Rindou more than the TV. That syrupy glaze, a smile that's hidden behind his palm holding his chin up and a thought occurs that he'd rather not dwell on too much.

You're Rindou's first real friend and there's nothing wrong with that. He likes that he's opening up to you, that there might be someone else who loves him when Ran knows he hasn't entirely succeeded as a brother and their parents are nowhere to be seen. He had tried, in some way, to get Rindou to pay less attention to this gang stuff. Focus on school perhaps, get a decent job and settle with a pretty girl like his brother deserves and he wonders often, whether some prayer has been answered when he finds the two of you poring over a textbook while Rin pushes a pen behind his ear and the plate of oreos is left abandoned on the table. Shouldn't he be happy?

He knows he should. But perhaps he can't avoid this feeling in his chest forever. When he hears your laughter in Rindou's bedroom and the door is slightly ajar to you laying on his bed as you scroll through your phone and showing Rin something over your shoulder. And his chest sinks at it all. Becuase Ran has always been a giver, has always wanted and needed and known sacrifice for Rindou's sake. Whether it be beatings, money, food and now you. It's just one more thing he can give that he'd like to, because Rindou is all he has and he could never ask for brother that's any more his own son in some way, someone he raised all by himself.

So he is proud, if a little upset by it all.

Rindou really likes you, he knows this. And you could be good for him, in the same way you would have been good to him too. So he doesn't mind , even if it aches, even if it burns when you reach over and brush his brother's hair back and Rin flinches and flickers with embarrassment.

It's just one more sacrifice to make.

reblogs and feedback appreciated!

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyorev x reader #ran haitani #rindou haitani #ran x reader #halscampfirestories #hi this is the first as per my tradition we're starting off strong and sad #enjoy!

55 notes · View notes

atangledfate · 1 hour ago

Text

Lanolin's eyes were locked on the floor as everyone spoke there minds, among them perhaps only Blaze fully understood there situation. For what it was worth there world had rarely relied on the Federation, but it had always been a ruling body. They made the laws, they controlled the military, they had all the capital. If there was one organization that held all the cards in this world it was them. Trying to bully there way to victory felt like a sure fire way to piss them off. Sure they could threaten them with Sol's military, but then what? They come some kind of new military power? Who then do they answer to? As much as she HATED it! and she did, she didn't see a path to victory.

" It doesn't matter if they knew about Clutch or, Surge and Kitsunami, or even Belle and did nothing. The fact is when presented to the public how do you think it would reflect on us? Harboring Criminals who destroyed half a city. Hiding a Badnik within the base, and consorting with a knowing crime boss... GUN doesn't even need to fabricate a story--- They could tell the truth and it would still look bad for us. "

She spoke in a softer tone as she tensed up and seemed to feel the weight of her position for the first time. This was what it meant to be a leader--- saying what no one wanted to hear.

" Having leverage is good, But we can't just throw it in there face either. One miss step, one wrong sentence, and they declare restoration went rogue... cease our assets, cut off our fending, and declare its members criminals... They don't need to attack us today, to win tomorrow, and expecting Sol to step in with military force--- that looks like Blaze is planning an invasion... "

Her eyes went to Belle as she looked tired all of a sudden, like the day was wearing on her. The weight of what they faced had already dawned on her and she could not find a victory condition. No She had a feeling that the Federation had them dead to rights.

" I don't disagree belle but how do you think GUN would spin that? We both know Omega is like a dog to them, they send him in to clean house, and keep him under constant observation. "

Miles had been listening for awhile now without speaking a word to anyone. He just looked to have been thinking long and hard. It was a complicated mess, and Lanolin was right that going at this with a club was going to be messy. Confronting them with what little information they had, was going to backfire and it would make it all worse he figured.

Yet there was another option and Lanolin had already hinted at it.

" If we confront them now we lose, its just that simple. Showing our cards at this juncture... We'd tip our hand to early. As much as i hate to admit it... I think here today we have ot concede... let them have there little investigation really no other course that doesn't lead to conflict between us and the federation... "

" However, what we need is evidence that this was a big plot on there end. If we can prove that then in court we might have a chance... with enough capital and the right lawyers we can argue our case. But trying to argue it with this president here and now? it's like yelling at cop because he's gonna give you a ticket... or worse trying to bribe the cop. "

" that's my play, we let them think they've won and act behind the scenes--- Convert operations. It's our best play...we can use mimic as a bargaining chip to show our good will. Once we know more we can make a plan to counter GUN and the Federation but right now... if we act rashly we end up terrorists on a watch list... that's my idea, and i think our best shot of saving restoration "

Sonic didn't respond as he was staring at the wall grinding his teeth. He didn't get angry often but, this was one of those moments he felt like he was being dicked over. Yea Tails might be right but, he didn't have to like it! He knew the kid was smart, and maybe a conflict would be bad! but letting these guys use shitty political tactics on them sucked!

" So that's it? Just roll over and play dead? I'm still for butt kickin' let them call me a terrorist if they want... they can do it while choking on there teeth--- But what ever the plan i'll do my part. But this kinda stuff ain't my style... "

"I can't say we don't have any options. After all, I'm sure even GUN wouldn't wish to make an enemy of me or the Sol Empire. It may not be much of an advantage given I'm in their world, though it's at least something to push back with." Blaze was never one to use her status for threats or warnings, and today was the first time she's done it so much. Though the feline wouldn't sit by and let her friends be pushed around or threatened.

"Not to mention the fact they never even attempted to reach out to anyone about the fact Clutch is a criminal, or how they also knew Mimic was here in the base. I'm can only guess you guys had Mimic as a high priority of catching, so they should've known too. Easy to send a message if they have a spy in. Gives off the impression they set you guys up to fail. I only wish I had more solid proof on the rumors about the commander." Rowan was sure having solid intel on that guy would make them clear out in an instant.

"We also got Mimic in the Shadow Void to turn over. Can't say I trust GUN with someone like Mimic, if only because I wouldn't put it past them to put him to work, though it's something." Rowan wanted to just throw him in a hole and leave it at that, though he'd never hear the end of it from Tangle.

"If Surge is staying then so am I. They can try to take me, though they'll regret it in the end. All it takes is four to six minutes for someone to drown, and I can speed that up much faster with how smart I am." Kitsunami wasn't going to let anyone take Surge, or let anyone take him away from Surge. If GUN wanted to see how dangerous the fennec was then that was the fastest way to do it.

"It's okay Kitsunami. I doubt they'll try anything that'll tick you and Surge off." Belle wasn't surprised Kitsunami would go through such lengths, though gears and starters she didn't need to see him start racking up a body count of GUN soldiers. The tinkerer herself was thinking about what she should do. Tails and Lanolin had a point, yet so did Vector. Not to mention she was sure they'd only be interested in dismantling her. She was sure they could consider her as safe eggtech to copy.

"I won't go with GUN because I don't trust them. And if they want to take me just because of who my creator is then I'd be more than happy to bring up how they let Omega work for them." Belle knew Eggman created Omega, though as far as she knew they never tried to punish or arrest him. Hopefully that'd be of help to get them to leave her alone.

"So, we got Blaze backing us up, the fact they withheld the fact Clutch was a criminal, also not telling use Mimic was here, my unconfirmed dirt on the commander, and the fact they let Omega work for them. I guess we could also count them coming off as overly hostile." Rowan found all this excessive, at least without any warning.

"Is this a bad time to mention I also stole Clean Sweep's money? Maybe we should had that over, since I'm sure a lot of it must have been earned illegally." Belle could easily find out what was Restoration donations and what was Clean Sweep profit.

#Unit Commander #Lanolin #Gears and Starters #Belle #Blue Streak speeds By #Sonic #All Grown Up and Ready to Fly #Tails #Guest Muses #The Chaotix #Vector and Espio

111 notes · View notes

notlongtolove · 5 hours ago

Text

the fox and the hound

“a fox?” he repeated, and you nodded. “a vixen.” spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. so you show him. Not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff with a pinch of angst

content: a love story told through the allegory of a fox and a hound, mentions of metaphorical wounds

word count: 2k

note: no linked poem bc idk just thought of this and wanted to write it. mayhaps im taking this nature trope a tad too far lol but anyways i will probably come back to edit this.

a line: They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes.

On your first date with Spencer, you’d asked him what animal he’d be. He had paused, tilting his head just slightly. He’s never understood why people ask questions like these. What animal? What color? What season? Animals are animals, colors are colors. It would be impossible to pick one to embody his entire being. Such separate realms of nature, totally different worlds, he thinks.

But you’re sitting across from him, head tilted, eyes glinting under dim light. Pretty. So pretty. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, doesn’t want you to think he’s boring or stiff or unfun. He wants to answer correctly, even though he knows there’s no “correct” answer to this.

“Maybe a golden retriever,” he said, trying to keep casual, “or a beagle. Something friendly.”

Something safe, he thinks. Something pretty girls statistically like.

You had smiled then, slow and soft, lifting the glass of whiskey to your lips, you said with all the certainty in the world:

“A fox.”

“A fox?” he repeated, and you nodded.

“A vixen.”

You didn’t explain it, just swirled your glass like you were swirling the word on your tongue. You loved the taste of it, loved the way it warmed your chest on the way down. Foxes are well-adapted to stay warm. Their thick winter coats, their long, bushy tails. They don’t need anyone to hold them when the frost bites or when the wind howls through the trees.

Spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. The dog stays close to the house. He doesn’t stray far, never been anywhere else. He doesn’t know. So you show him. Not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up. The forest is dense, you see, the paths are winding and uneven. The shrubbery is thick, sharp branches clawing at the skin. There are logs in the way and the dog stumbles over them sometimes. You wonder if he’s getting tired, if your hidden path is too hard for him to navigate. If the spiders that weave their webs in his face and the fire ants that bite at his ankles are too painful to endure.

So, sometimes, you stop. You sit together on the forest floor, catching your breath. You wag your tails lazily and just talk.

“Why don’t you trust me?” he asks, his voice gentle but steady, the kind of tone that makes it clear he already knows the answer.

“I do,” you say quickly, instinctively.

He doesn’t push. He waits.

“I know you don’t,” he says finally, not accusing, just truthful.

You look away, fidgeting with your tail between your legs. “I’m trying,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says again, softer this time.

Because the fox knows her way through the forest. She knows every twist and turn, every trap hidden beneath the leaves. You tell the dog he’d never catch up, sometimes hiding, sometimes running faster—just to see if he’ll try. Spencer doesn’t tell you how he sees that every time you disappear into the trees, you always turn back. Always looking over your shoulder, always checking to see if he’s still behind you.

Eventually, you reach your den. Your fur coat is scratched and bruised from the branches and the logs, the forest leaving its marks on you like it always does. But you’re here. He’s here.

Silently, you wonder how many more times you’ll have to make this journey. You don’t think you can endure another. But you don’t say it.

Instead, you take him inside.

Your den is small, cobbled together from dirt and leaves, from twigs and scraps you’ve gathered over the years. You show him your dirt mantle, how you’d packed it tight with earth and how you’d lined with relics of your life. You show him the first flower you ever found, or what’s left of it—a brittle stem, its petals long gone. You tell him the story of the hound who crushed it.

There’s a feather on the wall, light and fragile, from the first bird you ever caught. You smile as you tell him the story of the chase, how fun it had been to run and run with your foxes until the world blurred around you. Until you were the only one left. In the corner, something glints: A metal buckle, tarnished but unmistakable. From the shoe of the first hunter who’d ever caught you.

You trace your fur with your fingers, telling Spencer your adventures and stories of the traps and the teeth, of the hunters who came with rifles and ropes. The dog sits, listening, understanding. The edges of your den are marked, too. The walls are carved with notches—five, ten, fifteen. Each one a hunter or hound you’d escaped from. You’re proud, you say, even as you run your hand over the rough lines. They’re proof you survived, that you’ve outwitted them time and time again. Not unwounded, not unbroken, but alive.

You tell him you’re very proud of yourself.

The dog tilts his head, watching you carefully. Spencer thinks the fox is lying. He sees the way your voice falters when you recount the stories of cages and leashes, how your tail twitches when you mention the hunters.

So, the dog tries to teach the fox his ways.

He clears out your mantle first. He takes down the brittle flower stem, the feather, the tarnished buckle. Then, he takes your paw and shows you how to sniff out the bright pretty toadstools, the ones that make the forest less dark. He shows you the rain puddles, not just for drinking, but for jumping in, for splashing until your laughter scares off the birds.

Together, you fill your den with new relics. Ticket stubs from the village fair, postcards you write but never send, laughter tucked away in secret corners. Kisses, soft and warm, planted like seeds that grow slowly into something that feels like home.

Spencer rubs off the old notches on your walls with the pads of his paws, the dust of their memory falling to the floor. In their place, you make new marks. Not notches, but drawings. A fox curled in the safety of her den. A dog lying beside her, his muzzle resting on his paws.

Night after night, you curl up beneath your mantle, snouts touching, tails tucked beneath you.

And then winter comes. For the first time, the fox feels the cold.

You see, the dog always listens to his master. He sits, he fetches, he stays. But always under command, always under the whistle’s call. And when his master calls, he has to go. Tail wagging or tucked low, he goes.

“You’re hardly ever here anymore,” your voice cuts sharper than you meant it to.

“Can we please not do this now,” he says almost pleadingly, his jaw tight.

In the quiet of your den, the walls feel too big for a lone fox.

The dog goes. The fox doesn’t follow. She can’t. She doesn’t belong where the dog goes—to places of shiny badges and polished shoes, of clean, carpeted floors and voices that echo off tall, glass walls. So she waits in her den, her fur bristling against the chill, her paws worn from pacing the same patch of dirt.

You try to remind yourself of who you are. A fox, sly, swift, clever. A fox, who doesn’t need to wait for anyone.

But still, when the forest quiets, you glance toward the trees. You press your ear to the ground, hoping to catch the faintest echo of his steps, the rustle of leaves under his paws. The fox runs her fingers over the edges of the drawings, tracing the uneven lines, patching the spaces in her den where the light and the wind get in with twigs and leaves. She roams the fields, trying to race the hummingbirds again. But she doesn’t think she runs quite as fast without Spencer beside her. She chases her tail like he taught her, spinning in quick circles, but it’s not as fun when she’s alone. She doesn’t try to catch the birds anymore. It doesn’t feel the same.

When Spencer comes back, his coat bruised and worn from his time away, the fox licks his wounds. The scrapes and the scratches, soft and slow, patching his paws with the leaves she’s saved. He carries something in his teeth—a token, a peace offering, a sign that he thought of you while he was away.

A flower.

He’d found it near the river, petals still dewy, fragile and bright. He hopes you like it. You do.

You take it from him with careful paws, eyes tracing its delicate form before placing it on your mantle, next to the postcards and ticket stubs, next to the daffodils, peonies, dahlias, irises and all the flowers he’s found for you over time. You think back to the brittle and dead stem you once kept and wonder if there’s any way to hold onto something that beautiful forever.

Because sometimes flowers die.

And when it comes to fight or flight, the fox always runs. They say it’s in her blood, in her very nature. So she bolts. She runs away from the den, away from the mantle and the flowers he’d collected. You tell yourself you’ll find a new den, find new birds to catch, find new flowers. You always do.

But the hound finds you. Bred for hunting. Tracking. Scenting. For knowing where to look and how to catch. Bred for the hunt, he always finds you. Your crouched back, tail down, ready to pounce or bolt if you have to. Every instinct telling you to run, to vanish into the underbrush before he can catch you.

“Open the door,” a voice calls, low and insistent.

The fox is curled in the corner of this den. It doesn’t hold the warmth of the last.

“I know you’re home.”

She shuts her eyes and digs deeper into the wall.

“Open the door,” he says, voice softening, pleading. "Please."

The fox exhales, and with a shudder that shakes through her, she reaches out and opens the door. She misses her old den too much.

It’s not the chase you expect. No barking, no growling. You bare your teeth. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch.

“What do you want?” she asks, claws sharp.

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Then I’ll stay here until you do.”

And so the fox and the dog sit. They wait and wait then talk and talk. By the time the first rays of the sun creep above the treetops, the fox is laughing again. It’s a sound that is warm and bright, something that makes Spencer’s heart feel a little fuller, a little lighter. He thinks he understands now.

They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes. The way she finds the sunniest patch to lay in and closes her eyes, tail swishing in contentment. They only see the scars and the snarls. They don’t ever see the joy.

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?” he asks one evening.

The fox doesn’t answer right away. Her ears twitch, and her eyes flicker to the mantle.

“I don’t like the word never,” she says finally, “It feels like an impossible standard.”

The dog thinks about this, his brow furrowing. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she replies, and this time her voice is soft, her tail brushing lightly against his side.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader comfort

43 notes · View notes

shycroissanti · 2 days ago

Text

IRINA GONSHIRA🌌💙

✨️A "little" about her✨️

Answering @yaegxr 's ask💖

AAAA I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKE HER!!🥹💖

Well, I don't have the complete story yet (because I'm not associating my OCs with Demon Slayer anymore exactly because now I'm focusing on a totally original story - but I can still write a little about this version of it), and also my blog is still a bit messy, but nothing stops me from writing now!!

Starting with the basic information!!

Name: Irina Gonshira

Age: 19 years old

Height: 1.70m

Birthday: August 23

Family:

Yuliya Gonshira - mother

Masato Gonshira - father

Liliya Gonshira - younger sister

Dmitry Gonshira - cousin

History:

Irina has always been a cheerful and determined girl. She comes from a rich and powerful family (Yuliya is one of the best demon hunters, and Masato is a very famous architect/engineer there)

Inspired mainly by her mother, since she was little, Irina had the dream of being like Yuliya, strong and able to protect everyone around her, so she starts training from a very young age, which irritated her father, who did not support her (and this generates conflicts throughout the story).

At a certain point, Irina meets Kishin, an orphan boy who was bullied by almost everyone in the orphanage where he lived, but the worst of all was Kenta, another orphan boy. Irina saves Kishin and soon the two become very attached to each other, creating a very strong friendship. And at the same time, creating a huge rivalry with Kenta.

Later, around the age of 15 to 17, Irina's life would become total chaos.

First, Yuliya had to leave for an extremely important mission, leaving her entire family behind. Since then, Irina has never heard from her mother again.

Soon, she suffered the comet incident (comic) , where a comet hit her in the middle of the forest while she was walking at night. She almost died, but the comet's energy kept her alive and changed everything in her body and mind. Irina feels more energetic and much more outgoing, even becoming much more impulsive and noisy. This energy is great for keeping her strong and ready for anything, but it is also very dangerous, because if she cannot control her feelings properly, Irina feels a strong burning sensation throughout her body, which hurts her a lot (in other words, she has "super powers" that help her and at the same time destroy her).

Another thing that happened is that her beloved friend, Kishin, turned into a demon (he had no other option, he became a demon against his will - comic ). Kishin knew that Irina's dream had always been to be a demon hunter, and now that he was one, he believed that she would hate him and that they could never be together again, so he tried to avoid her all day, because he didn't know what to do, he didn't want to end his beloved Irina's dreams.

While this was happening, at Irina's house, Masato was already tired of everything, having lost his wife (who in truth Masato didn't even care much about Yuliya at that point) and because Irina was a great disappointment to him. So Masato came up with a plan to get rid of Irina. He told her that she should leave and go on a supposed mission far away from there so that she could be part of the Sunlights (in this case, the Sunlights are like the Hashiras, but in the Sunlight Force universe). Irina believed her father without hesitation, so she left home soon after, and finally went looking for Kishin, because she couldn't leave him like that without telling him. Irina was already sad about everything that was happening, so she finally found Kishin, and her world fell apart completely.

Kishin was desperate. He tried to do everything, promise her that he would never do anything like the demons do, and he, heartbroken, said that he could leave and live in isolation if she wanted. At that point, Irina breaks down, her sense of reality was completely altered. She always heard Yuliya's stories about how all demons are evil and must be defeated, but seeing her beloved Kishin like that, she could never do something like that (and even more so because she noticed that Kishin was still the same guy she always loved), so Irina hugs him and promises that they will stay together, that it doesn't matter if he was a demon and she wanted to be a Sunlight, she dreamed of protecting those she loves, and she loves him, so the two stayed together and nothing would separate them.

So since Irina needed to go on the "mission" that Masato had told her and Kishin could no longer live there, the two left the city, and thus the various adventures that I have been writing about have happened.

Now some fun facts!

Irina's favorite food is tamago sando.

Irina is afraid of onions.

She loves collecting rocks.

She likes to cook, but she often burns all the pies she makes.

Sorry, I guess I got excited to write about her xD But still, you can always find more stuff about her with the tag #Irina Gonshira or check out my other blog @shycroissanti-comics , there are all the arts and comics I've ever made :D

Sorry if I wrote a lot of things wrong (〃ﾉωﾉ)

And please consider helping me by reblogging thisﾟ+.(*´pωq`)ﾟ+.💖💖

#Irina Gonshira #Sunlight Force #artists on tumblr #oc #oc lore #original charater art #original story #original character story

42 notes · View notes

arabe11as · 20 hours ago

Text

not a lot, just forever.

warnings: ur preggers n alex is cute </3

You were supposed to watch Alex’s Glastonbury set from backstage, the anticipation bubbling as you got ready in the hotel room just minutes away.

But right when you were about to leave, a wave of nausea hit hard. You barely made it to the bathroom before getting sick. Alex found you there, rubbing your back with one hand, his voice soft as he told you to rest and promised he’d come back as soon as his set was over.

You tried to insist he goes out with the guys afterwards, to celebrate, but he just shook his head. Even through the haze of feeling awful, you couldn’t help but notice how incredible he looked, stage-ready and electric, and you hated yourself for not being able to be there.

You lay curled up on the sofa, a blanket pulled tightly around you, trying to ignore the nausea swirling in your stomach. Your mind kept drifting back to the pregnancy test you’d slipped into your bag earlier, without Alex noticing.

You hadn’t taken it yet, torn between wanting to know and dreading what it might reveal. Was it possible? Or was this just some bug, maybe something you ate? But deep down, you knew that sooner or later, you’d have to face it and find out for sure.

You turned up the telly, letting his voice fill the room as if it could somehow calm the storm inside you.

The set was echoing from the living room through the bathroom while you stood there, staring down at the pregnancy test in your hand. Heart pounding, you finally took it, set it on the sink, and walked back to the sofa, trying to focus on his performance instead.

As you watched him up there, alive and in his element, tears started to slip down your cheeks. The thoughts came like a flood—what if this changed everything? What if you ruined this for him, this life he’d worked so hard for? Would he even want this?

Knowing he was out there having the time of his life right now only made it harder. You’d have to tell him soon, and in a few hours, this might all come crashing down.

You tried to push the thoughts away, shaking off the weight in your chest as you walked back to the sink. Taking a deep breath, you flipped the test over. In bold, flashing letters, it read pregnant, as if mocking you, taunting you with a life-altering truth.

The sight alone sent you stumbling back, nausea washing over you again as you threw up once more.

From the other room, Alex’s voice floated in, strong and carefree through the television. That only made the tears come harder. You sank to the bathroom floor, curling up and pressing your forehead to the cold tile, feeling trapped and terrified.

After a few minutes, you forced yourself up, brushing your teeth to wash away the bitterness, then slipping into something comfortable, hoping it might steady you.

Hands shaking, you picked up your phone and typed out a message to Katie, the only person you could think of to turn to right now.

Katie texted back almost instantly, even from backstage at Glastonbury. Her reply was steady and sure, telling you that it would be okay, that you’d get through this.

She gently urged you to tell Alex as soon as he got back, reminding you he deserved to know.

You hesitated, typing out your fears—what if he’s angry?—and her answer was quick, reassuring.

he won’t be angry he loves you.

It was a lifeline you clung to, even as the weight of the news still pressed down on you.

Before you knew it, his set was over, and you watched him blow kisses to the crowd on the screen, his face alight with joy.

But as the cheers faded, anxiety gripped you. He was on his way back, faster than you’d expected. Moments later, your phone buzzed:

I’m on my way back !

You swallowed hard, fingers trembling as you typed out a calm reply, trying to keep it together.

Now, all you could do was sit there and wait, feeling every second stretch out as you prepared to tell him the news that might change everything.

You paced the room, heart racing as you rehearsed the words in your head, wondering how you’d even begin.

Should you wait for him to ask what was wrong, or just blurt it out the second he walked in? Your phone buzzed again, another message from Katie:

Jamie asked if he can be the god father.

You laughed at her message and it distracted you from what was happening but it disappeared the second you heard the door open. You froze, pulse-pounding as Alex stepped inside, still buzzing from the stage, his smile so bright.

As the door clicked shut, you couldn’t wait a second longer. You crossed the room quickly, wrapping your arms around him before he could even set his things down.

He held you close, his heartbeat still racing from the show, and leaned down to whisper, “Did you like the set?” You nodded against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him grounding you even as silent tears slipped down your cheeks.

Normally, you’d pull back by now, and tease him about some part of the show, but this time you clung to him, not ready to let go.

He noticed right away, his hold tightening. “You alright, love?” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes softened as he took in your tear-streaked face, hands lifting to gently cup your cheeks, brushing away the tears with his thumbs.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, worry written all over his face.

When he asked, the floodgates opened, and you couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. You tried to speak, but your throat tightened, and no words came.

“What’s wrong, lovely?” he repeated, concern deep in his voice. Without hesitation, he pulled you back into his arms, cradling you gently. “Come here,” he murmured, practically lifting you off your feet and carrying you to the sofa to sit down.

He wiped away your tears, his fingers running through your hair as he murmured soft reassurances.

“Was I that bad?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood with a small laugh, but you could only manage a faint smile in response.

“Alex…” you choked out, your voice breaking.

“Yeah?” he replied, squeezing your hand, his thumb gently stroking over your skin.

“Please… don’t be mad…” you muttered, the words barely escaping you.

“Mad? What? Why would I be mad, love?” he whispered, his tone soft and confused, as he pulled you closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a safety net.

You tried to speak, but your breaths came in short, panicked gasps, the anxiety tightening around your chest.

“Right, breathe for me, Y/N,” Alex said softly, rubbing your arm in slow circles. “Before you say anything, just calm down.” His voice was steady, and you focused on his words, trying to slow your breath. Slowly, you took a few deep inhales, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

“I promise you, whatever it is, I won’t be mad,” he whispered, his voice full of reassurance, trying to anchor you.

After a few moments, you managed to calm down enough to grab the test from the bathroom. You returned to the sofa, sitting beside him, his eyes full of confusion as you placed the test in his hand.

You couldn’t bear to look at him, so you covered your eyes, waiting for him to speak, the silence stretching between you.

He didn’t say anything right away, just stared at the test in his hands. After what felt like forever, he finally spoke. “Did… did you take this today?” His voice was gentle but unsure.

You nodded, the weight of the moment heavy in your chest.

Alex set the test down on the nearby table, his expression softening as he looked at you. “It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms.

“Come here.” You melted into him, his warmth and steady presence grounding you as he held you close, his fingers gently stroking your hair.

“I would never be mad at you for that,” he whispered, his voice soft but full of certainty.

“I’m scared, Al,” you murmured, your voice breaking as the sobs came harder.

“I know,” he replied, his voice trembling with the weight of it all. You pulled away slightly when you noticed the tear slowly slipping down his cheek. Seeing that, your heart ached even more.

“I’m sorry…” you muttered, feeling a heavy guilt settle over you.

“Don’t be, Y/N,” he said, his voice cracking slightly as he gave you a gentle smile. You reached up to wipe the tear from his cheek, your heart pounding.

“Do you… wanna have a baby?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, full of so many unspoken fears.

He paused, looking at you, before replying, “That’s not up to me, Y/N.”

You felt a rush of gratitude for him, the way he was letting you decide this, but you knew it wasn’t just your decision to make. “It is, Al. You get a say in this too,” you whispered, your fingers still resting against his cheek.

He nodded, his smile still soft but mixed with uncertainty. “Listen… if you want to keep it, I’m fine with that. If you don’t, I’m fine with that too.”

You could feel the weight of his words, but there was still one question left that you needed to ask. “But… what would you prefer?” you asked, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his answer.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice gentle as he said, “I’d love to have a baby with you.” The warmth of his words filled you with relief, and you smiled, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” you asked your voice light despite the whirlwind of emotions still swirling inside you.

“Woah, you’ve just known its existence,” he teased, a playful grin tugging at his lips. But then he paused, looking thoughtful. “…A girl,” he whispered.

“Is that what you would want?” you asked, feeling a flutter of hope at the idea.

He smiled, his eyes soft. “Another version of you? I’d be so happy.” His words made your heart swell.

“If it’s a boy, can we call him Alex Junior?” you asked, trying to keep the mood light, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

“Ooo, I dunno about that,” he laughed, the sound of it warming you. You could feel the tension easing, both of you settling into the quiet joy of this shared moment, whatever the future might bring.

Alex scooped you up in his arms, carrying you to bed with ease, his lips brushing over your forehead every few steps. “Get some rest,” he murmured as he set you down, his eyes lingering on you before he disappeared to change out of his stage clothes.

When he returned, he couldn’t stop touching you—small kisses on your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, his hands gently stroking your hair, making sure you were okay.

Finally, he slid into bed behind you, pulling you close with your back pressed to his chest. His arms wrapped protectively around you as you both relaxed.

You giggled quietly, breaking the silence. “I loved throwing my guts up to body paint by the way it was very enjoyable.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your shoulder. “Bit of a soundtrack for the moment, eh?”

You both laughed softly, the tension from earlier easing. You turned your head slightly, your voice soft. “You were so good tonight, Al. Like, ridiculously good.”

He chuckled quietly, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “Yeah? You watched the whole thing, then?”

“Course I did,” you said, smiling. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You were amazing. The crowd loved you.”

“Means a lot, love” he murmured, his voice tinged with affection. “But I’d trade it all to have had you there with me.”

You felt the familiar ache of guilt tug at you again, and before he could say anything else, his tone shifted, gentle but curious. “Why were you so scared to tell me?”

You hesitated, your fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. “I didn’t want to ruin your career,” you admitted quietly, the weight of your fears spilling out.

Alex shifted, gently turning you around to face him. His eyes locked onto yours, warm and steady. “Ruin my career?” he whispered before leaning in to kiss you softly, his lips lingering against yours. “You could never ruin anything, Y/N. I’d choose you over anything, every time.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and tears welled up again. You sniffled as they spilt over, but before you could get too far into your emotions, Alex smiled and teased, “Ah, there it is—pregnancy hormones, in full swing.”

You laughed through your tears, playfully swatting at him before snuggling closer, burying your face in his neck. His arms tightened around you, his chest a steady rhythm beneath your ear as you drifted off, feeling safe and loved.

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner fluff #alex turner smut #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #Spotify

29 notes · View notes