#of I Know He's Your Dad And All But Christ Alive

[queenlua]

it's extremely unfortunate how much of your own life experience will end up suffusing into whatever fiction you write. including-but-not-limited-to cringily saccharine subjects such as "weddings." yes, even if you're not a "wedding person." yes, even if you hate most of the conventions of traditional weddings. this bitch here (me) had one, & apparently i had Feelings about it, & now they're all on the page, against my will, in a story that involves a wedding, ALSO against my will,,,,.......

[viasdreams]

Nightwalker ཐི❤︎ཋྀ ~ fine ass dad

"ji i think that's enough."

you watched as Jisung poured an unhealthy amount of butter on the large thing of popcorn he ordered, his finger practically glued to the dispense button.

"just a bit more," jisung muttered, tongue slightly poking at the corner of his mouth.

"i don't even like butter on my popcorn, why are you putting so much?"

he turned to face you, finally pulling his finger away from the button.

"well it's not for you yn," jisung joked, at least you thought it was a joke.

you grabbed a few handfuls of napkins while jisung sampled his soggy treat.

"oh-"

jisung ripped one of the napkins from your grasp and spit into it.

"-my god. that's way too butter." jisung grumbled, face still buried in the paper.

"clearly you don't like butter either," you laughed.

"ok maybe i don't, but i just wanted to try something new." he shrugged.

the two of you made your way to your theater, barely edible popcorn in hand. right before you entered, jisung stopped.

"you okay ji?" you questioned.

he was frantically ruffling his hair and adjusting his clothes.

"do i look hot?" he asked, looking at you with a concerning amount of fear in his eyes like your answer was life or death.

"uh," you looked him up and down. you hadn't noticed before but jisung seemed to have put a lot of effort into his appearance tonight. he normally dressed pretty nicely, but something was different tonight.

"you look really good dude, and that's real."

he sighed and his shoulders relaxed a bit. "okay good, good."

"why does that matter though, the theater is dark."

rather than answering, he lightly shrugged as he led the way to your seats.

the theater lights were already dimmed but you could still see how packed it was. the atmosphere was alive with the excitement of dozens of twilight fans.

you, however, were anything but excited about the movie.

yes, you liked the first movie, but sitting through two hours of a girl falling in love with a vampire didn't really entice you at this current moment.

going with jisung made it bearable tought. it warmed your aching heart that he's including you in something he loves.

you could physically feel how excited he was from his intense grip on your wrists as he pulled you through the seats. he was dragging you so close behind him that you couldn't see where you were going. you didn't even know you had made it to your seats until he, rather forcibly, shoved you down into it.

"ji, what time does it start?" you asked.

no response.

instead, he gapped at the blank screen and bounced in his seat, the popcorn jostling in its bucket.

just as you were about to ask again, the screen came to life, answering your question.

you settled into your seat and prepared for a very long two hours.

around the thirty-minute mark, you noticed something strange about jisung's behavior.

when he came over to watch twilight with you and renjun, he was quoting every line. dramatically enough to the point that renjun had to hold his hand over jisung's mouth to make him stop.

but right now, jisung's mouth was closed. in fact, he wasn't even looking at the screen. he was too busy texting someone to pay attention.

"im going pee." jisung whispered, placing the popcorn in your lap, before practically sprinting out of the room.

it couldn't have been more than a minute before you saw him sit back down out of the corner of your eye. you guessed he was paying attention after all and didn't want to miss anything.

you mindlessly reached for some of the popcorn when you felt a hand graze yours.

giggling, you turned to smile about the cute moment, but your smile quickly fell when you saw hyuck awkwardly smiling back in jisung's place.

"oh jesus christ" you uttered, rather loudly, garnering a few shushes from those around you.

hyuck, holding his smile, brought his finger to his mouth in a shushing motion.

"where is jisung?" you whispered, annoyance coating your tone.

hyuck leaned back in his seat and tilted his head to the side.

over him you saw a very giddy jisung, kicking his feet in his new seat, and a very shocked chenle next to him.

seeing this made everything click in your head. why jisung said he was going to be horny all night, why he was dressed the way he was, why he asked if he looked hot, and why he wasn't invested in the movie.

these motherfuckers set you up. jisung went behind your back to work with your number-one opp.

and for what? just so he could get some play?

realistically, you couldn't be too shocked, this was a very jisung thing to do. especially for chenle.

regardless, you were still extremely ticked off.

"im not dealing with this" you mumbled, grabbing your stuff to move seats.

before you could fully stand, hyuck grabbed your wrist.

"all the seats are full," he informed you.

of course they are.

sitting back down, you tried your best to watch the movie, but it was kind of hard to focus on edward stalking bella when you had your own stalker burning holes into the side of your head.

this movie was actually pretty accurate.

his staring became so intense that you couldn't take it anymore.

"holy shit, what donghyuck?" you half whispered, half barked at him.

"can we talk?" he asked.

thats it? he did all of this just to talk?

"please?"

you rubbed your face as you thought, accidentally massaging a ton of butter into your pores.

his tone seemed genuine enough and maybe he would finally leave you alone after he said when he needed to.

with a sigh, you nodded.

with his will now reinvigorated, he took in a deep breath.

"ok look i'm really, really, sorry for drinking your blood without your permission!" hyuck exclaimed.

the lady sitting next to you leaned forward and gave him a disturbed look.

"um we're talking about the movie, mind your business lady." hyuck retorted, holding his hand out to her.

"oh my god" you murmured, pulling yourself and hyuck out of your seats.

you shot a quick apology to the woman before heading for the exit, slamming the popcorn into jisung's lap as you passed.

hyuck gave a quick thumbs up to jisung as you pulled him out, but he didn't see if jisung returned the gesture because he was distracted by the message chenle had typed on his phone.

'enjoy this movie like it's your last because im going to kill you tonight. and it will hurt.'

"ok what." you stared at the man in front of you, finally being able to see him.

hyuck, like jisung, clearly put effort into his appearance. he was even wearing the leather jacket you complimented a few times. if you weren't so pissed off, you would have found it endearing that be made this much of an effort for you.

hyuck wasn't looking back at you. now that it was just the two of you, he felt exposed and vulnerable.

"i'm um," hyuck fidgeted with his jacket's zipper, "i'm really sorry."

you had to hold back a sigh. that was such a nothing apology.

"do you even know what you're apologizing for? do you know why i'm mad?"

based on this and what he yelled in the theater, you knew he didn't.

you didn't care that he was drinking your blood. that part was whatever. you only cared that he lied to you. he repeatedly lied about it even after he said he was telling you everything, and that's something you weren't sure you could forgive.

slowly hyuck shifted his gaze to meet yours.

"you're mad that i lied to you."

ok apparently he did know.

"im so sorry for lying to you yn. i'm not trying to excuse it but can i please explain."

against your better judgment, you gave him a small nod.

maybe it was because you were so taken aback that he knew why you were upset, or because you genuinely wanted to hear what he had to say, you weren't really sure.

"jaemin didn't tell me the blood was yours, he said it was from your clone. i believed him, which was stupid because the blood tasted identical to yours. that should have tipped me off but i didn't know jaemin was insane at the time so i didn't question it."

you cocked your head at him, "you thought i was cloned?"

"he just said the blood came from someone that looked exactly like you, and i jokingly called her your clone. a little bit of me did think you were cloned for real though."

"you do know that technology hasn't been invented right?"

he held up his hands defensively, "i know that, but i didn't know vampires were real until three months ago and look where i am now."

"fair enough," you said.

"anyways, i wouldn't have drank it if i knew it was from you. the whole reason why i had jaemin get blood was to stop me from drinking yours. i should have investigated where he was getting it from, i'm sorry."

jaemin being behind it made a lot of sense, but this still didn't explain why he lied.

"i dont know if you noticed donghyuck, but i"ve been extremely understanding about this whole thing. if you had told me this upfront, i wouldn't have been upset. so why did you lie?"

he took a while to respond, lost in thought as he stared at your hands, specifically at the still-healing cut on one of them.

gently, he grabbed your injured hand, lightly tracing the scar with his index finger.

you didn't pull your hand back, even though his touch hurt. it had only been a little over a month since you got it, and while it was healing nicely, it still ached when it came in contact with anything.

"i dumped so much stuff on you at once. at the time i thought it was because i wanted to protect you, and that was definitely part of it."

you made eye contact again as he enclosed both his hands around yours.

"but there was another part of me who wanted you to think of me as your hero. as the guy who saved you from the dangerous monster, even though i was the monster who put you in that position to begin with. i made jaemin seem worse than he was to make myself seem better."

hyuck was very grateful that his heart didn't beat because he was sure you would be able to hear it if it did.

"yn, i like you. so much so that it freaks me out. i know me telling you this probably won't change anything, and i accept that. i just wanted you to know that i never meant to hurt you and i'm sorry for lying to you. i hope you can forgive me, but if not, i understand. im sorry for everything."

every time you thought you knew everything about this situation, another bomb gets dropped on you.

your brain was simultaneously filled with a million thoughts and no thoughts at all. you couldn't even begin to process what he just said.

so you didn't.

"come on," you said as you began to walk back to the movie.

"huh?"

that was not at all the response he was expecting.

"i'm going to need some time to think about everything, so for now let's go back to the movie," you explained.

"oh um, yea thats fine, take as much time as you need." hyuck awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "but i think i'll just stay out here."

you rolled your eyes. "you paid for tickets, so come watch the movie."

still, he didn't move.

"i know you want to see what chenle and jisung are doing right now."

he perked up at that.

"plus it's almost the baseball scene."

hyuck gasped.

"wait i love that scene! why are we standing here, let's go!" he excitedly exclaimed as he sped walked ahead of you.

the rest of the movie was uneventful, even with your attention split between the screen and the odd couple sitting next to you.

at one point your hands accidentally touched on the shared armrest, neither of you moving away.

you're not sure what made you do it, but something possessed you to grab his hand.

hyuck froze, not wanting to stop your actions.

the two of you held hands until the credits rolled, and for the first time since you cut your hand, it didn't hurt while touching something.

[the seat swap from chenle's perspective]

without looking, chenle knew it wasn't hyuck sitting next to him. hyuck smells like a vampire that has yet to fully shed his human skin, but the person sitting next to him reeked of desperation and way too much cologne.

if the smell didn't tip him off, the sound of this guy's heartbeat did. it was so loud that it drowned out the movie, not that he was complaining about missing the cringy dialog.

he moved to tell this dumbass to get out of hyuck's seat but stilled when he saw jisung blushing back at him.

"hi lele," jisung whispered. his excitment was so overwhelming that he couldn't help but kick his feet and shake in his seat.

for once in his life, chenle was speechless.

how the fuck was jisung sitting next to him right now.

all he could do was gawk at the boy.

"you're cute when you're surprised, but you're always cute though so i'm not surprised."

"jisung," chenle spoke slowly to not psych himself up,"how are you here right now?"

"oh donghyuck had this big plan to get to yn and he needed my help. this whole thing was his idea."

fucking hyuck.

chenle could see hyuck and yn getting out of their seats, so he quickly took out his phone to type a message for the bastard that put him in this predicament.

as hyuck passed he gave jisung a little smile and a thumbs-up, which he returned eagerly. chenle stared daggers at hyuck from behind his phone, thoughts of revenge already flooding his mind.

once his mortal enemy left the room, he tried to think about what to do, but all he could focus on was the vibrating boy next to him.

"holy shit, sit still." chenle spat, putting a hand on jisung's arm.

jisung stiffened under chenle's touch, his eyes going wide.

"woah."

seeing his reaction, chenle quickly removed his hand but jisung caught it, placing it back where it was.

"no keep it." jisung looked at chenle with puppy eyes, but his cute persona was betrayed by the nails digging into chenle's wrist.

jisung's grip hurt, but chenle would be lying if he said he didn't like it. so he kept his hand on jisung's arm, pulling away every so often to make jisung's hold tighter.

"lele can i ask you something?" jisung leaned in and whispered very close to chenle's ear.

chenle grunted in response, preparing himself for the freak shit that was about to leave his mouth.

"why do you hate twilight? i love it so much but it must be different from a vampire perspective yeah?"

the sincerity in his voice caught chenle off guard for a second time that night. no one ever asks why chenle does anything, so for someone to be genuinely curious about him was a new thing for him.

"oh you don't want to get me started."

this sent chenle on a rant that lasted the rest of the film. he was so engrossed in it that he didn't notice when jisung shifted his hand into his own.

the two of them went back and forth talking about all the good and bad things surrounding twilight, only stopping when jisung offered chenle some popcorn.

"oh what the fuck, why is there so much better." chenle heaved into his hands, the texture alone making him gag.

"what?", jisung confusedly responded, "donghyuck said you liked a lot of butter on your popcorn."

"what did i say?" hyuck asked, just coming back after his talk with yn.

"you told him i like a lot of butter? are you actually braindead?" chenle whisper-yelled over jisung.

"oh yeah, i said that because i used to love hella butter on my popcorn before i turned. and i didn't want to pay for my own popcorn so i had little ol' jisung do it." hyuck replied, patting jisung on the back and taking a handful out of the bucket.

"eugh-" hyuck frantically searched for a napkin. "holy fuck that shit is rancid!"

previous ~ masterlist ~ next

a/n: this ended up being so long, im so soz chat >_< plz ignore any mistakes, this was a bitch to edit. but how we feeling about chenji meeting !! (and hyuck/yn convo too ig😒)

taglist (open): @miyawwn @nanaxwi @mystverse @mmoonlee @chenlesfavorite @dudekiss3r @honeynanamin @haefelt @nneteyamss @iamsimplyasimp @roseangelxfuma @haechsworld @hyuck-me @catpjimin @toyoongg @sthwaaberry @kim-seungmins-gf @sunghoonsgfreal @sunflowerhae @galacticnct @slayhaechan @multifandomania @jasluvsjae @injunnie-lemon @swanyvess @hahaechans @aerivrs @kirbrary @akunoeyebrows @thegracerammy @snowyseungs @keeryverse @alethea-moon @flaminghotyourmom @elsbunny @introvertatitsfinest @ypoom151999 @1starqi @emptynote @wonswondrland @smilefordongil @onlyforyoukook @gomdoleemyson @jaehyunandonly @kukkurookkoo @lampcults @nightcat101 @hyuckna25 @yanagisprettygf @readingcucumber

(if the tag doesn’t go through, plz check your privacy settings ☺️)

[shanastoryteller]

any plans for another wincest fic since say something is ending soon (maybe?) love love your sam + dean and ur poly dynamics are a god send i love luis jess sam and all his uni friends so much i love love love his powers <333 ur fic is like a self indulgent fic written just for me thank you <3333

thank you!!

mmmm the thing is in spite of obviously liking wincest i did mostly get into it just because the fic is that damn good, it was very much build it and they will come. my first inclination tends to be platonic brothers who are freaks about each other. see something say something was initially not wincest but once their freak dynamic was happening right alongside jess i was like. it's actually so much weirder and uncomfortable if they don't want to fuck actually. so why not, fine, let's see where this goes

(i actually think dean would have come off as way more of a threat to their relationship if he wasn't in love with sam because then he'd never have a reason to try and curb his jealousy and possessiveness, just like in canon. ironically it actually gives him some practice at self control and not feeling entitled to every piece of sam, something that he otherwise has no reason to put the breaks on)

the problem with platonic sam and dean is that fic writers tend to just make them really close brothers and i'm like no, you don't understand. the freakness is inherit. sex if anything makes them more normal. (as goshen said in one of my favorite fics of theirs [Acid] Sam said, "You know I wish you just wanted to fuck me? That would be easy, they've got words for that kind of messed up.")

like when i wrote dumb luck or good ghost it was so important that they were not even a little bit normal even though it's completely platonic. and it's set before john's death, when they're arguably the most normal and healthy about each other in the whole canon.

what was so fun about writing that fic for me was that it's from dean's pov and we get to see him trying to deal with sam's death and falling the fuck apart, even with his dad still alive, in ways that are just unhinged. and we get these pinprick moments of awareness from dean that what he's doing and feeling is insane (asking john for a picture, wanting to lie on top of sam's grave, digging him up) but most of the time he's moving like he's being normal about this but we, the audience, read between the lines and go jesus christ you're holding on by a thread. by contrast it makes the moments when he actually thinks he's going insane (seeing sam) seem almost grounded in comparison.

and sam's gone and it's all dean pov so we the audience go okay deans' a freak about sam, that doesn't mean sam is a freak back. sure, signs point to him giving up his life for his brother, but some brothers would do that, it's not that crazy. and then you find out mr. i just want to be normal and safe actually agreed to go off to hell and be trained with the demon that killed their mother and gave up his humanity for literally eternity! all to make sure his brother didn't die

and you're like oooooohhh. yeah no they're both fucked

that's the part i love. and it works for me whether there's wincest or not, it's just that wincest writers tend to land there as a matter of course

that said i still have the s1 sam getting sent to the endverse fic outlined and again that was initially conceived as platonic but also the dynamic of oblivious s1 sam and tortured in love broken endverse dean?? delicious. so who knows

[rafesbabygirlx]

I Love Him Though

Masterlist

Toxic Rafe x Kook Reader

Contents: CNC/DUBCON, smut, breeding kink, oral (m+f receiving) name callings turns into pet name calling, daddy kink, degradation, physical abuse mentions. Unsuccessful offering (prostitution) Rafe is back and forth with emotions. Ward is dead but I still picture curtain bangs S2 Rafe when he’s ’toxic.’ That should be everything.

Not read over

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: someone let me know if I’m using warnings right. Please also I’m working in better dialogue and hope it’s improving. :)

You were the quintessential heiress princess, born into OBX’s most prominent family. The youngest of four brothers and your parents’ only daughter, you just graduated from USC in California with a business degree and returned to the island, stepping into the role of Chief Operations Officer, second only to your father. Your beauty was legendary on Figure Eight—admired by girls and desired by boys.

Alongside you was your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron—handsome, irresistible, and undeniably complicated. He went to UCLA for business. Not his first choice but he’d be damned to let you be across the country on your own. You started dating sophomore year, and despite the ups and downs, you stayed together, much to your parents’ dismay. They had warned you about the Cameron family, especially Rafe’s drug and anger issues. But the relationship felt like the one thing that was truly yours, and you didn’t care.

Not when he slapped you in front of your friends. Not when he tried to offer you to Barry as payback for a debt. (Thankfully, Barry had some decency.) Not even when he ruined a family dinner, barging in during a coke-fueled rage. You excused yourself to take care of him, understanding that it always came back to his issues with his father. This all happened during his downward spiral and issues with the Pogues. All this you heard from Sarah and not the supposed love of your life and yet you still stayed. None of these behaviors changing in LA at school.

You thought Rafe would change after his dad passed—become softer, more loving, and respectful. Instead, it pushed him deeper into anger and bitterness. While you thrived at work, earning the admiration of your family and employees, Rafe’s messages grew increasingly hostile throughout the day. You couldn’t understand how he had the time for this, given that he had taken over his father’s company. But not shocked how he just rode through it without care.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Rafe 8:50 AM: “Hey, are we getting dinner tonight?”

Rafe 12:00 PM: “Are you fucking kidding me? Three hours?!”

12:30 PM: 7 missed calls from Rafe.

Rafe 2:00 PM: “Why do I even bother with a stupid bitch like you? I could fuck anyone I want.”

You 2:05 PM: “We’re still on for dinner. Jesus Christ, Rafe, I’ve been in meetings since 7:30 AM. Do you not have anything better to do?”

Rafe 4:00 PM: “You’re questioning me about what I do? I work hard to keep my dad’s legacy alive while you probably have your daddy’s help. You’re pathetic, and I should slap some sense into you.”

Rafe 5:00 PM: “What time are you gonna be home?”

You 5:05 PM: “Six.”

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Moments like these, unfortunately frequent, made you regret ever giving Rafe a key to your apartment. Even after all this time, you refused to move in with him at Tannyhill. You loved him, but the thought of living together was unbearable until he got his issues under control.

As expected, when you arrived home, Rafe was already in your kitchen. You didn’t even have a chance to put your bags down before he started. “What the fuck is your problem?!” His face was red, fists clenched.

“Rafe, I’m not doing this. I work—I actually work—and you harassing me all day with your bullshit is no—”

Before you could finish, he slapped you, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you to the bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. Your mind spun as your face burned from the sting.

Rafe's hands were rough as they tore at your clothes, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. You tried to struggle against him, but he was too strong, pinning you down with ease. His grip on your throat tightened, and you felt the sting of his words as he spat, "You wouldn't have to be treated like such a whore if you weren't such a bitch with a mouth on you."

“Fuck you Rafe, get off of me!” Your protests fell on deaf ears as Rafe's grip only tightened, his voice low and menacing. "Go ahead, finish telling me what you think," he growled, his teeth bared in a snarl. He dragged you up the bed, your head hitting the headboard with a thud, before climbing over you and trapping your arms beneath his knees. “Just be a good girl for me. Alright?”

His hand stroked his hardened length, the tip brushing against your lips as he smeared precum across your mouth. You tried to resist, but Rafe's anger only escalated. "Fine, I guess we can do this the hard way," he sneered, his grip on your throat becoming a vice.

You struggled for breath as Rafe's hand closed around your throat, his grip tightening until you could barely gasp for air. Just as you thought you would suffocate, Rafe thrust himself inside you, his hands gripping your hair as he pumped furiously. He didn't care about your comfort or your well-being; all that mattered was his pleasure and your punishment.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

You were suffocating, your airway constricted by Rafe's girth and your own helplessness. His cock felt like a vice around your throat, choking the life out of you as he thrust deeper, his grunts echoing in your ears. "Open up and look at me, let me know who your daddy is," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

You struggled to open your eyes, but the discomfort was too much, and tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision. Rafe yanked your hair, the pain searing through you, and slapped you hard across the cheek. "LOOK!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the room.

You complied, your eyes watering as you gazed up at him, your vision a blurry mess. Rafe's eyes lit up with perverse pleasure. "Yeah, there are those pretty eyes, my pretty fucking slut looks so good choking on me," he crooned, his voice dripping with sick satisfaction.

His thrusts became sloppy and erratic, his cock slipping in and out of your throat with a wet, slapping sound. Drool pooled at your chin, his balls slapping it making the drool drip down to your chest as you struggled to breathe. Your body felt numb, your mind foggy with pain and fear.

Rafe didn't seem to care, lost in his own pleasure and power trip. He gripped your hair tighter, his hips bucking wildly as he continued to thrust, his cock jamming deeper into your throat. The pain was unbearable, but you knew that stopping would only make it worse.

And so you lay there, trapped beneath him, your throat ravaged by his cock, your body broken and bruised, as Rafe continued to throat fuck you like an animal, his pleasure the only thing that mattered. Finally with one final thrust he came down your throat. The warm liquid somewhat soothing the sting of pain that’s there.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

He moves back to in between your thighs and his hands gripping your hips. Your arms now rushing with blood again are limp next to your body, no feeling to them and Rafe sat on them for what felt like an eternity. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you try to push him away, but he holds you firmly in place. "Please, Rafe, stop," you beg, tears streaming down your face. He ignores your pleas, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and lust.

He kneels there, not moving. You sit up to look at him better through tears as you cry. His hands still grip your hips tightly, holding you in place. You try to wriggle free, but he doesn't budge. His face is inches from yours, his breath hot on your skin as he glares at you. You just want him away from you.

"You're mine," he says, his voice low and threatening. "You'll learn to stay in line." He doesn't move, just sits there, his body a heavy burden on yours. You're trapped, unable to escape his grip or his gaze. He hands you his undershirt to wipe your face of the drool and tears. You just cry into it.

The silence is oppressive, the air thick with tension. You sob quietly, trying to break free, but he holds you firm. Time seems to stand still as you lie there, helpless in front him. His eyes never leave you.

He finally breaks the heavy silence, his voice low and hesitant. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I love you so much, and I don’t want to be without you, but sometimes you need to learn your lesson.”

Tears stream down your face as you clutch his shirt, your voice trembling as you respond, “Rafe, I can’t do this anymore. You’re possessive, overbearing… and it scares me. Why can’t you understand that?” Your voice cracks, the words carrying years of frustration and fear.

He brushes off your plea, offering a half-hearted, “I know, I know. Let me make it up to you, show you I care.” His eyes are distant, his apology empty. He doesn’t understand. He never really listens, and deep down, you know he’s counting on you not doing anything about it.

Without acknowledging the depth of your pain, he lifts your chin and kisses you—deep, consuming, as if that alone could erase everything. His hands move with practiced ease, guiding you back onto the bed. His lips trail down your neck, planting soft kisses, sucking in your nipples, down your stomach and to your thighs, but the tenderness feels misplaced, hollow.

His thumb starts tracing gentle circles on your clit, while the rest of you is screaming, begging for him to stop. But the weight of his presence, the years of manipulation, pin you down as surely as his body does. He peels your panties off, his breath hot against your skin as he licks up your cunt, but it all feels wrong. It feels wrong but you can’t help but moan.

He begins to devour you, his tongue working magic on your sensitive clit. You're telling yourself no, but all you can get out are moans when you buck your hips up into him. He keeps working, sucking and licking at your pussy as he slides two fingers into you. "Oh my god, Rafe, right there," you force out between pants, your body trembling with pleasure. He looks up at you, a wicked smile on his face as he takes in your contorted expression. He loves this power he holds over you, and you can't help but be consumed by it.

Finally, he releases his fingers and mouth from you, climbing over you like a predator stalking its prey. He stares down at you, his eyes burning with desire, and you look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. For a second, he doesn't look like the evil man that terrifies you. "I want you to be happy, to be loved," he whispers, his voice low and husky. "Can we please be happy together, no more of these crazy ways?" You ask. He smiles, rubbing his thumb over your cheek, and without saying another word, he lines himself up and thrusts into you, hard and fast. His eyes lock onto yours, and you feel like you're being consumed by him, body and soul.

His pace is relentless, your body shuddering beneath him as he pounds into you. Your eyes roll back in your head, but he grabs your chin, pulling your gaze back to his. "Look at me, baby, look at who does this for you," he growls, his voice low and demanding.

You obey, staring into his eyes as he continues to fuck you. "No one can make you feel this good," he says, his fingers digging into your hips. "This pussy was made for me, I should fill you up and get you pregnant. What would your parents say if I knocked you up, huh? I know they hate me, hate who I am. But you love me, I know you do. Ugh, you wouldn't be clenching me like this if you didn't."

You don't reply, your eyes locked onto his as he continues to thrust into you. You know he's right; you'd love to have a family with Rafe, to feel him inside you, to know that he's the one who made you pregnant. "Tell me who you belong to," he demands, his fingers pinching your clit.

"You... I belong to you daddy," you whimper, your body trembling with pleasure. "I'm all yours."

"That's right, baby," he says, rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb. "When you listen, you get a reward." You lift your right leg over his shoulder knowing you’d get him at the perfect angle to hit your G-spot.

"I'm so close, Rafe," you cry out, your body arching off the bed. "Keep going."

He grins, his eyes burning with desire. "Me too, sweet girl," he says, thrusting harder. "Tell me where you want me. You want what I said? To fill you up, get you pregnant?"

"Yes, daddy," you moan out a lie, your body convulsing around him. "Fuck, fill me up."

He groans, you cum hard and he follows suit. His eyes rolling back as he cums deep inside you. He stays like that for a moment, before pulling out and watching his cum drip from you. Then he’s sticking a finger inside shoving the cum back in. "Gotta make sure it sticks, mama," he says, using the endearment that makes you shudder. He confuses it as a good one.

He leans down and kisses you, his tongue thrusting into your mouth as he holds you close. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, his body still trembling with passion. You know that this is just the beginning, that Rafe will keep pushing you, keep taking you to new heights.

“Y’know I love you right?” All you can do is nod.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

You’re trapped between what you want to feel and what you know—caught in a cycle you’re terrified to break.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Rafe pulls away and silently rises from the bed. You lie there, motionless, feeling broken, battered, and emotionally drained as his absence fills the room. Curled up on your side, you stare at the wall, your mind numb, listening to the sound of him turning on the shower. The water runs, but it does nothing to drown out the hollow ache settling in your chest.

This has become your reality—a constant 360 with Rafe, a never-ending cycle of hurt, apologies, and hollow promises. Round and round, you go, lost in this whirlwind of love, control, and regret. You loved him once, loved him deeply, and you still find yourself missing the boy he used to be. The one who made you laugh, who held you like you were the only thing that mattered. But that boy feels like a distant memory now, replaced by someone who uses love as a weapon.

You convince yourself that he must love you—he has to. Why else would he want you to feel this way? He wouldn’t go to such lengths to make you feel good if he didn’t care, right? It’s a lie you tell yourself over and over, a story that comforts you even when the truth is painfully clear. You know it’s a manipulation tactic, one he’s used time and time again, but it works every time.

And you let it work because the idea of leaving, of being without him, despite your parents pleas, is scarier than staying trapped in this vicious circle.

[lacybunie]

adieu, mon dieu!

“forgive me, father, for i have committed the biggest sin of all!”

pairing: afab!reader x re4r!leon

warnings: smut, virginity loss, blasphemy, dub-con, inexperienced/pure reader, religious reader, manipulation, cum eating, creampie, pussy slapping, pet names, breeding kink, slight choking, crying during sex, age gap mention (reader is 19 while leon is 27), fingering, porn with plot (?), bit of ooc leon

note: first time writing hence why it’s so long :3 also wrote this based on leon saying “i’ll give you a holy body” in re4r bc nobody freaks out over it like i do

“holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners.” the prayer is muscle memory. a smile adorns your face as you walk out of sunday mass with your family. oh how you cherish the time spent in god’s temple. you would not have it any other way. this small, quiet town in washington homes jesus freaks like yourself. where every summer, all children through teens spend their time at church camp. cross necklaces or rosaries are worn around the necks of bypassers and neighbors. you feel as though you are blessed with such a life.

so when leon appears in your life, you think you’re the most blessed girl alive. as the two of you go steady, he starts attending church with you and listens to the word of the lord with you in his black jeep. he listens to your prayers and readings of the bible. leon couldn’t be anymore perfect. “our heavenly father has blessed me with a man who loves me.” pink hues flush your cheeks as you smile giddishly during confession. “do not let temptation fool you.” the priest on the other side taunts, almost as if it’s a warning.

the people of the church disagree with the relationship you have with leon, the eight year gap between you two. more so, they dislike leon. they tell you he is not a man of the lord, he is a walking sin. they share their stories of glancing at him during mass and how he’s appearing to hold back laughter, how he doesn’t actually consume the blood and body of christ, how his eyes are filled with something evil. you choose to not believe them as they don’t know leon as you do. “he is nothing like that, sister olivia.” you defend during sunday lunch, biting your tongue. “you have found the devil in a lover.” sister olivia spews with disgust.

her words are a distraction during your date, echoing and bleeding into the grooves of your brain. “sweetheart?” leon calls as he catches your zoned out state. your eyes connect with his, you break yourself out of thought. “i’m sorry, i was just lost in thought.” you apologize, gleaming with a shy smile. the warmth of leon’s hand engulfs yours across the table, the cold silver of your ring turning hot. “i was asking if you would want to go back to my place after this?” leon repeats what you had muffled seconds ago.

“i’ll have to ask my dad first.” you embarrassingly respond as pinks heat your cheeks. there’s limited privacy with leon, daytime stays at his home with an hour max limit and once every two weeks only. your father implemented this as a way to keep a better peace of mind. “c’mon sweetheart, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” leon persuades with sugar on his tongue. the veil of orange from the candles illuminating the table is covering his face, you might just burst from the ethereal beauty he holds. he’s saying something color-coded yet it’s muffled as the tidal wave of his eyes are drowning you. “okay.” you mindlessly respond, leon faintly smirks.

the little skirt you wear is almost halfway off while you and leon makeout on his couch, something you shamelessly leave out during confessions. you keep your hands on his broad shoulders while he dangerously lingers his hands at your hips and thighs. you think you’re seeping through your panties as you feel a wet patch forming, making you feel bothered. “i feel weird.” you pant between a kiss, lungs aflame from the little oxygen you grant yourself. leon pulls away with furrowing eyebrows, “did i do something wrong?”

yet you’re struggling to understand what IS wrong. why do you feel so…wet down there? maybe you started your period but you realize it ended a week ago. leon’s eyes are burning into your skin, the gaze causing you to feel mortified. how can you tell him this? what if he thinks you’re weird? his girlfriend is wetting herself like a damn fool for no reason. “what is it?” that soft tone of his makes you feel even worse. embarrassment is starting to creep itself into the flesh of your body.

“i feel wet.” you say it so clearly and slowly as if you’re dumbing it down for yourself. you don’t know why you feel like this and you don’t know why it’s happening. leon smiles at the frustration you show, clearly not thinking of your situation weirdly. “that’s a good thing, doll.” he coos while holding your hands. head tilting and ditzy eyes searching for an answer, you are clueless by how this is a good thing. “what do you mean, leon?” “you’re turned on, that’s what i mean.” the blood pumping into your heart turns cold at the realization of what you have let yourself done. one of the deadliest sins of all: lust

how can you let yourself get carried away and almost give into something sacred? something you promised to your heavenly father that you will wait till marriage to do? you clutch the rosary wrapped around your neck, “please forgive me. i’m sorry, leon.” you think leon must be feeling the same way too, realizing you both almost gave into sin. oh how awful he must feel, to almost have betrayed the lord and gave into temptation. leon searches your face in hopes to find something you’re not sure of. “why are you apologizing?” he questions, hands no longer embracing your own.

“for getting you caught up in almost sinning.” “it’s not a bad thing to be turned on.” his voice is laced with something unfamiliar, a tone you’re not even aware of. “but it can lead to having sex and we’re not-” “there’s nothing bad about having sex either.” leon interrupts with annoyance. you can’t fathom how he thinks premature sex is not bad, he’s read the bible with you countless times. the purity ring wrapped around your finger symbolizes the commitment you vowed to and he’s reminded every time he holds your hand. “we can’t have sex, leon. you know that.”

“do you not love me?” leon is frowning at you, taking you aback with his words. “i love you, leon. of course i do.” you profusely confess as you get closer to him. the weight of your chest growing heavy while he shakes his head. “you’re supposed to have sex with the one you love right? then why don’t you? if you love me enough, then it’s not sin.” leon preaches with eyes glimmering with something indescribable. “we won’t have sex, we’ll be making love. that’s different. the lord doesn’t view it as sin.”

different strokes of blue are piercing into your soul, almost like his eyes are trapping you. your mind is foggy as you try to think of something to say. “i don’t think...” you trail off with unsure certainty, but what you want to actually say becomes lost in thought as leon’s cherry-bruised lips pull apart in a smile. you think he’s right, it’s something you probably skimmed over. cold hands caress your bare thighs, leon’s lips kiss the skin below your jaw. “you know i’m right, doll.” he mutters while his teeth lightly nip your skin, you grow hot. “i would never lie to such a pretty angel.”

“i’ll make you feel so good.” leon promises with his hands scrunching up your skirt. the sudden action causing your heart to burst within itself. your dry mouth defeats the words wanting to escape, to tell him to not touch there. you’re also battling the urge to let yourself do so as his hands grasp your inner thigh, sending a rush throughout your body. doe eyes noticing the way leon is looking at you as if you’re a sheep, tethered in his sharp teeth, bracing to become a meal.

two fingers rub you over your panties, the new feeling quickly has you inhale sharply. butterflies flutter around in your abdomen. leon hums as his fingers gather your essence that is leaking through the fabric. “there you are, pretty.” leon lays you further down on the couch. his lips kiss you again roughly and you grip at his bicep as his hands quickly discard your skirt. leon impatiently pulls away from your lips to look at the newly found view, lilac panties adorned with a baby blue ribbon. leon’s favorite color.

the wetness from earlier feels as if it’s completely soaking the fabric. you feel utterly exposed like this, so vulnerable in front of leon. “you’re so fucking sexy.” he sighs out once he finally removes the one thing keeping him away from your forbidden fruit. “please leon.” you’re unsure if you’re begging or pleading. the temperature of your body is uncomfortably hot and you’re sure it’s because your soul is already spiraling down to hell. you want to stop leon from inserting his finger into your sopping cunt, but of course you don’t.

“have you ever touched yourself, doll?” leon asks, while fingering you agonizingly slow. you crave for more, not exactly sure of what. you need more of him. you’re heaving at this point, staring into leon’s eyes as he watches you unfold before him, a flower blooming almost too late. “i’m not supposed to.” you choke out the answer while he begins to messily rub your clit. the smirk resting on leon’s lips is haunting you, why does he always look so desirable with that stupid smirk?

“says who? your god?” leon pushes a second finger into your sopping hole, an uncomfortable stretch soon followed by an indescribable pleasure. the erotic sounds of your cunt being touched for the first time reach your hot pink ears. leon curls his fingers against your spongey walls causing you to squirm. the imaginary coil in your lower stomach feels like it’s on the brink of snapping.

“yes.” you moan while he lightly slaps your cunt. “what kind of god deprives his children of a pleasure such as this? don’t you feel good, angel? i know your pussy sure does.” leon smiles at your reaction for his choice of words, you forget how blunt he tends to be. “d-don’t say that.” “your god can’t be all that great if he won’t even let me feel how your pussy squeezes around my fingers.” the blasphemy hits you like a gunshot only temporarily, the pleasure you’re receiving rids it right away.

you’re shaking your head but you don’t know if it’s from the frustration of leon speaking against the lord or if you’re about to reach sweet relief. “leon.” you hiccup, the pleasure becoming too much and your mind is turning into mush. a tight grip on leon’s bicep has him chuckling, looking down at you so pathetically. “you look so fucking stupid. go ahead and cum for me, pretty.” he grants while your cunt is squeezing so tightly around his digits.

back arching off the couch along with the most pornographic moan to ever come out of your chest, the coil snaps. waves of ecstasy crashes within your body, releasing out of your sopping hole. your thighs are shaking to snap close but leon doesn’t let it happen as he gathers your essence up with his fingers. “god, you’re just so fucking perfect.” leon grunts before sticking his own fingers in his mouth, the honey he has been craving falls onto his tongue. you feel yourself get dizzy at the sight.

leon reaches down to give you a messy kiss, tasting your cum on his tongue. “wanna fuck you.” he moans into your mouth, his jeans rub against your cunt and you’re sure your cum smeared onto the denim. you want to stop right here, you want to run straight to church and plead for your life in the confessional booth. however, when leon pulls away to strip off his pants and his fat, long cock hits his abdomen, you feel that indescribable want grow stronger.

your breathing becomes heavy as leon rubs the tip of his cock at your entrance. his cock looks too big for you, fearing he’ll split you open. the taste of bitter metallic hits your tongue and you realize you’re biting your bottom lip too hard. “i’m so lucky.” leon grunts, dragging his thumb across your bleeding lip. “get to be the first to fuck this virgin pussy.” he barely pushes the tip into your tight cunt when you start crying. the pain of slight tearing mixed with the eternal damnation you’re going to face is cutting at your skin. “please.” your vision is blurry through the tears when leon pushes his cock fully into you, you can hear him let out a deep groan.

the way leon’s cock feels inside of you makes you feel so full. the pain of being ripped open for the first time is soon subsided by a mind clouded with desire, yet you’re still crying. leon moves in and out slowly but roughly, hitting a spot within you just right. you moan wearily, salty tears trickling down into your agape mouth. when leon begins to thrust a bit more hard, you’re sobbing out loud moans. leon presses his hand against your throat, “so fucking loud.” he’s snapping his hips into you, his cock bruising the inside of your cunt so sweetly that you feel the coil about to snap again.

“need to shut that mouth of yours next time.” leon grunts, looking at you in a haze. he squeezes your throat as if to test the waters and you choke out a needy moan, your cunt almost suffocating his cock at the action. “such a nasty girl.” leon smirks while picking up the pace of the abuse on your cunt. baby pink nails are scratching at leon’s biceps. you slur out an apology, clearly not in the right headspace to realize that leon is toying with the rosary tangled in your neck. “oh my-” you cut yourself off when leon’s cock repeatedly hits against a spot so sweet, the coil in your stomach feels like it’s tightening.

“say it.” leon taunts. his hand reaches down to messily rub at your clit once more, your eyes flutter shut. you know what he wants and you don’t think you can push yourself further into damnation by saying the lord’s name in vain. “c’mon, doll. tell your god how my cock is making you feel.” leon tightly wraps his fingers around the dainty rosary, you’re pleading at him through your eyes, mouth too occupied by the moans you let out. “leon please.” you cry out, you’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop the blasphemy or to make you cum.

leon soon loses himself in your cunt, grasping at your hips to drill his cock deeper in you. the stars in your eyes are getting brighter, you’re almost there. dirty blonde hair covers leon’s eyes, relieving yourself of the gaze he had on you. “gonna fucking breed you.” leon laps at your neck, biting at your soft skin as if it’s the bread he eats at church. “you want that? want me to fill you up?” you moan out a incoherent yes, too fucked out to understand what he’s even saying. leon captures your lips in a heated kiss, tongues relentlessly clash against each other.

leon’s cock hits that sweet spot one final time before the coil within you finally snaps. “oh my god, leon!” you moan so loudly, throat becoming faintly sore. your body is shaking at the ecstasy that’s somehow stronger than before, nails clawing at leon’s back that you feel like you may draw blood. “there you go, angel.” leon’s words are drowned out by pure euphoria. you feel the warm essence escape out of your cunt but it’s soon mixed with another hot feeling, leon’s own cum. he desperately shoves his cock into you to rid himself of every last drop. you look down to where you two are connected, the lewd sight brings you back down to earth.

if anyone were to rip open your chest to view the way your heart is pounding, almost punching itself out, they’d think you murdered a man. the burden of betrayal is sitting heavy on your shoulders, all the prayers in the world couldn’t save you now. when you look at leon, who is taking in the sight of his cum dripping out of your cunt, the thought begins to become a crimson haze. a string of pearl beads clutched in leon’s fist catches your eye, you look up at him. a blue hue meet yours, the once bright shade now dark. leon lets out a daunting chuckle, “won’t be needing that anymore.”

sprawled out on his palm is a broken chain along with a few pearls and a tiny cross. leon ripped off your rosary.

[livwritesstuff]

i was writing a totally different thing and then all of a sudden it was thundering so here have this

Steve had always loved a good thunderstorm. There’s something sort of magic about them, he thinks, about the greenish, unnatural darkness and the way lightning turns the sky a kind of purple and how the air is both cool and warm at the same time.

Back when he was a teenager, when he was stuck by himself the mausoleum his parents called home, he’d sometimes sit by the patio door and watch the storm, watch the clouds opened up and beat rain down on the pool water, and Steve would feel more alive than he had in ages – even if it felt like he was living vicariously through…something. Maybe through how nature gets to storm and rage in a way Steve never will.

But he tries not to psychoanalyze himself. He’s got his own therapist for that.

Twenty-five years later, here he is still watching thunderstorms. He might not have a pool, but he does have a porch which, in his old age of forty-two, he’s learning might be even better.

He’s sitting on the porch with his husband by his side, and Eddie’s got their youngest daughter sitting in his lap while the older two dance in and out of the rain.

Eddie doesn’t like thunderstorms the way Steve does. It had sort of surprised Steve actually, when he first found out years and years ago because…it’s Eddie. Eddie is like a thunderstorm personified in the best way – all sharp smiles and dark eyes and wild hair and loud, reckless rebellion. Sure, Eddie isn’t bothered by the noise of thunderstorms, but over their years together, Eddie has shared some things — things about his dad and what he’d been able to get away with during a dark, loud storm that maybe he couldn’t otherwise.

So Steve gets it if Eddie still isn’t quite himself during thunderstorms.

Their youngest, Hazel, isn’t a fan of them either. She’s just a few months shy of her second birthday, so this really is the first summer she’s had her own opinions about these kinds of things. The verdict – not a fan of the thunderstorms, though she’s been a trooper about this one.

"Hazy, come play!" Robbie exclaims from the porch steps, but Hazel just shrinks further back against Eddie.

"She's a little afraid of the noise, Beans," Steve tells her, and he watches Robbie's face take on an expression of protective (albeit a little confused) concern.

“How come?” she asks as comes up the steps.

“It can be scary if it’s brand new.”

As if to illustrate Steve’s point, lightning flashes above the trees, and Hazel makes a whimpery kind of whine as thunder follows only a few moments later.

“It’s not scary, Hazel,” Robbie tells her, “Because you always know when thunder’s coming because lightning comes first. And it’s only loud when the storm is close.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, reminding himself that one of these days he’s gotta stop being so impressed by how damn smart his kids are.

Another flash of lighting lights up the dark sky, and Robbie covers Hazel's ears with her hands as she looks out into the rain, "And now there's gonna be the thunder."

A few moments later, thunder rumbled around them, maybe a little bit quieter than the last one because the storm is definitely moving away from them now. Still, Hazel reaches up to grip at Robbie’s wrists, her eyes wide and fixated on the stormy sky.

“See?”

Hazel manages a nod.

“Come play!” Robbie urges her again, “I’ll cover your ears before the thunder comes.”

And this time, Robbie actually succeeds in dislodging Hazel from Eddie’s lap, and together they head for the front yard where Moe is still running around in the rain, wet bangs plastered to her forehead.

“Steve,” Eddie mutters in disbelief as Robbie patiently waits for Hazel’s slow descent of the porch stairs, breaking his and Steve’s subconscious agreement to keep their traps shut while that glorious scene was unfolding, “Oh my god, Steve. What the fuck was that? Are we actually doing a good job raising these kids?”

“I guess so, Jesus Christ.” 

[sabrinasopposite]

imperfect for you.

pt. 3 of drinks or coffee / college!charlie baker x photographer!reader

my boy, come take my hand throw your guitar and your clothes in the back seat my love, they don't understand but I'll hold your hurt in the box here beside me

summary: after months of dating, its time for y/n to meet the baker family. yet charlie is a bit scared that y/n will see the chaotic, dozen of people in one house. will she still love him even though he was living in a imperfect home? of course she will.

Winter wraps itself around New York, weaving frost over windows and tucking laughter into scarves. The city glows—streetlights pooling golden halos onto rain-slicked sidewalks, store windows dressed in garlands and ribbons, the hum of holiday music slipping through every doorway. Y/N stands at the threshold of something new, something unfamiliar yet warm, as Charlie laces his fingers through hers and says, “Come home with me for Christmas.”

She hesitates, but only for a breath. Home. The word tastes like cinnamon and wood smoke when he says it.

So, she goes.

Charlie’s family is chaos incarnate.

The front door barely swings open before he is ambushed—small bodies colliding into him, voices overlapping, warmth pressing in from every direction. The house is alive, a living, breathing thing pulsing with energy, tangled in fairy lights and the scent of home-cooked meals. 

Y/N watches, wide-eyed, as one of his younger siblings nearly topples a Christmas tree in an attempt to tackle Charlie, and another is running circles around the kitchen, holding a turkey baster like a sword. And within five minutes of stepping fully into the Baker household, she understands why.

“Charlie’s home!”

“And he brought a girl?”

“Everyone act normal—DON’T TACKLE HIM—”

But it’s too late. Three of his younger siblings have already thrown themselves at him, clinging to his legs, one of them scaling his back like a small, determined koala. A dog is barking somewhere. A toddler is crying. A rogue soccer ball goes flying past Y/N’s head.

Charlie groans. “Jesus Christ, guys.”

Charlie catches her glance, and his expression shifts—something between an apology and hesitation, as if he’s bracing for her to be overwhelmed, for her to see all of this and think too much, too loud, too wild. Y/N is still processing the sheer volume of the house, but she’s chuckling when someone yanks her forward and traps her in a surprisingly strong hug.

“You must be Y/N!” She blinks as she is pulled back at arm’s length, coming face-to-face with a girl who shares Charlie’s sharp jawline and mischievous eyes.

“I’m Lorraine, one of Charlie’s many sisters,” she says with a grin. “Come in, come in, don’t be shy—we don’t bite. Well, Kyle did once, but he’s been trained out of it.”

A ten-year-old across the room scowls. “That was one time!”

Charlie sighs heavily. “Y/N, this is my family. Family, this is Y/N. Now, let’s all behave like normal people for once in our lives.”

Dinner is a symphony of overlapping voices, dishes being passed in a rush, elbows knocking, laughter rising and spilling over like an overfilled glass. Charlie’s dad tries (and fails) to carve the turkey without making a mess, his mom keeps swatting away small hands that sneak rolls from the breadbasket, and someone is telling a story that no one is really listening to, but everyone is enjoying anyway.

“So, Y/N,” one of Charlie’s older sisters asks, grinning across the table. “How exactly did my brother, of all people, manage to date someone like you?”

Charlie groans, covering his face with one hand. “Oh my god. We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, we are doing this,” another sibling chimes in. “Because, come on, Charlie. We’ve seen your past choices.” “Beth,” someone coughs not-so-subtly.

Charlie shoots a glare across the table. “We do not need to bring up my ex right now.”

Y/N hides a smile behind her glass, watching as Charlie sinks lower in his chair, clearly regretting every decision that led to this moment.

��I don’t know,” she says, feigning deep thought. “I guess I just really like mechanics who secretly have a soft heart and buy their girlfriends cameras for no reason.”

There’s a collective aww from the table. Charlie turns bright red.

His mom sighs dramatically. “Finally, someone who actually likes him.”

Charlie throws his hands up. “Okay! That’s enough! This is my girlfriend, not my public humiliation tour.”

The table erupts in laughter. Y/N, watching the way his family teases him but loves him so effortlessly, just squeezes his hand beneath the table. He glances at her, and the frustration fades into something softer, something quieter. There’s a beat of silence. Then one of the younger kids asks, dead serious, “Charlie, what’s it like having a girlfriend? Like, what do you do?”

Y/N barely has time to stifle a laugh before Charlie groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh yeah, we need to talk about this,” another sibling chimes in, leaning against the kitchen counter. “How did this happen? Who asked who out? Did Charlie say something dumb?”

“Probably,” someone else mutters.

Charlie drags a hand down his face. “Can we not do this right now?”

Y/N grins, propping her chin on her hand. “No, no, I’m actually curious. Please, continue.”

Lorraine smirks. “Okay, so here’s my theory: Y/N fell for him first, because look at him.” Charlie scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re decent-looking, I guess,” she continues. “But let’s be real, it was probably one of those ‘brooding mechanic with grease on his arms, pushing his hair back while fixing a car’ moments, right?” “Oh my god, shut up,” Charlie says with a groan.

Y/N, still laughing, the siblings start to join the theories like:

“I believe that Charlie magically poisoned her because, as if a beauty like her could fall for him.”

“I think Y/N wouldn’t fall for his stinky mechanic look—unless they match their freaks.”

“Or Charlie fell for Y/N first! Look at her, I mean… Maybe we need to save Y/N from Charlie!”

The table explodes with laughter as Charlie turns a shade of red previously unknown to mankind. Y/N chuckles but then places her hand on his arm. “Well, I always liked Charlie in my own way, but I met him at this super lame party. Yet he made it more interesting than I thought it would be—also, he asked me if we could go after the party to a coffee shop.” She smiles softly.

Charlie chuckles and nods. “Yeah, ever since then we’ve gone regularly to this coffee shop; it’s our thing now. Oh, and now I can do photography because of Y/N!”

The whole family falls silent because they’re in awe of the two of them. They continue to talk about the little dates or funny memories that Charlie and Y/N have collected over the months.

Later, when the meal is winding down and the warmth of the evening settles, Y/N leans close and 

murmurs, “I think I like your family.”

Charlie huffs a small laugh, still looking sheepish. “They’re insane.”

“They’re you.” He opens his mouth, but before he can say something self-deprecating, she adds, “And at least I have plenty of brothers and sisters-in-law now.” He freezes. His ears go pink.

Y/N just smiles. She doesn’t press the moment, just lets it settle—a whispered promise in the space between their laughter. But later, when he’s cleaning the table and she passes by, he hooks a finger into her belt loop, tugging her close for half a second. No words, just the warmth of his touch, just his lips brushing her temple in the quiet acknowledgment that he heard her, that he felt the weight of what she meant.

That he wants it, too.

The stars are strung low in the sky when Charlie drives them out past the city limits, to where the snow lies untouched and the air smells like pine.

They park beneath an open stretch of sky, the windows fogging from the heat of their breath, and Charlie reaches for his guitar from the backseat.

“I didn’t know you played,” Y/N murmurs, tucking her chin onto her knees, watching him.

Charlie shrugs, hands skimming the strings. “I don’t… really. Not in front of people.” He strums a few chords, then glances at her with something hesitant, something vulnerable. “But I wanted to play for you.”

The first notes come tentative, like he’s testing the shape of the song against the silence. Then, as he finds the rhythm, he loses himself in it, fingers moving with a quiet confidence, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N watches, her heart catching somewhere between the melody and the way the soft light of the car dashboard paints him in gentle golds. She reaches for her camera, snapping a picture before she can think too much about it.

A moment caught. A memory pressed into permanence. When he finishes, the last notes fading into the hush of night, he sets the guitar aside and turns to her.

She doesn’t need him to say anything. She already knows.

Still, when he cups her face in his hands, when his lips meet hers—slow and deep and full of things unspoken—she melts into it like she belongs there.

“I love you,” he breathes against her mouth.

And Y/N, with winter curled around them and the whole universe narrowed to this moment, smiles into the kiss.

“I love you too, my love.”

💌: @blackynsupremacy @alelo23 @angelsgalore @collywobblvs @tvdelrey @tinainaction @seulgi-burgundy @floralscented @artyandink

p1 pt 2

[lollytea]

Please, your finale Huntlow thoughts, my liege. We poor peasants beg of you, our bowls are empty and your tables full; if we might have but a crumb of your succulent meal to fill our bellies in these cold December nights.

ASGCDHBDJNK JESUS FUCKING CHRIST OKAY

I got a few asks about this but I guess I'll answer this one cuz it's phrased the funniest. I just wasn't too pressed about giving my Thoughts about finale Huntlow because I am fully a part of the Huntlow hivemind. Like I feel the way everyone else feels. I'm ecstatic, I'm delighted, I'm overwhelmed, I'm emotional, I'm so happy for them, I got everything I could have wanted. I won. We won.

(I HAVE TOO MANY PICS. I'LL RB WITH PART 2)

First of all this scene is so special to me, you have no idea.

It isn't inherently romantic but it's still so sweet and shows how much these two care for each other. Here's Willow, who's spent the last special Atlasing and repressing and refusing to rely on anyone else. But then she had her breakdown in front of Hunter and he realized just how stressed and scared she's been this whole time. She's visibly anxious and upset here, likely worrying up a storm because she hasn't found her Dads yet. And Hunter is right here beside her. He's seen her meltdown, he's felt her pain, he's heard her cry. He knows that Willow is in a fragile state at the moment. He knows she's been holding in a lot. He knows she's scared. I love that he's not only standing by her side and helping her search, but holding her too. It could be that she vocally expressed how worried she was to him, or maybe he just saw it on her face, but he probably placed that hand on her back to comfort her, let her knows he's right here, grounding her. And Willow, who's still learning how to depend on others, is letting him.

The way Hunter lights up when he sees Harvey and Gilbert, thrilled by how happy he knows she's going to be and his soft smile when he points them out to her. And then THIS!

Like Hunter is devastated. He feels alone and out of place here. He really thinks he has nobody. But Willow being happy can still bring a smile to his face. He just loves her so much!!!

And I know I already talked about the grom photo but UGHH!!!

I got a pic in better definition. I'm pretty sure this is Hunter's first grom. So likely a few months after the events of WAD. And it's so cute to think about Hunter and Willow very awkwardly but eagerly navigating a romantic relationship. I love how grabby and flirty Willow looks here, messing with his bowtie. She clearly LOVES the floral suit, thinking he's like the hottest man alive. She needs to smooch him and NOW. Or she's just like "Oh my, what a nice collarbone you have!!" Idk the ambiguity of what exactly Willow is doing here but the vibe and general intentions being very obvious is my favourite part of this pic. You can speculate for years on this. Oh and Hunter's face, I love it so much. His dumb little blush is like an old friend. He's fucking THRILLED that he's getting so much attention from her. He's very excited about where this is going. But he's also like. So nervous he's gonna pass out. But overall he's having the time of his life. Bi rights!

Also epilogue Huntlow....guys....guys epilogue Huntlow....are you guys still listening to me at this point?

God I love this scene. Its so natural and smooth, giving the characters a chance to breathe and exist and providing a glimpse of how they go about their daily lives. It's soft and lighthearted but it establishes so much about where Willow and Hunter are currently at in their relationship. They've been dating for like....3 years at the very least. And they're clearly very happy together!!

The way Willow casually slides on to the scene, giving the impression that she's often dropped in on him while he's working. And why wouldn't she? That's her sweetheart. What if she requires emergency smooches? What then? And of course, there's Hunter beaming at the sight of her. Seems he never gets tired of his girlfriend stopping by to visit. Or maybe he's sick to death of Willow the menace showing up to distract him while he's trying to work and he's just excited about the prospect of Luz's party. Either way, it's an adorable expression.

Something else I love about epilogue Huntlow is how equally distributed the affection is between both of them. Back when FTF dropped I gushed about how sweet it was to see Hunter taking initiative with Willow and the significance of something as simple pressing his backhand against hers during the pinky hold. And God, this sequence here says it all. From what I can tell, as Hunter runs towards her, they both reached out at the same time and linked hands immediately, implying that holding hands has become the automatic gesture for them whenever they meet up. They're in love, you're honor.

I love the huge carefree grins as they skate down the hill (still holding hands). They might have grown a lot since we last saw them but they're still young adults, they still love to have fun doing dumb reckless stuff. And even better, they love to have fun doing dumb reckless stuff together. All the handholding and fluffy cuteness is wonderful but I also love knowing that they seem to genuinely enjoy just hanging out and spending their youth with each other. Zeno was right, they ARE besties. Who knows how much shit Hunter and Willow get up to together? Being a pair of thrill seeking athletes, it's probably a lot.

This part is just so silly and ridiculous. After they go stumbling, Willow's first instinct is to grab Hunter and hold on for dear life. Her intense scrunched up expression is just so funny. "I will protect you, my love. No big dumb hill is going to harm a hair on your pretty head. Your girl is here." And Hunter barely acknowledging it (it probably happens a lot) because his life is currently flashing before his eyes. GOD they're just such nerds.

Oh and this frame is just SO adorable. The way Willow's hold on him lingers for a moment before he walks towards the grave, Hunter's heart eyes. They're clearly still so soft and touchy with each other. And this is after three years. I know they were insufferable when they started dating as teens.

[starryeyedstray]

it's christmas eve and it's been ages since hank has gifted anyone anything, but hank decides connor deserves at least one present for his very first christmas. here's the ao3 link if you prefer reading there <3

Connor opens the box and inside is a black tie embossed with a triangle tessellation pattern. It's simple but would match his jacket perfectly. He studies the tie closely and his LED switches from blue to yellow. 

“I’ve, uh, saw that you must have lost your tie at some point. And you always seem a bit frustrated when you try to straighten it and it’s not there. So I, uh, figured a tie might be good,” Hank rambles because Connor is just staring at the tie in silence and his LED is yellow and spinning and Hank thinks maybe Connor hates it. He’s never been a good gift giver and it’s been years since he’s given one so maybe this was all a mistake. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it.” 

Connor’s head snaps up. “No, I like it. It’s just…” And he stares down at it thinking again. 

“What is it? C’mon, you won’t hurt my feelings if you say you don’t like it.” 

“No, it’s just ever since the night I infiltrated Cyberlife Tower, I haven’t worn a tie. I wasn’t adhering to Cyberlife’s dress code they programmed into me. It felt like I was making my own choice. But you’re right, Hank. I find myself reaching up to fix my tie even when it’s not there. And I wonder if maybe I’m still stuck in my programming. Like I can’t escape Cyberlife’s design.” 

Hank watches Connor stare at the tie a bit longer his eyebrows slightly furrowed. Hank narrows his eyes as he contemplates what Connor said. “You think you’re still stuck in Cyberlife’s programming because you want to wear a tie.” 

“Correct.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor,” Hank says with a bit of exasperation. “It’s just a tie! It doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be a fucking symbol of non-deviancy or whatever; it can just be a tie. Just because Cyberlife told you to wear a tie and you happen to like wearing one, doesn’t mean you’re not alive. You can wear the tie because you like it not because Cyberlife told you too.” 

“But what if I only like it because Cyberlife programmed me that way?” 

“Then fucking throw it away. Or wear it for special occasions. Or never wear a tie again if you really think that will give you peace of mind. I don’t know. You don’t have to overthink every little thing you do, kid. It’s okay to stick to what’s comfortable especially when you’re facing a lot of new things. The fact that you want to wear a tie says enough about your deviancy. You’ve said it yourself before, machines don’t want things.” 

Connor stares at Hank as he internalizes his words. He did like wearing ties and appearing professional and tidy. He knows Cyberlife programmed him that way, but maybe Hank’s right and that’s okay. Maybe he didn’t have to change everything about himself right away. Maybe that didn’t mean he was any less alive. 

One side of Connor’s mouth twitches up into that half smile he always does because he hasn’t really learned how to smile fully and genuinely quite yet. His LED is blue again. Hank can’t help but grin as Connor removes the tie from its box. “Thank you, Hank. I really like it.” 

Connor lifts his collar up and wraps the tie around his neck, but Hank stands. “Come here, I’ll tie it for you.” 

“I know how to tie a tie, Hank.” 

“Just let me do it for you,” Hank insists walking to Connor’s side of the table. 

Connor obliges and stands so Hank doesn’t have to crouch down. Hank couldn’t remember the last time he had tied a tie, but he remembers his dad showing him how to tie a full Windsor knot and he does the same wordlessly. Connor watches Hank, and there’s a softness to his weathered face. A ghost of a smile on his lips. Connor wonders if Hank is thinking of Cole and how he never got to teach him how to tie a tie. It makes Connor wish he didn’t know how so Hank could teach him.  

Hank finishes and pats both hands on Connor’s shoulders. “All done, son.” And then Hank freezes because he realizes that he just called Connor son and he doesn’t know how to take it back and he’s not sure he wants to. 

But Connor pretends like he doesn’t notice though now he’s certain that Hank is thinking of Cole. “Thanks, Hank.” He straightens the tie not because Hank tied it crooked, but because it’s a habit and Connor finds something comforting in the action. He smooths the tie against his chest saying, “Now, I just need to buy myself a new tie clip.” 

“Hang on, I think I have one you can use,” Hank states and he almost ends the sentence with “son,” but stops himself as he quickly goes into his bedroom.  

Connor looks down at his new tie and he wonders what it would be like to be Hank’s son. But he pushes that thought away because he doesn’t want to be a replacement. Plus, androids didn’t have families.

Or at least, he didn’t think it was possible, but his thoughts drift to Kara and Markus. Kara acts like a mother to Alice, and Markus considers Carl his father. Did that mean that they were family? Could a family transcend beyond the bonds of humans and extend to deviants? Perhaps, androids didn’t have families, but maybe deviants could. 

Maybe Connor could.

happy holidays everyone~! this little piece is for the island winter wonderland event ran by @island-of-misfit-deviants which is the dbh discord server i'm in. we're all very welcoming so feel free to join us!!!!

[thecircularlibrary]

can you make a fic of Hawthorne game night will all the boys and their girls/wife

enjoy these excerpts from their game night!! sorry if it's a little short :/ fun fact: the cards against humanity game is inspired by a real one i played the other day

is that legal?

a hawthorne game night

word count: 894

warnings: cursing (they play cards against humanity for goodness sake)

pairings: all of them (except averygrayson fuck off)

As soon as Avery picked up the black card in their Cards Against Humanity game, she knew that she was screwed. There was no possible way she could come out of this alive and well. She needed to accept that. She looked down at the card to read it aloud and visibly cringed.

“Well if ______ is a crime, then lock me up!” She read, crying internally. “Please don’t make me say something stupid.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Heiress,” Jameson said next to her, smirking in a way that completely contradicted his statement. Avery looked around the circle to see everyone excitedly putting down their white cards.

Once everyone had placed them, Avery picked them up and shuffled all seven of them in her hand. She read them one by one.

“Changing people’s minds with logic and facts,” Lyra.

“Getting drugs off the streets and into my body,” Jameson.

“These hoes,” Libby. “Are you serious? That isn’t even grammatically correct.” 

“The Blood of Christ,” Grayson.

“White privilege,” Xander.

“Existing as a person of color,” Max.

“Lumberjack fantasies,” Nash.

Avery picked Jameson’s card. She wasn’t going to touch Xander and Max’s.

The next person to draw a black card was Lyra. “Why is Brett so sweaty?”

Avery looked at her hand and sighed. Her cards were awful. She slid “Fox News” into the deck and called it a day. As Lyra read the submissions, there were a few standouts that were not Avery’s.

Jameson’s card: “Fucking my sister” and Max’s card: “Our mutual friend, Brad.”

Max won. The whole game.

⤨☾⚝✯❁✯⚝☽⤪

“We either play Sushi GO, Throw-Throw-Burrito, Apples to Apples, or Uno. While I know it’s a hard choice, it can be decided easily if we have a fair vote and keep it civil, okay?”

Avery rolled her eyes from the kitchen at the sound of Xander’s voice trying to gaslight everyone into playing Throw-Throw-Burrito, which was confusing. Especially since there was no possible way it would work, considering he was the only one who liked the game. As she came back into the living room with a cheese board for his “vote” she laughed to herself.

“All for Apples to Apples, the kid version of the game we just played?” Xander asked. Max’s hand went up.

“Now Max, you know you can only vote once, right?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then. All for the card game involving raw fish toppings?” No hands went up.

“Anyone for the greatest game of all time, involving calculated risk, accurate aim, and speed/agility? Also known as Throw-Throw-Burrito?” Xander’s hand was the only one that went up.

“I thought he was describing Uno for a second,” Jameson whispered in her ear as he grabbed a piece of cheese from the board on her lap. She grinned at him.

“Fine,” Xander exhaled. “Who wants to play Uno?”

⤨☾⚝✯❁✯⚝☽⤪

Playing Uno was a mistake, unfortunately. They should’ve just fumbled their way through Throw-Throw-Burrito. Because now that the game was down to Avery, Jameson, Lyra, and Grayson, it was getting aggressive. Specifically between Lyra and Jameson.

“I skipped you. Just like your dad,” Lyra said after playing the card. Grayson’s eyes widened.

“I don’t know how on Earth you think you can talk?” Jameson inquired as Avery and Grayson played their cards and it came back to Lyra. She played a reverse. “Because I’m the one who can actually place cards.”

“I refuse to argue with someone who started an online relationship,” Jameson mumbled. Avery elbowed him. He threw her a very specific look that had her giggling at the situation that was hilarious to her, considering she and Grayson both had two cards since Lyra kept dodging Jameson’s turn. When Grayson won, Jameson had to walk out of the room. Avery expected him not to return. The thing about a sore winner like Jameson, is that they tended to be sore losers too. To everyone’s surprise, he returned in the middle of their movie break, in which they watched Little Women, with a deck of cards.

“Let’s play Blackjack,” he grinned.

⤨☾⚝✯❁✯⚝☽⤪

They did not play Blackjack. They did play Slapjack.

“Ow!!” Xander’s yell rang out in the living room as he collected the cards he’d slapped. 

“My bad,” uttered Nash, who hadn’t quite gotten to the deck fast enough and landed a full force slap onto Xander’s hand. This was the eighth time he’d done this. He was three cards from being out of the game, leaving Avery, Xander, and Libby in the lead. Libby was winning.

The card pile quickly grew to over twenty cards. Nash was long out of the game and everybody but the final three was hoping to slap back in. Avery and Xander were running out of cards. They almost didn’t see the hand that slapped the next Jack. They did, however, see Max’s celebratory dance.

Soon, Xander was out of the game but Avery had replenished her deck and was in the lead. When the next Jack hit, she managed to secure it, hoping to secure at least one win at this game night that wasn’t chess. She and Jameson were the only ones who ever played chess.

When she did win, it was when Libby’s last card was a Jack and Avery slapped it before she could or before anyone else could slap back in. It might’ve been the sweetest victory she’d ever tasted.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Just wanted to let y’all know that I’m about to get real busy for about a week. I’ll do my best to post on the 3rd or 4th, then again on the 7th or 8th. Thanks for understanding! ❤️

Tensions rise the longer El sits, motionless, in front of the staticky TV. Finally, she speaks. “I see her.”

Steve holds up a hand, stopping all conversation. “Is she alive?”

“Yes. Scared. I- I can’t reach her.”

“That’s okay. Is she safe? For now?”

“For now,” El agrees. “But not for long.”

“How long do you think we have?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s okay. Can you look for Will, or are you too tired right now?”

“I’m tired. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be, it’s alright. I know how this ends already, remember? Here, want me to take the blindfold off?”

“Yes, please.”

“Robs? Tissue for her nose?”

Robin sprints off as Steve kneels behind El to untie the blindfold. “You did great,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

“I looked.”

“Which is more than any of us can do,” he reminds her.

“Quick question,” Eddie says, raising his hand. “What in the hell is going on?”

“She’s got superpowers,” Steve says. “Hey, El, want us to blow up the labs while we’re at it?”

Eleven manages a shaky smile. “That would make things easier.”

“So, yes?”

She chuckles and leans into him. “I don’t know. I’m very tired.”

“Yeah, okay. Let me get you upstairs and into a bed, yeah?” She nods, looping her arms around his neck and closing her eyes. He chuckles. “I guess I’m carrying you, then?” He asks, but stands anyways, shifting her so she’s in a more comfortable position. “We can talk more once I come back downstairs,” Steve tells the rest of them, “as long as you can talk quietly.”

Nancy smirks. “That might be a little difficult for this group.”

Steve grins, shakes his head, and brings El upstairs. “My bed? Or there’s a guest bed that no one uses.”

She yawns. “Yours?”

“Sure,” he agrees, pushing open his door and tucking her in. “Y’want the door open or closed?”

“Open, please.”

“Alright. Need anything before I go?”

She shakes her head, smiling up at him. “Thank you, Steve.”

He winks at her. “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite.” She giggles and yawns again, and he chuckles. “Okay, bedtime for real. Night, El.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

As he walks downstairs, he hears the group talking. He rounds the corner and sees Eddie, Nancy, and Robin in one conversation while the boys have a different one. “Okay,” he says, loud enough to get their attention. “First things first, we need food. If anyone has anything against pizza, speak now or forever hold your peace.” He raises a brow when the boys all start speaking over each other, yelling out their topping preferences. “I’ve known you for three years,” he reminds them. “I know what you want on your pizza.”

“Prove it,” Dustin says, spark in his eyes.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You just want me to prove even more that I’m from the future,” he says, but points to each of the boys in turn. “Pepperoni, meat lovers, pepperoni.”

Lucas narrows his eyes at Steve. “Lucky guess.”

“Christ, what is it going to take with you? You like basketball because you watch it with your dad. You want to try out for the team but are scared you won’t be good enough. You are, by the way, and I help you with some of that. Your little sister Erica is a brat and a loudmouth but you love her and her weird obsession with government.”

“Don’t forget about El,” Robin adds. “She’ll want pizza when she wakes up.”

“Yeah. Eddie? What do you want on your pizza?”

Eddie smirks. “What, you don’t know?”

“I don’t, actually, because we meet while you’re on the run from something you didn’t do. There’s not much time for small talk, and you deferred to the kids when it came to food.”

Eddie looks at him for a long second before nodding. “I like pepperoni just fine,” he says, and Steve nods.

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[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 55: Resolved Debt

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

For the rest of the day I keep myself busy by cleaning out the entire house. Every time I look over at my suitcase in the corner my stomach ties into a knot. Maybe Alfie’s right. I shouldn't be here. All that’s happened since I got here has gone from complicated to worse. And- 

Okay, where is Thomas? I take another glance out the window. Mr. Solomons has returned with his gang but Thomas is missing. He wouldn’t forget to accompany his friend back to his car. Did something come up?

I leave Charlie asleep on the sofa and stick my head out the door to call across the street.

“Where’s Thomas? I thought he was with you.”

Alfie looks up and sees me shouting. He motions for his men to wait and walks over to the front steps, leaning his cane on the railing.

“The man left for some errands. Mentioned something about the foundation or whatever.”

“Just him? No one else went with him?”

He scoffs. “How the fuck would I know?”

That doesn’t sound like Thomas. All these weeks he’s stressed about security and keeping in pairs. He would have told Alfie where he was going.

“Alone…” A light flicks on in my head and panic sprints through me. Polly! “That’s means-! I need to find him!”

I lurch forward to start running but Alfie reaches out and grabs my arm. No no no! This must be what Polly set up! Changretta will want to get Thomas alone so he can kill him-!

“Whoa, whoa.” Alfie tugs me back. “Whatever this mess is, you are not in it.”

I try to pull away. “Polly did this! She-!”

“Not. Your. Business. You want something to do? Go tend to his boy.”

“I-”

“Verena.” The Jewish gangster gives me a certain look. “We both know that a father without his son is the worst thing we can let happen to him. He needs someone like you to look after Charlie.”

“I have been!” I cry out with a cross between rage and despair. “And he never tells me anything! I am not going to wait for a note saying he’s been shot!”

“Steenstra, coming from a man who knows how Tommy thinks, let me say this. He has strange ways of showing affection.” Alfie, seeing that I’ve calmed down a fraction, pats my shoulder. “I’ll leave it at that.”

Yes, because that cleared up so many questions! I watch the man stride back to his car and see him give a final wave as the vehicle starts driving away. So I’m subjected to what all other Shelby women struggle through. Staying safe indoors while I wait for Thomas to tell me what’s going on. 

Thud! The sound of the back door sends me sprinting down the hall. No more of this-! 

“Polly?”

The Romanian woman walks past my shocked face and starts to light a cigarette.

“What a surprise,” I droll darkly. “Are you here to apologize to Charlie for killing off his dad?”

She flicks some ash into the sink. “Tommy isn’t dead.”

Not dead? Not…? Okay, then what did happen? She can’t hide it from me! Polly’s worried just as I am!

I clench my fists and march straight up to her. “Somebody better start telling me what the fuck is going on right now-!”

“We’re holding a family meeting,” Polly explains all too calmly. “I’ll explain everything then. Right now, keep your head clear. You don’t need to pick up Tommy’s hot-headedness.”

“My head clear? My head clear?” I hiss. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying to keep a clear head throughout these past weeks?”

Polly just shakes her head and walks off to see Charlie. My shoulders slump and I lean against the wall. Not Polly too. Is Ada the only other one who understands this insanity? Can somebody tell me anything?

Knock knock.

I cannot handle any more of this. That better be a bloody angel because, dear God, I need some good news-!

“Hello.”

Thomas. It’s Thomas. Alive. Holding a parcel.

“Thank Christ. You son of a bitch!” 

My anger fazes into frustrated relief and my knees buckle. Thomas uses his free hand to grab me just before I can crumple to the ground. He stands me up and I bury my face into his warm coat. At the same time I weakly pound a fist against his shoulder, still raging about his return.

“Y-You could’ve- I thought you were going to die!” I gasp. “What happened, Thomas? What the fuck is going on?” I look back at the parcel. “And what is this? More guns?”

Thomas clears his throat and helps me stand straighter. “Verena, about the argument from before. I understand that you’re only looking out for your family. None of this is your fault. I know you’re not working for Changretta.”

“Thomas… That’s really sweet, and I accept your apology, but just moments ago I was about to pull my hair out worrying about if you had been killed!” 

“Here, here. Let’s get inside.” Thomas ushers me back into the warm house and shuts the door. “I know, none of this has been fair for you. And the Hudson-”

“Don’t mention the car, Thomas. I needed to stop keeping quiet and thought that it would help-”

“Oh it does, love.” Thomas licks his lips. “It’s a gorgeous car. But I still owe you a big apology for this whole mess. So to make it up, Charlie and I picked out this a few days ago. Thought you’d like it.”

He passes me the box. Why does he look… scared? Excited? It’s hard to tell. And why is the box light? I remove the top and peer inside. It’s- It’s… A beautiful white coat! An elegant, warm coat that feels almost too soft to the touch. He picked this out for me?

My jaw drops and I immediately start shaking my head. “Thomas, I cannot accept this. It’s too much.”

Thomas sees the joy in my eyes and refuses to take the parcel back. “‘Course not. You need something to keep you warm here. Please.” He puts a hand over mine and gently pushes the box further against me. “Please take it.”

“It’s genuine fox fur!” I gush. “This must have cost a fortune! If I wear this half of England will come running expecting me to be some prime duchess or somebody important.”

“You are important. To us.”

He didn’t say ‘to me.’ Is this an apology for the argument or saying sorry for pushing me onto the ‘women to pay no mind’ list?

“Thanks again for watching Charlie.”

He’s had his hands full with this vendetta business that he’s had no time for his own son. A steep understatement. So was I wrong? Thomas really does care? He just… has strange ways of showing affection.

I grudgingly accept the gift and smile warmly. “You never need to thank me for watching him.”

Thomas closes his eyes and rubs his temple. “There’s so much I need to thank you for, love.”

Then why do I still feel pushed away?

“Thomas.” I hold up the coat. “You don’t need to apologize with this. Just promise me you will keep me informed. Promise me.”

He leans against the wall I’ve backed him into and sighs. “I can’t.” His piercing blue eyes look down at me with something I can’t quite decipher. “You know why.”

I bite my lip and take a deep breath. “Yes. I know why. But it doesn’t hurt to ask again.”

I love you, Thomas! And it makes me saddened with worry and sick with anger that I will never be good enough for you.

Thomas starts to reach over but holds back. “I know you still believe I’m worth saving. But- But all I’ve given you are more problems. You don’t-”

“Tommy.”

Polly cuts him off and motions for him to follow her to the parlor. Did she do that on purpose? How am I supposed to pry anything out of Thomas without being interrupted?

Thomas sits in an armchair, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips, and stares at Charlie playing with his blocks. He doesn’t notice right away when Polly offers him a drink.

“What do you think you’re going to tell Arthur?” she asks.

Thomas doesn’t blink. “I’m going to tell them the truth.”

“Did she like the coat?” Charlie asks shyly from the floor.

Thomas doesn’t answer right away so I speak for him. “I love it, Charlie. It’s beautiful. Did you help pick it out?”

He grins proudly. “Yeah! It was the softest one.”

In the corner of my eye I see Thomas look over at me. He’s still holding something back. But what?

Polly moves over to look out the window. “They’re here.”

I will have to wait for another time. Again. I was so close to telling him.

Another family meeting. Another awkward silence while everyone waits for Thomas to speak. This time I choose to wait with Charlie in the hall while everyone else gathers around the table.

After a minute Arthur speaks up. “Heard there was a shooting today.”

Thomas nods. “Yeah. I killed three men today. Now our enemies will have to wait.”

Arthur and I exchange the same look of surprise, while Lizzie and Ada don’t look the least bit shaken. That’s what was waiting for Thomas today. But he lived.

Charlie tugs at my skirt and points to his dad. “Was daddy in trouble?”

“No, no,” I whisper and kneel down next to him. “Your vader just met up with some bad men.”

“Suppose they took you by surprise?” Arthur asks gruffly.

“No. I knew they were coming.”

Hold the phone. He knew?

Polly speaks up. “A few months ago I received a letter from Luca Changretta, offering to spare my son if I gave up Tommy. And I gave Tommy up.”

“Which is the plan that Polly and I agreed on,” Thomas explains. “I knew Luca would want to pull the trigger himself so I used this as a setup to bring him in.”

He locks eyes with me and sees my growing irritation. All this time? He knew all this time what he was getting himself into and he told me nothing! 

“I didn’t get Luca, but I got three. All right?” He walks over and leans down to pick Charlie up. “Come here, you.”

Johnny Doggs holds up a glass. “I thought you’d gone soft. I drink to you, Tom.”

“So you got three?” Uncle Charlie asks.

Thomas nods. “I got three.”

“Well, I drink to you, Tom.”

Charlie looks back and forth in confusion. “Dad, you got three what?”

Thomas laughs and pokes his chest. “I got three shillings for a two-shilling horse.” I guess that’s one way to put it. “Now, my boy, you come with us, eh?”

Charlie giggles and gives me a wave goodbye. Arthur lets out a laugh and ruffles the boy’s hair.

“Been playing with Aunt Verena, eh Charlie?”

Suddenly Thomas’ gaze hardens. “No, Arthur.”

“Why not? She’s basically a sister.”

Yes. Why not? I should think that I deserve aunt status at this point. And why is Polly looking at Thomas like that? Almost like she knows something…

The Romanian woman catches me looking and busies herself by grabbing her coat. “I’m picking up Michael from the hospital tomorrow. Then I'm dropping him off to Mr. Gold on the outskirts.”

I stifle a laugh. “Michael? In the woods? He’s going to hate it.”

Polly rolls her eyes. “He’s going to deal with it.”

Once she walks out, Thomas sticks his head back in, with Charlie still clinging to his neck.

“We’re going out for a drink. When I bring Charlie back for his nap, will you watch him ‘til I get back tonight?”

I put my hands on my hips and give him a cheeky glare. “I suppose Charlie can spend more time with his non-aunt.” My teasing fades. “You’re not staying?”

Thomas notices my disappointment and tilts my chin up. “I've got some paperwork but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Thomas does fulfill his promise… eventually. He brings Charlie back just as it starts to turn dark, tucking the yawning child into bed. But he walks back out again, no doubt off to overwork himself. Thomas seemed eager to come back but does not return until the early hours of the morning. I don’t know what kept him but when I hear the door open I put down the dishes I’m washing and head straight for him.

“You’re back late. Charlie’s- Thomas? What is it?”

His face. All hints of conquering and happiness from earlier are gone. Replaced by a sad stare. He looks as if someone just slapped him.

Thomas’ mouth opens and closes while he tries to think of what to say. He pinches the bridge of his nose and removes his hat.

“Did Polly tell you?”

Tell me what? In case he hasn’t noticed yet, I’ve been kept in the dark with many important bulletins as of late. 

“I take that as a no.” Thomas lets out a deep breath. “Lizzie, she’s… pregnant.”

Tug! My body goes still and I grip the dish towel even harder. The blood drains from my face. My heartbeat screams in my ears. I lean against the wall, keeping my shocked, distraught face hidden away. All this time…

“Th-That’s wonderful, Thomas,” I manage to say through my shreiking thoughts. “Another baby is another blessing.”

I feel Thomas put his warm hand on my tense shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Alright? Alright?! Is he fucking joking?!

“Yes, just tired.” I pull away and fling the towel onto the counter, changing to a colder persona. “Is there anything else, Mr. Shelby?”

My heartless tone hits Thomas square in the chest. A sorrowful look freezes over his face. Good.

“No.”

“Congratulations again. I’m sure Charlie will be happy to have a sibling.”

I rush back to my room and fight the urge to slam the door right off its hinges. It’s happening all over again. They have a baby, he marries her, I’m pushed away again. Sticks and stones, best wishes to them both. At least Grace brought a sense of peace to Thomas. Lizzie only seems to bring out the rough side of him.

Lizzie Stark? Lizzie fucking Stark. Back to his old ways. He will kiss any woman but me. Always another woman. Just when he starts to open up, he uses someone else. Is my love invisible to him? There he goes again, back to Lizzie while I’m taunted for being single. 

Thud! That was the front door.

Yes. Go, Thomas. That’s one fucking context clue you pick up on! I want to be alone.

I’m just another whore to you, Thomas Shelby. You’ve said it yourself. We’re all whores, we just sell different parts of ourselves. I’ve sold you my time. Each year I saved my time for you and your family, your Shelby Company Limited. And for what? 

Ring! Ring!

If that’s Lizzie Stark I’m going to rip the phone clear from the wall! I roughly pick up the receiver. On the other end I hear the distinct chatter of two people.

“Verena?”

No. No. No. I do not need a talk full of pity.

“Please, Finn… Not now. You too, Ada.”

I hear Ada sigh. “He told you?”

I choke back a sob and wipe the pooling tears from my eyes. “Yes. God smiles on us again.”

“Verena-”

“PLEASE!” I shriek and cover my mouth to keep myself from breathing too fast. “Just- Just leave me be.”

I hang up before they can argue. That does it. I’m not playing this game anymore. As soon as this bloody fight is over I’m packing my bags for home! Company employee or not, I will not stick around to work in these harassing conditions. Despite my lingering love for that klootzak, it’s not enough to win me over to stay anymore. No more moral obligation. My debt is finally paid.

Maybe I will be too cold, Thomas. Too empty and numb. But I’ve followed you around too long, hoping you might love me back. If this is what it takes to earn love, it’s a cost I’m not willing to pay.

And yet even if I’m leaving for good, my heart will never be free from you.

@meadows5

[spidernuggets]

Jason Todd x Reader

"Where are you going? Look, the Titans needs us-"

"Fuck them, Rose. Fuck all of you"

"Jason, please! Where are you gonna go?? We can figure something out!"

When Jason left with Rose out of Gotham City, you were heartbroken. You kept a one-sided love hidden, thinking it would be too selfish to confess your feelings to him while he's in an unstable state of self hatred. But when Dick revealed that he killed Deathstroke's son just moments after you managed to get Jason to step away from the ledge, you almost let your secret slip when Jason was swiftly packing his things as you begged him to stay.

"Figure what out, Y/N? Huh? Why are you even staying? Almost everyone is leaving anyway, and Dick is just a liar," Jason argued, stuffing his duffle bag with whatever clothes he could find.

"Because the Titans are the only family I have! At least Gar is staying. But you don't have to leave, Jay"

"And why shouldn't I? There's nothing for me here. Everyone hates me, hell, even you probably hate me. You only got me off the roof out of pity"

"That's not true, Jason."

"Then why else would you?!"

"Because I-" You quickly stop yourself, knowing things would only become worse if your feelings were revealed. So you took a deep breath and took a second to calmed down.

"Because you're my friend, Jay. One of the best friends I ever had. And I don't want you to leave," you say quietly.

Jason stared at you for a couple of seconds before taking your hand in his. "Then come with us. You don't have to do everything Dick tells you to anymore, no more lies, no more half truths."

You sighed, "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Yeah, I don't think I like the idea of third wheeling you and Rose," you try to joke, but your heart actually aching at the thought. "But seriously, I don't think leaving is a good idea, especially with Deathstroke around. And being alone with his daughter, I mean-"

"Wait, what you don't trust her or something?" Jason interrupts you, taking slight offence.

"I'm just saying to be cautious, Jason. I mean, Deathstroke already kidnapped you once and-"

"And what? You think Rose is working with him? Jesus Christ, and I thought I was fucked up," He scoffs. "Y'know, Rose admired that I made it out alive from her dad. I managed to make it out alive, and you still think I'm weak?"

"Jason, I never said that!-"

"Nah, fuck this, you're just like everyone else here," Jason says, zipping his bag close and storming out the room.

"Jason!" You tried calling out, just for him to ignore.

-

"What, was it part of Daddy's training to fuck me this whole time?!" Jason yells at Rose. "I'm done with this shit," he says, grabbing his bag, starting to leave the home the two raided.

Rose quickly grabbed onto his arm to prevent him from leaving.

"Look, none of this was supposed to happen. It just did," she tries to tell him, but he ignores her, tearing his arm away from her grip.

"Get the fuck off me." He cries, and as if by reflex, Rose strikes a punch at him, blood quickly falling down his now broken nose.

"C'mon! Fight me! You know you want to!" She says in desperation.

Jason sends a cold stare. "Are we done?" She doesn't reply, tears building up in her eye. "We're done," he says, walking towards the door as Rose cries.

"Where are you going? Look the Titans needs us!" She calls out to him as he reaches the door.

"Fuck them, Rose. Fuck all of you," he replies, finally walking out the door with only one thing on his mind.

You.

He hailed the first cab he could find, telling the driver to head back to Gotham City.

All he could think about was how stupid he was to you. You were right, and he just left you like you were nothing. You saved him, and he treated you like dirt. You said he was your friend, and he abandoned you.

He rushed out the taxi after paying the driver, running up to the small apartment you were living at. You spent most of your time in Titan's Tower, but went back to your place when you wanted to be fully alone.

Your apartment was only big enough for one person, granted there were ants here and there, and a little mould growing in some places, but you saw it as your own place.

Jason knocked on your door three times, followed by a call of your name. He knocked again, a little louder, and a little more desperate. What if you weren't home? He couldn't go back to Titans Tower, he wasn't ready to see everyone else.

When no one answered, his shoulders slumped, and was about to walk away.

But your door opened, and you appeared on the other side, rubbing your red eyes with a fluffy blanket draped over your shoulders and your hair running wild as it was tangled and bunched all over the place.

"Jesus, who died," you say groggily, having not registered who knocked on your door.

Jason's eyes brightened as he returned to the front of your door.

"Y/n.." He softly called out. You stopped rubbing your eyes as you looked up at him, eyes widening as you couldn't believe Jason was standing right in front of you.

"Jason.." You replied, not knowing what to say. "How have you- uhm.. D'you wanna come in?" You awkwardly offered, Jason nodding as you stepped aside for him to walk in.

You directed him towards the couch. "Uh.. do you want something to drink or..."

"No." Jason quickly replies. "I- I just needa talk to you."

You nod, walking over to sit beside him on the couch.

"So.."

"I'm sorry," he says, looking at you with those glassy eyes. "You were right. Rose was spying on me, working with Deathstroke, you were right. I should've listened to you, I should've stayed. Just- just say I told you so and-"

You interrupted Jason by lunging towards him, blanket falling off as you wrapped your arms around him. "I'm so glad you're back," you said, your voice muffled.

Jason sits there in shock, slowly wrapping his arms around your middle. "You- You're not mad?"

You pull away, "Why would I be mad?" You ask, hands boldly reaching up to hold his face.

"Why wouldn't you be! I treated you like shit! I didn't listen to you, then I just left! How could not hate me?" He says in an outburst.

All you do is sigh and look away.

"What? What is it?" Jason asks.

"It's because I love you, Jay," you finally confess. Jason's eyes widened and was left speechless. All he could do was lean closer as his gaze shift down to your lips.

You lightly chuckle as you olace a hand against his chest to stop him.

"Stop. You're only doing that because of guilt," You say.

But Jason shakes his head. "No. No, I don't believe I am," he replies. "You've no idea how much I wanted this. Ever since you joined the team, I promise you."

You sighed. "Listen, you just parted ways with Rose, I don't actually think you-"

"A chance," he interrupts. "Give me a chance to show you how much I care for you. How much I feel the same for you. Take you out on dates, give you flowers, whatever. Just a chance, and if you still don't believe it, fine, I leave you be. But a chance is all I beg for."

You look down at your fiddling fingers, eyebrows furrowed, wondering whether or not he's telling the truth.

"One chance," you say. "One chance and one chance only. If you screw this up, then that's that."

Yeah I didn't really know how to finish it off, like I had the idea for the start but didn't know how to make the rest of the story so its pretty shit, but at the same time, its 2am so whatevah

Jason smiles, bringing you in for a tight embrace. "You won't regret it, I promise you, mama."

[distinguishedstudentfishalien]

AHHH ok, let's talk about Lucifer and Alastor

I've been reading a lot of reactions to Hazbin: from the gushers who think the show is perfect to the hyper-critical who hate the show, the creator, and everything in between. I don't fall into any of those categories. I had a lot of fun watching it, but there were some things I liked, and some others I didn't. You know, as it's usually the case with any piece of media one interacts with.

I love reading other people's opinions. It makes me pay more attention to things I might have missed. BUT for Hazbin, most of the criticism I've seen boils down to two things: either "I, personally, didn't like it, so that means it's bad" which is not the hot take people seem to think it is, or just lack of media literacy.

I won't go over all the examples of that last point (there are plenty), but one example people are using to criticize the show --which I can't seem to get out of my head so now I have to write about it-- it's how out of left field it was for Alastor to think of himself as a father figure to Charlie.

My guys and guysettes, that's because he doesn't.

He does it to piss off Lucifer, because he doesn't like him. That's it.

"But they just met, why doesn't he like him?" I don't know! but let's go over some examples, shall we?

In the first episode, during Alastor's TV ad, we see a picture of the hotel, clearly drawn by him. I ask you to look to the bottom left where it says "No tacky circus decor! I promise"

Do we know what he is referring to? Sure we do! the ring circus master himself! Lucifer Morningstar, whose whole schtick is circus-related. Clearly, Alastor is not a fan.

When Lucifer arrives to the hotel, did anybody catch Alastor's first reaction? (besides calling him short to his face, ofc)

Do you see that trembling eye? He is PISSED. Why? Who the hell knows! But he clearly does not care for the King of Hell himself (if you force me to give you my opinion on this, I think it's because of Alastor's delusions of grandeur, and plain-ole narcissism, but that is a conversation for another post, if I ever gather enough energy to write it)

He introduces himself and immediately does this. R-U-D-E.

Now, let's talk about the song itself, which, again, is clearly just an attempt to piss off Lucifer and not really about Charlie. At all.

He only cares about Lucifer's reactions. Because he is not being HONEST. We can all see that? right?? I mean, it is pretty FREAKING obvious. He is just trying to get a rise out of Lucifer.

And now, the moment we were all waiting for, the infamous "call me dad" moment.

Which had nothing to do with Charlie, and it was just another example of Alastor being the most annoying bastard alive. He is not even looking at her! He is staring Lucifer dead in the eye and saying "piss off shortie".

Why? Again, I dunno. Your guess is as good as mine. I hope we'll get the answer in season 2, because immediate animosity against the King of Hell himself is something I need some context for. Is it funny? Absolutely! I love that song! The violin solo? PURE GOLD (he he)

But for the love of Christ and the Antichrist, please stop thinking of "Alastor thinks of himself as Charlie's dad out of nowhere" as a valid criticism. As some have speculated, Alastor involvement with Charlie will probably have something to do with Alastor's deal and 7-year absence. If it's never explained, then sure, what the heck Vivzie?? please include it on the show!

There are PLENTY of things we could criticize about Hazbin (and people smarter and with more energy than me have done so already). But there are so many examples of "criticism" that are just examples of "I don't know how to interact with media anymore" and I beg of you to do better. This is a tiny example of the show showing and not telling, and some of y'all failed the comprehension test.

It is a fun show, guys. Enjoy it.

TL;DR: Alastor does not think he is Charlie's dad, ffs. He just wanted to piss off Lucifer.

[damthosefandoms]

I can take or leave it if I please

(ao3 link) (based on these posts)

Summary:

“You’re lucky you had Dr. Allen on the case,” the nurse continues. “He’s the best doctor at our field hospital—the man works miracles in meatball surgery. You’ll be up on your feet again in no time!”

Up on his feet again, with a gun in his hands, and sent on his way. Soda prays she is wrong.

-----

Sodapop feels like he is in a sitcom. His life must be some kind of joke. They say there’s only so much tragedy a person can go through before their luck turns, and it seems to him that cannot be true.

Everything seems like a blur; from running through the jungle with the sound of gunshots and last words echoing in his ears, the feeling of something ripping through his skin and tasting grass and mud when he falls. He barely remembers being lifted into the shoddy excuse for an army ambulance, or the concerned-but-stern voices surrounding him during triage when they get to the camp. 

He knows there was a blonde woman in army-green kneeling over him and calling for a doctor to help. Someone’s pulling at the dog tags around his neck and in his feverish mind, he decides it must be his mother, and though his voice doesn’t seem to work right, he desperately tries to remind her that they’re his, that they’re dad’s, she can’t have them. He’s always worn dad’s dog tags, since the day the man came home. 

They’re his now for the same reason he’s closer to his Mama and that his name is Sodapop; his dad was set to ship off to Korea just a few days after he was born and Mama figured the least she could do was allow him to name their baby whatever he wanted, in case he never came back. Calling his little brother Ponyboy was like a victory lap. Now Soda’s following his dad’s footsteps, laying here in the dirt on the other side of the world. Dad got to go home eventually. Soda isn’t too sure he will.

The woman easily pushes his hands away—Soda can’t understand why his arms aren’t pushing back, he thinks he’s trying, but with shock things start to become numb—and everything’s blurry through the tears and the haze in his mind, but he does hear her, somewhat.

“…kinda name is that? Christ, you’re just a kid. Hey, Allen, I want you on this one!”

Soda doesn’t remember much after that, except that his knee felt like it was on fire, and he thinks his Mama was calling him home. 

-----

“The bullet went straight through your knee,” the nurse tells him as she fluffs his pillow. He’s still groggy from the painkillers after surgery. The thought of painkillers makes his mind wander thousands of miles across the planet, back home to Tulsa. He wonders if Pony’s still popping aspirin to get through the day. He hopes not. He and Darry were working on getting their brother to kick that habit. Soda hopes he isn’t next to climb on that wagon.

“You’re lucky you had Dr. Allen on the case,” she continues. “He’s the best doctor at our field hospital—the man works miracles in meatball surgery. You’ll be up on your feet again in no time!”

Up on his feet again, with a gun in his hands, and sent on his way. Soda prays she is wrong, and wonders if that little pocket bible is still there tucked into his boot, with a sole cherry blossom flower pressed between the pages, a decision made on a whim to try to remind him this is all worth it. All he wants anymore is to make it home alive. 

-----

Soda doesn’t know how long he lays there in that hospital bed (a glorified cot). He stopped counting after a week, when he decided he didn’t want to know. At some point, he starts to wish he was back on the front, because at least he’d have adrenaline coursing through his veins to keep him distracted. All he has now is people laying sick or dying next to him, and nurses frowning at him, fully immune to his charm. One of them called him a child a few days ago and it’s starting to hit him that maybe he is. That this, this is war, and he shouldn’t be here.

When he was younger and more naive, he thought Tulsa was at war, but here, Soda’s realized that just isn’t true. Greasers, socs, east and west… money or nothing, it never meant anything. All that fighting, all the time spent hating each other and picking fights and hoping for something they could never quite reach—it’s pointless. All the fighting is pointless. Everything is war and nothing is war and Soda? He just wants to go home.

Nine months ago Soda was still dreading letting Ponyboy walk out the door knowing the socs still had it out for him, even then, a year after they lost Johnny and Dallas. Nine months ago the so-called Great Tulsa Divide felt like something no one would ever overcome. Like there was nothing bigger in the world. Nine months ago, Soda was just a kid, getting a letter that changed everything at a time when he thought there was nothing left that could.

It’s funny now, with everything he’s seen—what he’s done, whether he wanted to or not, whether he was ordered to or had done it in self-defense—it’s funny how now he thinks he never wants to raise a fist again when nine months ago he would’ve started a fight just to feel something, because that was just how kids like him lived their lives. Violence was a fact of like and now Soda can’t stomach the idea of it. It’s funny what fear and loss can do to a person.

Losing Mickey Mouse, his torn ACL they couldn’t afford to have fixed right, his parents, Sandy, Johnny and Dally… Soda wants to believe that at some point the bad luck has to end. 

Dr. Allen walks in, and he’s got a clipboard in his hands and a strange look on his face. For once in his life, Soda can’t read the expression. Maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe it’s the fear of god this stupid war drilled into him. Maybe he’s just tired.

The doctor starts to walk over towards Soda, but the head nurse grabs him by the arm and pulls him to the side. They have a quiet argument there on the other side of the room, and he can just barely make out what she says: “This is a bad idea, Henry. You’ll get court-martialed. Or worse.”

“I don’t care.”

It doesn’t fill him with confidence to hear that, especially not when the doctor in question comes up to him and pulls up a chair. 

“I just got your post-op x-rays back, son,” he says, with almost no emotion in his voice. “Your knee isn’t looking too good. There’s damage in there we didn’t expect.”

Soda blinks. 

“I tore my ACL when I was thirteen,” he offers. “I got bucked off a horse and, well, we couldn’t afford a great doctor, and the doctor we could afford to fix me up botched the surgery. That could be why. It was bad enough my dad wouldn’t let me do the rodeo no more, but I guess the Army didn’t seem to mind that I got a bit of a limp when they dragged me out here.” 

But Dr. Allen doesn’t meet his eyes, and Soda briefly wonders if his previous injuries actually have anything to do with this conversation. He looks back at the nurse, who is watching them with her arms crossed and a very disapproving look on her face, then he sighs. He turns back to Soda.

“What do you want more than anything in the world right now, son?”

“To go home and hug my brothers, doc.”

There’s no hesitation. Of course there isn’t. His brothers are all he has, they’re everything he holds dear. He would give up anything and everything. He would move mountains to be home with them again. 

“Whatever it takes, I have to get home to them. I promised them no more funerals and I’m going to keep that promise.”

Dr. Allen nods, like he gets it. Soda thinks maybe he actually does. 

“You remind me of my wife,” he says, and it’s kind of sudden, like this is the first part of this conversation he didn’t rehearse. “All filled with love for your family and hope beyond belief.”

Soda can do nothing but nod. Dr. Allen gets a distant look in his eyes, and for the first time since he’s gotten to this godforsaken jungle, he’s starting to feel like there’s still good in the world. The doctor, he realizes, is young too; older than Darry but probably not by much, and even with the little pin on his collar with the two snakes twisted around a winged staff—Pony would know what it’s actually called, Soda thinks—protecting him from the line of fire, he’s not safe from the horrors that await them outside the hospital camp’s walls. 

And there’s something else going on here too, Soda is sure of it. Something the doctor isn’t telling him in so many words, something off about this conversation. There’s work being done behind the scenes he isn’t supposed to know about, stuff that could probably screw them both over if it ever gets out. Soda knows he’s never been the smart one; all of this medical talk goes over his head. All he knows is what he feels, and he can feel his knee is getting better and stronger every day. Soon he’ll be sent back to the front lines and he won’t get lucky a second time.

“Look, Sodapop, I’m going to be honest here with you—” the nurse watching them narrows her eyes and steps out of the room, “—your knee’s in bad shape. There’s an operation I can do to save it, but there’s a lot of things that can go wrong. You’ll likely never be able to walk the same again.”

Soda sits up and looks the man in the eyes. He is being blatantly lied to, and he knows it. But he means every word of what he says next with his whole being:

“Doc, you could cut my leg off if it means I get to go home.”

-----

The nurse called Dr. Allen the best in the business. If that was true, Soda probably wouldn’t have ended up back in that goddamn field hospital cot, being handed a pair of crutches and told he’ll never walk the same. But… he doesn’t know.

“A surgical complication,” he’s been told. “It couldn’t have been avoided. The damage was already done. Kid, you’re lucky you still have a leg.”

Dr. Allen might be the best doctor Soda’s ever had, actually. He owes him everything. A surgical complication. Right.

For years he’s heard his friends and family talking about getting a ticket out of Tulsa, but now he has his ticket back; and his medical discharge papers, and a small case holding his Purple Heart medal, and he’s got his crutches under his arms as he stands there, breathing in the dusty air and waiting for the army jeep that’s going to take him to the nearest airport to get him home.

As he helps Soda climb into the jeep, Dr. Allen hands him a letter, and asks him quietly if he could deliver it to his wife back home in Kansas City. Soda’s got his own letters tucked into his duffle bag, unsent. He gets to deliver them himself now. He’s got that pocket bible with the cherry blossom in it tucked back into his boot. 

It is the least Soda can do. In the grand scheme of things, Missouri isn’t too far from Oklahoma, and maybe Mrs. Allen will be so grateful she’ll give Soda the cash for the bus ride home.

[latristereina]

INT. MICHAEL'S HOUSE - DAY

HAGEN

Kay?

He steps in, the beautiful summer living room is neat, but empty.

HAGEN

Anyone hungry?

He moves through the house more quickly; into the dining and recreation room areas. A cat jumps off a pile of cushions and runs across the room.

HAGEN

Hello?

SANDRA (O.S.)

She's gone, Tom.

Sandra has followed him into Michael's house.

HAGEN

What do you mean gone?

SANDRA

The Barretts from Rubicon Bay came by in a new speedboat. Rocco tried to say she wasn't in, but Kay spotted them and asked if they would take her and the kids for a ride. That was three hours ago.

HAGEN

(furious)

Why didn't someone tell me!

SANDRA

I wanted to tell you alone; your

wife doesn't know what's goinng on.

Hagen rushes out of the house.

EXT. TAHOE LAWN - DAY

Hagen moves quickly out of Michael's house; moving across the lawn to the boathouse.

HAGEN'S SON

Hey, Dad!

This time he ignores the thrown ball, and moves directly to Rocco, who is by some men near the boathouse.

HAGEN

Rocco!

ROCCO

I know. I went down to the Barrett

house. But she's gone. They drove her and the kids to North Tahoe airport.

HAGEN

Goddamn it, where were you?

ROCCO

I was in my house. Willy tried, but it would have taken some strong-arm to stop her, and he figured you wouldn't want that.

INT. THE BOATHOUSE - DAY

They enter the boathouse.

HAGEN

(to one of the men)

Get me a Scotch and water. The man hurries behind the bar.

ROCCO

She took a flight to San Francisco. We figure she's going to connect to New Hampshire; her parents' place.

HAGEN

(almost to himself)

I can't let him down.

He swallows the drink down in several gulps. And then looks up to his men watching him. He's embarrassed to have shown such weakness.

HAGEN

All right, let me think a minute. Rocco clears the men out.

ROCCO

Me too, Tom?

HAGEN

Yeah, give me a minute.

Rocco gone, Hagen moves behind the enormous bar, and pours himself a giant drink. He drinks that, and calms himself.

HAGEN

Oh Christ, Pop. It was so good when you were alive. I felt I could handle anything...

INT. MICHAEL'S SUITE - NIGHT

The telephone has just rung; Michael listens.

OPERATOR

We have your call to Tahoe, Nevada, sir.

MICHAEL

Thank you.

(click, click)

Tom? Tom, is that you?

ROCCO (O.S.)

No, Tom's out of town. This is Rocco. Who is this?

Michael is openly disturbed that Hagen is not there. He hangs up without answering.

EXT. NEW ENGLAND HOUSE - DAY

Tom Hagen steps out of a taxicab a bit tentatively, and then steps toward the door of a pleasant New England house. He rings the bell and waits, hat in hand. A moment later, the door opens, and Kay is standing there.

KAY

I'm not surprised to see you, Tom.

INT. SMALL ROOM - NEW ENGLAND HOUSE - MED. VIEW - DAY

Out to the yard, where we can see glimpses of little Anthony playing by himself.

KAY (O.S.)

I can't love a man like that; I can't live with him, I can't let him be father to my children. Look.

The little boy, moodily by himself.

VIEW ON KAY

obviously moved.

VIEW ON HAGEN

KAY

He's not like a little boy... he doesn't talk to me; he doesn't want to play; he doesn't like other children, he doesn't like toys.

It's as though he's waiting for the time he can take his Father's place.

(almost in tears)

You know what he told me when he was four years old. He said he had killed his Grandfather...

VIEW ON HAGEN

listening, calmly.

VIEW ON KAY

KAY

... He said he had shot his Grandfather with a gun, and then he died in the garden. And he asked me... he asked me, Tom, if that meant now his father would shoot

him out of... revenge.

(she cries)

How does a four year old boy learn the word... 'revenge'?

HAGEN

Kay... Kay...

KAY

What kind of a family is this... are we human beings? He knows his Father killed his Uncle Carlo. He heard Connie.

HAGEN

You don't know that's true. But Kay, just for the sake of an argument, let's assume it is, I'm not saying it is, remember, but...

What if I gave you what might be some justification for what he did... or rather some possible justification for what he possibly did.

KAY

That's the first time I've seen the lawyer side of you, Tom. It's not your best side.

HAGEN

Okay, just hear me out. What if Carlo had been paid to help get Sonny killed? What if his beating of Connie that time was a deliberate plot to get Sonny out into the open? Then what? And what if the Don, a

great man, couldn't bring himself to do what he had to do, avenge his son's death by killing his daughter's husband? What if that, finally, was too much for him, and he made Michael his successor, knowing that Michael would take that load off his shoulders, would take that guilt?

KAY

He's not the same as when I met him.

HAGEN

If he were, he'd be dead by noww. You'd be a widow. You'd have no problem.

KAY

What the hell does that mean? Come on, Tom, speak out straight once in your life. I know Michael can't, but you're not Sicilian, you can tell a woman the truth; you can

treat her like an equal, a fellow human being.

There is a long silence.

Then Hagen shakes his head; he can tell her no more.

HAGEN

If you told Michael what I've told

you today, I'm a dead man.

KAY

When is it finally over? I want it

to be over before my baby is born.

HAGEN

I don't know. I hope soon; but it's not over yet, and that's why you and the kids have to come back to me.

He looks at her; it's clear that he has been entrusted with her safety and her children's.

He is a kind, good man, and seems very nervous and overwrought.

VIEW ON THE WINDOW

Little Anthony is pressing his face against the glass pane, as though he senses the adults are discussing something of importance to him.

- THE GODFATHER Part Two, Screenplay by Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola, SECOND DRAFT, September 24, 1973