#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,,,,.......

[rafesbabygirlx]

I Love Him Though

Masterlist

Toxic Rafe x Kook Reader

Contents: NONCON/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.

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.” 

[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.

[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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[nsharks]

a dark world (an ache to live) | simon "ghost" riley

summary: ghost fears death (because he has you). soap is there to make him a promise. tags: *ghost d words*, pregnant!reader/fem!reader, death, blood, gunshot wound, just angst a/n: this is very dramatic I'm sorry and it has nothing to do with my other fics. dad ghost is alive and well in those.

Ghost is quiet.

The Sergeant is not.

In middle-of-nowhere Russia, two souls trudge through the sleet. One leaning into the other. One talking to keep the other awake. With each step, their boots drag with more resistance. With each step, it becomes more of an impossible task for Soap to keep the weight of his comrade up.

Red footsteps follow.

Shimmering red. It catches the sunlight behind the clouds. It’s a crimson shade they are both all too familiar with.

Ghost, never one to accept help, now digs his gloved fingers into the Sergeant's shoulder for support. The heel of his other hand presses into the dressed wound at his torso, applying as much pressure as he can with his fading strength. Ghost’s deific strength— always a staple they could rely on, even at the worst of times.

But now—

His strength doesn’t seem to be quite enough. Not when the gauze has already been soaked through without mercy.

“Keep your eyes open, Lt.”

A grunt.

“Don’t think that’ll help.”

There’s something etched into the gravel of his voice that frightens Soap; a lilt of panic that he’s never heard from Ghost. Because Ghost doesn’t bloody panic, ever. Soap’s eyes flicker to the wound on his partner and he comes to a quick halt when he sees the growing stain on his uniform. He hisses a swear under his breath that pools smoke into the air.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Lt.”

Skeletal fingers pull back from the gore for inspection. They’re soaked and stained. Ghost is used to that— the red bones on his glove. Though, usually, it’s the blood of others.

“Gotta keep in every drop, ‘member?” Soap urges, and reaches over to press the wound for him. “Let me fix it up again. C’mon, hold yourself up for a sec.”

But Ghost only leans into a deeper slouch. The Sergeant stumbles from the immense weight of it.

“Would if I… could, Johnny.”

Soap doesn’t like that answer.

He keeps one hand on Ghost’s shoulder and abandons the wound with the other hand, only so he can dig through his med pack. Before he can grab the gauze, his Lieutenant is collapsing to the icy ground.

There’s nothing Soap can do to stop it.

“Alright, fuck,” the Sergeant hisses. He bends down. Ghost has slumped into a haphazard pile of muscled limbs and weighted tactical gear. “I’ll just take care of ya down here, Ghost. Stay with me, yeah?”

Frantic, urgent denial.

Soap drags the man’s legs out. Tries to get him more on his back so the wounded region is flat. He pushes up the bloodied shirt of Ghost’s uniform and swallows a lump in his throat when he sees the reality of it. So much blood— too much. He fumbles with the gauze but a lazy hand grabs his wrist.

“Don’t waste…” slurred breaths, “…my time with that, Johnny.”

“What do you—“

A tired scoff.

“M’dead weight. M’not… gettin’ back up.”

“We have to fuckin’ try.”

“Can’t… feel anything.”

“Jesus, think of Y/N. Think of your kid, Ghost,” Soap finally sputters out. He’s been trying his damned hardest not to think of you, nor the swell of your stomach that he noticed the last time he saw you. He worried he might fall apart if he did; he couldn't get them to help if he was broken.

“Tha’ is what… I want,” Ghost’s eyes dig shut. “To think of ‘em. So… don’t waste my time.”

A final order from his superior. One that travels through broken glass and shuddering ribs. The sunlight dips behind a grey cloud and they’re left together in this moment of gloom where time seems to slow down, two souls stuck in tar, and all Soap can do is obey his partner’s wishes.

Because he knows; they both know.

“Alright,” Soap mutters with a swallow of acceptance. He drops the roll of gauze. Moves a hand back to the bullet wound, presses it in vain, and nods his head. “Talk to me ‘bout them, Simon.”

Simon.

Ghost hears it. His real name.

A weak hand tugs off his mask. Underneath lays a face that his comrade has only seen once or twice before. Somehow, this face looks more like a ghost than the skull he'd ridden himself behind. A face with eyes that open in hollow, uncharacteristic fear. A face with pale lips that can move only enough to let out slurs.

"M'gonna have a son," Simon says quietly. Soap sees it now— the dribble of blood at his mouth. "She's... givin' me a son and I won't meet him."

"Jesus, Simon," Soap croaks. He reaches for his hand— holds it as a friend. A forlorn grip that Soap keeps close to his chest. "He's gonna be a good lad, alright?"

“I hope he... stays in school."

"Course, he’s gonna be smart.”

A weak smirk.

"Hope he gets... her looks. Not mine."

"I'm sure he will. She's beautiful, Lt."

"I know. Miss... her." His smirk fades. The notch in his throat trembles and bobs. Fear shakes out a whimper from him. "Wanna see her again, Johhny."

It seems only fitting, with his blood dripping onto the sleet, that the truth of him would drip out, too. A man rumored to be a beast lays here, whittled down to the version of himself only you ever got to see.

A version of himself that was afraid to die.

After years of aching for death's company, it has finally arrived. A reaper coming to collect him only after he'd changed his mind. For Simon ached for something else now: for you, for his family. He ached to come home and bury his face in your hair. He ached to touch his hands to your stomach and feel the fluttering kicks of life.

He ached to live.

And his comrade, with drying lips and salt in his eyes, could see this ache in each of his struggled breaths.

"Talk to me 'bout her, Simon," he begs, gripping his drenched shirt. "Somethin' good. Somethin' you love."

"Everythin'," his Lieutenant shudders. He doesn’t feel the pain or the cold. He just feels lingering adrenaline push out his throat in quiet spurts: “Her hair, her laugh... Fuckin'... hell. Love everythin'. Tell... her fo' me."

"I will."

"Tell her... Johnny. Don't want some," Simon softly wheezes and closes his eyes again. "...some random fuck doin' it."

"Fuck, I will," a wet promise. Soap wipes the salinity on his cheeks. "I'll tell her, Simon."

And soon a dark world begins to breathe into Simon's vision. He used to hang out in the darkness. Your light had gripped him by the shoulders and tugged him out. Now—

It finds him again. Old friends.

-----

A promise arrives at your door.

A solemn, dignified promise arrives with a folded flag, a sealed envelope, and a chain with two metal pendants: a dog tag and a ring. They clank together in his hand. And here, at the doorstep of his Lieutenant's home, a beautiful woman steps out with an unassuming smile and a hand rested atop the curve of her belly, and Soap doesn't even have the chance to say anything before your eyes gather the information you need, and the smile chips away into something horrific.

All you know how to do is scream.

And all Soap knows how to do is grab your hand, like he did for your husband.

[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.

[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.

[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

[ghcstao3]

I dont know if you take requests but?? You had an alive riley family headcanon post with teeen joeseph and man i would really like to see more of that (bonus if theres ghostsoap during it)

i can definitely do that!! (and i also encourage you to check out this drabble from @snootlestheangel that was inspired by the original post. very wholesome stuff)

-

Simon often likes to wonder if Tommy thinks he’s funny for putting his little brother on babysitting duty.

Granted, it’s not exactly babysitting anymore—Joseph’s twelve, for Christ’s sake—but Simon has to know what exactly has Tommy snickering when he dumps the kid on his uncle’s doorstep for the weekend.

Because everything at least starts normal—they set up the extra bedroom, Joseph asks about Simon’s latest missions (all questions replied to with embellished half-truths or flat-out “classified”s, as per usual), they order in for dinner because he’s supposed to be the fun uncle as opposed to the one on Beth’s side of the family.

All of it starts normal. Which has Simon on edge, even if it’s only his pre-teen nephew at the centre of his worries.

It takes a few days before Simon figures it out.

And it’s all because he somehow ends up with his sergeant unexpectedly at his front door, because of course Johnny couldn’t be bothered to call ahead and check it wasn’t one of those rare times Simon was busy while on leave.

So here he is.

Anticipating disaster as Johnny introduces himself to Joseph—both having heard of the other, but no more than in vague statements and short stories and never enough to get a real first impression.

“I’m John,” the sergeant says, friendly enough, “I work with your uncle.”

“John?” To Joseph’s credit, he does sound in some genuine awe, as far as a twelve-year-old can manage. “Woah—like the captain?”

“Uh.” It’s the first time Simon has ever seen Johnny rendered speechless. “Not quite.”

Simon ruffles Joseph’s hair. “He’s not old enough, Jo.”

Joseph narrows his eyes at Johnny. Simon recognizes the cogs turning just too late and is entirely powerless to stop it.

“Well,” Joseph starts, “you look old enough.”

Ah.

“Joseph—“

Johnny snorts, though he does bristle almost imperceptibly—stands straighter, folds his arms over his chest. “‘S’fine, LT. I can take a joke.”

"Can you?" Joseph interjects. The way he tilts his head in that sort of smug way tells Simon exactly why Tommy had been so happy to rid of the kid for a few days.

He's finally reached that age, it would seem.

Johnny frowns down at the kid—though down may be an overstatement, as even at twelve Joseph has surely gotten the Riley height gene—almost with that same sort of analytic look to his face that he wears when disarming particularly complex bombs. Simon gets it; he's just as unequipped to deal with this.

"...I think I can," Johnny says slowly.

This reply appears satisfactory enough to Joseph, being that he nods and marches away to plant himself in front of Simon’s TV until he gets bored.

Because Lord knows Simon has things to discuss with Johnny.

Namely the smart-arse nephew he apparently has to apologize for.

“Right wanker you got on your hands,” Johnny remarks as soon as Joseph is out of earshot. “I’m nae even thirty. Old, my arse.”

“He’s usually well-behaved,” Simon mutters.

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “That so? ‘Cause I ken his uncle and I cannae say the same about him.”

Simon only rolls his eyes, then. Asks Johnny if he plans to stay for dinner because Simon doesn’t have enough ingredients for three, if so.

But it just continues, after that.

When Johnny manages to pull up a team photo because Uncle Simon doesn’t take photos, Simon is lovingly told that it doesn’t make sense anyone is scared of him because his mask looks like a last minute Halloween costume bought at Poundland the night of the 31st.

Then offhandedly Joseph is commenting that Johnny’s mohawk, mildly grown out and unruly as a cause of his own time off, makes him seem like a middle-aged dad trying to reminisce on his days in a failed, mediocre secondary school rock band as a way of mitigating his mid-life crisis.

The list goes on over the next day and a half, and while it’s never anything overly mean, it just… throws the two of them for a loop when this twelve-year-old is randomly insulting the most minute things in between normal conversation. Well-behaved conversation.

Johnny is long gone by the time Tommy returns to retrieve his son, but that doesn’t stop Joseph from blabbering about Uncle Simon’s friend, less-cool John—and isn’t it just so fun for Simon to have to explain his not-just-friendship, but-also-nothing-more relationship situation to his older brother—while also picking on his father’s outfit in the same breath.

The kid’s become an absolute menace.

Simon’s afraid for what thirteen might bring.

[xreaderbooks]

Paradise on Earth (19)

Chapter: 19. Trapped

Pair: JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader

Summary: The hunt for the cross continues as it's stolen from the pogues, y/n and her friends go on a chase to save it, and now Sarah.

Warnings: language, violence, car accidents, kidnapping, not fully proofread

Word Count: 2.5k

Links: Wattpad - AO3 - Playlist

Chapter 18 - Series Masterlist - Navigation - Chapter 20

The next few hours were a blur, everything happened so fast, you couldn’t process it through the tears and anxiety. Pope had fallen, and the cross came soon after- you all successfully dodged it, but as you were figuring out what to do with the cross and how to carry the heavy-ass pure gold cross, Pope had an allergic reaction to the wasps that stung him.

JJ’s cousin Ricky came in clutch giving him a pediatric dose of epinephrine, it had everyone freaking out for a couple half an hour on whether or not he was going to make it. Thankfully he was revived but unfortunately because of how hyped up he was due to the side effects, he insisted and driving and crashing Kie’s dad's truck straight into an oak tree.

So much for him ripping the ears off of everyone inside of the car. 

After everyone safely exited the car John B tried stopping him from getting run over by a semi, you noticed the person driving the truck and the person in the passenger seat as Rafe and Renfield who were driving from the direction of the church.

It was gone.

Pope was pissed as hell but coming back to the church and not seeing that cross there had lit a fire of determination in him. You all went straight to the Chateau for the Twinkie and drove back to the road where the accident happened.

“Oh shit!” Kie groaned. “They found the truck.”

Several police cars blocked off the road where it was, John B had no other choice but to stop as Shoupe approached the van.

“Good evening, Officer,” John B squinted as the cop pointed the flashlight into the car.

“Sheriff,” He corrected.

“Speed kills, huh,” John B joked about the scene of the totaled truck.

“I pulled the tags and I know whose truck that is,” Shoupe pointed the flashlight through the driver's seat window and to the back of the truck where Kie was sitting behind the passenger seat in a ball, hiding from view. “Hey, Kie! You drop your weed pen back there?”

“Found it,” Kie gave Shoupe a thumbs up with a weak smile.

Pope who was behind John B’s seat, spoke up between the headrest and the door, “Sheriff, I just wanna say that this is all my fault. She had nothing to do with this, I take a hundred percent full responsibility.”

“Nothing to do with it, huh?” Shoupe scoffed, “You wanna try that again? Your parents reported the truck missing four hours ago and the keys were missing from the house, I’m taking you home or I can pull you all in for leaving the scene of an accident.”

You exhaled stressfully and rubbed your temples, not one day, not one day without a break.

“I gotta deal,” Kie gave you a ‘save me’ look. You sent her a pitiful smile knowing that it wasn't going to go down well for her. “Hit me up later and make sure I’m still alive.”

The rest of you would have to retrieve the cross without her.

The truck that carried the cross had just pulled up to the Cameron house as the five of you did.

“How much you wanna bet Rafe has the cross inside that truck right now?” Pope comments as you all peer over the concrete wall to get a better look at what was going on.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Sarah walks in the direction of the front gate. John B goes after her and catches her before she’s gone.

“Jesus Christ,” You facepalm and lean your head against the wall. You hear Pope and JJ make their own comments in protest of wasting time for declarations of love.

Pope whispers to him as John B limps back to you, JJ, and Pope with a dopey smile, “Do you want me to perform your vows while you’re at it?”

“Did you say ‘be safe’?” JJ asks.

“Could you take any longer?” You drawl out sarcastically. Part of you was actually bitter about your own love life and part of you was concerned about the time frame for whatever Sarah had planned, “What is she doing?”

You could make out her figure sneaking around the truck and shrugging, you could see barely hear her whisper something about keys. You whisper shout for her to come back but she points to the inside. All of you try signaling for her not to but she goes in anyway.

“I told her not to go inside,” John B says.

“Do the birdcall,” Pope tells him, though you're not sure that would help since she was already through the glass doors.

John B cups his hands around his mouth to make Coo-Coo sound but with his hesitation, it sounded nothing like it was supposed to.

“That is not what a bird sounds like,” You judge.

“You try doing something better then.”

“Too late, dipshit, she’s already inside. Maybe next time I’ll do a detailed demonstration for you.”

“Whatever, I’m going over,” John B uses the strength from his arms to push himself up from the top of the wall but a horn was honking from the street. You turn and see the headlights from a golf cart roll up.

“Uh, excuse me, can I help you?” An old white man with a shotgun stops where the four of you were caught in the act of going halfway up the wall. He cocked the gun and chuckles, “I got double-aught bucks in this thing, so, I can’t miss.”

He steps out of the slow vehicle and warns you all to get off the wall, you slip down it with your hands in the air, anxiety creeping in. What if he called the cops? What if he made you all confront Rafe? What if he shot you?

“Sir, It’s not what it seems,” JJ speaks up beside you.

“You all are on the wrong side of the island.” He keeps the long gun pointed at you as he tells you all to get on your knees, “I think I’m gonna call the police.”

“You don’t have to do that, sir,” JJ pleads calmly.

“I’ll decide for myself what I need to do.”

“Sir, Can I just talk to you for a minute?” You stutter a little nervously, there was a chance he would believe a girl more than he would the boys, so you would have to fabricate a story. “Just to explain.”

You get up from your knees slowly, John B tugged at your flannel but you ignored him. “I know what this looks like, but I promise this is all a misunderstanding. We look like some derelict kids from the cut but we weren’t that to Mr. Cameron, he gave me and my brother a job, I did some housework for him and his wife, and my brother did some yard work along with my boyfriend, and our friend. See I’m just going along with their plan to get an associate of theirs, s-some row flowers for his memorial.”

He lets his gun falter, “Now why are you three boys letting this poor girl do all the talking?”

JJ struggles to get himself up from the kneeling position as you back up into his place, “Sorry, sir, you’re right. She’s right, we’ve just had such a hard time dealing with his death-”

You tune out the story he tells the old man who let his guard down with every lie that slipped out of his mouth. In the time JJ came up with a ridiculous tale about where the flowers you were all going to ‘plant for Mr. Cameron’ came from and why it was relevant, Sarah had still not come back. You were getting antsy but you couldn’t let it show in front of the man that was eating up JJ’s lie.

“You smell that right?” JJ asks the man.

He sniffs, “What is that, night-blooming jasmine?”

“No, that’s more like,” JJ thinks about it for a second, he knows nothing about flowers or plants. “Natural Viagra.”

Your eyes widen, “Okay!”

The boys beside you try to get JJ to stop now but the old guy seemed genuinely interested which concerned you more.

“One sniff and bam!” JJ claps his hands, “It’s hammer time you know what I’m saying. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Your jaw drops, one of his arms goes around your shoulders pulling you closer and the other leads the man to his golf cart, like a couple walking out the last guest from a dinner party. John B grabs your wrist and pulls you from under JJ.

“We’ll be quiet, alright, and we’ll finish up here. I’m so sorry to bother you.”

“See that you do,” He seats himself back into the cart and drives off muttering to himself. “I gotta get myself some of that.”

Once he was out of view, JJ hops over the wall, “Let’s go.”

“What the fuck,” You whisper to yourself.

“What the fuck was that for real,” John B helps you climb over before going himself. The four of you hide behind the bushes trying to get a peek or a sign of Sarah anywhere. Rafe comes out of the same doors Sarah once went in.

John B surges forward only to be pulled back by Pope and JJ. “What do we do then?”

“He might have the gun so what’s in our favor?” JJ snaps his fingers to think, “The element of surprise, that’s what’s in our favor right now.”

“He’s leaving, there's not much you can do there,” You tell them. Pope whispers something and seconds later he’s running after the truck and jumping onto whatever he can grab on. “Has everyone lost their minds?”

“We got the house now that Rafes gone, let's storm the fort.”

Noise from the front door caught your attention, Rose and Wheezie had Sarah’s arms around their shoulders. If Sarah wasn’t moving they must have done something to her to knock her out.

“Let’s go!” John B shouts at you and JJ, running after Rose’s car.

“This is so fucked,” You run to the Twinkie to follow after them because there was no way they were going to get Sarah out. John B and JJ were running back as you slowed down for them to get in.

~~~

The sun rose for the next day as John B tailed Rose’s car to where they loaded up ships with cargo. You parked in a semi-discrete area and snuck behind the slow-moving semi that stopped for a security check.

While the guard was busy talking to Rafe, you, JJ, and John B snuck through the metal gate and weaved through large materials meant to fix or be put on the ships. You hide behind some large rusted metal thing that you couldn’t name, watching Rafe proudly talk to the other guys around him.

“God, I hate that guy,” JJ exhaled.

You shifted your attention to where Rose’s car was parked, Sarah was being brought out of the car.

“JJ, we gotta come up with a plan,” John B anxiously stares at the boy. Once again, it was you three alone, probably the worst trio combined. JJ with his plans, John B with the follow-through, and you with the backup in case anyone (meaning either of them) needed it.

“I know, I’m working on it. If we get over to that barge, we go over, we’ll have to get into the water though.”

“That’s fine,” John B replied.

“Then we’re gonna be sitting ducks.”

“It’s like you say you’re thinking but then what comes out of your mouth has no thought behind it at all.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to get it approved by you first, princess.”

“Apology not accepted, you’re plan sucks, and Sarah’s gonna die,” You clutch your head. “How about-”

“Howdy,” A feminine voice comes up randomly behind you and you almost jump out of your skin.

“Holy shit, girl I almost bitch slapped you to yesterday!” Your hands that were clutching your head were now on your chest. You hug Kie in relief at seeing her alive and present despite the shit her parents gave her.

She chuckled, “Had you scared shitless.”

“How’d you guys find us?” You saw Pope come from the same place she did.

“Geo-located your phone.”

“Smart.”

Observing the state of Pope, John B asked what happened.

“Rafe, Round 3.”

“You freaking kidding me?” JJ grabs Pope to face him but he moves out of his hold.

“This was a tie, is that the cross?”

“Yep, they’re holding Sarah hostage,” John B informs Pope and Kie of the new development.

“We gotta get on that boat, but first we gotta get past the goon squad.”

“Okay, come on,” John B waves over for everyone to follow him but there was no plan. Pope doesn’t move from his spot.

“I have an idea, just trust me.”

John B tries to stop him but Pope reassures him that he’ll meet up with the group after. You just hoped he didn’t get caught in whatever he was planning but then again Pope was smart, he wouldn’t do anything to create attention to himself.

Not a second after you thought about how calculated he was, there was an explosion in the direction where he went. All the crew members bolted to the explosion sight.

“What the hell was that?” You ask Pope who panted from his running.

“That container’s going on the ship, we can get in that way,” He pointed. Thanks to his huge distraction, the path where he was directing you all, was free.

“Poopy, you badass!” You pat him on the shoulder, hyping yourself up to make a run for the said container.

At the entrance of the metal box, JJ pauses, “Did we think this through?”

Pope nods assuredly, “Yes, this is the plan.”

“That’s a trap right there, you see that right?” He points to the container that Pope already climbed on, “We can’t get out once we get in.”

Now that JJ was mentioning it, he was right. This container was going on a ship, God knows where, if you got caught it could be jail time or whatever the punishment was for sneaking onto a ship illegally. Not to mention if Rafe or Rose found you, that would be an execution itself.

“You guys don’t have to come,” John B has a hand on JJ’s shoulder and a hand on yours.

“Right, this is our fight,” Pope agreed.

Doubt clouded your loyalty, but you shook it away. Your friend was on the ship, your brother was going, and Pope needed the support to get the cross. It wouldn’t be fair to leave them now after all you had been through together.

JJ looks to Kie, “Nothing to lose?”

“Nothing to lose.”

John B climbs into the container, Pope helps Kie in.

“All in?” JJ climbed into where Pope once was and reached out a hand for you to take. You slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you up.

Your bodies almost colliding from the momentum of you coming up, your faces inches apart in a second your eyes flicker to his lips, “All in.”

“Y/n, JJ, let’s go!” John B shouts. The sound of heavy footsteps that were no doubt the crew member returning to their posts. You and your friends hide at the very end of the container, behind the dozens of stacked crates.

You saw the sunlight fade as the worker closes the container shut.

~~~

One more chapter to go til season 2 is complete!!

Chapter 20

Taglist:

@jbassettjmaybank - @deanwherescas - @thtbwltts - @nerdypartytrashpsychic - @random-girl-army - @wisegirlies - @instabull - @sexyfoxlady - @bubs-world - @sdawn03 - @mendesclines - @obx-pogues-4-life - @mentalforfics - @p-prettybitch - @namacissi - @dczedhee - @inkandpen22 - @royalavenger - @ayeitsjustmee - @80strashbag - @onlyangel-444 - @freds-slut - @poppet05 - @itsjuststaticnoises - @ahnneyong - @lovepizza567 - @jasminfelling - @rana03 - @loki-loveer - @rana030 - @lostinatimeline - @boldlypessimistic - @clinelyn - @a-j-stuffs - @yunhobug - @syd223sworld - @strawberry--fawn - @mysticalavenuecheesecake - @itsmytimetoodream - @natashtessabeth12 - @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles

(If your name is crossed that means tumblr wont let me tag you)

[livwritesstuff]

ok you heathens here's the full hopper&steve 'okay dad 🙄' fic bc y'all liked this post so much

snippet below the cut

“Oh, because every girl who’s into dudes is into you? A little cocky, are we, Harrington?” Eddie grins.

Steve grins even wider, “I dunno, Eddie, you tell me.”

The smile on his face and the way his eyes keep darting to Eddie’s lips tell a pretty overt story of exactly how Steve would like for him to do that, but –

“Your sister’s in the next room, man, I don’t–”

Steve makes a face.

“Obviously we’re not gonna, like, do anything. That’d be so fuckin’ weird, but we can just, like, make out a little, I dunno. That’s just as good to me.”

And Eddie has to fight the urge to gape at Steve like an idiot because what does he mean making out is as good as sex? Eddie had known Steve was a romantic at heart but Christ alive was Eddie not at all prepared for exactly how revealing this night would be.

“C’mon,” Steve continues, “Why’d you even come over then?”

Again, Eddie has to fight the urge to argue that point of his, because why did he agree to come over if he really thought nothing was gonna happen? How can he explain that there’d been a voice in his head urging him to take Steve up on the offer purely for an excuse to spend time – any kind of time – with the guy he’d sworn up and down would only ever be a hook-up.

He can’t, obviously.

“Fine,” Eddie sighs as he lets Steve pull him up onto the bed. He acts all resigned about it too, like he’s doing Steve a favor even though Eddie would be lying through his damn teeth if he tried to say he disagreed with Steve’s whole thing about making out.

On the contrary, he’s learning these days that there’s just as much intimacy in kissing as there is in sex – if not much more. Eddie has had his fair share of hook-ups with a partner who refused to kiss him because it’d be taking things too far. Not Steve though. Steve’s got nothing but enthusiasm as he hauls Eddie up onto the bed, one hand slipping under the hem of his t-shirt, the other curving around the back of his neck as he tugs Eddie forward and collides their lips together. No, he’s nothing but alacrity as he licks into Eddie’s mouth, his hands roaming wherever they can reach, and it’s not like Eddie’s not into it, so he has no trouble matching Steve’s enthusiasm, the kiss turning sloppy and wet, and Eddie grabbed low on Steve’s waist, basically the hinge of his thigh, because he knows Steve likes when he does that, and he dislodges the hand Steve has beneath his shirt and pins it above his head because he knows Steve likes that too.

Eddie lets himself get lost in the kiss, in the way Steve’s free hand is tangled up in his hair, and his hips are stuttering up against Eddie’s thigh every now and then, and while Eddie’s not grinding against Steve, per se, they’ve definitely got a rhythm of something going on, and so Eddie really has no idea they’re being interrupted until someone is shouting, “Hey!” and suddenly Eddie is being shoved off of Steve

[wikitpowers]

Sending you my wildest TWP headcanon just because I can! (Heh.)

Picture this. Kit with gold wings. Gets revealed in the wildest way ever. In a fight, when there are too many demons or faeries or other magical foes to defeat and he and Ty are running while simultaneously trying to come up with a plan of action, Ty is calculating a way to survive that situation with most (all?) of their limbs intact, butKit isn't really listening to what Ty is saying, and then suddenly, he just sorta veers off-course, in the direction of a cliff, and Ty says as much, but Kit just pushes him out of the way, into safety, shouting, "Trust me, I know what I am doing!" and when Ty tries to shout at him to stop, Kit just says, "I'm sorry," and then fucking jumps off the cliff, and then, yep, you guessed it, after a moment, he flies back up, angel's wings sprouting out of his back, except they're gold instead of white, and Ty realises he wasn't sorry for trying to kill himself (because that was how it looked at the moment), but for keeping that part of who he was a secret.

Anyway, since I have appropriately embarrassed myself by sharing this, what is your wildest TWP headcanon? If it's more than one, make a list!

yes this reply is very much overdue i am so so sorry it took me so long to respond!!! BUT JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY WHAT THE HELL IS THIS THEORY???! I AM TOTALLY NOT OKAY! that would be so freaking angsty and just [screams at the top of my lungs]

kit revealing that he's the first heir in this way would be fucking crazy and i just know that the moment kit jumps off, ty's heart would be pounding in his chest and he’d genuinely away to jump into the unknown after kit but then kit would fly up, like a bloody god and ty’d stare at him, mouth open with shock and confusion but really he's just grateful that the love of his life is okay, that he's safe and alive <3

personally, my wildest hc for twp would probably be hmmmm.... idk if it's wild but i think it would be fucking hilarious if we got a crackhead!lucifer like i want him to be terrifying and for him to be the spookiest villain but also for him to whip out dad jokes here and there and just be an absolute menace bc he’s the d e v i l :') it's not a super wild theory just something i think would be funny to read hehhehe

[maculategiraffe]

okay spoilers for the little girl who lives down the lane (1976) but here's what had happened: this little girl's dad was terminally ill and her estranged mom was abusive and her dad was worried that when he died she would either go back into the care of her abusive mom or into the foster system. so he was like okay honey listen. you're a smart girl, you got a good head on your shoulders. here's what we're gonna do. we lease a house, the rent's paid up for the next three years. I'll leave you a big pile of traveler's checks in a safe deposit box in the bank, joint account with both our names on it where you're authorized to make withdrawals. I'm going to check tide charts and then go drown myself in the sea so they'll never find my body. and you just pretend I'm still alive to everybody in town so they won't bother you for the next three years until you're old enough to (unclear. not need a legal guardian? I don't know what the emancipated minor laws were in 1976 but they keep saying three years like that's the magic timeframe so whatever. she is thirteen so I guess when she's sixteen she's officially a grownup). and if your mom comes sniffing around just put a spoonful of powder from this little jar in her tea and then read this textbook on home embalming. good? good. okay I love you I'm going into the sea now

which is all fine and good. now here are the dumbshit mistakes her stupid father made:

-chose, for the location of the house, a nosy small town where everybody knows everybody and everybody is all up in everybody's business all the time. it takes two seconds for the landlady to be like I never see you or your father at the market. I get he probably doesn't want her living in a big city (although, why? good public transport, good cultural opportunities, libraries, museums) but at least pick a place that has more than one grocery store

-chose, for the landlady, a nosy obnoxious anti-semitic old bitch who is on the school board and also has an adult son who is a known child molester. have like ONE conversation with the townspeople before you sign this three year lease. literally anyone in this town would tell you about this old bitch and her molester son if you gave them half a chance

-speaking of the school board why is part of the plan that your daughter doesn't go to school. sure she's super duper smart and special but aside from depriving her of a major source of automatic social support not going to school immediately makes her look suspicious and (depending on truancy laws in 1976) possibly puts her in the wrong side of the law. just let her go to school like a normal kid and then come home and teach herself quantum physics in the evenings

-doesn't teach her the slightest bit of common sense self defense. like if it was me I'd teach her to shoot and give her a nice little lightweight handgun of her own but if you don't like that idea then at least teach her to keep the door on the chain and not open the door after dark no matter who knocks. and for christ's sake warn her about halloween

-ya dingus

-come back out of the sea and explain yourself at once

-anyway little jodie foster is fantastic and so is her little manic pixie dream boyfriend and so is his check suited cop uncle. great movie but the father is a dingus