#starts talking about divorce in relation to me moving out

[lilgynt]

i sent my mom a text like maybe a sentence asking if she could turn off her alarms that go off when she’s already gone pls - she responded back with a paragraph and a half cussing me out 😍

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter I: The Chain 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Three months after leaving him, your inevitable reunion with your soon-to-be ex-husband Aemond isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, possessive Aemond, depictions of anxiety, allusions to smut

Word count: 3000

A/N: Edited and done, please enjoy 🩵 Thank you my love @theoneeyedprince for giving this a look-through for me 🫶

Breathe.

In. Hold three seconds. Out. Hold three seconds. In. Hold three seconds. Out.

You haven’t been able to eat anything all morning, far too nauseous to keep even a piece of toast down.

The breathing exercise your therapist had taught you does little to help you calm down.

You’ve felt anxious before, but rarely this intense.

It’s so physical.

You feel it in your stomach turning, chest contracting, hands tingling, head spinning.

You knew you’d have to meet him sooner or later.

Afterall, you’d both decided to stay in the band. You’d just started to gain traction, embarking on your first ever tour across the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

A once in a lifetime opportunity for an up-and-coming band.

Still, knowing that didn’t make it easier to turn the handle of the door and walk into the studio.

Knowing he’ll be there.

You hadn’t seen your husband, Aemond, in over three months now.

Soon to be ex-husband.

You’d honestly expected the process to be speedier; you hadn’t demanded anything from him, the only thing important to you was that you kept all legal rights you had in relation to the band; the rights to your songs. And he hadn’t really given any conditions himself, yet his solicitors took ages contacting yours.

That’s all you’d heard from him over the summer. Updates from your legal advisers about his.

You’d blocked his number after leaving the divorce papers at your shared flat and moved out, tired of your phone overheating from the amount of times he’d tried calling you.

In the end, Alicent, your mother-in-law, had phoned you, begging you to please meet with her son and talk it out. You told her that you’d already talked plenty and there was no point in continuing indulging in pointless discussion. You’d always gotten along well with Alicent, so having her call you to do her son’s bidding felt so unbelievably awkward. He’d always been such a mama’s boy.

With one final, shaky exhale, you turn the handle of the door and push it open, stepping into the hallway.

With the door ajar, you can hear chatter from the studio.

Everyone’s already here.

Good, then you’d just have to suck it up and face them. Like ripping off a band-aid; only painful for a second.

You spot Helaena first. She gives you a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and straightens up slightly.

You’d met her a few times in the last months; brainstorming song ideas and recording vocals together in the studio.

Besides playing the piano, she wrote songs and sang for the band, just like you and Aemond. She hadn’t asked you anything about him, which you were thankful for. You know she’s anxious about how the dynamic in the band will shift now that the two of you have separated. And her anxiety materialises in the way she starts picking at her nail beds as soon as she sees you emerge through the door.

Next to Helaena sits Jace, who plays bass for the band. He gives you a half-hearted smile, accompanied by tense shoulders and a murmured greeting.

Across the table from him is Erryk, drummer and the newest addition to the band. He seems to not sense the tension that hangs heavy in the room and smiles at you until his eyes crinkle.

His obliviousness almost makes you laugh. It nearly manages to cut through the uncomfortable tension, until your eyes travel to lock with the last person in the room.

You knew that Aemond wouldn’t cause a scene and act infuriatingly indifferent towards you.

You knew that he’d give you a nod and get straight down to business.

Still, you feel a sliver of satisfaction when your predictions turn out to be true.

“So, everyone’s done with recording their parts?”, he asks the room.

He’s already pulled out his laptop, quick fingers typing as he waits for confirmation.

Though the tense atmosphere never really leaves the room, you all collectively try to power through as you discuss how recording went and what else needs to be fixed before the album is ready.

Due to your and Aemond’s separation, and the tumultuous events leading up to it, the band had agreed that everyone would record their vocals and instruments separately; putting everything together in production later. This had slowed down the process significantly, resulting in you being far from done with the album your label wanted you to release at the end of the month.

“As you know, the label isn’t too pleased with the fact that we haven’t finished the album yet-”, Aemond says, eyes still on the screen of his laptop; both his seeing eye and the unmoving one covered by a layer of white mist,

“-But they’ve asked us if we’d be willing to perform some new songs during the tour, to boost sales and get the hype up”

His voice is stoic, every utterance straight to the point. You sit on his blind side, with Helaena between your chair and his, and you take the opportunity of knowing he can’t clearly see you to examine him, searching for any changes since you last laid eyes on him, when his knuckles were bloody and panic reflected in his lilac eye.

He looks exactly like he always does; infuriatingly handsome.

His long, silvery hair hangs loose over his shoulders. His long eyelashes cast down as he inspects the screen of his laptop. His aquiline nose slopes beautifully to meet his perfectly pouty lips, begging to be kissed-

Fuck, stop!

Truth be told, you’d put extra effort into looking your best today, spending an hour on doing your makeup and picking out the perfect outfit. Hopefully you’d succeeded in making it appear much less intentional than it was, suddenly feeling a flash of embarrassment wash over you.

Why do you care what he thinks anymore?

The meeting goes on for another hour. The band’s manager, Tyland Lannister, joins in after 20 minutes, briefing the band members on the upcoming tour. Opening night’s in one week, on Dragonstone, and you’ll all fly out the morning of the show.

As the members of the band prepare to leave the studio, the tension that had previously felt so crushing is now only lingering in the periphery.

Jace and Erryk talk excitedly about all the places they’ll visit during the tour; what they wanted to eat and what they wanted to see. For a second it almost feels like things are back to normal, like the last three months never happened.

As everyone makes their separate ways home, you spot Aemond walk up to a black car and quickly jump in the passenger seat.

Your stomach turns.

You only see a flash of her black hair before the car drives away. The mask of indifference you’d put on cracks slightly at the sight of them together.

You wanted the divorce, idiot.

It still hurts seeing him move on though. He’d done it so quickly; uncharacteristically so.

The first week after you’d left, he blew up your phone trying to get a hold of you.

Despite his inexcusable behaviour, there had been times when you felt guilty for leaving him so abruptly. Even though you knew he deserved it, you also knew that leaving him and refusing to talk to him would drive him insane. What you hadn’t expected was that he’d go and get a new girl a mere week after Alicent had called you.

Seeing them together in real life made you feel exactly as you did when your friend Alysanne had sent you the link to the 30 second video two and a half months ago.

Nauseous.

The video showed Aemond getting out of a taxi in front of a new and chic Braavosi bistro downtown. It was opening night and a few local news sources were there to report. One of the journalists had recognised Aemond, clearly intrigued by the fact that the still-married bandman rounded the taxi and offered his hand to a beautiful dark-haired woman stepping out. As they walked towards the entrance, the reporter chased them down, microphone in hand and cameraman in tow.

“Aemond Targaryen? Already moving on after the separation I see?”, the reporter half-shouts behind Aemond to get his attention.

His date turns around in response to the comment, smiling as her emerald gaze observes the reporter. The news of your separation had been speculated on a few minor fansites after someone leaked an email from your solicitor's office, but neither you nor Aemond had made any statement about it.

He wasn’t planning on giving one now either, unimpressed eye giving the reporter a once-over before huffing in amusement and gesturing for his date to follow him inside.

The reporter, set on getting an answer from the rising star, chuckles before forcefully shoving the microphone in Aemond’s face,

“Women come and go, is that the case?”, he presses with a cheeky wink.

Aemond huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, something like that”, he says, wrapping his arm around his date’s shoulders as he leads her into the restaurant.

You’d later learn that the date from that night was his new manager, Alys Rivers.

Funny how he’d gotten a manager to handle his possible solo work.

Six months prior, when you’d been approached by a talent scout asking if you’d ever thought of doing solo stuff on the side, Aemond had been absolutely livid. After giving the agent a few well-chosen words, he had stormed off, leaving you upset and confused.

It was ultimately his jealousy and possessiveness that broke your marriage, getting to a point where you felt like you couldn’t be with him any longer. Neither as a lover nor a friend.

Now, the only place he can take in your life is as your bandmate; business partner, and nothing more.

You’d seriously considered leaving the band when you decided on leaving him. Still, somewhere deep inside you can’t shake this feeling that what your band has is something unique; something you won’t find anywhere else.

You and Aemond had started the band with Helaena right around the time you’d first met.

The three of you quickly bonded over your shared vision of what kind of music you’d like to make. On top of that, your voices sounded so good together, Aemond providing structure with his precision while you focused on conveying raw emotions.

So you decided to stick it out, work with your ex-husband in order to make the music that you wanted.

You’re an artist. All artists suffered for their art, right? You’d just have to suck this up and get on with it; continue to create art. And the pain would be worth it.

Besides, truth be told, you’d never met anyone quite as talented as Aemond. You’d never met anyone else who understood the music you wanted to create quite like he did.

When it came to music, you two almost had a telepathic connection. As someone who relies a lot on intuition and ‘that feeling in your gut’, you found it hard to describe music and your visions for it in general. But with Aemond you never needed to; he understood. Two minds wired the same.

Unfortunately, that wordless communication only stretched as far as music.

You think back to one of the last conversations you had before you left him.

You’d tried to confront him about his temper and inability to keep his jealousy in check, and he’d promptly ignored you; defaulting into shutting you out.

Exhausted, you resorted to the only solution you could come up with.

“Maybe we should spend some time apart, let things cool down a bit”, you try, purposefully making your voice as gentle as possible.

Aemond, who’d been staring out the window of your apartment in contemplative rage, quickly turns to face you, expression impassive but one eye furious.

“If you want some ‘time apart’ you might as well get on with it and leave”, he says, voice chilly. Sometimes when he’s angry, he sounds so hateful it hurts your heart.

“What do you want me to do Aemond?”, you reply, patience running thin as anger overcomes you, “You don’t allow me to live my life, you hinder any chance of growth I have-”,

“Growth!? What else do you need?”, he spits back. “Do you understand what it means to be married to someone? I do fucking everything for you, you’re my wife!”

“Sure, chain me to our marriage. Keep me shackled to you forever, that’s what you want, isn’t it? While you fuck around town, relishing in the freedom you never allow me”

Your agitated voice matches his. You know your words will hurt him.

Aemond exhales loudly. His jaw’s shut tight and misty gaze piercing. He has a tendency to shut down during fights, especially when he doesn't have a snide remark waiting at the back of his mind.

Aemond’s eyes, locking yours in a death stare, narrow,

“So you want out?”

The flight to Dragonstone goes by in a flash, and after a quick soundcheck at the venue, the five members of Dragon Dreamers start getting ready for the show. 

You and Helaena do your usual routine of getting ready together, checking each other’s makeup and hair.

As the venue starts to fill up, the band gathers backstage, quickly running through your set one last time. You try to shoot a covert glance at Aemond, but he immediately finds your eyes. As always, he looks impeccable.

“Since we’ve finished ‘The Chain’ in production, I suggest we play that as our opening number tonight. It’s fast-paced and will get the crowd moving”, Aemond states, looking at his bandmates for approval.

They all nod knowingly, catching you by surprise.

“I’m not sure I’m familiar with ‘The Chain’”, you say, trying to sound neutral though you suspect he chose a song you don’t know on purpose.

“It’s the one you did some backup vocals on in the studio”, Aemond replies, throwing you a quick look, “Me and Helaena can sing the verses and you can join in during the chorus”, he offers, moving to pick up his guitar, signalling that he’s done with the conversation.

Great, first song on opening night and you’ll stand there like a deer in headlights.

You sigh quietly and grab your tambourine. If you’re not going to sing you’ll at least try to join in by jamming a bit to the beat. Only one thing echoes in your mind,

Don’t let him get to you!

‘The Chain’ starts playing. Steady drums beat in a slow rhythm as Aemond plays a bluesy melody on his guitar, and you realise that it is one of the songs that you and he had worked on when you were still together.

Last time you heard it, you had worked out the melody, but not really pinned down the lyrics. Aemond must’ve taken it upon himself to finish it, completely steering away from the direction you thought the song would take.

‘Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise’

Why haven't you heard anything about this new edit?

A chill runs down your spine.

Has he re-written it to be about you?

‘Run in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies’

Yes he has.

You and Aemond got married at sunrise by the Hightower summer house in Highgarden in June two years ago.

Aemond had proposed to you only five weeks prior, and being so in love that you couldn’t possibly imagine being separated for more than 15 minutes, you decided to tie the knot as quickly as possible.

You just wanted to be his.

That had been one of your fondest memories together; a small ceremony that was only yours.

Now, it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Memories rotting from within.

You hate it. You don’t want to think about that now.

Damn him. Damn his love. Damn his lies.

‘And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again’

‘I can still hear you saying, “you would never break the chain”’

As he sings, he sounds so angry, his voice is almost foreign to you.

He usually tries to keep his emotions in check, even when performing. Probably too scared to be vulnerable enough to let people know he actually has feelings, you reckon.

You remember the song and the rapid pace it picks up. Trying to ignore what you think is Aemond staring at you from the side of the stage, you dance and sing to the song about your heartbreak.

You let the music consume you as you work the tambourine, dancing and spinning, trying to relish in the feeling of knowing your band had made a killer song.

The audience is loving it. You have never heard them this rowdy before, and you can see the entire venue dancing.

You keep going, trying to distract yourself so your gaze won’t travel to Aemond.

He had played a rough first version of the guitar solo he wanted to incorporate in the song for you when you were still together. It really was phenomenal, fitting perfectly with the climax of the song.

He’s an insanely skilled guitarist, never missing a note and always instinctively knowing exactly what melody will match the feel of a song.

The audience is loving it, screaming and dancing with you.

Feeling braver and with the adrenaline from the performance running through your veins, you come up to your mic and sing along with Aemond and Helaena, chanting in unison.

The three of you sound good, like you always do.

The realisation gives you comfort; there’s still hope for your band.

‘Chain, keep us together’

‘Running in the shadows’

You can do this.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 🫶

[merlinssassybeard]

'Ex' husband Gojo - Is that it?

Tags- angst, cheating, bad mental health of reader

Synopsis- Gojo and reader both wish to talk for the first time after deciding on a legal separation. Will they finally succeed in clearing the miscommunication? Or will their ship drown into the depths of the ocean?

The Aftermath- 02 // series masterlist

26th December 2016 || 01.58am

Satoru finished all of his missions in Seoul way out of pre scheduled time.

His schedule was designed such a way that he was supposed to finish all of it by 30th December so he could host the prestigous New Year's Event alongside his wife as the Head of The Gojo Family.

But Gojo was just not himself.

Ever since things got bad between you two, its as if Satoru lost a part of himself. He hasn't been the same since then...

Principal Yaga, the only person who sees The Satoru Gojo, as a spoiled brat but a soft hearted kid, had noticed the difference in his former student's change in demeanor and he was worried.

The principal knew something is amiss in Satoru's life. What he didn't knew was his former student is facing the same situation as himself. Divorce. The moment principal Yaga got to know about it, he knew he can't give any advice regarding marriage since he's himself a divorcee.

Gojo had been continuously doing missions, one after the other without any breaks in between. He had been keeping himself busy to not think about you.

He had deleted your number.

Deleted your pictures.

Removed every single sign of you from all round him in the two months. He didn't want a single thing related to you lying around him.

He hates the thought of you

He hates you to the core

"You want to get away from me y/n? I'll show you the way!" Satoru would think.

It angered him so much to think that he was so stupid to let his walls down and be vulnerable for once in his life.

Satoru, for once, had thought his life maybe wasn't all that dull afterall when you lit it up with your presence. You were his one and only weakness. He thought, maybe you did see him as a just tall and lanky guy who makes terrible jokes.

But none of his hate is real. All this hatred is just a facade of a husband who just yearns to fix everything with his beloved wife, doesn't matter what.

And that is why Satoru's pride couldn't hold him down after what he said...

"this will be the last time you see me"

After he came back to Tokyo, he headed for your Estate again after midnight just to see you, making sure you're alright.

He was hesitant when he reached the house at around 2 am in the morning.

Satoru didn't wanted to let everyone in the house know of his presence so he teleported himself directly in the living room. He headed for the master bedroom, quietly treading through the long empty hallways.

While walking he couldn't feel your presence in the home and it was confirmed when he slid open the bedroom door to an empty bed.

Satoru was quietly seated on the couch while flipping through the pages of an album. He took his glasses off. The pictures were of you and him, all smiles and happy faces. It all came back to him... the memories of his wedding day...

He really had it all didn't he? A loving and faithful wife like you. So where did it go wrong he would ask himself.

He was just sitting there and reminiscing the good times when he heard the bell rang.

Gojo snapped out of his daydreams and placed the albums back in their respective shelf because he knew it was you. He could smell your presence.

You froze right then and there, mouth slighlty agape, hands shivering.

Satoru glanced at you up and down once and then rolled his eyes, which was visible due to his dark shades resting on the bridge of his nose, when he saw your raggedy state and moved away from the door.

You were way too stunned to move an inch. You felt as if moving a single millimeter and Satoru will know about everything.

You entered the house nonetheless.

You looked towards his direction and started your analysis.

He's crouched down (in the living area) and going through the drawers... perhaps looking for something? Also he's in his work clothes so he's definitely not here for long, you calculated.

Surely enough Satoru too felt you gazing at him so he turned his head slightly towards you to take a more brief observation of your current state.

Your entire look, random wet spots on your blue jeans, knee high boots lowered till ankle, hair disheveled, turtleneck poorly tucked in, smudged lipstick and eyeliner, eyes red and swollen. You smell of alcohol and cigarettes. Wedding rings missing from your finger.

'Wow already over me huh!', Satoru wondered and rolled his eyes at you again and turned his head back to pretend he's looking for something all while doing his own analysis of you.

But, there was something wrong. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but there was something about your... scent? It felt different... it smelled like you do after doing- ugh no! How could Satoru think so lowly of you!

You felt offended by his continuous eye rolls at you. So you started clarifying. "I was out with my friends for Christmas."

He didn't reply.

You got even more annoyed, maybe it was because you were still a little drunk and you tried again.

"Just office friends"

"Okay".

You heard him mumble and it was instant.

Oh! What you'd give to hear him speak to you! His angelic voice. Even if you had to start an argument at this late hour, house filled with staff, you will happily do it if it meant you could have Satoru talk to you and you and YOU only!

"So? How is everything? Weren't you supposed to be back on the New year's party?", you started a casual conversation like nothing ever happened. Now that he talked to you, you felt much more relaxed than the last 2 months.

You sat down on the couch with your hands resting on your thighs and kept on thinking whether you should apologize to him for the misunderstanding regarding the divorce thing.

You want to talk to Satoru, you want to let him know that its you! You are the problem and not him. It was you who acted out on impulses. It was you who took the independent one sided decision to have a baby without consenting him first.

Its all you... and thats the reality.

"Sa-Satoru... can we talk?", you mumbled under your breath but it was audible enough for him hear since the shelf is right by the couch.

He didn't reply.

'Talk? Whats there to talk about now?', Satoru thought.

"Satoru i know you can hear me! Please say something!" Now you were a little louder and desperate than before as you shifted yourself to face him, still crouched.

'Y/n's sounds urgent, maybe it is something important? Should i though? I should leave i guess... or maybe we should sit down and talk things through? Wait could it be... that y/n... wants divo- tch really? Ugh women..', Satoru argued himself.

You were annoyed as you kept pleading him to say something, anything! So you got up and placed your warm palm on his broad shoulders.

"Satoru please, please listen to me. I have something important to tell you! I know i should've told you before but-".

"What?". Oh thank heavens! He finally talked! Oh thank god.

But wait... are you really going to tell him... that?! That he was going to become a father but because of two specific reasons, as stated by the doctor herself, he didn't and above that you didn't make him aware of it when you found out.

Now that Satoru was finally all ears, you were in a dilemma whether to tell him or not.

Satoru slowly got up and towered infront of you like a large giant.

He glanced at you up and down once and then said, "so eager for a divorce already that you're not wearing your rings. Is that what it is?". Satoru looked down at his empty own finger, "Well, wouldn't blame you".

"What", you were confused as this taunt came out of nowhere but then you remembered... everything that had happened after you got drunk.

Your eyes widened at the internal realization of what you had done under the influence of alcohol. Your sins just keep piling up, one upon the other. Your hands were shaking. You cheated on Satoru?!

After watching your husband in so long it so happened that you forgot for a brief moment from where you were coming from and the filthy things you had done...

All these went in your head while Satoru stood there watching you, waiting for your reply.

'Tell him! Tell him y/n! Tell him that he was going to be father! He deserves to know even if... it never happened...', your heart shouted.

'Yes y/n. Let it be all out as it is. Its okay, Satoru loves you and the miscarriage wasn't your fault!', your soul shouted.

Yes maybe you should..

"..i.. Satoru-"

'Are you sure y/n? You know you are whore right? You are still married and yet you fucked your office crush in his car. How filthy can you be? Haha!', your mind whispered.

You stopped.

Satoru looked at you. Your head bowed down, he couldn't see your eyes when you mumbled. He was waiting for you to say.

"...Satoru...i .... i was pre-"

Tiinng toonng~~

The bell of the entrance door rang.

You both looked at each other for a moment before Satoru said, "i'll go and see".

Satoru walked past you to head outside of the house to see who was it.

He saw a man standing at the gates of the estate and a car. He walked closer to see the man's one hand was at his waist the other made in a fist.

'Oh isn't it Kenji, y/n's friend? What's he doing at this hour?', Satoru thought.

Kenzo saw Gojo approaching and started sweating. He is absolutely scared and nervous to see Gojo after everything.

A man so powerful and wealthy as Gojo whereas what is he? Just a simple departmental manager at a corporate office with a decent enough salary.

No wonder Kenzo has always been intimidated by Gojo's mere presence (from back when you introduced him to all your friends)

"Ah Mr Gojo sir my sincerest apologies to disturb you at this time! I am so sorry!", Kenzo bowed to Gojo as he came to him.

"Oh.... its no problem. Kenji is it? What is it?", Satoru spoke, tiredly.

Kenzo noticed his tone and bowed down and apologized again and again, subconsciously asking for forgiveness for touching Gojo's wife. "I apologize please forgive me."

Satoru was a little annoyed now. So many apologies for... arriving at his house at 2 in the morning?

"What is it Kenji?"

"Sir, i came to return these", Kenzo opened his fist to hand back two bands, one a large blue diamond and other a plain white diamond band into Satoru's palm.

Satoru looked, 'y/n's rings. Why are they with him?'

"Sir these are your wife's. Mrs Gojo y/n forgot them in my car. My apologies sir.", Kenzo tried to be as formal as he could because he thinks that is how to talk to people of nobility.

"Oh. Okay, I'll give them to her. Nice of you to come all the way here to return these.", Gojo said trying his best not to grill Kenzo with questions about what happened in this Christmas party that she's come back home so disheveled.

Both men peacefully went their directions. Kenzo, his home, extremely elated to get a chance to talk to a person of nobility.

While Satoru walked back into the house, wondering why exactly your rings would be in Kenji's car? And what happened to you at this party? Did you drink to much that you got into a bar fight? Could be, explains a lot.

But Satoru still couldn't put his finger to something which he knows but he doesn't at the same time.

He entered the home and saw you, sitting on the couch, looking devastated with your head in your palms.

He doesn't know whether you noticed him yet or not so he just leaned closer down beside you to place the rings by your side.

But you flinched your head up to look at his face.

You tried to look into his azure eyes but those dark shades of his didn't allow while he looked into your eyes.

It was all quite but then it hit Satoru! He jerked away from you and just stood there for a few seconds.

You wondered what is it he's thinking.

"I'm leaving", is all he said before grabbing his things and going out the door.

.

'That smell... it was Kenji's. Could it be...? No, never y/n wouldn't! But y/n's rings... they were in his car....he said... Is y/n divorcing me... for him..?'

@sindela @whats-humanity-lol @thewickedofrizz @phantasmia @ghostllyyz @yihona-san06 @Enaaneaen @sweet-almond @Angel_🫶🏻@autumn-slaves @wondermilka @hh0peful @kugisakinobarades @witchbybirth @nineooooo @ssc7514 @Hana-patata @blue_spices @haikyuubiggestsimp @urstepmom69 @hueneve @chayunwoo @waosobii @nadzhaf @yoriichiswife @tiltraumadouspart @kirschtein123 @whoisobsessed @Asala @ashthemadwriter @remnirris @svm666 @voidsatoru @staygoldsquatchling02 @dunnowhy-m @nnasv @violetmatcha @dummyf @Noblog @Littledemoness15 @shaiah @iluv-ace @mmeerraa @angellyah @0bakuzan @waxhers @chanelmalandro @shoutobrainrot @angrydaughter @Screw-aebi @asdfghjkl7things @kodzukenwhore @gabile18 @bollockswhy @pelicanpizza @electro-supremacy@Zatannaswifeblog@spam-and-eggs @guenievresworld @b0scuit@aliventboo @marit332 @ieathairs @hells-escapees @no-name222 @itz-stuts

[fanfictilltheend]

❤️‍🔥Violent Heart Part 1: ♪All I've ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you ♫ (or the VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Covict!Joel x Afab!you one)❤️‍🔥

A/n: It's here!!!!!! 18+ Only. This took me 7 freaking months so you mofos better like, reblog, and comment. This is both my most and least personal fic I've ever written and it is dark and relies heavily on plot (no smut until part 2 but i swear it's worth the backstory!!!!) READ ALL OF THE TAGS DO NOT COME FOR ME UNLESS YOU DID THIS FR FR. This ones for my dark joel fangirlies(guys and NBies) and the daddy issues fam ily ❤️‍🔥 (also not me naming my fic in part after hallelujah by leonard cohen but there is a reason!!!!!!!!!!)

Summary: The story starts with Part 1 where afab!Y/N is a child and Joel is her new stepdad and this story explores their relationship. Themes of abusive family, domestic violence, child abuse, daddy issues, physical violence, murder, stepcest (kinda b/c he is divorced from her mom technically but she grew up with him as her stepdad), infidelity, age gap, and more are explored throughout the fic. PLEASE READ SPECIFIC TAGS (part 2 tags will be added with the release of part 2). Part 2 picks up with Y/N at age 20 and how her relationship with Joel has changed and gets steamier. NOTHING SEXUAL OCCURS BETWEEN Y/N and JOEL until Y/N is 20!!!!!!! Also check out this playlist of music that's in the fic!!!!

Tags (PLEASE READ): Afab!you, stepdad!joel, mechanic!joel, convict!joel, no apocalypse au, Mentions of sex (little detail), mentions of male masturbation, infidelity, domestic abuse/violence, sibling abuse/violence (no one ever talks about sibling abuse but it’s very real), physical child abuse, neglect, allusions to past domestic violence, cursing, brief mention of pedophilia and kidnapping (David), allusions to committing future pedophilia (David), threats, cancer mention, Sarah death discussion, Tommy death mention, murder, prison, mentions of god and religion, fights, general violence, alcohol consumption, using music lyrics to move the plot, daddy issues, use of y/n

Word Count: ~15k

PART 2 (coming soon)

Ao3 Link

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

Joel Miller is not a good man, that he knows like the backs of his calloused hands. 

He knows loss too, feels it burrowed in the hollow cavity of his chest. Sees it in the face of every little girl he meets. 

The memories sting. 

He knows pain, deep in the depths of his character, down to the fundamentals of what makes him something that resembles a human being. The belts, the bigger hands, the harsh words, and then the grief. The recent Bring back my babygirl! The ancient ¡Basta, Papí, por favor, no Tommy, no Mamá! ¡Por favor no esta noche! The indignity of begging, always reduced to begging to a cruel man, an indifferent doctor, a cruel universe. 

He knows hard work, how to work with his hands. He knows the grit and grease of labor. Sees the cogs turning in the engines he fixes, relates to them. Feels like he knows them intimately because he is one too, chugging along day after endless day. But no one dares fix Joel Miller.

Until…

Her name is Erica and she’d like her front bumper replaced, please. She has long eyelashes and a soothing voice. And she has money too, at least more than he, who is almost broke from the cost of Sarah’s medical bills. She comes with baggage, Joel can tell from looking into her eyes, but then again so does he. And he hasn’t been laid in god knows how long. 

She takes him on a date and he lets her. She reveals she has two kids, but Joel doesn’t care. They fuck at her place while the kids are at school and she wants it soft, like her hands, and that’s how Joel gives it to her. 

A week later, Joel has moved in, which is good because his rent was due and he couldn’t pay it. He still hasn’t met the children.

***

It’s Joel’s day off and he’s sitting on the couch in his new home. His back hurts, but that’s nothing new. He’s got an excellent view of their nice, big backyard with a wooden fence. The kind of home he would have liked to have given Sarah. He sighs. Technically, nothing is wrong.

Then he sees it. It takes him a second to realize what is going on. It’s a whirlwind. He sees the back gate open and two tumbling forms fall over the threshold onto the manicured grass. One form is bigger, a boy of about twelve or thirteen beating the shit out of a much smaller form, fists flying. The other form is a little girl, no more than eight, defending herself like her life depends on it. Perhaps it does with the way he’s going at her. 

This must be the son, Aiden, and the daughter, Y/N. 

He’s a good boy, really, but he has anger issues sometimes. He’s been through a lot. That’s what Erica said, but Joel does not see a good boy. He sees a bully. A disproportionately violent one at that. Nothing that tiny girl could have possibly done could warrant the brutality he sees before him. 

Anger is something else Joel knows intimately, and that is what he greets when he runs outside to end the fray.

“Stop that!” he roars, pulling Aiden off of Y/N.

“Who the fuck are you!?” the boy screams, fury and hatred radiating off of his entire being. 

He continues thrashing and punching at nothing as Joel restrains him.

“I’m gonna kill her!” he screams, his eyes bulging.

“What the hell happened?” Joel growls, still holding onto the livid boy–verging on young man. 

“She ripped up my paper!” he bellows. “For no fucking reason! I worked hard on it!”

“It was a lie,” she says with so much conviction Joel almost flinches.

He looks down at the little girl, her nose bleeding, her right eye turning purple. She has tears streaked down her face, but she is not crying. Her shirt is ripped. The first thing he thinks of when he sees her is Sarah. Of course it’s Sarah, how could he not think of her? But this little girl is different, has a different look in her eye. This look is much harder and feels like she’s lived a thousand lifetimes. He thanks god Sarah never looked that way, but somehow he wants to hear about everything this little girl has experienced. Something twangs in Joel’s chest that he has not felt in what feels like an eternity. 

“It was not a lie, you stupid bitch whore!” Aiden shouts angrily, still fighting back against Joel’s unrelenting grip. “Take that back!”  

“No, you take it back! Dad is not a hero. You could’ve picked anyone to write about and you choose him? After everything he’s done?” she screams herself.

The sound of her voice is powerful but desperate. Joel feels himself needing to know more and bury himself deep inside her experiences.

“SHUT UP!” Aiden yells, finally ceasing his movements. 

A tear falls from his cheek. 

“If I let you go, will you stop whooping your sister?” Joel snaps firmly.

“Get away from me, you stupid cuck!” Aiden curses, turning his energy to Joel. “Who the hell are you to me? Fuck you! I’m out of here!”

He wriggles out of Joel’s grasp and Joel lets him go and Aiden storms back out the rear gate, slamming it behind him.

“You alright?” he asks Y/N.

Joel crawls over on his knees, still upright, closer to her. 

“Had worse,” she shrugs, running a hand through her messed-up hair. 

She wipes the tears and blood from her cheeks.

Joel shudders to imagine what she means.

“He always like that?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “So you Mom’s new boyfriend?”

“Something like that,” he nods back. ”’M Joel. Joel Miller.”

“I’m Y/N,” she says a bit mournfully. “Here,” she continues suddenly, reaching out a small hand to his cheek. She wipes blood (hers) gently off his stubbly face. “Didn’t mean to get ya dirty.”

Joel is nothing short of touched. He wasn’t even aware he could still have such a feeling. His cheeks go rosy pink. His heart pulses. He stares at her delicate hands and notices a long, thin scar on her left middle finger. 

“‘S no trouble, sweetheart,” he hears himself reassuring her. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Could even mend your shirt if ya want. Know how to sew and all.”

He reaches out a large hand, but she flinches at the sudden movement. A dull ache wells up in Joel’s chest. 

“Not gonna hurt you, honey. Swear it.” 

He wants with every fiber of his being for her to believe him, for it to be true. 

She takes his hand.

***

That evening Erica is still not home, working late Joel supposes. It is nine o’clock when Aiden slinks back into the house.

Joel stops him from making his way up the stairs. He is more than familiar with the art of creeping.

“Think you oughta apologize to your sister,” he says as gently as possible. Maybe he can impart some manners onto this unruly child now that he’s calmed down some. “You beat her real bad. You’re much bigger than her.”

“I’d do it again,” Aiden hisses, his eyes cold. “It makes me feel better.”

And then, to Joel, the answer is simple. What do you do with a bully who won’t repent? Fight him back. Show him who’s boss, who’s bigger.

He grabs Aiden by the arm in a flash of anger and drags him up the stairs. The boy screams and flails, but that doesn’t deter Joel. He brings him to the room he assumes is his, the walls covered in sports posters and memorabilia.

“Take off your shirt,” he growls, a familiar fury pounding inside his chest.

When Aiden protests, Joel does it for him, ripping the kid’s shirt nearly in half. Rage floods through Joel’s veins and he can’t exactly place why, but the feeling is very real and bouldering through him at an alarming speed. He knows this feeling, feels strangely at home there.

He undoes his belt and brings the leather end down on Aiden’s back, not the buckle like his father used to do. Joel does have some decency buried deep in his chest. And then he loses himself to the unyielding anger.

“You get ten,” he snarls. “Don’t you lay a hand on your sister again. Is that understood? Now you answer to me.”

No response except for a scream.

“I said , do you understand?” Joel roars, bringing down the belt.

Rage consumes him like a drug. He barely registers what he’s doing. The belt goes down again and again. And somehow, through the screaming and the pain, and the intoxicating feeling of being completely in control for once, Joel’s line of vision wanders to the bedroom door. In all the excitement, it was left ajar and out in the hallway, sitting on her knees is Y/N. Joel immediately expects fear, despair, revulsion. When Tommy would watch him take a beating his face would betray the most acute sense of hopelessness and terror and the waterworks would begin. But Y/N just stares at him unflinchingly, at what he’s doing. She doesn’t cry, she simply sees. Too much for a child, and yet, she watches. She does not intervene, doesn’t even try to. And for the tiniest moment, her and Joel’s eyes connect, and he feels a sense of calm, of comprehension, of recognition in that uncannily knowing gaze. Her irises sparkle and Joel feels…something that he cannot entirely articulate. Seen? Accepted? Understood? Joel knows logically what he is doing is an ugly, vile thing — he has never claimed to be a good man. Practical maybe, but never good. And yet, Y/N sees it — sees him — and she doesn’t look away. She cocks her head slightly, and images of Tommy grimacing in revulsion and fear as Joel mercilessly beat up their childhood neighborhood bullies to the point of unconsciousness pop into his mind, of the haunting look in his brother’s eyes. Even Sarah could not stomach his violent heart when she witnessed him beat up some pervert with a camera that had looked at her funny at the mall. Even though it was for her — to keep her safe. She had stared at him in disgust and pity. She had not seen him then at all.

But now, looking at Y/N, for the briefest moment, Joel can swear he sees something resembling a smile flicker over her serious face. And though it goes as quickly as it comes, he feels the familiar sensation gnawing at the bottom of his stomach: primal and untameable, soft and vulnerable, but fierce and loud at the same time. He feels an inexorable, inescapable sense of care and devotion to this child. But most of all, because she sees him, truly sees him, and does not turn away in disgust, Joel Miller feels the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love deep in his chest. For the first time since Sarah died on that hospital bed, weak and unwell from the chemo he could not afford, he feels alive . 

***

Things fall into a tentative routine. Every morning, Joel wakes up in bed beside Erica. They fuck the night before more often than not, but always in that same slow way that doesn’t do much for Joel. It’s enough to get off, sure, she isn’t an unattractive woman, but he’s mostly there for the meal ticket and roof over his head. He goes to work at the auto-body repair shop, Erica goes to her job at her law firm. The kids ride the bus to school. He gets home in the evenings before Erica and spends time coexisting with the children. Usually, he kicks back on the sofa, rubbing his sore back, and watches television, minding his own business. Aiden mostly avoids him, doing god knows what in his room. He bullies his sister cruelly and Joel punishes him when he sees fit. Erica knows what he does to Aiden and either doesn’t care or approves. He never lays a hand on Y/N though. She warms up to him slowly, cautiously. Most evenings she sits on the far end of the couch and Joel on the other, but as she gets used to him and sees that he’s not a threat, at least to her, she scoots closer. 

The children’s father is no longer in their lives from what Joel can tell, which is perfectly fine with him. When Joel’s heart does not feel full of lead, he plays the guitar. Y/N sits and watches him. She is a quiet child, but unrelentingly brave. When Joel lets the TV blare, he rarely cares to pay much attention these days, she stays and watches with him, no matter what is on and never complains or asks to change the channel. Blockbuster zombie apocalypse movie? She watches. News special on America’s most dangerous serial killers? She watches. Documentary on venomous snakes? She watches. Should Joel be letting her watch this crap? Who the fuck knows? He isn’t her father. And plus, he won’t admit this to anyone, hardly even himself, but he likes having some company. It makes everything feel…less. And he likes that she doesn’t try to make him speak. Sometimes there are no words and he thinks Y/N understands this. Unlike Erica who yaps every second of the day. But Joel stays polite and plays along. He has to.

But he will not lie, Aiden gets on his very last nerve. There is something that Joel cannot quite place that makes him feel like he has known this boy his whole life even though they are as familiar as perfect strangers. All siblings fight and rough-house. That is normal. Hell, he and Tommy used to fight rough and tumble all the time. But the way Aiden bullies Y/N is something else entirely. And most times, it is unprovoked. And he is so much bigger than she is, growing bigger by the day. 

Joel’s beatings have not stopped Aiden’s anger and sadistic attitudes, but they do make sure that he takes some kind of physical consequence for his crimes. It makes Joel feel better and he thinks it makes Y/N feel better too. And some days he gets so fucking mad at Aiden that he thinks not even god could stop his wrath even if the boy turned into Mother Theresa herself! Okay, maybe that’s extreme, but another part of Joel thinks maybe it’s not. The truth is, though he is loathe to admit it, some days, he is not in control of his anger. Some days he punches so hard, his knuckles bleed and he has to stop for a second to come back to himself. Others he goes so roughly on Aiden that he causes the kid to become bloody and he feels ashamed of what he’s done. But there are other days, very dark days, where he wishes he could do it over and over again. He convinces himself he’s doing it for Y/N and not some other sinister ulterior motive he does not care to dwell on…

One night, a few months into Joel’s new living arrangements, he walks through the upstairs hallway to his and Erica’s bedroom, passing the closed door to the bathroom that the kids share. He has done this what feels like a thousand times before and doesn’t think anything of it until he stops and realizes he hears Y/N singing. 

♪“ Someday, my pain / Someday, my pain will mark / You…”♫ she sings softly.

He can barely hear it over the crash of the water from her shower, but her voice is beautiful. It pulls at Joel’s shrunken heart, deep inside his long-dead chest. Her voice has an eerie quality to it too, almost haunting. He’s not sure of what song it is, but he finds himself wanting to know. Eventually, she stops, and Joel goes to bed, but her voice echoes in his mind for hours as he lies awake in the dark.

The next day, Joel is sitting on the couch when the kids get home from school. Y/N joins him on the other side of the sofa as usual. They watch reruns of some unfunny family sitcom.

“Heard you singing last night,” he finally grunts unceremoniously.

Y/N goes very still.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be quieter next time.”

Joel looks over at her. He realizes she looks terrified.

“Ain’t no problem with it,” he tries to explain, confused. “Thought you sounded nice is all.”

“You tryna trick me?” she stammers, tears collecting in her shimmering eyes.

“What? Trick you? What you crying for, honey? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel is genuinely flabbergasted. 

Tears trickle down her cheeks. What has he done this time? he wonders. But he is concerned more than anything. Hell, he hasn’t seen her cry like this since the day they met. Not even last week when Aiden slammed her head into the metal oven in the kitchen (luckily it was off or Joel would have really killed him that time).  

She sniffles, looking conflicted, then collects herself as best she can manage.

“M-my dad didn’t like when I would sing. ‘Specially if he was in a depo…I forget the word…deponition? Deposition? When he was on the phone for work, I mean. If I was being too loud. Or too shrill. He didn’t like that one bit. He’d get mad…” she trails off. 

“The way Aiden gets mad?” Joel asks very slowly, not truly wanting to know the answer.

“Yeah,” she nods after a while. “Except he’s a lot bigger. And stronger. He…he broke my arm once. But it was on accident I think. He got me ice cream after.”

Anger, red and hot, pulses through Joel’s veins. What hadn’t this child endured at the hands of angry men? 

“What did your mother do?” he bites out, almost unnaturally calm from trying to control himself.

“Well, most of the time he’d kinda like hit her around, I guess? But the time he broke my arm was the time she made him leave for good and they got a divorce and all. Aiden says it’s my fault he won’t come around anymore. He was so mad. He loves Dad so much. I don’t understand it though because even though Dad likes him a lot more than me, Dad would still be so mean to him sometimes. Mom says I don’t even know all of it...Promise I won’t bother you with singing though, okay?”

“Sweetheart,” Joel says as softly as his blinding rage will permit. Somehow, when he’s with Y/N, he finds he can control himself better. “I’ll never get mad at you for singing. Or being too loud. Or anything. Never gonna put my hands on you. I’m sorry if what I do to Aiden scares you or made you think that I would ever do such a thing to you.”

“It doesn’t scare me,” she shakes her head. “When you get rough with Aiden, you do it because he did really bad, to protect me. It’s like with you there’s rules that make sense. Aiden chooses to be mean and violent so you choose it back to him. With my dad, it was different. It was like I could breathe wrong and I’d get in trouble. Get in trouble for things I couldn’t control or help. Sometimes I did bad, I know I did, but I also know there were other times where I wasn’t hurting anyone and he’d still hurt me so badly. My dad never got mad at Aiden for hurting me though. He thought it was funny, I think. Sometimes he’d kinda like sick him on me. Kinda how you could a dog.”

Joel doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know the right words. He figures he can only show her with his actions who he is and she will just have to learn to trust him. If her father ever enters the house though, he will wring his neck. That’s for certain. Thank God he doesn’t come around for his sake, Joel’s, and the family’s.

“I was just thinking,” Joel finally says. “If ya want, I could learn how to play that song you were singing on my guitar and maybe you could sing it for me sometime?”

“M-maybe we could sing it together?” Y/N asks tentatively, her eyes wide. “Singing in front of other people is kinda scary.”

“I haven’t sung in a while,” Joel sighs. “Might be rusty.” 

“That’s okay,” she grins hopefully. 

Joel wants to take a photo of that rare sight and keep it close for as long as he lives, torn in his pocket or snug in his wallet, he doesn’t care. 

“Joel?” she asks a little cautiously, breaking him from his thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course, kiddo,” he says as gently as he knows how.

“Who’s Sarah?”

His heart stops. His blood runs cold. 

“What? How did you–”

“You were talking. In your sleep yesterday,” she says, shrinking away a little and Joel feels sorry for scaring her again. “When we were watching Dexter . Well, you fell asleep right before. You were snoring and all, but you were also talking and mumbling that name. You sounded sad and scared.”

Joel should definitely not have allowed her to watch that! But that is hardly the point right now. 

His heart squeezes so tight it burns. What was there to say about Sarah – the entire reason his life had had any purpose? His perfect babygirl? The light of his life? 

He could lie. So easily too and Y/N would never know. He could say nothing at all. Hasn’t even told Erica about her yet. Hardly ever speaks to anyone about her these days.

And yet…

“She was my daughter,” he hears himself say softly. “She…got sick. Died of leukemia a while back. She was twelve.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wallet he was just thinking about. Inside is a tiny school photo of Sarah – the last one she ever took. It’s faded a little, but she’s still smiling so big she could block out the sun. He shows it to Y/N.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” she says and she really does look sorry. 

Not the way his co-workers and customers say it – almost as a reflex – to fill the void in the conversation. Her eyes are shimmering.  

“Nothin’ to do about it now,” he shrugs, running his thumb over the photo paper, softened with age. “But she was so damn special. My whole world.”

He has learned to repress the tears, not to show weakness, that is not hard. Not anymore. But the anger that broils up inside him – the injustice of it all – how he was unable to help her. Unable to save her. He feels almost like a child again, powerless in an unforgiving, unrelenting world. He wants to fight back!

He is so angry he begins to shake and his hands clench into fists. 

He wants to flip over the fucking coffee table – fling it across the room! He wants to punch in the glass of the flickering TV screen until his fist is broken! He wants to–He wants–

He just wants his babygirl back…

A sob, small and foreign rises in his throat, but he pushes it down. 

He thinks Y/N knows though. Can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

She reaches out a small hand and touches his fist, pushes it down gently into the soft fabric of the couch so he’ll stop shaking. It doesn’t entirely work, but he thinks he appreciates the effort.

“I don’t know if this is the right thing to say,” she begins a bit skittishly, still not entirely trusting the hulking, raging man above her. “But I think I would have liked to have been her friend.”

And for the first time since Sarah died, Joel sobs . 

Y/N pops up from the couch and Joel’s heart cries out louder in his chest for her to come back, don’t leave me too as he tries to suck the tears back in. It doesn’t work though and liquid gushes down his cheeks. He doesn’t think he can take the rejection, the loss of her. But thankfully, she returns just as quickly as she went with a handful of tissues stuffed into her small fist. 

“Here, Joel,” she offers. “Here. Don’t cry.”

Joel does cry though. He’s ashamed he’s broken down in front of this literal child, and he doesn’t let out much noise, but he doesn’t take the tissues either. He can’t. 

She’s so sweet though, or maybe it’s because she is truly afraid of him now, of his wrath, he’ll never really know, but she frowns and reaches out a little hand, the one with the scar on the middle finger, and tries to wipe up the tears.

The paper of the tissue tickles his cheeks.

“Shouldn’t havta…” he tries.

“Didn’t mean to make you…” she answers.

A pause.

“You didn’t, honey. That was all me,” he assures her finally.

She lets out a sigh of relief and soaks up the last of the salt water from his face, brushes the tissue gently against his nose. It tickles, causes him to snort. He smirks a little.

She smiles back shyly, she can’t help it, he can tell. 

“You know,” he says thoughtfully after a few moments of silence, sighing deeply. “I reckon she would’ve wanted to be your friend too…”

***

A few months roll by. Things are virtually the same except Y/N seems more comfortable around him now. Maybe it’s because she saw his weakness up close and personal, his Achilles heel —— knows how to coax it out of him now if she has to. Or maybe it’s because she truly trusts him. Whatever the case, she sits closer to him on the couch now, still giving him a respectful foot of distance though of course. 

Once in a blue moon, she sings for him and he tries to keep up with the lilting sound of her high voice. She says she likes his low, deep voice just fine, it’s just she still gets nervous singing in front of other people so it’s still a rare occasion. His favorite is when she sings solo and he gets to strum along for her and really listen. Sometimes her voice cracks in a very specific way that some might find to be a flaw, but Joel would never. 

Aiden makes fun of them and calls them the ‘Von Trapp Family Singers.’ Are they a family? Joel wonders.

One day after work, Joel goes to the library to find some sheet music for a song Y/N likes. She treasures the photo-copied paper like a gift as Joel deciphers the notes he can actually read for her. She color-codes each one carefully in magic marker so she can remember the differences between them. 

The next day, Aiden burns it up with a lighter he has acquired from God knows where. Joel confiscates it – the last thing he needs is this particular child setting fires – and It doesn’t end well for Aiden. He limps for damn near a week. But some days, when Aiden is calm, he joins Y/N and Joel in front of the TV if a sports game is on. He doesn’t sit on the couch though, just the floor. He doesn’t say much to them but does get invested in the good and bad plays of each game, gets sore if his team is losing. On one particularly good day, when the Rangers hit a grand slam, and Joel was actually paying attention, he and Aiden actually high-five.  

Things are going…well? Is that the right word? It is a foreign concept for Joel. For Christmas, he gets Y/N guitar, Aiden a book on boxing so maybe he will redirect his anger into somewhere productive, and Erica a spa-day kit for 20% off that he saw at CVS (he never claimed to know what women want). Aiden is neutral, surprised, he thinks, that Joel even got him a present. Erica is actually appreciative and returns the favor with some new socks and underwear. 

“A practical gift for a practical man,” she says, kissing him on the forehead. 

Joel supposes he appreciates the gesture. 

Y/N, though, is thrilled.

“Thank you, Joel! Got you something too,” she says excitedly, bouncing up and down in her red and white pajamas.

“That’s not necessary,” Joel chides, leaning over to pick up the wrapping paper that was strewn across the living room floor. 

But secretly he is curious. He didn’t think she even had any money of her own…

Aiden opens the cover of the boxing book with disinterest, eyeing the new guitar distastefully. 

Y/N jumps up, leaves the room, and returns with a small plastic baggie in her hands. Inside are little, different bits of colored plastic clumsily and haphazardly cut into tiny, sharp-looking, badge-shaped pieces. One he recognizes is from the top of a yogurt container he put into the recycling the other day, another one from the top of a Gatorade bottle. 

“Here ya go!” 

She shoves the plastic bag into his large hands enthusiastically.

“Thank you,” Joel responds, still unsure what he was given.

It reminds him of when Sarah was young and would come home with some sort of abstract macaroni painting from kindergarten and he would nod and smile knowingly when she explained that of course it was Two dinosaurs getting married, Dad. Duh!

“You could try one on my new guitar,” she offers, a little disappointed when he doesn’t have more of a reaction. “You said you lost most of yours…”

Joel immediately feels guilty and then it clicks. She tried to make him guitar picks! His heart clenches with emotion he can not quite identify. 

He pulls a little orange one out of the bag and accidentally nicks the edge of his finger. Because of the way it was cut, no doubt with uncoordinated child’s hands and a pair of scissors, the edges are much too sharp to serve as an actual guitar pick without damaging guitar strings or apparently Joel’s finger. Dumb kid. But he’s beyond honored anyone would take the time to do such a thoughtful thing for him. 

He hisses softly and sucks the blood off his finger.

“Oops,” she says, horrified. “Shoot. Sorry, I–”

“‘S no trouble,” he interjects dismissively. “Love ‘em. Was my fault anyway. I’mma be honest with you though, sweetheart; don’t think the guitar strings can handle these babies.”

“Oh,” she says softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Oh, yeah, okay...”

She deflates, looking down at the carpet.

Joel selfishly lets her be sad for a beat before swooping back in to be the one to save the day.

“But here’s what I’ll do…”

She looks back up at him with an intoxicating kind of hope in her eyes.

He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and slips the orange pick into the photo slot next to the picture of Sarah. He returns the wallet back into his pants. 

Y/N positively beams. Brighter than the sun, even, Joel thinks.

Aiden yawns purposefully loudly and rolls his eyes. Erica looks touched and maybe even a little proud of her choice in men. But Joel didn’t do it for them. The only reaction in the world he cares about is hers.

Y/N is still grinning, bouncing on the balls of her feet again. But then she does something new: she leans in and hugs him, wrapping her little arms around his waist, burying her face in his flannel shirt, pressing against his tummy.

The world stops for Joel. 

At first, he just hangs there limply, awkwardly. Literally forgets what one is supposed to do in such a situation, but then instinct kicks in and he wraps his arms around her too and squeezes ever so slightly. It’s a more cautious hug than Sarah would have given him – she would have squeezed him half to death – but Y/N is still holding him. Someone small and warm is holding onto him for the first time in what feels like an eternity. And just like that his past is rhyming with his present and it is the most beautiful sound Joel Miller has ever heard. 

Joel Miller is not a good man, no, but maybe, just maybe, he thinks he could be one for Y/N. 

***

Joel tries to be good. He does. His first order of business is stop beating on Aiden – especially in front of Y/N. No amount of violence towards the kid seems to do any good anyway – he still hurts her. And Joel is sick of bandaging her up and wiping the blood from her cheeks; something has to change. Not that he wouldn’t do it a thousand times if he had to. He’d do anything for the girl, that he is sure of. And the truth is, Aiden is close to getting big enough to really fight back. And Joel knows if Aiden really lays a hand on him, he’s not sure he will be able to control himself enough to not inflict permanent damage. And he doesn’t want that. Truly.

So at first, Joel thinks about having Erica send him away to a wilderness camp for troubled children or some such program he sees mentioned on reruns of Dr. Phil. She has the money to do it too. But she won’t send him away. She refuses, loves him too much. Protecting Y/N seems as far down on her list of priorities as ever. She is useless at disciplining him, always has been, so it is up to Joel to find another solution. So the next thing he tries is to set the boy up in boxing classes. This is risky since it might just teach him new ways to hurt Y/N, but at least it will be a place to direct his anger.

It works for a while, to his and Y/N’s immense relief, but that leaves Joel nowhere to take out his anger. He tries to ignore it at first and shove it down, but it starts to come out in little ways. At work, he barks at a customer who locks his keys in the car he’s trying to fix. At home, he shouts at Erica for missing Y/N’s school play. The rage leaks out of him, pours off his entire being. He tries jerking off more to increasingly violent porno magazines to calm himself down since Erica is sure not satisfying him. It doesn’t do enough though, not really. Finally, he tries boxing at the local gym himself, but it is not enough either. Boxing has rules. The first sorry sucker he gets in the ring with, he beats to the point of unconsciousness. Two men have to pull him off to get him to stop. They kick him out immediately.

So Joel tries going to the bar after work with the guys from the shop and drinking a little to take the edge off. That actually helps somewhat. He’s careful about it, never comes home drunk, never drinks in front of Erica or the kids. But what helps the most are the bar fights. He’s careful about that too. Only fights the assholes, which there are many of. Switches up the bars he goes to. But some motherfucker slaps a girl's ass without permission? Joel’s on him in seconds, watching like a predator from the shadows. Some dude throws a drink in the bartender’s face? Joel clobbers him half to death. And sometimes? People in the bar applaud him, even cheer him on. It’s probably because they’re intoxicated, but that’s how he justifies it to himself like he’s some kind of goddamn vigilante. Deep down he knows he is something much, much uglier. But at least he’s not doing it to Aiden, a child. And more importantly, at least it is away from Y/N.

***

One day, Y/N falls sick. It starts out as what seems like a cold with a nasty cough. Kids are little germ factories, Joel knows that. He tells himself it is nothing to worry about – that all kids get sick sometimes. The first few days she lies on the couch like a zombie, coughing incessantly into her elbow and sleeping a lot. She snores ever so slightly which he finds charming. Joel stays home from work with her because Erica has to be in court and they watch lots of nature documentaries and daytime talk shows. 

Then the coughing gets worse and Joel’s brain stops functioning properly and he has trouble explaining why. He feels more on edge, more agitated. Erica takes Y/N to the doctor and comes back with a diagnosis: walking pneumonia. Nothing too serious, lots of kids get it. She is prescribed antibiotics and is supposed to drink lots of fluids and wait it out. But when Erica tells Joel the news of what the doctor told her he is holding a glass of water and it shatters in his large hand, cutting the skin of his middle finger.

“Fuck!” he yells. 

And he cannot articulate precisely why, but he feels good that there is a justified reason to yell. 

Erica wipes his hand and cleans the glass up.

“Gotta go to court again today, honey,” she says like everything is fine and normal. “Can you look after her today? Call in sick? She’s in bed. Going through it.”

Joel nods and she is gone like this whole thing is nothing. Like her precious, living breathing child is not suffering in the room above his head.

He climbs the stairs and enters Y/N’s room. He doesn’t often spend much time there. The walls are painted pink and differently shaped dolls and stuffed animals line the white vanity across from her canopied bed. He does not think he has ever seen Y/N play with any of those specific toys, come to think of it, or express any interest in the color pink (no doubt Erica’s secret passion for interior design rearing its ugly head). He vows silently, one day, to paint the walls any color she wants. 

But there she is, sprawled out in her bed coughing a nasty cough. Something shifts inside Joel at the sound. She looks unwell and weak and so small. 

“Hey, honey,” he says softly, almost robotically. 

Something is not right. He sits on the edge of her bed, feels her burning forehead. He takes her temperature gently with the thermometer that goes in her ear. He feels that weird sensation like he’s been here before even though he has hardly ever entered her bedroom. One hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit it reads when it beeps. Joel swallows a lump in his throat that he didn’t realize was there.  

She coughs pathetically. She looks out of it, her eyes far away. Joel’s heart throbs painfully.

Y/N is mumbling something incoherent now. Joel leans a little closer so he can decipher the words.

He makes out something like: No, Dad. Don’t. Stop, please. Please, not tonight. 

Joel stops breathing. 

She must be delirious from the fever. 

And then she’s crying. Quietly, but crying all the less. And this time, unlike every time he has seen her tears before, she sobs. Actually makes noise, her chest wracked with it. 

Then she coughs so hard she starts to wheeze and it hits Joel so ferociously he practically loses his grip on reality.

When Sarah was sick she had leukemia, a blood cancer. And cancer requires treatment. Expensive treatment. But of course, Joel hadn’t cared. He would have sold every item he owned to save his child, would have traveled to the ends of the earth if he had to, done literally any and everything in his power to protect her. So he paid for most of her chemotherapy with high hopes. Desperate hopes, but high ones. It had been her best shot at getting better according to the doctors. And the thing about chemo is, the side effects can literally be deadly. Joel is not a man of science, but the doctor explained that those drugs kill the bad cells that make up the cancer, but also the good ones. It fucks with your immune system, weakens you. Makes you lose your hair, vomit, and or be so weak you can barely walk. All that happened to Sarah. Joel felt like a traitor taking her to those treatments. Logically, he knew they were necessary, but he always felt like he was the one doing those awful things to her. It eviscerated him, left him raw and empty, and helpless like a child.

But in the end, it was the pneumonia that killed her. Her body couldn’t fight it off. She’d died in a hospital bed, Joel at her side, holding her hand, unable to do a single damned thing except scream .

Y/N coughs again, simultaneously pulling him from his thoughts and throwing him back into them. His heart is pounding in his chest to Do something! But there is nothing to be done, nothing he can do! Why can’t he ever seem to protect her?

She looks up just then, notices him for the first time since he entered the room, still crying feebly.

“He hurt me,” she whispers up at him, her eyes glazed over and glistening with tears. She reaches out for a handful of his dark blue work shirt and pulls it tightly to her. “He hurt me. And I couldn’t–I c-couldn’t…”

And then he is holding her, not quite sure how, but he is holding her trembling body to his chest and he will not let her go. Not for the world, not for anyone. He will not lose this child. He wraps his arms around her, holds tight. He will keep her safe, no matter the cost. 

“It’s okay, babygirl,” he whispers. “I got you.”

***

Joel and Erica get married that spring. They agree on a private ceremony in front of a judge with only Y/N and Aiden in attendance. When Aiden hears the news, he throws a fit, He breaks dishes and punches a hole in the TV set which sets Joel’s teeth on edge. But Y/N is overjoyed. In the end, he and Joel adorn what Joel considers monkey suits and Erica wears a beautiful white dress that accentuates her figure. Y/N wears a frilly pink dress and carries a basket of pink roses. Joel never thought he’d be a married man and yet here he is. He imagines Sarah in attendance too and his heart aches. This is his life now. 

He refuses to wear a ring.

***

Time passes. Long stretches of time where things feel–dare he think it–normal.

 Aiden doesn’t beat Y/N, but begins to get into fights at school. Joel saves his violence for the bar scene which he begins frequenting more often. 

Erica starts working later, gets promoted in her job. Fucks Joel less and less, not that he cares very much. 

Joel goes to back-to-school nights and family cookouts. He teaches Y/N to play the guitar and how to fix car motors. In both these activities, she is no natural, but she tries her best and listens well. She smiles more than he’s ever seen. He drives her to sleepovers and Aiden to boxing practice. He paints her bedroom walls orange.

Things feel stable.

Two Christmases pass.

And then things take a downturn.

***

One evening, Joel returns home from work later than usual. When he arrives home in his truck, he notices an expensive sports car in the driveway. Erica has affluent friends, sure, but he’s never seen this particular car before. Something about that doesn’t sit right with him.

He opens the front door with a creak and Erica intercepts him before he can make it to the dining room table for dinner. She presses a hand to his forearm bulking with muscle.

“Don’t freak out,” she whispers urgently. 

Joel stops and hears the sounds of people eating dinner and a man’s raspy voice speaking.

“Freak out about what?”

He makes his way past her to the dining room. He sees a man he does not immediately recognize sitting at the head of the table, Y/N is flanking one side of the table next to him and Aiden the other. He is conventionally handsome and wearing an expensive pinstripe suit. When he looks up, he smirks at Joel. Joel thinks he looks kind of like Aiden if you were to squint. And then he understands who he is.

“The fuck are you doing in my house?” he growls, lunging forward.

“ Your house?” the man smirks again, unflinching. 

He looks Joel over, examining his mechanic’s uniform, the grease stain on Joel’s cheek. 

Erica grabs Joel. She pulls him back out into the hallway.

“Tell him he’s not welcome here,” Joel snarls, trying to get a look at the man over Erica’s shoulder. 

She pushes him backward gently. Instantly, he is worried for Y/N, for all intents and purposes alone in there with the man who abused her and this entire goddamn family for that matter. He catches a glance at her and she looks terrified . Aiden, conversely, Joel sees, looks like he just won the lottery, staring up at his dad in adoration. Joel doesn’t think he has ever seen him look so happy.

“This is important to them,” Erica snaps quietly. “That’s their father. He has a right–”

“Get him out of here or I’ll kill him,” Joel says deadly quietly. “He what? Doesn’t show up for over three years and you think that–”

“I know that he has a right to speak to them. I am their mother and they need a sense of closure. Aiden needs this. So you will sit down at that table and have an amicable dinner or so help me God, Joel.”

Erica never speaks to him like this. He is shocked.

“Fine,” he snarls after a while, his chest heaving. 

He can hardly think straight while Y/N is in there alone with that excuse for a man. Better he be close to protect her instead of thrown out of the house.

He walks back in with Erica, who sits next to Y/N, leaving Joel nowhere to go but next to Aiden.

“I’m Derek,” the children’s father says, leaning over the food Erica has prepared to shake Joel’s hand. 

Joel doesn’t take it.

“And you must be Joe? The new husband.”

“Joel,” he replies shortly.

He looks over at Y/N who is trying to be brave, he can tell, but deep in her eyes, looks petrified.

They eat dinner in tense silence until Derek breaks it and begins bragging about his golf club record, the latest client he’s been representing, his new girlfriend, Sylvia.

“See, she’s helping me become a better man,” Derek insists with a forkful of steak. “I know I haven’t always been…the greatest of fathers or partners, but she really convinced me coming here would be a good thing. That it would be healing. You guys will meet someday, I’m sure.”

Joel leans forward toward Derek, reeling at the idea that this man could possibly be back in the picture of his family’s life, but Erica reaches under the table and squeezes his knee in a death grip and Joel holds himself back.

Aiden hangs on his father’s every word. Erica looks somewhat intrigued after she lets go of her husband’s leg. Y/N screams silently at Joel, who tries his best to communicate without words that he will keep her safe.

“And I know I’ve missed quite a bit,” Derek continues. “Which is why I brought these. Sylvia’s idea, really.”

He reaches down toward his feet and pulls out a fancy golden gift bag and takes out two presents. He hands one to Aiden and the other one to Y/N. Aiden rips his open excitedly. Inside is a hunting knife with a red handle. 

Great, Joel thinks.

Y/N doesn’t move though, stopped like a deer in the headlights.

“Open it, girl,” Derek sneers.

She looks over at Joel. 

“Go on, baby,” he says softly, heat pumping through his blood.

She unwraps the pink wrapping paper and finds a Barbie doll in a clear plastic box. Joel has never seen her play with dolls at all come to think of it. 

“Isn’t that thoughtful?” Erica smiles cautiously.

“Thanks, Dad,” Aiden says enthusiastically. “Can’t wait to show the guys at ROTC.”

“Good for you, son,” Derek grins. “Serving our country is the highest of honors.”

Joel suddenly tries not to think about Tommy blasted to bits halfway across the world in Afghanistan, his body in such bad condition all that he got left of his baby brother was a finger and two bent dog tags.  

Aiden beams.

“Well,” Derek barks, eyeing Y/N distastefully. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he taunts. 

Joel sees where Aiden gets it from. This arrogant, bullying behavior. He shifts in his seat, ready to strike if necessary.

“Thanks,” she says very quietly. 

Derek grins in a kind of satisfaction that makes Joel want to go over there and punch his daylights out. He almost does too until Erica kicks his shin beneath the table and he controls himself. 

Y/N frowns. She looks over at Joel, then back at her father. Something ripples across her face, but it goes so quickly Joel cannot assign any meaning to it. But she looks ever so less scared somehow, more angry almost, but not quite.

And then after about ten minutes of somewhat peaceful eating and Derek making Aiden and Erica laugh with stupid anecdotes from his court cases while Joel and Y/N exchange looks, it happens.

Y/N’s hand reaches forward and knocks against her glass of coke. It goes flying over in Derek’s direction and drenches him in the sticky liquid, staining his suit.

“Sorry, Dad!” she squeaks immediately. “Oh my god, I–”

“You little slut!” he roars in response, almost like a reflex, backhanding Y/N across the face with lightning speed and accuracy. “Do you know how much this fucking suit cost!?”

The force of the blow is so strong it knocks Y/N from her chair onto the ground.

Before a coherent thought can even go through Joel’s head he is on the other man, slamming him up against the wall behind him by the throat.

“Joel, don’t you dare!” Erica yells, but it is too late.

Joel sees red and can’t exactly recall what he does next, but it goes something like this:

He squeezes around Derek’s throat and bangs his head backward against the wall a few times. The other man tries to get a punch in, but Joel ducks and kicks him in the balls. Derek crumples to the ground and Joel gives his chest another hard kick. He whines pathetically. 

Aiden gets up then, but Erica uses all of her strength to pull him back before he can get involved in the mix. He resists, shouts something that Joel cannot make out, but Erica manages to keep him from the two men with a great amount of effort and struggle. 

Derek is on the floor now and Joel is straddling him, landing punch after ruthless punch down onto his head. His nose begins to bleed, but Joel keeps punching. 

“HOW DARE YOU?” he roars down at the trembling, gushing man on the floor.

There is so much blood splurting all over his face, dripping down onto his expensive stained suit, and the floor that Derek almost stops looking like Derek. Joel sees Aiden’s face in his features. And then there is so much blood that it could be anyone’s face screaming back at him for mercy. It could be those creepy, asshole men at the bar. It could be the much bigger kid who always used to beat up Tommy every day in the schoolyard. It could be that damned head doctor who let his babygirl die. It could even be his no-good, bastard, alcoholic papá . 

He turns his head ever so slightly while still delivering punches. Erica has Aiden in a bear hug. She is screaming for Joel to stop. Aiden is bellowing something that sounds like, You bastard, I’ll kill you! Get off of him! I’ll kill you! And then Joel sees Y/N still on the floor from where she was knocked. Her face is still turned in the same direction it was slapped into, but she is not crying or screaming. Her eyes are dancing.

They connect with Joel’s. 

He knows he is supposed to be a good man for her, but she doesn’t seem to mind his deviant behavior. He stops then, though, because otherwise he thinks he will kill the man and he doesn’t want Y/N to experience that. He steals a glance at her again and she looks ever so slightly disappointed, but her wide-eyed expression tells Joel that Christmas has come early this year. She sends him a look of gratitude and Joel thinks that maybe he did act like a good man for her after all in the case of this vile, pathetic person who is supposed to be her father. 

 Finally, Joel stands up. He walks over and reaches out a bloody hand to Y/N and pulls her gently from the ground. Even after she’s standing upright she doesn’t let go of him.

Derek gets up after a while, wiping his sleeve over his face to try to tame the excess blood. Joel thinks that maybe he broke the man’s nose. He feels not a shred of remorse. The other man spits on the ground at Joel’s feet and leaves without saying goodbye to his ex-wife or children, slamming the front door behind him.  

Erica is not pleased with Joel’s behavior. Aiden is shouting and screaming. He breaks a plate by throwing it onto the floor with a loud crash. Joel leans over and grabs the knife his father gave him and sticks it in his front pocket so Aiden doesn’t feel tempted to use it. Y/N’s small hand is still in his. 

When Aiden is coherent enough to listen to instructions and all screamed out, Erica sends the children upstairs to bed. 

Joel tries to walk Y/N up to bed to tuck her in, but Erica stops him.

“ Not you,” she growls at Joel. 

She is livid in a way Joel has never seen before. For a moment, he seriously wonders if this is the end of their relationship. 

The kids scamper upstairs and Erica yells at Joel for ages. 

At a certain point, he stops listening. He doesn’t try to argue back. Doesn’t care to. He is actually calm now, though his chest is still heaving from the exertion, more calm than he’s been in ages. He knows that she will never understand why he had to do what he did to Derek. She lives in another reality where his violence is not acceptable if she has to bear witness to it. She doesn’t care about Y/N the way she is supposed to. Never has. Doesn’t know or see her. Not the way Joel does. Has too big a soft spot for Aiden. Tolerated Joel’s violence toward him though like a coward. Maybe deep down she knew he needed some kind of discipline? But when Joel lays a hand on her scumbag of an ex-husband that’s what’s too far? When he hurt her own daughter? When Joel himself was responsible for hurting her own precious son? Where was her outrage then? 

But he voices none of this. Pushes it down. He cannot lose her. Not this house, not the kids, not the financial security. Never Y/N. 

Erica banishes him to the couch for the first time in their relationship. Joel doesn’t mind. 

Hours later, late into the night, he hears soft footsteps walking down the stairs. He rolls over on the sofa to see who is approaching. He wonders if it is Erica there to apologize because he knows her well enough to know by now that she will forgive him eventually. She will forgive anything it seems. But it is not Erica at all.

“Joel?” a little voice asks quietly. “You up?”

“Yeah, baby,” he replies. “You okay? I’m so sorry he pulled that shit on you.”

Y/N shrugs. 

“Sorry I…I didn’t stop it before it happened,” he admits like a secret. 

She shrugs again.

“‘M sorry she made you sleep on the couch and all,” she replies.

“‘S no trouble. I don’t mind.”

“But it’s my fault you got in trouble in the first place.”

“Y/N, you ain’t done nothing wrong,” Joel tells her seriously. 

It’s hard to see her in the dark, but he thinks she’s grimacing guiltily. 

“I just wanted to say…” she begins hesitantly. “Thanks for like sticking up for me and all that. You…you’re the only one who does.”

Joel hides a smile from his babygirl. Something inside him likes being that person for her, he cannot lie to himself. Likes being the one she can count on. 

“You were like some MMA fighter,” she continues. “But then all the blood was like in The Shining .”

One day, not long ago, Joel had fallen asleep on the couch when The Shining came on and Y/N had watched the entire thing out of her own free will. That movie had frightened the shit out of him as a kid!

“I’m sorry if I scared you, sweetheart.”  

“You didn’t,” Y/N replies matter-of-factly.  “I wasn’t scared of what you did for a second…I know that’s messed up, but I kinda wanted you to…” 

She trails off.

Joel understands. 

“I kinda, please don’t get mad, but I sorta knocked the cup over on purpose,” she admits.

Joel’s eyebrows go way up on his forehead in surprise.

“It’s just,” she babbles quickly in self-defense. “Mom and Aiden were like giggling and hanging onto every dumb thing he said and it scared me. I thought they might let him keep coming around and start liking him again. And I also knew he hadn’t changed too. I could tell on account of how he was looking at me in that same mean way he always did. And I also knew you’d save me like you always do and you had this angry look in your eyes. I knew what you would do. I could feel it in my gut…”

“You little shit!” Joel smirks. 

He has to give her credit where credit was due – that was incredibly shrewd. Dangerous, but oh so clever. She played everyone in that room like a fiddle. Joel is honestly kind of proud.

“You mad?” she asks tentatively, biting her bottom lip.

“Nah,” Joel grins. “At you? Never. You shouldn’t have had to let him hurt you to get him away from you, but you protected yourself and that’s the most important thing. If I had to do it over, I would.”

Y/N smiles. 

She’s a fucked up little girl, but Joel is a fucked up man, and they both live in a fucked up world.

“Got your back,” he grunts. “Remember that. Now scurry along back to bed and get some rest.”

“G’night, Joel.”

*** 

Time passes. 

Erica forgives Joel of course and Derek never comes around again. 

Y/N and Aiden grow bigger. 

They go on camping trips and Joel teaches Y/N and Aiden how to fish. Never thought he would see the day where Aiden was willingly listening to his instructions, but the day comes anyway. Of course, the boy’s favorite part is cutting up the bloody fish guts like Joel’s used to be as a child. Y/N likes the part where you wait for the fish to bite. She sits next to Joel on the grassy river bank, the sun shining down on the lazy lake they are camping by, and smiles softly to herself.

Another two Christmases pass.

All the while, Joel is visiting the bar more and not necessarily to drink. His violent streak is getting worse somehow. He thinks, though he’s no goddamn shrink, that it might have something to do with the fact that he and Erica are not having any sex. Their relationship is still amicable and she is still sweet to him, and he tries his best to be to her too, but in the bedroom is mostly crickets. Joel jerks off, of course he does, but his fist is no substitute for a warm body. 

Joel causes such a scene at the bar he frequents the most, that the cops have to be called. He ditches the place before he can get arrested, but he’s getting worried about his behavior. Something must change.

So then come the women. They practically throw themselves at him. Never has he thought he was that attractive until women literally offer themselves up to him on a silver platter after saving them from some drunken creep. Joel had always declined until now. But Joel is only a man. He fucks them rough and dirty (with their permission of course – Joel is not a good man, and a lot of things, but he isn’t a fucking rapist) in the bathroom stalls, in the alleyways. In the moment it feels good and helps him let off some steam, but after he feels guilty. And it doesn’t satisfy him much more than with Erica if he really thinks about it. One thing that Erica has over these women who let him act out his violent self is the look of devotion in her eyes. That’s always the thing that gets Joel to cum in the end when he does get to fuck her.

 He would leave her, she isn’t that special to him if he’s honest, but she offers him a twofold sense of stability he has never known in his life. The first fold is the financial stability that has evaded him all of his days. The second is the feeling of family . Something so mundane and normal. And despite her flaws, she treats him so well – better than Sarah’s mother ever did. And most importantly, he doesn’t think he could leave Y/N. Not now. Not when she looks at him like he is the universe. Not even Aiden whom Joel has (begrudgingly) begun to see the traces of himself in. 

***

This particular muggy, summer day begins normally. Joel goes to work, fixes a Chevy Impala’s fluid tank. And then he walks in with an old, beat-up Honda Accord. 

His name is David, and Joel has heard of him through murmurings and bar stories and whispers at community barbeques. He’s a notorious neighborhood legend, whose house kids cross the street to avoid. He is the boogeyman at the end of the cul-de-sac. 

The story is, though through the many versions Joel has heard some of the details get muddled, that he kidnapped and raped a twelve-year-old girl (that part all versions agree on). Some say he was supposed to have ten years in prison, others say twenty, but whatever the number he got out in one for “good behavior.” In jail, he supposedly devoted his life to God and became a preacher.

Joel doesn’t want to help him, but his boss hisses at him that money is money and he’s going to serve the man whether Joel likes it or not. 

There’s something wrong with the exhaust pipe, so Joel bends down and takes a look at it. He opens the trunk and sees a box of Bibles next to a plastic bag of zip ties. His blood runs cold.

“The fuck is this shit doing in your car?” he growls, referring to the zip ties.

“The Bible is the word of God, Mr. Miller,” David replies, eyeing Joel’s nametag. “Would you like one? I’m always trying to spread The Good Word.” 

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he spits, looking over to make sure his boss is not watching. 

“If you must know, though it’s none of your business, those zip ties are for my garden to help hold up my plants. They are remarkably useful,” David smiles sickeningly politely. 

And that’s when Joel loses it just a little.

He picks up the ties and pockets them.

“Listen here, you pedophile piece of shit,” he snarls. “If I hear about you stepping one goddamned pinky-toe out of line–”

“Hey, Joel!” A little voice calls.

The breath is knocked from Joel’s lungs.

Y/N bounds up to them holding a brown paper bag out of nowhere. 

“You forgot your lunch! Mom dropped me off so you could have it. It’s tuna though. I hate hate tuna. But you’ll eat anything so I hope it’s good for you at least,” she babbles.

“Baby,” Joel says very quietly, his heart thrumming in his ribcage. “Right now’s not a great time. Why don’t you go on home and I’ll catch up with you later?”

Then she notices David. By the fact that she doesn’t immediately leave, Joel determines she has no clue who he is.

“Hello, young lady,” David smiles, eyeing Joel knowingly. “I’m Pastor David.”

“Uh, hi,” she says.

Joel thinks he might actually kill him.

“Would you like something to take home with you?” he asks.

Y/N blinks in confusion as Joel steps in front of her.

“She’ll be going now, won’t you Y/N?” Joel suggests dangerously.

“Here,” David says before she can respond.

He hands her a black-covered bible.

Y/N takes it, looks at the cover, and laughs. Joel and David both look down at her in surprise.

“No offense, ‘Pastor David,”’ she smirks. “But I don’t believe in that shit. Here, you can have it back,” she offers.

He takes back the book somewhat defeatedly. And Joel grins internally.

“Bye, Joel,” she tells him, still smirking. 

She side-hugs him quickly and returns to Erica’s car. 

“How dare you even look at her–” Joel booms at the sad, pathetic excuse for a man once she is out of earshot. 

His hands are clenched into fists and they are shaking. Every part of him is on fire. 

“I think I’ll be going now,” David interjects lightly. “I can see my business isn’t welcome here. You have a beautiful daughter, Mr. Miller. Quite a mouth on her. Shame if something were to happen to her…Oh, the things someone like me could make her believe…”

Joel reaches back his fist to punch, to pummel, to kill, but suddenly, another hand grabs his and holds it in place. Joel’s boss has materialized behind him and is holding him back. Good thing too. It’s probably the only thing that saves Joel’s career and David’s life. 

David winks and drives away as the boss begins to reprimand Joel who is still shaking and fuming.

All he knows is this: If anyone touches his babygirl he will not hesitate to put them six feet under, no matter the cost to himself. He will not hesitate to get blood on his calloused hands. He will not hesitate to kill. And this time? His baby will not sustain a single scratch . He will not wait for her to get hurt before he acts. 

***

Joel wants nothing more than to go home and spend time with his babygirl and wife and even his step-son if he will allow, but there is blood popping and oozing and broiling and churning under his skin like billowing, bubbling lava. If he doesn’t do something about it soon he will explode worse than a volcanic eruption so he heads to the seediest bar he can think of. He makes his way inside and sits right up at the bar, already occupied by a few people. He orders a drink (his usual: whiskey on the rocks) and waits for the impending opportunity for violence he is sure is lying in wait.

He cannot believe the shit that came out of ‘Pastor-fucking-David’s’ sick, perverted mouth and that he almost lost his job over it. He lets that thought charge him up into a rage, his fists clenched so tightly they are beginning to ache in the joints. He cannot believe that disgusting little fucker had the audacity to say that horrible scummy bullshit in his presence when he would do anything to protect that innocent child. He takes a drink of his whiskey and knocks it back in one gulp. He would do anything , ‘Lord’ only knows. He snickers to himself sinisterly. 

And while he’s on the topic, fuck God! When had He ever done a single damn good thing for Joel his entire miserable life except maybe to give him Sarah and then take her away like she was nothing and not the entire light of the universe wrapped into a small, vulnerable person? Joel doesn’t know much about the bible, truth be told, but he remembers a few things from his Sunday school days. He remembers that people are created in the image of God and the stories he remembers most are from the Old Testament which heavily featured a God of absolute rage. Maybe that is the way he is god-like, built of anger and revenge and wrath and the sick, pathetic hunger for power that lurks inside most people. 

But he also remembers Jesus being meek and mild. Joel never understood that desire until he had Sarah and then Y/N in his care. If Joel could snap his fingers and make himself some fundamentally kind and caring man he would, but he can’t. Joel Miller is not a good man. He tried to be for Y/N, he truly did, but look at everything he’s done in the time he’s known her: he used Erica to get financial stability and roof over his head, he’s cheated on her numerous times, he beat Aiden, a child, and everyday the weight of that guilt grows greater as he begins to truly understand how wrong that was, and he beat his babygirl’s pathetic excuse for a father (but still her father) in front of her. He also beat people in bar fights and that time at the gym. And the thing is: is he even a little bit sorry about any of it – except for maybe what he did to Aiden? No, not even a little. And he’d do all of it again if it could mean getting to spend time with his babygirl, Y/N, again. His babygirl who FUCKING DAVID tried to threaten!

And the problem is: who knows what that fucker is capable of? The police and the judicial system let him out after one year which can only be described as a colossal moral failure and a massive miscarriage of justice. It wouldn’t take much for David to really figure out where they lived and grab Y/N and throw her in his trunk like he did that poor other little girl. Maybe that’s paranoid, but Joel knows better than most that when a man wants to do a dark thing he will find a way to do it. Joel does not want to live his life constantly looking over his shoulder as some horrendous pedophile lives freely. 

And then he turns his head to look down at the rest of the fairly busy bar and he sees him . None other than David himself, drinking a beer. Joel cannot believe his luck. It is like all of the light in heaven has aligned to give him such a gift. A part of him is screaming to not engage because Joel is sure he could kill him for what he said about Y/N. But the rest of him is already standing up and grabbing David by the shoulder and–

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the fuck out of here now ,” he snarls. “Almost lost my job because of you, you sick fuck. You’re lucky I give you a warning and don’t wring your neck on the fucking spot.”  

David turns around, Joel’s fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Proverbs 24:1 and 2,” he quotes calmly. “‘Do not envy wicked men or desire their company; for their hearts devise violence, and their lips declare trouble.’”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means perhaps I will be leaving. I don’t care to spend my time with wicked men such as yourself. And I have many preparations to make for what is to come. How is your daughter doing since we last met?”

Joel’s heart runs cold. 

“Get my baby’s name out of your goddamned mouth .” 

“Hope we run into each other soon,” David grins as he gets off the barstool and dislodges himself from Joel’s grip. “There is a lot I could teach her.”

He turns to leave. Disgusting coward, Joel thinks. He could let the man go. But then what? Live in fear of him? Let his precious Y/N live in fear of him? Joel is tired of living in fear, of resigning to a cruel man in a cruel world, and he will never do that or let Y/N do that ever again. 

And then David leans in so close that Joel can smell the alcohol on his breath and the sweat on his skin.

“Can’t stop thinking about her pretty little hands around my–”

Joel doesn’t let him finish. In that moment he knows what will transpire. He picked this seedy-ass bar for a reason: so that no one will bother to stop him.

He lands the first punch with ease, doesn’t even feel the pain till minutes later. The force of the blow to David’s head is so strong he slams down into the ground. It is so violent that David’s eyelid starts to bleed and the skin around the impact spot becomes puffy and dark. 

David shouts for help, but no one in this place gives a fuck and even if they did everybody knows who he is and what he did so they don’t give a shit two times over. 

Joel continues the assault. Punch after punch reigns down on the other man as blood begins to coat his features. David tries to get a punch or two into Joel’s stomach, but Joel straddles each of his biceps and holds him down so he can continue hitting. The longer Joel hits, the better he feels. This time is different. This time he does not see the features of every man he’s ever hated in the face of his victim. This time he sees only David’s disgusting smirk in his mind’s eye. This time he only thinks about how he is saving Y/N from a lifetime of fear and cruelty. This time Joel will not let his adversary get a strike in first. This time he will be the one to stop the fate of impending devastation that lies in the palms of David’s shaking and broken hands. This time he can save her . 

When Joel is done with his hands, he is panting heavily. He moves on to his feet, kicking the man’s gut sadistically, his trembling hands, his face. Crunch , goes David’s skull. And then he is not moving or breathing.

Joel stops.

A lick of fear trails against the inside of his stomach, but the rage, always the rage warms his stomach like a rush of flames.

So he keeps going. He bends back down and squeezes the man’s throat just to make sure. It’s good he did too because David’s bloodshot, viens-having-burst eyes snap open and David makes a pathetic little squealing noise and Joel squeezes harder, rougher, with more conviction.

In the end, it takes longer than he thought it would. 

Joel only stops when he hears sirens blaring in the distance. He looks up for the first time since the assault started and sees all of the patrons staring at him in revulsion and fear. The bartender actually has the phone in her hand. Joel guesses she was the one to finally call the cops. He guesses he was so sadistic and violent that even this shitty place had seen enough. He thinks to run, briefly, but where would he run to? Everything he has ever wanted in life is now going to be closed off to him. But he saved Y/N and that makes everything worth it. It has to have been worth it.

Joel puts two scarred, calloused fingers to David’s pulse point, as blood (his and David’s) drips down from his knuckle onto the wooden floor and feels nothing.

When the cops handcuff him and take him away, he doesn’t resist. He comes quietly. He cannot ever really be a good man for Y/N, he understands that now, but at least now she and he may know some peace of mind after what he’s done.

***

The time leading up to the trial is a blur. 

Erica pays for an excellent lawyer, but divorces him on the spot. It seems there are some things even she will not forgive, and apparently murder is one of them. She allows the children to see him one last time in cold, sterile police interrogation room. A court-appointed child advocate social worker must be present. They allow him to have his handcuffs taken off for the first time since he was arrested. The kids are told he accidentally killed someone in a bar fight and for legal reasons he leans into the “accidental” part. 

Aiden comes in first. He knew who David was and tells Joel he did the right thing. Joel is surprised. He reaches out a limp hand, dirt caked under his fingernails, and shakes Joel’s for the first time since they’ve known each other and they part ways on good terms.

“You’re not my dad,” Aiden tells him quietly. “But you always put up a good fight to be there.”

And he leaves.

Joel is more touched than he wants to believe.

Y/N’s visit is much more difficult.

“How could you!?” she screams, standing by the door the second she sees him as he sits at the interrogation table, his chair turned toward her. 

At first Joel thinks she means how could he killl another human being. Y/N didn’t seem to know who David was after all. But that’s not what she is mad about.

“How could you leave me!?” she shouts, tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be taken away from me! Mom is leaving you because of this and that means you aren’t like my dad anymore. You’re going to forget all about me and never get to see me again because you killed some dumb man who tried to give me a bible?”

“He was not a good man,” is all Joel can say. 

He can’t be the one to tell her more, hasn’t told anyone how David had threatened her. Not even his lawyer. He doesn’t want to scare her, doesn’t want to admit to anyone he let those words even get to leave that shit stain’s mouth. 

“I don’t care!” she shouts again. “I want you!”

And then she bursts into tears and runs into his chest and Joel holds her against his orange jumpsuit and starts to feel tears trickling down his own cheeks.

“Never gonna forget about you,” he nearly scolds her into hair. “How could you ever think that, baby? You’re my babygirl. I’ll get out one day and come right back to you, understand?”

“But Mom–”

“You’ll be grown by the time I get out and won’t have to worry about what she says. But I’ll tell you this: you might feel different about me by the time your grown up and however you feel I want you to know I’ll respect that. But I ain’t gonna forget about you. Not ever.” 

“Your time is up,” the court-appointed social worker states. 

“No!” Y/N shouts, burying herself deeper into Joel’s embrace. “NO! I’m not leaving! I won’t leave you!”

Joel hugs her back tightly, crying into the top of her head as she sobs softly into his chest. 

In the end, the social worker has to pull her away as she screams.

“I love you, Y/N!” he calls to her as the social worker drags her from him. “Never gonna forget you, babygirl. Remember that.”

All Joel can hear back is a broken wail.

***

Erica attends the trial; the kids are forbidden. Joel’s defense claims it was a drunken accident and goes for manslaughter. Because he killed a known child molester he has no trouble while he waits in jail. He is even considered a hero by some. No one tries to fuck with him and that’s how Joel would prefer it since if he gets into too many fights it will just add to his sentence and he must get out and get back to his babygirl if she’ll still have him. His lawyer tells him not to mention the threats that David made toward Y/N because it will look like more of a reason that Joel would have had to intentionally kill him as opposed to accidentally like the manslaughter plea would have the court believe. Joel listens. He does exactly what he’s told because this lawyer is good and he needs to get out someday for christ sake.

In the end, he gets ten years and his lawyer tells him he could get eight for good behavior.

Eight years, if Joel can manage it.

They take him away to prison in handcuffs. Erica sobs. It is the last time he sees her.

***

Joel always wondered if his temper would land him in prison. Now that he’s here things go surpringly well. He gets a reputation for being the murderer of a child molestor and people respect him, listen to him when he bothers to speak. He keeps things in order and people start to refer to him as the “pod boss.” He also reads a lot in his cell, tries to help people with their cases and appeals if he can. And if someone steps out of line, Joel is more than happy to put them in their place so long as he can avoid attention from the guards, who he actually mostly gets along with to their faces, but behind their backs beats people to a pulp. No one ever dares to snitch on him and he is considered on the right track to get out for good behavior early. 

Time passes — painfully long stretches of time.

He has a lot of time to think, to read. He reads every book in the prison library over the time he is incarcerated. He reads parenting books, self-help books, books on trauma, books on abuse, books on anger management, books on meditation, books on spirituality (nothing sticks in that regard though, he is still furious like God, but less so these days). Somehow his anger has started to simmer down a notch.   

But he worries his babygirl will forget about him, or worse grow to hate him. He’s not sure he’ll survive that.    

Luckily, or he might have withered away and died, somehow Y/N convinces Erica to let her write him a letter once a month and have one call with him on Christmas. 

Christmases quickly become his favorite day of the year. 

Y/N writes him religiously. She talks about how angry she is at him, how she misses him, how she finally fixed the motor on Joel’s old pickup truck, how some boy gave her a love letter on Valentine’s Day, how she thinks of him every day.

Joel never tells her what David said about her, lets her believe he is just some violent, drunken idiot. He writes back how much he misses her, how he read a new book this week, how prison food is shit, how he’d probably greet that boy with a shotgun if he thinks he’s getting anywhere with his babygirl, how his whole heart beats for her.

She’s allowed to send him one photo a year, her most current school photo, and Joel hangs them on the wall of his cell so he can see her beaming at him at his highest and lowest moments along with the tiny picture of Sarah he managed to save from his wallet. 

Aiden even sends him a card each Father’s Day. It never has anything written in it except for whatever stupid pun or text the card came with, but Joel reads between the lines with that one. Each one seems to whisper to him louder and louder, I love you and I forgive you. Joel writes him back, “Thanks, kiddo. -Joel” He hope that conveys the thousands of sorrys he wants to scream from the rooftops and say straight to the boy’s face. He will someday when he gets out. He makes himself promise. He hears from Y/N when Aiden joins the marines. 

When Joel gets to actually hear Y/N’s voice on the old prison phone it’s like the most beautiful sound he has ever heard except for maybe Sarah’s voice. She babbles away about her life and what’s she’s up to and he hangs on every word like gospel. He barely gets a word in, but prefers it that way. Wishes he could hear her singing. Once, when she’s sixteen, and sounds so woefully grown up it hurts Joel’s entire heart, she hums a little absentmindedly and he can’t get the sweet sound out of his head. Her love for him never seems to waver and that is a blessing that Joel will never forget, the only thing he would thank this cruel God for. And of course, his love for her never wavers either. She is the only beacon of light for him in this dark and mundane existence. She is his everything.

***

When Y/N is eighteen and no longer under her mother’s control, she comes to visit him in person. This is the first time they have seen each other in six years. Despite their loving correspondence, Joel is nervous to see her for the first time since her childhood. He worries about how awkward it might be.

When he sees her walking into the dinky little family meeting room, his entire mode of existence changes.

She looks so beautiful, so grown-up. Sure she had always been a cute little kid, Joel always thought that, but now she is a woman. Tears come to Joel’s eyes. When her eyes connect with his, he feels so seen .

He tries to get a word out, but before he can she is running to him, into his arms and Joel has never felt something so perfect in his entire life. He knows he has never felt a love like this before. Not even with Sarah…something about this is different somehow? Joel is not too in touch with his feelings, but he’s trying to be more attentive to them these days with nothing left to do but read about such topics as “emotional regulation” and “mindfulness.” He’ll come back to this thought later though…

Y/N begins to babble into his ear, something about missing him and not wanting it to be awkward, but this is the furthest from awkward Joel has ever felt.

Joel has never been a man of many words so all he can think to say is,

“Missed you, babygirl.”

She grins at that, brighter than all the suns of all the planets in the universe (Joel has been reading about those too) and he laughs for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

She laughs too, wipes tears from her eyes, and says,

“Missed you too, Joel. More than you know.”

Joel thinks that can’t possibly be true for that is all he has known for the last six years and possibly his entire life: missing her.

She comes once a month, drives an hour just to see him, and she tells him about college and later her very own shitty apartment. Her mother has thrown herself into her work and Aiden is serving his second tour. She makes good grades and has a stable boyfriend that treats her well, she swears. Joel couldn’t be happier for her, except the boyfriend business does make him want to crush that little fucker’s head in for some reason.

***

The last time Y/N comes to visit before his release (eight years to the day for good behavior) (she is 20 damn years old already!) something feels different to Joel. When he hugs her to greet her, he’s suddenly very aware of her body, the curves of it, her softness. Her hair smells so good, he doesn’t want to let go of her and then to his intense dismay and shock he feels himself getting a little excited down south. Immediately, he lets go of her, feeling like a pervert, praying she didn’t and doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see any obvious signs from her and the two sit down (Joel rather quickly) at the flimsy, nailed-down table and they talk of Joel’s impending release. All the while, Joel is trying to stay calm. He convinces himself it was just an accident and that he hadn’t been around any women in what felt like an eternity and that’s what  led him to get worked up. But when Y/N leaves to go home he feels a kind of dull longing in the bottom of his gut. A different kind of longing then what he had felt for a younger Y/N. Joel tells himself not to repress for the first goddamn time in his life and let himself feel. And he does. He feels butterflies and yearning and need, a great big need inside himself. And then he knows what else he feels: the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love and beneath that, primal, base, and self-loathing: desire . 

In his solo cell (that he has acquired because he is the pod boss and respected) he jerks off to those thoughts, touches himself to those feelings. When he cums unusually hard, he feels an overwhelming amount of shame. Of this, Joel knows, he will never ever tell another soul. Joel also knows he will not hurt his babygirl any more than he already has, intentionally or not, not ever. But then again, being a good, upstanding man has never really quite been in his arsenal, has it?

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PLEASE COMMENT LIKE REBLOG IM BEGGING IM PLEADING IM CRYING

PART 2

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

[fuckmycrane]

He will never change — Tom

— CW: 18+!, smut. Drug use (cocaine), smut, (kind of) angst. | word count: 1.3k

— a/n: I noticed I haven't found ANYTHING Tom related and I honestly find that a crime. Only Tom can look fucking hot snorting cocaine and having a breakdown in a bathroom. I do not condone the use of drugs so, don't do it ;).

“Tom are you okay— for fucks sake—” You gasp closing the bathroom door behind you, frowning when you see your husband kneeling next to the bathtub, wiping his nose repeatedly.

“Why can’t you fucking knock the door?” He asks, not bothering to cover his fix.

Locking the door with a flick of your wrist, you step closer to him, heels clicking on the white linoleum. It’s draining to see him decaying like this, even if he constantly promises to stop— both of you he won’t. Hand on your hips, you stare at him from above with a disapproving look.

“Why? So you can hide your cocaine pity party?”

He stands up, towering in front of you. His pupils are blown, the blue of his eyes barely noticeable, you see his eyebrow twitching, as he keeps sniffing. It’s too early to deal with this. Rolling your eyes, you turn around to leave the lavatory, not in the mood to face him while he is in his high— but it appears to be that Tom has other plans.

“Where do you think you are going?” He wraps a shaky hand around your arm, yanking you towards him, and swirls you to press his chest against your back. “You can’t leave”

“Let go of me” You struggle, facing the small mirror cabinet on the wall. His free hand grasps your jaw, forcing you to meet your reflection. Calling his name again he tightens his grip. His arm circles your waist, as his hot breath tickles your neck.

“You are so beautiful” He whispers, squeezing your waist. His touch is uncontrolled, especially when he is under the influence. His body feels like a furnace behind you and you don’t have to be a genius to understand what direction he is going in.

Normally you would have pushed him away, blundered, and lost versus the mad strength that cocaine provides him with until he bends you over and forces you to submit under him; the power exchange sends a shiver down your spine, both eager to give in to his sudden lustful desires and to jab him with your elbow, cut his advances and call for a taxi to leave this place. It is not unusual to deal with Tom when he consumes, but every time it’s a bit more draining until it comes to a point where you consider divorcing him—  You start to wonder if it's worth it to stay with him. You could try to talk to him about his behavior, but he doesn't seem to listen. You feel exhausted and overwhelmed, the concern and hesitation readable in your expression.

“I love this dress on you” He continues, unaware of the turmoil inside your head. Tom’s hands let go of you, reaching for the thin straps of your black cocktail dress, sliding them down your shoulders. His warm lips kiss the side of your neck, smirking when you move slightly to give him more access, it is an instinctive reaction. “Good— good” Your husband breathes out, cupping your breasts and giggling them softly. “You are so sexy—” His teeth nibble your earlobe, forcing a quiet sigh from your part.

His erection pokes your ass, and you can’t help to grind on it, making him shiver and pant your name. It’s obvious this man loves you— but it is frustrating to feel he loves his drugs even more.

It’s easier to be oblivious, to close your eyes, and finally give in before the guilt can engulf you; Stumbling closer to the sink, your hands lay on either side of the porcelain fixture, feeling his hands leave your chest to ride up your dress. His index finger quickly finds your clit, circling it with practiced ease, continuously rubbing his hard cock behind you. His lips brush against your ear, his voice a low whisper that sends shivers of pleasure down your spine. You close your eyes, giving in to the pleasure, and let the moment consume you. Tom struggles to unbuckle his belt with one hand, lowering his trousers just enough to free his length and yank his underwear down. 

“You have no idea how much I love you” Tom is painfully aware of how ridiculous the situation is, but he is not willing to stop. In fact, he hooks his fingers in the elastic of your panties and yanks them down, letting them stretch at your ankles. Wrapping a hand around the base of his cock he prods your entrance with the tip, gasping in a husky voice when he slowly pushes in.

“Tom—” You moan, a bead of sweat rolling down your cheek. 

He stops, his hands leaving you for a painful moment. The lack of touch hits you with a mixture of frustration and anticipation, looking over your shoulder to find your husband kneeling next to the bathtub once again and unashamedly snorting another line with his cock out. Squeezing the sink with such force that your fingers go numb, you feel a wave of fury crash through you. He will never change.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You growl, glaring at him. He simply smiles at you, as if he found the situation amusing. Reaching for your underwear you finally made up your mind— to walk out, leave, call a cab, call your lawyer tomorrow morning, start the divorce process—

But he is quicker. Tom forces you back on the sink, overpowering you and yanking your hair to keep you in place. There’s a faint white spot smeared under his nose, one that you see from the mirror reflection. With a whine, you protest against his rough handling, squeezing your eyes shut and listening to him spit on his palm to smear it over his cock. Pushing your underwear down once again, Tom smirks at the sight of your wet entrance and presses his thumb over your hip. He pushes inside you in one swift movement. Your body betrays you, moaning in appreciation at the known sting of his cock spreading your warm insides. His breath grows ragged, thanks to your sinful walls clenching around him and the cocaine. His hips pull back and forth again, taking what he wants, not really caring for your needs and thoughts. 

Tom’s pace increases, clasping a hand over your mouth to keep your noises down— you are still in the bathroom and the walls are pretty thin; his thrusts becoming deeper and harder that you completely forget you were furious at him. 

“Pretty, pretty, pretty” He moans in appreciation, rutting into you like a madman. Your legs shake, barely holding up with his movements. “You will never leave me, I will never leave you” It sounds like a promise, but not the sweet one he did at your wedding, holding hands, back when things were easier— it almost sounds like a threat.

His name falls from your lips like a melody, muffled by his hand and spurring his hips. Sneaking his hand in between your thighs, the position is clumsy but he manages to find your clit again, torturing the swollen nub with his rough fingerpad and choking a moan as your pussy convulses around him. 

Shuddering with pleasure, your eyes roll back. Your climax is so close, moving his hips to meet his thrusts in a desperate attempt for more. Tom notices this, already having memorized your body like the back of his hand. He isn’t far, and when you finally reach your orgasm and crumble underneath him, he bites his tongue so hard it nearly draws blood. 

The hot sensation of his cum flooding your insides earns him a weak mewl, slowing his hips until he can’t handle the overstimulation. It’s too much, it’s terrible. The aftermath is messy and welcomes you with that dreaded feeling. You can’t continue with this. Your eyes swell up with tears of regret, cursing yourself for always falling back to the endless loop of fights and reconciliation sex. Tom pulls out with a tired sigh, watching how his release slides down your spent hole only to push it back inside with his fingers. 

Your tears fall to the sink, sobbing silently at the broken marriage you can’t seem to get out of when you hear him snort again, which causes you to sob louder.

He will never change. 

[cher-rei]

afterglow- pt 6 [ T.A.A ]

pairings: trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

summary: young and aspiring marketing and business major jamie carter (you) is privileged with working alongside the liverpool marketing and public relations team while also getting entangled with their star player and right back, trent alexander arnold.

genre(s): friends to lovers, workplace romance, fluff

[wc: 4.6K] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12]

notes: this chapter is a bit longer but it was so funny to write. and of course, it was sitting in my drafts for like 50 years... enjoy!

if someone were to ask you to pick between your mother and your father you wouldn't be able to answer the question, much like most people in the world. they both offered qualities you needed respectively and you were grateful to have them both in your life. kind of.

seeing as you spent most of your life in london, despite being born in liverpool you grew up with your mother and spent a solid 22 years in her presence with nowhere to go. you loved it in london, it was your home and you couldn't let it go. but what it lacked was your father— your best friend.

you were living with him right now because of the whole "alex has chicken pox" situation but you were welcomed home to a facetime from your nephew so that was fun. it was easier with your father, you didn't have to walk on eggshells around him, you could talk about anything and laugh about everything together and that's what you loved about him— his neverending support.

it started with taking you to football practice without your mother knowing, her thinking that he was accompanying you to weekly ballet. when instead, he'd have your kit in the car ready at all times, and supporting you from the sidelines all the way until high school.

and then when your mum was against your university major in marketing instead of law as you had "agreed" upon, your father took the drive from liverpool to london so that he could have a chat with her. and to your surprise she gave up and let you do as you pleased with much reluctance.

so when they got the divorce when you were 16 and he moved back to liverpool, the decision was seamless but you still stayed with your mother seeing as maya already had a job position on that side. after all, you couldn't leave your mother alone. the woman gave birth to you for crying out loud.

all that just for you to move to liverpool eventually because of a really bad break-up. which brought you to your current point— the one where your father wanted to wring every single man's neck no matter how they looked at you.

you felt like a teenager sneaking out like this but you had no other choice. you were going on a drive to lord knows where with a freaken football player, "the most unloyal men on this planet", as your father liked to say.

but of course, he had to catch you in the act, a look of confusion plastered on his face as he stood in the living room, getting ready for bed. "why are you walking around like you did something wrong?" he gasped at your guilty expression, "are you leaving me already? you're just like your mother."

your anxiety vanished in an instant at his joke, an attempt to get the truth out of you. "it's too late to be making jokes like that."

he crossed his arms over his chest. "and it's too late for you to be walking around the house like you're in the 'quiet place'. seriously jamie, why are you tiptoeing?"

you raised your hands in defence, "I thought you were sleeping. my bad for being considerate."

he let out an unconvinced hum and eyed you up and down. he took in the fact that you were in a pair of sweats and a navy blue zip-up hoodie. "you're not a teenager anymore." he shook his head and let out an amused chuckle.

you watched as he made his way to the kitchen and you couldn't help but follow behind him, "what's that supposed to mean?"

he didn't answer your question for a moment and continued to rummage through the fridge for something, happily taking out a box of doughnuts you two had bought earlier. "it means that you can leave the house when you want to. just tell me first."

it was times like this that you forgot you were an adult. to be fair you never really considered yourself to be one, or to act like one either. "oh." there was a moment of silence that passed but it was interrupted by your phone going off.

the way that you darted to check the message said enough to your father, and he let out another amused chuckle. "go on now. don't keep the boy waiting."

your eyes widened in shock, your mouth dry in disbelief but he waved you off. "leave before I go outside to meet him. or should I just--"

"--stay here! I'll be home soon!"

"so do you always drag girls out of bed to keep you company in your car?"

trent rolled his eyes at your question from the driver's seat but kept his attention on the empty road, only the city lights illumating the dark night. "first of all: I didn't drag you out of bed, you could have said no. and second: no I don't usually do this."

you looked at him with your eyes narrowed, not sure what possessed him to call you at 10 in the evening for a drive. "oh so I get special privileges now? care to explain why?"

"I just wanted to go for a drive that's all," he answered honestly with a shrug of his shoulders but that still wasn't quite the answer you were looking for.

you fought back your amused smile. "you have friends for that trent, I'm sure."

the car stopped at a red light which allowed him to look over at you sitting comfortably in the passenger seat of his car. it wasn't the first time after all— there were many trips to the academy, sometimes having to shoot content with him and even that one morning when he picked you up at your sister's apartment for work.

you'd never forget that day and the innocent look on his face when he called you to say that he was outside just as you were grabbing your car keys. it was strange but you didn't mind it.

he let out a sigh and continued to drive after the light had turned green. "all my friends prefer to spend their evenings with their girlfriends and wives so yeah no thanks. and besides--" he shot you an appointed look, "--are we not friends?"

your mouth dried up. that was a little more than you wanted to get out of him, not sure how to respond. colleagues? definitely. banter buddies? sure. but friends?? you were sure that there was some sort of boundary for that and you were never sure if you two had managed to get there yet.

"you could have asked skylar."

oh shit.

you bit your tongue in immediate regret. it was a genuine accident at how quickly it left from your lips and telling by the flicker in trrent's expression, you had hit a nerve. you were just about to apologise when he interjected.

"skylar," he emphasized her name, his lips curved into a smile as he spoke to you, "wouldn't be caught dead eating takeout in a mcdonald's parking lot at 10 in the evening with me though."

you didn't know what to think of his answer, but instead of overthinking it, you decided to make the most of the moment at least. there was no point in making this awkward and it's not like you didn't enjoy his company. trent was easy to be around. most of the time.

so that's how you found yourself parked at the far end of an empty mcdonald's parking lot with hardly any street lights in sight. you unbuckled your seat belt and reclined the seat further back for some more leg room, trent watching you as you did so.

"oh, you're definitely not new to this."

which was true, you weren't. you've had your fair share of late-night drives to get some fresh air back in london. the only difference was the person you were with, a distant memory that you weren't too fond with but maintained at the back of your mind.

you were sat with a large fries, a chocolate milkshake and a mcflurry. you dubbed it the ultimate late-night combo and trent was eager enough to take your word for it, and to his surprise it did not disappoint despite being so simple.

it didn't take long for the atmosphere to clear and for you to ease into conversation. dabbling a bit in random aspects of your lives, to movies, to football and to just nothing. you loved how easygoing it was, not much thought had to be put into anything you said which left you with room to just relax.

"so your mum's not from liverpool?"

you shook your head and took another sip from your milkshake. "she's from london, my dad's from liverpool. but they lived together here for a bit, and two or three years after I was born we moved back to london."

the explanation made trent tutt in disappointment. "and here I thought you were a purebred brit. your accent's probably fake too."

"the accent is real thank you very much," you defended with a hand to your chest.

he quirked a brow, "let's be honest here. you probably dated colwill. you were probably neighbours or something."

your eyes widened a fraction at his comment in utter shock. "levi?" well wasn't this just lovely, you couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "he's three years younger than I am."

trent scrunched his face at you, not convinced by your answer almost as if he knew something you didn't. "age is just a number or whatever they say. but no," he thought for a moment, "you couldn't have been with him because he would have said something by now."

it was strange to see this considering that trent literally played with levi in the england team, so the dots would've been connected long ago if you were in fact in cahoots with levi. it was quite the compliment, knowing that you were paired up with someone that attractive.

"if I were with levi then I wouldn't be in liverpool right now. I'd be back in london living my best life." your answer seemed to pique trent's interest, questions bubbling at his throat the more he found out about you.

"why is it that you left london?" he leant back into the seat, his full attention now on you in the dimly lit car. "I'm sure it's not just because of work."

oh definitely not. you just happened to get lucky there.

your lips pursed as you thought, not sure just how much he wanted to know or how much you were willing to tell. but it wouldn't hurt right?

"uhm," you cleared your throat, "bad breakup."

trent's intrigue increased at your answer, one that he wasn't expecting to be honest. he was expecting something more along the lines of running away from home because your parents' divorce or to be closer to maya.

"you don't look like the relationship type," he answered truthfully and your eyes widened in slight shock, feelings mixed and a bitter taste in your mouth.

how were you supposed to interpret that? negatively? positively? was he calling you independent?? the internal struggle was mind boggling.

you pushed the comment to the back of your mind and let out a hum. "no yeah, he cheated on me."

"oh fuck."

"with my best friend."

"oh fuck."

a laugh escaped your mouth at his reaction and how it got progressively more concerned with each passing second, and your nonchalance wasn't making him feel any better. he fumbled over his words for a bit, switching between the usual "I'm so sorry" and "you've got to be joking right now".

you assured him that you were fine, a closed lippsed smile drawn across your lips. "but like hey," you raised your hands jokjngly, "his name was michael so..."

trent blew out a breath at that and quirked a brow. "yeah, no you definitely asked for it then."

your rolled your eyes and played along for a moment, "I know right. and it didn't help that she was literally his best friend before we got together."

it was every cliché in the book to trent which only made the situation less serious, and seeing that you weren't showing any sort of discomfort towards it he didn't stop himself from laughing and getting back at you. "you just love making horrible life choices."

you nodded eagerly in agreement, saying that it was actually your forte— a gift that you just happened to be born with. it didn't take long for you to ask trent how he didn't know about the breakup. "I'm not famous but it was all over twitter for quite some time."

you came to learn that he wasn't a social media buff and preferred to keep to himself by just staying at home and enjoying his own company and you respected him for that. for you however, it was slightly different because your entire life was on social media but you didn't regret it.

the people that you met and the content that you had the opportunity to create were more than you could ever ask for. but obviously there were the downs— public breakups, hate comments, death threats. nothing out of the ordinary. quite a bit of your life was on display for the world to see so you understood trent's want to keep his life as private as possible.

you were getting to that point as well. you had a total of two friends— maya and clara. your daily routine consisted of waking up, going to work, pilates, pop into a barnes and noble, settling in at home and going live for a few hours. that was your quiet life and you were thoroughly enjoying it.

and trent did a damn good job at keeping his life private, skylar was an absolute myth to everyone. that and you felt that it was time to shift the attention to him for a bit.

"so what happened between you and name not to be mentioned? seeing as we're getting emotional here."

he wouldn't use the word "emotional" but a heart-to-heart was blatantly taking place, even though it wasn't planned. there was a look on his face that screamed how do I explain this? and it had you chewing on your lip for answers, any sort of answer.

it took trent a moment but he eventually let his guard down. "well rumors say that I cheated on her with some random youtuber's girlfriend— which is insane by the way."

not really.

"we dated for nearly two years, she was nice, came to my matches, said I made her heart do flips or something like that." the way it fell from his lips wasn't the slightest bit tasteful, no good reminisce or fondness in his tone at all.

you continued to listen to trent as he explained his relationship with skylar a bit more, furthering into how they met and whatnot. it wasn't anything crazy, just through a mutual friend and he decided to take her on a few dates just for fun, until they're eventually hit it off.

"I thought it was going well but then she said she needed a break out of nowhere, and I was like excuse me?" he said with just as much enthusiasm as if he were still in the moment, his forehead creased in confusion as he looked at you.

he was hurt and it was subtle but not subtle enough to miss. "and she just left without explaining?"

"no," he sighed. "she said she couldn't handle the restriction and needed some time to live her life but obviously the lads thought otherwise. robbo said it was emotional manipulation but I don't know."

"that girl is insane trent. she uses your bank card more than you do. she flakes out on most of your dates and when you try to speak to her about an issue or how you're feeling she gets emotional and starts playing the victim, while you try and apologise. get her out of your life."

this was at least a ten times worse than your situation and you were sympathising at this point. skylar was in fact a manipulator and trent wholeheartedly did not want to admit that.

"and now what? she just shows up and you're fine?" the question came out a little harsher than you intended so you immediately apologized, not wanting to ruin the moment and make him feel awkward. but it was a genuine question and you were borderline worried for him.

there was a moment of silence that enveloped the two of you, filled with even more uncertainty than before. "I don't know to be honest. she hasn't said anything yet but I haven't really been in the mood to confront her yet— I have bigger things to worry about right now."

okay, that was true. his head had to be in the game, and with his team, not some girl who came to lounge around for whatever reason. but you genuinely felt bad for him, a new light shone over him after this evening— one that revealed a little more vulnerability than he let on and it tugged at your heart strings.

driving home about an hour later with that knowledge sitting at the back of your mind wasn't the easiest and you just knew that it was going to keep you up tonight. plaguing your mind, sounding over your other thoughts that were probably more important, for example— the script that you had to give to one of the p.r members for an episode of Up the Reds!, the schedule for certain uploads and how the accounts had to be managed, as well as certain photoshoots and interviews that needed to be prepared beforehand and the packing you had to finish before--

"hey sweetheart," you cooed into the receiver end of your phone which just happened to catch trent's undivided attention but yours was out the window, as you adorned a soft smile.

"don't 'hey sweetheart' me," the voice of the teenager bit back but you swear you could hear him smiling. "you didn't tell me you were making the trip."

oh, he just had to go and tell the entire world huh?

you huffed out a breath, "in my defence, I only made the decision today." an unconvinced hum rang through your hear and you stifled a laugh. "are you going to be there?"

"no duh."

you rolled your eyes at the attitude he was giving you, which was nothing out of the ordinary. "I'm leaving in two days for the week so--"

"a week??" the shock in his tone was evident and you knew were this was leading. "he convinced you to stay for the week? and you said yes?!"

"I said yes so I could spend more time with you I swear. if you really think about it, I'm doing this for you."

"hm, oh really?" he dragged out and you pursed your lips to stop the laughter from escaping your lips. "I'm holding you to this. bye I'm leaving to try and comprehend the amount of lies that just came from your mouth."

"come on you can't be a--" you interjected but the boy was adamant.

"--bye!!"

you laughed sheepishly. "I love you."

"liar!"

that was nothing short of the usual phone call you seemed to get, a ghost of a smile still on your lips as you put your phone back down into your lap while trent mustered up the courage to say something.

"so." he gained your attention, his gaze immediately averting in front of him to the empty road as he drove a little slower than usual. "you're going somewhere?"

you perked up and nodded. "It's supposed to be to relax but I'm pretty sure I'll be more stressed out on that side of the world. I'll be back by next week though."

he probably should have asked where you were going but before you knew it, you were in front of your dad's house. and as suspected, all the lights were off but you knew he wasn't sleeping. he wouldn't even think about it until he knew that you were at home safely.

it was exactly 1:42 a.m., and only then had it hit you just how long you had stayed out. trent got out of the car and watched as you walked to the front door— the urge to say something tickling at his throat. something other than "goodbye" but it wasn't there yet.

you gave him a small wave and put your hand on the door handle, but before you could turn it, it was pulled open from the inside— your dad stood against the doorframe with a sly grin that you were so close to slapping off his face but he was quick.

he put his hand out and waved at trent, the footballer slightly amused at your reaction and harsh movements to push your dad back inside, a laugh echoing as he waved back politely. "good evening mr carter."

you whipped around and sent a glare trent's way but he was far more than pleased.

"jamie, why didn't you say that your boyfriend was a footballer?"

your heart dropped to your stomach. "dad! i swear I'm going to--"

your father continued on playfully. "and he plays for us? so you do have reasonable taste in men. and here I thought I raised an idiot."

trent was as a loss for words by now, his eyes flickering from you as you tried to loosen yourself from your father's grip on your shoulders. he knew you were blushing, but his was masked well by the lack of lighting.

"anyway, thank you so much for returning my daughter in one piece trent. I hope she didn't bother you too much." he tightened his grip on you and ruffled your hair. "she's rather irritating in my opinion."

"not at all," trent managed through a laugh. "she's great company."

your father didn't agree with his answer at all and he made it blatantly obvious until he finally bid trent goodbye and got back into the house where you basically jumped onto his back, your arm wrapped around his neck in a chokehold.

"why are you like this?? I have to see him at work!"

"that's your fault for dating a colleague!"

"we're not dating!"

"that's exactly what your mother told me about her and shawn. and now look where that led us!"

[amomentwiser]

"Why don't you spend time with us?" they say, "Keep your phone away at the table."

Parents say they want to talk — until it's about anything real.

They don't want to know about how their plans for your future make you feel.

They don't want to know your fears, hopes or dreams.

The things you're interested in — your favourite music, games and movies;

Or the things you've come to believe.

Sometimes it feels like parents don't want to get to know you as a person. They only see you in relation to themselves.

Or sometimes they do talk about music and games and movies, and it's even worse — because the conversations you want to have are serious.

And it's worse because it becomes very clear, that they don't want to have conversations that matter. That, god forbid, make them feel.

They want to avoid talking about all the times they yelled at you. No apology, no acknowledgement. Just glaze over those parts and pretend everything's normal. Neither guilt nor remorse.

And you're left wondering whether this thing you have a memory of actually happened, because everyone is acting like it didn't. And whether your anger is warranted, because everyone is acting like it isn't.

An unspoken decision: "Yes, we were harsh earlier, but we felt bad and are being nice now"

The implied demand: "...so be grateful,"

The undercurrent of a threat: "...or I'll get angry again."

And a push to move on: "Why do you bear grudges? Leave the past in the past."

All these little clues, that you learn to read in their body language and their eyes and their vibe.

And then they balk when you don't call them. Or jump at the chance to spend time with them — or even have a relationship.

It's weird, loving people you don't like. That you'd never choose of your own volition; that you'd never be friends had you met in the real world. People you're indebted to anyway, because they took care of you your whole life and changed your diapers and drove you to school, and what friend would ever do that?

Had they been overly abusive I would've cut them off without guilt; if I didn't know that despite it all, they really did love me, I wouldn't have cared about hurting their feelings.

Some people... you love them only because they are family. If they were a boyfriend, I would've broken up with them; if they were a spouse I would've divorced them. Alas, they are my parents, and I'm destined to love them. To give up a kidney for them if need be, but not any days out of my workweek.

I don't have these conversations with my family because I've come to realise that this is something they're not emotionally equipped to handle. Too much self-awareness would bring out memories not only of the mistakes they made with me, but also all the times adults in their childhood failed them; of all the ways they themselves were wronged; all the years they wasted because of choices they didn't know they had; and all the things they wish they'd done differently. So I understand; the flood of anger and regrets it brings to the surface must be draining.

But that also means that I'll distance myself from them, because for me, their misunderstood love is draining. And because this has to stop somewhere; someone has to start choosing differently — and I've decided it'll be me.

[sorebelflower]

Make... No mistake... I'm a sociopath. God that sounded evil. Lets rewind a little. I grew up all over coastal America, house, after house, after restraining order, everything just kinda blends in. If the divorce rate is 50/50, my mom landed on tails like eight times. So by the time I was 14, right? I moved from seven different houses and attended six different school districts. After awhile, you don't see a point in making friends. The Vitamin C graduation song? yeah, can't relate. But then, one year, all of that almost changed?? For the first time EVER I found myself in a school for two consecutive years, going on three. And then like... I started turning pretty a month into highschool so the "guys hitting on you" social leverage was really awesome. The popular girls would talk to me all of the time, and they were just STUPID. Like they had always been pretty. Never left out, never alone. And when I think about it... all the thinking I've ever done was when I was alone. I was nice about it, and thought I'd always be nice about it. Finally in one place to build a steady reputation. And then life said FUCK THAT. My PIECE OF SHIT GAMER BROTHER got us evicted for pirating BREAKBEAT MIXTAPES. ITS LIKE, NOT EVEN GOOD MUSIC??? Anyway, so Mom was crying packing up the moving boxes and that's when she told me we're moving out of state! And I JUST got settled! I said "FUCK YOU I'm living with Dad", he's just a neighborhood down. I put the boxes down, go over, knock on the door and... BOOM. A GUNSHOT. My second Christmas KILLED HIMSELF! I walked in... floor looked like a whole ass video game just blood everywhere. And get this, his suicide note was stuck to the fridge with a Cookie Monster magnet. All he wrote on it? Nicole's fault.... I'm Nicole by the way hi WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO HIM?! Maybe I missed the office softball game?? Men are so into this revenge suicide thing. But whatever. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters... I'm moving... AGAIN. City, county, state; all the same fate. But I've always said that... while leaving. This time? Its on arrival.

[stashandtell]

Nobody Asked For This: My Rankings of the Hermione x Weasley Ships with REASONS

I drafted this weeks ago and had set it aside with no clear plan to publish it. Then, after a stroke of 2 AM genius this morning, I wrote a piece called Ranking the Weasleys, (to be posted on 19 Sept 2024 in honor of Hermione's birthday) and it seemed like a great time to finalize this post and share it. Feel free to tell me your rankings in the comments, be it your list of the fittest Weasley as you find them or your ranked-list of pairings with Weasleys, whatever you fancy to share. Enjoy! - - - - I made a loooong post with recs for each of my top Hermione/Weasley ships that you can check out here. Read Ranking the Weasleys or see the related post where I talk about writing Ranking the Weasleys and I share just a few initial thoughts on the fetishization of war wounds in the fandom here. - - - - I've recently dove into the world of Hermione x Any-Of-The-Weasley-Brothers pairings, which is what happens when you're burnt out on the regular ships you read and looking for something more. Personally, I'm surprised I gravitate towards so many Hermione-focused pairings, especially het pairings, but that's just what I've been into lately. I hadn't considered pairings with her and any of the Weasleys until someone recommended Charmione fics in a thread for Theomione. Once I dug into the fandom's characterizations of the Weasley brood and had a better sense of who each of them were on their own, I found I really like many of these ships, some more than others. The rankings of my top-three rotate pretty regularly depending on the last great fic I've devoured. This is a snapshot of where things stand today but it could move around. Before we dive in, I've preview my rankings and the major themes of the pairings in the most popular fics shipping Hermione with a Weasley. 1. Bill: Wolf-ish Daddy 2. Fred: Uplifting, Fun, and Romantic 3. Charlie: Sexy and Rugged 4. George: Growing Through Grief 5. Percy: Acceptance of Self, Also Rules Daddy 6. Ginny: A Firecracker and a Friend 7. Ron: Angsty Best Friends-to-Lovers 8. Gideon or Fabian: Time Travel AU or Ghost Lover(s) 9. Arthur or Molly: I haven't read these ships so they're going in the bottom of the list. I'm not opposed to reading these pairings but there's already such a trove with all the brothers in my tbr list that I'm not sure I'll ever dive in. 10. Weasley Progeny: I haven't read any of these ships. I have not read many pairings that include anyone dating their friends' kid in the next generation. (Though I have read a small number of fics pairing characters like Hermione or Ginny with older characters like Kingsley or Sirius...shoutout to the older/younger Nottcissa ship.) 11. Aunt Murial: Technically she's a Prewett but I think I would be into a Murmione ship if we got there. So far nothing comes up on AO3. - - - - 1. Billmione: What I love about a Hermione x Bill dynamic is his position as oldest-sibling and caretaker. If the author has resolved the relationship with Fleur as one that has ended in divorce or death, that extra element of emotional tenderness really can push the story to complex depths. I also find it interesting to see how writers engage with Bill's hybrid/half-werewolf affliction. I'm hard-pressed to really fall in love with any Billmione fic where their relationship starts pre-Battle of Hogwarts, though I do get it. I personally enjoy stories that can be canon compliant so I want to see how the Fleur issue is handled. I also find that with such a significant age-gap for that developmental stage of teenager-dom, (not like Fleur was THAT much older than Hermione but still...), it's incredibly rewarding to see an older Hermione that brings some kind of life experience to the relationship so she can be more equal with Bill.

In some of the fics, especially a few of the multi-Weasley, reverse-harem style pieces I've finally started reading, Bill's older-brother position and wolfy streak create the core dynamic of the group.

I'm not the biggest fan of the multi-Weasley pairings with Hermione but what I loved most in the standout fics are the group dynamics and individual roles that come out. Hermione can be incredibly stubborn and independent on her own and it's always interesting when she's in opposition to Bill to see how the others in their relationship choose sides.

- - - - 2. Fremione: On it's face, I don't even know if I like this ship all that much but I keep finding myself suckered in. I suspect a big part of it is that it hits me in the sentimental feels. My inner-teen just loves a Hermione x Fred story that traces their young love to whatever conclusion the author brings it to. Even if they get together when they're older and Fred lives through the final battle, they both usually end up with a friends-to-lovers scenario that's full of light sweetness and sometimes romance.

There are some truly fantastic works in this ship and I go 50/50 on whether I prefer ones where Fred lives or not. Depends on my mood and the tone of the story I suppose. There are very few stories in this pairing that I haven't enjoyed and the element of pranking really can make shorter fics fun.

I REALLY enjoy past Hermione/Fred relationships being included in fics where she looks back on their love fondly while she navigates new relationships, sometimes with one of his brothers. Fred is often portrayed as a goof, which seems to encourage authors to consistently write a more engaging and dynamic version of Hermione instead of following some of the fanon's (beloved by me as well) personality tropes/traps of her being insecure, slow-to-assert-herself, angry-broken-or-both and etc. His character brings out some of her best qualities consistently across fics, imo.

- - - - 3. Charmione: I quickly realized when I started reading Charmione fanfics that I do not give a shit about dragons but deeply wish I did. It's a cool plot device and part of the world to hang out with but it's not for me. Tons of appreciation for writers who have thoughtful plot lines and research interesting medical maladies-- but it's hard to hold my interest. (A million kudos when a dragon-centered fic does though!) The Reserve is usually full of original characters, which is fine, but I find myself less invested in the story if we don't know much about these OCs to build out that world.

I often find in the dragon-reserve heavy pieces that I was getting part-way through were objectively GOOD multi-chapters but I kept stalling out in favor of reading something else. Usually whenever there's a Hermione that ends up at the dragon Reserve, she's characterized by her unyielding passions for creatures' rights, spurred on by house elf and werewolf activism. Those are interesting characterizations for her but they just don't keep my attention. That said, I have yet, to date DNF'd any Charmione work so clearly it's not a huge imposition. That said, Charmione is in the top third because there's so much that can be done with this character. I've read a number of fics where Charlie is ace (asexual, demisexual, etc.); where's he's inexperienced because he's married to his job; where he's "too free-spirited" and very experienced; where he's enthusiastically bisexual; where he's not interested in marriage; where he's pining over Tonks; and so much more. His sporadic attendance at family holidays and the ability for Hermione or others to visit him on the Reserve lends to great plot opportunities.

- - - - 4. Geormione: I haven't been around long enough to fully understand why Fremione is a more popular ship than Geormione, but here are some observations: - Fred is portrayed in the fandom as the more loveable, airy goof while George tends to be painted as the more serious and quiet of the two - Generally, in the canon, Fred speaks more than George, from what I've been seeing, as I notate up my secondhand copies of the books - Fred's death or, depending on the fic, brush-with-death, is ripe for the reimagining of his relationships and personality - According to internet gossip, Hermione with Fred were considered for pairing in the canon originally but it didn't suit the overall plans for the series. Source for this can not be verified but it's come up in multiple places. I believe this contributes to the numbers: Fremione has 2182 works and Geormione has 548 works on AO3, as I draft this. All that said, George is usually characterized as the quieter and possibly more serious twin. He might be more shy than the outgoing Fred. Post-war, he often mourns the loss of his twin brother, his best friend, and his sense of himself as part of the pair which can, frankly, be kind of a drag if a writer is looking for a pairing to write a hot romance about. (Not that people can't be sexy or have healthy sexual relationships while grieving!) However, when works take the journey to establish Hermione and George, it's often incredibly rewarding. It tends to feel like Fremione with the temperature turned down on the lightness and has the ability to go deeper into any darkness that needs to be explored. I do love a Geormione but there are statistically fewer works out there than some of the other pairings, thus it's earned it's spot mid-tier. - - - - 5. Permione: There's not much to say because there aren't that many longer fics with this pairing written and most times it's tied to a Hermione x Multi-Weasley scenario. This gets the 5th and some days I would rank it higher because there are worlds in which this is the actual correct pairing of all of the brothers, based on what we can surmise from the canon.

A swotty, uptight prefect-turned-Ministry drone with a regretful heart of gold, Percy's guilt over abandoning his family and Fred dying before him is well-matched for how many writers imagine Hermione's coping with the aftermath of the war. Hermione would have known him during some prime formative years and knows he'll date muggle-born or half-blood witches, a la Penelope Clearwater. It's easy to dismiss Percy as being "not fanciable" if you don't read this ship but some of the writers out there make a compelling case for him, particularly when they make a logical transition from his personal fastidiousness to him seeking to play with control and BDSM elements in his private affairs. I love a good Permione piece. He's often positioned as the conservative punching bag of the family and it's a thing of art when a writer makes us root hard for him.

- - - - 6. Herminny: I haven't much of anything in this pairing yet. Truthfully, I've been holding off on it because I'm sure I'll do a deep dive once I start. It shouldn't come as a surprise that I've read almost no Harmony works either. I love a F/F fic but tend to read in waves and I've been working my way through the Weasley brothers pairings (when I'm not refreshing for Nevmione and Theomione works.) If you have any excellent recs for Herminny or other pairings name, please drop me a line! The reason Herminny is above Romione is because I love many of the fanon characterizations of Ginny in all the other fics I've read, especially when she's mischievous, cheeky, in tune with her sexuality, and ready to take on her own adventures in the world. The ones I have read where she and Hermione have been together were lovely but most were very short fics in collections. - - - - 7. Romione: I read A LOT of Hermione-centered works and authors very often find a need to resolve the young romance with Ron or use him and their relationship as a catalyst that propels our heroine down a path into the arms of another man. I can honestly say that I have read ZERO Romione endgame fics to date, and that includes one shots AND drabbles (~100k words or less.) WILD, right?

I really enjoy angst and Ron is one of the punching bags most often leaned on by writers. One of these days, I'm going to go on a Romione bender as an offering of penance to his character for all of the times I rooted against him in every other fic.

- - - - 8. Lowest Tier: I have never read a Hermione x Molly nor an Hermione x Arthur fic, and while I'm not fundamentally opposed, I'd be flabbergasted to find either pairing beating Romione. I'd much sooner read an Arthur/Molly fic than one that ships either with Hermione because that's just where I'm at right now. I'm happy reading works that aren't smutty in any way but damn if some smut doesn't help along a work that really isn't capturing my interest. While I love when I see versions of Arthur and Molly who are loving friends and/or parental figures to Hermione, the angst-lover in me doesn't mind a solid bashing of either of them and it's hard to get that out of my head. As for the other possible pairs with Hermione and Gideon, Fabian, Murial, or the children of the other Weasleys, I'm just not well-read enough in any of those pairings to have an opinion. I literally only started reading Marauders-era works two weeks ago (and really ONLY well-known Wolfstar fics so far.) A Note About Fleur: One character who's excluded from this list is Fleur Weasley nee' Delacour. I've only read triad- or multi-Weasley fics that put Hermione with her and Bill. While I do love a Bill/Fleur/Hermione work, it seemed disingenuous to rank Fleurmione against the others with what little I've read. That and I'm so clearly jazzed about a Billmione where Bill's free-and-clear to be with whoever, that my ranking of Fleurmione would be heavily biased.

[popironrye]

Michael is a Great character and Star Deserves more than she gets.

While the 4 main vamp bois in 1987 'The Lost Boys' get plenty of pretty equal love from the fandom (and many also love Michael) but I don't see the same love extended to Star and many people criticize the both of them. So I just want to set the record straight. I don't trust people who hate on Michael and Star. There I said it!

Let's start with Star since she's the easier one to talk about.

o The biggest criticism I see for Star is people say she's forgettable, one note, and reduced to Michael's love interest. (This is especially bad in shipping spaces for people who ship Michael with the male members of the lost boys) While it's true Star doesn't get a lot to do in the film, she has about as much if not more screentime and speaking roles as the other lost boys like Marko, Paul, and especially Dwayne. Her biggest crime is being in a story that isn't solely about her, but that's ok! She works in the role she has, which is the main reason why Michael goes through everything he does in the movie. Would it have been better if she had a bigger impact in the climax? Sure but with Michael, Sam, and the Frog brothers having that many characters fighting back against the vampires would get pretty cluttered. Also, having Star not vamp out is criminal. I wanted to see Star with the vamp eyes and fangs.

Speaking of playing a role aside Michael! o Michael gets a lot of flack for making stupid decisions and never asking questions or communicating. God forbid characters have flaws and a movie have conflict to get the plot moving. I love Michael's character. It's something I relate to honestly. People seem to forget that Michael is only 18. Moving several hours away from his home state, leaving behind any friends, coworkers, and family behind to live in a new place with his recently divorced mother. A broken family on top of having to adjust to a new place to live. Yes, he's horny for Star the minute he sees her but it goes beyond her when David and the boys show up. Michael is desperate to be a part of a group. He has no friends and the only family he's hanging out with is his significantly younger brother. I personally don't see Michael going through everything he did just for a chance to hook up with Star. Hell, after he (admittedly stupidly) decks David in the face and gets invited back to the hotel, Star is standing in the distance while Michael is being persuaded by David. If this was truly about competing with David for Star's affection, why is Michael chilling with them. Eating dinner with them, and then accepting the bottle. David drives the point home to the audience and to Michael. "Be one of us." We of course know he's referring to being a vampire but to Michael he's being offered a spot in the gang. He's being peer pressured into being apart of their group, and he doesn't say no because he wants that. Speaking of, people also point the blood drinking scene as Michael not listening to Star and making a stupid decision. He doesn't even ask what's in the bottle before he swigs it. I've already said that characters having flaws is not an issue but really think about it. Yeah, the group is weird but say you were in Michael's shoes. Someone hands you a bottle to drink and another person says it's blood. Would you believe them? Michael knows at this point that David is messing with him. What with the maggots instead of rice and worms instead of noodles, proven to be something Michael saw but then seeing what he saw wasn't real. So you got an 18 year old with no friends surrounded by a group chanting his name, of course he drinks the blood. He had no reason to believe David gave him actual blood to drink.

And I think that about covers it. You can say I'm biased, but idc. Let me know your thoughts!

[write4life13]

Welcome to my Ted Talk where I discuss how Sylvie Brett is NOT a SLUT!!

She was engaged to Harrison who emotionally abused her wanting her to fit into this doting wife lifestyle and so she left him and pursued her career as a paramedic.

Joe and Sylvie start off as friends and I think was initially draws her to Cruz is that he was different from Harrison so they give a relationship a try but figure out they are better off just friends and this is where we get the beautiful friendship of Joe/otis/Sylvie

She then has an on again off again related with Antonio but he’s in the middle of divorcing his wife so it ends up being messy. Which she knew going into it but she liked him so much she wanted to give their relationship a try. In the end they were at two different places in their lives and called it quits for good.

Her next relationship is with Kyle who is a good guy and someone she could have seen a life with if it didn’t change who she was. He wanted her to become a chaplains wife and stop being a paramedic which is something she’s good at and loves doing. I also feel like she ran from Chicago thinking it was the best thing after Otis died. There was so much pain but then she realized how much she missed the people who had become her family.

Grainger was someone she liked but in the back of her head she couldn’t get Matt out of her head after what happened in 9x02. She wanted it to work with Grainger but her feelings were too strong and Grainger picked up on it.

This is Matt’s spot officially like after I love you but we’ll come back to him later.

Dylan never made any sense to me why she decided to date him. He was the guy she wanted to move on from Casey with but after seeing Matt unexpectedly the feelings were brought up again and then she decided to adopt Julia so Dylan stepped away after noticing how she hasn’t moved on.

Now we are at Matt. Sylvie didn’t sleep with Matt the minute that the divorce was finalized and some people acting like that happened is  preposterous. They didn’t even kiss until SEASON 9 and even then Sylvie was thinking about his relationship with gabby by asking the question “if she came back would you leave with her” because she didn’t want to start a relationship with him if there was any chance of him still holding a candle for Gabby. Guess what? It was Matt that tried to fix things after that because he wanted Sylvie. It was Matt that chased her into the street to tell her how much he loves her and no one else. And yet I don’t see any of them placing any blame on Matt. It’s always “sylvie skank this” or “sylvie wh0r€ that”

If we’re counting that’s 7 guys in the span of 12 years. That’s normal. Sylvie didn’t sleep her way through the firehouse and she isn’t the backup plan because Matt can’t have Gabby. I’m sure Gabby is happy in Puerto Rico doing things that she loves and maybe she found love herself. Matt and Sylvie are happy together and sometimes you end up finding who you were meant to be with under your nose all this time but needed to grow as separate people to figure that out.

In conclusion Sylvie Brett is not a slut. Please move on.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[mxmarsbars]

i need specific songs on when the pawn and who they relate to on the life series immediately.

THIS IS MY TIME \^u^/

spoiler alert. most of them link back to either traffic!impulse/clock duo or traffic!pearl (and sometimes traffic!tango) because i’m crazy and am mentally ill about them specifically >_< sorry

this is also all just my interpretations and if you want to see if these songs are applicable to your favorite characters, LISTEN TO THE ALBUM. IT’S SO GOOD.

ANYWAYS here’s my list. explanations below the cut.

on the bound: impulse (clock duo?)

to your love: impulse (clock duo)

limp: impulse (clock duo), tango (tangdubs), pearl (her + scott/divorce quartet)

love ridden: impulse (clock duo)

paper bag: impulse (clock duo), pearl (her + scott)

a mistake: impulse, pearl, tango

fast as you can: pearl (her + scott/divorce quartet)

the way things are: impulse (clock duo), pearl (her + scott/divorce quartet)

get gone: impulse (clock duo)

i know: impulse (clock duo)

on the bound:

this one specifically reminds me of 3l and dl impulse kind of centering around him putting so much faith into certain things, bdubs specifically. these decisions have never ended well for him and often get him into even deeper trouble, but he still thinks it’ll do him some good. even if something inside of him is smart enough to know it won’t.

to your love:

very liml clock duo to me. impulse just trying so hard to move on and distance himself from bdubs but seeming to still have that soft spot for him. he tries to hold his ground, stick to the promises he’s made to himself, but bdubs always seems to make him break. think back to the clock giving scene that season, how impulse crumbles and shuts up when bdubs refuses to listen to him but is still so sweet to him. bdubs never takes him seriously and it makes cutting things off so hard. even with the distance and resistance, impulse folds.

limp:

what is something impulse, tango, and pearl all have in common? the people who have hurt them just seem to refuse to take accountability! ever! hell, they even egg them on just to get a rise out of them and to vilify them later.

bdubs is the common perpetrator for two of those three. impulse and tango never wronged bdubs, and yet he betrayed them mercilessly anyway. and then he tries to paint himself as a hero and saint later, deny his sins to their faces, laugh at them. he fondles their trigger and blames their gun. gives them a reason to get revenge and gets mad when they do it.

very similar with dl pearl, it’s kind of self explanatory. even if she wasn’t perfect, she’s never given any closure and her life is actively made worse by those just as bad as her. they claim to be above her, to have some moral high ground, even when they abandoned her just like they accused her of doing. and they never fail to hold it above her head.

love ridden:

more clock duo, just following their relationship as it slowly but surely falls apart. they just don’t work, no matter how hard they try to push down the problems and start over. they have such a beautiful relationship arc to me, and this song specifically reminds me of how liml serves as their breakup. impulse finally puts his foot down and realizes he can’t put up with bdubs anymore. he’s not his soulmate or husband anymore. he’s just bdubs. and that’s okay. they’ll both move on one day.

paper bag:

oh, the pain of wanting someone so badly but knowing you can’t because they only hurt you. even attempting to make things work is futile. all hope is done in vain. so maybe it’s better to not hope at all.

which is why i think it fits liml clock duo very well (the first verse being the disappointment impulse felt during either his 3l or dl death, you choose). impulse, despite everything, is desperate to make something work. and he tries, but bdubs just refuses to do the same. impulse and his trauma is the mess he doesn’t want to clean up. and every time he tries to get closure, to talk to bdubs about how he feels, it’s shut down. bdubs just doesn’t seem to understand and can’t take him seriously. impulse thought he was a man, but he was just a little boy. so he turns to starving, to distancing himself, to abandoning that hope. it hurts, but it works.

and dl pearl! funny coincidence that the song references a star and scott is associated with those. she’s still lingering on the good things they had in last life and has that hope that it might be the same this time around, but it isn’t. scott hates her, and y’know what? she hates him, too. because she has to. he denies her feelings and calls her crazy, how can she not hate him? she’s forced to distance herself for her own sake and his by extension. she’s the mess he doesn’t want to clean up. that he doesn’t want to face and accept. it’s killing them both, but if starving is what it takes to survive, she’ll do it. she has to. he left her no choice.

a mistake:

i love when normally relatively level headed and smart characters go batshit. that should happen a lot more often. please.

this song has and continues to remind me so much of traffic!impulse, specifically his ll, liml, and wl variants. he’s forced to be responsible and mature and good all the time, it’s exhausting. so when he starts going array, he can’t stop himself. it feels so good letting lose, dabbling in the chaos, letting that imperfection shine through. impulse is a kind person at heart, of course, but he’s just so tired. why does he have to always be the bigger person? why can’t he just make a mistake? and he will always be vilified for this, which is all the more encouragement. if they’re going to treat him like the bad guy, he might as well give them a reason.

this song reminds me of pearl (dl + wl) and tango (liml + wl) for very similar reasons. they are so often made out to be a bad person whenever they act out of line, even if that out of line is just acting like everybody else or having a valid reaction to being wronged or hurt. a person can only take so much demonization before they crack and be the villain they’re painted as. what’s the point in being good if nobody even cares?

fast as you can:

dl pearl time! she cannot catch a break and neither can her soulmate and the rest of the quartet (and anybody else caught in the crossfire). she is crazy and she is messy and she is ruthless. it’s all she’s allowed to be given her circumstances. and towards the end, when she has to band together with those people who drove her to that state, it’s hard. she can’t just forgive them for all they put her through, but she won’t deny that it’s nice having a place in the group. being taken care of. having someone sacrifice themself for you. but the fight is never over. she’ll always be choking on “why”s.

it also kind of reminds me of clock duo and tangdubs, but that’s just me being crazy. i don’t think it warrants an in-depth explanation.

the way things are:

imagining being stuck with someone who’s hurt you so badly, having to stomach being by their side because you can’t escape them. that could ABSOLUTELY be impulse and pearl.

honestly for clock duo, it reminds me more of liml than dl, despite the soulbound. but there’s definitely still some footing in the latter. impulse is still linked to bdubs, even if the soulbound is broken. and it’s hard being apart the next season, but it’s for the best, impulse knows that. he hopes that eventually all the pain and suffering will be worth it. that he’ll be able to move on. and y’know what? he does. he’s forced to bear every dismissed concern and unreasonable excuse and betrayal, and it hurts, but he moves on.

very similar for dl pearl, especially at the end of the season. she ends up teaming with the people she hates the most because she kind of has to. she knows it’s her best bet, even if it’s nauseating. and it’s hard, fighting on their behalf, by their side. but she manages. even with all the name calling and victim blaming and fighting, she moves on as well. maybe not entirely, but enough to get her through the season and the ones to follow.

get gone:

this is one of THE liml clock duo breakup anthems to me. impulse just wants bdubs gone. he’s put up with his shit for too long, and he can’t do it anymore, and he’s completely in the right for that. because he tried. he tried to make things work and talk about their issues and come back stronger, but bdubs just won’t listen. and impulse is tired of waiting for him to. he’s tired of sitting around, hoping bdubs will care, praying he’ll change. impulse knows now what is good for him, and it’s not bdubs. and he can only take so much of that man before he just can’t anymore. before that price needs to be paid. before he makes sure bdubs finally pays it.

i know:

clock duo are never beating the dysfunctional and miscommunication allegations. impulse knows what bdubs did. bdubs knows what he did, too. he just won’t admit it. and for a long while, impulse is able to handle that, even if it aches. he lets bdubs ignore their past, ignore all the mistakes he’s made, all of what he’s ruined. but eventually impulse realizes he can’t let him bury it any longer. it’s not helping either of them. he’ll be there if bdubs does confess, but if he doesn’t, that’s whatever. impulse will be gone by then. hopefully.

[i-hug-exploder-shanks]

for the requests! something O14 related to lounging/cuddling… maybe by the fire or at bed! just something sweet <3

The old men deserve to rest! Let the old bird grandpas sit for more than 3 seconds without being needed to save the universe challenge.

Osiris groaned as he just let his body collapse fully onto the couch after shedding his heavy snow soaked parka and boots by the door. He was sore from head to toe and trembling slightly, though Saint was kind enough not to mention it as he focused on trying to light a fire in the fireplace of the cabin they were staying in while assigned to the mission that took them out into the freezing cold Siberian winter.

Saint gave up trying to light a match after the fourth one snapped between his large fingers. Grunting in exhausted frustration he just tossed a solar hammer into the fireplace and watched as it exploded the wood into flame rather dramatically. Osiris snorted despite himself.

"What? I do not mock you when you light your hand on fire and use it to burn away any hairs so your bald head remains so shiny," Saint grumbled and Osiris gasped.

"What, did you think I did not know about your secret beauty routine? I know everything," The exo huffed as he flopped onto the couch beside Osiris and the Warlock debated the pros of giving him the cold shoulder for the comment verses the extra warmth he knew Exos radiated. After being out in the freezing cold on patrol for hours fighting fallen he chose to forgive the slight about his poor bald head and scoot closer to curl against Saint's side, groaning in relief as he smushed his cheek and ice cold ear against his partner's warm chest.

"Talk about my bald head again and I'll use you to light the next fire my dove," He grumbled anyway but the effect was ruined by the way his words garbled due to how his face was stuck to the cloth of Saint's shirt.

Saint chuckled but wrapped an arm around him tugging him somehow closer. "Are you cold my bird? I can get you a blanket?" He offered and Osiris made a soft growling noise.

"If you move I am divorcing you," he grunted and pulled his knees up to start tugging off his socks so he could stuff his cold feet under Saint's thigh, hissing as the sudden warmth burned against them before he melted in relief.

Saint just shook his head fondly and tilted his head to whisper something to Geppetto who had appeared hovering his shoulder. Osiris was too busy trying to become a new sort of growth on his side to understand any of it but he was able to come up with a theory when a large heavy quilt was suddenly transmatted over them. Saint adjusted it so it was tucked around Osiris like a cocoon allowing him to finally start to relax his muscles a bit as the warmth started to sink in.

"I will not apologize for tossing you into the snow pile because you started it when you hit me with that snowball. However, you should have said you were so cold, we could have returned sooner before you became an Osiris-cicle," Saint sighed but his partner was already drifting off now he was safe and warm and the shivers had been warmed away.

[aphroditeslover11]

I’ll just be hanging around the mistletoe, hoping to be kissed

Jonathon Crane x Reader

Sorry, this took me a while and it's pretty out of character but it was fun to write. I usually write in second person but did this for a change. It's based on another 'Love Actually' quote as well, because why not?!

Requests are still open so please ask. I do a lot of music related stuff, so the Christmas season is manic but the bulk of my work is over now, so I should be able to get back to writing now!

Love you all, thanks for reading and please interact! 💜

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, talk of divorce, age gap, cheesy fluff

There had always been something about Jonathon Crane. He was my dad’s best friend, a psychopharmacologist that worked closely with him. When I was younger he had been my first port of call whenever I needed advice, I had stayed with him when my parents were going through a messy divorce and he had always been a shoulder to cry on. When he realised the true extent of my problems he had offered me counselling and when I refused because I didn’t want my parents to find out he had offered it to me for free. There was very little left about me that I didn’t know. In turn, he had told me a lot about himself - the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father and stories about the time that he spent working at the asylum. 

Everything changed when the divorce was over though. I went to lie with my mum full time and never saw him anymore, I texted him a lot to start with but my need to communicate diminished the longer we were apart. Then I hit the age of 18 and finished my exams, passing with flying colours and choosing to go and study at university. I turned 19 the autumn that I moved away and everything finally felt as if it was in the past. My parents were no longer as big a part of my life as they once had been, therefore neither was Jonathon.

It was the first December since I had left my mum’s house, I had decided that I was going to spend Christmas with my dad - just a quiet one the pair of after I hadn’t seen him for so long. I had left halls earlier in the month and returned home. I didn’t have a job here or anything so I had to spend the lead-up to Christmas in the house on my own whilst my dad was still working. It was three days before Christmas and I had gone out to do the massive food shop that always comes with the season, I was just unpacking the bags when there was a knock on the door. I thought it was probably somebody delivering a parcel, but was happily surprised when I opened it to find Crane. From the look on his face he was feeling the same.

“Jonathon, my god, I haven’t seen you in years. How are you?” I moved to allow him to come inside.

“I’m not too bad, how about you? My god you look so different now.” It was then that I spotted a gash on the side of his face, grooving across his perfect cheekbone.

“What happened, are you alright?” He looked bemused for a moment before reaching a hand to his face, there was blood still on it when he took it away.

“Oh, that… It was one of the patients at Arkham, had a break when I was in a room along with him. I’m fine, honestly.”

“At least let me get you something to patch it up with. You’re bleeding.” He looked a little awkward, only agreeing when he realised that I was worried about him. He probably hated the idea of upsetting me after everything we had discussed over the weekend.

A few minutes later I had found him a plaster, putting the kettle on for a cup of tea and sitting down at the kitchen table to catch up. He was interested in my studies, very apologetic about the divorce and assured you that if I needed anything whilst I was in town he was just a call away. I found out that he had moved up in the world, now the psychology lead at Arkham and lecturing part time at the university as well. He had left not too long later, but only after I had asked him to come over on Christmas Eve for dinner. It would be like old time, spending an evening with him and my Dad, probably watching die hard and laughing at them when they drank a glass too many of scotch. 

~

Christmas Eve arrived, and with it came a small disaster. My dad had been called away for work urgently and was going to be away over Christmas, meaning that I was left to spend it alone. The dinner had been cancelled and with it all of my company for the festive season. I wasn’t planning on celebrating now, moping around and making a ready meal before settling down to watch ‘The Holiday’ with a glass of wine. I had just made myself comfortable when there was a knock on the door. “For fuck’s sake,” I thought, “I just want to get this bloody depressing evening over with.”

I answered the door, with a scowl, only to find my spurned dinner guest behind it.

“Jonathon, I thought I told you that Dad was away over Christmas, I cancelled dinner and everything.”

“I got your message. I was going to be alone for Christmas Eve as well, so I figured that we could be alone together, or something like that. Don’t worry about dinner, I’ve booked a place. I want this evening to be easy for you, just relax, God knows that you deserve after the last few years.” 

It was then that I realised he was wearing a suit - a nicely tailored navy blue rather than the somewhat stuffy ones that he wore for work. In his hand was a bouquet of flowers, which he seemed to have forgotten.

“Jon, you brought me flowers?” He thrust them forwards then. “White roses, my…”

“…Your favourite.” He awkwardly interrupted, finishing my sentence. I gestured him inside, going to put the flowers in a vase.

“I’ll go and get ready then, make yourself at home and I’ll be as fast as I can.”

~

Half an hour later I was down the stair in a black dress and heels, hair haphazardly pinned up in a tumble of curls and makeup done. Jonathon emerged from the lounge, taking his coat off the peg and getting ready to go.

“Shall we then, the restaurant isn’t far so I thought we could walk.”

He was right, it wasn’t far at all and we were soon seated at a table. This place was more expensive than I was used to and we were half way through the main when I mentioned it.

“I’m not sure I can half this bill with you Jon, I’m a broke student.” He just chuckled good-naturedly in response.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me. It’s Christmas and I thought it would be a nice treat for both of us.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive, since the new job I’ve been making a little more than I can spend on myself without feeling guilty.”

“How’s it going? Do you enjoy working at Arkham? And you lecture as well, right?” He hesitated before responding.

“I like my work at the asylum, it’s fascinating and there is such a rich body of patients to observe. Lecturing I don’t like quite so much, my students are a pain, none of them actually seem interested in the subject. If an assignment is handed in on time it’s a novelty for me. How are you finding university?”

“I can’t say I’m loving it, I haven’t made many friends really and the lecturers are a bit dull. I just wish that there was someone there I knew, that I could talk to.”

“Give it a bit more time, but if things aren’t working out you could always transfer to Gotham. It’s not the safest place in the world, or cheap, but the university is good. I can put a word in if you like, you can even stay with me for a while, give you a chance to get on your feet.”

“That’s really kind of you Jon, I’ll definitely think about it.”

At the end of the evening Jonathon paid as he had promised, refusing to even let me see the bill. When we stood from our seats he held out his coat to me, helping me to slip my arms through the too-long sleeves.

“Here, you’ll need it more than me.”

“Are you sure you won’t be cold.”

“I’ll be fine.” He proffered an arm to me as well, which he didn’t on the way there. He could tell I wasn’t used to this sort of treatment, but he had become more instinctually protective as the evening went on and couldn’t help himself.

“You’ve had a few glasses of wine, I want to make sure that you’re steady. Can’t have you falling on the way back.” I slipped my hand through the crook of his left elbow, automatically bringing me closer to his warm body. 

“You know, you are so much more grown up than when I last met you. You were a girl when you left and came back a well-rounded, compassionate woman. You should be proud of yourself for how you’ve turned out.”

“Well, you haven’t changed at all Dr Crane. Always were and still are wonderful to me.”

The little exchanged stopped shortly after that and we carried on the walk in comfortable silence. A small amount of snow had started to dust the ground, starting to visibly settle just as we reached the front door.  I stopped to retrieve the key out of my bag and fumbled with the lock before Jon put his hand on mine, stopping me. He looked up, signalling me to do the same. Above us a single sprig of mistletoe was hung on the doorframe.

“It would be a shame to waste the opportunity, don’t you think?”

“Are you sure? I mean, it isn’t that I don’t want to, but you’re my dad’s best friend. Are you sure it isn’t wrong?”

“Well, I want to kiss you and you want to be kissed, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing I suppose.”

“Well then, I’ll just be hanging around the mistletoe, hoping to be kissed.”

With that I reached up to him, bringing my lips to his in a passionate yet gentle kiss as he engulfed me in his arms. At that moment I could tell that, despite what I had originally thought, this was going to be a truly magical Christmas.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Sharing Clothes (2) Masterlist

part one

A Little Less Conversation (ao3) - sprinkleofsunshine

Summary: a sequel to "the clothes sharing, Dan being a teasing little shit, Phil might be slightly narcissistic or just horny with feelings fic you didn't know you needed"

again and again, even though we know love’s landscape (ao3) - JudeAraya

Summary: After a small fight, Dan finds Phil in bed with a migraine and spends the day taking care of him in many, many ways.

buttons on a coat (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: dan meets up with his mum while he’s wearing phil’s coat

Clothes (ao3) - loveforlester

Summary: Inspired by 'Keeping or Yeeting My Entire Closet With Dan!'

Come Light Me Up (ao3) - JudeAraya

Summary: The clothes sharing, Dan being a teasing little shit, Phil might be slightly narcissistic or just horny with feelings fic you didn't know you needed.

filthy boy (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: He has been thinking about it all day and can’t wait to share the fantasy with Phil now.

Hung(over) on You (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Tipsy Dan were brave enough to talk to boys. Drunk Dan was secure enough to make out with them. Blackout drunk evidently went home with guys - or well, one guy who seemed much too kind and considerate for someone who had been forced to deal with blackout drunk Dan's incompetence.

I like you in my clothes (ao3) - chiridotalaevis

Summary: “No, Phil, you’re serious? You’re turned on by emojis? We might need a divorce.”

Despite his indignation, Dan moved over onto his knees and scooted along the couch to climb onto Phil’s lap.

“I just like how they look on you” Phil wrapped his arms around Dan’s back and was nestling into Dan’s neck, leaving soft kisses at his nape.

“They look awful! They are way too short on me, babe!”

“Exactly.”

If You Don't Love Me, Pretend (ao3) - phantasticworks (steddieworks)

Summary: All his life, Dan has wanted to have the chance to be a parent someday. He would be the best parent that ever existed, he was sure of it. Fostering might not be the most traditional way on the road to parenting, but Dan's dead set on doing it anyway. But, well, it would be easier with a co-parent, right?

the bed-sharing, fake relationship, friends-to-lovers, parent fic i was desperate to read; when i shouted into the void and was met with silence, i decided i'd do it myself

It’s in the air and it’s all around, can you feel me now? (ao3) - natigail

Summary: After filming Cards Against Humanity PHAN EDITION, Dan gets an idea into his head involving his DDR mat. He is so focused on that that he nearly misses how Phil starts planning another thing related to the video.

If anyone asks, lap dancing is the perfect way to celebrate a high score on DDR.

memories for ourselves (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: quarantined dan and phil have a screen-free day

over and over (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil is stressed so he wears Dan's sweater.

pants on fire (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: "My pants are literally not on fire." Dan raises his eyebrows, anticipation already building. He loves their silly banter, but there's something else he loves more. "I could set your pants on fire, though," he muses slyly.

Sexual Fantasies (ao3) - CheekyLittleShipper_14

Summary: Hey was wondering if you are still taking prompts? And if you are I would love to see like maybe Dan left his sexual fantasies sweater laying around and Phil put it on for the funnsies and Dan catches him in the act and he thinks it's so cute/hot and they fuck while Phil's still wearing it?

Singing Mornings (ao3) - MickythePhanTrash

Summary: Prompt "if youre up to it, can i request some fluffy smut or just fluff where dan is dancing and singing in the kitchen wearing phils sweater with his hair all wet n curly and phil walks in and watches him while smiling because /jesus christ hes married a dork/ and /he looks so cute in my sweater/" - stargazingphan (tumblr)

your hoodies (come wrapped around me) (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Unpacking for their move into bigger quarters, Dan finds an ancient treasure in the back of their conjoined closet.

[andydrysdalerogers]

To The Limit - 3

F1 Racer Johnny Storm x OFC Maya Levinson

Summary: He's been away from the sport for 2 years. He has 24 races to prove he belongs here. There are two things that could derail this: his family and her.

She's the one thing he is willing to push to the limit for.

This a sequel to my original story, "Following Team Orders" If you want to get caught up in my Formula One world, you can find it HERE

Future Warnings: references to a partner's death, cheating (but not by the MCs,) alcohol consumption, SMUT!, angst, racing incidents, language, grief, etc.

Moon Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Car divider and Banners by me!

Previous Chapter: Two

Story Master List // Main Master List

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Maya 

I hate being late.  

If you ever had an overbearing brother who loves to criticize just because he’s been a champion in the most difficult and prestigious sports in the world, you would totally get me.  

You don’t? 

Lucky you. 

My brother, Ari Levinson, just had to go and win the Drivers World Championship in Formula One four times.  

Showoff.  

Anyways, he retired and took some time to himself until a couple of years ago. That’s when he was approached to be the team principal for Mercedes. I was working in formula three at the time as a social media reporter. That’s when I gor the call from Ari to be the public relations director for the team.  

I now work for my brother.  

Joy.  

Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother but I never thought this would be my life.  Ari is 15 years older than me. He left to drive at 18 and never looked back. I was three, still toddling after him when he left. He only came home during long breaks and even then, he was on his SIM or at the factory. But he always made time for me, the little tag-a-long that sat on his lap when he was practicing or always wore his team colors. I was his little girl.  

At least, not until mama and papa passed away,  

We don’t talk about it much.  I was 15 when it happened, and Ari was in the middle of his third championship run.  It was summer so I was with him on the road.  When it came time for school, he had asked me if I wanted to be home schooled or if I wanted to go to boarding school. I had two more years before university. I don’t know what Ari really wanted to do.  He never told me or mentioned if he wanted me to stick close.  

I went to boarding school. And then to university.  I only saw Ari at holidays or summer. It was... I don’t even know... lonely. It was lonely.  I had nothing in common with my brother. He was shoved into a parental role for a heartbroken 15-year-old girl. He gave up on the sleeping around and partying, especially when I was on the road with him.  

After the fourth championship, he decided to retire and move to London, where I started to work for McLaren in their social media department. That’s when we reconnected. We had Sunday dinners and lunches during the week. I got to know my brother away from the track. And he was able to, finally, get a life.  He met Sarah. She was nice. At least until she wasn’t. The divorce was hard on Ari. Especially when Sarah used how he had to raise me as reasons he was unreliable as a partner. Lucky I was old enough to testify to the contrary so she couldn’t take as much as she wanted.  

Now that my life story is done, for the most part, now you can understand why I am running through the paddock. I hate disappointing my brother when he has done a lot for me.  

I wish I had gotten to the track sooner. But the perfect PR storm hit the Mercedes Garage, and it required me to work out of the hotel instead of track side. While I’m happy for Olivia and Steve, the look of a pregnant driver testing, of all things, has made a lot of noise.  I had to do interviews and give quotes to questions asked.   

And on top of that, I had to deal with Cole’s accident and the hiring of Johnny Storm. Like I said, it's been a storm of epic proportions. I check my watch, hoping that I will have a quick minute to wish my boyfriend luck before my drivers are in the cars.  

But my mind drifts to Johnny. I haven’t seen him in two years. I can assume he won’t remember me.  I never gave my name that night.  I wanted a night where I wasn’t Ari Levinson’s baby sister. But I remember what Johnny called me.  

Luna.  

I really liked that. He liked me for me and not my name. And I wish we could have pursued something but the next day it was announced that he lost his ride. And then he was underground for two years before my brother brought him back. I’m excited to see him but I am not sure how to handle it. Two years in a long time for things to change. Its not like I can pursue anything anyways.  

If there was something there between us, like I thought we had.  

My cell phone ringing brought me back from the memory of that night.  Its Ari. “Hello?” 

“Where are you, Maya?” 

“I’m running. The last meeting with the FIA took longer than I thought.  I was just going to stop by Ferrari and then be right there.”  

“Tell Carlos I said be safe. But come ASAP Maya. I want to introduce you to Johnny.”  

“Yes, Ari.”  I hang up and rush into the red hospitality area of Ferrari.  I stopped on of the staff.  “Is Carlos in his room?”  

He shook his head. “Sorry I think he is already in the garage.”  

“Thanks.  I text him.”  

Maya: Carlos, where are you?  Carlos: sorry carina, they called me to the car sooner that I thought.   Maya: I can’t stop by but good luck today.   Carlos: I’ll see you after, hermosa.  

My heart flutters at the pet names. I shove my phone in my bag when I slam into someone. Big, warm hands grab my arms before I can fall over, and I grab my bag before my laptop hits the ground. A deep voice says. “I’m so sorry.” Its familiar and comforting. 

“It's ok, I wasn’t looking.”  

“Luna?” 

I look up into the ocean blue eyes of Johnny Storm. And clearly, he remembers me.  

Johnny 

Two Years Prior – End of Season Gala 

The gala had been nice. It was nice to celebrate Steve second championship, but it left me a little bitter.  I had come in second again. I tossed back the scotch I had and asked for another.  

“A man like you should be celebrating his achievements not mourning them.” Her voice was light and sweet.  The scent of strawberries and vanilla teased the air around me.  I turned to see a brunette with some of the bluest eyes I had ever seen. With the full moon behind her, it looks like the moon is framing her.  She’s gorgeous and I fight my jaw falling open. I instead, swallow the new drink placed in front of me.  

“Just missing out on being a world champion is a tough pill to swallow.” I lift my glass to her, and she toast me with her champagne. “To you, Luna, for reminding me that I need to keep perspective.” I sip my drink.  

“Luna?” 

I smile. “Yeah, Luna. Bright and inviting, at first glance, but an edge of mystery and darkness that you just want to get to know.”  

She snorts. “Does that work?” 

I play dumb, “does what work?” 

“That line.”  

I shrug. “Dunno. Never tried it.” I take another sip as I take in more of her beauty.  She must be the hottest woman I have seen since Molly.  

“Ok, speed racer, I’ll bite. Why do you think I am mysterious and dark?” 

An errant curl falls in front of her face. I take the stands in my hand and feel how smooth and silty they are before tucking it behind her ear. “Because you’re beautiful, I've never seen you before and I want to stay in your orbit. But I also think that you won’t be giving up your name tonight.” My fingers skim down her neck and I hear her breathing hitch.  

“That’s very presumptuous.” She gives me a smile that make my cock jump in my pants. “And a little true. I don’t usually come to these events, but my boss made all of us attend to celebrate Olivia Rogers take third in the championship.”  

“So, you work for one of the teams? Interesting. Mercedes, I’m guessing since you’re hear celebrating Liv.” She nods. “That's nice.” I see the dancing start. I grimace and turn back to my Luna. “Wanna get out of here?” 

I can’t believe it. Luna. She’s here, technically in my arms as I hold her steady.  She looks up at me with her beautiful blue eyes and just blinks. “Johnny.”  The way she says my name, it's like she was prepared to see me. I set her on her feet, but I stick close to her.  

“Luna, you’re still with Mercedes?”  

She blushes. “Yeah. Wow Johnny, you’re back.” She looks around nervously.  

“Is everything ok?” My awareness is peaked. She looks very nervous to see me. But I feel happy to see another familiar face. Being new to the team is hard and with how the car is handling, I feel lost. I used to be good at this job. I used to be number two.  

Now I’m at the bottom.  

I try to shake off the negativity as I watch as my Luna swishes her ponytail back and forth while she looks for something or someone. “I, well...” she stammers. “I have to tell you something.”  

“Uh, sure, ok.” I rub the back of my neck. “Do you want to go to my driver room? Its private or we can...” 

“Storm!” I turned to see Ari walking over to me. “I see you met our public relations manager.” He wraps an arm around Luna and tugs her close. “This is Maya, one of the best public relation directors in the business.”  

I stare at her for a second and then glance back and forth between them.  Are they dating? Are they married. They look awfully similar.  

“She’s also my sister.”  

Yep, that’s it. I know I can’t hold my shock face. How did I not see it before? They have the same coloring, but while Ari has obviously brown hair, Luna’s is a dark chocolate brown. But there is no mistaking those eyes. “Maya, was it?” I stuck out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

I can see the panic in her eyes, but I encourage her to take my hand.  “It's nice to meet you, Johnny.  I have a list of things I wanted to go over with you.  I’m sorry we couldn’t have met sooner.”  

I stick my hand in my pockets. “Yeah, well, i know that there have been so many changes around here.  You’ve had to be on your toes. Right, boss?” 

Ari nods. “Bug getting pregnant and then Cole getting hurt has left a shitstorm on Maya’s desk, but I knew she could handle it.” He kissed the top of her head. “Maya, I set up time for you to run things with me and Johnny after the race and review. I’ll see you after the race, sis. Johnny, you’ve got about half an hour before you need to start prep.”  

I mock salute him before giving him the shaka sign. He shakes his head before walking off.  I turned to Maya.  “This has been interesting,” I tell her.  

“I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you privately before the weekend started but with all the press surrounding Olivia...” 

“Hey, I get it. We never said names, Luna. And I was gone from the sport so there was no reason to find me again after that night.” I rocked on my heels. “Guess I shouldn’t ask you out then, seeing as you’re the boss’s sister and all.” I give her my best cocky grin, even if it's a bit forced. 

She grimaces. “I really hate my brother for telling everyone that I’m off limits. I’m not 12.” She huffs with indignation, and I can’t help but laugh.  But before I can say anything, my phone chimes. I look at it and pale.  

Susie: SOS sorry but I need you for a minute.  

“Sorry, I have to go. See you later Luna.”  I rush out of the garage, trying not to panic.  

I really don’t need this before my first race in two years. 

NEXT

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