#the argumentation is strange isn't it?

[theroundbartable]

When they said Hitler was a communist (quote by Alice Weidel, German AfD chancellor candidate, certified Nazi), I laughed because of how stupid it was.

When people supported her claim by saying that 'the Nazi flag is red', I laughed even more because it makes even less sense.

When Trump won the election, I stopped laughing.

What you think communism is has been distorted. Communism is not the opposite of fascism, and no longer follows it's own idealistic ideas, it's fascism again. It just wears a different color.

And then I realised ...

The Republican vote too, is red.

Wha-

Oh you mean like Russia’s sovereign wealth fund???

[dunmeshistash]

I don't think Marcille is that immature. She complains a lot and has a more childish side but I wouldn't say it's the equivalent of being young like for example Pattadol or Izutsumi's (who are 16 and 17)

Marcille very much acts like an adult when it matters, she has enough emotional stability to deal with a lot when it isn't related to her trauma, the immaturity she displays (like being mad at Namari, not understanding why she left) to me it's the equivalent of a 19~20yo type of immaturity? Maybe people overestimate how mature you are in your early 20s?

About her more childish tastes (her monsters, her doll etc) I'm way past my early 20s and I still have toys and very much have a 'childish taste' that might be even worse than Marcille's, I think that's more an indicative of her lost childhood she's still attached to. (And her monsters probably more to do with her general disgust for real monsters)

(in my case I just like cute things tho)

Her mother basically told her she'll be abandoned always, that everyone she loves will die before her, right when she was still processing the passing of her father. It's really no wonder she can't grow in that aspect.

I think her dungeon lord outfit exemplifies that duality, the outfit has both the earmuffs that are associated with children but is also the "most mature" outfit Marcille has wore so far, with a body hugging silhouette and cleavage.

Marcille has trouble letting go, she seeks comfort and stability, I don't think it's so strange she hangs on to childhood toys even in her adulthood. They wont leave her.

I mean there's another character associated with childish toys and she's a war veteran milf.

[sergle]

(re: sssniperwolf and jacksfilms) It's laughable that she escalated it that hard. Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure stalking him like that is illegal and it's terrifying regardless, but Jack said in a stream (can't remember which one) that he wasn't about bringing up past controversies of hers or cancelling. And now she shows up outside his house (wtf!!!). Like he was willing to only call her out for stealing and freebooting but she's gone and stalked him and Jack doesn't seem like the type of guy to take that shit. Actual WTF moment from her part. wild

omg long post below bc apparently I have opinions: YES!! THAT'S WHAT'S SO INCREDIBLE ABOUT THIS... Jack has been genuinely diligent about keeping things on-topic in his streams, and hasn't brought up any of her other Stuff, or anything Personal. Despite the fact that she kickstarted the whole thing by making it INCREDIBLY personal and attacking his physical appearance... His goal has been to call out and bring attention to content theft, and he's stuck with it. Dude's also cared about this for years, and she's not the first content thief he's criticized. He just hates the way that freebooting has become so accepted-- to the point where youtube praised her for "coming up with such creative video ideas"? Hey! Ew! Dude wasn't trying to get her cancelled though, there was no smear campaign of her character. He's been rallying to get her to CREDIT the creators that she relies on for all of her content. It would set a precedent for all other "react" channels on the platform for one of the biggest channels on youtube to actually give credit where credit is due. Or, god forbid, get permission first? It's not hard. It's already done the job of making some other people who do "react content" self-analyze whether or not their content is transformative, and to maybe care about crediting the creators they rely on for their genre to work. There is a way to make this kind of video that isn't so slimy. And making fun of her lackluster-at-best reactions is so far from even being a big deal. Bc she literally does just sit there and say nothing. Plus, his goal has a clear End built into it: if she started shouting out the creators she takes content from, and put links directly to their pages in her video descriptions, the job would be done! That's what he's asking her to do. Real bare minimum stuff. It legit would have been easy to steer away from the content theft and to also talk about her history of lying to her audience! her ghosting a dying kid with cancer who was a big fan of hers! the fact that she's been arrested for armed robbery! her history of transphobia! He would also get more clicks that way, which is what she claims is his sole goal- to get more clicks. I'll bring it up though! She's been a terrible person the whole time, and has kept a steady course of manipulating her audience of young children and/or, let's be completely honest, simps- into thinking that she's a Wholesome creator. (And now, into thinking she's an innocent victim.) All of the actual effort put in by her has gone toward optics, not the content she puts out. A carefully constructed online persona, for one, but also literal appearances. Jack totally can't say this, bc she already went off the handle and said the only reason he doesn't like her is bc he Hates To See A Woman Be Successful. But I can! That was a cheap shot for her to use that argument when, for once, it's not applicable! Much the opposite, even! Dudes online wouldn't go to bat for her if she didn't look the way she does. And it weakens any case she'd have against him by making baseless claims like that. She banks hugely on being an attractive woman to get her clicks/following. A massive amount of effort is put into her appearance. The makeup, the lip fillers, putting her hair in little pigtails, the chokers and tube tops, the big non-prescription Nerd Glasses, the thumbnails where she has her mouth open in That Expression?

I don't even have to say anything. But making a weird facial expression and putting your hair in pigtails aren't moral failings. Showing up at someone's real life home (whose address you shouldn't even have access to), filming the front of their house at night, doxxing them to your audience of millions of people? Because you were mad at them online? That is fully scary! Yeah girl I'm pretty sure that Jack can press charges! There is absolutely no way to take the moral highground now that she's literally stalked him, and doxxed his home. She tried to goad him and Erin (Jack's wife) out of the house, also, which creeps me out even more-- because what was she planning to do? The fact that she's been arrested for violent crime before does pop into my mind! lmao! Jack was streaming a game at the time that she was outside his home, and these clips of him, his friends, and Erin reacting in real time to what is genuinely a scary situation have been taken down in case he needs to use them in legal action. Shit is legitimately serious!

[dxppercxdxver]

hello hello! in preparation for the opening of @tf2shipswag's oc bracket For Real i have written a vaguely persons-of-the-tale-esque bit of propaganda fiction in which our unwitting ocs experience a historical anachronism and discover they have been entered into the oc bracket! if you like early enemies to lovers and a tasteful dose of meta fiction (along with aggressively 18th century styled prose) you'll probably like this! i call it "there's such a thing as an author" or "persons of the tale But Worse"

Somewhere just to the left of the story well known, Samuel Mundy sat perched in the bay window, long legs stretched across the whorled-grain boards with languid content. Liquid summersong pooled in his lap with all the warmth of a loyal cat, golden and simple. The glass panes were thrown open to let in the comfort of the season—what little could be snatched from the jagged-toothed forest filled with the crack of gunfire, anyway—and he clutched a chipped china saucer in his fingers, picking at a fresh bread roll.

Gazing across the Manor’s ill-tended garden, Samuel sighed nearly dreamily, a reflexive smile playing across his cracked lips. For once, his little world was quiet, nary a disturbance to be found.

Of course, however, his peace was not destined to last, and Miss Pauling’s far off cry of, “Mail, boys!” roused the rabble from deep within the house’s corridors, who all came a-bustling with the energy of an anthill, and idle chatter filled the air, quickly snuffing the silence. Samuel, pointedly ensconced in his window-borne nest, merely watched his compatriots greet their friend and sponsor on the lawn as she distributed the sheaves of parchment and carefully tied packages amongst them. They were permitted some personal effects at their stations, which included a small allowance for assorted trinkets and treasures, and thus the days Miss Pauling ventured into town were filled with a quiet sort of excitement. Much as they were soldiers of a secret war, and trained for such, it grew dreadfully lonely and dreadfully threadbare.

This day, though… Something about it was different.

While the great majority of his fellows dispersed from the lawn as swiftly as they had come, their spy, Laurent, remained, conversing with Miss Pauling. Samuel could hardly make out a word at his distance, but his eyes were sharpened by his particular profession, and the feeling between their persons was a tense one. Her brows were furrowed sharply over the silvery frames of her spectacles, and Laurent’s hands formed clipped gestures at his sides. Whatever it was they spoke of, it hardly seemed a pleasant thing.

After mere moments more, Laurent plucked a paper from Miss Pauling’s elegantly gloved fingers and held it out before him, pursing his lips as he studied it, before shaking his head, offering Miss Pauling a crisp salute, and trudging across the lawn.

In what appeared to be Samuel’s direction.

Growling softly, Samuel wrinkled his nose, staring firmly down at his plate in some vain hope Laurent would pass him by, that the mysterious business he appeared so perturbed by was kind enough to leave Samuel alone. The last thing he needed was another catastrophe atop the neverending tumultuousness of his wartime existence.

“Bushman.”

In spite of his willing, Laurent’s infuriatingly smooth voice lilted into his ears with a weariness that belied an intent beyond an obligatory passing greeting, and Samuel found himself looking up to meet his tired gaze.

The warmer weather had done a kindness to the spy; his sallow complexion and skeletal frame were given a new life in the sun, and the embroidery in his suit shimmered like the finest of jewels. And still, Samuel couldn’t help but find him dour, unpleasant, and downright infectious in his discomfort. Almost in response to Laurent’s hardened grimace, Samuel shifted in his seat, his skin itching ‘neath his clothes.

“Spook.”

When the acknowledgement of Laurent’s presence failed to dispel him from Samuel’s immediate company, he sighed, and turned to properly face the equally beleaguered spy, letting his boots sway loosely beneath him.

“Unless it’s business, I’m not interested,” he said brusquely, fixing Laurent with a firm stare that he returned with unflinching readiness. Pale eyes bored into his own as Laurent shook his parchment bounty open with a sharp flick of the wrist.

“While my present port of call has little to do with our current occupation,” he said, calm and measured, “I have a feeling you will want to see this.”

The paper was rough and worn, stained deep yellow with the wear of travel, and the ink splashed across it was coming off on his skin and the leather of his glove in small flakes, but there was no mistaking the printing.

At first, Samuel blanched, presuming it a call for their heads, but as he read, the fear curdled into something far more baffling. Taking up most of the page was a sketched rendition of the two of them—sniper and spy—stood side by side, illustrated Laurent flashing a wry smirk at his ink-bound companion that the drawing of Samuel readily returned. Bold typeface toward the top spelled out “WANTED” clear as day, although there was no reward attached. Twirling arrows pointed to Laurent and him in turn, annotating precisely who was whom. There was yet more type at the bottom, but Samuel had rather stopped processing exactly what it said by then, and handed the sheet back to Laurent with an incredulous scowl.

“What in the hell is this?”

As Laurent crisply refolded it and placed it in an inner pocket, he replied, “We appear to have been entered into some sort of tournament.”

“Tournament?” Samuel’s mind whirled, spiraling out endless possibilities, each one markedly worse than the last, “As in… fighting?”

“Mercy of mercies, I do not believe so,” Laurent mused, crossing his arms and glancing into the distance. “Even with my considerable skill, we would hardly stand a chance with you on our side.”

“Watch your tongue, Frenchie.” Livid, Samuel snapped, instinctively reaching for the machete at his side. “Don’t pretend you’re not glad of this as well.”

Laurent snorted. “Of course I am, but it is hardly a matter of cowardice.”

“Yeah? What is it, then?”

“I do not wish to dirty my suit,” Laurent sneered, mouth curved sharp as his knife. In that moment, Samuel wished for nothing more than to knock that wretched expression from his face, but resorted instead to knotting his fist in the fabric of his shirt. It certainly would not do to lose his composure so early and in a place so visible to his superior, but oh how he longed to rattle Laurent around, maybe beat some sense into him along the way.

Samuel rolled his eyes. “Fine. If we’re not to be fighting, what exactly are we meant to be doing?”

“If I am interpreting the missive correctly,” Laurent said, smoothing the fine hairs of his wig, “it is really less of a gladiatorial affair, and more of a… popularity contest.”

“Oh.” Cocking his head, Samuel let the implications wash over him, feeling his body recoil in the wake. “Oh.”

“Strange, is it not?” Taking a deep breath, Laurent shrugged slow and deliberate. “Still, I suppose I might consider myself at an advantage. I have many a desirable quality to be considered…” He trailed off, but Samuel was suddenly alight with energy.

Held in his hands was the opportunity to be absolutely devilish, and he seized it with vigor.

“Oh, really?” he said, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

Laurent whirled, eyebrow raised in sharp relief. “Is this a joke?”

“No.” Samuel poured as much sincerity into his voice as he could, leaning forward with earnest. “You see, we’ve been friends for so long—” he stifled a laugh, “—and I’d never even realized! Please, tell me about these ‘desirable qualities,’ I would love to hear all about them, and at the greatest of lengths.”

For a long, terrible pause, Laurent only stared, and Samuel faintly worried he was about to receive a length of cold steel across the throat or wedged between his ribs, but then Laurent’s cheeks flared red beneath his powder, and his mouth hung agape.

“You— you arse!” he snarled, seizing Samuel by the cravat and drawing their faces close. “You would do well to mind your manners, bushman. I do not abide mockery, nor do I suffer a fool, and you, sir, are a prime example. Remember this, lest I be forced to remind you.” With this, he drew his suit back, revealing the delicately tooled sheath for his beloved dagger. Samuel swallowed, thought up every prayer he could, and grinned wolfishly, fiddling with Laurent's elegant sleeve cuff.

“Wouldn’t want to get this dirty, would you?”

Laurent’s nostrils flared, his breath hot on Samuel’s lips, before he released him, pushing him back roughly and huffing, indignant. Samuel massaged his neck, relief coursing through his veins. A scant few feet away, Laurent stood in profile, nearly serene if not for the subtle movement of mute, furious speech.

“Nice talking to you,” Samuel said cheerfully, and, strange as anything, Laurent actually laughed. It was a brief, choked thing, barely identifiable as humor, if not for the smile playing across his face.

“You, sniper,” he said, reaching out and taking a bite of Samuel’s bread roll, “are a ridiculous, ridiculous man.” With this last remark, he about-faced and trudged across the lawn, spine ramrod straight and be-ribboned hair flouncing against his back.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Samuel called after him, and Laurent retorted with a sharp, “Go fuck yourself!” which Samuel could only meet with a thrown bread roll. It collided with the back of Laurent’s head with a satisfying muffled thunk, and Samuel cackled as Laurent let loose a long stream of French obscenities, harshly adjusting his wig so rudely whacked askew.

“I hope you know I despise you,” Laurent hissed once he had deemed himself presentable, and disappeared inside the house with the slam of the heavy oaken door.

“Yeah, yeah, hate you too,” Samuel said. Tucking his legs back into his window seat, he inhaled the lively summer air, and discovered he could not stop his beaming.

[as ever, flintlock fortress is a collaboration with @chiropteracupola]

[comingtoyoursenses]

I understand human bodies are meant to eat meat but most things about our society force us against what is natural so I think being vegetarian/vegan isn't really that wild of a choice

[secondbeatsongs]

[ID: tags reading "#don't ship lithium ion batteries or flammable liquids without declaring them #it is dangerous and postal workers deserve to know which packages to treat with care" /End ID]

"don't ship—" i will just be doing whatever the fuck i want actually

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I feel like we need a refresher on Watsonian vs Doylist perspectives in media analysis. When you have a question about a piece of media - about a potential plot hole or error, about a dubious costuming decision, about a character suddenly acting out of character -

A Watsonian answer is one that positions itself within the fictional world.

A Doylist answer is one that positions itself within the real world.

Meaning: if Watson says something that isn't true, one explanation is that Watson made a mistake. Another explanation is that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle made a mistake.

Watsonian explanations are implicitly charitable. You are implicitly buying into the notion that there is a good in-world reason for what you're seeing on screen or on the page. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie all the time because they're from a desert culture!")

Doylist explanations are pragmatic. You are acknowledging that the fiction is shaped by real-world forces, like the creators' personal taste, their biases, the pressures they might be under from managers or editors, or the limits of their expertise. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie because somebody thought they'd sell more units that way.")

Watsonian explanations tend to be imaginative but naive. Seeking a Watsonian explanation for a problem within a narrative is inherently pleasure-seeking: you don't want your suspension of disbelief to be broken, and you're willing to put in the leg work to prevent it. Looking for a Watsonian answer can make for a fun game! But it can quickly stray into making excuses for lazy or biased storytelling, or cynical and greedy executives.

Doylist explanations are very often accurate, but they're not much fun. They should supersede efforts to provide a Watsonian explanation where actual harm is being done: "This character is being depicted in a racist way because the creators have a racist bias.'" Or: "The lore changed because management fired all of the writers from last season because they didn't want to pay then residuals."

Doylism also runs the risk of becoming trite, when applied to lower stakes discrepancies. Yes, it's possible that this character acted strangely in this episode because this episode had a different writer, but that isn't interesting, and it terminates conversation.

I think a lot of conversations about media would go a lot more smoothly, and everyone would have a lot more fun, if people were just clearer about whether they are looking to engage in Watsonian or Doylist analysis. How many arguments could be prevented by just saying, "No, Doylist you're probably right, but it's more fun to imagine there's a Watsonian reason for this, so that's what I'm doing." Or, "From a Watsonian POV that explanation makes sense, but I'm going with the Doylist view here because the creator's intentions leave a bad taste in my mouth that I can't ignore."

Idk, just keep those terms in your pocket? And if you start to get mad at somebody for their analysis, take a second to see if what they're saying makes more sense from the other side of the Watsonian/Doylist divide.

[vounoura]

act 2 durge spoilers

I'm in act 3 now and enjoying my durge run, but honestly for how important whether or not you listen and destroy Last Light by killing Isobel (whether the first moment you get during the attack or after Sceleritas tempts you by promising you a powerful reward for it; it's literally one of the most important decisions a durge Tav will make as far as I'm aware) is to the overall durge narrative it really feels like a moment that you should've been made roll for to resist.

Multiple times. Once during the attack and again if you pass that first one later.

I mean if you don't in the scene after you are forced to make a dc14 saving throw if you don't want a party member to die, and multiple dc18-20 saves in a row to not scream at them abt how much you want to kill them, and while the DM directly states how much you're utterly aching to kill Isobel, how difficult it is for you to not...there's no real stakes in it because you don't have to hedge your agency on the will of the dice gods. That's the experience I was expecting when I opted-in to play someone slave to their worst impulses, so it's a little disappointing that you can talk to Isobel straight to her face and without any real player interaction just will the urge away.

Ithren slaughtered Last Light because she fell to her worst impulses - that's a high dc wis save she failed.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I saw the stupidest TERF argument about top surgery yesterday over on Bluesky and I'm still thinking about it. However stupid you think it was, you're not going to guess how dumb this is

So. I was reading a happy post with people sharing top surgery stories. Great stuff. And this terf comes into the comments like "oh but what about the psychological damage" and I was like "wtf" and then I read more they wrote and no joke. They were fear-mongering about how psychologically damaging it is to lose sensation in your nipples post top surgery.

I've gotta at least give that one points for creativity. That's hilarious. Even if you are very attached to retaining sensation in your nipples, there are types of top surgery that don't sever the nipple stalk so your sensation isn't affected. It's such a non-issue, and like as someone who had the standard DI with grafts, I literally never think about it. It's not like they hurt, and it's still too early at about six months out to know what long-term sensation will look like, but I can still feel pressure and it's not a super weird feeling at all. This is such a strange choice of topic to fear-monger about.

Who is out here psychologically damaged because they can't feel their nipples the same post surgery

[munsster]

fixer upper

A/N: IM ACTUALLY SO EMBARASSED TO ADMIT THIS IS BASED ON ‘FIXER UPPER’ FROM FROZEN 💀💀💀 does that mean it counts as a song fic…….. (gif creds: @buckysbarnes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: The kids aren’t saying you can change him, per se. They’re only saying that love’s a force that’s powerful and strange. 2.8k words

Warnings: fluff, babygirl steve, cursing, mentions of toxic (?) relationship, hopeless pining, pet names (sweetheart), shameless flirting

Steve can barely see through his rose-tinted daydream, but he's sure he recognizes your smile as soon as you enter the food court. And you lead a trail of whiny teenagers right to his register. This is the fourth time this week you've heard about Steve's lusturous hair and dazzling eyes. You have to hand it to them, they're not bad salesmen, just a tad young to elicit ethos. What the hell do they know about love anyway.

That's what happens when you're licensed and free on a Friday afternoon: babysitting duty. Now, in the event that Steve had been the one saddled with the party on his day off, he would've argued that they're not really babies and they should be self-sufficient. Knowing Dustin, however, this argument proves to be false almost every time.

But it wasn't Steve, it was you. Steve doesn't think he's heard you complain about one thing in your life.

Not even your deadbeat boyfriend called Brad. Who, as Dustin and Max and Robin love to remind him, is utterly replaceable and on thin ice every other week. Steve knows better than to get his hopes up after three months of having them crushed, though. He's learned to live with the strong sense of yearning he feels whenever you're within thirty feet of him.

Take now, for example: you're coralling half a dozen brats into a somewhat single-file line without even having to raise your voice. He should think it's impressive, but he's too distracted by your lip gloss and your voice and the way you did your hair today.

"I hope you give discounts to distressed young women," you tease, brows knitting when you look up at him. This is the part where he's supposed to respond with something charming. Sexy and charismatic, maybe.

"Oh, uh," he chuckles, "No, I mean, yeah. Sure"—Oh, but you smile at him and all that pent up charisma flies out the neon-framed sliding doors. They chatter out their orders at lightning speed, and he can barely catch half of what they're saying when you look at him like that. You finally make it to the register and pay half price. And your cone is always on the house, of course.

"Isn't he such a gentleman?" Max says unenthusiastically. Lucas elbows her side before retreating with Dustin.

"He's also a great driver!" Will chirps, shuffling away to one of the booths with Mike and El who giggle the whole way there. You turn back to Steve who stares off at them incredulously.

"You see what I have to deal with?" you say with some degree of affection for the chaos.

"Aw, come on," Steve says, tilting his head with a shrug, "you love it."

"I think they keep forgetting I already have a boyfriend."

Not much of a boyfriend if you ask me, he thinks.

But what he says: "Ah, yes. The elusive Brad."

You roll your eyes and grin at him. You know Steve has a crush on you. Or else the kids and Robin wouldn't be so adamant on marketing him to you. It's sweet, really. And honestly, you don't think Steve's unfit to play boyfriend or anything, but you're also not disloyal.

Your scoop melts down the side of the cone between your fingers. Steve nearly hurls himself across the counter handing you a thick stack of napkins.

"Shit, thanks," you huff, lapping at the stream of sticky ice cream. His stomach churns as his face screws into a sickly smile.

"Yeah. No problem."

"No, really"—you wrap a napkin around the cone, shoving the rest into your pocket—"I don't know what I'd do if I had to pay the entire bill everytime one of them had a craving."

"Really, it's not a problem," he shrugs it off like it doesn't come out of his paycheck. "I like helping out pretty girls when I can."

You giggle and tilt your head. "Steve Harrington, you're my hero."

He's almost embarassed at how fast his face flushes red hot and frantic. He reaches for the back of his neck on impulse, and any attempt he makes at seeming suave is foiled by Robin patting him on the shoulder.

"If you think that's heroic, there was this one time he singlehandedly saved Hawkins with this sick baseball bat with nails—"

He huffs, "Robin—"

"No, seriously! Don't be so modest, Steve, you're selling yourself short!"

"I'm not trying to sell myself at all!" he says, turning her around and guiding her towards the door to the back room.

"Great seeing you!" she hollers over her shoulder just before disappearing behind the swinging door. You wave with a chuckle. Steve tuts, fixing his sailor hat and shaking his head.

"Did you really do all that? Save Hawkins, I mean?" you ask. And you seem genuinely interested which is why it guts him. The one girl who actually gives a shit is coincidentally unavailable.

"Yeah," he says, shrugging, "but only to clear my conscience. It's like penance, or whatever."

You giggle, not sure if he's being truthful or playing it off. He meets your eyes and he's sure his heart stops dead in his chest for a beat. Nobody pulls off mall lighting like you.

The kids come skipping back to the counter, declaring they've all got different wants and needs around the mall for the next few hours.

"Okay, hold on, I promised I'd have you guys back before my date," you say, Steve overseeing the conversation from over your shoulder.

"Well," he interjects, "when's your date?" All the attention shifts to Steve, and he suddenly wishes he could swallow up the words and take them back for good.

"Two hours from now. Across town," you say, looking a little guilty knowing he's about to make the kindest offer of the year.

"I'm off at five, so I can just"—stop talking—"take them home after my shift."

"Steve, really, you don't have to—"

El grins, eyes wide as she whispers in Max's ear.

Steve shakes his head, "Sweetheart, believe me, I want to. Besides, you've already been through enough with the rascals. Go have fun."

You turn to the kids, almost pleading with them to accept Steve's generosity.

"Is that okay with you guys? I don't wanna leave you stranded," you admit.

They nod in agreement, throwing out a couple yes's and sure's. They're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, but you still feel bad dumping them on Steve like this.

Dustin interrupts: "This really just goes to show how Steve is a great candidate for marriage and other domestic relations. He can be odd at times and he might care too much about his hair, but you can tell by his actions that he would be a very reliable husband, a generous life partner, and—"

"And a great friend," you giggle, trying not to let Dustin get too carried away. You have sat through enough of his speeches for one day. "Now, quit trying to set us up!"

Steve rolls his eyes at the boy. "Seriously, at least wait 'til she's single. Then she can reject me for me."

You whip back to face him with a sour look on your face.

"Steven! That's not—that's rude to yourself," you huff, "Say three nice things."

He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting at you.

"You're pretty, I like your shoes, and you smell nice."

"About you!"

"Ohh," he feigns surprise, "No." But you reach across the counter to whack him on the arm with a shocking amount of force. The kids chuckle from behind you. Steve can't help but smile when you raise your brows proudly. "Fine! I am deserving of love, I am great company, and my hair looks particularly shiny today."

"Good," you nod, "I agree. And I have to go, see ya!"

"With which one?" he says, watching you jog out of the store waving. "Wait! Sweetheart? Agree with which one??"

Steve sighs sharply, hands perched decidedly on his hips as his gaze falls flat on the militia of pre teens staring him down.

"What do you want?" he says.

"You're hopeless," Max says, mouth pressed in a hard line before she wanders off, arm-in-arm with El.

"Yeah, dude. And kinda desperate," Mike shrugs.

"Hey," he grumbles. Who knew such harsh words could come from such little humans. You'd think they'd be harmless at this age. You'd be wrong. 

"You're a total virgin," Dustin says, very matter-of-factly.

Steve cocks a brow, honestly trying not to laugh at the severity of Dustin's demeanor when he says it. "I don't even think you know what that means."

Dustin blinks. "Well, I think you haven't had sex in long enough that you qualify as one."

"Shit."

...

Much to Steve’s surprise, it only takes butthead Brad two more weeks to absolutely shatter your heart. No one knows the complete details other than it happened at a frat party and you had to walk back to the dorms alone. But Steve doesn’t need complete details to know he wants to shatter Brad’s jaw with his fist.

But he also vowed to use means other than violence to get his point across. He should be awarded for the amount of restraint it took to see your bloodshot eyes and not speed immediately off towards Asshole University like a Brad-seeking atomic missile.

Of course, he’s thankful you felt comfortable enough to call him. In fact, he was the first one you rang. And he knows this fact because you told him while you were sniffling away tears a week and a half after the break up.

Now, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his beemer, curled into your sweater, and listening to late night soft rock radio while he focuses on the dark highway ahead of him. You hadn’t wanted to do anything else but sit in his car and think. His heart clenches everytime you wipe away a tear with your soggy sleeve.

He pulls off the highway during an ad break, finding a secluded diner surrounded by nothing but trees and gas stations. He pulls into a parking spot near the back of the lot where the overhead lights aren’t blinding, but you aren’t completely in the dark. He leaves the car on so the cold doesn’t seep in, engine still purring softly from under the hood.

“Who needs ‘em,” he says in attempt to lighten the mood. “Being single is way cooler. Take it from me. You get a bed all to yourself and you can fart whenever you want.”

You’re frowning, but you know he means well. You just can’t help the fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Oh, come here,��� he whispers, leaning over the center console and dipping his hands over your shoulder and around your waist. His arms feel so strong and so warm where they envelop you entirely. Steve always was the best hug you ever receieved.

You can’t help but chuckle wetly into his collar after a moment.

“God, he was such an asshole, wasn’t he?”

“Uh, duh! Doesn’t take a genius to…” Steve laughs, pausing and brushing the hair away from your damp cheeks. “I know, sweetheart, and you deserve heaps better. You were always way too cool for that loser.”

You blink up at him in the low light. There’s a kind of twinkle in your eye that makes the tips of his ears hot. This time, you reach for him, weaving your arms beneath his jacket with a deep sigh. Your breathing slows against his neck, and he rubs your back while your arms tighten a little around his waist.

He can’t help but wonder what you’re thinking whenever you look at him with your doe eyes, seemingly sweet and far too inquisitive. He knows you’re probably just looking, maybe thinking of something else. But the hopeless romantic in him rattles his rib cage and shouts you might actually consider him this time.

“Wanna go get shakes? On me,” he whispers. You sniffle, wiping your aching nose on the cuff of your sleeve.

“I can pay for myself,” you tease, popping open the car door when he cuts the engine.

“Nope! Sorry, I don’t let girls pay, remember? Super sexist, I know. Plus the whole pretty privilege thing. Honestly, I should just be paying you at this point,” he says, hooking his arm around your back and feeling yours reach for his shoulder as you march towards the diner.

“I agree, rich boy,” you chuckle, “Reparations are in order for wrongdoings on behalf of your sex.”

He chuckles. He’s absolutely head over heels.

The waitress seats you at a cozy booth in the corner and makes a casual comment about the cute couple, asking how long you two have been together. Steve flounders at the question, flustered and pink in the face.

“Oh, we’re actually… not together,” you say, laughing awkwardly when she pouts and, again, remarks on how cute you’d be together. You order shakes for the both of you before perching your chin in your hand. Steve’s still reeling when the waitress walks away.

“Funny. We can’t even escape the third-degree from complete strangers,” you tease, winking at him from just a few feet away. Jesus, he’d think you were trying to kill him if you didn’t seem so lighthearted and playful.

“Yeah, pretty funny,” he sighs. And he’s probably being so obvious. Or maybe that’s how he is all of the time, so his heart eyes seem subtle. Or it’s obvious all of the time.

The waitress slides the shakes in front of you, and the bright red cherries sink further into the whipped cream.

“You know,” you murmur between sips, “I always thought you were pretty cute.”

He nearly chokes on his mouthful of chocolate malt, clearing his throat and trying not to crumble in on himself.

“Oh. Yeah, I get that a lot,” he huffs, “Mostly from little old ladies, but—Hey!”

You flick him and say, “Really! I know it’s not couth considering… Brad and all, but…”

“You’re being facetious,” Steve accuses.

“No—”

“Sarcastic!”

“Steve—”

“Ironic?”

“Try serious!” you hum, “I’m just saying, you’re very handsome. I was shocked to learn you were single when we first met.”

Steve’s blushing and puffing trying to maintain eye contact.

“What can I say? I’m just,” he huffs, “I’m not really worried about it.”

You tilt your head. “You’re not?”

“Nah. I know the right girl will find me in the end. Even if it takes a while. I don’t mind waiting for the right one.”

You settle back in the padded seat, wincing when it squeals beneath you. It makes you feel a little dejected, but you suppose he’s right. Especially because he seems so confident. So sure. It’s admirable. You want to be that sure of soulmates and love and the future.

“I feel the same way,” you whisper. He finishes off the rest of his glass with a smile.

“Though, it doesn’t exactly help having a bunch of little shitheads telling you to go get laid all the time,” he laughs.

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it” you lean in, “Just break up with him, steve is so much nicer. Dump that loser. Steve has a big crush on you.”

“They said that?” Steve’s not dumb, he’s sure you know by now, but he thought it was all conjecture. They will be hearing about this next time they want free ice cream.

“Yeah, that was like their main point. But I know with all the love in my heart they’re all full of shit.”

You shrug, and he chuckles dryly. He can’t decide whether you knowing is for better or for worse.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

Steve drives you home. You fall asleep in the car, and he keeps the radio low so as not to wake you. By the time he pulls into your driveway, he doesn’t care about the time or the fact that he lives far. He does, however, care about the way you smile lazily and peck his cheek in thanks.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

He says it but he wants to tell you what he’s feeling. He wants to ask if you’re over Brad. He knows you’re not and that’s okay, but he wants to ask if he can hold your hand to keep it warm. He wants to ask what kind of flowers you like and if it would be okay for him to drop them off on your doorstep tomorrow. He has so much he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t want to suffocate you.

He doesn’t know that you wouldn’t mind him asking.

more like this

masterlist

[suguae]

tell me....will we still fuck ?

જsynopsis after huge argument you and sukuna decided to make up, only under one condition.

જpairings Ryomen Sukuna x F. Reader

જcontent MDNI! fucking.

"Are you even fucking listening!" You asked, raising your voice as Sukuna just sat back with a beer in hand and scrolling on his phone with his other hand. Not a single care about what you had been complaining about now, "Ryomen Sukuna!" You crossed your arm strutting closer to him.

Sukuna’s eyes flicked up from his phone lazily, a smirk playing on his lips as he took another sip of his beer. "Oh, I'm listening," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Just not sure if what you're saying is worth my attention."

Your jaw dropped at his audacity. "You're fucking ridiculous," you exclaimed, unable to believe his attitude. "Listen to me when I'm fucking talking to you!"

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by your outburst, "Throwing a tantrum won't get you anywhere." Your fists clenched at his nonchalant demeanor. "This isn't a tantrum, Sukuna. This is me demanding the respect I deserve."

He set his beer down with a sigh, his expression hardening. "Respect is a two-way street," he said coolly. "You want me to listen? Fine. But don’t expect me to bow down to your every demand."

Your anger flared at the thought, and you couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "And what the fuck do you know about respect! Leaving drooling emojis on another bitch's post is not fucking respect!"

Sukuna's expression hardened, but he didn't look away. "It's just a joke, Y/N. You're blowing it out of proportion."

"A joke?" you repeated, disbelief coloring your voice. "You think disrespecting me like that is a fucking joke?" He shrugged, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I don't see why you're so upset. It's not like I'm actually cheating on you.”

The tension in the room was palpable as you grabbed the keys to your car, your hands trembling slightly with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Okay," you muttered, your voice strained. "Okay, Ryomen Sukuna, whatever you say."

Sukuna's eyes widened as you made your way to the front door. "Where the fuck are you going?" he demanded, his tone bordering on desperation as he stood up quickly.

"Out," you replied tersely, your voice cold as you swung the front door open and stormed out, the slam echoing through the room behind you.

You froze in your tracks as Sukuna's voice cut through the night air, "If you fucking get in that car, dressed like that... it's over, Y/N," he demanded, his voice laced with anger and frustration.

You looked down at yourself, the short, skin-tight dress hugging your curves, your breasts threatening to spill out. You knew you looked good, maybe too good for just a night out. 

With a surge of boldness, you turned to Sukuna before slamming the car door shut, meeting his stunned gaze head-on. "Eat my pussy," you said defiantly.Then, without waiting for a response, you started the car and drove off into the night, leaving Sukuna standing there, speechless and stunned.

Sukuna's whispered curse hung heavy in the air as he watched you drive away, his frustration and anger evident in the set of his jaw. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed back into the house, his mind already calculating his next move.

Grabbing his helmet and keys, he made a beeline for his motorcycle, his movements swift and purposeful. He knew he had to find you.

With a quick glance at his phone to track your location, Sukuna revved up the engine and tore out of the driveway, the roar of the motorcycle echoing through the night as he sped off into the darkness, determined to catch up to you. 

As Sukuna raced through the night, his mind buzzed with a mixture of emotions. He knew he had been mean, perhaps even cruel at times, but he had never seen you unleash your anger with such intensity before. It was unexpected, raw, and strangely exhilarating.

Despite the gravity of the situation, a smirk tugged at the corners of Sukuna's lips as he thought about the fire he had ignited within you. He had always been drawn to your passion, your intensity, but seeing it directed at him in such a fierce way stirred something primal within him.

Sukuna pushed his way through the crowded nightclub, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of you. The music thumped loudly, the air thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol, making it difficult to navigate through the throng of people."Of course she would," he muttered to himself, a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

Sukuna's eyes landed on you amidst the chaos of the nightclub, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. He couldn't deny the rush of attraction he felt as he took in your appearance, the way the dress hugged your curves in all the right places.

His eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold before him. A man approached you with a smirk, holding two shots in his hands. He expected you to turn down the drinks, as you usually did when strangers approach you at the club. But to his surprise, you didn't.

Without hesitation, you took the drink from the man's hand and quickly chugged the shot, a playful grin on your face as you slammed the glass back down on the bar. Sukuna's jaw clenched at the sight, a mixture of jealousy and anger bubbling up inside him.

Sukuna's steps were purposeful as he closed the distance between himself, you, and the stranger who dared to encroach upon his territory. His jaw was set, eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and possessiveness as he reached out and pushed the man away from you.

"Back the fuck up," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "She's with me."

The stranger's smirk faltered for a moment before he recovered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he cocked his head to the side. "What, I can't offer a pretty girl a drink? Besides, what are you gonna do about it?"

Sukuna's fists clenched at his sides, his patience wearing thin. "Fuck around and find out," he shot back, his voice a low rumble.

Sukuna's demand was firm as he insisted, "Let's go." But you merely rolled your eyes in response, seemingly unfazed by his authoritative tone.

"This is not a fucking joke, let's go," he barked, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

You couldn't help but smirk at his sudden change in demeanor. "Oh, now it's not a joke, huh?" you retorted, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Sukuna's jaw clenched at your remark, his eyes narrowing slightly as he fought to keep his temper in check. "You know what I mean," he muttered, his voice low.

But you remained defiant, refusing to back down. "Do I?" you teased, enjoying the way you had rattled him.

With a frustrated sigh, Sukuna reached out and grabbed your hand, his grip firm as he pulled you away from the bar. "Let's go," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As you followed him out of the nightclub, a smirk played at the corners of your lips. Despite the tension between you, there was an undeniable thrill in pushing Sukuna's buttons, in seeing the raw, unfiltered emotions he tried so hard to conceal. 

As you entered the house, a heavy sigh escaped your lips, the weight of the night's events pressing down on you like a ton of bricks. "Baby..." Sukuna began, his voice soft with concern.

But you cut him off with a scoff, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "Don't fucking baby me, Ryomen," you snapped, refusing to use his first name. The use of his full name was a clear indicator of your irritation.

Sukuna's eyebrows lifted in surprise at your tone, but he wisely chose to remain silent, sensing that now was not the time to push your buttons further.

Your heels clicked against the floor as you stormed away, heading towards the bedroom you two shared. Sukuna watched you go, a knot forming in his stomach as he realized the extent of the damage he had caused.

As you began to undress, Sukuna watched you quietly, the weight of his earlier actions heavy on his mind. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the guarded expression on your face, and it only served to deepen the knot of guilt in his stomach.

"Come here," he said softly, his voice gentler than usual, as he settled on the corner of the bed.

You paused, hesitating for a moment before you replied, your voice tinged with skepticism, "Ryomen..."

"Y/n, just stop being so damn stubborn and come here," he insisted, his tone firm but laced with a vulnerability you rarely heard from him.

"What?" you sighed, feeling a mixture of surprise and disbelief as you stood in front of him.

Without hesitation, Sukuna reached out, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you onto his lap. As he held you close, he reached for his phone, his movements deliberate as he began deleting every social media app from his device.

"You can even take my phone away, if that helps bring back my sweet girl," he mumbled against your neck, his lips trailing soft kisses along your skin.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at Sukuna's attempt to make amends, even though a part of you appreciated the gesture. Grabbing his phone, you tossed it onto the bed with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Yeah, okay," you said, your voice tinged with sarcasm as you let out a sigh.

"Let me make it up to you, in bed," he whispered, his voice husky with longing.

Sukuna's smile was like a wolf's grin as he gently guided you towards the bed, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body. "Lay that pretty body of yours on the bed, hmm?" he murmured, his voice sending a rush of heat through you.

"Sukuna, I'm not letting this go that easily, you know..." you said, your voice trailing off with a hint of mischief.

Sukuna's eyebrows raised in surprise as your legs wrapped around his torso, effectively pinning him down as you hovered over him. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a mixture of amusement and arousal dancing in his eyes as he met your gaze.

“You pissed me off today more than you can imagine.” You huffed as you traced your finger down his chest, tracing over the black ink of his tattoos. “We can have sex.” You smiled, “The catch is, you can look…but you can’t touch.”

His brows furrow, “No…” 

“Hmm yes.” You leaned down whispering into his ear, leaving a soft coat of warm air on his ear, “If you don’t want to do that, then we can just simply stop. I’m tired anyway.” You backed up faking a yawn. 

“How long.” He says, closing his eyes, 

“Whenever I say.” Now he was up for a challenge, a hard one. He opened his eyes, getting a good look at you. Your breast now fully in view as you unhooked your bra, that was the first thing he wanted to grab.

Another hard thing for Sukuna was that you being dominant was rare, really rare. If he were in charge tonight, he’d have you face down and ass up, pressing against your asshole as he thrusted deep inside you, but that wasn’t gonna be the case tonight. 

With a sultry gaze, you press your breast against each other, causing a whispered moan to grace the air. You bite down on your lips as Sukuna’s entrancing eyes meet yours, a fire flickering within them as you tease your nipples into hardened peaks.

Your hands slip down to your covered center, where you gently massage your sensitive clit through the fabric of your delicate undergarment. “ngghhh.” A soft whimper escapes you as you feel Sukuna’s body respond beneath you, his cock growing rigid with a hunger only you can satisfy. 

Your hands move stealthily to the waistband of Sukuna’s pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier at each delicate touch. Carefully you unbuttoned them, sliding them down. In an instant his massive, girthy cock springs free, eager for your attention. “ride me like you mean it, yeah?” He huffs as you just watched him basically squirming under you. 

“how about you shut your damn mouth.” You blurted out audaciously. Gracefully you descend down Sukuna���s body, arching your back with your ass in the air teasing him as you approach his throbbing cherry-red tip, savoring the taste of precum as it drips onto your waiting tongue.

 The tender kitty licks of your tongue against Sukuna’s tip causes him to squirm, “st–stop fuckin’ teasin.” He groaned, as he was fighting his primal urge to grab that pretty little face of yours and force you down his girthy cock. “Tell me how bad you want it, kuna.” You batted your eyelashes as you wrapped your soft hands on his length. 

He closed his eyes in frustration, never had he ever wanted to submit to you, “I want you, to fuckin suck me good.” He groaned, bringing his hands up to his face, trying his best to resist the urge. Your soft hands take control, slowly and sensually gelding along Sukuna’s throbbing veiny cock as you continue to tease him with your sultry, “mmm look at my good boy.”

“oh shut–ahh.” Sukuna couldn’t help but softly moan as your plush mouth expertly descends, enveloping his entire cock in warmth and wetness as you suck him gracefully. “mmm” You moaned, sending vibrations down his dick. His fat tip constantly coming in contact with the back of your throat, “jus’ like that baby.” He huffs taking in the euphoric feeling running through his body.

Meanwhile your hand cruises down your clothed cunt, sliding your hand into your undergarments with a lew glint in your eyes you begin rubbing your clit in time with your sucking motion, the growing warmth in your cunt building as you take his throbbing cock more and more. 

You throw your head back, letting the drool run down your mouth. “look at my pretty girl.” He whispered as his hands rested behind his back, and his face plastered with a smirk. You crawled back up, leaning closer to his face. You plant wet kisses all over Sukuna’s lips, a few stray saliva mixing with his as you two moan together softly, tongues intertwining with passion and lust. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” He murmurs breaking the kiss, “I want to fuck you so hard right now.” he sighs leaning his head back as you sit up. Your knees sinking into the soft cushion as you slowly slide yourself onto his cock. With each passing inch, you feel yourself getting stretched out and filled to the brim, a soft moan escaping your lips, “ahhh fuck…s–so big kuna’”

He winces in the pleasure, bucking his hips, “come on baby, fucki–ah fucking faster.” With each downward thrust, your ass rhythmically bounces atop Sukuna’s cock, the sensation driving him wild with pleasure, “jus’ like fu–like tha’ doll.” Your breast bouncing and swaying with every movement, “please ba–baby let me touch.”

Too deep in trance, you throw your head back lost in the pleasure. “nnnghh kuna’” you whimper, feeling his tip pulsating inside you. “Fuck this.” He muttered gently, grabbing your face, guiding you to meet his gaze. "Stop looking away," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I want to see your pretty face while you ride me so well." you continued to move, each movement bringing you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. Sukuna's grip on your face softened, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek as he watched you with a mixture of desire and admiration. 

“nn-no m’ tired.” you whine, as you moved slower and slower, trying to catch your breath, Sukuna's eyes remained locked on yours. 

"let me do it then, okay?" Sukuna huffed out, his voice strained with a mix of desire and concern as he watched your exhausted, limp body. You nodded slowly, trusting him completely.

With a gentle but firm touch, he helped you off of him, guiding you onto the pillow beneath you. Your body responded instinctively, positioning yourself with your ass up, ready for him to take you in. 

He couldn't help but smirk as you quickly gave in, a knowing glint in his eyes. Sukuna had anticipated that your dominant streak wouldn't last, and seeing you surrender so completely only fueled his desire further.

"turn around for me, doll," Sukuna murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I want to look at your beautiful face while I fuck you so nice."

You complied, shifting your position to face him. His eyes drank in the sight of you, filled with both raw need and a deep-seated admiration. With a gentle touch he positioned himself over you.

“kuna’” you moaned, each thrust was deliberate,the pleasure for both of you. Sukuna's expression was a mixture of concentration and passion, the sight of you beneath him driving him wild.

"that's it," he breathed, his words barely audible over the sound of your shared breaths. "jus like that." He moaned as your arms wrapped around his neck, “mmnn, gon’ cum kuna..” 

“let it all out baby,”

"That's the last time you ever take charge," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. "You couldn't even last." You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. Your legs intertwined with his. "Maybe," you replied, your voice soft and filled with affection. 

He sighed, "Baby, I'm sorry for today..." His voice was soft, filled with a rare vulnerability. You gently caressed his cheek, your touch tender and reassuring.

This softer side of Sukuna was fleeting, you knew that well. But in this moment, you cherished it, soaking in the warmth and sincerity he offered.

"It's okay," you whispered, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin.

[blueheron15]

TOO SOON TO TELL YOU I LOVE YOU

pairing: jj x fem!routledge!reader

summary: jj navigating his childhood and adolescence while seeing john b as a brother, but y/n as something… more.

warnings: flangst, suggested smut

a/n: wow this was longer than i thought it was gonna be and thats why i am edging yall with the ending... THERE WILL BE A PART TWO

jj and john b had been brothers since third grade. it was common knowledge for everyone on the island. don't cross john b unless you wanted to deal with jj, too, or vice versa. it was a well-known fact.

they began playing together at recess, and soon, john b came back home talking about his new friend. he would eventually begin bringing two lunches to school with him so jj could actually eat.

the first time they hung out outside of school, they went fishing off of the ocean at the chateau. they were called inside for lunch by the ringing of a bell.

"wut was that?" jj asked in his southern drawl, toothless mouth quirking in confusion as he dropped a minnow back into the water.

"my daddy's callin' us back for lunch." john b explained, beginning to pull up the anchor of the johnboat.

"is your daddy nice?" jj asked, helping his friend gather the ropes.

"he's just a normal dad." john b shrugged, adjusting his hat before starting the motor.

"my dad hates me." jj explained, as if it were a simple fact of life. he sat down.

"well, i think mine'll like you."

from that day on, jj had practically been adopted into the routledge family. the littlest sibling, y/n routledge, was only five when they met, and was relatively closed off at first. while the four of them ate at the table that day, big john had shown an affection towards his son and jj, but made no effort to include his daughter in the conversation.

the age gap, which seemed significant at first, slowly dwindled away as john b's friend group expanded to the rest of the pogues. y/n hung out with them sometimes, too.

jj had always thought she was nice, and he enjoyed getting a rise out of her, but his best friend for life was her brother. that's who he was looking for on the night he happened to fall in love with her.

y/n was 12, and jj was 14. he knew john b was at a small party kiara was throwing (a farewell party to kildare high school, if you will), but he was hoping he would be back by one am. jj stumbled into the chateau, tripping over the step into the house.

"shit!" he cursed, his already bruised cheek making contact with the dusty hardwood floor. "ugghhhh" he groaned, slowly hoisting himself up.

"jj?" he heard a voice mumble.

his head snapped up, finding y/n standing in the kitchen. suddenly, his cheeks flushed as he looked at his star wars pajama pants, embarrassed that she was seeing him like this. "uh, yeah." he cleared his throat, taking a step further into the dimly lit house. "hey, y/n."

he could have sworn he heard her sniffle, but she too took a step forward, flicking on the living room light.

"isn't it passed your bedtime?" jj asked, at the same time y/n said "what happened to you?"

his hand made it's way to the back of his neck, scratching. "nuthing." he said dismissively. "just got inta an argument with my old man."

her face contorted into a frown, walking up to him and grabbing his arm. as she lead him into the bathroom, he had a strange thought that she looked adorable in her polka dot pajama pants and one of pope's old t shirts.

"why'd he do this to you?" she asked softly, grabbing disinfecting ointment from the cabinet. "sit on the toilet so i can clean you up."

jj rolled his eyes, deflecting. "i dont need you to clean me up. was lookin' for your brother anyway."

"well," she started, confirming his previous thought. "john b's not here, and neither is my dad cuz he never is, and in case you didn't know, it's been 10 years since my mama left, and i'm all alone, and i'd really not like to be alone right now so could you please just sit?"

she finished her rant with a stray tear leaking down her cheek, a red face, and a huff of air. jj tried not to let his grin show. they way she got so flustered, the way she annunciated each word, made his heart flutter despite the heaviness of the situation. "hold your horses, i'll stay." he said, raising his hands up in surrender.

he sat down on the toilet lid as she tended to his busted lip, cut under eye, and bruised cheek. she worked in silence for a little while.

"he did this to me cuz im a piece of shit." he eventually muttered.

"you're not." she insisted, shaking her head.

"you only think that because i'm john b's friend." he scoffed. "maybe he's right, anyway. he caught me stealin from the gas station. maybe i deserved this."

she looked at him. jesus, jj thought, when did her eyes become so... pretty? "you didn't think we're friends?"

jj looked down at the floor, before bashfully meeting her gaze. "guess we are now."

jj slept over, obviously, and they sat together on the couch as she showed him the only existing photo of her and her mother.

"i wonder if she would like me if she knew me now." y/n thought out loud.

jj took it upon himself to use humor to make her feel better. "pretend im your mom." he shrugged.

"what?" she squeaked, looking at him like he was crazy.

he cleared his throat before raising it an octave to make him sound like a woman. "oh, y/n!" he exclaimed, grabbing the ends of her hair. "my daughter, you're sooo beautiful!"

"ew!" she she giggled as jj got closer and closer to her. "get off me jj!" she laughed, playfully shoving him away.

"you don't want some lovin' from your mama?" he teased, still in a girly voice.

she kicked him gently, squealing in delight at his antics. "you're not my mama!" she insisted.

they began wrestling playfully, jj pushing her so she was laying on the couch, pinning her down. and, when john b walked in, he thought it was nothing more than some classic routledge and maybank sibling bonding.

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

from that moment on, there was an undeniable shift between the two of them. somehow, y/n had gone from nice, to adorable, to pretty at her thirteenth birthday party. the pogues and some of her girlfriends from school had been invited to the chill hang out at the chateau.

she was talking to some of her other friends, in a lovely white sundress and brown cow boy boots, when jj nearly choked on the vodka he had added into his lemonade.

"i never realized how pretty y/n was." pope commented, swinging on the hammock.

"what?!" jj shrieked, spitting out his drink.

"ew, dude." kiara said, rolling her eyes.

"don't you think she looks nice?" pope inquired.

"uh, well, i mean, um" jj stuttered. "what?"

"that's all i'm sayin, dude. y/n is-"

"y/n is what?" john b asked, joining them.

"pope's got a lil crush." kie said, smirking.

"t-this is outrageous!" jj exclaimed.

"why do you even care?" asked kie.

"b-because-"

"obviously because she's like a sister to him and it's gross." john b explained, rolling his eyes. "new rule. no macking on my sister."

"you got that pope?" jj asked seriously, pointing an accusatory finger.

"i wasn't planning on macking on her!" pope cried, defending himself.

jj huffed. "good." he muttered under his breath. he definitely did think pope macking on y/n would be gross. but not for the reason john b had said. something stirred within his chest. it was a gross, green feeling.

...was he jealous?

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

when jj was sixteen and when y/n was fourteen, the "no macking on y/n" rule had been transformed into the "no pogue on pogue macking" rule. this was due to both y/n and kiara being mature enough to wear bikinis. like, proper bikinis.

it was the first day of summer break. kiara was back from the kook academy, jj didn't have to deal with fucking geometry anymore, he snuck off the previous night with some touron older girl and had his first time behind a tree, and holy hell life was good. the pogues joined some other students at the beach for surfing and a bonfire.

but his eyes were on y/n.

shit, was he a pervert? after all, she was only 14, and one of his best friends. she came fishing with him and john b even though she didn’t particularly enjoy the activity. they were constantly play wrestling, or giving each other sea shells as little gifts. and, jj constantly called her mama, much to john b’s demise. it was one of their inside jokes.

she had just looked so good in her blue bikini and she was actually growing boobs. as jj sat on the sand, watching her surf, he barely noticed kiara and another girl approach him.

“hey, j!” kie called.

“‘sup?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of y/n. she was an amazing surfer, but he was ready to jump into action if she happened to wipe out.

“this is lacy.” kiara said, motioning to the girl next to him. she had a nice rack and a sexy body, with beautiful blonde hair. “i went to the look academy with her.”

“oh?” jj said, raising a brow. “a kook, huh? watchu doin’ on this side of the island, princess?” he shamelessly flirted. kie rolled her eyes in disgust, but lacy placed her palm against a tree, leaning in seductively.

“everyone on figure eight thinks they’re too proper to have fun for a night.” she shrugged.

jj grinned. he was catching her drift, alright.

he brought her back to chateau and fucked her good. well, at least he tried to. but with the image of y/n in his mind, he came in like 15 seconds. he made it up to her by eating her out, which was divine, pleasing her in the way he believed every woman should be.

lacy left, and after jj cleaned himself up and put on a fresh pair of boxers and gray sweatpants, he exited big john’s room, which was now practically his after the man’s disappearance, to get a drink.

he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw y/n sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter. she gave him a knowing look, rolling her eyes as the tears fell.

“shit.” he cursed, walking up to her. “uh. you heard that?”

she scoffed. “everyone heard it. i don’t care about that, though. it’s just… i… do you think i’m pretty, jj?”

“what’re you talkin about?”

she hiccuped. “am i pretty?” she repeated. he let out a breath. shit, how was he supposed to answer that? hell yeah, she was pretty. but she took his silence as a no. “i know i’m not. but it’s not fair that everyone sees me as just some little kid.” she explained. “none of the guys in my grade want to date me. i h-haven’t even kissed anybody yet, and you guys are all having sex, and it’s not fair!”

he tentatively sat down on a stool next to her. “you’re still young.”

“so that means i’m ugly?” she retorted.

“i think yer the prettiest girl on this whole damn island.” jj explained. he was so vulnerable, wide blue eyes staring into hers.

“… you do?”

“i do.” he said softly, nodding. he extended a hand, tucking a stray frizzy and sun dried lock of hair behind her hair. “i really do, mama.” he wondered out loud.

“well…” her heart was beating out of her chest as she took in a shaky breath. “thank you.” she grinned cheekily, cheeks beat red.

“you’re welcome.” he said, tailing a finger down her cheek before going to get up.

“wait” she said in a distressed tone. she grabbed his arm, stood up, and quickly pulled him foreword, pressing her lips to his.

it barely lasted two seconds, and jj didn’t even have time to close his eyes before y/n was pulling away.

she stepped back, staring at him. he brought a hand up to ghost over his lips. he had never felt so much electricity. his lips were literally buzzing.

“kie told me her first kiss made her want to puke.” y/n stated. “um. are all first kisses supposed to be that good?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“uh.” he said, voice hoarse. “mine sure as hell wasn’t.”

“oh.”

“yeah… oh.”

“okay. um, g’night jay!” she squeaked, retreating into her room.

jj was doomed.

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

y/n routledge had ruined every other girl for jj. he was absolutely besotted with her.

but, the problem was, he couldn't have her. john b would forbid it.

"it's just like, fuckin gross, man!" john b complained, laying on the hammock as he mindlessly threw a hackey sack in the air, catching it. "like, i don't wanna see you macking on my little sister, sorry."

"she's her own person, man." jj said, waxing his board. "just let her be."

"he's a douche." john b insisted. he wasn't very fond of y/n's first ever boyfriend. "she's only 15, why does she even need a boyfriend?"

"i got a feelin' you'll hate anyone she dates." jj replied with an eye roll.

"probably." john b cringed.

jj fought back a shudder. would he hate me if i dated her?

suddenly, y/n came speeding around the corner on her bike, pushing it to the ground and ditching it, sprinting into the house.

"what the hell?" jj asked. him and john b were immediately following her inside.

"y/n?" john b asked, swiftly approaching her. "what's wrong?"

she stood in the middle of the living room, her body wracking with sobs. "h-he... he..." she couldn't even get the words out as she covered her hand with her mouth.

"did he hurt you? what's happenin?" jj asked, concerned. he placed a hand on each of her shoulders, craning his neck down so they were at eye level with each other.

her lips quivered as she sighed, and jj's heart broke.

"he broke up w-with me." she finally managed to get out.

jj recoiled, and him and john b shared a look.

"he's dead."

that night, after the three of them laid together in bed (a y/n sandwich, with her in the middle of the two boys) and did all the girly post break up shit u see in movies together, it was nearing two am when they decided to call it a night.

jj sat on the edge of her bed for a little while, watching her tuck herself in tight underneath the covers.

"you gonna be okay?" he asked.

she hiked up a shoulder. "i'm gonna have to be."

a beat of silence passed. "he's a fuckin idiot for fumbling you." she snorted. "it's true!" jj insisted, his voice growing higher in insistence.

y/n smiled sadly. "thanks, jay."

he gave her a solute. "well, goodnight, mama." he went to get up, but she reached out.

"wait. um. i don't really wanna be alone tonight."

"oh. you want me to get jb, or...?"

in a small and vulnerable voice, she asked. "can you stay?"

"uh, y/n, im not sure how good of an-" he protested, running a hand through his messy blonde locks.

"please, jj." she begged, her voice cracking.

jj didn't stand a chance. "you know i can't say no to you." he whispered, a soft smile on his face.

y/n reached behind her, grabbing an extra pillow and handing it to him. he grabbed the extra blanket on the edge of her bed, getting comfortable on the floor.

they laid in silence for a few moments, just listening to the hum of the crickets and the crashing of the waves in the distance. jj was 99% sure she was asleep, and moved to get up, when she finally spoke.

"he broke up with me because he kept trying to force me to have sex but i didn't want to." she confessed, her words awkwardly cutting through the silence.

"are you fucking kidding me?" jj asked, disgusted.

"please don't kill him." she sighed.

"please don't kill him," jj repeated, mocking her tone. "nah, fuck that. what's this guys address? i swear, i'm gonna-"

"you're gonna do what, jj?" she retorted.

"egg his house, slash his tires, beat him up, i don't know! the point is, that was a dick move. and that's not okay to do. especially to you. cuz your-"

he stopped himself. in the midst of their heated conversation, they had both propped themselves up on their elbows, y/n looking down at jj and him looking up at her. they lowered themselves back down in to a recumbent position.

"i'm what?" y/n whispered.

jj thought for a moment. you’re my girl. you’re so incredibly special. that’s what his mind was thinking. but he couldn’t say that. could he?

“because you’re like a sister to me.” he choked out. he didn’t sound believable at all.

“am i really though?” she pressed.

jj wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. “we can’t, y/n.” he forced himself to say.

“…i know.” she conceded. “but maybe…” she thought out loud. she let a hand dangle down, off the edge of the bed. “friends can hold hands, right?”

he intertwined their fingers together, holding his arm up for her. “yeah. they can.”

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

jj and y/n continued to find loopholes in order to be able to act on some of their feelings while not making it obvious for john b.

friends kissed each others cheeks. friends took naps together, bodies intertwined in the hammocks. friends got jealous of flirting. friends called each other nick names like “mama” or “baby” or “bub.”

right?

y/n was providing light in jj’s fucked up life, which become increasingly worse with this search for gold.

jj knew that y/n was having a hard time with her brother following in her fathers footsteps. this made them grow closer, as the barrier that was john b was less and less present, constantly on the go or with sarah cameron.

for fucks sake, they were held at gun point today by barry, who jj knew bc he used to sell coke to his dad.

who, speaking of which, beat him to shit. jj didn’t know how to deal with everything and so he bought a hot tub.

he couldn’t be bothered at pope and kie lecturing him. he couldn’t be bothered that he blew the money. but when y/n stepped inside the hot tub upon seeing the bruises on his abdomen, holding him tight against her chest and stroking his hair, he finally broke down.

he allowed her to dry him off and get him into some clothes. they lay together in her room, this time, both together on her bed as jj needed the physical affection.

he was practically on top of her, his face nuzzled into her neck, but she didn’t mind. she ran her fingers through his hair and up and down his back, to the point where he was practically purring and melting completely into her, mending their bodies together as one.

he was never so vulnerable, not with anyone else.

“thank you,” he croaked out. “for dealing with me.”

“hey.” she gently reprimanded. “don’t say it like it’s some kind of chore. i want to be able to help you, bub. we all do.”

he nodded, to tired to put up a fight. “only want your help tho.”

she smiled into his temple. “i feel like you’re the only person who actually gets me.“ she admitted.

“me too.”

that morning, upon waking up, the two of them had shifted to jj spooning her from behind, holding on tightly. and y/n didn’t mind one bit.

“morning,” she whispered sleepily, intertwining their legs together.

he groaned, stretching his legs out, but not separating them from hers. “mornin’”

“i gotta show ya somethin” he said after a few minutes of laying there admiring y/n. she looked so serene and peaceful in his arms, the sunlight streaming in from the windows and making her look like an angel.

“uh oh what did you steal?” she joked.

“i didn’t steal anything.” he said with an eye roll, sitting up and walking out of the room momentarily. he returned with something shiny in his hands. “i got u somethin when i splurged on the hot tub.”

“jj” she gently chided, propping herself up on her elbows.

“it’s fine.” he protested. “everyone knows the cats ass is dope as fuck. here.”

he held out a gold chain with a small j on it.

y/n held it in her hands, smiling down at it, then looking up at him.

“j as in…” she trailed off, smirking. “jj?”

he nodded and unspoken words passed between them. he put in on her neck, and she thought to herself that she would never take it off.

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

the night of john b and sarah’s “death” was the best and worst night of y/n and jj’s lives.

“we… we lost em.” shoupe said, his words echoed by the booming thunder. “i’m sorry.”

“you lost them? what do you mean you lost them? like they’re gone? what are you talking about?” pope tried to frantically clarify.

jj’s jaw clenched. kiara’s face dropped. and y/n just stood there, numb as her heart plummeted into a deep abyss.

“they took an open boat into a tropical depression, pope.” the officer explained.

“so they’re dead?” kie asked.

“we don’t know.” said shoupe.

jj’s anger took over. “you drove em straight into the storm, man! are you kidding me?! come here!” he growled, pummeling shoupe.

“jj, stop!” kiara cried.

“get over here! i’m gonna kill you you bastard! you killed them!” he said, trying to fight off the other cops who were restraining him.

pope tried to reason with shoupe, and kiara was begging for it all to stop.

everything was going in slow motion for y/n. her brother… her brother was dead. there was no way he and sarah could have made it through that storm.

as kiara’s parents enveloped her into a hug, and as pope’s parents came in, extremely worried for their son and his friends, jj and y/n made eye contact.

all they had left was each other.

jj calmed down, and when he ripped himself out of the police’s grip, he walked toward y/n who ran and jumped up into his arms. he held her tight, silent tears running down his cheeks as she wailed.

“no, no!” she whimpered, clinging to jj as if they were the last two people on earth.

“i know baby.” he tried to comfort. “i know.”

they found themselves in the porch the chateau, each sitting on an opposite end of the couch, staring outside. jj was smoking his weed and y/n took the occasion puff.

both of their voices were hoarse and eyes were puffy from crying.

“what am i gonna do?” she wondered, voice cracking. “you can’t let them take me away, jj. y-you can’t.”

“and i won’t.” he promised. “i swear. no one is gonna take you, or hurt you. ever. okay? if they do it’s gonna be over my dead body.”

he scooted closer towards her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into him.

“my brother.” jj said solemnly, shaking his head and exhaling a puff of weed. “john b was, is, my brother. i don’t know, man… do you think he’s really dead?”

“i don’t know. i don’t know anything anymore.” she whispered.

“well, there’s one thing i do know.” he said. “with everything happening… shit, who knows? who knows what’ll happen to us? i just… i-i gotta tell ya… john b may be like a brother to me, but you were never like a sister to me.”

with wide eyes, she turned her head towards him. “jj… what are you saying?”

“i’m sayin that… y/n i’ve never seen you as just jb’s lil sister. i’ve always seen you as- as you. you know i’m not good at expressing my feelings.” he took a deep breath, nervous. but he looked into her eyes. “but i want to try.”

she smiled, for the first time all night.

“you’re cute, but somehow sexy at the same time. you make me wanna actually open up to you, and be vulnerable, and be better. a-and, you’re so fucking funny too, dude. i know you’ve always struggled with separating yourself from your dad and john b. and maybe sometimes you think that nobody notices you. but y/n, you’re all i notice. you’re everywhere, all the time, and it’s so scary. but… what’s scarier is the fact that i could lose you like john b and you would always think i saw you as a little sister.”

she snorted at that through the tears. she was rendered speechless.

jj let out a shaky breath. she closed the small distance between the two of them, straddling his hips as they kissed with the taste of weed, perfume, and salty tears invading their senses.

they kept crying hard, but kept kissing harder.

“i love you.” jj said. and once it left his lips, it’s like the damn burst. “fuck i love you so much y/n. i love you so much. we’re gonna be okay. i got you. i got you, mama.”

“i love you” she said, nodding her head. “i love you too, jj.”

so it was safe to say that jj loved each of the routledge siblings.

but y/n?

that was his girl. his person.

(and, when john b came back from the dead, he’d be grossed out to see jj and his little sister macking. but he knew jj would do anything for her.

so, when y/n routledge became y/n maybank a few years later, john b and jj would actually be brothers.)

it was always gonna be P4L, but it was routledge and maybank first.

he used a hand to hold her back, gently flipping them over so that he was hovering on top of her, his beautiful biceps caging her in.

he slid his tongue over her bottom lip and she granted him entrance as they made out. wanting, needing to be closer, she hooked her ankles around his lower back, arching into him and feeling his erection.

"fuck" he panted. he trailed his kisses lower, nipping her ear lobe, sucking on her neck.

"mm r-remember when my first boyfriend broke up with me?" she said through whimpers. "i didn't wanna have sex with him. n-not because i wasn't ready, but because... i always wanted it to be you."

he let out a groan. "jesus, y/n..." he detached his lips from her neck, loving the hickey that had formed there.

"jj... please. i need you." she said, tears staining her cheeks.

he kissed them away. "i need you too, mama." he breathed. they looked into each other's eyes. "ive never needed anyone so bad. all those other girls... they were to distract me from you because i never thought this would happen."

"john b made it a rule to not mack on you." he continued.

she smiled, but it was quickly replaced by a sob at the mention of her brother.

"let me take care of you.. i can't stand to see you hurtin like this."

"please" she whimpered.

and so, she let her legs fall to each side of jj's torso, and he began shimmying down her shorts...

taglist:

@4jjsbank @mkcolon1 @agnxstic @groovypeanutoperatorzonk @starsval @sollamimi @obxcc @onelonelybitch @tv-girllover07

[chuluoyi]

HAPPY MARRIAGE

- nanami kento x reader

“you don't deserve to be unhappy. and i don’t want to be unhappy, either.” you have always wondered where did you and kento go wrong. in the wake of your divorce, as you both returned to single lives, you and kento would come to realize what constitutes a happy marriage is... and it takes more than just love

genre/warnings: post-divorce angst, crack, misunderstandings, arguments, hurt/comfort, bestfriend!gojo is going to help your love life, and fluff in the end!

note: this fic... goes through a major change overnight after i was struck with a wholly different plot *sobs* and then i went through a major writing block for at least a week before i know what words i'm going to write :') anyways, this isn't really proofread so please forgive any typos to the anon who requested this and others, i do hope you'll enjoy it! tagging @tiredkitten as per request <3

listen to: today more than yesterday - kim jong kook

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

No divorce ever comes easy.

When couples enter into marriage, they do so with the dream of a lifelong bond filled with love and compassion. You too did once. And even until now, you still want that for yourself.

When you married Nanami Kento three years ago, you thought it was for eternity. He was your dream man, the only man you could see yourself with. He embodied everything that was just and righteous, and he was also kind man, who would always put you first, shielding you from any sort of harm.

Even if the source of that ‘harm’ turned out to be himself.

“You don't deserve to be unhappy. and I don’t want to be unhappy, either.”

Strangely, you didn't resent Kento that much, in the end. At that time, both of you had come to terms with it and you couldn't blame anyone. But now, six months later, as you sat in this shabby bar, downing shots of gin with your thoughts swirling in an alcohol-induced haze, your emotions were all over the place, and moreover, the presence of a certain clown before you was just particularly irksome, and you knew that he was someone you could blame—

“Gojo, you prick!”

Gojo raised one righteous eyebrow. "Who, me? Sorry, but I'm not your ex-husband?"

Gojo Satoru was the witness to several milestone in your life. Insufferable as he was, somehow you clicked with him ever since your early days as a jujutsu sorcerer. You remembered sending him your handpicked wedding invitation, having him celebrating your promotions, and then coming to him with tears running down your face in the middle of the night, telling him, “We are getting a divorce.”

"You!" you snapped, slamming down your glass of gin, whipping your head around to face the blindfolded idiot that was your longtime friend. Your index finger accusingly aimed at him. "This is all your fault!"

"Wha—"

"Because of you!"

"Okay, now it's clear that you're just too far gone—"

You hiccupped, your tone laced with fiery emotion. "If it weren't for you—if you hadn't been so adamant about setting us up back then—!"

Gojo grimaced. Ah, so this was the so-called drunken musings. While it was amusing to see his friend of 7 years in this state, even he couldn't deny how a tad bit pitiful you were.

"...then maybe," you started to deflate, eyes watering and lips trembling, sniffling. "I-I won't have to go through this..."

Correction, you were so pitiful you had no idea. But still, as a longtime associate, he couldn't bring himself to abandon you there, wallowing in your sorrows all alone.

He sighed and patted your back. "There, there... what about I introduce you to other guys, hmm? See if it'll lessen the pain away?"

You shot him a look so hateful despite your bleary vision. "No! Last time you did, it ended in a divorce for me! I refuse to let you turn me into a two-time divorcee!"

"I'm pretty sure your marriage is far from my business, I'm just your kind-hearted, handsome broker—"

"Bah! You— tasteless prick!"

You burped loudly afterwards and Gojo winced, and then you suddenly (and theatrically, he might add) slumped face-down onto the table with a thud, passed out in all your drunken glory.

And Gojo could only stare at you in somewhat disbelief.

. . .

He thought then, that you were definitely going to owe him one after this.

More often than not, throughout the past six months, Nanami also found himself thinking about you too.

Despite his calm exterior, separation with you didn't come easy for him. There was a reason he married you in the first place—he had loved you, and he too wanted it to last. You used to be the reason he went home on time each and everyday, the reason he eagerly anticipated spending his weekends with.

Everything had fallen apart before either of you realized it. Some disagreements suddenly spiraled into lonely nights, no updates during longer missions, your tears, and then ended with both of you filing the papers in the city hall to end it all.

Six months ago, he thought he was final with his decision. He thought it was the best as he was faced with the sight of your tear-streaked face.

“Kento, I’m not asking m-much, am I?” you asked between sobs, wiping your tears harshly. “Aren’t w-we family? Shouldn’t we be doing a lot of things—together?”

Recalling that moment now, it tugged at his heartstrings anew. Yet, despite everything...

“I’m telling you, I know my limits—”

“Is that all you have to say? Don’t you know how sick with worry I am?” you ended up shouting at him, voice quivering. “Put yourself in my shoes and think: how can I possibly sleep at night, constantly fearing that my husband might—” your voice broke, fresh tears flowing freely. “—might not come back?!”

He was the one who backed away first, who made you lose all hope, and ultimately, placed the sentence upon you.

“If you don't have it in you to... then, perhaps it's for the best that we... just get a divorce.”

"Nanami-san, you okay?"

He looked up from the sizzling barbeque grill pan to his junior, Ino Takuma, who looked concerned as he flipped the meat. "You have been staring into space for a while..."

"I'm fine, Ino-kun." He looked down and grabbed the tongs, flipping his side of beef.

Ino let out a sympathetic sigh. "Honestly, lately, you seem down."

Words he was holding back were "ever since your divorce", but Ino was pretty sure his senior understood the implicaton.

Nanami hummed. "Sometimes life just doesn't go as swimmingly... I'm fine."

Ino never really knew you that well and was curious. In fact, he was so very curious. When it comes to Nanami Kento, everything he does and has done is always with justified and sound reason, but he might be biased because the 7:3 sorcerer was his role model.

It might verge on invading his privacy, but—

"They said... Gojo-san was your matchmaker back then?" he went through with the question anyway, testing the waters. "I don't mean to pry, but I just thought it's cute."

To Ino's surprise, Nanami's lips curled into a small smile. "It's fine, Ino-kun. I think it has become common knowledge by now. Yeah... he was."

"For you to have fallen for someone who was Gojo's acquaintance... it speaks volumes about how charming Y/N is."

"Mmm," he nodded slightly as he indulged in the grilled meat. "She is."

"Nanami-san." Okay, Ino was starting to think that he wouldn't be getting his point across if he went the roundabout way. He would shoot it straight then. "I don't mean to patronize you... but if you're really that miserable, then I think you should go back to her and talk things out, no?"

Nanami put down his chopsticks and let out a soft sigh, making Ino to immediately regret his blatant suggestion.

"Before arriving at such a difficult decision, of course we did try to discuss some things," he explained, his gaze meeting his calmly. "I don't take matters like divorce lightly, Ino-kun."

"But still... now—"

To drove the point home, Nanami chose to vocalize the conclusion that still left a bitter taste in his mouth to this day:

"She is unhappy with the way things are, and I have to come to terms with the fact that I can't provide what she needs."

Ino's gaze fell in dejection. "Nanami-san..."

Nanami chuckled fondly. “I appreciate your concern, Ino-kun. Thank you.”

In front of his junior, he could maintain composure and narrated the collapse of his own marriage as if he were a mere spectator. But in his heart of hearts, Nanami Kento wasn’t at all the stoic man he made everyone believed he was—the fact that he had failed to give you the life of happiness he promised on the day he proposed to you still stung him to this day.

It hurt him, but echoing your words, he couldn't subject you to a marriage that felt like a dull cohabitation with little understanding.

“We never really talk anymore, do we...? We never really work on our problems too. Kento, lately, I feel like... things have changed.”

Suppose what he had to do was letting you go now.

It was easier said than done, because when Nanami saw you the next day at the school—this being the first time in several weeks—he almost couldn’t keep his cool.

"Ichiji, don't be too stiff!" you slapped the poor guy in the back with a giggle. "It's just me, it's been a while!"

You didn't look much different than the last he saw you—still the chirpy self he unwittingly fell in love with, staying on top of the latest fashion trends and all. Yet, there was definitely something different about you, something he just couldn't quite identify...

And then those cheerfulness deflated when your gaze met his, eyes widening as you tried to get your bearings. "Oh—h-hi, Kento."

That's too forced. It was so unnatural that made him almost wince.

"Hello." But the tremble in his voice, too, betrayed him. "Have you been well?"

You shifted your gaze away from him, and right before you answered, you let out a cough, and that was when he spotted it: you looked kind of pale.

"I'm fine."

"Oh, that's good then."

Silence. This was the absolute worst.

Nanami exhaled. It was you he was talking to, his ex-wife. He knew you inside out—or at least, he used to. He knew you didn't like this dryness as much as he did. He had to say something.

He braved himself. "Are you here for a mission?"

You looked at him in slight surprise. "Oh... yeah."

Darn it. Another dry reply.

"There... is a cursed totem in North Tokyo," you elaborated, not really looking at him. "Gojo's out from tomorrow until next week. I'm substituting for him to assist the first years."

"Are you sure you're up for that?" Nanami found himself asking before he could stop. "I mean no disrespect, but you look a bit pale."

"I am," you snapped, leaving him surprised. It was as though he had unintentionally struck a nerve, quickly turning your mood sour. "I'm fully capable of handling this, Kento."

"Please, I don't mean to upset you. I'm just..."

Worried about you. Somehow his throat closed in, it didn't really feel right to say that now.

"—I know how rash you can be." He regretted his words as soon as they were out.

It was clearly a bad choice of words as you took offense, your expression quickly turned into one of disdain.

"How rich... that it's coming from you," you scowled.

Memories of your failed marriage flooded your mind's eye. The long nights your ex-husband didn't bother to leave you a message. How he would return home with wounds and blood staining his clothes. And now... he had the nerve to insinuate that you were the reckless one?

"I can take care of myse—"

"That's a whole load of bullshit!"

Good grief. Why must Gojo pick this exact scene to show up?

The blindfold took big strides and halted between the two of you, pointing one finger in your face.

“Last night, she got wasted. Like totally wasted! She could barely walk straight afterwards and then she had the audacity to blame me! Me! For all her mess! Goodness, I’m just a very chivalrous friend and yet—”

"Shut up!" you were horrified, face flushed with embarrassment. "Gojo, you complete jerk!"

Nanami wouldn't admit it, but there was always something between you and Gojo Satoru that made him a bit uncomfortable, even way back when the two of you were still married. Perhaps the closeness, the candidness you shared. He knew you wouldn't harbor anything for someone as elusive as Gojo Satoru, but still, it remained an uncomfortable sight for him.

Like there was nothing pleasant about knowing Gojo Satoru was the one taking care of you in your drunken stupor. You shouldn't have in the first place. If it were him, he wouldn't let you hurt yourself. If he were still the one by your side—

Despite himself, thoughts like that swirled in his mind far often than he would've liked.

Suddenly, the air felt stifling. Nanami didn't like this at all, and even as you two were still harmlessly bickering, he chose to leave.

"Oiii, Nanami!"

He had barely left the room when the person he disliked the most emerged from the door, following closely behind him. Gojo evidently knew what his thoughts were. As irritating as he was, the bloke was smart, he wasn't the strongest for nothing.

"Na-na-mi! You can't just leave like that! We're going to have lunch together—"

"Gojo-san," Nanami stopped in his tracks and let out an exasperated sigh, throwing the white-haired idiot a glare so hard it would curse him if only glares could. "Please stop bothering me."

“How cold-hearted,” the blindfold replied in a mocking scoff. “No matter how, she was once your wife. How could you not care one bit?”

“We have gone on our separate ways, and if she is good with the way things are, then so am I.”

What a lie. He still couldn't help but to care. If you ever needed his help in whatever way even now, he would still move heavens for you.

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Nanami,” Gojo suddenly interjected in a less playful manner. “She is really missing you, you know.”

But you had your best friend by your side, didn't you? Someone perfect, without equal. Surely, you wouldn't need him anymore.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "How are you so sure that she's good with the way things are?"

"What exactly is she not good with?"

"Everything? You never ask her."

This was getting irritating, and before Nanami really lost control over himself, he finally drew a line.

"Gojo-san, I'm tired of people assuming things about our current relationship," he said, leveling a piercing look at him. "We are both adults. We reached the decision to separate because we both know why. If this is your way of showing concern, then thank you—but I'd prefer if you didn't interfere any further. We're handling this just fine, and by all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore."

With that, he left. Even when he wanted to stay longer with you, even when, in his wildest dreams, he wanted to rebuild everything with you again—

He knew you were there, hearing all of this.

Gojo clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed. "Grr... You're so stubborn..."

. . .

There was a reason why you went to the school. Yaga's sudden request and of course, the chance to see Nanami again.

But when your conversation ended in a bitter note and he walked away, a part of you plunged into instant panic, compelling you to eavesdrop on his conversation with Gojo.

But as expected from you cool ex-husband, he was all rationale and logic.

By all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore.

Nanami would think so, wouldn't he? And he wouldn't be bothered either.

You shouldn't have expected more. This was no television drama in which the couple would get back together that easily. You were living in the harsh reality of jujutsu world, which basically, was the cause of your divorce in the first place.

At one point, you found it all to be exhausting, but upon reflection, it was more painful to acknowledge that he never truly fought to keep you by his side.

Tears welled up in your eyes unbidden, and you walked away quickly, brushing them away.

This is it. There is no use hoping anymore.

If you weren't on missions, then you'd likely be drinking. This had been the undeniable truth over the past few weeks.

Gojo found both you and Nanami to be irritating. The way both of you would evade each other was just plain stupid by this point, since it was clear to anyone with eyes that you were still not over each other.

"Nanami! Why don't you join us for dinner tonight!"

And since you were such an irritable drunk, he chose to keep poking the easier target.

Nanami shot him a scathing look, definitely done. "I have a prior appointment. Goodbye."

"Hoh?! But! They'll have free drinks!"

For the life of him, Nanami just wanted to go back home. He had minus interest in free drinks and even less in Gojo himself, and he would make his points clear.

"For the last time, I'm telling you, I don't want any part in your—"

Ring! Ring! Ring!

"Ooh, wait a minute, Nanamin! I got a call!"

Nanami gritted his teeth in pure annoyance. He truly didn't care about his call and seized the chance to walk away quickly, eager to flee.

Until—

"Hello? Yes. Yes... what? Huh— Y/N is rushed to hospital?"

...and that caused him to halt abruptly. Suddenly, his entire body went rigid, as if he had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

You're hurt?

"I mean why—the hell? Severe bleeding?!" Gojo's voice dramatically rose, seemingly in surprise. "Whoa, uh, traffic accident?!"

Within seconds, everything as he knew it came to an end. He spun around, yanking the phone from Gojo's grasp, indifferent to whether it caught the latter off guard or not.

"Which hospital is this?" he demanded from the person on the other end, his voice rough and harsh. Suddenly, the fog in his mind dissipated, and he was consumed by panic.

"I'm sorry, sir, that's not—oh, it's Tokyo General Hospital—"

"Thank you." Nanami shoved the phone back to Gojo and broke into a sprint, in search of taxi.

At this moment, everything was a plethora of chaos—his surroundings melded into a blur, the constant honking of nearby vehicles echoed in his ears, and the relentless pounding in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Nothing else held any significance. Nothing, except you.

Why did you get hurt? How did you even get into a traffic accident?

This was maddening. His world was falling apart hard and fast. The beginnings of heartbreak, stirring and churning in the depths of his stomach, once again threatened to drown him whole—

To others it may seem laughable that he was this shaken over an ex-wife, but precisely because you were his ex-wife was why he was running through the streets of Shibuya, opting not to take the cab as the traffic jam was at its peak.

Oh, how Nanami regretted it. He regretted a multitude of things; those long nights, silent treatments, your tears, divorcing you. If he could turn back the time, he'd do anything in his power to prevent that divorce from ever happening. He'd treasure you better, he'd make time for you more—

Because what if, now you were really slipping away from him for good? What if, he would never see you ever again?

Within minutes, he arrived at the said hospital, haggard, spooking the nurses, demanding your room number.

Thank heavens that the visiting hour wasn't over yet. He marched towards the said room, all of his logic and rationale flying out of window as he threw open the door.

And then he saw the pristine bed, IV drip, and you—

Sitting upright on the bed, turning a page of a magazine, your eyes widening and blinking at him in complete confusion—

Huh, what?

The last thing you would expect after waking up in the hospital was your ex-husband barging in unannounced, looking as though he'd just survived a whirlwind.

"Kento...?" you almost squeaked, taken aback at the sight.

His hair was a sweaty mess, his usually immaculate suit was crinkled and his tie was loosened, but it was the look in his eyes that grabbed your attention—as if expecting the worst.

“Are you alright?” he grounded out, approaching you in deliberately slow steps. “How long has it since you woke up?”

“Um... yes? Since about an hour or so.” You frowned. “Kento, what are you doing here?”

“They said you have severe bleeding, involved in an accident—”

“What! No! Did the hospital reach out to you?” you felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought. “I was sure I have removed you from my emergency contacts—”

“Gojo did—”

Suddenly, understanding dawned on him, and he cursed under his breath. “That rotten bastard!”

You blinked, unsure of what he meant at all. To his credit, Nanami didn’t dwell long on his thoughts and faced you once again with another fresh batch of confusion. “Wait, Gojo is your emergency contact? Why?”

“Should anything happen to me and a payment is required to settle it, he can handle the bills first?”

If Nanami didn’t look exasperated before then he sure did now. “Y/N… you…”

He released the deepest sigh imaginable before settling onto the sofa, further tousling his hair and removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Did you know I ran to get here because I thought something bad happened to you?” Nanami stated in a strained voice.

Why did your heart skip a beat? Why was Nanami suddenly playing the part of a concerned husband when the time for it has long passed?

Feeling suddenly irritated, you rolled your eyes. “I just passed out due to high blood pressure. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” his eyes squared on you, quiet anger behind them. “In what sense does you passing out ever ‘not a big deal’? What have you been doing?”

"Why does that even matter to you still?" you contested. "You were the one who said everyone should stop linking us together by now."

"Y/N, you're missing the—"

"You divorced me!" you screamed, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as the urge to cry threatened to consume you. "You... h-have divorced me, Nanami Kento!"

Nanami felt as if a blade had pierced and twisted his chest at the sight of you—your quivering form, the stifled sobs. He had never wished to see you in such despair again.

"So why!" you finally broke down and sobbed. "Why did you play the caring husband now? Why not before? Why do you keep toying with my feelings...?"

"I'm not." Nanami grunted, getting up and approaching your bed. "I never meant to. That was never my intention. I never—"

"Then what!? What are you doing? Why did you throw me out just like that and why now—"

"Believe me when I said that I never want you to be miserable!"

You halted mid-rant, eyes wide as you gazed at him. Blinking, you felt a tear roll down your cheek. It was the first time Nanami had ever raised his voice at you. Even in the past, he never had.

But suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through your abdomen, causing you to instinctively clutch it. You whimpered, a nearly involuntary squeak escaping you, feeling the intense burn inside.

Nanami immediately got a hold of your hunched form, alarmed. "What is it? What hurts?" When all you could manage were pained sniffles in response, he swiftly hit the nurses' button and enveloped you in his embrace.

"Hold on," he comforted, placing a hand over where you clutched your abdomen, trying to offer some relief in any way. "They'll be here soon, don't pass out!"

"Mmngh," you gripped his hand in response, squeezing it as you slumped into his chest. For the first time in six months, you were enveloped in his warmth once again, and despite everything that had transpired, you were deeply moved by his gesture.

It took seeing you in such distress to dispel any doubts Nanami may have had. You were so petite against him, so delicate as you squirmed amidst your tears.

Had you experienced pain like this in the past six months? The thought made his heart lurch. Did no one comfort you at all?

. . .

And that was when he decided it.

He never, ever wants to see you in any sort of pain, ever again. And should it happen, then he'll be the one staying by your side, just like this.

Alcoholic gastritis. You consumed so much alcohol that it irritated your ulcer and causes a really painful tummy ache.

You could feel Nanami's judging gaze on you as your attending doctor explained your predicament. Truth to be told, you were quite ashamed. Your unhealthy lifestyle were laid bare before your ex-husband and it made you feel like a kid being scolded for misbehaving.

After the doctor left, Nanami sighed and pulled out a chair next to your bed. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah..." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. "Sorry, that... you have to see that."

But thankfully, he was unflappable as ever. "Nothing to be sorry about. It's fine."

You were kind of embarrassed of your outburst earlier too. While you didn't regret expressing your feelings, you pondered if could've done it in a less confrontational way.

At this point, you'd accept anything. Even if Nanami told you off after this—

"Let me continue from what I was saying earlier," he suddenly began, catching your attention. You perked up, and looked at him expectantly.

Nanami released a deep sigh, and the words he spoke next were ones you never thought you'd hear from him again.

"Did you remember what I said when I proposed our divorce?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically. You wordlessly nodded, because it was one of the lines that made you unable to hate him completely.

"I said, you don't deserve to be unhappy." Nanami looked you right in the eyes, undaunted. "And that still stands until now."

Now fully engrossed in his words, the rhythm of your heart intensified, echoing in your chest.

"It wasn't a decision I blurted out lightly. I know you're hurt, because I am too. I married you with a reason. I have loved you. and if you were to ask me now, my answer would be the same—I am still in love with you."

Why did it feel like your vision was beginning to blur once more?

"But," Nanami's face contorted into a frown, gazing hard at you. "If staying with me is what makes you miserable—if waiting nights after nights, hoping I can make it each time haunts you so much—then I'm more than willing to release you from that burden. I don't want to subject you to that life."

Warm tears slid down your cheeks. Sniffling, you averted your gaze, looking downwards.

"Look, I make you cry again," he sighed, a mix of fondness and sadness in his voice, as a bitter smile graced his lips. One of his thumbs gently lifted your jaw, while the other tenderly wiped away your tears.

"Kento, I—" you quickly looked up, swallowing the lump in your throat. You had made up your mind. "I don't want you to leav—"

"I know," he cut in, his voice solemn, as he stroked your tear-streaked cheeks. "I know, and that's exactly why I'm going to say what I'm about to say next."

And with his next words, your heart burst into complete, utter warmth—

"Let's start over." Nanami Kento's voice was your lifeline, anchoring you and keeping you afloat. "We can take our time. There's no rush—we can return to how things were in the beginning. And when you're ready, then and only then... will I ask you to marry me again."

The one person who has your heart in his grasp, someone whom you are willing to care way more than yourself... You were openly sobbing now and yet a radiant smile broke through your tears.

There was only one answer you had in mind.

Five years later

"Yes! Yes! Yay!"

Today was sunny, just like the day of your wedding. Memories flooded back as you glanced at the grand wedding portrait in the foyer, a snapshot of yourself and your husband in blissful celebration.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stared at the gentle smile on Kento's face amidst his typically stiff posture. You remembered his vows to you.

The one person who I will look for the rest of my life... is you. I have never met someone so important and precious to me that it hurts.

The sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Oh, he's home.

As you opened the door, your smile grew even broader, until a small figure darted past you at such speed that you were left gawking.

"Daddy!" your daughter's voice rang out with pure delight, leaping into your husband's arms the moment he swung the car door open, catching him off guard.

"Oh my, why are you so sweaty?" Kento inquired, scrutinizing your daughter with a puzzled frown, yet holding her close. "I thought we're going to the playground after this?"

"She's so excited for it that she keeps running and jumping around all the while," you chimed in with a gentle sigh, affectionately ruffling your daughter's hair as she beamed up at both of you.

Before long, the three of you set off to the playground, fulfilling the promise you had made to your daughter. As she entertained herself with the slides, Kento's low chuckle drew your attention. "What's so funny?"

"She takes after you a lot, you know," he remarked, a fond smile on his face. "The way she is just full of energy."

"Really? But sometimes she'll get this wrinkly little scowl on her face when she's annoyed—she looks like you then."

"Wrinkly...? No, surely I don't have that many wrinkles yet..."

Your laughter filled the air, a testament to the joy found in these simple, everyday moments.

Unexpected moments of joy, the comfort of family, and a love that had grown and evolved, stronger and more resilient with time...

And this, is what you'd call a happy marriage.

[prokopetz]

Honestly it's weird that roleplaying as we know it evolved from historical wargaming.

Like for example DBA rules contain some suggestions for running campaigns with narrative and "propaganda" so I wouldn't say that it's something incompatible, and 0E looks way more like wargames than say PbtA games do, but storytelling games were a feature of artistic salons for way longer and they appear much closer to roleplaying than rulesets for reenacting ancient battles on tabletop.

Salon games didn't have skill checks but neither did wargames and it's strange that nobody came up with simplistic skill checks to add uncertainty and realism to the game

I think the line is a lot clearer when the role of dice and rules in tabletop roleplaying games is correctly understood.

"Uncertainty" and "realism" are, at best, secondary to what the dice are actually doing. Even most tabletop RPGs get it wrong when they try to explain themselves – they'll talk about the rules as something to fall back on to prevent schoolyard arguments (i.e., "yes I did!/no you didn't!") from derailing the story, when in fact it's the exact opposite.

If we look at freeform roleplaying as an illustrative parallel, we see that, while newly formed groups may in fact fall to bickering when a consensus can't be reached about what ought to happen next, mature and well-established groups tend instead to fall prey to excessive consensus-seeking: the impulse to always find an outcome that isn't necessarily one which everybody at the table can be happy with, but at the very least one which everybody at the table can agree is reasonable – and that's a lot more constraining than one might think.

In this sense, the role of picking up the dice isn't to build consensus, but to break it – to allow for the possibility of outcomes which nobody at the table wanted or expected. It's the "well, this is happening now" factor that prevents the table's dynamic from ossifying into endless consensus-seeking about what reasonably ought to happen next.

Looking to the history of wargames, this is precisely the innovation they bring to the table. Early historical wargames tended to be diceless affairs which decided outcomes by deferring to the judgment of a referee or other subject matter expert, but the use of randomisers increasingly came to be favoured because referees would tend to favour the most reasonable course, precluding upsets and rendering the outcomes of entire battles a foregone conclusion. This goes all the way back to the roots of tabletop wargaming – people were literally having "rules versus rulings" arguments two hundred years ago!

(This isn't the only facet of tabletop roleplaying culture which has its roots in wargaming culure, of course. For example, you can draw a direct line from the preoccupation of early tabletop RPGs with punishing the use of out-of-character knowledge to historical wargaming's gentleperson's agreement to refrain from making decisions based on information that one's side's commanders couldn't possibly have possessed when re-creating historical battles.)

To be clear, I don't necessarily disagree that salon games could have yielded something like modern tabletop RPGs. However, first they'd have had to arrive at the paired insights that a. excessive consensus-seeking is poison to building an interesting narrative; and b. randomisers can be used to force the breaking of consensus, and historical wargames had a substantial head start because they'd figured all that out a century earlier.

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

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summary | twisted into the miller brothers web, you find yourself deeply entangled in a complicated situation between the two and hell bent on self-preservation, you discover that running isn't always the best choice.

author's note | i was going to get this out before the end of the year if it was the last thing i did. i have never been so fully engulfed in a fic like this. it's just a little mini series, but i could talk about this shit for hours. thank you to everyone who's listened to my incoherent rambling and especially @gracieheartspedro who nailed down this ending when i was struggling so hard to decide. if you enjoy this silly story as much as me, ily.

content warning | 18+ smut, this is heavily joel miller x reader leaning, cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, death, joel's territorial <3, lots of unprotected sex going on 'round here, oral (f receiving), pain kink go hard, blood kink and consumption, biting kink, literal love as consumption, restraints, description of wounds from said bites, scarring, omitting a few tags for spoilers but please remember you are responsible for the work you consume, if you are ever feeling uncomfortable, do not continue reading. this is dark fic. that's the only warning i'm giving.

word count —13k, BITTER (part one)

“Killin’ is a viable option.”

Tommy groans, hand rubbing over his face as he leans against the kitchen counter, “They aren’t backwoods folk, Joel. You know that, we gotta be smart.”

“All they gotta do is get the law involved,” Joel points out, “fancy lawyers—“

“We’re selling to half that department,” Tommy argues, a long moment of silence before he adds, “and if you’d stop interrupting I’d tell you I already spoke to ‘em. Said I’d run it by you first before we set anything in stone.”

The big brother seal of approval.

You watch along curiously, stuck in the chair that Joel had a hand gripped around, sandwiched between them both as they volleyed arguments back and forth like they were fighting gladiators shoved in the colosseum—may the best man win.

“I still think we should just kill ‘em,” Joel chirps with finality, glancing briefly over your dumbstruck look, frozen somewhere between fear and shock, their voices fading in and out like muffled conversation, “make sure no one’ll come askin’ questions. Easy. You ain’t never had an issue with it before.”

The letter was still clutched in Tommy’s hand, a list of vague threats and accusations—the weird occurrences around the Miller property, the strange behavior of Tommy’s older brother, the smell. There wasn’t hard evidence, but they weren’t wrong either. A few minutes grazing the property and a look in the barn would confirm anyone’s suspicions—which, speaking of…

“Are you going to kill me now?”

 It was a brave thing to interject with, given Joel’s current hostility around the situation with their nosey neighbors and you, like a pest making a mess of his home. But, instead it was him. His mind—a foreign feeling that he didn’t like or intent to allow to wreak havoc much longer.

He’d kill you if he had to, if that was what it took.

Unsurprisingly, they both ignore you.

“Let me talk to ‘em tomorrow, Joel,” Tommy barters, “see if I can smooth things over.”

“Ya ain’t smoothin’ shit over, we know how this goes—you lose your temper and then we have a mess. Just take care of the fucking problem like I suggested.”

You knew the house, it was the only one within walking distance. Far off, covered by a line of trees and eclectic decor—you never thought much of it, under the impression that everyone in this town was as demented as the Miller brothers, most of the suspicions confirmed as the brothers continued to argue. 

It was an open secret—deranged and fucked-up, but there was full, completely loyalty.

If you had gone digging enough, you would have found out yourself. But, Joel wanted you to know. It takes a killer to know a killer—the wood of the chair cracks behind you as his grip tightens.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you,” Tommy comforts suddenly, a quick glance over of your injuries, “not intentionally, at least—”

“She fell,” Joel explains, a half-truth, “made a damn mess and wasted the scraps for the pigs—”

“Joel,” Tommy warns, returning his gaze to you, “You’ve been good to us, better than most. We can trust each other, alright? Ain’t no reason to think otherwise.”

He was sickeningly sweet, laying it on so thick you see right through the facade. He was upset, rightfully so, but you weren’t sure how much of it was directed at Joel and how much of it was directed at you.

“When did I surpass being a meal?” You turn your attention toward Tommy, flicking your eyes up briefly at Joel, “Was it before or after you fucked me?”

You expect it to be newfound information to Joel, but he doesn’t react in the slightest. He almost smirks, actually. A sudden, miniscule response that you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t so on edge.

“Now, darlin’—”

“Cut the shit, Tommy,” You retort, “When did it happen?”

“Still a chance, if you’re feelin’ persistent,” Joel taunts.

Tommy shoots Joel a dangerous glare before his face softens.

“The thought never occurred to me,” Tommy replies though you find it hard to believe him, “M’not sayin’ we’ve been this kind to everyone, but with you—s’different. Right, Joel?”

“Well, she does like the taste,” He grins viciously, a showing of teeth that sends your body into a full chill, “ate it right up, loved it.”

Your eyes shoot daggers in his direction and he shrugs, his tongue shoved into his cheek as he moves to stand, turning in a circle on his heels as he leans against the nearest surface.

“I mean it, you’re safe with us,” Tommy assures, “out there—we can’t protect you. And if you think we’re the monsters, you’re in for a rude awakenin’, baby.”

“Don’t,” You chuffle, a short laugh through your nose, “I’ll—I’ll stay, but this,” You wave your finger between him and you, before it circles the group, a discoordinated trio, “I don’t trust either of you and don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything, actually.”

Your anger was justified and Tommy didn’t try to argue, only sinking back in his chair with an ‘I told you so’ look on Joel’s face. Luckily, they leave you to gather yourself, ignoring the subtle sting from the wounds on your legs and your spiraling thoughts—you could wait until nightfall.

That was it—wait long enough until it was dark and they were both asleep and make a run for the only sane people in the nearest vicinity. They could help you and help take the two brothers down in the process, it was a fair victory for the opposing party and your only saving grace.

–

They retire to their rooms eventually, the insistent chirp of crickets keeping you awake, standing on sore legs as you move around the dark room and pulling on a warm pair of clothes to trek against the nighttime winds. 

You were careful, prying open doors with a quiet effort and allowing the softest steps against the old floorboard as you reached the door, immediately met with the deadbolt lock and an even heftier lock to keep you trapped–or to Tommy, safe. The house was silent aside from the sounds of nature, the occasional howling wind blowing through but you looked around, searching for another path—you had already made it this far, you weren’t going to go scrambling back.

If anything, the backdoor would have the same locks and your eyes scan the windows, closed shut but not inescapable. If either of them decided to wake, they would surely know. 

There was no time to deliberate or weigh the consequences, hurrying toward the living room window that led toward the yard, pulling it up with forceful but cautious precision, ripping at the screen.

It isn’t an easy feat, not nearly the path you would have chose, but you fell to the ground with a deft slump, careful of your fresh bandages and gravel under your hands as you land, wincing as you stand but peering inside of the house cautiously, determining if you needed to make a run for it.

Silence meets you. Dead silence.

The eerie feeling in the distance creeps in, eyeing the house over your shoulder that is still lowly lit but quite the walk, you turn on your heels and make the long walk there, wondering if darting off down the road would be simpler, continuing until you came upon another sign of civilization or normality, anything to save you.

As you grow closer, the muffled melodic tunes coming from the house start to drown out your stream of thoughts, the bass booming from the driveway as you grow closer. You careful approach the steps to their door, pressing a finger into the doorbell as it chimes throughout the house—the music lowers in an instant, quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop, the door ripping open with a forceful gust of air, meet with the fierce scowl of an older gentleman.

It was hard to describe him, but there was so much going on—a peek at the inner house decor that screamed for a touch of neutralness, a mix of beaded necklaces hanging around his neck over a stretched out tank, barefoot as he approached you on the mat at his door.

It only dawns on you now that you hadn’t prepared anything—you were drawing a complete blank.

“You better start talking,” He speaks, a grittiness to his voice that stills you at your core, “botherin’ us in the middle of the night—”

“You’re right,” You blurt out, shaking your head slightly as you realize how abrasive it was, taking a breath before you speak slower, “about Joel and Tommy, you’re right. They’re bad people.”

His expression turns steely, jaw tightening as he straightens his back in an intimidating manner. You couldn’t mistake the whiff of alcohol on his breath, his drifting eyes down the length of your body, slowly realizing that this might have been a mistake.

Self-preservation had always come first, even if you didn’t think the Miller’s were the worst possible people you could have come across, they were unfortunate targets in the moment. 

“They—they are killing,” You point vaguely in the direction of the house, “it’s—the smell, it’s the bodies. They’re murders, you have to help me,” It comes out in a panic and you stutter as the confession rolls off your tongue, his expression only growing dark as time passes.

Fuck, he didn’t believe you. Of course—who would? 

Hey, you’ve got a couple cannibals for neighbors—let’s deal with them.

It was never that easy.

“You don’t think I know?” He responds, stepping into your space to send you stumbling backwards, but his arms lock around your biceps and keep you upright, but not for the reason he should, feeling the sting of pain as he squeezes down hard.

You gasp at the suddenness of it, “N—no, no! You have to believe me!”

“I’ve seen you helpin’ them,” He nods vaguely, “Think I’m gonna believe this shit? Where are they, huh?” The spit from his vicious reaction and volume sprays against your face as he shoves you to the ground, your arms skidding against the cement as you scramble backwards, trying to flee his quickly approaching figure, “They use you as bait?”

He’s over you before you have a chance to roll out of the way, your forearm presses up against his neck as he leers, glancing around for any sign of the brothers—silently praying that he was right in the moment, but you knew there was no one to help. Just you. Just him.

He forces you onto your stomach as your face was smashed into the rock path along the driveway, “Well, good—they can watch,” It makes your blood run cold, sensing the exact implication of his words as you calmly and slyly wrap your fingers around a palm sized rock, curling it in your fist as he leans back on his legs, twisting in his grip and bashing the rock blindly at his face, a grunt releasing from him as you make contact with his skull, falling to the ground with a dead weight as you scramble away breathless.

You stare at the sight, a man near death on his lawn before the whistle fades in—low and melodic as it approaches with the sound of heavy boots and speaking before you can react.

“Well, look at that,” Joel looks on in admiration, a small suspicion of amusement in his tone as he steps onto the lawn and peers over you, hand extended out blindly for help as he cautiously steps around the pooling blood of the now dead man, “little messier than I like, but you got the job done.”

If looks could kill—you’re seething, staring up at Joel with narrowed eyes as you take his hand and stand.

“I’ll give you some credit,” Joel continues, “You’re resourceful but predictable—suppose you can’t trust anyone in this town anymore, can you?”

He’s cocky about it, which pisses you off more. Undoubtedly, he was probably watching you the entire time, waiting in the shadows, undetectable. He’s mastered his craft, he killed people for a living. It wasn’t a mystery how he knew or expected your retaliation. But, his reaction is jarring.

“C’mon, up,” He yanks at your hand and helps you upright, instinctually brushing the clumps of grass and dirt out of your hair with a pinched expression as your eyes slowly drag toward the motion, unmoving out of…not fear. It was something indescribable, flinching at the heat of his hands as his eyes gradually rose toward the upstairs window.

“You know what happens next, right?” Joel asks, kicking at the dead body to roll him on his back, staring down at the lifeless corpse.

You didn’t need the whole speech—murder me now, please. Spare me the misery.

“Alright, alright,” Joel sighs, almost like he’s carrying on a conversation with himself—and with your silence, he was. But, he senses your fear, “well—you can’t just murder one and not the other, you little killer. You’re gonna take care of the other one, too.”

“Joel—I—” The adrenaline rush was waning, the bile in your stomach swimming and swirling.

His face hardens in an instant, forcing his hand over your mouth with a stern shake of his head as your eyes grow wide, “Ain’t time for excuses.  You made this mess—you’re gonna finish it.”

You blink slowly, searching for any sign of a bluff. It never comes, in fact, his grip only grows tighter until you answer, shakily nodding your head.

“Go on,” He urges, “I’m right behind you.”

He’d have a front row seat this time instead of waiting in the wings. 

Joel wanted a full taste.

–

The wife is tucked into bed when you finally find her, barricaded in her sheets and sleeping soundly despite the loud, blaring music when you first approach the house—you figured it was a regular occurrence, but you don’t linger on the thought long. 

You hold onto the thought of the husband and his unwillingness to hear you out, how they seemed to already have you figured out, wrapped up in the Miller’s web and just another willing accomplice, repeating the same careful steps from earlier that had clearly failed you as Joel breathed over your shoulder.

It needed to be quick—not entirely painless, but clean.

The vase to the left of her head seemed like an emergency option, the woman splayed out on her back as you searched around, knowing that you didn’t have long with Joel’s looming presence. You chew at your bottom lip as you reach carefully for the pillow beside her head and slowly press it over her face, a few seconds of calm before you find yourself in a predicament.

Climbing over her lap, you mount and press the weight of your palms into the pillow, face scrunched in concentration as the woman flails and shakes against the movement, grunting meekly as your hand slips against the scratch of her nails, glaring at Joel for a silent plea of help, realizing that she was putting up far more of a fight then either of you expected.

He waits until the last possible second, an unreadable expression on his face before he’s flipping the switchblade out of his pocket and piercing it through her clavicle, the blood squirting on your chest and face, rearing back instinctually as you gasp, her body falling lifeless in an instant.

“I can appreciate the effort,” Joel comments, wiping the blade off on the sleeve of your shirt before he pockets it again, “how’d that feel?”

You don’t realize your heart is racing until he asks the question—it was a similar feeling to a drug-induced high, slightly floaty and off-balance, your mind hazy as you blink, the stench of iron filling your senses and that strange look on Joel’s face returns.

You understand it then—lust, another subtle hint as he licks at his bottom lip out of reflex.

Joel would lick you clean if you let him.

You clear your throat and speak quietly, “What—what do we do?”

“Well, we gotta transfer ‘em to the house,” Joel explains, “So, you’ll stay here and wait—not run, that clear?”

You nod mindlessly, towering over your second dead body of the night.

You were far too deep now.

You don’t move—not really. You sink to the sheets beside the woman’s body but you listen dutifully, ears perking up at the roar of an approaching truck and door slamming followed by footsteps before Joel reappears again, seemingly breathing out a sigh of subtle relief as he spots you.

He’d never admit it, but you can see it.

It take a while, but eventually you carry both bodies into the bed of the truck and cover them with tarp, questioning Joel on what happens with the house, the evidence, everything that could essentially criminalize both of you—

“That’s above my paygrade, honey,” You’re not amiss to the change in his voice, his expression more relaxed as he shifts the truck into gear, “the sheriff handles all that for us.”

“And…the sheriff…he—”

Joel chuckles, “It’s everyone. Not just a group of us. We aren’t just sellin’ to townsfolk, either. It’s overseas, across the country. Shit is high risk, high reward. Why do you think I followed you tonight?”

So, he did follow you—he’d known the entire time.

“I saw the idea pop into your head earlier while Tommy and I were arguin’. Like I said, predictable. I’m not sayin’ you didn’t have a fair reaction, I get it. But, we can keep you safe.”

You cross your arms over your chest silently, skin and face caked with blood.

“But will you?” You retort, “Can I really trust you both?”

As the truck pulls in near the barn, the ignition falls silent.

“I want to,” Joel admits, “natural ability like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

A natural-born killer, he means.

“You feelin’ guilty right now?” Joel asks, eyebrows raised.

You shake your head quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Good, keep it that way.”

Joel works silently to unload the bodies and load them in the barn as you sit quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the barn door as he drags tarp covered corpses inside with a brute strength unlike his brother, somehow spotless throughout the entire ordeal.

“I’ll move the truck in the morning,” Joel tells you as he pulls your door open, a hand waiting in assistance as you climb out on unsteady feet, the ache of your wounds coming back in waves as reality sets in.

“It is morning,” You retort, earning a huff of annoyance from Joel.

“You know what the fuck I meant,” He responds, his thumb flicking at a flake of dried blood on your collarbone as you stand in front of him, “Tommy’ll get pissy if you wash the blood off in the main bathroom—I’ll let you use mine.”

Your face contorts in a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Or I can hose you down out here, your choice.”

–

The house is as quiet as you left it, guided silently with the touch of Joel’s hand between your shoulder blades as you traversed the dark house—and you aren’t sure what you were expecting as you enter Joel’s bedroom, but it wasn’t this.

It was lived-in, personal; full of books and random trinkets, pictures lining the top of his dresser and walls—his family, you can only assume. A few pictures of kids that you surmise are Joel and Tommy, you avoid Joel’s gaze as you look around aimlessly, clearing your throat as you approach the bathroom, hearing the light flick on beside your head.

It was clean, at least. A dark colored shower curtain hiding the tub away from view and his bathroom amenities only slightly astray, probably from previous use that night. 

You turn to him with a quizzical expression, his expression matching.

“What? Somethin’ wrong?” He asks.

“It’s just—it’s…clean. It doesn’t—it doesn’t fit you, I guess.”

“I’m just a dirty old man to you, ain’t I?”

It’s a joke, but his delivery falls flat.

“I’m confused, I guess.” You tell him honestly, “Look at me—” A vague gesture at your own disheveled state, dirt and blood smeared on your face as he tilts his head against the doorframe.

“I am,” The deep timber to his voice strikes you at your core, a casual but unsuspecting answer, “I cleaned up for the night, wasn’t plannin’ on getting dirty again.”

“But, you’re always dirty.”

His job required that—but Joel was meticulous about his routine after he was done for the day. Dinner, a thorough shower, sometimes another if he was feeling particularly bothered, and the quiet of the calm house to lull him to sleep.

Unfortunately, that routine has been disrupted since you arrived. 

Like an infestation, you’d taken over.

Joel ignores you with a half-assed shrug and flicks a dried speck of blood from your nose.

“Go on,” He demands, “I’ll grab you some clothes and fresh bandages.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and nod as you gently swat his hand away, avoiding his gaze as you press the door closed enough that it doesn’t lock, but allows you the privacy to undress.

It feels good to clean the blood and grime away, scrubbing at your body until it burns, bathing in the distinct smell of Joel’s body wash, a faint hint of it always wafting off of him despite his usually dirtied state.

You can hear him moving quietly beyond the curtain, his shadow passing a few times as you’re expecting him to fold against the urge to peek his head beyond the curtain—something, anything.

You hated the forced gentlemanly facade. 

Once you’re out of the shower and dressed in clothes Joel had picked out, a matching set and a fresh pair of underwear that had you glancing sideways at him as his fingers peeked around the bathroom door with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and fresh bandages in his hands.

He kneels quietly with a concentrated expression, mirroring his actions from before. Wincing through the sting of pain as he cleans and dresses your wounds, catching his glances as the noises slip beyond your lips—an inconspicuous check-in, wordless.

You can’t help but fuck with him now, defenses down.

His eyes follow the way your hand smooths over the waistband of your shorts, your thumb slipping beyond the thick band as you lean against the mirror, watching as he taped down the gauze, “Kinda defeats the purpose, don’t it?”

“What’re ya gettin’ at?”

“The whole—bet you can’t guess what color underwear I’m wearing joke,” You play quietly with the waistband, fingers twirling in the drawstrings below your navel as your thighs spread against his guidance, his hand sliding down to your ankle to raise your leg higher in an effort to secure the bandage, “I see you wanted them to match,” You jest at him lightly, noticing the way his eyes immediately lock onto the apex of your thighs.

He brushes it off, a roll of his eyes as he finishes up his job, carefully piling up the trash on the floor as you slowly slide off the bathroom counter, leaving his head level with your waist. 

Had you asked yourself if you wanted to be this close to him twelve hours ago, the answer would have been different, but the downright pathetic look on his face as his eyes drag up your body and eventually land on your face are a powerful spell.

Slowly, your hands drift into his hair—surprisingly soft as the curls sway with your movement, gripping the hair tight and pushing his head back in the process, a low rumble in his throat at the action.

“Do you like that?” You inquire, his eyes darkening at the question as he sets his sight on something he wants—a primal gaze, almost like a warning.

“You tryin’ to make my brother jealous?” He asks, “Think I should tell him about your plan to rat us out—how it didn’t work and now you’re tryin’ this—”

“I can’t leave now,” You admit, still not fully settled with the idea but deep down you knew, “I—I do feel safe, you know. With you—”

You exhale shakily as his lips press against the sliver of skin beneath your shirt, just below your navel as his eyes fall shut, his tongue following the path as he presses surprisingly gentle kisses into the skin before his fingers are curling over the band of your shorts.

“Don’t trust me, though—do you?” Joel asks snarkily, eyes peeking open slightly as your lips part in a soft gasp as he pulls the clothing down your hips, peeling the underwear down with it.

One hand drags up your calf, calloused hands against soft skin as he pulls one knee over his shoulder and shoves your shirt upwards, giving him an obscured view of your cunt, lips spreading open with the movement and glistening with slick despite how much you tried to loathe him—there was a racing in your heart that differed from Tommy, like you know you shouldn’t be doing this but your body was demanding otherwise.

You shake your head lazily as it drops back, slumping against the medicine cabinet as he drags a finger through your folds, toying with your clit in small movements, silent as he drinks in every small sound you make, your opposite hand digging into the counter of the sink as his fingers dig into your thigh, opening your eyes as he presses his lips to your cunt, right against the mound and into the short, coarse patch of hair before he’s spreading his tongue out flat against you and licking a slow, tortuous line up the seam.

“Trust–trust is earned,” You reply breathily, “It, fuck—it takes time.”

Joel hums a response of approval as his nose nudges against your clit, tongue dipping inside of your hole as he stared up at you, even at this angle you could see the smug smirk on his face as he drank you in—Joel was still a frightful man, enough unknown that you found yourself wondering if the choices you were making were correct, if somehow this would cost you your life in the end.

But, then he’s pulling away, dragging his finger up the seam of your pussy as he stands, unbuckling his belt quietly as you strip your shirt away, not needing to be told or guided, his tanned skin flushed a subtle red as he unbuttons and parts his flannel, adjusting his jeans and underwear down just far enough under his balls that they sit snug against the fabric, his cock intimidatingly large against his even larger hands.

So much with Joel is unspoken, his intensity held in his gaze. Even from your first meeting, there was a look—and even now, he’s got that look. Like he’s trying to decipher you.

He flattens one hand against the bathroom counter as you spread your legs to accommodate him, his other hand grabbing at your ass to pull you near the edge before he’s running his hand down his shaft, the foreskin swallowing up the red, angered tip of his cock before he’s pulling back and rubbing his cock through your folds, gathering the wetness there and pressing inside with a pinched expression on your face, your breath catching as your hand twists into his shirt.

“That hurt?” He asks, his voice taking on a softer tone.

You nod fervently, “Yeah—yeah, it’s—you’re…pretty big,”

You weren’t trying to actively compare the brothers, but the thought passes in your mind and Joel notices the thoughtful look on your face, huffing out a laugh under his breath.

“Good,” That it hurts—he wanted you to feel it tomorrow, that it would be a constant reminder.

He’s a natural masochist, but he wasn’t about not enjoying sex. So, while he savors the soft hiss of pain at first, the dig of your nails into his chest, eventually you relax and turn to curling yourself around him, legs tight around his hips and your arms slung over his shoulders as he presses his forehead into your own and fucks you with a slow, powerful force of thrusts that make the walls shake—surely it would wake his brother, maybe that was what he wanted.

His mouth parted slightly, panting out hot against your skin as he glares at you—into you, through you, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he follows your trailing gaze, the precipice of your pleasure clawing over the edge of their metaphorical walls.

“Yeah, s’right there—isn’t it?” He taunts, a half smirk on his face as he watches you.

Always watching you.

You nod again, feeling the hand that was squeezing at your thigh digging into your skin as he used it for leverage, thrusting into you while he guided your hips toward him, using your body like he had full control over it. His other hand finds your breasts, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he’s rubbing his thumb over the quickly hardening bud, a shiver running down your spine.

There was nowhere to hide with Joel, all imperfections on display as your head lulls back against the mirror, eyes opening to find him matching your expression—somewhat sated but nearing the edge of his own release, he nudges his chin up and speaks, “S’this what gets you off?”

Your brow furrows as you tilt your head, his hand trading your breast for the hand twisted into his shirt, guiding it toward your clit as he gives you a silent order, your fingers circling the sensitive nub.

“Fuckin’ both of us—s’gonna be a hell of an issue when he finds out, you know.”

“Is this what you like—huh, talking about while you fuck?” You counter, “Your brother?”

His jaw shakes slightly as he gaze dips, admiring the way your cunt swallowed him up, his fingers wrapped around the wrist that was working at your clit, toes curling as your knees squeezed into his hips, that heat building in your core.

“I can talk about how he eats pussy better than you,” It’s teasing, an effort to get a rise out of him, “or do you—you wanna hear how he whimpers when he fucks me because he’s so pathetic? Is th—is that what you want?” His hips stuttered with your words, “He’s so much sweeter, you know? S’all soft and kind—”

Nothing like Joel.

His hand seems to loosen at the mention, but you shake your head.

“Oh, don’t ease up now, honey—I never said I liked it.”

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but you didn’t want to hear it, shoving your opposite hand over his mouth as you both spill over the edge, the ache of loss finding you as he pulls out, thick ropes of come panting your stomach as you clench around the emptiness, his teeth digging into the palm of your hand as he groans with his release.

“I’ll handle Tommy,” Joel promises as you both dress, cleaning yourself up as he buttons his shirt, “It’ll be easier coming from me.”

“You don’t have to lie, he should know—”

“I’m not,” He responds quickly, looking up at you through his downturned gaze, “like you said—trust is earned. You’ll earn it.”

How was a mystery—but what other choice did you have?

-

You learn very quickly that Joel was intentional in you earning his trust—not so much Tommy. He wasn’t surprised by your attempt to escape, but the marring of their neighbors—yours too, now—he was slightly disappointed. Hoping that he could spare you the gruesome side of things, that keeping you within the house and under his watch would help save your innocence about the entire ordeal.

But, he quickly finds out that isn’t the case.

And you find out how steady their diet of human meat was, a fridge stocked full of various cuts and textures, unsuspecting to the eye but you knew—and truthfully, the sickness dissipates after a month of eating that way. Tommy will occasionally skip a day or two, sometimes even a week.

Whereas Joel, he’s fully accepted his ways.

“How does it work?” You ask curiously, night has crept in and left both you and Joel, who you’ve gradually drifted toward lately, aware of Tommy’s lingering touches and fighting that feeling of betrayal on both ends—Tommy never seemed to mind you favoring Joel, even indirectly. However, Joel was territorial, overwhelmingly so. You wished you disliked it, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.

“How’s what work?” He asks, legs spread wide on the couch as take a seat beside him, legs curled under your body and the fire crackling beside you, his hair wet from a recent shower and his shirt sticking to his skin, “Tommy’s job?”

You nod quietly, chewing on a piece of dried meat, akin to jerky. 

You’ve willingly succumbed to the lifestyle over the past few weeks, partly to blame on Joel, but mostly out of your own morbid curiosity, finding that it wasn’t all that bad as the nauseous and general sickness fell dormant. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Joel answers bluntly, but honest, “He’s got some kinda system going, I do my job—cuttin’ things up, mindin’ my business. I just know it makes us damn good money.”

You wouldn’t be able to tell outside of their house, but they kept things well within the interior—they owned nice things, you assumed they were out of debt and had money saved back, but they lived beneath their means as much as possible. 

Joel liked a quiet life, you could tell. 

“I could help out more, you know.”

Outside of your general duties and decent pay—it felt lacking, like you could be doing more.

Neither of the brothers kept you chained or trapped, that much was obvious. And you didn’t feel the lingering threat of something to come, the need to run—the feeling of security was something you had searched out for a while and oddly, they provided that. 

In some sick, fucked up way, you felt protected. 

“Stock is runnin’ low,” Joel debates, his thumb circling the beer bottle between his legs, while his other trails along his bottom lip in thought, “I got an idea, dunno if Tommy’s gonna like it.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” You reply, “He cowers like a puppy when it comes to you.”

It was essentially a lure and catch situation—Joel never strayed too far, always on the outskirts while you found the next willing victim, it was always you approaching them, never the opposite. You were in full control and under very specific orders. 

Never people in town, always the stragglers. The more meek and unsuspecting the better, but it varied—after a couple months, Joel doesn’t even bother to stick around, sitting in his truck while you finish up the job.

And you’ve learned over time just how different Tommy and Joel are—Tommy prefers seclusion in the extremist of ways, more subdued with his affection when Joel was around and didn’t argue with him in your presence, almost like he was attempting to shield you.

Joel is out late in the barn when Tommy crowds you in the kitchen, a curious and longing stare out the window at the closed barn door, his tell-tale throat clearing as his hands wrap around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as you sip gingerly at the glass of water in your hands.

“M’glad you feel safe here,” Tommy murmurs into your skin, a soft peppering of kisses along your spine as he moves the material of your shirt out of the way, his fingers slipping beyond the thick waistband of your pants, shoving them down wordlessly, “ready for bed?”

“Not yet,” You admit, letting the silence linger before you speak again, “Can I ask you something—and I’m just curious, I swear.”

Tommy makes a noise of approval. 

“What happened to my car?” A laugh bubbles up at the thought and Tommy laughs too.

“I mighta sold it for scraps when you agreed to stayin’ with us long term. I was meaning to tell you, but you never asked…so I figured…”

Who cares, right? Truly, it was a piece of shit anyways.

You laugh softly at his advances as they grow more needy, your arm curling behind you to flex your fingers in his outgrown hair, “I want you to fuck me here,” You admit, his eyes peeking open as he leans over your shoulder to look at you, a salacious smile on your face as you lean back, rubbing your ass against his cock, growing hard underneath the confines of his sweats, before you turn to face him, “like this—right here.”

Fortunately, it takes very little convincing. He’s impatient in his movements, only getting both of your pants down before he’s pushing the head of his cock inside of you, a welcomed but comfortable stretch before his cock is fully seated inside of you, walls squeezing down tight as he buries his face into your clothed chest, your hands cradling his head as he rocks into you at a gentle pace.

“God, I’m never gonna get tired’f this,” Tommy groans weakly, a hand gripping tight at your hip as he quickens his thrusts, one hand falling back on the counter to support the forceful angle of his movements, laughing breathlessly at his comment, his head rises to look at you with complete and full admiration, “I’m serious, baby.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips that quickly divulges into an open-mouthed exploration as you trade sounds, feeling Tommy teeter closer to the edge of his own orgasm as his fingers drift against your clit, always assuring that you were taken care of first—it doesn’t take long, hands gripping the curtain above the sink as your whine loudly against his ministrations. 

Tommy is too distracted to hear the quiet creak of the door, but you’re not. The lights are off, only granting you a silhouette of Joel, but you know—he’s smirking to himself, closing the door behind him quietly as he freezes for a moment, seemingly locking eyes with your sated expression, your orgasm hitting you just as he passes down the hall, his face coming into view for a brief moment.

It was pathetic, how quickly your mind drifted to him even while his brother was buried inside of you, your grip on the curtain tightens, pulling the rod from the wall and sending it clanging down against the sink as it startles you back to reality, feeling Tommy’s hips stutter before he’s pulling out and you sink to the ground instinctively, lips wrapping around his cock as he releases the warmth of his cum against your tongue, a heady but tolerable taste that slides down your throat with ease. 

Joel is already gone by the time you rise to your feet, redressing quietly as Tommy examines the broken curtain with a subdued chuckle, tossing the few pieces of sheetrock in the trash.

“Sorry,” You wince, looking at him apologetically.

Tommy grins, his thumb rubbing down the center of your chin in a comforting way as he shrugs, waving it off, “Easy fix.”

The difference between the two is simple to spot after a while—Joel’s leniency with things comes to a head as Tommy’s rigidness battles for dominance. He doesn’t make it a habit to put his foot down often, but he was already increasingly hesitant as you started luring people back to the farm—while thankful, it was dangerous. You were good at it, without fail, but something was bound to implode.

–

“She’s earned it, you know,” Joel fights for you, the usual recluse encourages a night-out—a real one, no work, just pure enjoyment, “Ain’t much trouble to get into there.”

The bar, he means. With how often you frequented it now, it was like a second home.

You were coming up on your sixth month mark of living with the Millers, finding the stragglers came in like a cycle, every few weeks, and the town was due for more.

Tommy squints cautiously, turning in the desk chair as the heel of his boot scuffs against the flooring, “An hour—only an hour, don’t need you stickin’ out like a sore thumb.”

Joel, he means. He rolls his eyes in response, dressed more casual than you’ve ever seen him. It was a simple pair of jeans and a dark-colored shirt, but it made him seem normal.

It was unsettling.

“Don’t worry,” Joel smirks, “No one’ll touch her.”

Except him, you think.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious to your odd affection toward Joel, but he wasn’t privy to every detail. He didn’t know how often you snuck into Joel’s bed at night, sometimes after being on his own before that, the devouring looks and purposeful touches that always happened behind his back.

Joel knows you find comfort in Tommy, but there was something missing.

Something lacking.

Tommy eventually relents and you arrive at the bar a half hour later, Joel in tow.

And it is mostly uneventful, drinking amongst the other patrons with the loud rumble of music drowning out far away voices—Joel was stoic, like a bodyguard over your shoulder as he seemed to people watch, like he often did.

“You’re doing it again,” You tell him, peering up at him from your seat as he glances down, his glass pressing to his lips, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from the occasional townsperson, seemingly shocked to see him. 

“No I’m not,” He argues, tapping his finger against your lips before he’s guiding the glass to your lips, a wordless order to silence yourself, “Drink, enjoy it—or all that beggin’ was for nothin’.”

Eventually, Joel lets you wander.

Even if it was to dance lazily a few feet away, practically begging him to join you with your hand outstretched, a constant scowl on his face as he refused. But, eventually someone takes that offer for him, obstructing his view with a grin—an older gentleman with wiry hair and rotted teeth.

There’s a few moments of uncomfortable movement before you’re making an excuse to flee toward Joel who snickers at your discomfort, a hand wrapping at your waist to pull you between his legs as the man, persistent as you suspected, approaches beside you.

“Tommy finally let his dog out of the house?” He asks over you, staring Joel down.

Joel chuckles at that, subdued as his hand tightens against your waist, hiding your own giggle behind a sip of beer.

“C’mon, sweetheart—I’ll show you a better time than this guy. Wouldn’t know how to care for a nice piece of ass like that—him or his damn brother.”

Joel stands then, without warning as he towers over the man and you as he forces you into the seat, “Get the fuck out of here,” It was the only warning he was offering, but it strikes fear through the man without fail, sending him scurrying off for the moment.

“Tommy’s gonna kill you when he finds out about that,” You comment as Joel approaches at your back, maneuvering you out of the seat to settle between his legs again, his large palm settling against your stomach as he pulls you against him, spotting the man again from across the room, staring you both down with hardened eyes.

“What he doesn't know won’t hurt him,” Joel argues, the surprising press of his lips against your neck as you jump at the touch, calmed by his reassuring words, “Gonna scare him off, alright?”

“How—” You’re cut off on a gasp as his hand travels up your shirt, squeezing at your breast as his teeth dig into your skin, mouth hung open as you stumble back against him, eyes fluttering closed at the stinging pinch of Joel’s teeth, hard enough that you fear it breaking through the skin

Surely, it does. 

As Joel raises his head and catches sight of the man’s widened eyes, he scurries off. He’s not amiss to your reaction to the bite, fingers clawing into his skin, moaning at the action. Really, he should’ve expected it.

“Turn around,” He orders, spinning you on your feet before you can react on your own, catching sight of your dilated pupils as you stare at him wondrously, a smile growing on your face as his impatience grows.

He ignores your wandering hands that crawl up his arms, gripping onto his large biceps before he’s hauling you out of the bar without a word, arm twisted behind your back as you tumble on your feet toward his truck parked in the far back of the parking lot, far away from the roar of music.

“Did I do something—oh,” You squeak, jumping back at the creak of the drivers’ side door as he sandwiches you between the seat and him, “wrong—Joel, did I—”

You’re stuttering but he isn’t answering and you begin to crawl to your side of the seat before he’s stopping you in your tracks, feet pressing against the step bar of the truck while the upper half of your body curls against the seat—and Joel, with his large and threatening presence, towers.

He works at the belt in your jeans, turning your head over your shoulder as he rips the leather from the loops of your pants, “Put your hands on the steering wheel,” He orders and you follow suit, watching as he quietly tightened the belt around your hands and through the steering wheel, rendering you immobile from the waist up.

“Wait—right here? But, there’s people—”

Never stopped you before,” He comments and your face heats at the mention, having never brought up the instance with you and Tommy until now, “I’m not a fan of waiting and I’m not against takin’ you in front of my brother—rather not, but…”

“You like having me to yourself,” You finish for him, a hum of acknowledgement following. 

Joel yanks at your jeans until they fall to your ankles, pulling them off alongside your shoes and underwear as he tosses them over your head and into the passenger seat, sinking to his knees without a word as he parts your legs, licking into your with warning as you gasp, your hands yanking against the leather belt.

He squeezes your ass in his hands, spreading you open as he dips his tongue inside of you, forcing you up on your toes as you curse into the seat of his truck, forehead pressing into the fabric as your hands are stretched over your head. 

He’s got an idea…a lingering suspicion as he trails his lips along the inside of your legs, never quite kissing or lingering, just a slow drag before he’s digging his teeth into your skin, a sharp pain that makes your pussy clench, his eyes locked on the action as he bites down. 

Instinctively, you yank against the binds, the urgency growing as he bites down more, picking various places along your legs until he decides to bite into the fleshy cheek of your ass, purposefully breaking the skin—the tiniest drop of blood pooling at the surface before he licks it away. 

He repeats the process, trading between bites and licking at your cunt until your orgasm catches you by surprise, panting against the seat as you catch your breath with his satisfied presence looming behind. 

Quietly, he rustles with his belt and slides into you without a word until he’s got his hand tucked up under your chin, wrapped around your throat as he presses you against the seat with his chest, turning your head to the side to catch your already fucked-out expression, more turned on from the biting than the fact that his dick was finally inside of you.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Joel remarks, watching the smile spread across your face, “You like it when I bite you? The pain?”

You shake your head with a soft hum, “S’nice, but I like you marking your territory.” You watch his face morph into something indecipherable as you laugh, “Got you really riled up in there, didn’t it?”

“Gotta let them know to lead you back to me if you go runnin’ off again,” Joel taunts, grunting against the shell of your ear as your walls squeeze down when the head of his cock nudges at a particular spot inside of you that steals your breath away, “Yeah—that? That right there?”

You nod weakly, wishing you could touch him—claw at his skin, grab on and take hold, but you were left helpless. Though, somehow it was more comforting this way. Joel was increasingly careful of the authority you tried to hold over him, never allowing you to have the upper hand—and you didn’t mind it.

Again, it was the stark difference between he and Tommy, who’d be willing to bend to your will if you asked, eager to please you, but with Joel, it was kismet. He always knew what you were thinking before you even spoke about it.

And as the ache in your wrist grows into full discomfort he releases them without a word of acknowledgement, lips parted with bated breath as you turn until your back is pressing into the seat, legs wrapping around his waist as he hoists you up with his brute strength, releasing a loud moan of expressive pleasure as you surge forward, pressing your lips against his before he can object, licking into his mouth with profound eagerness as his nails dig into the skin at your hips, his balls tightening with an impending release as he returns the wet, sloppy exchange of lips.

It stalls him for a moment, the sensual pace of your lips pulling his focus up, your tongue twirling around his own before they trail to his lips, your lips dragging down his chin, along his jaw, before you’re biting against where his jugular would be hiding under his skin, not nearly hard enough to cause any damage but enough to have his eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering.

“Don’t—don’t pull out,” You tell him through a murmur, running your tongue along the mark in a soothing gesture, catching his gaze as he looks at you, “What? Are you scared, Joel?”

Not scared—Joel wasn’t sure he could emulate that emotion anymore, but it was far too personal for his liking, even with the few partners he’s had in his life he’s never crested beyond that, purposeful in his abhorrence distaste of kids or the possibility of, but you have him completely under your spell and he shakes his head.

“S’just you—wouldn’t want it to be anyone but you.” You assure him, his expression softening as your thumb trails along his bottom lip, eyes locked on his own as his thrusts stuttering through his own orgasm, face pinching at his brow, your breathy moans guiding him through as he pumps your pussy full, feel the warmth seep down as he eventually pulls out, his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs.

“Get in the car,” Joel instructs as he tries to catch his breath.

His silence on the ride home is deafening.

–

Joel is more stoic and pensive over the following weeks—spring is always harder on the business, or so he says, and selling overseas picks up quicker, it wasn’t something they could explain but it was a constant trend; high demand, high reward. It was quite stressful, really.

So stressful that eventually things are beginning to run thin and you become the source of stress relief for both of them—in different ways, but nonetheless.

Tommy would rather cuddle up with you on the couch while you lull him to sleep with your magic fingers, dragging through his hair—it was gentle caresses and quiet conversation that he found comfort in, but Joel was always unpredictable.

Sometimes it was just sharing a meal—his weird obsession with feeding you; providing, in a way? You couldn’t make sense of it, but it never made you feel uncomfortable.

“Have you ever gotten a bad batch?”

“We’re careful,” Joel reminds you, “It’s why we test all of ‘em before we go through the process.”

“Is that why you sent me?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

You stare at him blankly, waiting.

“Yeah—we had to make sure you’re clean.”

“But now?” You push, your tongue pressing against the underside of the fork as he brings it to your lips.

“I trust you,” Joel admits, “You’ve kept up your end of the deal.”

It was conversations like this that led to Joel’s affinity toward you, a drunken night several weeks later leading you both outside after Tommy had already fallen asleep, walking backwards as your fists curled into Joel’s shirt as his hand cupped your head, licking into your mouth as he unintentionally led you toward the barn door, both of you separating as your back hit the creaking wood.

You pull apart, peering curiously over your shoulder and attempting to look through the cracks, awaiting Joel’s reprimand that never comes. 

“You wanna see inside?” He asks curiously.

“You’re fucking with me—”

“It’s a yes or no, darlin’.”

“Yes—yesyes, I do.” You spit out quickly, curiosity getting the best of you as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and snakes it into the lock, unlocking and prying the door open, met with full and complete darkness as he leads you inside, his chest close at your back.

He reaches blindly for the lights out of memory and you’re engulfed in the blaring lights of a spotless room—almost like a medical office with the array of equipment lining the walls and the long embedded tables, something reminiscent of what you would see at a mortuary for draining bodies and embalming, probably to help with the mess.

You sniff slightly, curious about the lack of smell as the door closes.

“That’s partly the animals, but we dispose of some of the shit the pigs can’t eat out behind the barn.”

“Like what?” You stare at him incredulously, eyes wide.

“Clothes, shoes—s’why we have the barrels burning every couple weeks when the stench gets too bad.” He spots your itch to explore, that glistening curiosity in your eyes as you relax at his answer, “Go on, look ‘round.”

You’re not ignorant to the absence of bodies—it was confusing to see a place so clean come from a man who always left work looking like he had brought half of it home with him.

There’s an array of knives and confusing cutting devices that you trail your fingers along, a bonesaw lying against the table lining the shelves, a stack of papers with faces and names, various info that you took a glancing look at, attempting to avoid the idea of putting names to faces and treating the people as anything other than product—it was how Joel lived, as disconnected and separate from the ideas possible.

“Usually it’s messier in here,” Joel admits, your lips parting in a surprised gasp as he presses his lips to your neck, “—we can fix that, though.”

“Joel Miller,” You respond in a scandalized tone, “what exactly are you implying?”

“I’ve got a room upstairs,” Your eyes flick up, spotting the loft overhead—that would explain the long nights when you wouldn’t see him at all, his comfort with being more openly affectionate outside of sex has grown slowly, turning your head to face his over your shoulder as his gaze trails up in another silent question, “unless you’ve got another idea—m’just dyin’ to get inside of you, honey.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip in faux thought, already knowing your answer as you were brimming with excitement, resisting the urge to drag him after you.

“Yeah?” You tease, his lips pressing against your soft, kissing you soundly.

“Yeah,” He responds against your mouth, a rare moment of calm, a sweet exchange before he’s chasing after you with a swift slap to your ass.

–

It was essentially an extension of his bedroom, cozy and homey, you find yourself stretching out on the rug rather than the couch, watching as he carefully kneeled to the floor, cursing his achy knees as you giggle, spreading your legs open to invite him in.

“The things you do for me,” You joke, slowly unbutton his flannel as he yanks you towards him, knees falling against his hips as his palms grip either side of your, his thumbs rubbing against the soft skin underneath your shirt, “careful—I might think you love me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Joel replies easily, stripping your shirt over your head as your breasts bounce free, removing your jeans with the same impatience before he’s immediately latching his lips onto your breasts and lazily trading off, biting teasingly into the skin as he looks up to gauge your reaction.

If Tommy notices Joel’s evidence that he leaves, he never says anything. Perhaps it was unspoken, maybe they’ve talked it out—it was information you weren’t privy to, but you didn’t question it. He could smell his brother all over you and he was dying to rid you of it, baring his teeth as he bit into the flesh of your breast, a satisfied hum coming from you in response.

“Do you want that?” Joel asks again, “To be loved—ain’t somethin’ you’ve felt much, is it?”

Quietly, you shake your head.

“Well, you’ve got my brother by the balls,” He chuckles knowingly, “I’m sure he’d marry you if you asked—I ain’t good with words, but I can show you—”

Curious, you watch as he stands, grabbing a sharpened knife off the end table before he’s returning to you, “Somethin’ my parents passed down to me—never used, just like lookin’ at it.”

“We’re not about to Romeo and Juliet ourselves, are we?” You joke lightly, half-serious.

Joel grins wide at that, a full belly laugh following as he slices his palm with a squint of pain before he’s allowing the blood to pool in his hand as beckons you forward with a finger. You rise on your palms and stare curiously before he’s directing his hand to your mouth, lips parting wordlessly as the deep crimson hits your tongue, eyes falling shut as you sucked at the wound.

You were so accustomed to the rich, irony taste that it isn’t even a surprise, moaning as the blood slides down your throat and his fingers curl, squeezing more blood out for you to consume before he’s sliding his hand over your mouth and down your chin, stopping against your chest as he smears it with blood, one-handed as he shrugs his flannel off and rips his shirt over his head, tearing the fabric apart in strips like butter, not a sign of struggle.

He ties the fabric around his wound before he’s wordlessly handing you the knife.

“My hand?” You ask curiously.

“S’up to you,” He admits—the wordless blood trade vowing his affection toward you.

It was something far deeper than love, you think. Devotion. Loyalty. 

“Wherever?” Your eyebrow raises as Joel seems to clock the moment the idea comes into your head, trailing the blade along the inside of your thigh, up your stomach, along your breasts.

Eventually the tip of the blade finds a spot against your inner thigh, Joel’s hand careful adjusting your placing as he speaks, “Careful, there’s an artery there,” Further down, you brave the initial sting and slice through the skin, watching as the blood rose to the surface and Joel quickly descends, knife clattering to the floor as he sucks the flesh between his lips, his tongue lapping against your skin.

It’s euphoric, the feeling. So intense you could descend into madness as Joel eagerly lapped up the blood, even as he pulled away going back for a second time, a third, rising with blood stained lips and the crimson liquid pooling on his tongue as he pulls you toward him, mixing the taste of his blood with your own as he kisses you, a messy exchange of fluids as you claw at his skin, rising to your knees to match him.

Silently, you work at his jeans, unbuttoning and pulling them down his lips alongside his underwear—Joel works them the rest of the way before you’re pulling the hand supporting him over you out from under him, straddling him into the rug as your cunt sat directly over his cock, feeling him grow harder underneath you, a sight to behold with blood dripping down the corner of his mouth.

“I want more,” You tell him honestly, his cock twitching at the words, reaching for the knife laying beside his head, “Can I have more?”

Joel nods wordlessly, slightly breathless.

It was a trading battle of surface wounds, just enough to spill blood but nothing deep enough to cause any damage—surely looking insane as you straddled him with a smile, blood-stained lips yearning for more. Joel has a drunken haze to his expression, committing the sight to memory as he squeezes at your hips, rutting his cock between your soaked folds.

“Enough,” He says softly, barely above a mumble as he tosses the knife aside, rolling you underneath him before he’s sliding home inside of you, a hand cradling the back of your head while the other gripped at your knee, pulling it high over his hip, near his chest as he thrusts into you, a controlled but needy pace that was followed by low, pitiful groans of pleasure.

You’d broken this man.

His head was buried in your neck, your hand trailing down his back as you squeeze into the flesh of his ass, the fingers off your opposite hand carding through his hair, pulling gently at his curls.

“Got so much of me inside you now,” He breathes into your skin, “fuck—I’d eat your right up, baby.”

Despite his obvious lifestyle, your laugh is careless and light.

“Greedy,” You note, “I’ve already given you a taste and you’re asking for more?”

He doesn’t respond, not really. His hips are sharp, forceful as his cock spears itself inside of you, rubbing against the sensitive spot inside of you, eyes fluttering shut as it overwhelms you.

“Take a bite,” You encourage him, “f’that’s what you want.”

A real one.

Enough to scar, to leave a permanent mark and reminder of him.

One, two—you didn’t care.

His teeth drag over your breasts, tongue trailing around your hardened nipple before he’s biting into the skin at the top of you breasts, a gasp ripping from your throat as your walls flutter around him, tightening at the pain that slowly transfers to pleasure, glancing down at the small gash and trail of teeth marks in your skin. 

He’s admiring, finger running over the wound before he’s rising on his knees, continuing the thrusts of his hips but slowing as he reaches for your hand, pulling you upright again.

“You–do you want me to?” You ask cautiously, feeling the blood from your wound trail down your chest, “Are you sure?”

“Ain’t never been sure ‘bout nothin’,” Joel admits, “but—this…yeah, I want it.”

It shouldn’t make you hesitate, but it doesn’t. He isn’t emotional or forceful—it was like a plea, disguised behind his facade of stoicness. He needed this devotion just as bad as you. He needed someone to put his own trust into.

When your teeth dig into his side, he hisses, his right hand cradling your head as the other curls tightly into a fist, your face pinching up as you bite beyond the first layer of flesh and taste the liquid against your tongue.

He pulls you away eventually, looking down at you with a newfound expression.

This was love—not the lust you were used to seeing.

The rest of the evening is quiet, his pace gentler before he brings you to a slow orgasm, coming inside of you nearly seconds after with a soft moan, persistent that the wounds needed to be cleaned immediately after a few moments of rest.

He tapes it away with a gentle care after cleaning and applying an ointment to fight away any possible infection, snorting at how fatherly it all seemed, even helping you situation your top back on.

“At least we spared the rug,” You break the silence, “guess you aren’t as messy as I thought.”

“Oh, I can be,” He assures you, noticing the scabbed up bit of your lip that had become victim when he’d bit into your, biting down to silence yourself. Just a small movement and the wound reopens, completely unintentional but he sucks the blood away from your bottom lip in a soothing gesture before he kisses you soundly.

You only hoped the bliss would last.

–

Eventually, the implosion comes. But, instead of gradual—it was all at once.

Tommy’s birthday was supposed to be a quiet affair, something at home, between the three of you, not having time to celebrate during the week on his actual birthday like you had planned—but eventually Tommy finds himself antsy and Joel senses your annoyance as he keeps finding excuses to slip away or cancel. He encourages Tommy to go off on his own, leaving you both sprawled out on his bed after a rousing round of sex that leaves you both sweaty and breathless, resting your arm against his chest as you stare at him, “What’s up with him lately?”

“He’s good at acting, isn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a reason he keeps to the books, you know—why I do my job alone.”

Your eyebrow raises in a silent effort to urge him to continue.

“When I’m angry, you’ll know—” That much was obvious, having been on the receiving end plenty, but Tommy—it was unnatural to see anything but his kind, bright smile.

“He’s my brother—but there’s plenty of shit you haven’t seen yet. And I think it’s unfair that he’s actin’ like things are normal, like he can keep that act up, but something’s gotta give—”

“So what, is he like…a psychopath or something?”

Joel’s silence is telling, jumping up from your spot as you settle on your knees.

“He’s a fucking psychopath?”

“No—no,” Joel excuses, your face contorting into a mix of confusion and amusement.

“You took a long time to answer that.”

“He has episodes—periods of time where he ain’t himself. I can’t explain it and my parents refused to take him to the doctor—you know, backwoods folk and all. If we had a problem we toughed it out.”

“So, he’s got anger issues?”

Joel shakes his head, lips pursed into a tight line.

“He’s killed a couple people—by accident.  Least, that’s what he calls it. Tried killing me a few times, too. I’ve always been good at talking him off that ledge, thankfully. M’not trying to turn you against him but I’ve grown up around him, I know how to handle it.”

It was a lot of information to consume at once, still naked in Joel’s sheets as you adjust to sit more comfortably, a small peek at the scar near his ribcage as the sheets shift down.

“He’s lucky we do what we do—he’d probably be in jail otherwise, I’m just telling you because—“

“If it came down to me and him, you’d choose him.”

Joel pauses, his face softened as his lips downturn.

“It’s okay,” You shrug, “Let’s just hope it never comes to that.”

Truthfully, Joel wasn’t sure anymore.

After years with Tommy, he’d grown tired. It was exhausting, fighting between the battling personalities that lived within his brother.

“C’mere,” He beckons, your nose scrunching up as you grin, fitting your face between his waiting hands as he pulls you back over him, kissing you slowly.

A gentle calm before the storm.

–

The arguing is what wakes you first, not the roar of the truck, voices trailing toward the barn.

The bed is empty too, not a single remnant of Joel in sight.

But, you hear him. Loud, angry.

By the time you’re outside the barn is already closed, illuminated by the light inside as you pry the heavy door open, several underdressed with only a shirt to cover the underwear clinging tight to your skin, bare feet digging into the dirt as your feet scuff against the cement and the door falls shut behind you.

“She doesn’t need to know, Joel!” Tommy’s voice cracks, a slight slur to his speech.

He’s drunk, clearly.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tommy—one night and you pull this shit? It’s exactly why dad had a tight leash on your ass for so many years—”

“Need to know what?” You ask suddenly, breaking through the tension as your head peeks around the corner, both of their heads whipping toward you, Joel moving subtly to block the body that you spot on the table, eyes widening. 

It had always been something you and Joel had managed together—Tommy had never shown an interest, didn’t seem to care, but this…

“I’m just tryin’ to carry my weight ‘round here—is that why you like him more?” Tommy asks suddenly, his eyes glazed over and dark as you step forward.

“I invite you into our home—give you a place to stay. I—I stuck up for you when he wanted to throw you out and you chose him? My own fuckin’ brother?”

“He’s drunk,” Joel states blankly, almost dismissive of his rant.

“No—no, let’s show it off, Joel.”

Tommy comes at you with a knife, slicing it down the middle of your shirt as you struggle against him, ripping the fabric away and showing off the healing scar on your chest.

“What happened to no attachments, Joel? No baggage?”

As Joel moves toward Tommy to remove the knife, he lunges at Joel and pushes him out of the way, leaving you with a clear view of the woman laying on the table, an eerie resemblance to yourself as your eyes widen, stepping toward the table as you glance over the body—unmoving, still. She was already too far gone, with no signs of what Tommy had actually done to her.

Your head snaps up at the brawling brothers, screaming for the attention to break through their rage, Joel burying his knee into Tommy’s back to subdue him.

“Why her?” You ask him—Tommy, looking directly at him as you point to the lifeless body.

“Get the fuck off me—” He argues through gritted teeth, attempting to shake his brother off him.

“Why—her?” You stress again, walking forward to crouch in front of him, uncaring of how your body was bared to him in your vulnerability.

“Thought I could give Joel his own version of you to play with—but she wasn’t cooperating. That what you wanna hear? I had you first—motherfucker won’t let me have a single thing to myself.”

“Let him up,” You instruct Joel, backing away slightly.

As Tommy stands, you approach him, his face tight and unrecognizable. 

He reeked of alcohol and sweat, a stench of something else that made the bile in your stomach rise, “I never chose, you both had me. You would continue to have me, but this—Tommy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ lecture me, not you,” He bites.

You stare at him with a growing sadness, “You’re drunk—really, really drunk. You’re gonna sleep this off and you’ll regret everything you’re saying right now, I know it. I know you.”

Something seems to snap in Tommy—attempting to rip away from Joel as you scramble toward the floor.

Tommy gets a solid right hook in, something that, if any normal person would have delivered would have left Joel unphased, but Tommy had his advantages, similar in size and stature to Joel, it was barely a fight as Joel dropped to the ground, hitting hard enough that both of you freeze, a slow ring of blood pooling from his head as your chest clinches in a mix of anger and resentment, but your body flinging into flight mode, fleeing while Tommy has distracted by the possibility that he killed his own brother.

Unfamiliar with the place you scramble to hide, unsure if running off would help after your last try, squeezing into a closet buried in the back corner behind a pile of yard tools and mowers, watching as Tommy dropped to the ground.

You could hear him mumbling to himself—a mix of self-assuring words and back and forth conversation, as if someone was responding to every word he offered.

“He’s dead—yeah I killed him,” He mumbles, “if I—if I chop him up, chop her up. Fuck,” His head whips over his shoulder, realizing you were gone, “gotta find her—but Joel, deal with him first.”

Your eyes widen at the firsthand witnessing of exactly what Joel had admitted to you—like some kind of bad omen of what was to come, you sunk down into the darkness and hide yourself away, watching as Tommy roamed around for tools, not a moment of hesitation as he intended to follow through on his plans with Joel’s lifeless body awaiting it’s demise.

It feels wrong, tossing a bone saw aside carelessly as he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, flailing tools around wildly, a knife clattering so far away that it lands near your feet, small enough to wrap your fist around as you grab it quietly, awaiting Tommy’s approach to Joel.

Sometimes takes over, not entirely yourself as you crawl from the spot you were hidden in and lunge at Tommy, planting the knife between his shoulder blades as pressed the blade against his own brother’s neck, his blood curdling scream ripping through the barn as he dropped to his knees.

“You bitch,” He groans, shouting out in pain as you remove the knife and sink into his spine, a few seconds of struggle before he slumps to the ground, his eyes dragging toward your shaking frame, bloodied hands rubbing your hair away from your face as you stare down at Tommy’s face, his lips parting as he gasped for air but instead find blood dripping from his mouth.

You drop to your knees, the air stolen from your own lungs but for different reasons.

Both of them dead, within a matter of minutes and it was all your fault.

“Fuck, fuck–” You cry, slamming your fist into cement, but quickly startled by the rousing beside Tommy, almost blaming it on a break in your psyche before Joel is mumbling your name, pressing his fingers into his temple as blood coats his fingers, a sizeable gash on the side of his head as he sits, slowly picking apart the sight before him.

“Oh, honey—what did you do?” Joel asks, glancing down at Tommy’s lifeless body and up at you—surprisingly, there wasn’t an ounce of anger.

“He thought—he thought you were dead, he had a knife at your throat,” You rambled in a panic, “He kept saying he was going to chop you up—chop me up. I don’t know, I fucking panicked.”

Joel remains wordless, staring into the deep abyss of blood pooling on the floor.

“I’m so—I’m sorry. I’m,” The emotion is like a tidal wave, “Joel—I panicked. I swear—”

Joel grimaces against the sharp sting of pain as he reaches for your face, his blood covered hand pressing against your face, fingertips wrapping around the back of your head as he forces you to lock eyes with him.

“Look at me,” He demands, waiting until your eyes lock on him, “This is the part where you promise—and I mean promise, that you won’t fuckin’ run off.”

“No—never. Never, not,” You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to blink away the thick tears, “Never again, Joel. I promise.”

“We handle this together,” He explains, “I’ll protect you but you have to say it.”

“Anything,” You nod, leaning forward on your hands to move closer to him.

“Say you’re loyal to me—that you’ll listen and do whatever I ask, without question.”

“I am—I am. Joel, I’m loyal to you. I love—I love you. I need you to know that.”

Joel sighs, head bowing.

“I would have chosen you over him. I couldn’t admit that to myself earlier, but I’m telling you now. Tommy’s always been a manipulator, I tried warnin’ you. Months ago.”

You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last.

“I won’t run. I promise, Joel.” You assure him, because with Joel you felt that protection.

A silence falls before you speak again.

“What happens now?”

“You follow my lead, that’s all I need.”

[calliesmemes]

ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED COMEDIC RELIEF

ASSORTED QUOTES FROM TUMBLR TEXTPOSTS, X (formerly known as twitter) POSTS, TIKTOK, MEMES, AND OTHER SOURCES AROUND THE INTERNET

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“   Currently considering becoming a bother and a nuisance, maybe even a menace or a rascal. ”

“   Hungry? Eat the government. ”

“   Yes, I wanna fuck after every argument. ”

“   Silence, you uneducated peanut! ”

“  They should invent a being alive that isn’t so difficult. ”

“   Women have to think I’m hot or none of this matters. ”

“   Due to personal reasons I will be named an enemy of the state. ”

“   Being overdressed is a myth made up by people who didn’t want you to have fun and be sexy. ”

“   What even are daddy issues? Just traumatize your father back. ”

“   I LOVE complaining! You can’t take that away from me! ”

“   I went to the silly goose convention and they all knew you. ”

“   I’m simultaneously ‘I’m tired of this grandpa’ and ‘that’s too damn bad!’ ”

“   The word ew coming out of a pretty girl’s mouth holds so much power … I think that it can tear apart nations. ”

“   Someone made fun of my shoes and the whole time I just thought of ways to push them out the window. ”

“   If you’re short, simply get taller. ”

“   I better think twice? Buddy I don’t even think once. ”

“   My off putting looks, awkward demeanor, and strange behavior have captivated you. ”

“   There’s something deeply, fundamentally wrong with you. Can we kiss? ”

“   You are a fool. When you walk, clown music plays. ”

“   I mean yeah he’s evil and all but what if I were his favorite? ”

“   I really do hate thinking. ”

“   In my defense, I simply do not vibe with the law. ”

“   I’ve done nothing wrong. Except all the atrocities. Besides that, I’m innocent. ”

“   Sorry I couldn’t hear you over my internal monologue. ”

“   Of course you have white hair and trauma. ”

“   So apparently the bad vibes I’ve been feeling are actually ‘severe psychological distress’. ”

“   Stop calling me a bad person just because I’m orchestrating your downfall! ”

“   The more lip gloss I collect the longer I live. ”

“   Sorry that I am obsessed with you in the unhealthiest way possible. As if it's my fault ”

“   The multiple failed assassination attempts against me have helped build both character and self esteem. ”

“   I could be your loser boyfriend. Do you ever think about that? ”

“   Accidentally went and got myself killed yesterday, but god wont let me die so I’m back ”

“   What do you mean napping isn't a good coping mechanism? What do you mean my problems are still here? ”

“   Academic validation is required for my sanity. ”

“   RIP to everyone killed by the gods for hubris but I’m different and better. Maybe even better than the gods. ”

“   Researching the stages of grief to see if I can get them finished in ten minutes tops. ”

“   My parents were like I’m gonna make a child that is so beyond help. ”

“   It’s not easy to admit when you’re wrong, and that’s why I won’t do it. ”

“   Why can’t this family ever have a funky good time? ”

“   How do I show people that I’m more than my unethical career choice? ”

“   I fucked my way into this mess, and I’ll fuck my way out. ”

“   You look so biteable today. ”

“   Why am I suffering? I have so many correct opinions and takes. ”

“   I AM HAUNTED BY A PAST THAT I CANNOT GO BACK TO! anyways ”

“   Challenging authority, angering gods. The family business. ”

“   Third base is me telling you about my father. ”

“   Hey girl. Plagued by terrifying visions? ”

“   Got caught giving a fuck. Embarrassing. ”

“   I didn’t ‘miss’ the red flags; I saw them and thought that they looked sexy. ”

“   Do my dark circles and deteriorating health make me look hot? ”

“   I get my news from the only reliable source, cryptic symbolism in my dreams. ”

“   Another day of being a bisexual disaster. ”

“   I’m going to let myself be a little unhinged today, as a treat. ”

“   Some of you act like murder is such a big deal. ”

“   You wanna hunt me for sport so bad that it makes you look stupid. ”

“   You’re not a girlboss unless you’ve killed someone. ”

“   It’s so weird how no one ever has correct opinions about things except for me. ”

“   Hello, my love — I mean, my rival ”

“   No one is calling me baby and it’s outrageous I can’t believe it. ”

“   No talking stage. Mutual obsession and you see god in my eyes or nothing. ”

“   I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOOKUP CULTURE DIE IN MY ARMS ”

“   Yes baby your emotional walls are high and impenetrable can we kiss now? ”

“   Affection is disgusting. Drown me in it. ”

“   I am gatekeeping my respect from you. ”

“   Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions. ”

“   I am equal parts fuck around and find out and please don’t yell at me I’ll cry. ”

“   Short legs, big butt. I’m a corgi. ”

“   Fuck being the bigger person; I’m going to start biting people. ”

“   Well that wasn’t very slay of you! ”

“   May I please get a crumb of affection? ”

“   I crave power! Please don’t yell, though; I’m sensitive. ”

“   You call it a near death experience; I call it a vibe check from God. ”

“   Here are some scissors. Now cut it out. ”

“   Might commit a little tomfoolery, maybe even some shenanigans. ”

“   All these flavors, and you choose to be salty. ”

“   How can I live, laugh, love in these conditions? ”

“   What if I said ‘to be honest’ but then lied? ”

“   I'm financially at a stage where I understand why people do fraud. ”

“   Yes I may be evil and morally corrupt, but I’m also incredibly beautiful and I think that makes up for it honestly. ”

“   Debates are stupid. Why would I want to sit down and argue with someone blatantly dumber than me? ”

“   I forget but I do NOT forgive.. I'm just walking around hating bitches can't remember why ”

“   Ding dong your opinion is wrong! ”

“   I’m coming for your kneecaps. ”

“   You dropped your nose you fucking clown. ”

“   Are you a fire alarm? ‘Cause you are really fucking loud and annoying. ”

“   Call me an escalator, because I let people down. ”

“   I love me a good lesbian scandal! ”

“   If you can’t run away from your problems, you’re not running fast enough. ”

“   Everything I want to do is illegal. ”

“   Don’t make me hit your ankle with my Barbie scooter! ”

“   I tell gay jokes because I am a gay joke. ”

“   Fuck! I dropped my mental stability! ”