#its weird for grown men to like teenage girls the same way its weird for grown women to like teenage boys <333
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Acosta's 18th moodboard :]
#some of y'all require psychological assessment<3#its weird for grown men to like teenage girls the same way its weird for grown women to like teenage boys <333#which shouldn't be something that needs to be said (:#if i had a nickel for everytime i saw a grown woman talk about how attractive they find a teenage boy on motogpblr#id have a whole lot of nickels and that *is* weird#tho that includes the other kiddos not just acosta#if it wasnt fucking disgusting id say i appreciate the balls youve got to have to openly say u like kiddos#moto2#pedro acosta
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Over you’re post about the crows x child!reader. And I was thinking of the same for a while! But I wanted to ask you about the crows with a moody teen. Like she’s maybe grown up, she’s like still bad ass but she’s going through teen age eyes. Like maybe like 13-14. Sorry, I just think it would be so funny like the guardians of the galaxy and teen age groot. She can have like a attitude problem with kaz.
Teenage Scare
six of crows x teen!reader, kaz brekker x teen!reader
Mean.
That’s how most people would describe you.
No matter what a discussion was about you always had something to say. When you were younger you were new to the Crow Club. Despite your rough life you were kind and sweet.
That part of you was snacking on waffles deep inside, because with your teenage years came change. And you didn’t like change. First came with your height, you were still short for your age but you could see you were growing faster than usual. Then came your face, where it was usually smooth came bumps and rough patches, not noticeable but to you? This was an attack on your face.
Then your chest, which was the worst. From 12 to 14 it grew and grew and you had no clue if it would stop. You’d caught the eye of local boys when you didn’t want to. Which lead to a few catcalls to you, and a few broken noses for them. You didn’t want to be treated differently for something so vain, so natural.
But it would happen either way, not only did boys notice but men did too. Although they always bit their tongue since the first (and last) man to say something ended up with all his money fit snuggly in your pockets and his teeth in a bin.
It made you angry and bitter.
You had to get new clothes every few months since it didn’t fit here or there and so on. After a big job the Crows had pulled off which you played a huge role in you were definitely more than able to afford it but you didn’t want to waste all your money on clothes.
So you took up sewing in secret.
You didn’t feel like being bullied for doing something so girlish whilst you condemned the Ladies of richer houses for being shackled to a birthing bed or cooking and cleaning.
But the thing was you liked it. It brung a sense of calm, using different colours of thread and different needles giving various outcomes. And there was nothing you could make that had been made before. There was so much freedom when it came to it.
Everyone else noticed the calm of the storm that was you, pretty quickly.
“What on Ketterdam just happened.” Wylan said to Jesper as he sat down with his breakfast. “What do you mean?” He looked up at him and cleared his throat, “I’m sorry I should’ve been clearer.” Jesper laughed, “What did I say about apologising for how you speak?” Jesper smiled timidly, “Not to. I remember, just a slip. It’s just, when I went into the Kitchen, Y/n was in there.”
Jesper tilted his head, encouraging him to continue, “Cooking. She hasn’t cooked since she was twelve.” Jesper brung his hand to his forehead and faked shock, “Oh my Saints, the world is off its axis.”
Wylan smacked his chest and frowned, “It’s not funny! She hasn’t cooked in so long, she says it’s boring and we have people for it so what’s the point?” Jesper wraps his arm around him, “I’m sorry love, you’re right it is odd. But maybe the beast is about to go into a deep slumber and we get the normal Y/n back. You know how the younger teenage years are.”
“We’re all in our 20s, we may not fully remember but it was awkward and weird. Everything was changing and we were adapting. Let her adapt.” He finished as Wylan nodded in agreement, what he didn’t notice was Jespers hand sneaking towards his toast.
“Hey! Drop it!” Wylan shouted as Jesper took a big bite out of the corner, “You love me, let me eat.” Wylan huffed in annoyance before getting up to leave but Jesper promptly wrapped his arm around his waist and brought him back down, “Oh no you don’t.” Jesper laughed as Wylan did too.
“Please stop giggling like school girls, you’re making me want to vomit.” Y/n said as she sat down with her food in front of them. “Don’t make any sudden movements, we don’t want to scare the animal.” Jesper ‘whispered’ as Y/n laughed sarcastically, “For a second I was wondering why I never sit with you two in the mornings anymore, now I remember why.”
“Oh it was just a joke Y/n, please sit, I feel like I never see you anymore.” Wylan spoke as he took a sip of his juice. “Maybe open your eyes up babe, I live with you.” Wylan smiled, “Yeah but I uhm, I missed talking to you.”
“Thanks. I’d miss me too.”
Jesper snickered as Wylan hit him again.
That was one of the moments you realised how much you’d changed. Whilst fearing over things being different you’d pushed away the Crows, your family. You’d begun spending more time in your room, or with other friends your age and while having friends your age was okay, you spent more time with them than at the Slat or Crow Club.
You’d let your fear take over. Not wanting to eat with them in the mornings to hear their questions and teasings of, “Are you okay?” “Is it that time of the month?” “New clothes?”
What you’d seen as annoying were actually just genuine questions of concern. From that day on you’d ease back into your life. Eating with them in the mornings, actually attending meetings rather than hearing the summary from Inej.
You’d go shopping with Nina for food, or have your daily reading sessions in Kaz’s office. You’d shop for hats and ingredients with Wylan and Jesper and laugh when Jesper touched the wrong thing and would get told off.
You’d be home again.
The meeting was at seven pm and this time you planned on showing up.
You were there twenty minutes early, grabbing your favourite book of tales you’d obtained from East Ravka. “You’re here for once?” Kaz asked as he walked into the room. You nodded, the realisation that you hadn’t talked to him in weeks.
Kaz noticed your change first. No longer did he receive sweet notes in the morning that had him smiling at himself, no longer did he hear your humming as you read in his office, something he claimed to loathe but he’d grown familiar to the sound, like a white noise.
When he worked to hard he’d always be so engrossed in whatever he was doing he’d sometimes not notice you bringing him dinner, lunch or breakfast.
Before every meeting you’d be the first to come along, not for the sake of punctuality, but so Kaz could silently hand over his plan, and have you fix anything that seemed out of place.
Once you’d become a teenager, you grew distant and indifferent to Kaz most of all. You didn’t want him to see you as an adult. Someone he could treat the same as others he worked with. You liked how it was, him always asking you if you’d slept, him telling you off when you became cheeky, when you ate like a girl starved. (Which you never were), when he’d let you, little by little break away his barriers.
With a pat on the back, a comment of praise, a loving look etc. What you both missed most of all was your night talks. Where you’d talk about anyone or thing. Nothing was off limits, it was in these talks that you found out about Kaz’s past.
His change of scenery from his fathers farm to the bustling streets of Ketterdam, the con played by one Jakob Hertzoon on two unknowing boys. How they were cheated out of their inheritance, Jordie’s death and the eventual reasoning behind Kaz and his fear of touch.
You vowed with him to bring Pekka down.
The words which he uttered, ‘Brick by Brick’ held new meaning in your eyes. And you and Kaz held them dear, you would do anything to bring the ‘King’ of the Barrel to his knees.
After such a monumental breakthrough, even if Kaz wouldn’t admit it, you drifted and it stung.
“Early as always.”
“What else do you expect from me?”
“For you to run away, play with your little friends rather than do your job.”
You lifted your head from your book, “I know I’ve been gone a bit, but I always get the job done. I’m always there.”
“I know you are. But as a Crow you’re supposed to be at every meeting, every briefing. Just because you’re a child it does not give you a free pass to skip out on anything.”
“I’m not a child.”
“No? You run away from your responsibilities, the plan is as important as the mission. You should know the ins and outs, the layout of the area rather than running around aimlessly before finally finding a window to go through.”
“That’s was one time!”
“It’s not good enough. You’re not good enough.”
You slammed the book down on the table and rose from your seat, “I’m sorry if I’m not fucking perfect Kaz. But I’m human. We all make mistakes and you know that. There’s a reason you always make me go over every plan. You’re not subtle, having Inej bring me plans as ‘potential opportunities’ and asking for my opinion. I know she relays all the information to you. I’m fourteen not stupid.”
“It’s been a while since I heard that phrase.”
“Oh fuck you.”
“Y/n.”
You stopped in your tracks, you knew that tone, you’d heard it on countless heists and with it you knew not to mess around. You turned slowly and crossed your arms, “What?”
“Brick by Brick.”
You sighed, the words had been lost to you, having not said them in forever.
“Brick by Brick.”
“Those words are close to me. I do not take them lightly, they’re a promise, it will happen. Don’t make me regret telling you of my past if you’re slacking. If you’re slipping, if you can’t handle yourself you can’t handle this life. If you’d rather be an ordinary girl I can organise a wealthy family to adopt you. It wouldn’t be hard, you’re well educated, mannered even if you’ve shown a lack of them in the past few years. But if you want to continue, continue with the Crows then let me know right now. I cannot have someone lacking in focus and effort because they’re moping about change.”
“I want to be here, I do. And the phrase, means a lot to you I know. I know how hard it was for you to share your past with me and i’m grateful you did. It showed me so much more to you. You built all of this from the ground and as much as you’d never admit it, it means a lot to you. The Crows do. I’d never want to jeopardise all you’ve done. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting and I promise to get my act together. I don’t remember much from my years before here. And I don’t want to. This is my life, I was made for this.”
“That’s the Y/n I know. Now, go over the plan before everyone arrives.”
You sat back down, “Brick by Brick.”
You looked up and grinned, “Brick by Brick.”
#six of crows x reader#kaz brekker x reader#wylan van eck x reader#jesper fahey x reader#inej ghafa x reader#nina zenik x reader#matthias helver x reader#six of crows x child reader
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I hate watching youtubers play Until Dawn because like... I don't want to call them misogynistic but the way they respond to the women in comparison to the men says a LOT.
Straight up just sat through some guy who was very vocal about his wishes to see Jessica die literally every time she did anything (Even if its fictional, something about grown ass men being excited about seeing teenage girls die is very weird in itself but that's a topic for another day) and it seemed like most of his hatred came from her innuendos and flirty behavior (god forbid) and yet he would laugh when Mike did the EXACT SAME THING. And this happens a LOT in the playthroughs I've seen. A teenage girl flirts with her boyfriend and suddenly she deserves to die a horrible death? Is that some kind of wack ass misogynist logic I'm too non-misogynistic to understand?
Sorry for the rant but this shit drives me up the walls.
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i just read sharp objects and i want to talk about it but like where to even START
in the back of my mind i am percolating a comparison between gillian flynn and vc andrews, which might not make sense to anyone but me. the generational trauma, the behind-closed-doors horror, the power in sexuality. vc andrews wrote about the unique, indescribable rage experienced by teenage girls exploring their bodies and sexuality in a deeply patriarchal society; gillian flynn writes about women in their 30s, those abused and angry girls all grown up and dangerous. both an exploration of a facet of women's inner lives that feels very difficult to explain and which is rarely explored in other media
anyway wow the generational trauma. joya abused adora, who became a teen mother and abused all three of her daughters. when amma was born, camille was about the same age that adora was when camille was born, and there's this weird sister-child-friend-enemy dynamic camille has with amma. none of them ever learned how to love each other, or themselves. camille turned her anger inward and destroyed her body; adora poisoned marian her whole life and finally killed her; amma mutilated the bodies of her classmates for her dollhouse. what the fuck is even going ON with these people
i still need to read dark places but between gone girl and sharp objects, i am fascinated by gillian flynn's take on these adult women's sexuality. amy does not seem to enjoy sex much at all except for the power it gives her over men; she thinks derisively about nick's desire, desi's, the appeal of girls like andie; she (and camille) talks about sex in kind of a clinical, detached way, the smell, the stickiness, this very open and raw but entirely un-sexy way. camille blames herself for being gang-raped at fourteen while drunk, but locks her various traumas so deep that even thinking about the event sounds like she's talking about someone else (and to willis, she is). sex is power and control, it's about using other people by letting them use you. it's gross. it's intimate. as someone with some... issues around sex, myself, i could see why it would rub people the wrong way but i found it oddly refreshing, in the way i find gallows humor to be funny
gillian flynn said in an ama that she wrote sharp objects as an exploration of female generational violence, a subject considerably less explored than male cyclical violence (no one is writing the all-woman atreus house, for example). her protagonists are ruthless, crass, secretive, kind of cold, unflinching in the face of monstrosity. amy notices that nick's hands still smell like andie after a hookup and thinks "she must have one rank pussy"; camille carves the word "clit" on herself and only later changes it to "cAt". vulnerability might exist for them, but it's buried so far down that even first-person narration can barely touch it
i feel like it's rare to see female protagonists like these that aren't given much justification or redemption and that aren't... i don't know, given masculine traits? like how in movies, women only know about cars bc they have five brothers, and they prove they're "cool" by having lots of sex, drinking heavily, always being "game" i mean god i'm so sick of it all. run cool_girl_monologue.exe. the violence that women do to each other and themselves can be horrific on its own. i don't think you could gender-swap these stories and change nothing else, they're about WOMEN
anyway gone girl was already one of my favorite books and sharp objects was unreal good, i need to watch the miniseries and read dark places
#Sharp Objects#First new book I've read in a million years now it's the puppetmaster that controls my dick#A 13yr old girl strangling girls her mother took an interest in and using their teeth for her dollhouse. My god
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The whole thing about Toorus cover has already been frustrating enough but whats even worse is the amount of ppl that had come out of woodwork to yell 'its not even the first time he sexualized a minor!!!' or 'this is shonen what did you expect??? Other mangaka do it too'
Like you understand that first is just worse and second is no excuse. Like yeah Hori probs wont see any of the outrage and that cover will sell like hotcakes but these are still important conversations to have in fandom about the standards of the way women are treated in manga. Like why no try to build a mood in fandom where mangaka are held to higher expectations instead of just giving up cuz 'its shonen standard'. Drawing cute girls for teen boys to swoon over is one thing, putting an almost completely naked minor on the cover of ur very popular (and publicly sold like i cant imagine how this will look on BOOKSTORE SHELVES) is another. I also see many ppl bitch about like 'oh ppl who complain the most are those who write explicit bakudeku smut' which like, wild conclusion to some to and probably not true but also i think ppl have to understand that influence of a random fic writer in a fandom (even if a popular one) is Very different from influence of a popular mangaka whos work influences the fandom culture anyway. Like there will be ppl who write freaky shit in every fandom but the mangaka very much sets up the bar there i feel.
Like, Witch Hat Atelier is extremly non sexual manga (aside from Qifrey whos sad and wet) and the only sexual content ive encountered for it was between the two adults in it. There IS a creator there that draws minor x adult explicit stuff (as i said freaks in every fandom) but the only reason i know of them is cuz there were warnings from other users like 'hey this person is posting yxz art tagged under the main manga tag, it can be p upseting so make sure to block them!' its a whole different climate for real.
Uhhhh long story short like ppl are allowed to discuss weird stuff a mangaka pulls, thats good for the fandom, why is everyone on twitter so damn ready for this to be their hill to die on lmao all ppl are saying is 'wow pretty gross for Hori to put a naked teenager on the cover' hows that controversial
....long time no rant at foxy i hope i made sense
I completely agree with you, Lucy and I'm mad that the attitude in fandom a lot of the time is "well there's nothing you can do about it so why complain?"
Why aren't we allowed to hold Mangaka, grown men, accountable for the shit they draw and sell to a wide audience. Why can't I be upset that yet again a female body is being exploited by a grown man for sales.
Yes, she's fictional but that's not the issue! It's an issue that it's okay just because she's female and this has been normalized! Imagine the outrage in public that would have caused if it was Deku in such a pose?! It probably wouldn't be allowed to be printed, let alone on the cover of such a popular magazine that is sold to young boys.
It's because people brush it off that it's everywhere that NOTHING WILL CHANGE. Yes, my voice will probably go unheard regardless but at least I'm saying something about it, at least I'm supporting people who are also upset that their bodies are used like this. It's better than ignoring it and the people hurt by Hori's choice (which you'll notice are mostly females).
And the argument that fandom creates content just as bad is null. Firstly, a fandom creator who barely gets over 100 views most of the time will NEVER carry the same influence that a man who draws in over 10s of 1000s. Not to mention, it's deflecting the issue. We're not talking about the creation of porn, we're talking about how Hori has exploited the female body, using a character of his that is a minor, for profit as representation for his work.
My question is WHAT DOES THIS COVER DO. It doesn't represent Hagakure as a character nor it doesn't represent his story of heroism. It exists just for people to, frankly, jerk off over. As a fan of BNHA, I don't want what was once one of my favourite stories represented in such a way! I don't want a character to be reduced to this!
If Hori wanted to draw sexy females for young males, he should have created an ecchi manga, not a shonen one. At least then I wouldn't have to see this bullshit with my own eyes and have it supposed to represent something I used to love.
I'm upset as a female because I'm tired of shonen artists getting away with using girls like this, especially teenage girls.
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Hello! can you do a scenario with fem!reader and father's best friend!namjoon? I totally understand if this is a concept you're uncomfortable with. All the armys are going crazy with the dilf!bts concept so I need to have this 😭
Tbh that's a hard concept (like absolutely don't do this irl y'all plss it's not okay if it's not fiction– go in the notes to read my PSA pls) so I had to write a bit of plot at the beginning just because I wanted to make it as less weird as possible lol
Namjoon wasn't the type of family friend you got to see a lot growing up. He was, however, the type of friend you got to hear about a lot. Your dad had spent his high school years being in a band that never really had its break, and Namjoon had apparently been the youngest member and your father's favourite. He kept talking about how he "raised" him, meaning he helped him get his first kiss and taught him about girls. Then your dad got your mum pregnant right after graduating, and they both decided to move to the US to find a job and start their family. Your family. And so your dad lost touch with his best friend.
He talked about him quite often, and you knew he had even visited once when you were still too young to have a memory of it. You had only ever seen a couple of pictures of them together; Namjoon looked like a very cringy 13-year-old with a terrible haircut. Not that your dad as a teenager looked any better. But that's beside the point. It doesn't matter what he looked like back then, today you probably wouldn't be able to even recognize him even if he passed you on the street.
"Did I tell you? My best friend moved here from Korea! The band kids are back together!"
Namjoon came back into your father's life at around the same time as you left it– moved away for college. And you kept getting all these updates on how great it was that they found each other again, how many things they did together and in general how happy your dad was. When you visited home for Christmas, Namjoon was away so you didn't run into him. And almost a year after he had moved there, you would finally meet him during the summer. Your father invited him for dinner one hot evening in July.
You opened the door to find him standing outside, your mother just a step behind to greet him. “Joonie! So glad you could make it. Come on in, come on in... Ah! As you know, this is our daughter.”
The man was tall and handsome, nothing like the pictures you had seen. And familiar. His eyes met yours and he smiled, making your blood run cold— you had seen that man before. Not even a week ago, staring at you at the bar while sipping his whiskey until you decided he was too hot and couldn’t be older than 30, so you walked up to him and gave him a napkin with your number and a lipstick stain of a kiss on it. He never called.
“Wow,” Namjoon said without his tone matching his words. “She has grown up so much.” And he looked you up and down again, checking you out kind of like he had done that night. Your entire face was burning, turning on your heels to get away. What the fuck kind of luck was that? He was your dad's friend? You hoped– you begged that he didn't recognize you. He wasn't saying anything, though his eyes kept on stealing looks, and so you thought you might have had a close escape. Until you run into each other in the kitchen. Alone. "Come here, young lady," he said in a deep voice that sent shivers down your spine. You already felt like you were in trouble. "Does your father know you go around giving your number to men almost twice your age?"
He was so close, eyes travelling lazily down your form with a smirk on his lips. "No," you choked. "I– I don't– You were staring at me, that's why I thought..."
"I was staring at you because I was trying to figure out if you were my best friend's daughter."
Hearing him say the words made your cheeks burn. Defeat. He had a logical excuse and all you had was that he was a little too much your type. And he sounded like he was scolding you, reminding you of your place. You lowered your head, really wanting to get out. "Please don't tell him."
Don't tell him I hit on you. Don't tell him I wanted to fuck you.
Namjoon didn't reply right away, but late that night you got a text from an unknown number. "I won't tell him anything."
He won't tell him anything. Perhaps that could be applied to what had already happened, or what would happen in the future.
You didn't text frequently, but you did nonetheless. And even though you were sure both of you would say they were simple, innocent texts, how innocent could they really be when the man already knew how you felt about him? Maybe you were crazy, but you thought he might like you too. Maybe he liked the fact that you liked him. It wasn't evident in anything he did or say, just the vibes you got from him those days he visited your house, or the way he looked at you when you were left alone for a second. The summer passed by so fast when every other day you met your father's best friend in one way or another.
When it was time for you to move back to the city where you attended college, Namjoon just so happened to be going there for some work too. And your parents were grateful that you had someone to travel with. The car ride was long and mostly silent. You had never been left alone for so long and suddenly you realised how hard it was to keep a conversation going without talking about how horny he made you feel just by being in the same, tight space with you. But the farther away you got from home, the less you cared about keeping your good reputation up.
"Where will you sleep tonight?" you asked him after he helped drop off all your stuff at your apartment late that night and was already at the door, ready to leave.
"I'll find a hotel," he told you, hand still on the door handle.
"You can stay here if you want to."
"Don't–" His plea was soft-spoken, in contrast to the intense way his eyes were piercing yours.
"Don't what?" you acted dumb. "All I'm saying is I'm sure dad would rather you stay instead of paying for a room. You're like family, anyway."
You noticed how he took in a deep breath, grip around the knob getting harder. "Don't bring him into this."
Saying that you two shouldn't mention your father was like admitting what was going on right now was beyond innocent. And even though your stomach clenched at his harsh tone, you bowed your head and whispered. "I'm sorry."
"This is so wrong," you heard him call loudly all of a sudden, making you look back at him. He was chewing on his lip desperately. "I was there when your dad got your mom pregnant. Do you know what I said? Fuck, man, how are you gonna get out of this bullshit? I shouldn’t be…"
You blinked at him, waiting to hear the end of the sentence. "Shouldn't be what?" You weren't gonna let him slip away that easily. You would push him until he had to say what he wanted to say. It was your only chance, anyway.
Namjoon sighed. He pushed the door closed and walked up to you steadily all while he was staring straight into your eyes. "Why did you give me your number that night?"
Your breathing was already getting heavier. You wouldn't back away. What was the point? He knew already. "Because you were hot. And I wanted you to fuck me."
He chewed his lip for a few seconds, watching your face as he contemplated his next words. "Why do you want me to stay over tonight?"
You gulped. He was so close, closer than ever. "Because you're hot," you whispered. Glance down on his lips. "And I want you to fuck me."
He closed his eyes momentarily before he was exhaling loudly. "Fucking– hell!"
And he instantly moved forward, one hand grabbing the back of your head as he brought your face to crush on his, mouths smashing against each other after all the times you had dreamed about it. It was so much better than you could have imagined, lips full and soft parting yours for his tongue to slip in between, making you moan. And you were trying to get closer and closer, almost tripping as you walked blindly further into the apartment. His jacket was discarded on the floor before your shirt joined it, and Namjoon was growling before attacking your neck with his teeth.
"Daddy..." The word truly slipped out of you, and he was pausing for a moment, pulling away to look at you.
"Really? You're really gonna call me daddy?" Your eyes were wide and cheeks burning, squirming away from him before he grabbed your wrist to keep you close. "Shit," he grunted, not sounding mad at all. "Alright, baby. Show daddy where your room is, need to get you in bed right away."
And you mewled at his words. You were there in no time, pulling the rest of your clothes off as Namjoon undressed too. Big and thick, he was even hotter like that, making you press your legs together as you took the sight in. And when he removed his boxers too, you got to found out his dick matched the rest of his body perfectly, long and thick and so hot it made your mouth water.
"Daddy," you whined as he started crawling over you. "You're so big. You're gonna tear me apart."
His large hand grabbed your jaw. "That's what you get for playing with big boys." And he kissed you ruthlessly again. His other hand travelling down your form until he found your pussy, fingers playing with your folds and humming in satisfaction. "So wet. Is that all for me, baby?"
"Yes, daddy," you moaned, hips trying to grind on his hand for some more friction. "I've been wet for you since I first saw you."
"Fuck. I know, baby," he breathed into your ear, two fingers slipping slowly inside you and stretching you out. "I could tell. You weren't hiding it very well, baby. How much you wanted me to ruin you. Which is why daddy's been hard for you all this time, too." Your breath was hitching as he was moving his hands slowly, not even trying to fuck you like that, just trying to get you ready for his cock. And he stopped. "Are you gonna let daddy fuck you raw, baby?"
You almost screamed. "Fuck, yes, daddy, please! Fuck me open with your cock."
Namjoon was growling as he retrieved his fingers from inside you. "What a dirty mouth! Who taught you to speak like that, you dirty, little whore? I thought you were a good girl."
Your nails were scratching his back as you whined and squirmed underneath him. "Oh, daddy, please! I need you! I'll be good for you."
And you felt the tip of his dick press against your entrance as he shushed you. "Alright then. Be a good girl for daddy and take this big cock like the good, little slut you are." And he shoved himself in you.
"O–oh my god!" you yelped. Namjoon didn't go easy on you, didn't go slow or gentle, he started pounding you fast and hard right away, truly fucking you open like you had asked him to. You were squirming underneath him but his body was so big and strong, it was caging you completely. And just to shut you up he kissed you again, tongue so deep in your mouth he was choking you. Namjoon was fucking you so hard he brought tears to your eyes, and you felt euphoric being used by him like that.
"My dirty, little cunt," he rasped after he freed your mouth. "Like taking my cock like that?" You were nodding, mewling, unable to speak. "What a good girl. Letting daddy fuck her as hard as he wants." He leaned back, grabbing your arms until he had your wrists pinned above your head and the new position gave him the ability to piston his hips against yours even faster, diving even deeper.
"Fuck, daddy, I'm gonna cum," you cried, legs shaking as they fought against his abusing thrusts between them.
"So easy," Namjoon panted with a smirk. "So easy to please you. Gonna cum cuz you've never had dick like daddy's before, huh? No one's ever fucked you this good? Those little boys your age, I bet they don't know shit about pleasing a nasty girl like you." He spat on his free hand and brought it right down on your clit, pressing on it hard. And you were moaning even louder. "There you go, baby. You can cum on daddy's dick now."
"Namjoon–" you yelped, and you felt your orgasm pop, gushing all your juices over him as he kept fucking you through it. He slowed down a bit, coming down to kiss you sloppily as you continued to whine with each thrust against your sensitive, tight walls.
"That's my good girl," he whispered, kissing you almost lovingly. "Don't worry, baby. We're not nearly done yet." And his thrusts slowly got deeper and deeper. "You really shouldn't have let me fuck you, baby. Cuz now I don't ever plan on stopping."
Masterlist | Part 2
#bts#bangtan#namjoon#kim namjoon#request#rm#drabble#oneshot#smut#dilf namjoon#bts drabble#bts smut#namjoon drabble#namjoon smut#namjoon oneshot#namjoon x you#namjoon x reader
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BILLY — Kim Taehyung (1)
》 News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right? 《
pairings: john kramer!taehyung x female reader
warnings: dark themes, angst, yandere, murder, torture, self harm, suicide, stalking etc.... (will add more when i know lol) although it is rather innocent in the first couple chapters(?) so idk it could be slow burn but i guess we’ll find out as i write it >< ,, it’s my version of saw if saw was a fucked up love story lol. Please don’t read if any of the topics mentioned trigger you!! 18+
this fic is exactly that, fiction!!!! the au does not represent the characters mentioned irl......
synopsis: you end up lost on the other side of town, where you cross paths with a handsome stranger, kim taehyung, only.... are you a stranger to him?
[a/n: daffodils represent; love me, sympathy, desire and affection returned...]
word count: 3k
series masterlist
part two
——————————————————————————
Hiding behind a mask was something you were accustomed to. Your friend group and family were clueless to the torment you endured from simply existing. You were confident your masking had convinced the world you were happy with yourself. Unbeknown to you, one other person saw straight through your façade.
You wanted to end your life.
He needed you to cherish your life.
Nothing looked familiar. The café you frequented was nowhere to be found. Your usual hangout was most definitely not on the side of town you found yourself in. You felt anxiety slowly curl its way around your body, you were frigid. You tried and tried but couldn’t find it in yourself to run.
You lived in the more friendly part of town (so to speak) – where houses were colourful, gardens pristine, warm-hearted neighbours who would treat you like family and white picket fences are what surrounded you. That was your norm, sure, you weren’t exactly loaded but you weren’t exactly poor either. It was a healthy balance in the middle. That’s not to say you hadn’t lived or seen this side of town before.
Your Mother and Father had grown up on this side of the fence. Two young people brought up in the rougher, more unfortunate areas. Your Mother was tough; she looked like a naïve, weak girl, albeit that was not the case. She was strong willed, used to life on the streets and doing anything she could to get money to make sure there was at least some food on the table. While your Mum was the leader, your Dad was more of a sheep. He was easily influenced and was dragged into the wrong crowd (had his fair share with drugs and street racing). That was their life for a few years till they crossed paths and your Mum helped your Dad get back on the right track.
They didn’t tell you much about their childhood and adolescence but they told you enough to make you appreciate what you have and to always work hard for it. To stick with the right people, be wise and conscious of your decisions. Be kind to those around you.
Your family owned a garage; your Dad was the head mechanic. This was the sole reason you were here. You knew it wouldn’t be simple when you agreed to go to this side of town to get a few bits for your Father’s shop. However, you didn’t expect it to be this difficult. How could you be so stupid? Why didn’t you just ask Hoseok and Yoongi to come with you like your father told you to? Or at least tell them where you were… yet you decided today of all days to be stubborn and venture on yourself, knowing full well how unsafe the area was. There were rundown businesses on either side of the road, beggars at every doorstep; drug dealings happening in broad daylight, no one even trying to hide it.
You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you took it out and sighed a breath of relief once you’d read the texts.
14:37— From Papa: U ok munchkin ??? Did u get the stuff ?
14:39— From Papa: its ok if u didnt. Yoongs rang said hes got majority this morning lol so be safe n get home soon . Love u
14:40— To Papa: ohhh ok pops, i couldn’t find the shop anyway lol i’ll head back soon, love u too x
*LOW BATTERY*
“Fuck, trust me to forget to charge the bastard.” You rolled your eyes as you stuffed the phone back in your pocket.
Muffled shouting was heard around you. People ran across the street, bumping into you as they ran past. You gathered yourself and moved further down the path. “Great!” you exasperated, “honestly I’m so fucking stupid! Yoongi’s gonna kill me for this, I knew, I knew I should’ve told him I was coming over here but no,” your head was hung low as you dragged your feet across the pavement, “maybe I could tell Hobi, he wouldn’t be as angry right? I’m sure he’ll come,“ A sudden scream ripped you out of your chuntering. You whipped your head to the right, you could make out some figures bustling about in front of you, a group of men were quite clearly fighting… your anxiety struck you and you held your breath as you saw a man pull a knife from the waistband of his sweatpants. All thoughts and common sense seemed to leave all at once. Statue like, feet stuck to the ground. You watched on as the group rushed towards the brown haired man, you scanned his figure: tall, broad, confident… he exuded an intimidating aura even when you were this far away from him.
How could someone be so sure of themselves? It was one against five, surely the loner had no chance?
The glistening of the knife brought you back to your senses. Fucking hell. How do you always end up in these situations when you’re alone? Why me? Why? Good Lord, I need to run. Just as you were about to leave, the group who were arguing charged past you; one gripped his side as another supported his weight. Holy fuck, did he stab him? you stood frozen, yet again, your mind raced a mile a minute. Panic bubbled in your chest.
“You okay there Doll?” His voice was deep, velvet-like. It flowed so smoothly you doubted it was real, it was so soothing like it had wrapped itself around you, embracing your body. You heard his footsteps before he planted himself beside you. His shoulder reached the top of your head, his hand brushed yours. Swallowing your nerves you dared a glance up. He was fucking breath-taking, like a fallen angel. The stranger shot you a small smile that you would’ve easily missed had you not been staring at his features… a blush crept up your neck as you nodded. His smile slowly twisted into a smirk.
Cute, Taehyung thought to himself. Couldn’t help but adore the way you slightly trembled under his gaze, the way your hands gripped and twisted your sweater paws. Almost like a puppy. He cleared his throat and reached his hand to yours, “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Taehyung.” you took his hand into yours, apprehensively you greeted him, “I’m Y/N.”
“Ah, Y/N. I haven’t seen you round here before, you new or something?” Taehyung cocked his head to the side, his eyes seemed to stare right through you.
“Uhm, I don’t live here. I live over the other part of Town… I was just grabbing some stuff for my Dad but, my phones about to die. I have no idea where I am or how to get home, I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t see anything!” a deep chuckle cut you off, Taehyung smiled and beckoned you to follow him.
“Come on Y/N, you’re not suited for this side of Town, I’ll walk you back. A pretty little thing like you, you’re easy prey to these guys.” your feet fell into a cautious pace behind him, he glanced over his shoulder, “hurry up Buttercup, I don’t bite.” Taehyung flashed a boxy grin in your direction, which caused you to speed up ever so slightly.
You were unsure how you felt about letting a complete stranger walk you home, Yoongi would definitely kill you for this. Especially with the recent news of some serial killer named ‘Jigsaw’, Yoongi and Hoseok had been very stern and their usual, overprotective selves when the news had broken out. “It’s on every headline Y/Nie! No more leaving the house on yourself, you need to go anywhere you ring either of us. Got it? Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know either. There’s some dodgy fucks about recently.” Although, you loved them dearly, sometimes their protectiveness was a...little overbearing. You already felt suffocated from your parents (you didn’t need it from your best friends as well). They were happy and believed you to be too; but that was exhausting, faking happiness. You had a constant façade, acted like a happy normal teenager with a happy family; when that was far from the truth.
Drowning. That’s how you’d explain the way you felt. Breathing was difficult and brought you more pain than it was worth. Growing up was tedious, you had grown differently to your peers which only brought ridicule and embarrassment for you. You had struggled with your speech (sometimes you still do), you often stuttered, mispronounced words, the list was endless. That was one of the first reasons you were a castaway. As you grew, the ridicule worsened. Verbal abuse turned physical from your classmates. They made you feel like you were a waste of space. The names they called you, you soon started to believe them. Ugly. Weird. Freak. Stupid. They took root in your brain, slowly they grew and grew till your head was overgrown with twisted, rotten weeds.
Eventually, you sought comfort in blood. You didn’t care that it hurt you; you were almost happy to feel pain. Like you deserved to.
By age 14, you had started to skip school. Only ever there for exams and a couple of art classes you had with Jeongguk. He was what you would’ve called a best friend, he supported you and was by your side till you left school. He went away to college and like always with school friends, you drifted apart. Nevertheless, he still texts you now and then to check in.
Although you were (once) close with Jeongguk. He never knew of your inner demons, the same with Yoongi and Hoseok. You didn’t want to feel like a burden and worry your friends when they had shit to worry about themselves.
Why devastate flowers that flourish beautifully with weeds that manage to twist their way around every crack?
You had walked for a few minutes now, having chatted absentmindedly about anything and everything. The roads still didn’t look familiar to you and you just wished they did, you didn’t want to be away from your home any longer, your feet were starting to ache, your phone was on 10% battery and it was fucking cold. You just wanted to be back in bed tucked up watching Lady and the Tramp or 101 Dalmatians for the millionth time. You felt safe and content when you indulged in your comfort films. Far away from the real world and wrapped up in the false reality. They easily distracted you and that's when you truly felt at peace. Your mind was always too busy thinking about how cute it was when Tramp calls Lady, Pidge or how in love Pongo and Perdy were.
Majority of the time you fantasised about having a love similar, but then again, why would you wanna make yourself vulnerable like that? Is the risk of being hurt (more than you are now) any good? Of course it’s not. Fuck that, life isn’t nothing like those shitty romance films or novels… It’s real and painful.
As you and Taehyung rounded the corner, a little cafe caught your eye, a dainty blue and pink building. Fairy Lights strung up around the windows, you could see a handful of people inside, busy sipping their drinks and chatting away to one another. ‘Aroma Mocha’ hung above the doors. It looked so cute and simple. Your previous thoughts left your mind as quick as they had come. You wanted to go inside, it had an enticing atmosphere.
Taehyung hadn’t realised you’d stopped walking until he couldn’t hear the soft thud of your footsteps behind him, he turned as he called out to you, your eyes still fixed on the cafe. He chuckled to himself, “Fucking adorable, like a kid at christmas,” he walked back over to you. “Hey Doll, you wanna go in?” He felt his heart quicken when you looked at him with those pretty eyes, “We’ve plenty of time to get you back before it’s dark angel.” You answered him with a nod as you turned your head from Taehyung to look back at the alluring little cafe.
Not a second had passed before Taehyung grabbed your hand and pulled you across the road to the entrance; you ignored the warmth of his hand as it intertwined with yours; you ignored the way your tummy erupted with butterflies. Taehyung had stopped to hold the door for you, you murmured a small, “thank you,” looking up at him, the heat that crept up your cheeks making your face resemble that of a doll’s he thought to himself. Once he ushered you fully inside, he placed his hand to rest on the curve of your waist as he guided you to the back corner of the room, where a quaint table for two was unoccupied, a little pot of Daffodils sat atop. How fitting...
Taehyung was quick to pull the chair out for you to take a seat, you pulled it in as you sat down and sent a shy smile his way, “I’m sorry, I know we just met Taehyung but this place is so fucking precious! I hope I’m not bothering you, if I am we can just carry on walking or, I could ring a Taxi? Is this weird? Oh god, I can’t believe--”, Taehyung threw his head back as he laughed, a sound that seemed to wrap its way around your soul, twisting around your heart in the nicest of ways, it was almost like a killer to the weeds taking over your body. A temporary release. You felt like you could really breathe in those short seconds of his laughter.
“Angel, if you were bothering me, I’d have kept on walking. That, or I would’ve called you a Taxi myself, it’s no problem honestly.” You ducked your head as he sent a wink your way, fuck sake Y/N get it together! Why are you acting like a fucking schoolgirl?
“Well I uh, appreciate it so, yeah thank you?” You don’t know what to do, you’re here with the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid your eyes on… yet you have no clue if what you saw was real, did Taehyung stab someone? Could someone have had the knife who wasn’t Taehyung? Was he even the person you saw in that altercation? Did you imagine everything that had gone off?
Before you had chance to overthink it, a light bubbly voice greeted your ears, “Hi! Welcome to Aroma Mocha, I’m Jimin and I’ll be your server today. Is there anything I can get you?” Jimin held his gaze on you as he flashed you a friendly smile, Taehyung turned around at the sound of his best friend, “Oh, Tae! I wasn’t expecting to see you today, what are you doing here? And who’s this pretty little lady?”
“This is Y/Nie, she was in the neighbourhood so we thought we’d nip in for something to drink before I take her back to hers.” you sent a warm smile to Jimin which he gladly returned, “I’ll have my usual and can you get Y/Nie a Strawberry Iced Tea? Thanks man.”
Once Jimin had disappeared to make your drinks, you shot your eyes to Taehyung, “Uhm, how’d you know I like Strawberry Iced Tea?” Taehyung didn’t even look in your direction as he scrolled through his phone, eyes glued to the screen. A minute passed by and he’d still not acknowledged your question so you let it slide, it wasn’t that big of a deal right? Your mind drifted. Your fingers rested atop of your lap, hidden from the sight of onlookers, picking around your nails as anxiety flooded your body. You felt like you were about to suffocate. You shouldn’t be talking to anyone, you shouldn’t let anyone close. You were only going to fuck everything up in a heartbeat. It’s only natural. Self deprecating thoughts devoured and made their way through your veins, poisoning yourself further; your whole body felt as though it was alight.
Jimin brought you your drinks, placed them carefully in front of the pair of you as you both said your thanks.
The click of Taehyung’s phone being locked and the clearing of his throat brought you back to your senses. “The drink I ordered for you is popular here so, I assumed you’d like to try it. You wanna talk about what’s bothering you?” your eyes shot up to meet his, your head tilted a little to the left as your tongue wet your lip, so puppy like...
You stared incredulously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Taehyung.” You leant forward slightly as you wrapped your lips around the straw and took a sip.
Taehyung saw the way you sucked your drink up through your straw, his eyes darkened. Thankful to have worn sweatpants that day, he shifted himself discreetly, “I’m not stupid Angel, I know what you’re doing under the table. I’m here, so talk to me. I’ll listen to whatever you gotta say.”
You stuttered as you wracked your brain for something to say, “I-I only met you like forty minutes ago, I don’t even tell my friends what’s wrong. Not that there is, everything’s fine.”
You met me just short of an hour ago, he thought to himself, “You don’t have to lie to me Y/Nie…” he grabbed your hands that were laid near the cup of your Iced Tea. His thumb rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. You looked small and fragile, like the Daffodils on the table; one little pluck and you’d be ruined. He wouldn’t admit it to you just yet but, Taehyung fucking loved how delicate you seemed as you sat across from him.
How easy it would be to take your life away. How easy it’d be to pull those weeds up that are poisoning you, torturing you every single day. He shook his head, as he cleared those thoughts. No, only Y/N can make that decision. I’m just going to help her choose.
Live or Die.
You visibly winced, “You don’t know me. Think whatever the fuck you want about me, it doesn’t matter.” your eyes flashed hurt as you went back to picking your skin. You knew it, this whole encounter was too good to be true. A complete stranger (well acquaintance technically) had just presumed shit about you, the fact he was right is what hurt more. You didn’t want anyone to know how you were feeling. Or how you were dealing with it.
You couldn’t exactly tell him to piss off, you still needed his help home and so you tried to distract yourself from the unsettling gaze that watched your every move. You let out a breath as Taehyung went back to his phone. Your eyes drifted as you picked up the local Newspaper, your eyes skimmed over the headline, ‘Jigsaw Traps Continue’. Taehyung noticed you staring at the front page, and chuckled, “you scared of Jigsaw Angel?”
You shook your head, why would you be scared of some nutjob who’s targeted criminals and drug dealers? You’re a nobody. “Of some psychopathic puppet?” if anyone did anything to you that would threaten your life, it would be you. Taehyung just laughed in return as you skipped the article and skim-read the other pointless stories.
You were fucking clueless as to who he was while he knew every little thing about you. He had watched you for months… His precious little Y/Nie… Oh how silly you were, taking your life for granted.
You hated yourself that much, you were willingly marking yourself up. Tainting your skin… oh your skin, how fucking beautiful and soft it looked, even with all the scars it still looked perfect… Taehyung wanted nothing more than to whisk you away and lock you inside with him. Forever. He didn’t want anyone touching what was his.
He knew you wore a mask when in public, too afraid to show your real self. Little did you know, he wore a mask himself...only he wore it to better other people.
He had a plan.
And you’d soon find out.
Let the games begin.
#horror bts#dark bts#yandere bts#yandere taehyung#mafia bts#kim taehyung au#kim taehyung fic#taehyung x reader#taehyung angst#bts angst#bts fluff#taehyung fluff#taehyung scenarios#kim taehyung x reader#taehyung x you#yandere jungkook#yandere namjoon#yandere yoongi#yandere bts x reader#yandere jin#yandere hoseok#yandere jimin#bts army#bts fic#bts saw au#billy jigsaw!taehyung#johnkramer!taehyung#BILLY kth au#un2verse#bts mafia au
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Title: filthy rich [3/3]
Pairing: millionaire!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au]
Genre: mystery, major angst ahead, thriller, mafia!au-ish
Synopsis: Just run, Y/N. Don’t look back.
Warnings: dark and yandere themes, toxic relationships, mentions of violence, shady business, class differences, mentions of rape, smoll breeding kink, unwanted pregnancy, mentions of abortion, and sakusa being a manipulative bastard
Notes:
Im disappering again for a week or two so as a parting gift, here ya go, im starting a bokuto fanfic soon and posting the reboot of notice me soon too hnnng thanks for the wait guys uwu
A sorta realistic take on a yandere is harder than it looks kssjdn omg anyways here yall go the long awaited last chapter of filthy rich. I’m not sure if I should put like a one shot sequel but so far im marking this series completed. Thanks for sticking by!
previous || series masterlist || blood son [sequel;one shot]
You run your hands through your hair and shut your eyes tight, the quietness and stillness of your shared apartment was something to bask on before you put on a fake mask of happiness. It had been exactly two months since you found out about the birth control switch and the medaide agenda.
In the span of those two months, you had grown more observant towards your boyfriend’s actions and you knew that it wouldn’t be anytime soon until he actually notices that you were onto him.
You let out a shaky breath as you recollected some weird things you’ve seem to have noticed, how his brows would furrow when he’d receive a call indicating that something was up and it was serious or how you visited your ex-boss one time a week or so ago along with Kenjiro since you wanted to see how he was doing.
“...Well, he just didn’t come home and sold the place. Apparently he was in a rush to move or something because of family matters so I didn’t exactly see him.” the neighbor gossiped to you two.
“Y/N?”
You jump on your spot as you hear that dreadfully familiar voice.
“Hey,” You greet, walking up to him, you decide to do your usual hug but stop when you notice a small red stain on his necktie, the tie is dark blue and although it wasn’t obvious from afar, it definitely was up close. Your brows are furrowed together, this time in pure curiosity, “Did you get hurt? It’s unlike you to get messy.”
You notice the quick shift of attitude in his eyes, you were seemingly getting good at observing his emotions these days and it looked like he panicked for a second there.
Odd.
“A friend of mine had gotten hurt a while ago, you remember Atsumu Miya?”
A vivid image of a blonde man crossed your mind, he was another conglomerate friend of your boyfriend, another person to be weary of to add to the list, “Oh, is he alright?” you asked, trying to keep it casual as you untie his tie for him as usual.
“Yes. He’s awfully clumsy. You don’t need to worry.”
“Oh…” You mumbled, “by the way, I visited my ex-chief.”
“Ex-chief?”
“Mhm.” you hummed, “You know, my boss from before? Me and a few co-workers decided to visit him since he was a really good boss. Turns out he just left without telling anyone, poor man.”
“Sounds unpleasant. Did you know why he quit?”
“No.” You shrugged as you take the tie out and place it on the side, “He suddenly just quit his job and moved, neighbors said it was also because of family matters. It’s kinda weird because as far as we knew, he didn’t have a family.”
“Would you like me to look into it?”
You almost stiffen when he slithers his arms on your waist but you didn’t want to give away any suspicion, “No. I don’t want to pry. Hopefully he’s enjoying his retirement.” You sighed, turning towards him with a tight smile, “Now what would you like for dinner? I was thinking Mediterranean? I need to lose some weight since I’ve been feeling bloated for a while.”
He leans in for a soft kiss on your temple, “Mediterranean would be fine. Would you like anything else? We could order more.” he hummed, his lips slowly started to dangerously hover on top of yours.
“No, it’s fine.” You give him a quick peck and wiggle your way out of his arms, your stomach doesn’t feel well these days. Whenever you were near Sakusa you had the urge to throw up your innards despite having an empty stomach.
You don’t notice the dangerous gaze on your behind as you pick up the phone for your take-out.
Sakusa hasn’t felt you in a long time and it’s driving him insane, he wants to feel your heat, your body, and everything in between. He wants to fill you up and see you pregnant with his children. He wants everyone in the world to know you were his and his only.
Yet he can’t do that.
You’ve ignored his affections these past few weeks and it had been driving him insane to the point where he had to ask one of his men to put an eye on you to see if you had been cheating on him or seeing someone else.
Yet you hadn’t.
Your routine was the same old one and Sakusa is digging his nails deeply into his skin in his office one day with his tie uncharacteristically untied. Miya Atsumu sits across him, taking a sip from his flask, “Ya look like shit.” the blonde points out.
“Fuck off, Miya.”
“Heard from your cousin that you’re not getting laid by your girl these days.”
“You better be thankful that you’ve got men behind you or I’d be shooting your fucking brains out for saying that.” Sakusa spats, his dark gaze pointedly looking at the blonde across him.
“You should just find someone else then and not yer prude of a-”
“Keep telling me ideas like that and maybe I might just shoot you and chop your body up until it looks fuckin’ unrecognizable.”
Atsumu raises his hands up, signaling that he was giving up, “Gee, omi-omi. I was just giving my advise. It’s so easy to drop her.”
“I don’t want to drop what’s mine.”
“You’ve got issues.” He chuckles, “Haven’t you been switching out her pills and fucking her raw for the last couple of months? I bet yer ass you got her pregnant on that before but ya just don’t know it. Getting her pregnant would definitely secure her spot in her life. Woman’s nuthin’ without ya.”
“She’s...she’s not showing…”
“When was the last time ya two went at it?”
“Two months ago.”
“Ya poor boy.” Atsumu sighs, shaking his head, “Ya sure you don’t want to take a break from being a loyal boyfriend for one night? i bet Y/N wouldn’t notice.”
“And no one would notice if you fucking disappeared. I’ll make sure of it, now get out.”
You may not have been the sharpest tool on the shed but you know that someone’s been tailing you these past few days, you’re not stupid. You could only come to the conclusion that it was Sakusa who was doing such things but you couldn’t get why.
Something just didn’t make sense. It felt like you were missing an important piece in the puzzle, med-aide and the switch of your pills and now a hidden tail?
You furrow your brows together in deep thought as you sat down next to a teenage boy on his phone, you decided to take the bus today to the grocery store, surprisingly the one tailing you wasn’t around today.
Your eyes slowly shift towards the boy’s phone, it seemed like he was playing a video game.
An otome game, to be exact.
You felt your lips twitch up, you remembered those games a lot growing up. The graphics seem to have massively improved now by the looks of it, “...That looks interesting.” You tell the teenage boy who turns to you in surprise.
“Oh, thanks.” the blonde replied quietly.
“Is that a new otome game?”
“Kind of.” He blinks, his gaze returning back to the screen, “It’s sort of a remake of the yandere simulator from back then.”
You feel your shoulders tense up.
“A yandere?”
“Yeah.” The blonde nods, “The girl’s awfully creepy in the game, she stalks him, does things to get him. The player has to catch her in the act and evade her at the same time.”
“Oh…” You blink, “I-uh, this is weird… but what’s a yandere again?’
“It’s someone obsessively in love with you. They’ll do anything to have you stay by them.” He says, pushing on a button but suddenly the screen turns red and you feel shivers run down your spine as you hear him curse and the words ‘you’re caught’ appear on the screen.
“W-what happened to your character?”
“He died. Nothing much.” he mumbles, “If the Yandere knows they can’t have you, they’ll kill you.”
You immediately went pale as soon as you heard that. Maybe, just maybe you were being paranoid. He wouldn’t go to that extent, would he?
“How did your character escape the yandere in the game?”
“Well, I haven’t finished the game yet but based on some anime’s and manga’s I've usually read. They either killed to get away or they moved so far away where they wouldn’t be seen so I think the creator might have the same ending.” The blonde said, he slowly looked to your side, “You’re looking awfully pale, ma’am. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, j-just remembered a horrible game I played back when I was your age.” You gulped in, “Nightmares, you know? The yandere tried to get my character pregnant and tried to get in her way of moving out of the country.”
“Sounds like a very realistic one.” He mumbles, “What did your character do?”
“I wasn’t able to finish it.” you whispered, loud enough for him to only hear, “I couldn’t really find a way out.”
“The developers of the game must’ve made it hard for you. Maybe your character should’ve ran away,” he advised, “Or better yet, you should’ve killed him.”
“I-well, I don't think there were options like that.”
“Well if I were you and there was no option for killing, I’d run. Far, far away. Change my identity and all that.” he exits the game and stuffs the phone back in his pocket, you get a good look of his cat-like eyes and immediately feel a shiver on your spine with the next words he say, “I mean its a game but you wouldn’t wanna loose and get your character killed, right?”
“R-right.”
The teenage boy hops down without even saying goodbye and you have a scary realization that you can’t break it off like you originally had planned. You needed to run, run far as you can and get lost.
The words that the teenage boy says echoes in your head for the next few days, from that point on, realization dawns upon you that, nothing is certain now. You couldn’t trust anyone, you couldn’t let friends and family be involved in this. Sakusa Kiyoomi is a powerful man so you needed to be careful with how you were going to disappear.
You continue to act nonchalant and the same as you try to lay out your plan but you knew that you had only a week or so to complete this for it to successfully work.
Sakusa Kiyoomi wonders what he should do to save the relationship, he’s tried everything in the book that he could think of but you remained the same. Was this the end of the relationship? For real?
He could never stomach the idea of having you leave him.
It’s eerie that day, something felt different when he came home to an empty apartment. It looked the same yet something felt very, very different. Apparently the apartment guards said you were here since your car hadn’t left the driveway and they hadn’t seen you go out.
He checks out your side of the closet, your clothes remain there untouched and your toiletries were there too. He scans the fridge for your notes but nothing is stuck there. He suddenly feels like something cold was dumped on him.
It couldn’t be, right?
Right?
He runs to every room, checking every nook and cranny and when he finally reaches the last room which was the bathroom, nothing is there.
Everything was in its place except you.
Where were you?
Your bank account remains untouched, your wallet and phone was left in the apartment. It was as if you were returning home, the very least. Komori tells him to calm down, saying that they’re letting the best people find you around the city, they don’t rule out that someone might’ve had the audacity to touch you.
Whoever took you would be given hell to pay, that’s for sure. Was it the triad? Kkangpae’s? Or opposing yakuza’s? Oh, they’ll definitely have their heads on the platter if they tried to harm a single hair on your head.
Sakusa doesn’t even hesitate to notify the police about you already despite the memorandum that twenty-four hours is needed to consider a person missing, it's nothing a little money can fix.
“I hope we find her soon.” Your aunt sighed, “I’ve notified her parents about it. It’s definitely weird that she’d leave all her valuables behind.”
Hinata and Natsu sit there next to their mom, completely sad and worried, “I’ve hired the best people for it already, obaasan. We’ll find Y/N.” Sakusa replies yet his thoughts are in a complete frenzy now.
And find you they did.
No stone was left unturned. He made sure of it. Yet after a month of relentless searching. Nothing came up, it seemed like you had just vanished and Sakusa Kiyoomi had turned the whole underground world upside down for you but nothing came up.
Some say that you disappeared and ran away but that was immediately ruled out, no security cameras saw you in and out during that day and it would be impossible for you to just leave without security cameras on you. The guard had exclaimed that despite the blackout that day, the generators only took a few minutes to power up so they’d definitely catch you on camera in case you ever exited the building (along with the guards since they knew exactly what you looked liked) plus the clothes and such were still there, left untouched.
Some said you died, it was definitely impossible for you to just vanish without a single trace after all since everyone was looking for you.
Yet no one dared to say it in front of the boss, not if they valued their life.
The billionaire had dried out his connections to find you. What good was it to be the most powerful and richest man in the country if he couldn’t find you? Life had no meaning now, you were gone. It felt like a part of him was ceasing to function.
Sakusa Kiyoomi was a dead man walking now.
Unknown to the whole world, you’re in a small town with little to no signal. Your hair is chopped unevenly and your skin is darker from the repeated exposure under the sun, your life is simple and mundane now yet you’re happy.
For the first time in months, you actually felt free.
You shut your eyes tight, the events that transpired this past few months replayed in your head. Your escape was definitely done as carefully as you can and you didn’t even know if you’d succeed since you weren’t a master in that sort of thing.
You recalled that it was a week before you ran away, a few days after you met that kid in the bus. Someone from the electric company had come to inform you that there was a scheduled black out in the city that day during the afternoon and you felt something bubble up in you. That was the day you’d put your plan into motion.
You knew that the longer you delayed your plan, the harder it would be to escape.
You had a few minutes to actually put your plan to work. The camera’s on the hallways would cease to function for a few minutes according to the guard downstairs as he did a protocol on the building (apparently the generators were quick). So that morning after Sakusa left, you placed only a few clothes and the stash of money you had been carefully hiding in a garbage bag and chopped your hair short in an uneven manner. Burning all the remaining hair on the fireplace and the black hair color that you use with it. The maid uniform that you stole on your floor and a fake name plate that you made was on and you were good to go.
The minute the black out started, you took the garbage bag and walked out. Taking the stairway used by the caretakers, you made sure to just look down and never directly up at the camera’s pretending to work.
When you finally made it out of your building. You let out a stiff sigh and put down the bag, it was only the beginning. If you thought the same way as Sakusa Kiyoomi, you could only imagine that you needed to be more careful from this point on.
You take the newly bought duffel bag that you strategically hid behind some boxes. Thankfully when you had placed it yesterday afternoon, it hadn’t been touched.
You put on a pair of shorts and a baggy shirt with cheap shades and stuffed the maid uniform in the duffel bag along with your belongings in the garbage bag. You take the other route that led to the busy streets. It was easy to look like a tourist and seemingly blend in the crowd, from that point on, you only had one destination in mind.
When you were younger, you vividly remember an acquaintance telling you about this small town outside of Tokyo where her grandparents were from. It was only an hour away via plane and when you went down another few hours via bus yet if you took the bus route all in all, it would take a few days.
Since it was far, only a few busses actually went there and since you had to leave within the day, you decided to just take the bus nearest to that town and take another bus when you arrived there.
The plan smooth-sailed from that point on.
Except for one minor detail.
You open your eyes and look down at your now small bump. The monster who almost had you trapped left a parting gift, you grip your garden hoe tightly.
A big part of you wanted to kill it.
Yet every time you try to, you hesitate.
The moment you arrived here, you had to pretend to be a weary and poor widow. You just didn’t expect to be a weary and poor expecting widow. You let out an uncharted sigh at the thought, it was hard enough to be alone here with little to no money.
This child had the demon’s blood in it.
Yes, you may have gone free from his cage but in truth with his seed growing in your stomach day by day, you started to feel quite the opposite.
taglist [thanks for your support ilyasm skkss im so sorry for updating late too :(]
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[can’t tag you guys uwu just make sure ur tags are open :<]
#sakusa kiyoomi x reader#sakusa kiyoomi imagines#sakusa kiyoomi headcanons#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu headcanons#yandere!sakusa#idk its my take on yandere and toxic relationships#haikyuu scenarios#📝📝.Filthy rich series#hostclub.adulting
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Imagine, a gender fluid teenager like myself has a favourite/feel-good film and that film is “Just One of the Guys,”from the mid 80s.
Picture this: theatre class, we watch “She’s The Man”, a dreamworks film from the 2000s. And yet, the social justice issues within the film are glaringly obvious to today’s society. Don’t get me wrong, it can be a funny film in a group setting - but then there are scenes that are just uncomfortable. Now, we discussed these themes in class, but I just can’t help but think about the film that came before it. Yes, StM (she’s the mans) is a modern day adaption of Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night” but I was thinking about the modern day adaption before StM, “Just One of the Guys” from the mid 80s.
I love this film. For multiple reasons, which I hope to discuss.
Number one, our main character. Terry Griffith is stubborn. If she thinks something is right, she won’t let anyone say no or get in her way. Now in some cases, this is great. It’s definitely a shift in the usual romantic comedy female lead (especially for the 80s). But it’s one of her biggest flaws. In the beginning, Terry doesn’t win a contest for a part-time job at the Sun Tribune. She believes her article was amazing, but she speaks with her English teacher and he gives it to her straight. “You don’t have what it takes to be a reporter.” Her article is boring; it’s about the nutritional value of the lunch menu in the school cafeteria, of course it’s boring. But the words her teacher tells her has her convinced it’s because she’s a woman. Thus, she leaves school for two weeks and transfers as a buy to another school who are holding the same competition. Once she gives her article, she is told almost the same thing, but this time, she’s given proper feedback to improve it. Of course, there was some irony with this scene between Terry and the teacher. “Just because you’re guy, doesn’t mean you can’t be sensitive or light.” Thing is, she doesn’t give up, she strives to fix it and finds a new angle. I love her determination, I love the way she doesn’t let others push her around. Furthermore, her transition to a man. In StM, Viola as a guy is made to be cringey and comedic, you watch and think, there’s no way a guy would do that. But Terry, having grown up with a younger brother and is actually smart, manages to nail the role. Sure, she has slip-ups, but she stays afloat and she’s not being over the top. She’s chill and convincing, yet you as the audience can tell she’s trying to appear masculine. Her lines are witty and she’s sharp. Someone has something to say, she’ll be able to backtrack and answer with a joke or sarcasm quickly. I like smart characters.
Another point, the way women are written in this film. A lot of women in this film are treated like shit, but it’s probably a realistic depiction of the 80s. Everyone is talking about dating and sex, it seems to be the only topic the women in this film speak about, unless they are Terry. Terry seems to be the only character in this film whose main goal is not romance or sex. She strives to be a reporter, she wants to prove herself, and she rejects the advances upon her frequently. Whether it’s the boys asking her on dates in halls, or her own boyfriend attempting to seduce her when her parents aren’t home, she doesn’t put them above herself, yet she still lets them down easily, unless they become more pushy (case in point, her boyfriend, Kevin, in the beginning). She can stand up for herself, but she’s not the only one. Her best friend, Denise is one of the many women looking for love, nevertheless, she holds standards. I will admit, I didn’t like Denise’s acting in the beginning; she’s not a great character, but even she manages to reject men’s advances constantly. She’s not afraid to say it bluntly and she expresses her true emotions when certain guys try to ask her out. She tells it to them straight, and I respect her for that (despite her lack of empathy for some). Terry’s brother is constantly hitting on Denise, but she stands her ground. She doesn’t hit him or curse him out, she spins words around him and always lead back to the key word “no.”
This is my third, and maybe final point, (because I’m not great at writing but I’m starting to get tired) the way they handle sexual orientation. It seems if you’re going to make a film about a cross-dressing woman who falls in love with a man, you have to discuss sexuality and this film is not afraid to. That was my biggest beef with StM, when Viola confessed her love to Duke, the made it blatantly clear that it was “weird” and “unusual”; the editing and music cuts. It was done for comedic purposes, but in that moment, it just made me cringe. Even when the principal marched onto the field during the big match to expose Sebastian as “the woman he was all along,” he used a big megaphone and said to the whole crowd this man is in fact a girl. If it were to happen in the real world, and this character was a trans male, that would be traumatizing and so so insensitive. I couldn’t help thinking the way they handled the reveal in StM was poor and shitty.
But with JOotG (just one of the guys)? It’s done respectfully. Throughout the film, Buddy, Terry’s younger, sex-obsessed brother (I have thoughts on this character), often refers to Terry as a transvestite or sexually confused. They make references about her dating other women and jokes. It’s not treated like taboo, but just something people normally talk about, and as a questioning kid when I first watched the film, I really needed that. Although it was used for jokes, the fact that it wasn’t treated like a silent topic made me think more of it and discover who I was; it was media like this that made me accept myself.
Even with the reveal. Kevin, Terry’s boyfriend (or ex boyfriend by the end), stomps up to Terry after she’s wrestled with the school bully and was dumped into the waves at prom. Rick, who’s been Terry’s friend (and is the male lead) throughout her time at his high school, immediately questions who Kevin is and he responds with a harsh and sure “Terry’s boyfriend.” Of course, that doesn’t expose Terry as female, but makes Rick assume she’s a homosexual. But instead of calling her weird or replying negatively, he answers Kevin’s question calmly and says he’s just a friend. There is no prejudice, no disgust, Rick is shocked, but that’s expected. Furthermore, this reveal not only does not alienate homosexuality, it puts the center of focus on the main characters rather than have the whole audience/prom witness this exchange. Sure, the rest of the school is watching but the camera never pans over to them, and even then, Terry drags Rick away from the crowds to a secluded area to explain more.
Even once they’re secluded, Rick doesn’t yell at her or is homophobic. He just says “I understand, you’re gay.” As we know, Terry is not in fact gay and she reveals this to him in a similar fashion as StM, at least it’s not flashing a whole crowd. But the thing that hits me, is the fact that it’s not used as a joke or for comedy. Throughout the film, they’ve mentioned homosexuality and being transgender, but it was used as a light-hearted joke (nothing insulting or derogatory). In this moment, it’s not a joke, and it’s the bare minimum for a emotional scene like this, but it always hits me.
Of course, Rick gets justifiably mad that he’s been deceived and he storms off. Terry’s flaw catches up to her here, as she kisses him in front of the prom guests, stubborn to make him realize how much she cares. ( I didn’t agree with this action to be frank, I cringed ). The crowd gasps and it’s the usual reaction to a homosexual kiss and Rick just pulls back, says “It’s alright everyone, he’s got tits,” and leaves with Deborah.
In true romantic comedy fashion, life moves on. Terry gets the job at the Sun-Tribune after writing her article about posing as a guy and everyone who was longing for love in the beginning has found it, except Terry. The ending, however, is Rick coming back for her after a couple (days? Weeks? Idk all I know is it’s summer by the time he comes back, how much space between prom and summer?) and they kiss, go on a date and all is good.
Now after writing this long ass post, I’ve come to realize the main reason I like this film. Sure, Terry is a good character (not morally sometimes, but she’s interesting to watch), the way women are presented also is good, but my main source of affection for this film (in comparison to StM) is the way they handle the switching of genders. I’m gender fluid, I don’t always like being a woman or a man, I switch almost daily and half the time can’t decide if I want to grow out my hair or cut it. Seeing Terry, originally a woman, manage to convince people she was a guy made me wish I could do it too. It made me realize, I don’t always like being a woman. I want to be a guy sometimes, and I want that to be accepted. It was media like this, like Ouran High School Host Club, like Bare: A Pop Opera, that made me understand my gender and sexuality. (Even media that didn’t have any relation to LGBTQ+ helped).
When I first heard of “She’s the Man”, I had hoped it would be like these pieces of media. And it wasn’t. It was an alright film, but made me feel disappointed and somewhat let down. And that’s why I just prefer Just One of the Guys. Maybe it wouldn’t float in today’s political climate, maybe I’m wrong for seeing these points as reasons it’s one of my favorites, but its still better than StM and is one of my favourite films.
#just one of the guys#lgbt#bisexaul#genderfluid#transgender#discussion#essay#sorry for the rant#please don’t attack me#tell me if you disagree#respectfully tho#she’s the man#drama#theatre#film#rant#my experience#film essay#opinion#80s
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Best Friends Forever (Fratboy!Peter Parker x Reader)
This is my entry for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor What’s Old is New Again Challenge! This fic is inspired by #18, “A gentleman is simply a patient wolf. – Lana Turner. Hope you all enjoy!
warnings: NON-CON, manipulation, roofie
DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU
summary: Peter Parker is your best friend. Peter Parker is your only friend. Peter wants to keep it that way.
~
Peter Parker was your best friend. In fact, Peter Parker was your only friend. The two of you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. You grew up together attached at the hip, and therefore, you did everything together.
He was there, watching in awe when you pulled your first loose tooth. You did the same when he pulled his first one weeks later. You helped each other learn how to ride bikes, double dutch, and even attempt to skateboard once. The two of you had broken so many bones together that you had lost count.
You weathered middle school together and the absolute insanity that was high school. You two had been best friends all your life, and it had never been anything more than that, so you both were equally confused when catty high school girls and bored high school guys would constantly accuse the two of you of dating. It was a thought that had never crossed your minds, and it was something you often laughed about.
There were absolutely no secrets between you two, and despite that, you still found yourself completely frozen in shock as you watched Peter slip in through your bedroom window one night during sophomore year. He was covered in bruises, and the oddly familiar red and blue fit he wore had some tears. You had stumbled off of your bed, running to grab him as he struggled to stand.
Realization hit you as he leaned against your wall, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, and your eyes almost popped out of your head.
“Y-you’re Spider-Man?”
It had come out louder than you had intended, and he was frantic as he covered your mouth, begging you to keep quiet. Neither one of you slept much that night as you demanded answers from him. You remembered feeling upset and betrayed that he had been hiding something so important from you, but even worse, you felt worried.
Your best friend had been put in danger so many times while you had been none the wiser. From then on, you demanded that he pass through your house to change out of his suit before going home. Not only for it to be safe for him to get home, but to put your own heart at ease too. It gave you a sense of comfort to see for yourself that he ended the night in one piece.
It was a tough secret to keep, incredibly trying to keep your thoughts to yourself as you watched his crime fighting be reported day in and day out. It was difficult to keep your worry at bay when he was late sneaking into your bedroom or to keep yourself from crying out when he was especially hurt. You were the only one who knew the truth, and the gravity of it served to further isolate the two of you.
Peter was literally your only friend and had been for as long as you could remember. What did it matter that you had never had any girlfriends, even now during college? Sure, you had always envied that special bond some girls seemed to have with each other. Of course, it bothered you a little that you had never experienced what it was like to have a best friend who could relate to you in every single way, but Peter was plenty. Yeah, there were some things that as a guy, he would never fully be able to empathize with, but his sympathy and well intentions were enough.
Besides, having a guy best friend came with its perks. Peter understood guys way better than you could ever hope to, and he was always more than eager to give you advice. Thanks to him, you could probably call yourself an expert on them, but in the end, it never did any good. You had never had a boyfriend, never even anything remotely close. Sure, it bothered you, a lot, but in the end you were grateful.
Peter saved you from regret more times than you could count. Every guy you had ever vocalized interest in turned out to be absolute garbage. At least, that was what Peter told you, and you trusted him. He was never wrong about these things. Tristan, an upperclassman that you’d had a crush on during your freshman year, had apparently been a racist creep. James from your junior year was a party animal with anger issues. Your first year of college, you’d fallen head over heels for a literature major named Logan, but Peter had to be the bearer of bad news when he informed you that the guy had a girlfriend back home and about three more on campus.
After that, you had just given up completely. You saw no point to any of it when every guy you had ever liked turned out to be awful. In the end, Peter was truly the only one you could trust. You were beyond thankful for him, and the day you could bring a guy around with Peter’s approval was the day you would know you found a good one. Unfortunately, you were starting to think that day would never come. You dreaded the day Peter would finally get a girlfriend, because then you would truly be a lonely wreck.
You found it odd that Peter had been single all this time too. This wasn’t high school anymore. In college, girls liked guys who were smart and who read and knew how to have conversations outside of sports. Add the fact that Peter had grown to be quite attractive and had even joined a fraternity, he was a catch. So it was safe to say you didn’t get it, and told him so one night.
“I’ve just never met the right girl,” he said with a shrug, distracted.
“Oh, come on,” you scoffed in disbelief. “So many great girls have shown interest in you. What about MJ? She was tall and funny and her hair-! God, her hair.”
He snorted, a faint smirk on his lips.
“I just wasn’t into her.”
“Why not?” you wondered.
MJ was practically perfect, and you had never known Peter to be nitpicky. He just shrugged, eyes focused on his laptop as he typed away.
“Peter,” you whined. “This is just sad. One of us has to start dating soon or we’ll just end up staring at each other in our old age.”
“I’ve dated,” he said, offended as his eyes cut up to you.
You rolled your eyes, flicking your pencil at him.
“I mean dating dating, not whatever it is you and your “frat bros” do every weekend. That house has seen more girls than a gynecologist clinic,” you complained.
“You know I’m not like that,” he said, shutting his laptop and setting it aside.
While he was somewhat right, he’d still had his own fair share of fun with some of the girls who went to their parties.
“You may not be as bad as the rest of them, but you can’t fool me, Peter. Remember, there are no secrets between us,” you replied, leaning back into the couch. “When are you going to get a girlfriend?”
He didn’t answer, and you continued.
“I know you want one. You’ve mentioned it several times, and I know dozens of girls that would be thrilled to be given the chance.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, giving you his full attention now.
“I just…haven’t found the right girl,” he lamely repeated.
You opted to leave it alone, skeptically eyeing him before reaching out to turn on the tv. You could feel Peter’s eyes on you, but he fortunately spoke before you had a chance to ask him what was up.
“To be honest…there was a time when I thought…you’d be my girlfriend,” he quietly confessed, almost like he was afraid of your reaction.
You looked at him, shock and disbelief coursing through you. A humorless chuckle left your lips.
“You’re kidding…”
He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes were completely serious.
“No, I’m not. It was senior year of high school and… I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I know we were teased about it for years and the idea was crazy to us, but one day…I realized that you were the person I was closest to in the world…and I wanted to be closer.”
Your eyes were wide, lips parted in awe as you listened to this confession. You had never known, and you wondered how you could have missed it. What kind of friend were you?
“It was the only secret I ever kept from you…”
You turned to fully look at him.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
He shrugged, dark eyes studying you.
“I knew you didn’t feel the same way, so I just forced myself to let it go. And I did,” he answered.
He was right. You had never felt the same way, and you started to wonder what would have happened if he had confessed his feelings to you. How awkward that could have been… It could have ruined everything.
“Peter…I can’t believe you did that. That must have…sucked,” you whispered.
He chuckled.
“I’m not going to lie. It kind of did, but I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. You’re special to me, and nothing would have been worth making our friendship weird or just destroying it altogether. It turned out to be nothing more than a crush, anyway. Just…teenage hormones.”
You felt your heart clench, wondering if you would have done the same. It must have been torture for him to swallow his feelings just to keep things comfortable between you two, no matter how fleeting the whole thing was for him.
“Really, it’s no big deal, Y/N. I’m long over it, now,” he waved you off.
You chuckled, moving past the brief shock you’d just experienced.
“I’m glad for that. If you told me you still had feelings for me, I probably would’ve accused you of sabotage all these years.”
“Sabotage,” he scoffed. “Listen, every single guy you’ve been into was downright awful. You literally have the worst taste in men-.”
“I do not!”
“You do, Y/N. Honestly, if it wasn’t for me, who knows what you would have gotten yourself into.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Just for that, you’re paying for the takeout, tonight.”
~
“Botany? That’s crazy! I want to go into agriculture,” you said with a laugh.
The guy before you, Harry, chuckled with you. The two of you were tucked into a quiet corner of the kitchen. The rest of the house was vibrating with a deep bass, the sound of noisy college students filling your ears. Parties weren’t your thing, but frat parties especially were definitely not your thing. Somehow, Peter had finally talked you into attending one of his house’s infamous parties, and you hadn’t even been in the building for five minutes before you grabbed a drink with as little alcohol as possible and hid in the kitchen.
It was miraculous really that you bumped into an attractive guy who was equally uncomfortable with these things. He was funny and charming, and he wanted to study plants. You tried not to get ahead of yourself, but someone else might say it was fate that you two ran into each other. Hell, you ran into each other at Peter’s frat house, so the chances that they knew each other were high. Maybe Peter would have good things to tell you about him.
As if he was summoned by your thoughts, your eyes connected with familiar brown ones as he poked his head into the kitchen.
“Peter!”
You waved him over, and his eyes flitted between you and Harry as he approached you.
“Hey, Parker. I didn’t know you knew Y/N,” Harry chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.
“Yeah, Peter and I go way back. He’s my best friend,” you said, pulling Peter over.
Your best friend was being unusually quiet, and you frowned. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way his eyes had hardened. Was he okay?
“Y/N was just telling me that she wants to go into agriculture. We’ll probably be taking a lot of classes together in about two years,” Harry threw out.
Peter chuckled at that, but it sounded off, and he turned to look at you.
“I figured you’d be hiding in the kitchen, so I came to find you,” Peter said, wrapping an arm around your waist.
A shudder passed through you at the unfamiliar gesture, but you brushed it off.
“Oh, you know how I am. I’m glad I ran into Harry though! He’s been keeping me company, so you can just go back to the party if you want. Your friends are probably looking for you,” you replied.
Peter had become quite popular since you two started college, and you knew that the demand for his attention was rather high. You often felt bad about dragging him down with you. You weren’t really the social type.
“Yeah, Parker, I can look out for Y/N for you,” Harry offered, a friendly smile on his lips.
You returned it and noticed the way Peter’s jaw ticked, and confusion filled you.
“Actually, I came to find Y/N so that we can go,” Peter bit out.
Your frown deepened, but you didn’t question it as Peter gripped your hand.
“Oh, okay. I guess we’re leaving. See you around, Harry!”
He waved back as Peter pulled you out of the kitchen. His grip was tight on your hand as he weaved through swaying bodies and drunk students. Again, you wondered if he was upset about something. It was Peter, so you hardly ever saw him upset. You breathed in the fresh air when the two of you made it outside, and you took the time to eye him.
“Peter…you alright?”
He took a deep breath, chest heaving before he looked at you with a smile. He looked more like himself and you returned it.
“Yeah, I’m just…not feeling too good,” he answered.
“Oh,” you sadly said. “Are you getting sick?”
He shrugged, hand in his pockets.
“I don’t know. I probably had too much to drink. Mind if I crash at your place?”
You chuckled, shaking your head.
“You’re always welcome to sleep over, you know that.”
It was quiet for a while between you two as you walked back to your apartment. His hand was soft on yours, and the way his arm kept brushing against yours brought comfort to you. You were so used to his presence, borderline dependent on it, and just knowing he was beside you was reassuring.
“I love you, Peter, but please don’t invite me to anymore parties,” you suddenly whispered, a hint of mock fear in your voice.
He barked a laugh, and you joined him.
“All of them aren’t that bad, I promise,” he chuckled. “Did you really hate it that much?”
You hummed, releasing a sigh.
“Maybe I didn’t hate it all that much,” you admitted after some time.
He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye as a wistful smile fell over your lips, eyes gazing at the sky.
“So…how do you know Harry?”
His hand tightened around your own just the slightest.
“He’s in another frat,” he answered with a scoff. “He’s a spoiled rich kid who thinks he can get anything he wants by throwing money at it.”
You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head.
“Somehow, I’m not shocked by that, but… You know what? I don’t care.”
He stopped walking, pulling you to a halt with him, and he stared at you with a frown.
“What? What do you mean?”
You shrugged.
“I like him. We have a lot in common and he’s hilarious and so cute. Maybe… Maybe I’m expecting too much, you know?”
Peter looked even more confused, jaw clenching as his frown deepened.
“What are you saying?”
“I mean… Yes, I’m a huge romantic and I want a boyfriend, a serious boyfriend, like I have for years, but… You have always been a girlfriend kind of guy. It’s no secret that you’re open to a serious relationship, and you claim the only reason that hasn’t happened yet is because you haven’t found the right girl, but… Peter, that’s never stopped you from having fun,” you elaborated.
He didn’t respond, and you sighed.
“I’m just saying that maybe I should do the same. Maybe I should stop trying to make a boyfriend out of every guy I’m into and just have fun. Like you!”
He forced a chuckle past his lips.
“That’s…that’s not like you…”
“I know, but… I’m tired of being alone,” you shrugged. “We’re in college, now, and the chances of me finding a boyfriend are pretty low. Let you tell it, a good portion of the guys here are trash, but that only matters if you’re looking for something serious, and I don’t think I want that anymore.”
Peter was uncharacteristically quiet…again, and you tilted your head at him.
“That’s…a big change for you,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you sighed. “…but I’m really into Harry. You’ll help me, right?”
Your pleading gaze met his dark one, slightly frowning at the way he was looking at you. He pursed his lips.
“Please, Peter? I really like him, and you know him so well.”
He looked away with a small sigh. He briefly closed his eyes before eventually nodding, and you smiled. He looked at you with a grin on his lips, taking your hand again as he continued the trek down the sidewalk.
“Yeah. Leave it to me, Y/N, and I’ll help you get laid in no time,” he relented.
You squealed, reaching up to shake his shoulders as you pushed him along.
“You’re an angel!”
He chuckled.
“What are best friends for?”
~
“Okay, I’ll admit, that was much better than I was expecting,” Harry relented.
“See! I told you, I am an excellent judge when it comes to these things,” you replied as the two of you walked out of the theatre.
It was the sixth date the two of you had been on in 4 weeks. True to his word, Peter had helped you out, and that next morning after the party, you’d woken up to a text from Harry Osborn himself. A huge grin had spread out over your face, and you didn’t hesitate to reply.
The two of you had been talking nonstop since then about practically any and everything. It turns out that you hadn’t been premature in thinking the two of you had so much in common. It was true! It was almost suspicious how much of the same things you liked, including horror films.
“Listen, the storyline didn’t seem all that original, and when I had watched the trailer, I felt like I’d seen the entire thing in less than 2 minutes,” he defended.
“Okay, okay, that I can understand, but ever since I’d missed out on seeing both Insidious and The Conjuring in theatres because I thought they were going to suck, I vowed to myself ‘never again’.”
“Yikes! Both of those films were great. I just know you still kick yourself over that one,” he laughed.
“It literally haunts me,” you groaned. “I know experiencing both of those in the theatre must have been amazing.”
Harry seemed to find your regret amusing, and he stopped to look at you with a smile on his face.
“Hey, so uh, my frat is throwing a party this weekend. I mean, we do just about every weekend, but I was thinking maybe you could come…as my…date this weekend?”
Your eyes widened a bit, and you felt your face heat up. He seemed nervous to ask you, like he didn’t know how you’d feel about it, and it was wild to you. You really liked Harry, and you thought you had made that more than obvious over the past month. Sure, Peter was right when he said he was a bit of a snob, but it wasn’t overbearingly so to the point that it became a turn off. Crazily enough, you could see Harry being more than just ‘fun’.
“I’d love that,” you honestly replied.
The corner of his mouth pulled upwards into a smirk, and he stepped closer to you on the deserted sidewalk.
“Yeah…?”
You nodded, looking up at him as he got closer. Neither one of you said anything as he reached up to gently grip your jaw, leaning in until his lips pressed against yours. You sharply inhaled, closing your eyes as you savored this. His lips were soft, and the way he moved them against yours told you that he was experienced.
That didn’t bother you. Truth be told, you had always wanted to be with someone who knew what they were doing, because honestly, you had no idea. You felt flutters deep in your stomach, and you shuffled closer to him when a cool breeze blew by. He pulled away just a little, opening his eyes to look at you as you did the same.
“Come on. Let me walk you back to your place,” he offered.
You happily gripped his hand as he did just that.
You felt giddy, absolutely on cloud nine as you leaned your head on his shoulder. Maybe you were getting a bit ahead of yourself, but a nice and rich frat guy was asking you to be his date to his house’s party. In context, this whole thing was showing a lot of promise. Guys like him normally liked to keep their options open, and him actually claiming you as his date was making somewhat of a statement.
You waved him goodbye as you made your way inside the complex, lips still tingling from the second kiss he’d given you just outside. You were still smiling when you rounded the corner that led to your hall, pausing as your eyes fell on a familiar figure outside of your door.
“Peter, hey!”
He pulled himself to his feet with a small groan, stretching as you fished your keys out of your purse.
“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting here for over an hour,” he said, glancing at his watch.
You gave him a sheepish look as you let him go in first.
“Sorry. I went to go see a movie with Harry,” you answered.
“Oh,” he said in a small voice. “You’re still seeing that guy?”
“That guy,” you scoffed with a small chuckle. “Isn’t he your friend?”
“Yeah, sort of, I guess…”
“You staying over tonight?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.
“I really wasn’t planning to, but since I’ve been waiting this long, I don’t want to go back to the house in the dark.”
You hummed, opening your drawer of takeout menus to figure out what you should order.
“So…how are things going with Harry?”
You couldn’t stop the smile that fell over your lips.
“Great actually,” you said, sounding surprised. “He asked me to be his date to the party his frat is throwing this weekend.”
Peter’s eyes were wide as you glanced up at him, dark eyebrows raised as he looked at you.
“Really…”
“Yeah! I don’t know… I wasn’t exactly planning for this to be anything serious, you know? I wanted to experience some light fun for once in my life, but now… I think I can see us actually being something,” you whispered.
Peter didn’t reply right away, only humming in response.
“Are you going to the party?”
He blinked, heaving a sigh before shaking his head.
“Nah. I’m not really a fan of the kind of parties they throw,” he said with a shrug.
“What do you mean?”
He waved you off.
“They can just get pretty wild. They regularly get noise complaints and don’t really monitor how much alcohol people are drinking until it’s too late and there’s throw up everywhere,” he explained with a frown.
“Oh…”
You were a bit disappointed that Peter wasn’t going to be there, but you had to remind yourself to stop being so dependent upon him. The two of you couldn’t stay attached at the hip forever, and at some point, you had to start making a social life for yourself…by yourself.
~
Friday night came much quicker than expected, and you were all dressed and ready to go. The house wasn’t far from your place, and since it was still daylight, you didn’t mind walking. You’d worn comfortable shoes, so it didn’t bother you.
Even though you would probably be considered an early arriver, the place was already lively when you stepped through the door. Everywhere you turned, you were met with someone’s back or chest, and you struggled to maneuver yourself through the bodies. You didn’t recognize anyone, and almost wished that Peter had come with you, growing nervous until you spotted a familiar head of dark hair.
You approached Harry with a smile, reaching out to grab his arm. His eyes were wide when he turned to face you, and you frowned when he maneuvered his arm out of your grip. Your frown only deepened when he stepped away from you, glancing away, and that was when you noticed the girl at his side.
She hadn’t been paying attention, gaze elsewhere, but she smiled when she finally turned to look at you. She was blonde and beautiful and had perfect teeth, dazzling you as she grinned. Her perfectly manicured hands wrapped around Harry’s arm as she leaned into him.
“Hey! Are you a friend of Harry’s?”
She seemed sweet, and confusion filled you at their familiar body language.
“Babe, this is Y/N. She’s super close with my friend Peter,” Harry answered, barely sparing you a glance.
Your heart dropped to your stomach as you eyed them.
“Oh! I’ve yet to meet Peter, but I’ve heard you mention him sometimes. I’m Scarlet, Harry’s girlfriend,” she introduced herself.
If it all possible, you probably would have thrown up, but you hadn’t eaten anything all day, too nervous about tonight.
“Oh, wow! I don’t think Peter ever mentioned Harry having a girlfriend,” you responded, hoping it sounded casual.
You could feel the man in question’s eyes on you, but you didn’t spare him a glance.
“Well, I’ve never actually met Peter, and Harry and I only recently go back together…what was it? Two months ago?”
“Two months ago…wow…”
You didn’t know what to say, and you finally understood the full meaning of ‘speechless’ in that moment.
“Yeah, Harry didn’t have any plans this weekend as far as I knew, so I decided to come down and surprise him. You should have seen his face when I showed up on the doorstep an hour ago,” she laughed.
You joined her, feeling like you were going to be sick.
“I’ll let you two catch up. It was nice to meet you!”
“You too,” Scarlet said, waving goodbye as you turned and pushed yourself through the crowd.
There were tears in your eyes, and your body was shaking. Were you on the verge of a panic attack? You stumbled over your own feet as you attempted to make your way to the door. So focused on the baby pink polish on your toes, you didn’t notice the figure before you until your head was colliding with their chest.
You stumbled back, almost falling had it not been for a familiar pair of hands. You looked up in shock, and everything crashed into you as your eyes met Peter’s. His gaze was inquiring, worry coloring his features as he studied you.
“Y/N? What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, letting it fall against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you.
“What happened?”
“H-Harry has a girlfriend,” you whispered.
You felt him tense against you.
“…what?”
“I mean… I thought… You said he was just some spoiled rick kid. You never mentioned a girlfriend,” you said, looking up at him.
“I didn’t know. Honest. They broke up forever ago,” he replied, pulling you against him.
“Yeah, well apparently, they got back together two months ago. The whole time we’d been talking and going out together he…,” you trailed off, shaking your head. “He treated me like I was practically a stranger.”
Peter’s jaw ticked, and he moved to go past you, but you stopped him. His dark eyes were focused on Harry no doubt, but you pressed your hands into his chest.
“Peter, let it go. Please! Just…stay with me? I don’t think I want to go home…”
The last thing you wanted was to lay in your bed and remind yourself of what a disaster tonight was turning out to be. Peter heaved a sigh, hands tightening on you before reluctantly nodding. He pulled you along towards the door.
“Come on. We can just go to the party at my house,” he offered.
You nodded, leaning against him as he walked you out. You wiped at your cheek, unsure of when a few tears had spilled over. You had fooled yourself into dreaming of more with Harry and look where it got you. Even if you had still only wanted something casual, there was no way you would have knowingly got involved with a guy who had a girlfriend. That wasn’t who you were.
“I thought…I thought you weren’t coming,” you whispered.
“I wasn’t, but… I didn’t want to leave you at a party where the only person you knew was Harry. I’m glad I did come,” he murmured. “What an ass…”
“Don’t worry about it, Peter. Really. Maybe this is just a sign that I should stop trying to force something with every guy I like. It never turns out well,” you sighed.
Peter’s frat house was just as lively when you guys moseyed inside. A few of his brothers recognized you, and you waved at them. Peter’s arm tightened around your waist, but you didn’t mind it. You knew what other guys at the party would think, but you didn’t care. You were done with guys, and all you wanted was to hang out with Peter, the only guy you had ever been able to trust. So if they mistook you as Peter’s girl, and left you alone because of it, that was fine with you.
The two of you were attached at the hip throughout the night. Peter had gotten both of you drinks, and hours later, you were still nursing that same drink. This was never your crowd, and the more you made your way around the room with Peter, the more obvious it became. He didn’t seem to mind your company though, arm still at home on your waist. You noticed a few disappointed glances being thrown your way, and you chuckled with a frown.
“Peter, I think I’m ruining your chances of getting laid,” you finally said.
He glanced around to see what you meant before he chuckled too.
“It’s fine. You’re my best friend. I’m not just going to ditch you,” he responded.
You smiled but still felt a bit guilty that you had affected his night again. You pulled away from him, letting him know that you were going to be in the kitchen. He understood and promised to join you. To be honest, you wanted him to have fun. You didn’t exactly take pleasure in knowing that he sacrificed his usual routine at parties just for you.
You leaned against the counter, pressing your fingers to your temples as you rubbed circles into your skin. You didn’t know how the night had gone so wrong. How had you been so clueless? No, no! You were not going to do that. It wasn’t your job to watch and hunt for signs of an untruthful man. You weren’t supposed to be suspicious of a guy you were seeing. This whole situation was completely on Harry.
You finished your drink, tossing the red cup into the trash with a sigh. It was amazing that in the span of 3 hours, your life had done a complete 180. You had gone from having the time of your life to being alone and miserable and feeling absolutely foolish.
You heard footsteps make their way into the kitchen. You glanced up, face contorting in a frown as your gaze connected with that of the last person you wanted to see.
“What are you doing here?” you scoffed.
He was holding two drinks, eyes apologetic as he approached you.
“I’m sorry-.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Harry. There’s nothing that you could say that can fix this.”
“Y/N, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Scarlet and I… We’ve been having problems for a long time, now, and we both thought getting back together would make them magically go away, but they didn’t. The night we met, Scarlet and I had gotten into a huge fight, and I was under the impression that we were over…for good.”
You eyed him.
“Then she wanted to work things out, but I had already met you, and I really liked you…”
You looked away with a sigh.
“We were never exclusive, I guess, but it doesn’t matter because you have a girlfriend. You had a girlfriend the whole time we were hanging out, and I’m certain that you and she have an agreement that you guys are exclusive,” you harshly replied.
He glanced down, and you chuckled, but it lacked humor.
“You were cheating on her…with me… Never mind the obvious of how she would feel if she found out, but how do you think that makes me feel? Do you think I like being that kind of girl?”
He shook his head.
“No, no, you’re not the type-.”
“Exactly.”
He at least had the decency to look ashamed.
“I know I messed up, okay? I just wanted to apologize and bring you this… You said it’s your favorite, the only drink you actually really like, and I thought maybe it could soften the blow of you chewing me out,” he confessed.
You eyed the cup, glaring at him before taking it. You took a sip before sighing.
“Well, thanks for the drink,” you saluted him with it. “…but I don’t see us moving past this Harry. It was fun, but I don’t even want to be friends with someone like you. I’m sorry, and I mean it when I say I hope you and Scarlet work things out.”
You brushed past him, taking another sip of the fruity mixture as you went in search of Peter. It was easy to find him, following the sound of his familiar laughter. He didn’t mention anything as he wrapped his arm around you, and you figured that he didn’t know Harry was here yet.
“Hey, I was coming, I swear I was-.”
“Peter, it’s fine! You know I don’t care about you keeping me company or not. I’m a big girl.”
He returned your smile, pulling you closer as his hand tightened on your waist.
You didn’t plan to stay much longer, and about an hour later you decided that you would head out…after you used the bathroom. You found it much more difficult to weave through the sweaty bodies this time, and you blinked as your vision spun for half a second. You stopped to steady yourself, pressing your hand to your head in confusion.
You eventually made it to the bathroom, and you took some time to look at yourself in the mirror. You looked alright, for the most part, but you felt so…off. Your fingers were tingling just the slightest, and the bass in the houses sounded incredibly far away. By the time you were done in the bathroom, you were stumbling out.
You had to hold onto the wall for support, and confusion filled you. You’d only been drunk a handful of times, but this time felt different. Even worse, you had only had two drinks. You dreaded making your way down the stairs, and you had to pause and lean your back on the wall halfway down. You heard someone call your name, and they too sounded so far away. You jerked when a pair of hands landed on your arms.
“Y/N? Y/N, are you okay?”
You stared at Harry for the longest time, wondering what he was still doing here when it clicked. You frowned at him.
“Did you put something in my drink?”
Your words were slurred, but he understood you nonetheless, and his eyes widened.
“What? No!”
“You did, didn’t you? I…I only had two drinks, and this didn’t start until after-.”
“Y/N, I wouldn’t do that! Come on, let me-.”
“No!” you jerked away from him. “Is this your way of getting in my pants, anyway?”
He frantically shook his head, concern and worry and disbelief all rolled into one in his gaze.
“Y/N, you have to believe me! I wouldn’t do this!”
You scoffed, pushing against him, but it was weak.
“Believe you? How could I trust anything you say?”
He blinked, something clicking in his eyes as he looked down the stairs and back to you.
“Y/N, I didn’t get the drink for you. Did Parker not tell you he saw me? He gave me the-.”
“Hey, what’s going on?”
You both turned to look just as Peter came up the stairs. You stumbled towards him, fighting off Harry’s hands as Peter wrapped his arms around you.
“He put something in my drink,” you whispered, on the verge of passing out.
“What?” Peter demanded, tightening his hold on you.
“Y/N, listen-!”
“You’ve done enough, don’t you think? Get out of here, Harry, because if I tell my frat brothers you’re drugging girls they aren’t just going to let you walk out of here,” he threatened.
Harry stumbled over his words as Peter helped you back up the stairs.
“Leave,” you heard him snap at the other brunette.
Your fingers dug into his arm as he helped you walk down the hall, arms tightening around you.
“P-Peter…”
“Hey, hey… It’s okay. You can crash in my room, tonight, yeah?”
You’d only been in his room a handful of times, the both of you usually hanging out at his place. It was always clean and always smelled good, and you had thought to yourself before that it was no wonder girls kept coming back. He sat you down on his bed, and you struggled to sit upright.
You heard him fumbling around in his drawers and looked up just in time to see him coming over with a huge t-shirt. You didn’t mind when he helped you out of your clothes, welcoming it during your inebriated state. His fingers grazed your skin as he slid the shirt over you, resting his hands on your shoulders.
“Y/N, can you hear me?”
“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, blinking at him.
He took his thumb to widen your eyes, getting a good look at your pupils. You felt like you were having an out of body experience, and you were grateful for Peter. You didn’t like feeling like this, and you shuddered to think about what would have happened to you had Peter not been here.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
He ran his eyes over you before resting them on your fogged-out ones.
“You don’t need to thank me,” he said with a small smile. “What are best friends for?”
You struggled to return the smile, and he brushed his hand along the side of your face. Your eyes fell closed at the gentle feel of his ministrations. You were somewhat in shock that Harry would do such a thing. A rapist was a big leap from cheater and liar, and you wondered what drove him to do it. He had a girlfriend, but maybe he was truly that greedy and disgusting?
You forced your eyes open when you felt Peter’s hand on the side of your neck. You blinked, eyebrows furrowing as you watched him lean in.
“Peter-.”
You were cut off when he pressed his lips against your own. Your eyes widened, and you reached up to press your hands into his chest, but you had no strength. His hand slid to grip the hair at the back of your head, tightening his grip as he leaned into you.
You mumbled incoherently into his mouth as he laid you down, his lithe frame immediately settling against yours. His other hand was on your naked thigh, his t-shirt riding up to brush against your underwear. You turned your head, gasping for breath.
“Peter…stop,” you panted. “W-what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer you, opting instead to pull away and reach behind his head to pull his shirt off. You blinked as you were met with the sight of his bare chest. He leaned down again, pressing his lips against yours. He simply swallowed all of your protests, and you turned your head away again.
“Peter!”
“I’m doing what I’ve wanted to do for years, now,” he whispered against your cheek.
Your eyes widened, and confusion filled you.
“…what?”
You tried to scoot back on the bed, but he only followed, his frame still caging yours in as you both moved. His eyes were hard as he looked at you, and you felt tears collect as you fought not to cry.
“Harry gets everything, you know. It’s all just so easy for him, but I’d never let him have you,” he murmured, pressing kisses to your neck. “Not after I worked so hard to save you…for myself…”
You pushed against him again, but he didn’t budge.
“No, no. Peter, what…what are you…?”
Nothing was making sense, and your head hurt and your body felt heavy and the room was spinning. Nothing he was saying was making sense.
“Peter, you’re my best friend… This doesn’t make any sense…”
Your head lolled, much too heavy to lift as you heard him fumble with his pants. Panic gripped you, but you could hardly move. You groaned when he pressed himself against you, and you could feel him hard and throbbing between your thighs.
“Peter,” you mumbled.
“I’m going to be the only person who gets to be inside of you. The only one to know what it feels like to have you wrapped around them. God, I’ve always wanted to know what you feel like,” he whispered, kissing you again.
His fingers made their way to your core, rubbing you through your underwear. You reached up to grip his arm, but you were sure that your hold was featherlight. You let like your body weighed a ton, and the smallest of movements took so much out of you.
You whimpered as you felt your underwear grow damp, and Peter wasted no time in pushing them to the side before pushing a finger inside of you. Another soon followed, and you were panting beneath him as he worked his hand in between your legs.
“Please…stop,” you begged. “I’ll scream…”
“Can you?” he wondered, lips brushing against yours.
Tears spilled over at his question. He was right. Could you even scream? You could barely speak.
“Even if you could scream, Y/N… There’s a party going on. Who’s going to hear you? Hmm?”
He was dragging your filthy underwear down your legs, now.
“Peter, please. I’m your best friend… Please, don’t do this to me,” you pleaded.
Peter’s eyes met yours.
“It’s just been us our entire lives. All we ever needed was each other. I want to keep it that way,” he said.
You yelped, pressing your nails into his back as he slid inside of you to the hilt. Your legs were limp around him, a scream caught in your throat. He leaned down to kiss your wet cheeks, shushing you as you struggled to adjust beneath him.
He took his time as he pulled out of you before sliding back in, groaning at the way you clenched around him. You pressed your nails harder into his back, and he hissed before reaching back to grip your wrist, pinning it to the bed. He did the same with the other and kept a steady pace.
You panted beneath him, eyes fluttering closed. Whatever was coursing through your system made it impossible to focus on anything other than the way his hard length felt dragging against your walls. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he thrust into you, never taking his eyes off of you as he watched your face.
His grip tightened on your wrists, and you gasped at the pain.
“Peter…”
“It’s okay. Just enjoy it, Y/N…”
You gasped again as he picked up his pace, forehead dewy with sweat. He buried his face in your neck again, chest pressed against yours as he pinned you to the bed, unrelenting in his thrusts.
“You’re mine,” he murmured. “You’re finally mine…”
Something that was a cross between a choked moan and a sob escaped you.
“I want everyone to know it-.”
“No, Peter-!”
“I’m going to fuck you until the sun comes up, so everyone in this house will know you belong to me. You’re my girl, Y/N. You always have been,” he moaned. “…and when you limp out of this house with my marks on you, everyone will know it.”
He came in you with a low moan, and you sobbed into his chest as he rolled over, curling you against him. He ran his fingers down your back, lips brushing your forehead.
“I’ll make you come before the night is over,” he whispered. “I’ll be the only one to ever touch you like this.”
You shook your head, and he rolled you back onto your back, still inside of you. His dark eyes bore into your own, fingers trailing over your trembling body.
“You know exactly what I’m capable of, Y/N… You know the things I can do. I’d hate to have to hurt someone for touching what’s mine.”
~
tags: @sherrybaby14 @kellyn1604 @xoxabs88xox @mcudarklibrary @darkficreposter @villanellevi @sebabestianstan101 @harringtonsblackgf
@opheliadawnwalker3 @jtargaryen18 @notyourtypicalrose @readermia
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See, How The Most Dangerous Thing Is Love
Where you go
I'm going
So jump and I'm jumping
Since there is no me without you
She can’t stop running and, like an idiot, he keeps chasing.
warnings: i don’t think there is anything to warn against which seems odd... considering... but I did use some weird fucking metaphors and I don’t know if they make any sense...
Hotchniss
If the tension between Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss wasn’t apparent upon their reunion following Elle’s leave, it was painfully clear after Tobias. Eggshells be damned. He inquires around her compartmentalization, tone dark, and judging where JJ had just meant to build a bridge. He had aimed to tear one down. To remind her just how out of place she is in this unit.
There can only be one lone wolf in the pack.
“You came off of a desk job--”
She narrows her eyes, feet shifting. He’d come out of nowhere, as she’s finding he often does, and that just aggravates her even more. She’s a trained spy and Interpol agent, he shouldn’t be able to sneak up on her. The shield she throws between them does nothing when he already has his own firm in place. Feet planted in preparation for her attack.
Her revenge is sweet.
It starts with the way her back draws tight as a bow.
“No, stop. Stop. All right everybody right now-- what’s my worst quality?”
The flip of her dark hair, drawing the limp branch of a tree towards her chest. Poised ready to strike out towards him and the tight coil of childish glee derived from mischief in her chest. Her words the fiery snap of its release, the edge catches his cheek to leave an open, jagged wound. “You don’t trust women as much as men.” The room’s attention lays in the silence of that lashing. Their eyes watching the dark crimson of his blood trickle down his cheek.
And he wipes it away. Unflinching as he powers on. He can see it in their eyes, the way they keep looking back at the wound on his cheek. Thinking about the words and their implications. How they each drew back and laid into him with their strikes.
He can see it in Emily, the way she awaits her second chance. She’ll draw that branch back again. There are more branches, he suspects, in her forest of mistrust and impatience with him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a few branches of his own he’d like to hit her with.
It is only in the most fundamental way that they trust one another.
“Don’t get me wrong, Johnny.”
A drop of sweat runs along his hairline and down the back of his neck. The heat of Alabama in August is worse than Virginia and even stripped of his suit jacket, the weather is insufferable. The rickety old pisshole of a house groans under the weight of the four adults standing in the attic. With no draft and dust covering every visible surface, it smells like something’s crawled up here and died. He suspects, if he were to look hard enough, he’d find that to be true.
Johnny and Mark Wrights have been murdering and raping teenage girls from the local high school. Grown men covered in grim and old denim-- the epitome of the white trash that comes to mind when they set out to solve these kinds of cases. It makes Hotch feel a deep shame for being raised anywhere near the south. Now, as he stands pinned to Johnny’s chest, the heavy scent of pig shit and sweat covering the man, he feels deep condemnation for the south.
He wants to get as far from this town as possible.
Prentiss’ gun is steady. As far as agents to come to have his back, he’s lucky that it’s her. Her brows raise a fraction when she steps into the room, surprised that it’s him. It takes him off guard that she’s choosing empathy with these men. She repeats her earlier statement. “Don’t get me wrong, boys,” she shakes her head and her eyes flicker to Hotch. “That’s my boss you have there.”
Johnny digs the barrel of his gun into Hotch’s face, the metal biting his flesh. He’s antsy. Emily must see that… surely, she must know that she won’t be able to talk her way out of this.
“Now,” she smirks. Her inflection has risen to nonchalance as if talking to a friend. Her shrug of indifference makes his chest feel dangerously tight. “He’s a dick,” she informs them. “Makes my life a living hell.” His eyes glued to her index finger. She’s talking and moving and if she’s distracted him with her words then she’s distracted the Unsubs too. “He’s got a little boy at home though,” her eyes flick to him.
He’s hit with a sudden understanding.
“So…” he watches her back once again. A bow, bending to snap. He ducks, this time, when her branch comes flying back at his face. Throwing his weight to the side, he takes Johnny by surprise, and before he can blink there are two quick shots that ring the end.
For a stunned moment, he’s laid out on his back. His eyes are on the ceiling just breathing and shaking.
She comes to stand at his side, offering him a hand up.
He takes it.
“Don’t,” she says before he can thank her. Her eyes are dark. She’s displeased. Not only with him and the stupidity that got them in this mess, to begin with, but for the girls. Emily had wanted to bring those girls justice. To sit at Johnny and Mark’s court hearings. To drink herself numb and to see them thrown in jail so they’d never see the light of day ever again.
Executed in the attack of some rickety old house just isn’t the same.
He nods his head.
They part ways.
But he can see her back.
And she sees his hands.
She lashes out and he pulls scabs apart. He agitates old wounds. His thumb works across his finger, picking at a scab, and then he draws blood and she watches as he dumbly looks down at his hands. As if he’s confused at why it would bleed.
A serial arson typically leaves little room for emotional collateral but, of course, he makes an exception. He digs his thumb into his finger, rubbing back and forth, voice breaking, and attention split as he makes connections that no one else sees. Gideon steps to his side, calming Hotch and stopping the trickle of blood over his callused hands. Holds his own hands over the wounds.
She sees that day, the scars that litter his ledger. The scabs… Aaron Hotchner is an open wound. He can’t let anything go. Won’t let the wounds heal. He needs the pain the way she needs the bows. She hates that she’s starting to understand this man that she hates so passionately.
Hearing him shout, the pain in his voice as he tears viciously after Evan Abby makes her falter. There he goes again, picking at wounds that should have healed. Who exactly is he saving? It’s not Abby. The man is a walking corpse, riddled with cancer. Watching as Hotch sinks into Morgan’s arms, his dread and hopelessness bringing him to his knees.
The blood falls down his hands.
But he picks at a wound that makes her bow and all is right, once again, in their little world.
“I want you on that plane with me.”
She finds him on a bender a few days later. The case is solved but that doesn’t mean she feels any better about the way that they left things. A boy swept up in their carnage-- “the boy brought me this last one. Didn’t even ask him to.” She sits down one barstool away from him and wonders if he’s thinking about that too.
But he’s scratching. Not at his hands but at the tumbler he twirls lazily around, mesmerized by the amber liquid in it. He throws what little is left into his mouth and grimaces, not at the taste but at the scab he’s just pulled free. She watches the blood fall.
He gets good at stopping her attacks.
“There’s nothing we could have done,” he breathes, the hurt in his voice the only reason she doesn’t shoot him down with a scowl. For some reason, he takes the seat across from her and pushes a coffee to her. She looks at the mug and then at him. His head dipped, eyes on the sludge he’s calling a peace treaty.
She wraps her hands around the mug. The effect of the warmth is immediate. “I know,” she admits, sipping at the liquid. God, that pisses her off. He always makes the coffee perfect. She can’t even make her coffee the way she likes.
He hums, shaking his head. “I think…” he glances at her and looks out the window. “I think I’m still trying to convince myself that.” The soft admission is so… unlike him. Where is the gruff push? The fire in his eyes. She finds only hard truth. Standing rooted where he is, he frowns with something he can’t convince himself isn’t worry.
Where does she go? Tonight, he will go home and find it empty. Which is fine because he can’t be around Haley and Jack on a night like this. He is no husband. No father. He needs to remind himself of the emptiness that is Aaron Hotchner. The pain and the torture. He’s not meant to be a father and he pushes his father’s legacy a little harder each day he pretends his marriage is a happy one.
If she can not get lost in these faux realities… What does she do?
Him. She does him.
For a month he convinces himself that he can fix the little pieces of his marriage but finds his hands covered in the jagged wounds of the glass carnage. As it turns out, some things simply refuse to go back together. He bleeds and bleeds and Emily, of all people, comes to mend his aches. Moving him away from the fragments, forcing him to let go.
The sex is harsh. He’s rough and she lets him. Urging him on with the roll of her own hips, his hair gripped tightly in her hand. They’ve hurt one another gravely and to know his weaknesses makes her that much better at drowning out his pleasure. She’s surprised to find that his mouth isn’t just good for smart ass remarks.
It sparks something deep within them both.
“Garcia thought she heard…” JJ tightens her mouth, forcing her smile down. She glances over at Garcia, the two sharing smiles that can’t be hidden. For the first time in a while, Garcia came with them on a case. Meaning their usual splitting of the rooms didn’t work so Emily, instead of rooming with JJ, roomed with Hotch.
Garcia smirks at Emily, “I just heard someone up last night.”
Emily knows exactly what they heard. She feigns innocence none-the-less. “Late?” she asks. “I was in bed as soon as we got back.” Which is true because she had Hotch pinned to the wall with a hand down his trousers before the door could swing completely shut behind them. It didn’t take long for him to flip the script and have her on the bed. “I doubt it was anyone from the team, weren’t you all exhausted?”
Garcia accepts that as an answer. For now, that’s reasonable enough. It’s rather silly, is it not, to assume something is going on between Hotch and Emily, of all people. They really sell their pitch with the heated, just under their breath, argument that they have only an hour later. Though it isn’t to save face but because he’s an asshole sleep-deprived and she’s, truly, exhausted for the same reason. JJ and Garcia both feel rather stupid for having thought the commotion the night before could be them.
Six months later, it happens again.
“We were arguing,” Emily offers with hefty-sigh. She’s not just selling her role. Lately, they’ve had to repeatedly come to a heated, uncomfortable debate. Their relationship, what it is and what is really isn’t, is being questioned. Are they enough to power through the last year? Should they be something that makes it through the next?
She rubs at her eyes, careful to keep her hair brushed over her neck. While she’d checked and double checked this morning for any marks on her neck, Hotch has been rather nippy (in all sense of that word) and the last thing she needs is explaining some rogue hickey he’s placed. Unlike him, she doesn’t have a high collar to hide behind.
JJ raises an eyebrow but says nothing. The two of them are going through something, the whole team has noticed. Though, if they’re honest, they don’t suspect the rocks and tumbles of a relationship getting onto its feet. They’re waiting for one of them to snap. Whether it be Emily, who will likely pack up her belongings and leave. Regardless of her love for the team. Hotch… well, he’s losing his grip on his so solidly built and reinforced shields. His pain and discontent are slipping through his armor.
“Arguing?”
Emily sighs, nodding. “He’s an asshole,” she mumbles. “What do you want me to say?” Her tone, tense and defensive, raises a little more attention than she meant it to. Lowering her head, she digs her fingers into her temples. She’s not sure if it’s better or worse that Hotch notices immediately as he walks into the room. There’s a tense moment, the two of them just staring at each other, before he clears his throat and jumps right back into the problem at hand.
The case always comes first. Their relationship after every other conceivable thing.
It makes sense, for them, until it doesn’t.
“This isn’t what you signed up for.”
Up until that moment, he’d considered himself hiding fairly well behind his scowl. Aaron is safely nestled where Hotch can’t hurt him and, what scares him even more, is how protected he is from Prentiss. Because Emily might have tears streaming down her face right now but he knows he’s looking at Prentiss. From the steel in her dark eyes to the conviction that feels, and is, so misplaced.
He swallows around the stupidity that tries to come fumbling out of his mouth. Something sentimental, foolish. “I don’t understand,” he manages. It has taken him his entire adult life to admit to that. To find the courage to say when he doesn’t follow and all for what? To sit here, at her hospital bedside, and grit out the confession. He can’t fucking say I love you but he can consume the poison of letting go.
To succumb where he should fight.
“Please,” she whispers, softly. But she hadn’t been the other half watching. Unable to do a damn thing while her screams, the muffled sounds of her body hitting the walls, had filled his head. He’d listened as Cyrus beat her. In a way, no he didn't sign up for this. No one in a relationship wants every thought about their partner to be about the end. Will it come soon? Leaving one partner to grieve the other longer than they knew each other? To answer to that mourning call-- what is left when all you are is taken? What parts of him are really her?
“If it’s what you want.” he rasps.
She turns her head, barring to him the sight of the bruise that takes up the right side of her jaw. That’s answer enough.
Dave takes her home from the hospital that evening, wondering what exactly it is that’s happened. He noticed the two of them today. He’s not stupid. “How are you feeling?” he asks, looking over at her on his passenger seat. Getting hurt happens but this is the first time she’s ever had to call someone to pick her up. Dave knows, in that way a parent knows that the silence of their children spells encroaching doom, who was supposed to drive her home tonight. One might call it, also, parental intuition.
She doesn’t lift her head from the window. Doesn’t even look at him. “Fine.”
Dave knows Hotch will answer with the same answer Monday when they return from the office.
Calling the two of them tense is an understatement.
Emily returns to work and they steer clear of her. The whispers follow her weary body around like a cloak. That she can manage. That is nothing.
It’s his absence that she feels.
Her coffee tastes odd. She’s grown used to the way that he makes it. Too strong and with no creamer but no matter what she does it just doesn’t taste the same. He’s even ruined tea. His mouth always tasted of Earl Grey or the bitter remnants of his coffee. Now, even smelling Earl Grey twists a knife within her. One she buried herself.
He’s fucking everywhere.
It’s driving her mad.
The worst part is that he’s not there.
In her bed, she rolls over. Throwing a leg over where his hips would usually be. She finds nothing but soft, used cotton. Not even the pillow carries the lingering scent of him.
His sweater hangs over a chair in her room but it’s absent of his warmth. She’s worn it too often and now she can’t even bring it to her face to pretend he’s here.
Nightmares plague her sleep and she wonders if this is penance for breaking his heart or if he’d just kept them away.
She watches, one night, as her nightmares crawl out of her ears sneer right back at her.
“Where’s Hotch?” Emily falls into step with JJ.
The blonde shrugs, “I called him twice. He’ll just have to meet us here when he wakes up.”
Though she falters, body stiffening and pausing, she tries to carry on unbothered. Seemingly unbothered by this progression. Hotch never lets his phone go to voicemail.
She’s the one that finds him four hours later. Lying supine, unresponsive in a hospital bed. The doctor’s words roll right off her, she takes in only that he will, eventually, be okay. And she wonders what it would have been like to really lose him. Not to just yearn for him but to not even avoid his eye in the hall. To hover with her finger over his contact and for there to be no possibility that he’ll answer.
Dead.
He could have died.
Stupidly, foolishly, she takes his hand. His eyes crack open and she pretends she doesn’t see his immediate relief followed far too closely by the pain. Physically brought on by the wounds of both her hands and Foyet’s. “I almost lost you,” she says.
He closes his eyes when she kisses him but when they pull apart he grimaces. Consciousness is painful, miserable. Her hand clutched by his, he manages a few weak breaths. Each one builds the strength to speak. “You can’t lose what you never had,” he answers, a moment later. By the time the cruelness of his truth has hit her, he’s slipped back under the drugs. His hand limp and clammy.
He’s right, though.
They both knew where he was coming in. The ins and outs of his embrace. That he’d pull her in and push her away in the same breath. Afraid, too afraid, to try at this again and, yet, he’d tried. He might not have had the strength to manage love but he’d held her through the nights. He knew her favorite foods and was never shy about tearing her apartment apart for missing the heating pad if she needed.
And what had she done for him?
She’d tricked him. Lured him in with the lies that she could do this. But she’s still drawn tightly. A bow that lashes out. Hurting others before they have a chance to hurt her and, as a result, she’s killed him more than Foyet could have dreamed.
Mostly, what he means is that she never allowed herself to have him. She never had him and, yet, she misses him every step of the way.
They have one another one last time.
She settles her hips over his and looks everywhere but the agitated, raised scars across his chest. He’s not cleared for strenuous activity but if he can’t have her, can’t feel her lips moving up his jaw and her fingers snaking up his side he’s certain that will kill him far sooner than any strain to his body. He’d rather die by her hand anyhow.
After that, there is no more, but it lingers thickly in the air.
She’s still Emily when her name comes out of his mouth. She still watches his lips, wondering if she were to capture them with her own if they would still taste the same. He looks for her first when things get dangerous and it’s his name she wakes up crying.
Haley dies. Emily puts distance between them but he still looks for her first.
“Please,” she places her hands on his chest. Forcing his body away even though just the feeling of her palms pressed to his chest sends yearning straight down her spine. “Aaron,” his name comes choked. “Please, if you knew me, if you had any idea of the things that I have done you’d run. I need you to run, don’t you understand that?”
He looks down at her, mouth open. Can she not see him? That he is a man made up of scars and scabs. A wound that bleeds. He picks and pokes and he bleeds all over everything. “I don’t run,” he says. He hadn’t run from the carnage of his marriage. Can’t she remember picking him up after that whole affair. Digging the glass from his hands where he’d stabbed and ripped himself to shreds to catch the falling debris of a life he thought he still had.
She deflates, sinking into the realization that her love is the worst thing for him right now. It’s a drug to him and she’s given him far too much. “I know,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Because you never know what’s good for you.”
His fingers ghost over her cheek and holds her face in his hand. “You let me decide what’s good for me,” he whispers. “I can protect myself, Emily.”
Not against this, she thinks. Not against her. He’s never known when to pull away and when to fight harder. It’s going to get him killed.
But it’s her laying on the ground, impaled, gasping for breath.
Hotch sees her blood all over Morgan’s hands. The hitch in the younger man’s choked breath as he recounts what happened. Attempting and failing to keep the details straight as he tells Hotch, in great detail, what happened. The way she’d lost reality for glimpses. Asked for him. Called out for Aaron, not Hotch, but Aaron. And Hotch doesn’t know what to say when Morgan rises to his feet and challenges-- “What the fuck was that about? What did you two do?”
But it’s fine because JJ comes out and places Morgan right back into his chair, silencing him with seven words. All hitting a little harder, too solidly across his shoulders. “She never made it off the table.”
Emily Prentiss never let herself love Aaron Hotchner but that never stopped him. And, in the end, she’d been there. Through Foyet, she’d been there. Where was he when she needed him?
He sends her to London with JJ, his goodbye rushed, and guilt.
She’s in London. He goes to Afghanistan. Neither make it home entirely alive.
She should have known.
Admittedly, she is a little wine drunk. Tipsy, really. Inhibitions lowered in the warmth of Dave’s living room. She’s missed them all so terribly that the ache of their absence being lifted has left her exhausted. She’d been in a near daze when she’d taken her wine and moved to the couch. Leaning into Dave’s side when he’d taken the seat beside her. While Jack and Henry recount the events of every day she’s missed according to their greatest accuracy.
Their silly little stories are well worth the soft laughter it draws from the others.
“Where are you going?”
So now, as she stands and leaves Dave’s side cold-- she’s not sure what she was expecting to find in the depths of his eyes but the fear is startling. “Water,” she says, holding up her empty glass. “Water and to pee, I’ve had way too much wine.” She tips the glass and winks at Jack. Trying her best to lighten the mood she hadn’t realized she’d tank just by standing.
Garcia peels herself from the chair she’s sharing with Morgan, ignoring the way he seems to startle at the aspect of losing her pressed into his side. “I’ll join you on the bathroom run, pumpkin,” she says, collecting her glass and Morgan’s from the table at their side. “Another drink, my chunky hunky?”
Morgan smirks but shakes his head, “no thanks, Baby Girl. Someone has to be sober for the drive home.”
As good as that plan sounds, Hotch still grunts. The room’s attention shifting to their leader. He’s been startlingly silent, even for him, all afternoon. Seemingly tucked away from every encounter they’ve had amongst themselves. “You’ve all had too much to drink to drive home,” he says. “You should… calls cabs.” The strength of his interjection leaves his voice as Emily meets his eyes. He lowers his gaze and with it, the point of his statement.
Dave does not fail to notice this. Clearing his throat, he agrees. “I’ll go call your cabs.” He stands, rubbing a hand down his face. Fingers working into the creases of his lips. “Aaron,” he nods his old friend over. “Give me a hand?”
That sets about the motion of the room.
Emily’s making her way down the hall when Garcia catches her. “What is it,” Emily asks, playfully. She waits for Garcia to catch up to her, holding out her hand for what she’s expecting to be a trip full of the secrets of her and Derek’s relationship. Something good. A win.
“Can you make him stay?”
Emily desperately wants to pull from Garcia’s hold. Her grip is intense, desperate. She tries to pull away from Garcia’s hold. “What?” she asks softly, looking over her shoulder for some help. “Who? Who needs to stay?”
The desperation in Garcia’s eyes is unsettling. She lowers her voice even more pulling them closer. Her voice breaks as she says it. Tears swelling and running against the mascara over her eyelashes-- “Hotch.” She clenches her teeth, showing the most self-restraint Emily’s seen since they stepped foot in this hall. “He left us,” she breathes, sadly. “A month after you were gone. I went to his office--” her eyes dart as she speaks. “I started bringing him coffee every morning to cheer him up.”
Emily swallows thickly around the guilt that creeps up. Her death had broken them. She’d known that, of course. She just hadn’t considered Hotch. Brave and strong and it’s so hard to tell when he’s hurting. Then to bare her lie? Another cross on his back. More weight on his shoulders.
“I went in--” the tears fall as Garcia’s voice shakes. “He wasn’t there. He’d cleaned his office up and you know how he is.” That big oak desk is always littered with paperwork. One side to the other. He stacks it everywhere. Leaving pens from one end of the room to the other. You can’t even sit on that old couch of his without getting stabbed in the ass by a pen he’s lost. “Clean,” Garcia whispers. “He just left, in the middle of the night. By the time we came in, by the time we could find him he was already over there. Afghanistan.”
The word makes Emily’s chest tighten. What the hell could he be doing over there? That station is always looking for profilers but it’s a death trap. Hotch had said it himself, warning her when they’d sent her the special request. They’ve been operational for five years and gone through seven profilers. All of which have died. No one makes it out of that station alive.
And he’d gone.
“Why would--” she doesn’t even want to finish the question. Doesn't want to put the truth into action. Admit that she knows exactly why he did it.
At least over there he’d die a hero. Leave his son a flag and another parent to bury.
It’s faster than anything he could swallow over here.
Garcia squeezes Emily’s arm, bringing her back to the present moment. To the thing in question. “Can you bring him back,” she whispers frantically. “Can you make him stay?”
Emily doesn’t honestly know. Has she ever been able to make him do anything? “Garcia, I--” Her mouth snaps shut as the man in question steps into the hall. His eyes dart between them and Emily feels rather like a mouse caught in a trap.
He clears his throat and scratches uncertainly at the beard he’s let grow back in. “I was just…” he looks at Garcia and then back at Emily. Clearly caught off guard. “Dave-- I… You’re, ah, the hotel is close to me. I thought I’d save you the cab fare if you wanted to ride back--”
“Yes.” Emily nods, far too quickly. “Thanks,” she says, looking anywhere but at him. “I’d, ugh, I’d appreciate that.”
Hotch looks between Garcia and Emily, before nodding and ducking his head. He leaves the hall, with a slightly awkward nod and steps out. Hands going to his pocket. Hiding.
“Will you try,” Garcia whispers.
Emily watches him walk away. The apprehension in his hesitant movements. His hand scratching at the back of his head until he can hide behind the shield of Jack’s eager talking. Sinking down beside the boy on the couch and hiding himself there. “I don’t know,” she admits, honestly.
The only person that can pull him from the ledge is Hotch and she’s seen him toe it once before.
Packing things up is simple enough.
Hotch stands towards the edge of the hall, Jack slowly falling asleep in his arms.
“Sleepy,” Emily asks Jack, running her fingers through his soft brown hair. Jack shakes his head but doesn’t raise it from Hotch’s shoulder. Hotch has wrapped him in his jacket rather than choosing to fight the boy into it. It’s more a blanket. She pulls it up around him a little better. “You’re not tired,” she asks. “I am. I can’t wait to get to bed.”
Jack smiles but doesn’t admit to the exhaustion weighing his little bones down. “Are you gonna sleep with us?” he asks. He looks down at her with the soft of his father’s. Same impossible depth is hidden behind light brown iris’. It breaks her heart to see the turmoil within him.
Emily frowns but she’s not forced to tell the little boy no. Instead, Hotch’s hand comes to the back of his head. Cupping his neck as Hotch turns to face her. “You don’t have to do anything,” he clarifies with an all too familiar look in his eyes. Mischief. A plan. “We do have the guest room. With clean sheets. You could come home with us.”
Home.
To a real bed.
“I…” she can’t force out the polite no her mother has solidified in her mind the answer to be. No because that’s not fair or right or-- she really wants to sleep in a normal bed.
He bumps her shoulder, “just say yes.”
She looks at him and then at Jack. It’s not a hard thing to want to go home with the two of them. After Foyet, she’d spent many nights camped out on their couch. Waiting for father or son to wake in a panic. He’d done the same in the hospital after Doyle, sleeping on an uncomfortable little cot just so the first thing she saw each time she woke up was someone she knew.
Now it’s different. The dynamic has changed. While he might not know the course of the night has changed, she does.
She just doesn’t know it’s a futile battle.
There is no use fighting over stupid things like sleeping. He tucks Jack into his bed and meets her in his room. She’s already pulled on his shirts over her head. Refraining, forcing herself from burying her face in the material.
It doesn’t stop her from curling into bed beside him. Pressing her face into his shoulder and focusing solely on his hand slipping under her shirt. “You tired…” he asks. She shakes her head. He hums as he thinks. Dragging his thumb over her hip bone, stroking the soft skin. “First crush,” he whispers, ghosting his lips over her neck.
She laughs at that, twisting in his grip to tilt her hips across his. Settling closer to his chest. Drawing her hand up she draws against his skin. “This girl named…” she taps at his chest as she fails to remember the girl’s name. “I can’t remember her name,” she admits, faintly. Blushing. “Does that surprise you?”
Hotch’s eyes have slipped shut, his face turned into her hair. He hums, scrunching his eyebrows. “Surprised about what,” he asks softly. “That you can’t remember her name or that it’s a she?” He pulls her closer, wrapping an arm around her hips.
Emily just… looks at him. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. He’s not even going to comment? She bites her lip and lowers her head back down. “What about you?”
“None. It’s… I’ve only ever--” he blushes, averting his eyes. “Only Haley and you.” He clears his throat… “That’s why I always tried,” he whispers. “Why I tried so hard…”
“It’s not like I didn’t try,” she defends, pulling away from his embrace. “I was trying to protect you from this whole mess. You’re the one who didn’t know when to stop.”
“I don’t know where you get off blaming me,” he says, pulling himself away. He sits up in the bed, turning himself so she can sit and stare at the wall of his back. Little scars marking up his back as he places his arms on his knees. “You ran, Emily. Every single time, you run. Not me.”
Neither look at the other.
“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he announces. “Stay. Don’t make me explain to Jack why you’re not here in the morning.”
She stays where she is. She turns this over in her mind. His words are an open palm slap to the face. She sleeps in his bed, holding onto his pillow and burying her face into the scent. She doesn’t leave but only because she doesn’t want to have to walk past him. This feels like winning so she stays. She eats breakfast with them in the morning, playing and laughing with Jack like she always has.
Like she always does.
“I leave Thursday, if you care.”
She says nothing which is perfect because he’s not sure he can handle anything she might think of.
She knows, without having to be told, that they blame her for not being to keep him here. And, maybe it’s her fault, because she didn’t really try, did she? She did what also does, she hurt him. Now she’s sitting here all alone, wondering what she could have done differently.
Everything.
“We’ll see you when you get home.”
She stands at the back of the group, watching the other’s pull him into hugs. Dave holds Hotch for a long moment, speaking softly so only the two of them can hear what’s being exchanged. Hotch pulls away from that hug with tears falling down his cheeks. “Don’t make me bury another son, Aaron. Please be careful.” And that’s when he sees her.
Derek pushes her forward and she feels all of them watching as she makes her way to him.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he confesses. He doesn’t care that the others are watching. They know enough. They’ve always known.
She feels guilty and she should. “You told me goodbye,” she reminds him. He’d kissed her right before they sent her to London with a packet of new names and passports. To be someone other than Emily. For a second chance. “It--” she looks away. She’s running, again, she knows. And she has to stop running. “It was the only thing that kept me alive, Aaron. I couldn’t let you leave without having told you the truth--”’
He glances up and back to her. Just for a moment, he wonders if the others should be hearing all this but--maybe they’re past all that. Pretending is how people get killed, they learned that with Emily, and he really doesn’t feel like being their repeat.
“I love you,” she confesses. “I know you love me, you always have. I’m sorry that I keep--” fucking it up. “I love you and I need you to come home, okay? So I can stop running.”
He doesn’t believe her. He wants to believe her but everything about Emily Prentiss always hurts and he knows it’s stupid to trust her. “Okay,” he says, afraid anything more will send her for the hills before he can even leave the country. And like an idiot, he bends his neck into her touch. Letting her rise up on her toes to kiss him. “I promise,” he whispers.
Jessica gets the call at midnight. The Bachelor finale had ended hours ago but she’d been sucked into some History channel rerun about ancient Mesopotamia. It’s the haze of the light hour, the warmth of the undertones of sand, the steady deep voice narrating, and the blanket curled around her shoulders that puts her to sleep. She doesn’t stand a chance after the day she’s had.
The call comes at 12:34 and the urgent ringing of her cell-phone makes her heart kick painfully at her chest. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand, she accepts the call without looking to see who it is. Not that her tired eyes would have recognized the caller anyway.
Not serving as a soldier, the process for notifying the family of any health changes requires a different take. For Aaron Hotchner, it’s put into the FBI’s hand. He’s their tool after all, not the US Army’s.
“I’m sorry to wake you, ma’am,” the voice offers.
Jessica scowls at the formality, sitting up on the couch and desperately searching for the remote. She kills the screen and the room is bathed in silence, aiding her ability to understand and think about what’s going on. “Ugh, can I help you?” She pushes her hair up out of her face, searching the ground and coffee table for a spare hair tie.
“I’m calling in regards to Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I understand this number is supposed to be the personal line of Jessica Brookes? You’re his emergency contact--”
He deployed in October. Giving her only a week’s heads-up. He’d had the decency to look ashamed of himself, of the state of being he’s caused for them all. She’d understood his situation. Losing his friend had broken him irreparably and he’d wanted to talk about that even less than he had Haley. At least he’d warned her, she knows he hadn’t extended his team the same courtesy.
The man on the line goes on. Something about moving bases and a promise to get back to her as soon as possible.
“Thank you for your service,” the man concludes.
Jessica blinks, frowning at the phrasing. Aaron wasn’t serving. He was punishing himself. This was penance.
“Goodnight.”
She sits back on the couch, eyes vacantly taking in the wall in front of her. He’s on his way home. That’s good but she can’t help but… he’s hurt. Hurt enough for them to discard him back here. How bad is it?
Emily can’t deny her horror.
His eyes move to the blanket. To the empty space of where his limb once was. “It’s… It’s just a leg,” he whispers. He blinks heavily once, twice, and sighs softly as he fails to keep his eyes open. Humming, he parts his chapped lips but can’t find any more words. He’s too tired. “Could be…” his voice slurs and he exhales a heavy breath. “...worse.”
Emily wants to hit him but she’s done being defensive. She’s tired of being the first one to pull away. For once, she just needs to be the one that holds onto a hug a little longer. That lingers. “You could have died,” she whispers thickly. Gently, hesitantly she touches his hand. To her surprise he is the one to move, intertwining their fingers. She sits by his side, eyes glued the empty part of the bed. The nothing of where his leg is supposed to be. Does it really matter that much, though? A single leg?
Not to her. She’s had months to pretend. Every night she has escaped to a new reality with him. Come up with every variety of reality that might occur. What she’d do if he’d come perfectly fine and how they’d have kids and he’d never wake in the middle of the night with nightmares because she’d kill his monsters. How she would cope if he came home horribly disfigured or entirely different. Would it matter? They’d still be Aaron and Emily.
“I’ll never walk again,” he informs her. His head is tilted into the pillows, casually watching his news wash over her. He wants to know if she’ll stay if he can’t go. If all these years were about the chase, would she stay if he can no longer follow?
She sits down in the chair pulled up to the side of the bed. People have been in and out all afternoon but she’s the first one to receive this news. The other’s don’t really matter because he knows the script, can imagine how each of them react. Garcia will cry. JJ will too but not until she’s leaving. Dave will take it well but he’ll utter something strangely sentimental and sober with the realization that walking was never the priority of Hotch coming home. Morgan and Reid are his wild cards and he doesn’t want to tell them at all. But that’s just not how this works.
“At least you won’t go running off on me.”
He knows what she means, the implication and the diversion. With a huff he raises an eyebrow, “I’ve never been a runner, Emily.”
Emily.
No, she supposes, he never has. “If you can’t run,” she says, heart skipping around in her chest. She feels it pulsing in her throat, tossing itself around in her stomach. “If you can’t run then I won’t run.” She stands, swallowing thickly around the swell of fear in her throat. He watches her, looking up at her as she hovers for just a moment. When she kisses him there are no sparks. Something cold, icy runs it’s fingers into the grooves of her spine but she’s not gripped by any startling realizations.
It’s too late for that.
But he tastes like Aaron and to a girl who’s never had a home in one place, she’s only ever running. Here, against him, she knows what people mean they say a person can be a home. Because she wants to curl into him and forget the edges of Emily. Aaron. It’s always been Aaron.
It surprises him that she stays. She waited until things got hard.
“I’m going to have to go to physical therapy every week.”
She shrugs, “I’ve got a library of books waiting for me to read them. I’ll tackle my reading list.”
“I can’t walk,” he reminds her.
She raises an eyebrow, “so? I didn’t love you before because of your ability to walk.”
“Emily--” he needs her to understand this isn’t as easy as she’s making it. Using the bathroom, showering, sex isn’t even going to be easy. She can’t just brush it off like it’s not going to bother her. It’s bothering him! “Emily, I can’t hold your hand when we go downtown. I’m going to need your help taking a shower and getting to the bathroom. I’m going to have to look for a new apartment because the one I have, there’s no way I can work a wheelchair around in it. It’s-- I’m not the same! We’re not the same!”
She knows. Yesterday she asked Morgan to rig up something in the bathroom. She spent hours with Morgan trying to put a handle or a rail in beside the toilet without ruining the wall. Ordered a shower chair last week that Morgan is probably putting together right now. Garcia and JJ are looking for apartments with larger floor plans because she doesn’t want to be presumptuous and assume he’d want to move into a house with her. But she’s waiting for the right time to bring it up.
“Maybe that’s for the best,” she says. “That we’re not the same. I’m different too.” Does she need to create her own list? Dedicating it all to words for him to comb over. She can’t sleep through the night. Even though it had been a wooden stake that had “killed” she can’t hold a knife. Her hands tremble, this weakness she can’t explain. Her abdomen is just scars, riddled with ugly skin hardened by trauma. Is he prepared to see that?
“Look at me,” she says, squeezing his hand. “It’s been me and you for years. You’re the only thing I really know. So, I’ll take you as you come. However you come. You loved me when I ran, I can love you with a little baggage.”
He frowns, trying to find an out. Not or himself but for her. But she’s unwavering. “Baggage,” he finally caves. He smirks, shaking his head. “Of all the words in the language you know and you pick baggage?”
She cringes, shrugging, “I didn’t really think about it. It just came out.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
She smiles, “you love it.”
He hesitates for a moment but nods, “I do.”
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Texts I sent a friend the first time I watched The Boys, Season 2:
- Gird your loins
- I’m dying to know more about Black Noir
- Ugh ffs Homelander smarming about on stage at Translucents funeral
- It’s an empty box but I suppose how would people know cause invisible corpse
- WHY IS ANNIE SINGING AT THE INVISIBLE PERVS FUNERAL
- Aw no straight in with Sad Kevin
- Oh ok angry drunk Kevin
- Ugh not these Samaritans Embrace fuckers again
- Oh Annie. Parroting the company line. I hope she’s gonna fuck them all over
- SAD HUGHIE OH NO
- BILLY JOOOOOELLLL
- Aw Kimiko is learning
- Her lil smile
- Oooh Hughie is a liiiiiar
- Meeting on the subway like a couple shifty teenagers
- Oh I forgot they microchipped the supes like dogs
- Oh nooooo young love angst
- Oh no a Sad Kevin incident
- Aaaaand he’s been arrested
- A nice archer bailed him out
- Omfg the fake Butcher re-enactment
- Oh do NOT tell me this crazy bastard is gonna drink the frozen breast milk
- Oh fuck he is
- What the FUCK, HOMELANDER
- This visually impaired ninja seems nice
- That probably means he’s gonna turn out to be a dick
- OH FUCK
- Homelander what the fuuuuuck
- Ok what the shit is happening here in the motel
- WHAT
- What the fuuuuuck
- I – MM is making a dolls house? That’s so cute
- Oh shit smuggled people
- Homelander is nuts with power
- Uhhhh who is Carol and why is she staring at Kevin while he sleeps
- Finally an archer who is honest about how useless they can be once they run out of arrows
- Oh noooo are they gonna try brainwash Kevin with homeopathic stuff? And why do they keep offering him Fresca
- OH FUCK ME NOT ANOTHER RELIGION THING
- Oh Hughie has grown a pair since last season. Good for him
- Where’s Butcherrrrrrrr
- Body gore porn dude is called Gecko that’s too cute a name for him
- Stormfront seems like fun
- She’s gonna be pissing off Homelander so much I like her already
- OH WHAT THE FUCK THE CIA LADYS HEAD EXPLODED
- I like Stan
- Giving Homelander the dressing down he needs
- I know it’s convenient for Toni to wear the padded suit all the time but does Homelander ever wear anything else
- Oh hiiii Becca I still think you’re a bitch and Butcher deserved better
- BUTCHERRRRR YASSSSS
- “Daddy’s home”
- I’m dead. It’s official.
- The fuckin smirk and the voice I’m fuckin dead
- OH NO KEVIN IS TRYING THE CHURCH THING
- Is he making shroom tea
- Why is Patton Oswalt voicing Kevin’s gills this is delightful
- Atrain is awake again that’s not good
- I’m cracking up at Sad Kevin and his singing gills
- Homelander is gone way off the deep end oh boy
- Awwww soft Maeve in the hospital with her girlfriend
- I want to like Becca but I can’t shake the bad feeling
- Homelander is a terrible father
- I mean I know he has no role models to base his parenting on, but yikes
- It’s like if Scar was raising Simba instead of Mufasa
- ….are the gang raiding a party city store
- I love how Frenchie always looks a mix of horrified and amazed whenever Kimiko kills someone
- AWWW IT’S HER BROTHER YAY
- Oh shiiiiiiiit
- Butcher STOP JUST SHOOTING PEOPLE
- You were right this season is weird
- I like Kimiko’s brothers bedazzled denim jacket
- Butcher don’t punch Hughie wtf
- Starting with Hughie listening to the same song again, nice
- Butcher is terrible at apologising it’s so cute
- I’m sorry did Hughie just fall over trying to throw a punch
- The kid’s a dandelion omg
- Why are they on a boat? Did Karl just decide “I like being on boats lemme go on a boat”?
- I see what you mean about Homelander being scary
- He’s completely insane
- Why does this storyboard guys shirt say assbinder
- Chace Crawford is an excessively veiny man
- BLACK NOIR IS CRYING
- Or possibly laughing
- Hard to tell when they have no face
- Annie actually leaked all the compound V stuff good for her
- FRENCHIE KISSED HUGHIE
- Homelander is gonna get this kid killed tryna make him fly
- Honestly the kid looks more like Hughie
- OH MY GOD HE PUSHED HIM OFF THE ROOF
- OH MY SWEET FUCKING JESUS HOMELANDER YOU CAN’T DO THAT
- Oop there’s the laser eyes
- Oh Homelander is back at the Tower and freaking Maeve out
- OH FUCK THE BROTHER IS LOOSE
- Hughie don’t do it
- Oh ok I thought he was gonna jump off the boat
- Kevin and the cult weirdos are up to something
- Hughie no you don’t call the girl you like crying over Billy Joel lyrics
- Oh god boyo you don’t then drop the L word in the same voice message!
- He’s hopeless
- Oh nooooo Kevin is attacking the boat goddammit Kevin
- OH FUCK A WHALE
- For fuck sake Kevin
- Ewwwww
- Butcher what the fuck
- Hughie having a nervous breakdown inside of a whale
- No but why is Karl so hot covered in blood
- Actually I didn’t even need to include the blood part of that question
- Oh boy here we go, the 7 show up to find Sad Kevin crying over spilt whale
- ….why is Stormfront tryna get all up in Homelander’s ass?? I thought she was cool but now she’s all lemme suck that radioactive dick
- OH NO
- Poor Kevin he’s worked so hard to accept his gills and now Homelander has knocked him back down
- Oooo dear Atrain is having a heart attack again this isn’t good
- Oh fuck is Hughie gon get caught
- Oh no it’s Annie it’s ok
- OH FUCK
- ANNIE WHY
- THAT’S YOUR HUGHIE
- OH MAN KIMIKO’S BROTHER IS BADASS YES SQUASH THE SMUG PRICK
- Oh I do NOT like Stormfront holy fuckin shit what’s wrong with this woman
- Poor Kimiko
- What’s with the random woman talking about calling off her wedding?
- Why is Frenchie taking drugs
- FUCK SAKE FRENCHIE DON’T TRY KISS A GIRL WHEN SHE’S GRIEVING
- What the FUCK is thiiiiis
- Is he dreaming or is this the shapeshifter tryna stay alive by granting Homelander some sick wish
- Yikes I feel bad for Doppelganger
- I am fascinated by whoever and whatever the fuck Black Noir is
- MM sees right through everyone’s bullshit
- I feel so bad for Annie
- Ooooo Atrain getting fired
- MM having to put up with Hughie and Annie having a we didn’t start the fire singalong 😂
- Ok who’s in the weird group therapy sesh with these women with strange views on love
- Vending machine date so cute
- Omfg ahahahaha the girl with the Ed Sheeran tattoo
- I really want to like Becca cause she stands up to Homelander but I can’t shake the suspicions about her
- I feel bad for Butcher
- Homelander is a scary good liar
- Oh shit interviewer lady is pulling out the diversity questions
- OH FUCK
- HE’S OUTED MAEVE
- Poor Maeve what the fuck
- Ugh Stormfront
- Shut your racist hole bitch
- Oh shit Kimiko on the warpath
- Frenchie! Kimiko listen to him he’s tryna help
- MM is doing a lotta sharing this episode
- Ohhhh something bad is gonna come out about this Liberty lady they’re looking for oh fuck
- Wait WHAT. STORMFRONT IS LIBERTY
- Stormfront is like 70????
- She’s really good with social media for an old bird
- Ohhh fuck Homelander is pisssssssssed
- Christ you’d know Homelander was an only child
- Bitch you better not be fucking Butcher over
- I FUCKIN KNEW IT
- BECCA YOU RAGING BITCH
- Got her goodbye fuck then called the supercops on him cause he’s a little broken? FUCK BECCA
- Oh no Annie don’t give Hughie the “we can’t do this” talk
- Pick your emo ass up and stop being melodramatic
- All these women are chatting to Kevin?? Why??
- Also this most recent one is super weird
- THEY WERE INTERVIEWING TO BE KEVINS WIFE
-�� This cult thing is so fuckin weird omfg
- KEVIN GET YOUR SAD BUTT OUT OF THE CULT
- Oh gross not the Doppelganger shit again
- Doppelganger is really bad at flirting
- ….
- WHAT THE SHIT
- Nonononono don’t do the selfcest
- Not even Homelander is that fucked up
- This is super weird
- Why is Homelander crying
- OH SHIT HE KILLED HIM
- Uhhhh are they doing a lesbian scene in a vcu movie
- Christ that was terrible and way too on the nose
- “Strong female lesbians”
- Homelander you himbo fuck what other kind of lesbian do you get
- I feel bad for Ashley
- She just wants to do her job well
- Poor Butcher. His lil heart is broken
- Oh no baby you’re hurt and upset? That’s so sad let me suck your dick about it
- Oh no what’s he gonna do
- BUTCHER WHAT THE SHIT
- I mean it’s really fuckin hot but still
- There’s always a cut on the cheekbone
- “They’ve been moving her around like a Catholic priest” omg HUGHIE
- Aww he called Hughie his canary
- Oh shit are Frenchie and Kimiko missing?
- KEVIN GOT MARRIED
- BILLY HAS AN AUNTIE
- Doggiiiiie
- Awwwww soft Butcher with his dog
- Aaaand now I feel bad for Atrain cause he’s being kicked to the curb
- Oh gross this interview with Kevin and his cult wife
- This is so cringe holy fuck
- Bring back the Patton Oswalt gills
- Why are the gangsters discussing musicals specifically Hamilton
- FUCKING HELL KIMIKO PEELED OFF THAT GUYS FACE
- Ahahaha the boys showed up at Butchers aunties house
- The dog’s name is Terror that’s so cute
- Hahahaha Hughie was holding the fuck pig
- Why is there a sniper on the roof
- Oh shit it’s Black Noir
- Ugh what does Annie’s mom want and why is Stormfront being her friend
- Oh hey it’s dickless
- These two writer dudes are hella irritating
- Poor Elena getting dragged into this shit
- Yes Maeve scheme against his ass
- Heartbroken Butcher is so tired
- He needs a hug
- Hughie give Butcher a hug please
- Why is Kimiko in a church
- Oh hey its Frenchie’s other girlfriend
- Oh ok Kimiko is doing hits that’s fair
- The old man just looking away like “I do not see it”
- Aw no Frenchie don’t break up with Kimiko
- Oh fuck off Cult Kevin
- Stormfront again?????
- Does this bitch ever fuck off
- DID SHE JUST CALL ATRAIN GARBAGE
- Wait why is Homelander giving an unapproved speech
- This is gonna end in someone getting murdered isn’t it
- OH FUCK
- That’s a lot more murder than I expected
- Ohhhh phew ok he was just daydreaming
- Ashley is gonna go bald from stress
- I adore grumpy Butcher
- Omg auntie Judy is a drug dealer I love her
- Ohhhh shit Homelander is having a nervous breakdown
- BOBBY FROM X-MEN????
- Uhhhh why is Homelander talking to Stormfront this can’t be good
- Ooh MM set a trap this gon be good
- BUTCHER HAS A BROTHER???? THAT HUGHIE IS LIKE
- Oop Lenny is dead
- The random explosions as Black Noir trips the traps
- Oh shit Butcher locked the others out to face Black Noir alone
- YES MM
- OH NO MM
- YES HUGHIE
- Oh fuck did he KO Butcher
- Shiiiit shit shit shit
- Yes Butcher save your Hughie
- Oh good they all survived
- For fuck sake Kevin stop with the cult shit
- Maeve please save Kevin from the cult
- Annie why are you sneaking around don’t do it
- There’s a lot of shots of Annie’s bum
- What the fuck is Sage Grove
- Stormfront needs to go choke on a bag of dicks
- Oh fuck no not Homelander again
- Uhhhhhhh
- Stormfront x Homelander was not what I was expecting
- These two have the WEIRDEST relationship
- They’re gonna do some really fucked up supe bdsm shit aren’t they
- Frenchie is Betty White. Fair enough
- Wait what is happening. Why is Annie letting Frenchie at her with a lil saw
- Ohhh the chip
- “This might sting a little” FRENCHIE IT’S A FUCKIN SAW
- Oh fuck that’s a big chip
- Oh look it’s loves psychotic dream
- Well that’s suitably gross
- Aww Kimiko hugging Annie
- Butcher is so menacing I love him
- Kevin tryna be helpful to his buddies he’s so cute
- NO! NO BAD KEVIN! STOP TRYING TO MAKE PEOPLE JOIN YOUR CULT
- Kimiko with her brass knuckle
- Oh man, flowers??? Homelander has it BAD
- Annie back the fuck off and leave Butcher alone
- OH SHIT IT’S STORMFRONT AT THE HOSPITAL NOOOO
- What the fuck is going on at this hospital
- OH FUCK BOBBY FROM X-MEN IS LAMPLIGHTER
- Oh shit who got let out
- What does Cindy do
- OH SHIT SHE’S THE HEAD BURSTER
- Aaaaaaand now they’re all out
- Good job, guys
- Ewwwwww acid vomit
- OH NO HUGHIE
- Are you kidding me?? Annie can’t go all Starlight unless there’s a power source in the immediate vicinity??
- What kinda fuckin shite superpower is that
- Aha Butcher agrees with me
- Ok so I’m guessing Homelander went berserk on set
- Uhhhh apparently Cult Lunch is a therapy sesh?
- Atrain get outta there
- This cult leader guy is an arsehole
- Hospital escape lookin like a horror survival game
- Awwww flashbacks to happy times
- Omfg Butcher with the slicked back hair
- Welp, Annie just killed a guy
- Oh shit a baby seat
- Annie is gonna have a bad case of the guilts now
- Oh fuck ok Lamplighter killed the kids by accident
- So Frenchie went to save his friend instead of tailing
- Oh god that’s the penis isn’t it
- Stormfront to the…rescue? Maybe? She’s gonna kill Lamplighter isn’t she
- Oh, no ok she didn’t kill him
- Aw no sad Butcher cause Hughie’s hurt
- Oh nooooo Elena found a video from the plane
- Mallory gon kill sad Lamplighter?
- Stormfront is coming clean to Homelander? Whaaaa
- She was buddies with the Nazis??? SHE WAS MARRIED TO THE VOUGHT FOUNDER GUY
- Oh fuck the head burster is still alive
- A montage of how Stormfront is brainwashing people into racist attacks, nice
- I hate Annie’s mom so much
- Black Noir has just fuckin LAMPED Annie
- Butchers mum called him 😂😂
- Oh shit his dad died
- Why are Hughie and Lamplighter watching knock off supe porn
- Oh boy a racist rally
- Homelander just threw Annie under the bus
- Hughie that’s a really weird pep talk
- And he’s gonna get Lamplighter killed
- BUTCHERS MUM IS ADORABLE
- Oh shit it’s Denethor
- And he’s not dead
- Oh fuck he’s why Lenny died?
- Shit Lenny shot himself
- Butcher was SAS???
- WHERE ARE MY PICS OF BUTCHER IN HIS ARMY UNIFORM
- Ah fuck he’s bringing stepmommy Stormfront to meet the kid
- I have an urge to run my fingers through Butchers beard
- Frenchie and Kimiko are too cute she’s teaching him her sign language
- Is this a cult birthday party?
- Poor Eagle the Archer. He pissed off the cult so he’s gon be excommunicated
- Uhhhh kiddo made a Lego film?
- Good for him
- I know it shouldn’t be sexy when Butcher starts threatening to brutally murder people in his growly voice, I know, but hear me out: sexy growly voice
- 11/10 would let Karl Urban murder me
- Oh FUCK Lamplighter killed himself
- Poor Hughie
- Why do all the bad things happen to him, like having to saw off a dead guy’s hand with a broken whiskey decanter
- Annie versus Black Noir, beat his/her ass girl!
- HUGHIE COME SAVE YOUR ANNIE
- YAY MAEVE
- Black Noir has an almond allergy that’s such an off the wall weakness
- Annie’s favourite chocolate bar saved her life
- Well Maeve did, technically. But still
- Omg Hughie accidentally saving Annie’s mom
- Hughie and Annie are too cute
- Oh shiiiiit Homelander screwed the pooch and showed the kid everything
- HAHA SUCK IT BECCA
- OH SHIT HEADS ARE BURSTING ALL OVER THE PLACE
- Butcher in his lil jumper
- For a non-American, this school safety psa video is supremely weird
- BOBBY FROM SUPERNATURALS CHARACTER IS CALLED BOB
- BOBBY FROM SUPERNATURALS CHARACTER IS JUST BOBBY FROM SUPERNATURAL BUT FANCY
- Annie’s mom critiquing her choice in boyfriends while in mortal danger is gas
- And typical
- The lads going nuts with weapons they’re so happy look at them
- And Butcher in his lil jumper again he looks so comfy
- I would very much like to cuddle him in the soft jumper and give him beard scritches
- Annie ffs let Hughie enjoy his Billy Joel, that’s a good choice
- Ahahaha Maeve just called Hughie a twink
- She’s not wrong
- Oh fuck off Becca
- Uuuuugh OF COURSE Mr Edgar is in with the cult
- Oop Atrain overheard all of that
- Poor Ashley she’s going bald from stress
- The kid is gonna have a meltdown
- Poor Hughie with his mom leaving
- I wonder if she’ll pop up at some point and turn out to be a supe that would be fun
- ATRAIN YOU CAN’T JUST APPEAR IN A CAR LIKE THAT YOU COULDA KILLED SOMEONE
- Hold the phone is Homelander actually being a good dad for a minute
- What the actual fuck is Stormfront on with this white genocide shit
- Ahahaha the news broke
- Uh oh the Vought soldiers got caught by Homelander
- OH SHIT
- MM BETTER BE OK
- Becca fuckin constantly squawking about Ryan is so annoying
- WHY IS KIMIKO LAUGHING
- It’s adorable but still
- Oh FUCK she snapped her neck
- She’ll be fine
- She’s like a wolverine, snapped neck won’t keep her down
- AYYYYY MAEVE
- The lads just watching them kicking the shit out of her like uhhh
- Oh hey Becca did something useful and stabbed the Nazi in the eye
- Huh. The kid melted Stormfront
- Good for him
- AHAHAHA YES HE GOT BECCA TOO
- BYEEEEE FELICIAAAAA
- I mean yeah, heartbroken sad Butcher isn’t nice to see, but Becca sucked
- Aaaand now Homelander covered in blood has arrived to listen to Stormfront babble in German
- This is like in those scenes where it’s like oh who will the dog go to
- Ayyy Atrain got back into the 7
- Aww poor Kevin getting rejected again
- See Kevin this is why we don’t join cults
- Annie thought he was breaking up with her, girl don’t be daft
- Butcher and the kid, not awkward at all
- The one lesson Butcher can teach a kid – “don’t be a cunt”
- Aww happy endings for all the boys
- Aaaaand a “happy ending” for Homelander too by the looks of it
- Oh ffs a corrupt politician in with the cult, what a surprise
- HIS HEAD BURST
- Wait the politician lady is the head burster? I’m so confused
- Confusion may have been aided by it being almost 3am
- Hughie getting a real job, bless him
- Too bad it’s with the head burster
- Oh this is such a good song to end the season with
- Welp, now begins the long wait for season 3, I guess
- Should I sleep or find fic to read
- Body says sleep, heart says fic
- That’s a lie, heart says Butcher
- ….Butcher fics it is
#theboys#theboystv#theboysmemes#theboystextposts#I'm back with more insanity#middle of the night is probably not a good time to be texting but hey ho#I'm still a shameless ho for Billy Butcher#that's so sad let me suck your dick about it#I mean like damn#Karl Urban doesn't mess around when it comes to thirst trapping#I need season 3 like yesterday#amazon please#the boys#season 3#I need it
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24 actually
then I realized something, twenty-something girls are just fabulous, until you see one with the man who broke your heart.
I swear one moment I was jamming to Drake’s ‘Thank Me Later’ the next I’m a full fledged adult with recurring back pain. I turn 24 in 3 days so I thought what better way to enter in then to tell you, Mid-twenties are weird. I usually read a ton of blogs when I’m not writing on my own and I thought, “wow I don’t relate to any of you.” You are talking about your fitness life, your $10000 trip to Greece with no job, your rising tiktok career.. When I was 15, I imagined I would be living in New York. I would be a successful writer and sit in the front row of fashion week. Instead, I am writing this at my desk, at a urologist office talking about kidney stones, and praying i make it home before 6 so i can lay in bed and watch a few episodes of sex and the city before i fall asleep at 8pm. All while wondering what in the h*** am I doing?
My friends are mostly stuck in a mundane 9–5, a few are in the forces, one has a kid, one is in prison, and some still must be home in time for dinner.Your friends are getting married and/or having babies and you are the one without a date, attending all the showers and rehearsal dinners. As much as i don’t talk about it, i still feel it and it’s real life. I couldn’t help but wonder, are your twenties supposed to be about falling in love with someone else or falling in love with yourself? Some people are traveling the entire country and you wonder, how can you actually afford that when I can barely afford my rent while working 50+ hours a week? Some are graduating college when you’ve already dropped out.. Twice. There’s no rule book stating the deadlines of life but when you look around, society has set its own standards.
As the iconic Samantha Jones said, I love you but I love me more.. I’ve been in a relationship with myself for 24 years and that’s the one I need to work on. I used to hate the quote that said, ``Love yourself girl or nobody will.” Someone can most certainly love you if you don’t love yourself but will you actually accept that love or will your mind live in constant wonder? Your teenage years are spent being insecure and awkward. At least, that's how it was when i was in high school, now girls look nothing like we do. Which is extremely unfair. So as you’re walking out of that stage of life, you begin to find out that you can’t afford insecurity in your twenties. It’s too fast paced. You can spend your entire 10 years comparing yourself to others or you can celebrate them and thrive in your thirties. My best friend has always been in a relationship since I met her freshman year. We became friends BECAUSE she was crying over a boy in algebra. Throughout our 10 years of friendship, I have been the third wheel. As much as I love it for her, it’ll never not be weird. Being a third wheel and 24 is weird. I have always been the outcast of my friends. I never wanted a boyfriend. I didn’t enjoy sex. The thought of men actually disgusted me. My family was sure that I would end up with a girl but that wasn’t it either. Not to get deep, but I have seen failed relationships my entire life and honestly, I have no interest in a heartbreak. I’m not into sex on the first date and honestly, that’s a deal breaker 90% of the time. It’s not just cliche to say that all men want the same thing but truly- most of them want the same thing.
When I was in high school, I thought about how weird it would be to go to my 10-year reunion. As a 17-year-old, I assumed that everyone would be so grown-up and different 10 years later. My 10-year reunion is now a few years away, and I’m fairly sure 85% of the people I went to high school with haven’t changed or evolved in the way I was so sure we all would. If I could step out of my life and see it for everything that it has been and will be, would I like it? If I examined this sliver that’s already happened and compared it to everything I’ve always wanted it to be, would I still be happy? How many more 25-year increments will I have to live before it finally feels like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be? There are hundreds of lists online about what you should have accomplished by 25, or what you should have stopped doing by 25, or what your life needs to look like by 25. I call bs on most of it. I think we have an annoying habit of setting subjective timelines and trying to force them on people, then looking down on anyone who can’t make them fit. At the end of the day, why do we care so much if someone has traveled internationally or if they know how to properly roast a chicken or if they save a certain percentage of their paycheck per year? Why are we so sure that our way is the right way? I guess what I’m trying to say is that I used to care a lot about hitting all those check marks on all those other people’s lists, but at a certain point I realized none of it actually mattered. I’ve got my own lists now. Number 1 on that list is believing that I don’t have to follow a checklist. By 25, I was supposed to be married. I was supposed to have two kids. I was supposed to own a house. I was supposed to have published a book. I was supposed to have gotten a master’s degree, too, was supposed to become a lawyer or a therapist or maybe a fashion designer. Then again, I decided all of that when I was 10. Things have changed a lot since then.
The point of all of this is, I actually have no idea what I'm doing. I’m navigating life through the lens of someone with big goals and dreams but has a hard time actually reaching them. I can see myself making it big through writing, photography or whatever I want to be that week but for now, my vision is set on becoming the best me I can be at this moment for me. No, I may not be traveling the world with my insanely hot boyfriend, but I am great at writing, I am great at taking pictures and I am great at being what I need to be at the moment. The truth is, people are really good at faking it.
My sign off message for year 23 is , “Hi. It's Carrie Bradshaw. I wanted to let you know that I'm getting married. To myself. I'm registered at Manolo Blahnik . So thanks. Bye”
-ally actually
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OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON
CHAPTER ONE: FAKING IT
SUMMARY: Lynn Moore dreads the beginning of her greatest fear: the first day of senior year.
WORD COUNT: 2.3k
NOTE: Get ready for typical teenager angst. Let’s all bully Lynn.
WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston
OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST
JUST LIKE EVERY YEAR AROUND the middle of August, my mom tells me the same advice; have a good first day. Of course, most mothers, fathers, or whoever tell their child this, but it's as pointless as a circle. Whoever has a fantastic first day of school? There are new teachers to impress, you're stuck with the same bunch of losers you sit with at lunch, and there are more jerks and morons to pick on you, despite the status quo you fall under. High school is frankly really awful all the way around and there's no way someone can deny or even try to argue that. These are the four years of utter hell and we're all dying to get out. I've stepped through those heavy doors, resembling the gates of hell, on a first day three times now. My anger and hatred have only been fueled rather than dying down. I'm sure nothing will ever change.
"Don't forget--" Mom tries to tell me from the porch in sweats and a maroon t-shirt. Her unnatural dirty blonde hair piled on the top of her head with an old red clip. There are tears welling in her eyes, seeing her only child almost grown up. I have one last year of school and mere months until I'm an adult. For me, it may pass by far too slow, but I bet it's a whole different story for her. In all honesty, it's ridiculous that the woman is so upset and not to mention annoying. I have done this routine twelve times now, for Christ sake, she should get a grip on herself by now. I don't mean to belittle my mother but one of her greatest achievements is being able to replicate every single stereotype women have, including having no control over her emotions. An outsider looking in may say I'm a bit to harsh. All I can say to that is no one has loved with her for almost eighteen years like I have.
"I got it!" I yell against the wind as it smacks my face while I walk across the grass. "Christ on a bike," I curse tossing my messy light brown hair from my field of vision.
The bus would take another five minutes to get the corner, but I'd like to not look stupid on my first day by running to catch up with the metal rectangle of devilry Peter Parker style. Well, maybe it would turn into an interesting story at the least. Spiderman is my favorite superhero of all time after all. Despite this, I only allow an angry face to part my path. It's totally fake but faking it is the only way to survive.
Down at the intersection, there are already kids waiting. I think it's safe to assume that all of the puberty-sicken teenagers are freshmen or sophomores since most junior and seniors are still asleep at this early hour, knowing the good majority are able to drive. I take a good look at all of them. The fact that they find throwing bits of gravel at squirrels or birds makes me want to go over and smack them upside the head. That thought crosses my mind a lot. The world is so full of morons; it's hard to pick out which ones are actually tolerable. They're almost as bad as kids in letterman jackets with expensive sports cars. Those fuckers are the worst. All they care about is their ego and how much money they can wave around coming right from mommy and daddy's wallet.
Take the kid in the striped shirt tucked into his hand-me-down jeans. He looks like a nice kid; after all, he's got nothing to brag about. His parents are probably office workers or maybe nothing too difficult. Nothing too important. That's all we are, right? I mean, once we're dead and gone. No one is gonna care what car you drove or what brand your plain white shirt is. People who think they're hotshots or something special are the real morons.
Besides, who thinks it's cool to spend thirty bucks on a t-shirt?
An old car passes, a teenage girl in my grade sits in the driver's seat. I sort of duck out of the way. Not James Bond-like, but I move my already shitty hair in front of my face as if it's going to help hide my identity. The chick probably didn't even see me. I watch the car drive on, kinda imagining what sort of car I would drive once I get one. I suppose I would have to learn first. I personally am not a fan of getting behind the wheel. Hell, I can't even ride a bike without falling over. I'd rather move to a large city and order cabs to get me places. They seem more convenient and, if you get in a wreck, it's not your fault and it's not your money coming out of pocket. No car equals more money. Then again, no car also is equivalent to no freedom and taxis and Uber's can get expensive. It seems like each idea is flawed these days.
Upon scanning the area again— this time ignoring the idiots— I notice only one person who seems excited out of the group. Her dark brown hair and dark skin contrast to the majority of our town, including those waiting nearby. Her curled hair bounces with each stride she takes, happier than the step prior.
Some say it's strange that the girl and I are such good friends. You don't see God and Satan going out and having coffee every weekend or anything.
"What's got you in a good mood?" I question as I readjust my dark blue shirt underneath the flannel. Flannels are my favorite personal quirk. I own at least fifty, most being cool or dark colors. I don't have an obsession; just an interest that I care way too much about. Flannels are to Lynn Moore as controversy is to famous influencers. Looking back up, my eyebrow is still raised. I'm shocked to see her here, assuming her parents would have given her a lift. After a second, it dawned on me that this, riding the bus to school, was her punishment for getting into an accident she won't take responsibility for.
Posting memes and vines references are fun and all, but doing it while going 60 down a highway isn't the smartest. Forgive me for not following the strict millennial handbook but I don't actually want to die nor do I want my friends to.
My best friend, Ellie Graves, gives a small glare. "Why does it always seem like you're on your period?" I shrug my shoulders, and played with the wire choker I always wore. As my fingers slip underneath the necklace, it is evident how to lose it has gotten since I bought it a few months ago. I make a mental note to take a quick trip to the shopping side of the internet sometime soon.
I click my tongue before answering. "Probably because I'm closer to hell than you are," I say, referring to my obvious lack of height. I'm only five feet and just barely three inches off the ground while Ellie is at least five feet and seven inches. Personally I think we would make a cute couple given our attitudes and the extremities of our heights, except for the fact that dearest Ellie is not interested in people other than men. What a party pooper. For me, anyway. "But lets do our best to not reinforce stereotypes," I say referring to her comment.
She nods her head. "Yes, mother." I snort at her sass, leaning my body weight onto my right leg. "But hey! We have one year left! That's something to be excited about, am I right?"
Yes, I would say she is right. Freshmen, sophomore, and the dragged out junior year have come and passed, full of useless information and embarrassing memories with it. It's mostly embarrassing if I have to be honest. School isn't my thing, however falling up and down the main set of stairs apparently is. Who knew?
"Yeah, I suppose so. At least we're considered adults now," I reply trying to find some positive about the situation.
Ellie begins to lightly laugh, "True. That's kinda a scary thought, though." Her body shudders, either because a breeze just blew passed or out of what she just said.
The age of freedom is so close, I can nearly touch it. Despite my longing to finally buy a lottery ticket and spray paint, the fear of adulthood gnaws at the back of my mind. With eighteen comes responsibility, something I lack to a high degree. I muse the idea of getting a degree of irresponsibility. However, I don't think such diploma could help me get into a creative writing career.
I make a thinking face and bring my shoulders to my ears preparing for an exaggerated response. "Well, you aren't wrong," I reply in a forced high pitch noise, catching the attention of the guys. Now I notice they are all matching in basketball shorts and a jacket. Men's fashion, ladies and gents. Ellie chuckles at my utter dorkiness while I continue to make some weird face I'm sure she will get a picture of sometime within the next few seconds.
It's crazy how time is able to fly. Just last week, so it seems, the outgoing, beaming chick I have as a best friend and I were in third grade, the year I moved to a new house, a different school, and a very different town. Although my eight-year-old-self hated it at the time, I'm glad I left the northern state of Maine, all the way across to the midwest. That is if you consider southern Missouri part of the midwest. If I hadn't, who would have the privilege of being my first smack in the face? Or first sleepover (with an actual girl)? Who knows, and I honestly wouldn't like to. Ellie's my best friend; I would be dead if she didn't have my back. And I'm honestly positive she would say the same about her tiny best pal.
Little time passes after the picture was indeed taken and posted on Elle's Snapchat before an ugly shade of yellowish-orange appears entering the neighborhood. Ellie is practically fidgeting, fighting the urge to run up the bus even if it is some distance away. My eyes roll trying to not say anything to kill her spirit but I do let out an accidental groan as its loud hum draws nearer. The bus came to a screeching halt and I already want to turn on my heel and head home. When I step on, I notice there is a new driver this year. After Ellie got her license and could legally drive me around, I never bothered with the bus unless I needed space or she was busy, which was hardly ever. Ellie and I mostly spend our time together with our group of friends. Despite this, I still easily took notice of a different person in the seat. Instead of a balding old man with a face like alligator skin, a woman sat in the brown leather seat and looks roughly in her forties. She, like all of us except for Ellie, looks tired but fakes a smile anyways. The same rules apply; middle school and junior high in the front and high school in the back. It seems as if sitting in the back always made you cool of some sort. Every time a kid got away with it in middle school, he or she was automatically the bad kid, the cool kid, or the king of the bus. God, how stupid is that theory? These thoughts remind me how annoying and stupid we all were at ten and eleven years old. I'm sure if I had a duplicate of myself at that age, I'd shoot either one of us to cease me from the utter pain.
Instead of going all the way to the back, I turn to sit in the seat half way down the aisle while plunging in an earbud, leaving one open to listen to Ellie. I instantly scroll through an select a playlist that mixes rock, punk, and even some emo. Given today being my last first day, I figured early morning jams would be appropriate to get me pumped up even though I tend to listen to this genre quite often as of lately. I enjoy the heavy guitar and double bass pedal and lyrics I can either relate to or wonder who hurt the singer so bad. Needless to say, I'm definitely more of a rock person however there's still a lot of other types of music on my device, including orchestra and folk or indie. I don't like to limit what I listen to; whatever makes me feel good ends up on my phone. Simple as that.
"So, Lynn," Ellie says sliding in right next to me. I look in her direction, which was to my right, waiting for her to respond. She looks at me, but nothing came out of her mouth. Slowly, I arch a brow. Still, there was nothing. "I had nothing to say, I just wanted your attention." Ellie gave a stupid grin while I glare kindly at her if there is such a thing.
My head shakes and I reach out to pat her cheek, "You, my darling, are an absolute dumbass."
I feel her grin grow against my hand since I haven't moved it yet. "Not as big as you, though." I can't argue; she has a point.
As the bus lunches forwards, I look out the window and watch the world go by. Something settles in my gut about then, the feeling both familiar and foreign. I can't tell what it is, but as I watch the clouds roll in over the sun and birds flying through the sky, I only hope my last year of high school will be memorable.
#dark!tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston x ofc#tom hiddleston fanfiction#teacher!tom hiddleston#loki#obsessive teachings#high school#stalking#obsessed love#obsessive#dark!fic
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Weird that it happened twice, right?
chapter four - masterlist
a/n: i’m really proud of this one, it’s a real favourite of mine, and is the end of where the story follows canon. obviously no one has died that does in-game, and i intend it to stay that way :) italics are john/narrator as usual :)))
word count: 3k
T/W: sexual assault, death, blood, lots of swearing.
Fingertips brushed against each other once more as guards pulled us in opposing ways, the 17 men being separated from the 2 women. I resisted violently, the men restraining me simply slipping a gag into my screaming mouth. A yell from John and I was thrown into the second cell in the past month. The women around me were terrifying to begin with, all of them much older than me and they spoke with not an ounce of tenderness, but I appeared to bring out the maternal nature in all of them. Perhaps the sight of a battered teenager in a prison that most died in before they were even hung softened even the hardest of hearts. They all seemed to protect me in some way; a few offered me some of their food from between the bars, others sliding me illicit bars of floral soap. I didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t think I deserved it until many of them opened up. They were mainly killers, but most had exacted revenge on a man who wronged them, and then kept killing. I told them stories in return. I had been educated as a member of the upper class, even if I had been treated poorly, and could recall many tales that had offered me escape from my life. I told told them stories of the mighty Thor and devious Loki from the norse myths, and managed to condense entire plays of Shakespeare into about ten minutes. It let us leave the penitentiary for a while, go to Asgard or Venice or the faerie kingdom of a Midsummer night's Dream.
John didn’t get the same level of closeness with his inmates. The men were killers or worse, and while John could play the act better than all of them, he stayed silent as much as possible. His thoughts were so loud as to overpower his voice, he could feel death coming once more and this time he knew Vesta wouldn’t appear to save him. He wished he could have said good bye to Jack. He wished he could have told the kid how much he loved him, how proud he was, how he was going to be a great man one day. He knew Arthur would look after him, and hoped that upon seeing the man assume responsibility for a child, Mary Linton would return to him, and they would raise Jack as best they could. If not, he consoled himself that Sean and Karen adored the child, would spoil him rotten of course, but he would be happy. He wondered if he’d been good enough. He decided he hadn’t. Decided that a good father would have quit this life long ago, a good father most definitely wouldn’t be hung for his crimes before his child could celebrate his 5th birthday. Tears were falling freely, as he thought about the boy being told neither parent would return home, that he would never ride down to the river to see deer with Vesta again, never play cowboys wearing his father’s hat again. He bit his fingernails to stumps and his lips a bleeding mess just considering every one of his past mistakes.
A prison guard rattled my cell to wake me. My sleep was fitful, dreams bloody. I’d braided my hair days ago, flyaways sticking to my sweaty face, which to the guard must have seemed like an invitation to enter my cell and pin me to the wall. I scratched and bit and kicked at him, my every effort doing nothing against the large man. I was crying great gulping tears, terrified at what was about to happen and even in the moment feeling guilty as I thought of John. The man let out a choked gurgle, the wet sound of blood filling his throat.
The woman in the cell beside her had been hiding a shiv for weeks, not planning on using it but keeping hold nevertheless. She had lodged it in the man’s meaty neck, and I pushed him off me, shaking with residual fear and snot still dribbling down my chin.
“We- we’ve got to-“ I sniffed. “Got to get him out- and hide the shiv.”
I never got the chance to move him. Other guards had heard the racket and were gathering outside the cell. A younger man pulled him out before locking my cell again, and I cried out in horror as they shot my saviour there and then. Gone. She didn’t cry out as she fell, her eyes only widened and her lips parted in a silent gasp. A fresh set of tears gilded my cheeks, the woman having given her life only to protect me from the assault almost every woman in the jail had been through. I wondered if it had been the kindness I had tried to offer, or how young I seemed, or even that it was that enough women had been through hell at the hands of the guards, but it would stick with me forever, the selflessness of a self-proclaimed murderer.
I felt hollow and empty, like the fear of death had been wiped from my mind. Death was so casual here. There were hangings every day, multiple at once. The guards told me regularly that I was to be hung with Marston, and it gave me comfort to know the last face she saw would be the one she loved most dearly. It even set me counting down the days, eagerly waiting to die at the promise of seeing him once more. How far away England seemed, that simplicity of life only punctuated by threats and callous words.
I didn’t see the balloon pass over, and was unaware of the commotion it had caused. I also didn’t hear the shots fired as a set of guards were killed out in the fields and an ultimatum was shouted over the prison walls. And what an ultimatum it was.
My cell door was opened by a scared looking boy, barely older than myself, the grip he held on my shoulders tight enough to bruise. I knew in that moment my time had come, and wryly wondered if this would get me to Valhalla. I welcomed death at that point, as it meant seeing John, maybe for all eternity. I held my head high.
Until I was greeted by an ever-so familiar voice.
“She don’t look too bad all things considered. Head’s still up high ain’t it, Mrs Adler?” The deep tenor of Arthur Morgan was joined by Mrs Sadie Adler’s western drawl.
“Let’s get Marston and then we can assess our wounds maybe.”
I gaped at the sound of them, speaking lowly to the boy still gripping me tightly.
“Well I’ll be damned.”
It had been long decided in my mind that no one was coming for us; the first few weeks had me nursing a candle of hope that spluttered out soon after.
Cobblestones gave way to weed ridden grass under my bare feet even as the cast iron gate of Sisika Penitentiary groaned and shuddered its way open. I stumbled across the threshold, over it, and out onto the island, wasting no time in careering into arthur. He slipped me a revolver and a clip of ammunition. Another protesting screech of ill-fitted hinges and the gates rolled open for a second time.
He’d grown a beard, I noted with a face of disgust.
The miserable expression he’d worn for over a month faded away to a tentative smile at the moment he saw her wrinkled nose and creased brows. A niggling voice in his head hissed poisonous accusations against the girl: she hated him now, she had been hoping he rotted there so she could leave and live a better life. She suffocated it with a beaming grin, leaving Arthur’s side to cannon into him at full pelt, only knocking most of the air out his lungs.
She mumbled into his chest, a slurred comment about how much she’d missed him, peppered with expletives and the odd nonsensical noise. A low rumble of mirth and a sharp exhalation of air was his only reply, him not trusting words enough to express himself.
“Ah hate to break up this heartfelt reunion but they are startin’ to shoot at us.” Reminded Arthur, the world having faded quite away for us both. Indeed, bullets were raining down from the battlements, being blocked only by the brick wall the convicts and their rescuers had gone and hidden behind. Chunks of plaster flew from the wall, chinks of light shining through. Sadie started issuing orders.
“John, (Y/N), make a run for it now ‘n’ we’ll cover you. There’s a boat in the marshland.”
We bolted. John seized my hand and held tight, his long strides easily outstripping my much smaller ones, and practically dragging me across the fields. Engaging the guards was suicide, between us we had 12 shots while each guard would have around 16 - and would be on horseback too. Instead we hid, darting from cover to cover, Arthur and Sadie leaving piles of bodies in their ever destructive wake. I saw the boat with a gasp, the sudden realisation that I was still alive, still with John and oh-
We would see Jack again.
John clambered into the boat first, giving me a hand climbing in. Two neat piles of clothes sat in the bottom of it, one with a hat on top and the other with-
“Are those my guns?” pure delight shine through my question, my eyes lighting up as I spied the distinctive blued metal of my pistols. I rummaged a little more in the pile to find that they were my clothes too, and I scrambled to get changed while we waited for Sadie and Arthur. John did the same, happier to see his hat than guns, but expressing enjoyment at the reassuring weight of them at his hip. I let out another delighted laugh; I had found that Sadie had fully stocked my bandolier with ammunition, it spanning my chest with shiny cartridges peeping out from their leather keepers.
The gunfire came closer, Sadie taking a running jump into the boat and Arthur following closely, giving the boat a powerful push before entering it himself. For a while the only noise was the splash of the oars hitting the smooth water and the breathless recovery of the fighters, until John spoke up.
“I don’t know how to thank you. I thought Dutch was gonna orphan Jack if I'm bein’ honest.”
Arthur and Sadie exchanged apprehensive glances. Arthur inhaled deeply, looking pained as he explained himself.
“Dutch, well he didn’t exactly sanction us comin’ for yer. He actually told us not to. Said he had a plan and such but it was bullshit so we came anyway. So don’t expect a great welcome I guess.”
The silence returned again, none of us knowing exactly how to respond.
beaver hollow - 1899
John didn’t know how many more times he could cradle her close to him like this, broken and beaten. He held back his rage for Jack’s sake, who was soundly sleeping leant against his father’s other side, too tired to fully register their return. He hated that his every dream ended with her dying in his arms, and that he had to wake up and see her dreaming the same dreams. She shifted in her sleep, muttering something that sounded distinctly like a threat, and moved closer to him. Beaver Hollow set him on edge. They didn’t have a proper tent, more a canvas shelter with two bedrolls under it, and he found himself shielding her with his body from prying eyes when she woke up in distress most nights.
I hadn’t told him what happened in Sisika. It seemed needless to me; he already knew it had been hell, because he’d been though it too. I didn’t need any more pity from him either.
The early hours of the morning cast a rosy glow over our prone bodies and the quiet stillness of the camp. Neither us them were asleep, both pretending for the others sake that we were.
“John? I need you over here a moment.” Dutch hollered from the other side of the hollow. Not receiving more response, he strode over to them, calling John again.
“Can it wait?” I had no trace of patience in the way I spoke to him. I hadn’t challenged Dutch's seeming lack of action to spring them from prison, but the deep injustice was constantly boiling beneath my skin.
“You aren’t busy, Miss (L/N). Neither is John.” Her tone had riled Dutch and he talked coldly to her, still taking the moral high ground as ever. I had sat up to speak to him, a shawl draped across my shoulders to for warmth. John started to stir, placing a restraining hand at my arm that I ignored. Dutch turned from me entirely, addressing John about a job he wanted to send him on. I fucking snapped. Stood up and started talking.
“Shut the fuck up. Shut up. How can you ask him to go out on a job for you right now? We have been back less than 24 hours, Dutch, his son hasn’t even been able to speak to him yet. Remember his son? The one you were more than happy to orphan as long as it didn’t mess up your goddamn plan? You claim to care about every one of us, and yet when it really comes to it it’s only Micah fucking bell that you rescue every single time. You sprung him from the gallows within a week, and let me and john rot there for more than a month, let jack be parentless for a month.” I laughed a spite filled laugh. “But fuck it, eh? We’re back now aren’t we? Never mind the fact that we were beaten to shit in the meantime, never mind the fact that he might not be ready to head out again. At least you still have the money.” A crowd was gathering, Micah moving to Dutch and urging him to shut me up. Dutch shrugged him off, letting me continue.
“You know. A woman died for me. She had no ties to me, had no idea who the flying fuck I was, and yet she gave her life to protect me. A guard tried to rape me. In my cell. And she stuck a shiv through his throat. That woman was a killer, a murderer, a convict, and yet she was willing to die for me having known me three weeks. She did more for me than you. I have stole and lied and why? Because you asked me to.” My voice had broken, tears streaming down my cheeks and yet never breaking eye contact with Dutch. John’s hand reached for his gun, Arthur stopping him, at my words. I didn’t look at him, but reached my hand out to meet his, gripping his fingers tightly. I swallowed. Turned around and scooped a now awake Jack into my arms, wordlessly carrying him to the horses as he begged to see Bonnie.
Everything changed for Dutch in those moments. He watched the girl carry the boy toward the horse that had been so aggressive without her, her small body relaxing as she patted her mare. Piglet followed over, then John, who settled next to her with his arm around her waist. A family. He saw then that it was a family that without Arthur and Sadie would have been broken beyond repair, the child an orphan and the two animals never to see their mistress again. The sight of Jack wriggling from (Y/N)’s arms to play with the terrier forced him to recall watching the boy crying inconsolably into her wiry fur. It had been 2 weeks since John and (Y/N) had gone, and Jack had thrown as many tantrums as he could muster to bring them home. Exhausted, hurt and with nothing having changed, the boy had sat on the floor and cried floods of silent tears, which Piglet had come over to lick away. The dog had sat herself as close as she could before him and allowed him to just clutch at her. Dutch had ignored it as best he could, ignored Hosea too, refusing to take responsibility and instead letting Micah assure him that it was for the greater good. He should have known the man was only too happy to let them die. He felt a fool.
“Quit wallowin’.” Arthur's voice cut through his self-pity. Dutch glared at him for a moment before nodding and moving to leave his tent. Arthur caught his arm.
“I tell you this now, Dutch, I will kill Micah myself if you don’t. he’s a rat. he’s why Pinkertons been findin’ us so damn fast.” His voice was low with anger.
“You do it. I'm done killing.”
We were still playing with the horses, I had myself wrapped up and grooming Bonnie's sleek coat properly, luxuriating in the way I was able to talk to John about nothing in particular. Jack and Piglet had tired already, sat side by side with Old boy grazing beside them. Dutch cleared his throat. I didn’t look up from the knot I was pulling from my mare’s tail. John raised his head, face set and arms folded, expecting confrontation.
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. I know that.” Dutch began with his hands as if in surrender. “But I can only offer you my heartfelt apologies - I failed you, my son, you and your family. And vesta I-“
I turned around to look at him, my face already softening.
“I can never understand how it must have been. But I'm getting you out of this. All of you. No more plans. I was thinking-“
I cut him off, filled with a rush off forgiveness for him, an urge to hug him taking over me. I never had that much self-restraint. I looked up at him from the hug. “Let’s start again.”
We watched the sun setting across Roanoke ridge, basking in the residual warmth before the wintery chill of November air really set in. He pulled me in even closer, his warmth spreading into me, he and kissed the top of my head.
“Let’s start again.”
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I Don’t Like You or Your Band
John Deacon x Reader
Summary: Reader is a music journalist, and a very popular one at that. She knew Deaky when they were teenagers. She’s written a pretty harsh piece about Queen.
Word Count: 10K
Tag List: @someone-get-a-medic @deakysgurl, @polarcrystall, @queer-heart-attack, @dewdarkdemon, @qweenly, @smittyjaws, @caborhapch, @amelialio, @flyawayhay, @hannahfuckingsucks, @hotspacedeaky, @julessbrown, @reavenedges-lies, @simmisblog, @anna-1946, @ziggymay, @retromusicsalad, @catch-a-deak, @winterssoldierrs, @casafrass, @cranberribread, @strawberry-lemonade0, @ilovetacos1267
A/N: This gets very smutty at the end, but that was the whole point! Also, this fic was inspired by the song, “I Don’t Like You or Your Band” by Kate Rhudy. Go check her out on Spotify, her whole album is awesome :)
Your cigarettes, your leather shoes
You, your friends, and your middle class white boy blues
You’ve become something I can’t stand
Don’t even miss holdin’ your hand
And I don’t like you or your band
Monday
I was in love with a good, good man
He was kissing you. Shy and sloppy, reflecting the innocence of the moment. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, hands shaking. He went to do the same, his fingers tracing the hem of your sweater. It was soft and pink, as virginal as you were.
Your eyes snapped open. A tear leaked out and slid down your cheek. Why were you dreaming this now? Then you remembered. The Queen article was going out today. It was scathing. The thought made you nervous. Would the band see it? Would he see it? Did you care if he did?
You wiped your face and got up. You put on a simple dress and heels, pushing all thoughts of your past to the back of your mind. You didn’t want to think about him now. You didn’t want to think about him at all, really.
As you walked into you office, you said hello to the receptionist as you made your way to your empty desk. You usually had a copy of the week’s issue waiting for you, before they hit the shelves. Your brow furrowed.
“Y/N,” said your editor, Charles, as he sauntered over to you. “You ready for today’s issue?”
He waved the magazine in front of you before letting it fall onto your desk with a slap. Queen was spread across the front page. You looked away.
You nodded at Charles, resolving yourself to your pride in your work. Your history with John Deacon was irrelevant. In fact, you had not even disclosed it to Charles - or anyone - because you felt that it mattered that little.
“Hey, you’re from the same town as the bass player, right?” Charles asked.
A nervous twinge went through you. “Um, yeah.”
“Did you know him?”
“No,” you lied. “No, not really.”
***
“This is shit!” Roger cried, throwing down the magazine as he entered the studio. “Have you all read this review?”
“Oh, God, what is it now?” Freddie wondered, rolling his eyes.
“Listen,” Roger said irritably. “‘Queen is a band with talent that could best be described as above average. Their most redeeming quality is their frontman, Freddie Mercury, but even his eccentric style and quality vocals can’t make up for the fact that they’re just another wannabe Zeppelin. Only they don’t have half the lyrical depth or musical skill.’ What the fuck?!”
“Who’s the author?” Brian wondered.
“She’s a really well-known reporter,” Roger said. “She did that whole profile on Elton John last year that everyone loved. Y/N Y/L/N.”
John choked on the sip of water he was taking, and the other three turned eyes on him.
“Do you know her?” Freddie asked.
John coughed for a moment and had to catch his breath. “Yes.”
They all still stared at him. He cleared his throat. “What?”
“How do you know her?” Roger asked.
“We sort of went out when we were in school,” John explained. “I guess you could say she was my first real girlfriend.”
“Well - Christ, Deaks, what’d you do to her?” Roger wondered.
“Nothing!” John insisted. “I mean - I suppose we - well, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Could you speak in complete sentences?” Brian asked cheekily. “So the rest of us might keep up?”
John ran a hand down his face and groaned. He mumbled something that the others couldn’t hear.
“Deaky, just tell us!” Roger cried.
“We were each other’s first times!” he finally came out with. “We were seventeen and it was weird and then I fucked off to London shortly after.”
Freddie burst into giggles. Roger sighed and Brian rolled his eyes.
“Why don’t you just ring her and apologize?” Roger suggested. “Maybe she’ll take back what she said.”
“Oh, come on,” John returned. “That article couldn’t possibly be a reaction to something that happened years ago. It’s probably just her honest opinion.”
“There’s no way that’s her opinion because the album isn’t shit and we’re not Zeppelin wannabes,” Roger insisted. “If anything, we also have an influence from Yes.”
“Which she also mentions,” Brian interjected, looking at the article again. “She really knows her stuff. Even if she is wrong about us.”
“If she really knew her stuff, she wouldn’t be wrong about us,” Roger said stubbornly.
“That gives me an idea,” Freddie said.
They all looked curiously at him.
“What is it?” Brian asked.
“Let’s invite her here,” Freddie said. “Let her see how our work comes together and how original we are. That is, if it isn’t too uncomfortable for you, Deaky, dear.”
“Look, it wasn’t like I left without saying anything,” John further explained. “We had a normal breakup, I thought.”
“Great!” Freddie said with an excited clap. “It’s decided! She’ll join us for the week!”
“Hold on, nothing is decided!” Roger argued, but Freddie was already gone to use the phone. “Well, I’m not going to be nice to her.”
“She wasn’t very nice to us first,” Brian said as if that settled the matter.
***
You were going through some papers on your desk as preliminary work for your next article. Your phone rang and you picked it up lazily.
“Y/N Y/L/N,” you answered.
“Ah, Miss Y/L/N,” said a strangely familiar voice on the other end. “This is Freddie Mercury.”
A chill ran down your spine and your heart nearly stopped. “What?”
“We’ve read your piece on our music, and I must say, darling, we believe you’re mistaken,” he said. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Look, Mr. Mercury,” you said, finding your voice again. “I was just doing my job. If you don’t like what I say, that’s your problem. At this point, Queen should be used to bad press.”
It was a low blow, but you didn’t care. Freddie only snickered.
“I like you, darling,” he said. “You’re feisty. But I’m about to make you an exclusive offer.”
“I’m listening.”
He arranged to meet you at a cafe between your office and their studio. You told Charles about the call.
“Y/N, are you serious?” he gasped.
“Do you want me to cancel?” you asked, concerned by his tone.
“Hello no!” he cried. “Take the meeting, and whatever exclusive they’re offering you. Find out everything you can about them. Dig up the dirt. Find me something we can use to take them down.”
“Take them down?” you wondered. “I don’t want to make shit up about them.”
“You won’t have to,” he said. “But get me something.”
“I’ll do my best,” you said warily.
“That’s a good girl.”
You clenched your teeth as you left the office. You hated when men talked to you like that. You were a grown woman, out on her own. You were not a little girl who needed the approval of anyone, especially not a man.
You went to the cafe where Freddie asked to meet. You spotted the band right away. Brian’s fluffy curls gave them away, but you first noticed John. He looked quite different with his long hair and fancy clothes. But he was still John. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. You loved the John you knew dearly. But he also hurt you.
“You must be Y/N Y/L/N,” Freddie said, getting to his feet and shaking your hand. The others offered you no such courtesy.
“I am,” you said. “Obviously, I know who all of your are.”
“Obviously,” Freddie said slowly, with a mischievous grin. “We wanted to talk to you about your article and offer an opportunity to...correct it.”
You frowned. “It doesn’t need correcting. The appeal of music is entirely subjective. Not everyone is going to think you’re the greatest band to walk the earth.”
“There’s no need to get defensive,” he said. “Especially since you haven’t heard our offer.”
“Well, make it then,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.
“She’s right to business,” he remarked. “I like it.”
“You wanna make an arrangement or do you wanna fuck around?”
He laughed. It was charming in its own way. You tried not to let it infect you, but you felt the corners of your mouth nearly twitch. It didn’t help that you were ignoring John’s intense gaze.
“Spend the week in the studio with us,” he said. “See what we do. How we put our unique sound together. I guarantee you’ll change your mind.”
You cocked an eyebrow at him and then gestured to the rest of the band. “And you’re all on board with this?”
You scanned them. Roger glowered at the ground and didn’t answer. Brian nodded stiffly. Finally, you met John’s eyes. It took him a moment to respond, but when he opened his mouth, Freddie spoke.
“Deaky told us you’re old friends,” he said.
You weren’t looking at him, but you could feel his smirk. You continued to look at John and your gaze hardened.
“Oh?” you said coldly. “I don’t recall.”
You cut away from his stare, but you saw his mouth drop a little before he quickly closed it again. Your eyes found Freddie’s, and laughter danced behind them.
“What do you say?” he asked, ignoring his clear urge to take a dig at his friend. “One full week behind the scenes with Queen. And you’ll write a new story.”
“What if my opinion stays the same?” you challenged.
“You write it exactly how you see it,” he said. “If you don’t change your mind - although I’m sure you will, darling - you can write even more about how terrible we are.”
“You’re awfully confident,” you replied.
He shrugged. “Take it or leave it, love.”
“I’ll take it,” you said. “But just so you know, everything is on the record.”
“We wouldn’t have it any other way.”
With the deal in place, you went with them to the studio. You walked there right from the cafe since you had your notepad in your bag. You followed behind them, but John dropped back to walk beside you. You resisted rolling your eyes.
“Y/N,” he said. “It’s - uh - good to see you.”
“Wish I could say the same,” you returned, not looking at him.
He grabbed your arm and yanked you to a stop. You glared at him and wrenched yourself free.
“What’s up with you?” he demanded quietly so the other guys wouldn’t hear. “I thought our relationship was meaningful...that we still cared about each other.”
“You did?” you spat. “Well, imagine my surprise.”
He blinked. “What did I do?”
“It’s what you didn’t do,” you said. “Everything you fucking forgot when you left home, including me.”
“I never forgot you,” he insisted.
“You could have fooled me,” you bit back.
He looked away, clearly stung. You didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him.
“Is that why you wrote those things about Queen?” he asked.
You laughed humorlessly. “Oh, please. You’re not important enough to be my reason to write anything.”
With that, you jogged ahead, away from him. You made a silent vow to yourself that you would not go there again with him. That from here on out, you would keep everything professional. There was no need to face what had happened. That was behind you. And you weren’t going that way.
The first day with the band went smoothly. You didn’t interact very much with them, just quietly observing them from the booth. You had to admit they worked hard, overcame small disputes, and were experimental.
You noticed your eyes lingering on John throughout rehearsal. His face looked the same as it used to when he was concentrating on learning a new line for a song. He looked natural behind the bass, and for a moment, you forgot you were angry at him. It was like the old days, when he was with The Opposition, and you were just a young girl with doe eyes, and he was the rock star of your heart.
You shook your head to clear it. No. It would never be that way again. You knew only too well how that story ended.
Tuesday
You left me unamused and unimpressed
The next day, you skipped going to your office entirely. You had called Charles from the studio and explained what they had offered, and you were pretty sure you heard him cry on the other end of the line. He again reminded you to find something “juicy” while you insisted you would still only report the truth. You could picture the way he rolled his eyes when he sighed at you.
“Must you be so annoyingly ethical?” he wondered.
“I’m a journalist, Charles, not a gossip columnist,” you returned, and hung up the phone.
So on Tuesday morning, you came straight into the studio. You heard voices in the booth. Knowing them to be the band’s, you stopped and listened. Since they didn’t know you were there, this was obviously off the record, but you were just curious.
“Honestly, I don’t know what you ever saw in her,” Roger said.
“She didn’t used to be…” John trailed off.
“Such a bitch?” Roger finished.
“I guess so,” John agreed. “When I knew her she was honestly the sweetest person I’d ever met. A really lovely girl.”
“Are sure it’s the same Y/N Y/L/N?” Brian joked.
They all snickered.
“Well, she mostly looks the same,” John said.
“I will give you that she’s a looker,” Roger said. “But it’s hard to believe that woman was ever a ‘really lovely girl.’”
“She was,” John insisted. “Really, she was. Her nickname in school was Judy because she reminded everyone of Judy Garland.”
Just hearing that endearment again - especially from John’s lips - drove a knife through your heart and twisted it.
“Judy Garland?” Roger returned, incredulous. “Are you joking?”
You decided to walk in now, lest this conversation go further into John’s memory of a girl that no longer existed.
“Morning, gents,” you said coolly.
Roger groaned, departed to the studio, and started fiddling with his drum set. He left the door open, but the rest of the band did not follow him just yet. Freddie looked at you.
“Sorry about him,” he said.
You shrugged. “I don’t care that he doesn’t like me. I don’t need anyone’s approval. Especially not some Cornish pixie drummer boy.”
Roger froze, dropping a drumstick, and scowled at you. Freddie cackled. John clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Even Brian let out a small chuckle. You just stared Roger down, cocking a challenging eyebrow at him. He said nothing, but he did flip you off through the window. You rolled your eyes and took a seat on the couch.
Brian joined Roger in the studio, picking up his guitar and slinging it across his body as he began tuning it. You watched how careful he was. Roger was too. They were meticulous about sounding exactly right. You observed this the previous day as well but thought they were just doing that because you were there. Clearly, this was their normal routine. You were just barely impressed.
They started playing through a song, but quickly began bickering about tempo. Roger accused Brian of going too slow, whereas Brian thought that was appropriate for the song. Voices were raised, insults were tossed, glares were exchanged. Freddie was giggling as he watched from the booth. John kept glancing at you, but you resolutely ignored him.
“Darlings, darlings,” Freddie said to Roger and Brian. “Please. We can settle this. Deaky, what do you think? Roger’s tempo or Brian’s?”
“Roger,” John said.
“Of course you side with him,” Brian snapped, rolling his eyes.
“Christ, Brian, it’s not personal,” John argued.
“Yeah, it’s because I’m right,” Roger added.
“I happen to side with you, Brian, dear,” Freddie interjected before it could escalate again. “So it’s a tie.”
“We don’t have a tie breaker,” John said.
Freddie smirked. “Sure we do. Y/N.”
Your eyes snapped to his. “What?”
“What do you think, darling?” he asked. “Brian or Roger?”
“I have no opinion,” you said flatly.
“We all know that’s not true,” he returned.
“This is all very democratic of you,” you said with a sigh. “But if I participated in the making of the music I’m supposed to be evaluating, wouldn’t that create a conflict of interest?”
“Don’t be difficult, Y/N, just tell us what you think,” John said shortly.
You shot him a glare. “No.”
“Why should she decide?” Roger chimed in. “She doesn’t even like our music.”
“All the more reason to believe she’s being honest,” Freddie pointed out.
“Or just petty,” Roger muttered.
“Did you even hear what she just said?” Freddie said. “She’s got principles.”
“I have been described as annoyingly ethical,” you said.
“Principles be damned, I don’t give a shit what she thinks,” Roger said.
You shrugged.
Freddie turned to you. “Just for fun. Off the record. Who do you think is right?”
“Off the record,” you repeated firmly. “Roger is right.”
Roger threw you a surprised look before a smug smile claimed his face. He looked triumphantly at Brian.
“What happened to not giving a shit what she thinks?” Brian spat.
“My opinion doesn’t count,” you reminded them. “It’s still a tie.”
Roger frowned. “Who was it that described you as annoyingly ethical?”
“My boss.”
“Smart man.”
“Look, let’s just count Y/N’s vote so we can move on,” John suggested.
“No,” you said. “You can’t.”
“Don’t worry, it was off the record,” Freddie said. “No one will know.”
“We’ll know,” you argued.
“And we shall all take it to the grave with us,” John said sarcastically. “Lest you be known as a music reviewer with a bloody opinion.”
“Oh, fuck y-” you began, but Freddie cut you off.
“Roger wins the popular vote,” he said. “Deaky, get in there and help them out.”
Your eyes bored hatred into John’s back as he entered the studio. You slumped back onto the couch, feeling a bit like a pouting child as you continued to observe them. John’s mouth was drawn downward as he grabbed his bass roughly. He licked his fingers before plucking at the strings. A motion that almost made you gasp. It was...sexy. You shook your head and crossed your legs with a huff.
You spent the rest of the day scratching your notes down harshly, lips pressed together with irritation. As they finished up, you started to put away your pen and paper. You slung your purse onto your shoulder and started to head out when your pocket knife slipped out of your bag and onto the floor. You reached down to pick it up, but John beat you to it. You snatched it out of his hand without even thanking him and stuffed it into your bag.
“Why are you carrying that?” he asked.
“Experience taught me I had to,” you replied.
“Experience?”
“I got fucking robbed, John, what do you want from me?”
“When?!” he wondered, eyes going wide.
“My first day in London,” you told him, unsure where this honesty was coming from.
You didn’t tell him that they man who did it made you strip, taking everything you had on you including your address book and money, so you shivered naked in an alley until a kind restaurant owner came out, saw the pathetic state you were in, and took you inside. She gave you a spare uniform and then offered you a job and a place at her flat until you could pay her back. Which you did in full. You also didn’t tell him you had only come to London looking for him.
His eyes searched yours. He found a hurt there that was bone deep. You were like a wounded dog, whimpering for a helping hand but prepared to bite the first one that touched you. Your glare was like bared fangs. Still, a part of him ached to reach out and risk you sinking your teeth in.
“That’s terrible,” he said, knowing exactly how lame it sounded.
You held his gaze. “I’ve been through worse.”
With that, you left the studio. John sighed and looked at the floor.
“She’s awfully cryptic, isn’t she?” Brian remarked.
“She’s so angry,” John said, half to himself.
“Forget about her,” Roger said, clapping John’s shoulder. “Let’s get a drink, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed.
Meanwhile, you walked to the pub you usually patronized in the evenings after work. It was actually the place you had worked after that first horrific night. The owner was still there and tended the bar on weeknights, so you went to see her. She always offered you a drink for free, but you never took it. She had already done too much for you.
“Y/N!” she called as you came through the door.
You beamed at her. “Cora!” You came around the bar to embrace her. “How are you?”
“I’m just fine for an old lady,” she replied. “How are you, my dear?”
You sighed, unsure how to answer her.
“I know that face,” she said. “You’re in need of a drink and conversation.”
“The drink I could use,” you replied. “The conversation, I’m not so sure about.”
She poured you your favorite, gin and tonic. You took a sip and thanked her.
“I’ll be right back, darlin’, just gotta pop in the back and get some wine glasses,” she said.
You stood up. “I’ll get them, Cora.”
“You don’t work here anymore, love,” she said with a grateful laugh.
“I’ll always take care of you,” you returned. “Besides, the doctor said you shouldn’t strain your back.”
You set your drink on the bar and then headed into the dish pit.
While you were in the back, Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John walked in. They took seats at the bar, leaving a few chairs between themselves and where your bag and drink sat. John thought it was yours, but wasn’t quite sure. Cora walked over to them and took their drink orders. You emerged again, carrying the rack of glasses and groaned when you spotted the band. Still, you brought the dishes behind the bar.
“Oh, Y/N,” said Freddie. “Do you work here too?”
“What, writing rubbish about music not paying the bills?” Roger jabbed.
“Piss of, Roger,” you snapped. “I don’t work here, but I used to.”
“Are these friends of yours, Y/N?” Cora wondered, eyes flickering between you and the band.
“Cora, this is Queen,” you said gently. “I’m re-evaluating them.”
She released a delighted giggle and clapped her hands. “Oh, my! Well, it’s not every day we have real rock stars in our little pub! Welcome, lads!”
“Thank you, darling,” said Freddie.
Cora just grinned widely at him. A warm smile danced across your lips as you took in her excitement. John’s eyes landed on you and he saw, for a fleeting moment, the girl he knew. But at that moment, a man approached you and asked you to join him at his table. You agreed, wiggling your fingers at Cora as she watched you cross the room.
“You two seem very close,” Brian said casually. “How long did she work here?”
“Just over a year, actually,” Cora said. “But she lived with me too.”
“How did that happen?” John wondered.
“Well, I found her right outside this building,” she explained. She told them all how she found you, to their shock. Even Roger felt pretty sorry for you.
“I couldn’t just leave her out there, shivering and alone,” she continued. “My Christian heart wouldn’t let me. So I took her in. But she took care of herself really once she started to make some money. I know she did some...unsavory things to earn the extra. I offered to help her, but she refused to take even one penny from me.”
“Why didn’t she just go home?” Roger asked.
Cora shrugged. “She said - and I’ll never forget the words she used - ‘I came to London looking for someone. He’s lost, so I’ll find myself instead.’ Seemed quite poetic to me. I knew from there she’d be a writer.”
“Did she ever tell you who it was she was looking for?” Freddie asked, glancing at John.
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “She refused to speak of him. Some chap from her hometown, though, that’s all I knew.”
At that moment, you came back over to tell Cora goodbye, since you were leaving with the man from before. You kissed her cheek before turning to the band.
“See you lot in the morning, I suppose,” you said.
They gave you odd looks, but you pushed your confusion away. You left with David, heading back to your flat, which wasn’t far from the bar. But as you took David up the stairs to your front door, the look in John’s eyes haunted you. Something like pity swam behind them. Pity mixed with guilt. It infuriated you.
Then David’s chapped lips were on yours, cracked and unpleasant. He shoved his talentless tongue into your mouth as he pushed you gently onto your bed. You bunched your skirt up to your hips so he could tug your panties off, but he stopped.
“Would you suck me off first?” he asked.
You smirked. “You wanna keep your cock?”
“W-what?”
“If you wanna keep your cock, keep it the fuck out of my face,” you warned.
“Shit, alright,” he gasped.
“Now take my knickers off and fuck me.”
He obeyed, pulling his pants down to his ankles. You weren’t quite wet enough so it stung a little when he pushed into you, but you bit your lip through it. Only, his fucking was as awkward as his kissing. His thrusts were sloppy, and he failed to even graze your g-spot. Your clit, he completely ignored. He clearly thought he was doing great from the noises coming out of his mouth. Gasps and groans, and some semblance of dirty talk that you didn’t even hear. You sighed, exasperated, and pushed him off of you.
“You’re shit,” you said. “Get out.”
“What the fuck?!” he cried breathlessly.
“Get your pants on and get out of my house,” you ordered.
“I’m still hard,” he complained.
“That’s not my problem,” you returned.
He narrowed his eyes at you and scrambled off the bed. He tucked himself into his trousers and glared at you as he put his shoes back on.
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”
You grimaced at him. “So I’ve heard. Bye now.”
He muttered under his breath some more as he left, slamming the door behind him. You got up and followed, locking the door just in case. Then you returned to your bed. Flopping onto your back, your mind showed you John’s eyes again. You remembered kissing John all those years ago. The ways his eyes looked the first time you’d kissed him.
You pictured John now. Different, but much the same. More talented, less awkward. You remembered him licking those fingers of his before playing his bass. His mouth in a slight pout as he focused. Your skin felt hot. Your lower stomach churned with desire. You dipped your finger between your thighs and pressed onto your clit.
“John…” you sighed.
Wednesday
What a shame it is that the rock I thought you were turned out to be sand
You arrived to the studio early the next morning. It was raining heavily as thunder rolled in the distance. Cosmically, John was the only other person there. You didn’t let the fact that you’d gotten off to the thought of him throw you. You just took your seat on the couch, ringing out your hair, and waited in silence with him. You pulled out the book you were reading and dove in. The only sound was the patter of the rain on the roof.
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened to you when you came to London?” he asked suddenly.
You snapped the book shut and looked at him icily. “I didn’t realize that was any of your business.”
“I know you’re not this person,” he said. “When you looked at Cora yesterday, you were yourself again.”
“You don’t know anything about who I am, John Deacon,” you said. “A lot has changed since we left Oadby.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“You’re assuming you have a right to an answer.”
“I think I do have a right,” he said hotly. “A lot of this anger you’ve got is clearly directed at me. Maybe if you stopped biting everyone’s head off and talked about it, you wouldn’t be so pissed off.”
There was that look again. The pity guilt combination that made your stomach roil.
“Fine,” you snipped. “You wanna know what happened to me? Yes, I got robbed and left naked behind a building. I took a job as a waitress to scrape by and pay back a fraction of debt I owed Cora. And there were a few regulars at the bar who I fucked for money. Anything else?”
“How’d you get a writing position?” he asked levelly.
“One of the regulars introduced me to an editor friend of his,” you said. “I submitted my first article to him, and he took me on. I got better and was eventually offered the job I’ve got now.”
“Okay, how is any of this my fault?”
“Is that what you think?” you laughed. “I don’t blame you for any of that shit. You weren’t even in my life anymore.”
“Then why are you so angry at me?!” he demanded, getting to his feet.
You jumped up too. “I’m angry at you because you lied to me!”
“What?!”
“You did!” you cried. “You broke up with me, and it broke my heart. But it was okay because we were supposed to be friends. And yet I was the only one who made any effort. Then suddenly you were off to London and then I never heard a thing from you! And I wrote you every day! Every day until I came here looking for you! And you promised you’d write to me, John!” You choked on his name as your throat got thick with the old wound.
“You promised,” you repeated with childish stubbornness.
“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly.
You rolled your eyes. “What do you want from me, John? My forgiveness?”
“Well, it was only letters,” he said.
“Only letters?” you repeated quietly. “John, it’s not about the letters. It’s the fact that you didn’t give enough of a shit about me to pick up a goddamn pen. Our relationship meant that little to you. I meant that little to you.”
You had scarcely gotten the words out when Roger and Brian walked in, both rain soaked, and flicking water off their coats. They were already quarrelling about something regarding the song again. You and John turned eyes on them.
“Y/N, what do you think, off the record -” Roger began, but you cut him off.
“Oh, no,” you said. “I’m not falling for that again.”
“Damn, I don’t know how else I’m gonna win this one,” he muttered.
You giggled. All eyes fell on you as you clapped a hand over your mouth.
“Y/N, did you just laugh?” Roger asked, a smile on his face.
“No,” you insisted, but the corners of your mouth were still turned slightly up.
“I think she did,” Brian added.
“Could it be that there’s a real, human heart in that chest?” Roger continued. “I thought it was just a hunk of ice.”
“Shut up,” you said through another laugh, but they let you have that one.
“Is Fred here yet?” Brian asked John.
John shook his head. “Late, as usual.”
You and John locked eyes briefly before you started getting out your pen and paper again. Freddie arrived within a few minutes, and they got right to work. You did actually admire their focus and professionalism. They took their craft seriously. More seriously than most musicians you had met. And you had met a great deal of them.
Today they had fewer arguments. It seemed that the rain was making everyone too tired to fight. That was more than okay with you. You couldn’t stand the bickering, especially between Brian and Roger. You wondered how they were the founders of the band since they rarely seemed to agree on a concept for a song. It was maddening to listen to.
John was stuck somewhere between staring intensely at you or avoiding you like the plague. The conversation from before was not a comfortable one, and it was so clearly unfinished. Unsaid words hung between you like clothes on a line. When your eyes did meet, it was like stepping onto a balance beam. You were unsteady and wobbly, but clinging to the very thing that put you there.
By the afternoon, you heard a rough run through of a new song. You would never, ever tell them this, but you liked it.
When the day was over, you packed up your things and for the first time, the band said goodbye to you. Roger only offered a wave, while Brian and Freddie said the words. John actually asked if he could walk you out.
“I can get to the door myself, thanks,” you said.
You weren’t sure where you two stood after the morning’s conversation. You feared another emotional line of questioning.
“Please,” he said.
You rolled your eyes. “Alright, then.”
You walked down the hall together, but he was behaving strangely. He kept glancing into every doorway you passed, and would sigh when there were people inside. When you reached the end of the corridor, he pulled open the door to what appeared to be a closet. He took another quick look around before pushing you inside.
“John, what the hell?!” you demanded as he shut the door.
“I want to speak in private,” he said.
He reached up and pulled the string to turn the light on. It was a tight space. Your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. It made heat rise in your cheeks to be so close to him. You looked up to meet his eyes. When had he gotten so tall?
John swallowed as he looked down at you. The feeling of your breasts against him was enough to drive him crazy.
“I still feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, focusing on your face.
He was so close you could feel his breath on your face.
“I don’t have to tell you everything,” you returned.
“Y/N, please,” he groaned. “We were going so well this morning.”
“Well?” you questioned.
“Yes, you were opening up,” he said. “You’d softened to the point where you laughed.”
You sighed. “That was a fluke.”
“Come on, Y/N,” he said. “Tell me one thing.”
“What do you want to know?”
“After you had some money, why didn’t you go back home?” he wondered. “Why put yourself through all of this? You could have been back with you mum -”
“She left, John,” you said. “She left me in the middle of the night.”
John knew already that your father was not in your life. You and your mother were on your own back in Oadby. She had made quite a life for herself and seemed devoted to you. This revelation clearly shocked John, as he would have stumbled backward had there been space to do so.
“She left you?”
You nodded. “Yes. She left a note that said she couldn’t do ‘this’ anymore and she was leaving, but she knew I would be okay. I started to write you, but you hadn’t been answering my letters, so I took the money she left me and came looking for you. Because I needed my friend. I needed you, John.”
Emotion threatened to overwhelm you again. This was something you had never told anyone. Not even Cora.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I left you in the dark...I’m so, so sorry.”
“Just tell me why,” you breathed back.
“Because I missed you so much,” he told you.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you missed me, why would you ignore me?”
“I couldn’t ask you to be with me again,” he said. “It wasn’t fair.”
“Elaborate on that.”
“I wasn’t sure that I was going to be successful,” he said. “I didn’t know if I wanted to have a career in electronics, and music was still something so unsteady. All I wanted was to be with you again, but I didn’t want you to give up home and security. I didn’t think I was worth it.”
“So you thought the solution was to just shut me out?” you said. “Without even telling me why?”
A tear slid down your cheek, catching you by surprise. Gently, John brought his thumb to your face and wiped it away. The feeling of his touch made goosebumps erupt over your skin and sent a shiver down your spine. And yet, anger sat on your stomach.
“That is a piss poor excuse, John,” you spat.
“I was a kid,” he argued.
“We’re the same age, and I knew better,” you said.
“I said I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
You held his gaze for a moment. You didn’t know what else he could do either. Your feelings weren’t clear to yourself. You weren’t sure you were at a place where you could forgive him. As you looked into his eyes, you wanted to. You desperately wanted to. His eyes flicked down to your lips. Slowly, he began to lean forward. Your heart hammered against your chest and cheeks warmed as he inched closer. You were suddenly absurdly aware of his hand on your face. His eyes began to close and you pressed your hand to his chest.
“John, wait,” you said, sounding even less sure than you felt.
He opened his eyes and looked at you questioningly.
“I can’t do this,” you told him. “I don’t know how I feel about you.”
His hand trailed down to your neck, his fingers grazing your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath. He noticed, but he let you off the hook.
“I know how I feel about you,” he said. “I don’t like the ice queen we met earlier this week. But the woman you are beneath that is someone I’d like to know again.”
He pressed his lips to your cheek and you closed your eyes at the contact. When you opened them again, he was pushed the door to the closet open. He offered his hand so he could help you out. You accepted, needing the balance to step over all the items on the floor. As you headed to the front of the building, you said nothing else to each other. When you reached the door, you faced him again.
“Have a good evening, John,” you said.
“You too, Y/N,” he replied.
He gave you hand a small squeeze and then left. You took a deep breath and went out the door. The sun shone. The sky had cleared.
Thursday
Maybe you should get your shit together
You sat in the studio taking notes, your eyes flicking between your notebook and John. He occasionally looked back at you, in which case you would look sharply away. You had to bite your lip to keep from smirking. You couldn’t tell if he noticed or not.
You were a little embarrassed at how quickly the band hand begun to sway your opinion. You usually considered your opinion resolute. Perhaps it was growth that you could change your mind. About Queen, and the desires of your own heart.
Suddenly, Charles walked in. He was carrying your notepads from the last three days and looking livid. He waved them in your face. You shot him a confused and offended look.
“What?” you snapped. “Is there a problem?”
“You’re damn right there’s a problem!” he cried. “Is this really all you’ve got from the last three days?”
“That’s three notepads full,” you replied. “You really think I’m keeping stuff from you?”
“Do not sass me, girl!” he shouted.
Quietly, the band came into the room, though neither you nor Charles noticed, too caught up in the argument to see.
“Don’t call me girl!” you retorted, getting to your feet.
“Look, I didn’t give you this assignment so you could give me this choir boy version of the band!” he continued.
“Roger literally does coke on the second day, but yeah, I got choir boys,” you spat. “I’m writing the truth -”
“LISTEN!” he bellowed. “I told you I needed an exposure! Something to fill the headlines! A take down piece! So unless you wanna put some heels on and fuck me for an hour, you better stop acting like a little bitch!”
It was like all the air was sucked out of the room. The words had hardly left his mouth when John tackled him to the ground. He drilled his fist into Charles’s face repeatedly. You watched through teary eyes as John defended you. Blood burst from Charles’s nose as John’s fist made hard contact, over and over again. Charles was resisting weakly, blindsided by this attack.
“John!” you cried, reaching for him. “Stop! Stop it!”
Brian grabbed your arm to keep you out of it. Freddie and Roger stepped in to drag John off, but he struggled against them. You stared at him, amazed and horrified. Charles got slowly to his feet, shaking as he peeled himself off the floor. He glowered at John, breathing heavily. Then he wiped his bloody face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“You will be hearing from my lawyer,” he growled. He rounded on you. “And you, little groupie whore, are fired.”
You blinked, letting a tear fall down your cheek, and bit your lip to hold back the sob threatening to escape from your throat. Charles spat on the floor before limping out of the room. Roger flipped him off as he held John back. Freddie just sighed. Brian turned eyes on you.
“Are you alright, Y/N?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you choked out. Then you looked at John. “Let him go, guys. I need to speak to him.”
Freddie and Roger released John’s arms. He shrugged them off and followed you out of the booth and down the hall to an unoccupied office. John looked expectantly at you as you turned to face him.
“Close the door, please,” you requested.
He did. As soon as it clicked shut, you flared up.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you demanded. “We’ve spent all week despising each other and now you’re fighting some guy because he insulted me?! Who are you?! I don’t know where your head is at at any given time! How can you -”
He cut you off with a searing kiss. Your eyes fell shut as his lips moved against yours and you plunged your hands into his hair. It was frenzied and needy, all teeth and tongue. His hands slid over your shoulders before he grabbed your breasts and squeezed. You moaned into his mouth, feeling like you might faint.
He pulled back from your lips to pepper kisses down your neck. He nipped at your soft skin before swirling his tongue around the same spot to soothe it. High, breathy moans fell from your lips as he went. You pressed yourself closer to him and you could feel his hardening cock against your stomach. It sent a powerful jolt of arousal to your core. Your panties dampened.
“Mmm, John,” you sighed.
When you said his name, it fanned the fire in him. He grabbed you roughly, turned you around, and pushed you against the desk. You let out a small squeak of surprise as he bent you over. He yanked your skirt up around your waist, revealing your legs and thong to him. You shivered as the air hit your warm skin. John ran a hand up the back of your thigh, making you tremble with anticipation. He moved his hand away only to bring it back down sharply on your ass. The sound cracked like a whip in the empty room and a guttural moan tore from your throat. It only made you that much wetter.
“So damn strong willed, Y/N,” John growled into your ear, rubbing your stinging skin. “But this is what you really want, isn’t it? Someone to take care of you?”
You judged yourself a little for the pathetic whine that came out of your mouth. He wrapped his arm around you and dipped his hand into your underwear. Quickly, he ran his fingers up and down your slit, coating them in your wetness.
“Oh, God,” you moaned as his pointer finger found your clit.
You took hold of his arm, gripping it tight as the pleasure built. He made light circles on your clit, picking up speed with each rotation.
“F-fuck, John!” you cried. “Feels so good!”
“I see the way you watch me play,” he teased. “How badly you want these fingers inside you, princess, huh?
“Please, please, please,” you begged.
His middle finger nudged your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so sexy begging for me.”
Finally, he sank it into you. You groaned and your head slumped forward, lost in the feeling of it. He pumped in and out of you, slowly at first as he curled his finger into your g-spot. The heel of his hand put pressure on your clit and you saw stars.
“So bloody proud,” he said, kissing your shoulder softly. “But so needy.”
You couldn’t answer him. Your brain couldn’t even form words. His hand was working you right up to your orgasm. When he added a second finger you nearly screamed.
“M’close,” you mewled. “So close, John - fuck!”
You were clenching around his fingers, hurtling toward the edge. He sped up. You were grateful for the desk beneath you because your legs completely gave out.
“Go on then,” he encouraged. “Cum for me, princess.”
His permission was all you needed. You came completely undone with a choked cry of his name, riding out your high on his hand. As you came down, your whole body shook. He kept his hand at your center, lazily stroking your folds.
“Ready for my cock?” he asked, grazing your clit again and making your hips twitch.
You nodded.
“Need to hear you say it,” he urged.
“Yes, please, John,” you whined. “Want you to fuck me…”
You caught your breath as he unzipped his trousers and pulled your thong down to your ankles. You moaned when he pressed his tip against your entrance. All your senses were heightened by the pleasure coursing through you. The head of his cock right at your core, the silky feeling of his shirt against your back, the tickle of the ends of his hair on your cheek. All of it was just John.
He pushed slowly into you. He was quite big, but you were so wet, he met little resistance. You groaned as he entered. He filled you up, bottoming out inside you and he stopped so you could adjust.
“You’re so tight,” he hissed. “Fuck.”
“Move, please,” you told him.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He started at an easy pace, but quickly picked up. He must have been needier than you realized because his cock twitched inside you. So he was close. His finger found your clit again, circling it to the rhythm of his hips. His free hand gripped one of yours, interlocking your fingers. He pounded into you, his tip hitting your g-spot and making you whimper with every thrust.
“Can I - hng, fuck - can I cum inside you?” he asked breathlessly.
Just the thought of it made you squeeze around him and he let out the filthiest groan.
“Yes - oh, God - yes,” you practically sobbed.
One, two, three more thrusts, and you finished together, his hot cum coating your pulsing walls as he collapsed above you. You were shivering from the intensity of two such rapid orgasms, so his weight warmed and stilled you. He pressed his lips to your shoulders and neck, easing you down before he pulled out. You whimpered at the empty feeling. Then he pulled your underwear back up and readjusted your skirt. There was something touching about him redressing you before tucking himself back into his pants.
You just barely managed to push yourself off the desk. “John...that was…”
“Sorry I just pounced on you,” he said, looking at the floor.
“No, don’t apologize,” you said. “You were...you were incredible.”
“I just had to have you,” he replied bashfully.
You smiled. “John, I’ve never…”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“I’ve never orgasmed from a partner before,” you admitted.
“What?!” he gasped. “Never?!”
“That’s what I said,” you replied.
“Even when we - y’know - before?”
You laughed. “John, we were teenagers. No, I didn’t fucking cum. But you certainly made up for it now.”
It was his turn to smile. Then, he took your hand and pulled you close to kiss him. He was softer now. All anger and frustration gone. He rubbed your sides before wrapping his arms around you and just holding you close.
“Next time, we’ll make love properly,” he said into your hair.
“There’s going to be a next time?” you questioned.
“If you’ll let me,” he returned with a smirk. “You proud little thing.”
“I’m not so proud,” you said. “I did just let you bend me over a desk and fuck me.”
He chuckled. You returned to a comfortable silence and holding each other. You dug your fingers into his shirt as he embraced you. You buried your face in his chest. The girl you were - one who was hopeful, sweet, and romantic - was clawing her way out to meet the stronger woman you became. John’s return to your life showed you that they could exist together. His arms around you reminded you that she was a part of you and though you had changed - you both had - she was a remarkable and formative part of your story.
“I’m sorry again,” he said, pulling away to look in your eyes. “For letting you feel like I didn’t care about you. I thought about you all the time. And when your letters stopped, I hoped that you had found something that made you happy. I have only ever wanted that for you.”
You cupped his face in your hand. “I know that, John. I forgive you.”
“I like this woman, Y/N,” he said. “Who you are. Can we get reacquainted some more over dinner?”
“I would like that very much,” you said with a smile. “And I suppose it’s not a conflict of interest anymore since I’ve been fired.”
“Oh, shit.”
You shrugged. “It’s alright. I’m a good enough writer that I’ll get another job. Plus, I was going to have to eat my words and I really didn’t want to.”
“You were?!”
You nodded. “So thank you, John. You spared me that.”
He only laughed. You kissed him again.
“Actually, I think I will write the story,” you said. “We had an agreement. I’ll sell the story to another magazine. When the public eats it up, Charles will be sorry.”
He grinned, kissing your forehead. Then you left to go to your dinner date.
Friday
I look pretty, I’m lookin’ pretty in my dress
The next morning, you woke up next to John. Your dinner date went well, and you brought him back to your apartment for more of what you called “making up for lost time.” You gazed at his sleeping face and wondered at your own heart. How quickly this man had softened you. You couldn’t help pressing your lips to his chest. But when you got close to him, you noticed that he was hard. You stifled a giggle and then gently nudged his chest.
“John,” you said. “John, wake up.”
“Ugh,” he groaned. “What is it, love?”
“Can I touch you?” you asked sweetly.
“Fuck, yeah, of course,” he said.
You sat up, straddling him across his legs. You brought your hand to his cock and just stroked it with your finger, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes. You kissed his chest again. Softly, you nipped at his collar bone before trailing down to his tummy. Your tongue flicked out at the places that made him moan. When you reached his hips, you wrapped your hand around his shaft and he arched up with a soft gasp.
You never understood what men loved so much about fucking a woman’s mouth. You understood even less why women willingly gave men head. It brought them no pleasure. For the first time in your life, you willingly took a man’s tip past your lips. The beautiful little whine that came out of John’s mouth made it make sense. The knowledge that you made him feel this good was incredibly hot. You rubbed your thighs together for some friction.
You lowered your mouth onto him, taking him all the way down until his tip hit the back of your throat. You hummed around him and he whined, holding himself back from bucking up. He had no idea how grateful you were for his allowing you control in this situation. You bobbed up and down, taking his cock as deep as possible with every stroke.
“Fucking Christ, Y/N,” he sighed. “Your mouth is incredible.”
You didn’t answer, but kept going. You couldn’t believe what giving him this kind of pleasure was also doing to you. The sounds me made, the way he looked with his head thrown back and mouth hanging open...it was sexy as hell.
You reached up to massage his balls and he couldn’t stop his hips from jumping at the contact. He apologized, but you waved him down. You continued. He finally pulled you off him because he was so close.
“S’okay,” you said. “I want to finish you off with my mouth.”
“Fuuuuck,” he groaned.
You smirked before taking him down again. You went a little faster now, eager to get him there. His chest became as flushed as his cheeks.
“Ah - Y/N - I’m -”
He didn’t need to finish his sentence, as he released inside you. You swallowed as you worked his cock through his high. He panted beneath you. You came up with a soft pop and showed him your empty mouth.
“Oh, God,” he shuddered. “You’re so sexy.”
“That was fun,” you said with a smile. “You got so worked up.”
“It felt good,” he returned simply.
“I never understood before why blowjobs were fun,” you told him.
He just looked quizzically up at you.
“Never mind,” you said, shaking your head.
He didn’t press you, which you appreciated. You didn’t want to talk about that now anyway. Without warning, he gripped you by the hips and flipped you over. You yelped with surprise.
“What are you doing?” you wondered.
“Returning the favor,” he said.
He kissed your lower tummy, exploring your skin and making you giggle. Then he turned his attention to your thighs. You rocked your hips up toward him impatiently.
“Relax,” he said.
“I didn’t tease you like that,” you reminded him.
“Never said I was playing far,” he shot back.
Even so, he finally licked a stripe up your slit, making your hand jump to his hair. He swirled his tongue around your clit and you sucked in a breath. Your heels dug into the mattress as he built up speed. Then he lined up his fingers with your entrance.
“So wet already,” he said. “You enjoyed sucking me off that much?”
“Shut up,” you groaned.
He chuckled and returned his mouth to your throbbing clit. He pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them perfectly. It was almost overwhelming how good he made you feel. No one had ever gotten you this aroused before. You couldn’t even get this hot on your own. John brought out something primal in you that made you just melt to his touch. He knew what the fuck he was doing and did it well. Your toes curled as heat spread through you.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
You looked down and met his gaze. His pupils were blown wide with lust, but adoration lingered behind it. He kissed your clit as he maintained eye contact and you nearly finished from that.
“John, please,” you whined.
“Don’t hold back for me, Y/N,” he said. “Fucking cum if you need to.”
“Faster,” you instructed.
He obeyed. He devoured you like a starved man as his fingers pumped in and out at an almost brutal pace. Your mouth fell open and you began writhing beneath him.
“John - John - oh - fuck!” you cried.
“Like I said, cum when you’re ready,” he told you again.
“Close,” you sobbed.
Your orgasm washed over you, your body jerking as is wracked through your muscles. John let you ride it out on his face. When you stilled, he crawled back over you, kissing you deeply. You tasted yourself on him.
“You want to keep going?” he asked. “I could get it up again if you want.”
You shook your head. “After yesterday, last night, and now I can’t take anymore.”
“Alright, love,” he said, settling beside you and pulling you under his arm to spoon.
“Don’t you have to be at the studio?” you wondered.
“We can lay here a while longer,” he assured you. “I don’t…” he trailed off.
You turned your head to look at him. “What?”
“I don’t want you to ever again feel like I’m abandoning you,” he said sheepishly. “Even for the small stuff.”
“Oh, John,” you sighed. “Thank you.”
When you did go to the studio, you arrived together, hand in hand. Roger, Brian, and Freddie looked at your hands, then your faces, and back again.
“What’s this?” Freddie asked.
“We got reacquainted,” John said.
You beamed.
“Who is this?” Roger questioned, looking at you. “A smile? Who are you and what have you done with the real Y/N Y/L/N?”
“The real Y/N Y/L/N is whoever I want her to be,” you said. “I’ll still call you a pixie, Taylor. I’ll just smile while I do it.”
“That sounds more like it,” he returned with a smirk.
“Well, Y/N, what are you doing here?” Brian asked. “I mean, you were fired.”
You explained to them what you told John. You were going to write the article as a freelance writer. You were certain another magazine would be interested.
“And what is this article going to say?” Freddie wondered.
“You’ll have to wait and find out,” you said. “It’s not ethical to let your subjects read the piece before it’s published.”
“It’s also not ethical to fuck your sources,” Roger pointed out, grinning.
You and John exchanged shocked looks.
“You weren’t exactly quiet,” Brian said.
Your face went bright red as Freddie laughed. Before long, you were all laughing with him. It was rather funny.
As they prepared for their day, you took out your paper and pen again. You weren’t sure exactly what you were going to say about Queen after seeing what they did. You weren’t sure how you could convey their style and friendship. You weren’t sure you could get it all in one article. But you knew you would somehow. There had to be words to describe Queen.
That night, Freddie hosted a party at his house and invited you to attend. You told John you would meet him there, since you weren’t sure who else was going to be there and you still had to pitch the article.
As you got ready in your room, throwing on a beautiful red dress with some strappy heels, you became a bit nervous. You wondered if Charles had told others in the industry about what happened. But you didn’t know how you came out of it looking like the bad guy if he told the truth. That was the hang up. Had he told the truth?
You decided firmly to forget about that and just have a good time tonight. What would come, would come. You had faced much worse and stayed strong. You could do so now.
When you arrived at Freddie’s, he answered the door. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek before leading you inside to meet some of his other friends. It was crowded, which made you nervous, but you kept your eyes peeled for John. When you entered the living room, you spotted him. His smile faltered as he saw you in your dress. You couldn’t help but smirk.
He walked over, a hungry look in his eye. “You look incredible.”
“Thank you,” you said with a grin.
He kissed your cheek. Your skin lit up at his touch.
“The dress looks great, but I really can’t wait to take it off you,” he whispered in your ear.
You shivered as you took his hand. Roger approached, so John just slipped an arm around your waist and faced his friend.
“Wow, Y/N,” Roger said. “You clean up nice.”
“You too, Rog,” you returned.
You chatted and mingled for the night. The whole time, John was at your side, with a hand on you. Whether it was your waist, your back, your arm - it didn’t matter. You felt him there with you. Reassuring and safe.
You went back to your place afterward, unable to keep your hands off of each other. By the time you were through the door, your dress was halfway off and John’s shirt was undone. Your mouths crashed together as your hands roamed each other’s bodies. Then he pulled away.
“Y/N, hold on,” he said. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Your brow furrowed as you looked at him. “What is it?”
“What do you want from this?” he asked.
“What?”
“I love what we’re doing,” he said. “I’m just wondering if it’s...more than it is.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Are we in a relationship?” he asked outright.
He was suddenly the John from home. Unsure, but hopeful. You vividly recalled the day he first asked you to be his girlfriend. He was so shy and a bit awkward. You were so endeared by him. You felt that again as he looked at you now. Overwhelmingly, you wanted to be his again.
“I know I hurt you before,” he said. “So I understand if you’re hesitant, but -”
You cut him off with a sweet kiss.
“John, if I didn’t want to be with you, I wouldn’t,” you said. “As it is, I do. So, if a relationship is what you want, then that’s what I want too.”
His smile was like sunshine. You could have melted into a puddle right there. Then, of course, he absolutely ravished you.
Two Weeks Later
“Have you all seen this?” Roger wondered as he entered the studio, carrying a fresh magazine.
“Y/N’s article came out?” Brian asked.
Roger nodded.
“How’d she do?” Freddie questioned.
“Listen,” Roger began. “‘Queen is a unique band made up of unique individuals. Their differences work together to create some of the most cohesive work in rock music. No matter the year or the style, Queen sounds like Queen. And not just because of frontman Freddie Mercury’s unmistakable and outstanding voice. The work of guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon are vital parts a body of work that is more than signature. It’s a fingerprint. All of this is made possible by the professionalism and hard work of one of the greatest rock bands I have had the pleasure of seeing in action.’ She goes on, of course.”
Brian took the article and scanned it. “She really is a great writer.”
“I’m just glad she’s on our side now,” Freddie said. “What do you think, Deaky?”
John shrugged. “What can I say, I’m proud of her. That’s my girl.”
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