#*holds writers at gun point*

[magicpotatomaster101]

advice from the gang, how nice :)

#i wished they focused on this friendship squad instead of that love triangle! #eugene was done dirty ): #oh well i'll manifest it myself #*holds writers at gun point* #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #thing addams #eugene otinger #enid sinclair #wenclair #i guess? #tater's art stuff

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME #there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing #and the writing is what i need to be doing #writeblr #this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to #edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol #i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!! #my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means #i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her) #hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong #i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet. #i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse #i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!! #i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO #i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness #and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it #im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us #i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer #and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art. #i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work #even if it means being miserable #but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.

[anthurak]

Something I was always a little concerned about in the lead-up to Hazbin Hotel was that Charlie was going to be a bit too passive of a character, ie; leaning only into the ‘kind, optimistic Disney-Princess-in-Hell who just wants to help everyone’ vibe and not really have much else going on as a character. Which in turn would make her feel kind of bland next to the big, over-the-top or dramatic personalities like Angel Dust and Alastor.

But thankfully, that is not what happened and there’s actually a lot that I like about what the writers are doing with Charlie, particularly in the potential future development and reveals they seem to be setting up.

First off, I like how Charlie generally comes off more like an over-the-top caricature of that ‘Disney-Princess-in-Hell’ vibe, ie; SUPER energized, enthusiastic, affectionate and emotional, often to overbearing degrees that get on everyone’s nerves. It’s generally funny, or at least amusing, and lets Charlie stand out alongside the other big personalities in the cast. Funny enough, she’s actually a lot like Blitzo in this regard, minus the seesawing into extreme abrasiveness.

And more importantly, we’ve already gotten major hints all but confirming that this over-the-top personality is largely a façade, and that Charlie actually has some very clear issues and baggage that she’s working VERY hard to keep buried beneath the surface. Again, much like Blitzo.

Like how in the trust-fall exercise in episode three, despite asking everyone to reveal something personal, Charlie actually bullshits just as hard as Angel Dust and Sir Pentious with her whole ‘I love you all!’ bit. Sure, it’s not like she was lying or being insincere, but it’s clear that was NOT something truly personal for Charlie. And in episode 4 we have Husk straight-up calls out Charlie as ‘wanting to solve everyone’s problems but her own’.

Then of course we have the brief glimpses we’ve seen of Charlie getting angry. Both the times we’ve seen Charlie dealing with some truly despicable and horrendous characters, we’ve seen that rather than lacking the ability to get angry, Charlie is often working to hold herself back. In both her encounters with Adam and Valentino we see points where Charlie is clearly NOT intimidated or afraid of them at all and seems fully prepared to throw down, only being stopped by reigning herself in or by someone else (in this case Angel) stopping her.

Again, it all paints Charlie’s big, bubbly, hyperactive exuberance as something of a front, a way for her to bury a lot of thoughts, feelings and general baggage she doesn’t want to face. Just like what the show has already explored with Angel and Husk.

It actually raises some interesting questions as to what’s REALLY driving Charlie in running the hotel and trying to help Sinners. For one, Husk has already pegged Charlie as ‘wanting to solve everyone’s problems but her own’. And going back to thematic crossover with Helluva Boss, I can’t help but see some potential parallels between Charlie creating the Hazbin Hotel, and Blitzo creating Immediate Murder Professionals.

I think it’s pretty clear at this point that half the reason for creating I.M.P. was as a coping mechanism for Blitzo, or rather the assassination business in general. Something that we’ve gotten hints to as early as the second episode in Blitzo’s back and forth with the Robo-Fizz (“Does anyone love you, Blitzo?”/“No. But I’m really good with guns now!”). With the other half of the reason Blitzo created I.M.P. clearly seems to be to create a surrogate family, as seen with how much he tries to insert himself in the M&M’s lives. Possibly even a specific attempt to replace the family he unwittingly destroyed fifteen years ago.

So I really have to wonder if we’re going to find out that Charlie creating the hotel and her goal of redeeming sinners is in part likewise a coping mechanism and escape for her own baggage.

It’s actually really interesting how episode two first introduced the idea of people opening up with Sir Pentious, then episode four dived further into the concept of the walls and fake personas people put up to hide from their pain and trauma with Angel Dust and Husk. With those two opening up and starting to let their walls down to each other, and by extension we the audience, I think it makes Charlie’s own façade all the more noticeable. It’ll be pretty interesting if Charlie actually winds up being the toughest nut to crack when it comes to opening up about their real issues and baggage. Yet another interesting trait she shares with Blitzo.

All in all, I’m really liking what the show has been doing with Charlie as a protagonist. And I’m REALLY interested to see where the story is going to take her.

Particularly what’s going to happen when she reaches a breaking point…

#hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin analysis #hazbin theory #charlie morningstar #helluva blitzo #character parallels #character analysis #charlie has a LOT more going on than she's showing #blitzo hitting his breaking point had him crying himself to sleep into a pillow #what if charlie hitting HER breaking point has her raining LITERAL ARMAGEDDON down on some poor bastards?

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hey Writers of ATSV, STOP letting White Men off the hook and expecting me to clap.

The fact that Miguel is repeated dehumanized and called an animal even prior to him snapping but George Stacy's scenes are written completely sympathetic towards him -

It doesn't sit right with me. Look at this:

They call Miguel an animal in the opening scenes.

At this point, he's not a threat to anyone but Vulture. In this scene, Miguel is doing exactly what he's supposed to do as Spider-man.

He gets called an animal.

Two pages later it's literal George Stacy holding a gun to his daughters face, and yet it's written completely, 100% sympathetic towards him AND ONLY HIM.

Which like..... Girl... Let me adjust my spectacles because I cannot be reading this right.

He's pointing a loaded gun at his daughter. Gwen is undoubtedly more scared than she's even been in her entire life.

She's confused and desperate, one of our main characters is going through a traumatic event.

The script though? It only cares about George and how he was 'betrayed by his little girl'

As if Gwen isn't her own person.

As if Gwen didn't just save dozens of lives. In a situation where the police could do nothing.

Had Gwen not been there, the police would not have been able to handle Vulture. The threat is subdued - yet he still persists.

It doesn't matter that she just saved multiple lives. It doesn't matter that she's not a threat - or that she's his literal daughter.

What matters is how hard this is for the adult white man with the lethal weapon in his hands.

The scene SHOULD be written from Gwen's point of view. SHE'S the victim.

But no, the white male cop is going through it due to his own emotional incompetency so let's focus on that while calling Miguel an evil animal.

In ATSV both George AND Peter - the two white men in the movie - let Gwen down. They either put her in danger or do nothing as they watch.

George points a gun at her. Peter watches Miguel as he physically assaults Gwen and puts her in the machine, exiling her into homelessness.

Then, he gets to go home to his wife and kids, not even mention to MJ that Gwen and Miles were both assaulted and are now missing. And instead he whines about how he's 'not good at this mentor stuff'.

In ATSV the White Male characters repeatedly fail the people around them with no consequences at all - even from a lot of the audience.

And yeah - Peter Parker is completely neglectful.

To the point it's not okay whatsoever.

I've seen MULTIPLE people say that 'Peter is justified in not helping Gwen during the Go-Home scene. Because Miguel was obviously violent and he's probably scared of him plus he was holding MayDay.'

Which is an excuse that ignores the fact that it's pitiful that GWEN a teenage girl facing homelessness - who is likely weaker than both Peter and Miguel - is more willing to stand up to Miguel than PETER PARKER.

It ignores the fact Miguel would NOT attack a fucking baby. He's a FATHER.

But it's easier to assume the Latino man is a raging, angry, baby killer than to admit the white man is committing neglect.

It baffles me that people will really defend Peter saying 'he was scared - he didn't know what Miguel would do-'

Neither did Gwen. But she still did it.

Because she's a GOOD GUY. Because it mattered to her. Because the people she cared about were getting hurt.

She stood up to Miguel in the face of literal danger and homelessness.

Peter had nothing to lose. He make a joke and shut up when he was told.

Once again: If Gwen and Hobie hadn't come for Peter, we have NO IDEA how long he would've stayed with Miguel. We are given NO INDICATION prior to Gwen's arrival that Peter is actively going to change sides. Or is even really considering it in that moment.

Even in the script Peter shows no remorse or worry for Gwen or Miles at all.

It's as if they don't cross his mind. As if he doesn't care he led Miguel directly to Miles because he forgot he had on a tracking watch. As if what he just witnessed didn't disturb him, as if he isn't worried that Gwen is literally homeless.

All he cares about is him, and his image as mentor.

Like sir, I do not give a DAMN. I might not even give a fuck, if you will.

Shut the fuck up about that mentorship shit 😭😭😭😭 You tryna mentor niggas that's MISSING.

He's like that deadbeat dad that brought you a bike a decade ago at 6 and he still bringing it up asking you why you don't call him 'dad'. Like just because you taught Miles to swing over a year ago doesn't mean you're his mentor mfer. Miles would've learned to swing anyway cause it's literally instinctual and every person bitten eventually learns it by themselves so really Peter wtf 😐

People will scream 'But there's nothing he could do!! Miguel is too scary!!'

One: Peter is one of if not the Spider-person with the most experience. If we assume he was bitten at 18 and he's say 45 now, that's still over 25 years of experience. If he was bitten in high school, that's even more experience.

He has biological powers Miguel doesn't, plus he has years of experience over Miguel - who canonically got his powers as an adult. If anyone in that room can beat Miguel - it's him.

If you're telling me that Peter B. Parker is not only scared of Miguel but he's scared to the point he will not even attempt to question him, even though three people younger than him will - Gwen, Hobie, and Miles - that's pitiful. That's a sad excuse for a Spider-man.

Also He's Spider-Man. The whole point of Spider-man is he fights even if he isn't sure he can win.

Two: At the very least, he can show that he's genuinely concerned for the kids he wants to mentor so bad. But he doesn't even do that. Even bringing them up or saying their names doesn't cross his mind.

But once again, the white male character emotionally neglecting those around him - especially the children who depend on him - and both he are George are either shown as innocent, unwilling to act, or the script is outright sympathetic towards them.

It's easy to call the Latino man an animal but writing a scene in which a white cop is rightfully portrayed as selfish is too hard.

It's easy to call the Latino man a monster but writing Peter Parker as a heroic figure is too hard.

The racism is not just towards Miguel. It's also in the blatant favoritism the white male characters are given.

Both George and Peter actively endanger those around them and at no point do they do something on their own accord that helps anybody but themselves.

Gwen has to go to her father - by force. Gwen has to go to Peter - using Hobie's hard work.

What we NOT GONNA DO is give the white man praise when it's literally the black guy who did all the work.

Fuck - Hobie mentored Gwen TEN TIMES MORE than Peter ever did Miles. Hobie put a roof over Gwen's head and came to get her when no other person would.

Writers, stop trying to make me sympathetic towards the white men who actively hurt the people around them when there's good mentors like Hobie and good parents like Rio and Jeff.

I ain't with the shits'. If anyone is an animal in this script, it's the man who pointed a gun at his daughter.

I guess assaulting and mentally scaring children is only okay if you do it with a firearm? Or if you make this face while doing it 🥺*

(*coupon not available for the melinated)

I changed my mind i don't forgive Peter or George. Miguel who has a whole ass arc of life and death and loss gets called an animal while the white cop with six minutes of screentime gets shown as father of the year while holding a loaded gun to a child girl you must be kidding me

Maybe Gwen would be in a better mood if we let her kick their asses idk 🤷🏾

#no proofread #I'm just yelling #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #gwen stacy #miles morales #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #ghost spider #spiderwoman #peter b parker #atsv analysis #George Stacy #Peter Parker

[rynwritesstuff]

Unknown

Billy The Kid x Reader

Warnings: Feisty!Reader, General outlaw stuff (guns, cursing, threats), Mentions of sex work/brothels, Smut (PIV sex, unprotected sex, rough sex), Hint of fluff, Imprisonment, Jailbreak

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: After discovering Billy Antrim one night, you persuade him to travel with you. A wild and interesting adventure ensues.

Author's Note: I've spent the past several weeks reading the most incredible Billy x Reader fics, and I wanted to try my hand at writing for him. I wanted to tag a few of my favorite Billy writers, because they have inspired me to give this a try. (Thank you @billysgun @atrwriting and @goosita you guys are incredible, I admire you so much, keep doing what you're doing <3)

“It ain’t the being alone. It ain’t the empty home, baby, you know I’m good on my own. You know, it’s more the being unknown. So much of the living, love, is the being unknown.” - Unknown / Nth, Hozier

When he hears it – the footsteps – Billy’s head snaps to the side. A million thoughts run through his head. Robbers, outlaws, all-around no good men . . . They could be anywhere. They could be everywhere. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for the gun at his hip. He barely has time to touch it before the sound of a gun cocking comes from behind him. He pauses. 

“Don’t. Move,” comes your voice. Billy swallows harshly as he freezes. It’s dark aside from the campfire in front of him and the moon and stars sparkling in the sky. Billy keeps his breathing even and steady as footsteps come closer. 

“I need money,” you say.

“You’ve got the wrong man, miss,” Billy says, unmoving. “I’ve got nothin’.”

“Food, then. Got any food?” 

Billy nods towards the small pot beside the fire. 

“There’s a bit left over there.”

You circle him, and when you do, he catches a glimpse of your face, slightly shielded by an old hat. Your hair is pulled back and you wear men’s clothing. Your too-big boots thud against the grass. Even like this, Billy can tell that you're beautiful, the kind of beautiful that would bring a God-fearing man to his knees. 

You keep your gun pointed at him as you look down into the pot and then back up at BIlly. 

“It’s not enough.” 

“It’s what I’ve got.” 

“You’re lying,” you say easily. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way you came this far with so little food. You think I’m an idiot, boy?” 

“No,” Billy shakes his head. “I mean it. That’s the last of my food.” 

You chuckle dryly, then approach Billy. 

“Keep your hands up,” you warn. You tug his gun from his holster, then step back towards the fire. Billy is now completely unarmed. He couldn’t shoot you even if he wanted to. You crouch down beside the pot. It’ll have to do, you decide, and reach in with your bare hand to scoop up the beans and bring them to your mouth. You sigh. They’re salty and warm and earthy, and they soothe the ache in your stomach. 

Billy moves slightly, you see him out of the corner of your eye, and you bring your gun up again. He freezes. 

“I was just shiftin’,” he tells you. Wordlessly, you look back down at the pot and continue to eat. Billy watches you curiously. Where are you coming from? Where are you going? And, perhaps most importantly, who are you on the run from? 

“Billy the Kid,” you say finally, wiping your hand on the grass as you get to your feet. “Hm. I didn’t recognize you at first.” 

“Do I know you?” Billy asks. 

“No. But damn near everyone in the West knows you. Ya shouldn’t be surprised.” You slowly make your way over to his horse. You open his saddle bag as Billy turns to watch you. You pull out his shotgun, humming to yourself. You set it aside, and Billy’s heart begins to race. 

“The ring,” he says quickly, making you pause, “please don’t take it. It was my ma’s.”

You halt. How strange it is, to hear William Antrim speak so desperately. You stare at him as you pull the small gold band from his bag. You hold it in your palm, and Billy watches you with a pained expression. 

“Please. She’s gone, she’s dead. It’s all I got left of ‘er.”

You shake your head. 

“I’m not heartless, Billy,” you say, and Billy nearly laughs. No, woman holding me at gunpoint, he thinks. Of course you’re not.

“I’ve lost people, too,” you tell him. You toss the ring to him, and he catches it, clutching it tightly. “I’ll advise you to keep it closer to you, though. People like me aren’t always so understanding.” 

You go back to digging through his bag but don't find much; an apple, a pocket watch, a few shirts and a pair of pants. You huff, keeping only the apple, and shove everything back into the saddle bag, including the shotgun. 

“You’re shit out of luck, Billy,” you say, stepping towards him as you bite into the apple. You wipe a bit of juice from the corner of your mouth. “No food, no water–” 

“I have water.” 

“Oh, well excuse me, then. I apologize,” you say sarcastically. Billy clenches his jaw. You sit down a good five feet away from Billy, gun still in-hand as you eat the apple. 

“God, fuck,” you breathe. Billy glances at you. “Haven’t had fruit in a month.”

“Neither have I,” Billy says flatly. 

“Mm. As I was sayin’ . . . You’re kinda fucked right now. Where’re you headed?” 

“I don’t know yet.” 

“Liar,” you say. You’re confident while you have the gun in your hand, and although you know that Billy could scramble for his shotgun, you also know that you could blow his head off before he got there. If he tries something, anything, he’s a dead man. He must know it, too.

“The next town over,” Billy says finally. “I need somewhere to stay for a while.”

“It’s about fifteen miles East,” you say. You bite into the apple again. “You know where you’re going? How to get there?” 

“I prefer to travel alone,” Billy says as he watches you. For a moment, a small, brief, fleeting moment, he wonders what you look like beneath the tattered button-up shirt. He’s only slept with a handful of women, and it’s been a long while since he’s touched himself, much less had someone else touch him. He swallows harshly. 

You lap your tongue over the dripping apple to gather the juice, then speak. 

“Right. Well, I need a man to come with me East. Nobody takes women seriously in that town, I was there a while back.” 

“Surely you don’t want to risk being recognized, then,” Billy says. You chuckle. 

“Unlike you, Antrim, I’m moving from town to town by choice. I've got nothing to hide.”

Well. That seems to answer Billy’s questions. He sighs, then looks away. Perhaps this is a good thing. Maybe a woman is what he needs. A fiery, feisty woman who will try to keep him in-line. 

“What’s in it for me?” he asks. 

You shrug.

“Money, probably. Food. A roof over your head.” 

“Until I get caught.” 

“I’ll try to keep you out of trouble if you promise to try, too.” 

Billy looks over at you. 

“I don’t even know your name.” 

You smile softly, looking at him kindly for the first time all evening. You tell him your name, and when you do, he tests how it feels to say it. You nod. 

“Right,” you say. “Ya got it.” 

Billy hums. 

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” he says. 

“No,” you say, tossing him back his gun. “I’d hope not. You wouldn’t be a very good outlaw if you trusted someone that easily.”

Billy slips his gun back into his holster, feeling better now that he has his firearm again. You take another bite of the apple. 

“Let’s leave at dawn,” you tell him. Billy still isn’t completely convinced that this is a good idea, but he doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want to upset you or set you off.

“Fine,” he says. You nudge him. 

“Where are those manners you had a bit ago?” you tease, tossing the apple core aside. “‘Miss’ and ‘ma’am’. Your mama raised you right.”

“Yes, ma’am, she did,” Billy says, offering you a small, teasing smile.

***

Dawn comes, as it always does. You wake before Billy, and take it upon yourself to tidy up his things from the night before. The pot is washed and the fire is out when Billy’s eyes open, and he glances around for a moment. He sees you, and you offer him a nod. 

“Get up,” you tell him as you guide his horse over. “I’d like to get there as soon as possible.” 

Billy groans softly as he sits up on the blanket that separates him from the grass.

“You don’t have a horse? You came all this way on foot?” 

You sigh, leaning against Billy’s horse. 

“She got stolen a few miles back,” you say. “I was surprised they didn’t get yours, too.”

“Mm. Sorry to hear that,” he says as he folds up the blanket and attaches it to his saddle bag. You shake your head. 

“Not much that can be done about it now. Ya ready to go, Billy?”

He nods as he puts on his hat and approaches his horse. He holds his hand out to you and helps you up onto the saddle. He knows that you can get up yourself, but you shouldn’t have to do such a thing. Not when there’s a man around to help you.

Knowing that you won’t both fit on the saddle, Billy decides to walk. You watch him as he guides his horse. The muscles in his strong arms flex as he goes, and you find yourself staring at him more than the scenery around you. You know what this likely means, of course, but you don’t want to think about it. 

You don’t want to complicate things. 

Hours pass. The pair of you reach a town. Dust is kicked up as Billy’s horse trots through, and people bustle busily. You glance around. People stare at the two of you, and you wonder if it’s because they recognize Billy, or perhaps you from when you were here previously. You wipe sweat from your brow. 

“There’s a brothel that way,” you say, pointing to the right. “Rooms are cheap there.” 

“I thought you didn’t have much money,” Billy says, guiding his horse in the direction you pointed in. 

“I don’t,” you say. “But I have enough for us to stay somewhere for a week or so.”

You hear Billy sigh, and you clench your jaw. 

“You got a better idea?” you ask. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it,” you say. Men are so finicky, you think. You arrive at the brothel just after noon, and you get off the horse. Billy goes to follow you, and you hold your hand up. 

“Don’t. You’ll get swarmed by whores. Just stay here, let me do the talking.” 

Billy’s brow furrows slightly. 

“What if there’s trouble?” he asks. You tap the gun holstered at your hip. 

“I can handle myself.”

Without another word, you head into the brothel. You locate the owner and speak to her about a room for you and your friend. Just as you remembered, the rooms are cheap, cheap enough for you to rent a room for longer than you thought you’d be able to. You pay the owner, then step back outside. 

“Get our stuff,” you tell Billy. “I’ll take your horse to the stable.” 

Wordlessly, Billy obeys, gathering the bags before you lead his horse around the building. He steps inside. Just as you predicted, a few whores approach him. 

They gush at him, telling him how incredibly handsome he is, and how he must be tired, and how he looks like he needs a good blowjob. He politely turns them down, his cheeks warming slightly. One of the whores, a blonde woman, runs her hand over his chest. He tries not to stare at her bare breasts. 

“You stayin’ awhile?” she asks. Billy nods. She hums. “Come n’ see me sometime, won’t ya?” 

Billy offers her a kind smile. 

“I’m a busy man, I’m afraid. Don’t have time for that.” 

He hears footsteps behind him, and moments later, he’s being tugged towards the stairs of the brothel. 

“Told ya they’d flock to you,” you say as you and Billy go up to the room. You unlock the door. 

“They’re just doing their job,” he says as he steps into the room and sets the bags down. You sigh as you re-lock the door. You put your hands on your hips as you walk around the room, inspecting it. It’s not nice by any means, but it’s a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in, and that’s enough for now.

“I’ll take the floor,” he offers. You glance at him. “Y’know. When we sleep.” 

You shake your head with a sigh as you take off your hat. 

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I don’t particularly care if we share a bed,” you say. Billy doesn’t say anything. You glance at him. He’s staring at you. “What?” 

Just as he had noticed last night, you’re beautiful. And if you look this nice like this, he can only imagine what you’d look like all dolled up, or even just freshly bathed. He wonders what it would be like to touch you, to feel you beneath him, to have your body canting up towards his. 

He shakes his head slightly. 

“Nothing. Just . . . Nothing.” 

“If you want the floor, you can have it–” 

“No, no, I don’t mind either,” he says. You sit down at the edge of the bed, then lie back on it with a drawn-out sigh. 

“I’m gonna sleep good tonight,” you chuckle. Billy finds himself smiling softly. 

“Is it comfortable?” he asks. You laugh again. 

“Not at all, but it’s better than the ground.”

Billy approaches the bed and sits down beside you, leaving a gap between your bodies. He bounces a bit, and the bed frame squeaks. He hums as he stops.

“Well?” you ask, looking up at him. 

“You’re right, it’s awful.”

You hum, rubbing your eyes. 

“I know.” You sigh. “Why don’t you go downstairs and eat?”

“What’re you gonna do?” he asks. 

“Take a bath,” you say. Billy nods. He knows he should bathe too, especially if he’s going to be sleeping beside you, but he’s so, so hungry . . . 

“I’ll go after you, then,” he says, getting to his feet. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“Hang on.” 

Billy pauses, glancing back at you as you sit up. You gesture for him to come back towards the bed. He obliges. There is a foot or so of space between your bodies, and you look up at him with a twinkle in your eye. You know what you want to tell him, but you don’t know how to say it. You know what you want to do, but you don’t know how to get there. 

“You’re the most handsome outlaw I’ve dealt with, y’know,” you say finally, voice soft. Billy is surprised but most certainly not disappointed. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

“How many outlaws have you dealt with?” Billy asks. 

“Quite a few.” 

He hums. 

“I suppose that means I should be thanking you, then," he says. You reach out and tug on his belt loops, pulling him closer. You put your hands on his hips and look up at him. 

“Yes. You should.”

Billy leans down a bit. 

“Thank you, then, miss,” he says quietly. You feel his breath against you, and you let out a soft sigh as heat blooms between your thighs. Hesitantly, you bring your hand up to touch his cheek. You feel the stubble near his chin and jaw as you look into his eyes. 

“Can I–?” 

“You don’t even havta ask,” Billy tells you softly. He leans forward and presses his lips against yours. You inhale sharply as you pull him closer. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, like a man dying. You touch him wherever you can: His cheeks, his jaw, the sides of his throat, his shoulders. He gets on top of you as you scoot back on the bed. You keep one of your hands on the back of his head, which ensures that his lips stay pressed against yours while the two of you move and adjust. 

Billy tosses his hat to the side, and once he’s done that, you tug at his suspenders. You push them off of his shoulders, and you spread your legs a bit more to make room for him to comfortably fit between them. He kisses you again, hot and heavy, and you moan against his lips. 

“Please,” you sigh. He nods as he unbuttons your shirt. 

“I’ve got ya,” Billy reassures you. You kiss him as a sense of safety and security washes over you. He’s got you. He’s got you. You let him unbutton your shirt, and when your breasts are revealed, he leans down to kiss at them. You sigh at the feeling of his chapped lips on your smooth skin. You shrug the shirt all the way off so that your torso is bare, then run your fingers through his dark curls. 

“Billy,” you sigh, eyes fluttering. He hums. You want to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. You grab his collar and pull him back up so you can kiss him. You fumble with his buttons, and when you get his shirt off, you yank off his undershirt, too. You grip his bare shoulders, your hands running down to his biceps. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. He smiles softly. 

“Like what ya see?” he asks. You nod. 

“Sure do,” you tell him. When he stands back to undo his trousers, you quickly kick off your boots and stand up to push down your pants to leave you nude. You get on the bed once you’re naked, and when Billy looks back up at you, cock in-hand, he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, a sound of pleasure. You smile as you spread your legs, feeling a bit bashful but excited nonetheless. 

Billy says your name, then. It’s a whisper, a sigh, a prayer. He gets back on top of you, and his dripping cock presses against you as he leans down to kiss you. You groan. 

“I want you inside me,” you tell him, giving his hair a gentle tug. He nods, pressing his tip against your entrance. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission, and you smile softly. 

“Billy, I love that you’re bein’ a gentleman, but I really need you to ruin me right now. We can be polite to each other later, okay?” you tell him. This makes him chuckle, a quiet, hearty sound, and he nods. 

“Okay,” he says, pushing his tip in. “Understood.”

You hum, hands moving down to his biceps. You grip him tightly as he pushes in further. 

“Oh, fuck, Billy . . .” 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head. 

“No, no, just go slow at first. Ease it in, y’know?”

Billy nods. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes teasingly, pushing in further. Your wetness coats his cock easily, and he groans at the feeling of your wet heat engulfing him. “Jesus ffffuckin’ . . .”

Your grip on him tightens as he pushes his cock all the way inside of you. You moan softly as his tip presses against the sweet spot inside of you. 

“Oh, god,” you hum. “Mm, Billy . . . Move . . .” 

His hand fits into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and he holds you there as he begins to roll his hips. He is slow at first, gentle, but his pace quickly picks up. The bed frame creaks and groans, and you moan loudly.

“How is it?" he asks breathily, wanting to hear your praise.

“F-Feels good,” you groan as he hits that sweet spot. Your legs and thighs tremble. Your breasts bounce. Your heart races. Billy’s body is firm and strong above you, and his hold on you tightens. You lean up to kiss him, moaning against his lips. 

“So needy,” Billy says against your mouth. You moan. “Mm. S-So wet for me . . . Needed this bad, didn’t ya?”

You nod, clinging to him as if you’re the only thing keeping him here, as if he could disappear at any moment and leave you aching for more. 

“Ohmygod, Billy . . . F-Faster, I need it faster . . .”

“Mm . . . Ask nicely . . .”

His words go straight to your core, and you clench around him just to hear him grunt. You reach up to tug at his hair, and he turns his head to suck at your jaw. You let him. 

“Please,” you sigh. “P-Please, Billy . . . Make me f-feel good . . . Fuck me f-faster . . .”

Billy hums as he pulls away from your jaw. 

“Atta girl,” he breathes. He’s pounding you, now, fucking you so hard that you begin to worry that the damn bed with break. People can probably hear you, but it’s a fucking brothel, you remind yourself, and you cry out loudly. Your face is hot as Billy’s hips slam against yours. He’s grunting and groaning, and his brows are furrowed in pleasure, and you’re positive that it’s the most wonderful thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Oh, fffffuck. Billy, B-Billy, Billy . . .”

“Mm, that’s it,” he groans lowly. “Let everyone know who it is that’s makin’ you feel good.”

Your grip on his hair tightens, and he bites and sucks at your throat as he chases his orgasm quickly. Clumsily and shakily, you reach down between your bodies to rub your clit. Your hips jerk and tears of pleasure fill your eyes as you begin to rub yourself hurriedly. You know Billy is close – his thrusts are getting sloppy – and you want to cum, too.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Billy admits. He reaches for your hand that isn’t on your clit, which surprises you. His fingers intertwine with yours, and he pins you down. He’s holding my hand. He’s about to cum, and he’s holding my hand, you think. Somehow, this small act feels more intimate than anything else the two of you have done in the past several minutes. 

“Billy . . . ‘M gonna cum,” you breathe. He nods against you. 

“Do it,” he says, encouraging you. “Please. Wanna feel it.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back. Billy kisses and nibbles at your throat again, his thrusts get harder and faster, and you apply a bit more pressure to the circles you’re rubbing on your clit–

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out loudly. Your body tenses for a moment before you relax against the mattress, pleasure coursing through you. Heat moves over you like a blanket, warming you from head to toe. You’re shaking, trembling as Billy takes you through it. 

Before you know it, he’s moaning in your ear and pulling his cock from your pussy. He jerks himself off for one second, two, three, and then he’s cumming on your stomach with a cry of your name. You watch him fall apart above you, and you never were a religious person, but this? This sight is enough to bring you to your knees. You’d worship him if it were an option. That glow, that body, that smile . . . It makes you want to weep.

Billy grunts, stroking himself until his orgasm is over, and he shakily lies down beside you with a huff. You stare up at the ceiling, still catching your breath as his arm touches yours. The reality of what the two of you have just done hits you. You just fucked Billy Antrim. And you liked it. 

You look over at him. He’s already staring. You smile. 

“Good?” he asks. You nod. 

“So good.”

He hums and wipes a bit of sweat from your brow. 

“I didn’t think a woman like you would wanna be taken like that,” he says gently. You have to give it to him, he really is a gentleman. Even after you held him at gunpoint, and told him to escort you here, and bossed him around, he's still treating you kindly. He’s still here, he isn’t getting up to leave. In fact, he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out his handkerchief. He hands it over to you, then gestures to your cum-covered stomach. You smile softly, wipe it up, then set the handkerchief aside. 

“I’ll wash this,” you tell him. He nods, humming. His cheeks are red. You like seeing him like this, all flustered and tired. 

He sits up slowly, and you watch the muscles in his back ripple as he does. He stands up and tucks his cock back into his trousers before reaching for his undershirt. Your smile fades, and he notices. 

“I’m just hungry,” he says. “You want somethin’ from downstairs?”

You lean up on your elbows.

“Something to drink, maybe,” you say. You smile. “And whatever food you can find. I’m in no position to be picky.”

He nods as he puts on his button-up and begins to do it up. 

“I’ll do my best,” he says. Once he’s redressed, Billy glances back at you. “You gonna be okay?” 

You nod, reaching for your shirt and draping it over your naked body as you lie back against the pillows. 

“Mhm. You know I can handle myself.” 

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to.” 

You smile widely. Such a charmer.

“Go, before I undress you again,” you tell him again. He chuckles. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

You hum, getting comfortable as Billy leaves. You hear the door open and close, and you sigh. Your eyes are heavy, and the mattress feels so soft and comforting compared to what you’ve been having, and it’s so quiet . . .

***

It’s dark when you wake. You stir, put off by the blackness. You’re still naked, and when you realize this, you haphazardly pull your button-up back on. You do it up as you move over, feeling the other side of the bed. 

“Billy,” you say into the dark. There is no response. You roll your eyes. That damn bastard. You thought he was different. You thought he was a good man, a kind man. If he wanted more sex, he could have just woken you up, but no, he left you up here in the pitch black. He’s probably downstairs, drinking wine and fucking whores. 

You clench your jaw as you fumble around. You start up the lamp on the bedside table, and grab your pants off the floor. You yank them on, along with your boots, then glance around. 

“Fucking asshole,” you mutter. “Couldn’t even bring me water.” 

You grab the room key and your gun holster off of the bedside table, then yank open the door and start downstairs. The brothel is bustling now that it’s dark outside. Men and naked women are everywhere. You pull a lady aside as you buckle your holster around your hips.

“The guy I was with,” you say to her, “where’s he at?”

She shrugs, then pulls away. Anger boils inside of you. You push your way through and get to the bar. The woman behind it seems to recognize you. 

“You got water?” you ask, frustrated by the entire situation. The woman nods, then silently pours you a glass. She hands it over. You down half of it, then set the glass on the bar and wipe your mouth. 

“You’re the lady who came here with Billy Antrim,” she says finally. You look up. You’re positive that Billy wouldn’t give out his name, let alone his full name, in a place like this. You remain neutral and calm. 

“Who?” 

“The man,” the lady behind the bar says. “The one who went upstairs with you, that was Billy Antrim.” 

You cock your head. 

“What’re you getting at?” 

She blinks at you. 

“Don’t you know?” she asks.

Your brows furrow. 

“Did something happen?” 

She nearly laughs. 

“Where have you been? Asleep?”

“Where is he?” you ask sharply. Your heart is beginning to race. You have a pit in your stomach. Deep down, you know something bad has happened. The woman watches you carefully. 

“You care about him. It’s dangerous to care about people like that–” 

“Tell me where the fuck he is!” you snap, right hand reaching down to rest at your holstered gun. The woman behind the bar clenches her jaw. 

“Someone turned him in,” she says flatly. “He was taken away a few hours ago.” 

Fuck. You should have been awake, you should have been with him. You could have vouched for him, told them that they had the wrong guy. You told him you’d keep him out of trouble, and now . . .

You storm away from the bar, hurrying upstairs to get yours’ and Billy’s things. You leave in a tizzy, adrenaline pumping through you as you fetch Billy’s horse from the stable. You secure everything to the saddle, pull yourself on, and take off towards the jail. 

You tie Billy’s horse outside, then step inside. You glance around for a moment, and the jailkeep looks at you, seemingly irritated by your presence. You offer him a charming smile. 

“Sir,” you say, nodding politely as he looks you up and down. “I–”

“Visiting hours are over,” he says flatly. You hum, glancing around. You spot Billy, and your eyes linger on him for a moment. He grips the bars of the cell, watching you intently. You’ve got a look in your eyes, he realizes. He hopes you aren’t going to do what he thinks you’re going to do. He doesn’t think he’s worth the trouble. 

You look at the jailkeep again. You’re silent for a moment, and before he can tell you to get out, you’re reaching for your gun. You pull it on him and cock it. He stiffens. 

“Unlock his cell,” you say firmly. The man doesn’t move, too surprised. “Now!”

Billy watches you with wide eyes. The jailkeep rises to his feet slowly, and you keep the cocked gun pointed at him as he steps over to Billy’s cell. 

“Unlock it,” you tell him again. “Hurry up.” 

His hands tremble as he finds the right key and unlocks Billy’s cell. Billy steps out quickly, then grabs the keys from the man and shoves him into the cell. He locks him in, and you take a small step back. 

“Don’t yell,” you warn the jailkeep. “I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll do it.” 

While you threaten the man, Billy hurries over to the desk to find his gun. He grabs the jailkeep’s holster off the desk, too, while he’s at it. 

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, woman,” the man says. You hum. 

“Damn right I am.” You glance at Billy. “Let’s go.”

Billy takes the keys with him, and the two of you leave the jail quickly. 

“There’s another horse over there,” you tell Billy as he runs towards his horse. He nods. 

“Go, I’ll keep watch,” he says. You fetch the horse, which you have to guess belonged to the jailkeep, and you hoist yourself up. You ride up beside Billy. 

“C’mon, haul ass,” you say, riding past him. His horse gallops after yours, and the two of you ride into the darkness. 

The severity of the situation is not lost on Billy. You’re in trouble, now. You broke the law to help him, to get him out, and you did it without hesitation. He would’ve been dead by morning if you hadn’t come to get him, and now you’re an outlaw, too. Guilt claws at him as the two of you leave town. 

“You didn’t havta do that,” he says over the sound of hooves hitting the ground. 

“I couldn’t leave you.”

Billy shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. 

“You don’t even know me,” he says, almost frustrated. What a stupid thing you just did. What a thoughtless, dangerous act. 

“I know you’re a good man,” you tell him. “And I know you don’t deserve to hang.”

Billy glances at you, his body bouncing as his horse runs up beside yours. Your eyes meet for just a moment before you look forward again. 

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ of ditching me, Antrim,” you say. He can’t help but smile softly. He wouldn’t even dream of doing such a thing. He owes you his life. 

“‘Course not,” he says. You hum. 

“Then stop lookin’ at me like that and let’s focus on getting the fuck outta here.”

God, where have you been all his life? You’re everything he’s ever needed. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

#rynwritesstuff #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #tom blyth fanfiction #william bonney #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #billy the kid smut #billy the kid mgm #billy the kid x you #william bonney x reader #tom blyth #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid fic #billy the kid fluff #william bonney x you #william h bonney x you #william bonney smut

[personasintro]

Are you interested in posting? I feel like you're forced to post by people on the internet. You seem to be not interested in writing anymore. Going on hiatus for 8 months and not even remembering it? People do get excited to know more, isn't that the whole reason ffs are made for? I'm not hating on your but rather suggesting you to just end this mess. You'll be so much more at ease. If you're gonna disappear for almost year straight then why bother posting? People are not gonna welcome you with heart eyes.

Quit writing. It's ok.

I think you’re projecting here something that didn’t happen. First of all, what hiatus? I never had one 😭 sure, I wasn’t as active as I used to be but I was still pretty much interacting with everyone. I feel like most of you forget that I write other stories too. During the wait for Mh58, I updated Employed and if I’m not mistaken, wrote (not many) but a drabble or two as well. And lastly. Why being so damn dramatic? 😭 for what? Even if I updated once a year or decided to, who are you guys to point a gun at writers for that? I’m still pretty much open and vocal about my current situation and I’m sorry but it’s actually laughable how everyone becomes so serious and turn into judges, acting like I’ve done something that I should be shamed for 😂

I absolutely understand there are readers who are extremely excited and would want the entire story out like, all at once. But you also have to understand that things happen in life and sometimes writers can’t stay as consistent as they used to. I also think it’s important to be honest about it which I’ve been, therefore messages like this one can’t offend me. I know in my heart that I’ve been more honest than some deserved and I didn’t have to be. But I chose to be, partly for feeling bad and sad that I can’t post stories all the time. Whether this is just a period or it’s gonna be like this… I don’t know but I don’t hold anyone here against their will.

And trust me, if I want to quit — I’ll do it and I don’t need anyone coming to my inbox telling me that instead ☺️ I’m pretty much capable of deciding serious stuff like that on my own.

Lastly, I hope you have an amazing day and everyone who took their time reading this! ☺️✨

#ask: anon

[cucumberteapot]

I feel like people aren't as open to discussing E-42 Prowle because there is so much about the character we don't know or the films haven't explicitly told us yet. However, I'd like to think writers have presented us with enough information that we can make a strong assessment as to not to what kind of role they'll serve (I think it's fair to say Miles G is going to be an antagonist later-turned hero or anti-hero in BSTV), but what kind of character this is and how they challenge Miles as the main character.

I'd like to discuss one crucial aspect of piece of body language and physical characterisation. This right here:

This is our first proper shot of E-42 Prowler and it closely parallels Aaron Davis in then first movie when he's watching Miles run away.

Now I want to pay mind that in deliberately holding off the plot twist of Aaron being the Prowler, the audience is given no key identifiers as to the Prowler's true identity. He doesn't even have any lines of dialogue until Miles is hiding in his apartment and we after we get the reveal. In every sense of the term, Prowler is a gun for hire. Except he doesn't use guns. The point is he is a hitman. He consistently does what he's told by Kingpin - "You can count on me, sir. I don't ever quit." But then when he's confront with the reveal of the kid he's been hunting is his own nephew and he must choose between his identities as Aaron and as Prowler, that loyalty is severed and it costs him his life.

Which leads us to this specific visual of E-42 Prowler dangling from the rafter before dropping down to face Miles. The camera doesn't cut away from how he drops. Instead we're put entirely in Miles' perspective as to this guy's every move. Between us and Miles, the crew don't want us to miss anything. So what are we seeing here?

Well firstly I think it's clear this is something the Prowler we know wouldn't do because this is a merge of personas of Miles as the Prowler and as a 15-year old. This reads to us as something a lanky kid would do on a jungle-gym, and the fact E-42 Prowler doesn't take his eyes off Miles not only demonstrates curiosity but almost an invitation to play. Not literally, but I believe this Prowler is someone who likes to toy with their victims (which he see a bit of towards the end). And in this case, Prowler is definitely testing Miles from the moment he starts talking about ideas counteractive to his reality - That Aaron Davis could be a "good guy" and that the Prowler identity is something detrimental to the E-42 dimensions' existence. Granted, Miles is speaking from the experience of someone who's Prowler didn't provide income for their family and represent a symbol of strength like the Spiderman identity, so it's a no brainer E-42 Prowler views Miles as antithetical to his state of being. Another thing is that this is how Miles hangs from his webs throughout the movie (under the clocktower, before going through the portal to mumbattan, etc.), so it's a nice consistent characterisation between the two.

But that only leads us into what separates them. After keeping their focus directly on the other, they have their first exchange:

Prowler: Your dad is still alive? Miles: What? Prowler: Your father... You said he's still alive. Miles: Yeah. Prowler: Oh.

Okay, let's dissect this. Specifically Miles' confusion at to why Prowler's asking this because the audience is in the same boat but for very different reasons.

Now I don't want to make assumptions but even before Prowler unmasks, Miles already knows it's his counterpart and his question isn't so much as not knowing but a request for confirmation. However the reason why Miles is confused here is because he expected that same curiousity about identity from his counterpart - not about relatives. Prowler doesn't ask who Miles is even though he doesn't really know, and when he gets his answer that, yes, Jefferson is alive in the other universe, his reaction is played off as dismissive, separating his identity and priorities from Miles. Whatever it is, considering it's the first thing he's asks, this is a vital piece of information for Prowler but his reaction removes any possibility he can be negotiated with... which Miles continuously fails at.

Miles: Who are you? Prowler: My name is Miles Morales. But you... You can call me the Prowler. Miles: If I don't get home, our dad is going to die. Prowler: Your dad. Miles: Please... You have to let me go. Prowler: And why would I do that?

That then leads us on to Miles' question because he's not only asking for his kidnapper's name, he's asking for who this person is. And in turn who we see isn't particularly angry or vindictive - we'll get to that. Instead, Prowler's expression is complete desolation.

It's only when Miles further insinuates they are the same by referring to Jefferson as "our dad", does he shoot back with "your dad". It's quick because this Prowler is still separating himself from this version of himself and the idea he could or would've been or had anything like his life. Finally Miles accepts that they are separate and ask Prowler to let him go, but Prowler has another rhetorical question which implies although he considers this Miles separate to himself, he still has use for him somehow. Which honestly if you had this strength-is-all mindset, it might feel rewarding to have captured this part of yourself that you considered weak - which for all Prowler knows, Miles is just this inferior version of himself who got decked in one hit.

And then lastly we have these two shots here where Prowler raises his "claw" beside Miles' head and sizes him up.

If Aaron can scare Miles by punching the sand out of a boxing bag while Prowler only has to put his fist on it, you tell me who's more terrifying?

But truthfully this last non-conversational exchange before Miles stares Prowler back down is evident that not only is Prowler going to beat the shit out of Miles, but that Miles' "flippy, little sassy jokes" as Spot puts it, is not going to help him here. Because if he wants to survive, he's going to have to match Prowler's energy. This film has a bittersweet ending not because Miles is captured but because Miles has internalised what he's been fighting against the whole movie - The emotional desolation of being Spider-man that lets them deal with or appear indifferent to the harm or death of people around them and it's exemplified when he applies Peter's first lesson of being Spider-man:

"Don't watch the mouth. Watch the hands."

#spiderman #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #miles morales #prowler #spider man #marvel #sony #satsv #miles g morales #gwen stacy #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar #jessica drew #miguel o'hara #rio morales #aaron davis #jefferson morales #peter parker

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the annihilation

lilac, chapter eighteen

a/n: this chapter is very short, but on the bright side i am posting the next chapter next saturday.

summary: “I swear to god I’ll fucking do it! If I can’t have her, no one can.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, angst, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, kidnapping, crying, violence, murder, blood and gore

word count: 516

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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There were blood splatters across Frank’s skin and even though the clothes he wore were as dark as the night sky on the other side of the tall windows, you could still tell that they were soaked. However, if it was his own or someone else’s, that you could not decipher as Preston’s knife threatened to pierce your jugular vein. 

“Drop the knife!”  

Pressing the sharp blade just deep enough to draw a drop of your blood, Preston warned, “don’t get any closer!”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Frank rumbled, “easy, easy!”

“You want me to put it down?” Preston’s laboured breaths fanned across your tear-stained cheek, “you first.”

Seeing Frank’s left eye twitch lightly, he grunted, “just let her go.” 

“I swear to god I’ll fucking do it!” Preston roared, causing you to let out a shuttering shriek in his hold, “if I can’t have her, no one can.”

The muscles in Frank’s jaw jumped and danced a moment before he finally said, “okay, alright,” keeping his voice clear and steady as he complied, lowering his pistol to the floor, “here,” and then held his hands up in the air, at the height of his head.  

What transpired next happened in a blur.

As soon as the knife slowly began to lower from your throat, in a split second, Frank had whipped out another gun, hidden and tugged away at the small of his back, and shot point blank.

Preston’s body flopped back onto the bed, staining the already crimson sheets with his gore. 

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even breathe. You just stood there, violently shaking, as your unfocused stare hazily noticed Frank tug his weapon away before stepping closer. 

When he got near enough, you didn’t so much embrace him, but actually fell into his arms. A brutal tidal wave of emotions tumbled over you as you let out a grave sob, your arms still uncontrollably trembled down along your sides as his strong ones enclosed around you like a warm woollen blanket. 

As your aching tears stained his shirt, brazenly mixing and mingling with whatever else tainted the dark fabric, you didn’t care one bit if it marked you as well. Eventually, as he cradled your quivering frame close, your right hand found your other in a desperate attempt at ridding yourself of the shiny band that burdened your ring finger.

But as your shaky efforts jaggedly went on without success, words frenziedly crawled their way out of your throat, “g–, g-get–… get it off me… get it off me, get it off me, get it off me!” and he swiftly moved to triumphantly slip it off and toss it to the floor, his own digits not in shock like yours were. 

You sucked in a large gulp of oxygen as soon as he pulled it off. Like you’d been drowning and this was your first breath of fresh air. 

As you let yourself crash back into his arms, the paralysing emotions pummelling you to shreds, Frank’s soft whisper found your ear, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you…”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #lilac series #lumberjack!frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #frank castle series #lumberjack au #frank castle hurt/comfort #frank castle angst

[savannahsdeath]

okok but like reader being tommy and maria's daughter, Joels niece, Ellie's gf, you cant tell me that wouldn't just make her the town princess <33

ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! but i think its minors safe this time!!; reader crying

writers note: its short and just two of my thoughts but still decided to post it🤗 ALWAYS when i make sum scenarios in my head i imagine im tommys and marias daughter cus !! its like so abziabshh being joels niece too ??? omg.

as tommy's and maria's daughter, the risk of you getting hurt was always lower than other residents'. being a favored princess, only doing little jobs somewhere in the town, you were living a dream of most girls your age. you didn't have to patrol, to risk your life, to be used to hold a gun like it's nothing. and you could shoot - joel teached you, just in case. but you pointed your weapon at a living target only a few times. your life was just.. calm.

there's no reason to complain, right?

right??

you hated it. you wanted nothing more than to go outside and be a hero, find supplies and kill those monsters.

you felt useless, sitting in jackson and doing only paperwork or gardening. you didn't care it was important too. you wanted to be a soldier with a holster swinging down your hip, maybe a switchblade with a cool design in your pocket. after a long day in work you'd meet up with your friends, share your memories and tips. maybe even trade some cards you found while scavenging.

you spent so much time complaining and begging your parents for a chance to go outside and face the dangers of the world. but you were always met with the same answer - that you were too precious to risk, too valuable to put in danger.

you never understood why they didn't see you the same way they saw ellie. you felt that you were capable of just as much as she was, if not more. but it was always her who got the spotlight, while you were left to your own devices, growing bitter and resentful.

one day, not just a typical day but your birthday, you found your family - tommy, maria, joel and ellie - waiting for you in the living room. you hated the awkward 'my little girl is becoming a lady!' things, but you put on the best fake smile you could. it turned to a real smile pretty fast, just as you heard about your gift.

"we'll allow you to patrol." maria smiled, before quickly shaking her head. "only with ellie, though!"

at first you stood in silence. you felt like both tommy and joel wanted you to go outside for a long time before. being locked up in a safety zone wasn't doing any good for you. if something was going to happen to jackson, you'll be left clueless in the cruel, unknown world. but how did they convince your protective mother, maria?

ellie smirked at your reaction and leaned against a wall. "you have to listen to me, too."

you knew she'll act all cocky and demanding, but it didn't ruin your happiness. in fact, you were glad to be paired with her.

and so you became one of the tough, badass survivors you wanted to. but you were still an innocent princess in their eyes.

so they couldn't stand seeing you hurt.

as soon as maria caught you sobbing onto your pillow the other day, everyone was there in a second. you were sitting in your bed, in your mother's arms. ellie placed herself next to you, caressing your hand and rubbing reassuring circles on your thigh. joel was pacing around the room, trying to not point his gun at anyone who made you feel this way, while tommy wether kneeled in front of you or joined your uncle in lame attempt to calm themselves down.

"what the fuck happened?" your dad leaned against a nearby wall.

ellie rolled her eyes, thinking his aggressiveness is useless. "it's about jane."

jane was a girl your age, freshly welcomed to jackson. she didn't know much about it so she was the first one to judge. and well... let's say she didn't like how popular you are.

joel frowned and repeated quiet; "jane?" as if to make sure he heard it correctly.

you sniffled and wiped your tears on your sleeve, feeling the overwhelming attention of everyone in the room.

"well, jane's got some real issues if you ask me." joel growled, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"indeed." tommy nodded, his mind already brewing up a plan. "we should send her packing before things escalate."

"no, we can't do that." maria frowned, thinking hard of a solution to the problem. "don't forget she's here because she saved ellie."

to that, your girlfriend quickly let you go and stood up. "saved me?!" she threw her hands in the air in frustration. "she killed one infected that was after me, i'd handle it myself just as easily!"

your mom held her hands out in an attempt to calm ellie, but the girl was too angry and frustrated to see a reason to.

"hey, hey!" maria chided her. "it's not worth arguing. let's just settle this and move on."

ellie gritted her teeth as she took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. "fine." she said through clenched teeth. "but she better not pull anything again, or i swear i'm gonna-"

"ellie!" tommy shouted, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"no, ellie's right." joel said in a stern, serious tone. "jane's no hero and we can't let her sabotage our community. she won't stop after a pathetic little warning."

your parents froze for a moment, the words finally hitting them.

"joel," maria finally started, her tone serious and concerned. "we can't just kick someone out like that. that's not how we handle things here."

"well, how do we handle them then?" joel shot back. "because letting someone like jane stay is gonna be a threat to our safety."

after a short moment of silence, maria finally spoke up again. "i get where you're coming from," she nodded and repeated; "but this is not the way we do things."

your uncle just huffed in frustration, his arms crossed. "fine." he murmured quietly. "have it your way."

ellie, on the other hand, was quietly seething. she wanted to go up to jane and knock some sense into her head, but she bit her tongue and kept quiet.

as maria left the room, ellie's rage came spilling out. "she's trouble!" she hissed, pacing back and forth. "she just needs someone to put her in her place. can i-"

"no." your dad cut you off, his voice firm. "maria said no. we're not doing this."

ellie bit her lip in frustration as she looked back and forth between him and you, torn between wanting to listen and wanting to see jane struggle, like you do now. eventually, she took your mom's place in comforing you.

with joel out of the picture, you and ellie shared a deep glance. the shared anger and frustration in your eyes was something only you two understood. it felt like you communicated telepathically. without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around you. this sort of closeness was something you rarely shared in front of others, but in this moment it just felt right. you two were bonded by the same negative feelings, and in that moment you were both on the same wavelength.

maria came back to see you, face buried in ellie's chest, as she made some shushing noises into your ear. she shared a concerned look with tommy and joel, which agreed to leave you both alone for now. your mom felt satisfied by the fact ellie decided to let jane be.

just a few days later you were able to come out without worrying about bumping into her, because even when you did, she'd apologize and quickly walk away. you never asked anyone what happened, no one told you anything too. jane wasn't the type of a person to get offended by words, so whatever happened, it must really affect her..

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie tlou #reqs open #ellie the last of us

[silverskye13]

how do u write fighting or do u have any tips? i have an idea for a fanfic not mcyt related but im terrified ill write the fight scene poorly as it makes up a majority of the fic.

Fighting and fight scene tips! I have a couple I guess! The tricky thing is fight scenes are really subjective. It's hard to give a "and here's all the puzzle pieces you need for a good one" kinda answer. But I can at least tell you the stuff I think about while I'm writing.

You know the drill, writing tips under the cut:

1. Research

I feel like I put this on every tip list. Research the thing you're doing. The Internet is your greatest friend and confidante. Look up YouTube videos of fighting competitions. Look up the weapons your characters are using. Figure out how many bullets are in the magazine for the gun type your character is using. Research how far you have to be to survive that explosion. Figure out if the cool sword breaker was actually useful in combat and why. Get a reasonable measure for how much blood your blorbo can lose before they pass out. This will help you paint a clear picture for yourself about what needs to happen, and why. Your readers don't necessarily have to have that clear picture, but the more you, the writer, know, the more likely you are to write a consistent, understandable narrative.

2. Character POV is important!

What does your character even know about fighting anyway? <- the most important question to ask of your POV character. This establishes what your character can tell your audience about what's going on. Has your character never fought before? Are they familiar with the weapons used? Do they know counters for fighting styles? Do they even know how to throw a punch? Do they have a high pain tolerance? These things will inform how the character informs us, the readers, about what's going on. Generally speaking, lack of consistency is what makes fight scenes frustrating, in my opinion. Sitting there and going "hey wait, how did that teenager know better battle tactics than the general they're fighting?" Takes you out of the moment and ruins whatever cool thing that teenager just did. Going "hold on, what do you mean the sniper didn't realize he was out of bullets?" Does the same thing. Keeping the characters consistent stops your readers from questioning the validity of the scene.

3. What can your readers see, and is it the same as what the characters see?

Similar to above, but a little more meta. Fight scenes are often played for drama. You're putting the character in peril, and that peril is for a reason: to make the audience have an emotional response. Can the readers see an ambush because of your 3rd person omniscient perspective, but the characters can't? Is that a good thing? Will it ruin the shock and surprise of the ambush, or will it induce dread and up the stakes? The enemy has a poisoned sword. Is this obvious to the audience in a way that isn't for the character? This is playing with suspense in a fight, adding and subtracting stakes for the readers, and it needs to be balanced against what the characters know.

I'm mentioning this as a thing because revealing your hand to the audience can be a really interesting way to add suspense, but if the audience feels like a character should've been able to see it coming [ex. How come the assassin didn't anticipate someone poisoning a blade during a fight?] it ruins the immersion of the scene, and makes it feel like you the author are shoving the characters in a direction. Generally speaking if the readers can see the hand of the author moving, it breaks immersion.

[Notably, I don't write in 3rd person omniscient. I write in 3rd person limited. I don't often have a chance or reason to reveal information to the audience that the main character doesn't know, because the audience is observing the world through that character.]

4. What are the guys in the back doing?

Everyone knows the Main Character has to fight the Antagonist at some point, but normally the MC isn't alone. They have friends and allies, or their pet dog. They have a supporting cast, and that supporting cast wants to help the main character. So... where are they exactly? A pitfall I see in Big Final Fight Scenes pretty often is, the MC brings an army, or their crew, or their super friends or whoever, and yet somehow, they end up fighting the bad guy alone, and the writer just... Doesn't address the other people in the room. And you the reader are left going, "Wait, why is no one intervening?" This gets especially immersion breaking when the main character inevitably starts losing their fight [because drama, few fights are easy]. Our MC might die! Why is no one trying to run even a basic distraction on the Antag? This isn't to say you have to have your supporting cast get involved in the final fight -- sometimes you need that solo showdown! But you do have to have a convincing reason to keep the rest of the cast away. If we the readers are under the impression there's six other people in the room just standing there, because you the writer forgot they were there, it gets kinda awkward.

5. Zoom in! Feel it. Zoom out! See it.

Okay so, you now know: Basic information on how your character(s) fight, what your POV character(s) know, what the readers can see (either the same or different from your characters), and you know where everyone is and what they're doing. You have your god's eye view ready. How do you show it?

Zoom in, zoom out.

There is a balance to fight scenes, in about the same way there is a balance to an art piece. There is a foreground, middle ground, and background. Each have importance, each need focus. The foreground is what is happening immediately in front of your POV character, it's their thoughts, what their weapon feels like, any wounds they've taken. It's bullet time, and observations, and right in their face. The middle ground is the surrounding 5-10ft. It's the people beside them, it's what's just past their opponent. It's the rest of the room, or the sound just out of view, or the object just out of reach. The background is everything past that. It's distant explosions. It's their friend getting wounded. It's an archer on the next rooftop.

How much of that you want your audience to see, how you want to vary that, depends on what you as an author view as important. If you want to focus more on the character, their struggle, their opponent, you will write most of the fight scene in the foreground. Focus on what the character feels, the sensation of movement, the pain, fear, exhilaration. Focus on the words they're saying [or not saying]. Focus on what they know, what they're telling the audience. If you want to highlight the battle, how the main character is working in their surroundings, you will focus on the middle ground. This is what the character looks like from an outside perspective, how they fight against their opponent. This is them trying to reach an item, or shove their opponent into something. This is running, and kicking, and trying to figure out if your friend is still by your side. This is seeing your comrade go down out of the corner of your eye, or admiring someone's fighting style, or screaming orders at someone. The background is anything further away, a distant problem that is putting on pressure. A ticking time bomb. This is the building catching fire, the lightning in the storm overhead. This is superman fighting off the alien army while your MC is trying to kill the general. This is you reminding the audience the rest of the world hasn't stopped turning while the MC has been doing MC things.

Generally speaking, I like to move through all three spaces several times during a fight scene? The main character is hurting and holding onto their sword, and breathing is hard. The antag is pressing the advantage, trying to back them through the space. But they can't lose too much ground, because their friend is fighting the second antag over there, and they're bleeding from a fresh cut. They have to win, they have to escape, because the sound outside says the building is groaning on its foundation-- and the main character stumbles as the building rocks. [And I've just moved through all three types of ground, giving the audience a clear view of what's happening].

You don't have to bounce reliably through the space. Not showing the background for a long time means you can surprise your audience with a new hero or villain swooping in! Or leave us in suspense about that magic ritual we're supposed to be stopping. Not showing a middle ground side character implies your MC is so distracted they won't know their friend is hurt until it's too late -- etc.

If it helps, I like to imagine there's a little invisible camera panning around, taking dramatic shots of everything, like you're making a movie, and writing accordingly.

Uhm!! Hopefully that's helpful?

Some broader quick tips:

Fight scenes are very fast, and generally happen over a period of a few minutes. That time will feel significantly longer because it's jammed packed with Stuff Happening, but the fact remains, it's only a few minutes. Keeping the timing in mind helps you figure out if backup can arrive to help, or if it's reasonable for someone to miss the fight happening, etc,

On that note, if it's a battle specifically, battles [especially medieval ones] are short. They don't last all day, unless they're a siege, and even then, sieges are long periods of digging in and waiting with short clashes peppered around.

This might just be me, but try not to overuse metaphors? We get it. The swordsmen look like they're dancing. But not everything they do is graceful or dancer-y. Sometimes you can just say "and he punched him in the face." Unless your writing style is naturally super flowery, in which case, do continue. Consistency is key.

Do some basic research on wounds. Suspension of disbelief can only carry so far, and pain is genuinely debilitating. Also, yes coughing up blood is a very dramatic "the character is dying" cue, but in real life it only happens on very bad lung/throat wounds. If what you're writing is Super Realistic, maybe don't throw that in there.

Write confusion with care. You might not want your audience to know what's going on all the time, but if your audience genuinely can't figure out what's going on, why something is happening, or who it's happening to, you will eventually lose your immersion.

Write comedy with care. If your fight is non-serious, or if your character in a serious fight doesn't normally take things seriously, jokes are allowed to happen. But sometimes if you don't take it seriously enough, you will chop the knees off your drama. Maybe save some of the jokes for after the life-threatening battle is over.

I think! That's everything I can think of just now! I hope it helps :'D

#answering asks #anonymous #writing advice #writing tips #writing #apologies if this was incoherent at all #its 2am im very tired and this week has been hell #i wanted to answer this before i forgot it and it got buried

[judasgot-it]

Hiii! I suddenly had an idea like a vision or something tehee

imagine after a party (idk, hunting dogs celebrating another victory) and s/o’s feet hurt for her heels so tecchou noticing, carries her on his back. sorry if it was simple

btw Can i call you Judy and be 🪻anon?

You've gifted me a nickname and all I did was ignore you. I think the best thing that should be done is that I write your ask and that you beat me (jk please don't I'm just a writer. but ily flower anon that nickname is so sweet u have full use to call me it <3)

Scenario: Husband! Tecchou carries fem! reader around while at a party (TW for reader being a little drunk at some parts lol)

1 k words

Kiss Me - Sixpence None The Wiser

1:15 AM

The work party was still raging on.

Fukuchi and Teruko were screaming a duet into the karaoke machine, some sort of anime intro that Tachihara complained only old people would know.

Jouno was surprisingly still in the room, forcing some poor chef to make another batch of some overly complicated dish that apparently only Jouno could appreciate. There was a gun on the table, although surprisingly it wasn't pointed at anyone yet.

You could breathe a sigh of relief at that.

All you were looking for now was Tecchou. He had gone missing around half an hour ago, doing who knew what. He was the one thing keeping you alive at this party, considering how you were one or two drinks away from either passing out on the floor or just trying to take yourself home.

Your feet hurt, what else could you say? Maybe you were a little bit too drunk right now since you were sad over where you had placed your shoes. They were somewhere in the room, you were sure of it.

It was a really emotional endeavor, enough that you felt tears start to come to your eyes thinking about where you placed them. You tried to wipe them away the best you could, trying to not hit your face with the pair of shoes you were holding in your hands.

You walked across the room, hoping to find your husband in the crowd of very important government people whose names had lost you at that moment. Thankfully no one approached you, although maybe it was because they were all as messy as you were.

Tecchou was one of the tallest people there, and even on your tippy toes, you couldn't find his messy chestnut hair in the sea of heads. The feeling of panic started to settle quickly, your heart almost beating outside of your chest - your husband could be almost anywhere.

You turned around, feeling your tongue fall into your throat as you still couldn't locate your man. Wiping your wet eyes, you watched as a man approached you - tall, with messy chestnut hair.

Swallowing deeply, you tried to compose yourself as you saw his eyes land directly onto yours. Against your will, your eyes began to well up with tears once again.

Your feet guided you, rushing towards him like a bullet.

There was no thought as you wrapped your arms around him, your face buried down inside of his red suit. You sighed with relief as you felt your cold nose start to warm up against his body, the air you breathed our fanning against the cold skin on your cheeks as you nuzzled deeper onto him.

“Oh, there you are Angel.”

Two hands pulled at your arms, their warmth shocking your cold skin into goosebumps. His fingertips danced along your skin, callouses massaging your skin all the way up to your shoulders.

“I was looking for you. I was starting to think you got lost.”

You looked up as you said this, blinking innocently up into his honey eyes. He leaned his head a little bit away to stare at you, the tattoos on his cheek blending in with his long eyelashes.

Watching them twitch made your lips curve up, how they perfectly melted in together. You took one of your hands and pulled his face to look down at you properly, his brows pinching as he took in the full sight of you.

“You're so pretty Tecchou. Do you ever hear that?”

He smiled at those words, leaning closer into your hand.

“You told me that on our wedding night, actually.”

His brows pinched again, his gaze looking downward once again.

“Angel, why aren't you wearing your shoes?”

His words took a little to sink in, you still too busy watching how his beautiful face pulled apart as he said those words - the tattoos underneath his eye moving just underneath the small creases from his smile.

“Hmm… My feet hurt.”

You other hand lowered itself, cradling his waist as you swayed to the music that played throughout the room. It was easy to ignore the horrible singing that accomidated it, as you instead focused on the strong muscles that were barely consealed underneath Tecchou's suit.

He barely budges, only swaying slightly as he let you have your moment - watching you with hooded eyes. His steps were small, his heels clicking lightly against the tile of the dance floor.

“You know, if your feet hurt I can just carry you around.”

Stopping, you looked up at him, looking at his face carefully. His eyes held no lie, seeing as he was always a truthful man.

“Are you sure about that?” It was always polite to ask in your mind, even when you were challenging one of the strongest men you knew.

“I can lift twice your weight, you know that angel.“

A small smirk spread on his face as he said this, his eyes poring through your figure. His hands traveled down to your waist, squeezing you gently.

”I wouldn't break a sweat at all, if that's what you're worried about.“

You didn't have time to react as you stomach did twists, Tecchou manhandling you into a bride carry with ease.

”Oh my god, Tecchou!”

It was impossible to hide the joy in your words as he carried you, continuing the dance you had started earlier with ease. He hummed along softly to the song that still played, ignoring whatever wailing words were coming out of a horribly drunk Fukuchi's mouth at that moment.

It wouldn't ruin yours at the very least.

“What? I'm not going to let you walk around while your feet hurt.”

He danced with ease, completing a lazy waltz with you in his arms. His soft locks were lit up by the chandelier above, turned into a soft caramel from the light that shone through the strands. They stuck up in all sorts of directions, forming a creme brulee halo around his face.

You brought one of your arms to wrap around his neck, bringing your fingers to sift through the longer strangs of his hair. It was soft, almost an estactic feeling to have something so ethereal under your hand.

“You're so gorgeous.”

His face was closer to yours, his nose nearly brushing against yours. You giggled, stealing his air as you did so.

“I think you said that to me on our wedding night, handsome.“

His lips were pressed against yours, his handsome face blocking your vision for the rest of that night.

#Idk why im thinking i have a very feminine voice while writing #not bad i think i guess its just a thing i have #idk i use this account to try to improve my writing and this is something i think ive noticed #i might try more scenarios that are based around actions cuz i lack a lot in that area #anyway i wrote half of this to the nutcracker btw so if it seems cheesy its cuz it is someone take tecchou fluff away from me #im rambling here tbh #tecchou x reader #tetcho x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x y/n #tecchou x you #tetchou x reader #tecchou bsd #tecchou x y/n #tetcho x reader

[leeneir]

Look At Me Please 2.0; Possesive Yandere!Iso x Reader

To those that have given me reqs, I'm terribly sorry for not getting them out yet. My writer's block is such a pain💔 I promise I'm constantly thinking abt them tho and tryna brainstorm but my creative well is nonexistent dibdjs

Anywho, this is a continuation of the last Yandere Iso hc post! Highly recommend that you read the first! :]

Iso didn’t go through with his plans against Yoru that day because he was too happy about going on that date, but that doesn’t mean he forgot. Around a week after your boba date with him, you found Yoru with a serious injury being nursed back to health by Sage, when you asked what happened, he told you to leave. Perhaps a matter of pride?

You bring up the concern with your new boyfriend, Iso. When he responds, he doesn’t sound sympathetic. It wasn’t strange, he barely showed expressive emotion, and he didn’t have the best interactions with Yoru, so you assumed he didn’t really care because they weren’t the greatest friends.

In reality, Iso was fuming that you were concerned about that stupid cocky bastard and how he snapped at you like that. How dare that shit head take your emotions for granted? Sure, he’s the reason Yoru was injured in the first place, but the audacity Yoru had to brush you off. He’ll have to do more damage later.

The day you told Iso you loved him for the first time, something about him changed. He wasn’t shy anymore, he was always initiating intimacy, trying to give you kisses, holding your hand, and overall just a lot more doting and servicing you.

Oh, you’re tired? How could he let this happen! Iso shuts the rest of the world out with both of you in either his or your room, he already put both of your requests for a day off.

Very insistent about sleeping in the same room, you won’t do anything too intimate, he just wants to be with you for the rest of your life night.

At some point, everything becomes a reminder of you. The bare walls of the HQ, the houseplants put around the facility by Skye and Sage, the air that he breaths, he couldn’t get enough of anything.

ALWAYS holding you somewhere. Whether it be on the shoulder while youre talking to someone, the arm, your back, your leg while you're sitting, etc. Iso likes having a hand on you as a way to say “Mine.” to the others.

Every day has a new gift. Your room is starting to get crowded with all of the things he gets for you, Iso has already requested Brimstone to extend your room to make some space.

Man’s is rich and just loves spoiling you. Even if it’s just your favorite snack, or a new piece of clothing, he will literally get anything you want. If you mentioned something you even hinted you’d like, expect to receive it in the following hours to a day. He ordered it with overnight shipping.

Your assigned on a mission and he isn’t sent with you? Oh no!! Someone on the strike team got injured from training, what will we ever do? Everyone else happens to be unavailable for some unknown reasons, except Iso.

During the mission when you request a gun, he’ll immediately get it for you and snap at anyone else who even tries to get it first. Iso kisses you on the forehead before going to his position.

You had to apologize to Reyna for his behavior, she told you that his heart revealed that he wasn’t the good person you thought he was. Which was strange. How was the admiring and loving Iso not who he appeared to be?

One day, have an argument with Iso about going to training with Gekko and the others. He said that there was no need for you to go with them when the two of you could train together later.

You didn’t understand why Iso was so upset, you were just gonna do a few mock battles with other people, what's so wrong with that? You could train with him later too if he wanted to. You brushed him off anyway, finding his attitude very childish right now. Suddenly, he grabs your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t look at them.” He ordered.

Before you could get a word out, your eyes met his, and you could see the intensity and possession in his eyes which glowed brighter than they normally did. It was terrifying.

You say his name, and suddenly he snaps out of it, letting you go and apologizing profusely. He starts tearing up a bit and saying that he shouldn’t have done that and keeps apologizing, stepping away from you and not letting himself hold you.

You feel guilty when he looks down at his hands, as if there was fresh blood on them, as if he’d just destroyed something precious. You couldn’t help but pull him in for a hug and apologize too. He tries to pull away, saying that he was a horrible person, but you don’t let that happen. So, he embraces you back, burying his face in your neck.

You could tell he was genuinely upset, and reassured him that he wasn’t bad and that you’ll be with him. He doesn’t need to worry about anything, you’ll put off training with the others for another time and stay with him for the rest of the day. He sniffles, pulling you in closer.

What you couldn’t see since his face was on your shoulder was the malicious expression at his successful attempt at keeping you to himself. Hook, line, and sinker.

#iso valorant #valorant #valorant iso #li zhao yu #iso #i love iso #i love my wife #valorant iso x reader #iso x reader #iso x reader hcs #valorant x reader

[lambkiin]

Heyyy!

I just hope you are having a lovely holidays, I wanted to ask for headcanons for Neteyam with a Human writer, I already read everything in the Neteyam hashtag hahaha.

Neteyam x Human!Reader Headcanons

I was honestly hoping somebody would request something like this, lest I have to follow my own path haha. Yeah, absolutely! Thank you for your request!

I was debating a lot whether to have MC with a similar upbringing to Spider, but I feel like theres a little more flavor if they came from the most recent RDA expedition.

Neteyam had first met you after you’d crashed from exhaustion at the humans linkpod. You’d wandered too far from your group, assumably. He turned his nose up to you, just another one of those RDA, right? Sickening.

Your presence in the shack did the exact opposite of repel him, though. He had a thousand thoughts running through his head at all times. Were you just a mysterious occurrence like Spider? Neteyam did not really understand how the other human had come to be in the first place. If you really were RDA, did you have good information for them? About this new expedition? Assuming you were going to comply with an interrogation. Agh, he was jumping the gun.

You had ended up wanting to learn the ways of the people, something neither Neteyam or his siblings would be opposed to. Spider learned, you could too. The group, however, did have a collective effort to hide your existence from their parents.

Neteyam was the eldest, around the same age as yourself. He was the next Olo’eyktan. He could teach you himself just fine.

Learning jumping and climbing was one thing, the fauna a whole different topic. You’d start to see him just a bit differently on days he’d have you accompany him atop an Ikran or Pa’li. He knew just as well as anyone else that you could not form bonds like he and his people.

He found it easy to grow closer to you, someone who previously hadn’t been involved in the affairs of the Omatikaya. Someone he could talk to, and not worry about you running off to spread the word.

The day you learned it, was the day you told him. Oel ngati kameie

At first he told you it wasn’t possible, that it would get the both of you killed most likely, he eventually would cave to his own emotions. He couldn’t deny himself to remain the perfect son. 

You both knew either of his parents would likely have no quarrel in ending your life over something like this, but you were willing to risk everything for Neteyam at this point.

Neteyam’s visits to the linkpod became more frequent, he could breathe your air for a much longer time than you could breathe his. Just like he’d taught you, you’d taught him many things about Earth. Though he knew a lot of it, it was nice hearing everything from a different perspective.

He was more of a listener than anything, and listening to you speak about anything. Whether it be about Pandora, Earth, anything. Hell, he could listen to you talk about him without feeling guilty over it. This is what it was like to feel seen, to be seen. He loved that feeling.

Neteyam was very much a physical affection type, grabbing your arms and hands, holding you, kissing your face. The difference in size made kissing just a tad harder, but that was no barrier he was going to back down to. 

Your favorite time together was riding the Ikran. Usually the large distance between you and the ground below would be unsettling. His comforting presence right behind you always made you feel safe and secure.

Overall he treated you like porcelain, slowly and carefully so as to not accidentally hurt you. He knew he’d never forgive himself, even if you were constantly assuring him it was alright.

~ W ~

#avatar #james cameron avatar #na’vi x reader #na’vi #neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar headcanons #neteyam headcanons

[mauesartetc]

Thoughts on Helluva Boss 205 ("Unhappy Campers")

Wow, this... This one may actually be worse than Murder Family. That's impressive.

Is anyone else noticing a pattern of Helluva Boss episodes going absolutely nowhere? Each one ends without affecting the larger plot in any meaningful way. Season 1's structure was fairly episodic as well, but at least back then there was some sense of progression.

I usually include separate lists of pros and cons in these critiques, but in this case, I have so few compliments to give this thing it's not worth it. I tried my best to find more to like about this episode, but it gave me bupkis to work with. So I'll just present all my notes in chronological order.

Let's get this over with.

-Looks like the rehab facility where Barb used to live is located in Sloth (on account of the floating islands and all the pink in the environment), just like the hospital in this season's previous episode. We've never seen care centers in any other ring, so... Does Hell society's opinion of sick people dictate that they're just lazy? Some clarification on that might be nice.

-"She's got a job now. A life. Don't fuck it up by findin' her." Holy shit, the nurse is the most mature, sympathetic character in this entire episode. Tasing Blitzo in the butthole earns her bonus points in my book. Nurse Pussyface, you are way too good for this show.

-Why is Blitzo even trying to visit his sister if he's been kicked out of the facility several times and knows she hates him? What's the impetus? "Look, I know you hate my guts, but Dad's dead, and he named you in the will." Or maybe he had an experience that reminded him of her and figured he'd drop by to see how she was? Y'know, something.

-By the way, Helluva's animation is usually a highlight, but here there's not much to say about it. It wasn't especially memorable or ambitious; just kinda... passable. Even the climactic fight scene (which I'll get to later) didn't have much to write home about.

-How the hell didn't the client notice the holes in his boat before he rowed it out into deep water? Because I'm pretty sure it would leak when it was still in the shallow end of the lake, unless this is a unique real-life boating phenomenon I'm not aware of. Also, you'd think this guy was a bit too gung-ho to get out on the lake for someone who can't swim. Did someone have a gun to your head, dude?

Fun fact: Did y'all know I was on staff at a summer camp once? We had a pond, canoes, and a boathouse just like the camp in this episode. One thing we had that this camp apparently doesn't, however, is this important rule: No one gets in a canoe without a life jacket. EVER. But, well... We see later that the adults at this camp don't care much about safety, so I guess that's fair enough. (Though I'm curious how they manage to stay open, or what the client's loved ones have to say about his mysterious disappearance.)

-What did the client do to get sent to Hell after he died? Mrs. Mayberry murdered someone, so that's why she's here, but this kid seems pretty chill-? (And don't even try to explain this on Twitter, writers. If it's not in the story itself, it ain't canon.) I also can't help but notice that his design reflects the way he died, but every other sinner's appearance is just random. Consistency? Who needs it!

-Some unintentional hilarity for ya: Here's Millie's face after the client recounted his death.

And she holds this pose for the remainder of the scene. Was there NO direction on how to animate Millie here?! This is a grim situation and she's smiling?! I get that she's a demon, but damn that is cold. It's never been clearer that half her role in this story is just smiling and looking cute, to the point the animators don't know what else to do with her.

-Richard Horvitz's valley girl voice was kinda funny. I dug it. Not sure why Moxxie and Millie had to dress in drag for anything other than cheap laughs, though.

-I know Millie's hurtin' for more development, but this story's conflict would have made SO much more sense from a character standpoint if Moxxie were getting all the praise from the campers. Think about it: He's the one Blitzo always shits on and doesn't believe in. He's the one whose father doesn't love him. He's the one who never gets positive attention from anyone except his wife. Suddenly the conflict is much more compelling: Now that he has approval from these humans, maybe he doesn't need it from Blitzo anymore (not sure why he needed his approval in the first place, but whatever). Maybe he'd realize what he's been missing, and how shitty Blitzo's treatment has been in comparison. Could this be the breaking point that finally gets him to muster some self-respect and quit IMP? We'll never know, because the episode has miscalculated where the most interesting dilemma actually lies.

As far as we can tell, Millie's had zero reason to doubt herself, and we never see her being mistreated like Moxxie has.

Take these lines of dialogue: "And for once I feel like... Like I'm important! Like I'm somebody to be proud of!"

Wouldn't they fit so much better if they came out of Moxxie's mouth?

-I kinda liked how the lyrics of Millie's song were humble while Moxxie's lyrics were egotistical, showing that being down to earth will win you friends while being self-centered will turn people off. But is that really the kind of message we need in an adult show? It's a useful lesson for children, but after you hit the age of this series' target demographic, most people will have the social skills to know better than to pull what Moxxie did at the campfire.

-Speaking of Moxxie being super immature, why does he weep when a bunch of preteens ignores him? They're...They're kids, Mox. They aren't your peers. Literally who cares. This behavior makes no sense outside of (once again) cheap humor. I could understand being bummed out that you're not good with kids if you wanted to have your own someday, but even that doesn't warrant actual tears. And this makes him look like a massive hypocrite later on when he asks Millie why it matters what "these yokels" feel about her. I mean... You seemed to care a lot about how they saw you, Moxxie...

-Moxxie's excuse for why it's so hard for him to get information on the case is that everyone's too busy "swooning over" Millie. Here's a thought: Why doesn't Millie get the info? She's the one everyone likes, so it should be a snap, right? Well, once again, the characters get railroaded because the writers can't entertain any other plot ideas. And of course Moxxie ends up getting blamed for everything as if he's the only one who fucked up here.

-Why the hell would a summer camp show so much favoritism toward a single camper that they set up a friggin' concert for this camper and this camper only? Yeah yeah, "viral sensation" and everything, but 1) The news crew can wait another day or so for camp to end in order to conduct an interview (y'know, something that wouldn't require a huge-ass stage and pyrotechnics that'd cost the camp boatloads of money), and 2) The camp staff thinks Millie is a child. How fucking irresponsible can you get to lavish this much attention on a kid? Think it'll go to her head or something? Psssh nah. Also, you're telling me none of the other campers are the tiniest bit jealous? How do you think they feel, seeing this one kid get treated like a god while they're left in the dust?

Okay, plot-wise, the writers decided they wanted Millie to sing a song so she's occupied during the final showdown with the killer. Easy solution: Camp talent show. That way, the adults treat all the campers equally, and Millie gets her (more believable) moment in the spotlight.

-Oh hey, we finally see Asmodean crystals in action. And of course the first one we see is a butt plug.

SuCh a MAturE shOw, GUys! (Sorry, I'm still laughing my head off at that.)

So, a bit of backstory for those who aren't familiar: We first learned of Asmodean crystals in the Season 2 premiere, when Stolas opened the grimoire to reveal Norse runes on its pages. Someone on the internet was kind enough to translate:

Now here's the deal: Blitzo tells the lust demon to open the portal with his crystal (even threatening him at gunpoint), leading me to believe only non-imps could use Asmodean crystals and that's why he needed the grimoire to get to the human world.

But guess what happens later:

Blitzo's sister Barb, another imp, uses a crystal on her bracelet to open a portal back to Hell. So what exactly was the point of stealing the grimoire from Stolas??

BLITZO. YOU. DENSE. MOTHERFUCKER.

Okay, maybe I'll be generous and acknowledge that there might be another explanation, like Blitzo getting banned from using Asmodean crystals because he's misused them in the past. (Maybe there's a spell that causes the crystals to burn him every time he tries to hold one. Something of that nature.) But at this point I don't trust these writers to fill in their plot holes. Or plot portals, as the case may be.

-The portals themselves are kinda pretty, though. I can appreciate that they look different from the portals created by the grimoire.

-Moxxie calls Blitzo "sir" in this episode despite Blitzo telling him to use his first name in Truth Seekers. Moxxie then uses it in "Ozzie's" (if I remember correctly), but now he's back to "sir" for unexplained reasons-? Coupled with how their relationship has reverted back to square one with Blitzo learning nothing (as well as no one bringing up the agents or what they can do to stop them leaking the proof that demons exist), do the writers just want us to forget that episode or what?

-Blitzo chastises Moxxie for dragging the case out for a week, but it took him a week to track down Barb. This hypocrisy is never addressed.

-At the boathouse, Blitzo tells Moxxie he's looking for his sister, then kicks down the door, revealing Barb inside. Moxxie asks, "Do you know her?" "Do I know her? That's my sister, fuckface!" That's... oddly repetitive, writers. I get that Moxxie wouldn't immediately make the connection since Barb's disguised as a human, but there's a more graceful way to handle that in the dialogue. Something like, "Is this her?" "Oh, now you're on the ball!"

-In an earlier post I expressed concern that these writers wouldn't handle Barb's addiction well, and I'm somewhat relieved they didn't go into it. But I also predicted she'd amount to a genderbent Blitzo instead of having her own personality, and... well...

Overindulges in addictive substances? Check. Runs a business that requires travel to the human world? Check. Pottymouth? Check. Uses sexuality as leverage? Check.

It would've been nice to at least get a hint about what Blitzo did to make her hate him so much (and perhaps confronting that would make him rethink how he treats Moxxie-?), but I guess we'll have to find out when she comes back in seven episodes or so. Yaaaaay.

-Barb says she picked this particular human as her supplier because teenagers are easy to manipulate, but she really had no way to accomplish that other than flashing her panties at him? Assuming Barb and Blitzo are the same age, she's in her 30s, and... it's just a tad creepy and uncalled for, even if this kid's legal. That's a pretty big age (and power) gap regardless. This is one of those times when it looks a lot more predatory when you switch the genders, but, importantly, women can be predators too. Bad optics, y'all.

-The climactic fight scenes in prior episodes were snappy and exciting, but this one's pacing felt really sluggish. I get that the song in the background had a slower tempo than we're used to in these action scenes, but would it have been so hard to double-time the animation? Also, previous fight scenes were notable for their creative choreography, but Barb wrapped her tail around Moxxie twice in a row. Having trouble coming up with new fight moves, guys? Like damn, she's an acrobat. She could do so much more.

-In another edition of "characters being idiots because plot", Moxxie and Millie make out in front of everyone who thinks they're related. They couldn't have run off to somewhere more private?? Apparently no; this needed to happen so Millie's internet fame would be dashed... or, here's another option: Show how the internet popularity cycle is so damn short that everyone's already moved on to the next sensation. You could have made that funny if you actually put in some effort. Like... The faux-incest was just so unnecessary.

-Much like Murder Family, another unfunny ending where Moxxie's dreams are crushed. Blitzo gets his hopes up only to call him a "fuckin' disgrace". But remember, guys: He'S HArd oN hiM BEcauSE hE CAreS! (Fuck it, I think I'll just edit a supercut of every time Blitzo has berated Moxxie, pre- and post-Truth Seekers.)

Oh and look, Millie's glaring at Blitzo, which is totally the same as opening her mouth to tell him off like he deserves, right?

She'll take on a whole gang of mobsters out of love for Moxxie, but standing up to Blitzo? Whoa, that's a step too far. Y'know, because he's the writers' favorite and he shouldn't have to experience any complications from his behavior. Same old story as it's been for a season and a half.

This ending would've been a million times better if it left off on a cliffhanger. Maybe this could have been Moxxie's final breaking point. After Blitzo calls him a disgrace, Moxxie could take a deep breath and...

MOXXIE: (flatly) I quit.

Then he walks out of the room. Everyone looks after him, stunned. When he closes the door, the screen cuts to black and the credits roll.

Oh shit, what's going to happen next? How will Blitzo deal with this? How will it affect Moxxie and Millie's home life? What kind of new job will Moxxie find to keep food on the table? Will he ever come back to IMP, or will Blitzo find a replacement? I know these writers aren't too interested in serialization or any sense of continuity outside of the stupid romance subplot (or hell, inside it), but good god, it would give viewers some exciting possibilities to look forward to.

This episode had so much potential and followed through on none of it. "Unhappy Campers" turned out to be a more fitting title than expected, as that's exactly what I was while watching this.

(Also this show needs a continuity coordinator like yesterday.)

#helluva boss #helluva critical #critique #criticism #review #writing #long post

[spanktony]

“YOU TOOK A BULLET FOR ME…” - rosita espinosa

summary: you take a bullet for her.

words: 800+

warnings: gun/gunshot, near death experience, and that’s all i believe.

notes: posting this as i try my hardest to get out of writers block & answer my requests! also lost the request to this ☹️

navigation. request.

You had found yourself in Negan's group, the Saviors. You didn't exactly like what you did—taking raids on random communities—but you understood that it was necessary for your survival in this post-apocalyptic world.

Negan knew you since you were a teenager, and he saw potential in you. He believed that you had what it took to be a valuable member of his group, and he made sure to keep a close eye on your progress. Which is exactly why you joined him on a hot afternoon to seize supplies from a new community called "Alexandria."

"Remember, kid," Negan sneered, his barbed-wire-covered baseball bat, Lucille, resting on his shoulder. "We're here to take, not make friends." Negan said, exiting the truck. You quickly nod, following behind him as you both approach the gates of Alexandria.

The gates were opened quickly, and everyone began to take supplies from the community, loading them into the back of the truck. You watched the chaos unfold, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Deep down, you knew that this was not the kind of person you wanted to become, but what choice did you have?

You help one of your fellow group members load a crate of food into the truck, trying to push away your conflicting emotions. Dwight walks up to you, "See that car over there? I think they might be holding something in there, check for me."

You nod, making your way over to the car. A woman in an olive-green top stands in front of the trunk of the car. You send a slight smile, wiping your forehead of sweat as you approach her.

"Mind moving?" You ask politely, gesturing towards the trunk of the car. The woman gives you a suspicious look before reluctantly stepping aside. As you open the trunk, you can't help but wonder what you might find inside.

The trunk is filled with guns, ammunition, and various other weapons. You glance at Negan and Dwight, occupied with taking other supplies from someone else. You take a deep breath, grapping some of the weapons. The woman is watching you with an upset look on her face.

You leave a few of the weapons behind, not wanting to take everything. You turn to the woman, "Maybe next time hide in a better spot," you suggest, trying to lighten the tension.

The woman's expression softens slightly, but she remains silent.

That was the first time you met Rosita, the next couple of times you saw her, she kept that same guarded expression. It became clear that she was still wary of you, despite your attempts to ease the tension. Nonetheless, you still continued to make small talk with her, hoping to gradually build trust and establish a connection.

You shared stories of your own experiences and asked her about her interests, trying to find common ground. Slowly, Rosita began to open up, sharing snippets of her life and even cracking a smile from time to time. It was a slow process, but you were determined to break through the walls she had built around herself.

As the days turned into weeks, your conversations became more meaningful and genuine, and you could sense a growing bond between the two of you.

Just as your group was leaving, one of your members got into an argument with Rosita, and she didn't look like she was backing down anytime soon. Instead of letting the situation escalate, you walked over to the two, attempting to mediate and diffuse the tension.

But your group member acted too quickly, pulling out a weapon and pointing it at Rosita. You immediately stepped in front of the gun. A loud sound rang out as you felt a sharp and hot pain in your chest.

You fell to the ground, gasping for breath and clutching your chest in agony. Ringing and Rosita's voice calling for help filled your ears, but your vision started to blur as darkness closed in.

Days blurred together as you drifted in and out of consciousness. When you finally awoke, you found yourself in a small, makeshift infirmary. The harsh, sterile scent of antiseptics filled the air, and you realized you were no longer with the Saviors.

Rosita sat at your bedside, her eyes filled with relief as she saw you awake. "You took a bullet for me," she said softly, her voice tinged with disbelief.

You managed a weak smile, wincing at the pain. "I guess I did." You glanced around the room, noticing the bandages wrapped tightly around your torso. "How long have I been out?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Rosita's expression softened as she replied, "Almost a week." Shit.

"How am I supposed to get back to my group?" You thought aloud, concern etched on your face. Rosita's eyes flickered with worry as she responded, "You can't go back to Negan after what happened. It's too dangerous."

You sighed, realizing the gravity of the situation. "I know," you murmured, a sense of uncertainty creeping in. "But what else am I supposed to do? I doubt your group would be willing to take me in permanently."

Rosita's expression softened as she reached out to touch your arm gently. "I'll convince them. For now, relax." You nodded, grateful for Rosita's support. "Thank you," you whispered.

#spanktony #tonyspank #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead #twd x reader #twd rosita #rosita espinosa x reader #rosita x reader #rosita espinosa imagine #rosita espinosa #thewalkingdead #gender neutral reader

[angelisverba]

crossfire

in which harry’s urge to party on his 28th birthday results in the harm of his precious girl, and there’s nothing to do but love her at the end of the night

word count: 10.1K

pairing: y/n x mafialeader!h

warnings: near death experience, use of knife and guns, mention of drugs, mentions of crime, explicit content, sex. do not read if you are opposed to anything mafia related, and don’t come at me for it if you don’t like it.

author’s note: this isn’t my best work, in my opinion. this piece felt like giving birth. it took me forever to get out, and i’ve had the worst writer’s block. in this fic, y/n literally lives for harry and it goes against some of my feminist beliefs, but i have to understand that this man literally saved her life. he is her everything. all that happened was meant to. hope you enjoy :D

There are a plethora of unspoken- but heavily enforced- rules in the mafia, and even more so in the morally grey organization Harry leads.

One of those being to show devout levels of respect for the women that are present or closely connected to him, especially y/n given that she is the boss’s girl. This respect, however, went beyond just being polite and allowing her to pass through the door while holding it open for her. It extended to reverence and borderline worshiping the ground she walked on. The men were expected to guard her before anyone else, even Harry. It was something he made sure to tell every single able-bodied, gun-carrying person in his frequently rotating circle of close employees.

Y/n knew this because she had overheard him talking to a neatly lined up row of brawny, tough men before entering a banquet with an extensive amount of businessmen whose affairs extended beyond the corporate world and into the organized crime arena Harry rules over.

“I don’t give a fuck if someone’s got a gun to my head, your first priority should always be y/n, do you understand me? Keep her safe, or kiss your fuckin’ life goodbye.”

His voice had been filled with a viciousness not directed to anyone there, but rather the lingering possibility of what could happen to her if they didn’t do as he said. If she ended up hurt. Or worse. Threats to her life were something that she still had trouble processing, and when these worries were voiced to her lover, he spent long moments with her in his lap, holding her, kissing her, assuring her that nothing would ever happen to her as long as he was there, and even if something were to happen to him, backup measures were set in place so ensure her safety. Soft murmurs against her skin and his fingers dancing across her shoulder blades talked her through her worries and shut each and everyone of them down with swift declarations.

When your partner was the leader of an organized crime ring, paranoia was something you had to deal with, and y/n didn’t always handle it well. Sometimes, an itchy, gnawing sensation akin to the hollow drop of in the stomach while on a rollercoaster, those few seconds spent waiting to reach a solid, stable point again, crept up on her before she had to leave the house. It was something her and Harry actively worked on, discussing in detail what was playing out in her mind, explaining to her what she should do if something ever went wrong (this was always one of two things. The first being to get behind him and let him take care of things, or defend herself, run away to safety or for cover), and even meditating together quietly in the sunroom facing their backyard or underneath a large willow tree outside. 

Paranoia was a nasty thing. 

And it was creeping on her the night of Harry’s birthday party. He had decided that his second to last birthday before thirty should be spent differently from his others- mostly because he liked to place importance on things that weren’t traditionally that important (because since when was twenty eight an important number?), and partly because in recent days Harry had been overcome with an urge to party. This need would manifest in music blaring from the house speakers at random moments at night- Kendrick Lamar, Drake, and plenty of other rap artists that would make your head bop if you were a twenty year old dude at a frat party. Occasionally, he would switch from the rap genre to disco or 80’s love ballads, and he’d grab y/n’s waist, pull her front to his, and stare deep into her eyes while singing along to I Want To Know What Love is. 

When questioned by y/n one night, he had said to her, “I just need to relax, baby. I haven’t partied in so long. I just watch the parties, and it’s fuckin’ sad.” 

And a few weeks after that, he made the decision to close one of his clubs for the night, invite all of his business partners, friends, and whatever family that would like to come, and ‘have a hangover before wakin’ up’. Harry had included her in much of the planning, and even let her take over some aspects as well (decorations, food, the guestlist) so that she felt comfortable and safe. The one thing he would not let her have control over was security, the music selections, and drinks. Together, they put together an unforgettable night. 

Only, it was unforgettable for all of the wrong reasons. 

The day has started off correctly. Harry was all smiles from the moment he bristled away from the clutches of sleep with the help of y/n’s lips around his cock, a murmur of ‘happy birthday, daddy’ thrumming against the sensitive underside of his dick and eliciting a warm spurt of cum to run down her throat. Of course, the favor didn’t go unreturned. As soon as his toes unclenched and his spine shrunk back down from the arch it was in, his fingers uncurled from the fist it had made in her hair and snaked around her waist to tug her up the front of his body. His prick was already hardening between them again as Harry ravaged her mouth, whispering how his first gift from her had been amazing and the second one was going to be even better. 

“Love your tight cunt in the morning, princess” 

“Is this all for me? Hmm? This is daddy’s pussy isn’t it, baby? Say it” 

“Stop fuckin’ squeezing me like that, little girl, or I’ll ruin you” 

Afterwards, they climbed out of bed with the goal of showering together, but Harry’s pawing hands crept between her thighs while he sat on the edge of the bed with her between his thighs and caressed her clit until she was shaking with the tremors of her third orgasm, pushing at his hand from being oversensitive. 

“No more, please,” she whispered, her words blending in with the woosh of air of her running breath. 

“I think y’can give me a few more, baby love. Get in the shower and I’ll show you.” He looked up at her from between his still-sleepy lashes, authority oozing from him even though he was still rumpled from sleep and sex. Any softness that may have possibly . The grip of his hand on her thigh was so strong that her skin was sure to be flushed when they were no longer on her, and the way he languorously looked at her with his desire so blatantly on display without shame sent shiver’s down y/n’s spine. 

Even though she knew she would end up crying legitimate tears of pleasure before they even got dry, y/n shyly stood on shaky knees and wobbled over to the bathroom, Harry following so closely she would feel the heat and thickness of him on her backside. A loopy smile graced her lips, her heart sick with love at the feel of his warm, heavy palm gliding softly over the curve of her waist- not quite guiding, just holding. 

“I can hardly walk,” y/n protested, her knees buckling to the point where Harry had to dip and catch her with an arm around her shaking body, “I don’t know if I can give you any more, H.” 

The tip of his nose grazes her bare shoulder as they walk through the door frame to the bathroom.  Or rather, Harry walks and she drags her feet between his own, the pleasure still running through her veins with the added, euphoric feel of his touch adding to her ability to do anything. “You will give me more, baby,” he said in a gruff voice, his lips moving against the back of her neck and he kissed his way to her ear, “y’know why?” 

When she didn’t respond immediately, he hummed against her skin, “hmm?” 

A moan left with her words. “Why, daddy?”

“Because I fuckin’ want more. Understand me?” 

Y/n murmured her response, words incoherent but meaning something along the lines of ‘yes, I understand’. He hauled her into the tub after setting the water to a warm temperature, and settled her between his knees, coaxing her to another climax with his fingers, and then twice on his cock before he released inside of her, tensing as he grunted how much he ‘loved her wet cunt’.

They didn’t have to be anywhere until later on that night at 6pm, so Harry had arranged a relaxed breakfast in their sprawling backyard where no one (expect the guards he trusted to stand at certain positions to keep watch) would disturb their moment of peace, moments that were so rare to come by in his world. His chef, Matilda, a sweet Italian lady that was Tony’s grandmother, worked depending on whether he or y/n didn’t feel like cooking, and considering that it was his birthday, and he wanted to spend every moment of his day with his hands all over his girl, while she gave him all of her attention, none of them would be cooking, and Matilda was downstairs cooking a mixture of Italian and American breakfast foods. 

There was an unusual exchange between them, given their roles for the day. One would expect that as the birthday boy, Harry would allow himself to be blindfolded, coddled, kissed, and spoiled. But no, instead, he was the one doing the blindfolding. A large, warm, and ever-present palm on y/n’s waist led her securely underneath the large arc leading from their kitchen to the gardens, where a temporary tent had been set up to cover the table where their steaming breakfast awaited them. 

“Harry, where are you taking me?” y/n asked, a breathy laugh tainting her weary sentence. Normally, when the red silk band found its way around her eyes, she was tied down to their bed with his tongue between her legs, and a haughty, mean air to his actions. This time, there was no dominant coldness, only warm chuckles saturated with a cheeky smile that promised a secret. 

“You never really are patient, are you, m’love?” He leaned in to press a smacking kiss on her neck, bared by the emerald green satin dress that swathed around her figure like a ribbon, layers of cloth accumulating at her navel before flaring down and collecting tightly at her lower back to display a clear outline of her bum. The shade was the exact color of his eyes, and she had chosen to wear it for that reason. “Just a few more steps. Almost there.” 

He didn’t say anything else that might reveal the surprise- his or hers, that was unclear- in hopes that she might smell everything first, and figure it out. 

“You’re keeping poor Matilda waiting for way too l- oh! Are we on grass now?” She exclaimed when her feet left the cool tile of their house and met the tickling cushion of well-trimmed grass. 

Harry grabbed her hand with his free one, and slowed his walk to accommodate her blind ones, “too many questions, tsk-tsk-tsk. Ask one more and that’s one less orgasm for you tonight.”

“I’ve already had too many this morning, daddy,” y/n responded with a teasing lilt in her tone, smiling in the direction she hoped was his face. 

“Watch the attitude, little girl,” he tapped her bum, his voice playfully dropping to a cautious tone before he stopped a few feet away from the breakfast spread before them. 

And waited.

Harry watched the way her nose crinkled as it crinkled at it worked, her brows dipping underneath the blindfold while her chin tipped upwards. Smelling the air, almost like a puppy. “Is that food?” She asked, turning to face him the best she could, and huffed through her nose, “can I take this off now?”

Finally conceding, Harry gently untied the loose knot he’d made at the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair as the material slipped away to smooth out any kinks he may have left behind. This was his favorite part, watching her features transform into one of delight- the various facets which he never got tired of creating because it was proof that he was capable of doing something good- before she eventually threw herself into his arms and demanded to be kissed. 

Allowing her to marvel at the gauzy fabric of the makeshift pavilion, waving in the wind with in calm turrets of white cotton, Harry smiled down at her, utterly in love as a soft, mushy feeling encompassed him. He loved making her happy. Sharing moments with her in which they were both consumed with such overpowering feelings that they both forgot where they were, who they were, and the only thing that mattered was that they were just two people loving each other. 

“D’you like it, angel?” He asked her, wrapping his arms around his arms around her waist and bending significantly in order to be able to rest his chin on her shoulder, nuzzling at the soft skin where before kissing it. “Had to make sure I distracted you enough so they had enough time to set this up,” lining up his mouth at her ear, “can y’pretty pussy forgive me?”

Y/n gasped before dissolving into a nervous fit of giggles, “I-... Harry, I don’t know what to-...”

“Just tell me how much you love it. Y’know how much I love it when you tell me how much y’love what Daddy does for you,” he wasted no time in filling in her trailed off silence, tracing the line of her jaw with the tip of his nose and allowing the hot whisper of his breath to heat her skin, encouraging her flustered state. He was vulgar, sinful, purposefully allowing the most inappropriate words to leave the cave of his mouth because he loved to watch her squirm, and know that he did that, too. 

Turning around in his embrace, she wrapped her arms around his neck shyly, flattening her palms on his chest before smoothing them up to twirl the hair at the back of his neck between her fingers. Her face was flushed, her lips twitching with a smile as she muttered, “it’s true.”

Grinning wolfishly, he claimed her mouth in a kiss and then took her hand to help her sit. 

They ate their breakfast the way they always did, sitting beside each other instead of across because Harry liked to keep his hand on her thigh when she was near, or anywhere on her, really. And he liked to feed her bits of his food, or take some from hers. Since it was his birthday, and he could do whatever he wanted, he decided that the best way to wrap up his meal would be with something sweet. 

Between her legs. 

The parts of their day between breakfast and the beginning of Harry’s party dropped by in a saccharine haze, sickeningly sweet as he opted to keep only the company of his girl, and save the birthday wishes from friends for later that night. Y/n’s heart was in a constant state of fluttering, never quite attached to the correct ventricle veins that maintained the organ securely in place. The voice in her head questioned if she should be the one on the receiving end of multitudes of affections- caresses, kisses, frequent heavy petting that left her writhing on a precipice that she never fell off of- given that it was not her birthday, but Harry’s. When she vocalized this concern, he merely licked into her mouth with such ardor that all of her doubts fled the recesses of her mind.

A few hours before they had to head out, Harry announced that he would get ready in their guest room so they ‘aren’t tempted to be late’, and ‘save the final fuck later so her pussy isn’t sore’. Though, and she would never admit this, y/n doubted that there would be anything of the sort happening later that night, if Harry got as hammered as he claimed he wanted to be. 

They got ready in their respective bathrooms, and y/n thought it was strange for there to be so much silence as she did her hair. The only noise she could hear was the one coming from her hairdryer, but, what Harry wanted today he would get. 

“Darling girl,” y/n heard him call from somewhere down the hall. “Where are you, baby?”

His steps were heavy with the official click of expensive Italian leather shoes, a gift that had arrived a few days ago from one of his business partners. When she questioned him about it, Harry liked to say that everyone whom he did business with was nothing more to him than a ‘shit sack of money to do business with’, and a look of distaste came over him that convinced her completely. Yet… a fond look came over him when he read the short- and y/n thought, quite mean- note that was attached to the elaborate wrapping.

You won’t ever do good things with shitty shoes. Try a pair made from my shoe maker, maybe things will turn around for you.

She had thought that business went well for him, given the life she was so lucky to have, and didn’t understand the meaning of the card until Harry hid his chuckle behind two fingers.

Pinching the bust of her dress and moving it side to side to get it to sit on her correctly, y/n was applying the finishing touches to her outfit, such as her shoes and jewelry. “In here, H!”

“Gotta get goin’, sweetheart. Y’almost ready to go?” Harry called from just outside the bathroom

“Just gotta put on my jewelry and I’m good,” Y/n picked up an earring and removed the back before leaning closer to the mirror.

“Here, let me,” Walking in, he strode right up to where her jewelry was and picked up the necklace she was going to wear, “hold y’hair for me, love. Yeah, jus’ like that.”

“Y’so fucking pretty,” he mumbled into her hair once the clasp was fastened, his hands smoothing over her shoulders and down her arms, pushing the outline of his dick into the crevice of her ass, “it makes m’cock hard.”

“Harry!”

He slapped her bum and left her with enough of a sting that she was sure he had colored her skin. “S’not what I am, t’you, is it little girl?”

“No, daddy. I’m sorry.”

“Better. Now come on, or I’ll be late t’my own party.”

---

Never, not in any lifetime, did y/n think she would ever get to see Harry, in a private room with some old friends and the same partner that sent him the shoes, have a shot every time a certain word came up in a song, and taking turns switchings songs while someone else names the word. It was a game that had been created on the spot, after a margarita made by Fabio, an Italian mafia boss.

She wasn’t participating in the drinking that night, instead looking out for Harry with the help of Tony and a few other men who wouldn’t let her leave their sight- per Harry’s instructions, she was sure.  Not that he needed any looking out for. The man could certainly hold his own liquor, but y/n figured that it would be easier if everyone dealt with drunk men, instead of drunk women. She also didn’t feel safe, but would never ruin Harry’s birthday by saying that out loud.

“M’love, please try these margarita’s Fabio made. They’re better than the ones I make for you, n’I know just how you like them,” he said, mouth at her ear at just the right volume so he was heard over a Kendrick Lamar song. She could smell the sweetness of fruit, and the murky smell of tequila. It wasn’t one that she particularly liked, and given that she didn’t like how… grand this all was, she had to fight a pout.

Shaking her head, and smiling sweetly at him, she said, “M’okay, H. Maybe later.” She didn’t want to ruin his night because he hardly ever got to relax, and maybe that’s why this whole ordeal wasn’t sitting right with her. It wasn’t like him to be the one to let his guard down, not in the ‘field he worked in’, as he likes to put it.

He pressed a warm kiss against her temple, smothering his nose into her hair. With his empty hand he hooked the loose hairs around her ear and allowed his nails to lightly scratch the sensitive skin under her jaw before pinching her chin. Turning her head so she was looking right at her, he said, “alright, baby. Y’tell me if y’want something, yeah? M’right here f’you.”

Y/n nodded, and tried to relax in her seat, attempting to forget about the droopy loop in Harry’s eyes. There were armed men stationed at every entry and exit point in the transformed warehouse, but the amplitude of it all was disorienting. This was not his nature.

The four men- Fabio, a magician with margaritas and one of Harry’s Italian business partners, Lorenzo, Louis, Harry’s marijuana distributor in California, Dan, one of Harry’s financial advisors, and Heathrow, a burly, quiet man who didn’t speak much and helped Harry… attain information- all lounged in couches in the velvety room stocked with a fully functional bar which Fabio ran like it was what he did for a living instead of running a drug empire.

“Y/n, piccola biscotti, are you sure you don’t want a margarita? Not even a virgin?” Fabio pushed his white sleeves further up his arms and smiled toothily at her. He didn’t look very menacing that way, with his red curls beginning to spill out of the coif he had styled them into and falling in front of his eyes. The chip on his tooth gleamed with an outline made of gold.

Harry curled an arm around her and pulled her close while looking at her, waiting on her response. “Y’can say no, baby,” her murmured low enough for only her ears.

On any other day she would’ve said yes. But, today? Something was off, and she didn’t want to stomach anything.

“I’m okay, Fabio. Thank you, though.”

“Of course! Anything for Harry’s princesa,” he winked at her, and used a rag near his hand to wipe down the sparkling black marble counter. “So, birthday boy, ready to go out there and get your groove on?”

Harry, apparently too many cups in, threw his head back and laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. It was a laugh y/n mostly heard when they were alone, and she had to hide the flush on her cheeks from her flustered state at his words by looking away. “You’re a corny ass motherfucker, y’know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, and I get high on my own supply, these are things we know already. Can we get out of this hole now? You-” Louis pointed a finger at Harry- “invited too many beautiful women for me not to do anything about it. So let’s get moving!”

Everyone but Harry stood up, and just as y/n was about to push off her seat, Harry tightened a hand on her thigh and waved everyone off, “I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute, need a few with m’girl.”

They all shook their heads, Hearthrow mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like ‘young love’ and followed the rest of the group out of the room. The music from outside pulsed inside the room when they opened the doors, and came to a mute when they closed them again. 

When it was just the two of them again, Harry hauled her into his lap and planted a kiss on her surprised lips. A hmph worked its way out of her chest, her hands flying like little birds between them until they settled on his chest. 

“Darling,” he said, still kissing her, “what’s wrong?”

“Wh- what do you mean, H? Nothing is wrong,” y/n, too caught up in the shock that Harry had read her so clearly, was unable to deliver a convincing response. Her hands crept closer to his neck, playing with the collar of his shirt. 

Reaching up to grab her hands, Harry shook his head and gave her a stern look. The giddy, inebriated man was gone, and her Daddy took his place. He gathered them on his chest, above his heart, “don’t lie to me, baby. You aren’t being yourself. Tell me, so I can fix it.” 

“I-” she began.

He squeezed her hands. “I don’t want to hear that you’re fine. Tell me the truth, or we’re leaving and I’m spanking your ass raw.” 

“I-” She started again, and she stopped when she saw Harry’s brow quirk into an arch, daring her to lie to him. A threat gleamed in his eyes, and she swallowed. “I just don’t feel really… safe.” 

Various emotions played across Harry’s face. Shock. Disbelief. Confusion. A bit of anger, maybe? She can’t really pinpoint them because his eyes are flashing so fast, and then he drops his head back, the veins at the base of his throat pulsing as he inhales deeply and holds it for a few seconds before releasing it.

“Angel,” he rasps, his voice like crackling wood as he looks at again, “do y’know who I am?”

A scrunch appears between her eyebrows. Of course he knew who he was, she had dated him for years. “What are you talking about, H?”

“I mean, darling,” two large hands accompanied with a pinch of cold from the metal on his fingers cup her face, “that you must not know who I am if you feel this way. I’m the leading kingpin of this country’s drug distribution. I run the tightest system of organized crime, and I have more money than God. But first and foremost, baby, I am your lover. Everything I do is to make y’happy, understand me?” 

Harry is pinching face now because she had tried to look down at her lap while he was talking and he wanted to make sure they maintained eye contact while he talked. When he didn’t get an answer right away, he shook her lightly, growling, “Said, do you understand me, y/n?”

Pouty and a little teary eyed, y/n mumbled that she understood. 

“Now,” he released her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “There are more than eighty men in and outside of this building whose sole purpose of the night is to protect you. I have four concealed weapons on my person, and y’know I know how to use them, baby. There’s no need to be scared,” his breath, sweet from the smell of margaritas, becomes y/n’s next inhale the moment he drops his forehead onto hers, and it makes her lightheaded with love. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise” his nose is pressing against her with enough force to turn her head to the side, and when he presses his sticky mouth on y/n’s lips, she’s gasping. 

The sense of insecurity from before is gone the moment Harry grips her close, his half-hard length hot against the inside of her thigh, and the only feeling left of the heat from the drag of his tongue on her bottom lip, the sting of his palm when he claps her thigh and drags her impossibly closer only to mumble against her lips, “y’ready to go now, or do y’need more reassurance?”

She had no other choice but to say yes, because they would never leave if she said no. 

****

No one is passing around a bong, or snorting lines off the glass table in the middle of the lunge like the last few parties y/n went to before she met Harry. This wasn’t that kind of reunion. These were not people looking for a cheap high and a damage-filled nights. 

This kind of party, the one wrapped in red-velvet rope and bouncers checking to see who you knew in the VIP section, was the kind in which people knew how to party without all the excess drama. They were cool, with their whiskey and bourbon, martinis, gin and tonics. The hallucinogens were for all the new players out on the dance floor, creating the ruckus Harry wished to join just for the night. Maybe, y/n though, just to feel young again. But she would never say that to Harry, or out loud, because it wasn’t cool. 

She thinks that maybe Harry wanted to build his buzz a little bit more, because he sat in the center of the couch, the life of the conversation, with his arms curled protectively and securely around her. He’s laughing loudly, his hair is disheveled- strands leaking away from their normal swoop around his face to dangle in front of his eyes. The alcohol in his system is heating his bloodstream, and while it isn’t noticeable to anyone else, y/n can see the smallest hints of perspiration at the back of his neck, and she can feel the abnormal heat of his body seeping through his clothes. It’s making her a little sweaty, and if it weren’t for the smallest bit of doubt still left in there, she would have found an excuse to get up and use the bathroom. 

Louis was at their secluded bar, whispering into the ear of a blonde that was a few inches taller than him, and y/n watched as he coaxed a smile from her, and the nod of her head before they headed to the dance floor. She would more than likely end up there with Harry soon, and she was observing the atmosphere out there. 

The floor, which was made up of lit-up squares that changed in time with the music, was crammed with men and women who all had the same things in common: wealth, cars, social circles, the luxury brands that filled their closets. The women often made such exclusive conversation, that y/n would feel uncomfortable contributing because the only things she knew about luxury was whatever Harry gave her. It made her question her position in his social hierarchy. So much that she preferred the company of his men, the ones meant to protect her. 

Stationed at every entry and exit point where groups of men who flashed guns and ear pieces, they lined the floor above the dance floor, glaring down at everyone and smiling at her when they caught her eyes. 

Y/n was smiling back at Tony, when Harry tugged at her earlobe with his mouth, asking for her attention. 

“Who are you giving those pretty smiles to, angel?” She heard the casual tone in his voice, the playful light induced by the alcohol in his system, but also the dangerous edge that said he wasn’t fucking around. “You should be giving them to me. It’s my birthday.” 

Was he… mad?

Y/n’s eyes dropped down to her lap, where Harry’s palm was spanning on the top of her thigh, pressing into the skin that wasn’t covered by her dress, “Just saw Tony, H. Was saying hello,” she said, hoping it was loud enough to be heard above the thrum of music. 

His mouth still at her ear, body now fully pressed against hers, he chuckled darkly along with his words, “why don’t you say hello to Daddy, hmm?” 

Retreating from her so she could see the wolfish smile on his face, the expectant raise in his eyebrows. It was enough to make her smile, a flush on the apples of her cheeks as she shook her head at him. 

In the middle of mouthing, a retort, collective screaming erupted somewhere in the vicinity, followed by gunshots and the scattering of people. 

The hair at the back of y/n’s hair raised, and in her gut she knew that something was wrong. It was the pitch in screams, the look on people’s faces. But one glance at Harry said that he thought everyone was still partying. He didn’t tense. 

No.

He laughed.

And he was still laughing when something cold and unmistakably dangerous pressed on the back of y/n’s head. She stilled, stiffened, and briefly she thought- this is what it must be like when you’re dead- but all of it vanished when a man came from the shadows, a gun poised and settled at the back of Harry’s head. Only then did Harry act, his gun somehow in his hand in less than a second. 

The music stopped. Someone was wailing. Several guns clicked. Locked. 

“Not a smart move, Styles. Make another move, and six guns will blow your brains out,” the man, tall and sickly looking with a scarred face. His clothes looked cheap, his hands smeared with dirt. 

Y/n’s stomach roiled, and her face felt cold, her hands moist. Behind her, the person with a gun to her head moved the barrel to her temple, wrapped an arm across her shoulders and pulled her away from the circle in Harry’s arm, the burly arm roughly constricting her airway so that her hands flew up to claw it away. Her first instinct was to gasp as she struggled, but y/n also knew that she needed to preserve as much oxygen as she could because she had no idea if the guy choking her would stop anytime soon. Confused about what was happening and who this man was, y/n looked to Harry for some kind of direction, and found that he was already watching her with the scariest look she had ever seen him wear. 

Eyes that were normally emerald green were obscured by darkness, a pitch black that reflected his mood. His jaw was clenched, and so was the fist around his gun, knuckles white from the grip he had on it. Y/n recognized his tense posture, back straight as he faced her, his other hand splayed on the back of the couch, twitching. His gun was pointed at legs, still from the man’s order. His eyes were locked on hers, unflinching 

Trying to tell her something. 

She recognized the look. It was the same one- a more feral version of it- he would give her when he was two seconds away from throwing her over her lap and spanking her until his handprint was a permanent tattoo on her bum because he had instructed her to remain motionless and she was squirming. He was telling her not to move. 

“What the fuck kind of birthday gift s’this, Mr. Fisher?” Harry asked, his voice a deadly threat. A cat who was still as a statue, and the only part that would alert you of his oncoming pounce was the twitching tail. Harry’s thrumming fingers on the couch cushion. 

Y/n kept watching him all the while he turned his head to look at the scrawny man. Fisher. She didn’t recognize the name, but from the nature of the situation she assumed that he was a rival, and time had come for her to get wrapped up in some kind of mess.

Harry kept her as isolated from his work as he could, but they both knew deep, deep down that one day this would happen. That gut feeling that she had at the start of the night wasn’t a premonition, it was that minuscule sense of insecurity that had always been there when it came to the nature of her life. She didn’t hate Harry, or love him any less. 

She just knew this would happen. 

The funny part is, she wasn’t even scared of dying. It wasn’t even the thought on the forefront of her mind. Instead, she was thinking of Harry. How was he going to get out of this? How was he going to get them both out of this. She wanted to make sure she was in tune with him, that she was in on his plan so she wouldn’t mess it up and they would make it out alive, but what was the plan?

Fisher laughs, “the best kind, Mr. Styles. The one that ensures you won’t have any more birthdays. Now, I’ll let you pick who goes first. You?” He jerks the gun in y/n’s direction, and a definitive click rings above her left ear. “Or the bitch?”

“Don’t fucking call her that you peice of shit,” Harry all but snarled, his chest rising with tension from his restraint. Y/n wanted to tell him that he wasn’t being particularly smart with his words, if his statements only protected her honor and no her life, but she only gulped.

Fisher laughed. “Drop the gun, or the girl goes.” He moved his thumb, and a bullet locked into place. “Now.”

He glanced at her, his look hard as his jaw ticked. Resigned, Harry threw the gun down. “What do you want?” 

“I came to eliminate the competition, and that’s what I’ll do. But first, I think I’ll enjoy watching you watch her die, just how you enjoyed taking everything from me”

“You’re a bad businessman, Fisher. Not my fault, and definitely not hers either. She knows nothing!”

“You’re a bad businessman, Fisher. Not my fault, and definitely not hers either. She knows nothing!” Harry’s shaking now, veins on his neck protruding. A ticking time bomb. 

“Am I supposed to believe that?” He walks over to her and caresses her face with a rough, dirty hand. “You spend every minute that you are not working attached to her hip, and you’re telling me she has picked up nothing? Liar.” Y/n moves her face, desperate to get away from the man, but he only jerks her roughly. “C’mon, gorgeous. If you tell me something good, I’ll let you sit in my lap, too.”

She can’t think of anything to say but, “I don’t want to sit in your lap.” 

“Fine.” Fisher’s mouth presses into a line, and he releases her, turning and waving his gun in the air. “I’ve given both of you a chance. Do it, Richard.” 

Her mouth moved, her eyes locked onto green emeralds that were less panicked than hers. I love you.

And blinked.

Gunshots rang as quickly as they did the first time, and Harry was a mere smear of motion, exploding with the energy simmering in him before. Someone wrenched the man holding y/n, and by consequence, she was jostled too. There was a flash of pain on the underside of her chin because she hadn’t been directly out of the knife points touch when her handler was yanked from her, and there was her heart pounding pounding pounding because everything was moving too fast, the lights weren’t bright enough, and she couldn’t keep track of who was good, who was bad. Another gun went off mortifyingly close to her and several hands grabbed at the fabric at her ankle, waist, and hips, and there was snarling. 

Get your hands off her.

Fucking grab her.

Don’t let them out of your sight.

The arm that wrapped around her waist encased her, and a part of her calmed because it was familiar. 

“‘Got you, baby,” Harry rasped at her ear, and her heart slowed. He had managed to snag a gun, probably one of the many hidden on his person. Her head snapped to look at him, and even though he was speaking to her, his gaze was all over the room, gun raised and held near his head, pointing up as he searched for an exit, “everything’s gonna be fine, just do as I say. Nod if you understand,” he looked at her then. Y/n nodded, her face like a ghost’s. “We are going to run. Now.”

He half-hauled her as they moved, shooting at people that turned corners a mere second after Harry held his aim. Y/n didn’t want to look. It was grotesque, jarring. A little eye-opening, as this was the reality of Harry’s job. But she had to keep moving, had to try extra hard to keep pace with Harry, so she kept her gaze forward. 

“Boss!” 

They were at an intersection of halls. And at the end of the one on their right, standing in the doorway of an exit, was Tony. Harry let y/n go so that she could run ahead, and he lagged behind her to shoot at men that were coming from the other two halls. 

It was almost as if he read her mind, because as her steps slowed and her head started to move Harry shouted, “Don’t look back, y/n!” 

But it was too late. It was too late because there was someone behind him, and his finger was- 

there was a bullet and-

“Harry!” 

Y/n ran. Not the direction Harry wanted her to. Launched herself before Harry even had the chance to open his arms and catch her but it was fine because that was the point. 

To get him out of the direct line of the bullet’s flight. That was her only thought. Then of course, there was the thought of living without him when he had saved her, but it was fleeting. Her heart was pounding, her ears ringing, and it was the first time that she realized how close life and death was for them. The look in his eyes when she ran towards him said it all. A repetition of holy fuck holy fuck holy fucking shit in tune with the incantation of her breath and heart.

She heard him curse and embrace her as they landed. His arm moved at her side, and another bullet went off. His, she presumed by the way his arm recoiled. Her eyes closed shut and she gripped him, afraid of moving because of the unknown everything coming at them. Harry picked them both up, and shook her, shouting something but y/n’s ears were still ringing. She only saw his finger pointing, and Tony at the end of the hall with the door wide open. 

Y/n began running again, if the way Harry gently pushed her was any indication of what he wanted her to do.

Tony caught her rattled body, muttered an apology and threw her into a vehicle. Then he ran to the front seat and started the car. 

Y/n, concerned for her lover’s well being croaked, “what about-”

Tony shook his head as a way of silencing her. “He’ll get here, miss. Just give him a second.” 

A few seconds later that same door slammed open again, a panting Harry emerging and jumping into the car. 

“Drive. Drive to whichever safe house y’can think of, and don’t stop.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Fuck,” Harry swore. His hands fumbling like a flock of birds taking off, all over her. “Fuck, darlin’ are you okay?” 

Y/n nodded, but couldn’t stop her lip from trembling, her hands from reaching out to him. Harry clutched at her again, moving her to sit on his lap and with a hand at the back of her head, led her to rest her forehead on the crook of his shoulder. I love you’s and I’m sorry’s got lost from his mouth in her hair, and the silent tears that fell from her eyes dribbled down to be what cleaned the cut on her chin. 

The rest of the car ride was a blur. Maybe she fell asleep. Maybe her eyes were closed and her thoughts were too wild to comprehend. Maybe they walked out at some point, into a house hidden in shrubbery and an old man who unlocked another hidden door for them, all while Harry and Tony kept looking behind their shoulders and maybe they split ways to sleep and reconvene in the morning. 

Maybe Harry kissed her and kissed her as they walked somewhere, nearly crying. Maybe they were her tears he tasted. Maybe.

She didn't know.

There was only this. The tumbling of their bodies into a room. Minds in a mess of selfish possessiveness. 

Harry, harry, harry.

Y/n, y/n, y/n. 

They were in a trance, animals in need of preserving their life and survival, hormones awry with the need to touch- skin to bare skin. With every murmur of the other’s name, Harry throwing in a pet name every other call and y/n whispering the lone Daddy, an article of clothing melted from their bodies by the heat of their hands that roamed over their frames. Y/n hands like butterflies on his broad shoulders, Harry’s fingers like a hazardous python lazing across her navel and up, up, up to her breasts and shoulders. 

Dancing around each other, they draped across the bed, and y/n was incoherent. She wasn’t making any sense because her mind couldn’t keep up with her mouth, it was too busy sending instructions to the body parts beneath Harry’s touch, urging the skin to become pliant beneath him, to push up against him. To spread her thighs to accommodate the width of his hips. Only dimly did she come to register his rough words spilling with urgency as he lined himself at her soaked pussy, spoken like commands and prayers, begging. 

“Never want to see you do that shit again, darling girl. So what if I’m dead? If you had died, my world would have lost it’s sun. I would have lost my God, y/n. I would have been miserable without you. My sweetest honey, my softest little dove,” he pressed a reverent kiss on her temple, his voice breaking with emotion, “you can live a life without me, but I cannot live a life without you, okay?” Harsh breaths broke across her mouth and chin, the raw tone of voice seeping like honey in tea and dissolving sluggishly into her skin. Y/n was lightheaded, her eyes closed and the back of her head rubbed loose figure eights into the pillowcase. 

And then it was like a switch flipped inside him, and he was stern. Serious. Like he needed her to understand. Did she- “understand what I’m sayin, baby? Hmm?” Harry slowly pushed into her, the head of his dick stretching and filling her with every inch of movement. They can never seem to not want this- to not want sex. Being connected this way was something they wanted all the time, so they did. All the fucking time. Yet, y/n couldn’t seem to get used to his size, the way he pressed up against her walls like he would make her burst apart like a fragile glass compartment if he was any bigger. 

Physically, y/n couldn’t manage to say that she understood, and maybe she didn’t really. Too much had happened that day, the shooting, the near end of his life, their near separation, and all she wanted was release. She wanted it so bad that the ache of it was starting to hurt. 

So, she just nodded, her eyes shut and her body arching underneath him. Against him. Trying to get him to move because every part of her was on fire and she desperately wanted him to put it out. 

But y/n should know better. Harry didn’t come to play. It was the reason why he led a drug ring so successfully. Because everyone listened to him when he asked for something, or else they would face the consequences. And she was not exempt from those expectations. Especially not her. 

Twin pricks of pain sprouted on her chin where Harry held her still, expectantly, his green gaze boring into hers with a single cocked brow as he waited for her to correct herself and allowing her reprieve from a future punishment. His hips stilled, halting their leisurely inch towards bottoming out, abs flexing as they worked to both, stop his movements, and hold his upper body above her with the help of his arm. His knees were planted beneath her thighs, her legs thrown over his so that she had no way to back way or shut him out, but she was able to tighten her hold around his hips and attempt to hike herself up to encourage him to continue fucking into her.  But, the moment she thrust her hips upward, Harry pulled back so that his cock left her completely, remnants of her arousal glistening on his tip and on where he rubbed against the skin below his belly button. 

“Answer me,” the two words were scarily devoid of emotion, the blank slate of his voice not reflecting the stern set of his face, with eyebrows dipped low enough to crinkle his forehead. The set of his mouth and a strained vein in his neck didn’t even begin to bring alive the desperate animal that prowled the cage of his ribs, stalking nothing but restless from the previous threat. Some part of him was still frantic, anguished and overcome with the need to possess her, own her, as if the pleasure he gave her would equate to the nurturing aspect of providing safety and trust. Harry felt as if it was all his fault, and the only way to convey how sorry he was, how much he loved her, was through showing her. 

“Yes,” she whimpered, hips dropping back into the mattress defeatedly. Her nails dragged up his biceps, attempting to calm herself and get a reaction out of it. Y/n was also... lost in the muddle of feelings that were thundering in her system. Fear, both for her life and Harry’s, the primal instinct to surround herself with him, to be consumed by him so that his imprint will stay on her forever, so that even if they were to be separated, reminders of him would be forever on her. 

In her. 

When her eyes began to droop closed from the overwhelming nature of her need, the painful edge of it making her feel helpless, Harry jostled her chin softly and asked, “yes, who?”

“Yes, daddy,” the words were out of her mouth before she could even think about it. 

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Harry’s voice was once again filled with sensual aggression, lips curling around his words in a near snarl that made her breath hitch at the bottom of her throat and her nails dig into the thickness of his biceps that strained with the force of his thrust. He sunk into her in one fluid movement, bottoming out without allowing y/n to adjust and causing a long quivering moan to creep from her mouth. Millions of tiny blossoms of pleasure spread on her skin and bones like a droplet of water being absorbed, growing in size and collecting to join in one massive blanket of euphoria. 

Oxygen was missing from her next inhale, but y/n didn’t care. In fact, it wasn’t enough. She needed more. She always needed more when it came to Harry, even when she knew that more meant possible breaking like the piece of glass he thought she was. The tips of her breasts scorched a trail on his chest when she arched off the bed asking for, “more, please. It’s not enough, daddy. I need more.”

Harry chuckled, a dark, deep noise that vibrated around her and tickled her skin. He sat back on his haunches, still deep inside her, and slid his hands underneath her knees and pulled them up together, so that they lay over his shoulder. The repositioning tightened the space between her thighs, and heightened the full feeling that came with having him buried completely in her pussy. Shakily, because y/n knew this position was dangerous for both of them, she dug her nails into his flexing thighs that were right beneath her legs, waiting for him to move. Waiting for more. This was a position they had only tried twice before. The first time, she had asked him to stop because the angle was too much, the second time she had received as a punishment that ended with her screaming in pleasure and by the end of it, limp and trembling on the bed and Harry kissed her all over and wiped himself of her with a washcloth. 

“This is gonna hurt, little girl,” stroking a hand down from her ankle to her knees, thighs, and up her stomach to twist her nipple between his fingers, Harry smirked down at her, his expression containing no humor. “Remember that you asked for this. M’only giving you what you want,” taking hold of her in the crease where her legs met her hips, he pulled out halfway and pushed back into her, not gently, just to watch her face contort into one of pain and pleasure. 

Y/n threw her head back and mumbled something incoherent, her eyes shutting and neck straining from the sensations that were taking over her being. Vaguely does she register something along the lines of ‘yes, yes, yes, more’, but it all withers into the red-hazed tangible love that drowned all of the receptors in her neurological region. The deep, erratic breaths pulling through her lungs sunk the sink around her ribs and only added to the crazed air around her. She was taken by what Harry was giving her, and Harry was chasing after her attention, grinding himself down so that his balls sat on the crevice of her ass and the tip of his dick stroked something deep between her. Anything and everything around them was lost. The only thing that mattered was them. Him. Her. The way it felt as if Harry was intruding in the most delicious way possible, as if every thrust was the last one she would be able to take from him. 

“This is what you want, darlin’ angel? Am I takin’ care of you right?”

“Yes. It’s so good, H. So good, daddy.” 

“I’m the only one that’s going to take care of you this way, baby. The only one who knows that this-'' he made as if he was going to retreat from her, drawing himself nearly all the way out before abruptly pounding back into her so her ass sunk down into the mattress. A cry escaped her when the force of Harry’s movements reached a notch inside her, and an even longer, broken whimper when he made small plunges into her so that the head of his cock repeatedly rubbed against her g-spot, “-is the place that makes you purr like a little fuckin’ kitty. Did you really think I would leave y’so easily, darling? Think I would leave your cunt aching with no one to take care of it, hmm? It’s always going to be-” his hips retreated, and slapped back into her, the force of his thrust stealing her breath,“-me, darling. I’m right here and I’m-” the next tilt pressed her hips deep into the mattress, and her nails dug into his skin. Her breath kept escaping her because her lungs couldn’t keep up with the symphony of sensations that was racking through her body, centering where they connected. He plunged into her again,“-never leavin’ you.”

Y/n wasn’t sure what was coming out of her mouth, only that her mouth was dragged open in a scream- she didn’t know if it was silent. She couldn’t focus on anything else but Harry’s grunts as he gyrated his hips against hers, no longer moving in and out of her but rather, smothering his skin against hers, trying to bury deeper into her drilling against her core that was filled with him. It felt as though he was invading the deepest parts of her, like she wouldn’t be able to feel right without him inside her again. The head of his cock was a constant pressure on that bundle of nerves, and he was rubbing against her with such force that they were slowly moving up the bed. His hands let her legs fall apart, and they curled around her hips with his guidance. She gasped at the sudden change, the opening of pussy that allowed him to somehow drive deeper than before, and she moved her hands from the backs of his thighs to his biceps, which came to cage her and Harry braced his hands beside her head. Knocking his nose against hers, Harry licked into her mouth before nipping her lips and devouring her in a kiss.

A distraction, she realized, because he began that punishing pace again.

“Daddy, please. Please, I want- I- I- I need-,” she began to whimper, so lost in her pleasure that kept building, and building, and building, but wouldn’t drop over that precipice. Dimly, it occurred to her that she didn’t know what she needed. Every thought escaped her with every drag of Harry’s cock. He moved slowly now, so that his abdominal muscles clenched and unclenched as his hips flexed, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched her stutter.

“Baby can’t think right now, is that it?” His thumb traced her bottom lip, and her tongue lazily came out to lave at it. It was exactly what he wanted her to do, and as soon as she did he roughly hooked her chin open. “Want me to do all the work for you? I wasn’t lying when I said I knew that your sweet little pussy needs, baby. Now open. Wide.”  He waited for her to open her mouth, “leave it open. If you close it, you don’t get to cum. Understand?”

Y/n nodded, the need to cum shutting down all of her rational thinking. Her nerves were fraying, the rub of silk against her body every time he thrust into her was driving her insane. Saliva pooled in her mouth at the sight of Harry above her, his mouth nearly in a snarl as he focused on her, eyebrows pinched and his emerald eyes nearly black. He withdrew and began fucking into her with more force than speed, earning a breathless gasp from her each time they connected.

Then, when her head started to tilt back and her thighs were straining with tell-tale quivers, Harry dipped down and collected the saliva in her mouth with his tongue moaning deeply as the taste of her exploded across his taste buds, and spit it back into her own mouth. He felt his balls draw up at the way she immediately swallowed, and her face pinched with a pained look. Her pussy tightened around him like an unforgiving vise, and a cry left her as she let her orgasm rake through her body.

Harry continued his thrusting, allowing his own climax to pour over him as he buried his dick in her. It exploded over him, on him, in him, and all of the emotions he had felt that day came to their culmination, releasing in resolution. He was with his love, he was there, and they were sharing a beautiful thing. His arms held him above her quivering form, her pussy still milking him and broken little sobs were seeping out of her lips, tears sliding down to the pillows from the corners of her eyes.

She felt it, too. They were tender, tethered to each other and overwhelmed with each other.

“I know, my love,” Harry whispered to her, breathless. A grunt left him as he dipped his head down to her neck and kissed her collarbone, her jugular, and the spot behind her ear before nibbling on her lobe. “I love you, y/n. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

He grabbed her limp hand, and placed it over his heart, “You live here, do you understand me? I don’t have a heart, darling, I have you. You’re my reason for breathing, for the blood in my veins. C’mon now, no more tears, little girl.”

Y/n was whimpering, keening into his touch as he wiped her tears away with his fingers. They had twisted to their sides, still connected. She felt soft. Not vulnerable, but naked in the best way. Like he was looking into the deepest parts of her soul, and so was she. She felt like wispy pink skin, tinted with the cold air. Inexplicably, y/n had fallen in love with Harry all over again. Like she had met a new version of him at that moment. She wanted to tell him that her life was as long as it was because of him, but all she could manage was a weak, wet, “I love you so much, Harry.”

They fell asleep that way, still tangled in one another, grasping each other’s hands. Tangled, in more ways than one. 

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