#(so i assume a couple others are wandering off and the four of them are just taking full advantage of napping in the grass)

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 17.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: explicit description of torture

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: Please applause our first translator entering the scene! Can you guess who it is? Spoiler: It's not our favourite broccoli!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Alright, you boot-licking weak-ass excuse of a warrior, I ask you one more time: What orders were given to you by your king? Answer or your comrades will suffer even worse”

When the Todoroki soldier doesn't answer, Katsuki turns the knife that is already stuck in the man's leg. The man howls and fights against the restraints that bind him to the chair he's sitting on. When the pain ebbs away, the soldier spits blood at Katsuki's feet. He looks up at the chief with anger and determination behind his eyes.

“Fuck you. I not tell you everything. With honour, we die.”

Katsuki gives him a long, hard stare. Then a cruel smile spreads on his face. They've been torturing the Todoroki prisoners for a couple of hours now. They picked one by one, leaving the remaining stewing in fear for when they come for them. This one is the last one.

So far, they weren't very lucky. The four others that were brought in before this one didn't speak a word of Drakona and could only twitch in pain at the knives of their captors.

“Ah, so he can speak. Seems like it's your lucky day, bastard. Means that we two get to spend more time with each other.”, Katsuki grins at the man.

The man looks at him with exhausted eyes but the deep circles under his eyes don't hide the hatred in them.

“Do worst”, the man spits back and Katsuki only chuckles.

A good half hour later, Katsuki didn't get anything useful out of the man. Mainly because the man's hard to break. Most of the time he only spits out insults in very broken Drakona. Katsuki wonders if the information the man can give them will be of any worth considering how hard he is to understand.

Katsuki washes off the blood on his hands in front of his tent before entering his shared living space with y/n. There is no need for his mate to see that. The tent lies empty and silent upon his arrival. Katsuki frowns upon y/n's absence. He left her this morning munching on some bread before taking off to take care of the prisoners.

Did she run away again?, Katsuki ponders, I didn't give her any reason to be cross with me today, I think.

An unease settles over him, like always when y/n is up to something he doesn't know about. Of course, there is no harm in y/n wandering about the settlement and socializing with the other tribe members, but it's just... unexpected. Most of the other women don't, or at least only to a minimal degree. Furthermore, Katsuki's always on edge thinking that y/n might change her mind and take flight.

Katsuki turns on his heels and stomps through the village of tents with an air of authority. He doesn't want to ask any of his men if they've seen his mate. Probably, nobody would care but Katsuki thinks they might assume that he has no control over his own mate.

“Hey, Kats, where you off to?”, a voice calls out to him.

Katsuki was so deep in thought that he didn't notice that he was passing by Kirishima's tent. For a moment, he hesitates.

“Just lookin' for y/n.”, he tries to answer casually.

Kirishima laughs. “Always the attentive mate, eh?”, he teases and Katsuki feels the tips of his ear burning.

“I think I've seen her walking towards old woman Tomoko with a bunch of clothes. Maybe try your luck there.”, Kirishima tells him and Katsuki gives him a grateful nod.

Katsuki walks over to the old woman's tent and makes himself noticeable before walking in.

Y/n is standing in the middle of the room in one of her new dresses. Old woman Tomoko crouches next to her and cuts off the fabric at y/n's feet.

“Chief Bakugou.”, Tomoko greets her leader, “Have you come to check my progress with your mate's clothes?”

Katsuki does not know what she's talking about but doesn't want to look clueless in front of her, so he only agrees.

The woman stands up and holds up another dress. It is a thinner dress in a pink hue.

“We've already altered this one. Made is shorter and a bit firmer around the hips. Told her she might not want it firmer considering she might be with child when next summer comes, but she was very firm on this. Your mate certainly has her own head, don't you think?”, Tomoko chats away. Katsuki can only agree with her on that last part.

“Anyways, right now we're altering this one.”, Tomoko continues, “It's more suitable for the weather in the mountains, at least for her kind, I suppose. Although I've got to say I find all these dresses kind of ridiculous, don't you think? The fabric's so heavy, the skirt so long and even her arms aren't free. How can anybody move in clothes like these?”

Katsuki hums in agreement. “Don't know, but all the kingdom women wear clothes like this.”, he offers an explanation. Tomoko nods.

“Sure, sure, you're right. Then again, these women probably don't need to move much, don't they? The ones you brought at least don't seem to leave their tents very much.”, Tomoko points out.

“I guess so.”, Katsuki only answers. He doesn't feel like explaining to the old woman that that probably has different reasons.

“Well, I'm glad y/n's different. Poor thing doesn't understand a single word, but at least she's a bit more outgoing than the others, isn't she? Some may say she's a bit slow in the head, but I think she's a breath of fresh air around here.”, the old woman continues to chatter.

Katsuki's expression immediately darkens. “Who said that?”, he immediately wants to know. The old woman stops mid-movement sensing she probably shouldn't have mentioned that in front of the chief.

“Oh, you know, how people are...”, Tomoko tries to play it off, “It's just she's so slow at picking up our language so people assume she's not..., you know, so bright. But then again, it's hard to learn a language without a teacher and she's not a child anymore. Children are so much quicker at picking up these things. Anyhow, it's a pity I never learned the kingdom's language. You know, I had an aunt who was a half-blood and she spoke it fluently. Her mother came from...”

While Tomoko drifts off in a long explanation about her family's history, Katsuki's ears are still rushing with blood. Thinking about how members of his tribe say that y/n is mentally challenged does not sit right with him. Suddenly, there's a tuck at his hand. Y/n walked up to him and demands his attention. She presents him with a woven bracelet.

“Oh, yes, that. She made that out of fabric I cut off her dress. I wondered what that was about. It's quite pretty, isn't it? Your woman is quite resourceful, I have to say.”, Tomoko explains.

Carefully, y/n slips the bracelet over his right hand while Tomoko continues to explain the various things one can make with leftover fabric. Katsuki's head feels like it's about to explode. He forgot how much the old woman liked to talk. Y/n smiles up at him. Katsuki pinches her cheek in appreciation.

“Alright, old woman, I've got to get back to work. Make sure the dresses are altered the way she wants it.”, Katsuki interrupts Tomoko's torrent of words. The old woman abruptly stops her chattering and bows her head respectfully.

“Of course, chief, they'll be done by tonight.”, she tells him. Katsuki squeezes y/n's hand and turns to leave. He doesn't see the look of disappointment on y/n's face. She hoped that he would stay longer.

~*~*~*~

Katsuki lets the Todoroki soldier stew for the rest of the days. He's given a minimum of water. The knife in his leg is taken out and the wound is covered so that it doesn't get infected. After all, he shouldn't die on them that quickly.

He decides to visit the man before dinner. Maybe the prospects of food will make him talk. He enters the tent with a plate of hot stew and a slice of bread.

“Hungry?”, he asks while sitting down in front of the soldiers. The man stares right ahead.

Katsuki takes a spoonful of stew and shoves it inside his mouth.

“Ya' sure you don't want any?”, he asks challenging but the man doesn't answer him.

“How many days since you've last eaten? Two? Three? You must be starving.”, Katsuki points out.

The man grinds his teeth. “Not want the poison.”, the soldier bites out. Katsuki clicks his tongue.

“Poison? Buddy, we keepin' you alive. Be grateful, ya friends ain't gettin' any.”, he tells him. A mean grin spreads on the soldier's face.

“Sorry, mean I will not eat shit.”, he tells Katsuki. Katsuki grinds his teeth.

“Oh, sorry our food ain't good enough for the mighty soldier. Then again, maybe I should feed you like the pig you are.”, he replies and empties the hot content of the bowl into the man's crotch. The man howls in pain.

“Fuck you.”, the man grits out. “Ya, ye keep sayin' that. How's that workin' out for ya?”, Katsuki smirks.

“Now, I was nice to ya' but seems like ya' can't appreciate that. Maybe I should go back to doin' things the traditional way.”, he tells him and rams his thumb into the wound on his leg. The soldier screams out in pain.

“Katsuki!”

Katsuki whips around at the sound of the shocked voice behind him. Y/n's standing at the entrance of the tent looking white in the face. Slowly, Katsuki takes his hand off the man and turns around to her fully.

“What the hell are you doing?”, y/n demands to know. Katsuki assumes she wants an explanation, but someone else answers for him.

“What does it look like, honey? He's torturing me.”, the soldier says and lets out a croaked laugh.

Y/n stares at the soldier wide-eyed. For a moment, Katsuki is unable to move. Y/n storms past him, but Katsuki manages to catch her arm. However she twists towards the soldier on the chair.

“What do you mean? What's going on here?”, y/n asks the soldier. It's only then that Katsuki understands that they're speaking the same language. Of course they do, he curses internally.

“Well, you see honey, this lovely bastard over there...”, the soldier starts but he doesn't get to finish as the edge of Katsuki's hand makes a hard impact with his throat. The soldier makes a choking noise.

“Katsuki!”, y/n yells appalled and struggles against his hold but to no avail. He pulls her towards the exit of the tent. Y/n definitely shouldn't talk to this man. Who knows what lies the soldier will tell her.

“Bastard!”, the soldier chokes out in Drakona. Katsuki freezes for a second and turns back to him.

“You should better be careful how and to whom you talk around here.”, Katsuki says cooly but the man only grins at him.

“Scared I tell you girl the true?”, the man says and Katsuki sees red. Letting go of y/n, he storms towards the man and pushes him into the back of the chair.

“You don't talk to her. She's not yours to talk to. Don't even look at her. You understand that?”, he growls but the soldier only laughs.

“Best you knife my tongue then. But can talk no secrets then. Pity you.”, the soldier bites back. Katsuki takes a swing at him but y/n catches his wrist.

“Katsuki, don't. Are you insane?”, y/n yells. The soldier laughs in return.

“Clearly, he is.”, he points out, “But then again, he's from the dragon blood tribe. Haven't you noticed that, sweetheart?”

Y/n stares at the miserable man in front of her. His ragged clothes clearly are the remains of the kingdom's soldier uniforms. She's seen the uniform before on her brother when he said goodbye to her before joining the army. The soldier's face is covered in dirt and grime and his dark, purple hair sticks to his forehead in thick clumps.

She only wanted to look for Katsuki to tell him dinner's ready. She didn't expect to find him to torture a man who is clearly from the kingdom. She swallows hardly. What on earth is Katsuki up to?

“Cat caught your tongue, love?”, the man laughs.

Before y/n can respond, Katsuki interrupts. “You. Don't. Talk. To. Her.”, he presses. The soldier looks at him unimpressed.

“She not dragon blood tribe, right? Kingdom clothes and kingdom tongue. You steal her? Bet she prefer fuck me than you. Maybe she run away with me.”, the soldier spits into Katsuki's face in Drakona.

Katsuki doesn't want to lose control over his anger in front of y/n but the bastard makes it hard not to. “This is the last you see of her. Make sure to remember her form. It will be the last woman you ever see.”, Katsuki tells him.

Y/n's head whips back and forth between Katsuki and the soldier. Clearly, they're having a conversation she can't follow. She turns towards the soldier in front of her. Carefully, she asks: “Do you understand him?”. The soldier raises an eyebrow. “You don't?”, he returns the question. Embarrassed, y/n shakes her head.

Next to her, Katsuki yells something indecipherable and grabs onto her arm again, trying to pull her away again. Y/n struggles against him again. This time, Katsuki's grip isn't so hard since he gained some control over his emotions again. Y/n manages to free herself from him and takes a few steps back.

Y/n just stares at Katsuki. He's still red in the face from his outburst earlier. His breathing is hard and he tells her something pointing towards the exit. The soldier watches them with amusement.

“You know, he wants you to leave.”, he tells y/n. Y/n presses her lips together.

“Thank you, I figured as much.”, y/n replies and the soldier chuckles. Katsuki says something again, louder this time and tries to reach for her arm again. Quickly, y/n steps back.

“Want me to tell him something, sweetheart?”, the soldier offers.

Y/n stares hardly into Katsuki's eyes. It's one thing that the man she's stuck with is torturing somebody. That alone is a whole issue. Y/n isn't a violent person even though she knows in some situations one has no choice but to make use of it. But torturing an unarmed, tied-up man is something only people with no honor do. It's a whole other thing to hide that from her, get angry when she does find out and give her no explanation.

Y/n stands up more proudly. Shoulders pushed to the back, staring Katsuki down. He still looks angry as if it's her who is doing something wrong here.

Without looking at the soldier, she says:

“Yes, tell him that he's a dick.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

tag list:

@cosmicbreathe @hello0815 @miacitocco @exoticrasin @angie-1306 @gold24fish @stardream14 @metab0rn @ldk3347 @skibbiescoober @nutellaenjoyer @c04ti @grimm3r @kalulakunundrum @midnightprocrastinator @tetisthings @cax-per

@ilovemushroomss @tinysoulmentality @anon-mouse223 @sagejin @teddyinks @alicecil87 @gabby-ha @edynarys @ebonyrose0013 @doeryy @assieayno @emmaafinchh @lookingforsyd @animesim @angelicarumiseiko @innerblazephilosopher @weebperson2003 @fancylonelygirl @your-mum3000 @girlufr @afre2023 @cheetopuffer0704 @yui-aya @ughrofhgbeogyfbf @doeryy

@kianatrg @animesim @bakugouswaif @knivcsouct @honeybxes @isabellaferreiras2-blog @s00ty-feet @angelicarumiseiko @clearkidhideout @afre2023 @s0f1arose @sparklyoperaroadpie @viviike @lavenderwisteria @snitchesgetnobitches @mikabella7

[Please comment beneath the last update if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters]

[flowerxbunnie]

hiiii i really love ur smuts and i have a suggestion that i’d DIEE if you’d consider.

Okay so it’s a matt one and y/n and matt are in a relationship like IN LOVEEE. and they have seggs for the first time and he’s really sweet and romantic. like dominant but in a sweet way. no degrading just comforting and sweet. also mention how BIG he is and how she’s like strugglinggg but he’s so sweet to herrr. TYSM LUV YA💋💋

Unexplored

Matt x Fem Reader

Warnings: SMUT. virgin!reader, experienced matt, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (assume you’re on the pill)

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT OKAY WITH SMUT OR ARE A MINOR!

6.1k words

The car door closes gently behind you, a warm palm caressing the small of your back as you walk towards Matt’s apartment. He guides you up the steps and to the front door, grabbing his keys off of his carabiner to fiddle with the lock. He gets the door open and extends his arm out, letting you enter first just like he always does.

The smell of sandalwood floods your nose, a scent you’ve associated with the warmth of his space. Every Saturday he takes you on a different date he meticulously plans before both of you come back to his apartment, doing puzzles or watching movies or rotting your brains on TikTok together for hours.

You take your heels off and place them on the shoe rack next to the door, giggling as you shrink about four inches in height next to Matt.

“What’s wrong, short stack?” He chuckles as he teases you, his hands gripping onto your waist and pulling you close.

“Not a thing.” You look up at him as he peers down at you, his brunette hair falling over his forehead messily. You reach up and gently brush the strands back out of his face, watching as his eyes flutter shut before locking onto yours again.

“You’re beautiful, have I told you that before?” He asks in a hushed tone.

“A couple times, I think.” You reply with flushed cheeks, throwing your arms lazily around his neck.

His grip on your waist tightens as he lets his eyes drift their gaze down to your lips. They wander down your neck, collarbones, down your chest, and all the way to the floor before traveling back up. He can’t help but drink in the sight of you. You interlock your fingers around him as you stand up on your tiptoes.

You place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, his prickly stubble brushing against your lips. You move to the other side, placing another small kiss to the other corner, but this time he turns his head, his soft lips meeting your own. You kiss slowly, your lips melting together. You can taste the chocolate ice cream on his lips, something you always stop for after your dates.

Matt opens his mouth, allowing you to deepen the kiss and explore it with your tongue. You can feel your heart beating hard in your chest, and you hope more than anything that he can feel it too. You want him to know just how crazy you are about him. How much your body craves his touch.

Your stomach starts to tighten into knots just thinking about it. Matt has been incredibly patient with you your entire relationship. It’s been three months, but you haven’t allowed yourself to give in just yet. He’s never made you feel like a burden or like you have to do anything, he’s never once pressured you or tried to talk you into anything. You’ve never been able to get past this hurdle with anyone, as much as you’ve wanted to. You’ve let your own fears hold you back. But this time is different. You’re ready for more, ready to give yourself to him. You don’t know what exactly it is that changed, but your body burns with lust for Matt despite how nervous you may be.

You sink back down onto your heels and Matt leans down with you, refusing to break the kiss. His hands glide down the curves of your waist and move to settle on your ass, giving it a light squeeze. You let out a small whimper into his mouth and hear a sigh escape from his lips. You move your shaking hands to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers into the curly hair at the base and give them a light tug, pulling him off gently.

“C-can we move this to the bed?” You croak out, the words feeling foreign.

“Yeah, um..” he blinks quickly and clears his throat. “Of course we can.”

His mind races with thoughts that he desperately tries to hold back. He wants nothing more than to make a mess of you, to touch you in the places nobody else has. There’s something about knowing he’ll be the first person to corrupt you that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up and sends a rush of blood below his belt.

You give him a meek smile, trying your best to hide the crimson glow that’s made its way across your face. You grab onto his hand and follow behind him as you walk quietly to his room through the dark hallway. Your heart pulses loudly in your ears with each step you take. You both cross the threshold and his hand immediately reaches for the light switch, but you bring your own free hand over his to stop him.

“Can we leave it off? Maybe.. just turn on a lamp or something?” You ask quietly.

An eager look flashes across his face as he nods, letting go of your hand to go turn his table lamp on, illuminating the room with its subtle glow. He sits on the edge of his bed and you join him, fidgeting with your rings while trying to calm your nerves.

He turns sideways to face you, brushing your hair behind your ear and placing a gentle kiss to your cheekbone. “My pretty girl.” He whispers.

You turn your head towards him and smile as his fingertips caress your face. He looks into your eyes with a questioning look, almost asking without words if you’re sure about what you’re leading him into. You swallow thickly and grip onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close before you mesh your lips together again. He tilts his head as he kisses back, your tongues dancing with each other slowly. Your skin grows hot, every fiber of your being consumed with the thought of Matt taking you as his.

You turn your body to face him, your free hand reaching up to grip his jaw, feeling as the muscle clenches and moves as he works his mouth against your own. You feel the warmth of his hands meet your knees, sliding up your thighs and bringing a tantalizing electricity with them. They reach the hem of your dress and toy with it, sliding it up ever so slightly.

He pulls away from the kiss, whispering softly, “Is this okay?”

You nod lightly and he immediately pushes the fabric up your soft legs allowing them to part. He pulls you to straddle his lap, scooting back and positioning the both of you so that his back is against the headboard.

He has to hold back a groan as he looks up at you, your legs slung around both sides of his waist, lighting a primal fire deep inside of him. His jaw hangs slack as he squeezes the plush skin of your thighs, working his way up to your exposed panty line. He hooks his fingers into it and rubs his thumbs against the elastic. You run your nails up and down his arms and his body reacts to your touch, flooding his skin with goosebumps.

“Matt..” You breathe out, biting your lip as he directs his full attention to you. “I want to do this. I need to.”

A hitched breath escapes his lips as he nods eagerly, your doe eyes making his stomach do a flip. “And if you need to stop, I-”

You cut him off there, bringing a finger to his lips. “I know, Matt. I trust you.”

A cheesy grin flashes across his face, his eyes lighting up. It’s soon replaced with an urgency, an overwhelming need. He brushes your hair to your back and slides his fingers beneath the straps of your dress, pulling them down your shoulders slowly. His lips pepper the skin with warm, wet kisses, trailing across your collarbones to give the other shoulder just as much attention.

You lean your head back as your head swims, growing fuzzier by the second. Your mind is saturated with pleasure as his lips inch up your neck, teasing the sensitive skin with featherlight nips and licks. You can’t help but moan as he sucks a mark into the skin right below your ear.

“God, you sound so pretty.” He mumbles against your neck, “I knew you would.”

With every touch you allow him to give to your body he feels his own pulse quicken. His pants feel tighter, his skin suddenly feels hot, and all he wants to do is rip your clothes off. He bites back the temptations of rushing into things too quickly. He wants to make this last, to see every lust drunk look on your face as he shows you a pleasure you’ve never known.

He pulls back slowly and his eyes drift down to focus on what his hands are doing. He slips the neckline of your dress below your breasts and your chest is fully exposed to him, your nipples taut and aching in the chill of the air. His cock twitches at the sight of your plump round skin almost begging to be touched. He grabs ahold of each one with his hands, cupping and squeezing at them. He picks them up and lets them drop a few times, eyes locked as he watches them bounce inches from his face.

A split second later he leans forward and takes your left nipple into his mouth, his warm saliva sending shivers down your spine. You can’t help but to arch your back, this new feeling sending shockwaves through your body. You lace your hands into his hair, holding him against you as he softly sucks on your nipple. He pulls off with a pop and shoots you a smirk, moving to the other side to flick his tongue across it before placing a kiss to it.

“So perfect.” He mutters between kisses as he travels up the valley of your breasts back up to your neck.

You become suddenly aware of the bulge growing in his pants as his hips jolt up, rubbing against your clothed core deliciously. You take in a sharp breath before following suit, grinding your hips slowly along with him and creating a new friction between your bodies. He can’t help but move his hands to your waist, pressing you down and guiding you forward and back against his erection. You both share shaky exhales and moans as you continue like this, your bodies aching to be closer. Your core throbs and builds up an uncomfortable heat just desperate to be filled, and his dick is stiff to the point of discomfort wanting to feel the warmth of your body.

You push yourself from the hold you had on his chest for stability, leaning back to fumble with the buckle of his belt. His hands come to rest atop your own, stopping you in your tracks and shaking his head.

“Not yet baby, I can wait. Wanna make you feel good first.” He whispers with a grin. “Come lay down up here.”

You gulp and do as you’re told, hopping off his lap to replace his spot against the headboard. He grabs your dress and shimmies it down your body, lifting your legs to pull it all the way off and discard it beside the bed. You’re left lying below him, exposed all except your panties. His eyes rake over every inch of your body, and you can’t help but feel self conscious. He takes note as he clocks your facial expression, and his hands immediately start sliding across your skin.

“I can’t believe how perfect you are.” He mumbles with a smile.

“You think so?” You ask, bringing your knees together subconsciously as a way of covering what little bit of dignity you have left.

“Fuck yes I do.” He answers, his hands coming to your knees to spread them back apart.

He lays down and props himself up on his elbows between your thighs, hot air fanning against your skin with every breath he takes. His eyes are dark with hooded lids, piercing into your own as he lowers his head.

He places a soft kiss to the fabric and then kitten licks your clothed pussy, the warmth causing your stomach to tense and your hands to grip onto the sheets. He brings one hand up to rub his fingers across your clit, and even with the layer of cloth separating you from his rough fingertips you feel waves of pleasure flooding through your veins.

He increases the pressure and starts rubbing in a rhythm, eyes locked with yours the entire time. You bite your lip as you move your hips along with him, desperate for more hypnotic friction.

“You let me know what feels good and what doesn’t, okay baby? Wanna make this good for you.” He assures you before he places a few soft kisses to the skin of your inner thighs.

You nod and sink down onto the pillow, allowing yourself to relax and melt into him. He starts slowly pulling your panties down your legs, scooting back a little so he can get them fully off. He lets out a sigh as he parts your thighs once more, spreading your core with his two hands and licking his lips. The primal flame grows, a fever creeping through his veins as he takes in the sight of your pink, dripping heat.

“Look at that,” he places a soft kiss to the mound of skin just above your clit, “so wet already.” He runs his thumb down your folds, collecting your arousal before bringing it to his mouth and sucking it clean. “Tastes so fucking good too.”

He dips his head down and licks a hot stripe up your center, his tongue flat and warm against you. You take in a shaky breath, your back arching off the bed and your thighs squeezing around his head. Matt lets out a deep hum as he holds your legs apart, lapping his tongue across your entrance. The vibration rumbles through your core perfectly, and your body feels so good you can’t help but squeeze at the own skin of your thighs, needing something to channel the overwhelming sensations into.

“M-matt.. it feels so.. oh my god.” You struggle with your words, your brain swimming as he sucks your tender bud lightly.

He feels a deep satisfaction knowing he’s the first to taste you, the first to make you feel so good that you can’t do anything but squirm and grasp at anything you can reach.

“I’m gonna put a finger in, okay baby?” He asks as he lifts up on his elbows. “It might feel weird at first but it shouldn’t hurt. You let me know though, got it?” He says in a serious tone.

You nod and lift your head up to get a better view as he rubs his middle finger up and down your folds, drenching it with your arousal. You see it glistening in the light before he slowly inserts it, his eyes flicking up to your own and back down to his job at hand continuously. The feeling of his slender finger slipping in and brushing against your plush walls makes your core throb, and he doesn’t stop until his knuckle is flush with your folds.

“Alright, it’s all the way in.” He speaks softly.

Slowly and carefully he pulls it all the way back out, a husky groan falling from his lips when he sees that his finger is drenched, covered in your body’s visible need.

“M-matt..” you whine, feeling suddenly empty.

“Hm?” He hums, slowly guiding his finger back into your heat.

Your hips buck involuntarily, the rough pad of his finger brushing a sensitive spot deep inside of you. He smirks and curls his finger into it again, a smug satisfaction creeping up as you clench your stomach and moan lightly.

“You’ve never been able to find that spot yourself, have you baby?” He asks, curling his fingers into the spongy mound over and over.

All you can do is shake your head, hips lifting off the bed as you squirm and pant. He shushes you quietly and brings his free hand to press into the skin of your hip, holding you down into the mattress right where he wants you. He begins pumping his finger in and out, the sensation causing you to whimper and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Shhh, I know. Let me take care of you.” He whispers, his face dipping down and his hot breath fanning over your stomach. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

His lips place a light, lingering kiss to your swollen bud, sending sparks through your abdomen as his finger prods at your walls. He places one more quick kiss to it before he wraps his lips around your clit, using his tongue to swirl around the sensitive flesh. His free hand roams around your body, squeezing at your hips, lightly tracing your ribcage and moving all the way down to knead at the skin of your thigh.

“That’s feels so…” You let out a long drawn out moan as he kitten licks your clit, “oh my god, Matt.”

He hums against you, his ego stroked knowing he’s making you crumble beneath him. He pulls back briefly, his voice strained and deep. “I know, angel. You’re doing so good.”

His praise causes your stomach to roll and a moan threatens to fall into the air, but you hold it back with a harsh bite of your bottom lip.

Matt knows his words have an effect on you. He can feel as the inner workings of your body clench and throb around him when he does something you like, and he needs more.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, looking up at you through his lashes as he adds another finger into your slit, “let’s get you nice and loosened up for me, okay? Let me know if it’s too much.”

You feel his ring finger slip in, stretching your skin and pushing up into your slick heat. He moves them simultaneously, coaxing your sensitive nerves as you writhe around, whimpering and circling your hips.

“O-oh.. Matt..” you breathe out shakily.

His dick twitches when you say his name like that. He brings his mouth back down to your clit, sucking and lapping at it faster than before. His fingers pump in and out in a steady rhythm, working at every angle to bring you closer to the edge.

Your stomach feels so tight it could burst and your brain is foggy, almost drunk off the pleasure. He doesn’t let up, he moans and groans against your core and nearly has his face buried into your pussy. You could almost count each individual strand of stubble as it scratches against your thighs, an addicting pain that you wish you never had to stop feeling.

“M-matt.. I think..” you whine out, lacing your fingers into his curls and tugging, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap.

“Mmm..” he pulls back. “I know, baby. I can tell.”

He dips back down, savoring your taste as he flicks his tongue across your aching clit. You feel the tension in your stomach building as you buck your hips up, but Matt doesn’t push your hip down this time. He follows you up, never letting his tongue leave your pink bud as he works against it.

You finally topple over the edge, your pussy contracting around his fingers tightly as your body floods with dopamine. You hold him against your core as he coaxes your orgasm out, grinding against his mouth and fingers until you’re spent.

He watches as you lie back, your chest heaving with every deep breath you take. A small grin plays at his lips as he watches, knowing it’s the first time a man has made you feel this way. He can’t help but get excited, palming his uncomfortable erection through his jeans while he watches you drink in your post orgasm bliss.

“Was it good?” He croaks, his thumb sweeping over his aching head through the fabric.

“Mmmm,” you hum, eyes shut and your arms sprawled out. Your legs are still open, your glistening pussy directly in his line of sight, still slightly twitching and throbbing, your arousal coating your folds. “So good.” Your voice is laced with pleasure.

He takes in a shaky breath, tightening his veiny hand around his length and bucking his hips into his palm. He can’t help the groan that falls from his lips and causes you to open your eyes, leaning your head up to look at him.

His jaw clenches as he makes eye contact with you, his hips squirming and his hand moving back and forth across his aching cock. “Have you ever sucked a dick before?” His words sound so filthy as they roll of his lustful tongue, but he’s asking out of genuine curiosity.

“I…” you start, a dark pink flush spreading across your already hot cheeks. “No… I haven’t.”

A quiet groan grumbles from his chest, his head falling back as he gives his dick one last squeeze through his pants. He moves his hand up, slowly pulling the end of the belt from his belt loops. “That’s okay, I’ll tell you how.”

You gulp and nod, sitting up to help him with the buckle. Your hand brushes against his hardened dick and it twitches, begging to be freed from the constraint of the layers holding it back. You finally get the belt undone, pulling it from the loops and tossing it aside. Your hands scramble to the button of his jeans, getting it open and the zipper down before pulling them down his thighs. He reaches up and pulls his shirt over his head, his muscles contracting with every move.

He lets out a sigh as you pull his pants completely off, his dick stretching the fabric of his boxers to its limit. There’s a small wet stain where his head lays, his swollen tip oozing precum.

His hand reaches out and grabs yours, sitting it down on top of his still covered length. He presses your hand down and takes in a small gasp of air, jutting his hips up from the sensation. You flutter your eyelashes and look up at him as you wrap your small hand around him, feeling his warmth and thickness.

“Get down on your knees for me, baby.” he whispers, shuffling off the bed to his feet.

You oblige, standing up in front of him and dropping down, your hands resting on his thighs. He strokes your hair lovingly, tucking the loose strands behind your ear and rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone. With his free hand he loops his thumb into the elastic waistband of his underwear and slides it down slowly, inch by inch of his cock becoming more exposed before it slaps against his stomach. He chuckles as your eyes widen, a satisfaction coming through that he can’t hold back.

“M-Matt.. that’s not gonna fit in my mouth.” You say matter of factly, observing the entire length, the curve and the veins that cascade up to his head.

“It’s okay,” he reassures with another stroke of your hair. “You can try. If it doesn’t I’ll show you what to do.”

He grips his base and begins slowly pumping himself, your eyes watching his every move. He brings the head against your lips and rubs it back and forth, coaxing your mouth open. He lets out a small moan as the underside of his tip brushes against your warm tongue, stimulating his sensitive nerves just right. You move your tongue left and right, feeling every dip and groove of his head and coating it in your saliva. You open your mouth wider and wrap your lips around his head, giving a small suck before you pop back off.

“F-fuck..” he groans, moving his hand to grip the roots of your hair on the back of your head. “You’re doing so good already. Open up a little wider, angel.”

You let your jaw fall open, relaxing your tongue and letting it lay flat as he slides his cock deeper into your mouth. You can feel his veins rolling against your tongue as he pushes in slowly, taking his time and being careful to not make you gag. As much as he’d like to make you a drooling mess with his length shoved down your throat, he wants to take care of you and make sure this first time is special.

He stops once he can feel he’s near the back of your throat, and you can feel his muscles tighten as he holds back the urge to thrust. “Now you just suck, move your tongue around, whatever. There’s no real science to it.” He explains gruffly, pulling out just a bit before pushing back into the same spot.

You close your lips around him, sucking and bobbing your head back and forth, his hand gripping tighter on the back of your head. Groans and shaky breaths spill from his lips, his stomach clenching as he bites his tongue, sticking it to the inside of his cheek.

“God baby, so fucking pretty with your lips around my dick.” He coos, wrapping his hand into your hair in a makeshift ponytail.

You feel a little brave, wanting to make him feel better than he is now, and decide to let his head touch the back of your throat. Your throat instinctively clenches, a low gagging sound rumbling through you as your mouth floods with saliva. You look up at him in embarrassment as you pull his member from your lips, a string of spit following as you lean back.

“I’m sorry..” you say meekly, your ears growing hot.

“Hey,” he says in a low, hushed tone, “don’t apologize.” He grips your chin, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb and pulling your mouth back open. He exhales when he slides his length back in. “I think it’s so hot. My pretty girl choking on me. Fuck…” He juts his hips forward, hitting the back of your throat again to elicit the same sound.

His dick twitches at the sound, and your eyes well with tears from the sensation. He pumps himself in and out of your mouth slowly, not going nearly as deep to make sure you don’t have to gag again.

“Wrap your hand around the bottom, yeah.. fuck… just like that.. jerk it a little..” he speaks softly, groaning between his words.

You continue sucking what you can comfortably fit in your mouth, twisting your hand around his base. His breathing picks up and strings of curses fall from his lips.

“Doing so good for me.. fuck. Yeah, like that baby. You look so good sucking me off.”

He continues guiding your head up and down, the sound of his grunts filling up the room as you work him towards his climax. But before he can finish, he pulls your head back by your hair and smiles down at you.

“Get back on the bed.” He says gently with a nod of his head in that direction. He grabs your hands and lifts you to your feet, taking notice of your red knees with a smirk.

You sit down on the bed, your hair fanning out behind you as you lay back onto the pillows. He crawls up your body, placing kisses on your sore knees, up your thighs, up your stomach and through the valley of your breasts until he reaches your puffy lips.

He places a soft peck onto your lips before smashing them together, inhaling deeply as he places his hand softly around your throat. His other arm rests by your head, holding him up so that he hovers above you. Your body starts to almost tremble, both of your most sensitive parts inches away from touching. You reach up and grip his shoulders and he pulls away from the kiss, making direct eye contact.

He opens his mouth to speak. “I just want you to know if you need to stop at any point, let me know. I’d never be upset or disappointed or-”

“Shhh.. I know.” You interrupt him with a giggle, your stomach filled with butterflies already.

He gives you a soft smile and a satisfied hum before he sits back on his knees, his dick twitching as he spreads your thighs and lines himself up at your entrance. Your body feels like it’s burning from the inside out as his skin brushes against yours, every movement making your pulse quicken. He runs his head through your folds, collecting your sticky arousal and coating himself with it before he pushes in.

He lets out a low groan as he feels the resistance of your walls pushing back at him. “You’re so tight.. fuck.” Matt truly doesn’t care if you’re a virgin or not, but the fact that you are, the fact that he’s the first one to taint your innocence drives him crazy to no end.

You let out a small whimper, feeling your entrance stretching around him. It’s not painful, but you can’t exactly say it feels good either. He looks up at you and stops his movements, allowing you some time to adjust to his size.

“All good so far?” He asks, reaching up to squeeze your hip reassuringly.

You only nod, your fingers absentmindedly gripping at the bedsheets. He reaches his hand down and grabs one of yours, bringing it to his lips and placing soft kisses on every knuckle. He pushes in just a bit more, using every ounce of restraint in his body to not shove in to the hilt. His body is flooded with desire, a need to fill you up with his length, to be the first man to feel your plush walls wrapped around him.

“F-fuck..” you whimper quietly, your eyes squeezed shut and your face curled up in discomfort. “It’s so big.. I don’t know if it’ll all fit..” You breathe out as you open your watery eyes to look up at him.

His stomach tightens at your innocent words, he knows it was just an observation but he can’t help but feel so praised and turned on. He lets out a small chuckle and pushes one of your legs up so that your knee rests next to your shoulder.

“It’ll fit, baby. Gotta give it some time.” He whispers, pushing in a little more.

Your walls are slowly loosening up, accommodating to the size of the man above you. The new angle allows him to slip in a little easier so that you’re now taking half of his length.

“Doing so good. Nice and wet for me too.” He coos, reaching his thumb down to brush over your aching clit.

The sensation makes your back arch, your pelvis tilting and ultimately pushing further down onto Matt’s cock, earning a low primal moan from him. With the amount of discipline he’s put himself through tonight, he grips onto your calf, his fingers leaving impressions and his knuckles white.

“T-try not to move.. fuck.. that felt so good.” He croaks, his voice laced with need.

You finally decide you’ve had enough of the waiting, enough time trying to stretch around his thickness. You begin to move your hips, slowly bucking them up and down. His cock slides in and out of your pussy with each hypnotic movement and his eyes widen.

“S-shit..” he breathes, gripping onto the back of your other thigh and pushing it up, leaving you spread completely open.

Your pain dwindles and you start to feel sparks of pleasure. Brisk, rapid moans escape your lips as he moves his hips forward slowly. You almost sound as if you’re in pain, so he stops and starts to ease out of you.

“M-matt.. no, please. Please move.” You beg, reaching up to caress his jaw.

All of his restraint is thrown out the window when he hears you plead so genuinely for him. He slowly pushes his hips all the way forward until his hipbones are flush with the backs of your thighs, your walls swallowing him whole and clenching around him as they accept his length.

“So fucking good. You’re doing perfect.” He praises in a hushed voice, pulling out and pushing all the way back in with ease, his dick coated and wet.

You let out a cry as his tip kisses your g spot and he squeezes your thigh, moving his hips in a rhythm so that he does it over and over again.

“M-Matt..” his name falls off your lips like honey.

“Hm?” He grunts out, his thrusts maintaining a slow rhythm.

“More.. I.. I need more.” You choke out, your body tingling and pulsing with a growing pleasure.

“You sure, baby?” He asks, “you don’t think it’ll be too much?”

“Please.” you spit out a single worded beg, batting your eyes up at him.

He can’t say no to you, the girl he loves yearning for more of him. He picks up his pace and his strokes become harder, his hipbones slapping against you repeatedly. He brings one of his hands to your bouncing tits, gripping one and massaging the skin with his rough fingertips. Moans and whimpers echo off the walls of his bedroom as he goes ever so slightly faster, pulling you further down the bed in an attempt to be as deep as he possibly can into your wet heat.

“Taking it so well, baby. Tell me how you feel.” He groans out, feeling himself falling closer and closer to the edge of climax.

“I… I.. fuck.” You whimper, reaching up to grip onto his biceps, your nails digging into his skin.

“C’mon… tell me.” He prods, leaning down to ghost his lips over your ear. “You like my dick as much as I like feeling you wrapped around it, hm?”

“Y-yes!” You nearly scream as he gives you an extra rough thrust.

His breath hitches and he hums contently, his dick twitching as his seed threatens to spill. He holds it back with everything he has, knowing he wants you to come undone around him before he even thinks about finishing. He leans back up and uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit, the bud pulsing and throbbing beneath his touch. “C’mon baby, let it out.”

Your stomach tenses and releases over and over as you feel your pleasure climbing to a peak. You arch up and give in to the feeling, your walls clenching around Matt’s cock with every wave that crashes and floods your senses. He fucks you steady as he watches you ride out your high, relishing in every moan of his name and flutter of your eyes.

“F-fuck… such a good girl, did so good for me.” He croaks out, his thrusts becoming sloppy and uneven.

With one final rough thrust he pushes in completely to the base, pumping his hot seed deep inside your core. He pulls out and lets his head rest on your clit, jerking himself until the remnants of his release are dripping down your folds.

Your legs give out and fall to either side of him, still shaking and twitching as you catch your breath. He crawls up and settles beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling your head onto his sweaty chest. You can hear his heart thumping and pounding against his sternum as you lay together, naked and vulnerable, your skin sticking together.

Your fingers trail up his stomach and his muscles twitch beneath them as they climb higher. He kisses your hair gently, brushing it out of your face and down your back.

“That was so…” you start, pausing to take a deep breath.

“Yeah, I know. Shh.. just rest a minute.” He whispers, finishing your thought while tracing shapes down your spine.

Your eyes flutter closed and you feel so at peace with him that you drift off lying on his chest, lulled to sleep by the sound of his steady breathing and the warmth of his skin.

When your eyes flutter open you hear the sound of his bathtub filling with water and low music playing on his speaker, but see no sign of Matt. You sit up and look around, stretching your arms above your head. His bedroom door creaks open and he walks in quietly holding two towels, a warm smile spread across his face when he sees you’ve woken up.

“Hi, sleepy girl. Just got these out of the dryer, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Tag list: @solarsturniolo @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @worldlxvlys @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel @karlybbx @chrisfavoritepepsi @mwah0mwah @starsturniolo @christinarowie332 @fionaheartswomen @angelic-sturniolos111 @mqttittude

[julieverne]

Truth or dare

Maura eyed Jane. She'd sunk two beers since they'd come back to Jane's after the reunion--after the second time they'd left the reunion. The reunion that was now a failed date because Casey sucked (according to Jane; Maura wouldn't know or deign to comment) and also a murder scene.

It hadn't all been bad. Giovanni had been there, and that always made Jane a little possessive of Maura, a little more liable to touch Maura in ways she didn't always. And other people there had assumed, unprompted, that she and Jane were a couple. Although that could be because Jane had been touching Maura all over the gym and all over her body. It wasn't a large assumption to make, or even a rare one. People often mistook them for a couple, and Maura never minded. It made her feel safe and warm, to have Jane snarling at her unsuitable suitors, gathering Maura into her arms like they were the wings of a protective mother hen. There was nothing motherly about it; Jane's hands tended to wander, and to her surprise Maura didn't mind that either.

Jane popped the top off another beer. She'd unzipped her dress but hadn't quite managed to remove it.

Maura closed the distance between them and slid her hand over Jane's shoulder blade beneath the fabric, Jane not flinching at her touch, her flesh goosepimpling beneath Maura's palm. Maura carefully peeled the dress back, then down to Jane's waist, urging her to step out of it. Jane's lingerie was very jock-chique. Maura didn't mind that either; it looked good on Jane's lithe frame. Maura knelt to pick up the dress. Jane put her hand on Maura's shoulder to steady herself as Maura lifted Jane's foot to untangle the strap from the heel, using Maura to balance. When Maura looked up, Jane's face and chest were flushed red, her hand still on Maura's shoulder.

"I like your dress," Jane said. "Did I say that yet?"

Maura met Jane's eyes. Jane looked away and swigged her beer, releasing Maura's shoulder.

"You didn't. Thank you."

"Looks good on you. Then, everything does, doesn't it?" Jane's eyes lingered on Maura's dress, then rose to Maura's face again. She was unconcerned about being so unclad in Maura's vicinity. It wasn't their first time.

Maura rescued the dress and hung it in Jane's closet after examining it for any signs of crime scene. She retrieved Jane's robe along with some sweats and a shirt. Jane chose the robe when presented with those options, pulling to closed over her chest but not tying it. It fell open as Jane sipped again. Maura returned to her wine.

"It really sucks. I liked Steve."

"You really dated him?"

"What? Out of my league?" Jane scowled but Maura hadn't meant it that way.

"No, you just don't really seem the dating type. I mean, your family is invested in you dating now, but wouldn't they have been against it? Catholicism and teen pregnancies..."

"God, keep listing cliches." Jane groaned and rubbed her face. She looked exhausted. She often did, but tonight she seemed worn down. "Dumb and dumber. He didn't even try to cop a feel. I might as well have been a guy to him."

"Did you date anyone else in highschool?"

"I was just trying to survive."

Maura sighed.

"Did you date in highschool?" Jane was clearly aware she had to carry the conversation too; she was also clearly four beers into her evening since she usually retained information about Maura like a hoarder.

"I went to an all-girl boarding school," Maura reminded her. She didn't say she'd had a crush on one of the other girls, that they sometimes held hands in a way Maura hadn't experienced again until she'd met Jane.

"Wasn't there an all-boy boarding school nearby?"

Maura chuckled and shook her head.

"Speaking of highschool traditions, did you ever play spin the bottle?"

"I know a leading question when I hear one." Jane pointed her almost empty bottle at Maura. "No. No, we are not playing spin the bottle."

Maura pouted and sipped her wine. Jane chuckled and finished her beer.

"How about truth or dare?"

"Yeah. Why not?" Jane uncapped her fifth beer. "Anything so I don't have to think about poor Steve's last moments."

"Truth," Maura said. Jane chuckled.

"That's not fair. You always tell the truth. No, you, Miss Honesty, you need a dare."

"Fine." Maura rolled her eyes. "Dare."

"I dare you to prank call Susie."

Maura's eyes widened.

"That's not professional. I'm her superior, professionally speaking."

"You said dare." Jane's smirk was so irritating it almost made Maura forget her objective--to make Jane feel better. Prank calling Susie might make Jane feel better. It might make her smile. It might even make Jane laugh.

"I've never--what do I say?"

"Ask if her fridge is running."

Maura nodded and retrieved her phone, using the automated shortcut to dial Susie. She was fourth in Maura's directory.

Jane was first.

The phone rang. It was late.

"Hello, Doctor Isles."

"Hello, senior Criminalist Chang. Are you in the lab?" Jane reached over Maura to put her on speaker so she could hear too.

"Yes. Body just came in. I'm told you attended?"

"Can you do me a favour?"

"Anything, Doctor Isles." Jane's face screwed up.

"Can you please check if the fridge in the morgue is running? I left some samples in there that I'm worried about."

"Sure. One second."

Maura muted the call. "Jane, she's working. I feel awful."

Jane unmuted the call, mirth playing in her eyes. It was an improvement.

"Yes, the fridge is working."

Jane shook her head.

"Can you confirm that the fridge is running?"

"Yes."

Jane leaned over Maura to position herself closer to the microphone.

"Then you'd better go catch it!"

Jane hung up the call and doubled over with laughter. Maura sent a quick apology text to Susie explaining that Jane had attended the crime scene and had known the victim. Susie replied with a smile emoji and 'got me!'

"Your turn. Truth or dare?"

Jane chuckled and finished her beer. She got up and poured herself some water from the tap.

"Truth, I guess. I don't want to have to call Frost and ask if his fridge is running."

"I have more imagination than that," Maura said, slightly hurt. She thought about a truth she wanted from Jane. "Would you ever kiss me?"

Jane choked on her water and turned bright red. That was interesting. More interesting than pank calls anyway.

"I don't--I wouldnt--" Jane coughed some more, clearly playing for time. "Dare," Jane said finally.

"I dare you to kiss me," Maura said smoothly, watching as Jane's blush grew more pronounced.

"I'm not gonna..."

"Is there a forfeit penalty?" Maura said innocently. Jane's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not chicken, you're just unfair. Unfair and mean." Jane pouted, then sprung at Maura, kissing her quickly and pulling away. "There. Truth or dare?"

"That wasn't a kiss, that was an assault."

"Yeah, well I did it so don't complain."

"Do it properly or I'll call Angela."

Jane looked legitimately panicked. "And say what?"

"That your old beau Steve died and you need some motherly comforting."

Jane's eyes narrowed. "Blackmail, huh? I've taught you well. Too well. Okay."

Jane came closer slowly this time. Maura stood from the stool she'd been perched on as Jane closed in on her. Jane's hand cupped her cheek for a second. She looked Maura over again.

"You look good in that dress," Jane breathed, then her lips met Maura's.

She tasted like beer and tap water, which wasn't appealing but Maura had had worse. She was soft, incredibly soft and her lips were gentle and shy against Maura's until Maura caught them with her own, deepening the kiss. Jane mumbled her way into a moan, pulling Maura tighter, closer against her, caressing Maura's back over the dress then running her hand up to Maura's neck and tangling in her hair.

Maura hadn't realised just how much she enjoyed Jane until that moment. Jane kissed well, expertly. Not too much tongue, not wet and sloppy, genuinely involved in the feedback Maura's body gave her nonverbally. She read Maura like a book, which was weird because Maura had never seen Jane read a book. Jane was careful with her, gentle and sweet. Maura had seen Jane kill people yet she was melting in Maura's arms like a virgin.

Jane was reacting like one too; her pelvis was jammed against Maura, undulating slowly in tandem to their kiss. Maura found herself in the same boat, responding to desire the way she always did. She always wanted to feel wanted. To feel loved. Jane was the first person to make her feel loved. It was better than being wanted but to be wanted and loved was almost overwhelming.

Maura pulled away to breathe. Jane's robe had fallen open and she had to avert her eyes, but not before noticing the red flush across Jane's chest and face.

"That was...Christ, what was that?"

"Dare," Maura said.

"I dare you to kiss me," Jane said without hesitation, already moving forward. Maura met her mouth easily, swallowed Jane's little gasp when Maura's teeth brushed her lip. Maura pushed Jane back against the counter and slid her hands under Jane's robe. Soft, soft skin. The round scar of a bullet wound. Cotton covering Jane's ass as Maura grasped it to press Jane against her again.

When they parted Jane panted, lipstick all over her face.

"Dare," Jane rasped, already reaching for Maura.

Maura pulled away. Jane whined and followed her, all the way into the bedroom, where Maura sat on the bed.

Jane sat beside her, not wary in the least. Jane reached for Maura's zip.

"This dress looks great on you, but it'd look better on my floor," Jane said. "I mean, I'd look better on you."

"Are you drunk?" Maura seized Jane's chin and made Jane meet her eyes, although they slid down Maura's torso frequently. "Is that why we're finally doing this?"

"Not drunk," Jane said. "Finally. Finally." Jane leaned in and kissed Maura, sliding her dress down. Maura obliging lifted her hips to help Jane remove it. "Much better on my floor," Jane said reverently as she eyed Maura.

"I dare you to kiss me until we're both thoroughly satisfied," Maura said. Jane grinned and started on her dare.

+++

In the morning, Jane pulled Maura closer.

"Satisfied?" Jane asked, her voice a low purr clearly conveying her own satisfaction.

"With you? Yes."

"The dare was only to kiss you until we're both thoroughly satisfied," Jane said. There was a crease between her eyebrows; she was worried about something.

"I'll never be thoroughly satisfied without you kissing me whenever you want."

The anxiety on Jane's face faded away. "Good," Jane said, kissing Maura. "But I think we have a crime to solve."

"You owe Susie an apology," Maura said, watching Jane get dressed and enjoying the view."

"If you make me apologise, I'm making you wear this," Jane said, holding up her Detective Badass shirt.

"Dare me?"

Jane chuckled and leaned down to kiss Maura.

"Yeah. It's a dare."

[lam-ila]

Let's Go to Therapy || Carlos Sainz

Summary: You and Carlos decide to go to therapy to make your relationship work.

Continue Reading: part one, part two, part three

Word Count: 1,523

Warnings: therapy (both individual and couples), a few swears

please let me know if you find any more that i should add

F1 Masterlist

a/n: i really thought this part would be the last one but i got carried away and wrote a lot haha. part four will be coming very soon! (with more parts on the way too!)

this is gender neutral. hope you enjoy this! feedback is appreciated

LIKES ARE GREAT, REBLOGS ARE BETTER ♡

You sat across from Carlos on his couch as you stared at each other, trying to figure out where to go with the obvious chemistry between the two of you. You had both agreed to meet at Carlos’ place to avoid being spotted in public under the guise of keeping your conversation straight to the point; no funny business or ulterior motives.

“Maybe…” Carlos’ voice faltered before he was able to finish his sentence, “maybe we go to therapy together.”

“Yeah?” you asked, tilting your head in shock at his suggestion.

“Yeah. We both want to make this work. So let’s put in the work and go to therapy. Let’s figure out what went wrong, so we don’t do that again.”

“Yeah,” you repeated, this time as a statement and not as a question, "let’s go to therapy.”

—————

Your therapist, Heather, explained while scheduling the sessions that some sessions would include both you and Carlos while others would be her meeting the two of you individually. The first sessions were individual ones, so that Heather could get a clear story from both of you before the first joint session.

"I've got lots of seats." Heather pointed out while motioning to the seats in her office. "Feel free to lay down, lean back, sit up straight, whatever you're most comfortable with."

Your eyes wandered from seat to seat, unsure of which one to choose. You were already nervous and now you were presented with too many options. You stepped over to a quaint, wooden rocking chair with cushions in the areas the user's body would touch. Sitting down in the chair, you planted your feet on the ground to avoid the chair from rocking too much.

You watched Heather open a filing cabinet next to her desk and pull out a notebook from a section you assumed to be labeled with your name. She then grabbed a pen from her desk and sat down in the chair in front of you. Her legs were crossed, allowing her to place her notebook on the higher leg, and she casually leaned back in her chair.

"Do I start from the beginning? Or..." you asked, your voice trailing off at the end.

"Start from wherever you'd like." Heather looked at you with a gentle and comforting smile.

"Okay." You looked up towards the ceiling, trying to figure out how to start telling your story with Carlos. "I met Carlos almost two years ago. One of my friends is friends with his teammate's girlfriend, so we ended up meeting on a night out." You nervously played with your hands, squeezing your fingers to try to distract yourself from the ever growing tightening in your chest.

Heather glanced down at your hands then grabbed a basket full of fidget toys that rested atop her coffee table.

"Do you want something to fidget with? I tend to use them too while in a session with my clients."

"Uh," you looked through the basket, again presented with too many options, "maybe later. Thank you though."

"They're right here if you ever need them." She placed the basket back on the table before giving her full attention back to you.

"Carlos and I hit it off the night we met. Nothing romantic happened at the time, we just clicked as friends. So we exchanged numbers and promised to hangout some time soon." You smiled to yourself as you remembered that night. You'd do anything to go back in time and experience the bliss of getting to know Carlos again. "Those first few months of knowing him were so nice. We called whenever he was away for races and he made sure to spend time with me whenever he had off weeks. Four months into knowing him, I realized I started liking him more than a friend would."

"What made you realize that?" Heather asked while writing down what you said.

"I don't know, I don't really remember. It was just that feeling again, you know, that 'oh shit I think I like him' feeling if that makes any sense."

"It does," she reaffirmed before writing in her notebook again.

"Then two months later, Carlos and I were hanging out at my place, as per usual, except there was a bit more tension, I guess?"

"Romantic tension?" You nodded in agreement.

"I told him how I felt and he said he felt the same, so we kissed and, yeah." You stayed quiet for a minute or so, letting Heather finish writing what she needed to before you continued. "About a month went by, then we stopped talking. Then another month, then we started talking as if nothing happened. It was like a light switch suddenly turning on and off. It hurt like crazy. I was putting in so much effort only to get ghosted over and over again."

"Were you going to his races?"

"Yeah, I was. I spent a lot of my vacation days going to his races. The last one I went to was the Dutch Grand Prix. I got mad at him for everything our relationship was going through and I yelled at him and walked out. He booked me a flight home and we stopped talking to each other."

"Until now," Heather added.

"Until now," you chuckled. "I almost reached out to him after his crash at the Azerbaijan Grand Prix, but I didn't, only for him to reach out to me instead. We agreed we needed to fix things if we wanted to continue being in each others' lives, so that's why we're here." You turned your head to the small clock sitting on a side table, noticing that an hour had gone by. "We're out of time, aren't we?"

"We are, but I'll see you soon with Carlos."

—————

"It's nice to see you both again," Heather greeted as you and Carlos walked into her office. "Glad to be seeing the two of you together."

You nodded and smiled in acknowledgement, not really sure how to respond. Nice to see you again too? But you wouldn't be seeing her if you didn't have problems, so not nice to see you?

"Good to see you again," Carlos responded for the two of you.

"Sit wherever you'd like, make yourselves comfortable. I just need to grab my things and then I'll join you."

You returned to your rocking chair, resuming the position you had during your first session with your feet planted on the ground. Carlos took a seat on the couch to your left, sitting in the central spot of it. You found yourself wondering if he sat there during his first session with Heather. Did he lay down or sit up? How did he explain his relationship with you? Was he as nervous as you?

You were pulled out of your thoughts as you saw Heather out of the corner of your eye take her seat in front of you. She crossed her legs, then placed her notebook on top of her leg, just as she did during your first session.

"I know you've both already explained your story to me," Heather began, "but I'd like you to explain to me one more time, this time, together."

Carlos and you turned your heads to look at each other; you glanced at one of his legs repeatedly bouncing up and down, and he glanced at your hands fidgeting with each other. You both breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the other person was seemingly just as nervous and them. Your gaze met back with Carlos' and he gave you a slight nod, signalling you to be the one to start.

You retold your story, making sure to allow Carlos to also retell the story in places he wanted to add his side to. After the story was retold, you found yourself relaxing more into the rocking chair, not as stiff and nervous as you were during your first session and the beginning of this session. You noticed had stopped bouncing his leg too.

“We didn’t talk to each other for weeks at a time,” Carlos said, his words gaining your attention.

“You hurt me,” you stated, looking directly at Carlos. “I meant every word I said in Zandvoort and I still do.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why did you?” You pointedly stared at him, waiting for an answer.

“I was scared,” Carlos quietly admitted. “I was scared of messing things up, so I thought that it would be best to keep things unofficial, but that only ended in messing things up. I know the cliché answer is to say that I’ve never felt so strongly about someone, but that truly is what happened. If I could go back in time and fix things, I would. But I can’t, so that’s why I’m here.”

You looked back at Heather, unsure of how to respond to Carlos.

“How do you feel after hearing Carlos say that?” Heather gently asked you.

“Like I can forgive him a little bit,” you answered, fixing your gaze on Carlos as he looked ahead with a slight smile present on his lips.

—————

F1 Taglist: @2manytabsopen @matthewkniesys @fallinallincurls @c-losur3 @sof1shticated

join my taglist here!

[bloodmoonmuses]

mediocre party crashers: the x-mas special! | mark lee

read part one here! genre: mark lee x reader, fluff

summary: Your message in a bottle has found his way back to you. You hope the tide wasn’t too bad. or You and Mark are reunited at a corporate holiday party.

Crashing parties has now become a hobby of yours. A real, habitual thing with methods and strategies and memories… From galas, to masquerade balls, frat parties and the occasional wedding, it’s safe to say you’re a pro. 

Your identity is something you’ve made malleable and mutable. Everchanging and morphing. Slowly shifting like a mood ring. You’re everyone and no one at the same time. You’re a paradox. And even in all the grandiose you’ve experienced, your absolute favorite type of party to crash was corporate holiday parties. They’re no-man’s land, really. The gaudy festiveness of them coupled with hollow smiles. The hum of a near broken radiator and a shitty karaoke machine. Lukewarm instant hot cocoa made with water instead of milk. 

The atmosphere is electric in the weirdest way- so palpable to be shrouded in such greyish mundanity. 

Tonight is no more different than many of your other outings. You and your partner in crime, Ningning, lock elbows as you wander around an office building. You had fought for an hour about what’s appropriate to wear to an office party (which resulted in you having to unpack Ningning’s understanding of an office siren. “-I wanna look hot!” she had said. To which you replied, “Time and place. We’re not amateurs anymore.”)

And so here you are, clad in an itchy sweater and pencil skirt, scouting out the scenery of some podunk town’s marketing firm. The manager has seemingly insisted on not updating any of the technology, filing cabinets lining the walls and chunky monitors on the cubicle desks. Tinsel has been strewn gingerly on a real fir tree, and plastic tablecloths cover foldable tables. Wrapping paper has been taped along the back of the cubicle walls to give the office a festive feeling. 

“Ugh,” says Ningning, as the two of you load up paper plates with homemade desserts. (Banana pudding for you. Caramel cake for Ningning.) “Fluorescent lighting.” Then, as if on cue, the bulb above her begins to flicker. Then she says, “Let’s mingle.”

You sidle up to a sharply dressed man, who you assume is the owner of the firm based on the wayward glances of the other attendees. He introduces himself as Doyoung and eyes you curiously. “Do I know you?”

“A friend of a friend… of a friend,” you say. “Here for moral support. How were the quarter four stats?” A classic diversion.

“Good enough for Christmas bonuses for the first time in three years. Finally bounced back from Covid.” Greyish mundanity, but the most beautiful variation of it. Will persevering through catastrophe. The human tendency to endure and endure together.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you say. And you mean it.

“Cheers to the new year?” says Doyoung, extending a paper cup with snowflakes on it in your direction.

“Cheers indeed.” 

The night progresses with twinkling optimism. You like intertwining yourself in people’s life stories. Hearing about their kids, the new boutique that’s opening on the square, or how some of the upper management can be real assholes. Small talk and human connection. Contentedness wafting off warm bodies. 

“We were nearly snowed out,” says an older gentleman, who you’d think were cute if not for the hideous mustache adorning his face. He had just regaled you with the details of planning this highbrow shindig. “And who are you again?”

However, you’re too distracted to answer him, having now noticed a suspiciously young-looking guy assembling a cup of cocoa. As you walk up to the table, he shifts to the left, giving you access to the other side of it. Through your periphery, he seems familiar, but you can’t seem to place him.

“This might sound weird-”

“Do I know you? -” You begin speaking at the same time. When the two of you make eye contact, both of you are stricken with recognition. Mark Lee.

“No way. Preppie!” he exclaims, putting his cup down and scooping you into an embrace.

“Preppie? That’s what you remember me as?”

He pulls back from the hug and scans your features, almost as if to confirm his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “From that yacht party, like, a year ago. You never texted me back!”

“I didn’t text you back? You never texted me!” you counter.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Mark takes out his phone, scrolls for a bit, then shows you an unanswered text message from a year ago. 

July 25, 2023

Mark: Sooo…. How about that rodeo party? [unopened]

Upon closer inspection, however, you see your number is incorrect.

“It’s an 8 at the end, not a 9.” you respond, taking his phone and updating your contact without question.

“I thought you got creeped out or something,” Mark says, sighing in relief as enter the number. When you’re done, he asks, “How have you been? What are you doing here?”

“Fine. Good. Ning and I have basically hit up all the companies in the city this year, so we figured we’d try the ‘burbs. Gotta love a company Christmas Party.” He nods in agreement. “You look dapper,” you add. 

He’s wearing a slate gray suit and a holly-printed tie.

“A little overdressed. It’s my wedding suit,” says Mark. “You look…”

“Like a middle-aged salary worker?”

“I was gonna say cozy.”

“Right.”

Suddenly, Ningning walks up from behind, poking your ribs with her fingers. “ Hey, nerd, they’re gonna play Pin the Nose on the Reindeer! First place gets a $20 Target gift card!” Then, when she notices Mark, she says, “Oh! Hey, Bottle Boy.”

You glare at her. How does she even remember him?

Mark’s face twists in confusion as he asks, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing!” you shout. Mark shrugs and shuffles off to join the festivities. Before she can walk away, you yank Ningning by the elbow and whisper into her ear. “Ningning, you did read my journal!?”

“Perhaps I’ve been a part of one of his lifetimes- a message in a bottle finally surfacing on a beach’s shore. I believed in the existence of fate, but only for a night..” she says, mocking you as she recites lines from your diary like a monologue.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, facepalming. You remind yourself to change the hiding spot for your journal…

“What happened with that whole situation, anyway? Hasn’t it been over a year?” asks Ningning.

“Gave him the wrong number, apparently.”

She scoffs, taking your elbow in hers once more. “You idiot.”

“I know.”

When you walk into the conference room where the game is being held, you notice Mark lingering in the doorway at the back of it. You make your way to him slowly, trying not to look too excited when you catch his eye and he promptly smiles.

“I’m dyingggg to see them play this game,” says Mark, watching as Doyoung gets a blindfold tied over his eyes.

Then, again, Ningning appears out of nowhere. “Don’t look up!” she exclaims to the both of you.

And, of course, the two of you do. Placed squarely above the door frame is a mistletoe, now glaringly obvious as you look at it with your neck craned. Mark stifles a cough and you feel the back of your neck heat up.

Mark looks at you nervously. “Uh, are you a mistletoe observer?”

“‘Mistletoe Observer’? Why are you asking like it’s a religious practice?” you ask.

Mark shrugs and says, “I dunno, man! Just trying to be respectful!”

“Respectful? It’s an arbitrary tradition. Are you a mistletoe observer?” you retort, half-joking. But Mark looks at you with such intensity, if only for half a second, that it knocks the air out of your lungs.

“I mean," he starts, already regretting his words and looking at his feet, “I’m not not a mistletoe observer…”

“You can’t keep saying ‘mistletoe observer’ and acting like it’s a thing.”

Mark pouts. “So we’re not about to kiss right now?”

You grab Mark’s stupid tie and pull him closer, giggling as the smirk is wiped off his face. 

Then you kiss him, melting into it like snow in the morning sun. Mark’s hands come up to grasp your face, deepening the fervor of the display of affection. You’re awestruck. Your message in a bottle has found his way back to you. 

You hope the tide wasn’t too bad.

When the kiss comes to an end and you open your eyes, you see and hear the rest of the partygoers cheering you on. Ningning has snapped a photo with her digital camera. Doyoung pipes up, still blindfolded and ready for the game.  “What’s happening? Are we playing the game or not?”

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays! hope you enjoyed!

[piftamere]

four - he’ll live (wc : 1.7k)

they’re sitting around a small table in a crowded bar. the music is loud and the awkwardness is palpable, it’s clear neither of them expected to be set up with the other.

“so, what do you do?” atsumu asked her to ease the tension in the air. she doesn’t want to be here and she’s not hiding it. atsumu wonders if it’s because of the other night, is she embarrassed? he decides to avoid the subject, just in case. he knows that he should also avoid the “shion” subject, and he will gladly do so. next to them, kageyama is listening intently to one of hinata’s rants, like they’re in their own world.

“i’m in arts, in the same uni as kageyama.” she replies, matter-of-factly, pointing to her friend sitting by her side.

“art? that’s dope.” he wants to face palm. ‘dope’?? he coughs a couple of times, and quickly continues before she can, “what kind of art?”

“um i paint mostly.” she nods. though it’s not like she’s really been painting lately.

he’s about to say something, probably embarrass himself further, but the waiter interrupts their riveting conversation. she orders first, a long island iced tea. the only way she can make it through tonight without physically assaulting atsumu. the others order lighter cocktails. easy for them, they don’t have to pretend to enjoy miya atsumu’s company.

kageyama gives her a side eye only she catches as the waiter leaves, she ignores it. hinata starts talking excitedly about an upcoming thing, a match she assumes. she nods along but she’s not really listening. he seems happy though, kageyama too. their date would most likely go just as smooth if atsumu and her weren’t there.

from time to time her phone buzzes on the table, and she sees atsumu steal glances at her from the corner of her eye. she pretends not to notice. she turns her phone off.

when their drinks arrive, she wraps her lips around the straw and practically inhales half of it.

hinata notices the awkward silence hanging between atsumu and yn, and like the good friend he is, or at least tries to be, he decides to step in. atsumu is just a little tense, so talking about something he loves should get him to loosen up, right?

“did you know tsumu’s a really good setter? it’s so nice playing with him!” hinata praises eagerly, oblivious to the way kageyama frowns at his words.

atsumu perks up immediately, puffing out his chest, “yea i’ve been nominated for best setter a few times. it’s actually-” he says, slipping into a monologue.

yn stares at her glass, not registering a word he’s saying.

she tried, for a solid 10 seconds, to be interested in whatever volleyball-related thing he was yapping about, but she couldn’t be bothered. her eyes feel heavy and she stifles a yawn. hinata notices and, in a panic, discretely kicks him in the shin under the table.

“ow- what the hell?” atsumu yelps, wincing and rubbing his leg.

“oops! i thought i saw a bug.” hinata blurts out, scratching the back of his neck.

she barely holds back from rolling her eyes and excuses herself to go to the bathroom, “i’ll be right back.”

as she’s touching up her make-up, an idea crosses her mind, if she’s going to be stuck here she’s at least going to make it worth her while.

atsumu has finished his drink by the time she comes back. he looks more relaxed now, less rigid than before. as she sits down, she picks up the menu, her eyes going over the options. since kageyama is paying, she’s not checking the prices.

“you hungry?” she asks, glancing at him over the menu.

“starvin’. could eat a cow.” he admits, leaning in, his voice a little more casual.

tilting the menu toward him, her finger tracing the list until it stops on one dish, “wanna share this?”

“sounds good.” with a quick nod to the waiter, they place their order.

atsumu’s gaze is wandering more as the night progresses and he finds himself staring at her. he’s not being very discreet either.

she turns her gaze towards him, catching him staring. he looks a little startled. making the corners of her lips tug slightly upwards.

he can feel the intensity of her gaze as she speaks. she leans forward, placing her elbows on the table, “how long have you been single for?”

she wasn’t really interested in the answer, she simply wanted to watch him squirm, a small knowing smile spread across her lips.

he blinks, taken aback by her question, “hum… a few months i guess.”

“is that by choice?” she continues, unfazed by how personal this conversation is getting.

he chuckles awkwardly, “i don’t have the time for anything serious.”

“anything serious?” she repeats, her tone suggesting she doesn’t believe him, “so you’re the type to sleep with a girl for a few weeks then… ‘ditch’ her?”, she leans back, crossing her arms, waiting for him to continue.

she’s intense, in control. though there’s no judgment in her voice, at least not right now, like she’s simply stating a fact. she can tell by the look on his face that he has no idea what she’s referring to. for better or for worse, she isn’t sure yet.

“i mean…i’ve been focused on volleyball this year.”

“hm, okay.” she mutters, clearly unsatisfied with his answer. her nails drum on the glass as she finishes her drink. she releases the straw with a quiet ‘pop’, setting down the glass with a little more force than intended.

soon after, atsumu gets up to do god knows what, she didn’t bother listening. the second he turns around she rolls her eyes, god does he have a talent to piss her off.

“oh by the way,” she starts, turning to hinata, her voice sounding sincere for the first time tonight, “thanks for rescuing me and letting me stay in your room the other night.”

“oh no problem! i’m glad you were safe but it’s atsumu you should thank.” he smiles, earnest.

her brows furrow, “what do you mean?”

“he got the guy off you, you stayed in his room and he slept on the couch. you don’t remember?”

“no i guess not.” she pauses, registering what hinata just told her. when atsumu comes back she avoids his gaze. she doesn’t like that he saw her like that, vulnerable, and she hates that she didn’t know. she feels like she owes him now. it’s not a nice feeling.

quickly, she straightens up, to not let her discomfort show. he probably only helped her because hinata told him to, she owes him nothing.

“that’s a cool painting.” atsumu says, pointing to some abstract art on the wall next to their table, interrupting her thoughts.

“hm?” she glances over at it, her head tilted in mild curiosity. “what do you like about it?” she asks, voice laced with skepticism, suspecting he ran out of things to say and pointed to the thing closest to him. he pretends to ponder for a moment, squinting slightly as if he’s deeply studying the colors and shapes with, she assumes, his very little knowledge of art.

“the colors are nice.” he finally says, sounding casual.

she can’t help but chuckle at his simplicity, a small laugh escaping her lips before she can stop it. “they sure are.” she replies, nodding with a light smirk as she bites the inside of her cheeks to hold back a bigger smile. there’s a hint of condescension in her tone, whether she’s being cruel or playful who knows.

atsumu might not know art, but he’s not dumb. he raises his eyebrow slightly in challenge, “what, not to your taste?”

she crosses her arms and leans forward, elbows resting on the table. with a hint of teasing in her eyes, but also a faint air of superiority, she says, “it’s fine,” she shrugs, “i mean… abstract art is all about interpretation. and i guess ‘the colors are nice.’ is one way to look at it.”

he tilts his head, amused, “yea?”, he leans in a bit, holding her gaze, “and what’s your way of looking at it? enlighten me.”

she’s a little caught off guard by his perseverance, but she doesn’t show it. she tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “well,” she starts, her voice is calm, confident, “it’s not just the colors. it’s the emotions and meaning behind them. the shapes, the textures, they create movement, they tell a story without clearly stating it. it’s not what you see, it’s what it makes you feel.”

he leans back in his chair, humming thoughtfully. “so… it’s like volleyball. i see plays unfolding but all you see is guys running around?”

she stays silent for longer than she means to. she would never admit it out loud, but his analogy kind of makes sense. instead, she lets out a sigh and shakes her head, “i guess you could say that.”

noticing the tension between them has seemingly disappeared, hinata turns towards atsumu, whispering in his ear, “ask her to dance.” he looks up at him with big puppy dog eyes.

“you two wanna be alone?” atsumu’s smirking, glad shoyo’s night is going well.

“yes please…” he’s pouting. atsumu sighs and turns towards her, “wanna dance?”

she starts frowning but before she can speak, kageyama nudges her with his elbow, “she does.” she stares at her friend wide-eyed, silently cursing him, as she stands up. she got the message.

“come on.”

his moves are a little awkward, he looks tense. she rolls her eyes as she puts her hands on his shoulders, taking notice of how muscular he is. she takes the lead and he obliges, watching intently as her hips sway to the music, and trying not to step on her feet.

she guides his hands to her waist, his grip tightens on the fabric of her dress. she can feel the warmth of his skin, their bodies melt together and she forgets her dislike towards him for a song. turns out it’s much easier for her to tolerate him when his mouth is shut.

over atsumu’s shoulder, she sees hinata leaning in to kiss kageyama, and she smiles sincerely for the first time tonight. seeing this, atsumu’s heart skips a beat, and the world around them disappears.

fun facts

atsumu was annoying because he felt intimidated

kags was too much on a cloud to really pay attention to the gc

yn doesn’t care that atsumu could get hurt

yn is mastering the art of changing the subject

atsumu is easily swayed, a pretty girl playing hard to get and he's smitten

atsumu thinks it's fate that yn and him were set up on a date after he "rescued" her

author's note

four annoying ppl go on a date

kagehina 4ever <3

writing parts of the dialogue made me want to bang my head in a wall, they're so annoying 😭😭

i have so much planned for the rest of the story aaaah i'm excited ^^

play dumb! - next

taglist : open!

@alpha-mommy69 @bakugouswh0r3 @giocriedpower @itsdragonius @haechansbbg @wondipity @iaminyourfloors @na0koz @from-mae @eusaevi @kr1nqu @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @thechaosoflonging @littlemiyastars @seikamuzu @nymphsdomain

if you're name is crossed out i couldn't tag you, if it's not fixed in a week i'll remove you sorry :(

[moonlitcelestial]

Lipstick Stains - Wooyoung

Valentines Day Special

W/C ~2,293

☽ Masterlist ☾ 

♡ Lipstick Stains Masterlist ♡

Disclaimer: This story is purely a work of fiction. It is not meant to assume or mock anything about Ateez or Atiny. I will be attempting to keep it as gender neutral as possible but it will lean toward she/her pronouns. 

Thanks for reading <3 Moonie

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

You were in the middle of starting to prepare dinner for the rowdy bunch of men that were coming over for a bonfire later. You proposed the idea of a chill hangout earlier in the week and they all vehemently agreed that they need some time to unwind. You had offered to make them some food and then use your bonfire for drinking and roasting smores. You heard a light knock and your little black cat, Salem, was meowing at whoever was outside. You wiped your hands off and approached the door in your the kiss the chef apron. Wooyoung had offered to help you make dinner so he could spend some alone time with you before everyone else got here. You opened the door and smiled at your boyfriend of just over a year. “Hi jagi,” he said walking in, he gave you a quick kiss as he walked past. He walked to the kitchen and set the bags of food down on your island. You closed the door and patted Salem on the head before heading to the kitchen. Wooyoung had started taking out the ingredients and sorting them out. 

“The boys shouldn't be too far behind me, I only got out a couple of minutes ahead of Hongjoong and Seonghwa”

“That’s okay, I am just happy I get a little peace and quiet with you before everyone else gets here.” You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. You leaned on his back and he wrapped his hands around your arms and squeezed. He turned around and pulled you into a sweet kiss. Your lips molded together like puzzle pieces but the moment was ruined when someone knocked on the door. You pulled away and groaned into his chest. He chuckled at you as you walked toward the front door. You opened it to see Hongjoong and Seonghwa holding drinks. 

“Yesss,” you said, taking a couple of bags from them. You left the door open for them to wander in as you walked to the fridge to put the alcohol in the freezer. They had followed you in and took a seat at your island bar. 

“What is for dinner, Y/N?” Seonghwa asked, looking at all of the ingredients.

“Jjajangmyeon,” you responded while you prepped everything. 

After a few minutes of chatter from the four of you someone knocked on the door. You looked at your brother Hongjoong and asked if he could get the door as you were in your cooking phase. He nodded and got up to go to the door. You heard the chorus of greetings from the rest of the boys. They all meandered toward the kitchen where you and Wooyoung were moving around each other preparing the food. 

“Has anyone ever told the two of you that you work very well together in the kitchen?” Yuhno commented watching from the side of the island. Thankfully it was big enough that you could seat all of the boys, even if it was a little cramped. 

“It is a fine art we have perfected cooking for all of you,” you said as you turned around and passed Woo the ingredient he was going to need next. You both had prepared this meal several times in the course of being together. 

“It is like the two of you are dancing, perfectly in sync. It is actually almost scary.” Mingi remarked, taking in that you basically read Wooyoung’s mind before he could even say a word. 

“I don't think they could ever be scary in that apron,” Wooyoung said. You turned to look at him and almost threw a noodle at him. 

“I don't want to hear it, this was a gift and I absolutely love it.” You pointed at him with your chopsticks menacingly. He smirked at you, he was the one that got you the apron; but he still liked to make fun of you for it. 

After a while the meal was ready, you served all of them before taking some for yourself. Everyone dug in and praised the two of you for the amazing food. When you smiled at the compliments, you could feel Wooyoung’s smug smile. He was the one who had taught you how to make this dish to perfection, you had known how to make it but it never came out quite right. Once everyone was done you made your way out to the backyard. You started the fire before heading back in to grab the alcohol. If tonight was going to be a proper unwinding session you needed a few drinks. Each of the boys had taken a couple of shots before you started a game of truth or dare. Truth be told it was involving the boys more than you; you were just enjoying the insanity. All of you were scattered around your large fire pit. The game started out fairly innocently with some light dares of doing some stupid things like putting hot sauce on a s’more. The farther they got into being drunk the crazier they got. At one point they all put on a show for you, they were stumbling over their feet as they serenaded you. You couldn’t help but to grab your phone and record them to have blackmail later. 

“Woo, truth or dare?” San asked, pointing at him with the stick he had his marshmallow on. He was already very tipsy if the flush on his face was anything to go by. 

Wooyoung scoffed, “as if I would do anything other than a dare.” You smiled at your boyfriend and how cocky he was being. 

“Okay, I dare you to give the prettiest person around the fire a sexy dance.” All of the boys had been participating in drinking so a fair few of them were oohing and aahing like school children. Wooyoung got up and walked toward Yeosang who was sitting next to you. You fully expected him to give Yeosang the sexy dance. At the last second he curved away from Yeosang, who sighed in relief, and toward you. Your eyes widened as he prowled toward you. He grabbed your hand and made you stand. Hongjoong made a sound of protest when he realized that he had chosen you as the prettiest. He caressed your face with his other hand and you leaned back, he raised his eyebrows at you. You could see the cogs turning in his brain and you know him well enough to know he just made it his mission to embarrass you. He twirled you around and once you got back to facing him he turned around and dropped into a squat he bounced a couple of times before he started to stand back up. You let go of his hand and covered the bottom half of your face. While he was getting back up he popped out his butt and almost knocked you over. He snapped back to look at you and grabbed your hand bringing it away from your face, he knew that you were embarrassed already but he continued. He planted a kiss to the back of it before trailing it down his front, acting like it was your first time feeling him up. You snatched your hand back like it was on fire when he got past his pecs. He caressed your face again, whipped around and sauntered off. 

Everyone erupted into laughter at the look on your face. Hongjoong was watching the whole scene in horror, he was hiding his face in his hands and you could just barely make out that he was peeking between his fingers. You could feel the heat rising up the back of your neck spread to your face and ears. You hid yourself in your hands and brought your knees up to your chest after you sat back down. Shortly after everyone quieted down the game continued. 

You had been listening and watching the entire thing with second hand embarrassment. As the chaos went on you could only hide your face behind your hands peeking out between your fingers; much like your brother did earlier. Mingi kissed Hongjoong on the cheek; which resulted in a smack. Seonghwa had to go into the house and make a mess and not clean it, which was just downright cruel; but you knew tomorrow he would help you clean anyway. San had to run around your entire backyard three times without a shirt on screaming at the top of his lungs. Yuhno had to give a kiss to Jongho, which resulted in him chasing the poor maknae around the backyard until he could quickly peck his cheek. Hongjoong had to kiss each of you on the cheek, making sure to cover Woo and San’s mouths. When he got to you he was the most normal because you were his younger sister. Yeosang had to allow Wooyoung to give him a kiss on the cheek. Jongho had to sing a full opera song making sure to serenade all of you. Your neighbors surely hated you at this point although they were not too close they could most likely hear the loud bunch of drunk men. 

San sat down across from you and his eyes met yours. “Y/N truth or dare?”

With all of the absolutely ridiculous dares that had been happening here recently you chose the safe route “Truth”

Everyone groaned at your answer like you knew they would. San brought his hand up to his chin and pretended to ponder the question he was going to ask. He snapped his fingers and exclaimed “show us your all time favorite picture, the more embarrassing the better!” You instantly thought of your favorite picture, but it wouldn’t be embarrassing for you. You snuck a look at Wooyoung and he tilted his head at you. You dug your phone out of your hoodie pocket and pulled up your gallery. You scrolled for a second before landing on what you were looking for. It was a live picture of you and Wooyoung looking at each other, he was covered in lipstick stains and you had one lone lipstick stain on your cheek. Thinking back to that day you felt yourself smile. 

You opened the door and he hadn't even made it a step into the room before you asked him to do the trend with you. He reluctantly agreed and you squealed as you ran for your favorite red lipstick. He followed you in and shook his head at your antics. Now he knew what it was like hanging around himself. You had quickly applied the lipstick and set up your camera before he walked into the room. You proceeded to attack him with kisses. You kissed him on the lips first and then proceeded to kiss him all over, once you pulled away to look at him but before you could get a good look he grabbed your face and kissed your cheek. You gasped in mock offence and looked at the camera and noticed the red lips on your cheek. Your eyes widened and you both looked at each other at the same time and couldn’t keep it together. He had taken the picture right as you looked at each other and the live picture went on as you laughed at each other. Several more pictures followed and you cherished every one of them. 

Your inhibitions were lowered from the alcohol and you handed your phone to San without a second thought. “Here you go Sannie, feel free to share with the class” you said with a smirk. Wooyoung scooted over to look at your phone in San’s hand. Once he processed what he just saw his head whipped toward you. You gave him a finger heart and stayed quiet, it wasn't until then that you had fully processed what you were announcing. The information finally registered in San’s brain and he screeched, looking up at you and then back to Wooyoung. He quickly passed the phone to Mingi. 

“WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?” San yelled at you as the phone was going around. You looked at Wooyoung and he was red in the face. Most of the other members had a similar reaction to San. 

“About a year ago.” You responded looking at your nails like this was the most unimportant conversation in the world; in reality you were nervous as hell. 

“You kept this a secret for a year?!” He yelled again, Seonghwa shushed him and he asked you again in a normal voice. 

“I knew,” Yeosang piped up. “I walked into the apartment when they were not really paying attention to a movie.” Everyone’s eyes shot to him, some of their mouths were hanging open at the betrayal of two of their closest friends. 

You looked nervously at Hongjoong who was the last to receive your phone. He looked at you with surprise. You hadn't told him because you wanted to see where your relationship went before telling anyone. Before you knew it almost a year had passed. 

“I am happy you two are happy,” he said to you. 

“I will explain everything when I can form a coherent thought,” you replied. Wooyoung was watching the entire interaction with bated breath. He released a sigh as soon as he knew he was out of the woods. You chuckled at him. 

Hongjoong turned to look at Wooyoung, “if you ever hurt them I'll kill you.” he deadpanned. Wooyoung chuckled nervously. 

“Duly noted, but just so you know I don't plan on it.” Wooyoung said to Hongjoong. He looked at you and smiled, that had definitely not gone how you guys planned it. In the end you knew it would be something you could look back on and laugh at. 

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Hongjoong Seonghwa Yuhno Yeosang San Mingi Jongho

[f4iry-bell]

THE PROPHECY | 1

pairing: grayson hawthorne x f!reader

summary: AU where grayson is an aristocrat and reader is from a working class. they're in a secret relationship together but grayson isnt 100% in.

warning: social class difference. ANGSTY ending.

tagging: @unnoodles @nqds @alwaysthefangirl @clarissaweasley-10 @benny1989fredd @imaseabear @never-enough-novels @elysianwayy77 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou

word count: 1.1k

a/n: ik in 1800s the entailment must go to the oldest son but it's diff here ok??? any son of the man's choice will become the new lord!!!!

masterlist

Attending balls is a part of Grayson Hawthorne’s social life. To show himself to the society and show off his wealth, to show that one day everything his grandfather owned will be his and to show that he is perfect. Couple of ladies have already asked sweet talk to him while fanning their fans trying to give him the obvious sign but his mind keeps wandering to one person who has occupied his mind for the past month.

He excused himself from the pretentious and pompous crowd and snuck to the servant’s quarters. He has done this so many times that it has become an easy thing for him to do. He thought of knocking on the door but decided to surprise her by just opening the door and going in.

She was on her bed sitting wearing an off white nightgown that had a couple stitches on it. Her hair was braided, she looked like she was about to fall asleep.

“Sleeping so soon?” Grayson asked as he stepped in making her gasp.

“You scared me.” Grayson smiled when he heard her say as he walked to the bed and sat next to her. “Yes. I have done my part of cooking for tonight's ball. So I thought I'd sleep early.”

“Are you going to? Sleep?” He asked as his head lowered to her neck, his breath causing shivers down her spine and her mind lost it when he placed a gentle kiss.

This has been going on for months since he tasted her cooking with his grandfather. His grandfather wanted to see the young lady who made the food. When she was at Hawthorne Estate, she cooked a meal for his grandfather and his four grandsons. When she was about to leave the Estate, Grayson stopped her to give her the small silver ring that she possessed which slipped her fingers while she was serving the food.

“Thank you.” She sounded so grateful, Grayson assumed it was more than just silver for her.

“Does it mean something to you? Your wedding ring?” He asked hoping the second part of his question’s answer would be negative.

“It does. It was my mother’s. I don't wear it often, today felt special so I wore it. I would have been devastated if it wasn't for you.” She smiled which made his heart skip two or three beats.

“You're welcome.”

Grayson saw her again when he arrived at a ball earlier than expected (a prank pulled by Jameson). He was looking around and observing the working class when his eyes caught her. She was arranging the plates on the table, he walked towards her and noticed that she's wearing the ring again.

“Another special day?” He asked, pointing at the ring.

She blushed at his presence and nodded. “I just felt today was different.”

Grayson was mindful of the eyes that were watching them. So he excused himself from her to sit alone. He can't have words of whisper roaming around about him and her. No, there could never be him and her.

But they kept meeting each other during balls because she's hired to cook there. He finds himself going to the balls early just to have a moment with her alone, he was getting over with people (servants) watching them. As long as his family or from don't see him it's good.

Right now, they were laying on her small uncomfortable bed very comfortably, she was laying on top of Grayson’s shirtless body with herself naked under the thin blanket as he rubbed her back gently, at first it started out as a physical pleasure for both of them but Grayson can't stop his feelings as he got to know her more and more.

“Don’t fall asleep. You have to go back to the ball soon.” She reminded him.

“I don't want to.” He kissed her head.

“You have to.”

“I just want to be with you, you know? Dance with you, hold your hand in front of everyone.”

“I wish for that too. But I must say I'm a terrible dancer.”

“I'll be the judge.”

She chuckled.

“Are you working for the masquerade ball?” He asked her with an idea in his mind.

“Yes.”

“Well, will you be able to finish your job quickly and sneak onto the dance floor?” He asked with a cheeky smile.

She chuckled. “I can. But I won't.”

“Why not?”

“That's not where I belong.”

“I'll be there, and you belong whereever I am.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I don't have proper attire or a mask.”

“I'll send you, just say you'll sneak into the dance floor, please?” He started to kiss her face all over making her giggle.

“Okay, okay!!”

_

During the masquerade ball Grayson was eagerly waiting for his love to come to the dance floor so he could finally make his dream come true; to dance with her. His eyes were wandering around to find her but was interrupted by a figure behind him. He turned and immediately recognised her and the dress that he gave her. Her face was covered with a mask but he can tell how beautiful she is right now.

“May I have this dance?” He asked her with a smile, giving his hand to her which she took immediately.

They danced for two songs, like she mentioned she was indeed a terrible dancer that she almost fell, thanks to Grayson who saved her from the embarrassment but her mask fell down. She bent down to pick it up and Grayson panicked, people can't see her here. He was praying that she'd wear it quickly back but before she could some of the other upper class ladies noticed her and started whispering. Once she realised people were looking at them and whispering about them she froze.

The hostess marched towards her. “What are you doing here?” She spoke through her teeth.

A lot of loud whispers fell in her ears.

“Isn't she the cook?”

“How did she get the dress?”

“Probably stole it.”

“I-” She was out of words as the hostess three knives at her with her eyes.

“You think you can just sneak into a ball and seduce a wealthy man? Mr. Hawthorne, I assume you weren't aware that this girl was not a part of our social class, I'm deeply sorry that this happened.”

She wasn't going to cry until Grayson spoke after a second. “It is alright. And yes, I wasn't aware of it.”

She wasn't expecting him to say that, she could take the judging eyes and whispers but Grayson standing there pretending to not know her, and embarrass her along with those people? She couldn't take that.

The tears started to come out without realisation.

“Out, you're making an unnecessary scene here, girl. You do not belong here.”

part 2

[enmstorytime]

The Amusement Park Chapter 3

My husband and I weaved through the crowded amusement park, my hand in his, my eyes on the ground, as he guided us. I could not afford to look up. The sun shine and breeze on my bare torso and the memory of the hot ginger dilf had made me too horny to handle seeing anyone else in the park. My mind kept playing through different possibilities, but as long as I didn't look at a specific man and wish his clothes away, the magic wouldn't happen.

I thought of the Chris Evans looking security guard my husband had told me about, and I imagined melting Chris Evan clothes away like that scene in Fantastic Four, only there would be no coat to hold around his crotch.

I thought about catching the ginger dilf before the security guard. Maybe in another world we'd sneak him to a bathroom where my husband and I could hide him in a stall, and promise to buy him clothes in exchange for letting us suck him off.

Without having that fantasy of getting to touch the dilf, I wondered where he was in reality. Had the security guard led him out of the park? Had he been banned? Or had security taken pity on him? Had his wife had to fork over too much money to buy him mismatched clothing that he could wear around the park for the rest of the day. I couldn't help but resent the universe a little. In a perfect world, that dilf would be allowed (forced is a better word here) to walk around the park for the rest of the day without his clothes. HIs wife would have to roll her eyes and get used to the world staring down what she probably assumed was hers and only hers to see. And he would have to wander around the park, his pale hairy skin practically glowing in the sunlight. How much sunscreen would he have to use? Would I have the balls to offer to help him get his back?

"I have an idea," my husband whispered in my ear. "What if I tell you when to look up?"

He pulled me into a line for one of the roller coasters. I imagined a man directly in front of us for the whole time we stood in line standing patiently in front of us, butt naked because I melted his clothing. I imagined us chatting with him, as we waited for the ride, his penis dangling in front of us, a shy hand rubbing the back of his neck, with a slight blush on his cheeks. At first, he'd cover his cock, but my husband and I would reassure him we'd both seen plenty of penises before and his was beautiful. But I knew that wouldn't work. In my twelve years of having this gift, I'd never met a man who remailed calm after his clothes vanished from his body.

I imagined the conversation that could put a man at ease: Hey man, I don't want you to be surprised, but I think you're incredibly sexy. It's my birthday, and for whatever reason, the universe has given me the power to dissolve other men's clothes. I'd love to dissolve every single part of your clothing off of your sexy body. You shouldn't have to hide all that beauty. Who would give me the opportunity to say all of that? And even if I said all of that, who would believe me?

The line took twenty minutes as my husband held my hand leading me through the line, while my mind played through the scenario of meeting a man who would be flattered by my interest, and willing to just stand around so I could soak up all the beauty of his naked flesh.

An attendant led me and my husband to the gates to board the ride. There were two men in front of us (I could tell by the shoes and the hairy calves, before I quickly bounced my eyes away from them to a spot of empty ground). The gates opened, and my husband pulled me forward as the two men stepped through the gates to board the two-seater ride.

"Now," my husband whispered.

My gut clenched. I didn't know which one of the two that my husband meant, and as I looked up, I took them both in, realizing we had spent the entire line standing behind another gay couple. They were what we would call, "boyfriend twins." Two twinks, with the haircut fade, lean, lanky bodies, clean shaven faces. Hairless arms and legs.

This was going to cost me, but their lap bar was down, the ride music had started, they'd be gone in seconds.

And they'd ride the entire ride naked.

Both of them.

I only saw a flash of their bare skin as they squealed about their suddenly naked state of being. The ride launched them away. I imagined their cocks bouncing against their thighs and against the lap bar, as they flew up the first hill, then down, through a few barrel rolls, a loop, more ups and downs. They screamed the whole way.

My husband laughed beside me, but I wasn't laughing. My shoes, socks, and shorts had all vanished. I was standing in my underwear. Thankfully, all of my underwear (the boxer shorts over briefs over a jockstrap) had stayed, and I wasn't mooning anyone behind us.

There was commotion on the platform around us. The attendants had realized that two of their passengers had had their clothing melted off of them. So had everyone waiting to board the ride. Their clothes had been present one second, gone the next. Now we were all staring waiting for the naked men to return.

And once they returned, it was a matter of time before people realized I was very close to joining them in their nudity. If I wasn't careful, I would be getting a taste of my own medicine very soon.

[codderanged]

Catching Strays

Chapter 4 : Voicemail

A/N : Let's get… this… bread… /ref

A/N2 : Believe it or not this chapter had around four different names before I settled.

Word count : 2,528

TW : Prescription drugs

The meal proved to be a pretty decent distraction from the knee pain. Even having already had breakfast Adler ate it all. Each and every flavor he encountered reminded him of his past there. The rest of the town had changed but it seemed Squirmy’s Diner was some relic, meant to remain untouched by the passage of time. Once Adler was satisfied he called for the check, but he noted how instead of the other teen server, a young man with the name tag “Jeremy” came by to deliver the check, run the transaction, then give Adler his receipt. Adler didn’t bother asking, assuming that the other teen had decided to shift responsibility to their coworker. He took up his crutches and left, awkwardly hobbling on the unfamiliar aid. 

The autumn air bit his face as he stood outside, finding himself not knowing what to do. A few sparse cars passed by and the sidewalks were empty except for a single stray cat wandering near the edge of the gas station across the street. Adler sighed and made his way to the sidewalk, deciding to simply see where the nearest bus stop was, when it would pick up, and head back home. 

Then he heard a slam like something hitting metal. Instinctually his head snapped towards the noise and his right hand reached for his gun; the one that wasn’t there. 

Adler’s tense shoulders eased as he saw the teen from only minutes ago standing to the side of Squirmy’s, half hidden by the large dumpster. He could see them moving before once again he heard the slamming noise. They repeated the action, seeming to be kicking the side of the garbage container in anger. Once they tired themself out they took a couple steps back, revealing that their cheery work hat was missing and the bottom half of their apron was soaked in fresh oil. Their eyes were glued to the apron, fists balling at their sides, before they crudely ripped the fabric off of them, snapping the neck strap. When the waist strap didn’t come undone so easily they struggled a few times, tugging at the fabric to no avail. Finally they roughly pulled the string, releasing the knot, and balled the apron up so they could throw it at the brick wall beside them. The teen was reeling back to throw when they caught sight of Adler and froze. 

The two held each other’s gaze silently. No words. No shifting. No silent communication. It looked more like a standoff than anything. 

Adler could only assume they were barely holding it together. He could see the anger boiling in their eyes and the way their muscles remained tense, but he could see the glint in their eyes like there was a misty wall of tears just barely held back from breaking and letting the flood gates open. He knew that feeling. Knew how it felt to have it all threaten to boil over yet to keep the lid on as if it would stop the anger from exploding. 

The teen’s expression remained hard until, after what felt like an eternity, their face melted into something that seemed like consideration. Adler’s face stayed unreadable until he saw Squirmy come through the back door of the diner and walk up to his worker, putting a hand on their shoulder. They whipped their head around to look at him but he didn’t even flinch. Their expression softened the moment they realized who had grabbed their attention. Adler could not hear but Squirmy said something to them and they nodded the tiniest of nods. Both looked back at Adler and the man merely stood there, unsure of what to do. 

Squirmy gave him a look he’d never seen before. Adler tried to read the expression but all he could gather were the flat observations of the face. Brows pressed together only slightly, corners of the mouth downturned into a frown, eyes darkened and pleading. Adler knew Squirmy was asking him for something but what was unclear. He merely tore his eyes away from the old man only to find himself magnetized to the teen beside him. Their own expression was that walled, defensive stare, but Adler could still see that hint of consideration deep inside. Adler suddenly understood what may have been going on. At least, he thought he did. The scarred man looked at each of them and shook his head before continuing down the sidewalk, ambling with his crutches awkwardly. He wasn’t going to meddle in this, in the teen and whatever problems of theirs that Squirmy thought he could fix. It wasn’t his business and he wasn’t going to let it be his business. Though he couldn’t see the reactions to his rejection Adler could practically feel the stares on his back. They didn’t burn like jealousy or anger but rested heavy as if some weighted blanket of guilt was being cast on him. He merely shrugged it off as he walked, eventually out of sight. 

The tense moment plagued his thoughts as he waited for the bus at the bus stop and as he rode home. Once on the corner of his street he made his way home only to find the image, the kid’s intense eyes, burned into his retinas like an old bubble-screened TV run too long. He’d seen those eyes before. In his own mirror staring back at him in his childhood home, in the barracks mirror staring back at him on the final day of boot camp, in the dingy mirror of the safehouse staring back at him in West Berlin, and in the mirror staring back at him in his current home.Those fiery eyes were that of nine hells and they were barely contained like some rabid creature hardly held back by the feeble bars of a crude cage. Adler only finally snapped from the image as he arrived at his front porch steps. With some focus he made his way to the front door and dug around for his house keys in his pocket. 

Inside felt like a safe haven from the chilly outside and Adler was quick to shut the door behind him and lock it. He didn’ even bother putting his crushes up nicely, instead leaning them against the countertop as he passed through the kitchen to get to his room. Though he limped slightly he forced himself to walk without them as he was sick of the way they made his palms ache and shoulders tense. Adler passed by his office on his way to his bedroom only to notice that his answering machine light was on. He paused and turned around to make a detour. Adler entered his office, a neat minimal space with a simple window, desk, and bookshelf, and leaned down to click the play button on whatever message had been left for him. 

The voice of Sims split the air immediately, “Hey, Doc, heard ya got it bad. Wanted to wish you some good luck or somethin’. Heard you went back to Cali. Sunshine and girls, huh? Doesn’t seem your style..”

There was a long pause before Sims spoke again, “I’m kinda stalling, here, I’ll be honest. I overheard Hudson having a conversation with some other agents. Said he didn’t think you’d make it back to working again.”

Adler felt his fists clench at each side. Hudson had always been a roadblock. Keeping secrets during the mission, doubting Adler’s methods, giving poor direction, Hudson seemed to always find a way to ruin things. 

“I’m giving you a heads up,” Sims continued, “because I think there’s a chance if you do come back, Hudson is finding a reason to make you leave again. We both know he doesn’t like you. And, honestly, you’re one of the few I trust here. Keep your head on a swivel, man. Heal up and get back in the game.” 

The machine beeped, signalling the end of the message. Adler would have clicked the stop button so the tape wouldn’t run but it wasn’t like there was anything else saved on it. Not until he heard the new voice ringing through the room. This one sent a practically paralyzing wave through him, jolting his insides and tightening his chest. 

“Russ, I’m sorry for calling, I just wanted to let you know that… Well I wanted you to know that I really do hope you get better. I hope something in you changes. I know you’re abl-” Adler clicked the stop button. He couldn’t take hearing his ex wife's voice any longer. When he first got that message, years ago, he had listened to it on repeat until finally he forbade himself, taking pity on himself for how pathetic it was to fall asleep at a bare wooden desk with his hand resting heavily on the rewind button. Since then he preserved the tape, changing it out for a blank one whenever he left home for a long time just in case he got calls and the messages overwrote the one from his ex. Why he saved a tape he would never listen to he did not know. This past mission he must have forgotten to change it. 

Adler stared at the answering machine, tempted to simply defile the tape and rip its film out, but he remained motionless as two halves of him fought for dominance. A part of him whispered to leave it be and another thought that perhaps destroying it would give him some kind of respite from the torment of the memories. For once he found himself indecisive. Adler was a man who knew how to make the hard choices. He knew who to kill and who to torture, where to go and what to do. Adler always called the shots yet right at this moment he felt helpless against himself. The two sides fighting left him frozen staring at the machine. 

Finally, like some kind of compromise was found, he opened up the machine, took the tape out, and made his way to his kitchen. As his foot pressed down on the lever of the trash can and he held the tape over the gaping abyss of the top he hesitated. The action made him want to do nothing less than vomit but he dropped the tape inside and walked away as soon as he could muster, just to avoid dunking his hand inside to retrieve the tape. Adler didn’t even care about taking his leather jacket off anymore. He quickly located a clear tape in his desk drawer and put it inside the machine. He then went to his living room, plopping down in an armchair a little heavier than he’d have liked. The man removed his glasses, haphazardly tossing them on the coffee table, and ran his hands down his face as if rubbing at the flesh would take away all the wear and age; like the scars would wipe away like dry erase marker on a white board, the wrinkles of time would simply melt back into their past youthfulness, and the dullness in his eyes would polish into something brighter. 

Just as he leaned back and attempted a calming deep breath his watch began to beep. Adler groaned and didn’t bother to look as he fumbled with the buttons to shut the alarm off. He knew it was his alarm for his antibiotics but he couldn’t be bothered. Not when they didn’t help with the pain like Oxycodone did and he knew his body was strong enough to fight off just about anything. Of course, just to keep the suspicion off, he would likely throw the pills out later just so he would refill his prescription at the proper time. 

All through life Adler hadn’t cared for medication. He was consistently certain his immune system was just fine and consistently his body proved him right. No coat in winter? No cold. Hung around his sick friends? Perfectly fine.Slight rise in body temperature? Nothing came of it. Why would he need to start worrying now? He sure didn’t have this kind of luxury medication in ‘Nam and he had survived. 

‘Nam. 

Vietnam.

The Vietnam War. 

Adler hadn’t been some expendable cannon fodder soldier in those times. He was special. His services were extraordinary and the results of said services had endless worth to the CIA. Back in those days Adler was much younger than he was now. In his early thirties he had been at least a little lively. Thinking back to those times only served to remind Adler of the memories implanted into Bell’s mind. 

His little lab experiment. 

That memory he planted, where he led them to the helicopter to dispatch for that day’s mission, he had been smiling. The detail was no accident, either. Of all the lies in the entire situation surrounding Bell, that smile hadn’t been one of them. Sure, he didn’t lead Bell to the helicopter, but he led someone to the helicopter and he smiled at them. 

What was so worth smiling back then? 

Adler had been in the midst of a war that didn’t seem to end. One that was fed by rich men with no other fun except to watch little working class ants go off to die overseas. The only smiles that ever went around Camp Haskins were that of drunk men playing poker, betting MREs like they were anything more than flavorless packets meant to sustain. The other soldiers had no goal but to survive in the brutal fields and forests. The jungle was the only thing half of them knew at that point and it was a dangerous place. Unlike them, Adler had more than that. He was an important asset, a team leader, a man worth being revered. He had something to gain and something to lose, though. 

Something to lose.

What did he have to lose now?

Adler had a house and truck he could easily replace. Beyond that he had money and a knee injury but nothing more. What did he have then that he doesn’t have now? Over time all he ever did was gain more control, more money, more connections. He was even less expendable than before and, almost a greater point of satisfaction, he was a nuisance that the CIA couldn’t rid themselves of. The CIA needed him. 

If he was so needed then why was he so alone in this moment of darkness?

What was missing?

Adler’s eyes slowly drifted towards the archway into the kitchen. He couldn’t see it but he knew what he was looking for. The trash can. The tape. His ex wife. She had given him someone to come home to, someone to care for, someone to live for. She was his purpose.

Now she was missing. Not even that, no. Adler knew she was somewhere. In fact, if anything, she was somewhere here in San Diego. He was here too. 

Or was he? 

The man surely was here in the flesh, but without his purpose, that thing which sustained him and seemed to justify every misdeed he’d ever committed, he wasn’t truly there in his head.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

I would like to request Golf ⛳️

I was so hoping someone would! 😂 I've been wanting to do something like this for awhile so I hope you enjoy!

The Took Family's Tournament of Arms

Rating: G

Warning(s): N/A

Word Count: 2008

When Bilbo told Thorin they were going to be using ‘clubs’ at his family’s tournament, he had incorrectly assumed it was some sort of feat of combat. Maybe clubs as substitutes for swords to prevent accidental bloodshed. Thorin had found it odd for hobbits to have such a tournament at the time, but then again, Bilbo was always telling him that the Tooks were odd. Staring down at the wooden and iron sticks with different sized heads on the end, Thorin didn’t know what to think.

“Well it’s a golf tournament, my sweet.” Bilbo huffed in exasperation while shaking his head after Thorin addressed his confusion. “What else would we use?”

That did very little to actually clear anything up for him. Bilbo had used that word before. ‘Golf’. Supposedly, according to Gandalf’s rendition, Bilbo was quick to point out, it was a game invented by Bilbo’s ancestor when he killed the goblin king in an ancient battle. It had been a very dwarvish tale. Everyone had been very impressed that Bilbo came from a line of hobbit warriors, and when Bilbo mentioned that his family continued to host a golf tournament every spring, Thorin thought for sure it was an exhibition of skill. Watching Bilbo’s uncles and cousins warm-up by sweeping the head of the club along the ground as they arced it from shoulder to shoulder, Thorin was getting the feeling it was definitely some exhibition of skill. Just none that he was familiar with.

“Would you rather wait for me in the smial?” Bilbo asked, placing a hand on his forearm.

Thorin saw some of the hobbits look over at them and smirk. Thorin bristled at the small show of superiority. No, he most certainly would not wait in the smial. He would compete in their show of arms, and he would emerge victorious. After all, he wanted to earn the respect of these Tooks and gain their blessing before he officially offered his engagement to Bilbo.

Bilbo still seemed hesitant about leaving him, but his cousin, Siggy, swung an arm around Thorin’s shoulders claiming he would take good care of him. Bilbo’s pointed look told Thorin all he needed to know about how much he would be able to trust Siggy in this venture. They had been divided into groups of four. Bilbo had been placed with his Uncle Gorbadoc, his Uncle Isembold, and his cousin, Adler, in the first group. Thorin was with Siggy, Bilbo’s uncle, Isembard (yes, apparently different uncles), and his cousin, Fortinbras, the Thain. Which was good for Thorin as he felt like Fortinbras as head of the household and head of the Shire would be the one he needed to impress.

Thorin watched as Bilbo walked up to part of the grass that had been sectioned off by two chopped logs. He placed a little white ball on the ground, and grabbed one of the wooden clubs. He did that strange swing Thorin had been observing the other hobbits do a couple of times before stepping up to the ball. When he swung again, the ball went sailing straight down the line of cut grass towards the flag at the end. All the other hobbits clapped so Thorin did as well, only to earn glares for how loud he was clapping. 

Bilbo gave him a bright smile and a wave as he picked up his bag of clubs and wandered down towards his ball with the others in his group. Thorin still understood absolutely nothing about this showcase. Siggy was the one to explain it to him. He would take the clubs to hit the ball down the ‘fairway’ until it got into the hole marked by the flag. If he did it in the least number of swings, he won. It sounded easy enough, and he figured his dwarven strength would give him an advantage on getting the ball to sail further. Siggy gave him advice on how to swing the club that Thorin tried to file away, but quickly became overwhelmed. He would just swing it how he thought was best. How hard could it be to hit a stationary ball?

Finally, his group was ready to hit, and Thorin was invited to go first. Siggy pulled out the wooden club with the biggest head and handed it to him as well as set his ball up a little higher with a thimble full of sand. Thorin quirked an eyebrow before approaching the ball, and standing the way he had seen Bilbo do so just moments ago. Thorin lined up the club, pulled it back like he would an axe, and swung down as hard as he could.

Thorin’s hands jarred when he came in contact with the ground just behind the ball, snapping the head off the end of the club. He could hear the hisses and sympathetic noises from his audience causing his cheeks to burn. Siggy was quick to rush up there with a hand on his shoulder, and another club in his hand. 

“Sweep it. Don’t ground it.” He offered as if those words meant anything to Thorin.

Thorin pulled the club back again, this time with the intent of not hitting down so much, only to swing right over the top of the ball. He nearly lost his balance as the club wrapped around him, and the loud guffaws made it quite clear his clumsy moment didn’t go unnoticed. Thorin already hated this game, and the advice being shouted at him didn’t make it any better.

“Don’t break your wrists!”

“Pull more with your left side!”

“Don’t lean back on your heels!”

“Keep your head down!”

Siggy was back at his side in a moment. “Well that was a mighty spectacular whiff, Master Dwarf.”

Thorin may have hated Bilbo’s cousin while he was at it.

“You want to make a ‘U’ with your arms. Go from shoulder to shoulder, and don’t try so hard to hit it. The club will do all the work.”

Despite his every instinct to give up this ridiculous game and cut his losses there, Thorin stepped up to the ball a third time. He focused more on making contact than getting power, and he finally hit the ball…only for it to roll barely twenty feet. Thorin’s shoulders sagged as he was given some half-hearted claps. 

“At least you hit it that time.” Siggy remarked as Fortinbras took his place.

Thorin took it back. He absolutely loathed this game. But he was not a quitter. He was committed to seeing it through. So Thorin muddled through getting the ball up to the flag. Trading the wooden clubs for iron clubs that did not improve his odds. At one point, he finally managed to hit it far, only for it to go shooting off to the right. Thorin gave Siggy a murderous glare especially when the hobbit shrugged.

“You turned your club head out.”

So many rules! How could there be so many things he had to watch out for when you were using a stick to hit a ball?! He finally, finally got on the shorter grass with the flag, and Siggy handed him another iron club with a flat head that he called a ‘putter’. 

“Just a little push, and you’re done with this hole.” He encouraged.

A little push. Thorin could do that. He lined up the ball with the hole, pulled back and hit through, thinking he was finally done. Then the ball turned to the left and rolled further away. Siggy winced.

“Should have mentioned you might want to watch out for the slope.”

Slope?! Thorin got down on all fours, not caring for how he looked as he eyed the ground. Sure enough, deceiving to the eye while standing, the ground sloped just slightly to the left. Thorin was shaking as he got back to his feet. What was the point of this?! Who would design such an evil feat of competition that made brute strength secondary to precise technique and cunning? Hobbits. That’s who. He finally got the accursed ball into the damned hole, only to be given the worst news ever. There were seventeen more holes before they were complete. 

It was Bilbo who approached Thorin from where he lay on his back beneath the tree his stupid ball was trapped behind on hole number four. 

“How are you holding up, Love?” Bilbo hummed sympathetically.

“This is the worst competition ever invented.” Thorin growled back.

“I did tell you to wait at the smial.” Bilbo pointed out.

He did. And Thorin was regretting not acting on that with all his being now. 

“Your family must think I’m an imbecile.” 

Bilbo snorted. “Do you think we didn’t all go through this ourselves when we were first starting out? If anything, they’ve been highly amused.”

“I wanted to impress them. I wanted to get their blessing.”

“Oh my dear. Come here.” Bilbo pulled Thorin up into a seated position as he cradled his face. “I am the head of my family, and you are the former king of Erebor. We don’t need anyone else’s blessings but our own.”

“Yes, but…”

Thorin was silenced with a kiss which he had to admit was quite effective. 

“All you have to do is ask me, and my family will approve.” 

“Bilbo, will you marry me?”

The hobbit smiled before kissing him again. Thorin took that as an affirmation. Especially when the hobbit leaned in further to where Thorin had to wrap him in his arms to keep them from falling over.

“Oi! Bilbo! Quit snogging your dwarf so he can hit the ball!” Siggy called over to them.

Thorin pouted when Bilbo pulled away, especially when he asked if he was going to continue or not. Thorin definitely didn’t want to continue this humiliation, but he was no quitter. Even if he rather wished he was at this moment.

“Okay, listen. If you’re going to keep doing this, we’re going to make it manageable.” Bilbo declared before kicking his ball out from behind the tree.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “I could do that?”

“Absolutely not. But you’re well on your way to averaging triple par so I doubt it's going to matter.”

Thorin had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but if it kept him from banging his head into the tree, he was okay with it.

“Now, as for you being able to hit. Do you remember that sword move you were showing me the other day? The one where you sweep under your opponent’s guard one-handed? Yeah, you’re going to do that. Only with your left hand.”

That was it? Why wasn’t that explained to him that way before?! Instead he had been given inane rhymes like ‘grip it tight, crank it right’. Thorin was warring between disbelief and irritation as he stepped up to the ball and followed Bilbo’s advice. For the first time all day, the ball sailed through the air and landed next to the hole. The hobbits in Thorin’s group gave him cries of surprise and enthusiastic claps. Thorin turned back to Bilbo, beaming proudly and kissed him quite thoroughly.

“I love you.” He declared when he pulled away.

Bilbo grinned. “It’s not a perfect solution, but at least it’ll get you through today. We can practice later.”

“Bilbo, with as much respect towards you and your family competition but Mordor will freeze over before I play this game again.”

Bilbo merely laughed and wished him luck as he went back to his own group. Thorin approached the ball, pleased that he was to the point where all he had to do was push it into the hole. He lined it up, double checked the slope of the ground, and gave it a small hit. Only for it to bounce over the hole and keep rolling.

“You were hitting downhill. You don’t need to give it that much push.” Siggy snickered.

Thorin changed his mind. He was just going to wait back at the smial for Bilbo.

Ask me for more Happy Hobbit Spring prompts! for @acorn-and-oakleaves

[bellesdreamyprofile]

chapter 11 - 1952

previous part

ELVIS PRESLEY

This was my third year in Memphis and all I could think of was the one more year of high school I had to suffer through. That was the only thought that kept me going. The vision of me graduating and making my mama proud. The only thought that motivated me to not drop out.

I wasn't a bad student, it was just difficult to adapt. The kids back in Tupelo never judged me as I played the guitar — they didn't admire me either, but they accepted me. I could play my guitar and whistle my favorite tunes during recess and nobody could say I wasn't allowed do it. I was safe there — in my own way.

I couldn't say the same about the Humes High School, though. It wasn't all too easy to fit in, considering I wasn't the most confident guy around. Kids ignored me for a couple of months and then eventually started acknowledging me. All them kids knew each other from before, so it was obvious that nobody was gonna want anything to do with me.

But that was alright, because I had that one vision in my head.

I wanted to get a job to make sure my family never had to struggle again.

I wasn't all alone, though. I often found myself at the parks at Lauderdale Courts — usually for a little bit of guitar playing, since Dodger always complained about the noise in the house. One afternoon I met a trio of guys: Farley Guy, Paul Dougher, and Buzzy Forbess. They came up to me, saying they hadn't seen me around and after I introduced myself, we became friends. That summer we went to the movies, swam, played football, wandered downtown, and even earned money mowing yards with a push mower purchased by my daddy.

They knew about my interest in music and they were supportive. We didn't share the same dream, but we did want to get our families out of their debts.

The little apartment we stayed in seemed even smaller at night, as we had to squeeze in five people in total; our newest additions being Pandora and Grandma Dodger, whose sassy remarks always made my day. Daddy got that promotion in '49 and mama found a job at a hospital as a nurse's aid. Pandora was the one who struggled the most. 

It was heartbreaking to witness — the close bond she had with her daughter was gone and it showed on her through puffy eyes, tired face and low mood. As the months passed, she grew accustomed to Memphis and the positive changes were visible on her. The change of scenery did her good. She would never be the same again, but the glow on her face whenever she came home from work was priceless. Or the way I would come home early and I'd catch my mama and 'Dora drink their usual coffees with the biggest smiles on their faces. Anyone and anything that made my mama happy, made me happy.

Today was one of those days. I got off earlier than usual and was on my way home. There was that weird smell pre-rain that lingered in the air that I hated so much. Because it meant mud and dirt. And my mama scolding me for bringing dirt in the house. I could hear my boots squeak with every step I took. I huffed in annoyance. 

However, as soon as I walked inside I already knew something had shifted. The silence was unusual and the lights weren't on.

"Mama?", I called and received no response. I took off my boots and set them aside, walking in properly. "'Dora?", I called and got nothing. Though as I reached the kitchen table I stopped in my tracks. Pandora's back was turned to me as her body shook with, what I assumed were, sobs.

"'Dora?", I carefully called again. I extended my hand and placed it on her right shoulder, trying to give her some comfort. Though as I moved closer, my eyes caught sight of papers on the table. Letters. More letters. Four stack of unopened letters at far right of the circular table.

"What are these, 'Dora?", her heart wrenching sobs filled the room and I couldn't help, but pull her into a hug. My confused eyes took notice of the familiar cursive handwriting and suddenly my own eyes filled up with tears.

My sweet Cece Flora.

"I-I found t-these—"

"Deep breaths, 'Dora, deep breaths.", I murmured as my hand went up and down her back in comfort. Her sobs quietened, making me blink quickly to get rid of the salty tears from my own eyes.

"These a-are Cece's l-letters to y-you, Elvis.", my hand movement came to a halt as I felt a shiver down my spine at her words.

"These ain't yours?", Pandora shook her head at my question as more tears rolled down her cheeks. "All those years... I thought...", my words were a mere whisper in the thick air.

"I thought she didn't care.", I said finally and almost instantly, a weight seemed to be lifted off my chest. She cared. She always had.

"I-I don't understand, 'Dora. I never got a letter from her—"

"Booby! You home early?"

And then it all clicked.

The lights switched on as I made eye contact with my mother, whose eyes held confusion. Though she gasped at the sight of her crying friend. She moved forward, dropping her purse, and caressed Pandora's wet cheek. "What happened?"

I looked at my mama and then at the stacks of letters. I gently pulled away from Pandora and moved to grab one and toyed with its weight, my eyes fixated on the letters.

"How could you do this to me, mama?", I heard another low gasp.

"Oh, Elvis—"

"Mama, it was you?", my eyes finally found hers. "All these years where I cried and I wrote.", I continued. "She always wrote back. And I had no idea."

"Booby, I'll explain—"

"Please help me understand, mama, because— I-I can't believe this...", I pinched the bridge of my nose as I felt my chest ache with an unexplainable feeling. My mama has always been a selfless person, so how could such a gesture seem so selfish to me? There had to be an explanation. There had to be a reason as to why she would hide something of such value. 

"I-I need some fresh air.", Pandora's words made my head snap in her direction. And there was her progress. All gone.

I walked up to her and wrapped an arm around hers. "I'll walk you to the balcony, 'Dora.", she shook her head, letting go of my touch.

"I need some time alone. Thank you, Elvis.", her words were a mere whisper, though I caught the pain in them. I let out a deep breath and turned to my mama, whose gaze was fixated on the letters on the table.

"I've disappointed my best friend.", she murmured.

"So did I.", I said to myself and pulled out a chair. I sat down and reached to grab a stack of letters. I pulled at the string tying them together and silently opened an envelope. 

"1946.", I muttered under my breath. "That was the first letter. From 1946.", I managed to make out a "dear Elvis" and then my vision blurred with tears. I quickly blinked them away and set the paper down.

"Why, mama?", I heard the screeching from the chair as she pulled it out so she could also have a seat.

"I didn't think she cared that much... So much to keep writing for years.", I remained silent. "I didn't recognize the first letter since that was a California address. When the third arrived I realized those were from her.", my mama's hands intertwined on the table as she let out a deep breath.

"You were a little boy, Booby, I didn't want you to hurt like 'Dora did.", she confessed.

I looked up. "But I did, mama.", I revealed. "Because I thought she didn't care. I thought she forgot about me.", my mama's head hung low in shame.

"I genuinely thought she would stop... Poor baby couldn't write nothing.", she let out a small chuckle as she brushed a lone tear away. My lips twitched a little at the memory of a young Cece learning how to write.

"I never opened none of them, son.", she said, though at her tone I looked over, only to find more tears rolling down her face. Her eyes were red and her hands looked for a tissue from the table. "I regret hiding them from you, Elvis.", mama placed her hand on top of mine and brushed her thumb on the back of it. "If I could take it back, I would."

I didn't know what to say. I knew that my mama's words were sincere, but how could I move on from this? Was I supposed to forget them letters? Was I supposed to erase Cece from my memory?

My mama getting up brought me out of my thoughts. I looked up and sighed. There was no way I could stay mad at her. I wasn't exactly jumping in joy at the revelation, however that also proved that Cece was still there.

"When has she stopped writing?"

"The year your daddy got the promotion.", she answered. I heard a click and looked over, noticing she had opened a vodka bottle.

"So '49. When we moved.", mama simply hummed and poured herself a glass of the alcohol.

I sighed at the sight. "You shouldn't be drinking, mama.", she simply shook her head at my words and downed the drink in no time. She gave me no answer as she closed the bottle of vodka and set it in the back of the cupboard.

"I know that what I did was... Unforgivable...", she said slowly, making me look over. "I'm sorry, Booby.", she walked back to me and placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch not bringing me any comfort this time. 

I kept my eyes down as she squeezed my shoulder. "I'll go talk to 'Dora.", and my mama walked away. I groaned and let my head touch the table in frustration. Moments like these, where I needed my peace and tranquility, I wished I still had my treehouse. I'd sneak out and head there, calming down with the chirping birds and little squirrels. 

I grabbed the stacks of letters, checked if mama was coming back and headed to walk out. I didn't have no tree house, but there was still the park at Lauderdale Courts.

I needed to sort out my thoughts.

I put on my dirty boots again and walked out, the humidity still lingered heavily in the air. My palms were sweating, almost as if I was afraid of what she could've written as a ten year old. That little girl had no bad bone in her body — I knew that, and I had a strong feeling that her kindness stayed with her even after all these years.

"Hey man!", I turned around and waved with my free arm at Buzzy. "You comin' to a jam session later?"

I started walking backwards. "Sure, usual spot?"

"Yes, sir.", he nodded and saluted. I waved back at him and turned around, my feet carrying me to the familiar spot, which ironically was a tree. It was the furthest tree at Lauderdale Courts. It was no tree house, but it still brought some calmness to my stormy mind. I sat down and gazed up at the sky, taking notice of the greying sky. It probably would've rained soon.

I set down the letters and looked at them. There was a magnetic force pulling me to read every little word she had written, but at the same time that was the last thing I wanted to do. I was scared Cece was going to resent me. I was scared she would hate me for something I had no control over.

And before I could think twice about it, my hands reached for the first stack — the one I had opened back at home — and grabbed the second letter. My eyes scanned every word and with each letter I noticed the way her cursive would change or the way she would cross a word multiple times when she got it wrong. At the end of the first stack, I breathed out in relief. She didn't hate me. Cece missed me.

Too many hours passed and too many letters were read. I laughed and even shed a few tears. Until I came towards the end.

"—Maybe we can sing it together when I'm back? My step siblings are okay now for the most part. It's still weird seeing my daddy so happy with someone other than my mama. He said that maybe we're paying you a visit. Visit or not I'm staying there and I'll never come back again.

Hope your mama and daddy are doing fine. Miss you,

Cece"

Cece still had the same vision I had and with the dream I recently had, her letter only enforced me. I smiled at her words and folded the letter back into its envelope. There was one last letter, though it was dated 1950. The year made my brows furrow in confusion, as I knew that my mama mentioned the last letter being from the year we moved — 1949.

"March 23rd 1950

Dear Elvis,

my daddy finally gave in. It took me lots of convincing, it wasn't fun, but I did it. I was back home in Tupelo with my daddy, stepmother and my stepsisters. Matilda, one of my stepsisters, was kind of excited to meet you. Don't bother asking. Of course I also couldn't wait to see you — but I also couldn't wait to see my mama. I hadn't seen her in years, just so daddy could prove a stupid point. Anyways. 

We were at my mama's house and she wasn't there. I thought she was with Gladys, drinking her coffee, but she wasn't. Alberta told me you guys moved to Memphis. I wish mama told me something about it. I'm kind of worried about her, could you please check up on her? In case you get this letter, of course. Either way, I hope you're happy there. I heard Memphis is great for the music. Maybe I'll hear you on the radio someday—"

My chest burned as I pictured her standing on her own porch, waiting for her mama to open the door to welcome her in her arms. And she never did.

"—Here's the song I promised you. That's Alright Mama. You can change the lyrics if you'd like. It's yours now. If you ever make it to the radio, sing it, Elvis. That way I'll know you got it. 

Since I don't know what's your address now, this is my last letter to you. Take care of my mama for me.

With love,

Cece Flora."

That was the last letter from the stack. 

index chapter 12

[hannahssimblr]

I wander through the food stalls in the late afternoon once I’ve inevitably lost the others, and join a long queue for food. Chips. This seems to be ninety percent of my diet these days. Chips and the kinds of sweets from the corner shop that burn the coating off my tongue. I pay for them and some sad, limp looking hotdog and wolf them down before hopping into the queue for the bar. I get three beers, all with the lids confiscated. Necking them all is the only way to avoid the inconvenience of carrying them upright for several hours, and while I do it, I wander through the festival in a relatively aimless search of a familiar face. 

The festival is in a field, or several, somewhere. I really have no sense of where I am according to a map. By the edge of the campsite, a path meanders into a small wood decorated with ribbons and hanging lamps in the foliage overhead. Acoustic melodies drift down the winding path as I pass couples in hammocks and groups of friends seated in the shade among the wildflowers. 

There is a smaller stage here, wooden, with a tarp hung overhead, housing musicians who play a lazy tune to a crowd on the picnic blankets and cushions scattered across the grass. A group of people in weird clothing dance in a circle, doing the type of moves people only seem to do when they’re familiar with the bong. Swaying, arms loose and hair, (because they all have long hair,) swishing across their backs. I seat myself on the grass in the dappled shade of an oak tree to finish my last beer, watching them as I let the alcohol slowly take over my body with that familiar, hazy weight. 

Eventually, one dancer sees me. Our eyes meet across the clearing and I feel embarrassed for looking at all. She smiles this slow, tranquil smile and begins a slow dance in my direction. 

“Fuck sake.” I think. “Why was I looking? Now I’m going to have to speak to this weird hippie-”

“Are you joining us, or are you just having a look?” She has a country accent I don’t recognise, but since I’m ignorant of all that exists outside of Dublin city, this much is not surprising. 

“I’m just, uh, I’m just looking, I suppose.”

“You seem a wee bit glum.”

“Right well, I’m fine, so.”

“I assumed you were looking over at us because you felt like a dance, but were feeling shy.”

I hack out a laugh. “What? No. No, I don’t dance like that.”

“‘Like that’? Like what?”

I peer over to the others behind her, one of which appears to believe he’s floating through time and space. “I’m not even nearly stoned enough, to be honest.”

“Ah, well, easy fix there. You could be stoned.” She sticks her hand into the pocket of her big patchwork skirt and offers me a rolled joint, but I shake my head and push it away. “Look, thanks, but I don’t smoke.”

“Do you do anything else?” she rummages through another pocket. 

“Not right now.”

“What’s wrong with now?”

“It’s about four in the afternoon.”

“It’s a festival. We don’t currently exist under the constraints of society. You don’t have to wait until it’s dark to do pills here, or whatever it is you think. You can be a free man, anybody you want to be.”

I shake my head. “You’d only be wasting them on a stranger. Don’t.”

She plonks next to me in the grass. The smell from her clothes is like the health food shop in town, where Jen buys those enormous bags of sesame sticks to munch with deliberate obnoxiousness in the middle of religion class.

She says, “You seem forlorn. I have this sense that you ought to be happier.”

I regard her for a moment, her red curls wild, the sun catching a halo of frizz around a circular face. “Look, if you’re coming over here for some other reason, like, you know… if this is about you wanting to-”

“I don’t fancy you, or anything like that.” She says, then, after I pause, she adds, “sorry to shock you, but I’m not interested.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you offended?”

I hesitate. “No.” 

“You’re hardly making an assumption because I’m a girl doing something nice for you, are you? This doesn’t mean I want something more from you. You get that, right?”

I shrug. 

“Because that’s what boys do. They’re only nice to girls they think are hot.”

“Speaking from experience?”

She sighs, a great, long sigh of something like satisfaction with herself for having figured me out. “See, you would have been quite mean to me in school, wouldn’t you?”

I survey her for a few moments, then decide on cautious honesty. “Probably.”

“I’m healing at the moment. I’m seeking empathy for the kinds of people who I feel resentment towards. I thought I’d come over and offer you, and by extension every sporty, slightly ignorant boy from my secondary school…” She pulls a small baggie out of that skirt pocket and her face lights up with surprised delight, “ketamine! See it as a peace offering.” 

I ignore it until she puts it away. 

“You actually remind me of my friend.” I tell her.

“Interesting.” 

“She’s got the same hair, whenever she doesn’t straighten it, and stuff, it’s kind of curly like yours.”

“Ah, and is she also a massive babe?”

I pause.

“God. I was joking. You can say that she’s pretty without slipping up and complimenting me, too. Don’t worry, I won't get the wrong idea.”

“Yeah, Alison’s pretty. She doesn’t really, um, wear the clothes you wear, or anything, there’s just something about your hair, I suppose, and parts of your face that remind me of her.”

“Is Alison here today?”

“No, she’s in Dublin. I… yeah.”

The girl grins and bites her lip impishly. “So this friend, is she just a friend, or do you love her or something?”

I’m rendered momentarily speechless by the strangeness of this conversation. Who is this person, this Alison imposter? I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t like that with us. She’s a friend.”

“But you want more.” She prompts, and I furrow my brow. “You’re fairly nosy. Did you know that?”

“You’ve just started telling me this. I’m only listening to you.”

“Fair enough. I don’t know, anyway, maybe I wanted more at a certain time, but I’m just kind of like that with a lot of girls, like, I just get, like, feelings about them. It’s the main thing that’s wrong with me at the moment.”

“Explain that to me some more. Do they not feel it back, or?”

“Well, that’s not the issue, usually.”

“Ah,” she says, “You’ve got other, deep dark, brooding things going on, then.”

I lay my empty beer bottle on the grass. It tips over and rolls down the little incline where we sit, out of reach. I leave it there. “I suppose.”

Someone in the band has whipped out a sitar, sending psychedelic sounds over the crowd, and I sort of feel like my body is ascending to another realm, transported right back to that time Jen and I did mushrooms in a carpark and all the vehicles started looking like big weird bugs. It's dreamlike, transcendent, like I’m not real, and nothing I say holds any weight. I’m just a soul in the woods with a ginger girl in fairy clothes offering me bags of pills. 

“So, are you sad about Alison?” She says. 

“That’s part of it.”

“And the other parts, are they related to women, too?”

“Everything’s related to women a bit, isn’t it?”

“I’m very curious about what’s wrong with you.”

I let out a short, self-conscious laugh and pluck a blade of grass from the ground. 

“You don’t have to tell me. I just wonder what has you sad and alone in absolutely glorious weather, on the first day of a festival.”

“That’s why you came over, is it?”

“Yeah, in part. I’m saving you the same way I’d save a baby bird chucked out of its nest.”

“You look like you’d do that,” I say derisively, “and you'd disrupt the entire hangout so you could call the SPCA.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Yeah, ‘cause I would.”

“Okay, well, you could be working on me for a while. I think there’s everything wrong with me currently, so.”

“Well, I’m high as fuck, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Right.” I concentrate intently on the grass in my hand, folding it, knotting it, then breaking it apart, centimetre by centimetre. The girl, Not Alison. Weed Alison, sits there patiently as I repeat this process, plucking grass, fiddling with it, breaking it, flicking the bits away.

There’s a chance, I realise, I am becoming a weird man. A man who does things like this, who sits with a person he has never met before, and begins telling her private things about himself. Next thing I know, I’ll be fifty-eight years old and doing this to college girls on the bus as they try their best to ignore me and look out the window as I miss their every signal. The outlook isn't great.

This girl is asking questions because she is overly interested in other people’s lives and sees me as something amusing to be played with. Intellectually, I know this, yet there is a part of me that believes she has genuine concern for me and my wellbeing, like I really am some rejected baby bird. I experience a wave of momentary anger at her for confusing me until it becomes suddenly clear that I am angry at myself for the things that I feel. 

Still, the truth, having been given permission to emerge, rises in my stomach like bile.

I’m horrified to feel emotion swelling behind my face, and wait a long time to speak, in case my voice cracks and humiliates me. “I think I’m in love with someone.” 

“Oh, right,” she says, like this piece of information is not as astounding as I assumed it would be. “Someone other than your Alison friend.”

“Yeah, someone else.”

“Another she? Or a he, this time?”

I huff out a laugh. “A she.”

“Have you mentioned it to her?”

“God, no.”

“Do you plan to?”

“It’s pretty obvious to me that she’s better off not knowing.”

Her face lights up. “Ah, because she’s together with somebody else. Your friend, right? Your best friend.”

“Why are you making this into a soap opera? She’s not with anyone else... I don't think. It’s just, logistically. It’s not right.”

“So you’re kind of… not following your heart.”

“Fucked if I know what I’m doing, to be honest.” 

“Well,” she says, leaning thoughtfully onto her elbows, “What would happen if you told her about what you’re feeling?”

I glare at her in outrage.

She blinks. “Well, don’t you think she might like to know?”

“No, it’d be the worst thing possible. I’ll ruin her.”

“Maybe it’d be worse if you didn’t tell her.”

I have to stare at her for several seconds while I formulate a response. “It’s best for us both that I say nothing.”

“You have to tell her. What if she feels the same? What if she’s just waiting for you to say something? What if you’re both afraid for the same reason? What if you miss your chance and never get another?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Have you ever kissed her?”

“No.”

She gasps, eyes dancing. “You must. What if it’s fab?”

“That’d be worse than not doing it at all.”

She cocks her head, “I don’t understand you. What about this love you supposedly feel?”

“It’s just a summer thing. I’ll get over it.” 

A sigh. “Okay”

“I always do.”

“Until you don’t.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that mean?”

“It means you do until you don’t. I thought that too, once, and then-”

“Eimear!” One of the dancing hippies calls out to her as the melody changes again, to something lively and upbeat. “Are you bringing your little chavvy friend to dance or not?”

She looks at me, and I shake my head firmly. 

“No,” she calls back, “He's decided against it.”

The group boos me heartily as she climbs to her feet, making such a scene with their disapproval that others turn to have a look, and to smile at me in that sympathetic way that you do to a child that is failing to fit in with his peers. I am a spectacle in football shorts among the harem-pantsed congregation. 

“Let yourself experience love.” Eimear says in parting, as serenely, she drifts towards her friends, twirling in a meadow of dog daisies. 

“Right, yeah.” I say, and get up to wander back the way I came, wobbly on my feet as the full force of the beers I necked in one go hits me all at once. And as I leave the strange, hazy dreamland behind and reenter the grungy reality of the main arena, I reach into my pocket and discover something that wasn’t there before. 

It’s a baggie with three pink, pressed ketamine pills. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[sageryuri]

BETWEEN HIS FINGERS, JAKE SIM.

pairing jake sim + fem!reader.

genre i’m not really sure what to class this as, they’re just friends who can’t seem to talk about their feelings.

summary jake always knows you'll find him, and you know he can always make you feel better.

word count 0.9k

warnings alcohol usage, marijuana usage,

an sorry for those waiting for the sunghoon fic, i’m so busy atm and havent had time to attend to it :(

There's nothing you hate more than house parties.

People are bumping into you from every corner; their hot, drunk breaths on your neck bother you more and more with every second. It was barely twelve yet, and people were already out of their minds, you couldn't tell who were incredibly drunk or had taken pills because they all seemed to act exactly the same.

You look around trying to find your friends, but it appears they have been dragged into the chaos as they break out moves in the centre of the living room. You've already lost them in the storm, there's no turning back now.

Drinking wasn't the go-to, not for you. With a lack of control once you start drinking, it always leads to bad decisions and tears. Instead, you stuck with the delicacy of dried leaves crumbled into a thin paper- or a bong.

It was never your friends taste, so it was rare you ever had any at parties, considering strangers would be begging you for it. You just had to keep an eye out for one person in particular.

You're sure he's locked himself in someone's bedroom, making himself comfortable with the open window with a well-rolled joint resting between his fingers. That's if he had even turned up, feeling similarly about these parties to you, only being there to babysit.

"Hey, Leah! I'm gonna go and find Jake, you all going to be okay by yourselves?" You shouted across the room, waving your arms wildly for your friend to see. Leah sees you, albeit with a headache-inducing blur, she grins widely and offers a thumbs up while bopping her head to the music.

That's enough for you to wander off on your own adventure to find your trusted companion who's sitting on a goldmine of desired goods.

You watch your step while you walk up the stairs, avoiding the light-weights that are loitering so they don't trip over their own feet. There's a deep red stain on the top step which makes you wince knowing this is in fact Mark's parents house, and he's going to get more than a slap over the head when they come back home in the next week.

There's multiple doors, as you would assume there would be in such a house. So many doors, yet none seemed to stick out to you, apart from the one that had been slammed shut by a couple as soon as you took your last step.

A sign that writes 'Mark's room' with 'DO NOT ENTER' plastered underneath seems plausible and you find yourself laughing at the superhero stickers spread across it. To be polite, you knock four times and await the sound of Australian twang behind the door.

"I've been waiting for you!" He shouts, and you take that as an invitation, opening the door and shutting it just as quickly. As expected, Jake has perched himself on the window ledge, smoke falling from his lips.

He has always been so hypnotic. You'd never admit it to him no matter how close the two of you were, no matter how many times he would say you could tell him anything, but you could stare at him for hours and hours.

There was an unusual time where the two of you were so high you could barely move, having to lay next to each other in silence. At one moment, you had only examined each other, and your finger began to trace every detail of his face. After that, neither of you really decided to speak about it, leaving things how they had always been.

Confusing, frustrating- yet blissful.

"I was hoping you would be around here somewhere. I wish I'd come up here earlier, it's a complete mess down there." You sigh, sitting down on Mark's bed and closing your eyes. The music is not so loud, and you can hardly hear anyone outside the door, just the quieter whispers in the back garden.

"That's why I've been up here, knew you were gonna come up here eventually." He stands up, makes his way over to you and passes you the joint; which you happily take, "You look really pretty, by the way. Never seen you in that dress before, I like it."

The dress had been forced upon you by Leah, who insisted it would fit you perfectly. You weren't really opposed to it, but sometimes the lingering eyes, both lusting and judging, were too much. It was tight around your waist, where it then flowed down to your mid thighs, a deep red colour.

"It's not mine, but I like it too. Thank you." You smile at him, taking a drag from the roll. Feeling calmer, your head falls onto Jake's shoulder and his arm sneaks around your waist to hold you up comfortably, "Do you think Mark will be angry we're smoking in his room?"

"Nah. He's got bigger things to deal with than a little marijuana in his bedroom. You see that red stain on the carpet?" He responds and you can't help but laugh after seeing it on the stairs those few minutes ago before you walked in, "It's huge. There's no way that's coming out- they're gonna make him buy a whole new carpet."

"He can afford it, he'll be fine. One hell of a stain though, I'm horrified for him." You murmur, you find yourself snuggling against him a little worse and slip the joint back into his hands. His face isn't visible to you, but you can imagine the sweet smile he always had spread across his face.

A comforting silence falls over both of you and his free hand soothingly rubs your waist. The unknowingness of your true feelings of each other leaves a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you try to enjoy the moment as you can.

[signor-signor]

Trending 27th - June 2024

What gives you the motivation for not giving up on Wander Over Yonder?

Well, for starters, when Craig McCracken brought up the uncalled-for cancellation, he also brought up the existence of…

The Plans

Here’s what Craig said in his Tumblr post from March of 2016:

“About a year ago we presented a pitch for a season 3 arc that promised to bring our characters together in new, unexpected, and hilarious ways. And just as S2 evolved from S1, we had a really exciting approach to evolving S3 even further. We had plans for new characters, the return of old characters, and even a bit of backstory! We were all really excited about the new direction and so were our bosses at DisneyXD and TVA.”

“Unfortunately, the higher up bosses of bosses of bosses at Disney decided not to continue with the show. It's not that they didn't like Wander, they just felt that 2 seasons and 80 cartoons was enough and they didn't see the need to produce any more.”

“For the record, this decision had nothing to do with the ratings performance of S2. Truth be told, we were informed that we wouldn't be continuing before S2 even premiered.”

If what he said is to be believed, the mediocre performance of S1 on Disney XD made the “higher up bosses of bosses of bosses” think WOY shouldn’t continue after S2, so they decided to cancel it five months after the pitch, one week before The Greater Hater premiered. Big mistake. After nearly a decade, Craig still keeps the plans for S3 under wraps, but his talk of S3 is enough to pique my curiosity. He piqued it even more when he brought up Star Force Enforcement Force in 2021. Truth be told, he knows way more about that third and final season than he let on.

At first, I thought S2 would wrap up the show nicely. Boy, was I wrong - it wrapped up S2, but not the whole show. Once I checked out The End of the Galaxy, I knew right then and there that one more season was planned, because in the end credits, I saw…

The Cliffhanger

I will admit, I found the last couple of minutes anticlimactic. Dominator spurned Wander’s friendship, Hater is still cuckoo for conquering (much to Peepers’s delight), and the main four are practically back where they began. I reiterate, it wrapped up the season nicely, but not the whole show, because what I’m about to describe is indicative of the show’s unfinished business.

Dominator walks off in angry defeat, trying to peel an orange (or open a jar of jam if you prefer, assuming you looked closely at what she grabbed), and she grumbles, “They’ll get what’s coming to them.” Unbeknownst to her, she passes by a crash-landed space capsule with its door unhinged. Green lightning flashes, ominous Hater-themed music plays, and simian screeching is heard and fades into Hater’s evil laugh.

How is this anything less than an indicator of unfinished business? If stopping the show here is not a bad move, I don’t know what is. I’m positive English primatologist Jane Goodall would not be pleased with the decision to leave an ape stranded in space with no one around to help him. The question remains: who would find that space ape? Wander and the passengers aboard the Star Nomad or Star Force Enforcement Force? Only Craig and those who worked on the pitch with him would know and so would the bosses of Disney XD and DTVA. There’s also something that was on my mind after I watched the season finale. I shall now tell you about…

The Missing Pieces

I’m, of course, referring to parts that were absent from the episode and left unexplained. We’ve got the other villains, most of whom were last seen in The Bad Neighbors. Emperor Awesome made a silent appearance in The Sick Day, and that was it. As a certain @koskela13 indicated in a post 8 years ago, the villains never mustered up the courage to help the heroes fight against Dominator. There’s also Buster, the planet-sized puppy dog whom the Ballzerians call home. Since Beeza and the Ballzerians were among the refugees, he had to have fled from Dominator’s galactic onslaught. I found long ago that he’s supposed to be all right, but where he is remains to be seen. Same goes for Janet the Planet and her moon, Maurice; however, it was said that they were on their honeymoon, hence their absence in S2. Another thing that I think was left out was Wander getting to sing/play his banjo. Think about it, if the crew had wanted to stop after S2, would they have had Wander perform a glorious reprise of an upbeat song right after Dominator’s downfall? That was never done. It’s pretty obvious.

Moving right along, another thing that keeps me motivated is…

The Fan Content

Over the years, I came across countless fan pieces to make the Internet aware of the show’s existence, such as @wanderin-over-yonder’s calendars. It’s possible to come up with WOY-related activities, original characters, and meta gags.

Master Yisuko

Dr. Otmar Vunderbar

In case you haven’t guessed by now, the possibilities are endless.

I would expand more on the Star Nomad, but I’m sure you can find the information in my previous posts. As long as we’re talking fan stuff, let me refer to…

The Supporting Characters (and their VAs’ Longevities)

Apart from the five major characters, The End of the Galaxy had at least ten other characters speak solo (King Bingleborp, Destructor, the Cashier, Prince Cashmere, Neckbeard, the Lost and Found Guy, the Black Cube, Mittens, Major Threat, and Michelle). All the others barely had a chance to shine. For that reason, I put my effort into showcasing as many of them as I could in my fan fiction, The Eye on the Galaxy. What’s more, some of those characters are performed by voice actors over the age of 50. Stella Starbella was voiced by June Squibb, who was in her mid-80s while WOY was running. Today, she’s a nonagenarian, and if her performance in Inside Out 2 as Nostalgia is any indication, it’s not too late for her to reprise her role as that character. We might have until 2030 to revive the show, assuming June lives to be 100.

By the way, Major Threat was said to become a recurring character in S3, and we’ve yet to see him actually interact with Wander long after he put his days of villainy behind him.

Now I wish to bring up…

The Luck of the Other Shows

A vague and unconvincing reason for WOY’s cancellation was that two seasons/80 episodes were enough. I mean, really? Disney never felt that way about Fish Hooks, which I believe has three seasons and 110 episodes. Also, they allowed Star vs. the Forces of Evil to run for four seasons, putting it well over 100 episodes. And how about Big City Greens? Although not as frequently brought up as Gravity Falls, Amphibia, or The Owl House, it recently managed to get a whopping five seasons. They’re treating it like it’s the new Phineas and Ferb, although there’s no merchandising or presence in the parks. When I compare WOY to the aforementioned shows, it’s clear to me that it had the worst of luck. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if those other shows had pitches for later seasons. We can’t stand idly by while the plans made for WOY remain shelved. It just wouldn’t be right, y’know what I mean?

One more thing…

The Other Fandoms of Shows With Unfinished Business

I’ve noticed the presence of fans of shows that still have more to tell, including, but not limited to, Sym-Bionic Titan and Glitch Techs. One show that’s being resurrected as we speak is Sonic the Hedgehog (SatAM), which ran in the 1990s for a measly two seasons and, just like WOY, was left on a cliffhanger (in this one, Snively re-emerges in a different outfit and is raring to take his uncle’s place and put a stop to the Freedom Fighters, and behind him stands Naugus, who somehow managed to escape the void). Fortunately, a group called Team Sea3on are working on a S3 premiere titled “Return to Robotropolis.” You can find this group on just about any social media platform - their determination to right the wrong done to the show is truly inspiring.

Did I mention shows like Hey Arnold! and Samurai Jack got closure after years of being neglected and incomplete? The same thing could happen to WOY if we persevere. Invader Zim, which also only got two seasons, got its overdue closure (I think) in the form of a Netflix-exclusive movie. If a season is too much work, fewer episodes or a two-hour TV movie should suffice.

And I think that’s about it for now. I hope all this information was enough to keep you all motivated! Fight on for fairness, my friends, and to those of you who think of The End of the Galaxy only as a SEASON finale, I thank you.

#CanceledCartoons

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #29 – The Expert System’s Brother by Adrian Tchaikovsky

My public library tragically lacks the Tchaikovsky books I actually want to read (one day I shall get my hands on City of Last Chances. One day...), but it helpfully does have a random assortment of his other stuff. Among that other stuff was this rather charming little novella – hardly anything to set the world on fire, but it was a fun easy read to break the streak of a couple of disappointments.

The story follows Handry, a boy growing up in a village guided and governed by ‘ghosts’, immortal systems that fuse with and warp a suitable host to allow them to interact with the rest of the village as lawgiver, doctor, architect, or whatever else the village might require. After a deeply unfortunate accident, he ends up partially ‘severed’ – cut off from village and the world around it in a very real way, incapable of digesting food, avoided by animals, and inspiring aa visceral fight-or-flight reaction in everyone who sees him. For a time, his sister helps him survive on the village’s periphery, but when she’s selected as it’s next Doctor, her ghost finally takes a look at him and decrees he is incompatible with the community – and so he is forced to flee and wander the earth, and ends up learning the real state and history of the world.

This came out in 2018, but everything about it feels very classic sci fi – generally in a good way, to be clear. The story that exists primarily to be able to tease and then exposit about worldbuilding, the setting of an alien world inhabited by colonists who have forgotten their history and the source of the technology they rely upon, the absolute plethora of random bits of weirdness that are only really revealed implictly because they are totally normal to the protagonist (the six-legged and four-eyed bodyplan of most wildlife, for example), even the overarching theme of the perfect virtue of curiosity and questioning both charismatic authority and received tradition. It was a fun time! Made me a bit nostalgic for all my dad’s old ratty paperbacks I read as a child.

It’s definitively a novella-sized story, and I’m immensely glad Tchaikovsky didn’t try to drag out longer than it is. There are some intriguing points that are never followed up on – the tool-using and home-building aliens which every casually treats as wildlife and casually exterminates or drives out when they need more land, to begin with – that I assume are what the sequel follows up on? But this ended in the right place, and even with his voice being so present in the narration I’m not really sure Handry is enough of a character to have sustained a full novel in his head. Certainly none of the other characters got any more characterization than they strictly needed.

So yeah, no real complaints, it was an enjoyable read – but on the other hand in three months you’ll probably need to remind me that I’d actually read this.