#**this is me looking at Canon canon details so this diverges a bit from the ‘murdoc framed ace’ timeline/semicanon/etc

[dingusships]

hmmm trying 2 think of an ask for u since you're bored... what do you think is happening in the bunker Right Now

Hrrmmmm

Honestly the this is a VERY good question it made me think a lot

and the answer is

nothing! abandoned :)

I feel like maybe the “endless dark” or w/e it was was directly related to the cult stuff murdoc n them were getting mixed up in. Somehow for some reason Ace knew Some Big Shit was gonna go down & kept tabs on them (anyone remember that anonymous spoof twitter account w the green pfp? 👀) but wanted to get the hell out of dodge for whatever moonflower was planning. BUT luckily the big demon thing was defeated, the big event was thwarted forever & the band departed to new york shortly afterwards. Ace, no longer needing to hide, met up w them to supply the fake passports that would get them to India (“friend of murdoc’s”? 👀 who else would it beee).

Now he’s out of the bunker, reunited with his gang, and (hopefully) (for the most part) staying out of trouble :’)

[chigirisprincess]

His Grace is no Gentleman ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— Wriothesley

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, afab!reader (they wear a dress but are not referred to by feminine terms or gender pronouns), Wrio is taller than the reader (he is 6'6), author self insert coded fic, arranged dates, courtship, childhood friends, awkward tension, societal conventions, first date, semi-public sex, oral sex (reader receiving), clothed sex, unprotected sex, creampies, doggy style, Wrio is a gentleman, reader is a hot mess, slight insecurities, ambiguous ending. ⊹ Run time. 4.3k ⊹ Note. I started this fic before he was introduced in the archon quest so his lore doesn't line up 100% to canon so consider this a canon divergent fic <3

❝After years apart, you find yourself on a date with your childhood friend Wriothesley. With late summer heat that stifles and chokes and an unbearable amount of tension, you search for a way to reconnect with the stranger who stands before you.❞

The August air was stifling, a thick muggy heat hung low around the Court of Fontaine. Sweat and moisture clung to bodies like a second skin as summer held its last hurrah before fall elbowed its way in and left the region plunged in the wet season. Both were tortuous in their own ways but as you stood among throngs of hot, sweat-dabbled bodies, you’d much rather be shivering and damp as the cool autumn air rattled your bones. The small, lace-covered fan that hung off your wrist did little to quell the flush that filled your cheeks. It pushed around the warm air and swatted the heavy perfume that the woman next to you wore into your throat and eyes, making you choke.

Pushing your way out of the main gala room, you stumble through the halls, opening and closing doors until you happen upon a small empty room that looks upon one of the dozen decorative balconies that cover the outside of the building. The door shuts behind you with a loud slam but you pay little mind to it as you plop onto the first cushy chair within your reach. The cool evening air that filtered in through the open windows provided the slightest bit of relief. Plucking the gloves off your fingers you sigh, slouching further into your chair.

“I take it the gala has bored you?” A familiar voice asks, you jolt upright, your heart leaping in surprise, “I suppose I should have warned that the twins do take their time in setting up the stage for their performance.”

Wriothesley hovers near the doorway, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. You had been so wrapped up in making yourself comfortable you didn’t notice the door opening behind you. Rising to your feet, you attempt to mask the cringe that covers your expression. 

“Your grace!” You exclaim, smoothing the layers of your skirt down in an attempt to make yourself appear presentable, “You have it all wrong! I was feeling faint from the heat.”

His pale blue eyes flit up and down your figure, “You do appear rather … flustered,” he states, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I extended to you an invitation to attend this gala with me.”

“Indeed, you did,” you blink.

“That makes me your date,” Wriothesley all but spells out, “You could have told me you were feeling ill.”

“Right.”

Guilt burns in your stomach. You had been a bit bored making small talk and you would have bolted at the first chance even if you hadn’t been sweltering. Wriothesley was a kind enough man and though you knew him during the tender years of childhood, the unfamiliarity that came with your growing pains left each interaction with him rather awkward. He was never the most talkative child and now as a man grown he’d become hardened by life and his stringent line of work. His austere gaze was disconcerting and unintentionally left your skin pimpled by chills.

“My apologies, your grace,” you reflexively dip your head into an apologetic bow, “I was not thinking clearly, I did not intend to abandon you, I assure you that I am very grateful to be here with you.”

It only takes a few steps for Wriothesley to stand before you thanks to his long stride. He appears somewhat disappointed in your response and you're an inch away from trying to kick yourself for offending him. A gasp cuts through the air when Wriothesley’s fingers wrap around your face, your lips forcibly protruding as he squishes your cheeks in the palm of his hand. The callouses that mar his skin are rough against your face, now that he’s just inches away you can see the blotchy yellow bruises littered across both of his knuckles and the barely visible mark on the underside of his jaw.

“I hate when you call me that,” he grits, a rare look of frustration crossing his features, “You know my name, you can say it.”

His voice is stern, but you don’t feel as if you’re being scolded though he regards you as little other than a petulant child. 

“I want you to.”

You blankly blink up at him, gesturing with your hand to where he holds your face. Wriothesley releases you with an apology muttered beneath his breath, loudly clearing his throat afterward.

“Wriothesley,” the syllables of his name feel strange on your tongue after all these years, too many were spent turning him into some imposing, faraway figure, “You should know I have never been one to enjoy the festivities or formalities of court, the demands are far too taxing on my delicate constitution.”

He laughs at your slight joke and you crack a demure smile. It frustrated your parents and governess endlessly, your staunch refusal to partake in anything resembling formal gathering utterly maddening on the best of days. He’d seen the worst when you were six and he was ten but all that remained of that day was hazy memories of a tantrum, being dragged kicking and screaming down the stairs, and your parents' embarrassed expressions as they apologized to Wriothesley’s family for the dramatics on your behalf. But, you were no longer six and ten, a meltdown was no way to react to an invitation when you were well into your twenties even when the thought of spending time alone with a childhood friend felt all too daunting.

Every detail had to be nothing short of perfection when toeing about the court. Though, Wriothesley had been afforded the luxury of escaping such lessons as he grew far from the controlling hands of society. Etiquette lessons and expectations did not taint him or plague his mind as they did you. His gentlemanly disposition must have been pure charm on his part, he’d been kind to you and nothing short of gallant despite his rather gruff exterior. His reputation greatly preceded him these days and the weight of this evening was not lost to you. It wasn’t often he had time to himself, let alone time to entertain others. If you bungled this affair when your parents were hoping for a love match, you’d be humiliated and they’d be furious with you.

They held far more respect for a man gifted a title that was never his to own than they did for you, their flesh and blood. If they knew half of what you did, they wouldn’t feel so passionately but you supposed overflowing coiffers could breed enough ignorance to turn any man into an eligible bachelor.

“That I do,” he agreed with a humble nod, “That is why I chose a magic show, all the attention would be placed upon the stars of the show.”

“Thanks.”

Wriothesley gently cups your cheek, though his body seems rather rigid his expression is filled with sincerity. The gesture offers little comfort as he intended it to, but you feel the slightest bit better about continuing this evening. As you lean into his touch, chasing the tendrils of what used to offer relief when you felt unease, you smile at him as a sign of good faith. As if the slightest tick of your lips upward would erase the discomfort he brought you, when Wriothesley was here with his heart on his sleeve trying just as you were. 

You force your lips into a smile in hopes of disguising the way your heart uncomfortably thrummed against your ribcage. The feeling of discontentment that soaked through your skin made your face prickle warmly with shame. You wanted to feel comforted by him but the weight of your parent's expectations crushed you like a bug beneath slippered feet. The heat of his gaze searching your face brought a whimper to your lips. It was throaty and low, quite pathetic too but you were sure that the sound wouldn’t reach Wriothesley’s ears.

But, it did.

A splash of pink washes over the tip of his nose and the tops of his cheekbones. His brows shoot up into his hairline as his eyes widen in shock, “Are you … Alright?” Wriothesley choked out, blinking rapidly at you, “I have not made you uncomfortable have I?”

“I … I am quite well,” you murmur shyly, sweat gathers at the nape of your neck and your knees threaten to buckle from the intensity of his stare.

He’s rather fixated on your mouth, you can feel how his eyes trail over the dip of your cupids bow. His tongue, pink and wet, darts out to wet his plush bottom lip. You can’t help but stare too. Wriothesley had always been cute, cute in a way that had all the lords and ladies of the country constantly cooing over how darling he was. With unruly raven-coloured hair and round rosy cheeks, he was like a doll come to life and he didn’t go a day where he wasn’t reminded. It filled his mother with such satisfaction that you would have thought it was her constantly being lavished with attention. Now though, as a man whose stature brushed just under 6’6, he was anything but cute. He was rather handsome, that much you allowed yourself to admit when you set your eyes upon him for the first time in several years, devastatingly so. Had your nerves not been so scrambled, you might have taken a moment to admire the man he’d grown into.

“Are you sure?”

You nod your head so your voice doesn’t betray you but the moment is far too quick. It’s almost eager. The calloused pad of his thumb slides against your cheek, it nearly brushes the corner of your mouth. Your breath hitches and for a moment you allow yourself to wonder. Would it be so wrong to shirk societal convention? It couldn’t be, not when it was just you and he, alone in this room with no prying eyes to cast judgment upon each minuscule movement. He must know this too, why else would he gaze upon you with such heat in his eyes?

“Indeed, I am,” you whisper, your throat tightening, “Do I seem unwell?”

Wriothesley shrugs, his lips pursing, “You seem …” His voice trails off, growing gruff near the end, “Can I not simply inquire about my oldest friend?”

“You may if that should please you.”

His face nears yours, his breath fanning across the bridge of your nose as he inches closer. Tendrils of his hair flop over his forehead and tickles your skin as he looms over you. The heat radiating off his body draws you closer, chasing what you once longed to escape.

The tip of his nose brushes against yours, his mouth dangerously close to yours, “And what pleases you?” He rasps, allowing his eyes to grow lidded.

Your jaw slacks, your lips forming a slight “o” shape as you fight off the wanton sound that claws at the inside of your throat. His lashes, long and wispy, sweep across his cheekbones but they hardly hide the dark inky pools of his expanded pupils. You can almost see your reflection within them, you’re thankful it's obscured. If you look as off-kilter as you felt, you’d rather not know.

Any response you may have had for him shrivels up and dies on the tip of your tongue. Furling your fingers into the fine satin of his shirt you offer Wriothesley a pathetically pleading look in hopes that he could still read you as well as he did in your tender years of youth. It seems in all your years apart, he hasn’t learned the art of reading minds nor expressions because he peers at you expectantly, waiting for something other than worried noises to leave you.

You can feel his heart thrumming through the thin material of his dress shirt, “Wrio …” You sigh, your eyes flickering between his mouth and eyes, “It should please me if you were to kiss me.”

Your voice warbles and you have no choice but to avert your gaze to focus on the scarred expanse of his neck. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his veins bulge beneath his skin as he clenches his jaw. The cool breeze that drifts through the open window rustles your dress and rattles your bones as you shiver. You move to take a step back, but his other hand flies out to grab your waist. His fingers press into your thick corsetted top, nearly grazing the space where your top meets your skirt and your skin is exposed.

“I must admit this is how I hoped the evening would end,” Wriothesley confesses as he tips your chin upward, his mouth ghosts over yours and your breaths mingle as he speaks, “But did not anticipate my fantasy would come to fruition.”

His bottom lip brushes against yours, “Is it fantasy if I am here and I am asking?”

Wriothesley shakes his head before dipping down to bring his lips to yours, tentatively kissing you. The air in your lungs exits in the form of steam blowing out from your ears and you feel lightheaded. Years of pent up want pours out from your mouth and drips into his, he laps it up with a fervent vigour that will plague you tomorrow when you reflect on this evening. He’s the only person you could open yourself up to. Wriothesley cared little for societal convention and conducted himself without any of the fanfare that followed a title like duke. You and he were human; carved from flesh, blood, and want. The shared desire that flickered in the spaces between your bodies also harboured an unspoken understanding. If you were amiable, he could fuck you on the floor of this empty drawing room and there’d be no expectation of a ring. You were unsure if marriage was what you wished for but you couldn’t deny the want that lived like a beast in your belly.

You stumble backward as the weight of him presses into you. His broad stature threatens to full engulf you and your frame. You welcome it, allowing his rough and inexperienced grip to persist even when it becomes uncomfortable. His tongue slips past your lips to lave over yours. The needy little sounds Wriothesley draws are drowned out but the wet smack of your mouths meeting. Your ears burn with embarrassment but it’s nothing compared to the heal that pools in your belly. It’s difficult to discern whether it's the muggy cloud that’s descended upon Fontaine scorching your skin or if it was the bubbling desires that grew far past a manageable, quiet simmer.

Wriothesley possessed a cryo vision, you thought his touch would be frigid but he melts your rigid, nervous exterior as his hands move to grope your waist. There isn’t much to feel, your frame is swathed with layers of thick, expensive fabrics. You managed to talk your mother out of tying a hoop skirt around your hips to elongate your figure. Still, there’s an unwanted barrier between you and the rough calloused palms you wish would tug your corset loose and make their way between your legs.

“More,” you pant between fevered kisses, yanking on his hard enough to pop a few buttons loose and reveal his scar-covered, hairy chest, “I want more.”

Your unspoken words hang precariously between your aching bodies. Wriothesley knows well enough, he must with the way you eagerly press your hips flush against his.

“Should that please you?”

You nod before your mouth can form words, “Yes,” you whisper though it sounds far closer to a whimper, the cocky smile that stretches across his face squashes the growing embarrassment that blooms and prickles at your chest, “It would please me greatly if you were to get on your knees before me.”

His expression turns wicked at your confession as if he’s pleased by your honesty. It’s the first time this evening that you haven’t minced your words or lathered them in half-truths to avoid confrontation. Wriothesley makes quite the show of sinking to his knees before you, the fine material of his slacks grows taunt around his muscular thighs and offers you an eyeful of his bulge. 

“And what shall I do now?”

Slipping his hand beneath the hem of your gown, Wriothesley curls his fingers around your ankle and rubs a small circle into the silver of exposed skin, “Don’t play coy,” you whine as you thread your fingers into his hair, turning the nicely coiffed style into an unruly mess, “It is unbecoming of you, you know what I want Wriothesley.”

“Do I?” He wonders out loud, his mouth only snapping shut when he catches sight of your displeased expression, “Fine, I do!”

The beginnings of a sneer are quickly wiped from your face when Wriothesley ducks his head beneath the layers of your skirt. Clamping your bottom lip between your teeth, you fight off the shudder that slithers up your spine when his hot breath hits your wet cunt.

“No small clothes?” He questions, you can hear the smug expression he wears bleed into his words.

“Shut up!” You stammer, reaching behind you to steady yourself on the side chair, “It is far too hot for all these layers.”

Whatever he murmurs next is muffled and falls deaf on your straining ears. Your nails dig into the plush arm of the chair as he plants a sloppy, open-mouth kiss on your mound. Your knees nearly buckle but the ironclad grip Wriothesley has on your thighs keeps you standing upright as he brushes his mouth along your labia. His teeth poke out from his top lip and graze against your throbbing clit. Your stomach leaps into your chest at the sensation, your head growing heavier.

“Archons above,” you sigh, allowing your eyes to roll back.

The soft pleasured sound that dribbles down your tongue must reach his ears because his mouth falls open and with it, his tongue lolls out. The wet, hot heat of his mouth on your pussy draws a wanton whimper from you. Your ribs rattle from the heavy pants of breath that pass your lips in quick succession. His tongue swirls around your clit before he wraps his lips around the bud to suckle on it.

Your nails scrape uncomfortably against the plush velvet of the chair but your grip only tightens as pleasure fans across your sweat-dabbled skin. Your head drops against your shoulder and your hips arch forward as if you could bring yourself closer to him. The muscles in your belly grow taunt, and the feeling of his rough hands on the bare skin of your thighs and hips makes your toes curl.

“Wriothesley,” you moan, cursing under your breath when he lays his tongue flat against your folds and licked a strip from your sopping wet hole to your pulsing clit.

It grows tighter, the little coil in your belly that reminds your brain that bliss is coming so you fight the panic-stricken urge to shed your constricting corset and relax. Your chest heaves, the fat of your breasts bulging and nearly spilling out from your décolletage. You try to tell him that you’re close, to spur him on but all that comes out is a mumbly mess of moans and half words that trail off into unabashed, needy whines.

You don’t register that his tongue and mouth have left your weeping cunt throbbing and unsatisfied until his dishevelled head pops out from beneath your skirts. His thin lips are puffy and glossed with your slick. It drips down his chin in a rather obscene manner that makes your chest ache with need until your brain begins to speed up. A petulant whine gathers at the back of your throat and is ready to pierce Wriothesley’s pride once you’ve realized that he has left you without reprieve. The forceful press of his mouth to yours wipes your mind clear of any lingering disappointment.

The taste of you lingers on him, it’s slightly musky and twinged with the salt of sweat. You groan into Wriothesley as he rolls your taste around your tongue and the gums of your teeth. It is filthy and uncouth but the sweltering pit of desire within you grinds your reservations to dust. His belt and the set of handcuffs attached clink against one another as Wriothesley uses his free hand to free his cock from his slacks

“Lift ‘em,” he grunts with a nod of his head, “I- hah, need to be inside you, lift your skirts and turn around. Now.”

The bulbous red tip of his cock oozes precum as Wriothesley gives the base a firm squeeze. Gathering the layers of your skirts, you tentatively turn around to face the armchair. With a warm, steady hand pressed to the small of your back, he guides you to rest one leg up on the plush seat and angles the rest of you to lean against the back. Your body burns with something that dances between utter mortification and thrill. Calloused palms smooth over the supple skin of your ass as he slides his cock along the seam of your cunt to gather your arousal.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Your hands tremble with anticipation as you crane your neck to peek at him from over your shoulder. His bottom lip is smushed between his teeth, you’re surprised it doesn’t bleed, his eyes are pressed shut, and his head is thrown back. The two of you moan when Wriothesley presses his cock to your hole, the stretch burns and tears begin to prickle at your eyes from the slight pain. They spill over your lash line and slip down your cheeks when he thrusts into you. The heat of his body is suffocating as he presses his chest to your spin, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You can take it,” he whispers gruffly against the shell of your ear, “I know you can.”

His chapped lips graze across your cheekbone and his tongue darts out to lap up your tears, “Wrio…” You whimper, burying your face into the arm of the chair, “You better make me finish.”

Your command comes out feeble since your cheek is smushed against the chair and your voice is thickly coated with wanton need. Still, his hand snakes around your body and beneath your bunched up skirts to stroke your clit as he thrusts into you from behind, grunting into your ear. Your head spins as his cock slowly slides in and out of your velvet walls, the rough pads of his fingertips against your clit steal away your breath as pinpricks of pleasure zip up your spine.

“Uhuh,” Wriothesley absent mindedly groaned, his teeth catching on your ear lobe, “You’re taking me so well.”

There’s a hint of accusation in his words, or maybe you’re reading too into his words. Your brain had always been your worst enemy. Amidst the hazy swamp of lust and pleasure, there’s a small panicky voice that reminds you that life will go on outside of these walls and you’ll be stuck with the memories of desire fuelled actions that cannot be taken back. It nags at your brain, eating away at the space between your lungs at a terrifying speed and you realize despite the awkward tension that permeated the air, you didn’t want this to be the end of you and him.

You aren’t afforded the chance to ruminate on it for too long, your orgasm washes over you and swipes away the tangled web of thoughts that have made a home against your skull. Your throat is raw and scratchy as you moan out the broken syllables of his name. His chest rumbles with endeared laughter when your hand flies back to desperately seek purchase in his sturdy, warm frame. You manage to hook your fingers around his dress shirt, and the hard lines of his body tremble and contract with each sloppy thrust into your overstimulated hole. 

Sweat dribbles down the curve of your neck, “Please,” you plead for nothing in particular, your moving to speak words of no consequence because it needed something to do to stave off the overwhelming waves of pleasure that rolled through you with each snap of his hips against your ass, “Give it to me, I need it.”

Your words seem to bring him there, his thrusts begin to stutter and cant forward and rest flush against the dough flesh of your ass as he cums, his hands squeezing at your torso as he buries his face into your shoulder. His spend seeps out of your cunt and sticks to your inner thighs. You’re sure it stains the waistband of Wriothesley’s dress pants but he says nothing as he nuzzles closer to your heaving body.

“You’re going to take me on a date,” you pant, swiping your knuckles across your brow bone to wipe away the perspiration gathered there, “Next week, somewhere private and quiet.”

Your chest tightens as you await for his response. It takes Wriothesley to gather his wits, his heavy breath slowing into a calm rhythm, “I can do that,” he says, chuckling a bit to himself, “But, only if you wear this dress again.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you mumble, “I think the fabric may be ruined from our sweat.”

You can’t see his face, but there's a smile on his lips that bites into his words, “A noble sacrifice, huh?” He jokes.

You nod a bit, biting your lip to hide your own growing grin.

“Only if you kiss me again, maybe then it’ll have been worth it.”

And he does, his stubbly jaw scratches against your face as he presses his lips to yours. You hope there will be more to come, on the streets of Fontaine and out in the wilds of the country. With the way he tenderly cups your jaw, and caresses the side of your face, you think there will be.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[thechekhov]

Hey Chekhov! How do you start converting an AU idea from character sheets and mini comics into a plot outline for a full, continuous comic? Especially if the series you're basing it on isn't complete?

I've been following your white diamond Steven comics for years, and frankly, I love how it builds and continues the scaffolding canon laid to be something that is thematically still the same but also very unique. And I never thought I'll ever say this, but now I'm working on a canon-divergent AU with someone that's I think aiming to do something similar(continue the themes of canon but different). So I'll just like some advice, I suppose!

You might've answered something like this before, honestly, but I tried to dig a little and couldn't really find it.

Thanks, if you do answer this! I just want take the opportunity as well to say also that your comic and blog accompanied me through parts of my late teens, and I'm very grateful for you being a stabilizing influence during that time.

Thank you! I really appreciate you saying that, and I appreciate you respecting me enough to ask for advice.

As for your question...

Well, to be frank, I don't START with character sheets and mini-comics. In fact, for WD!AU, I didn't have any character sheets until I started season 2.

Think of your story as an aquarium. Your characters are fish.

Yes, they're important, but having a whole bunch of fish without any substrate, tanks, feed and WATER..... will not really make for a memorable aquarium experience.

The reality is that all stories should start with an end.

That's my personal approach, anyway.

What I mean is - you need to know the general idea for your story before you begin to write or plan it.

Let's try this:

1.Tell me about your story in THREE sentences!

Just three. Not long ones, just regular ones.

For my AU, @ask-whitepearl-and-steven, it would be:

"A young orphan runs away from home with a mysterious lady who seems more cryptid than human. He realizes that he's not human either - he used to be the ruler of an alien planet! He and the other aliens he meets decide to (REDACTED) (REDACTED) (REDACTED) and he (REDACTED) (REDACTED) (READACTED) (READ ANDCTED) (READ AND FIND OUT)."

YOU should know how YOUR story ends too! Even vaguely.

It helps if you know at what point you plan to lay down the pencil. Because if you DO know, you are always going to know which direction to walk in, even if the end is so far away it's beyond your line of sight.

It's true that when I began WDAU, I didn't have much information about White Diamond and white Pearl, because they had literally ONLY been introduced. I had to guess a lot of the details (like WP being Pink's originally) and what White would be capable of. And thankfully, my original intent for the story's end fit pretty well with what was later revealed!

But don't forget - you could also just fuck around with stuff! It's your story, after all.

And don't forget... to also look back!

2.Tell me WHY the story is happening in the first place.

There's a reason that the beginning of your story happens when it does. If there is no reason to start somewhere, then find a different place to start.

You should be able to tell me "We're picking up the story here because something significant has happened... and that significant thing happened BECAUSE...."

That 'because' is your main background information that should be revealed slowly throughout the story. In WDAU's case, we only have a few pieces of the puzzle. We know Greg's side. He know Earl's side. But there are still little bits and pieces missing! And they're all important for finding out WHY Steven ended up an orphan and WHY he is being followed by White Pearl (Earl) at the very start of the comic!

3.Tell me what the coolest and most interesting things to happen would be....and then write them!

I think this may be something that's rarely said out loud, but I will speak on the behalf of the people...

We should write the scenes we want to read. If you don't want to read the scene you're writing, then DON'T write it!

If you feel like you "have to" do a page and a half of 'lore' because you think it's traditional to have that 'explanation' about the location of your story, or the history of the species or whatever, you're simply wrong. There are other ways to reveal information aside from just forced paragraphs upon paragraphs of information that would make an SAT Reading Section sweat.

Instead, I recommend that you find the most exciting or hilarious way for the characters to discover the most important bits of info. Find a dramatic twist. Shove it into the narrative. Then, figure out what needs to happen to get there.

Ultimately, though, remember this: When you're taking advice from me or from others, don't forget to take advice from yourself, too! It's your story, after all. You know it best, and only YOU can figure out how to get it written.

I hope that helps at least a little bit! Writing it never easy, but it should still be enjoyable!

[daisynik7]

hello it's me again not sure if it's alright to request one more (literally just ignore this if not) and its also not y2k but i'd like to request work song by hozier for nanami especially "no grave can hold my body down, i'd crawl home to her" angst with a happy ending during/post shibuya (no dying please) and reader is also a healer like shoko

thank you so much and congrats again 🫶🏼

Work Song

No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

cw: mentions of d*ath, bl*od, burn injuries, canon-divergent, set in the canon-universe during the Shibuya Incident Arc, MAJOR spoilers up to Shibuya Arc, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, happy ending

Summary: You’re a healer working with Shoko inside the medical tent at Shibuya Station while Nanami, your boyfriend, is in the line of fire for the battle ahead. After an especially life-threatening attack, Nanami, on the brink, runs into an old friend, who helps guide him back home. 

Author’s Note: @75songs thank you so much for sending in another request for the y2k karaoke party, always appreciate your love and support! I ADORE this song and have honestly always thought it was perfect for Nanami. I am an anime only and am not caught up with season 2 yet, so I didn’t want to read too much into what exactly happens during this arc, so some of the details may be inaccurate, just a heads up. This one got me in my feelings. I will forever hold a grudge against Gege for what they did to Nanami. Anyways, likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! Divider by @/saradika.

October 31st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, you and Nanami would be celebrating Halloween tonight, passing colorful candies and decadent chocolates to kids going door-to-door across the neighborhood. You’d force him to dress up in a silly costume, one that matches yours, despite his reluctance at first. Deep down, you know he likes this; domestic bliss, especially with you. The idea that the two of you could live a peaceful life together, away from the dangerous world of curses and Jujutsu sorcery. You discuss it constantly, dream about it, strive for it. A few more years, he says, and he’ll retire. There’s still more work to be done, people to be saved. 

You’re inside the medical tent beside Shoko, helping her set up the cots, anticipating injured sorcerers to arrive soon with the battle underway. Masamichi Yaga, Jujutsu High’s principal, stands guard outside, determined to keep the medical team, especially Shoko, safe from any posing threats. There’s no way to know what’s happening until people start arriving, in need of medical attention. You’re a healer too, but not nearly as skilled as Shoko, your mentor. Still, she encourages you to join them tonight, needing all the help they can get. 

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, setting up the last bed. Observant as ever, she notices your quiet demeanor.

You nod, giving her a weak, unconvincing smile. “Yeah.”

“Nanami is going to be fine,” she assures you, sensing the root of your anxiety. “When this is all done, the two of you should take a vacation together.”

Relaxing a bit, you reply, “We already have our trip to Malaysia planned in a few months.”

She smiles kindly. “There you go. Something to look forward to.”

Her words ease some of the tension, but there’s dread settling in the pit of your stomach, and it won’t go away until you see Nanami again in one piece. 

The waiting game finally ends as soon as the first wounded sorcerer shows up in the tent, initiating nonstop chaos. You assist Shoko diligently, making sure everything is prepared for her to perform her Reverse Cursed Technique for those who need it, and patching up those who don’t, with less severe injuries. You’re constantly on the lookout to see a familiar face, trying to get an update on what’s happening out there. None comes, until you see Kiyotaka Ijichi limping towards the entrance, blood spread across his shirt. You and Shoko rush towards him, carrying him over your shoulders, leading him to an empty cot, gently laying him down. 

Shoko, showing panic on her face for the first time all night, inspects him carefully. “Ijichi, can you hear me?” She’s always had a soft spot for him, often telling you how endearing she finds him, always a nervous wreck in front of her. Seeing him like this is surely jarring, even for her, who’s as tough as nails. 

He nods weakly, mumbling something incoherent, blood sputtering from his mouth. You remove the shattered glasses from his eyes, wiping his lips with gauze. Shoko starts to work on him, directing you to check on the other patients. Before you can follow orders, you feel his weak grip on your wrist. You turn to face him, focused on his lips as he quietly utters, “Nanami.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, leaning in closer to hear the rest of what he has to say, taking his time through labored breaths. “He…saved…me…” 

You do your best to keep your composure, nodding at him silently, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. Unsure how to respond, you leave them, going to the other side of the tent to check on the remaining sorcerers. 

With everyone else in stable condition, you take a minute outside the tent to sob into your hands, praying that Nanami is still alive. Unaware of your surroundings, you’re startled when Yaga approaches, his large figure sitting beside you. “You alright?”

You wipe away your sniffles on your sleeve. “Just…nervous.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, sighing. “Yeah, I get it. But Nanami is one of our strongest sorcerers. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Again, more words of comfort, but not enough to ease the nervous flutter in your belly. Yaga recognizes this and adds, “Nanami would fight through the fires of hell instead of letting himself die. Not because he wants to live for himself. But because he wants to live for you.”

You face him now, processing his statement. He chuckles, lifting his sunglasses to meet your gaze. “That man has never been so smitten in his life. He’d crawl out his grave just to be with you, I guarantee it.”

~~~

The last thing Nanami remembers is desperately wishing he was in Malaysia with you instead of at Shibuya Station right now. He wakes up, sitting in one of the seats on the platform. It’s eerily quiet with no one in sight. The distinct sounds of trains on the rails or the hustle and bustle of people moving along is strangely absent, and it occurs to Nanami that this may be a dream. 

He's sure of it when he feels a nudge to his side, turning to face Yu Haibara sitting next to him. There’s a warm smile on his boyish face, dressed in his Jujutsu High uniform, exactly as he was many years ago when Nanami last saw him, alive and well. The same bright, earnest eyes he remembers vividly of his best friend. He swallows hard, an uneasy feeling surrounding him. Is he seeing a ghost? Or is this the afterlife?

Haibara laughs, and Nanami is snapped out of his reverie and taken immediately back to 2006, when he first met his friend during orientation. He can’t help but grin, happy to see him still so lively. “Well, aren’t you going to greet your old friend, Nanami?”

Nanami does, hugging him, astonished to feel him in his arms almost like a real person. Almost. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to visit you, that’s all.”

Nanami lets him go, studying him carefully, looking for any signs of decay. When he spots none, he asks him, “Am I dead?”

Haibara shakes his head. “Not quite. But you’re pretty damn close.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. So you better hurry and get home quick.” Haibara points towards the railings, now illuminated at one end by a blinding flash of light. “Yuji’s waiting for you.”

“Itadori? How do you know – “

Haibara then says your name with a big smile. “Yeah, I know her too. They’re all waiting for you, Nanami. You don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do you?”

It takes a while for Nanami to get up, and when he does, he’s off balance, legs wobbly, body unsteady. Haibara helps him, offering his shoulder, the two of them walking slowly towards the light. “I really like her, you know. Your girlfriend.”

“You do?” Nanami asks, hobbling beside him. 

“Yeah. She’s really nice, really pretty, and she eats a lot, especially with you,” he chuckles. “You know how much I like that.”

“Yeah I do.”

“And I’m a good judge of character, so I think she’s perfect for you. If that means anything,” he says, proudly.

“It does. It means a lot.” They’re near the edge of the platform now and Nanami will have to hop down to reach the end of the tunnel. 

“Are you going to marry her soon?” Haibara asks, pausing just before the edge. 

Nanami nods, grinning. “I’m planning to propose during our vacation in Malaysia.” 

“Good. Good.”

He’s tempted to stay longer, wanting a few more moments with his friend, but he knows that time is ticking. He hugs him again, squeezing him tight. “Take care, Haibara.”

“You too, Nanami. I’ll be looking out for you.”

His chest constricts, jumping off the platform, landing roughly on the railings, blinking away the tears in his eyes. It’s sweltering now, the light emitting an intense heat from within. He gives Haibara one last glance, cherishing the happy expression on his face as he waves goodbye to him before walking into the light.

Seconds later, Nanami wakes up with a gasp of breath, vision blurred, a droning pounding beating against his ear drums. It soon fades and only Yuji’s panicked voice yelling from behind him is heard. He’s being dragged by the armpits, away from the battle. Smoke radiates from his entire form, and he can barely move. In fact, he can barely feel anything at all. 

They reach the medical tent, Itadori yelling for help the whole way. Yaga is the first to reach them, his usual calm demeanor wavering at the sight of Nanami, body half-burned from the explosion. They carrying him delicately inside, resting him on the only empty cot left. He wants to close his eyes; he’s so exhausted, and sleep is the only thing to bring him peace right now. That, or you. 

As if his prayers were heard, you appear at his side, truly a vision, even while you sob for him, holding his mangled hand in yours, begging for him to stay with you. He can die happy now, seeing your face, knowing that you’re here, alive, heart beating, surviving. Can he do the same? Can he survive this? All he knows is that he’s trying with every fiber he has left in his being. He won’t leave you, not like this. Not without experiencing life on the outside with you. 

It’s in this moment that he vows to endure. Even if he has to crawl out of his grave to do it, he’s determined to be with you again. 

~~~ 

November 1st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, Nanami is gone. Not in this one, though. Instead, you sit beside him, healed and in one piece thanks to Shoko, fingers laced with his, careful not to squeeze too tightly. Yuji and Ino are at his other side, talking animatedly about how amazing Nanami was the entire fight, and all he can do is lay there, smiling. Happy to be alive. Happy to be with you. 

[devondespresso]

FINALLY

after NINE. HOURS. (NOT including meals and sleep) ITS FUCKING DONE.

A complete floorplan of the entire Harrington house. Including too much thought about random, throw-away lines from characters and squint-to-see-it background glimpses inside.

plently of stuff in the actual house is altered or straight up ignored in favor of following the fiction logic and because I Wanted To. A lot of this is motivated by my headcanons for the Harringtons and how I'm writing them in my fic, but I'm also certainly not an architect so it's by no means perfect. It is, however, unreasonably canon compliant in the few bits we do see.

Thought Process (for context):

the darker shaded floor areas are lower than the rest, some bits like the garages having stairs and some areas like the sun and dining rooms list being like a step lower. Windows are marked with dashes along the outside, sliding doors are two thin lines slightly overlapping, stairs change color as they diverge from the level we're looking at, and furniture is eyeballed so don't look to closely a the scale.

not all closets are labeled, just the ones i figured could be confusing. Steve and the guest rooms have closets i promise.

the laundry room and pantry are not the same size but by the time i noticed i was exhausted. so pretend they're both more reasonably sized.

i don't know what the floorplan symbol for garage door is and then i forgot to look so the headlights point to where the doors are and you can see them clearly in photos so yeah.

The general layout is based on the idea that the Harringtons are or were into hosting dinner parties and business meetings in their home, especially as a young rich couple looking for respect in their circles (Mr. Harrington taking on his father's business and reinforcing that power, Mrs. Harrington climbing her own social ladder and building an image).

So the house is laid out with hosting areas towards the right with the office big and near the dining room because it's more than just a workplace, it represents him as a businessman. In canon the entryway and living room both have very high ceilings and no second-floor above them, so I'd imagine they're also aware of how the top floor looks from below, hence the fancy double/french doors to the master bedroom which is in plain view from below. Steve's room and the guest room are's nearly as visible.

As for the kitchen and sun/pool rooms, I see them more as secondary hosting areas that aren't used as the main location most of the time and are more this background setting to these events that still feel rich. The kitchen is massive and mostly for dinner-parties and Mrs. Harrington's social events.

The kitchen and main bathroom's placement is based on a line Steve said to Barb giving her directions to the bathroom: "down past the kitchen, to the left". With the massive living room on the left and wanting to keep the dining and office close by, i interpreted the "to the left" part being like "find the kitchen, then turn left". And with the rest of the area being open-concept, the bathroom would be the only normal door over there and easy to find. it's a bit of a stretch with just that line, but it makes sense to me with the rest of the context for the layout.

the basement is similar to this, though not as openly displayed so I imagine its for slightly closer friends. Theres a garage door down there so I figured Mr. Harrington might have a cool car he shows off, like he's letting people in on a personal detail about himself. There's also a guest room down there (the only one still considered 100% for guests, more on that later) for those people.

beside the basement garage, there was originally one main garage that holds two cars, obvious Mr. and Mrs. Harrington's cars. I imagine they bought the house before having kids, so a third one wasn't on the mind but after having Steve they added the front one (either turning the carport into a closed garage or they never had a carport and added a whole new addition, up to you)

Both garages lead to the same part of the house, and that area is the only one besides the water heater room that is purely function over effect. It still looks good like the rest of the house but it's not made to be fancy because guests would rarely need to be over there if at all and it's not noteworthy from other parts of the house.

In my headcanon, Steve's room used to be a guest room, staying his room from nursery to present with Mrs. Harrington renovating every now and then. Its one of those places in the house that doesn't have to look perfect for all to see, so she gets creative and has fun with it.

The upstairs guest room is also unofficially Mrs. Harrington's room, based on a line where Tommy mentions a fireplace in "his mom's room" instead of "guest room" or "parent's room" or "master bedroom". I belatedly realized this could be a solidarity thing with Steve hating his dad and calling the master bedroom his mom's room, but that was after 9 hours of this and im not changing it but there you go. In this version, I imagine she leaves the master some nights because her marriage with Mr. Harrington is failing (cheating and all, I wouldn't want to be in the same bed with someone who cheated either)

the master bathroom was an executive decision, just looking at the house in canon and not having enough space in my first attempts, i decided the triangle roof part above the dining and office could fit a master bathroom.

Feel free to use or reference this in your own fics! Feel free to block out my furniture or walls and make your own version. If you share my image please credit with an @ mention!! (again, 9 hours) (thank you fhalsfhd)

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

hi!! just read both of your wrecker works and rineicbeijcwjkdjs LOVED THEM!! wrecker’s my fav of tbb and i really feel like he needs more love😭 i'm gonna be checking out some of your other works later lol

anyways i saw that you were taking requests, so i went through your prompt list and saw two that caught my eye. they're 24. “You need to wake up because I can't do this without you.” and 18. “I almost lost you.”

i was wondering if you could write something with those prompts for wrecker please? like tbb + reader were able to rescue omega, crosshair, and tech (i am believer in tech surviving season 2 finale), but the reader got seriously injured during the rescue and is now in a coma. wrecker would be the one to say the prompts and it would be angsty like wrecker thinking the reader might die. but please let this end happily.

other than those details i trust your writing skills and process for anything! take your time writing, there's absolutely no rush!! and again your writing is soooo awesome!!😊😊

Well hello there!

I'm so glad you enjoyed those fics, and thank you for popping this request in - so sorry it's taken me so long to write it! I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope it hits the spot 😁

I guess it's also technically canon divergent now S3 is out, haha 😅

Through the Darkness

No one said rescuing the rest of the Batch from Mount Tantiss would be easy - you just didn't expect it to go like this.

Pairing: Wrecker x F!reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: canon typical violence, reader in a coma for a bit, little bit of angst, but also dashes of hope, happily ever after.

Translations: sarad - flower

Hemlock has his hands on you, his blaster pressed to your temple. The sounds of fighting cease. Dead TK Troopers litter the floor. Wrecker and his siblings freeze, slowly lowering their weapons.

Your back is pressed to Hemlock’s chest, and there isn’t a clean shot at him.

“Anyone moves and your dear liaison will pay the price,” Hemlock states.

Rage flows through Wrecker. You were in danger, too far for him to grab and shield, and he had no idea what to do. He glances at his siblings – Omega curled against Hunter’s side with weariness painted on her face, Tech leaning heavily against Echo for support as his body protests the prolonged time standing. Crosshair had peeled off from the group earlier, searching for what or who none of them was sure. They were all back together again. A family again. He wasn’t about to let Hemlock take you from them.

Shakes start in your thighs, slowly creeping up your body until your arms and hands tremble, too. You’ve been in dangerous situations before, had your life threatened before - but you’re certain Hemlock would do it. The man is crazy and will stop at nothing to get his hands on your family. The sound of his verbal back and forth with Hunter is like white noise.

The slightest movement in the rafters above catches your attention, and your eyes dart up. Battered and bruised, Crosshair has found a vantage point and a rifle. Those hawkish eyes meet yours, and a silent conversation is shared. You do the maths. There’s only one way out of this. Thank the Maker you still trust him, even after everything.

You give an almost imperceivable nod, knowing he’ll catch it. You flick your gaze to the others, taking one last look, just in case. Echo, who’d joined you all near the end of the war and had so seamlessly slipped into the fold of your family. Tech, worse for wear after his fall on Eriadu, but with that same solid determination in his eyes. Hunter, the man who’d welcomed you into the squad all those years ago, listened when you shared your thoughts and didn’t make a fuss when you broke terrible news to them about the next mission. Omega, trying to hide her fear through bravery – so much for a young girl with such a pure heart to endure. And Wrecker, the imposing force of a man who’d always put himself between you and danger, who reached for you at every opportunity and consoled you when things had gotten too much – the man you’d quietly loved for some time.

With a shaky breath, you close your eyes, placing all your faith in Crosshair. The quiet sniper who’d at first sneered at you and flicked toothpicks in your face before he’d thawed out and helped perfect your aim, taught you how to use his rifle, and what to look out for when scouting.

The sound of his shot reverberates around the hanger, and milliseconds later, searing pain tears through your shoulder, pulling a piercing cry from your lips. Legs giving out, you crumple, welcoming the cold durasteel you hit.

You don’t know if they all made it out, but you pray they did.

Wrecker hasn’t moved in weeks, refusing to leave you alone. The memory of you being shot won’t leave him; the sound of your agony is stuck on repeat. You’d been in bacta for what felt like forever, the shiny skin on your shoulder a testament to its healing power, but it wasn’t enough to wake you from the coma you’d slipped into. Pabu’s only Doctor had insisted on removing you from the tank once your physical wounds had healed, transferring you to a standard medical bed.

Crosshair’s shot had torn through your shoulder, but the angle had been perfect. Wrecker hadn’t expected any less from his little brother. The bolt had exited you and entered Hemlock, hitting him straight in the chest. A kill shot. That hadn’t killed you. Or so Wrecker hoped. Even if you woke, your shoulder would likely ache for the rest of your life, and your arm would not be as strong as before.

The sound of the door opening pulls Wrecker’s gaze from your prone form and across the small room in Pabu’s clinic. Crosshair slides through the crack in the door, thin lips pressed together, brow pinched. He visits often, guilt in his eyes every time he looks you over. You might’ve okayed the shot, but it still tore at the sniper’s soul to have hurt you.

“Nothing?” Crosshair rasps, sticking close to the door as he glances between you and his brother. He’d never admit it, but fear was starting to settle in his gut. If you didn’t wake…

“Nothin’.” Wrecker confirms, shoulders slumped. “Been talkin’ to her. Doc said she might be able to hear us. Not that it’s doin’ much good.” He sighs, gaze shifting back to you. “Told her we all got out okay. That you and Tech and the kid are alright. Don’t want her worryin’.”  

Crosshair makes a slight noise, acknowledging his brother’s words as his gaze lingers on your prone form.

“You stayin’ a bit?” Wrecker asks, using one foot to push out the spare chair at his side – the rest of their siblings often visited, too.

Hesitating, Crosshair lets out a small sigh as he moves across the room, lowering himself silently into the chair. He hadn’t stayed before, preferring to flit in for any news before disappearing. It hurt too much to see you this way, knowing he’d caused it. That and he was still working through everything that had happened during his time with the Empire, trying to fix his relationships with his siblings. But Wrecker needed him, so he’d stay.

You’d always hated the dark.

The shadows surround you, pressing in from all sides. Yet amidst the inky darkness, you find yourself standing in a solitary spot of light, its glow offering a semblance of warmth amidst the chill of the void. The lights kept appearing, and you’d learned quickly that when a new one glistened on the horizon, you had to run for it before the light you were already standing in disappeared. 

You’d lost track of how many lights you’d chased so far. 

Each one varied in intensity – sometimes brilliant beacons, other times mere flickers barely piercing the gloom. Yet, regardless of their brightness, they all held a magnetic pull, drawing you forward with an unyielding force. And each time you reached one, a brief respite washed over you, a fleeting moment before the next journey into the unknown began.

Scanning the horizon, you spot another light starting to beckon, its faint glow a promise of safety. With a heavy heart, you know what you need to do.

Taking a deep breath, you burst into a sprint. Each step forward is a battle against the darkness, its tendrils reaching out like icy fingers, eager to drag you into its embrace. Goosebumps prickle your arms, heart pounding as fear gnaws at your insides, but a stubborn determination fuels your movements. You can’t afford to falter, to succumb to the darkness, not after everything.

Worry lingers at the edge of your consciousness, a constant reminder of uncertainty. What lay beyond the lights? Will you ever find your way back to the world you once knew? The questions taunt you, echoing in your mind relentlessly the longer you spend here.

Yet, a glimmer of hope remains amidst the fear and uncertainty. Though the darkness threatens to overwhelm you, there must be a reason for the light. There has to be something causing it. Blessing you with it. Giving you these small moments of respite and keeping you in one piece. 

You keep going. One foot in front of the other.

A shove yanks Wrecker out of sleep, and the big man jolts awake with a small yelp.

Crosshair snickers, leaning back in his seat, drawing his hand back towards his chest. “Sleeping on the job, vod.” He can’t help but jibe, his smirk melting into a frown at the sound of Wrecker’s stomach growling. “When’s the last time you ate?” He asks. He hadn’t wanted to wake him, seeing him finally getting some rest, but the sun was high in the sky now, and Crosshair knew it wouldn’t be long until Omega and Hunter swung by.

Blinking, Wrecker’s mind takes a moment to catch up with the fact he’s awake. “Urm, yesterday? Maybe?” He guesses, not really sure. The days were starting to blend together.

With a huff, Crosshair stands, long legs unfolding. “Will get you something. Can’t wither away before she wakes.” He mutters, grateful for the opportunity to leave and not have to sit any longer in silence with his feelings – he’d done enough of that for the day.

With a slight nod of appreciation, Wrecker watches as Crosshair heads out the door, hearing the gentle click of it shutting behind him. Hand wiping over his face, Wrecker shifts in the chair, stretching a little. But he can’t avoid the inevitable forever, and although it pains him, he looks you over for what feels like the millionth time. 

Despite his imposing stature, he feels powerless.

He hadn’t been able to protect you - the woman he loves. He’s loved you since the moment he first met you in the hanger of a Venator, as you’d been assigned to him and his brothers as their liaison. You’d offered them a smile that had rendered him speechless, and his booming laughter had then filled the hanger when you’d quipped back at Crosshair as he'd sneered about them not needing a babysitter.

You kept them on their toes and blended in so seamlessly with their chaotic lives.

Without an audience, Wrecker clears his throat, leaning forward in his seat to gently take your tiny hand in his much larger one. “I hope ya can hear me, sarad.” He starts, voice mellow. “Been a few weeks now since we got ’em back.” He’s not sure how much you’re aware of, if the passing of time is something you’re experiencing. “Cross was just here. Finally sat for a bit. Think he feels guilty.” Wrecker pauses, brows furrowing, face pinching. “I feel guilty. Should have protected ya, kept ya close.” Wrecker’s voice cracks a little, emotion seeping through. 

“We’re all here, though. Ain’t leavin’ ya, no matter what. Can’t wait for ya to wake up and tell us all how much trouble we’re in.” He chuckles softly, a hint of sadness in the sound. “Just...ya need to wake up ’cause I can’t do this without you.” He admits, a well of emotion pressing down on his chest.

Wrecker’s words hang heavy in the air, the weight of his emotions palpable even in the silence of the clinic. He wishes he could shake this feeling of helplessness and do more than just sit by your side, waiting for a sign of life. But for now, all he can offer is his unwavering presence and a steady stream of conversation, hoping against hope that somewhere within your subconscious, you can hear him.

Keep going. You need to keep going.

The darkness claws at you, desperate to slow you down and draw you into its embrace. But the light grows closer with every step you take, with every thud of your heart as you race forward. Amidst your footsteps echoing in the void is the faintest whisper of something familiar.

No.

Not something.

Someone.

“Wreck!” You cry out into the darkness, feet faltering for a second as you recognise the deep voice. The darkness tries to take advantage of your momentary hiccup, but with a yelp, you pick up your pace. The hope that lingers in your heart explodes. As you draw closer to the light, Wrecker’s voice comes into focus. “Ain’t leavin’ ya, no matter what.”

With renewed determination, you push yourself harder, every muscle in your body screaming for rest, but you refuse to give in. The light grows brighter, its warmth now palpable against your skin.

And then, just as you’re on the verge of stepping into the light, a sudden force knocks you off balance, sending you sprawling onto the cold, hard ground. Panic grips your chest as you scramble, desperate to continue your pursuit.

But the darkness has other plans, closing in around you like a suffocating blanket, obscuring the light. Amidst the coldness creeping through your body, you cling to the memory of Wrecker’s voice, a lifeline in the darkness.

Body straining, you crawl forward, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, determination burning bright within you. You don’t belong in the darkness. You belong in the light. With them. With him.

Straining, you reach out an arm, trembling fingers skimming the edge of the light as Wrecker’s voice comes through loud and clear. “…ya need to wake up ’cause I can’t do this without you.”

The darkness recoils. 

With a final surge of strength, you propel yourself forward, breaking free from the suffocating grip of the void. The light envelops you, wrapping you in its warm embrace as the shadows recede into the distance, getting further and further away. Relief floods through you, tears of joy mingling with sweat on your cheeks.

Head tilting back, you look up at the light, a bubble of laughter escaping as you bask in the glow. Eyes fluttering shut, you savour the moment. Yet this time, when you open your eyes, there’s no darkness or blinding light anymore. 

You blink. Once. Twice. The soft hum of medical equipment fills the air. And there, beside you, is Wrecker, head bowed, the weight of his hand wrapped around yours. 

Everything seems to freeze except the frantic thudding of your heart. “Wreck…” You whisper, your voice hoarse from disuse as you dare to hope you’re back. Really back. 

Wrecker’s head jolts up at the rasped sound of his name, his good eye widening as he meets your gaze, your name falling from his lips as his features crumple, a heaving sob of relief escaping him.

You slowly sit up, wincing at the ache that shoots through your shoulder. It’s still tender, but the pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming flood of emotions that wash over you at the sight of Wrecker’s tear-streaked face. 

You reach out, cupping his cheek in your hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you in reality. “I’m here.” You murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re trying to convince yourself or him.

Wrecker’s grip tightens around your hand as if afraid you might slip away again if he lets go. He leans into your touch, his words catching in his throat momentarily before he stands, leaning over the bed to envelop you in an embrace, protective yet gentle, conscious of your shoulder. “You’re back.” He murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “Thought I almost lost ya.”

Weak but grateful, you return his embrace, feeling the warmth of his presence washing over you, grounding you in reality. A lump forms in your throat at the thought of him worrying about you, thinking he would lose you. “Not going anywhere, big guy.” You reassure him, sniffling as you try to keep a lid on your emotions. “The others?” You ask cautiously, dread curling in your gut. 

“All made it,” Wrecker confirms, arms slowly uncurling from around you as he sits back in his chair, hand scooping up yours so he can maintain some contact. 

Your dread is swept away and replaced immediately by relief; this time, you don’t bother holding back your sobs.

“No cryin’, pretty girl. Please.” Wrecker’s heart aches at the sight, his free hand moving to cup your face and wipe away the tears.

You smile through your tears, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions. Wrecker’s touch is like a lifeline. “Sorry.” You manage to choke out between sobs, trying to reign in your feelings. “Just...so relieved.”

Wrecker offers you a tender smile. “No need to apologise, sarad,” he murmurs softly, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. A bolt of courage has him leaning forward to gently kiss your forehead.

As Wrecker’s lips meet your forehead, warmth seeps through you, chasing away the last remnants of the dark coldness. He pulls back a little, his gaze meeting yours, and the air feels electric. Without a word, you lean forward, closing the distance between you as your lips finally meet his in a soft, tentative kiss. 

And you realize that amidst the chaos and darkness, love has always been the guiding light, leading you back to where you belong.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees

Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.

[i984]

Your Love, My Religion

|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x gender neutral reader

|Warnings|: Ooc! Wednesday Addams, childhood best friend! Wednesday Addams, canon-divergence because there's no Tyler, it's Parent's Weekend but this detail is useless, Pugsley LOVES you, kissing but weird 'cuz you'll see, author is in their experimental phase.

|Summary|: It only takes half a semester away and a stupid (yet surprising) school event to get Wednesday quit being a coward.

|A/n|: This was requested by my wife @wol-fica and reposted because yesterday the tags hate me.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Bewitching.

You were that in so many ways.

And now, as Wednesday locks eyes with you from across the quad—past all the bustling crowd of students and parents of Nevermore Academy—she realizes the fact hasn't changed, not one bit.

Her foot took a step forward for her. Then another. And another. Before she knew it, she was already heading toward you—bumping and trampling past the people she couldn't care less for—her heart hammering wildly against her chest.

You've always had that effect on her.

When your parents brought you for a playdate years ago, Wednesday had locked you in one of the rooms of the Addams family mansion. But instead of crying or screaming for help, all she heard you do was mutter a small okay and bye-bye. 

And she was content to let you rot and die a slow death, but when she pressed her ear to the wood and heard your faint giggles, she had to open the door to see what had brought you glee amidst her kidnapping.

She found you—sitting with your legs crossed on the floor—petting Nero, her pet scorpion on your lap, with a fascinated look on your face.

Ever since that day, 5-year-old Wednesday Addams would invite you to playdates every week without fail with excuses like, "Nero loves your pets more than mine," or, "Nero wants you to come over."

Even after the scorpion's tragic death a year later, she allowed you to continue visiting her weekly. Your title had changed from 'playdate partner' to 'study partner' as soon as both of you went to the same elementary school, and you've been joined by the hips with the Addams girl ever since. 

The weekly visits grew into daily ones, and soon, Wednesday would spend nearly every waking hour of the day with you, filling her childhood with memories of endless thrilling adventures.

She'd never admit this to anyone, but she respects you for not judging her for who she is. Other people had called her a freak, a menace to society, and Wednesday couldn't care less about them, especially when you look at her with so much kindness and passion every time she talks about torture methods or unsolved murder cases. 

You were there when Pugsley was born, and Wednesday blames you for the tender personality his brother would later develop. In a way, you raised Pugsley just as much as she did, and it proved to earn you an unbreakable bond with the boy. 

And that's why as she gets close enough to you, she can see Pugsley standing on your side, holding your hand—a perfect mirror of the picture she had seen a thousand times growing up.

Her breathing quickens, and so do her steps; Wednesday was basically sprinting at you with butterflies in her stomach. But she didn't care because you met her halfway and embraced her with a ferocity that nearly matched hers. 

"I missed you so much," You whisper, and Wednesday swears to memorize the sweet sound. She hadn't realized how much she had missed hearing your voice until now.

"You came."

"Pugsley invited me for this Parent's Weekend thing," You mumbled into her shoulder before pulling back to look at her face properly, "I know it hasn't even been a semester since you moved, but I have to see you again."

Wednesday almost melts then and there at the intensity of your words and how you look at her with so much compassion and trust—like you knew she'd never hurt you or betray your devotion. 

And she wouldn't. Not when her lips are so close to yours, with your breath fanning her face, nose scrunched adorably. 

You look perfect, like the last time Wednesday was in the same position with you, the night before she had to leave for Jericho and this damned school that has cursed her entire being. 

Last time, she acted like the coward she was, turning her face away from your longing gaze, heart too weak to leave you if she'd kissed you goodbye. 

But now, as Fate has presented her a second chance, Wednesday grabbed your jaw and pressed her lips to yours. Unlike last time, her move was sure as she felt your soft silken lips on her chapped ones. And when you kissed her back—with the same tenderness that she finds in your eyes, words, and touch—warmth fills her pitch-black heart, luring her deeper into your spell.

She kisses you like a prayer—your lips the altar, your love her false God—and Wednesday now understands how man can sink so deep into their religions; to die for their Gods. 

Because she would die for you, kill for you, live for you, and unlike last time, she'd gladly sin over and over again, redeeming herself on the lips that perfectly match hers.

The bewitching you; her life was a living testament to that. And she'd never let you go.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list is in the comments or else this post breaks.

|A/n2|: I am never posting this day of the week ever again. Also I forgot to say thank you to 700 of you! 🥲💖

Edit: NOW I FORGOT TO ADD TAGS TO MY POST HELP WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME-

[yukidragon]

Sunshine in Hell Height Headcanons

It's June 15, which as many of you know from this official profile, that it's Sunny Day Jack's birthday today!

You might also know that it's [Redacted]'s birthday thanks to this ominous picture Sauce shared last year on this day. Funny how these two totally distinct characters share a birthday isn't it? 🤔

Anyway, I was hoping to have written something for this year to celebrate, but like last year my spoons are way too few and far between. I was also hoping to do something self-indulgent for my own birthday, but same lack of spoons halted me there too.

So, until I can stock up on more metaphorical utensils to help me do the stuff I feel like doing, I'm going to celebrate by rambling a little bit about some headcanon details.

Sunshine in Hell differs from the game demos in a number of ways, and one of them is Jack's height. As you might've seen from the profile link, Jack is canonically 6'2", but in my personal headcanon continuity, I decided to make the gentle giant quite a bit taller than that. Because it amuses me, and I struggle with imagining Jack as shorter than Cove Holden.

When deciding how tall to make Jack in my stories, I also decided to do a height chart for him and a few other characters as well. It helps to better imagine characters interacting when you can see how tall they are compared to others.

Yes, I threw in a few extra love interests to the mix, as well as a couple other MCs. I was curious to see how tall Alice would be compared to her sisters, and I had to throw in their love interests as well.

As an aside, it tickles me that even after I made Jack significantly taller, he's shorter than Bo's horny "Feed Me" form.

For those of you that need the conversion from centimeters to feet and inches, or have trouble reading the image, I'll write them down for easy reference.

Alice: 162 cm / 5'4"

Jack: 198 cm / 6'6"

Shaun: 178 cm / 5'10"

Nick: 173 cm / 5'8"

Ian: 170 cm / 5'7"

Bo: 180 cm / 5'11"

Barbie: 184 cm / 6'0"

Bo "Feed Me" form: 216 cm / 7'1"

Elias: 185 cm / 6'1"

Coraline: 172 cm / 5'8"

As you can see, Shaun, Nick, and Ian stuck with the canon heights in their profiles. It's just Jack who got a height increase because it's what I imagined his height to be from the start, and Sunshine in Hell is basically my headcanons that diverge from the game's canon, so I do what I want. It's also fun to imagine scary yandere Jack towering over every single one of the love interests. It adds to the intimidation factor too despite his gentle giant persona.

Bo and Elias don't have canon heights like the SDJ love interests, so I mostly just did whatever felt right to me for them. Bo's regular height was influenced by the mafia AU picture Sauce drew. It served as a very good height comparison chart all on its own. As you can see, Bo is just tall enough to reach Jack's smile if you don't count the ears and poofy hair.

All credit to the awesome Sauce for their lovely art of course and for feeding my headcanons. As always, I want to link to the SnaccPop Patreon as gratitude for being cool with me using their art in my posts. If you're a a free or paying member, consider checking out an important survey that went up to help guide the team in their future endeavors.

Bo looks so short compared to Jack, doesn't he? In my headcanon land, it's just a matter of perspective, and next to other people Bo is pretty darn tall. Though he's just one teeny tiny inch shorter than his puppy.

You bet your sweet bippy Barbie takes smug satisfaction in that one inch height superiority. Bo talks so big as a big bad alpha dog, but the puppy he's trying to dominate is just a bit bigger and badder than he ever expected.

Of course, Bo gets to turn it right back around on Barbie with his monster sized "Feed Me" form. Like werewolves that become huge compared to their human selves, when Bo's inner beast comes out to play, he adds on quite a lot of height and muscle. He towers over even Jack! Still, even when super sized, he's no match for Barbie.

As you can see, despite being the eldest child, Alice is shorter than her two younger sisters, especially Barbie! They got more of their dad's height genes, while Alice took more after their mom in that department. Barbie and Coraline are quite a bit taller than average, a fact that Barbie revels in, and Coraline can find a little awkward sometimes, especially during moments of weakness. It can be hard to help someone stand back up and walk when they're much taller than you are after all. It leads to some embarrassing moments for poor Coraline.

On that same note of surprisingly tall people with chronic illnesses, I thought it would be interesting if Elias would have been a very tall man if not for his illness. There's no canon height for him and he's floating with Jack and Bo in the Christmas picture, so it's hard to go with a comparative height. So, I went with what felt narratively interesting to me. With his legs being twisted, and him being hunched over with a cane, he probably appeared shorter than he actually was. It's hard to see his exact height with his lower half ghostly and indistinct as well. It's only when he actually bothers to give himself legs and stand with both feet planted firmly on the ground that he can show off just how tall he really is.

While I'm on the topic of height, I wonder if one of Ian's insecurities was his height. Some men have issues if they're shorter than their peers, and Ian is the shortest of the love interests. I can imagine it certainly didn't help if he was bullied for being short along with his general "nerdy" appearance back in school.

Still, Ian has nothing to complain about at the height he's at as a fully grown adult. Even if the other love interests are taller than he is, Ian is still above average for men in the US. He's just got the misfortune of being the shortest guy in a group of very tall people. At least he doesn't have to worry about taking the bottom spot in the height chart like Alice.

Yes, Alice is a bit self-conscious about being so short compared to her peers, even if technically she's also above average height for a woman in the US. She feels especially tiny when standing next to Jack.

Though, admittedly, Alice does find it very nice to feel tiny and delicate when Jack sweeps her up into his arms. It makes her feel less self-conscious about how chubby she is when her big strong giant of a boyfriend can carry her around so easily. Once she gets over the initial fear that he might drop her, she'll soon look forward to being whisked away by her silly clown.

Oh, and if you're wondering about Mary's height... I'm still debating if I want her to be around Alice's height or a little taller. She had the same eye color in both lives due to the eyes being windows to the soul, but there were other physical differences due to different parents introducing different genetics. I need to ruminate on that fine of detail more and see what feels more interesting to me narratively.

Though even if Mary was as tall as Barbie, she'll still be short enough for Joseph to sweep into her arms since he's just as much of a giant now as he was then. Not that it would stop him from trying even if his sunshine was bigger than him. Nothing will stop Joseph/Jack from showing his love for his sunshine!

I think I'll wrap things up on that fluffy note. I hope y'all enjoyed me going off on a headcanon ramble after such a long time. With any luck, I'll be able to get to answering some asks soon. Thanks for reading!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter three: show me how

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 8.3k (a long-y but a goody)

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced/virgin reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, alcohol use, pet name (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, masturbation (f & m), light voyeurism, THIGH RIDING, dirty talk, LATINO JOEL cause it's canon which means there's likely subpar spanish bye!!!

Joel is trying very hard to be a good neighbor.

He can be friendly enough when he needs to be, but he absolutely did not know the kind of place he was moving into. It’s like Pleasantville had a baby with The Truman Show. Everyone here is so nice.

Not that his previous neighborhood wasn’t filled with people who were nice, but everyone pretty much kept to their own business and gave a wave here and had a quick catch-up across the lawn there. Well, except for the Adlers.

And here, they also do neighborhood events.

Which is why he finds himself nursing a can of Budweiser that’s dripping cool condensation in the mid-afternoon Texas heat of late June, surrounded by husbands having conversations about the upcoming football season, the latest Astros game, and their wives. He can’t really add anything to the conversation because he hasn’t kept up on any sports news, was working during the last game, and he’s single.

So fucking single that he spends most nights fantasizing about you, his daughter’s nanny. Or just straight up watching you like some depraved, desperate man.

Which isn’t too far off base, cause it’s what he’s feeling right now as he steals glances of you laid out on a patio lounger next to the aquamarine, chlorinated water. You’re sitting in a white linen cover-up dress, but the thin crepe fabric leaves nothing to the imagination when it comes to your swimsuit underneath. It’s modest enough for a family affair, covering up everything appropriately but it still does something to see your skin exposed in the sunlight, a sheen of sweat coating your body.

He’s noticed some of the neighbors around your age checking you out, even some of the men older than him ogling at you. It was hypocritical to feel the burn of anger — he was eyeing you all the same but to him, it felt a little different. Like you were closer to his than anyone else’s. He saw you every day; knew little things about you like how you always twisted the ring on your right hand around with your thumb or how you always left one last sip or two in every drink you had, never fully finishing them before abandoning them on the counter or in the sink.

Knowing more about you, from tiny details to what you wanted to do with your life, made him feel like he was dipping his feet into the pool of temptation. Every bit he learned made him want more.

And every time he saw you through the window of your bedroom, he jumped in head first into that alluring pool. It felt so right, so justified in the moment to him, but as soon as the lights clicked off on your side and he looked down at his come coating his knuckles, shame slithered up his throat and coated his mouth with bitterness.

Yet, he couldn’t stop. And some nights, he swears to himself that he sees you looking, watching his actions. Like you know exactly what he’s doing and you let him. One time, mind hazed over with pleasure as he got himself off to the sight of you alone and half naked, he even convinced himself that maybe you wanted him to keep doing it.

Joel knew you were flirting at times, but at other times he couldn’t tell if there was any difference between your polite, sweet demeanor and a subtle hint that you found him attractive.

Even if you were into him, there’s no way he could do anything about it.

Joel’s pulled out of his thoughts when he feels a tug on the hem of his swim trunks. His eyes flit down to his daughter, standing next to him with a pout on her face.

“Daddy, can I please go swimming now?”

Joel smooths a hand through her hair, bending down to her level to look her in the eyes.

“Can you give me just a few more minutes, Bug? I gotta talk to Mr. Clark about a job he might need help with at his house. I promise we can go down to the pool right after that.”

Joel’s cool thumb from the beer can swipes across her cheek as Sarah huffs in frustration, crossing her arms over her chest and staying put as a sign of her reluctant agreement. He smiles softly at her, kissing her hairline as he stands again, turning to the neighbor near him to answer his questions about a potential job refurbishing his deck over the weekends.

Wrapped up in conversation, Joel doesn’t notice the tiny footsteps padding away slowly at first, speeding up down the stairs. He doesn’t notice until his hand reaches for her curls, the swoosh of air under his palm tearing his eyes away from Mr. Clark. Panic sets in immediately, Joel excusing himself quickly to go to the edge of the deck to search the large party for his seven-year-old. Flip flops slap loudly against the concrete, the familiar voluminous hair bouncing as she runs towards the open water without anyone there to catch her and no safety floats on her arms.

He deposits his beer on the railing, starting to rush down the stairs to try to catch her but is stopped as he watches what plays out below him.

You saw Sarah, without her dad following behind her, and knew something wasn’t right. Joel had told you that she was still in swimming lessons — Sarah loved the water but she’d only had a few lessons last summer so she wasn’t entirely ready to be able to jump in and swim completely without aid. That pings something off in your mind, instincts kicking in as you swing your legs over the side of the lounge chair and jump up immediately to chase after her. Your arms outstretched wrap around her tiny frame right before the edge of the pool, lifting her away from the water on the other side.

Sarah is in a fit of giggles, the idea of you snatching her a playful game in her childish mind. Relief washes over you and you go along with her giggles, spinning her around and bringing her back over to your chair.

“Gotcha, little miss! You’re eager to swim, huh?”

Sarah’s giggles die down while she’s still in your arms, and as you set her back down next to your seat, Joel jogs over from the stairs to the two of you.

“Mija, you can’t just run off like that. You scared me. And you know there’s no running around the pool, and no swimming without an adult. It’s not safe, is it?”

Joel’s squatting down to look his daughter in the eyes, seriousness evident in his tone but not to the point of anger. He’s calm and collected as he reprimands with reminders and honesty, his voice not ever nearing a louder volume than his normal cadence.

God, he’s such a good dad.

It’s so attractive.

Internally, your palm is hitting your forehead at the flutter of your ovaries. Externally, your eyes roll into the back of your head in a curse to your mind.

“You were taking so long, Daddy! I want to swim now.”

Sarah’s indignant, her actions were completely justified to herself when she didn’t know how it could have ended up.

“I’m sorry that it frustrates you to wait, but you can’t go running off. Next time, give me a reminder, Bug. Sometimes I don’t realize how long I’m taking, it’s a curse your dad has for lack of time management.”

You snort a laugh out, covering your mouth as the comment goes right over Sarah’s head. Joel’s eyes find yours, soft crinkles showing next to them as he grins at your laughter.

He sends Sarah over to her bag sitting a few chairs over to grab her floaties for him to put on, standing up and facing you. Hands slip into the pockets of his shorts, shoulders raising an inch.

“Thank you for grabbing her. I just, I dunno, I just panicked at the top of the stairs. Like seeing everything in slow motion and I was stuck there. But, uh, yeah, thank you for getting to her.”

Voice thick with ignominy, guilt sheening in his eyes as he looks at you with a vulnerability you’d yet to see from the daily interactions with Joel.

A crack formed in your heart at the thought that he was scared, that he feels like he failed in the moment for his feelings overwhelming him. Your head shakes side to side, your feet subconsciously step closer to him and your hand reaches out to sprawl across his bicep with a gentle, comforting squeeze.

“It’s alright, Joel. Nothing happened. Sarah’s totally fine, and still chomping at the bit to swim,” you console, a kind smile on your face, “Besides, I probably wouldn’t be a very good nanny if I didn’t do anything when I was way closer to her. You couldn’t have reached her in time, and I stepped in for you. You didn’t do anything wrong, Joel.”

His shoulders relax, hands slipping from his pockets as he nods.

“Thank you. For all of it.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know. But I want to.”

The words strike you in your chest, nothing profound said but the emphasis behind them warming you from the inside out like the Texas sun. You swallow, suddenly feeling parched from the heat and breaking the eye contact that Joel was holding with you to look down at Sarah as she approaches you again.

“Can you help put my floaties on?” She hands you the deflated safety devices with a toothy grin, the gap of lost tooth on the left side of her smile making you want to squeeze her from how adorable she looks.

“Course I can, girly,” you take the floats from her, finding the mouthpiece on one and looking back to Joel, continuing before you start to blow them up, “I can swim with Sarah, if you wanna keep chatting with Mr. Clark. I know he wanted to get your thoughts on his deck. You should go back and talk to him, could be an easy job with decent pay. He’s a generous guy. Go be social, charm the pants off of everyone.”

Joel nods and glances over his shoulder to the deck filled with neighbors. He turns toward you again, raising an eyebrow in question.

“You sure, sweetheart? You’re off the clock today, you should enjoy your free time.”

“Spending time with Sarah is fun. Wouldn’t want to spend my afternoon any other way. Plus, what else am I doing? Baking out in the sun like a lizard?”

Joel laughs, a genuine one that you’ve only heard a few times when a joke of yours really gets him, and he nods, bringing a hand up to gently pat your arm.

“Thanks, darlin’. I owe you one.”

The wink he sends you nearly has your knees failing you, a heat sent to your core at the subtle flirtation.

These charged moments between the two of you have been happening much more often, and with your new (almost) nightly routine waiting up for Joel in your bedroom, you’re waiting with bated breath for whatever is built between the two of you to snap and open the flood gates.

More and more, you’re imagining how it would feel to kiss him, how his hand would feel in yours, what he could take from you and what he could give you. There was so much you were admittedly naive about, but everything that you had once been intimated by seemed exciting when you thought of doing it all with Joel.

He’s kind, and respectful, and gentle. He cares. Even when he acts like a grump or teases you, you know there’s something there. There has to be, otherwise you’re going crazy for sure.

Pulling yourself away from your daydreams, you inflate the floaties for Sarah and help her get them on. You pull your cover up over your head, depositing it on the chair you were laid out on. Sarah’s small hand fits in yours, taking slow steps to allow her to keep up with you as you cross the concrete patio to the pool stairs.

The two of you climb down the stairs and into the water, Sarah shrieks and giggles from the chill surrounding her hitting Joel’s ears all the way up on the deck. He’s back with Mr. Clark, having finished hearing him out about what he wants done and offering his services, reaching an easy agreement with him about when he’ll come by to start and what Mr. Clark will pay him.

Joel wanders away from the group, grabbing another beer, this time a Miller Lite.

Not his favorite, but he’ll take what he can get to keep a small buzz around all these people. Nosy, overly polite, and fake people make him uneasy. He's virtually the opposite, and it occurs to him that you are, too.

Maybe that’s why he feels so drawn to you.

Well, that, and you’re one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen.

Cracking open the can, he leans on the railing with his elbows supporting him and watches you with his daughter. He takes a long sip, combing his gaze over the top half of your torso that’s out of the water as you stand in the shallow end. The bikini top he’d gotten a peek of under your coverup is on full display now, the sweet lilac color with ditsy florals tight across your chest.

He’s seen more of your bare skin from his window, but the bikini top sends a heat to the back of his neck and behind his ears, imagining you over him on his lap and his hand slipped under the swimsuit.

Shaking his head to pull him away from the image, he takes a deep breath and a few gulps of his beer, taking one more look at the two of you splashing around in the water with some of the other neighborhood kids swimming circles around you. He holds back a smile as he listens to your laughter mixed with Sarah’s, chewing on the inside of his cheek before he returns to be social like you told him to.

Eventually, once they’re pruny and antsy again, Sarah and the other kids get out and towel off to play tag altogether in the grassy part of your backyard. You dry off and slip your coverup over your head again, the fabric clinging to you in places that weren’t fully dry. Bare feet pad against the wooden stairs as you climb them, taking a breath to brace yourself before returning into the mass of judgy neighbors.

The contents of the cooler have dwindled, so you opt for a Corona and pop the cap off, weaving in and out of the crowd to find a lime wedge. At the makeshift bar, you grab a slice and shove it down the bottleneck, taking a sip and turning towards a group of neighbors you actually like.

Walking up to the circle, you see your brother, Chris, a kid his age from down street, Ryan, and Joel standing opposite you. Everyone’s talking about setting up a bags tournament, and you volunteer to play as well. One of the young wives offers to pair everyone off into teams, and you get set up with Chris while Joel gets partnered with Ryan.

Everyone playing meanders down to the lawn where the handful of boards are set up for play, and the four of you end up versus each other. Chris and Ryan walk to the far side, leaving Joel and yourself at the opposite end to start the game.

He bends down to collect the beanbags, handing you the blue ones with a grin while he holds the red for himself.

“You ready to lose at cornhole, sweetheart?”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

“No, cause I’m ready to win at bags.”

Joel scoffs this time, letting out a short laugh and giving you a look of disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people, darlin’. It’s called cornhole. Why do you even call it bags? You’re from Austin. We say cornhole.”

“Um, I am ‘one of those people’ cause ‘those people’ are the correct ones. And there are plenty of people living in Austin that call it bags. For example, my dad who taught me the game.”

You turn away from Joel and lob one of your bags onto the board, watching as it skids across the surface and sinks into the hole.

“Your dad is from the Midwest. Doesn’t count, sweetheart.”

Joel tosses his first one, the red bag smacking against the surface and sticking to its place. You look at him with a satisfied, smug smirk.

“It does count. And even more so, everyone in Fort Worth at school calls it bags. People from Texas.”

Your next shot only lands on the board, an annoyed sigh falling from your lips.

“That’s Fort Worth. I’m talking about Austin. Your hometown. You can’t betray us by calling it bags, darlin’. You’re breaking my heart hearing that.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll always be a heartbreaker to you. Cause if I ever call this game cornhole, it’ll be the death of me.”

Joel sinks his next shot, giving you the same pompous look you’d given him.

“Now I can’t be losing you so soon, so we can agree to disagree. But I’m right.”

“Oh my god, no! I am right. And I will be teaching Sarah the correct name for the game.”

The blue bag in your hand lands on the edge of the hole, taking a second to let gravity pull it in. You cheer to yourself and hear Joel’s laugh next to you, your smile softening.

“Now that’s just too far, sweetheart. I draw the line at influencing the youth. My youth, especially.”

Your laugh pulls a smile from Joel, the shot leaving his hand to land right in the hole of the board. He looks back to you, eyes glistening with a tinge of admiration and teasing all in one.

“Fine. I will allow you to parent as you see fit, even if it’s wrong on all moral levels.”

“I can see who’s influencing her heightened dramatics lately.”

You pause, a beat of silence as you try to find a defense for yourself but coming up short. The last beanbag in your possession sails through the air, missing the board completely. A pout tugs your bottom lip out, huffing a sigh out of your nostrils and crossing your arms to watch Joel take his last turn for the round.

His hand twitches at the last second, changing the trajectory of his throw and sending the bag off to the side into the grass.

“I’ll admit, I do come up with…climactic story lines for her Barbies. But it’s to encourage her imagination!”

“I’m just teasin’ you, darlin’. You’re great with Sarah, and we both love having you around this summer. Don’t need to change a thing about you.”

He must mean the words in a friendly manner, but your heart can help but flutter at the thought of Joel enjoying you being around him often.

The game goes for a few more rounds, Joel and you keeping up with each other and tying at the end of each of your turns.

“Guess we’re a pretty good match.” You smile sweetly at him as you reach out your hand as a gesture of good sportsmanship when you and Chris take the win. Joel’s hand envelopes yours, shaking it firmly as a grin tugs one side of his mouth up.

“I think you’re right about that, sweetheart.”

“We’re quitting, this is boring! Sorry, sis! Sorry, Joel!” your brother shouts at you both, sauntering off with his buddy Ryan. Joel looks back at you, shrugging with his hands in his pockets.

“Think we’d be good partners? We could keep up the tournament together.”

A wide smile crosses your face as you nod in agreement.

“Let’s kick everyone’s asses. At bags.” You wink before walking ahead of him back to the group, getting assigned your new opponents.

You spend the next few games across from Joel, sharing knowing glances and grins, communicating with only a look for the rest of your games. You easily climb through the small, single elimination tourney and get to the winner’s game. The pressure, or as much pressure as a friendly, neighborhood game could be when you’re a competitive person, is on with the eyes of everyone eliminated on you. After a tension filled game, both in scoring, and the look in Joel’s eyes that’s sending a tingle throughout your thighs and between your legs, the two of you earn the victory 21-19.

You both cheer goofily, overly celebratory for the simple sport as you rush to the center of the pitch. Joel meets you halfway, laughing as you raise your hand for a high five. He complies, grabbing your hand when it meets his in the air, squeezing it as he drops them together between your bodies. His eyes are darker, filled with a glint of something that intensifies the feeling at your core.

At a barely audible level, his drawl curls around his words as he tells you, “Good job, sweetheart,” with a wink and a sideways smirk.

Your long dried bikini bottoms are soaked at this point, a chill tickling its way down your spine. His hand pulls away from yours, moving to your waist to guide you to the stairs. He follows you up to the deck, and you can feel the burn of his eyes on your eyes through the layers of thin fabric, imagining the subtle jerks of his arm and shoulder that you catch glimpses of from across the lawn on those late nights you unknowingly share with him. Before you can start a conversation to stay near him, or even suss out the electric chemistry that’s reaching towards a peak between you two, you both get pulled away from each other. For the rest of the night, you can’t ever seem to catch up with him, and you resign wistfully to being stuck in a boring conversation with your mom’s friends while your thoughts circulate around Joel.

The sun set an hour ago, the temperature dropping only a few degrees with the night fall. Most of the neighborhood is still mingling around your family’s backyard, those with younger kids all making their way home.

Sarah’s head rests against Joel’s shoulder as he holds her at his hip, adjusting her to hold her higher as he chats with your dad and brother about his last season on LSU’s baseball team. He feels Sarah rub her face against his shirt and glances at her, checking the time on his watch. It’s about half an hour past Sarah’s usual bedtime, and if he doesn’t get her back home, she’s going to be as grumpy as he is without a full eight hours.

Wishing your dad and brother goodnight and thanking them for hosting, he turns to make his way across the deck and glances around in an attempt to find you to say goodnight. It’s Saturday, which means he won’t see you tomorrow, and the thought of that contracts his chest. He can’t think of an excuse to go on a search to seek you out, and without a reason, he meanders back over to his house.

Joel gets Sarah into her pajamas and lays her down for the night, kissing her forehead and smoothing her hair back. He smiles to himself at the peaceful look on her face, rubbing her back gently before shutting off her bedside lamp and closing the door behind him.

Retiring on the sofa, he turns on some reruns of the latest cable show, zoning out on the screen as his thoughts drift to you.

The smell of chlorine on your hair starts to give you a headache, so you make your way inside and up to your room to shower off. Changing into your oversized sleep shirt and shorts, you fall back into bed and grab your book from the nightstand to read some pages to distract your brain before going to sleep.

You glance out your window to see if Joel’s come up to his room, like that first night you had waited for him and every time since then. When you can’t see his silhouette or any lights on in his window, you take a guess that he must be parked in front of the TV since he brought Sarah home.

After a chapter or two of your book, a vibration muffles against your comforter. The book gets discarded, probably losing your page while your hands scramble to find your device before the ringing stops. Right before it rings through, you grab the small phone and hit accept without a chance to check the contact.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The raspy drawl crackling through the line raises your heart rate, your eyes glancing to your alarm clock to see the time - 11:48 pm.

Why was Joel calling this late?

“Joel? What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. Well, nothing serious. I, uh, just got a call from Tommy and he’s way too drunk at some bar downtown to drive home. I gotta go get him, but I don’t wanna wake Sarah to put her in the car or leave her by herself here obviously. So I was wondering if you’d—”

“I’ll be right over.”

Joel sighs, full of relief and breathes out his next words filled with gratefulness.

“Thank you so much, darlin’.”

You make a quick goodbye, gathering your phone and slipping out of your bedroom. Downstairs near the door to your garage, you slip on your flip flops and head over across your front yard and Joel’s. The humidity in the air has lessened, but your damp hair still sticks to the back of your neck. Your nails scrape up the hair and hold it off your neck, legs carrying you up the short set of stairs and up to the Miller front door. Your right hand knuckles tap quietly against the painted wood, letting your hair down and rubbing your sweaty palms on your t-shirt.

The door swings open with Joel on the other side, a sleepy grin on his face as he waves you in. He looks soft in his washed out Cypress Hill t-shirt and gym shorts, the vision of him in his version of PJs tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Thank you again for coming over here, darlin’. Sarah’s sleeping, should stay asleep while I’m gone. She was exhausted after tonight.”

Following Joel into the living room, he gestures to the couch and the TV that is still turned on to whatever he was watching before.

“Should be back soon, feel free to hang out here. Help yourself to anything to drink or if you want a snack, you know where everything is.” He smiles at the mention of you knowing your way around, grabbing the keys to his truck and slipping on some sneakers as you plop down onto the couch.

“Sounds good, I’ve got my cell so if you need any more help, text or call. But I’ll be camped out here until you get back.”

“Hopefully won’t need anything else, been dealing with Tommy my whole life. Always gonna be the annoying little brother,” he chuckles softly and lingers near the door, glancing around before his eyes find you again, “Guess I should head out, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Drive safe! And tell Tommy I say hi,” you add with a quiet giggle, watching as Joel shakes his head and laughs to himself, heading out the front door. The truck rumbles to life in the driveway, and you watch from the window as he heads down your street and towards the city.

The engine shuts off in the driveway, and Joel can still hear some echoes of the party carrying on from another neighbor's backyard. Getting Tommy from the bar took way longer than he thought it would, and it’s now 1:26am. Traffic was horrible attempting to cross the city ‘cause of some country show getting out right as he hit downtown, and Tommy wouldn’t answer his damn phone when Joel did get there. He sped back to Tommy’s and basically made him roll out of the car, idling to make sure his brother got inside alright. He was insufferable with his drunk babbling, and now by the time Joel finally got home, he felt a swirl of guilt in his stomach for making you come over. He thought it would be quick, and now he’s slinking inside to apologize profusely for taking an hour and a half.

The front door squeaks on its hinges, the hollow sound of the TV cracking through its speakers at a low volume. You don’t greet him as he slowly clicks the door back in place, locking the deadbolt and kicking off his sneakers into the pile of shoes in the entryway.

Sock covered feet echo muffled thuds across the wood floors of his living room, a grin tugging on his lips when you finally come into view.

Fast asleep, you're laid out on the leather couch with your legs curled into your stomach. One arm’s under the throw pillow your head rests on and the other is bent limply in front of you, fingers wrapped into a loose fist. The movement of your chest is languid and deep with your breaths, lips parted in relaxation and eyelashes resting against your skin.

Painfully angelic.

He’s frozen for a moment across the room, watching you sleep until the time reaches past 1:30am and he knows that he needs to wake you to get you back home and into your own bed. He selfishly wants to let you sleep there, doesn’t want to interrupt any sweet dreams you might be having or the rest you need after taking care of his daughter all week, after helping him too.

Sighing faintly to himself, he moves towards the couch and bends down to gently rub your shoulder to wake you.

“I’m back, sweetheart, you can head home.”

You gasp from the shock of being woken from a deep sleep, scrambling to sit up in a panic with heavy lidded eyes. Your soft touch presses warmly against his thigh through the fabric of his gym shorts, and he looks down at you as you start to fully wake.

“Joel? Oh god, I’m so sorry I fell asleep, I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, sweetheart. I took a lot longer than I thought I would,” the cozy look in your eyes plucks at his heart strings, and the touch lingering on his leg turns into an electric burn, “‘M sorry you had to sleep on the couch for a bit.”

Your head shakes with a dopey grin, fingers brushing his skin as it slips back towards your lap. The spot once covered with your touch sends a chill throughout his body. His eyes track your motion and his own hand reaches out for you. Large fingers slip between yours, Joel’s gaze returns up from your locked hands. Before you can say anything to him, and before he can overthink, he leans in and catches your lips in a fragile kiss.

Everything stops around him in the moment. The TV is muted in his ears, the chill of the AC isn’t felt with the fire alighting in his gut, his eyes close and bring him into an abyss where all he can feel is the plush of your lips against his and all he can smell is the candied scent of your green apple and lime body wash mixing in his nose with the bluebell and jasmine notes of your shampoo. It’s overwhelming, the way you have completely surrounded him with one kiss.

Your mouth is still against his for a few more beats, Joel imagining the shock you must be in and he immediately feels his stomach drop in a rush.

Fucking idiot. Why would you think it would be okay to kiss her? She’s obviously uncomfortable and now you are going to have to grovel out an apology for being creepy and completely unprofessional.

Joel’s head moves back to break the kiss, his eyes opening with dread flooding them. Scanning your own expression, he can’t quite read you.

“Darlin’, I’m so sor—”

“Do it again.”

Now Joel is still with shock, confusion contorting his face as his head tilts minutely.

“What d’you mean, sweetheart?”

“Do it again,” the smooth skin of your hand trails up his arm, across his shoulder, and wraps around the side of his neck, “Kiss me.”

His brain takes a few seconds to process your words and fire actions to his nerves and muscles, but when everything finally connects in him, he’s leaning in and molding his mouth to yours in a deeper exchange.

With hands intertwined, he reaches his other up to caress your cheek. His fingers splayed across your face, grazing the line of your jaw as you sigh into his mouth. The slight part of your lips with the exhale gives him a chance to lick into your mouth, his tongue tasting yours. Your hand on his neck tugs to pull him over you further, his back aching at the angle.

He pulls apart from you, breaths shallow as his eyes search yours for any signs of wanting to stop. When he can’t find any, he moves to sit on the couch, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap.

Joel chases your honey kisses, taking peck after peck as his hands run over your back. He feels your hands scratch into his five o’clock shadow, groaning against your lips when you sit back on his thigh and the front of your shorts brushes against his semi-hard cock in his pants.

Kisses intensify, heating up again. Joel’s hands skim down your back and each grab a handful of your ass, coaxing a small whimper from your lips. The sweet sound flips another switch in Joel, his hips canting up against you as he feels himself swell more in his pants.

Against your lips, he rasps out, “Y’have no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you, darlin’.”

“You could’ve. I’ve wanted it just as much…” you breathe out, a soft whine slipping after, “Don’t know how you didn’t—didn’t notice how much I wanted you.”

Joel’s mouth presses kisses at the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, and down your neck. He nips at your lush skin, moaning quietly and fanning out humid air at your collar. His hips grind up against you again, your inhale catching in your throat in a gasp.

“I noticed, sweetheart. Trust me, I noticed. Just couldn’t bring myself to touch you. Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” his words tumble out in a lustful haze, the taste of you and the feeling of you lowering his inhibitions, “But I wanted you so bad. Ached for you, darlin’, and when I saw you in your window from my bedroom one night, dressed in nothing but those sweet little white lace panties you got, I watched you putting lotion on and fucked my hand. Felt so good watching your hands all over yourself, wanted ‘em to be mine.”

He moves one of his hands from your ass, slipping it between your bodies and groping one of your breasts through the thin material of your sleep shirt. You moan his name louder than before, your smaller hand gripping right onto his shoulder. He catches your lips in a kiss again to stifle your noises to be sure you two wouldn’t wake Sarah.

Your lips detach from his with a smacking sound, eyes looking into his blown wide with wonder.

“I knew you were there. I did it for you.”

Joel stares at you in disbelief, lips parted as he waits for you to continue.

“I wanted you so badly, that I thought—I thought if you saw me, it would maybe make you see me. Think I’m pretty or something. So I waited for you that first time, glancing over until I finally saw you in the window. And when I noticed you staring, I started to change my clothes but that wasn’t going to be enough cause it would be over so soon. So I put on my lotion. I could see you sitting there when I looked out my window, and I just—I guessed what you were doing cause I saw your arm moving and your head tilted back a lot. And it seemed like you liked it, so I kept doing it for you, and waiting for something to finally happen.”

His cock is rock hard and throbbing for some kind of attention. He can feel a wet spot forming on the fabric of his boxers from his pre-cum leaking out of him.

You knew. You saw him getting off to watching you parade around your room mostly naked. You liked it, and you kept doing it for him.

It’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever told him.

“Aren’t you a sweet little thing, huh darlin’? You did that for me every time?”

Joel uses the hand that was on your breast to brush your hair behind your ear, eyes piercing yours. He can see the shyness in you still, the hesitancy coating your expression and shaky breaths.

“Uh huh.”

“You wanted me to feel good? All those times, I got to take care of myself, but nobody took care of you?”

An audible swallow cuts the silence you’ve created, a shrug of your shoulders before your meek voice vibrates Joel’s ears.

“Um, sometimes—sometimes I would touch myself or rub against one of my pillows after I turned out my light. Not every night, but when I really needed to I did.”

A pout juts Joel’s bottom lip out, his head shaking back and forth.

“Mmm, poor thing having to touch yourself, bet it didn’t ever feel like enough, huh? Probably were thinking about my hands, my mouth, my cock. Am I right, sweet girl? Were you wishing I would find you in your room and make you come?”

His words are shooting right to your cunt, fluttering inside of you and soaking your panties. This moment is more than enough for you to have your imagination run free, even if Joel never so much as kissed your cheek again. But his voice is addictive, his touch setting of ripples of goosebumps and making your body feel as if it’s filled with helium. You thought you would float to his ceiling if he wasn’t holding onto you so tight.

“Yes, yes I wanted that,” you close your eyes, the contact with Joel’s too much as you work up the courage to spill out the embarrassing reality that you’ve been dreading to tell him if you were ever caught in a moment like this, “I’m, um, I’ve never had anyone…”

Joel’s one hand plays with your hair and the other squeezes your bum gently. Your eyes open to see him staring at you full of doting affection.

“You’ve never had anyone touch you? You’re a virgin?” Your eyes cast down to the graphic on his t-shirt, nodding and feeling that meager inadequacy you’ve felt when the confession has come up to other guys and boyfriends in the past.

It wasn’t like you were saving yourself for any reason, it just never felt like the right moment. You never really wanted it with anyone in the past, and you took it as a sign when most guys, especially during college, would bolt after you told them. Your friends comforted you, after the first time telling you how shitty guys were and how they all had this complex that girls become obsessed and clingy with the guys they lose it to.

You braved yourself for that moment to happen now, waiting for Joel to tell you that ‘this wasn’t going to work’ or ‘that it’s getting kind of late’.

“Nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. We can do whatever you're comfortable with. Including doing nothing if that’s what you want.”

“What?”

Your head snaps up in surprise, facing writhe with skepticism. In Joel’s expression, you can’t find any signs of him being humorous or lying to you.

“I said, we can take this at your pace. I’d be happy just having you near me, pretty girl. I don’t wanna pressure you into anything.”

“No, no. You’re not,” your hands run across his broad shoulders, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to his lips, “I want it with you, all of it. What I’m missing out on.”

His chuckle fills your ears, not laughing at you maliciously but as if you’re endearing to him.

“That can all happen eventually, darlin’. Not tonight,” Joel gives you a heady, yet tender kiss, pulling you by your waist over to his right more. Your knees lay on either side of his thigh, and you stare at him when he pulls back from you.

“How about tonight, you just show me how you make yourself come? I want you to show me what you like. Wanna see your beautiful face when you come. That alright with you, sweet girl?”

“What d’you mean?”

He’s patient with you, a warm palm running along your side as his head tilts.

“You rub your pretty little clit against my thigh. Just like one of your pillows. That okay? Think you’ll feel good doin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, yeah. I wanna try it.”

Joel’s smile is sweetened as he looks at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. He pushes you to stand from his lap for a moment, holding you up on shaky legs while one hand tugs down the waistband of your shorts a few inches. He looks up at you through his long lashes (why do men always have the best lashes?) and presses a kiss to your hip bone.

“Can I take these off for you, darlin’?”

You nod slowly, feeling the words get caught in your throat as tension builds between the two of you.

“Need you to tell me. Always need to hear your words.”

Swallowing hard, your throat clears with a barely there hem and your voice comes out thick with want.

“You can take them off. Please take them off.”

Joel moves with your consent, smoothly pulling your cotton shorts down your legs and dropping them to the ground. He leans forward and grazes his lips along your thighs with a warm exhale, ending his exploration with a suckling kiss.

“Such a sweet, polite girl. How’d anyone resist you?”

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, bringing you into his lap and settling you over his right leg again. You whimper at the feeling of your weight pressing your clit against his thigh, the moment of friction as he adjusts your positions sending a jolt of energy throughout your bloodstream.

“Alright, pretty girl, you just move your hips how you do in your bedroom alone. Right here against my thigh.”

Hands on his shoulders brace yourself as you give your hips one roll against Joel, the wetness of your cunt leaking from your panties and onto his skin. When you pull back, you can see the slightest hint of sheen on him, mouth falling open at the sight of part of you marking him, even temporarily. A slow rhythm builds, Joel’s large hand encasing one of your ass cheeks and the other on your waist to help you find your pace.

“I imagined you over me like this all the time. Y’know what I would say to myself when I was looking at you, sweetheart?” The timbre of his deep drawl vibrates against your eardrum as he leans his head in to press a kiss right under your lobe.

“W-What would you say?” your voice is high-pitched and throaty, eyes screwing shut as you focus on his voice and the feeling of your clit dragging against him.

“I would say things like ‘Quiero saborearte’ and ‘Apuesto a que te sientes tan apretada y mojada’ and ‘Quiero dártelo’. Do you know what any of that means?”

Is he really giving you a Spanish lesson right now?

When you don’t answer, his hands grip you tighter and skid your hips to a halt, a whine pulled from your lips involuntarily as you look at him.

“I asked you if you understood what I said, sweetheart. I wanna know. Then you can keep going.”

He’s being serious, and you huff out a breath in frustration before you respond.

“All I understood is ‘quiero’ which is ‘I want’ and ‘saborear’ is to savor? I think?”

Joel rumbles out a satisfied hum, removing his hands from you completely. At the freedom, you move your hips faster, your arousal forming a wet spot on his shorts and skin. Quiet moans of his name are the only thing that you can speak as you listen to him again.

“‘Quiero saborearte’ is ‘I want to taste you.’”

Oh fuck.

His hands grip you again, moving you in figure eights to grind you harder on his leg.

“‘Apuesto a que te sientes tan apretada y mojada’ means ‘I bet you feel so tight and wet.’”

“Fuck, Joel…”

His dark chuckle cuts through after your breathy adlib, the burning hot coil in your gut twists tighter.

“God, you look so pretty like this. Can’t wait to see what you look like when I have my fingers or tongue on you. I know I’ll get you screaming my name.”

Smug fucker.

“And ‘Quiero dártelo’ translates to ‘I want to put it in.’ Is that what you thought about when you were making a mess on your pillows, sweet girl? Thought about me giving you my cock?”

“Joel, I-I’m gonna—“

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Let go, come on my thigh.”

That’s when the dam breaks and you're swept up into the flood of pleasure that washes over you like a tidal wave. All you can respond to Joel is “yesyesyes” as your eyes roll back into your head with your jaw dropped, his hands continuing to slide your hips back and forth to ride out your orgasm.

“So beautiful, darlin’…”

The feeling dissipates eventually, your chest heaving breaths to slow your heart rate down. Your eyes meet Joel’s again, a Cheshire smile wide across his face as he leans in and kisses you passionately. He pulls away, pressing quick pecks on your lips and around your cheeks, coaxing a laugh from you. You press his back against the couch, grin filled with a shy affection as you stare at him. You move to stand on your knees to climb off of him, your leg brushing his bulge and feeling his cock twitch in his shorts. Eyes snap back to his, a curious expression covering your features.

“Can I do something for you?”

“Another time, sweetheart. S’real late now, probably should get back home to get some sleep.” Joel thumbs your lip as you pout, wrapping around him in a tight hug.

“I don’t wanna leave.”

“I know, darlin’, I wish you could stay with me all night. But wouldn’t be the best look for you to walk home tomorrow morning from my house in your little PJs.”

You sigh deeply, pressing a light kiss to his neck before sitting up again and nodding in understanding.

“You’re right. I should get home,” you stand from the couch and pull on your shorts, slinking over to the front door with him in tow to slip into your flip flops, “See you Monday?”

You look up at him with wide, doleful eyes filled with hope, relief washing over you as he pulls you into him and gives you a breathtaking kiss.

“Can’t wait for it, sweet girl. Have a good Sunday.”

He sends you out the door after one, or a few, last kisses, standing in the doorway to make sure you get in alright.

Feeling your mind in the clouds and floating on adrenaline, you glide up to your room and flop onto your bed. Laying with your thoughts recounting the last hour of your life, you’re only pulled out when your phone buzzes with a message.

Joel:

Think you can sit up on your bed, sweetheart?

The message confuses you for a second until it clicks and you sit up quickly, turning on your mattress to face your window.

Joel’s lights are on for once in his room, his silhouette standing in the window. One hand supports him against the glass, shirt off and shorts pulled a few inches down his thighs. His arm flexes as he jerks his cock, breath fogging up the spot he’s closest to.

A wave of arousal rushes to your core, watching him on full display unlike every other time you’ve been the one to put the show on for him. It only takes a moment looking at you sitting on your bed, even in your pajamas, before his head is rolling back, jaw dropped and hand against the window clenching into a fist as he paints his hand with his come.

You fall back onto your bed when he walks out of sight, assuming he’s cleaning up. One more buzz sounds before you turn your light out, a second message from Joel:

Need you to stay late on Monday.

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[navybrat817]

A New Tradition

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky doesn't have any holiday traditions, but maybe he can start something new with you. Word Count: Over 2.5k Warnings: Slight angst, mention of trauma, pining, falling in love, slight feels (it's me), canon divergent, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). Future fluff and smut for this couple. A/N: This idea hit me and it wouldn't let go until I wrote it down. Set in the same AU as lumberjack!Steve, I hope to share more when I can. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky stared at the ceiling from the floor as he tried to fall asleep. Evergreen and spice lingered in his nostrils from the earlier festivities of the evening. One of the songs you sang over dinner played in a loop in his head, a beautiful melody of hope.

It didn't stop him from feeling as cold as the weather outside.

Random bouts of insomnia weren't new to him, but he couldn't put his finger on what his issue was tonight. It was a good day filled with happy moments thanks to you, the neighbor he harbored a crush on. He moved into the building around the same time as you after his pardon and someone delivered one of your packages to his door by mistake. Luckily you lived just across the hall and he made sure the box ended up in your hands.

He hadn’t expected a goddess in human form to answer the door.

“I got your box,” he said harsher than he intended to.

He half expected you to slam the door in his face for his tone. If you recognized him as the former Winter Soldier, you kept it to yourself. In fact, you didn’t look afraid of him at all as you took the box from his hands. He almost told you that you should be scared of him.

“Thank you so much for bringing it over,” you smiled.

It was the start of an unexpected friendship. He tried to find excuses to stop and talk to you whenever he saw you, which ended with him giving you an awkward smile in the beginning before he walked away. He used to know how to talk to girls and it was silly having a crush on a neighbor when he was trying to get his head on straight.

If only you didn’t make it so easy to want.

And you either found him endearing or entertaining since you began to invite him over for dinners.

Every other week, you’d trade off meals and talk about the day. You split your day between your job and making and selling jewelry online. The pieces you showed him were beautiful. You put so much care into them.

While he couldn’t give you all the details of his missions, he found himself more comfortable talking to you as time went on. One of the things he liked was that you always asked what he needed. If he wanted advice, you’d give it. If he wanted you to listen, you did just that. If he just wanted to talk, you chatted with ease.

You even stayed up with him after a few nightmares.

He was used to dealing with people who had agendas or messed with his head, but you didn’t play games.

Steve and Sam were both happy when he finally told them about you. After the former Captain America found his own girl and a bit of peace after everything, he hoped Bucky was on the path to doing the same. It impressed Sam that he actually talked to you instead of keeping everything inside.

It didn’t stop him from feeling like a burden some days.

“You’re always welcome at my place and you can always talk to me, Jamie.”

No one else was allowed to call him that.

When you heard he wasn’t doing anything around the holidays, you offered to make him a nice dinner since you wouldn't be around your family. They were, unfortunately, too far away for a quick visit. You joked that he had to watch a movie with you after dinner if he decided to come over. It was nice that you extended an invitation to him, especially when he didn’t have any traditions or anything else to look forward to.

Bucky had every intention of getting you the perfect present until an extended mission came up. He barely made it back in time to see you. Steve had to rush home to his girl and the same with Sam and his family. He declined both of their offers for him to join them, not wanting to impose on them or let you down by not showing up.

"You made it!" you said excitedly when you opened the door, looking as gorgeous as ever in a little black dress. He'd fantasize about you in it later. "You aren't hurt? You're okay?"

"Not a scratch," he assured you when he stopped staring.

"Good," you sighed in relief. "May I give you a hug? I missed you."

You didn't give him hugs without his permission and he appreciated your thoughtfulness that he might not want to be touched some days. He held his arms out for you as he wordlessly answered, taking a moment to cherish your embrace when you moved close. He didn't let it linger since he didn't want you to be uncomfortable.

But he wished he would've held you a bit longer.

"Missed you, too," he whispered as you led him inside.

If he read into it, he would’ve thought the setup was romantic. He felt a little underdressed in his leather jacket and jeans, but you didn't judge. You served by candlelight and you made sure to include all sorts of dishes he enjoyed. He ate and savored every bite. You even had a gift waiting for him under the tree before you started the movie.

He almost hugged the personalized apron and small book of recipes you made for him. He already had a meal in mind to make for you as a thank you for the next weekly dinner. But that wasn't all. You pulled out a small, white and black box from the back of the tree and handed it to him.

"You're spoiling me," he joked.

"I wanted to," you teased, messing with the hem of your dress as he opened the box.

He held his breath as he held up the dog tags. They were almost an exact replica of the ones around his neck, but there was a difference when he flipped one of them over. He ran his thumb over the letters as he read them out loud.

"I am James Bucky Barnes."

He explained to you once his need to make amends. That he was no longer the Winter Soldier. That he didn't have a choice. You took his words and created a gift for him.

His hands destroyed so many things while yours brought beauty into the world.

"I hope you like it," you said, still messing with your dress. A nervous habit he picked up on. "I know you wear yours, but I thought it would be nice to have those just in case."

"Thank you," he croaked, clearing his throat as he carefully placed them back in the box. "And I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet for not having your gift ready."

"You came over and spent the evening with me. That is a gift," you said with such sincerity that he wasn’t worthy of receiving.

Of course you wouldn’t take any offense that he showed up empty-handed. Why were you so kind to him? He wished there was mistletoe nearby simply to have the excuse to kiss you. He also wanted to thank you for making him feel at home.

Do I have a home anymore?

Naturally, he chose to flee when that thought became too much.

"You sure you don't want to stay?" you asked carefully as he gathered his things and got ready to leave. “We don’t have to watch the movie.”

"I should get back to my place, but thank you," was all he said.

His place, but not his home.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"I will be," he said, not wanting to lie to you.

You nodded and thanked him for stopping by. You also told him to call or come back if he needed anything. The image of your sad smile as you walked him to the door would haunt him. He just knew it. He wondered if you’d ever invite him over again for another dinner after his abrupt departure.

He attempted to meditate once he got home, but it didn’t quiet his mind. Working out got some of the tension in his body out, but not much else. He debated going back to your place, but it was too late by then.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face before his eyes trailed to the clock on the wall. It was almost 3am and he knew sleep wouldn't come to him. He grabbed his phone and debated calling you. He didn’t want to disturb you, but he wanted to hear your voice.

He half hoped you wouldn’t answer since you deserved a peaceful night of sleep, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep himself until the two of you talked.

You answered on the second ring. “Hey, Bucky,” you said with a small yawn.

Were you up waiting for me to call or did I wake you?

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said immediately. He had to get that out there.

“Please, don’t apologize,” you replied. He knew he should’ve let you rest. “Do you need me to listen, talk, or give advice?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his vibranium hand forming a fist as he took a deep breath. “You treated me to a nice night. The best night and I just,” he gritted his teeth and exhaled through his nose. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

He was at a loss because everything tonight was right and he didn’t know what was wrong. If he couldn’t pinpoint the issue, how could he know how to fix it? How could you? It was bad enough when he was alone with his own mind and nightmares, but it was another when he felt helpless.

He didn’t like that sense of control being taken away from his own thoughts.

“Do you mind if I say something?” you offered after a few more seconds of silence.

“Not at all,” he whispered, if only to hear you speak.

“I think you might be feeling a bit alone or lost,” you said. He heard a bit of shuffling around and wondered if you were trying to get comfortable. “Holidays, for many, are about being with family and friends. When was the last time you got to celebrate with your loved ones?”

“Before I went off to war,” he whispered.

He swallowed as he put his head on the pillow. Hydra made sure he never felt the happiness of this time of year. The couple of years he went into hiding after the fall, he was alone. After healing in Wakanda, he went back into the fight. The snap happened.

And his family?

They’re long gone now.

Sam, Nat, everyone had their own traditions. Steve lost so much and deserved his quiet moments outside of the city. None of them needed to rearrange their lives to accommodate him.

Holidays were a joyous time, but also a reminder of things lost and what could have been.

“Jamie,” you breathed out. “If my dinner tonight upset you in any way, I’m-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he stopped you, gripping his phone tighter. “It isn’t your fault my family is gone and you aren’t the cause of my pain.”

One of the reasons he respected you was because you didn’t pity him. He didn’t want you to start tonight.

“Then I need you to take back your apology because you aren’t the cause of my pain either,” you argued.

Touche.

“But I left you alone after you went to all that trouble and had those gifts made for me,” he said.

Why are you not mad at me?

“It wasn’t any trouble, but maybe it was too much or overwhelming."

“I swear, it wasn’t,” he said. How could he make you believe him? “I just have no traditions now. No special meals, movies, gifts, things to pass on, nothing."

He did just fine on his own for years, but things changed. He wouldn’t have believed he deserved happy moments before therapy and meeting you, but he did and he does. You gave him a taste of what he could have. Why couldn't he let himself take it?

"Maybe I can help you create a new tradition."

"You're done more than enough," he promised, smiling at your offer.

You've done more than you could ever know.

“I wanted to give you a special night, but I didn’t check in to see if the holiday dinner was what you really wanted. I should’ve asked, Jamie.”

“Are you kidding? Without you, I wouldn’t have even had a holiday to celebrate. It was perfect,” he promised you, standing up as he tried to gather the courage to say that you are perfect. “Did you know the only thing I wanted to do when I got back was see you?”

“Really?” you asked in a small voice. “That was the only thing you wanted?”

“Really,” he said. It wasn’t a full confession, but it was coming out. “And that’s exactly what I got, so thank you.”

“Well, to be honest, the reason I suggested a movie was so we could possibly cuddle,” you admitted.

And I fucking ruined it.

“I would’ve liked cuddling,” he said, smirking a bit. “And I really liked your dress.”

“I wore that just for you,” you said in a hushed voice, like you were trying to keep quiet. “Is there anything else about tonight that you wish would’ve been different? If you could do it all over again?”

“Honestly?” he said, not caring that he only had his boxer briefs on as he left his bedroom and headed toward the main door. “I would’ve kissed you the moment I got back from the mission.”

Even with his super soldier hearing, he had no idea you were on the other side of the door until he opened it. You still had your phone in hand as you gazed at him, no longer wearing the black dress. You switched to red and green pajamas that looked amazing on you, but he would prefer them on his floor.

“New tradition proposal,” you smiled as you stepped inside and ended the call. “We have a nice meal together, exchange gifts by the tree, and cuddle on the couch for a movie.

"Okay," he smiled, hanging up his phone, too.

"And end the night with a kiss," you said hopefully.

“I don’t think so,” he shook his head.

Your face fell when you took a step back. “Oh. I’m sorry. I should-”

He reached out to pull you back toward him, smiling when your eyes widened. “Kiss me every chance you get," he said as he removed his dog tags and put them around your neck. "Starting right now.”

You smiled just as bright as you did the first day he met you. “I think I’m going to like this tradition.”

“Me, too,” he whispered, pressing his lip against yours.

Bucky couldn’t wait to start many more traditions with you.

What other traditions would we like to see from our new couple? We have Valentine's Day!❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 2

Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader x Suguru Geto

This is a dark yandere fic that will feature upsetting themes in the future and it is canon divergent. It is updated every Wednesday.

ABOUT: You moved to Tokyo over the summer to take a teaching job. As you get settled in, you find yourself entangled in a toxic dynamic.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You ended up sharing just a little bit too much to the people you just met but you haven’t scared them off just yet. As a result, you quickly find yourself growing closer to the group.

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

2. Fitting In

“Really?” Satoru interrupted you halfway through your sentence as you explained the small town life, his voice was quite loud at this point. “Not even a single cinema?”

The two of you were sitting quite closely as he had swapped seats with Shoko, who was idly chatting away to Suguru about something else for quite some time now. Your lacking childhood and bleak teenage years were something of interest to Satoru as it seemed as he took personal offence on your behalf whenever you got into the town details and your former student life.

“Yeah,” you nodded along, your tone was a little more relaxed now and you didn’t quite feel so intimidated by him now that you had a good flow going on, “you had to go into the city to do anything at all.”

“Which you’re telling me was also quite far?” he asked, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, so I guess I just… didn’t, not outside of field trips anyway,” you replied confirming his suspicions.

“That’s crazy,” he added, pouring you another glass again as you held onto the glass but just barely—were you supposed to tell him to stop at some point?

It felt embarrassing in a way to admit what your life was before coming here, but such towns weren’t too far from the norm in the country; the towns were safe and peaceful and sometimes even pretty, but they were boring unless you were a young child or just about to retire.

“Yeah, it was-“ you continued to nod along, your voice slurring just enough for Shoko to notice this and put a stop what she was doing at the opposite end to put the glass back on the table.

“—That’s enough, maybe,” she interrupted you, giving Satoru a disapproving look as she then glanced at the bottle.

“I think I can manage,” you tried to defend your state, feeling so warm and so liquified almost; all of your anxiety seemed to melt away and was replaced with gradually dizzying vision as your body swayed more than it should, but in such a pleasant way.

“Hey, I get it—I drink more when I have to talk to him too,” she smiled, trying to keep your attention, “but let’s all talk together, yeah?”

You quietly nodded as there was some truth to what she was saying. You initially drank more to get into the act of talking to Satoru because he was immediately too much, too questioning and by now you were perfectly tipsy, drunk even.

Maybe another drink would have been a mistake.

You trusted her for now, understanding that she was the binder between the two as she seemed to get along with both Suguru and Satoru in a deeply rooted way. Beyond anything you could understand at least. They must have all been friends for a very long time and if you were honest, you were pretty jealous of their established dynamic even if you didn’t let it show.

It wasn’t as if they made you feel like you were intruding on their space though, if anything, they were the opposite.

“So, you tired of talking about your town yet?” she asked as she let out a slight laugh, moving the hair out of your eyes as she leaned across the table, fixing your appearance up just a little.

“Yeah, I guess you could say,” you said, although unsure how to properly reply, “I can’t really find anything good to say about it.”

“Something happen there?” Suguru asked, swaying the conversation to a direction you weren’t quite ready to go.

But you trusted the company around you, at least currently. You definitely wanted to. It would be so nice if you could just belong for once and tell others your problems rather than keeping them bottled in.

Was it too soon, though?

You were too drunk to care about the consequences, anyway.

“It’s a small enough town that you, uh, become the talk of it if something happens, it’s not like Tokyo where you can hide in the crowd, it’s more like…” you replied as you tried to piece everything along, wondering if anyone picked up on your sudden nervousness already, if it was obvious from the start, “uh, I guess it was relatively clique-like? One dominant family was the most influential so if their kids didn’t like the other kids, then it was tough luck for them.”

“Oh, so you got bullied,” Satoru quickly understood, grunting immediately as Shoko seemingly kicked him from under the table.

“They were just regular people though, right?” Suguru asked as his eyes narrowed, “not sorcerers?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I was the only sorcerer in town as far as I knew, so… it was just… yeah,” you confirmed.

“Did you get beaten up often or something?” Satoru asked as he tried to understand. It wasn’t that his tone mocked you, it just felt too real to acknowledge it in that way.

At least when Suguru asked, he was vague. You were quick to shake it off though, you didn’t know Satoru too well just yet and besides, you did have fun talking to him, so maybe there wasn’t anything rude about it.

How typical, though. A peculiar thought crossed your mind: even in the new city, your past still managed to follow you all the way there.

You were about to reply with something but you noticed Satoru grunt under the table again as this time Suguru stared at him.

“What’s up with the kicking?” Satoru whined.

“Don’t speedrun the newbie into an actual drinking problem,” Shoko scolded right away, “you can’t just ask people to talk about something like that, what if it was actually really bad…?”

“I’m not asking because I’m being an ass… for once,” he replied, quick to defend himself as he readjusted the clothes he wore, “I’m asking because I’m interested.”

“I-it’s fine,” you spoke up, feeling just a little shaky but you quickly shrugged it off — you wanted to talk about this, to get an outside perspective but it was difficult, “it started off verbally and then it became something completely different when we all became teens.”

You stared at the now empty glasses and wished for them to be full, but they weren’t, wondering where the glass that Shoko confiscated had gone off to.

As such, you sighed and took a deep breath as you continued.

“I changed schools by then and saw her less and less, so it wasn’t so bad nor frequent after a while, but it still happened, I guess.”

It wasn’t all too long before you were rambling off to the crowd that took you in and listened along, describing exactly what went on in the town up north. To Satoru’s credit, he didn’t mock you when you really got into it and as for the other two, they quietly listened as their eyes glued themselves onto yours. The way that their faces slowly changed ever so subtly as you described more and more of what you went through, the jaws clenching, the clearing throats and darkening stares — had made you at least feel like you weren’t as crazy as you thought.

It actually was that bad.

It felt validating, freeing to an extent albeit in a messed up way.

You described that final year of normal school in excruciating detail. You weren’t really sure whether to blame the parents for forcing their kid to go to the same school as everyone else for exposure or whatever it was or if it was just because she was a vile person from birth.

“Wait seriously, there’s more?” Satoru interrupted you ever so briefly to take a breather, his hands resting on your shoulders out of concern as he looked at you with those striking blue eyes.

“I’m almost done,” you assured.

In his defence, he wasn’t wrong about it being a lot. Maybe it actually was too much. You had so far explained the build up of cruelty that Yui, the said bully in question, had slowly kept adding onto. Things like stealing your school uniform after gym class so you wouldn’t have anything to change back into or taking away your towels after using the school pool, so that you’d be stranded naked in the showers. Things like sneaking laxatives into your food and having unfavourable things happen to you during class as a result and convincing the other kids that you weren’t worthy of kindness, even your own friends.

You were soon onto the more extreme explanations now, so things like pushing you face first into a puddle and walking over you as your nostrils filled with water, tripping you up as you walked regardless, pushing you into the road with cars on the way, the playground incident and the like.

You weren’t really sure why you were hated all that much, but you could at least explain every single thing that happened with such detail as clear as the days they all had happened on.

“How much more?” He asked.

“There’s a final thing she did, but it tops everything,” you said slowly, making sure you could describe it despite being inebriated, “well, two final things.”

You didn’t really want to share the actual details to the night she actually ruined your life. Maybe one day, but not just yet. For now, you’d settle on something else she did, really bad but not as severe.

“Hey, you don’t have to if you don’t want to?” Shoko was quick to say, even if she did lean forward a little to listen better.

“I think I want to? But it’s just I don’t want to make things weird or anything…” you replied, mulling the idea that you already did by sharing so much.

“You’re fine,” Suguru assured, his brief yet telling response somehow easing your concerns.

“It can’t get worse than the swing chain around your neck, can it?” Satoru asked.

“Well, during cooking classes for like, the life skill classes, the teacher stepped out of the room while we were using the hot plates to make… something? Stew I think?” you started to remember.

“Uh-oh,” Satoru immediately understood as everyone else’s expressions seemed to tighten.

“Basically,” you worked your way into it, thinking would it be better to rip the band aid off right away as opposed to letting it drag on for too long, “she pushed me onto the hot plate, not only spilling the contents of the pot but burning a good portion of my arm. She held me down there for a while too as her friends helped.”

The collective silence that brewed at the table was strangely loud. You gulped as gripped at the sleeve of the arm in question. Nobody thankfully asked to see the scar, but you did notice that Suguru kept his eyes pointed at where your fingers fidgeted.

“So uh, that’s the gist of what happened,” you added, feeling suddenly nervous as the collective silence brewed. Nobody said anything for a while which added to your quickly building concern.

“These are the people we’re supposed to protect?” Suguru finally asked, taking his eyes off of your arm at last and breaking the silence.

Nobody replied.

“And then finally there was… one more thing… maybe I shouldn’t say…” you trailed off, the drink from before beginning to hit you all too well as it finally settled. Suddenly you couldn’t remember what you thought just moments ago, the eyes on you suddenly focused and concerned as your vision dizzied a little too much.

It was then that your memory blanked, succumbing to meet the end of the night at last.

At least you didn’t say the final thing, or did you?

***

You woke up much later in a bright and airy room that smelled like a mix of fabric softener and stale booze. The window was cracked open slightly as warm summer air spilled in through mesh netting, soothing your pounding headache.

Your body turned as you slowly woke up, feeling someone else rest beside you. Your heart sank for a moment as you peered under the covers revealing that you were partially undressed, but not quite naked.

What happened last night exactly?

It was then that the person in question turned around in their sleep and you realised that you must have been in Shoko’s room as you were sharing her bed with her. You sighed in relief as you put the two together, understanding that you probably crashed at hers because nobody knows where you live just yet and you probably didn’t do a good job of explaining that last night being as out of it as you were.

You studied her a little as she slept so peacefully beside you, her arms hugging a pillow to her chest. She was also partially dressed down; a spaghetti strap camisole in a marine blue floral design that ruched at her midriff, exposing her waist just a little and a pair of underwear. Her legs were fully entangled in a blanket that piled at the end of the bed so she was quite exposed, but it was also summer and therefore quite stuffy in the bedroom.

You slowly sat up in the bed, cursing internally at your headache. So this was what heavy drinking was like. You wondered just how long it would take before you were going to do this to yourself again.

The feeling was nice at the time.

The aftermath however…

You spotted your clothes in a messy pile at the foot of the bed, but upon picking them up, they smelled quite bad. You held the top to your nose as you investigated the stench, your expression soured; was that vomit?

Shoko stirred a little in her sleep, her hand raising itself and waving to you as she snapped her fingers to catch your attention as she groaned.

“You had a bit too much last night and couldn’t hold it down so you’re out of clothes for the day,” she yawned as her hand now pointed at the dresser opposite the bed, “second drawer down, you can wear anything you find in there.”

You did as she told you, rummaging through the drawer until you found something you could see yourself being comfortable in. You ended up pulling out a collection of oversized t-shirts and sweatpants, choosing the one with the longest sleeves.

“Oh and-“ she croaked again, her voice sounding tired, “there’s a washing machine in the bathroom, feel free to use it and throw in my clothes too if you end up doing so.”

“Alright,” you said as you quietly nodded along, feeling the headache taunt you as you bobbed your head. You gathered your things off of the floor and took a step outside as soon as you were clothed to do just that.

Figuring out the machine was easy but what exactly were you supposed to do now? You didn’t really know what to do in situations like these as they never have happened to you before. You sighed as you felt lost, sitting down at the kitchen table with your elbows resting against the table, your palms pushing against your cheeks.

You stared on and off at the coffee machine wondering if it would ease your pounding headache, hearing somewhere before that it can help, wondering at the same time if you could get away with making some or if it was overstepping some unspoken boundary.

As you were deep in thought, a yawning male voice caught your attention as a half asleep Suguru now emerged from the adjacent bedroom to Shoko’s. You watched in an equally tired state as he pulled his loose hair back into a messy half pony tail as he walked into the main area.

“You’re up earlier than I expected,” he yawned, his voice an octave deeper than it was last night as he walked over to the bathroom, not quite closing the door as he used it.

Was this normal?

You weren’t even going to ask.

“The first time I drank so heavily, I was out for a couple of days at least, but then again it was probably a lot more than you had,” he yawned.

Do you dare reply to someone who was just casually using the bathroom? You quickly sighed, deciding to not make it weird and just replied to him as normal.

“Yeah, I guess I couldn’t sleep,” you replied.

“Fair enough,” he said as he left the bathroom after washing his hands, walking to the kitchenette to grab a couple of slices of bread from the bag on the counter, “you’re free to use her kitchen by the way, just replace things if they’re nearly out.”

You nodded as you stared at the coffee machine, your body begging for a little pick me up.

“However,” he quickly interjected as he glanced at the coffee machine as well, “I do recommend something dry and absorbent, like toast,” he said as tossed you a slice that you barely caught, “coffee will only make your headache worse.”

“Oh,” you replied as you took a bite of the toast, going along with it without really questioning it at all. You did find that you quickly now craved water, though.

“Good morning~!” another voice sung from the room that Suguru was just inside of, your mind automatically recognising it as Satoru’s. He seemed freshly chipper as he strolled causally out of the room, as if the many more drinks he had somehow just passed right through.

Suguru’s eyes widened as he guarded his toast slice, diving for a spot on the nearby sofa that Satoru had his eye on, tearing away a part of the toast as he leaped to claim the spot.

“You ass, I swear t-“ Suguru muttered, eating his remaining scrap in a hurry.

“—So, [name], you got really messed up last night, huh?” Satoru spoke as he patted the empty seat space behind him, encouraging you to take a seat with the two of them but you remained sat at the table instead.

“I-I probably shouldn’t have taken it so far,” you replied as your mind blanked out into the distance, realising that you probably spoke just a little too much about things you shouldn’t have shared yesterday night.

“You’ll get used to it as your tolerance grows.” Suguru said, wiping the crumbs off of his hand and onto Satoru. “Listen to your body with the cravings on recovery days, it’ll help.”

“Do you remember much?” the white haired one asked, retaining a slightly condescending smile that seemed almost deceptively friendly.

Was it all in your head? Or was he actually hiding something?

“Only a little,” you replied, trying to keep it vague, “I talked about the town and I mentioned the bu-“

“—The bully, that’s right,” he said, cutting you off and silencing you just a little. You felt less encouraged to continue talking as a result.

“I went that far, huh,” you sighed, regretting oversharing so much.

“I mean, it’s fine,” Satoru settled down, perhaps noticing your suddenly sunken demeanour, “you don’t have to go back to that place ever again,” he paused, his tone shifting to something that resembled concern, “do you?”

“Only for birthdays and holidays,” you replied a little too soon and then paused, words felt a little more difficult to speak today, “my dad is having his birthday in late June, so I’ll probably have to go there again pretty soon.”

It was the one thing you agreed upon with your parents when leaving the town. Birthdays and holidays as well as keeping them semi updated with texts, just to show you were actually alive.

He seemed to frown at that possibility, his unserious composition breaking away for a moment as his friend also seemed a little uncomfortable. You didn’t remember just how much detail you went, but you could tell that it was far enough based on their reactions.

A short moment later, Shoko emerged from her bedroom at last. She dressed up similarly to you, going straight for the coffee machine anyway as Suguru narrowed his eyes in disapproval.

“Why am I always the last one up?” she half-jokingly complained as she got started on a cup, the machine vibrating against the counter.

“[name] was up first, so it wasn’t me for once.” Suguru said as he leaned back into the sofa further, his legs spreading further out as he pushed Satoru off to the side.

“She probably got snored awake by Shoko-“ Satoru laughed, his eyes bouncing back and forth between you both.

“—Ah, n-no it wasn’t anything like that, just-“ you stammered before you were promptly cut off.

“—I’m joking, I promise,” Satoru assured you, perhaps finally catching on that his personality was a little too much for you to handle so soon, “it’s just that you clung to her all night, so we already know who wins the favourites’ competition.”

“And you’re surprised, why?” Shoko asked as she took a sip from the now full mug.

You zoned out a little as they all talked amongst themselves, once again feeling a little left out but also not quite caring as the headache from the counter was what was on your mind instead.

She did quickly notice this though as she walked up to you as soon as she finished her cup, dragging you to the front door as she threw you a pair of slippers, leading you outside of the apartment and up the stairs.

You were led to what seemed to be a rooftop, giving you an idea of the place she lived in with more clarity; assorted communal pots of growing herbs likely set up by the other residents, along with makeshift greenhouses and benches also occupying the roof. She led you towards the corner of it all, taking a saucer out from beneath a terracotta planter.

The plant that grew in the pot looked suspiciously dead as cigarette butts occupied the soil.

Her hands patted down the hoodie she was wearing before pinching out a cigarette, no, two cigarettes as she propped one of them between her lips, holding the other one out to you.

“I-I don’t really smoke.“ You replied, waving your hands in response but her hand persisted as she slowly drew it towards you, staring you right in the eyes, lighting both hers and your own without a second thought.

“Good, you’re learning to keep up,” she said, eyeing you up and down, “maybe you’ll survive out here after all.”

You weren’t quite sure how to reply as you watched her lean towards the rooftop, her elbows resting along the bricked edge. The clear blue sky and warm sunny glow made the hangover a little easier as the soft breeze flickered against your bare skin.

You inhaled the cigarette slowly, coughing just a little. You weren’t going to smoke again you decided, or at least not unless you had no choice.

“They’re not so bad, I promise, the guys I mean,” Shoko spoke after a while as her head dipped below her shoulders, “we’ve all been through a lot too, but they just don’t really know how to react to you just yet and you’re not the easiest person to read.”

You stayed silent again, unsure if this was meant to be an insult or not. You bitterly inhaled the cigarette instead.

“Not meaning to drag you down or anything, if you think that’s where I'm going with it,” she continued, noticing your reaction, “it’s just been a while since we’ve had a new addition to the group and we’re all so used to losing people, so it’s a way to keep our guard up, if anything.”

“Oh, yeah, I think I get it,” you nodded along as you listened in. It was nice to talk to someone your own age regardless and maybe she was what you needed to finally grow up. Someone who wasn’t afraid to tell you the harsh truth when you needed to hear it.

“Mhm,” she hummed as she took a deep inhale and then exhaled a puff of smoke, “Satoru acts the way that he does because he never got a carefree childhood while being told that he’s the strongest. Suguru is reserved for his own reasons but he’s good to the people that he cares about.”

“And you?” you asked.

“Me…” she laughed, pushing the cigarette butt into the saucer, “…ah, good question,” she sighed as she searched for a suitable response, “I’m not really sure, I guess I’m just neutral, I care about the people I keep close but I try to let them figure it out by themselves if it’s something too personal.”

“I guess I haven’t figured out what I am yet,” you admitted, “I’m bad at wording most of the things I do but I am trying to change that.”

“Yeah?” she asked, yawning a little,” I’m sure it’ll get easier as you find your way, we’ll get along regardless.”

“You really think?”

“I mean, I won’t be around much after the summer break but it’ll be nice to know that there’s someone I can get along with for the time I have off,” she replied as she walked back to the roof entry, “but just try to relax and let everything else happen naturally, yeah?”

It took you a while before you headed back as well, trying to remember what floor and what door number her flat was on.

Maybe you should have followed immediately?

Or at least asked.

30 B was it?

You took a deep breath and chanced it, passing by Suguru on the way back inside. He had an unlit cigarette poking out of his mouth.

You both passed through the doorway and squeezed uncomfortably close by each other, neither quite using common sense as you brushed each other by.

For a brief moment it looked like he wanted to say something, but by then you were already halfway down the stairs so he had no choice but to just keep quiet.

But maybe next time?

He was curious about you, after all.

[moonstrider9904]

Sing Me Like a Folk Song

Crosshair x Female OC (Clair)

Summary: During a calm night at their cottage, Crosshair and his wife have some time to kill while a cake bakes in the oven.

Word count: 2.4k

Tags: Explicit, Smut, 18+ adults only. Domesticity, TBB canon divergent universe, established relationship and marriage, baking and handling of food, soft smut, PIV sex, creampie, oral sex.

This work is part of the Moonlight universe. If you want to read how Crosshair and Clair got together, you should totally check out that story too!!

Main Masterlist | One-shot Masterlist | Crossposted to AO3

Crosshair stepped forward silently, his former sniper instincts creeping into his movements, and he leaned forward for his head to be at the level of his wife’s. His ever-watchful gaze looked over her shoulder as she poured the batter into the sheet and used an offset spatula to even it out, and then, she added the layer of almond-coffee cream on top of the luscious, white cream cheese filling, smoothing that out too. That was his favorite part to watch when she prepared the cake that had quickly become his favorite.

Like music filling his senses, Clair chuckled as she reached for the cake batter to repeat another layer.

“I can feel you there, Cross,” she mused.

Crosshair smiled, and he set his hands gently on her waist, snaking them around her figure, feeling the fabric of her flower-printed dress and the pale pink apron she wore under his touch. He pressed his tall figure onto her small one and delicately kissed her temple, and he took a deep breath that allowed him to get a whiff of the sugar and butter and coffee and almond. Whenever his wife worked her magic in the kitchen, he felt like he was in heaven, but then again, his entire home, their cottage, their little town, and their planet, would qualify as paradise to anyone.

“Good,” Crosshair replied to Clair’s remark.

She laughed softly again. “I kind of need a full range of motion in my arms for this, Berry Pie.”

“You’re the expert baker, that shouldn’t stop you,” Crosshair tightened his grip around her.

Clair giggled. “That’s what I get for making your favorite cake.”

Crosshair peppered kisses around the side of Clair’s face, with gratitude sprinkled over each one of them, and he smirked into her skin when he felt her cheek becoming plump resulting from her own smile. Clair could ask for nothing more—she already had the two things she loved most in the universe, and when they would be together in one calm night in her cottage, baking a delicious cake as she was held by her beloved husband… it let her know life was good, but it wasn’t as if she ever doubted.

Clair had no reason to doubt since she met Crosshair, smirking at her and devouring her with his gaze that day at the Allium café. And he had been a tough nut to crack, but he’d cracked nonetheless, and the snarky, war-driven sniper now clung to her from behind, eagerly watching as she placed raw batter into a pan all because he’d expressed a craving for something sweet, something other than his beautiful wife.

Like an artist brushing paint over a canvas, Clair swirled the offset spatula and smoothed off the last of the batter, evening it out so that it would bake perfectly in the oven. There was just one more detail left, and from a nearby container, Clair grabbed the lumps of butter, flour, and sugar that she’d made before assembling the cake, and she began to sprinkle them over the top of the raw batter.

Crosshair watched her delicate fingers sprinkling the lumps that would result in an exquisite crumble topping, one of the best parts of the cake beside the creamy, sugary almond filling between the layers of bread, and he felt his mouth watering already. Crosshair then removed one of his hands from Clair’s waist and he reached for the glass container where the rest of the raw crumble topping was, and he took a piece from the container into his mouth, not giving a damn if the flour was raw. A little bit wouldn’t do him any harm, as Clair told him each time she baked something. Clair smiled brightly at what Crosshair had just done, and when she saw his hand reaching for another chunk, she playfully swatted it away with the softest of touches.

“You’ll get a bellyache, love,” she said.

Crosshair chuckled, the sound deep and purring into the curve of Clair’s neck, and he let his lips dance around her skin once more and travel up until they were at the level of hers. Clair turned her head and faced him, and she kissed his lips with a passion not unlike the one shared during their first kiss ever. The seconds they spent kissing felt like one delightful eternity, and when Crosshair broke the kiss to look into her deep brown eyes, he let his inner softness emerge as he smiled at his beloved wife.

“I love you so much,” Crosshair whispered before leaning in again, resuming their kiss. He circled his arms around her waist once more and pulled her closer, and Clair giggled into the kiss, causing his chest to flutter. He loved that sound, and he could listen to it forever. It meant that she was happy and that she felt loved, and that was Crosshair’s single duty for the rest of his life.

At least, until it shared priority with a little one who came into the family.

Clair broke the kiss, giggling breathlessly, and Crosshair smirked at how he was still able to leave her dazed and flustered. Shyly, Clair tucked a strand of her black, silky hair behind her ear, and she reached out to get her oven mittens to then clutch the pan with the raw cake.

“Time to put this in the oven,” she cooed.

“Let me,” Crosshair reached for her hands.

But Clair shook her head in return, always proud of her duty as a baker. “Nope. I got it.”

Crosshair leaned on the counter as he watched Clair moving around the kitchen, from the way she opened the oven to how she took the cake and placed it inside, closing the oven door again and setting the timer down on the counter next to the oven. Crosshair’s gaze scanned every curve of Clair’s body when she bent over to put the cake in and when she straightened back up again, and his heart swole with affection at the intimacy of the sight, suddenly overcome with the need to have his arms around her again. With delicate movements, Clair had removed her oven mittens and cast them aside, and her big brown eyes were on him again as she directed a soft smile his way.

“Now we wait,” Clair said.

Crosshair tilted his head and raised his brows as he smirked, pacing over at Clair and reaching out to hold her waist again. “How long do we have to wait?”

“70 minutes,” Clair replied. “This one’s a slow cooker.”

“Oh,” Crosshair moaned softly, pulling Clair closer and feigning wonder. “70 minutes… What can we do in 70 minutes?”

Clair giggled and blushed at his flirting. “I don’t know. Enlighten me.”

Crosshair let out another soft moan that became a chuckle as he bent down, wrapping his arms firmly below Clair’s behind. When he straightened his figure, Crosshair lifted Clair directly up, reveling in her delighted laugh as she kissed him. Then, he slowly set her back down, but their kiss didn’t stop. As he felt Clair’s hands slide up his chest and find their rest at the back of his neck, Crosshair let his own hands travel to the curve of her back where the pale pink apron was tied. With an intricate touch, Crosshair undid the knot behind her back, and then he did the same with the straps that tied around the back of Clair’s neck until the apron was free for him to cast it aside, letting it rest over a chair. Clair whimpered softly into his lips, and the sound set Crosshair ablaze.

He’d waste no more time, and he’d make the most out of those 70 minutes. He bent over and picked Clair up once more, carrying her towards the living room the way he had done through the threshold when she became his bride. Crosshair set her figure delicately over the couch to then hover over her and cage her to it. Their kisses grew in passion and the heat built up between them, and Crosshair slid his hands up the smooth skin of Clair’s legs, slowly snaking under her skirt and up her thighs until they reached the fabric of her lace panties. Crosshair smirked upon feeling the lace at his fingertips, and he wrapped his hands around the rims to pull them down and cast them aside too as he quickly scurried downwards.

Peppering kisses up Clair’s legs, Crosshair slid himself under Clair’s skirt and let the flower-printed fabric drape over his head, shielding each other from their view. Clair looked down at Crosshair under the skirt of her dress and shuddered briefly in excitement, and a velvety moan escaped her when she felt Crosshair brushing his tongue over her sensitive folds. Her hips instantly bucked forward, seeking more of that friction, but she knew her husband well enough to know she didn’t have to ask for it. Crosshair pressed himself more onto Clair’s skin and made love to her folds long enough to bring her climax close, and then he shifted his approach, using his fingers to lift the hood of her clit and grant his tongue better access to the swollen, sensitive pearl.

He flicked his tongue in quick, repetitive motions over the bud and heard Clair’s breath quicken, with her moans and whimpers increasing in pace and in pitch. It wasn’t long before Clair’s thighs were clenching around Crosshair and her moaning filled the entire cottage, with her hips rutting against him to heighten her already breathtaking waves of pleasure. When Crosshair moaned into her clit, Clair threw her head back in ecstasy, as it was the last detail that crowned her orgasm, rendering it one of the best Crosshair had gifted to her. He continued to moan and grunt into Clair’s cunt, adding more and more to her pleasure until she was just at the edge of not being able to withstand such intensity any longer, and Crosshair emerged from beneath her skirt, granting her a moment to catch her breath as he scurried onto the couch next to her.

When Clair regained herself, she climbed onto Crosshair and straddled him. Hungrily, Clair kissed his lips, devouring him as she could taste herself on him, and she trailed her kisses downwards to suck and nibble on the flesh on Crosshair’s neck. Nipping at every one of his sweetest spots, Clair was able to draw moans, and even a few well-placed whimpers, from her otherwise stoic and composed husband. And as she continued, her hands traveled down to undo his trousers, to which Crosshair immediately obliged.

Clair lifted herself from him to get the pants off him with her mouth watering, and she was about to bend over to suck on his large erection when Crosshair gently clenched her cheeks and turned her face to look at him.

“There’ll be time for that later, darlin’,” Crosshair uttered. “I want to be inside you now.”

Clair cooed and giggled as she adopted her previous position, lifting her skirt so that she could position her thighs around Crosshair’s hips, and she sat down on him, moaning at the stretch of his cock inside her walls. Crosshair muttered silent praises at her, and he wrapped his arms around Clair’s waist, holding her so close that her body somehow felt smaller in his grip. She bounced softly on his cock, the pace slow and without any hurry, so tender and delicious, letting the couple feel everything.

Clair looked deep into his eyes as he helped her move up and down his shaft, and Crosshair became immersed in the pleasure flooding his body. His wife gazed down at him sweetly, smiling at him, and even when she muttered loving declarations or tender praise, he didn’t have the headspace to process it. It was enough just to look at her as her figure bounced delicately, and the closer Crosshair got to his release, the more often he shuddered and grunted, part of him wanting to extend the moment to wait for her.

But Clair rested her forehead on his, smiling. “You can cum, love… I want to see you.”

Crosshair moaned and let his head fall back for a moment. If Clair kept speaking like that, he’d take her up on it, and it seemed as if his wife could read his mind at that moment. She whispered sweet words of encouragement, pulling him closer over the edge until all that was left for him was to fall, and Crosshair’s body trembled when the pleasure unleashed itself within him. During the last few moments before his release, Crosshair found it in himself to open his eyes and gaze into Clair’s, and the only thought that could run through his mind was how much he loved that woman, how he worshiped the ground she walked on. Finally, with Clair invading every corner of his mind and his body, Crosshair released inside of her and spilled hot white ropes inside her walls, filling her up so deliciously that she moaned at the sweet tightness inside.

With a bright smile, Clair slipped outside of Crosshair and sat down next to him on the couch, curling up beside him. Her hand rested softly on his chest over the fabric of his shirt, feeling as Crosshair’s pecs rose and fell, with the pace slowly coming back to normal. The two remained there, silent, full of intention to continue gracing one another with wave after wave of pleasure, though only finding it in themselves to bask in the other’s presence. There was nothing else they needed at the moment.

Crosshair looked at Clair and softly leaned in to kiss her forehead. As his lips were in contact with the warmth of her skin, he felt a wave of the sweet, warm scent of the cake baking in the oven—he’d forgotten about that for a moment—and a smile curved his lips as he took a deep inhale and filled his senses with it.

Clair took notice and chuckled. “Does that smell nice?”

“Mm-hmm,” Crosshair agreed, his eyes closing and body relaxing on the couch.

Clair clenched her fist around his shirt and kissed his chest softly before looking up at him. “Do you wanna go stare at the oven?”

Crosshair laughed softly and opened his eyes to kiss his wife’s forehead again. “Yes.”

With an amount of energy that astonished Crosshair for a moment, Clair got up and tugged on Crosshair’s hand, helping him up to standing, and the two made their way into the kitchen once more.

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider reblogging too to support me!

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[actuallysaiyan]

I Think You're Holding The Heart Of Mine(Part Six)

warnings: canon divergent, mentions of Kento's past, mentions of cheating, mentions of pregnancy/abortion, smoking word count: 1.8k pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: someone from Kento's past comes looking for him, but only makes the rumours even worse than before. Set in Nanami's POV! taglist: @beneathstarryskies

Masterlist

Nanami’s POV

Being together with you on the train ride home reminded me of our younger days. When we were teens going on missions for the school, learning our cursed techniques together. We found out early on that a lot of your abilities worked perfectly with my Ratio technique. It was almost like we were a match made in heaven. Just being able to joke around with you and share a laugh made me feel so much lighter.

That’s why receiving that text really threw me for a loop.

I hadn’t heard from Tara in so long. Really, I had begun to think what happened between her and I had been just a fun little dream. But when I saw that she texted me, I felt my stomach lurch. The memories of my short, but steamy relationship with her came flooding back. And it hurt to think about because finally you and I seemed to be going somewhere in our own budding romance. Something I’ve wanted for so long too, and I’m not in a rush to mess it up for us.

That’s also why I made the excuse of going to check on Itadori-kun when we got back. I didn’t want you to see just how upset this was making me. Cause I know you, and I know you’d just want to ask me if you could do anything to make me feel better. You’re just that kind of sweetheart. So I had to reply to Tara in secret.

I figured just replying to her and just trying to make some conversation would make her go away. But she just kept prying. I wondered if maybe she was lonely. When we broke things off, she tried to convince me that she’d be alright, but I knew she wasn’t. I knew it was killing her inside, but I couldn’t keep up with that facade.

Eventually, I called her to try and keep her calm. She seems so hysterical on the phone, trying to get me to come see her. And that’s when you and Kugisaki-chan came out of my own office and spotted me. I was pacing and trying to calm down Tara. She always had a penchant for being dramatic. Then you and Kugisaki leave the building and my heart sinks. If any of this information ends up coming to you, you’re going to think I was playing you for a fool.

Things only got worse from there. I enter my office after I finish my phone call with Tara. Your perfume lingers in the air and it tugs on my heartstrings. I should have continued to kiss you the other night. I shouldn’t have cared about the elderly innkeeper interrupting us. But I wanted to save you from the embarrassment. Because in my mind, you deserve nothing but the best.

I read over your filed report and I smile when I see just how well you’ve done. You were always someone who could write out the best reports. You put in the right amount of detail, but never enough to bore anyone. It reads so good too; lots of action. 

I begin to daydream, thinking about how our night went. The onsen had the perfect temperature. Your body looked so good in that fluffy towel. And your lips, oh your lips…I have never tasted anything sweeter. You’re the epitome of beauty in my eyes. Oftentimes I’ve kicked myself mentally for never telling you just how much I admire and adore you.

Itadori-kun comes to find me, his eyes sparkling when he realizes I’ve returned home. We discuss a few things and I’m thankful that he doesn’t pry at all. He’s a good kid and I know he feels lost in this new world of Jujutsu sorcery, but I’m going to make sure he does well and adjusts in this world.

“I learned a lot with Gojo-sensei,” Itadori says, and I smile.

“I’m glad that he can be a good teacher for you.”

We speak a bit more about unlocking his cursed technique. I want him to find something naturally. He doesn’t need any pressure on him. Then my stomach lurches again when I see Tara texting me again. I know I should just tell her to leave me alone, but I feel almost responsible for her. You’d probably be so angry if you knew that I was texting my ex.

This is when I decide to lead Itadori out of my office and for us to go training outside. I know it’ll help me get my mind off of everything. Yet when we reach the main building, I see a head of red locks that I couldn’t mistake for anyone else. Itadori stops dead in his tracks alongside me, and he’s asking if I’m okay. I’m sure I look like I saw a ghost.

“Honey,” Tara says as she spots me. “Your wife is here!”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

We lean against the wall, smoking a cigarette. The cats out of the bag. I’m sure that Itadori-kun went to tell Kugisaki and she in turn told Gojo. I wish Tara had never greeted herself like that. I wish I could have just taken the time to explain the misunderstanding to Itadori. But I just froze up instead.

“Thanks for hearing me out,” Tara says as she blows out some smoke.

I grunt, “You didn’t give me much of a chance.”

She finally turns to me with tears in her eyes. She’s in a tight spot and she considered me the only person she could actually come to. Her current partner was cheating on her and she found out she’s pregnant. I shouldn’t condone her smoking while being with child, except for the fact that she would be getting an abortion.

“I’m sorry for the little joke back there,” She finally admits. “I’m just so nervous, Ken.”

When she says my name like that, a world of memories comes flooding to my mind. The way she would always draw out these fun feelings from me. Tara was the woman that I had once thought I’d end up with forever. But in reality, she was a bandage for the deep wound in my heart from leaving you behind. I had deeply regretted leaving you when I left the sorcerer world. 

“I know, Tara. You have every right to be nervous. But I can be here for you if you need a friend.”

She smiles sadly, and I watch as fat tears begin to slide down her cheeks. I had only seen her crying a few times. Tara was the kind of girl that boasted that she never cried. She was a tough cookie. And I am suddenly reminded as to why I was attracted to her in the first place.

“It’s so tough to be alone in this situation. He doesn’t even know that I’m…I’m…”

But she can’t even finish her sentence. She begins sobbing; the end of her cigarette falling to the ground. I gently take her into my arms, rubbing her back soothingly. I whisper the sweetest things in her ear, hoping to make sure she’s going to be alright.

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” she finally admits. 

My heart sinks when she says this. I can’t return those feelings. It hurts to even think about me and her having such a past together. It was only supposed to be a fling, but it evolved into something even deeper. At one point, I had been convinced that I was truly in love with her. And when I had looked into the jewelry store, searching for an engagement ring for her, that’s when I realized what I was doing.

It wasn’t long after that when Gojo approached me with a mission in Hokkaido. He tried to claim that it was the higher ups that wanted me to go, but he had ulterior motives. That’s the same mission he asked me to look after Itadori, and the rest came together easily.

“Tara,” I finally say as I wipe away her tears. “We can’t keep living this lie. I can’t keep lying to myself.”

She pouts, “It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

And while I had been able to lie to her the first time about why we broke up, I can’t hide it anymore. Not when I know for sure that I’m so deeply in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers, but now…it’s so deep. Deeper than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

“Yes,”

She sniffles and turns away for a moment. I can tell she’s not happy with my answer. I don’t think she’s ever enjoyed feeling second best to you, but I couldn’t help it. I never could truly get you out of my mind. I could never ever get you out of my heart.

“She’s a lucky girl,” Tara says, a sad smile on her face. “Have you told her that you love her?”

I shake my head, “No, I haven’t.”

She lightly slaps my chest and scolds me for not telling you my true feelings. But if anyone catches wind of this, I’m sure that you might think differently. For all I know, you probably think I’m a cheating asshole. Everyone has probably told you that Tara is my wife when she isn’t.

“You need to hold her in your arms, kiss her deeply and tell her you’ll never let her go,”

I can hear the crack in Tara’s voice. It’s tugging at my heartstrings. Despite the fact that I don’t love her like that, Tara has always been in my heart too. She’s the one woman who pushed me to be comfortable with things that scare me. She was the one who showed me that being wild and free can be so much fun. She took me under her wing in a way, and now I think I need to return the favor.

“Tara, I will be with you while you get the procedure done,”

She smiles again, “You are a true gentleman, Nanami.”

I sigh as I light up another cigarette. This is going to be a headache to reverse all these rumors. You’re probably never going to want to talk to me again. You’ll want to leave the sorcerer world again, and I wouldn’t even blame you. I know that you didn’t have the easiest time when you left as well, but I know that my life has been so much better now that we’ve been reunited. 

“I’ll call you, okay? Please, I just need a friend right now. And you’re all I’ve got.”

I nod once more, “Of course. But please promise me one thing,”

She tilts her head to the side, “What is it?”

“Do not introduce yourself as my wife ever again.”

A laugh from her red lips, “Fine, but you have to admit it was a funny joke.”

It’s not funny because I think I may have lost the love of my life over this joke…

[hopefulromances]

Long Time Coming I Chapter 17 I It's Been A Long Time Coming

Summary: Being hired as the first female assistant coach in the league was a challenge of it itself. Being a football prodigy and University Football Legend was easy enough. Coaching Jamie Tartt was a challenge all on its own.

Chapter Summary: The final chapter. Read the end note for more.

Word Count: 5.3K

Warning: The most canon divergent I get (roykeeley endgame forever), a little more self-indulgent than usual, some more heated content but nothing smutty, I'm just sad y'all

Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve 13 14 15 16

Change was in the air. A lot of things were changing. There was a lot of good change. Nate was back! He was just working with Will right now, but I could already tell he was different from how he left. He apologized to me for all the nasty things he had said and done. I was a little wary at first, but Jamie reminded me that I’d given him a second chance and Nate deserved one too.

Another good change was that Roy and Keeley had officially gotten back together. Much to the relief of everyone else in the club who couldn’t bear to see them apart. It was nice to have another couple around our age to go out with. We already had a double date set up for the week after the last game.

Then, of course, there was some not so good change. When Ted told Roy and I that he and Beard would be leaving at the end of the season, I almost passed out. My personal plans aside, I’d never done this without him, and I didn’t know if I wanted to.  But Ted assured both of us that the club was in good hands with the two of us.  Many tears were shed and that was before we told the team.

Roy and I went out alone that night. I told Jamie that we had some stuff to plan but really, the two of us just needed to be with each other.

            “What was Ted going on about?” Roy asked, taking a long sip of his beer. “About not letting his decision get in the way of any plans we might have?”

I shrugged, playing with my cocktail, trying to be inconspicuous. But, as usual, Roy could see right through me.

            “I haven’t figured out all the details,” I said, finally. “But… yeah… something’s planned, a bit.”

I expected him to be cross with me for leaving him to deal with the changes alone, but he wasn’t. He just lifted his glass towards me.

            “To big fucking changes,” he offered.

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. “To big fucking changes.”

            “And you know,” he stopped me before I could take a sip. “We’re always here for you. Not just me, the whole fucking team would die for you.” It was very sweet. Roy being vulnerable with me for a second. “Don’t go getting all… fucking… emotional on me, (Y/N).”

            “You know what this means, Roy.”

            “We are not fucking, hugging.”

            “Oh, yes we are.”

I when I got home that night, Jamie was there waiting for me. We always ended up at each other’s houses somehow or another though we promised we wouldn’t move in together until after the end of the season. But there he was waiting for me anyways, washing dishes in the kitchen.

            “Hey, babe, how was grandad?” he asked, finishing up the plate he was washing.

I smiled at it, at the domestic nature of the act, at the thought of walking home to Jamie every day for the rest of my life. I walked up and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my head on his back.

            “Was good,” I answered, rubbing my head on his skin.

            “Now who’s acting like a cat?” He rumbled, smirking as he looked back at you.

I hummed a giggle, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade before letting go again. I leaned against the island and waited for him to finished up. He threw the dish towel over his shoulder as he turned to look at me.

            “What?” Jamie questioned, smirking.

            “What?” I returned.

            “You got a funny look on your face,” he told me, reaching out to pinch my cheek. “Look all spacey.”

I batted his hand away, shaking my head. “No… it’s just,” I rubbed at my chin. “There’s a lot of change happening right now… isn’t there.” Jamie cocked his head at me, motioning for me to continue. “Well… Ted and Beard are leaving, Nate’s back, Roy and Keeley are back together – which is great – but… it’s just a lot.”

Jamie nodded. “Yeah… it is. Was there anything else… that was changing… that you might want to tell me?”

Jamie had come to know me very well. Too well for my comfort sometimes. He could tell there was something going on in my head, something I wasn’t telling him. But that was something I still didn’t want to share quite yet, wasn’t ready to share.

            “No, I’m just same old me,” I grinned, stepping forward to slot myself between his legs. His mouth dropped into that lazy smile that drove me mad. I took a shaky breath and nodded at him.  “And we… we’re not changing? Yeah?”

            “I don’t plan on changing a thing,” He quipped, wrapping his arms low around my hips. “That is… unless we’re changing the amount of clothes you’re wearing.” He tugged at my pants slightly, drawing a laugh from me. Safe to say, no matter what else changed, we would be okay.

The final day of training came and went. The boys put on their show for Ted and Beard, who loved it, of course. There was so much movement happening all around the locker room. I sat in the crook of Jamie’s leg that he kept propped up on the bench as we chatted with Cockburn and Dixon when Keeley walked in with her usual cheerful greeting.

I took a moment to look around the room. At the team, and the coaches, and the people, walking in and out. It felt so different. So different from the locker room I’d seen three years ago. It felt much more alive and warmer, inviting people to come join the family. I felt a pang of nostalgia for it already, and there I was, sitting in the moment.

It felt like the end of something. It was the end of the season sure, but it was more than that. With Ted leaving and the future so unsure, it was really the end of an era at Richmond. The Lasso era was ending. And I missed it already.

Jamie and Roy went out that night for a drink. Jamie was practically bouncing, excited that Roy had invited him out and was going to allow him to drink a single beer. So, I took the opportunity to go to Keeley’s to discuss my plans with her.

I arrived at Keeley’s doorstep that night. If anyone would be able to help me figure out the logistics of this, it’d be her. I hadn’t told anyone else about this idea, just Ted and the very vague conversation I’d had with Jamie.

            “(Y/N)!” Keeley squeal when she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

            “Hi Keeley,” I greeted, smiling. “I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

It didn’t take long, only about an hour of chatting for us to figure out how to go about the plan. Keeley had been so excited, jumping on board immediately, grabbing her notebook to jot down some notes and start sketching some logo ideas.

            “Do you think Rebecca will go for it?” I asked, nervously.

            “Go for it? She’ll love it!” Keeley enthused. She sipped on her wine. “Is this why you’ve been so weird at training and such. Cause it’s not just Ted and Beard leaving?”

            “Acting weird?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Is that way Roy said?”

Keeley smirked. “Said you were plotting something.”

            “Yeah, his death for starters,” I laughed, grinning. Keeley let out a cackle that only she could make. Our laughter was interrupted by a knock on the door. I looked at the clock, it was late, later than a random passerby. “Did you order food?”

            “No, I thought you did,” Keeley shrugged, scooting her chair back.

At the door was Roy and Jamie, and from the looks of it, they’d been in some sort of scuffle.

            “My word, what’s happen to you two?” I cried as Keeley opened the door.

Jamie’s nose was bleeding, his head tilted back slightly as he pinched the bridge and Roy’s shirt had been nearly torn off. They had other bumps and bruises across their bodies, and I honestly couldn’t believe it.  We finally sat them down at Keeley’s table, Keeley and I sat next to each other facing Roy and Jamie.

            “All right, are you gonna tell us what happened?” Keeley asked, handing Roy an ice pack. I handed Jamie a fresh tissue, wiping his face with my thumb, even as he tried to duck away from me.

            “Better be a cool story, or else this is just sad,” I echoed, pulling back from Jamie finally.

Jamie looked over at Roy who shrugged, gesturing for Jamie to start.

            “We got in a fight,” Jamie started.

            “About the two of you,” Roy finished.

Keeley and I looked at each other a bit incredulous before replying in unison. “Why!?”

            “Well, we was just talking about the trip to Brazil coming up that the four of us are going on, and I was saying how great Keeley was at her job,” Roy explained, smiling at Keeley.

            “And I was saying how you’re fantastic at your job, too, (Y/N),” Jamie followed up quickly. “How you had improved the team so much this season, the lads really respect you.”

Roy shook his head and turned to look at Jamie. “And I was saying how, of course, I thought you were good at your job, but Keeley runs her own PR firm, she’s fucking next level.”

Jamie growled and turned to face Roy. “But (Y/N) is the first female coach in the whole premier league, and she’s the only Captain from the Imperial girls’ team to win three straight championships.”

Roy leaned forward to get in Jamie’s face. “But Keeley is who makes (Y/N) look good. Keeley makes all of us look good.:

Jamie matches him immediately. “But (Y/N) makes sure there is good stuff to make look good.”

            “Oh my GOD!” I shout out, slamming my hands on the table. Roy and Jamie flinch away from each other. “Did you really get in a fist fight to try and prove which one of us was better?” I pointed between Keeley and myself.

The boys shrugged, answering me without saying a word.

            “Are you joking?” Keeley reared. “Like are you seriously joking?”

She and I looked at each other. Without another word, we kicked the boys out and returned to our wine night.

I returned home later that night to find Jamie on the couch, munching on a chicken kebab, his nose stuffed with tissues. I shook my head as I came down to sit next to him.

            “You are ridiculous, you know that?” I chuckled, taking the kebab from him. He let out a grunt of protest but didn’t stop me from taking a bite.

            “Oi, I had to wrestle Roy for that one,” he settled me into his side, his arm wrapping around me.

            “Oh, I didn’t know it was WrestleMania tonight,” I gaped shaking my head. I brought a hand up and mussed his hair. “What were you thinking? Getting in a fight with Roy.”

            “I was defending your honor,” He defended, grabbing my hand to pull it away from his head. “Don’t see the harm in it, just guys being dudes.”

I almost choked on my kebab. “Guys being dudes? You really have lots it.”

He smiled and pulled me into him, turning the TV on. I leaned back against his shoulder, staring at the screen, chewing on the latter half of his kebab. Now was the time.

            “Jamie, I’m quitting coaching.”

            “What?” He flew up from his seat, knocking me to the side. “What’re you doing that for? Is it Nate? Did he say something? Or Roy? I’ll kill them both!”

“No! No, Jamie listen.” I grabbed his hands, coaxing him to sit back down. “It’s not anyone else… it’s me. It’s what I’ve been… planning.”

Jamie frowned, his eyes looking into mine for answers. “You’re not gonna coach me anymore?”

I felt my heart break just a little at his pitiful tone. I brought my hand up to his face, holding his neck in my grasp. 

            “No, Jamie… I’m not. I’m not going to coach anyone,” I started to explain. “See, what I realized, the part of coaching I’m good at is the playing bit. Understanding the players and how they think. It helped Ted a lot but… I’m not a coach. I’m a player.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “You want to play? You’re gonna join a women’s team?”

            “Yeah?” I worried my bottom lip as he processed. Why was I afraid? Was he going to disapprove, god was this like with Matt all over again? “Is that okay?”

            “Okay?” His eyes lit up so bright. “That’s amazing.”

He lifted me up, spinning me around in his arms. I held on tightly, afraid to fall, even though Jamie would never let me fall. He placed me down in front of him, gripping my waist.

            “How fucking amazing is it that we’ll be the two best players in our leagues,” He mused, grinning widely. “Who you going to play for? I ‘spose Arsenal’s the closest for the women’s or Reading but you can do better than Reading.”

            “You’re assuming I’ll get to pick!” I laughed.

He made a pursed his lips and shrugged. “Obviously, they’ll all be after you, won’t they.”

            “Well, uh, the thing is, actually,” I looked down, playing with the hem of his shirt to distract myself. “That’s what I was talking to Keely about. I’m gonna convince Rebecca to start a women’s team at Richmond.”

Again, Jamie processed. Then he lifted me up again, twirling me around, cackling like mad.

            “You’re brilliant, you are, you know that?” He kisses me then, passionately in a way I’d never felt before. My breath gets pushed out of me as my hands flail to hold on to him. He kisses me again, slowly, before pulling back. “I love you.”

I look at him, wide-eyed, panting. “I love you, too.”

He smiled at me smugly, knowing exactly the effect he was having on me. He reached down and lifted me up over his shoulder, carrying me off towards the bedroom.

            “Jamie!” I cried happily, banging on his back. “Put me down!”

            “Oh, I’ll put you down,” he sneered, plopping me down onto the mattress. He crawled over my body, anticipation growing with in me as I propped myself up onto my elbows. He took his time reaching me, his lips ghosting over my skin. Up my chest, my neck, until they hovered over my lips, just out of reach of mine. “My girl…”

He kissed my cheek, nose nudging mine like he liked to do. I tried to press up and kiss him, but he pulled back, what a tease.

            “Jamie,” I frowned, whining. I pulled on his shirt, trying to pull him closer to me.

            “Hold on, sweetheart,” he murmured, pushing me down so I was flat on the bed. “I just wanna look at ya.” His hand travelled down my body before coming back up to rest on my cheek, stroking my skin with his thumb. “You’re amazing.”

I felt so soft under his praise, under his touch as he admired me. But it wasn’t just my body he was admiring it, it was me. All of me. And when he finally kissed me, it felt like the sun was filling my body with its warmth.

The day of the final game came, West Ham, again.  This time under George Cartwick, the bastard. But I didn’t feel more normal anxiety about such an important game. Yeah, this game could solidify our ranking within the league, but I didn’t feel too worried. Win or lose, we’d shown the whole country exactly what we could do.

I carried the box from Zava in my grasp, using my legs to readjust my grip as I waved to Laughing Liam.

            “Hello, lads,” I greeted as I walked into the locker room. The room erupted in a choral of hellos and greetings.

            “What’ve you got there?” Colin asked, coming over to help me set the box down.

I dusted my hands off, starting to open it up. “It’s a care package from, Zava.”

The locker room groaned, and I smirked, sneaking a glance at Jamie who seemed quite pleased with the response.

            No,” Dani spoke up from behind me, quite firm. “Thank you, but no. I will not let him hurt me again.”

            “Ooh, it’s t-shirts!” Will smiled, reaching across me to get one.

            “Can I have two, please?” Dani decided.

I shook my head, moving away from the box to reach out for Jamie. He pulled me towards him, chuckling at the antics, wrapping his arms around me to pull my back against his chest, my hands crossing in front of my body as I held onto him.

            “Oh, oh!” Colin exclaimed. “There’s a card.” He reached in and grabbed a card out of it. “’My brothers.’” The boys laughed. “’Good luck against West Ham. Please enjoy the T-shirts and this avocado from my farm. Never forget, I am always inside you, Zava.’”

            “What, he sent us one avocado?” Jamie questioned, his lips right by my ear.

Bumbercatch lifted the avocado from box and held it up so we could all see it. It was giant. I felt Jamie freeze in surprise.

            “Holeh guacamoleh,” he shuttered out. “Show me that, bro.”

He let go of me to grab the avocado, staring at it in awe. I laughed, shaking my head.

The beginning of the game was a little rocky, probably due to the video that Beard had made, sending the whole team into a sobbing frenzy. The first half quarter was a stalemate, but Jamie was keeping them on their toes, controlling the field with his excellent strategic passes. Nevertheless, Westham managed to score, twice before the half.

The boys were buzzing during the half, talking and strategizing with one another. It was a stark difference from the team I started with. That team would be silent, brooding, angry about what was going wrong. But this team still had hope, they still had believe.

Ted emerged from his den to address the team.

            “Well, fellas, we got our work cut out for us in the second half. But you know, I’ll get to all that in a minute.” I went over to my spot next to Roy, crossing my arms as I looked over the group.

“No, uh, right now, all I wanna do is let you gentlemen know what an absolute honor it's been to be your coach. Getting to work with y'all these last three years has truly been one of the greatest experiences of my life. I've loved getting to know each and every single one of you. Learning all about the men you were and getting a front-row seat to see the men… and women you all have become “

He looked over at me and I nodded, swallowing a thick ball of sadness in my throat.

“A-And I wanna thank you for your patience with me. You know, when I showed up here, I didn't know one thing about soccer. But now... Well, now I know at least one thing about football.”

We let out a chuckle, though it was well watery I could tell. He continued.

“I'm just so gosh damn proud to be a part of this team. You know? And I love you guys. I'm gonna miss y'all." My heart swelled. I didn't want to say goodbye. I swiped at a tear that had escaped my eyes.

"Now, regarding this second half... Yeah, I don't know what's gonna happen. You know what I mean? No one does. Sports would be a lot less fun if we did. You know? And you all would probably make a lot less money, so... You know?  We don't wanna know the future. No, no, we wanna be here right now. And look, I-I know we're down a couple goals. But I'm telling you, man, if y'all play hard, play smart, play together and just, you know... Just do what y'all do, and we'll go out with the peace of mind knowing we did our best. That we tried. Yeah?”

            “Yes, coach.”

            “Hm. All right. Anybody else have something to say?”

            “Coach.” Sam spoke up.

            “Yeah, Sam, what you got?”

Sam stood up and grabbed something from his locker, pulling out a small piece of yellow paper. Then Jamie stood up, pulling out a book from his locker that had a similar yellow piece of paper sticking out of it. Soon the whole team was grabbing things from their lockers and pulling out their own yellow pieces.

I sighed and reached into my pocket and found my wallet. I had a polaroid of Jamie and I, sitting at Sam’s restaurant, and taped on the back was my own piece of yellow paper. I held it up and walked over to where the boys were placing their pieces.

Soon there was a clutter of pieces all mixed up. The boys stared at it a second, wondering what was wrong with it. Then they moved into action, putting it back together like a puzzle. I smiled at Roy who shook his head and chuckled.

Finally, the sign was back together. The torn up believe sign put back together by the team that made it a reality. I’d missed the sign. Missed it more than I knew.

            “And there it is,” Ted mused, smiling at it. “Number four. Yeah?”

The fourth rule of total football. Believe. Believing in this team and the people in it. Believing in change and love and friendship. Believing in the fact that victory was within our grasp. Believe was filling this room. Starting from when Ted first stepped foot in the locker, infecting the place with his positivity. Now the room, and the whole stadium was filled with it, so even when he was gone, we’d keep it going. Believe.

            “Alright, let’s bring it in.”

We walked in together, Jamie standing right behind me so he could keep one hand on my hip while the other went in for the huddle.

            “I know they folks like to say, ‘there’s no place like home,’” Ted looked around the circle, at our team. “That’s true. You know. But man, there ain’t a whole lot of places like AFC Richmond either.” I let out a shaky laugh, the team following in suit. He addressed Isaac. “Richmond on three. One, two, three…”

            “RICHMOND.”

The second half feels more electric than before. More shots on the goal, with only one getting in from Jamie. The stadium erupted in cheers as Jamie scored, giving the crowd a shred of hope for Richmond’s chances.

Jamie gets in again losing his mark and heading for a second goal when he’s tackled. It’s a weak tackle and Jamie certainly played it up but it got us our penalty.

            “That’s it,” I muttered, nodding at Ted.

It took a second, Jamie passing the ball over to Dani who then passed it to… Isaac.

            “Oh, what the fuck,” I grunted, rolling my eyes. I loved Isaac, I really did, but I was certain he’d never even made a penalty before.

Isaac went for the shot, and it flew into the stands, causing a groan to go across the field. It wasn’t the end of the world but equalizing certainly would have been helpful. But then the referee went back to look at the net before turning around and signaling a goal.

I laughed and let out a cheer, patting Roy’s shoulder.

            “Who fucking knew,” I gaped.

            “Apparently, Dani,” Roy answered.

This wasn’t the end; we still had another goal to get but victory was just in reach. The game came to a halt as the grounds crew came out to fix the goal. Jamie jogged over to me, an excited look on his face.

            “How mint was that, eh, babe?” He asked, excitedly.

I shook my head handing him a water bottle.  “You could have made that easily.”

            “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” He grinned, downing the water.

As he did, I noticed Rupert on the field. Yes, Rupert Manion, as in the owner of West Ham, walking on the field like a villain from a Bond movie.

            “What the hell is he doing here?” Jamie snorted, watching the man.

            “Don’t know…” I murmured back. “But I’m going to find out, cover for me?”

Jamie nodded at me, turning back to the coaches, as I tried to wander over inconspicuously I made it seem like I was going to fill up my water bottle, trying to get within ear shot of whatever conversation they were having.

            “Tartt is out there doing whatever he fucking wants.” Rupert growled.

Oh. I see.

            “Yeah, but I’ve got two players on him already,” Cartwick responded. He looked terrified, and Rupert pressed further.

            “Take him out.” I stiffened, looking that way, as subtly as possible. No way he was implying what I thought he was.

            “Are you joking?” Cartwick retorted.

I looked back towards Jamie. If anyone got near him, I would kill them. I’d kill them with my bare hands.

            “Get rid of him.”

I was gripping the water bottle in my hand so tight I thought it would break. Water started overflowing, getting my arm wet but I couldn’t move. I thought that if I did I would go over and punch Rupert right across his stupid face.

            “I’m not playing the game like that,” George finally being a good person for once in his useless life.

            “You do what I say, or you are done,” Rupert threatened.

George started to reply when there was a thump that sounded, and I looked over finally. Rupert had pushed George to the ground, sending him flying and, unfortunately, revealing both of his testicles.

I flinched away, finally walking back over to our side. Jamie collected me, pulling me away from Rupert, even though we were already far enough.

            “What a fucking wanker,” he grumbled.

The crowd seemed to agree as Rupert started to walk off the field, shouting it at him over and over. Part of me felt bad for him- oh wait no it didn’t. He’d threatened Jamie Tartt. The love of my life, and I thought he deserved a lot worse than a bad name.

            “Everything alright?” Jamie seemed to notice my tense mood.

I looked back over at him, shaking my head. “Yeah, fine, just go out and smash it, yeah? Watch your left kick, you’re holding back.”

            “Heard,” he nodded, agreeing. “Anything else?”

            “Oh, yeah,” I imitated thinking. “I love you, and when you win, we’re gonna have banger sex tonight.”

He grinned wickedly at me. “Now that sounds like a plan?”

I could tell he wanted to kiss me, but we weren’t exactly public yet. Keeley said it would probably be a bad idea, might look bad for a coach to be dating their player. We weren’t a secret exactly either, but just private.

            “Go,” I pressed, pushing him away from me. He nodded, sending me a look that I could read. I love you, you’re amazing, thank you. I chewed my lip and nodded at him as well. I love you, too, go smash it.

The Hammers got control of the ball quickly and it seemed like they’d scored a pull-ahead goal but, as Ted pointed out, they had been offsides. That had been close, too close. We needed something. Jamie was trying to keep up his role as engineer, but he had been completely boxed in.

            “Okay. Come on. Talk to me, geese,” Ted brought is in.

We needed something they wouldn’t expect right now. Beard and Roy rattled off some plays, but I closed my eyes trying to picture the field, what I would be looking for. Jamie was who everyone was expecting to make a play, so we had to use him somehow, maybe as… as a fucking decoy.

 I opened my eyes and saw Ted looking at me. I could tell he’d just made the same connection I had.

            “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked me, cocking his head.

            “Definitely,” I stated, nodding firmly.

            “Alright, hold on,” he called over to Nate, getting him to come over to us before calling out to the boys. “Here hold this.” He mimed handing something to Nate, who took the invisible object. “IT’S AN OSCAR!” He shouted to the boys, giving Nate some instruction on how to hold it. “OR THE ESPY”

That seemed to resonate with the boys as they nodded finally, discussing amongst themselves.  They started off, Sam passing the ball to Dixon. Jamie sprinted into the box shouting wildly.

            “YEAH, YEAH! PASS ME THE BALL! ME, ME, ME! I WANT THE PALL! PASS ME THE BALL, PLEASE!”

I couldn’t help but let out a laugh. He really was selling it and it seemed to be working. There must have been four guys marking him. But Sam was left open and Dixon took his chance, passing him the ball. Then it happened, Sam took the shot.

            “Barbecue sauce.”

The ball soared into the goal, and we’d done it. The game ended shortly after. We’d won. Everything moved in slow motion, the cheer of the crowd, the jumping and celebrations, the ground shaking with excitement.

But I was just looking of one person. Jamie. I needed Jamie. And we locked eyes. His grey eyes stormy with excitement. I felt myself moving towards him, rushing onto the field to get to get to him as quick as I could. I jumped and he caught my in his arms, spinning me around, my legs flying behind me.

I took his face and kissed him. Right there. In front of everyone. I didn’t care anymore, I wasn’t his coach, I wasn’t anyone’s coach. And right now, Jamie Tartt needed a kissing. He stood there on the pitch, practically eating each other’s faces off until I remembered where we were and pulled away. He followed me, letting out a whine.

            “Not now,” I muttered to him, giggling. “Now we celebrate with them. But later…” I walked my fingers down his chest.

He grabbed my hand, tsking his tongue. “Don’t do that, love. Or I might just have to take you away right now.”

I shivered, tempted to let him do so. But then I looked over and saw Colin kissing his boyfriend, I saw Isaac and Sam hugging, I saw Ted starting to gain a crowd, probably ramping up to do something cheesy.

            “Let’s go celebrate, babe,” I said, taking his hand in mine.

We ran over to the group to watch Ted do his victory dance. We celebrated. We were on top of the world. That’s how I like to remember that time. The whole team together. All of us. I could see into the future. I could see Ted leaving, and that would be sad.

But I could also see Keeley and I giving Rebecca the plans for the AFC Richmond Women’s team. I could see Jamie and I going to Brazil together and Keeley and Roy joining us after the shoot was done. I could see Jamie reconnecting with his father, showing him exactly the man he’d become without him. I could see Roy and Nate running the team together brilliantly. I could see us, months from now, having dinner at Higgin’s house. The whole team, kids running in the yard, chatting with Roy and Keeley, laughing with Colin and Michael.

I could see happiness. A happiness that I didn’t have three years ago that I had now. A happiness that had been…

A Long Time Coming.

Taglist: @heletsmelovehim @higherthanheroes @ajax-petropolus-wife @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @kno-way-home @sleepy-time @wigglegiggle @skewedcherries @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @snubug @rana030 @ems-alexandra @jaymum @imfalling-inlove @littleesilvia @eugene-emt-roe

END NOTE: If you've made it this far, thank you. When Ted Lasso ended, I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I still had the characters and stories rattling around in my head. So I decided to write this, just to get it out of my head, as an OFC Fic on AO3 (That's being updated as well if you're interested in meeting my OC).

Coming to Tumblr was inspired by a number of writers. Specifically three people who I now am mutuals with and even would call my friends. @illiterateaffairs @its-time-to-write, @alwritey-aphrodite, and @sokkigarden. Each of them inspired my in their beautiful understanding of Jamie's character, their individual styles and personalities, all of them inspired me and encouraged me to continue my writing. They are truly such talents, and I respect them each individually very greatly.

Finally, I have to thank every single person who has liked, commented, reblogged, or even just scrolled through a chapter. every comment, I read, every reblog, I read. They all mean the world to me, and I know I say that a lot but I really mean it. I didn't expect this series to get any traction much less get me nearly 400 followers. You guys kept me going.

Thank you for reading. From me and Jamie <3

[cilil]

Manwë x Fëanor is underrated and I'm going mildly insane with feelings.

Let me explain.

So a while ago I wrote a long post about the narrative parallels between Melkor and Fëanor (here) which I'll be referencing a little bit here, but for those who don't want to read the entire thread here's a tldr: Melkor and Fëanor share lots of similarities, including their fall from grace arcs and certain character traits and interests.

Now, my headcanon is that Manwë loved and still loves Melkor very much and he admired him too, seeing him as this powerful and intelligent older Vala that he was proud to call his brother. He tried his best to get closer to him, but found himself rejected (rather rudely and cruelly too) due to Melkor's anger issues and rampant jealousy.

So this leaves us with a Vala who, being made not to comprehend evil as the Silmarillion tells us, was created for harmony and to be loving, yet has been continuously denied love and affection from his beloved brother despite his best efforts... and then he meets Fëanor.

Fëanor who is so much like Melkor, but does something other than destruction with his potential. Fëanor who resembles Melkor in personality and, depending on your specific headcanons, also in appearance. Fëanor who is intelligent and curious and definitely wouldn't hesitate to ask Manwë about things he knows he could learn from him, such as poetry, Valarin or details from pre-Elves awakening history. Fëanor who is confident and insanely charismatic. Fëanor who can make music with his words too, just like Manwë loves. Fëanor who is all the things Melkor should have been.

You may already think that this doesn't sound like the healthiest dynamic and you'd be correct - but that's the point. This is the fun part. Isn't it beautifully fucked up? The King of the Valar developing feelings of love and obsession for an Elven prince and inventor because there's a void in his heart and soul that he desperately wants to fill? Said Elf taking on this situation without hesitation because he's confident, capable, ambitious and, let's be real, if anyone can and will adopt and wrangle their very own pet Vala it's Fëanor? And this entire thing being further complicated by both parties having brother and daddy/mommy issues? Delicious.

As a bonus, you even have a tragic ending if you go further down the canon timeline. Look how sad Manwë already was as is and then imagine how utterly devastated he'd be in a verse where he's both fallen in love with Fëanor and successfully projected every single Melkor-related issue onto him in the process. Imagine Fëanor feeling betrayed once Manwë (alongside the other Valar) decides to step in following the Fingolfin situation. Imagine the Noldor rebellion being even more dramatic. Imagine Manwë watching Fëanor die soon after and how this may have played into him sending the eagles when he did and why. Or maybe a canon-divergence where he sends the eagles at different times for different outcomes...

Ugh. I'm just... them. You see the vision. You feel the feelings. You get it.

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth

chapter 1: suffocation.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read that, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, mutilation, death, & animal death. the animal death is pretty detailed, so please don't read this fic if you're triggered by that kind of topic.

author's notes: This first chapter is a little bit of a mess imo, but I wanted to post it to assure you all that I don’t want to abandon this fic. It may take me longer to post and update chapters, especially since I graduated from uni (mwahahah) and my schedule may get busy. Still, I really enjoy writing this story—and you all seem to enjoy reading it. Both of those things are enough to keep me going.

Something extremely ironic happened around the time I was writing the last few chapters of Act 1. So… if you remember, in Chapter 6, Hannibal and the reader go on an opera date (of sorts). During that date, the reader remarks that they “don’t know the first thing about opera.” Those words were pretty much taken directly from my mouth. Fast forward to about mid-fall, I get a call for an interview for an internship. I end up doing the first interview, then a second interview… Then I get the internship. The irony? This internship is at an opera house. (What’s even more ironic is that I’m now getting to the point where I do actually know things about opera—I know different productions and directors and technical terms… It’s absolutely crazy. The universe is making me eat my words, lol.

To make matters even stranger, I was in the office for the internship one day and caught a glimpse of a television, which broadcasts what’s happening on the stage. Imagine my absolute surprise and fear when I look up at the television screen with absolutely no expectations and see a single man in a beige jumpsuit with something over his face standing on stage, his shadow silhouetted against the wall behind him. Imagine my surprise when I see that, not only is he standing in an enclosure with iron bars (just like the ones at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), but it also looks as if he is staring right at me—and he looks exactly like Hannibal Lecter in captivity. It was simultaneously scary as hell and weirdly reassuring. Anyway, I’ve taken these experiences as cosmic confirmation that I should continue writing this fic. Lol.

Anyway. Back to the important things… I’m planning to borrow elements from both Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but, similarly to the first act, there will be canon divergence and canon non-compliance. Also, as you probably discerned in the past act, there is some plot armor. But, this is fiction.

Your life currently takes two forms: before the Chesapeake Ripper… and after. 

Before the Ripper, the leaf-stained pavement of the Bureau filled you with hope. Walking through the agency’s halls was a testament to the hard work that brought you there. Each assignment was an invaluable opportunity to further develop your interrogation and combat skills. You went to classes, completed assignments, trained, slept, and repeated the cycle the next day. Over and over and over again. But you were happy. 

Life doesn’t feel so simple anymore. You feel like you’ve been fading for a while now, slowly deteriorating as you invest more and more energy into catching criminals. Your work has morphed into an exhausting mutual exchange, one in which you take murderers’ freedom and they take your restful nights. You can’t remember the last time you rested unencumbered by the horrors you’ve seen in the field.

By some miracle, Jack manages to keep the press relatively uninformed about the happenings behind the Ripper case. Everyone is too absorbed with the fact that Hannibal’s in captivity to remember to ask just how he got there, and you’re very grateful for that lapse in memory. You can just imagine the interactions you’d have with paparazzi. Is it true that he stabbed you? Is it true that he purposefully left you alive, only to surrender in your front yard and torment you with the constant knowledge that he will remain in the same place, lying in wait until the moment you will inevitably need him? You shudder. 

Even with all the chaos that comes from the Ripper case—the media coverage of Hannibal and the attention the FBI gets—life goes on. Back at the Bureau, you occasionally lecture the new recruits and you take on assignments along with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Jack is still wont to call on you at the most ungodly of hours; Beverly still trades lighthearted taunts with you; Brian Zeller still seems to hate your guts, for reasons you’re not quite sure of; Alana and you are back to a steady friendship, albeit with occasional beats of unexplained tension and awkward silence. 

Criminality continues to occur in the Ripper’s wake. You’re not surprised: the imprisonment of one criminal doesn’t beget the imprisonment of another. Even so, it’s difficult for you to proceed as if things are normal. You see traces of Hannibal in each of the monsters you apprehend. Your emotions are starting to eat you alive from the inside. You don’t have a therapist to assist you with those emotions anymore. And, while you think therapy would be helpful, you also know that there’s no way in hell you’d be able to actually be honest with a therapist without being imprisoned yourself. The things you’ve done and the urges you’ve felt…  Neither is even close to a semblance of normality. 

You take a deep breath. You have no issue stopping other criminals, sending them to empty white walls and thin mattresses. Why was Hannibal Lecter any different? You suppose you shouldn’t fool yourself—you know the answer to that question already: you got to know him. Beyond the mask of the Ripper, beyond the bloodied skin and cruel smile… You started to see him as a man, perhaps even a friend. Perhaps, even-

You tear yourself away from that thought process before it gets too far along. The semantics don’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re back in the field, back popping pills for your headaches and blinking fresh horrors from your eyes. All that matters is that the memory of Hannibal Lecter begins to fade away in the face of work— so much so that keeping busy helps you forget the pain. 

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, a veterinarian walks into a stable under a farmer’s guidance. The two stand over a dead horse and the veterinarian frowns. The farmer explains the horse’s death before stepping aside, letting the professional work. 

The farmer quickly becomes lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t expected the horse to die in the middle of her pregnancy. The farmer swallows past the tightness in their throat and tears their eyes away from the horse. They were looking forward to the birth of the foal, looking forward to helping the mother raise her offspring. The stable air suddenly feels suffocating and they take a look at the veterinarian’s turned back before stepping outside to get some fresh air. 

Moments later, the veterinarian rejoins them. The doctor’s lips are drawn in a tight line and there’s a troubled expression on their face. The farmer feels any remaining composure promptly seep out of them, as the veterinarian suggests they come back into the stable. 

“It feels like there’s something here,” the veterinarian says, their expression conflicted. They touch the horse’s womb with a gloved hand and frown. 

“She was pregnant,” the farmer chokes out, their throat feeling tight again. It hurts to utter the words aloud.

“With twins?” The veterinarian asks, turning around to look at them. 

“No, just one baby,” the farmer shakes their head. Why would they ask about twins? Surely, they don’t feel another baby in the womb. The thought of two deaths is morbid and distressing enough, but three? The farmer inhales shakily. 

“There’s… something else here.” The veterinarian remarks, their face contorting as they feel the horse’s womb once more. They turn back to look at the farmer for assistance. The farmer feels a horrible, inexplicable sense of foreboding crawling up their skin. Despite that feeling, they nod to the veterinarian. The doctor nods in response and turns to the horse’s womb, before making an incision.

The veterinarian unearths the dead foal and places it on the nearby hay with infinite gentleness. The farmer’s chest begins to hurt as they come to terms with the sight before them. Their pain doesn’t end there, however. The veterinarian continues slicing along the skin before stopping and glancing back at them inexplicably. It’s as if they’re waiting for permission to continue. The farmer appreciates the gesture and they nod in affirmation. This mystery needs to be put to rest. 

The veterinarian inhales sharply, sending the farmer’s heart racing. The farmer prompts them to step aside, revealing the horse’s womb. There’s… something there. The farmer squints at it, a gasp ripping its way from their lips as they realize just what they’re looking at. A human corpse lies on the stable floor, a stark shock of muted crimson against the golden strands of hay. The farmer brings a shaking hand to their pocket and calls the police. 

Unaware of these occurrences, you slowly exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. You busy yourself with grading your students’ papers, and you don’t learn of the corpse until a few hours later, when the medicine begins to kick in and you’re foolishly convinced that you’ll be fine. Before you can leave for the day, Jack is walking up to you and beckoning you to the lab. The two of you grab Beverly along the way, which leaves the three of you to enter the laboratory that Price and Zeller are currently situated in. When you walk in, you’re immediately assaulted with the scent of formaldehyde. Price explains the situation behind the corpse, how a veterinarian found the body within the womb of a horse. The notion is strikingly similar to the other deaths by suffocation that have been eluding the BAU for several weeks. Jack seems to think the same thing, as he rattles off what he knows so far about the killer. You add things here and there—small things you can notice from the state of the corpse itself—before Price gets the group back on track. 

“I called you here because…” Price trails off, frowning before readjusting his stethoscope and placing it on the victim’s chest once more. The room is deathly silent as he concentrates. “...There’s a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t come with the onset of rigor mortis—we all know that,” Zeller continues, looking down at the corpse with a somewhat puzzled expression. He seems to sense you staring and looks up, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze meets yours. “She’s dead.” He announces with complete certainty. 

“She was found in the womb of the horse?” Beverly asks. Everyone else nods and she pauses for a moment. “Make an incision and check the chest cavity.” There’s an unshakeable certainty in her voice and it throws you off for a moment, before you realize what she’s getting at. It’s not unfathomable that something was buried within the victim’s chest cavity. Suffocation seems to be a common theme with this killer. Did they put some sort of dead animal in the corpse? The thought makes your stomach turn. 

“Alright,” Price acquiesces, after glancing at Jack for approval. Crawford nods, evidently attributing value to Beverly’s suggestion. The four of you—Crawford, Beverly, Zeller, and you—watch as Price leans in and makes a careful incision in the chest. For several moments, there’s nothing but a tense silence in the air as Jimmy works. The quiet is broken a few seconds later when Price takes a sharp breath. “I saw something.” 

“Keep going,” Jack demands, bringing Jimmy’s attention back to the task at hand. Price nods and makes the incision a little bigger. All of you are watching in anticipation, waiting for something you’re not quite sure will appear. 

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of motion. A yellow blur flits about the cavity, before reaching upwards and extending its wings to fly out. You watch in disbelief as the bloodstained bird stretches its wings and flies about the lab, colliding with the sheen of the fluorescent lighting and sending shadows flickering along the floor.

Jack is the first one to respond. He quickly paces over to the small window located near the ceiling and opens it, allowing the bird an escape. For a few moments, the bird doesn’t seem to notice: it’s too overwhelmed with the sudden change in environment to comprehend that it has just been granted an escape. It has a chance at true freedom, but it’s too busy taking in the laboratory’s flimsy promises to notice. The bird eventually notices the open window and flies out of it, before Jack closes the laboratory off from the outside world once more. 

The group begins discussing what just occurred, but your mind is elsewhere. You feel a strange sort of kinship with the bird: suffocated beneath rows of ribs and walls of tissue and skin; banished to the space between; too taken with the small allowances to notice freedom within reach. You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your headache is returning, as pressure builds up in your temples and constricts your very skin. It’s significantly harder to breathe. Every time you blink, you’re greeted with the memory of that bright yellow bird bursting from its confines, greeting the stale laboratory air with beating wings. You step outside the lab to get some fresh air, trading your smaller prison for a bigger one—just as the bird did mere moments ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find you. After all, you’re not hidden—you’re simply leaning against the wall in the hallway that leads to the laboratory. Jack strides up to you, his hands in his pockets and that familiar tight line drawn across his face. You suspect he’ll get wrinkles a lot sooner than everyone else his age—sheerly because of all the responsibility he holds and the pressure he’s forced to perform under. It must be exhausting to be the one calling the shots in these horrible situations. You had always assumed Jack had the easy job, but looking at him now, you think that assumption must be incorrect. He is suffering, just as you are. Perhaps… Jack has just grown better at hiding it. 

The thought makes Jack’s remark slip in one ear and right out the other. You ask him to repeat himself and he sighs. “We need to go to the stable where the corpse was found. There are several police officers there already, but…” But we need to do a more thorough investigation , he doesn’t say. You hear him anyway and nod. Jack walks past you and paces purposefully down the hall, not even bothering to look and see if you’re following him. Perhaps he already knows you will follow him. 

What follows is an awkward car ride. Neither of the two of you attempt to break the tense silence, leaving a suffocating air of uncertainty and indecision. You don’t know what to say to Jack, so you instead busy yourself with looking out the window. You resolutely pretend not to notice your boss’s gaze repeatedly flitting over to you and, after a painful amount of time, Jack is driving up the gravel path that leads to a modest farmhouse and a beautiful wooden stable. 

The place is already crawling with police officers and FBI agents. Unfortunately, the police were the first ones to be informed of the case, which means the FBI is forced to share jurisdiction with them. You know Jack isn’t too happy about that, especially once you see the frown on his face as he watches the police officers clumsily investigate. They don’t have the right training for a situation like this and Jack is delighted to inform them of that fact—albeit with much more sugar coated wording than you would have utilized. A few minutes later, the cops are gone, leaving Jack, you, and the set of agents that Jack requested to follow after your car on the drive over. The other agents are quick to secure the crime scene, while Jack and you decide to explore the premises a little first. 

The property features a small, rather unremarkable house with slightly dirty bricks and a well-loved bench swing on the porch. The front door is agape, revealing hardwood flooring and items strewn about. Jack and you exchange a glance before walking into the home. You don’t see any sign of life until you reach the kitchen and come across an older woman sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea. You’re quick to show your badge and explain the situation to her. She doesn’t seem to have a great idea of what’s going on, so you eventually decide to leave her be and keep looking about the property. 

Next to the house is a rather large stable, complete with several different stalls and a wide variety of tools. You have no idea what half of the tools could possibly be used for, but the majority of them look as if they’ve been used at least once. There are bales of hay in the corner of the room and various accessories hanging near the post of each horse’s stall. There are only a few horses in the stable—you think you could’ve seen a few in the pastures out back earlier. There’s a horrible stench pervading the air, and it’s not the typical odor that comes from a farm. It’s the smell of death. You look at Jack and he nods, inclining his head and gesturing for you to continue exploring the stable. It isn’t until you reach the last stall—one that is inexplicably larger than the rest—that you find the source of the stench. The rotted corpse of the horse rests at the back of the stall, the womb flayed open. The organs have been removed, but the smell of decay remains. Surprisingly enough, you’re not alone in this stall. A brown-haired man sits cross-legged on the floor next to the horse, a blank expression on his face. 

“...Hello?” You decide to try. There’s no response. “Excuse me?” Still no response. 

You glance at Jack and he raises his eyebrows, before turning to the stranger. “You must be Peter Bernardone,” Jack remarks. The mention of the man’s name seems to be enough to get his attention. On second thought, you remember Jack offhandedly mentioning that there may be a stablehand on site. It seems you’ve found him. 

“That’s me,” the man replies flatly, staring ahead with glassy eyes. He looks as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence, as he looks at the wall ahead of him with enough intensity to melt it.

“Jack Crawford, FBI,” Jack answers with an introduction of his own. He flashes his badge for a moment before putting it away. You can’t tell if Peter is even paying attention, but you do the same to make him more comfortable. “We’re just here to ask you some questions.”

“I want to talk,” Peter murmurs quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard. He pulls his knees up to his chest; his eyes haven’t strayed from the corpse of the animal in front of him. You feel your chest constrict a little at the sight. 

“Good,” Jack responds with a nod. 

“...To you,” Peter finishes with a gesture. To your complete surprise, he doesn’t point at Jack—he’s pointing at you. Jack blinks in equal surprise, looking at you for answers. You send him a helpless look. At first, you’re not sure why you seem more trustworthy than Jack. Then you remember Jack’s position and the intimidating aura he tends to give off. You think you’d want to talk to someone like yourself too, were you in Peter’s situation. 

“Alright,” you agree. You don’t see the harm in having a conversation. You need information and, more importantly, answers. Jack stares at you for a long few seconds, before exhaling in evident exasperation. 

“I’ll be outside,” Jack promises, before walking away. You wait until Jack is out of sight before you take a step closer to Peter, placing your hands in your pockets. 

“What do you do here, Peter?” You hear yourself ask. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears. 

“I volunteer here,” Peter responds, still facing the corpse. His voice sounds hollow, empty. “Sometimes.” 

“Did you… know this horse?” You ask hesitantly, looking down at the corpse.

“Yes,” Peter answers without hesitation. There’s a hint of emotion in his voice now.  

“Ridden her before?”

“I don’t ride the horses,” Peter replies, “I just like to brush them.” 

“Okay,” you acknowledge. You begin pacing around the stall in an attempt to calm your restless nerves. “Peter, were you here on the day that the veterinarian visited?” Jack had briefed you on the circumstances of the horse’s death, how a veterinarian had been called to investigate before the corpse was found in the womb. 

“I don’t remember a veterinarian,” he stares ahead with a frown. 

“That’s fine,” you answer. He may not have been there that day. “The veterinarian was the one who cut open the womb and found the corpse… Did you know this horse was pregnant?”

At that question, Peter turns around and stares at you. His hollow gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. For a moment, he just stares at you, before huffing in amusement. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” you echo. You suppose that was a rather dumb question on your part. “Were you… sad about the foal?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs again. “Why do you think I’m sitting here?” This discussion isn’t getting you very far. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You take a deep breath. “This doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’m going to give you my extension, and if you ever feel like talking about what happened, you can call me, okay?” Thankfully, you know for certain that Peter isn’t the killer—the psychological profile you built on this murderer tells you that much. Jack clearly doesn’t think Peter is the killer either, and those two facts are enough for you to rule him out as a suspect. However, you’re still contemplating the possibility of him tampering with the crime scene. 

Peter clears his throat pointedly and you remember what you were supposed to be doing. You grab a notepad from your jacket pocket and quickly scrawl down the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s phone number, followed by the extension to your office phone. You take a step closer and hold it out to Peter. For a fraction of a moment, you think he won’t take it. Just before you can pull your hand back, he takes the paper and slips it into his pocket. 

You turn on your heel and take a step towards the door of the stall, fully intent on leaving, when the door falls open of its own accord. Jack Crawford stands in the doorway, staring at you. 

“Good, Agent,” Jack remarks. This must be important. “We have a lead,” he says vaguely, his eyes falling to Peter. You can’t discuss confidential information here—the details will have to wait until you’re both in the car.

“Excellent,” you remark in relief. “I’ll meet you at the car?” You can sense that Peter’s attention is piqued. Maybe you can still get something out of him. Jack nods and walks away once more. You then turn to Peter, who has turned his body away from the horse to face you. Somehow, he’s intrigued now. Something has caught his eye. “Sorry, Peter,” you apologize, taking a step backwards and emphasizing that you’re a moment away from leaving, “I have to go.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, “Did you find him?”

“It’s classified, I’m sorry,” you respond, ignoring the inexplicable sound of alarm bells blaring in your head. Peter isn’t the killer. “But we’re tracking down this killer. I promise he’ll be put away.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, a dangerous conviction in his eyes. 

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. You don’t have the authority to make that kind of promise, but you do anyway. The sincerity in your expression must convince Peter, because he takes a slow breath and the tension seems to fade from his form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Peter. It was nice to meet you.” Peter says the same and you turn to leave the stable. 

“Price and Zeller found soil in the corpse’s throat,” Jack recounts to you as he drives along the highway, moving at a comfortable speed. His eyes are fixed on the road, but he recalls his conversation with Price with perfect consistency. “We traced it to a burial site about thirty minutes from here.”

“Great,” you remark, relief coursing through you. To your surprise, Jack doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply nods ever so slightly and continues staring ahead. Now, it seems as if he’s avoiding something. “What is it?” You ask. Something seems off about him. 

“You may want to brace yourself,” Jack warns vaguely. 

“Why?” You hear yourself question. Jack doesn’t answer, and he’s quiet for the rest of the car ride. When the two of you pull up to the supposed burial site, you’re filled with trepidation. This job always comes with the knowledge that blood and gore could be waiting at every corner. That’s the normal day for an agent. So… why does Jack feel the need to warn you? You grapple with the prospect as the two of you leave the car and join the group of agents circled around something. 

It isn’t until you get closer that you recognize the familiar stench of rotting death. Sure enough, the group of agents is clustered around a hole in the ground—one that houses a woman’s corpse. You stare at the marks around her neck, the dirt caked under her nails and staining her fingertips. She was on the brink of death when she was buried. She was trying to escape. You stare down at the body for another moment, searching for any more abnormalities, before taking a step back to let the other agents resume their investigation. You exchange glances with Jack. 

“She’s not the only one,” Jack says. You stare at the field around you—the grassy, open expanse. It seems to stretch on for miles now. You feel your heart steadily thudding in your chest, at a rate slightly faster than normal. Your head begins to ache. 

“How many of them are there?” You murmur. The question is quiet, as you practically whisper it against the wind. For a moment, you think Jack doesn’t hear it. You then realize that he has comprehended it, but is simply declining to answer. Indeed, your boss stares out at the field with a conflicted expression. “Jack?”

“Sixteen,” Jack responds, turning his attention back to you. You feel something in your stomach twist and pull. 

“That can’t be right,” you remark. It sounds as if the wind is picking up. It takes you several seconds to realize the sound is being conjured by your own mind, and that the air is damp and still around you. You swallow hard and take another look around at the field, suddenly understanding why the agents are now evenly dispersed across the space. They all have shovels and each sound of metal hitting dirt is enough to send a bolt of pain down your temple and through your cheekbones. Your teeth hurt as you watch the unearthing of sixteen different victims. They’re uniformly dispersed across the field. This is no happy accident—the killer meticulously planned for their graves to be close (but not too close). The thought brings a burning feeling to your throat and you feel your knees suddenly buckle. You place a hand on the ground, feeling the familiar horrible feeling of nausea climbing past your throat until you’re vomiting on the killer’s ground. It takes you a few minutes to stop, and even longer for you to fully recover. Your eyes sting and you can’t tell if you’re going to cry or pass out. There’s an overwhelming clarity in your vision and a rhythmic pounding at your temple.

This graveyard is a gruesome display, even to someone who has spent their entire career surrounded by carnage. You’ve seen your fair share of murder victims. You’ve never seen sixteen of them lined up in two neat rows of eight, buried in a nondescript field under layers of muddy soil. Moreover, you can sense the killer’s feelings—and it makes you sick. This was not a gesture born out of respect for the victims. The murderer did not dig up these graves to give these women a final resting place; he buried them to trap them, so that even in death, they would never truly be free. Their existences would be tied to him forever. They would never be allowed to breathe again. It’s nothing short of sickening. There’s nausea stewing in your stomach again, revulsion prickling across your skin, and sweat trickling down your neck.

You can’t seem to push yourself up to your feet. You’re grounded to the damp soil, to the wrong side of the earth. What deems you worthy of living? What deemed these women worthy of dying? Your hands are twitching at your sides. A deep breath causes your chest to hitch and you nearly vomit again. You look down on your body as you claw at the grass and tear it up, shakily pulling at the dirt and plants and grass and rot and death and injustice and horrible, terrible guilt and indescribable anger and vengeance -

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You instinctually tense, your movements beginning to slow. It feels as if you’re suddenly catapulted back into your body, forced to inhabit the itchy, dirt-stained skin and the endless remorse that wants to eat you alive from the inside. 

“They’re dead; there is nothing left for them here,” Jack says. It’s his strange way of comforting you. It sort of works. After a moment, he takes a step forward and extends a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to pull you up. Jack seems to be fighting against the urge to say or do something, because his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pulled taut in a thin line. There’s dirt all over you, yet you are still privileged with life. 

You don’t remember how you get back to the Bureau. All you remember is staring blankly ahead as you’re half-led through the halls by Jack himself, his hand on your shoulder providing equal support and increased pressure. All you remember is the worry on Alana’s face as you walk past, the way she gets up from her desk and walks over to you, how she leads you towards the far restroom with a gentle hand. It ends up being the same restroom where Zeller accused you of killing Franklyn. The memory of that encounter is far fresher than you want it to be. 

Alana leads you to a sink and guides your hands towards the water. 

“Allow me,” she remarks, turning on the sink. She steps away for a moment and you stare at the water dripping from the faucet. Alana returns moments later with a washcloth. She pumps some soap on your hands and helps you wash them clean. Your head aches. You don’t know what to think, what to say. All you can think about is the graveyard. It haunts your vision every time you blink, forcing you to think of suffocating under piles of dirt and debris. You inhale sharply, gasping. Regaining your breath is a chore. “I’m worried about you,” Alana soon admits. You hate that her concern makes you feel appreciated. Your relationship with Alana ended years ago. You don’t want to be hers again, but this very moment reminds you of the intimacy you no longer get to see.

“You shouldn’t be,” you remark. Alana laughs under her breath. You both know that’s not how it works. Emotions don’t bend to logic. 

“What did you see?” Her hand on your forearm keeps you tethered to reality. You shake your head, unable to begin describing the scene that will most certainly haunt your nightmares. The two of you are silent for the remainder of your time together under the flickering fluorescent lights, as you try to come to terms with the terrible regret, revulsion, and rage threatening to spill over your frame and inhabit your every waking moment.

next chapter

endnotes: thanks for reading! i'm very excited to continue this story, mwahhahahha

here's a lil sneak peek for the next chapter: “Peter,” Clark practically coos. You hate him, more than you’ve ever hated anyone before. He is a bundle of contradictions: a fine-dressed man with a fine-dressed smile and fine-dressed lies and cruelty and violence and- “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

hannibal taglist <3: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69