#I made this post more than one year ago and just realised it never left my drafts

[valevntine]

tw: grief, death/loss

hi, i'm not sure if this is going to be posted. i've written it again and again, over and over, debating whether it was too much or not. i hope it isn't. this is deeply personal and you're more than free to skip it. i'm doing this more for myself than anything else, but i also hope that if someone here is going through the same thing, they will then find comfort in my words. <3

many of you might celebrate mother's day today, like me. i've lost my mum almost 5 years ago, and ever since then this day has been a slap to the face i dread arriving. every year i try to do a little something to make myself feel better and to actually talk about her instead of bottling it all up like i always do, so here i am.

not too long i ago i came upon this podcast pedro was invited to, he talks about the loss of his own mother (30min mark). i don't know why i never stumbled upon it before, i just know that the first time i heard him, what he said felt so eerily familiar.

my mum also left during the summer. it was an incredibly crucial period for me, full of important changes. the morning after it was such a beautiful day out, we had been out of quarantine for not too long so a lot of people were in the streets. i cannot begin to explain how odd it all felt: seeing the world continue spinning, everyone's life going on while it felt like mine stopped. i think that was the lowest point i could hit, there's no experience as isolating as the loss of a parent.

afterwards, it felt like everything bloomed, and i feel selfish for saying it. i got accepted into art school, able to finally study what i preferred and to pursuit my dreams of becoming a full time artist. i met wonderful people who i'm incredibly grateful for - they made me realise i'm not as unlovable or unimportant as i thought, i am worth loving and i deserve affection too. i expressed myself without fear of judgement, i grew, i slowly built a version of me i was beginning to like. i feel so happy and accomplished now, it comes with guilt.

i often wonder what would have happened if i didn't get to experience grief at such a young age. because yes, i was 18, but i wasn't done being my mother's baby, i wasn't done being her daughter. i didn't need to grow up yet, not in that way. was it actually a lesson? or was it just cruel, and we, she, didn't deserve it? is it me believing in silly things or is she somehow still here?

but when i visit other cities and find her name written on the walls, i feel her here. she's in my morning coffee, it's the same as the one she made for herself each day. she's in the way i make my bed, she's in every cake i bake. she's in every tulip, in every butterfly. she's in my features every time i look in the mirror, because how lucky am i to be sharing her face, the most beautiful one i've ever seen and the only thing i have left of her. she's in every smile i sport when i get a picture taken, in every "you look just like her". she's in my memories, in my thoughts and dreams, because those transcend time and death. she's here because i am here and as long as i'm here she will always live through me, through all that she taught me and that i will pour out for her.

grief doesn't leave, you just learn to grow around it. it will find you randomly on sunny days, on sleepless nights, in cities across the world, in recipes from your childhood and in the shampoo aisle. grief is weird, every emotion is valid, let yourself feel it all.

and happy mother's day to all the mums on here! you're fantastic 🫶🏻

ti amo mamma, so much it hurts 🤍🌷

[latalpavolante]

Mick somehow convinced his older grandson to come to the public pool with Hannah and him. The only reason Jacob gave in was probably to stop his family from constantly bugging him with how he should leave the house more, how he can’t just sit in his room all the time, how he needs to meet up with some people of his age and so on and so on.

Just that there were no other teens at the pool, and Jacob was actually relieved about it. The last thing he wanted his classmates to see was him hanging around with his hippie grandpa and his crazy little sister in his free time.

Still at first Jacob didn’t want to actually go swimming, so there just was some awkard silence, before Mick decided to seize the opportunity to give Jacob some life lessons (which were mostly about how he should take things easy and not worry that much about everything and especially not about his dad’s rants). Jacob loves his grandpa, and feels way more at ease with him than with his dad, and actually feels quite grateful for his support, but still the whole situation was rather embarrassing.

After this conversation, they finally decided to join Hannah in the pool, but while she and Mick were enjoying themselves and had fun chatting with some other visitors, Jacob felt increasingly uncomfortable. He headed to the bathrooms and cried under the shower, and wasn’t able to fully figure out why. He didn’t want Mick and Hannah to notice he wasn’t doing well, so he sneaked over to the desolate basketball court and did some throws, just to distract himself.

But then something unexpected happened.

[seriiousgiirl]

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒜 𝒮𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. James is just needy and frustrated.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 3 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Ok, I didn't expect to get so much positive feedback on this story, let alone people reading it. Thanks for the reposts, and the likes, it's really heartwarming. I hope this new chapter lives up to your expectations!

➜ ┊: chapter 2/?.

Yeah, I’m fine,

Just, you know, work and everything.

James' words echoed in your mind far longer than you'd expected, long after you left the school and returned home. It was such a simple explanation, too simple, almost rehearsed. You replayed the conversation over and over, dissecting every syllable. Was that really the whole truth? Or were you just looking too much into it? You usually worried about your students, not their parents, but there was something about Mr. Sunderland that was different. 

The way his voice had that edge to it, tired yet restrained, lingered with you.

You tried to brush it off as you kicked off your shoes and hung up your coat, settling into your familiar routine, but it wasn’t easy. Mr. Sunderland had always caught your eye—not in the usual way parents did when they showed up to school events, eager to check off a duty. There was something about him, a fragility hidden beneath his exterior that you couldn't quite ignore. You couldn't stop yourself from wondering, Is he okay?

He wasn’t just Laura’s dad to you; he was an enigma of sorts, a man who seemed out of place among the chatter of parents and the laughter of children. The first time you really noticed it was years ago, at a school event. You could still remember it clearly, as if it had just happened. The room was filled with the vibrant energy of kids running around, voices overlapping, and parents chatting with one another, but James stood on the outskirts, a shadow of a man amidst the lightness. His posture had been tense, like he was holding himself together by sheer will, his eyes distant and guarded, scanning the room as if he didn’t belong.

You had watched him, then—just a little too long—and something about the way he looked made you wonder if he was more lost than he let on. There was a weight in his eyes, a haunted look that never quite went away, no matter how much he smiled for Laura or spoke politely to the other parents. It had unsettled you, this quiet suffering that no one else seemed to notice, or even care to notice.

As you moved about your apartment, grabbing a glass of water and flipping through papers, your mind kept circling back to that same thought. Normally, you were good at compartmentalising—work was work, home was home. But James blurred those lines for you, even when you didn't want him to. There was something about him, something that tugged at your heart in a way that made it hard to let go once you started worrying.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You had no reason to be this concerned. 

After all, you barely knew him beyond your interactions about Laura. And yet, here you were, standing in your kitchen, your mind consumed with thoughts of a man you’d only spoken to a handful of times. It was absurd, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that you had been noticing him for a while. Maybe it was his quietness, or the way he seemed to drift away in crowded rooms, but something about him had planted itself in your mind and refused to leave.

You were a teacher, not a therapist, and you had no business prying into his life. But that didn’t stop you from caring. You knew that if you hadn’t spoken to him at that first event, if you hadn’t seen that lost, almost broken look in his eyes, you might have been able to brush it off. But you had seen it, and now it was impossible to unsee. 

Maybe that was why his tiredness today had stuck with you. The dark circles under his eyes, the way he seemed to force a smile—it all felt too familiar, too much like someone who was holding themselves together by a thread. You sighed, staring into the dim light of your living room, feeling the weight of something you couldn't name.

Maybe it was because you saw a little of yourself in him, in that quiet sadness that never quite left his face.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t going away. And as much as you tried to tell yourself it was just concern for a parent of your student, deep down, you knew it ran deeper than that.

As you ate dinner, you recalled the school event vividly, the day you first gathered the courage to talk to him. The air was filled with laughter and chatter, and you were moving through it all with practised ease, making sure everyone felt comfortable and included. That’s when you saw him.

He had been standing there, watching Laura play with the other children. There was a sadness about him, something fragile and haunting in the way he observed everything without really engaging. You had felt a strange pull toward him, an instinct to reach out, to offer something, even if it was just a gesture of kindness.

You had hesitated at first, unsure if you should approach him. But something in his isolation spurred you forward. Gathering your courage, you had picked up two plates of the chocolate cake from the refreshments table, a favourite among the kids, and made your way toward him. As you walked up, he didn’t even notice your presence at first, so absorbed in his thoughts that he seemed to be a thousand miles away.

When you finally held up the plate under his nose, he jolted, startled by your sudden appearance. His wide eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, he looked at you as though you were a ghost, someone he hadn’t expected to see or speak to. It had almost made you retreat, thinking you had made a mistake, but you had offered him a warm smile instead, hoping to ease the tension.

“The cake is really good,” you had said softly, holding it out to him. “You should try it.”

He had blinked, then smiled politely, a small, hesitant curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Thank you.” He accepted the plate from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest second before he pulled away, creating an awkward silence between you two.

You both stood there, watching Laura run around with the other children, her laughter floating in the air. You had wondered what to say next, unsure if you should even be speaking to him at all. But then his voice broke the silence, soft and gentle, yet with a strained quality that made it sound as if every word was carefully measured.

“You… you are young for a teacher,” he had said, his voice as uncertain as his expression. There was a pause, a flicker of discomfort in his gaze before he looked away, as if unsure whether the comment had crossed a line.

You chuckled softly, relieved that the silence had finally broken. “Yeah, I guess I found my calling pretty quickly,” you replied, taking a small bite of your own slice of cake. You had gotten used to that comment—it was something parents and even some older teachers had mentioned when you first started at the school. But somehow, coming from James, it felt different. There was something in the way he had said it, almost like he was impressed, or maybe curious, but cautious, too. 

He nodded slightly, staring down at the cake in his hands before taking a hesitant bite. For a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t sure how to react, but then his face softened, and he looked at you again. “This… this is really good,” he said, almost as if the taste had surprised him.

You smiled, glad that the small gesture had helped him relax a bit. “It’s the kids’ favourite,” you told him, motioning to the crowd of children still running around, their laughter filling the air. “I bake and we serve it at every event. If it’s not on the menu, the parents complain.”

James chuckled, a low sound that barely made it past his lips, but you noticed how it brightened his face, even if only for a second. It was a small victory, seeing that shift in his expression. “I can see why,” he muttered, taking another bite as if savouring the moment.

You watched Laura playing with the other children and decided to continue the conversation, not wanting the moment to fade into awkward silence again. “Laura’s doing really well in class, by the way. She’s a joy to have. Always so curious, always ready with questions.”

James's expression softened at the mention of Laura. His eyes followed her, his gaze warm despite the distance he seemed to keep from the joyful atmosphere around him. “She loves school,” he said, his voice almost reverent, as if Laura was his anchor in a storm he couldn’t quite escape from. “It’s… amazing, really. The way she’s grown since I’ve—well, since she’s been here.”

You nodded, remembering how Laura had come into the class that first year—bright, confident, and eager to learn. “She’s a natural learner, always asking for more books, more activities. Sometimes I think she’d rather stay in class all day if she could,” you said with a laugh.

James smiled, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. You noticed the faint lines of weariness etched into his features, and it stirred a quiet concern in you, one you couldn’t quite explain. Every time he spoke of Laura, it was like he was holding onto her with both hands, like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

“She talks about you a lot,” James said after a moment, his voice quiet again. “Says you make learning fun.”

That comment had warmed you more than you expected. “She’s sweet,” you replied, smiling at the thought of Laura mentioning you at home. “I just try to make sure the kids feel like they can explore the world in their own way. Laura seems to have a natural curiosity about everything.”

James nodded, but he seemed distant again, as if his thoughts were drifting somewhere far away. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped slightly, the way his eyes seemed to darken as the conversation went on. You hadn’t meant to pry, but his sadness was palpable. And in that moment, you had found yourself wanting to say more, to offer some kind of reassurance. But before you could, James spoke again.

“I’m glad she’s in good hands,” he said softly, his gaze still fixed on Laura as she ran across the playground. 

You remembered the weight of your words that day, how you hesitated before finally gathering the courage to ask him something that had been bothering you for a while. The conversation had been light up until that point, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story, something beneath the surface of James’s distant demeanour and Laura’s bubbly personality. 

You didn’t want to pry—especially not during a casual school event—but the question had been lingering in your mind since the start of the year. Laura’s information sheet had been so bare, so lacking in detail, compared to what most parents submitted. No emergency contacts beyond James. No mention of other family. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your place to ask, but as her teacher, you felt like you should at least know a little more.

So, as you stood next to him, the quiet stretching between you after your exchange about Laura’s love for school, you finally spoke up, your voice hesitant. “I, um… I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…” You paused, swallowing the nervousness that had crept into your throat. “On Laura’s information sheet, you didn’t fill in much. I didn’t want to pry or anything, but I was just wondering—well, if there’s anything we should know? Just to be prepared, you know, in case of an emergency.”

James’s face shifted at your words, and for a second, you thought you might have overstepped. His jaw tightened, and he looked down at the ground, his expression hard to read. You immediately regretted asking, feeling heat rush to your cheeks as the silence between you deepened.

“I didn’t mean to—” you began quickly, your words tumbling out as you tried to backtrack. “I just wanted to make sure we had everything we need for Laura. I’m sorry if that was too forward, I just—”

James shook his head, and to your surprise, he let out a soft chuckle, his lips curling into a faint smile. “No, it’s okay,” he said, his voice a little lighter now, though there was still something guarded in his tone. He glanced at Laura again, watching her as she played, before continuing. “It’s just that… I adopted Laura a few months ago. So I don’t have a lot of information about her past.”

The words hit you like a gentle but unexpected wave, washing over your initial embarrassment and replacing it with a deep sense of sympathy. “Oh,” you whispered, your cheeks flushing deeper as you realised the weight of his admission. “I—I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

James shook his head again, cutting off your apology with a reassuring smile. “Really, it’s fine,” he said, a softness in his eyes that made you relax a little. “I know it’s probably a little strange, but… I didn’t want to put too much on those forms. We’re still figuring things out—so, I would appreciate your secrecy on this matter.”

“Of course,” you nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and understanding settle in your chest. “That makes sense,” you replied, your voice softer now. There was a brief pause, an almost peaceful silence between you, and for the first time that day, you didn’t feel awkward standing beside him. You felt something quiet but real.

He glanced at you then, a flicker of something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something unsaid. For a moment, you thought he might open up further, let you in just a little more. But instead, he nodded, offering you a tight smile that didn’t quite mask the exhaustion behind his eyes.

“Thanks for the cake,” he murmured, the word heavy with meaning, but it felt like a conversation he wasn’t ready to continue. “You can now add me to the list of your fans,” he tried to joke. And that was how it ended that day. A polite smile, a brief exchange, and a shared piece of chocolate cake. 

But it had been the start of something—an awareness, perhaps—that had lodged itself in your mind since.

‧───────────────

It was the end of the school day, and you stood at the doorway of the classroom, waving goodbye to your students as they rushed out, eager to meet their parents. The air was filled with the excited chatter of children, their laughter carrying through the schoolyard as they bounded toward the gates, already discussing what they would do once they got home—playing, watching cartoons, or just relaxing after a long day. 

You smiled, watching them, a familiar warmth settling in your chest. These moments, seeing the kids so happy and carefree, were some of your favourites. But as the crowd of parents thinned and the rush of students began to dwindle, your eyes fell on one child still waiting, standing a little apart from the rest.

Laura.

She was fidgeting with the sleeve of her pink shirt, her eyes darting around as she glanced at the gate, waiting for someone who hadn’t yet arrived. You felt a small pang in your chest, noticing how her usually bright demeanour was tinged with a quiet sort of patience. 

She wasn’t upset, not yet, but you could tell she was starting to wonder where he was.

You walked over to her, your steps soft against the pavement. Kneeling down next to her, you offered her a gentle smile, hoping to ease the unease you sensed in her small frame. “Hey, Laura,” you said quietly, “Don’t worry, your dad will be here soon. I’ll wait with you until he comes, okay? So you don’t have to worry.”

Laura looked up at you, her wide eyes filled with an innocence that tugged at your heartstrings. She nodded, though her fingers still played nervously with her sleeve. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice small but trusting.

You sat down on the bench next to her, offering her a comforting presence. The schoolyard was almost empty now, save for a few stragglers who were still being picked up. You glanced toward the gate, hoping to see James approaching, but there was no sign of him yet.

The two of you sat in a peaceful silence for a moment, and you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of protectiveness toward the little girl beside you. You had always cared for your students, of course, but with Laura… it felt different. There was something about her that drew you in, something about her quiet resilience and the way she tried so hard to be brave.

You glanced at her again, noticing how she was now staring at the ground, still fiddling with her sleeve. “You know,” you said gently, trying to distract her, “you were amazing in class today. I think you’re going to be a star at our next reading session.”

Laura looked up at you, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “Really?”

“Really,” you nodded, your tone full of warmth. “You’ve come so far, Laura. You should be proud of yourself.”

Her smile widened just a little, and you felt a sense of relief wash over you. At least for now, she seemed more at ease, even if only for a moment. Still, your gaze flickered back to the gate, and you silently hoped James would arrive soon. You knew how much Laura looked up to him, how much she counted on him, and you didn’t want her to start worrying that he wouldn’t come.

Even so, you would wait with her for as long as it took.

As the minutes passed, Laura’s hands fidgeted more restlessly with her sleeve, her small brow furrowing with an expression far too serious for her age. She glanced up at you and then back at the ground, her lips pressing together as if she was holding something in. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked gently, leaning a bit closer to her.

Laura hesitated, biting her lip before she spoke. “I... I’m not sure,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just... James has been really tired lately. He doesn’t smile anymore—well, even less than usual. And sometimes...” Her voice trailed off, her fingers gripping her sleeve tightly.

You could sense the worry radiating from her, and it tugged at your heart. You leaned in a little closer, your voice soft and reassuring. “Sometimes what, Laura?”

She hesitated again, her eyes flicking up to yours before darting away. She seemed on the verge of saying something more, something important, but just as the words were about to spill out, the sound of hurried footsteps caught both of your attention.

James.

He rushed through the gate, his face flushed and his breath coming in heavy pants. His tie was slightly askew, his khaki jacket over his broad shoulders, and you could tell from the sheen of sweat on his brow that he had run all the way from wherever he had been. His gaze immediately locked onto Laura, and the relief in his eyes was palpable.

“Laura... I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice breathless but filled with concern. He bent down to her level, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Work ran later than I expected, but I’m here now.”

Laura’s face brightened instantly at the sight of him. Whatever worries she had moments ago seemed to melt away as she launched herself into his arms. “It’s okay, James. I knew you’d come. Y/n kept me company.”

James held her tightly for a moment, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath, seemingly trying to steady himself. Then he stood up, his gaze shifting to you. There was an apology in his expression, a look of regret for being late. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” he said, still catching his breath. “I rushed over as fast as I could.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “No need to apologise. We’re just glad you made it.”

For a moment, as James straightened his posture, you could see the fatigue lingering in his eyes—deeper than just physical tiredness. It was the kind of weariness that came from something more, something that ran deeper than a late night or a long day at work.

You smiled politely, already anticipating that James would soon make his usual excuses to leave as soon as possible and head home with Laura. But to your surprise, he lingered for a moment longer, his gaze shifting from Laura to you, a look of contemplation on his face. There was something different about him today—something new.

“Miss...” he began, but before he could finish, you couldn’t help but giggle, waving him off playfully. “Oh gosh— It makes me feel so formal and old, how many times have I insisted you call me by my name?” You teased lightly, hoping to break the ice that often felt a little too thick between you two.

James’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in his deep-set eyes. “I suppose it’s hard to shake old habits,” he replied, a half-smile playing on his lips as if he were sharing an inside joke with himself. You watched as he took a moment to consider his words, his brow furrowing slightly as he grappled with the shift in the dynamic between you. 

“But... Y/n,” he finally said, his voice almost hesitant, as if he were testing the waters. 

The way he spoke your name was slow and deliberate, as if each syllable was a treasure he was unearthing. The warmth of his voice wrapped around you, and the moment felt electric. The air thickened with an intimacy you hadn’t expected, leaving you momentarily breathless. 

You felt your heart skip a beat as a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks, your breath hitching slightly in your throat. Suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink, and the innocent and fleeting conversations you typically shared transformed into something more profound, more intimate. 

“Y/n,” he repeated, this time almost to himself, as if he were savouring the taste of it. 

The sound of your name rolling off his tongue sent a flutter through you, igniting a mixture of excitement and shyness that caught you off guard. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something new and uncharted, and the thrill of it both exhilarated and terrified you.

“I—uh, right... well, it’s nice to be called by my name, that’s all,” you stammered, attempting to regain your composure. The heat of embarrassment crept up your neck, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest, a drumbeat that seemed to echo in the stillness between you.

James chuckled softly, the sound warm and inviting, breaking the momentary tension. “I’ll make an effort to remember,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice struck a chord deep within you. You could sense the vulnerability in his words, a hint that perhaps he was allowing himself to be more open, more human.

The moment lingered, stretching into a comfortable silence as you both absorbed what had just transpired. You could sense a connection crackling in the air, a magnetic pull that made your skin tingle and your heart flutter. Laura, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around her, stood between you, still clutching her father’s hand, her wide eyes darting back and forth between the two of you, momentarily aback by the interactions.

“James, can we go home now?” Laura chirped, her voice cutting through the quiet. “I want to play with my dolls!”

James jolted, as if he was coming out of a trance and looked down at her, his expression softening as he nodded. “Of course, sweetie. Let’s go home.” But then he turned back to you, an earnestness in his gaze. “I appreciate you looking out for her.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and your heart swelled with a mix of pride and gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Sunderland. It’s a joy,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face. You were grateful for the opportunity to teach such a bright and spirited child, but it felt like more than just a job. 

It was a chance to make a difference, even in small ways.

As the three of you stood there, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow around you, you felt a sense of connection deepening—a bond that was slowly beginning to form amidst the complexities of life. But just as quickly as it had come, the moment slipped away as Laura tugged at her father’s hand, eager to be on her way.

“Come on, James!” she urged, her excitement palpable. “Let’s go!”

With a final shared smile, James turned to leave, his hand wrapped securely around Laura’s. But, just as James was about to turn and leave, he hesitated for a moment, glancing back at you with a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “Oh, and… it’s only fair that you can call me James,” he added in a rushed voice, as if the words were tumbling out before he could stop them.

The casualness of the remark hung in the air, but the weight of it landed heavily on your chest. You stood there, momentarily shocked, your mind racing to comprehend what he had just said. The simple invitation felt monumental. You could see the apprehension in his expression, as if he were dreading your reaction, almost afraid of the implications his words might hold.

He turned back to Laura, who was practically bouncing on her toes with excitement, and as he walked away, you felt a strange mix of exhilaration and longing. The distance between you began to stretch, but in that moment, all you could focus on was the sudden intimacy in that one little request. 

“James,” you whispered, the name rolling off your tongue for the first time, almost shyly. 

But he was already walking away, his back to you, and the sound of his gentle voice echoed in your ears. You could almost see the tension in his shoulders as he hurried to catch up with Laura, leaving you standing there in the golden glow of the setting sun. For a fleeting moment, you wished he could hear you, that your voice could reach him just a little further. But the name lingered in your mind, and you knew this was more than just a name. 

As they disappeared from sight, you found yourself smiling, a warm flutter igniting within you. You could hardly believe that you had spoken his name, and yet it felt right. James. 

Just James.

‧───────────────

A couple of days had passed since that moment, and you found yourself standing outside the school as the last of the children filtered out, giggling and chattering excitedly about their plans for the evening. The air was warm, filled with the sweet scent of the last remnant of the flowers, yet your thoughts were completely consumed by James.

As he approached, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. His blue-gray eyes had a captivating quality that seemed to pull you in, as if they held secrets and stories you longed to uncover. They were gentle and soft, yet haunted, a hint of sadness always lurking just beneath the surface. You had come to notice this subtle dichotomy in him—the warmth of his smile contrasted with the weight he carried in his gaze.

Since your last interaction, James had consistently arrived at school on time, much to your surprise. He had also begun to linger after school, initiating unusual and trivial conversations. And each time he approached, you felt the world around you fade, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of shared moments and unspoken words. 

“Hey, you,” he greeted, a genuine smile lighting up his face as he stepped closer. The way he said it made you feel like you were the only person in the universe, and it took every ounce of your professionalism not to melt under his gaze. “How was your day?”

“Pretty standard,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just the usual chaos with the kids. You know how it is.” You chuckled lightly, but inside, your heart raced, fighting the blooming flush on your cheeks. 

His smile widened, revealing a glimpse of warmth that made your stomach flip. “They can be a handful, can’t they?” He leaned slightly against the brick wall, his body language relaxed yet intent, as if he was genuinely interested in your thoughts.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” you said, your voice tinged with sincerity. “They bring so much joy, even when they’re a bit much to handle.” 

James nodded, his expression contemplative, and for a moment, you felt an intimacy forming between you. It was strange, this connection, as if you were bound by an invisible thread that pulled you closer together, even as you knew the rules that separated you.

“Laura seems to really enjoy her time in class,” you mentioned, hoping to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

He chuckled softly, but there was an edge of vulnerability in his tone. “She does. I think she’s found her place here.” 

You glanced down, fidgeting with your hands, trying to quell the flutter of anticipation that filled the air. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s important for her to feel comfortable.” 

James’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve made a difference for her,” he said, sincerity lacing his words. “I can’t thank you enough for that.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a wave of warmth through you, igniting a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “I’m just doing my job, really,” you replied, though the way he looked at you made you feel anything but ordinary.

“I don’t think you realise how special you are,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

For a heartbeat, you felt suspended in time, caught in the gravity of his words. But then reality hit you, a reminder of the boundaries that loomed between you. He was a parent, and you were a teacher. 

Yet, as he lingered there, the air thick with unspoken possibilities, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the rules could bend a little in this moment. The thought both exhilarated and terrified you. You took a breath, willing yourself to maintain your composure, yet secretly wishing that this conversation could stretch into the endless horizon of what-ifs that danced in your mind.

As the silence settled between you, James straightened up, a look of determination crossing his features that made your heart sink slightly. His expression turned serious, the warmth that had lingered just moments ago fading into something more guarded. With a deep sigh, he seemed to gather himself before speaking, the weight of his words evident in the way he shifted his stance.

“Um, could I have your number?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that caught you off guard. 

You stilled, your breath hitching in your throat. The unexpected request sent a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks, and for a moment, you felt entirely unmoored, caught in a tide of surprise and delight. Was he really asking for your number? The notion was thrilling yet terrifying, sending your mind racing with possibilities.

James must have noticed the startled look on your face because, almost immediately, his demeanour shifted again. Realising how his words might be interpreted, he quickly added, “I mean, it’s just in case I need your help—like you offered before, with Laura or school stuff.” 

The clarification hung between you, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and a slight tinge of disappointment. Part of you had dared to hope that this moment was more than just professional courtesy, but as the reality settled in, you pushed that thought aside, telling yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“Of course! That makes total sense,” you managed to reply, your voice slightly breathless. “I’d be more than happy to help with anything you need.” 

With a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through you, you fumbled for your phone, your fingers trembling slightly as you unlocked it. This felt surreal—exchanging numbers with James, standing so close to him, the air thick with unsaid words and lingering glances. You dared to meet his gaze again, and for a brief moment, you lost yourself in the depths of his blue-grey eyes, which seemed to flicker with both anxiety and something deeper.

As you typed in your number, a playful thought crossed your mind, and you decided to break the tension. “Just so you know,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile, “I’m not available for cake emergencies or anything.” 

James chuckled softly, the sound bringing warmth back into the cool air that surrounded you. “Noted. I’ll keep my cake emergencies to a minimum, then.” 

The lightness of the moment felt almost intoxicating, and as you handed your phone back to him, your fingers brushed against his skin. The contact sent a jolt through you, a spark of electricity that made your heart race anew. It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt charged with an intimacy that caught you both off guard.

In that brief moment of contact, you instinctively placed your hand over his arm, a reassuring gesture meant to bridge the gap between you. The warmth of his skin was intoxicating, and you felt him flinch ever so slightly under your touch, as if your hand had ignited something deep within him. 

His eyes widened for a split second, the guarded look momentarily replaced by surprise. “Thanks,” he said, his tone sincere as he accepted your phone, but there was a subtle shift in his expression, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability that made your heart flutter. 

“I really appreciate it,” he continued, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a heartbeat, it felt as if the world around you had vanished, leaving just the two of you standing in the schoolyard, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. With a final glance, James stepped back, his expression a mix of gratitude and apprehension. “I should get going,” he said, his voice a little softer now, almost hesitant. “Thanks again for everything.”

‧───────────────

James sat on the edge of his bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp illuminating the worn pages of his journal. His hand hovered over the paper, as if hesitating to commit his thoughts to words. Outside, the October air had settled into a biting chill, the kind that always stirred uneasy memories. The crisp wind rattled against the windows, and James found himself drawn back to dark times, moments when the world had felt as cold and unforgiving as the night closing in around him now.

He pressed the pen down, scratching out his thoughts with deliberate care, almost as if the act of writing might exorcise the ghosts of his past.

Date: [XX/10/1993]

The air is changing. That sharp bite... it reminds me of those days, the ones I wish I could forget. That hollow feeling creeping in, like the cold. I keep trying to push it away, keep myself in the present. Focus on what matters.

He paused, tapping the pen against the paper, as though searching for the next words. His thoughts inevitably drifted, not to the past he so desperately wanted to escape, but to something—or rather, someone—new.

But lately... lately, there’s been a kind of warmth. Like I’ve found the sun again. It's dangerous, though. I know it is. It has to be about Laura. She's the reason I’m here. She's my only focus. But when I see her... when I see Y/n...

He paused again, his jaw tightening as he tried to push down the surge of feelings rising up in his chest. Y/n, your warmth, your presence—it was getting harder to ignore, harder to suppress the way his heart sped up when their conversations lingered just a little longer than they should.

I try to keep the conversation about Laura. I need to keep it about her. She’s Y/n's student, my daughter, and that’s all there is to it. That’s how it should be. It’s enough, it has to be. But I catch myself wanting more. And that scares the hell out of me. But I can’t help it. I find myself lingering after our conversations, craving the moments we talk about anything else—about the weather, about life, about her smile. God, her smile...

His hand trembled slightly as he wrote, the words spilling out onto the page with a sense of urgency, like he was afraid of admitting them even to himself.

There’s something about her. I see it in her smile, in the way she talks to Laura, the way she looks at me sometimes. She’s young, full of life and warmth, and I... I’m not that. I haven’t been that in a long time. She deserves better. Deserves more than someone who can’t escape his past—a murderer.

James exhaled shakily, running a hand through his ashe blonde hair. The darkness of the room felt oppressive now, mirroring the darkness in his thoughts.

I should stop. I need to stop. I can’t let myself think this way. Not about her. Not when she’s...

He trailed off, his hand going still as he stared at the half-finished sentence, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the air. The journal felt like a confessional, a place where he could let out the thoughts he would never say aloud. 

And yet, it offered no relief. No absolution.

She’s kind. She’s patient. She’s pretty. She’s good. Too good for me. I need to remember that. I have to stop before I ruin everything. I shouldn't want her. I shouldn't feel this way. But God, the way she looks at me, the way she smiles... it makes me weak. Makes me want things I have no right to want. 

Makes me feel things I've tried to bury deep inside.

But even as he wrote the words, a part of him resisted, fighting the notion of letting go of that warmth, of her. With a sigh, James closed the journal, his chest tightening with the familiar ache of guilt. He set it aside, staring at the ceiling, haunted by both his memories and the new feelings he couldn’t quite bring himself to fully acknowledge. 

Sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight—not with your name still lingering in the corners of his mind.

As James lay there, staring at the ceiling, the image of your face flickered in his mind, your warm smile and kind eyes filling his thoughts. The more he tried to push you away, the more you seemed to consume him, your presence a constant ache in his chest. He shifted restlessly, the sheets tangling around his legs as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His body grew hot, his skin prickling with a need he couldn't ignore.

James closed his eyes, his breath coming faster as he pictured the gentle curves of your body that he longed to explore, straddling him, your hips rolling against his as you rode him. He could almost feel the heat of your core, the way your walls would clench around him as he thrust deep inside you. A moan escaped his lips, low and needy, as his hand drifted down to his growing arousal. He stroked himself through his pyjama bottoms, the friction of the fabric only adding to his growing desperation.

‘I'm sorry, Mary,’ he thought, even as he pushed his pants down, freeing his aching cock. ‘I'm so sorry. But I need this. I need to feel something, anything, besides this endless grief.’

James wrapped his hand around his shaft, the touch sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He imagined it was Y/n's hand, your slender fingers wrapped around him, guiding him to ecstasy. 

"Fuck," he groaned, his hand moving faster, the sound of his skin slapping against his arousal echoing in the silent room. He knew it was wrong, knew he should stop, but the need consuming him was too strong to resist. In his mind, you were on top of him, your hips grinding against his, your breasts bouncing as you rode him with wild abandon. He would grab your hips, pulling you down harder, burying himself deep inside your warmth.

"Oh god, Y/n!" he cried out, his body tensing as he neared his peak. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" The words tumbled from his lips, a desperate plea for forgiveness as much as a prayer of ecstasy.

As he stroked himself faster, harder, the guilt began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of urgency. His hips bucked into his hand, his breathing ragged as he chased his release. With a final, strangled cry, James came, his seed spurting across his stomach and chest. The pleasure crashed over him in waves, washing away the pain and sorrow, if only for a moment.

In the aftermath, as his chest heaved with laboured breaths, James felt a twinge of shame. As the haze of pleasure faded, the reality of what he had done crashed down upon him. Tears welled in his eyes, and he curled in on himself, his shame overwhelming him once again.

"I'm a monster," he whispered, his voice broken.

James lay there, paralyzed by his own shame and revulsion. The sticky warmth of his seed coating his skin served as a stark reminder of his weakness, of the depth of his depravity. He couldn't escape the images of Y/n that haunted his mind, the memories of their interactions intertwining with the twisted fantasies he had just indulged in.

With a trembling hand, he reached for the box of tissues on his nightstand, cleaning himself up as quickly as possible—as if he was cleaning a crime scene. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the world that had led him to this point, but he knew it was futile. There was no one to blame but himself, no one to shoulder the burden of his sins.

As he lay there, listening to the distant sounds of the city beyond his window, James felt a sudden urge to purge himself of the poison that consumed him. He needed to cleanse his soul, to rid himself of the taint of his desire.

With a determined grimace, he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He turned the faucet on full blast, the cold water spraying him in the face like a baptismal rebirth. He scrubbed his skin raw, watching his cum as the water swirl down the drain, carrying away the evidence of his transgressions.

James stood there, a broken shell of a man, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. He wanted to scrub himself clean, to remove every trace of her from his being, but he knew it was futile. For the first time, he had crossed that line, had given in to the darkest recesses of his mind. And it had felt...good. 

"I'm sorry, Mary," he whispered, his voice raw and hollow. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how to stop this."

But even as the words left his lips, he knew they were empty. He didn't want to stop, didn't want to deny himself the fleeting moments of ecstasy that Y/n brought him. He was a monster, a depraved creature.

After his shower, James sat on the edge of his bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long, twisted shadows across the room, his journal open once again in his lap. His hand hovered over the page, trembling, knowing exactly what he needed to write but dreading it. 

His hand stilled. How had it come to this? He had never expected to feel this pull, this temptation toward someone, toward you. He had tried so hard to be good, to keep things professional, but you had stirred something deep inside him—something he couldn’t control.

Y/n.

Your namelay there on the page, staring back at him like a secret he could no longer hide. 

I’ve already tried to relieve myself with thoughts of her… it’s not new. I’ve always been weak to her. The way she smiles, the way she speaks, her kindness. It’s all too much. I’m too weak. But this time…

James exhaled, his chest tightening. This time had been different. This time, he had given in completely, no longer just a fleeting thought or stolen glance. For the first time, he had let you take over his mind entirely, and the release had been overwhelming. It had been the first time in years—since Mary—that he’d allowed himself to finish with someone else in his thoughts.

For the first time, it wasn’t Mary I thought of when I—

He stopped, unable to bring himself to put it into words. But the truth lingered, pressing down on him. For the first time, it had been you.

His grip on the pen tightened, the shame gnawing at him. He had crossed a line—one he never thought he would cross again. But the worst part? The part that made his skin crawl?

It felt good.

For the first time, I let myself think of someone else, and it felt...good. 

His breath hitched, a wave of guilt washing over him, followed by something darker. He closed the journal with a sudden snap, his chest heaving, his heart pounding in his ears. Tossing it onto the bedside table, James leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push away the thoughts of you that flooded his mind.

I should stop. I need to stop.

But he couldn’t. He was trapped, caught between the past he couldn’t escape and the future he shouldn’t want.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, though this time, it was barely more than a breath. He wasn’t sure if the apology was meant for Mary or for himself.

He closed his eyes, Mary’s name on his lips, but as his mind drifted, it wasn’t her face he saw.

It was yours.

[vasiktomis]

Loophole (Zayne x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Zayne has an Evol flare-up while you’re visiting Snowcrest. You’re a good friend, so you help him out.

It doesn't mean anything if you don't move, right?

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~6800. Tags/Warnings: Female Pronouns and Anatomy for Reader, Reader is MC, Caretaking, Friends to Lovers, Inappropriate Doctor/Patient Relationship, Childhood Friends, Bickering, Cock Warming, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Photography, Unsafe Sex, Porn with Feelings, Switching. Post-chapter 4 spoilers. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“Let’s get you inside.”

The cold weather poses something of a threat to Zayne, you've realised.

He'd never admit such a thing, of course, but if he hadn't wanted you to make such an observation, he shouldn't have made it his responsibility to impose such an unexpectedly strong presence in your life.

A year ago, you barely knew him. To say he kept you at arms' length was an understatement, but with everything that's occurred in recent months — with such a void left in your life from the loss of Caleb and Grandma — and the ugly mysteries eclipsing once-happy memories — your doctor, of all people, is the one dedicating almost every minute of his time outside of work to trying to fill that void. It's not like he talks your ear off — he's Zayne, after all — but he makes a noticeable effort to make himself accessible to you whenever he can.

He's been a good friend to you at the sacrifice of his own comfort.

In the seven months that have passed since the explosion, you've had more exposure to Zayne than you've had any of your other friends. He rarely strays from his quiet stoicism, but it's far easier to read him. These days, you can't believe you once thought him intimidating. The softer aspects of his personality aren't offered willingly, but accidentally. A slip of the tongue here, a too-long stare at a community cat there, a smile he doesn't think you notice. He masks his requests for you to visit him in his overtime hours as nagging reminders for you to water the plants. He never asks you to bring him dinner, but there's always an extra seat pulled up at his desk when you arrive with it unannounced.

You’re sure he likes it well enough; getting to know you after all these years. You’re just not sold on how fond he is of you knowing him.

It shows stark on his typically taciturn features. Streetlamp light bounces off fluffy snow at all angles in the little village laneway, illuminating the man with an almost healthy glow as he walks stiffly beside you, right hand clutched against his side and his left doing all it can to keep from crushing the bones in yours.

“I’m fine.” He insists while you lead him up to the cabin, grimacing at a sudden chill of wind passing over the porch. There's a certain tone he uses when he's putting on the bedside manner. As a patient, you'd be soothed. As a friend, your patience wanes. He's not fine.

”I’ll get a fire going.” You mutter, ushering him inside. He tries amidst obvious pain to be gentlemanly, waiting for you to enter first, but a scowl on your part has him conceding defeat and ambling through the door. “Get in the shower. Can you turn it on by yourself?”

There’s no more warm light from the street in here. Dr. Noah likely would have fallen asleep hours ago, shortly after you’d left for dinner. Still, even in the dark, you can sense the irritation in him.

“You act like I’m frozen solid.” He retorts on his way to the bathroom, knowing better than to stick around despite the attempt to uphold his pride.

”Get your butt in the shower before I throw you in there myself.”

The warmer months gave you no initial reason to suspect anything, but as the weather worsened and temperatures dropped, Zayne began to feel more on-edge. You’d bore witness to his attacks in the past, but he was no more willing to share his condition with you beyond the odd occasion of being unable to switch it off after a battle. You knew what it looked like when his Evol was acting up. It almost caused a fight, the first time you asked about it. Then, when it became clear you weren’t simply going to leave him to his own devices whenever he was displaying the signs, Zayne steadily, reluctantly, began to let you assist. He couldn’t stand it — he still can’t, you’re sure — not playing caretaker for once, but the two of you found a rhythm; keeping an eye on his temperature, steering clear of fluctuations, little remedies that help him bounce back quicker when his Evol gets the better of him. It became second nature to you, like carrying an Epipen for a loved one at risk of anaphylaxis.

You won’t lie, though. It pisses you off. He’s a constant nag when it comes to your health regarding your heart condition, but there was no allowable mention of his  condition when he brought you to Dr. Noah. Not that your opinion counts for anything, apparently, but what idiot cashes out his annual leave for an extended stay in a tundra when he's so prone to such reactions?

It had shocked you even more when your friend declared he’d be staying back for the foreseeable future, conducting research for the old man on a solo expedition on Mt. Eternal. Your friend — the one who'd taken it upon himself to be a stand-in for your lost family — alone, in the worst possible place he could be in his condition.

It was unthinkable.

Four weeks was your breaking point after you’d returned home without him.

Sure, he responded to your texts within seconds. Reception wasn’t good enough for calls, but he made sure to give you no logical reason to worry about him. It didn’t help. Once your dreams started to take the shape of him disappearing into the mountains, you cut your losses and decided to visit for the weekend.

Just as well, considering he’d been massaging his wrist in your periphery for the entirety of your first day. Still, he'd insisted on showing you around Snowcrest, spending as much time away from Dr. Noah's cabin as possible. You knew his tells. He was bordering on a flare-up and hiding it from you. Had he mentioned it and agreed to stay in tonight, you might not of had to drag him home with frost seeping out of his clothes and a foul mood. Instead, he chose to be proud about it.

Idiot.

God knows what could have happened to him if he hadn't come down from the mountain to spend the weekend with you.

He’d never let you get away with such stupidity, and it’s hard not to hold it against him. You came here out of worry in the first place, and the visit isn’t doing a thing to set your mind at ease.

You tend to rekindling the dimming embers in the fireplace, content to mind your business once you hear the shower turn on. At least he’s doing what he’s told.

The living room heats up steadily. New flames settle into a longer-lived glow. You get yourself changed into more suitable bed wear; a commandeered hoodie from your doctor’s medical school era, large enough to reach halfway to your knees. The frayed cuffs have since lost their elasticity and there are a few choice stains, and most condemning, the drawstrings have been chewed to tassels — but god, if it isn’t comfy. Time stretches on, and while the worry gnaws at the back of your mind, you leave Zayne to his privacy. So long as you don’t hear a thump, you’re content to imagine he’s probably just in there being mad at himself over not being the sensible one for once.

Zayne keeps himself locked away for the better part of an hour, in the end. Even Pie pads out into the living room to investigate what you’re doing up alone in the middle of the night before a scritch sends the fox on its way back to bed.

You’ve slid most of the way off the couch by the time the man emerges from his room in fresh pajamas. With your back to the rug, you watch him approach stiffly, slowing to a halt upside-down. He’s still rubbing at that wrist, you note.

“You’re still up.” He mutters, brow knitted in discomfort.

There’s frost on his neck. His lips are blue. It wasn’t even this bad when you were outside. A pit forms in your stomach.

Then, his wake hits you. Cold air, chilling you to the bone, and you sit up in a flash.  

“Zayne—“

He silences you with a little hand motion, stepping around you to seat himself as close as he can to the fireplace.

“You’re half-frozen.” You continue when he offers you nothing else. Crawling onto the couch beside him, you reach up to tug at the collar of his sweater, trying to inspect the severity of the attack. “God, you should have said  something.”

“I thought you were asleep.” He replies quietly. “I’ve seen — how much it takes to wake you-“

Zayne flinches from your touch when your fingertip skims his neck. The most aggressive warning to stay back that he can risk without waking his mentor. You ignore him, of course. You always do. Sitting close, you press yourself to his side on the couch, guiding his right arm between your thighs. Your fingers lace between his from both sides, covering as much surface area as possible as you use your body to fend off the cold.

A moment is all it takes to see some of the tension in his face disappear. He breathes through the pain, eyes closed, and you shift your gaze to the fireplace to give him his privacy with it.

”You’re in so much trouble when this passes.”

A short, sharp chuckle slips through Zayne’s teeth. He nods once. “I know.”

You sit together like this for a long while, letting him sap the heat from your body to combat the flare-up. If not for the fire, you’d be shivering. It takes time, but eventually Zayne’s breathing evens out. His face relaxes, bit by bit. His half-frozen arm feels just a little cold to the touch.

Neither of you part. Not just yet. There’s too much left unsaid, and Zayne takes far too much solace in quiet to make the first move.

You let your temple drop to his shoulder. “Snow village dates are nice, but most girls would say yes to ‘Go Fish’  and hot cocoa if it means their date makes it through the night.”

After a second, Zayne rests his head against yours.

He inhales.

He pauses.

Then…

“I wanted you to have a nice time. I didn’t think it through.”

…God, he’s such a sweet man. It’s not wonder he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

There’s such a sense of finality to the way he says it. You suppose it’s not necessarily a wrong way to think of it, but it’s not his fault. Sure, it’s your last night together for what may amount to months, and he was stupid enough to think he could get away with poking the bear, but you’d rather have him come home alive and well. Not a victim to his own Evol.

It doesn’t sit right with you to let it end like this. The moment he’s recovered, he’s going to insist you both go to sleep. You’ll take the guest bed, and he’ll take the pull-out trundle, and he’ll remain there, soundless with his back to you. In the morning, you’ll say your goodbyes, and that will be that. The next time you see him will probably be for a check-up, and he’ll spend the entirety of the ECG acting like you’re mere acquaintances again.

No, you’re not losing momentum.

You’re not sure if it’s warmth in general, or if it’s a reaction specific to you — through trust, or the Aether core — there’s just no telling. Zayne keeps his cards too close to his chest for you to ever be sure, but you do know for certain that you hold the quickest remedy. If it’s just warmth, he never lets anyone but you get close enough to supply it. If it’s trust, likewise. The Aether core? You’re the only one.

“What are you—“

Zayne stiffens when you climb into his lap. He winces in discontentment; at such an intimidate proximity, at the physical danger he still poses, at the feeling of your thighs astride his. He doesn’t look pleased in the slightest, but still, his knees shift together, offering you a more comfortable perch on which to explain yourself.

You can feel the cold still radiating from him, fighting his body to keep from regulating its own temperature. It’s unpleasant, the way the chill claws at you, reaching across the expanse of your front. The joints in your hands already ache just from holding his arm to your chest. It’s imaginable, what it must be like to host such an Evol. What it must be like to have your own flesh freeze from the inside-out on a whim.

“Not done keeping you warm.” You answer simply, making a conscious effort to keep your teeth from chattering for his sake. He’s exercising enormous restraint not flinging you off of him already. You shouldn’t push your luck by sending him into any more of a panic.

“It’s not safe for you to be this close.” Zayne protests.

“Then I’m making you safe.”

This time, a growl escapes him. Pain cuts his patience with your impudence short. “You’re going to get yourself hurt—“

Zayne’s words die in his throat when you drape yourself over him, chest to chest, arms languidly curling over his shoulders. He goes completely silent.

“Aren’t you always telling me you can control it, anyway?” You muse, relaxing into him, moulding yourself to his body. The white frost that blooms beneath his skin begins to fade from his throat, unable to contend with the warmth of your breath. “If you didn’t want me doing this you shouldn’t have shown me how well it works.”

“That was after the aid of a hot shower.” Zayne argues. His logic might apply for that aborted attempt at an early-morning hike, but it falls flat tonight. “I was trying to warm up after the shower.”

Yeah, look how well that turned out. He’s as bad at lying as you are.

“So you’re saying I ought to have—“

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“If it’s not helping, Zayne, tell me.”

“…It’s helping.” He mutters.

You declare your victory with a hum, tucking your face into the collar of his sweater.

Even his scent is cold, somehow.

Beneath you, Zayne shifts, conceding defeat. You feel his lips ghost the side of your head. Considering — then retreating from a kiss — opting instead to rest his chin on you. His affected arm remains wedged between you, while his free hand comes to rest on your waist.

Minutes pass. Zayne’s breathing steadies to a resting rhythm. Eventually, the ice retreats into his flesh, disappearing with only a lingering chill. It shifts, marking the man’s return to normal, but he doesn’t announce anything. Instead, he tugs his arm out, only to wrap around you, surrendering to the moment.

“Do you have plans, while I’m away?” He asks.

“Tara’s been looking at the blank spots on my calendar, so I’ve probably got things on without knowing, yet.”

“Blank spots.”

”Yeah. Some of us have those.”

”Sounds like you don’t know what to do with yourself without me.”

“Please. I won’t have to worry about you bullying me. Maybe, y’know, I’ll do just fine without you.”

A chuckle escapes him. Tentatively, he toys with the fabric of your hoodie. “You’re not going to wash this at all, are you.”

Heat climbs up your neck at the suggestion. Of all the night clothes you had to bring, why did it have to be something you’d stolen from him?

You’re no coward. You rise to challenge. “Can’t miss you when it feels like I’ve got you with me.”

“I know  you’ll miss me,” Zayne retorts, and wow, he’s really  angling for a comeback after having you subject him to being taken care of, “But that’s no excuse for poor hygiene.”

“Poor hygiene—!”

You lean back to glower at the man, only to find him smirking up at you.

“I’ve half a mind to expect to find you asleep on the platform when the train pulls in, simply because you were too excited to wait at home for me to drop by.”

Your ears are positively scalding. You feel yourself shrinking, suddenly not so confident taking up as much space in the room. How does he have you so well figured out? Are you really that much of an open book? Compared to him, sure, but you’d hoped you carried a little more mystery about you than sitting on a station platform for a quasi-boyfriend-without-benefits  like a dog.

Even if that is  the case — does he really have to rub it in your face?

He can’t get away with this.

Speaking plainly, Zayne’s warmed up plenty. There’s no real reason for either of you to remain this close, and yet — despite lauding himself as the rational half of this friendship, his arms almost keep you from moving any further away.

His expression doesn’t falter with your silence, remaining ever-undisturbed. It unnerves you. His smiles never last more than a second, and you can count on one hand the amount of times he’s looked you in the eye with a pleasant face on. He’s on a power trip. If you don’t cut him down right this second he’ll go nuclear. He’ll leave you hanging with a ‘goodnight’  and a kiss on the forehead and you’ll both never speak of tonight again.

This is it. This is the last straw. Tonight, you leave him  hanging. 

“You want me to miss you so fucking bad, huh?” You accuse him, tapping a finger to your chin as you pretend to wonder. His eyebrow ticks. “Is that what you’re into? Man, you medical staff are all so power hungry.”

Zayne looks thoughtful for a moment. A thumb idly traces back and forth along your skin, barely tucked beneath your hoodie. It’s such a cautious touch. You wish  he wasn’t just all talk. “Perhaps you’re easier to deal with when one considers you might actually like getting bossed around.”

There’s no hiding the erection that sits wedged between you. There’s no ignoring the heat that pools in your core every time it strains against your cunt, blocked only by his sweatpants and your underwear.

There’s no way he can’t feel your heart beat throbbing against him.

And yet — he pretends not to be taking part in any of it.

You think about it for a moment.

Then, you roll your hips forward, slowly, gently. Your nerves spark as your clit finds the pressure it needs against the underside of his cock.

It takes everything in your power to keep from doing it again.

A tiny shiver makes its way out of Zayne. Frustration, perhaps. You angle a knowing little smile at him, and his throat bobs. He knows he’s been caught.

Checkmate.

“Doctor Zayne, are you getting off on this?” You ask, and his face flushes scarlet. His eyes widen, caught off-guard by you finally crossing the threshold.

”I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He answers lamely, pointedly avoiding looking down.

“You are!”

“Not so loud. It’s n-… it’s nothing.” He insists in a hushed voice, shooting a look over your shoulder before he’s satisfied that the coast is clear of anyone who might be privy to what the two of you are doing. “Just a biological reaction to stimuli.”

“Which stimuli?” You ask, feigning curiosity. “The cuddling, or this?”

To stress your point, you do it again, biting back the swell of enjoyment at the way his lips part of their own accord. A little hum spills forth, and his own hips chase the motion, just for a second, before he halts.

“Please.” Zayne murmurs, moving to hold you still. Inching you back onto his thighs, condemning himself to reveal two little damp patches. One where the grey fleece of his sweatpants pulls most taut. The other a little lower, where you’ve been rubbing your cunt along his clothed shaft.

“You need to learn when you’ve teased enough.”

What — fall back? Now? When all your nerves are alight?

Your tongue wets your lips as you take in the sight of him. Well on his way to wrecked, but not quite there. His expression remains otherwise impassive, but his pupils are far too blown to help him maintain the facade.

“You’re one to talk. Can’t hack it when it’s not you in charge?” You challenge him. “You’re not usually one to shy away from uncharted territory.”

You can’t help but reach out, itching to touch him. Fingertips smooth along his length, feather-light from the bottom up. His cock twitches when you reach the tip, begging for more.

“Ah—“ Long fingers snatch at your wrist, holding you fast. “Try no man’s land.”

“It’s nothing.” You assure him. “You said it yourself.”

Nothing. No different to how he so often strays into treating you, with all his dates and touches. Nothing, midday naps and linking your pinky-fingers as you walk together. Nothing, like the spare clothes you both reserve a drawer for.

“Just warming you up. That’s all.”

Zayne’s chest expands. His gaze fixes on your fingertips curling insistently at his waistband despite his grip keeping you at bay. “That’s all.”

Disbelief? Determination? Disappointment? You’re not familiar enough with how each of these sound in his throat to properly identify it, but Zayne’s grip on your wrist releases nonetheless. He opts to help you make more comfortable work of his track pants, pushing them down just a little to allow you easier access. There’s no presence of approval at how greedy you are about it, pawing and snatching at your prize while he tries to remain nonchalant.

You do try to give him the dignity of privacy by not looking down when he settles and you finally wrap both hands around his cock. He’s already indignant as it is, and the rumble that vibrates deep in his chest as your fingers close around him isn’t helping.

Oh — maybe just a little tease.

“Hey.” You chide, grinning. His eyes crack open, just enough to narrow at you. “Don’t make it weird. I’m a professional.”

It earns you a scoff. Zayne’s fingers, settled on your thighs, give a retaliatory squeeze, thumbs pressing just hard enough into your adductors to skirt on discomfort. He watches you tense at the feeling, and sensing an opportunity to shift the attention back off himself, decides to squeeze harder.

You finally flinch with an “Ow!”, and the man smiles to himself. Mission accomplished. He lets go.

”You’re the professional? How many surgeries have you performed?”

”How many have you  performed?”

”…A lot, genius.”

“Didn’t you tell me that some of your worst patients are doctors themselves?”

“Your point being?”

There’s no point — at least not in arguing with him. He’s only trying to distract you. You shift over him, and his attitude dissolves. He leans back, maintaining as much distance as he can — or perhaps to watch, as you tug your underwear to the side — line yourself up — and sink down onto his cock.

Zayne’s chest expands, but he makes no noise. His eyes close. His lips part. A minor crease forms between his eyebrows. It might as well be a sob. You’d use such a reaction against him if you weren’t more concerned with suppressing your own, lest he catch you out. Your cunt burns from the sudden, full intrusion, and his diverted attention gives you the moment you need to grow accustomed to it.

Once you’ve gotten over the initial shock of the feeling, you brush any intrusive thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter if he’s one of your oldest and closest friends. It doesn’t matter if he’s your doctor. You were already squarely planted in conflict-of-interest territory the moment he took you on as a patient.

You try to ignore your own desire. Your body catches up with your actions quickly, igniting touch-starved nerves that you’ve long-fantasised him satisfying. Heat builds inside you at a nervous system realising you’re finally giving it what it wants, and it only screams for more. Of course you’ve wanted Zayne. You adore him, but he’s not the kind of man who could balance a friendship with benefits; if anything, he finds a way to be the inverse of such a thing. He gives you everything in the way of a relationship except sex, and with him steering so clear of crossing that boundary with you, you have to tread carefully.

As much as you want to, this is delicate.

“My point is: zip it and let me take care of you.” You manage.

Besides, its not like you’re actually having sex with him. He’s continually pushing the boundaries of platonic with all his touches and hugs anyway. It’s not like he has a leg to stand on if he wants to protest what sitting on his cock might mean for your relationship. Hell, this isn’t even the first time he’s been hard when you’ve had his hips pinned down with your own.

If anything, you’re doing the guy a favour by taking the responsibility off him to go this far.

Zayne doesn’t bounce back as quickly as you do. His eyes remain scrunched shut, his core engaged beneath your palms as you brace your weight to settle into a more comfortable position in his lap. He looks worried. Apprehensive.

“Doctor Zayne?” Concern begins to creep in, just a little. “Okay, you can say something now.”

“Please,” He grits between his teeth, and relief floods your body as some semblance of calm returns to his expression, “Don’t call me that — like this.”

“Like what? I’m just warming you up, remember?” You offer a smile when he opens one eye, mood shifting to quizzical.

“You’re so immature. And for the record, this constitutes malpractice. You’re a terrible doctor.”

”Trust the process.”

”Fine. What’s the course of treatment?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but chuckle at such quiet outrage. It’s getting easier to read him. Relaxing against his front, you ignore a little gasp on his part to loop your arms around his neck again. Dishonest pretences be damned, this really is doing the trick. “All you need to do is stay still.”

Zayne weighs up his options for only a moment before giving in. His arms slip around your waist. His chin hooks over your shoulder, just barely nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s breathing in your scent, and the following exhale into your skin has you stifling a shiver.

Then, there’s a flex within you.

“Hey!” You choke, “I said stay still back there!”

“Quiet down. It was only a reflex.” Zayne defends, a little too cavalier to fly under the radar. “Besides, I’m not the one squirming.”

“I’m just getting comfortable. Your hips are pointy.”

Zayne’s hips slot up into yours, and the feel of him nudging just a little deeper has your eyes stinging. You fail to stifle a little squeak, and you’re shushed for it immediately.

“Just getting comfortable.” Zayne’s words lick at your ear, and the sound of him sends shivers through you, pooling between your legs, pleading with you to satisfy the ever-nagging want to start riding him. “You’re like a vice.”

He has to know how much of an effect he has on you. There’s no way he doesn’t.

You don’t respond to his attitude — however, the condemning, responding, constricting  of your insides around his cock surely doesn’t go unnoticed, and with a hollow breath, he lifts you, just a little, enough to draw back and push back in. He’s slow about it; infuriatingly so, almost like if he inches in and out at enough of creeping pace you’ll either not bother to be strict with him, or you’ll simply abandon your own rules in favour of crossing the boundary he’s silently begging you to cross for him.

No. He’s not getting the upper hand here. Not when he gets to pretend all his little actions are forgettable. Platonic. Accidental. Misunderstood. There’s only so many times a guy can subtly grind on someone during a spooning session and claim ignorance when called out about it.

You lock your feet beneath his knees, and sink down onto him, hard. Pleasure blooms. Your cunt aches for more. A sharp breath escapes Zayne, threatening to blossom into an appreciative groan that would only serve to tempt you without your hand clapping over his mouth and a ‘shh!’.

“You can keep still, or this stops.” You announce in a whisper, and he watches you defiantly from behind your hand.

Zayne’s gaze eventually breaks away from yours. Conceding. For now, at least. You lower your hand from his mouth, and relax, reaching across the cushion to pluck your phone from the couch and check your messages.

Already, he’s bothered by your lack of undivided attention.

“You’re on your phone.”  He huffs.

“I’m not rewarding your behaviour.” You reply simply.

“You’re not implying that behaving differently would warrant a reward, are you?”

That’s for him to figure out.

You shift your weight maybe just a little more than you need to, indulging in the feeling of his cock shift with you, within you, pressing insistently against that one spot that almost has your constitution coming apart at the seams. Zayne trembles momentarily beneath you, swallowing hard. He’s keeping his cool well enough, but as you settle into the new angle, no longer moving, his frustration makes itself known with another twitch inside you.

If he keeps doing that, you’re not sure you can hold out.

“You really  think this is helping?” He asks, voice tight.

“You don’t believe me?” You pout, tapping your home screen and opening your camera app. “Fine, let the expert see for himself.”

Switching to selfie cam, you watch as the man glances at his image on the screen for half a second, before tearing his gaze away. Not a shocker, you reason. He’s probably never seen himself with a hair out of place. Flushed cheeks and dilated pupils? You might as well have shown him a traffic collision.

“Aw, come on. Look how much colour’s come back to your face.”

Zayne musters the courage to look up, but not at the phone. His eyes narrow at you. Accusatory. “I’m not interested in giving you blackmail material.”

“What? Get real. There’s nothing incriminating going on. Especially not when you angle it like this.” You switch on a filter and lean down into the man. “See?”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and his head tilts to get a better look at whatever scheme you’re cooking up. On the screen, both your flushed faces smooth out, blushing perfectly. Cat ears and whiskers. Cheek to cheek. Just another one of your countless selfies with completely platonic friends.

You take the shot. The shutter clicks.

“Cute.” Zayne mutters drily.

“You think so?”

“Only how much fun you seem to be having of it.”

Your brow knits. “Oh yeah? All right, stick in the mud, you take over.”

He gives too much away at that response. His long fingers immediately slip over your hips. He’s readying to flip you onto your back before he notices you’re holding the phone out to him. Then, knowing he’s shown his hand, he has no choice but to recover his pride.

Much to your chagrin, Zayne plucks the phone from your hand, aborting whatever miraculous step he’d been about to take. A corner of his mouth ticks, minutely. He angles your phone away from you, tapping and swiping. His own phone buzzes. Then, he casts the device at the other end of the couch, out of your reach. “I think it’s getting a bit late for screens.” He murmurs. Fingers smooth up and over the swell of your hips. His long arms uncoil from your waist, releasing you as he leans back. Leaving you with a lonesome chill.  “And you ought to be going to bed.”

Is that…rejection? Has he just been humouring you up until this point?

You tilt your head. “I’m sorry. Is this not okay?”

“This is fine.”

He looks at the fireplace. Stoic as ever.

“Then what?” You frown.

He doesn’t respond.

Your throat runs dry. Dread creeps up through your heart.

“Hey. Talk to me.” You urge, smoothing your fingers along his jaw, and he leans into your palm.

Seconds pass. Zayne finally regards you again. There’s an acknowledging incline of his head — almost a polite bow. A pre-emptive apology for what he’s about to say. 

“What happens after this?” He asks. “Do we part ways at the train station in the morning and the next time we see each other, it’ll be as doctor and patient?”

Oh.

“Is that what we are to you?” You ask, not entirely sure if you want to know.

He dodges the question the best way he knows how: with rationality. “I feel that if that scenario is what you want, we should say goodnight. My understanding of our relationship won’t change, I promise you, but if this goes further, at least one of us is going to feel differently. It would be better if there were no misunderstandings between us.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something dreadful and lovely all the same, anxiety and anticipation at the prospect of a tipping point, at least before saying goodbye. Trust Zayne, of course, to turn to smoke and mirrors when it comes to a confession of feelings, but you’ve known him long enough to see how far out of his comfort zone all of this is.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” You ask, aborting an attempt on his part to avert his gaze with a finger beneath his chin.

His expression remains inexplicable. Then, there’s that little tilt of his head. The quirk of an eyebrow. “Your assumption is correct.”

The apprehension that’s been building in the back of your mind disperses the moment he says it. Your resolve all but disappears.  “My understanding,” You begin, reaching up to cup your hand over the other side of his face, “is that I’ve wanted you ever since I walked into that restaurant last year.”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. His mouth finds yours in a heartbeat. Previously unsure hands pull you against him, locking you in his embrace. He’s so awfully gentle about it all despite your combined strength. Such a gentleman. It comes as no surprise that he shudders at the intrusion of your tongue past his lips — what does surprise you is how quickly he catches up to your pace. Inviting you in. Slipping an arm lower to brace your weight, and you feel yourself being pulled up off of his cock, just until only the head remains at your entrance. 

The loss of him has you incensed. He keeps you from sinking back down, and your protesting whines are suffocated with another kiss. All he’s left you with to express yourself is your hands, and you seize the opportunity, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, just slightly at the roots.

He breaks away with a little noise. Not pained, but shocked. Another one of his spots, you reason, and he’s just as displeased that you’ve found it. 

“You don’t know when to quit.” Zayne pants. His fringe dusts your forehead. “What — what were we saying about bad behaviour going unrewarded?”

You’re too mindless right now to play any games. There’s no more thrill of the build that you can handle. Not after this long. 

You break, instantly. 

“Please —“ You whimper, almost trembling in his grip, trying in vain to take him back in again. “Zayne, I need it — please—“

Zayne relents right away. He gives you what you want, lowering you, burying himself in you to the hilt. Then he lifts you again, building into a steady rhythm.

”You’re so — you’re so frustrating.” He manages between kisses. “Should’ve told me this is all it takes for you to do as you’re told.”

More. You need more. Heavenly as it is, it’s not enough, just having him in you. You push back, and Zayne takes the hint. He’s said his piece. He lets you take the lead again without a fight, admiring the view as you roll onto the balls of your feet, gripping the back of the couch to keep yourself stable. The new angle feels deeper, each stroke rolling drifting sharply over your nerves as he brushes that spot inside you. It takes a moment for Zayne to kick into gear, brain short-circuiting as he watches you squat on his cock, taking what you need from him. Then, he leaves you to support your own weight. Fingers wrench at the front of your hoodie, yanking it up to your sternum, and his tongue sweeps a nipple. In the time it takes for you to react, his other hand has snaked between you, between your legs. His thumb rolls over your clit just as he latches onto your nipple and sucks. The keen barely escapes your lips before Zayne’s hand claps over your mouth, continuing his assault. 

It goes from too little to too much. It creeps up on you so fast, so suddenly, and there’s nothing you can do but ride through it. A muffled hum is all the warning you can give him. Your pace staggers as the burn in your thighs catches up to you, but Zayne only goes faster, rubbing merciless little circles into your nerves. His hips roll up into you, compensating as best he can for your loss of control. Finally, the band snaps, and you sob against his hand, spasming around him, tears pricking at your eyes with the intensity of it all. You go positively boneless, and Zayne breaks away just enough to let you collapse into his chest as he carries you through it, breaths quickening as the lingering spasms of your orgasm invoke his own. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ He barely stammers, releasing you only to coil his arms around your torso again, readying to pull out.

“Not going anywhere.” You promise, clinging to him. Your fingers comb through his hair, tugging again, and a whimper dies in Zayne’s throat. He buries his face into the crook of your neck. His hips roll up into you once, twice, thrice more, and then he goes still. Buried in you to the hilt as he tips into oblivion.

He’s so subtle about it that you barely even realise he’s coming. Maybe it’s the effort not to wake Dr. Noah. Maybe it’s like this every time. Having him hold you with such desperate reverence while he does his best not to judder in stark contrast to to the feeling of him pulsing within you, you reason you’d like to find out. He hides his face from you throughout, only pulling his forehead from your clavicle when the aftershocks have come and gone.

Zayne looks lovelier than ever like this — coming out of a blissful haze, gazing up at you with cautious adoration. His focus flickers between your eyes and your lips. His chest expands and collapses like he’s like a 5-miler, but his breaths are smooth.

Even now, he’s trying to maintain a cool composure.

“Forgive me.” He mutters, not quite meeting your eye.

Your head tilts. Chasing him. “Huh? Why?”

“I exercised poor judgement. That was rotten of me. I should have known better, given I’ve never prescribed birth control to you.”

“You really think I’d come to you for birth control?” You snort.

Zayne’s brow creases. An incredulous look totally undermined by how positively wrecked he looks right now. “I am  your physician. Or has your other doctor friend decided to become real after all?”

Your fingers comb through his hair again. Despite a pleasant sigh on his part at the sensation, his expression remains steeled.

“Hey.” You finally manage to capture his gaze, only for any tells to evaporate. “Could you tell me something?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Are you more jealous that I might have had sex with someone who wasn’t you, or that I might have gone to another doctor?”

Zayne considers his answer for a long moment. His head tilts in that particular way it does when he has to make a decision, eyeing you expectantly. Punishment for daring to push him out of his comfort zone.

He presses a hand to your forehead. 

A thoughtful hum escapes him.

“Curious. Your temperature’s dropping. On second thought, you should stay another day so I can observe you.”

“You’re avoiding the question!”

“Here. I’ll keep you warm. You can install those camera filters on my phone to pass the time.”

[cantwritethetword]

(2024) TickleTober Day 1: Harvest - Going against the Grain

Fic Descript - Bruce agrees to help out on the Kent farm and, after an off-handed comment from Clark, he decides to see how ticklish superman actually is.

~A/N  - Welcome to ticklecrowber2024!!!! (forgive the corny title hehehehehe)

We're starting off this month with a super cute superbat fic requested by an anon. While writing it I'm realising this is gonna be a pre-relationship romantic fic, so hopefully that floats your boat.

Like I mentioned on a post ages ago, I'm not aiming to write full fics for all the prompts this year to hopefully avoid burnout so I'm going into this aiming for a few hundred words - we'll see how that goes.

Hope you like it!

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

One of the (few) things Bruce hated about being in love with someone was the way it made him do things.

And not in a suggestive or psychological way, literally he felt compelled to gain some sort of relationship 'brownie points' to subtly prove his worth as a potential partner.

Which was how he had ended up here, about to knock on the door of Clark's farm home.

When superman mentioned needing to do some hard labour around the fields up in Kansas, Bruce found himself offering to help before he could even blink. It wasn't until Clark enthusiastically accepted that the batman fully realised what he had gotten himself into.

Mixing their work and personal lives? At Clark's house no less? Doing something that probably was effortless for Clark, but would be a significant physical strain for Bruce? What was he thinking?! He'll look like a fool...

But, as much as his brain loved to insist on how much of a bad idea this was, Bruce had resisted the temptation to cancel.

And so, he now found himself raising his fist and tapping the wooden door-frame.

"Bruce!" Clark grinned, opening the door fully.

The man was dressed so stereotypically farm-y, Bruce thought to himself. Brown leather boots half-covered by a pair of old denim jeans, topped with a plain white tee and - god he looked good in that red flannel...

"-are you... did you want to come in?" Clark chuckled.

Shit, had Clark invited him in already? Was he that distracted by the superhero in front of him that he fully disregarded any input other than the sight- wait it's happening again-

"Yes!" Bruce blurted out, interrupting his own thoughts. "Sorry, yes. Thanks."

Ugh love made him a mess.

As Clark narrated and explained his way through his humble abode, Bruce couldn't help but get stuck in his own head - again. He barely registered that they had left the house and were now walking through the wheat fields. He knew Clark was giving some really important information as to what exactly they needed to do and where they would need to do it, but it was almost as if his brain was more focused on the sound of Clark's voice than what it was actually saying.

Until Clark giggled.

Like a gunshot, Bruce locked onto the sound with unbridled curiosity. What had caused it? Would it happen again? Whatever it was clearly didn't phase Clark, as he was back to talking about whatever farmyard jargon that was interrupted earlier.

A few more moments passed, and Bruce had never been more focused on Clark's surroundings. What could possibly have made superman laugh like that? And how common of an occurrence was it if Clark didn't even acknowledged it?

Thankfully, it happened again - with Bruce watching the whole thing.

As Clark walked, a few stray spikes of wheat brushed against his bare lower forearms (where he had rolled up the aforementioned flannel). His hand twitched reflexively, and he once again let out a soft giggle at the sensation.

And, once again. Bruce's mouth moved before his brain could catch up.

"What was that?"

Clark half-turned his torso to face Bruce. "Oh, it just tickles."

Bruce flushed at the casualness of Clark's response.

"It's actually one of my favourite parts of walking through here..." Clark continued with a genuine smile. "Something so small being so intense, makes me feel soft.... alive... human..."

Only Clark could make getting tickled by a plant sound so endearing, it was almost enough to make Bruce forget the huge tidbit of Clark lore that had just been revealed to him.

Superman's ticklish??

He didn't have much time to feel the full shock of that information, as Clark was already several paces ahead of him. Bruce half-skipped to catch up, and as he did, something in his mind convinced him to snap off a piece of wheat from beside him.

As they continued their walk towards the edge of the field where they were about to begin work, and Clark continued yapping, Bruce ran his fingers over the wheat piece in his hand. Was he seriously about to try to tickle superman? Would Clark be alright with it? Would he find it weird and repulsive and never speak to Bruce again cause how could he possibly think that was a normal thing to-

stop - Bruce interrupted himself.

no overthinking

Bruce took a breath, slightly sped up his footsteps to bring himself right behind Clark, and ran the wheat stalk along the side of Clark's neck.

Clark folded with a shriek and a giggle, his smile never fading as he gave Bruce a quizzical look.

That smile was all the invitation Batman needed.

With a smirk, Bruce tackled Clark into the wheat next to them and climbed on top of his chest before frantically twiddling the wheat stem against any potentially ticklish bare skin he could find. Clark's neck, ears, collarbones - even the small patch on his tummy that was exposed from his shirt riding up as they fell - nothing was safe.

And Clark's laughter was like birdsong - it was the most free, happy, genuine giggling Bruce had ever heard. So much so, the billionaire opted to snatch another piece of wheat to use in his free hand against Clark's forearms - which were currently doing fuck-all to fight against the tickly attacks (aside from clinging to and breaking some nearby wheat stems, but Bruce theorised that was mostly for Clark to resist fighting back... cute).

After a sufficient tickling, Bruce paused - mentally checking for any signs of annoyance on Clark's face and letting the man calm down for a few moments.

"Why'd you stop?" Clark asked breathily without missing a beat, and now looking slightly disappointed.

Once again caught aback by Clark's openness, Bruce stuttered and floundered for an answer. "I... I was just... I wanted to... make sure... you..."

Clark laughed. "No need to panic, it was just a question."

Bruce chuckled, still a little embarrassed.

"You always worry so much." Superman smiled, poking Bruce's neck with one of the wheat stalks he had snatched during the tickle-attack to emphasise his point.

Bruce squeaked (though he would later insist this wasn't true), his face flushing a deep red.

"Oh?" Clark grinned menacingly, rolling himself and Bruce over to flip their positions with clearly little-to-no effort. "The dark, scary batman is ticklish too?"

oh god

And, after being thoroughly tickled, Bruce spent the entire time they worked on the farm trying to convince himself the look on his own face before Clark tickled him definitely wasn't nervous excitement, and that he definitely wouldn't give anything do it all again.

Definitely not.

[misshoneyimhome]

But with three of us, honey, it's a sideshow I William Nylander & Matthew Knies - Part one

Summary; A quote by Hector Urquhart goes "One man's rubbish may be another's treasure" - however, what happens, when the first man realises that it wasn't rubbish after all?

Other notes: Hey there, babes! So, this idea sparked from the Woll x Knies threesome request, and I couldn't resist working more with the sweetest freshman 😉 Before we dive in, I want to give a quick shoutout to @couldawouldashoulda50 for being my co-pilot on this journey - Thanks for putting up with all my rambling 💓🙏🏼 Also, just a heads up, this will be posted in two (or maybe three) parts because it ended up being a bit longer than planned 🙃 So, without further delay, I hope you enjoy it!

Tropes & Warnings; William Nylander x Matthew Knies x reader, Friends to lovers; jealousy; 18+ smut; fingering, protected penetrative sex (p in v), mention of oral sex (f and m receiving);

Word count; 6K+

➼｡ﾟ

Your body felt numb, achy, and weak. Yet your mind was completely blissed out, soaring with ecstasy, and flooded with endorphins.

Breathing was difficult in the heavy air of the room, saturated with the scent of raw, passionate sex that hung in the air as the warmth between the two bodies flanking you enveloped you.

The memories of how you'd got here were hazy, yet there was no trace of regret. Your heart raced in your chest as tingles radiated through your core after the intense encounter. Yet, pure happiness surged through your veins, joy coursing through your bloodstream.

-

It was just before the season kicked off when you found yourself alone with William Nylander for the first time. During a night out in Toronto, the charming Swede caught your eye, and after a few minutes of exchanging glances, he finally made his way closer to you, effortlessly charming you with his dazzling blue eyes and cheeky smile.

You had moved to the city about a year ago, where your friendly and outgoing roommate had introduced you to some of her friends. Yet what she hadn't mentioned beforehand was that some of these friends happened to be players for the Toronto Maple Leafs.

You’d naturally tried to keep your cool and play the role of a casual friend whenever you were around the team and their social circles. And while you had gotten to know most of the guys on a friendly level, it never went beyond that.

That all changed on the night when you couldn't ignore the attraction you felt towards the Swedish hockey star. And when you shared a moment of connection amidst your mutual friends, you had a feeling that the night was going to be something special.

And you were right. William certainly made it a night to remember.

After a few more hours of chatting and occasional gentle touching, he edged in closer and whispered seductive words in your ear. His breath sent a shiver down your spine, and his words set off a tingling heat between your legs. There was simply no way you could resist him.

So, as soon as your roommate left with some random guy, quickly checking if you were okay to get home alone, you seized the opportunity to invite William back with you. To which he happily agreed.

Since both of you were mindful of the upcoming hockey schedule and the importance of staying in good shape, none of you had too much alcohol in the system, making you both aware of your actions.

And to say the sex was good would be an understatement. William took his time, starting with lots of kissing. His skilled mouth felt perfectly matched with yours, and as both of you became increasingly turned on and eager, he used his thick fingers to stimulate your core, stretching your entrance while circling your clit, ensuring you reached climax at least once.

Once you were wet and ready for him, he put on a condom and began slowly entering you in the missionary position. However, the tender, slow lovemaking didn't last long as the heat in your bedroom intensified. Both of you were too aroused to hold back, quickly transitioning to other positions.

First, you angled yourself on William's shoulder, allowing him to penetrate deeper and harder. Then, with both of your legs against his chest as he knelt back, he thrust into you vigorously.

At this point, your mind was already lost in a blissful haze as you gripped onto the pillowcase behind your head, and your muscles tightening around William's member. With each thrust, he stimulated your walls, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm.

And as he felt himself nearing climax as well, he released your legs, swiftly pulling out before using his strength to turn you onto your stomach. Lifting your buttocks slightly for better access, he entered you again, filling you up as he hit a different angle.

Your breaths were heavy, moans blending as his hips collided against your cheeks. Gripping the sheets beneath you, William's pounding drove you both over the edge into ecstasy, reaching climax simultaneously.

It had been uncomplicated yet deeply satisfying sex, far better than most first times with a new partner. It didn't feel rushed or impersonal; it was passionate and genuine, despite the absence of romance or deeper emotions. It was simply perfect. Your bodies had moved in sync, and both of you experienced profound pleasure.

However, after the wonderful one-night stand, William wanted to clarify that it was all it was to him – at least for now. While he knew he really liked you, he emphasised that this season he wouldn't have the time or energy to focus on dating. Instead, his priority would be his hockey career, so if the two of you were to continue anything, it would be limited to casual hook-ups and friendly get-togethers.

And, you didn't really have any objections. William was a good friend, someone you felt a connection with, and had shared interests with. Moreover, he was exceptionally attractive, and after just one encounter, feeling his body against yours, you couldn’t deny the temptation of doing it again. You’d slowly come to know him well, and despite the tiny hope of building something together, you also respected his desire to keep things non-romantic. So, you agreed on a casual friends-with-benefits arrangement whenever there was time for it.

And already following one of the first friendly matches before the start of the regular season, you shared your second night together. Which once again, was a night filled with multiple orgasms- and this time, you even got to experience William's oral skills, something you had never encountered in such an incredible way with anyone else before.

The creativity you both had with positions was simply fun and exciting. Yet while you alternated between being on top and taking the lead, William always remained the dominant character - except perhaps when you showcased your own oral talents.

In short, it was just a great causal relationship where you shared a profound connection. Both before and following the heated session, you shared laughter and smiles, before you made your way out of his condo. And to no one’s surprise, the two times then quickly turned into three times. And then four times over a few more weeks.

-

As the regular season gradually took shape, William's predictions about his limited free time outside the hockey rink proved accurate. Although you exchanged texts almost daily, sharing memes and Instagram posts, you reminded yourself that there was no deeper meaning to it. It was all just friendly banter and genuine laughter. Or well, perhaps there was a rather flirtatious sense of humour involved, as well as occasional sexual jokes and references.

And truth be told, you cherished the relationship you had with the Swede. Since he didn’t require much attention from your side, it gave you ample opportunity to get to know everyone else around the team better. So, you began spending more and more time with some of the girls, going out for brunches and having girls’ nights-in to watch the hockey matches, as well as frequenting the arena more often than before.

So, as weeks turned into months, you slowly grew closer to the other players. Whether it was dinners at the Marners’ or social gatherings with the team, you found yourself welcomed into the tightly knit circle. Something beyond what you had ever imagined your life would be like living in Toronto.

And among all the newly formed relationships, one stood out in particular. You weren’t entirely sure what sparked it, but as if out of nowhere, freshman Matthew Knies walked straight into your heart and stole it.

Perhaps it was the first time you were carrying too many iced coffees for the ladies and almost spilled them, if it hadn’t been for the young forward's help. Or maybe the connection began when he nearly ran you over near the training rink, his focus solely on navigating, oblivious to your presence.

But regardless, a connection quickly blossomed. What started as light laughter and sweet exchanges gradually evolved into coffee walks and exploring the hidden gems of the city, whenever he wanted to give the Tavares family some private time. As you knew what it was like to be new to the city, and since it wasn’t too long ago for you, you offered him company if he ever needed a break from hockey -to which he gladly accepted. And as you spent more and more hours together, you couldn’t help but feel something stirring within you.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but one thing was certain: it felt good.

Similarly, Matthew was slowly developing some kind of feelings for you as well. As he had recently ended things with his ex-girlfriend due to the distance, he found a void in his heart that needed filling. And your sweet laughter, quirky jokes, and endless storytelling about anything and everything filled that void for him.

At first, it didn’t feel romantic or anything of the sort, especially since he wasn’t seeking a relationship; you were just two good friends enjoying each other's company. And despite the little age gap, he felt like an equal. You helped him move into his new flat, shared your best easy cooking tips, while he introduced you to playing NHL on PlayStation and played a few tunes on his guitar for you. It was a simple yet profound friendship.

And as the hockey season then unfolded with its highs and lows, the emotional roller-coaster began to influence your friendships. If he ever needed a tight hug or wanted to call you while on the road just to talk about something other than hockey, you were there for him.

So, as days passed, your time gradually involved more chats with Matthew Knies, while your friendship with William Nylander softly faded into the background.

You never officially ended things with William; he was simply preoccupied with training, so your communication was limited to social media. Meanwhile, your conversations with Matthew grew deeper and more personal. Gradually, he learned more about your family, career aspirations, and the reasons for your move to Toronto, while he talked about the ups and downs of his recent relationship with his ex-girlfriend and how much he missed home.

It wasn’t until Auston Matthews brought up your and William's previous encounters that it dawned on Matthew what he had happened before he’d entered the picture. Though William had become one of his best friends on the team, he had never mentioned anything about having had a relationship with you. But after a training session, when it was just the two Arizona players left in the locker room, Auston brought it to Matthew's attention.

"He's alright with it, you know," the elder hockey star started. "About you and y/n."

Matthew was a little confused. Why would William have anything against who he was friends with?

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You know, because they had a thing going on – sleeping together and stuff like that," Auston explained, believing Matthew already knew, given his close friendships with both you and William.

"Oh... wait, what?" Matthew's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You didn't know?"

"Well, no... when did they..." Matthew's curiosity peaked.

"Oh, months ago, man... don’t worry about it, it was just before the season started, so..." Auston replied casually.

"Ah, cool... but," the younger teammate pondered whether to delve deeper. "Like, how many times? Did they go out or?"

"Just a few times, I think," Auston shrugged nonchalantly as he rose from his seat to pack his bag. "Hey, Willy's cool, and no, it’s not like they ever dated, so she's all free."

Yet, as Auston left the locker room, leaving Matthew to his own thoughts, he couldn't help but consider talking to William about it, just to be sure and not accidentally create tension with his good friend and one of the greatest players on the team.

And fortunately, the conversation with William went surprisingly smoothly.

"Of course, I don’t mind you hanging out with y/n," William simply chuckled. "I mean, sure, she's my friend and all, and yes, we slept together, but that's it, man."

"Alright, just wanted to make sure there's nothing more between you two," Matthew smiled back at his friend.

"Nah, she's amazing, I get why you want to be around her," William flashed a smile, his body language relaxed as he rested his hand on his hip, while he rubbed his beard with the other. "I mean, I just feel bad I haven't talked more with her myself, so I'm just happy she's got you, man."

Matthew felt a weight lift from his shoulders after his talk with William. While it wasn't entirely uncommon for players to have shared experiences with a girl or two occasionally, it had mostly been just for sex, and not across relationships, at least not to his knowledge.

However, what neither you nor Matthew knew was that William had been thinking a lot about your growing friendship. Initially, he found it sweet and nice that you were chatting with everyone on and around the team, giving him the space he'd said he needed to focus on his game.

But as you gradually stopped flirting with him, both in person and through messages, he started to feel the change sting a little. He knew he was the one who had said there couldn't be more between you than just sex, but when even that didn't happen, he felt as if you were slowly distancing yourself from him. And he was losing you both as a lover and a friend.

So, even though he acted cool and chill about the closeness between you and the freshman, he still couldn’t deny that it got to him. The connection he had shared with you felt almost unique, and he wasn’t ready to let it fade completely.

-

Months had passed since your first night with William, and life in Toronto was nothing short of amazing. You had a lovely group of friends, with most of your nights spent watching hockey matches alongside them, occasionally dining out with the team.

Everything seemed perfect, except for the fact that you still missed William deeply. Despite convincing yourself from the beginning that you never harboured any deeper feelings for him, you couldn’t deny the disappointment you felt when your relationship never progressed further or lasted. You simply couldn’t escape the significance of your connection with him and seeing him so often around the rink or when going out, made it clear that you needed to find a way to move on.

And fortunately, your relationship with Matthew helped ease the hurt you were feeling. He was an amazing guy, and to you it almost seemed crazy that his ex-girlfriend had let him go. He was sweet, caring, and surprisingly mature for his age. And you knew you were slowly developing feelings for him.

So, one Friday night, as you were out with some girlfriends not in the hockey group, you shared your troubles, hoping for advice from outsiders.

"If you want my opinion," Bethany spoke, holding her drink as you’d moved from dinner to cocktails. "What you need is closure. Tell this Will directly that you’re over him, cut him out, and then move on with that other guy, since you seem really into him."

You had tried to avoid giving too many details about who your relationships were with to your girlfriends, wary of any misunderstandings getting out to the media. Yet their input did have you thinking.

"I can’t just cut him out... I see him around all the time, he’s part of the group of friends, and..." you tried to explain. "I don’t know... I might still like him a little..." You finally admitted to yourself.

“Well, then I don’t see any other option,” Carol chimed in with a raised eyebrow. “You need to sleep with Matts. The best way to get over a guy is to sleep with another.”

The girls giggled and cheered at her remark, but despite trying to join in the mood, you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach. You weren’t entirely sure if this was truly the way to go. Making a move on Matthew meant there would most likely be no going back to William. But if you let the memories of William, knowing he didn’t feel the same for you, hold you back from developing things with Matthew, you knew you’d regret it too.

So, torn between your feelings for the two men, you ordered another Espresso Martini followed by a Cosmopolitan.

You weren’t exactly tipsy or drunk, but you had just the right amount of liquid courage to steel yourself. And as you parted ways with the girls and made your way to the subway station, you pulled out your phone to find the name of the person you felt a need for calling.

However, as you stood there, hesitating over the 'call' button with your finger, a wave of unease washed over you. And upon glancing to your right, you spotted a group of men staring in your direction.

Initially, you tried to ignore them, but as they slowly edged closer, adrenaline started to course through you. And suddenly, one of them made lewd remarks, prompting you to press the screen.

"You tried to reach William Nylander. Please leave a message after the tone. *beep*"

With a frustrated sigh, you muttered, "Shit..."

The train finally arrived, and you pondered your next move. Since the men appeared to be waiting for the same train, you stopped yourself from entering and watched to see if they did. Breathing a sigh of relief when they did, you remained on the platform and decided to wait for the next one. However, just before the doors closed, two of them stepped back onto the platform.

And this time panic surged within you, so you swiftly switched to plan B.

"Hey," Matthew's voice echoed through the phone, instantly comforting you.

"H-hey, Matts..." your voice quivered slightly, despite your efforts to stay composed. "I hope I'm not disturbing your evening..."

"No, I'm just chilling at home... y/n, are you alright?" His concern was evident in his voice.

"I... I just..." you stuttered, avoiding direct eye contact with the two men but catching them in the corner of your eye. "I'm just feeling a bit..."

"What's wrong?"

But before you could respond, one of the men started heckling you again. "Hey, sweetheart! Lost your way? Need a tour guide? I'll show you a real good time!"

You had to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

"What's going on, y/n?" Matthew's voice was firm. “Who was that?”

"There are... um, some guys, Matts," you whispered, struggling to hold back tears. "It's really uncomfortable, and I just needed to talk to someone..."

"Where are you?"

"I'm..." you paused, gathering your thoughts before informing him about your location.

"Just stay there and try to keep away from the guys... I'll come and get you," Matthew quickly declared.

And before you could even attempt to object, he was already on his way out the door. You had to take in a deep breath as you tried your best to move your feet, feeling anxious as the men didn’t seem to leave you alone. Yet, with a little force, you managed to slowly move from your spot, and wander the platform a little. And with Matthew still on the line, you then cautiously moved towards the exit, avoiding glances back at the unsettling men. However, as you rode the escalator, you inadvertently looked back and spotted them trailing behind you.

"Please tell me you're close..." you whispered urgently. It almost seemed like forever before you were able to escape the uncomfortable situation. Yet thankfully, as soon as you reached street level, you spotted Matthew rolling up in his car, prompting you to hurry towards him.

"Oh my God! Thank you!" you exclaimed breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck, almost throwing yourself at him. "Thank you..."

"Hey, y/n… it’s okay," Matthew's voice was soothing as you gently pulled away, your eyes tinged with tears of frustration. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright..."

You were at a loss for words. It almost felt like he had rescued you. Even though the danger wasn't anything extreme, it had felt that way in the moment, and you were incredibly grateful that he had taken the initiative to come and pick you up without you even having to ask.

"I am... now," you breathed out, attempting to muster a smile.

"Good," Matthew returned the smile as he prepared to resume driving. "Let me take you home then."

It was a smooth ride filled with light giggles and laughter, and you probably thanked him about a thousand times before you reached your apartment building. However, as you were about to exit the car, you hesitated for a moment. Pressing your lips together, you pondered whether to speak your thoughts, yet with a light blush of embarrassment rising to your cheek, you pushed yourself to let the words slip out.

"Matts..." you softly began, your eyes meeting his in the dimmed lights. "Y/rm/n isn’t home, and… I sort of don’t feel like being alone tonight... after what happened..."

Your eyes briefly glanced down at your fingers before returning to meet his gaze. Yet, Matthew just offered you a soft smile.

"Hey, y/n, if you want me to stay with you, I can stay… It's no problem."

It didn’t take much convincing, given that Matthew only wanted you to feel safe. So, as you made your way to your flat and settled onto the sofa, you again couldn’t help but express your gratitude.

"You don’t have to keep thanking me y/n," he chuckled as you offered him something to drink, sitting next to him.

"I know... I’m sorry, it’s just so sweet of you," you flashed him a smile. “I just feel like I owe you something.”

Pausing for a brief moment, Matthew put down his glass and leaned slightly towards you, pressing his lips together before speaking. "Y/n... you owe me nothing - honestly, I’d do anything for you..." he let out a soft breath, his eyes meeting yours in a tender gaze. "I mean... that’s what friends are for, right..." The last part came out softer, and perhaps a little hesitant as he didn’t truly want to have phrased it like that.

Yet, his words hung in the air for a moment as you savoured the moment of the two of you together, alone in the apartment as your roommate was out.

"Right," you smiled. "That's what friends are for," you repeated softly.

Another moment of silence lingered as the two of you just sat there, sharing eye contact. Matthew’s arm draped over the back of the sofa, your body slightly turned towards him, and your knee lightly touching his.

Matthew felt his heart pounding in his chest, his palms a little sweaty. He was a little unsure of your signals, however, as you maintained your focused gaze on him, he suddenly felt a rush of confidence and without much thought, he decided to slowly lean in to close the gap between you.

It was just for a brief moment, yet the quick kiss Matthew shared with you caused your lips to tingle.

"Shit... I’m so sorry," he muttered softly as he quickly pulled away.

But you didn’t want him to feel apologetic. In fact, you had had the same inclination, but lacked the confidence to act on it. "No... Matts, it’s okay," you replied, your tone just above a whisper.

"Really?"

And without any verbal confirmation, you simply just slowly leaned in and connected your lips once more. However, this time, they stayed connected for a little longer.

Gently feeling his smooth mouth on yours, your hand rested on his cheek while his found your hip, and almost in slow motion, your lips moved against each other as you shared your breaths. Then very delicately, both of you parted your lips and carefully let your tongues meet in a sensual dance.

It was a soft and gentle kiss, nothing sloppy or rushed. Then slowly pulling apart, you both let out a breath.

"Just to be sure..." Matthew spoke gently. "You’re not just doing this because of what happened tonight, are you?"

Softly, you shook your head, reassuring him that you’d been thinking the same. And with that understanding, you both aimed for another deep kiss. This one hungrier, and slowly growing more intense as you let your hands gently explore each other, pulling each other close.

With every passing moment, it grew deeper and deeper, sending warmth within you that you hadn't felt since your first night with William. However, as you moved to sit in Matthew’s lap, thoughts of William slowly faded, and you didn't even notice your phone buzzing on the coffee table.

As morning light seeped in through the curtains and you slowly awakened from your slumber, a gentle smile graced your lips as you felt Matthew’s arm enveloping your body. Despite him being clad in sweats, you could feel the warmth of his muscular, bare chest against your back.

You lay there for a moment, listening to the comforting rhythm of his breathing, not quite snoring yet emitting odd noises. And you couldn’t help but relish in the memories of last night.

Nothing overtly sexual had happened between you. Instead, you had spent the evening on the sofa, sharing deep kisses and simply enjoying the connection between you. Although you felt a certain level of attraction towards the younger hockey player, you didn’t want to rush into anything. For once, you wanted to take things slow.

And Matthew seemed to be on the same page as you, despite the evident arousal indicated by the hardness in his sweats. Yet, he remained respectful, and when you both realised how late it was, you decided to retire to bed.

Initially, Matthew had merely intended to ensure you fell asleep, tucking you into your oversized t-shirt and beneath the covers. However, as he lay on the bed beside you, admiring your beauty as you drifted off, he too succumbed to a wave of fatigue and ended up falling asleep with his arm around you.

And upon waking up to find you smiling at him, he had no regrets. “Morning,” his husky voice greeted, his eyes still slowly opening.

“Morning,” you replied sweetly. “Did you sleep alright?” you asked, noticing how his rather large frame occupied a significant space of your 1.5-person sized bed.

"Actually, I did," he chuckled, his voice rough and endearing.

There was a tender moment lingering between the two of you as your eyes met. However, the soft moment was suddenly interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

"What the..." you muttered under your breath, slightly baffled as to who would ring your doorbell early on a Saturday morning.

Yet as you made your way to the hallway and swung the door open, you were met with none other than your Swedish friend.

"Willy..." you breathed out, slightly shocked that he had shown up at your door.

"Good! You’re alive," he spoke perhaps a little too sharply, while his eyes were filled with concern.

"What do you mean?"

"I tried calling you yesterday, after you tried to call me," he explained, his tone softening a tad as he locked eyes with you. "But you didn't answer, so I gave it another shot and texted you... but then you didn't text me back or anything, so I started freaking out a little... I mean... I just wanted to make sure you were alright - so I came here before heading to the morning skate."

You let out a sigh as you listened to his words, a small wave of guilt washing over you to how concerned he’d been. "Shit... Willy, I'm really sorry... I was out with some girls, and then there were these guys making me really uncomfortable," you blurted out suddenly, feeling the need to explain.

"Shit what, hold on... what guys? Y/n are you alright?" he asked, a hint of panic creeping into his voice, feeling the guilt for not answering when you needed help.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine... everything sorted itself out," you reassured him, trying to keep calm. But before you could elaborate, Matthew emerged from your bedroom, throwing on his t-shirt from the night before.

And William's gaze immediately landed on him walking into the hallway. "Kniesy?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"Hey Willy," Matthew replied softly, moving slightly behind you as he greeted his teammate.

"What are you... Did you sleep here..." William started to speak, but his words trailed off as he looked between you and his teammate. "I mean, that’s none of my business..." William shook his head as he processed the situation.

"Willy, no, Matt just stayed here after giving me a lift home," you explained, feeling another twinge of guilt for some reason. You weren't entirely sure why you cared so much about what William thought had happened, yet you sensed it had something to do with your still lingering feelings for him.

"Right, fair enough..." William tried to play it cool, yet he couldn't ignore the flicker of jealousy igniting within him. Though there was a fleeting temptation to punch his mate and teammate, he knew he had no grounds to be jealous. You weren't his to claim, and Matthew had only acted out of concern. So, rubbing his eyebrow with his thumb as he collected his thoughts, he spoke again. "Well, uh, guess I'll catch you at practice then,” he nodded towards the younger player.

-

Nothing particularly dramatic went down at morning practice, but there was a bit of tension brewing between the Swede and the lad from Arizona that didn't escape notice.

Despite William making an effort to appear calm and collected about the events of the previous night, he couldn't quite shake the irritation he felt towards himself. He knew he had feelings for you, probably since the first time you spent several nights together, getting intimate in various ways. And as he was aware that he hadn't pursued anything further, he couldn't help but feel some regret now that he saw you moving on with someone else. And not just anyone else – his teammate and close friend.

His frustration was even clear during training, when he couldn't score the way he wanted to, so he knew it was getting to him more than it should. "Fuuuuuck," he muttered to himself after another failed attempt.

Meanwhile, Matthew was unsure how to act around his friend. Part of him wanted to explain himself, to tell William that he had feelings for you, and he didn't feel guilty about it. But the truth was, he did feel guilty. He knew you'd been with William first, and that William hadn't exactly ended things with you – it just sorts of fizzled out. So, he understood that there were still lingering feelings or something between you.

"Alright, that's it for today! See you all later for the game!" Coach Keefe announced, signalling the end of the morning training session.

The locker room was buzzing with anticipation for tonight's match. However, as the boys left one by one, leaving William as the last to finish up, Matthew, sitting just two stalls away, saw an opportunity to address whatever was going on.

"Hey," he approached gently, despite knowing William wasn't in the best mood after practice.

"What's up?"

"I, um... we're good, right?" the younger forward asked. "Like, you and me, we're good..."

William had a feeling of what Matthew was referring to, so as cool as he was, he just shrugged. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good, alright,” Matthew nodded.

“I mean, thanks, for… you know being there for y/n,” William then added with a gentle smile, trying his best to hide his complicated feelings still stirring within him.

“Of course, I mean when she called and said she wasn’t alright, it was the only thing I wanted to do…”

William nodded. “Right… yeah, that’s good…”

There was a brief moment of silence as the two boys just sat there and gently nodded in agreement.

“Willy, just to be sure… there’s nothing going on between you two, anymore, right?” Matthew stepped carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… let’s say, I want to make a move on her, ask her out, you know- you’ll be okay with it?”

Pouting his lips William pondered for a moment. Of course, he wouldn’t be okay with it. He still had feelings for you and if Matthew made a move on you, it would probably complicate things even further.

“Well, have you asked her out? I mean, is there like something official going on?”

“Uhm… no but, I guess I might want to… and I wouldn’t want you to be mad if you know she wants it too…”

“Ah… yeah alright…” William thought for a moment. The angel on his shoulder knew he could be the good guy here, admitting his wrongs, yet the devil on the other shoulder told him to play the game, and not give up. “But I mean if there’s nothing official between you… then I can still…. You know, take a shot.”

It was as if small competition was slowly forming. Something neither of the boys truly wanted, yet it started to seem inevitable.

“You want to take a shot?”

“Well, yeah maybe… I mean, I still like her.”

“Yeah, but you also said you didn’t want to date her – you dumped her, remember?”

“I didn’t dump her… I just… I wasn’t ready, alright… I am now, and I mean it’s not like anything has happened between you – it’s just a crush you can get over.”

Though Matthew knew that William had slept with you, and he hadn’t, he still knew that there was something between you and him.  “Well, something’s happened – we made out.”

“You kissed?” William froze a little. “When?”

“Last night… a lot actually…” It was his best card to play, but he knew it held significance.

William pondered again. So, he hadn’t just picked you up and driven you home. You’d invited him inside and made out before you let him sleep in your bed. Something William hadn’t done, as whenever the two of you had had sex, you hadn’t spent the night together.

“Hmm…” Was all he managed to reply, as he gazed into the thin air.

“I’m sorry Willy…. But I like her, and I really think she likes me too… so, maybe it’s best if you just… admit you blew your chance and step aside.”

Matthew felt bold as he spoke the words. He was confident that he had the upper hand, and that William was the fool who’d let you go too soon. Yet, there was one thing he hadn’t considered.

“You know…” William spoke softly, turning his eyes to Matthew. “Last night… before she called you… she called me first…” he let the word hang in the air for a few seconds before speaking again. “So, maybe I haven’t lost her completely… and I don’t think I can step aside… not without trying…”

The air felt heavy as Matthew realised that you might also still harbour feelings for William as well. It almost felt like a knife to the heart as he thought he’d have to fight one of his best friends to win you over, yet he couldn’t let it go. Not at this point. He’d fallen for you, and there was no escaping his feelings.

Meanwhile, William struggled with his own thoughts. Should he really back off and let Matthew go for it with you? Or should he try one last time, knowing that at least he tried to fight for you, and not just give you up that easily? And though he for a moment considered stepping aside, he just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t in his nature to give up. And given the fact that no other woman had ever made him feel the way you had, he wasn’t ready to let you go.

[wisteria-beach]

Time after time | R.C

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: When your boyfriend ditches you on the night of senior prom you end up running into the last person you would ever expect to see, Rafe Cameron, your best friends older brother who you haven't seen since he left for college three years ago…

Originally posted: 06/05/2023

Series Masterlist | Part two

_________

The sidewalk was cold, hard and uncomfortable to sit on but you barely felt it, too consumed by the swirl of unrelenting emotions threatening to overtake you. It was supposed to be the best - the most magical night of your life but instead it had been one long disaster.

Salty tears stung your eyes and made your phone screen blurry as you read the text response from your mom “sorry sweetie, I had to cover someone’s shift, can you get a ride home with Sarah?”

You swallowed and the action felt like glass in your throat “sure” you text back “see you later” as you thought about the fact that Sarah had already left, speeding off in Topper's shiny jeep with a smile brighter than the stars. 

She was happy, her prom had been perfect. Her date had shown up, bought her a corsage, danced with her all night long, all things that you couldn’t say had happened to you. And though you’d tried to have fun dancing with your friends the night had been ruined before it even began with your boyfriend's words swirling through your brain “Listen I just have better things to do than going to a stupid high school prom okay? I'll make it up to you.” 

That was what you got for dating a college guy… ”stupid high school prom” but it hadn’t felt stupid to you, you’d been dreaming of this day for what felt like your whole life. You had a binder full of dress ideas before you’d even finished middle school and dreams in your head about the perfect night with the perfect date. Josh had seemed like that guy, tall, a little older, handsome and sweet (only when he wanted something, your mind supplied in hindsight) but he’d ditched you after promising he’d be there and he hadn’t even bothered to tell you until the day of. 

A burst of anger swept through you knocking the air from your lungs and you swiped the tears from your cheeks as you unblocked your phone, pulling up his contact and hitting “block”. He’d known what this night meant to you and if he wanted to put a stupid frat party over you then you were done. 

You felt a strange mixture of sadness and relief as you saw his contact flash away, the delete button pressed. You realised that he’d never really been the dream boyfriend you’d wished that he was, that you were better off without him but it didn’t take the hurt away…the knowledge that you’d never get a do over for this night.

You stood up from the sidewalk, unhooking your heels and tying the straps around your wrist - if you were going to walk home you might as well do it semi comfortably. The concrete was cold under your toes and goosebumps flecked your arms with the breeze, it was an unseasonably cold day in the outer banks and you felt like it was just yet another slight the universe was throwing at you that you had to walk home, freezing in your dress. The perfectly miserable end to the perfectly miserable night. 

The walk was long but the streets were empty, everyone locked away neatly in their houses sleeping happily or basking in the afterglow of post prom parties. It seemed like you really were the only one left and the darkness seemed extra vast for it, the orange street lamps luminance making everything look a shade more eerie. But then you heard the roar of an engine and you crossed your arms over your chest protectively, pointedly not looking its way, hoping it would pass you by quickly. 

But the vehicle didn’t speed ahead, it slowed down and eventually you were forced to turn to the side to see that the bike had stopped beside you and the driver turned your way, removing his helmet. 

Your heart sped up and skipped a beat, was this day really so terrible that on top of everything else you were about to get kidnapped too? You were completely and utterly alone on the dark side street and you wondered if running would make any difference to your fate but then the helmet was off and your eyes went wide, mouth gasping as you realised who it was. 

“Rafe Cameron?” you asked, he looked different, more muscular, older, sexier your mind supplied. Though you weren’t sure why that shocked you. After all it had been almost three years since he’d gone off to college and you’d last seen him. 

The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin, his own eyes widening and flicking up and down your frame appreciatively. Your cheeks heated up and you turned away from his striking eyes. 

“Y/N L/N? Is that you?” he asked the slight edge of disbelief in his voice “what are you doing here?”

Your eyebrow quirked up, amused at his question “well I live in the obx…it’s not unheard of for me to walk down the street you know, question is what are you doing here?”

You knew from Sarah that Rafe didn’t come home often, mostly only when he was obligated to like at holidays and even then his presence wasn’t guaranteed. 

He shrugged “would you believe it if I said that I was homesick?” 

“Not really.”

“Fair enough.”

There was silence for a beat and then you blurted out “you look good by the way, really good” your eyes went wide as you realised what you’d just said out loud “I-I just mean college suits you…you look healthy. ”

You cringed internally at your choice of words, healthy? Seriously? Exchange a few sentences with him and suddenly you were back to the stuttering, blushing sixteen year old fawning over her best friend's older brother and ‘heartbroken’ when he left for college. Even the memory of it made you cringe.

“Healthy?” Rafe repeated a teasing smirk pulling at his lips as he seemingly knew what you had really meant.

You swallowed quickly “yeah…”

He laughed, the mirth reaching his eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh a little bit too.

“Well you look hot .”

Your cheeks flamed and he grinned “ smoking hot…what happened to my little sister's annoying best friend?” 

You looked down at the tires of his bike trying not to let him see your smile “you left…she grew up…that’s how time works you know.”

“Really? Thanks for the lesson…hope she didn’t forget about me though…”

“Oh she didn’t think of you once” you said, flashing him a teasing smirk your conscience laughing at the blatant lie…he had crossed your mind more than a few times over the past 3 years…the fact you checked his long abandoned facebook every couple of months was proof of that, but it wasn’t something that he needed to know. 

He threw a hand over his heart “ahh still annoying I see but you wound me.”

“So you thought about me then?”

“Everyday and night, ace.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the long forgotten nickname from childhood (a relic of your slight obsession with the pet detective movies) and you looked down coyly “oh I believe you, bet you have a shrine to me in your dorm don’t you?”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek to stop his laugh and nodded seriously “with candles.”

You giggled “you’re an ass Rafe Cameron.”

“And you’re a dork Y/N L/N.”

There was another, more comfortable pause of silence until Rafe interrupted, repeating his question from earlier.

“So what are you doing here?”

You shrugged “walking home, my moms got the car.”

He frowned “it’s prom night though.”

“So?”

“Well shouldn’t you be off having fun at an after party, sucking face with your date or whatever people do after prom? I know it's been a while since I was in high school but I'm pretty sure people don’t just go home alone.” 

You sighed “I just…didn’t feel like it I guess.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest and your eyes instinctively followed the movement of his muscles flexing against his white t-shirt.

“I don’t buy it” he shook his head slowly “you are the same girl who would dress up in a disney princess dress and decorate the living room to watch prom movies all weekend, right?”

You pressed your hands to your face groaning “ oh my god …yes that was me but I would like to remind you that i'm not nine anymore, thank you very much. I can’t believe you remember that.”

He laughed “Are you kidding? Of course I do, you and Sarah monopolised the tv every weekend I could never watch monster truck racing.” 

“Oh the horror” you said sarcastically.

 “No but seriously what happened, why are you all alone?”

Your heart sped up a little “nothing” you lied but you couldn’t look him in the eye. 

“C’mon” he urged you “it’s me , you can tell me.”

You sighed and turned your head away acting like watching a sparrow hopping across a telephone wire was the most interesting thing to look at. 

“y/n…this is prom , it isn’t right that you’re just going home. Where’s Williams?” 

You turned to him with surprise, you didn’t realise he knew the name of your boyfriend, but you shrugged it off thinking that Sarah must have told him. 

“He didn’t come.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up “ what ? Your boyfriend didn’t come to prom how -”

You cut him off, wincing at the word boyfriend “ex actually.”

“Since when?”

You shrugged again, holding up your phone “since I blocked him about 20 minutes ago?”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up so far they practically reached his hairline and he leaned against his bike with a look of confusion and shock “listen ace, you’re gonna have to give me a little more, what happened?”

You deflated with a heavy sigh you didn’t want to hash it back out, you already felt stupid for feeling so upset in the first place over prom and you didn’t want Rafe to see that too.  “Why does it matter?” you asked dejectedly.

“Because” Rafe said, “if i'm gonna put him in the hospital anyway i'd like to at least be able to give an explanation to the cops.”

Before you could help yourself you were laughing, pressing a hand to your lips to stifle the giggles when you saw he was deadly serious, leaning against his bike with a look of fury and righteousness on your behalf. 

“You can’t beat him up Rafe.”

“Why not?”

“Assault is kind of illegal just in case you weren’t aware” you teased and he rolled his eyes. 

“I'd still do it for you.”

You smiled, looking down at your shoes as you said softly “I know.” 

Before you could register the movement he’d stepped closer and you felt the blood rush to your cheeks as you registered the enticing scent of his cologne and his fingertips briefly  brushed your skin as he reached out to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind your ears. 

“Ace” he said gently and you looked up momentarily stunned by just how blue the shade of his eyes were, like the ocean bathed in the glow of the moon “c’mon it's me, tell me what happened.”

Just like that your walls crumbled and before you could stop them the words were tumbling from your lips, tripping over one another as they rushed out “he ditched me…he promised that he’d come and then he text me 20 minutes before he was supposed to get here that he wasn’t coming, he didn’t wanna miss party of the year in his stupid frat or whatever and I guess I just feel so stupid for trusting him…for letting him ruin everything and…”

You had more to say but the words clogged in your throat, lips choking on them until all that came out was a sob as your eyes filled with hot tears and you didn’t have a second to feel mortified that you were crying in front of Rafe Cameron, Rafe Cameron who you’d loved since the moment you’d set eyes on him, because he reached out and folded you into his arms and you instinctively leaned into his embrace. 

He smelt like cedarwood and pine and the faint scent of the leather jacket that he'd worn earlier but most of all he smelt like home. Like fresh laundry and hugs that took your breath and your fears away. “It's okay” he murmured, stroking a large hand through your hair and you felt the pins keeping the style in place fall out the locks tumbling over your shoulders and making you feel surprisingly free and for a half a second you laughed wondering what mini you and mini Rafe would have made of the two of you actually getting on for once. 

“I'm sorry” you murmured, mortified by the tears, and if you were being honest a tiny bit of mascara, staining his white t-shirt but he just shook his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for ace.”

You groaned, hiding your face in the comfort of his chest. “I do, I'm being so pathetic…it’s just a stupid high school dance.” 

He pulled you away from his chest but kept the contact, his arms warm and firm on your shoulders as he made you look at him and the sincerity on his face. 

“You are not pathetic” he said and when you shook your head he gripped your shoulders harder “no listen to me you’re not, he’s the pathetic one because he could have been spending his night with a beautiful, smart, funny girl and instead he gave all that up.”

You tried your hardest not to blush, his words filling you with warmth but making you shy at the same time. “And if you won’t let me kick his ass will you at least compromise and let me run him over with my car?”

You snorted and then nodded slowly “okay but you have to call the ambulance afterwards.”

He grinned and reached out to shake your hand “deal.”

He bumped his shoulder against yours, his eyes sparkling against the darkness of the night “there’s that pretty smile.”

“Shut up” you mumbled, flushing, and he grinned harder. 

Suddenly he was pulling away and before you register what he was doing he’d grabbed his leather jacket from where it was slung around the handlebars and wrapped it carefully around your shoulders and you smiled at him grateful that he’d noticed you were cold. 

His jacket was soft and best of all it smelt like him and you couldn’t stop yourself from closing your eyes and enjoying that comforting smell if you’d tried. 

“Hey daydreamer” his shout pulled you from your reverie and you saw he’d kickstarted the engine on the bike “c’mon i'll give you a ride.”

Your eyes went wide and he smirked “on that ?”

“you scared?” he taunted lightly “what you don’t think you could handle a bike, ace?”

“Are you challenging me Rafe Cameron?”

He shrugged “maybe” and you grinned.

“Oh fuck it” you said as you swung a leg over the bike and he positioned your arms so that they were wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Don’t forget to hold on” he called out and then suddenly you were flying….

Or at least it felt like you were flying, you’d never been on a motorbike before and you quickly discovered that it was fun, the wind rushed around you like you were a speeding bullet and the trees shading the coast blurred into dark green shapes. It was thrilling and fast and you buried your face into Rafe’s back resisting the urge to whoop like you were on a rollercoaster. 

“You missed the turn in for my street!” you shouted after a while and you felt rather than heard his laughter. 

“I never said I was taking you home ace, the night is still young.”

And you thought that maybe this tragic, horrible, miserable night might not end as such a tragedy after all.

[flowerandblood]

ONE YEAR OF FLOWER&BLOOD

✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙

Exactly one year ago I posted my first chapter of the My Best Friend series. Nowadays I think it's something awful and I don't even try to edit it because I'd have to write everything from scratch, but I've left it for people who feel attached to the story. I remember getting about six likes and one comment on the first day and that huuuuge interest made me eager to create chapter 2 and then all the others.

I remember the excitement with which I waited and then replied to comments, not believing that people were actually waiting for the next chapter. At the time I was literally not following anyone, which was good because I wasn't comparing myself to anyone.

Eventually I felt I was ready to try writing other series and a few were successful enough that I decided to stay here permanently and create because it made me happy. Up to that point, everyone had been very kind to me and I started following more and more blogs, wanting to feel part of the fandom, to make friends with everyone. Now I know that was the biggest mistake I made.

Seeing things that didn't interest me, fanfic's whose way of writing couldn't draw me in, I felt frustrated, while at the same time fearing that if I stopped following someone, that person would see it as an affront. At the same time, The Impossible Choice, my biggest project until The Fall from the Heavens (which I'm currently editing and re-editing, while inserting on AO3), began to be written.

Just when I thought I had reached the pinnacle of my abilities (which wasn't true), I also started to clash with anonymous hate messages, probably the worst of which were those vilifying me and my husband, and those regarding my one-shot with Micheal Gavey. I know now that taking it personally and getting involved was my big mistake, and the fandom was shaken by drama that got out of hand.

I was a few steps away from deleting my blog at the time, but my husband talked me out of the idea (thankfully, as my stories aren't saved anywhere else − I'm only now moving them to AO3).

That's when I first realised that some people here I don't even like, and they probably don't like me. I wondered, why are we following each other then? Why are we pretending to have any courtesy? It was only later that I realised that to be considered someone's friend, you have to reblog their work and preferably agree with them even when they write hurtful things.

Since I've depleted my circle of those I follow to about 20 people, since I've blocked dozens of people and tags, there's been blissful silence (with the exceptions of when I write about behaviour in the fandom that I find toxic and someone accuses me of causing drama, but I'm used to it now). I've also never written happier than I do now.

Ideas come to me on their own, I don't feel uptight about what other big people will think of me, whether they reblog it, approve of it or not. I don't give a shit and life is beautiful! Although I can be emotionally unstable, I'm only 70 people short of crossing the next milestone of 3,000 followers, and that's BIG for me. It amuses me that I keep getting messages that someone is going to block me or stop following me, and you guys keep coming. It's gratifying.

I'm going to keep writing for you guys, and I'm sure during season two you'll also see my posts describing my impressions after the episodes in which I hope to involve my husband. I'll also keep you updated here on how I'm doing with my book I'm creating in my private life.

Apreciation

@ewanmitchellcrumbs

Ange. I know that sometimes I'm fucked up, but I want you to know that you've made this place so much more bearable for me that I can't imagine it without you. What I appreciate most about you is that you can talk and discuss, that you always try to understand the other side, that you are empathetic, warm and kind. I feel that, like friends in everyday life, we can also tell each other about things we disagree about, and there are not many people like that here.

On top of that, you are very talented and your stories are always a pleasure to read, even when they are short, you are able to build the plot and atmosphere perfectly, something I have always admired. Thank you for every kind word and understanding.

I still remember your first message to me via ask, referring to the fact that I didn't want to write a pairing with a mermaid because someone else was writing about it at the same time. My heart melted then, it was so nice!

@targaryenrealnessdarling

Liz, Queen of Angst! Your calmness and composure puts me in awe. You're disgustingly talented when it comes to writing and you have a super-sweet personality. When you started following me I began to squirm with delight, and when you started reblogging my stuff? My goodness!!!

@persephonerinyes

You've been engaging and reblogging my stories for as long as I can remember. Always involved, your thoughts make me smile. Thank you for being with me for so long!

@zenka96

You've been here with me since the dawn of time. You know that I love you. Your support from the very beginning really makes me feel like I have a friend here.

@huramuna

I am so proud of you! I remember your asks when I wrote Glass Cuts Deepest, your illustrations for me and your uncertainty about whether you should start writing yourself. I'm so happy for you and that you are so successful! You deserved it.

@black-dread & @aegonx

You are my favourite gif makers. Your work always leaves me in awe, you are amazing! I know how much work you put into it and somehow you make even the worst lit scenes look wonderful!

@summerposie; @0eessirk8; @melsunshine; @immyowndefender; @bellaisasleep; @kckt88; @thedamewithabook; @happinessinthebeing; @queenofshinigamis; @travelingmypassion; @mefools; @fan-goddess; @toodlesxcuddles; @ammo23; @troublesomesnitch; @mariahossain; @out-of-life; @apothe-roses; @heavenhatesme; @whitearemydarkestnight; @liv-cole; @blackswxnn; @echos-muses; @watercolorskyy; @at-a-rax-ia; @tssf-imagines; @snh96; @hiatuswhore; @exitpursuedbyavulcan; @darylandbethfanforever9; @the-dendrophile-bookdragon; @opheliaas-stuff @zaldritzosrose

Your comments and reblogs make me want to keep writing. You make me laugh, you comfort me and you support me. I know I'm definitely forgetting someone, but I want you to know that I love everyone who comments on my stories and there is nothing better for me than responding to your reactions and questions! I have known some of you for so many months that I truly consider you my good friends!

lottie-blue-star; aveatquevale-; aemondtargaryenwifey marvelescvpe; alphard-hydraes-blog; herejusttostan; li0nn3stuff; alexandrawho; vilmakamunen; angelinap09; theloveablestargirl; rose-blue-19; xxxkat3xxx; flosaureum; mandiiblanche; librawh0re; jasminecosmic99; ivvypg; rojocarnation; killmanduh; tokkiiidoll; wolfdressedinlace; angelofvivianne; nina2697; starwarsgirlsimmer1; katsucker; ipostwhtifeel; aemondsdelight; ilswemoon; tigrigri; pasta-rask; roselibrary; lystargs; gemini-mama; nikstrange; tempo-rary-fix; coffeeobsessedtrencher; gwuinivyre; dreamerbythewayx; diiickbrainn; mothmankit

And everyone else I missed and whose icons I would recognize from afar. I know that you have been with me for many months, often in silence or communicating anonymously. Your silent support and presence is something wonderful for me, knowing that you have been with me for so long and read all my posts!

Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!!

[ryuichirou]

TWST cursing and dirty jokes hcs

Anonymous asked:

Do you have any headcanons for the twst boys and how often they curse? Who curses the most? Who has the dirtiest mouth? Who says the worst things? Who sounds unnatural when they swear?

On the same subject, who likes dirty jokes? Who thinks they’re immature? Who knows the dirtiest most vulgar things and says them on the regular (think Miu Iruma levels of vulgarity)? Who sounds like an inexperienced virgin whenever they crack dirty jokes or says vulgar things?

Anonymous asked:

Do you have head-canons for the Twst boys cursing?

The first ask was sent quite a while ago, and the second one is today; what a good timing, because I already wanted to post this today! Thank you for your request, Anons.

This ask got me super excited. Funny thing is, I don’t really like overusing curse words for some of the characters because it feels like they wouldn’t use it… But I guess a lot of them ended up using it one way or another huh.

When it comes to Mui Iruma levels of vulgarity though, they still have a lot to learn…

Riddle – not only he doesn’t swear, he is also the type of person to say things that could have a different meaning without realising it. Like, he would say the word “come” in a perfectly normal way, and some of the boys from his dorm (Ace) would snicker… or when he said the word “sextant”, and Ace made him repeat it like 5 times by asking seemingly genuine innocent questions about the thing. Riddle absolutely hates when Ace does it, he thinks it’s beyond immature, and frankly, not a lot of things make him as mad as being caught in these “swearing” traps. He also absolutely hates dirty jokes. Riddle has never said the word “fuck” in his life, and he is very proud of it! (only heard it for the first time like 2 or 3 years ago…) I think Riddle genuinely thinks that if someone curses, it’s a sign of their low intelligence.

Ace – he curses all the time. He tries not to do it in front of some senpais (the more strict ones, like Vil or Riddle), but not all of them – he swears in front of Trey, Cater, Jamil and Floyd without holding back at all. But he is also the type that could swear even in front of a professor if he is too pissed off… He definitely got into trouble at least a couple of times for saying “FUCK” out-loud during class. Speaking of class, he likes to think that he has some, and that he isn’t an immature boy laughing at stupid dirty jokes, but he’s delusional about himself: he is an immature boy laughing at stupid dirty jokes. Sometimes he comes up with a roundabout way to call someone a virgin masturbator to tease them (mostly Deuce), but there are times when he just does the “yo mama” thing. Not as often as he used to do when he was a middleschooler though. He also called Riddle a cunt once... but “bitch” is his favourite word.

Deuce – he used to curse a lot; he would say a 10-word sentence, and at least 5 words of the sentence would be some variation of “fuck”. Delinquent baby Deuce called people twats left and right. But now he is extremely ashamed of it, and does his best not to do it… it’s kind of difficult for him because it’s been less than a year + a lot of the swear words used to be his “buffer words” that he would just stick in his speech while he was thinking of some other word, and now he has to think properly and choose his words before speaking… it’s very obvious when he’s trying to come up with another phrasing in his head because he gets silent for a couple of moments lol Still, he can’t actively think about these things all the time, so he says “fuck” every now and then, and then gets instantly embarrassed. Ace makes fun of him for that. As for the dirty jokes, he can’t help but laugh at them sometimes, but he doesn’t say anything himself, not anymore.

Trey – he prefers not to curse, it’s just not his style, plus it isn’t very pleasant to the ear overall. But it’s not like he is 100% innocent either, sometime he would mutter “fuck” quietly to himself if he is frustrated or surprised, but he tries not to do it in front of others. It would ruin the image they have of him… or make him 100 times more attractive somehow, and Trey wouldn’t really want that either! So sometimes he uses some silly phrases instead of cursing, like “fudge brownies”... He doesn’t like dirty jokes, but if they’re funny, he’ll chuckle. Very sneakily though.

Cater – he curses sometimes, but it doesn’t sound like something “heavy” when it comes from him. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t overdo it and says it casually, like “holy shit” or “I’m fucking excited”. Funny enough, he tries to change these words into “frick” or “holy cow” when he’s around freshmen. Yes he knows that both of them curse, but he’s trying to set an example here, right? He loves dirty jokes though! But then again, he would say them in a very sneaky way not to ruin his cute and cool senpai image.

Leona – he curses more than Falena does, and he started to do it exactly to spite Falena. His brother is very proper with his way of speaking, and whenever Leona says something a prince shouldn’t, Falena always looked bothered and disappointed – this is why he got this habit. He doesn’t swear all the time, but whenever he does, it sounds surprisingly fitting and natural. He doesn’t like dirty jokes though; I guess deep inside he is a prince after all.

Ruggie – he knows a lot of curse words, and some of them are very rare, creative and frankly scary sounding, but he doesn’t swear very often – he is very good at controlling himself. He knows that you can seriously affect the way others see you in professional setting if you go around cursing left and right. Still, Ruggie does say “fuck” and “shit” sometimes. And he loves dirty jokes! He doesn’t make those jokes himself, but he would laugh at one if he hears it.

Jack – he doesn’t swear at all, but if he is deeply, extremely angry, then after all the “GRRRRR”s you miiiight hear one “fuck”. But this is such a rare occasion that it’s going to sound weird coming from him. He also doesn’t like it when the word “bitch” is used as a curse word because now he can’t use it normally without having other freshmen giggle… He also hates dirty jokes :( party pooper.

Azul – he doesn’t normally curse, in general, he would prefer not to curse at all, but sometimes, when he speaks you could almost hear him starting to say something bad, and then quickly change it into something else. Azul got one nasty tongue, but it’s mostly hidden… mostly. The Tweels know that Azul could say curse words that would make a lot of people blush (not them though). Azul doesn’t limit himself when he’s talking to them + sometimes mutters to himself angrily. He also picked up some of the words and phrases from Idia. But when it comes to dirty jokes, Azul absolutely hates them and thinks they are the lowest form of comedy. When did you become a comedy expert, Azul?

Jade – sometimes he looks like he is just waiting for the right moment to drop the F-bomb when people around him expect it the least, but he knows that once he does it, this mystique and this tension will be lost forever. It won’t feel like a big deal anymore. So he doesn’t do it… yet. He is waiting for the perfect moment to drop his first F-bomb! <3 He is also a liar though, this isn’t his first F-bomb at all. When it comes to dirty jokes, Jade, surprisingly, loves them when someone else is the target. But he has very high standards for those and wants them to be as nasty as possible! He won’t say it, of course, but he’s always hoping the joking person will go there.

Floyd – oh he curses no problem. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it – this is just the way he speaks. His parents and teachers tried to combat Floyd’s cursing habits, but no one’s ever succeeded at anything… he cursed in front of Crowley once, and Crowley couldn’t even scold him.  Everyone is powerless against Floyd’s “fuck”… He does like dirty jokes every now and then, but they are hit or miss with him. Sometimes he laughs hysterically at the most raunchy immature things ever, but sometimes he just looks disappointed and says “nah that’s just nasty”. He loves teasing Riddle with dirty jokes though… he always reacts in a fun way.

Kalim – he doesn’t swear! He just doesn’t feel the need to. When he was little, he asked Jamil what a “fuck” was… and then there was a moment when he was very confused about pussies and cocks. What an animal farm! The truth is, people don’t really swear around Kalim, so cursing is still sounds very unnatural to him. He doesn’t judge though! But he doesn’t like dirty jokes… they kind of make him uncomfortable? He likes silly toilet humour sometimes though, which is ??? Why, Kalim? As long as it isn’t too gross, I guess…

Jamil – he is the reason why Kalim asked about the meaning behind the “fuck”, and he got in so much trouble for that that he never said anything even remotely dirty around Kalim after that point. He didn’t know Kalim was listening, okay! He was just talking to himself! But yeah, Jamil curses from time to time, but also all the time in his head. He has a never-ending broadcast of repeating “what the actual fuck?” in his head at all times. He’s a bit similar to Azul in a way that you don’t want to know what he thinks… He doesn’t like dirty jokes, but he isn’t a saint – sometimes he would snicker if the joke is witty enough.

Vil – he curses extremely rarely, and he would prefer not to swear at all, but at the same time he thinks that words are just words and there is no need to be precious about it. Still he thinks that swearing at inappropriate place and time is absolutely unacceptable and shows one's disregard to people around them and their lack of self-control, tact and common sense. He lectures poor Epel a lot because Epel has no business bringing his potty mouth to his dorm. I think there are three situations in which Vil could potentially curse: out of intense frustration (super rare), in a sexual setting (who says “penis” when they fuck?) and on film if the script requires it. The latter would be such a jumpscare for everyone who knows him irl… and for his fanbase as well. He doesn’t like dirty jokes 95% of the time, but when the starts align… and if the joke is, once again, witty and not very in-your-face…

Rook – he doesn’t curse at all, but it’s not because he doesn’t like “bad words”. He finds them very poetic, and he probably experimented with them in some of his private poems, but when it comes to his manner of speech, it just doesn’t sound right. Maybe it’s because he never hears those words from the stage when he watches an opera? It’s not like his parents or anyone else prohibited him from swearing at any point in his life. I think if someone hears him say a dirty word, they would be even more shocked than hearing one from Vil. When it comes to dirty jokes Rook actually loves them, because he thinks they express a lot about a person making them. I guess he views them in a very anthropological, culturological and linguistical kind of way. Please don’t ask him what the fuck that even means, he will answer…

Epel – he knows a lot of scary words… some of which are native to the area he grew up in. Being his grandma's little copy, when Epel curses, it’s very powerful and kind of shocking. He can't really swear anymore because Vil WILL wash his mouth with soap, but sometimes he gets carried away. He is similar to Deuce in a way that he gets those “fuck- oh, I mean- geez-“ moments. He loves dirty jokes though, maybe even more than Ace does, and when he doesn’t have to pretend to be a cutie, he says some nasty stuff. Especially when he gets carried away… he loves being provocative and shocking with his jokes, but people around him usually think that he is trying too hard to be edgy sometimes lol

Idia – he swears, and it's not really a big deal to him. People who act all insulted when you use a no-no word are funny to him, especially when they are super self-righteous about it. He thinks that censorship is stupid, and keeping kids away from curse words is also stupid. No one really swears back at his home though, so it's the Internet that made Idia start cursing. He knows a lot of words that people rarely use, but they’re used on certain /boards/… you know, typical Idia behavior. He doesn’t like dirty jokes though: poop jokes are stupid and gross, dick jokes are too dick-obsessed, sex jokes are too overrated. He is yet to hear a funny one. Do better.

Ortho – he used to have a filter in his "head", just so he doesn't start repeating everything he saw on the Internet. So he used to have a no swear rule technically! And he hated it because he always wanted to say the same words Idia said, and it was very difficult for him to find a roundabout way to do it. But now he doesn’t have this filter anymore and he can curse however he wants! The first time he said the word “fuck” felt like magic. Idia (or anyone else) still can’t get used to Ortho cursing though, it sounds so wrong and weird, so Ortho doesn’t do it too much. Also, ironically, he is the one to tell Idia not to use certain words sometimes because he’s being too mean……. Also, Ortho likes dirty jokes because he feels like this is what cool kids are into, and he is a cool kid! But Idia’s disregard towards them still influences him; so he never says anything himself…

Lilia – he is horrible. I think it’s safe to say that he has the biggest library of curse words in his head, some of which went out of style ages ago, but Lilia still uses them from time to time. Well, these days he tries to be more cute, so sometimes he use cuter versions of his favourite swear words; so technically he would also say stuff like “fudge brownies” lol He sounds like a grandpa when he swears, either a sailor grandpa or a cute grumpy grandpa. He is holding back a lot though, no one would survive Lilia’s verbal attack when he’s serious. He loves dirty jokes though! They make him feel young~ Sometimes he goes “boo you’re no fun” because no one else in Diasmonia really likes this type of humour.

Silver – he doesn’t curse. Somehow, being around Lilia or his classmates didn't affect him at all. He knows what these words mean, and it's not like he is avoiding them on purpose, but they just don't stick to him. I guess he is just too pure for this world. He doesn’t  really care about dirty jokes, but when they’re said at someone else’s expense, he would ask not to harass that person. What a knight.

Sebek – he doesn’t curse, and he is extremely righteous about it! Similarly to Riddle, he thinks that people who curse are just swines with low intelligence and no self-control! Lilia is an exception, of course! I think Sebek would actually overload and faint if someone forced him to say a bad word. He curses in other ways, actually, and he thinks that phrases that he chooses are much classier. Like the words “buffoon”… or “swine” of course. Oh, and he absolutely loathes dirty jokes. Like, he would get visibly angry when he hears them.

Malleus – one day when he was younger he felt a little rebellious and dropped a no-no word on Lilia. He still remembers Lilia’s shocked face, it was priceless. Still, Malleus never curses; those words just aren’t in his vocabulary, despite the fact that Lilia is pretty comfortable swearing in front of him. Maybe the time has come for him to shock Lilia again…which word should he choose? Also yeah, no surprises here, he doesn’t like dirty jokes at all. Whenever he hears them, he feels like a teenage sister sitting at her 7 y.o. brother’s birthday while he is telling poop jokes to his friends of the same age. Out of place, awkward, a little grossed out. Sexual jokes are a bit better, but it has to be an extremely classy one said by someone he really really really likes, or he just won’t get it and get mad instead.

[ddagent]

"First Impressions"

Matching March Day 02

Before she'd died, Margo Madison was used to spending every waking hour at JSC. She'd given up her apartment to sleep on a cot in her office; dry-cleaned her clothes and ate from the crappy vending machines. Even when she'd been promoted to FIDO, she'd kept living out of her office. The hours would pay off, she'd thought. To be Flight. To run NASA. That never happened, of course. Margo had died in '74, nine long years ago, and she'd watched a string of lesser engineers sit at her post, lead her team, oversee her agency. But JSC had always felt like a home.

A good thing, too, as she was here forever.

She wasn't the only one who was here forever – although at least Aleida Rosales had the option of going home. Margo found her in the Apollo-Soyuz workroom, clock ticking ever closer to midnight, and a punk rock radio station playing low in the corner. Margo watched her, for a moment, happy that she was here. That she'd made it. That the hours that a teenage Aleida had spent being tutored by a dead engineer had paid off. That the impulse to join Margo, her mother, when her world had come crashing down upon her had disappeared.

Looking towards the future – ensuring Aleida had a successful career – Margo cleared her throat. Aleida cursed. "Goddammit, Bill, the VCR broke so I couldn't record Jeopardy, okay?"

"Aleida, it's me."

Aleida poked her head out from the capsule, relief settling into her features. Some of the ghosts at JSC, like Bill Strausser, had turned demanding when they realised they could be seen by a living engineer. The astronauts were even worse. Margo, thankfully, managed to keep them in line. But when it came to demands on the living, Margo's toil was more...emotional than physical. Even after nine years of distance, Aleida still emerged from the capsule as if she was awaiting a reprimand.

Which, to be fair, she was about to get. "Is this under your purview?" Hank had put Aleida on Ops; Margo didn't want to see Aleida's career nosedive because she couldn't stay in her lane.

"No," Aleida smirked. "Not really. But the design team left for The Outpost with nothing. So I thought I'd give it a go." Her smile broadened. "You know, this would be a lot easier with NASA's best engineer."

"No."

"Please."

To her displeasure, it really didn't take much persuading. Margo was bored. After nine years of making calculations and schematics and being ignored by the living, it was a heady rush to have her ideas actually listened to for once. Not that they made much headway. They bounced a few suggestions around, Margo using her ethereal form to explore the capsule in detail. They almost succeeded in one idea but without Soviet tech, they were unable to continue. Aleida retired to one of the desk chairs around two am, drifting off into sleep. Margo continued to work. If she concentrated hard enough, she could just make the pencil move.

She was finalising her design when someone came in. Someone Margo did not recognise. He was in his early forties, with blond hair and a Soviet flag pinned to his suit lapel. He immediately stripped off his jacket and began looking at the design on the table. Her design. The man grinned. "Very impressive."

"It should be."

The man tapped the pencil against his mouth and made a few adjustments. "But if we did this—"

Margo looked over his shoulder. It was an acceptable addition. Except his numbers were off. Margo took the pencil and eased one of the fives into a six. The man dropped his own pencil, blinking hard at the paper. He sighed. "It is too late for this, Sergei."

"Sergei." Margo took him in while he worked. He was studious, dedicated to his calculations with a ferocity that Margo believed was only matched in herself. He was handsome, too, in a way that left her unsettled. She'd had a whole life and a whole afterlife to not find anyone attractive. She didn't see the need for it now. But then he smiled and Margo felt herself smiling back. "Sergei."

Across the workroom, Aleida stirred. "Margo?" Her eyes settled on the unaccompanied Soviet poring over their designs. "Hey."

They then engaged in the polite pleasantries of two people from opposite sides who had been caught in a room they weren't supposed to be in at a time that was considered ungodly by most in the continental United States. Margo lost interest, intent was she in adjusting Sergei's design. It was nearly perfect, all it took was just one little—

"—you see this too, yes?"

Margo paused. She hadn't realised the conversation had dwindled, and Sergei's attention had returned to the designs. The designs where a pencil hovered in midair. Aleida's eyes had widened in alarm, but she quickly recovered. Just laughed, shrugged. "That's Margo. She's one of the ghosts at JSC."

He wouldn't believe her. No one ever did. Not Octavio, not Molly, not— "Margo." For a second, his eyeline matched hers perfectly. He was staring into thin air but she was staring right back at him. "Your work is...impressive."

"Oh." If Margo still had working circulation, she would have blushed. "Thank you."

Aleida rubbed her face. "She says thank you." Then, she grinned, apparently seeing an opportunity to mess with her mentor. "And that you're pretty cute for a living guy."

Margo's mouth fell open. But Sergei just smiled, laughed, and said: "Well, please tell her she is truly brilliant for a dead woman."

And so, over one long, long night, Apollo-Soyuz became a collaboration not only between the US and the Soviet Union, but also between the living, and the dead.

[circlejourneyart]

Maybe it'll turn out better this time: A love letter to all the joy and sorrow that this story has given me

(Art by @blogofyolo)

Here's the first of two tracks I had on Land of Fans and Music 5 Act 2, which came out two days ago! I'm dedicating this one to @utopianparadoxist, who wrote the post that made this track appear in my mind in such blinding clarity I couldn't stop making until it was done.

I also have some extended commentary about this one--it's more important to me than I give it credit for.

When I finished reading Homestuck, I was...disappointed. That disappointment morphed gradually into disgust as I watched schisms violently open in the fandom following the Epilogues and Homestuck^2, and in the process I felt like I'd lost something.

I kept thinking that maybe, if I just read the comic again, it would turn out different. Maybe it'd be the story I'd once loved and it would fill me with breathless wonder again. Maybe it'd be better.

But earlier this year, a post by uP crossed my dash after he'd disappeared from my periphery for well over a year. He was outlining his plans surrounding Pumpkin Path, a story he's writing that runs adjacent to the Epilogues and (eventually though not yet?) gives these characters the futures they've earned.

And I realised...the way I'd been thinking about it, that's not how it works, y'know? It's not the story that has changed: it's my heart, my relationship with it. And the best thing I could do was take what this once-beloved story gave me and make something new with it. And that's what many people have done in the wake of Homestuck's end: we've all gone off and made new stories, for which this long-beloved comic was an undeniable progenitor.

It reminded me of a certain recurring motif in the comic itself. Every time the universe resulted in a corrupt or barren session, the players...well, they rebooted it. They left the old universe behind, and started a new one, billions of years all over again just to see where it would go this time.

There was no use in searching for the story that used to be, because it was me that had changed.

You may as well leave that old universe behind and start a new one from scratch.

This is the idea that seeded the above track, and it caught me off guard, because it was the first Homestuck music I had made in more than two years--after I thought I'd sworn it off for good. And then, two days later, Maybe it'll turn out better this time was done. (Two days is, by the way, a very short time for a track to emerge.) It was a small, silly, wonderful little thing, a sapling in the ashes, that proved to me that things could change.

But beyond my track, the entirety of LOFAM5A2 feels especially so. It's a startling breath of fresh air that emerged from so much genuine joy and excitement. I'm happy I got to contribute even just a little work to it and I really, really hope that the fandom sees it for all that went into it. An UMSPAF manager once said that my music always sounds hopeful, but it was never intentional until this one. Thank you to everyone who's made good art that has inspired others in turn, you create life with your own hands.

[madfantasy]

New 3 things that happened:

*I got my new ID, my id expired and to renew it I had to get photographed, and since I just opened my bank account a year ago it depends on it so already I was giving up on the idea to keep the account but by miracle a photographer agreed to picture us at home, and it turned to us cuz I wanted all my sibs to have theirs taken with me too and because I had to argue first time to get my ID forever, so i didn't have the energy to keep doing it for the rest of my sibs so now it was the chance. The day of the photographer coming I was shaking with fear and I thought I would never leave the bathroom gotten ill. I fear seeing people more than dyin so I don't know how I held it together, I literally don't remember how it went or how I did, but I recall my sibs looking the same as I felt but it was finally done. parents too taken their shoots and because one needed their passport renewed to renew their id, them alone costing 1k$ and the appointment was set 6 months ahead, we R now close to it anyway, and the thought of how we have to pay to exist some more costly made me think of my worthlessness and helplessness even more, making me ashamed of still living.

The thing that blinded me, me the first to be tested on lo

*my eye is better, I still see a dark spot looking in a certain direction, getting an eye mask surprisingly helped keeping my eyes less dry cuz they be the most when I wake up and I had the driest time before it got infected and swelled, and already I'm used to the spot and can ignore it..

*I'm still drawing, literally it's making me live love and laugh, I don't care about improving or drawing my best constantly, ai can get poisoned for all I care as it continues to dehumanise the whole point of art-- keeping humanity alive ( btw use glazing ❤️🖤)

I realised that I don't have any physical collection of my art & since I can't look at the screens forever just to browse, nd printing all my stuff isn't feasible, then I came across those mini albums Nd I got the idea to just print one sheet = 9 pics! They look good too for trashy quality, I love it 8' and yes, purple and silver is the 10% obsession to my 90% red and black pallets, thanks to remembering Freeza c'x

But as usual posting my drawings never cease to eat me alive with anxiety, but I think I'm slowly becoming indifferent to it, even if the thought of that no one actually sees my art but me, which is the main case cuz I am living in isolation and being drawing in secret till few recent years because of my conservative surroundings, I feel much calmer when I'm not seen and maybe it's self destructive in a way cuz to stay posting I need to be commissioned cuz net bill, but it became irrelevant cuz I accepted that i can't have the mental capacity to be a social media person or chase anything that I already knew I can't maintain, I had an art block for a year I almost believed that was it for my art drive and me cuz it my sanity— cuz burning out so bad. If my post has a description it was in my drafts for months cuz I plan for every piece I share, but if can't form words I allow myself to let it be captionless, I draw faster than I form words and that's why art is important to me on a personal level, it's my first way of express even if its indirect, the only bit of human Mani left to live in me to put through lines and paint splodges. Even if no one sees it, and to be honest with myself, have very weak chances of being seen on a level that benefits me financially, I'm on the other side of the world, never seen the sky beyond my schooling days, nonverbal irl and know that I can get taken advantage of easily in social manner because it either I don't get the social cues or can't say no..

I'm grateful that at least I got the chance to experience being in a loving nurturing fandom like Sev's that made me experience genuine human goodness and care I never thought possible, made me have some self worth, personality beyond a made for marriage caretaker, and allowed me to get art tools and clothing that I was never allowed or could afford, and many first time small life pleasures like perfumes, food and toys, even if I only recognise 5 or 10 of you dears now, by DP liking my posts- (I suck at remembering names sorry)

I'm also grateful to have a room after endless years of couch and house movings, I have a safe space to still be able to draw and be cool under an AC in this 50° weather..

I think realistically that's the best it can get having spent all my life trying to get anywhere but isolated, and nothing working. At least I'm indifferent and fine of being the caretaker of my disabled guardians and siblings, I need them as much as they need me, even if it caused me the same cycle of mental anguish and earth leavings hehe

Wish U all the ease and peace and yummy peas 🫶🏽

4 am, sleep deprived

[torreshalstead]

what if your eyes looked up and met mine (one last time)

Summary - She must be hallucinating, he couldn’t really be here could he?

But the stranger at the bar was so incredibly familiar; the wave in his hair, the slope of his shoulders, his jacket. She knew that jacket. It used to hang in their apartment.

When he turned around she realised it wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

Jay Halstead was here. In D.C.

Notes - This is set in a slightly different universe to the previous fix-it I posted but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🫶🏻 also this is my 30th Upstead story! Happy Reading! ❤️ AO3 Link

It didn’t quite feel like home yet but she had started to settle in.

Hailey had been in DC for 3 months, she had found an apartment that fitted her perfectly and was well within her budget so had managed to move out of the government funded accommodation a month ago and if she never saw a mattress that thin again it would be too soon. Apparently memory foam was not something they had ever heard of. She had fallen in love with the coffee from a little shop round the corner from her new place and had quickly become a regular who no longer needed to give her order when she entered. She had continued with her running and had swapped the Chicago Lakefront Trail for the Mall, the early morning sun hitting the white sand just right as she tallied up the miles although now she was running because she enjoyed it not to keep her mind busy. A small change in mindset now allowed her to find the joy in the activity and look forward to the times she was able to pull on her running shoes and head out the door. She had made an effort to get out and explore on her weekends rather than sitting inside by herself and had ticked off a couple of the museums already.

No, it didn’t feel like home yet, but she was happy.

She had lived in Chicago all her life but here no one knew who she was, she was just another agent on a case or just another customer in a shop. The name Hailey Upton didn’t have anything attached to it, no history with her father, no ties to a unit with a less than pristine reputation, no failed marriage. Here, Hailey could be whoever she wanted to be.

She had tried to be more approachable and friendly at work, taking up her coworkers on their offers for after work drinks or sitting with them in the cafeteria at lunch time. It was baby steps but it was working - she had even been added to a group chat that she still hadn’t muted which was an achievement within itself.

When Hailey went home each day to the apartment which was still sparsely decorated but was purely her own, she knew she had made the right decision leaving her old life behind. Sure the goodbye’s had been difficult, walking away from everything and everyone she knew for a new city had been a lot but she had never once regretted it. The age old saying that a change is as good as a rest seemed to be ringing true, at least for her.

Hailey was just tidying up her desk, the stacks of files were threatening to topple over if they didn’t get returned to the filing cabinets soon when she glanced a look at the clock on the far wall.

6:30pm

And she was the only person left in the open plan office space. If this was Intelligence they would all still be there, ignoring the want to go home, pushing the thought of a home cooked meal to the back of their heads when the takeout was ordered or the vending machine raided. Kim would be on the phone to the sitter apologising again that the case had run long and they wouldn’t be home as early as planned. Intelligence had taken over every aspect of their lives and it wasn’t until she started her new job and had the opportunity to see what a work life balance was supposed to be that she even realised it. It was like they had been wearing blinders for years and she had finally been given the opportunity to take them off and see everything that had been hidden.

She was still learning not to be the last one out the building every night, but it was a learning curve.

Hailey remembered she had agreed to meet some of her colleagues at a wine bar downtown tonight. It wouldn’t have been her first choice of venue but it was all part of her new mantra to say yes to things and to expand her social horizons so she had agreed to go. She probably should have remembered an hour ago and then she would have had enough time to go home and get changed into something more appropriate for the location but she had gotten distracted and now it would be cutting it a little close to the time they were supposed to meet as it was. Still, she pulled the hair tie out of her hair and shook out her loose waves, took off her blazer and draped it over the back of the chair and headed out the door. Small steps she thought as she made her way out of the building and down the street.

Maybe they’ll serve whiskey at this wine bar, she thought.

That had been wishful thinking but she had been greeted with a large glass of Pinot Noir when she had arrived and Sandra, the loud and bubbly brunette who worked two desks over from Hailey, had ordered some olives and nibbles for the table which was well received.

The wine was nice, the company was pleasant and even Hailey had to admit the bar had a nice atmosphere. It was busy, most of the high top tables were full and there were people standing around just enjoying the music that was echoing from a duo of string players in the corner who were playing softly. In Chicago it would have been the sort of place that Hailey would have walked past and never dreamt of going in, she may have even scoffed if someone had suggested it but as she accepted a second glass of wine from the waiter, she realised she was enjoying it.

Maybe she could be a new version of herself in this city, one that enjoys wine over whiskey she thought as she listened in to the conversation about two people that she had only met once and whether they may or may not be starting a relationship.

Hailey was just thinking she should probably call it a night, she had planned to run a few miles in the morning before her shift when someone sitting at the bar caught her eye. It was a familiar head of brown hair, the slope of the shoulders, ones she would never forget thanks to how many times she had run her hands over them, a brown jacket that used to hang by the door in an apartment she used to share.

Used to share with her husband.

Her ex-husband.

Who was still in South America and wouldn’t be in DC.

But as he turned his head slightly, and her eyes locked on his, she felt her stomach drop onto the beautiful roman tiled floor.

She ripped her eyes away from his and stared at her empty glass, the dregs of the maroon liquid doing nothing to still her mind from the realisation that Jay, her ex-husband Jay Halstead, was sitting in the bar with her.

Should she go over and speak to him?

Surely if he wanted to speak to her, he would have approached her.

But then maybe he wasn’t sure she wanted to speak to him.

Hell, she wasn’t sure herself.

Her mind was running a mile a minute, scenario after scenario pulling to the surface only to melt away and be replaced with another one before she had time to comprehend the first. A huge part of her wanted to run. To turn and exit the bar, return to the relative safety of her apartment and wash her mind of ever seeing him again.

But another part of her wanted to see him, to speak to him, to confront him. To find out why the hell he was in her new city, in the very bar she was enjoying drinks at and just staring at her from across the room.

There was an aching in her heart, a tightening with each beat that couldn’t believe he was almost within touching distance. That if she just walked across the room, at most 10 paces, she could reach out and touch him, feel his skin against hers for the first time in years. And she wanted that more than she had ever let herself believe. She had told herself, lied to herself that she was over him. That the longing she had felt for months after he had left had disappeared, fizzled out and if she ever did get the opportunity to see him again, she wouldn’t want to, she could be the stronger person and turn away. She knew, as she looked at him in that moment, that she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t turn away.

‘I’ll be right back,’ she whispered to Yvette, the older lady who reminded Hailey of Trudy who was sitting next to her. She nodded in acknowledgment before returning her attention to the conversation which had now shifted to a local musical festival they were all thinking of attending the following week.

Hailey slid off her stool and walked over to the bar. To Jay. It felt like she was walking through molasses on the coldest day of the year when the snow was 3 feet deep. Each step felt harder, heavier and longer than the last, like it was an optical illusion and she wasn’t getting any closer to her intended target. In both less time and more time than she hoped though, she was just a step behind him.

As if sensing her presence, he turned around.

‘You grew your beard out,’ she said quietly, her eyes roaming over the familiar but unfamiliar features.

‘You cut your hair,’ he said, his own eyes locked on her face.

‘It suits you,’ she said.

‘It suits you,’ he echoed.

They stayed staring at each other in silence, essays of unsaid words hanging between them, speeches that neither wanted to start but both wanted to speak.

It was Jay who broke the silence. ‘I understand if you want to say no, but can we talk?’

‘It’s loud in here,’ was all Hailey said, she still wasn’t fully able to comprehend the situation she had walked herself into.

‘Tomorrow?’ He suggested, his eyes wide in hope but his voice gentle without any pressure. He was leaving the ball firmly in her court.

She nodded before the brain cells that controlled her speech had time to wake up and realise what the ones controlling her movements had done.

‘Outside the Natural History?’ He offered, his shock at her acquiescence obvious. ‘We can walk, maybe grab a coffee?’

‘Okay,’ she said, not louder than a whisper but he heard her. ‘Before work, 7.’ She added flatly and he nodded in agreement.

‘7 it is,’ he smiled and Hailey had to battle every part of her that wanted to fall into his arms at the look of that smile, every part of her that wanted to ignore every moment of the last two years, every tear, every unanswered phone call, every angry thought and just feel his arms around her again.

She turned around and headed back towards the table with her colleagues on it, feeling like she was a character in a video game that someone had just made walk in this direction, her movements not her own. And then when she turned back towards the bar and saw the empty bar stool and untouched whiskey glass on the counter, she wondered if she had imagined the whole moment entirely.

Because why would Jay Halstead be in DC?

Why would he be in this bar?

Maybe the two glasses she had drunk had been stronger than she thought, because the chances were just too slight. It must have been a hallucination - it was the only explanation.

——————————————————————————

‘I didn’t think you’d show,’ Jay said as she approached where he was sitting on a bench outside the Museum. Considering it was now 7:45 and they had agreed to meet at 7, it was a fair assumption. With anyone else she would have been shocked they had waited that long, but not with Jay.

‘I wasn’t sure I would,’ she admitted, her shoulders raising in a small shrug. She stood awkwardly a couple of feet away from him, unsure if she should take a seat and still not certain she had made the right decision to show up this morning anyway.

‘I’m glad you did,’ Jay said, his voice thick with honesty and genuine thanks. ‘Shall we walk?’ He asked.

Hailey nodded and the pair fell into step with each other quietly walking up the mall. The early summer sun was reflecting off the sand and Hailey wished she had had the forethought to grab her sunglasses on the way out of her front door. She had been slightly frazzled this morning so they hadn’t even factored on her radar, she had been more concerned with what she should wear. What did one wear when meeting up with your ex-husband who you definitely still had some sort of mixed up feelings for and hadn’t seen in two years and had appeared out of the blue? It wasn’t exactly something she could google - she didn’t imagine many people had the same issue.

She had settled on her navy blue work slacks and a pale grey short sleeved shirt with pleats running down the front. It was relatively non descript but it was also completely new. It was part of her DC wardrobe and as such meant it had no memories of them or their relationship weaved into the stitches. It was clean.

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes before Hailey broached the topic that had kept her awake and staring at her ceiling for half the night.

‘Why are you here Jay?’ It wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t angry, it was simply matter of fact. A question she wanted to know the answer to.

‘Guess I should lead with that,’ he said. She could feel him looking at her, a glance of his eyes and a slight head movement every couple of seconds but she kept her focus straight ahead. It gave her the grounding she needed. ‘I went back to Chicago, to find you but you weren’t there.’

Of all the things she had expected to come out of his mouth, that wasn’t it. It shocked her to the point she came to a stand still, her eyes leaving their spot on the horizon she had been focused on to stare at him, her mouth a gasp. He smiled bashfully before continuing on their walk, Hailey a step behind him as it took her a moment to regain the ability to continue forward motion.

‘I went back and Trudy told me where you were. Took a little bit but she said you’d got a new job, she might have threatened me a little before telling me. So I got on a flight and came here.’ He spoke as if it was a foregone conclusion, like why else would he have done anything else. ‘I didn’t call because I didn’t want to impose on your new life.’ He added after a beat.

‘So you stalked me instead?’ Hailey quipped back.

‘You make it sound nefarious, but it wasn’t like that. I just thought if it was meant to be then I’d run into you, I went to a couple of bars close to where you worked and then I saw you.’

Hailey was trying to take in what he was saying but she was struggling to understand.

‘It was meant to be? Since when do you believe in fate?’

‘Since it led me to that bar and back to you.’

Hailey’s breath hitched in her throat, his words washing over her like a cold front.

‘What would you have done if you didn’t see me in a bar?’ She asked.

‘I hoped I would.’

‘And if you didn’t?’

‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,’ he admitted, his boots scruffing lightly against the sand as they continued their way south on the mall. The silence was thicker now after his reveal that he had come here to find her. Before that moment Hailey could have written it off as purely a coincidence, that it had been just one of those moments that you couldn’t explain when you ran into somebody from your past in a place you least expected to see them.

‘What did Trudy say?’ Hailey asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

‘Told me I needed to be sure of what I wanted before I saw you, that if I got on the plane to you it needed to be for good this time, I couldn’t leave again,’ he echoed the sergeant's words back to her. ‘And I am Hailey, I am sure.’

She swallowed and nodded her head - he might be sure but that didn’t mean she was. She didn’t know what she was.

‘So you’re back?’

‘I am,’ he agreed.

‘Did it work? Getting away?’

‘No,’ he answered without taking a breath, without a single hesitation impacting his gait. ‘It made me lose you.’

‘You lost me when you walked away,’ she said without bitterness. The bitterness had ebbed away after the first few months, it was hollowness now that took its place.

‘I know I did, and I have never regretted anything more,’ Jay said, his voice cracking slightly.

‘Why didn’t you come back?’ She asked, hating the brokenness that tinged her voice, the pain that was still evident in her words. ‘Why didn’t you fight for us?’ For me.

‘I was a coward,’ Jay said. She stole a glance to her left, to see the man who for years she had known better and more intimately than anyone else, have genuine pain etched across his face, even the newly grown in beard couldn’t disguise it - his eyes told her everything she needed to know. ‘Didn’t think you’d want me and before I had plucked up the courage, the strength to reach out to you and be honest and admit my mistake, you filed for divorce.’

‘You stopped fighting, I had to too.’

‘And I never blamed you for it, I understood. As much as it hurt, I understood Hailey. I still do.’

‘You signed them,’ she said, the question unasked but obvious.

‘Of course I did,’ he said surely. ‘You asked me to.’

His words were true enough, she had asked him to. When she had filed and knew that the papers had been sent to him she sent him a text, a singular line and asked him to sign them. She had assumed he had wanted to and he never responded. Her message sitting on read until she had stopped looking at their previous conversations and had hidden them from view.

‘But you came anyway.’

‘I tried to be happy without you, to move on, you clearly were so-’

‘I was a mess Jay,’ she interrupted him. She needed him to know the truth, she didn’t know why but that she knew for certain. She couldn’t have him believe that she had brushed him off and that his leaving hadn’t left a deep hole in her that she was still healing day after day.

‘You left Chicago.’

‘I did, I got a new job and came here and I like it, Jay. I really do.’

‘Are you happy?’

She took a moment to respond, to consider his words, the question he was asking. ‘I am.’

‘That’s all that matters,’ Jay said lightly. She wanted to look at him again, to see if his face matched the words that he was speaking but she couldn’t do it, she kept her focus down at the ground, watching as their feet walked in tandem.

‘Where will you go now?’ She asked, her mouth voicing a question she wished she didn’t care to hear the answer to. But she did.

‘That depends,’ Jay said.

‘On what?’ She asked, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

‘If I burnt every bridge with you or if there’s even a slight chance I can earn your trust back.’

The belt that had been tight around her chest since she had seen him last night constricted even further, the breath in her lungs vanishing and her heartbeat quickening in an attempt to make up for it.

‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing the spot on her ring finger that she still hadn’t got used to being empty.

‘That’s not a no,’ Jay spoke slowly, a voice she had often heard him use with children or people in pain on multiple cases. The voice he used when he didn’t want to spook them.

‘I need time Jay,’ she said breathlessly, the tightening not offering her any reprieve.

‘I’ll give you all the time you want, Hailey.’

‘I can’t be the only thing keeping you in DC,’ she said quickly. ‘You can’t stay here just for me.’

‘I’ve got an interview tomorrow. Training Academy with the feds. Thought it was time to try something new’

‘Good luck,’ she said and meant it. Jay had always excelled when training recruits, she had often imagined him taking up a position at the CPD academy when he decided field work wasn’t what he wanted anymore.

‘Can I let you know how it goes?’ He asked gently.

‘I’d like that,’ she felt the corners of her mouth upturn in a small smile. The first smile she had felt since spotting him on the bench and swallowed her pride to walk over to him.

‘And Hailey?’

‘Yes Jay.’

‘I truly am sorry.’

‘I know,’ she nodded. ‘I am too.’

‘Is it enough?’

‘It might be,’ she said. ‘I hope it is.’

‘Me too. Me too,’ he said and the silence fell over them again except this time it wasn’t as heavy or raw. It felt hopeful. Like the future she had once envisioned was coming back into focus again, a little changed, a little different but a possibility.

[nocompromise-noregrets]

five good things

Very quickly before I go to work, because I had a bugger of a day yesterday but there are good things on the horizon, and also in response to the lovely @glorf1ndel tagging me to post three things I'm excited for in April (thank you! <3333333 ), here goes:

I am GOING TO HELSINKI AGAIN at the end of the month! Japa's band has a gig on 30 April, I have it from the horse's mouth (himself on FB) that it's going ahead, and I got my passport back yesterday (having suddenly realised last week that it didn't have enough time left on it aargh and had to go to Newport to do the fast-track application thing) and booked flights and hotel yesterday evening. Now to see if the silly bugger remembers me. I think it's unlikely, as it's been over ten years since I last saw him, but he once recognised me after three years, a very radical haircut and losing my most distinctive feature after my waist-length hair (a top hat) so you never know. (this is Thing One I Am Excited For In April)

I went to see Ricky Warwick and the Fighting Hearts at their headline gig in Cardiff last Monday evening and had a marvellous time - they did a much longer set including some Thin Lizzy (Ricky sang for the revived Thin Lizzy, which turned into Black Star Riders when they started writing new music), BSR, The Almighty (Ricky's original band) and their own stuff, and it was GREAT. I managed to get Ricky and the drummer to sign the LP I bought at the first show, so now I have the full set, and I had another little catchup with Ben who is THE SWEETEST. They're touring again in September, which is looking busy already (Japa's band in Helsinki on the 19th which is v tempting, them in Bristol on the 25th, and the prize idiot in London on the 28th, and the 29th if I lose the plot any further and decide fuck it I might as well go to the second date as well seeing as I'm there...)

It's BARDUIL MONTH you guys! I am very conscious I have been extremely distracted for the last several months, but if anyone fancies helping me shake the muses into action, the prompts are here and here, please send me some! As specific as possible, and especially for my existing 'verses, as I think I might need to ease myself back in. (this is Thing Two I Am Excited For In April)

I have finished the emergency project I didn't want to do, at job number one, and although I'm likely to be called back in to help with other aspects of it, the main bit is done and I will hopefully be able to get on with what I was about to start doing SIX WEEKS AGO which is sorting out the very fragmentary and duplicated run of chief officers' management team minutes from our employing organisation and knocking it into order and getting rid of all the duplicate copies and generally making it make sense. It sounds incredibly dull but for my enormous administrative-systems nerdery it is an absolute treat and I've been itching to do it for all this time. I'm hoping to be able to get rid of a bunch of stuff we don't need to keep (duplicate copies) and get it into order and that is the most rewarding thing. Also nobody else but me is ever going to want to do it, so. I just want to be able to get on with it! (this is Thing Three I Am Excited For In April)

I only have one more day of the thing that made my day extremely trying yesterday - we are closed to the public for stocktaking and a huge team exercise this week, and we received 800 boxes of coroner's inquest files (investigations into unexplained deaths) from our records management arm on Monday, which all have to be reboxed out of their boxes and into ours. It is much more complex than it sounds, and when we got started on it yesterday it became immediately obvious that nobody had really thought through the logistics of exactly how we were going to do it, and everyone kept asking me because I have the experience. But I don't know either! Because every time we opened a new box there was some different issue! It was absolutely too complex for me and I could not handle everyone constantly asking me questions and I very nearly had a meltdown and spent the afternoon biting my tongue so as not to bite anyone's head off. I also found it impossible to concentrate while everyone was talking, as we were all working in the same room, some of them were talking to each other, some of them were talking to themselves, and I went home exhausted and upset and almost at the end of my tether. I feel much better today, however, and I am going to ask my manager if I can please please work at my desk, if I can't be excused the task, because I cannot spend another day in that room with all of them. The contents of the files are also pretty upsetting sometimes, but that doesn't really bother me - I have a stomach of steel and a heart of stone when it comes to that sort of thing - it's just the complexity of the task and the incessant fucking peopling. Anyway. One more day, and then I am at job number two tomorrow and it will be a blessed relief.

Oh yeah, and the weather is finally picking up. It's supposed to be sunny and warm all week, and if it holds, I'm going to get the bike sorted out at the weekend (battery charged, tyres inflated, general restarting-after-being-in-the-garage-all-winter)

And I finished my most recent assignment, with considerable bad grace, and handed it in at the weekend. I am very much hoping next year's course has been tested and designed better - it is the first presentation of that one as well and I am half-wondering if I should take a year off and let them work out the teething troubles on someone else. But I've done it and it's in, and now all I have to do is the end of module assignment which is a research proposal, I think. And then I shall be FREE for the summer. :D

OH YEAH and here's a bonus Thing I Am Excited For in April: the lovely Toby Jepson's band Wayward Sons are playing in our city next week! Toby was the singer for the Britrock band Little Angels in the 90s and the missus and I both love them very much, and Wayward Sons are just as good. So that's exciting!

And the prize idiot's solo album is happening in mid-May, which means new music hooray! Maybe another song will drop before then? Keeping my fingers crossed.

And I am having so much fun in angst-'verse with my friend. Things are about to get very angsty indeed. And then very fluffy, with a bit of luck. I am DETERMINED. :D :D :D

Right. That's quite enough. Time to go to work and take things out of boxes and put them into different boxes all day. Sigh. Hopefully at my own desk on my own.

As always, if anyone wants to take this format and run with it, please feel free! Five (or more) good things about your day/week/month/year/life, no matter how large or small. Go!

[blood-mocha-latte]

literally just realised someone else asked you that already 😅 so...fave webgott headcanons instead?

bestie i am happy to answer ANY ask of yours do not Fret. anything for u truly. now!! have some post-war webgott <3.

- they don’t end up with each other. at least in a conventional way: there’s no staying at the same house, or eating dinner together, or even being on the same coast.

- even when it’s been years, and there’s no reason to fear something happening, or either of them being caught, or they could do it, maybe, they could maybe make it, it doesn’t matter. because in their heads, maybe they can’t.

- webster still comes down to california, of course. liebgott tends to not find himself in the east, he says it’s too cold and it’s the same thought of not making it that keeps webster from complaining.

- they’ll spend maybe a week together, fighting and annoying and bothering each other.

- web leaves, doesn’t write to liebgott and liebgott doesn’t write to him. then one of them will call and have the same conversation about california and webster is buying a train ticket all over again.

- and so the cycle begins anew.

- liebgott is prone to anger. to fighting back. always has been, but after the war it seems to become drier, like a husk that he can’t peel away from his organs.

- and, well, websters father was prone to dry anger. he isn’t real good at fighting back against it.

- they clash against each other and into each other and with each other but it’s always dry anger, and on the offset that it’s more gentle than thought doesn’t matter because the anger comes right on back with the nightmares and lost thoughts of guilt and grieving and the whole cycle starts all over again.

- webster reads and re-reads and re-re-reads the hollow men by ts eliot. next to him in a too-small bed, liebgott puts a cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand and tells him that if the world is going to end, it sure as hell won’t be with a whimper.

- there’s a bell in the kitchen that webster thinks that liebgott might have stolen from a restaurant; he likes to ring it to make the other come out and make him breakfast.

- liebgott never does, so webster rings the bell to entertain himself and then sorts through the cupboards that he memorized years ago to find pans and mugs and plates.

- web may not be catholic anymore, but a cross isn’t a skin that can be shrugged off. it isn’t a coat or an idea, it’s as core to someone as the knowledge that lungs inflate when someone inhales. it’s believing with every atom in your body that something doesn’t exist, but still having a small part in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like a child asking are you sure?

- he carries around a bible, the only tab in it opens onto leviticus 18 22.

- the cover is dusty and hardly seems to have ever been opened. liebgott sees it only once, carefully packed into websters back with ts eliot and oscar wilde and doesn’t say a thing on it

- once, when webster came down in november, he opened it. read where the tab marked and closed the book again. he didn’t touch it, after that.

- webster was awake when he flipped through the bible. the next time he went down to california, he left it at home in a box under his bed.

- guilt is a funny thing, and he has a lot of it.

- over the book. over his own thoughts. over a war that ended a millennia ago that he missed out on, and doesn’t regret, but does look back on and wish. for what, he doesn’t know, but he’s always been an outsider, so he supposes it doesn’t matter.

- of course, it doesn’t matter. it never did, it never will, it never has.

- liebgott pretends that he forgets websters first name. won’t say it, ever, and webster can’t figure out why. it makes him angry, but not the angry that liebgott is, that his father was.

- a shakier kind of upset, that’s more grief than rage. all it seems to do is prove an argument he made inside his own head.

- webster always leaves the same way. in a huff. slams the door shut, liebgott won’t accompany him down to the train station. he won’t call him, either, and webster had given up on writing to him years ago.

- but maybe liebgott sits down and writes a letter, one day. maybe he writes, and it’s the first thing he’s ever written to web and the war ended twelve years ago and there’s a bell sitting in his kitchen, deathly quiet.

- and webster always tends to be predictable. he always has to get the last word in.

- the next visit down to california is much, much longer.

[inequilibrium]

was looking through some of my wips and i think i will regret abandoning this one the most.

it's a hanahaki endgame fengqing piece with one-sided mulian and one-sided fenglian.

towards the end of these past 3 years of writing fengqing, i started feeling very awful about my writing and it stopped bringing me joy. i kept thinking that my fic and characterisation aren't something the fandom appreciates, and while yes i know, preference is a right, it's fine, it's not personal and i don't blame anyone. eventually it wore on me more than i realised.

but i still really do like what i have of this piece.

so posting this here for now. maybe i'll actually finish it one day.

~~~

The taste of flowers should be familiar to Mu Qing at this point. After all, it's coated the inside of his mouth for the better part of a millennium by now; the velvety touch of petals on the roof of his mouth, the odd sweetness when they broke apart on his tongue, the sting of bitterness of the leaves, all pulled together, of course, by the metallic taste of his own blood hacked out of his throat and lungs. A concoction of anyone's wildest dreams, he thinks wryly.

This sickness ought to be prettier honestly; carrying a secret garden inside of you made out of spurned, unwanted, sometimes entirely unnoticed love paints such a tragically romantic image. Unfortunately, it's just disgusting most of the time. Mu Qing stares down at the mess of broken flowers and blood in the basin and scoffs. Love is such a foolish emotion sometimes. Especially when it tries to dig its roots into someone who will never look his way. 

The first time he felt the tickle of petals in his throat was when the crown prince himself picked him out of the crowd, as if he was different, as if he was special. The moment was like magic, a miracle from a god's touch. Except it lasted for just a breath, dissipating into the reality of continued drudgery and mockery, blatant suspicion and disdain from everyone around him. Especially that bear of a youth who trailed the crown prince's steps, who was never more than an arm's length away, who looked at Mu Qing like he was an interloper, an unworthy recipient of the crown prince's generosity, and treated him as such. 

The singular good point of Feng Xin is he, at least, never bullied Mu Qing. For all the rage and vitriol he threw at him — that they threw at each other —, the suspicion he carried, the resentment– he never bullied. Too good for such actions perhaps, too self-righteous; Mu Qing does not care to find out. Feng Xin is a boor – vulgar and crude, and Mu Qing does not care to spend too much of his thoughts or time on him.

Except Mu Qing was Xie Lian's personal attendant and Feng Xin was Xie Lian's bodyguard. Which meant they saw each other every day, meant they spent long stretches of time in each other's company, even if they argued and fought and quarreled for most of it. Xie Lian dealt with them the same way he would probably have dealt with a pair of unruly children, sending them to different corners of any room they happened to be in, giving them chores they would have to complete together, and most commonly, forcing them to play an idiom game that Mu Qing always always bested Feng Xin in. 

It should have felt humiliating, but Xie Lian always smiled so sincerely and sweetly, and Mu Qing would never admit this, but part of him had just wanted to keep that smile safe. 

When Mu Qing left them both, so many centuries ago, the ever present flowers had smelt like decay, their taste like ash coating all over his tongue. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe Xie Lian’s rage meant love spurned; it was at best only disappointment at an inadequate servant. But it had felt good to be the one who was focused on, the one who was the target of that depth of emotion.

If it made him a masochist, maybe he would take it.