#because the fic starts after the city on the edge of forever

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[lovelettersfromluna]

☆.*･｡ The Perfect Girl ☆ﾟ.*･｡

{Ellie Williams x Reader}

Summary: The amount of tension between you and your guitarist is fucking ridiculous.

an: You read that right babe, I’m giving rockstar!Ellie this time. I literally cannot get over her in a fucking leather jacket just tearing it up on stage for her adoring fans. You know it’s not a fic of mine if there isn’t some mutual pining between you and our fave girl. I don’t wanna give too much away tho! I hope you enjoy angel 🖤.

Warnings: 18+!!, ANGST, eventual smut just not in this chapter, mentions of sex, mutual pining, Ellie is sort of a dick but she isn’t necessarily mean (don’t worry you’ll see), lead singer!reader, use of alcohol and marijuana, rock star life style so lots of partying, reader is a badass I’m sorry but I had to, let me know if I missed anything! (not proofread)

Part 2 can be read here!

You always thought the city looked the prettiest from rooftops.

Ever since you were little, your safe haven would be on the tops of houses or buildings, giving you time to gather yourself and your mind.

You couldn’t really remember the last time you were fully alone.

Being on tour with your band was…hard. You missed home, and your throat was sore from all the singing, and you hated the dingy little venues that your manager had gotten for you…

But this was your dream, and you remembered that regardless of all of the things you hated, it would never outweigh the joy you felt when you were on stage, and the people in the crowd were singing with you, singing your bands songs.

It made it all worth it somehow.

You brought your cigarette up to your lips, perched between your middle and pointer finger, and inhaled deeply. The contrast of the warmth you felt in your lungs from the smoke, and the cold air that blew onto your skin somehow took the edge off the chilly wind.

It was cold, and you had to downtown at the venue you were performing at within the next 20 minutes, but you felt like if you didn’t get 5 minutes alone, away from your band members, you’d lose your mind.

Only, that was half the truth. You weren’t entirely running from your band…not all of them at least.

You were running from Ellie.

After you and your best friend Dylan had started up your band, he was quick to bring Ellie in to audition for your lead guitarist. He told you that he’d known Ellie for almost forever, and that he was positive you two would get along.

And he was write, you did get along.

Once your band had been established with all positions filled, you and Ellie were always together. You’d write songs together, search for venues that would give a group of kids the time of day to perform a handful of their songs, sleep overs almost every night. If Ellie was there, so were you.

It started to change when your band released a demo, and your lives changed overnight.

The amount of attention that came with it was almost overwhelming, and before you knew it you had a manager and a tour was being organized. It happened so quickly that you didn’t even have time to adjust to it all, to all of the attention that you were getting from people that you didn’t even know.

Ellie quickly became a fan favorite.

You first realized it during one of your first shows, and after your set was finished and you were all packing your equipment up into your tour bus, and Ellie wasn’t helping. She was leaned up the brick wall of the club you’d just performed at, surrounded but a handful of pretty girls.

And although you felt a twinge of jealousy set off like a small wildfire in the pit of your stomach, you carried on. Because it was never out of the ordinary for Ellie to flirt with a pretty girl. She’d always been pretty, and she always attracted the attention of those around her. It was just on a greater scale now.

One that would grow to be greater and greater the more popular you guys got.

So no, the groupies didn’t bother you, not entirely at least. Sure, you had to sleep with your headphones on whenever you’d hear Ellie fucking them after a show and your hotel room just had to be next to hers, and you’d make sure that you weren’t around every time Ellie was stood outside of a venue getting their numbers, but you didn’t let it affect your friendship with her, because Ellie was your friend, your good friend and she didn’t owe you anything.

What did bother you though, was what you caught her saying to Dylan one day after a show.

It was one of the rare occasions that Ellie actually spent time with you guys after a show, and not running off with a groupie. You were all sat around in Ellie’s hotel room, drunk and high out of your minds. Your head was resting against Ellie’s knee while you sat on the floor and her on the couch, her long fingers combing through your hair and massaging your scalp as you both lazily laughed at something your drummer said. It was moments like this that you felt at peace, and you realized that your job was to travel with your best friends, make music and just enjoy one another.

You hummed softly as you took a long drag of Ellie’s blunt before passing it back to her and standing up.

“Where you goin’ babe?” Ellie rasped out, her hand resting on your waist for a moment before she took the blunt from you. You smiled lazily, eyes hazy before you nodded your head towards the door. “M’cold…gonna get my sweater and my phone” you hummed. Ellie whined softly, letting her head fall back as she took a drag of her joint, her other hand reaching out for you.

“Just use one of mine…you’re warm” she mumbles out lazily, and you roll your eyes as you shoo her hand away, already walking over the various articles of clothing, music sheets and empty bottles that were on the floor, scrunching your nose at the mess as you focused on not falling over.

“Need my phone anyways Els…I’ll be right back” you called out before you opened the door to leave.

It was things like that. When she’d whine and moan for you for being too far or for leaving her when she was enjoying your warm embrace that made your heart tug. You’d always remind yourself that if she wanted to, she would. Ellie had been your friend for many years at this point, and the fact alone that she’d known you as long as she did and never tried to take things further was enough for you to push down any feelings that you had for her. You’d watch Ellie date girls that she’d only known for a few weeks, and you knew that being with her would never be written in the stars for you.

You left the hotel room door cracked open since you knew you didn’t have your room key, and you’d just be going to your room that was right next door.

Once you got your phone and a hoodie, you left your room and went back to Ellie’s. When you entered, it was easy for you to silently get in since you had left the door open for yourself when you got back. The only thing is, none of your band mates heard you come back to the room.

That was your first mistake.

The long hallway that lead to the room door kept you hidden, so they couldn’t hear you nor see you. But you were able to hear everything that they were saying.

“Come on Ellie, we know you’re into her…the way she’s always touching you? Why don’t you just ask her out?” You could distinguish the voice to be Charlie, your drummer. He chuckled softly as he tossed something at Ellie, and you heard her groan once it hit her.

“I am not into her, okay? Jesus never…I’d never go for her. She’s just…not really my type, you know? Plus…she’s kinda clingy” she chuckled softly, you could hear s small thump, followed by Ellie groaning in pain. Dylan probably hit her.

“Hey, don’t fuckin’ talk about her that way man. She’s our friend…even if you feel that way…no need to say it” he huffs out. Dylan had always had your back, acting as the big brother you had never had.

Ellie scoffs softly, and you swear you can almost fucking hear her roll her eyes. You hear the soft crackling of her blunt, and you know she’s taking another hit. “It’s the truth, okay? You see the way she looks like a kicked puppy every time I’m hooking up with a girl…it’s just sad..” she sighs out, and she sounds like she feels bad for you, like she’s been treating you this way the entire time because Ellie pities you.

And you suddenly can't breathe, because one of the people you trusted the most is saying such mean things about you, and you feel like you can't handle it. You don't even realize it, but there are fat tears rolling down your cheeks, pooling at your chin and dripping onto your shirt. You have to leave, because you know that if you see her face, you'll lose it.

You ended up crying in your hotel room on your bed until you passed out, waking up to your eyes being sore and swollen and your cheeks wet with the tears that you cried the night prior. You also wake up to a few messages and phone calls from Dylan, Charlie..

and Ellie.

Each of them asking you where you'd run off to, and if you would be coming back. It almost makes you laugh because Ellie is whining to you in your messages saying that she misses you and that you were having so much fun, saying that she hopes you didn't fall asleep because she'll just follow you into your room to sleep with you.

It's extremely fucking ironic that this is all coming from someone who called you clingy not even thirty minutes before texting you all of these messages.

And it's how you ended up here, on the rooftop of the hotel you were staying at, hiding from her.

The entire conversation that you had overheard had happened almost a week ago now, and you hadn't spoken a single word to Ellie.

None of it went without attempts from her end though.

She was constantly trying to talk to you, touch you, hold you, all of which been ignored by you. At first she assumed you were just going through a bad hangover from the night before, however it went on for days, and soon enough Ellie was finding it hard to remember when the last time it was that you had even looked at her.

Your brooding thoughts were interrupted by the door to the roof opening up, and the sound of heavy boots already told you who it was without having to look.

Dylan sighed softly as he stood behind you, eyebrows furrowed as his eyes burned holes into the back of your head.

"What the fuck is going on with you dude?" He sighed out. He had long since lost his patience with you, with your sulking, and the constant silent treatment you had been giving everyone, most specifically Ellie.

You sighed softly, taking another long drag of your cigarette before you stood up, flicking it onto the floor and using your boot to smoosh it into the ground. You gave a shrug, the zippers on your leather jacket jingling a bit.

"Nothin'....just been tired man...tour is kicking my ass" You sighed out, wishing internally that he would for once buy your bullshit excuse and not pry any further. Your feelings were pissing you off, and Ellie was pissing you off even more. You just...would rather not talk about it.

Dylan's eyebrows raised before he scoffed in disbelief. "And am I supposed to believe that? Do you think im fucking stupid?" He huffed out, and his own shoulders were crossing over his chest as he stared down at you much like a father staring down at their child.

"We aren't going anywhere until you tell me why the hell you've been pouting like a child. So, either you talk, or the show tonight isn't happening."

His threat made you frown, because as much as tour was exhausting, it was what you loved the most. Even the thought of letting down anyone who was getting ready in that very moment to come out and see you and your band, the excitement they felt whenever they waited for you guys to walk out on stage, made you sick to your stomach.

You sighed, staring down at your black boots, unable to even look the man in the eyes before you inhaled deeply.

"I heard what Ellie said about me.." You mumbled out, so softly the wind was almost loud enough to muffle what you had said, your confession getting lost in the air, never to be heard again.

The second you said it, Dylan's features softened. In that moment, he had realized just how young you were...You were barely an adult, still in your 20s, and this entire life had swept you up and taken you away in the blink of an eye, and never once had you complained about it. He realized, that he still had to protect you.

He sighed, his arms dropping down to his side. He suddenly felt guilty, like he hadn't done enough to defend you, because he was sure that if you had heard what Ellie said, you heard what he had said.

He grabbed your arm and pulled you into his own, wrapping you up in a big bear hug like all big brothers did. You let out a sigh of relief the second your face pressed against his chest, realizing that, that was the first time you were hugging someone in a week.

"Im sorry kid...I....I dunno why Ellie says the things that she says..." He sighed out. Dylan saw the way you looked at Ellie, the way your face dropped the second she was running off with another girl.

Dylan could see the way you felt about Ellie long before you could.

You shrugged as you let out a shaky breath, staying in his embrace for a moment longer before you pulled away. "Its whatever man...I just...I don't really wanna talk to her anymore.." You sighed out, and Dylan was nodding in agreement. "I understand...just...this will all pass, im sure" He mumbled.

He hoped it would pass.

You sighed before you looked up at him for the first time since he came outside to get you. Your eyes were pleading, like you were begging for something without even saying anything.

"Promise you won't say anything..I can't...I don't want to deal with this shit right now" You mumbled, and Dylan nodded. His arm went to sling around your shoulder, pulling you into the side of his body as he began walking you back to the door that lead into the building.

"Its safe with me kid...now come on...we've got fans to perform for" He hummed.

The thought of seeing them alone was enough to make you crack a smile.

☆ﾟ.*･｡

Ellie on the other hand, was losing her fucking mind.

She was wracking her brain to try and figure out what the hell she had done this time to receive the silent treatment from you. She had tried everything to remember, she retraced all of her steps within the last two weeks, read through your messages with her to see if she had made fun of something you liked, she even went as far as to listen back to a few of your tracks to see if she had messed up or something.

But each thing she tried, always came up with nothing.

You were ignoring her and it was pissing her the fuck off.

She missed talking to you, and falling asleep in your hotel room when she couldn't sleep, and she missed when she would sit between your legs on the floor and you would play with her hair before a show.

Ellie missed you, and she didn't know what the hell got here in this position to begin with.

It was frustrating her so much, that she had been fucking up at your last few shows. Her fingers would slip when she was playing because she was too focused on looking at you, praying that you would turn your head and smile at her while you sang, like you always did. Or she would almost trip over the wires that came out of her electric guitar, ruining the entire set.

Ellie had known you a long fucking time, and never once had you ignored her for this long.

She sighed softly as she tuned up her guitar, furrowing her eyebrows every time a particularly sharp note would come out when she tried strumming. She had drove down to the venue with Charlie, leaving Dylan to find you and come down after.

She was determined to finally get answers tonight.

Ellie was far too deep in thought to realize that you had finally walked in with Dylan. The second she heard your voice talking to your manager, her head shot up in your direction, and her eyes were nearly bulging out of her head.

You always looked hot when you performed, and Ellie always stared when you weren't looking. However, the clothes you had on tonight made the silent treatment that you had been giving Ellie all the more worse.

The black top you have on has the prettiest thin straps that are tied into bows at the top of your shoulders, your tits pushed up perfectly, the black mini skirt you wore leaving so much of your pretty plus thighs exposed, and your favorite leather jacket and black boots.

And Ellie can't even walk up to you to tell you how gorgeous you look.

☆ﾟ.*･｡

The show went down as one of your favorites.

You felt so confident, so loud, so pretty. It was rare that you put a ton of effort into your performance these days, especially with how upset the entire Ellie situation had you. But this show changed your mind about all of that.

The energy that the crowd gave was so intense, so vibrant, so colorful, and you felt so in tune with your bandmates.

Even Ellie

It felt like she was trying her hardest to stay with you, to stay in the same lane as you as you gave your performance your all. There were moments where the noises that came out of you were unbelievable to you, let alone everyone else.

After the show, you and the others decided to keep the party going at a nearby club. You usually opted to going back to the hotel and hanging out in a more intimate setting, always wanting to be closer with your friends..with Ellie.

But the energy that you had was too high to push down, and you weren't going to let it go to waste.

You giggled softly at something Charlie said, nodding as you took another sip of your drink. You groaned softly once you saw yet another round of shots coming towards your private table that your manager had gotten you before you arrived. You took one off the tray, throwing it back with a wince.

When you put it down, you forgot for a moment who it was that was sitting across from you, and you locked eyes with piercing green ones that had been staring longingly into yours the entire night.

Her stare made your stomach do flips, and it was almost as if she had you under a spell for a moment because it was hard to look away.

You cleared your throat, blinking your eyes for a moment as you looked away from her.

And it was as if an angel came to your rescue, because when you looked away you caught eye of a different pair of eyes staring at you from across the club. The flashing lights made it hard to see, however it was no secret that the girl that was staring at you wanted you.

Suddenly, you were doing something you rarely did.

You got up from the table, quickly mumbling an excuse of needing to go to the bar, and you left, your eyes never leaving the girls.

She caught on quickly, because as soon as you were pressed up against the bar, she was scooting in next to you, her hip bumping gently against yours as she smirked down at you.

She tells you her name is Ash, and when she's whispering in your ear about how pretty you are, her voice dripping with lust, you realize that you think Ash is pretty too.

It doesn't take long for her to have her hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to her body. You giggle softly as she pulls you in, because she's warm and inviting and..

she reminds you of Ellie.

Who is of course, staring at you from across the club.

Ellie has always noticed the attention you got, and she's always thanked her lucky stars that you always shot down any advances that were made your way whenever you guys were all out.

But right now you weren't. You were pressed up against another girl, her lips dangerously close to your neck as she whispers in your ear, her hands toying with the bottom of your skirt..

And it made Ellie fucking seethe with anger.

She's praying that you'll come to your senses and leave that idiot that has you pressed into her chest, but you don't. You're giggling and batting your eyelashes and you're acting like a stupid fucking groupie.

Just like the ones she fucks almost every night.

All of a sudden, your hand is interlocked with the girls and she's pulling you out of the club, and Ellie doesn't think she's ever gotten through a crowd of people faster in her entire fucking life. Because in seconds, she's caught up with you and the girl, and she's standing in front of you so that you both can't pass.

You don't even realize it at first, you think you might have gone the wrong way and hit a wall or something.

But once your eyes trail up the tall frame that is standing in front of you, and you're locking eyes with Ellie, you feel like you're dreaming.

"Ellie? What...what are you doing? Come on, get out of the way" You huff softly, far too annoyed to keep up with the silent treatment that you had for her. You press your hand to her side so you can push her out the way, but she doesn't budge.

She's staring at the girl that was taking you out of the club, and you're sure that if looks could kill, Ash would be on the floor dead right now.

"She's drunk, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Ellie barks out, her voice is stern and protective and she has her strong arms crossed over her chest.

Ash chuckles softly as she raises her eyebrows in disbelief, looking at Ellie before looking down at you. "This your fuckin girl or something?" She says to you, and you're quickly shaking your head, denying her question.

"No! No she's...we're in a band-" You try to explain, but Ellie is cutting you off.

"Doesn't fuckin matter, man. I said she's drunk, so you need to leave her alone" She yells over the music, and Ash looks down at you in disbelief before she stares at Ellie once again, taking your hand and pulling you closer to Ellie before letting you go.

"Whatever, last time I pick up some chick at the club" She chuckles softly.

You feel like a fucking joke.

Because for the first time, you're being spontaneous and doing things that normal girls your age do, and you finally feel fucking normal..

And Ellie has to come in and ruin it.

You stare up at her in disbelief, because she has a stupid look of triumph written all over her face, and she's smirking like she's fucking won something, and all you want to do is scream at her.

So you do.

You push her chest back forcefully, and it's her turn to stare at you like you're crazy. "Are you fucking serious?? Im barely fucking drunk!! What makes you think you can...can reprimand me like that?" You scream at her, and Ellie isn't sure she's happy you're finally speaking to her, or if this was all a mistake to begin with.

Ellie frowns as she grabs your wrists, trying to stop you from pushing her back any further. But she doesn't, and before she knows it, you're both outside of the club, the cold air hitting her face.

"She was..she was trying to take advantage of you! Can't you see that?" She pleads. You roll your eyes, giving her a scoff.

"Funny that your moral high ground has suddenly kicked in, because I have seen you stumble into practice countless times drunk off your ass with a girl just as drunk as you are! What makes you fucking think that you have any say in what I do? If I want to hookup with someone at a bar, I can do that! Im a fucking grown up Ellie" You're screaming at her, and she winces at your words because the mere thought of you doing it, hurts her.

But you aren't done.

"Do you know how hard it is for me Ellie? How hard it is for me to...to feel like im doing this shit right? To feel fucking wanted by someone? Especially when my bandmates talk about how undesirable I am? How fucking clingy I am?" You sob, because at this point all of your feelings are bubbling to the surface, and you can't hold it in anymore. Months of feeling like something was wrong with you, followed by an entire week of feeling like you're the most unwanted person by the words of your bandmate finally weigh in on you.

And for once, you don't stop it.

Ellie's eyes are wide, because she finally realizes what she's done to deserve everything you've given her..or a lack thereof.

She opens her mouth to speak, to tell you that none of that is true, that you are the most desired person on the entire fucking planet, that she's wanted you from the moment she set eyes on you.

But nothing comes out.

You scoff, roughly wiping the tears from your cheeks as you shake your head. "Typical...you know what? Fuck you Ellie..." You mumble out, turning around and walking back to your hotel room.

And all Ellie can do is watch, because her years of being a coward have finally caught up to her. And because of it..

She's lost you.

[featguler]

PROLOGUE : I WON'T BE ALONE ( FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE )

jude and a couple of his academy mates decide to try the korean chicken place down his dorm's block, famous for its cheese tteokbokki and infamous for its grumpy chef. he meets a girl and shoots the first shot he does not miss that day.

prologue of ' call my bluff '

⌗ pairing : jude bellingham x female original character ⌗ wordcount : 5,743 ⌗ notes : the prologue of this brand new series!! i am so excited. also i said this in the masterlist of this series, but please don't take anything said in this fic is facts... i don't know if jude ever lived in a dorm, and i don't care enough to find out. i've also never been to birmi so... ignore all geographical matters pls. no one in this chapter is real except for jude if you would like to be added to the taglist, please do let me know! surprise surprise, this chapter was actually proofread by my friends, shin (@ludiceousml) and arya (@amigara-vault). love u guys ♡ masterlist.

mini playlist ! 𐙚 forever noah kahan : i'm glad i get forever to see where you end 𐙚 speak too soon wild rivers : i saw you when my sight was sore 𐙚 buzz niki : phone toss when it's risky and you hit send 𐙚 first day of my life bright eyes : i think i was blind before i met you 𐙚 decimal novo amor : i could be alright if you could rewrite my life

The second month of life at Birmingham City is strange. Strange, as in, it feels like floating in space. Strange, as in, it feels like something in between, like limbo. Strange, as in, Jude has not felt yet like he is where he belongs. Strange, as in, he misses Jobe the way he misses his parents the way he misses that old stain on his family sofa from when Jobe spilled boiled corn after tripping on his untied laces.

The academy is an academy, and he’ll be damned if he had not expected the dorm to be just like a dorm. But he thinks that he has widely miscalculated how concerned the people are over football here. Jude did not start out with a burning passion for football fresh out of the womb, after all, he always preferred picking flowers to bundle for his mother.

“I think I’m homesick,” he told Denise just earlier that week in a quiet call on the dorm’s emergency fire exit. “I miss Jobe so much.”

Who's to say that best friends cannot wrestle until the other bumps their leg hard enough on the edge of a coffee table to bruise? While Jude would occasionally have Jobe’s foot on his face to distract him from scoring the penalty in FIFA, they are definitely best friends. And he missed his best friend.

Denise only laughed when she heard the confession, and he felt the ghost of her fingers rubbing the back of his neck. “Homesick, or Jobesick?”

And that made Jude laugh too, because he never really considered homesick as a word containing two separate words. Never home, never sick. Just homesick. So when his mother replaced the vocal point of longing with the name of his brother, he almost faltered. A sentiment so widespread was suddenly customised to fit him.

“Yeah. Guess I’m Jobesick.”

Zakariya was sprawled across the floor of his dorm room when he suddenly began moaning about how sick he was of protein shakes and eggs for breakfast, craving the cheesebokki from that restaurant down the street. Jude wasn’t aware that he had the brain capacity to talk about anything other than Ronaldinho or his hot, older girlfriend, but there he was, practically drooling like a dog at the thought of a Korean cheat meal amongst the vegetables that they shove down your throat in the academy.

Jude’s encyclopaedia of Korean food ends with hot chicken wings, so he propped his head over a pillow, shifting to the edge of his bed to catch Zakariya’s attention.

“Cheesebokki?” He repeated, the word tasted foreign in his mouth. “Sounds good,” it didn’t sound like anything, “let’s go this sunday. After the practice match.”

“It’s spicy,” Zakariya warned, and Jude shrugged. He can handle spicy. Not any less than Zakariya, that is for sure. “Sure, man. If you think you can handle it. I’ll ask Ethan and Teddy if they wanna come along. Jamal, you should come too.”

Jude considered immediately backing off when he heard the names Zakariya brought up. He likes Zakariya. But he can’t say the same about Ethan, and Teddy, he is amicable with. Jamal, the only one he could already call a friend, couldn’t go. After matches, Sundays are reserved for church and his mother; they are about the same thing to Jamal anyway.

Jude called his mum to ask for her opinion—he’s similar to Jamal in this way—and she encouraged him to go.

“Maybe you’ll find that you and Ethan have much more in common than you initially thought.”

He doubted it. Denise was only saying that because she likes Alicia Ewart, Ethan’s mother. Ethan thinks he is too good for the academy, and Jude thinks he’s full of shit.

But he ended up going. He knows that a mother’s blessing eases the path. His mother’s especially.

No one in this world calls Olivia by her Korean name.

Haewon, to her, is simply not an interesting enough word.

She is not saying that she is anything more than ordinary, or even just an inch off of being riveting, but there are two people in just her family with her exact name: her great-aunt and a distant cousin. And despite most of Birmingham not having a clue on who those other Haewon’s are, they are, no less, two extra Haewon’s in her life.

And as a matter of fact, she was named after her great-aunt deliberately, like she is not allowed her own identity. To add icing on the cake, her Haewon translates roughly to sailor or seaman, or something like that; a name that grants nothing but strenuous expectations for her. Her great-aunt’s Haewon, however, translates to beautiful ocean.

Beautiful-Ocean-Haewon was Olivia’s grandmother’s younger sister.

Her grandmother died three months before her father turned four years old, and her grandfather before her father was even born. Yujae Jang was taken in by his aunt effective immediately. He thinks that she was so great (Olivia wouldn’t have a way of knowing as she died before she was even born). He thinks that she was what a mother is supposed to epitomise: unconditional love in a condition where condition is consequential.

But for someone who looks up to mother figures so much, Yujae sure finds it difficult to spare his own wife, the mother of his children, a cordial glance. And a man who does not respect his wife naturally despises his daughter.

He doesn’t have to say it. Olivia knows. It’s her chief theory in navigating her path; the lighthouse guiding her worn down seaboat. From the moment he named her sailor, she knew.

And she doesn’t like to admit it, but though her fragility stands on its toes, balancing on a tipping vase, what she feels, what she thinks, do not matter as much as she would like to believe. Being delicate is something she has long outgrown. It does not interest her anymore. Being frail brings nothing but heartache, and while her heart is not desensitised to stabwounds, she relishes in the fact that a straight face will save herself some embarrassment.

So, she embraces the ocean and sets sail as a seaman.

Names are meant to be prayers after all; some kind of prophecies that name-holders are cursed to fulfil. Her theory states that her father’s disappointment peaked the day she was born, and the little optimism he had gifted him a son three years later.

And this is a lot of thinking for a secondary school student, sure, but thinking crooked is something that Olivia does most days her father decides to scream at her for something trivial. She has gone from wishing him harm in her mind to taking part in the devout practice of self-pity. No one is going to calm her cries and rub her back. Not her mother, not her brother, and definitely not her father. She has got to do it herself.

Now, Philip, twelve years old, is wiping tabletops. And Olivia, fifteen years old, is trembling as she scribbles on some scratch papers, finishing her mathematics homework so that she can spend the rest of the night sobbing against her pillow.

“Welcome to Jang’s Chicken, how are you lot?”

The little bell above the heavy mahogany door  just a few feet away from the cashier counter jingles; her nose is still tainted red and her cheeks are still surrendering to the tears streaming from her eyes.

The restaurant had been so quiet just a few moments ago, and the only sound you could hear was the choir of angry utensils cling-clang-ing against one another as Yujae washes the plate. Her mother is coating raw chicken with egg yolk and flour on one corner table, quiet as she has always been. Philip is cleaning the tables, then spraying some cleaning chemical only to wipe the same spot over and over. A piece of thread could cut through the silence.

But instead of a thread, it is broken by a horde of rowdy boys. Their windbreaker is familiar: a football academy from a couple of blocks away from the restaurant. They are bustling and filled with haste, looking at everything but her, scrutinising the humble decoration of Korean calligraphy all over the creaking walls of the family restaurant.

Olivia can see the spot where her shoes were laid just as she got home from tutoring that day, where she took them off in a hurry to rush to the loo, only for her father to yell at her when she forgot to place them in the cabinet next to the entrance. Then here comes these boys—customers—with their stupid cleats still attached to each of their feet, dirtying up the freshly swept floor, not having a clue what monstrosity their action would lead to if they were Olivia.

She huffs, wiping a dripping snot with the base of her palm.

Fathers can be so evil, she thinks, but her father especially.

The Birmingham F.C. Academy students have been regulars in Jang’s Chicken since as long as Olivia could remember. A group of students from a different year, just a few days ago, had visited the restaurant. Since she started working as a cashier three years ago, they have been coming in. Since before she was even born, they have been coming in. Olivia is not fazed with football; she is not fazed with boys who play football.

She gathers her hair, tying them in a low ponytail before pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“We’re good, how are you?”

The one that looks oldest—or tallest, at least—greets before stepping forward. He grabs one of the oily, limp laminated menus from the tabletop, holding them in a way that is visible to the rest of the crowd. Olivia smiles weakly and decides to not answer the small talk.

“We should get the party box.”

Olivia rubs her nose as she hides a sniffle. “That's 16 pieces of chicken,” she uses her finger to point at a menu on the table. “You can choose up to three flavours for the party box.”

She doesn’t know if she’s gotten good at hiding the nasal in her voice, or if they were nice enough to not point out how red her eyes are. By the way the leader of the bunch glances down at her as quick as he looks away, she guesses that it’s the latter.

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Lip taking a seat next to their mother. She shoots him a look and he sends her a shrug in return.

A boy peeks over the first boy’s shoulder. “What's soju?”

“That's booze,” another one slaps the back of his head lightly as Olivia focuses her attention back to them.

“We don't sell alcohol to underage customers,” she hurries in as well, and the boys nod.

“Obviously.” Murmurs of agreement rustles.

”I want the cheesebokki” — a cute way their restaurant had shortened ‘cheese tteokbokki’ — “and a can o’ Coke.”

A scoff escapes their leader. “Last time you got that, you shitted yourself for a week, didntcha, mate?”

Collective groans emit from the group and Olivia scrunches her nose.

”Not in front of the lady, E,” the cheesebokki enjoyer turns red. “Besides! It’s good,” his hand smacks the chest of a boy closest to him, “and Judey here says he’ll share with me.”

Olivia only smiles, just to be polite, and to hold back a sigh.

Jude has been watching the cashier girl from the back of the group.

The whole walk to Jang’s Chicken, he has been out of it. Nobody has mentioned it, so he thinks that maybe nobody noticed the way he shuffles quietly behind the other three, hands nuzzled deep in his outer. He pretends his huffs were for the cold and kicks invisible rocks to distract his own mind.

He made four chances at scoring just earlier, but none of them made it past the goalpost. And Jude is young enough to want to blame it on anyone else but him, but he is also mature enough to understand that it was nobody else’s fault but his own. The goalkeeper was always distracted, and there were no defenders trying to tackle the ball out of his feet. It was his muddled mind, he thinks, that the ball kept flying over the post.

He has been out of it, and the one to pull him out of being out of it is that cashier girl.

Nasally voice, weakly greeting them. It's her glasses that he notices first. They are big—definitely too big for her tiny face—with red frames taped up in the middle and on the sides. His eyes then travel to the bridge of her nose, and wouldn't you know it, the tip of her nose is tainted the same shade of scarlet.

He wonders why he finds it endearing: the way she holds back sniffles, the way she points out to the menu in exhalation. The more he examines her face, the more he sees her damp cheeks, her lips parting to make way for her breath, and the more is he drawn in. Strands of her hair keep falling even after she tugs them behind her ears, monotonically responding to his friend’s inquiries.

The back of Zakariya’s hand meets Jude chest, and he is taken out of his reverie, humming in agreement at whatever he had said.

“Guess we’ll do the party box, then?”

“Sure,” Jude’s murmurs blend in with the rest. He’s got no energy to go against Ethan. He’s there for the cheesebokki, anyway, and a chance of creating bountiful friendship with boys who are neither Jobe nor Jamal. Not chicken wings.

“‘lright then, the party box, one cheesebokki, and four can ‘o coke.”

She nods and pushes some buttons on the cashier, a loud and ancient machine that looks like someone’s prized possession that they would proudly reveal is older than him. For a moment, his gaze wanders to the fading football stickers—Ronaldo, Spurs, Real Madrid, Benzema, Marcelo—placed arbitrarily all over its body before going back to her.

“Which sauces would you like to go with?”

Honey mustard dip, sweet and sour sauce, and fire buffalo sauce.

Olivia cannot think of a combination more basic.

Teddy whips out his mother’s credit card in an instance, briefly telling the group to ping him their share of the money, and Zakariya complains about how he only has cash. Jude barely registers their banter.

They sit just far enough away from the lady and the boy dipping raw chicken to flour so that they wouldn’t hear their conversations, but close enough for the aroma of freshly fried chicken to wander out of the kitchen window and spike up his nose. He slides a chair out, a barrel of some sort with a wooden back nailed on to it.

Teddy takes the seat beside him. “You’ve been distracted, Judey.”

“I have,” as he sits, Jude looks back at the cashier. The girl is now at the counter, furiously holding back her bangs as she grips her pencil harder. “Think I should ask for her number?”

Teddy shrugs after a small laugh. Jude turns to him with an eyebrow raised. “Well, do whatever you want, but her dad’s a bit…”

“Evil,” Ethan interjects.

Zakariya scoffs. “‘Evil’s a bit of a big word ain’t it, E?”

Ethan grabs a pair of chopsticks Jude knows damn well he is not going to use, and fiddles with it, contending it against each other. “Well, he’s grumpy, that’s for sure.”

“My dad can be grumpy,” Jude insists, like he needs any of their permission. “Reckon her dad won't mind a nice young man like me asking for ‘er number.”

“Nice young man,” Ethan repeats, a little too mockingly to Jude’s liking. 

“Well, I am a nice young man.”

“You’re a young man, that’s what you are,” Zakariya laughs, piling on Ethan’s mockery and they bump shoulders in mischief cackles. Jude shoots them a glare.

“You know what? I say do it,” Teddy grazes his knee against Jude’s. Jude looks at him funny. “Just do it, bruv, take the shot. Ethan’s just bitter ‘cuz he tried talking to her too.”

“Yeah?” At the short smirk on Teddy’s lips, curiosity creeps up Jude’s nerves, eyeing Ethan across from him. Teddy had just officially graduated from being on his amicable list to his like list. “So you got her number?”

“Ha,” a cynical snicker leaves Ethan’s lips. “Obviously not. Her dad got between us.”

“Evil,” Jude repeats, and the rest of the boys nod.

“Evil.”

Mr. Paisley, Olivia’s homeroom, insists that there is no absolute truth in the world except the truths that are backed with numbers. He’s a mathematics teacher, so it makes sense. And to Olivia, one plus one is, definitely, equal to two. But the absolute truth does not interest her, now, does it? Truths, not-truths. None of these really matters in the long run. What matters is how she is going to mend relationships she would not want to mend; whether she will grow up to be more her mother or more her father.

The scrap papers she is scribbling maths equations on was picked up from the large trash bin behind the church her parents go to. She doesn’t go, she is not interested, but her mother would occasionally come home to gift her and Philip excess church brochures that they can use to count, or write, on.

It’s the little ways that they save money. The anxiety that comes with having none was brought down to the children, even when they were born after the years where money had been a problem. That’s just how her family is: rigid, stiff, stationary. It’s the same way she is gripping on her pencil, with the tip of her fingers beginning to hurt, her nail beds turning red against her skin, pale for not having eaten anything aside from three slices of canned peach since breakfast.

“Hey.”

But just like that, her endless stream of self-loathing, maths-loathing, church-brochures-loathing, and Mr. Paisley-loathing thoughts are over.

Olivia slants her eyes as she tries to gain a better look at the boy calling out to her behind her foggy glasses. He is a part of the academy group—the logo, she knows, and that there are no other customers in the restaurant aside from them.

“I’ll have another side,” he offers her a short grin, taking one hand from the pocket of his windbreaker to pick up the menu, “the nuggets.”

She clears her throat against her fist, nodding her head as she stands. “A moment please,” Olivia steps sideways to the cashier, already forgetting what he looks like. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose again. “Nuggets, you can get the sweet and sour sauce with it, or the barbeque for an extra Pound and a half.”

“A pound and a half?”

“Yeah.”

He lets out a chuckle. “I’ll just do the sweet and sour sauce. It’s better anyway, yeah?”

“I like it better,” Olivia entertains the banter with a light laugh, rubbing the tip of her nose. There is a deep silence between them just for a second. “That’ll be seven and a half, please.”

“You’re crying.”

Olivia’s head snaps up.

She sees him in great clarity this time. He didn’t speak much if at all when his crowd were ordering, and she had not cared enough to examine the boy who had paid for their food, moreover some shorter lad on the back of the group. But there he stands before her, voice light yet thick—though no thicker than her brother’s brummie as she notes.

“Pardon me?”

The situation is so jarring that Olivia cannot help but be offended, even when she knows that she has been crying—is crying, even. She sniffles and feels another tear roll down her cheek.

“Nevermind,” he shakes his head. She watches the way his nose scrunches when he notices the offence in her tone, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone with a battered case. “Can I have your number?”

“What?”

The busy-bee movements from the rest of the restaurant halt. From the corner of her room, she can see the group of boys holding their breaths, her brother doing the same thing too, and her mother staring daggers at her.

“Your phone number.”

“Like,” —

She hesitates, this time fully glancing to the kitchen window only to see her dad slanting his eyes, shooting glares at either her or at the Birmingham Academy boy, she cannot tell.

— “to order food from us?”

He shakes his head. “Like, to text you. If you wanna.”

“But… do you still want the nuggets?”

He laughs and places his phone on the counter, fishing for a wallet from a patch in his windbreaker. He places ten quid next to his phone. “Sure. Let’s get that number sorted out first, though.”

She grabs his phone, and a victorious smile appears on Jude’s face. His stupid plan—”plan”, loosely translating to: just going for the shot—works, and now he has a pretty girl typing her number into his phone.

His eyes dart to the multiple worksheets and eraser dust scattered next to the rugged down cashier, trying to ignore the growing commotion from the lads. “What are you working on?”

The girl huffs a bitter chuckle, her swollen eyes glancing up at him under her bangs for a moment. “Mathematics. Are you any good at it?”

He shakes his head. “The only thing I’m good at is football, Miss.”

She raises an eyebrow, a curious zest sparkling her eyes. “You're a football player?”

“Not yet, not officially,” Jude shrugs. He points to his academy logo on the chest of his windbreaker. “Birmingham F.C.”

“Birmingham academy?”

“Yup,” he nods. “One and only.”

She chuckles again, though he recognizes the lack of bitterness this time. “Y’must be pretty good then, huh?”

“I try my best.”

The muscles in her cheeks are begging for her to smile, but she knows that her father is watching, and she cannot show humiliating emotions before him, not after a bad fight. The tears were bad enough already. She is not going to let the giddy feeling when a boy flirts with her show on her face.

Bitterness bites even harder when she feels, hears, and notices Yujae shuffling closer to her. Olivia hopes she didn’t mess up her number, and returns the phone to the counter without even filling in her name, afraid that her father would grab it and toss it across the room. Or something dramatic like that.

“Haewon.”

She sighs. No one on this Earth calls Olivia by her Korean name. No one but her father. What is it with him and ruining every single thing she has going on in her life?

“Don’t chat with the customers?” He says—in Korean, Olivia guesses to intimidate the boy—though the tone of his voice makes it seem like he is more confused than anything else, and she wants to laugh; she can’t help but share the confusion. It really is not like her to talk to a boy, it’s not like her to talk to a boy who is a stranger, and it definitely is not like her to give out her number to a boy who is a stranger.

“I wasn’t chatting,” she knows that trying to defend herself will not result in the most ideal outcome in the taut stalemate, but the pettiness that runs in Yujae’s blood also lives in hers, so she does it anyway. “He was ordering some side dishes.”

“Is that it?”

She tries not paying attention to the boy as much this time, and punches the button on the cashiering system. She takes the tenner from the counter and places it in the cash drawer.

“What?” Her father hovers next to her when she doesn’t answer. “He asked for your number, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Olivia says, keeping her tone flat.

“And you gave it to him?”

“I did,” she frowns this time, glancing up at her father. “Why?”

“Why did you give him your number?”

“Why not?”

Yujae peers deep into her, like trying to gauge her weak spot, anything that would offer him some kind of reclamation over the disrespect she sends his way. He ends the eye contact with a scoff.

“You won’t get far in life with that mouth and that attitude.”

Olivia rolls her eyes and focuses back on the cashier, letting it print out the receipts after slamming close the cash drawer.

“I’m not trying to get anywhere far in life,” she mumbles, just as he walks away. Finally, she looks back at the boy, going back to English. “Here’s your change and receipt. Thanks.”

“Thanks,” Jude grabs his change and looks at the direction of the grumpy chef—Ethan is right. He does seem evil. He looks back at the girl, “I’ll text you tonight.”

She scoffs, and it looks like she is going to cry more now, but is trying hard to act nonchalant. “I’ll talk to you, then.”

He smiles, and is somewhat not bothered that she doesn’t return it. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Unknown Number: Hello?

Olivia’s face scrunches as she lay on her bed, before breaking into a smile.

The thinning mattress under her sinks in the middle. It had always been that way, and it’s generally more comfortable for her to lay on the edge of the bed. It’s closer to where her phone charger is too. And yet, though she can name a hundred reasons why the rundown house her family and her previously lived in was better than living on top of the restaurant, this—having her own, albeit very small, bedroom and not having to share with Philip—is definitely one of the good things about moving.

Me: hello?

Olivia used to take the top bunk while Philip, sleep tosser, brought earthquakes to her vocabulary.

Unknown Number: I’m the one who asked for your number earlier on today Unknown Number: Remember me?

She giggles to the back of her hand. Now, she doesn’t have to worry about suppressing laughter. There is no brother under her to judge her.

Me: yeah Me: birmingham academy? Unknown Number: That’s right Unknown Number: My name’s Jude by the way Unknown Number: Sorry for not introducing myself earlier Me: it’s calm Me: my name’s olivia Me: it’s nice to meet you, jude!! Unknown Number: It’s nice to meet you too! Unknown Number: Olivia is a pretty name

Rolling her eyes, she huffs through her smile, turning so that she is laying on her stomach, her chin propped on a pillow.

Me: i’ve been told Me: olivia jang Me: like the restaurant Unknown Number: So your father is Mister Jang? Me: more or less Me: he’s a bit scary Me: sorry for earlier Unknown Number: I’m Jude Bellingham Unknown Number: It’s fine Unknown Number: My dad’s a sergeant so I get it Unknown Number: I didn’t land you in trouble though did I? Me: ohh sergeant Me: your dad’s Sergeant Bellingham then Me: no it’s fine Jude Bellingham: More or less Jude Bellingham: Alright, good then

She breathes, going to type a random, stupid question to keep the small talk up but stops when she notices that he is typing. Only for him to stop as well. Bleh.

Me: sorry what were you typing? Me: i stopped typing cuz i saw you were typing Me: sorry Jude Bellingham: Wait yeah I did the same Jude Bellingham: Just wanted to ask which school you go to Jude Bellingham: Small talk, yknow?

She chuckles.

Me: i go to colebourne Me: stechford Jude Bellingham: Stechford is a bit of a walk from King’s Norton isn’t it? Me: well it isn’t like i walk 10 miles a day Jude Bellingham: Still, no? Me: used to live there, but my mum and dad decided to move to be nearer to the restaurant Me: now we live ON the restaurant Me: hahaha

She wonders if she talks too much.

She doesn’t usually speak to boys this way, no—so fluently, so unabashed. While she is open to befriending anyone and everyone, she just can’t find it within herself to open up to the opposite gender. Even with girls, she feels like she wouldn’t tell the history of her residency to someone she just met.

Jude, though, feels different.

It’s how they met, there is no doubt. Just a few hours ago she was made aware of his existence, and whether she wanted to or not, she was sobbing before him, all sniffly with her runny nose. And on top of that, her father had come to scold her. Jude had seen her struggle with school work, seen her cry, and seen her speak in a language she could not call mother tongue. All on the same day. All in the same five minutes.

Even to her girl friends, she had never conveyed such vulnerability. The peeling of her emotions are reserved for her father’s disowning gaze, her mother and brother’s ignorance, and the heedless minds of the restaurant’s patrons. Jude just became the first one to take a shot at cracking her open.

Jude Bellingham: Oh wow Jude Bellingham: Doesn’t it get tiring? Jude Bellingham: The commuting

She smiles, seeing the text, tossing from one side of her bed to the other.

Me: a bit but Me: just a few years left then i’ll be off to uni Me: then i’ll be commuting to uni instead haha

Jesus. That’s like—what?—the fourth time she’s sent three text bubbles in a row. She bites her lips and tries to justify her own excitement: well, it isn’t like he is economical with his replies either, though his syntax hints at being a bit rigid, he sends her the same amount of bubbles.

Olivia tosses again, to the other side of her body.

Jude Bellingham: Yeah? Jude Bellingham: How old are you? Me: i’m 15!! Me: n you?? Jude Bellingham: 14

A burst of light giggles escaping her lips.

Me: woooooow you’re like a little kid Jude Bellingham: Hahaha shut up

She bites her lips.

Me: btw Me: you got an insta jude? Jude Bellingham: I do!!

Olivia’s body awakens, shifting all its weight to her knees before flopping into a curl in the middle of her bed. Her fingers hover above her keyboards. Shit. she initiated, so she must be the one that asks first.

Me: wanna follow each other?

Groaning, she shuts her phone and flicks it two feet away from her, dramatically slapping both her palms—damp due to anxiety—against her face. Her phone dings as soon as it lands on the thinning bedcover.

Jude Bellingham: Sure!!!

Olivia plants her face into her pillow, lets out a muffled kind-of-bellow, before telling herself to get her act together.

Me: what's yours? Jude Bellingham: I’ve got a private one Jude Bellingham: It's jujudedebell

“jujudedebell,” she murmurs to herself, biting the inside of her cheeks.

Me: jujudedebell Me: 😂😂😂 Me: that's such a cute username Jude Bellingham: Hahaha Jude Bellingham: I gotta keep it lowkey, you know?

Olivia rolls her eyes and switches over to the Instagram app, typing the username into the search bar and requesting to follow the first account she sees.

Me: i requested to follow you!! Jude Bellingham: Alright!! Jude Bellingham: You're… viajangoli? 😂

Jude Bellingham: That's worse than mine Me: shut up!! Me: you should help me think of a better handle Jude Bellingham: I’ll let you know when something crosses my mind Jude Bellingham: Oh, miss Jang Jude Bellingham: You're popular huh?? Me: nooooo Me: i just meet a lot of people through internships and volunteering Me: i bet you'll be real popular soon too jude

Isn’t that how football careers usually go?

She bet he’s real popular even right now—proper, actual popular. He said that he’s got a private Instagram; she’s not even going to look up his public one.

Jude Bellingham: Yeah? Jude Bellingham: Also Jude Bellingham: Your most recent post Jude Bellingham: That’s in London ain’t it? Me: yes yes yes!! Me: went there last month for a school trip Me: best day of my life Me: been there? Jude Bellingham: Yeah with my family Jude Bellingham: Best day huh? Me: yeah Me: i wanna work there Jude Bellingham: Ohh Jude Bellingham: Going to London for school too? Me: my dad wont let me leave birmi for uni Me: but i want to work there Me: wbu Me: u got any dream job? Jude Bellingham: Well I’m a fan of this one football player Jude Bellingham: Zinedine Zidane Jude Bellingham: He’s my role model Jude Bellingham: He’s working for Real Madrid now Jude Bellingham: So maybe Real Madrid Jude Bellingham: Hahahaha

She raises an eyebrow at the football club.

Me: what’s so funny? Jude Bellingham: I don’t know Jude Bellingham: Real Madrid just seems so big Me: right now Me: we don’t know jude bellingham 10 years from now yeah? Jude Bellingham: You think it’s gonna take me 10 years to get into Real Madrid? Me: well if you believe in yourself Me: maybe five Me: or even three Me: or tomorrow Jude Bellingham: Tomorrow? 😂 Jude Bellingham: Lmao Me: idk Me: i don’t much about football but real madrid’s my brother favourite team Jude Bellingham: They are? Me: he’s crazy about marcelo or i don’t know Me: sorry lol Jude Bellingham: You’re good Jude Bellingham: How old is your brother? Me: he was born in 2005 Me: so like 12 Jude Bellingham: Oh, my brother’s the same age Me: oh you got a brother too? Jude Bellingham: Yeah, his name’s Jobe! Me: oh cute Me: jude and jobe Me: mine’s olivia and lip Me: from philip Jude Bellingham: Liv and Lip? Me: nobody really calls me liv Jude Bellingham: Well Jude Bellingham: I can be the first

Olivia shuts her phone. She spreads her arms wide on the bed, now laying in the middle, her back aching slightly as she stares up at the ceiling. Her mouth parts, letting the air circulate freely in and out her throat. After a while of trying to digest the odd feeling in her chest, letting it run down to her stomach where it hatches into butterflies, she raises her shaky hands to hold her phone over her face.

Me: mhmm Me: yeah sure you can

[junkyarddawgz]

I'd love to know which of my fics (only one is currently up on ao3) I should prioritize based on what people like most, so I thought I'd leave it up to you guys here! Full descs are under the poll and cut.

Mortalizer: This fic gets deep but when things start to get chaotic outside of Kenny's own crisis, the action really picks up. I have so much plot going for this story and I'm really excited about it lol. Apart from dying, there will be lots of Crenny and Style, lots of character development, interactions with the Goth Kids, interesting disguises, hero-Cartman, friendly kidnapping, climbing through bedroom windows, etc. Currently there are nine chapters up on my AO3 (junkyarddawgz)

Heres the AO3 Desc

Kenny McCormick discovers he's been rejected by death. As denial drives him mad, he begins to toy with his own life- until a series of horrifying crimes remind him that not everyone comes back from the grave. Or... One year ago, Kenny's entire life fell apart, and the new version of it is not worth living. Every time he tries to end it, though, he only wakes up again; alive and with a beating heart. No one even remembers he was ever dead... that he knows of. After weeks of dying almost every day, two new things happen too close together to be coincidence; someone else is dead, and another anonymous someone seems to know Kenny has been too. He hardly even gets a chance to panic before things start to get way worse, and Kenny realizes he might be the only person who can stop whoever is behind it all. (Mysterion vs Serial killer)

Creek Fic (Untitled): When something goes way wrong with young NASA astronaut Craig Tucker's mission Feldspar, he finds himself trapped in an endless solo mission that should only have lasted 28 days. With NASA refusing to keep him in the loop about what the hell is even going on, he is surprised to discover he actually looks forward to those informationless ground-control calls each day. Maybe he just misses human contact, or maybe there really is something more behind his infatuation with that one twitchy, blond ground-control agent.

I wrote that desc just now, but it probably won't be the same one I write in for the eventual AO3 upload. No I don't have an outline or even really a full plot going for this one yet, but I do have a general idea of what it might be. Soooo.... slowburn, angsty, trapped in space Creek fic, anyone?

Children on the Edge of Forever: A tragic spin on the season 2 episode "City on the Edge of Forever" (which is itself titled after a Star Trek episode) in which instead of telling silly stories while they sit in the bus hanging off the edge of a cliff and wait for Miss Crabtree's return, the kids find themselves confessing deep honesties in their last moments before the bus finally gives in to the temptation of gravity. Confessions range from those of love- requited or not, personal identities, crimes, and final forgivenesses. Each chapter is written in the POV of one kid on the bus (I'll be doing about 12 of them) with a final chapter detailing their shared ending.

Yes, they do all die in the end, but that doesn't mean we can't have Style, Creek and Bendy fluff before their final demise lol. I haven't written an official desc yet, but the first chapter should be up before the end of December regardless of poll results (simply because it's already mostly written).

Totally Killer AU (Untitled): This one is based on the 2023 slasher film Totally Killer, which was ALMOST a good movie lol. I decided to make it actually good. Heres the AO3 desc:

When the decade of materialism and Madonna finally began to draw the curtains of a close, three teenagers at South Park high had their lives brought to their own abrupt ends. The face of their killer is never unmasked, slipping away through the cracks of passing time. 35 years later, as the third decade of the century hits a halfway point, a fourth victim is claimed to mark the killer's return. Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski find themselves thrown not only in the middle of it all (and maybe even at each other), but also back in time- to the point just before everything first began.

TIME TRAVEL STYLE!!! This one is going to be so good because I'll be writing their parents as teenagers and showing so much background. I feel like fresh characters (or fresh versions of them at least) in a South Park fic is something you rarely see, so I think it will be fun to try and pull off.

Anyway, this fic involves Stan and Kyle working together to try and prevent the first murders from ever happening so as to save the fourth victim from dying in the future. Theres angst and fluff to come no matter who dies lol.

[yams-77]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going! Thank you to @witch-and-her-witcher for the tag!

Blue is for Sarah J Maas fics and Green is for Fourth Wing fics

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

About 250,030. I can't tell for certain about 20k words of TUH and all but about 20k words of ATOFAF were written in 2023.

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

1 Multi Chapter Fic 20 One Shots

The Multi Chapter Fic was I Don't Feel Safe with You Anymore based on a prompt assigned to me by @skyfallscotland

It's been five days since the Battle of Basgiath and Xaden still hasn't heard from Sgaeyl. The dragon left the college, needing time and distance to reflect on and process the changes to their bond since Xaden reached for power. Xaden is determined to give her that space, even as his magic drains the longer she stays away. He fights the urge to channel from the earth with everything he has but being a rider, his body is no longer compatible with life without magic. He can wait for her to come back. He can hold out. The alternative is unthinkable

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

Start? Just one: The Shadow Stalker.

A notorious killer is stalking the city of Prythian, killing from the shadows. After six months on the case, FBI Profiler Detective Eris Archeron still has no leads...Until he enters a seedy bar on the edge of the Forest House district and meets a man who will change his life forever

But The Underpants Heist started late last year.

Bodhi Durran has been in love with Liam Mairi since he was fourteen years old. It's a secret he's held close to his chest until a first-year from Liam's squad starts to get under his skin. Following War Games and the events at Resson, Bodhi is overwhlemed by grief, the rebellion, and his new position as Flame Sectionleader and finds himself turning to Liam's squadmate Ridoc for solace as the two scheme an elaborate plan to steal Commandant Panchek's underpants. And somehow, much to his surprise, Bodhi finds himself falling for the larger-than-life rider

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

Pink Pony Club

Any time Bodhi has to face the memories of his small hometown, Aretia, Tennessee, it’s painful. But after moving LA just over a year ago, he’s found a new home: at the Pink Pony Club. As a performer at the club, he can be whoever he wants to be. He can be cool. He can be sexy. He can be expressive. He can even be himself. Life in LA is better than he ever could have imagined. His new friends love and accept him for who he is, in a way his friends and family back home never could. He gets to dance without anyone judging him. And tonight, he’s going to get what he wants most of all: the attention of the man at the front-left table who comes to all his shows, the one with the beautiful eyes. He doesn’t even know the man’s name yet, but Bodhi’s determined to meet him at last. Because no matter what Mama or God may think, he is Bodhi Durran, and he is fucking beautiful.

I put my whole heart into this fic. If you only read one thing I wrote this year, let it be this.

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

The Shadow Stalker. I did not have a serial killer AU with ethical non-monogamy, dirty bathroom face fucking, and dark romance elements on my Bingo card for this year.

Honorable mention to: Shut Up and Fly With Me. This one might not seem experimental, but it's the only thing I've ever written in first person in my entire life.

After three long years apart, Garrick and Xaden are finally reunited at Basgaith. Only, instead of the romantic reunion Garrick expected, Xaden is holding back, afraid to take their relationship public for whole host of stupid reasons that start and end with Alic Tauri.

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

Uhh. I wrote a fic about Xaden watching his cousin have sex on dragonback...and surprisingly the people loved it.

Dragonback Boink

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

I want to say Paradise by the Dashboard Light...but apparently I wrote it last year. Fuck it. It's my post and I'm saying it anyway.

It was long ago and it was far away and it was so much better than it is today. A Tharion/RQD retelling taking place in 1970's hybrid Lunation/Real-World AU based on the music of Meatloaf.

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

@sholdthebus is one of the sweetest people around and I love all their art. Also @korrinamoe has some of the best Sloane/Aaric art around there and also some awesome are for Crowns of Nyaxia. Of course @silverlude and @xenafay too!

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

@iftheshoef1tz. I cannot read anything that Fitz writes without getting jealous of her talent. She makes writing seem effortless and everything she writes is moving and emotional and sexy.

I also have to call out @hoeelliexx for inspiring a Fourth Wing/AFTG crossover that I've been plotting out.

@born-to-riot and @acourtofladydeath for keeping me engaged with the Azris fandom even as my mind wanders.

And, of course, @suebswrites and @essjaywrites who keep me a functioning writer when all I want to do is quit. Add in @alexandia03 and @greeneyedwildthing who help host the @rq-gift-exchange!

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

This makes me feel like a mother playing favorites. @ubiquitouslyme, @siobhanbooks and @copperfirebird are some of the many talented writers I met this year. (You all better tag the rest of the crew!)

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

LMFAO Yes. Either as pinch hits for the exchange or to cheer each other up on the bad days.

Dear Brennan with @suebswrites

Adventure Kids with @suebswrites and @essjaywrites

The Moment I knew with @korrinamoe

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

I Don't Feel Safe With You Anymore is the first multi chapter fic I've finished.

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

Pick and choose your ideas carefully. There are a ton of things I want to write, but if I get distracted by the plot bunnies, then I end up going several months without updating my main fic and it's hard to get back into it.

Also ONLY SIGN UP FOR ONE EXCHANGE AT A TIME.

14. What is your advice?

Find fandom friends. They'll keep you writing, even when you don't feel like it with all their kind words and pestering.

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

FINISH TUH

[fountainpenguin]

"No one lives forever~ Let's have a party; there's a full moon in the sky! It's the hour of the wolf and I don't wanna die..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 35 - “Incendiary (BigB, Skizz, Etho, Scott)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

---

BigB visits a tipsy Scar. Skizz does paperwork. Etho sobs on the floor. Scott gets something to eat.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

T-rated descriptions of BigB discussing cuddles with Ren

---

bigbst4tz2 - Moth (Ex-Illusioner)

Status: Increasingly concerned

City inspector, private investigator, and town crier

🖤  🧡  💚

This is getting intense. It's pinching at his hearts. I need a better observation post. Thank Beef for the card shop, though- and its rooftop bar. It's not exactly a night of snuggling and macaroni, but Pearl's whisper over comm gave him a good excuse to duck out. He likes Ren. But Ren's… a lot. It's charming to see him playing with the young fox hybrids. Jimmy's presence helped soak some energy too; it's easier, see, to handle Ren in small doses or with a bigger group. But it's nice to stretch. He needs time with his own thoughts now and then.

BigB lands in a fwump of wings. Not many people are up here tonight. Yeah, card games don't tend to be an instinct programmed into mob behavior. This place will be busier come new moon night. Three people sit at the barstools, talking to someone that BigB barely glanced at. They look heavily modded. No full moon pulls for them. Scar's here too. After what he glimpsed when Scar was on the floor with Scott, he'd be more surprised if he wasn't. Didn't Martyn crash through his roof? Yikes.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks over his shoulder. Scar looks up. He's drinking alone tonight. Again, don't blame him. Heavier than usual for him, isn't it? Raw binary code sparkles in his shot glass. Scar's eyes glint off-green, all dim and hazy. His soul traits haven't sprung up, though his form seems to be a little loose around the shoulders.

"Hello, BigB! No, not at all- pull up a seat if you'd like. What's the word on the streets these days?"

BigB's antennae twitch forward. He climbs on top of a short block stack at the edge of the roof- the corner spot where the fence post railing connects. Yeah, this will work. It's easier to sit on than the posts themselves and he gets a decent view of Headquarters. Scar's just two tables over, within prox chat distance. BigB gets himself situated, flapping out his wings. He cracks open the eyespots to soak in as much area as he can. "Well… Impulse and Tango got some farms approved. They're only authorized to run it for short periods of time and they're on trial to prove they can follow through with the ethics requirements, but we might get renewable iron rolling in pretty soon. Dude, that would be a game-changer."

"Oh, really?" Scar takes another sip of his drink. His vex wings flutter at his shoulders. BigB doesn't need to turn around to see that. "You know, I've always wondered why we have glowing iron golems in this dimension, but not glowing iron. It really makes you think. What a quad- quandary."

"Hmm… I guess because it's a programmed drop, not a literal part of their body."

"True!"

What a day. One of the longest ones he's experienced in a while, seeing as he had check-in work in the morning, a full two weeks of recording, and city inspection work when he went offline. BigB yawns, thrumming his wings. But Pearl asked him to keep an eye on Scott, and Scott's definitely up to something. He snuck out a window. This should be interesting.

"BigB?"

"What?"

"Do you think Grian would like me more if I was a worm?"

He rolls one of his eyespots, trying not to show expression otherwise. "I'm sure Grian likes you fine." If this is some jab at soulmates and Double Life, it's not one he's up for tonight. Though that thought does wiggle beneath his exoskeleton and bite at every heart.

I bet Ren would like me more if I were a giant world-eating worm.

Maybe he would've been into that in a way he wasn't into a soft and fluffy moth who loitered in the corners of his eyes, following instructions instead of bossing him around. And as he thinks that, he pinches his brow and rubs up and down. Ren checked every box when they were soulmates. He flirted and flounced and nuzzled while living at Box…

… but Ren's into things that BigB was never going to be able to give him, like fangs and drool and razor-sharp claws. He embraced the roleplay. Pretended there was something there. They were cuddling shirtless every night. Even carroting sometimes, foreheads pressed and mouths soft as they huffed against each other's necks. Hands sliding, fingers tracing spiracles they could both feel, even though they were only legitimate on BigB's skin. Arms wrapped around each other. Backs arched as they whispered and chased that little lip of lust and trust.

"Oh no," Scar says softly, mostly to his drink. "He might not recognize me if I'm a worm. Do you think Cub still would?" Cub loves me, Scar adds in his mind. BigB can hear that, like he can hear everything, because of the way Scar's throat constricts on individual words. It's subtle, but he can. Because BigB always listens, and he picks up everything.

He flicks an antenna, but otherwise ignores this, lost in his own thoughts and the cold hand resting on his face. It's almost not fair, you know… how everyone in Double Life got paired with someone they could learn to love. Maybe had loved in the past. And he and Ren had golden history, twirling around each other like a moth chasing flames in 3rd Life and Last Life too.

But loving Ren is a loser's game from the start, if you aren't someone like Martyn who was born with spiny wings and lashing tail and fangs and drool and claws. Ren's a performer and very good when guiding partners through a rush of carrots, but he was never going to fall in love with BigB the way BigB tried to fall in love with him.

It's not like he didn't try. He cuddled too. He responded with what felt like enthusiasm every time Ren pulled him in, licking his cheeks and running hands down his sides. Pulling him down on the bed and into his arms. Day after day, week after week, he mirrored the motions and fell in love. Even when he knew it wasn't real. When he lay his head on Ren's rising, falling chest and gazed up at his sleepy, bristle-covered face.

Ren's such a rugged and handsome man, honestly. He loves working in the dirt. Maybe it's a dog thing. Maybe he just likes plants and tiny creatures in the soil. He's got the muscles of someone who rolls huge boulders aside just to take a peek at ants and worms. Maybe a fungus.

And he's beautiful, and he loves so much, and it's all too much sometimes (because it isn't real). So with wings whispering at his back… BigB rested his cheek and curled his fingers, biting bare skin, and asked him for the truth.

"If I mod in some ears and fangs and maybe a tail, would that do something for you?"

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

[l-y-e-a]

Stranger Things - Fic recs

Eddie Munson

Take the edge off by @ohcaptains Summary: You’ve been seeing Eddie for a couple of months now. still, you’re not always able to voice your desires -- don’t worry though, Eddie’s able to read you like a book.

Rumors pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 by @offictionandfandoms Summary: Eddie overhears Jason saying the reader and him kissed and he believes it.

Dancing with myself pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5 - pt. 6 - pt. 7 - pt. 8 - pt. 9 - pt. 10 by @ambrossart Summary: Eddie crashes senior prom hoping to steal a dance with his dream girl, Chrissy Cunningham. instead, he spends the night stuck in the women’s restroom with you—her snarky, insecure best friend.

Gentle with me pt. 1 - pt. 2 by @swingsuckerswing Summary: Reader asks Hawkins High’s favorite freak to deflower her before they graduate. Reader has had a crush on Eddie since forever and only trusts him to do it right. Unbeknownst to her, Eddie has also been crushing hard. He takes extra special care of her

Tell me a secret by @siempre-bucky Summary: A classic tale of idiots to lovers. The school freak who was surprisingly good at math agrees to tutor Hawkins High royalty, the Vice President who's on the verge of failing.

The angel and the devil by @farfromharry Summary: The two of you met at a halloween costume in polar opposite outfits. What started as Eddie being a gentleman and helping out a drunk girl, turned into a rapidly blooming crush. He believed it to be one sided after he thought you were avoiding him, but you were falling hard too, just too shy to admit to the guy you nearly puked on that he was kind of cute.

Safe pt. 1 - pt. 2 by @loeyparker Summary: You and Eddie see each other for the first time after you broke the friendship to protect him from the upside down.

Strange love by @strangermarvelss Summary: Eddie has a date, with someone who isn’t you. you’re less than thrilled about it

Bottled up by @lilacletter Summary: Eddie knows you like to pretend like nothing is wrong all the time. but when it all comes crashing down he’ll be there. every single time.

You made me hate this city by @marvelsswansong Summary: It was just a stupid bet. A way to prove Jason and his asshole friends wrong, to finally get under the blonde's skin. It was never supposed to end with Eddie falling in love, nor with him laying on your doorstep with bruised knees, begging for your forgiveness.

I'm not in love by @gwndolnfrankln Summary: As the photographer of the school's journalism club, you were given a task to take pictures of the hellfire club for the highschool yearbook. When everyone notices a sudden change in eddie munson's demeanor the night of the campaign, it may or may not have something to do with you.

Damn prejudice pt. 1 - pt. 2 by @itsoutrageouss Summary: Reader is new maybe they sit at the clubs table unintentionally, and Eddie comes off as rude or pushy and unknowingly hurts the readers feelings getting them to avoid the whole table and the next day Eddie apologizes after finding them in the woods crying.

Maybe it's inevitable by @ezm-imagines Summary: You build up the courage to finally ask Eddie on a date! But he thinks you’re just trying to buy drugs.

Just go with it pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 by @chimmyboii Summary: When Eddie is humiliated by Jason in the school cafeteria, cheerleader Y/N L/N decides to step in.

Post-modern, so satanic by @puckwritings Summary: You and Eddie have been dating for a while, and he notices your interest in his handcuffs. it turns out you really, really like it when he’s mean & scary.

Dumplin? by @rainylana Summary: The stress of a new baby has your relationship at the worst it’s ever been, and Eddie’s past childhood is worrying him sick about becoming a father.

Forbidden fruit pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 by @pedgito Summary: Something that is desired all the more because it is not allowed—you find yourself torn between the idea that even though Eddie is in a position of authority as your professor, he’s still what you crave the most.

The other Wheeler pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 by @sunflowergirl522 Summary: You’re normally the forgotten Wheeler to anyone other than Mikes friends but Eddie is captivated by you upon first glance.

I fucking hate you pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 by @strangerthedevil Summary: Reader is trying to recover from whatever tf happened yesterday and Eddie is getting a little too jealous seeing reader with other guys.

Movie stars by @ddejavvu Summary: Distracting Jason Carver means a lot of flirting, and Eddie isn't too happy about seeing his best friend hanging off of the star basketball player. Jealousy ensues, but will it ruin your friendship?

Eddie misses something important and breaks his promise by @indouloureux Calling Eddie by his name by @bunnywritesmarvel Shy!reader around Eddie's friends by @elliewlums Unexpected by @loveronlineee Family by @silent-stories Don't go away mad by @oneforthemunny

@luveline ↓

If it barks Eddie hits you during the naughty, but you're not up for it Shy!reader interrupts hellfire too much

@lovebugism ↓

Toxic people on Christmas eve eddie (accidentally) rejects shy!you when you ask him out eddie loves giving his shy!gf compliments steve and eddie vs aftercare (18+)

@moonstruckme ↓

Eddie can tell when you're feeling down Dealer!Eddie asks you out Eddie comforts you after a scary movie

Steve Harrington

@luveline ↓

Shy!reader x Steve at a BBQ Shy!reader wants affection Steve makes sure you pee afterwards

@lovebugism ↓

Steve makes ditzy!reader upset shy!you has a hard time adjusting after starcourt steve and his shy gf spend a morning together steve and eddie vs aftercare (18+)

Jim Hopper Losing your virginity to Hopper by @pinkandblueblurbs

[youandthemountains]

001 mckirk

when I started shipping it: TOS The Man Trap had me 👀😏 with Jim playfully handing him a bouquet of straw and teasingly calling him Plum while fixated on McCoy's (adorable) reaction to him calling him his ex's pet name and just generally being a giddy kid with a crush. This was before I could even recognize McCoy and had assumed I wouldn't like him based on fanon. The gifset that got me was the "Something I seldom say to a... customer. Don't destroy the one named Jim." with the lost captain looking up at him like he's the only hope for a map.

my thoughts: i enjoy them! This is entirely based on tos since I haven't seen anything else. I think they're interesting with how outside the starfleet hierarchy bones is to jim but also how much captain kirk does embody that hierarchy. I love how much Jim does listen to him until he doesn't lol.

what makes me happy about them: every time bones gives him big goofy smiles 🥰 every time they apologize to each other 🥰 the fact that he's Jim's emotional support comfort blanket doctor that he has to take everywhere with him 🥰 the way they're so young together - playful , antics, and also allowed to feel their vulnerability 🥰 that one novel line about how in Kirk's ideal world there would be no one in sickbay and Bones' job would be to have fun on the bridge with him.

what makes me sad about them: the way I think Jim's number one love really is the ship itself and how fast he can and must and will shift to being The Captain. The City on the Edge of Forever desperate horrified clinging hug. When jim Pieta carries bones after bones throws himself in front of torture happy aliens for him. Everyone of their therapeutic drinking sessions. Bones and Spock conducting a vaudevillian argument to make him laugh.

things done in fanfic that annoy me: when it's clear Jim's the blorbo at the expense of Bones where the relationship just reads depressingly one-sided but not intentionally so (on the other hand I do love fics that are intentionally about a depressing relationship lmao). When bones is overly grumpy or shouty or uses shots and physicals as threats and has little depth to him/his whole story is about being divorced and scared to love. I think His Deal is way more than that.

things I look for in fanfic: I haven't read much fic of just the two of them, I checked my bookmarks and the Jim/bones fics I've bookmarked are mostly mcspirk or as a past or side relationship. I guess honestly. stuff that plays with their power dynamic and differing priorities is fun. Anything where they're capable of having a messy genuine conversation bc that's what they do nearly every episode of tos. Letting them both have friends and pasts and past relationships!! I get so claustrophobic with any ship that's isolated but these two esp are so much more in focus within the greater context I think because of how much they both are entwined with the people they're responsible for.

who I'd be comfortable with them ending up with if not each other: I'm not that picky honestly as long as it's not the whole Inevitable Destiny spirk thing. The concept that bones obviously could never be on that level of mystical soul mate to them is so 🙄. Nearly everyone on the Enterprise is insane about each other in some way tbh. I'm trying to think if there's anyone I would actively be grossed out by them ending up with but I've seen nearly everything done well. I guess I don't understand either of them ending up with Chekov. I also don't really know who Carol Marcus is and so far haven't read anything that has made her any clearer. I also just personally don't see scotty/bones.

My happily ever after for them: I don't know how they end in canon yet!!

big spoon/little spoon: hm they switch off. If jim isn't in Captain Mode he's the big spoon and just indulges in bones in his arms but when he is in Captain Mode bones is the big spoon and has his back.

favorite non-sexual activity: giggling with each other on the bridge obv.

[purpleyin]

just like the sea

Another not!fic style ficlet, Kaz-centric with Kanej. Kaz & his complicated relationship with the sea and the harbor.

-

The first few years after he was reborn, Kaz avoided the harbour entirely. Even the streets closest to it smelled uncomfortably strongly of the sea air–of salt that he can almost taste in his mouth, prompting the urge to gag at the memory of the sea water–setting him on edge. He passed over the easy pickings to be had from the bustling close-knit crowds of travellers and tourists swarming off the boats at busy times. He could only watch with interest when occasionally one of the other barrel rats risked the lottery of 'lost' luggage, deciding to audaciously pilfer a whole suitcase for the excitement of unknown prizes inside.

But Kaz couldn't avoid it forever. Business was to be had at the harbour and he couldn't bow out of that now he had errands to be run, messages to pass on. He had to be reliable if he intended to prove himself and work his way up a gang, willing to do anything, even that. Even if that was nothing to absolutely anyone else–especially because that was nothing to anyone else. If business took him to the harbour he simply had to go. Using the canal boats in the city, being so close to the water, had made him unreasonably nervous too, at first, but he'd overcome that with careful practice, and he would overcome the memory of the harbour as well. He was nothing if not determined. To go to the harbour was to go to battle, the same as any scrap in an alley, he told himself – it was all simply a fight for survival in the barrel. And he would win, because he had to; there was no room for failure in his plans.

The harbour did not defeat him, but neither was it easy to endure. Over time, he had more memories made there – a mix of the mundane shipping dealings, the thrill of opportunistic thievery to be had while there, and that of occasional violence for enforcement reasons. The new memories slowly started to dilute the bad one that still lapped at his feet with each step closer to the waters. It got easier, but it would never be somewhere Kaz sought out. Always a chore, but at least now not too bad a risk, not something that threatened to expose his weakness each time.

Something changed when he held Inej in his arms at the docks, racing to get her to the Ferolind in time for Nina to save her. No longer was the harbour just Jordie's domain like it once had been, nor Kaz's reluctant place of business that he'd rebuilt it into in his psyche. Though a thoroughly unpleasant memory, Inej's blood spilled there in the name of protecting his Crows–protecting him–had somehow sealed Inej's place in his mind as associated with the docks too. The docks had brought her to the city, to him inadvertently, but fate, if it existed, was fickle and those same docks had nearly taken her from him. Almost but not quite; they continued to defy chance as certainly as Inej routinely appeared to defy gravity. It felt fitting somehow when the docks take her away again on the ship he had bought her. The difference is now the docks bring her back to him; her ship's berth a strange piece of home there, giving peace to them both, he hopes, for once.

Kaz still doesn't like to smell the saltiness of the sea breeze, but standing on the docks for Inej, it takes on another meaning these days, a scent tinged with hope. Sometimes Inej surprises him with a brief visit, just long enough to resupply and unload those they've saved who are keen to get going on their way home. As he and Inej get more comfortable with each other, she tends to avail herself of his comparatively luxurious bathroom after such a long time at sea. Coming directly to his rooms, washing the saltiness away with the selection of bath oils he keeps in there only for her use (except the rare night he uses them to feel closer to her).

Once though, Inej did not wash herself off before coming to his bed, and the smell of the sea caught up on her hair lingered on his pillow for days after she'd left. He still didn't like to smell the saltiness of the sea breeze itself, but with it mixed up with the unadulterated smell of her, and his fresher memories of the docks, it took on new meaning. When he closed his eyes and smelt that complicated scent it was easier to think of her there, or of standing on the docks with hope in his heart for her return.

The next time she returns only promised to him for a day, he lures her into his bed before she can wash the saltiness off herself, eager to replicate that happy accident. And Kaz keeps up that habit despite not initially meaning to, making excuses as to why she should come right to his bed. After a while, Inej notices his new habit and asks him why he keeps doing so, but he can't find the true words to explain, covering it up with a slightly different but no less intense, deliberately indirect, appeal to his having missed her, of not wanting to waste any time. If she knows he's leaving something out she doesn't call him on it, she accepts his put upon charm that disguises the more vulnerable reason he wants her there–his craving for something lasting of her to stick around in her absence.

Maybe one day he'll find the words to confess his secret desire, to share as much with Inej as she deserves from him, but for the time being action alone is easier. In compensation, he gives away a wide, entirely unsuppressed, smile at the triumph of his bare hand in hers tentatively pulling her to him.

[diamondmeadow]

ooh, I'm curious about Edinburgh Epic! 👀

So Edinburgh Epic is actually a strange thing, and I could talk about it forever. It is basically an idea that I used for one of my roleplays, which is now discontinued, but the whole premise is just too good to pass on, and I really hope I can turn it into a fic one day using my writing from it. The scary thing is, it can be nothing but a multichapter, possibly a very very long one at that, and I'm not very brave when it comes to longfic. It's sort of a band AU but not really at all. It takes place in Edinburgh, that's why Edinburgh Epic. Sirius trying to patch things up with the rest of the Marauders after he disappeared for five years after their graduation. He suddenly appears at their uni reunion and well, shit goes down. The reason for his disappearance silly as it can only get; he thinks Remus and James are in love (which isn't true, but it's still complicated). But of course, he's been pining for so long. And maybe Remus has been pining too, but god, they are oblivious. Sirius is not a very good person in this premise, but I love the idea of him as a very flawed being very much. It makes me want to write the fic all the more. There is a whole extensive lore for this that came around while the roleplay was going on, and much of it can't be used because the ideas are not all mine, but I'm hopeful I can rework it.

There are also a lot of graphics I made for the rp (fictional album covers), so posting some here for fun as well as a snippet I wrote for the rp.

If it's to any interest haha.

There he is. He is! This isn't a joke, but that's no surprise. Sirius could never doubt Remus after all; the other has never given him any reason to. Unlike Sirius, who's been giving them to everyone around him. His brows knit in an unconscious pained look, not because of his injuries, but because of the way Remus is looking at him. Sirius doesn't know what to do with himself. It is bright enough with all the city night lights, not like back in the quad with Reg, but Sirius now wishes it was the other way around. It's hard to look into the face of things he has done. Into Remus' face where it is all being reflected, the black eye that he's given him by an accident a burning testimony. Sirius wants to reach out, let his fingers apologise for him. Well, that privilege he lost years ago. And yes, Sirius has his reasons for everything, yes, he does, but no one is asking, no one is interested. Honestly, at this point he starts believing that's how that ought to be. He doesn't deserve forgiveness. He doesn't deserve a chance to explain. He doesn't deserve to be anywhere near Remus nor James nor Peter, nor anyone really. His eyes fall down to his own feet and watch his own steps as he follows Remus, wherever he os taking them. Just say something, anything. Whoever the thought is directed to. I'm sorry. Remus, Moony, Moons, I'm so terribly sorry. Looking up just enough to see the way Remus' pace looks strained and heavy, the way he is gripping at his cane, Sirius feels a pang of pain somewhere near his heart. Very real physical pain coupled with his lung feeling as if someone kept stomping on them. Remus, how are you? What can I do? Let me ... take ... Then Sirius hears him, sees the napkin at the edge of his vision. They stop. Sirius reaches out for the offered item, his fingers hesitating for a millisecond; does he have any right to accept the kindness? Remus, always thinking of others when the only person he should be thinking about is himself. Remus, who absolutely wouldn't accept others thinking about him the same way in spite of the fact he would give himself and his everything to anyone who asked. No, actually people don't even have to ask. Remus. At last, Sirius clutches the napkin in his hand, then in the other, finally neatly folding it, smoothing it on his palm, before pressing it under his nose. He inhales, closing his eyes, a familiar scent hitting his nostrils, but when he looks again, there's no trace of blood on the pristine fabric. It knows too. In itself or as a part of Remus even the napkin's rejecting him. "I... tried to clean up before. And now the blood's all dried up and won't really ... come off. That's okay." His voice comes off a little shaky as he rambles. Sirius is ashamed of how much the events of the night are affecting him. He is afraid Remus might come to pity him. But he's worthy of none of that genuine compassionate feeling the other is so capable of. Sirius quickly pushes the napkin into the pocket on his trousers instead before Remus can ask for it. At least... let me have this. Sirius looks up quickly. Is it okay? "How is your eye? Does it hurt very much?" No improvement shows in his voice. A car's passed them just as he speaks up again and his question is drowned in the sounds of the engine. He steps closer and repeats. "Does your eye hurt very much?"

[yellowpamonha]

Hi! You said in your bio that you wanted fic recs so I thought I'd share the ones that I immediately downloaded after reading them so I wouldn't lose them, in case you might enjoy them! They're all k/s, and most can be read as either tos or aos. Dm me if you read any of them, or just to talk or recommend me some fics yourself! I have more recs (a lot lot more) so if you're looking for something in specific I might be able to point you in the right direction! Also I'm glad you liked my angsty art (the dear fellow traveler comic) thanks a lot! LLAP

"The Book of Love": HURT/comfort, made me cry, beautiful, literary references (a lot of them), Jim gets injured. 7000 words. https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513533

"Ni'Var": also hurt/comfort, this one's set in the His Dark Materials universe so maybe it doesn't appeal as much to people who haven't read those books, tho you don't need to read them to understand it since the only non-trek thing it has is the existence of daemons (human souls are outside their bodies in the shape of an animal). Either way it's beautiful and reads like a fairy-tale. 11000 words. https://archiveofourown.org/works/883088

"so. wē spacemen in geārdagum": I'm a nerd, this one is one chapter fully in old english (and I mean. Old English) and the next one is the translation. It's very short and beautiful, and it's beautiful because of the language it's written it, and I recommend it at least as a curiosity. It's set during city on the edge of forever. 3000 words. https://archiveofourown.org/works/42430848/chapters/106559934

"Spaceships, Private Jets, and Minivans: How to Start a Global Incident in 5 Minutes Flat": FUN. I love first contact fics and this is my favorite. Teenage Jim showing Spock, who just land-crashed on his field, around Earth. Shenanigans ensue. 49000 words. https://archiveofourown.org/works/9338150/chapters/21159536

Oh, thank you so much, that’s so kind! I’m definitely reading them asap, they all sound amazing and I haven’t read them yet. When I do, I’ll send you a message!

And oh your art is so beautiful, I listened to the song and it was really touching, very Jim-feelings (and I’m still not over their hands touching and parting)

[lenievi]

[ficlet] Spock/McCoy #2

I wrote a short continuation to this prompt, but I decided to repost the previous part as well. It’s intended as a part of my McCoy and Spock getting together wip, so I’m sure I’ll rewrite it later to fit with whatever comes later, but I also like this version...

pre-relationship

+++

“Why is it that every time I get into a shuttlecraft with you, something happens?” McCoy asked five hours after they had to make an emergency landing, and after Spock finally admitted he did not have the means to fix the malfunction that had forced them to land.  

“I do not think that twice could be considered every time, Doctor.”

“Maybe not, but last time we got stuck on a planet. This time? We got stuck on a planet. Do you see the pattern?”

Spock could not deny the logic in McCoy’s statement. He sat down next to McCoy.

“It will take the Enterprise four point seven hours before it gets here.”

McCoy leaned his head against the metal shell of the shuttlecraft. After five days spent on this planet breathing fresh air, neither of them wished to sit inside the small craft. The sun and wind, too, were pleasant.

“Let’s hope there are no wild animals around here,” McCoy said.

“Nothing bigger than an Earth’s wolf.”

“That’s not actually comforting, Spock.”

“Doctor Ma said the predators live in the mountains and do not come to the plains.”

“And you said we landed two hundred kilometers away from the village,” McCoy pointed out.

“You can go inside the shuttlecraft, Doctor.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“I did not say you were.”

“Do you always--” McCoy started, but stopped and shook his head. “Five more hours. Then I don’t want to see you for a week.”

“That does not--”

McCoy put his hand over Spock’s mouth. “Shhh.”

The change of McCoy’s position brought their faces close. For five seconds Spock sat completely still, his heart pounding in his side. Then he gripped McCoy’s wrist and pulled the hand away.

McCoy's eyes were flitting around Spock's face, and he was blinking rapidly, his cheeks redder now.

“Sorry,” McCoy said, looking away. He tugged at his hand, and Spock let it go. Neither of them moved.

Spock did not remember the last time McCoy had initiated a touch that was not related to a medical examination. McCoy was tactile with Kirk, but not with Spock, and that realization made him stop.

“Doctor--”

“Spock, I think I’m going to get some shut-eye if you don’t mind,” McCoy said and stood up.

“Very well.” Before McCoy disappeared in the shuttlecraft, Spock asked, “Do you want me to wake you up before the Enterprise gets here?”

“Thanks.” McCoy didn’t look back. 

The sound of the door closing was loud.

*

The weather on P-23 changed fast. Nearly two hours after McCoy had disappeared inside the shuttlecraft, it started to rain, and Spock had no other choice but to join him.

McCoy had taken out a blanket and lay on the ground in between the seats.

“Is it time?” McCoy asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

“No. There are still two point one hours left before the Enterprise gets here.”

McCoy lay down again, throwing an arm over his face. Spock, deciding that talking to McCoy would be counterproductive at this point, grabbed his PADD, and sat down in the pilot’s chair.

The sound of the falling raindrops against the front glass and the top of the shuttlecraft was nostalgic and soothing. It didn't often rain in ShiKahr but when it did, Spock would sit close to the windows in his room, watching the drops splash against the glass, listening to the sounds of the rain, more often than not drawing on his PADD.

When he was a child, drawing was easier than talking. When words would fail him, when his emotions and thoughts would overwhelm him, he would take a stylus and give shape to everything he wasn’t able to name. Would it be helpful now as well?

Spock leaned against the back of the chair and watched the raindrops merge together. Perhaps McCoy had been right, and a short break from each other's company would be beneficial for he could not shake off the sensation of McCoy's palm pressed over his mouth, his heartbeat getting faster, and the image of McCoy’s bright blue eyes and flushed cheeks that were strangely aesthetically appealing at that moment.

“Spock?” McCoy’s voice, despite being quiet, sounded loud in the narrow space. 

"Yes, Doctor?"

"You should take off that wet tunic."

Spock ran his fingers over the sleeve. It should dry soon. “It is not an inconvenience,” he said. He had gone inside before it started to pour.

“Not an inconvenience, he says,” McCoy murmured and stood up. Spock tried to turn around, but a blanket covered his head. “Use this before you catch a cold.”

“Vulcans do not catch colds, Doctor,” Spock said as he pulled the blanket into his lap. He could smell the remnants of McCoy’s unique scent as well as the musty smell of the blanket. Mixed together, they were not pleasant.

“Yeah, it smells,” McCoy said, sitting down in the co-pilot’s seat. “God knows how long it’s been in the storage. Better than nothing, though.”

McCoy’s eyes flickered to the top of Spock’s head, and he smiled. A teasing sort of a smile Spock had learned meant nothing good, and yet there was something in McCoy’s expression that was different this time. New. And McCoy didn’t say anything. Only shook his head and faced the front of the shuttlecraft.

Spock glanced at the screen of his PADD and awkwardly patted down his disheveled hair, ignoring McCoy completely. He kept the blanket in his lap and switched on his PADD.

*

An hour later, Spock inspected his drawings, unsatisfied, and pressed delete. 

[dxckgrxsonx]

Quiet Realisations (ii)

Pairing - Jason Todd X (F) Reader (Friends to Lovers) Words - 3.2k Warnings - Angst - Nightmares - Mentions of Blood & Violence - Mentions of Death/Murder - Platonic Affection - Comfort - So Many Feelings - Swearing - Jason can project his dreams/nightmares onto others. Notes - I’ve been reading about the potential that Jason can do strange things after being brought back. So for the purpose of this fic - and also for angst reasons - Jason can project his dreams/nightmares onto others. There will also be other weird mentions throughout this series because I think its cool.

PART ONE // MASTERLIST

**

‘How many times can the same thing break your heart? As long as you love it.’

**

He’s waiting for you outside of work.

You don’t know how your brain does it. How it can sweep over a crowd on autopilot and find him without you knowing. How it searches, soft and hungry for the tell-tale signs of his presence. Most of the time you walk out into the world, blink in the blinding face of the sun and there he is, there he is.

Right in the centre, like a perfect splash of colour.

Sometimes, you think you could recognise him by touch alone, could close your eyes, be blind to the world and still find him; strong and soft and so goddamn kind it punches painfully through your chest like a thousand knives; makes you feel like you’re dying.

You think you could find him in death’s bony arms. Maybe even in the grave. Or at the very end of the world.

You wonder sometimes, if he could do the same.

Not for the first time you wish he knew, wish you could open your mouth and let the truth come out. Doesn’t he know? You want to cry. Doesn’t he know that this thing in your chest is forever? That it's eternal?

That it’s his?

**

Your smile comes easy when you approach him, work bag hanging from one shoulder.

Jason meets you halfway, fingers fiddling with something in his pocket. In your head, your brain hands you the answer to what it is on reflex. It’s the same sort of easy knowledge that comes from looking out of the window and seeing Gotham shrouded in grey clouds and rain.

It’s easy. It’s predictable.

It’s this: Jason’s armed.

Over the time you’ve known him, you’ve picked up on his habits. Jason carrying weapons isn’t anything new, doesn’t come as a surprise. You’ve never seen where all of them are on his person. But sometimes, if you watch him in your peripheral vision, you’ll get a hint, a barely there clue.

There’s a blade in his pocket. One tucked into his boot. The handle of something sharp and shining at his hip.

Gotham has always had a serrated edge of unpredictability. Never had a pattern that could be deciphered or predicted. The fluttering urge to be prepared is something you learn, something the city teaches. Its lessons are vast and you either pay attention or find yourself dumped in the harbour.

You’ve always seen Gotham as something alive, something breathing and tangible. A teacher, a guide, a twisted lesson. It lives under your feet and sometimes, you think you could reach out your hand and hold its beating heart in your palm.

It’s not beautiful.

But a home never really is.

**

Jason wordlessly reaches out a hand when you’re close enough, one hand still in his pocket. He gestures to the bag over your shoulder without looking, eyes flicking across the street. Internally, you wonder how he’s able to tell exactly where your bag is without looking.

“No.” You say, quickly sidestepping him and leaning out of his reach. “This is my bag, get your own.”

His eyes quickly narrow in suspicion when he slants his attention to you, mouth pressing into a barely controlled line. Your stomach drops like an anchor when you watch him start to assess you. His focus is heavy and you can’t help the way the hair at the back of your neck stands on end.

Sometimes, it’s like he can stare straight through you.

His sharp gaze suddenly flicks to the bag over your shoulder and then to the tight lines of your face. His head tilts slightly to the side, fingers tapping insistently at his thigh as he thinks. You finally notice that he’s stopped fiddling with the object in his pocket.

Jason has always been clever, irritatingly so. There was a point where you thought you were just bad at lying. Bad at anything that meant holding the truth close to your chest and tucking it behind your ribs. But on multiple occasions he’s looked at you, studied your body language and eerily linked the dots together.

You’re not bad at lying.

He’s just a smart ass son-of-a-bitch.

Jason’s pretty eyes light up as realisation dawns, and you furiously tighten your jaw when he smirks, “You’ve stolen office supplies again, haven’t you?”

Bastard!

“That is pure speculation.” You start, tugging your bag closer to your side and walking away. “Do I look like I could commit robbery?”

Jason carefully raises one eyebrow, easily falling into step beside you and giving you a long, slow look from head to toe, “The last time we went to BatBurger you filled your pockets with packets of sugar and about fifty straws, so yes, I think you’re capable of taking office supplies.”

“This is pure slander. You’re damaging my sparkling reputation” You argue, ignoring the way Jason side eyes you, clearly not convinced. “And you can’t say anything, I distinctly remember watching you come clambering through my window with a garbage bag full of stolen shoes.”

“Hey!” Jason grumbles, jabbing you in the side with his thumb. “Those shoes weren’t for me and you know it.”

The memory unpacks itself without warning and you find yourself in endless freefall.

You remember drinking coffee in the early hours of the morning. Remember sitting cross legged in front of the sofa and sorting through a scary amount of mis-matched shoes. You remember the openness on Jason’s face, the soft edges of his mouth whenever you yawned but refused to go to bed.

The shoes were sturdy and made from good quality material, but they were so little it made you want to cry.

Children’s shoes, you’d realised. They were children’s shoes.

“I know, I know. They were for those kids in The Bowery.” You say, and if Jason catches onto the thickness in your voice, he doesn’t say a word. You’re thankful for it, you think that if he even so much as looks at you, you’ll burst into tears.

And yet under it all, there's something beautifully warm flaring awake in your stomach when you recall the things Jason has done. The way he fiercely protects those kids because he knows what it’s like to be them. To have nothing at all. Not even proper shoes on your feet.

But there’s also a catastrophic stab of grief wedging itself between the bones of your spine when you think of him as a child. Think of him, back to the wall, facing off the whole goddamn world on his own. It feels like bleeding from an un-stitched wound, it feels like being unmade.

You think of where he came from and where he is now and want to cry. Want to crack your chest wide open to the world just to let the feeling out, because sometimes holding it inside yourself is unbearable.

“It is starting to get cold out again.” You mutter thoughtfully as you walk, looking up at the darkening Gotham sky and suppressing a shiver. “We can always go and totally legally acquire some winter clothing for them.”

Jason’s pace doesn’t falter, but you catch his fingers in your peripheral as they twitch in your direction, like he wants to reach out.

You’ve noticed that when you say something that surprises him, Jason reflectively tries to show some sort of quiet affection. A brush of hands, a soft look. It’s there and then it’s gone again, like he grapples with the urge and shoves it down. Like he’s embarrassed by his own desire to express fondness, gratitude.

Recently, you’ve taken to crossing the gap.

Your own hand reaches out, fingers just barely brushing feather light across the back of Jason’s hand. Jason swallows, throat working hard. His fingers flex, almost like he wants to move so you’re palm to palm, but instead he nudges your hand, just slightly, a barely there pressure and then pulls away.

It’s not much, but it’s enough.

He fiddles with the object in his pocket again, and the curiosity drags itself out from behind your teeth, “What do you have in there?”

Jason hesitates, you feel it down the marrow of your bones. If he doesn’t want to tell you, you’ll accept it, move on and pretend you never asked. You think he knows this, knows that he doesn’t have to tell you a damn thing if he doesn’t want to.

Slowly, Jason pulls out the item from his hoodie pocket. And your heart swells in your chest.

“You kept it?” You breathe, touching the tips of your fingers to the object laid in his palm. It’s been weeks. Glancing at his face, you find that he’s already watching you, studying your reaction. It’s not fear swirling in his eyes, its anxiousness, almost like he’s afraid that you’ll take it away. “We really need to get you a keyring for that thing, I don’t want you losing it.”

Your apartment key looks small in Jason’s palm, and you use your hand to close his fingers around the piece of metal.

It’s yours, you want to say, I won’t ever take it away.

**

You’ve always had the thought that dreams can be haunted.

That dreams and nightmares loop together in the face of something beyond the world you live in. Whether by memories, ghosts, or some freak external manipulation, you’ve always had the idea that dreams are more than dreams since you were a child.

It’s a way of communicating you would think, young and naïve and trying to believe that if you tried hard enough, you could speak to those you’ve lost.

Jason appears in your dream.

He’s young. Someone’s laughing but it sounds wrong. There’s blood. So much blood. And the sight of it makes you sick. There’s yellow, and green, and red. So much red. Jason is young. He’s in pain. The laughter gets louder. It’s wrong, the sound of it is wrong. Metal drags over concrete. He’s in pain.

Jason is staring right at you, he’s telling you to run.

“Which one hurts more?” Someone says, and their voice makes your skin crawl. “Forehand?” Metal hits flesh and your throat closes up. “Or backhand?”

You can’t breathe.

You’re sitting upright in bed.

The darkness in your room feels alive, feels like it’s got teeth, and you scramble out from under the covers, choking on a soundless scream. You wrench open your bedroom door and try to get to the bathroom before your legs collapse from underneath you.

On the sofa, Jason’s already awake, head in his hands.

He looks tired.

He looks almost haunted.

Your eyes meet for a split second and you feel unceasing grief snake around your throat. He’s in pain. You’re going to be sick. Jason leaps to his feet and there’s an overlap in your head. You see him young, see him afraid, see him bleeding.

He was a child. 

You slam the bathroom door closed. Lock it. In your head you can still hear him, words slurring in his blood filled mouth, telling you to run. Bile burns at the back of your throat. You want to yank your beating heart straight from your chest.

Jason’s banging on the door. The worry in his voice has you choking up. You close your eyes and you can still see him, bleeding into the dark. There was so much blood. So much pain. Maniacal laughter rings in your head and you clap your hands over your ears to try and drown it out.

You know Jason was murdered. He told you straight to your face. But there's something almost unholy about watching from the sidelines. Something monumentally heart-breaking at knowing there’s nothing you can do; this has already happened.

You hear Jason calling your name, “Please sweetheart, open the door.”

There’s a lump in your throat and you open your mouth to speak, but the words won’t come out. Resting with your hands on the bathroom counter you look up, glance at your reflection in the mirror. You look empty, look like someone reached inside you and pulled everything out, stuffed something else in the gap.

“It was a nightmare, right?” Jason asks through the door, voice soft, even. He sighs, like he knows exactly what’s going through your head, knows how it feels to wake up breathless. “S’not real, sweetheart. You’re awake now. You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen.”

It was real, you want to cry, it was real and you were just a child.

**

Sunlight streaks in through the living room window.

You still keep the latch undone, something inside you continuing to protest the thought of closing it. Even now. Even though you know Jason has a key. Frigid early morning air sweeps through the room and you tug your jacket closer, trying to trap in the smallest amount of warmth.

On the sofa, Jason glances up, and you try not to startle when his face bleeds into tired agony for a split second before returning to normal.

“You look like shit.” Jason says, and it wrenches a surprised laugh from your chest.

“Fuck you.”

Jason’s mouth tugs up at the edges, halfway to a smile but almost like he lost the urge part way through. The tight line of his shoulders softens and there’s a whisper of guilt knocking at each curved rib. He looks tired. Like he hasn’t slept well for weeks.

“You should get some more sleep, Jay.” You try, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out, to comb through his hair. The guilt rears up over your head, poised like a sharp blade. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

You blink, and Jason’s standing in front of you. He touches your arm, gently, as if the mere act of pressure would turn you to dust. There’s something heavy in his eyes and you wonder for a split second if he knows what you dreamt about.

You wonder if he knows it wasn’t your nightmare.

That it was his.

It’s not the first time it’s happened, and it never gets any easier.

“You’re going to work?” He asks, and you watch as his mouth dips into a frown.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach out and stroke your thumb over his bottom lip. Jason’s eyelids flutter and his hand moves from your arm, to your shoulder, then to the back of your neck. He tugs you in close, close enough that the warmth from his body soaks into your jacket.

“Yeah,” You whisper, shifting to brush a wayward strand of hair out of his eyes. “Turns out the world doesn’t stop if you have a nightmare.”

The sound of metal on concrete echoes in your ears. Insane laughter bleeding through the cracks, and you hear him again, young and terrified, telling you to run. He’s in pain. He was a child. You don’t know if the grief will ever stop.

Jason laughs like what you said was funny, like it's an inside joke only he understands. He rests his forehead against yours for the space of three breaths, then pulls away, leaving you cold. He turns his back, tips his head to the ceiling and you see his fingers tapping at his thigh.

Jason spins to face you, there’s something unreadable in his eyes.

“Yeah.” He smirks, but it looks wrong on his face, looks horribly bitter. “The world doesn’t stop for much of anything.”

**

Leaving work early comes as an easy decision.

The thought of Jason left alone in your apartment makes you feel like your bones are splitting apart, has you convinced that you're haemorrhaging from a fatal wound.

He looked so tired when you left, and you wonder how much sleep he’s actually been able to get lately.

Shoving open your apartment door you find Jason sat at your kitchen table. Your eyes snap to the various disassembled weapons spread out across the surface. Each piece looks meticulously placed and for a brief moment, you’re overwhelmingly impressed with Jason’s ability to easily identify each component.

“Hey,” Jason says, “You’re back early. Everything okay?”

Dumping your bag on the floor you approach him, eyes drawn to the tense line of his shoulders. You want to touch him there, want to release the tension twisted up tight in the muscle, “You looked tired when I left this morning, figured we could take a nap so you’re ready for patrol this evening.”

“Aw.” He mocks, defensive, maybe guarded. He won’t look you in the eye, “Don’t tell me you were worried about me.”

Your eyebrow cocks up, arms crossing over your chest, “I’m always worried about you.” You confess, swallowing thickly. Jason finally looks at you. You think he wants to say something, but the words aren’t coming. “Are you okay?.”

“I’m fine.” Jason mutters, going back to cleaning the mess of metal on your table. Then dismissively, “You worry too much.”

“Of course I do.” You say quietly, biting at your bottom lip. You don’t know what to do with your hands; torn between reaching out to Jason, or holding yourself for comfort. “You’re my best friend, Jay.”

Silence settles heavy between you. Jason darts his gaze around the room, knee bouncing under the table. He looks unsure, worried. Like you’ve given him the answer to a question he’s been obsessing over for years.

“I worry about you too.” He finally says, and you can barely hear his voice. It's so quiet. Jason still won’t look you in the eye, like if he sees you it makes something real, makes it tangible. “You haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

There’s a twist and pull at your heart, you can’t find the words to tell him that you haven't been sleeping well because he hasn’t been sleeping well either. In your head, you think that if you tell him he’s projecting his nightmares, you’ll never see him again.

It’s selfish, you know this.

You touch your fingers to Jason’s shoulder, walk them to the back of his neck so you can tug lightly at his hair. Goosebumps prickle over his skin, fine hairs standing on end at the softness of your touch.

“It’s just been a rough few weeks, it’ll pass.”

The tension in Jason's shoulders finally softens and the knot in your chest loosens. It feels like being able to breathe again. The rush of relief makes you lightheaded, makes you sway. Scratching at his scalp you feel Jason shudder, his knee’s stopped bouncing under the table.

Small victories.

“Come on, Jay. A few hours of sleep will do us good. You haven’t been sleeping well either.” He finally concedes, making a low noise in the back of his throat like you’re wounding him, like you’re causing him pain. A smile tugs at your mouth, “You’re such a baby, Todd.”

Jason huffs out a laugh, you feel like you could reach out and touch the scorching surface of the sun. Leaning down you press a kiss to the crown of his head.

Jason sighs like you’ve spread balm over an aching wound. Tipping his head back he rests against your stomach, eyes closed. Smoothing the pads of your fingers over his eyelids and then down to his jaw, you fight for a full breath when he peaks one eye open to look at you.

“You’re upside down.” He grins, then moves to poke your nose. “I can see up your nose.”

Swatting his hand away you flick him on the forehead, “You’re a fucking idiot.”

**

[breadbap1]

Under the Blue Sky

Summary:

Honestly, Momo couldn’t be more shocked to see the familiar looking companion just a few feet away.

His sensors keep adjusting, as if he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him. Afraid that it's all just a fleeting dream…. But it's not.

It's clementine, it's really her….underneath the beautiful blue sky…

The barrier between the slums and midtown is gone now. So too the two long lost companions…

(IM BACK AFTER MY MIDTERM-HIATUS 🤩🤩🤩, ill try my best to keep making art, also i hope you enjoy this tiny clemomo fic)

The eternal darkness of walled City 99 has been replaced by the warmth of the sunlight, and the companions are finally free. Momo the outsider, was not here to gaze at glowing balls made of gas, burning many million kilometers away from his current position anymore. No, he was here with Doc.as they tried to fix the broken elevator that hasn't been operational for god who knows how long.

“You know there's a 0.000275% percentage of this rusted excuse of an elevator to actually be fixed, momo” Doc called out, trying to persuade the straw-hatted companion to give it a rest. 

“Then it's not impossible is it not? I'll take that chance anytime” Momo answers with a tired smile on his screen. Doc has never seen such a rare sight, back in those days when momo is the one to give up on the outsiders grand plan. Here he is, hardworking as ever as he modified the elevator’s platform and adjusted the counterweight.

“Haha, I never thought I would see the sight of you other than your cowardice, momo. No offense” Doc laughed as the other companion made a buzzing noise of disagreement and an angry face on his screen.

“I'm not Doc! It's just that….us outsiders have made sacrifices for our cause. You traveled through the dead city to test the defluxor, Zbaltazaar and Clementine have moved on and keep moving forward to the surface. And yet here I am, remaining down here in the slums. Doubting all our causes just because I was scared…”

“Momo…..” Doc couldn't comprehend any words.

“But all is well now, I feel a lot braver now. Seeing the little furball journeying its way outside, gives me the courage I need. And we will fix this blasted elevator if its the last thing i ******* do” now there's a hint of hope in the obscene tone of momo’s voice. And that's all the reassuring Doc needs to help his fellow companion.

“Well what are we waiting for, let's do this!” Doc exclaims in delight as he brings his wrench and fetches his boy, Seamus for a little support and assistance. Together they work tirelessly through day and night, fixing every single scrap of the main elevator. And those days were not all in vain.

For the first time in forever, the gate between the slums and midtown has been restored. The crowds underneath the elevator couldn't hold back their excitement. 

“We did it momo” Doc couldn't hide the feeling of proudness he has for achieving this impossible task. Momo could only reply with a small smile as he looked upwards to the giant wall that separates the boundaries between the slums and midtown. 

“I'm coming for you clementine”

Chapter 2

Clementine had never thought this day would come, Frankly, she honestly lost all hope after her relentless escape from the Sentinels got her on the edge. Nevertheless, here she was, still standing, shortly after all the ceilings were opened. Finally, she smiled.

As she walked through the streets of midtown, She watched as the companions of the city bustled with activities. They laughed and sang and were shocked. Definitely shocked. It had finally happened. The Outside…the sky… Everyone was happy and free. A few started dancing, a male companion started to swing his woman around after a safe landing on the other side. If they were human, they both would have tears in their eyes.

An old looking man collapsed upon setting foot on the grounds of western Berlin. Hesitantly he started feeling the ground beneath his legs with trembling fingers. Same as Ludwig, he had never dreamt that this day would come.

A few young residents of midtown jumped all together and yelled vividly in delight. She could feel their excitement pulsing through her circuits, their thrill as they pushed through the crowd, looking for their long-lost lovers. Friends… Families…she could feel their overwhelming joy and mesmerization upon them.

They threw themselves at each other and laughed and sang and cried together. What a wonderful sight indeed, Clem would love to share it, if only…

If only she didn't leave them, leave him down in the slums. Because honestly, what is the point of seeing the outside if there isn't anyone to see it with you?

Leaving the cheering crowd, clementine chose to return to her hidden residence, scooting through the bustling crowds in the streets and finally made it to her humble abode. Without any more objectives left in her timetable, she merely rested her metallic body inside her object (junk)-filled bathtub and looked at the shimmering light through her window. She merely sighed and finally realizing, that she is all alone up here….

Minutes passed and now days had gone by, Clementine had lost count if it wasn't for the loud banging in her front door. Honestly, who in their right mind would dare to come near the house of a criminal? As she dragged her sluggish metallic body, armed herself with a desk lamp that she used to defend herself against the small companion back then, she gently opened the door and saw a magenta coloured companion.

Bonobot, that’s his name. You might know him as one of the poetic companions that lives behind the beyond-fixed elevator, one of the midtown companions who’s nice enough to befriend the female outsider. But due to her “criminal activities” they rarely hang out anymore.

“What are you doing here?” Clementine quickly puts down her lamp, and suddenly her voice box was hushed down by the other companion’s index finger. Honestly, that makes her want to punch the ridiculous companion down, almost anyway.

“Shhh, hear that? That ebb, that flow” and of course that poetic nonsense she heard tirelessly from the magenta coloured companion.

“What in midtown are you talking about?” clementine asked, as she rolled her sensors. But she immediately dragged by hand as she confusedly walked through the same old streets and finally made it to the elevator.

“Okay now would you please tell me why we're here in the first place?” but again, it's not an answer she gets, but another index finger shushing her up, she swore she really wants to punch him.

“Do you hear that down below?” Clementine was this close to smack the companion’s head if she suddenly hears the distant rustling of metal. That foreign sound comes from down below, it feels like the whole elevator platform is shaking soundly, clementine could only hold onto the railing and tighten her grip on the rusted metal.

“It- it can't be…” she senses the elevator rising up and finally, Finally reaches up successfully. As it stopped, the dust and debris fell through the road, as other companions from the city approached the small elevator, some of their expressions were filled with confusion, and some full of glistening hope, including clementine. 

But then she realized, the elevator door isn't opening (why hasn't it opened yet?). But her questions was answered as she heard the door being forcefully opened, by a single companion. There’s only one companion in all of the slums (besides guardian) who has that kind of hidden strength.

 A Grunting voice with a slight undertone of nervousness and subtlety. A warm voice, full of hope and joy. A familiar voice. So painfully familiar, she had to clutch her chest.

 “Its….”

Chapter 3 

“Darn it, out of all the things that you forgot to inspect earlier, it had to be the front door” Doc grumbles in annoyance as he struggles trying to open the door while momo just chuckles nervously behind. 

“It's no use papa, the door’s seals shut” pants seamus, his energy were all used up trying to open the stupid door, but to no avail.

“Perhaps i could give it a try” 

“No offense momo, but I don't think you're strong enough to even open a can of..”

Not allowing Doc to finish that sentence, Momo scoots to the front and uses both of his hands to forcefully stretch each end of the door with his (hidden) brute strength alone. And with that, the door finally opened.

“.....oil” Doc could only finish that single word, if he had a jaw, it would've dropped by now. And seamus could only muffled his laughter silently until he got a slight tap on the head. But all was silent when the three companions saw the peeping light through the door.

Momo was the first to come out, as he checked the surroundings looking for the one he's been searching for, he only saw the confusing sight of countless sea of companions. His grip on the door loosened when he finally found the familiar sight.

Honestly, Momo couldn’t be more shocked to see the familiar looking companion just a few feet away.

His sensors keep adjusting, as if he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him. Afraid that it's all just a fleeting dream…. But it's not.

It's clementine, it's really her….underneath the beautiful blue sky…

She stood out against the crowd, standing next to Bonobot. Her Gray newsboy hat, orange scarf, black pants and her eyes were blue, bluer than the color of the sky in all its glory. Her Hand grasped the fabric of her pants as she hugged her lanky arms around herself.

She tried to speak but no words came out. All she can do is flashed a little smile to him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clementine could feel something caught her attention and as she turned her monitor towards whoever it was inside, her mind went blank. Sure, she had expected many things, However, she was not prepared for those eyes she felt herself captured by. She was not prepared to face her and it all seemed to shatter as soon as she locked her eyes with momo.

"Clem?" He moved towards her, hesitantly, wondering, hoping, he was filled with a sense of belonging and a feeling that was the word finally in all its entirety, something that he hadn't known in too long. Out reached his hand, a question mark rising up out of his monitor  and towards the stilled companion.

Her sensors widened again at his familiar voice, Clementine took in the other companions’ appearance; slightly sweaty on the monitor, his Long jacket with tropical pattern are still trashy as ever, but most importantly, he looked different. Not as much of a scaredy “cat” since the last day they saw each other, and not as sad as she remembers. He looked much calmer, content and… cool.

Momo noticed how her entire body had started trembling, that her shoulders had slumped. Despite all this, he could feel his legs moving, approaching her. Faster and faster, until he literally jumped and threw himself into her wide-open arms. He clasped his arms around Clementine, mentally swearing to himself to never let her go again. Simultaneously, she could feel arms closing around her neck and hugging her so tightly like a precious gem. Not that clementine minded it one bit.

“momo…” she laughed, she heard Momo laughing as well, soft tremors rocking through their metallic body. And as Gilbert mustered the courage to finally look at Ludwig’s face, if they were human. she could probably see tears, dripping and running down his monitor. But she knew she herself would be crying as well.

"Took you long enough."

They stayed on the ground, embracing each other for what it felt like eternity, every second to make up for every year they were apart. “You are really here” Momo breathed, then tightened his grip around Clementine and hid his face in her shoulder, if he was afraid that the female companion would suddenly disappear from his sight again. And to let out all the emotions that he had buried inside for those long long years that he had watched and waited and hoped and eventually gave up on her.

“Yes I'm here….”

“I'm so sorr-”

“Hush, not now. Let me enjoy this moment”

“....alright”

Doc could only sigh and smile on his monitor. He places his arm on his son’s shoulder, seamus smiles at him back and returns the favor. The two long lost companions finally reunite as the warmth of the sun shines down upon them. Followed by the beautiful blue sky and the distance birds chirping melodiously.

Truly an unforgettable sight.

[pleniloon]

Matsuri

characters: ayaka, ayato, itto, thoma, yae miko, yoimiya

summary: what attending a festival with them is like.

warnings: none; itto’s leaked namecard below the cut!

note: i really didn’t mean to go so long without posting ;;; i’ve been trying to finish naruto and working on fics for that, i’m so sorry!!! please take some of the inazuma crew as an apology <33

⋆ ayaka is excited, but nervous! you’d think she would know everything about festivals and how to celebrate, but she’s only ever been to the festival with the traveler.

⋆ very familiar with the textbook “rules” and customs, but inexperienced when it comes to the actual celebration. she can rattle off all the traditional activities, but when it comes to playing the games… please help her.

⋆ ayaka loves being around people! seeing children light up when they win a prize, couples laugh and share festive treats, or boys try to one-up each other in every game - all of it brings a smile to her face.

⋆ after your first festival together, she’ll stay up all night (or, at least later that night) thinking about the wonderful time she had. if you win her something, she’ll keep it next to her bed or fall asleep cuddling it.

⋆ she’ll also ramble to ayato the next morning about how amazing the festival was and recommend he attend the next one!

⋆ ayato is hesitant, when you first bring up the idea. but, after a bit of convincing from yourself and thoma, he decides to go on the last day.

⋆ because it’s the last day of the festival, there’s a lot less people - however, the yashiro commissioner does not go unrecognized by the vendors and the few other attendees.

⋆ once you visit a few stalls and the “wow factor” dies down, he gets a lot more comfortable. he doesn’t play a lot of games, but he watches others play and celebrates with them! (he played one game just to win you a prize, though <3)

⋆ at the end of the night, he’ll take your hand and stroll through the street, admiring the colorful lights from the hanging lanterns. he’s relaxed, and you can see that the stress from politics hasn’t yet returned.

⋆ you remember how thoma helped convince him to attend? yeah, he just had to promise to play the hot pot game with ayato again. poor thoma, the festival food only gave him new ideas.

⋆ you remember the competitive boys from ayaka’s headcanons? that’s itto. his competitive nature is only stirred up by the festivities.

⋆ wanna casually play a game? nope! you’re going to compete! who can scoop the most goldfish? who can get the most rings in ring toss? who can eat the most yakitori before getting sick?

⋆ your only salvation is that any prize itto wins, he gives to you. he pretends it’s all about competition, but he’s really just using it as an excuse to win you every prize at the festival. you should bring a bag.

⋆ as always, he loves the kids!! if he sees a child struggling at a (rigged) game, he’ll help them win the biggest prize! if he sees a kid eyeing a treat, he’ll buy out the entire cart! really, no gesture is too much.

⋆ by the time you head home, you have so many prizes and have eaten so much that itto has to carry everything, as well as you. you better sleep well, because you’re going again tomorrow.

⋆ yae miko loves festivals, of course. as the guuji of grand narukami shrine, she is immensely pleased with the increased traffic around these times.

⋆ she doesn’t attend the festival herself, though. it’s much too noisy for her liking. she prefers to stay at the shrine, awarding blessings and greeting those who make the journey all the way from the city.

⋆ despite this, one thing she does like is the food - specifically, gohei mochi. if you bring her some when you visit the shrine, she’ll love you forever. really, it is that easy to win her affection. at least for the day.

⋆ a wonderful thing about mt. yougou is that it provides an excellent view of the firework show. when the sun begins to set and the visitors start to dwindle, miko will sit at the edge of the peak and watch the fireworks.

⋆ if you wear a kitsune mask around her, expect her to light up and comment on how cute you look. it’s just something she finds so incredibly endearing.

⋆ thoma is perhaps the biggest fan of festivals, next to yoimiya, that is. being from mondstadt, the nation with plenty of wonderful festivals of its own, thoma loves attending them with you!

⋆ at first, he was a bit shocked at the difference in traditions. the nations of freedom and eternity celebrate things quite differently, after all. he quickly gets the hang of it, though.

⋆ be prepared to do everything, because thoma wants to play every game and try every food at least once. “we won’t get the full experience if we don’t!”, he says. it doesn’t matter if he loses a game or dislikes a food, it won’t stop him from running from booth-to-booth.

⋆ probably blushes until his cheeks burn the first time you win him a prize. after getting over his initial feelings of both embarrassment and delight, though, he won’t let go of it until you get home. in fact, he brags to everyone about how his partner is the best at whatever game you won.

⋆ offers to carry you home at the end of the night, since you did a lot of running around that day. you expected a piggyback ride, only for him to scoop you up in his arms (idc how big you are, he’s strong) and carry you close to his chest. the festivals in inazuma may be different from those in mondstadt, but with you at his side, he feels right at home.

⋆ yoimiya is the queen of the summer festival, of course she always attends them!! you better be able to keep up with her!

⋆ she always runs to the goldfish scooping first - at this point, it’s tradition. she has a giant tank at home that she puts her fish in after the festival. yes, they all have adorable names; there were two that really liked each other, so she named them after you and her.

⋆ probably gets dragged into competing with itto, either by the oni himself or the little kids insisting that she beat him to win their prizes back. win or lose, she’ll take you to her favorite food stall to celebrate the competition!

⋆ when the sun starts to set, no matter what you’re doing at the time, yoimiya will grab your hand and drag you to her favorite spot on amakane island. the fireworks are the best part of the festival, after all.

⋆ definitely loves cuddling while watching the show - just don’t try to steal her attention away. as the sky above inazuma city lights up, you can feel the joy radiating off of her. her favorite activity with her favorite person… yes, that is the best part.

a/n: can you tell that i was going thru ayato & thoma brainrot? they’re just so,,, sigh <3

[shroomi1e]

your favorite tune (venti x gn!reader)

summary: venti reminisces in his memories of you as he plays your favorite tune on his lyre

cw: themes of death, angst

a/n: hehe another angst drabble-fic 👹👹 also i put in way too much effort in making this match the pace of the song 💀 y'all probably have different reading speed anyways idk why i did that

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

Venti strums his fingers on his lyre, stringing notes together in hopes of a new song to play, but he can’t help but move his fingers to play a somber tune, the one that was your favorite. It was strange; most people preferred jolly songs to lift their mood, so why was it that you loved such a sad song? Though he never quite understood, he religiously played it even if you weren’t there, just to remind himself of you.

Memories steadily pour into his head at the familiar tune. Your soft hands would grab his, pulling him towards Starsnatch cliff, the grass tickling his ankles. While he rested against a rock to play his lyre, you’d pick Cecilia flowers, linking them together to make a crown. With a giggle, you’d take off his hat and gently place it on his head, your fingertips grazing against his forehead as you fixed his bangs.

A blush would creep upon his cheeks, a delicate smile on his face. Venti’s hand would reach out to your face, tickling your cheeks with fingertips calloused from playing his lyre. You lean down to press your lips against his forehead as he closed his eyes, melting under your soft touch.

Your voice gently sings along to his tune as he plays your favorite tune. He thought your voice was more beautiful than his own, he wish he could listen to it all day. The grass danced along to the tune with the wind, a gentle breeze kissing your skin. You’d lay in the meadow with him, the cool grass grazing against your face as the two of you got lost in each other’s eyes. Your fingertips would gently touch his eyelids, beckoning him to close his eyes. And when he did, you’d pull him into your embrace, your hand cradling his head as you basked in each other’s warmth.

The two of you would love and be loved so much.

It was such a shame that you were the first to leave.

As Venti’s feet dangle off the cliff, he can’t help but longingly stare off into the sunset. In his lap is a Cecilia flower crown, rough and messy, because he never bothered to ask you to teach him. He wishes you were there for him to ask you, your hands enveloping his as you guided his fingers to intertwine the stems together.

There’s nothing to do without you around. He could go picking apples, but who would he share them with? He could go to the tavern, but who would be there to drag him home? He could perform in the plaza, but what’s the point if you’re not there to hear his songs?

Venti lets out an exasperated sigh. You’d think he’d move on after all the years, but a world without you simply wasn’t a world he wanted to be in. If it weren’t for Celestia, he knew for sure that he would do anything in his power to bring you back.

How old would you be by now, if you had been able to hold on for a little longer? Venti pulls out a small scrapbook from his side, the edges rough and tattered. His heart shatters looking at the pictures. You’re aging more and more but he remains forever young, the gap becoming larger and larger between the two of you. Venti always knew subconsciously that you two weren’t supposed to be together. Couples were meant to grow old and start a family together, eventually leaving together as well. What kind of partner was he if he couldn’t stay by your side forever?

The bard sighs and lifts himself up, gliding off of the cliff, a tattered scrapbook in one hand and a messy flower crown in the other. By now it’s nighttime, the sky pitch black as the city of Mondstadt slumbers peacefully. He makes his way to the church and near the fountain next to a modest cemetery, his feet landing softly in front of your grave.

He lays the scrapbook down and carefully places the flower crown on top of it. It’s the least he could give you, after all. He sits down next to you, summoning his lyre, and prepares to play your favorite tune.

Venti’s fingers stop and stutter for a moment in front of the strings. He can’t help but stare at your gravestone, his eyes turning glassy at the realization.

You’re really gone for good. You’re not coming back.

But he finds himself again and strums the first note of your favorite tune. Despite being one of the Seven, he has the least clue of where you could be. He just hopes that it’s not too far, but instead just close enough for you to hear him.

His deft fingers become shaky once again, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He closes his eyes, letting his tears fall as his arms go limp, the lyre in his hand slumping to the ground. It’s at these times where Venti feels nothing like an archon. He feels weak in your presence, a presence that is close but not close enough.

A part of him wishes he could let you go. After all, he’s the god of freedom, right?

And yet, you’re the one thing Venti doesn’t want to let go of.

He picks his lyre up once again. After all, the least he could owe you is a song.

And so Venti is left seated next to your grave, playing your favorite tune.