#my drafts be Stacked i just have to write them all now

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| Baby Mine ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader || Bucky x y/n

Summary: Bucky comes home from from a mission and finds you sick. You make an appointment at the medical bay expecting a routine visit only to find out some pretty surprising news.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, minor talk of options pertaining to, morning sickness, a disgusting amount of fluff, and a small sprinkle of spice at the end just because I felt like it.

Word Count: 3323

A/Ns: First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my hiatus. It was not intended and I hit a writers block. With that being said, I do have a decent amount in my drafts and have been working on getting some new things out there!

I would like to say a special thank you to @lil-darhk who gave me some encouraging words that I really needed to hear & helped get me back on here. ♥️

This is a ONE SHOT. This is not part of my BBWWS. I am still working on that but this is something I have been thinking of for a while and just felt like writing about. I know that a pregnancy troupe is not for everyone. (Personally, I love it and I'm not sure if I will write it into my other storyline.) SO because of that....I give you this. I hope you all enjoy it because the idea of Daddy Bucky to me is just 🤌🏻💋

Waking up to the smell of fresh ground coffee was always a tall tale sign of Bucky being home. Missions can be unpredictable. He can be gone for a few days, to a few weeks, and sometimes even months at a time. Luckily, this time he had only been gone about a month and a half.

Excitement took over as you forego your usual procrastinating in bed stretch to run out of the bedroom. Opening the door, the aroma was heavenly- as if a coffee shop had replaced your kitchen overnight. But your eyes immediately fixed on Bucky who was wearing a smirk while plating two separate stacks of pancakes.

“Breakfast, doll?” His voice as smooth as the warm syrup flowing down from those pancake stacks.

Running and jumping to wrap your arms around his neck was your response. Bucky chuckled, holding both arms out wider so he didn’t drop the plates. He put them down gently onto the counter so that his arms would now be only consumed with you.

“I missed you too.” You don’t have to look up from being buried in his chest to know that he’s smiling, it’s in the lighthearted tone of his voice.

Leaning back slightly with his arms still holding you, he looks into your eyes and plants a petal soft kiss on your lips.

“How come you didn’t wake me up when you got in?” You frown slightly looking up at him.

He shakes his head slightly and shrugs, “You just looked so… peaceful. I couldn’t bare to wake you up. At least, not without sustenance,” Bucky laughs.

Shifting your eyes from Bucky to the pancakes and back, your lips tug in each corner. “Smart man.”

His cooking always felt like home. It was filling, delicious, and you could almost taste the love it was made it with. “Mm,” the small noise escapes low in your throat as you take the last bite. Looking across the kitchen table, Bucky is slumped in his chair, arms folded with a warm smile as he watches you. “What?” The question comes out as a half joke and half concern.

Shaking his head slightly the smile grew. “Nothing, doll. Just missed you is all.” Leaning forward, Bucky rests his elbows on the table continuing to stare a tad bit more than normal.

“You’re acting weird.” You say, adjusting in your seat feeling slightly awkward.

“So what have you been up to while I was away?” He completely ignored your statement, asking an easy and lighthearted question.

“Um..” you start, breakfast starting to feel suddenly heavy in your stomach. “I uh-“ your teeth start to clench down as you swallow hard at the pooling saliva in your mouth. “I went out with Nat-“ your brows furrowed, starting to have difficulty with getting the words out. Bucky’s face quickly contorts to concern as you continue to fight the inevitable. “and her sister for some…s-some drinks-“ the word makes you gag.

Almost as if you channeled some super soldier serum, you pushed back from the table and ran- praying that the pressure of your hand over your mouth will be enough insurance to get to the toilet. It barely was. Breakfast came back up violently, loudly as you kneeled in front of the porcelain king. Even when you thought there couldn’t possibly be anything else to throw up, your stomach wrung on itself, forcing up every last drop of bile.

Breathing heavily into the bowl, skin now glistening with cooling sweat, you realize that your hair has been pulled out of your face. Your eyesight, now no longer blurry, sees Bucky sitting next to you; his right hand holding your hair back in a make shift ponytail and his left hand on the nape of your neck, the coolness of his metal hand being your favorite thing in the world at the moment.

“I’m sorry…” your sob echoed lightly in the toilet. “I’ve never been hung over like this before,” you sit back on your knees, grabbing some tissues to wipe your mouth. You bring yourself to look up at him through hooded and puffy red eyes, feeling instantly embarrassed. Bucky gives you a small reassuring smile as his hand gently rubs up and down your back.

“I’ve had the Russians drink me under the table a few times too. C’mon…” He helps you off of the floor, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

A warm bath, some fresh comfy clothes and a plain cup of tea seemed to make the nausea subside.

“I knew I shouldn’t have drank last night,” you say, looking into the lightly steaming mug. “My stomach hasn’t felt right in a few weeks. I actually have an appointment this afternoon in the medical bay, but I didn’t know you would be home. I can cancel it-”

“What time is your appointment?” He cuts you off,

“Um,” you look towards the wall and squint at the clock. “Actually in 45 minutes,” you laugh softly at the realization.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He offers.

“And miss your debriefing? Why, Sargent Barnes, that’s highly unlike you.” Even with not feeling great you can’t help but give him shit. This is the normal

Shaking his head softly he lets out a small laugh. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “but call me if anything comes up, okay? I’m worried about you.” Bucky’s voice is soft and sincere as he leans in and plants a small kiss on your forehead. His eyes hesitate, locking on yours for a moment. Leaning back in, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you. So much,”

“Love you more, Bucky.” You smile back up at him.

Sitting on the exam table in nothing but a medical gown, you swing your legs gently back and forth while gently nibbling the tip of your thumb as you wait for the provider.

You jump at the sudden knock at the door. In walks the new physicians assistant for The Compound, a young and beautiful woman who looked like she was straight out of school.

“Hi! My names Bree and I’ll be working with you today. According to the nurse who did your intake, you’re here for-“ she scrolls through your electronic chart on a tablet, “some abdominal issues. Tell me about that,” she sits down on a stool, listening intently.

“It’s.. really not a big deal,” you start, she keeps quiet waiting for you to explain in more detail. “I don’t know,” you start to fumble with a few loose strands of hair. “I’ve just felt this sort of… heaviness? It hasn’t gone away and is just always sort of there?” Your voice is unsure, feeling self conscious as you describe this silly little symptom that you felt the need to make an appointment for. “This morning I got sick. Well, I went out drinking last night, so I’m assuming I’m a little hung over.” Your words start to sound like your rambling.

“Hmm,” Bree says in response. “When was your last period?”

“Um,” the gears start turning in your head as you try to backdate events, plans that had been interrupted because of aunt flow. “About 4 months ago?” It probably wasn’t on purpose, but you could see the clinicians eyebrow raise a centimeter in question. “It’s not what you think!” You quickly try to defend, “I’m on the pill! My periods have always been irregular which is part of the reason I’m on birth control in the first place.”

“Okay,” she responds, skeptical. “And you take the pill religiously?”

“Yes,”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah…”

“At the same time?” Bree’s eyebrow inclines just a little more.

“Well,” now she has you questioning everything that you’ve said. “I always have an alarm on my phone and try to take it the same time everyday.” That makes you feel better, justified.

“Have you been sick recently? Aside from this morning, any need for any prescriptions, antibiotics?”

“I had bronchitis, but that was… god months ago?”

“Okay,” she says flatly, “so we’ll just go ahead and do a minor work up to see if we can figure out what’s going on. The first thing I want to do though, is a pregnancy test.” Even though you could feel your face change, Bree quickly added, “Routine stuff. It’s one of the bases that we always cover early on.”

You suddenly become hyper focused on the urine sample you left on the counter top, as asked by the nurse. Bree takes out a small, flat test from a nearby drawer and uses a pipette to transfer the fluid.

It could have been 30 seconds or 20 minutes, but the idea that pregnancy was even a remote possibility has your insides feeling like they’re folding in on themselves.

“Okay so,” Bree starts, getting your attention. “The test did in fact, come out positive. Since your cycles have been irregular, I’d like to do an ultrasound to see how far along you are and then we can talk about options. Just go ahead and lay back on the table, feet in the stirrups.”

"Positive?" You repeat. "But... What? How?" It comes out breathless.

"Well, sometimes antibiotics can actually cancel out the effects of birth control. We try to advise women to not be sexually active as the body might seize the opportunity to ovulate and result in an unplanned pregnancy. How about we just take a look and go from there, okay?" Bree says just a little too cheerfully as she pats the stirrups.

Following her directions is the only thing you’re able to focus on. Going through the motions of laying down, putting your feet up and opening your legs. Bree’s voice is a murmur mixed with a high pitch ringing as you look up at the ceiling tiles, counting each spect while she sets up the portable sono machine.

“Just a little pressure,” she says, guiding the wand like probe, looking at the screen. “Okay. So, judging from the size… I’d say you’re close to about 9 weeks, give or take a bit. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” She asks, sweetly. And it’s the first time you’re able to look at her since lying down. Bree patiently waits for your answer with a warm smile. You reluctantly nod your head.

The room fills with soft, muffled whooshing. “It’s so fast. I-is that okay? Is everything okay?” You’re searching her face for any hint of something being wrong. In return, Bree just nods gently as she keeps her smile, still examining the screen.

“A fetus’ heartbeat is a lot quicker than ours. Everything looks perfect actually. Would you… like to see?”

“Yes, please.” You didn't hesitate with your answer this time.

The screen gets tilted towards you and your eyes start darting all around looking for the baby. Your baby. At first you don't see anything. It doesn't look like photos you've seen on Instagram of pregnancy announcements. But then, in the middle of what looks like a black balloon, is a bean with limbs. In the center of this bean is a lively flicker. Bree uses her index finger to point to the screen.

"There's the fetus' arms and legs," she points to the extremities, "and here," her finger gently taps on the pulsing center, "is the heart."

The whooshing matches the pace of the flicker; lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Hearing the heartbeat in synch with the pulsing on the screen causes your own heartbeat to match for a moment.

So this is love.

After a moment, Bree removes the probe and rips a paper from the ultrasound machine. "Here's some pictures for you," she hands them to you as you sit up on the bed. "I want to see you back here in three weeks for another check up... unless you want to discuss other options?" You shake your head. "Do you have any questions for me?"

“No, not right now.” You’re solely focused on the pictures now in your hand. Even though the image is burned into your brain, holding a physical copy has some how made it more real.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind. There was no possible way that you’re actually pregnant. Even with the new noticeable symptoms and bathroom counter littered in double pink lined tests, it still seemed so unbelievable. That’s not even the hardest part. How am I going to tell Bucky?

Just as the reality starts to set in of having to tell the other adult who is directly involved, the front door to the apartment opens.

"Hey, doll!" Bucky calls loudly from the hallway, the thumping of his boots following his voice. "Sorry that the meeting ran late. I figured we could order in tonight. What about that Thai place you like?" He waits for a response while buzzing around the kitchen, no doubt making himself coffee for the dozenth time today. "Doll?" The question echoes through the quiet apartment.

"I'm in here," you acknowledge softly from the living room couch. Bucky pokes his head out from the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief.

"There you are," he starts walking towards you. "If you tell me what you would like for dinner, I'll call it in and then-" his voice and steps stop abruptly. "Hey... you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You answer, obviously distracted.

"That doesn't sound too convincing," Bucky hesitated, looking you over and taking a few steps closer.

"I-I have to tell you something." Your tone is soft, scared. You’re fidgeting with the edges of your sweater sleeves.

“Is it something the doctor said?” His voice is softer now, reluctant and afraid. While his piercing, cerulean blue eyes continue to search yours for the answer, wide and terrified.

“I-“

Should I have gotten balloons? Made him open a box with one of the pregnancy tests or a cute onesie inside? Bake a damn cake?

“Y/n?!” Bucky didn’t yell but definitely had to get your attention. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?!” He pleaded. Why were the words so difficult to say? Maybe because it hasn’t been said out loud yet. Or that it’s still so shocking. Or maybe that verbalizing it will just make it that more real. You turn on your heels and run to the bathroom.

“Y/n!!” He calls after you, but you know he’ll be just a few steps behind.

Picking up a handful of the positive tests off of the vanity counter with your heartbeat pounding in your ears in combination with his heavy footsteps getting closer.

“Seriously! What is going on-“ Bucky is flustered as he steps into the entryway and stops abruptly at the sight of you facing him, holding the tests fanned out.

“I’m pregnant.” There it is. You’re holding your breath, waiting to see what he’ll say. Aside from contraceptives, you’ve never had any kind of discussions pertaining to a family.

His face softens as he takes a step forward, his eyes hyper fixated on all the double pink lines. Bucky’s chest rises and falls deeply now. “You’re… pregnant? Not sick?” He asks to clarify, being cautious.

“Morning sickness, apparently”, a small laugh escapes and it surprises you. “But other than that, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

The ‘we’re’ part catches his attention. He’s looking into your eyes once again, searching. But, for what?

“Is this… something you want? With… me?” He suddenly sounds so adolescent and anxious. Who can blame him? This took you both completely by surprise. Knowing Bucky, he would support you in whatever you wanted. Whatever decision you thought was best for you, your body, your health in every aspect, he would respect and advocate for. He is being cautious with his response to the news until he knows what your decision is.

Putting the tests down, you take both of his hands into yours and take a deep breath.

“Bucky, if you had asked me this morning, I wouldn’t have known what our future would hold. But knowing what I know now… I want this baby. I want to be a mom and for us to be a family. That being said, I know that this is something that we never talked about. If this isn’t something you want, I underst-“

You’re suddenly cut off by his lips pressing into yours. It feels like a weight has been lifted as Bucky’s arms gently wrap around you to bring you closer. Kissing becomes increasingly difficult around giggles and the obnoxiously big smiles you’re both wearing.

When your lips finally part, Bucky’s eyebrows are raised in excitement. His eyes are darting around your torso as if the news would suddenly show physical changes on your body.

“I can’t believe it…” he breathes, “I actually get the chance to be a Dad-” The word comes out almost as a choked sob. My heart.

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out the ultrasound Bree had given to you earlier, holding it up for him to see.

"Look, our baby's first photo!"

Bucky takes the picture as gently as if someone were handing him an actual newborn baby. He just stares, probably confused as to what he was looking at similarly to you just a few hours ago.

"I know it doesn't really look like anything right now- but I go back in a few weeks and-"

"Are you kidding?" He looks up from the black and white photo to meet your eyes, a watery sheen coating his own. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Bucky says softly, as if to himself, looking back down at the picture. And he's smiling. A genuine, heartfelt smile.

That night was the closest he had ever held you in his arms. The two of you made up for lost conversations and started planning for your future and what it held as you laid in bed. Bucky talked about how he wanted to build a crib instead of buying one and was curious what the appropriate amount of time was to wait until you could both start telling everyone. Excitement was an understatement for this man.

"Can I go with you to your next appointment?" He asked, in a hopeful tone as his fingers traced along smooth, soft circles around your belly button. You giggle, wincing at one specific caress.

"Hey! That tickles! But, of course you can. You can come to all of them. I was... kinda hoping you would?" In return, your tone holds the same anticipation.

"I wouldn't miss it." Bucky's palm flattens against your belly as he places a kiss against your temple.

"Don't get used to that," You say looking down. "We're going to start growing and getting bigger any day now." You fake a frown, although there is a small part of you that isn't necessarily faking.

"Hmm." A low hum vibrates from the back of Bucky's throat as he shifts his body down along yours.

His fingertips skim the hem of your sleep shirt before pulling it up and exposing your stomach. The coolness of the air makes your abdomen tighten, but is soon replaced with petal soft kisses. "When you say 'grow', I hope you mean grow more beautiful by the day." Each firm press of his lips feels like its igniting your skin on fire with the newfound sensitivity. Your toes start to dig down into the mattress.

"Because, y/n..." Bucky repositions himself onto his knees, one now conveniently pressed in-between your legs. The pressure alone makes your heart rate spike and has you borderline panting. He hovers over you, "There isn't anything in this world I find more beautiful or more attractive than my girl carrying my child." He holds your gaze, intense and primal- more than you've ever seen.

"Do you understand?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. You nod hastily and he grins in response. "Good girl. Now, let's see if those rumors about hyper sensitivity are true. Judging by how you're writhing under me and the wet spot on my knee... I'm really going to enjoy the next few months."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist! Requests are open!

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @skyf-7

[wildemaven]

Came across this on Pinterest and right away thought of your Night School Teacher Javier - even has the opened shirt collar (yes please)

my place or yours | javier peña

pairing - night school teacher!javier peña x night school teacher f!reader word count - 1276 content warning - 18+ blog; just a lot of fluff, reader is mentioned wearing a dress and a necklace- but zero description features, no y/n, established relationship with in this piece notes - K, as soon as I saw this photo, my mind started buzzing! I’ve been on the fence still about writing these two but I wanted to get this out since it came to me so quickly. Thank you for sharing this!!! masterlist

A heat advisory had been issued in Laredo and the surrounding areas for the last week. Your classroom provided little relief for you and your students earlier in the evening as the central air conditioning for the school had gone out days into the heatwave.

It was a combined effort to alleviate some of the warm stagnant air within the old building. You and Javier propped your classroom doors open, while a few open windows supplied a draft across the hall as the evening sun set and the temperature began to drop to a more bearable degree. 

Day 3 of trying to keep your room cool while teaching had you throwing in the white flag. Your students were all too excited at your suggestion to push their test back to next week and dismiss them, welcoming the weekend a whole hour earlier than usual. You wished them a good evening as they eagerly packed away their belongings, bidding their goodbyes as they left your classroom. 

As you were finishing gathering your books and organized stacks of ungraded papers, movement in your peripheral caught your attention. 

Javier moved about the front of his own classroom, his hands alternating between shuffling through the papers he was holding and pointing out key points he had written out on the blackboard. It was a normal sight for you at this point since he moved into the classroom across the hall. These past few days have opened up ample opportunities for you to catch a glimpse of him lost in teaching without a barrier of doors in the way. 

In this moment, Javier was enough of a distraction to halt any progress you had made in cleaning up for the weekend. His sports coat had been discarded and draped over the back of the wooden chair that was left in an off-kilter manner behind his desk. The dark slacks he wore were a snug fit, accentuating his narrow waist. The appearance of his dress shirt had at some point turned from studious refinement to a very relaxed look— the latter being your favorite if you were being honest. The sleeves rolled and secured higher than their normal appearance, his forearms flexed freely without the restraint of the shirt fabric. His deco scallop patterned necktie had been removed and was laying over his sports coat, allowing for the top unbuttoned portion of his shirt to fall open freely. 

You had fallen into a trance, with your eyes glued to the way his neck tensed and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke, you hadn’t realized that you were now standing in the doorway of your classroom. 

Javier’s intuition must have sensed something, his steps faltering a bit as his eyes found yours staring at him from across the hall. The way the corner of his eyes crinkled up slightly and his perfect lopsided grin grew just enough to make his dimple a prominent part of his surprised expression. 

There was a beat of silence as Javier stood there taking you in, almost forgetting his students that sat patiently, filling the rows of rigid desks. His brows narrowed as his brain slowly came to the realization that your class was empty and you were no longer teaching. 

He shot you a wink that caused a sudden fluttering sensation to travel from your lower belly and settle in your chest, before giving his attention back to his class and his form disappearing as he stepped further into the room. 

You shoulder into the doorway, your fingers absentmindedly sliding along the dainty gold chain that hangs from your neck as commotion spills from Javier’s room. 

Student after student exit with books wearing a mixture of gleeful laughter and impassive expressions as they fill the hallway walking in the direction of the nearest parking lot. 

Your attention is directed back to the classroom across from you as the flurry of activity dies down.  

“Hi.” Javier says standing with one hand tucked in his front pocket while the other holds a rather large book containing pages and pages of material he has to cover before the end of the semester. 

“Hi.” You smile at him, as your thumb runs back and forth along the seam of your lips. 

“Not like you to let them out—“ Javier begins to say as he removes his hand from his pocket to inspect the time on his watch, eyebrows raised in surprise. “A whole hour early.” His eyes locked back with yours. 

“Oh stop—  It’s too hot to think. They were groaning and getting restless. Besides, you would have done the same thing if you thought of it first.” 

You watch as he makes his way to you, causing you to turn so your back is now leaning against the door frame when he joins you. 

“I let them go, didn’t I?” He smirks. 

“You did. Any longer and they would have been too distracted to hear anything else you were saying.” Your teeth catch your bottom lip in hopes to contain the smirk that’s slowly forming. 

“How so?” His head ticks to the side, hoping you plan to offer him some sort of explanation. 

Before you say anything, your pointer finger finds its way to the opening of his shirt. Gliding up and down the v-shape then settling at the bottom where the first fastened button rests in the middle of his sternum. 

“You’re very distracting like this. Makes sense why there’s always a mad dash of students fighting over those front row seats every night.” 

“Sounds like you know from experience?” His voice is hushed as he steps closer to you, his free hand resting on your hip, the fabric of your dress bunching under his grip. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Your finger hooks into his shirt and you pull him even closer to close the gap between your bodies. “We’re alone.” You whisper against his lips, your hand slipping under his shirt, feeling his dewy skin under your fingertips as you wait for him to make the final move. 

With both classrooms now empty, you’re the only two in this wing of the building. 

It had been a few months since things had become more serious for you and Javier. Still wanting to take things slow, you both kept things under wraps for the time being while on school grounds. But that didn’t mean you didn’t take advantage of moments like this when it was just the two of you. 

Javier’s lips meld with yours, atoning for lost time while silently promising to make up for it the rest of the weekend. There’s a loud clatter as his book falls on the ground. His hands find their way to your face, gently tracing the contours as if trying to reacquaint himself with every feature he loves about you. 

“My place or yours?” You break the kiss before it advances into something more, your breath mingling with his. 

“My place has air conditioning.” 

“But my bed is comfier.” You hinted as you traced lightly over his collarbone. “Cold showers never killed anyone.” 

“Not yet at least.” He bends down to pick up his book, then stands to his full height and kisses you briefly one more time. “Your place tonight, then my place tomorrow after breakfast— before it gets too hot.” 

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

“Lock up and get your stuff, I’ll meet you back here in 5.” He pats your ass playfully as he begins the short walk back to his classroom. 

“You’re trouble, Peña.” You quip over your shoulder to him. 

“Last I checked, you loved it.” He says with a wink and smiles at you. 

“I really do.”

[pickingupmymercedes]

It was always them - Lewis Hamilton 1/3

An Invisible String Theory Story - It was always them (pt.1). It still is (pt.2). It will always be (pt.3).

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none, it's pure fluff.

wordcount: +1K

a/n: I need to give all the props to @greedyjudge2 for getting me to finally write this.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The soft hum of the apartment filled the quiet morning. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a warm glow washing over the NYC living room.

Lewis was sprawled on the sofa, a cup of coffee in hand, his eyes glued to his phone, scrolling through his emails.

The soft padding of bare feet interrupted his focus. He looked up to find Y/N, a bouncing figure of energy, emerged from their bedroom. Her hair still damp from a shower as her eyes sparkled with excitement, a stark contrast to the lazy demeanor he expected on a Sunday.

"You have to see this, Lew," Y/N's voice, filled with excitement as she chirped, her voice carrying a playful lilt and, in her arms, she clutched a stack of thick, glossy papers.

"Is this what I think it is?" he replied, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He set down his phone and reached for her, pulling her into a warm embrace.

Y/N wriggled out of his arms and sat down beside him, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "The first draft of my Balmain collection," she said, her voice barely containing her enthusiasm.

Curiosity piqued; Lewis raised an eyebrow as he sat up straighter, "Oh?"

His heart swelled with admiration. He knew how much this meant to her. After five years of revolutionizing sports fashion with Ferrari, she had decided to take on a new challenge. It was a bold move, but watching her grow and evolve in high fashion had been nothing short of inspiring.

"Let's see it then" he said, his voice steady, gesturing for her.

Y/N carefully laid the sketches out on the kitchen island, a pristine expanse of black marble. Lewis got up and enveloped her in his arms as his eyes scanned the sketches.

The designs were definitely a departure from the sports-inspired aesthetic she was so known for, but they still carried her signature flair. The colors were bold, the silhouettes modern, and the overall aesthetic was undeniably Y/N. It was a perfect blend of her signature sporty elegance and the high fashion world she was now navigating.

"I wanted to create something that was both timeless and modern," she explained, her voice soft. "Something empowering"

"These are incredible, Y/N," Lewis nodded, impressed. "You've done that and more," he said sincerely.

A radiant smile spread across her face. "You haven’t even seen them all" she said, her voice filled with mock disbelief. "I was worried it was too much of a departure from my usual style."

"It's not," he assured her. "It's just a different expression of your talent. You've always been able to adapt and evolve."

She nodded, her eyes sparkling. "I know, but I had never strayed that far."

Lewis turned her in his arms and caught her chin so she would look at him "I'm here to support you every step of the way," he said softly. "I know you can do this. You're one of the most talented people I know."

She leaned into his touch, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, Lew. It means the world to me."

He let her go as he reached for the sketches and continued to look through them, he noticed a recurring theme - strong, independent silhouettes but always with a softer note. It was a reflection of Y/N herself.

"You've captured the essence of Balmain perfectly," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "It's bold, but it's still undeniably you."

Y/N beamed. "I wanted to push the boundaries of what Balmain can be," she explained. "To create something that's both classic and contemporary, strong and feminine."

Lewis nodded "You've definitely achieved that." He picked up a sketch of a tailored blazer, the fabric adorned with a subtle Balmain monogram. " It's them but it feels fresh and modern."

Y/N's eyes lit up with gratitude. "I'm glad you like it," she finally said, her voice trembling slightly. "I was kind of nervous about showing you."

"Why would you be nervous?" he asked, taking her hand in his. "I have complete faith in you."

She squeezed his hand. "It's different when it's your own full collection. It's like putting a part of myself out there."

"You're going to kill it," he assured her. "I know it."

He’d always admired her ability to create something out of nothing. From transforming the world of F1 fashion to now, venturing into the realm of high fashion, she was a force to be reckoned with. And yet, despite her accomplishments, she still sought his opinions, her eyes darting to him every few seconds as he went through all the designs.

Y/N explained her inspiration for each piece, the symbolism behind the colors, and the story she wanted to tell. Lewis listened intently, offering his feedback when asked. He was impressed by the level of detail and thought that had gone into every aspect of the collection.

"I love how you’ve sneaked motorsport elements into the designs," he commented, pointing to a dress with intricate leather detailing.

Y/N grinned. "I knew you'd appreciate that," she said. "It's a nod to our roots."

Lewis chuckled. "You're getting too good at this, you know."

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do" she replied, playfully batting his arm.

Just then, as he studied a particular sketch, a memory flickered to life.

He was still a Mercedes driver then, trying to flee from the frenetic energy of the paddock. But amidst the chaos of the circuit, a figure had caught his attention. He saw her standing amidst the chaos, a breath of fresh air in the sea of team uniforms.

She was wearing a tailored pantsuit in a shade of crimson that echoed the Ferrari red, a bold statement in a side of the paddock dominated by neutral tones and controlled imagination.

He'd been drawn to her immediately, a silent acknowledgment of her presence.

He'd asked around, of course. Who was this woman who commanded attention without even trying? The answer both surprising and intriguing: the responsible behind some of the newer Ferrari designs he'd admired from afar. The one he was sure had a new eye behind them.

Y/N's voice pulled him back to New York. “Earth to Lewis?” she teased, waving a hand in front of his face. “You okay there, lover boy?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Yeah” he managed, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Just thinking.”

“About what? Questionable fashion choices?” she asked, feigning offense.

He chuckled. “Far from it. I was actually remembering you a few years ago and that crimson pantsuit.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Smooth. But I'm glad you remembered. I was hoping you would.”

______________________________________________________________

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[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Daughter Reader

Summary For years, you’ve survived tethered to Joel’s side, haunted by the loss of your sister and scared to step outside of his shadow. So when he bonds with the girl he’s tasked to smuggle, it strains your complicated relationship—until the threat of losing him forces you to confront just how much he means to you [angst, fluff, 5.4k].

A/N This is some of my favorite prose I've written recently. Daughter!reader is a new dynamic for me, but it was such a rewarding writing experience. Thank you to the anon who sent this request in. I hope you all enjoy.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

It’s cold outside today. If the draft sneaking in through the windows isn’t enough to let on, the sky itself is an undeniable sign. There’s no blue, no clouds that can be distinguished from the next. The entire expanse is a pale white sheet. As if the heavens have decided to shield earth from its view because of how far it’s fallen. 

Nevertheless, life in the Boston Quarantine Zone labors on. Day after soulless day, rain or shine. Like a well-oiled machine who’s battered parts of flesh and blood refuse to lay down and die. 

The glass of the living room window is cool against your forehead as you gaze outside. Everything is dull. Brick, metal, concrete, and endless earthtones constitute the expanse of buildings that seemingly stretch for miles. However, after having explored every corner of this walled city, you know it’s finite. A mere portion of a much larger world trying to find its footing again. 

The people walking on the sidewalks below look small from the height of your apartment. All seeming to move on a droning autopilot, clad in worn clothes that likely belonged to ten other people before them. 

With a sigh, you step away from the window and plop back down on the couch. The coffee table is cluttered with stained, old papers and trinkets, but you reach for the stack of Polaroids you’d previously been flipping through. Each photo and caption transports you back to a past moment in time...

tea for two ♡ March 13, 2003 

A day that seems closer than it actually is, now confined to a single, glossy frame. The white border has faded to beige and the picture itself no longer bears its original saturation. In it, you and Sarah are wrapped in each other’s arms, dressed like princesses for the tea party you invited her to. 

You were her three-year-old shadow, and even though you got on her nerves half the time, she found it hard to say no to you. Everybody in the Miller household did. 

lake day!!! July 4, 2003 

A sunny day. You, Sarah, and Joel are squinting into the light but smiling, your backs to the lake. Later that night, according to Joel’s retelling, you cried because of the colorful, celebratory explosions bursting amid the night sky. 

dad’s getting old (jk ily dad) September 26, 2003

Joel’s smile is shy as he sits at the kitchen table with a cone birthday hat on his head. Sarah was the one behind the lens while you clung to her leg, both you and Tommy making goofy faces in hopes of making Joel smile wider. 

He turned thirty-six that day. By that evening, everything had changed. Not just because of the outbreak, but because Sarah, who had been a light in so many of the photos, was gone too. A few months after her fourteenth birthday, no less. 

It feels strange being twenty-three now. An age she never got to see—

The faint metallic clinking of a belt being fastened prompts you to curiously stand to your feet. After setting down the photos, you saunter to the hallway, where there’s a straight view to Joel’s bedroom. The door is cracked, and warm lamplight pours out to light the end of the hall. With each step closer you take, the old, wooden floorboards creak. 

When you make it to the door, you rap your knuckles against it a few soft times. There’s shuffling on the other side. 

You knock again when there’s no response. “Dad?” 

“What’s up?” he doesn’t say it in a clipped, annoyed way so you know he hadn’t heard your previous knocking. 

“Can I come?” 

He’s quiet for a beat. “I’m finishing up getting dressed. But yeah.”

Inside, the bed still isn’t made. He’s standing in front of the full body mirror leaning against the wall. The paint of the gold trim around it is peeling, revealing the dark aluminum beneath. The glass itself is a bit foggy with stubborn grime that refuses to be scrubbed away. And right in the middle, at the same height that Joel stands, is a sizable spiderweb crack that makes his face look fragmented unless he bends down or shifts to either the left or right. 

Right now, he doesn’t seem to mind the distortion of his face, more interested in assessing his clothes. When you step up behind him, a little to the right, your entire body looks whole. Face and all. 

His eyes briefly flick to you as he continues to button the rest of his olive colored shirt. When he’s finished, he sucks in his stomach and pulls up the waistband of his dark jeans to rest at a more comfortable place on his hips. 

It isn’t until then that you notice a small portion of the back of his shirt is flipped up, the fabric thick enough to hold its place. You reach out to smooth it down. Joel hums in realization. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. 

“Yep,” you murmur. “I thought you were off today.” 

Turning around and brushing past you, he sits in the accent chair to put on his boots. A grunt escapes him with the effort of leaning down. You watch as his thick, battered fingers fumble with the laces until they produce two neat bows. He sits back with a sigh when he’s done, running a hand through his fluffy, silvering hair. 

“I’m meeting with Marlene,” he says. The way you frown tells him that’s not a good thing, or nearly enough information. “Tess will be there too. It’s looking like we might be able to get that car battery we need to set out for Tommy.” 

You process that information with a slow nod. The idea of finding him feels elusive these days. 

A few weeks ago, Marlene told Joel she knew a couple guys who could provide resources. At various points in the months prior, she claimed the very same thing. Every promise she made fell flat because those said contacts either died or backed out of the negotiation. Yet, Joel held out hope every time. 

It used to be you who accompanied him whenever he went to meet with Marlene, but it’d gotten to the point where you couldn’t bring yourself to believe her or stand seeing her face. 

But Joel still did. For the sake of his own conscience. For Tommy. 

After standing from the chair, he fishes into his back pocket for a red cardstock meal card. When you reach out to take it from him, he doesn’t let go, instead opting to look directly into your eyes. 

“Want you to meet us for lunch at the northern dining commons at noon. We should be done by then,” he says, waiting for you to nod so he knows you’re tracking. 

“Don’t leave before then, alright? It’s getting crazier out there. Don’t know if it’s ‘cause summer’s coming or what.” 

“I won’t,” you insist. 

When you try to take the card again, he holds onto it just for the sake of coaxing a smile out of you. It doesn’t quite meet your eyes, but it’s enough to tie him over for now. He lets go of it just as you’re in the middle of pulling, and the lack of resistance makes you stumble backwards. The sound of amusement he huffs out earns him a light punch to the shoulder. 

“I mean it, though.” He points a finger. “Don’t leave till it’s time, alright? We’ll fill you in on everything then.” 

Rolling your eyes, you follow him back out into the living room. “I already said I wouldn’t.” 

“Well, reiterating is my job.” 

Those are the words he leaves you with before heading out the door.  

A few hours later, when the clock strikes twelve, you’re eating at the dining commons alone. Anxiousness prickles beneath your skin. You soothe yourself as chatter and the clinking of silverware float up all around you…

Everything’s fine. Joel’s alright. Tess is alright. Just finish eating and go home. 

•••

Sunset paints the sky that evening. The clouds that lingered all day have finally made way for an expressionist ombre of blue, pink, and orange. It's beautiful in a way that would’ve been worth photographing once upon a time. 

All you can think about is the fact that Joel hasn’t returned. 

A little past seven, voices arise in the hallway. They’re hushed and somewhat frustrated, one of them undeniably belonging to Joel. By the time keys hastily begin jingling in the door, you’re popping to your feet from the couch. A second later, it swings open with enough force that it hits the neighboring wall. 

“Get inside,” Joel orders. You can’t see him from where you’re standing. 

You can’t see anybody. 

“I don’t have to keep listening to you,” quips a tight, youthful voice. “Whatever happened to stranger danger?”  

“Move, Ellie,” Joel says. “Before I make you.” 

A young girl wearing a backpack trudges into the apartment with a scowl. After looking around the bleak accommodation, her eyes settle on you. The air falls silent. You note the wispy flyaways escaping her short ponytail, the slight redness to her eyes like she’s been either crying or rubbing them. 

Ellie sizes you up in return. You can see it in the calculated rove of her dark gaze, the way she squares her shoulder to match your guardedness. 

She eventually whips her attention back to Joel. “Who the hell is she?” 

“Told you I didn’t live alone.” That’s all he gives her before redirecting his attention to you. He seldom reveals the entirety of what he’s feeling in a given moment, but you can see the guilt weighing down on his shoulders. “I—” 

“You missed lunch.” 

He runs a heavy hand down his face. “I know.” 

The girl looks between the two of you with owl-like attentiveness that borders on amusement. At least she wasn’t the only one having a shitty day. Outside, shouting voices arise in the distance. Glass bottles break. 

“Dad. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Ellie’s eyes widen at the revelation. 

Joel doesn’t say anything because you’re staring daggers straight into his very being.  

“I’m immune to the virus,” she speaks up. There’s a hint of pride in her tone, like she’s looking past the present to some undefined future in which she saves the world.  

“He’s gonna take me to the people who can find the cure. Then you guys are gonna go find Timmy or whatever—Tommy.”  

It’s an oversimplification, but Joel doesn’t have the energy to expound right now. Not when you look like you would lunge for him if it wasn’t for the girl.

••• 

Later that night, he sees the first shove coming. Your eyes darken until you’re no longer able to constrain your frustration to a mere look. It frustrates you all the more when he doesn’t budge. So you do it again, pushing both your hands straight into his chest. 

All he does is take a single step backwards to create distance, hands raised in surrender. The fact that he isn’t reacting makes more heat consume your face. 

Until, finally, he grabs your wrists. 

“Are you done acting like a child?” he asks.

“As soon as you quit treating me like one,” you bark. “All you do is give orders and break promises, and I’m supposed to keep following you around like a dog.” 

“I don’t see any shackles.”

“Because it’s you,” you retort, attempting to pull away from his light hold. “You’re the shackles, the prison guard, and the key.” 

Those words make him drop your wrists as if you’ve stung him with poison. He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and drops his head into his hands with a heavy sigh. The mattress creaks under his weight. In the new silence, you stand and stare at him as your breaths even out. 

Neither of you are aware that Ellie has her ear pressed to the other side of the bedroom door, listening. 

When he lifts his head, only then are you aware of how tired and worn down he looks. His hair is more disheveled than it was this morning. The same hair you used to playfully run your fingers through and litter with sparkly hair clips. Except now, his face is void of a smile. 

“I’m sorry about lunch, alright?” His dark eyes search yours for any inkling of forgiveness. He knows he scared you. That’s what’s beneath your anger. “I didn’t know I was gonna get held up like that.” 

Joel Miller was a lot of things, but a pushover wasn’t one of them. 

If he really wanted to, he could’ve at least come to the dining commons to explain. Or ignore Marlene’s request entirely, and force her to find someone else to smuggle the girl. Even Tess had refused to involve herself in the escape plan because she feared it would be all risk and no reward.

“What happens if these guys turn out to be dead too?” You ask Joel, voice softer than before. “What if this is yet another exchange that falls through?” 

He knows you have a point. He also knows he has a brother out there miles away who recently sent him a signal. 

“If there’s a chance, I gotta take it,” he says. “And if we get out there and nobody’s waiting for us, we’re heading to Wyoming anyway.” He meets your gaze. 

You swallow and blink in surprise. “Really?” 

“I’m done waiting around for the right time,” he says, voice low but firm. “It’s never gonna come. Gotta forge it ourselves.” 

He sounds sure. Right now, you could use something to believe in. And if nothing else, a change of scenery from the city walls you’ve been confined within for far too long. 

•••

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

𝐈.

The Capitol Building is empty when you arrive, no sight of the men who were supposed to take Ellie and give you and Joel the supplies you need to carry on. For a while, the three of you linger hopefully on the inside, where grass grows through the chipped marble floors. The only people who eventually arrive are ridden with the virus, their rotting bodies infested with fungus from the inside out. 

You promptly flee the scene after swallowing disappointment like a pill. 

𝐈𝐈.

The front door of Bill and Frank’s house is unlocked when you arrive in the desolate suburbia. Dead grass and tall weeds constitute the yard. The flower beds out front have long wilted. That’s enough for you to know that they’re either dead or gone. Joel pushes into the house anyway, with you and Ellie trailing behind. Bill left a note behind. They’re dead. Ellie asks questions about them that Joel thoughtfully answers.

The three of you take turns showering, then leave.

𝐈𝐈𝐈.

By early August, the trio feels more like a unit, having been bound together by shared letdowns and long nights under the stars. Some days, you don’t know where you are until coming across specific landmarks or recognizable cliffs. You and Joel teach Ellie how to shoot because she wouldn’t stop begging. Most days, as you’re making progress towards Wyoming, it’s the two of you trailing behind Joel, who often shoots unreadable glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re keeping up. 

Sometimes he lets down his walls to offer a small smile. 

•••

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋

All around, tall trees stretch towards the sky, bearing vibrant leaves beginning to change colors. Every so often, a breeze rolls through and ruffles them. The same mourning dove has been calling out into the wind with no response in return. It’s a tune that filled the mornings of your childhood back when you were on the road to Boston with Joel. You hadn’t heard it much since. 

Twigs and leaves crunch beneath your boots as you squat to lower your fingertips into the creek. The water is cool against your skin, and clear enough to see the rocks at the bottom. When you stand up, you startle at the sight of Ellie standing a few yards away. She takes a few apologetic steps back, almost tripping over herself. 

Further away, Joel sits with his back propped against a tree as he reorganizes the contents of his backpack. 

“Jesus, El,” you sigh, pressing a hand to your chest over your heart. 

Ellie no longer seems sure of her reason for approaching you. There were times when she didn’t look her age—whether it be her stare or the way she carried herself—but this wasn’t one. Now, an air of self-consciousness surrounds her, like she’s caught between knowing nothing and everything all at once. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me,” she rushes out. There’s a pang of guilt when you realize she thinks you’re angry. 

“No, it’s fine,” you insist, softening your tone. “I’ve just been in my head.” 

She nods and feels more comfortable to step up alongside you. 

“I’ve seen those pictures you’ve been looking at.” She continues when you don’t say anything, “Was that your sister?” 

Neither you or Joel have brought her up, but your silence is an answer. 

“What was she like?” 

“I don’t remember much.” 

Only bits and pieces. The larger gaps have been filled in by Joel over the years. He never talks about Sarah at length, but sometimes he’ll see something or you’ll make an expression that reminds him of her. That usually prompted him to tell a short story. Oftentimes, without meeting your eyes because he was too busy trying to busy his restless hands. Talking about her always makes him fidget. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know what it’s like to lose someone.” 

Ignoring her, you ask, “Did Joel say when we were gonna start back hiking?” 

Embarrassed, Ellie clears her throat and shakes her head no. “Why do you use his first name like that?” You almost hadn’t realized. 

“Force of habit.” Her brows have furrowed in confusion, so you explain, “Half the time, people in the QZ only listened to me when I threw his name in the mix. It holds a lot of weight among certain groups these days.” 

“Like he’s the boogeyman or something?”

You allow a small chuckle to escape at her words. She feels like it earns her a place back in your good graces. Pride glimmers in the grin that stretches across her face. 

“Something like that,” you agree. 

The familiar crunch of leaves rises as Joel makes the short venture over to the two of you. When he sees the fleeting smiles on your faces, he clears his throat and waits to see if he’ll be invited into whatever small moment of amusement had arisen. He seems to have just missed it. 

“Speaking of the devil,” Ellie says, 

Joel frowns, remaining quiet as he walks up to the edge of the creek. He stares into the bottom for a few thoughtful seconds. Both of you watch as he squats down to splash his face with water, humming with refreshment. 

Ellie no sooner moves to copy him. She laughs, a bubbly surprised sound, as she stands with her face dripping and eyes squeezed shut.

“Wait, how do I—” 

“Use your shirt,” Joel quips lightly. 

“Oh, yeah!” She uses her shirt to dry her eyes just as he had.

The chuckle that rumbles through Joel’s chest is a sound you haven’t heard in a while. It makes you stand up straighter, unconsciously shifting his way as if the sound has the power to heal that part of you that misses him even when he’s within reach. Misses how things were before he grew hard and consumed with the need to survive. 

You didn’t fault him for it, though. 

What’s become increasingly clear, however, is that need was born as much out of spite as it was out of the pure, unadulterated will to live. The end of the world took Sarah, and to Joel, ensuring the two of you endured no matter what was his fuck you to the universe. His proof that everything he cared about couldn’t be ripped from his hands. It was a muddled labor of love. 

But right here, right now, he’s laughing. Not urging silence or trying to instill a survival lesson. He’s letting the moment wash over him for what it is. There you stand watching the two of them like a mere onlooker frozen in place. The entire scene is reminiscent of a different time. A different Joel. 

Something heavy and bitter settles in your stomach at the sight of their twin smiles. 

“Are you gonna try it?” Ellie asks like she’s referring to some grand experience.

“It’s just water,” you say flatly. 

Face falling, Ellie looks to the ground as if the bridge connecting you two had been burned yet again. Something protective flares in Joel’s chest. 

He gives you a pointed look. “You feelin’ alright?” 

“I’m great. Grand even.” 

The air shifts, levity disappearing like a vapor. All three of you can feel it.

“Let’s keep moving then.”

For weeks, you keep it moving. Through rain, shine, and snow. The closer you get to Wyoming, the further away you drift from Ellie and Joel. Like you’re the corner piece of an island that’s been chipped away from the larger landmass. 

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

Arriving at the Jackson commune does little to mend things back to the way they were. Some days pass by with more conversation and laughter between the three of you than others. Coming here had been the very thing you longed for, right alongside Joel. But tonight, as you fold clothes at the secondhand store where you volunteer, you wonder what there is to dream about now. 

You don’t know what you like or want. You were so young when the outbreak began that Joel’s practices and motivations became your own. You don’t know where he ends and you begin, and the inability to distinguish makes a part of you resent him. 

The bells above the door jingle as Ellie enters with her backpack slung over her shoulder. Half of her hair is pulled into a ponytail, while the other falls in loose waves just past her shoulders. For once, it looks like she brushed it properly. 

You see more of her than Joel these days. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go over to Dina’s,” she says as she pads over to you. “Joel’s not home yet so I figured I’d come tell you.” She absentmindedly runs her hand over the cashmere sweater you’d folded minutes prior to her arrival. 

You set down the pair of jeans you just finished folding. “He’s not?” 

“No,” she says, unphased. “Probably went straight to the dining hall.” 

A dull, gnawing sense of worry arises in your chest. Ellie can’t see it or feel it herself, still tending to believe Joel was somehow invincible. That every time he went out for patrol, he was bound to return because that’s what he’d proven to her so far. 

“Be safe, okay?” you tell her. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

When she leaves, you head to the store owner in the back room. He’s rummaging through a huge box of donated items. 

“Hey, Stewart?”

There’s a click as two glasses knock into one another. “Goddammit—what?” He straightens up to turn around and face you. 

He has a head full of wiry gray hair and his glasses are crooked on his nose. There’s a light sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. 

“You alright back here?” you tease lightly. He grumbles and waves you off. “Would it be okay if I clocked out early? Natalie and Craig are out there, so you’ll still have help until closing.” It’s been pretty slow this evening anyways. No chance a random rush would occur. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want, kid.” He huffs and looks back down at the box. “I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

“You’re the best, Stew.” You flash him a playful smile. 

Outside, you shiver at how cold it’s grown. Crossing your arms over your chest does little to alleviate the creeping chill. The first snow of the season has yet to fall, but you can feel it lingering in the crisp air. Nevertheless, Jackson Hole is buzzing. People of all ages flit in and out of shops and gathering spaces. Everywhere you look, there’s a friendly face, if not an actual friend. 

This time of year, the entire commune is reminiscent of those cute Christmas village displays. Plush wreaths with red bows hang on wooden posts, and colorful fairy lights shine all around. The most activity buzzes over at the dining hall. Families talk and laugh on the benches outside, and you can see people walking around inside through the windows. 

As you head that way, the two men standing on the patrol office porch capture your attention. It was probable that Joel was inside either logging or assessing his hours. 

When you make it to the building, you recognize the taller man as Cameron, someone who often partnered with Joel because they had the same, collected, no-nonsense way about them. They automatically nod to you in greeting, but their lips are set in firm lines like they have news you don’t. 

You offer a shaky smile back as a lump forms in your throat, “Evening.” 

Your heart rate speeds up as Cameron opens the door for you. Inside, six men stand circled around Tommy, who’s tone is firm as he talks with his hands. Some have rifles slung over their shoulders, and others have pistols on their hips. Standing among the group is Lyle, a younger guy who was scheduled to be Joel’s partner today. 

The only person missing is Joel. 

You allow your eyes to rove over the plaques, portraits, and retired weaponry decorating the walls as you await the end of Tommy’s lecture.  

“Let what happened out there today be a lesson—” Tommy stops talking when his eyes fall on you, and other heads turn to look your way. A few throats are cleared, necks are scratched. 

“Hold on a second, fellas.” He breaks out of the circle and heads towards you, cowboy boots clunking against the wood floorboards. There’s a rifle draped across his body like he’s ready for action. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says softly, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to gather what this meeting is all about. Everybody has discretely turned to look at the two of you. 

“Tommy…” 

“Why don’t we step outside for a second, yeah?” He places a gentle hand at the small of your back to guide you back out into the cold. Cameron and his buddy slip inside out of respect for your privacy. 

“What’s going on, Tommy?” 

He wrestles with how to answer. You see it in his dark eyes, the way he shifts his stance. His cheeks are a bit flushed. 

“Joel hasn’t made it back,” he breathes. “Lyle made it in without him around an hour ago. Said they ran into some disgruntled nomads and got split up,” he says. “Got a few people out looking for him now, and I’m about to go out myself.” 

How foolish you’ve been acting these past several weeks hits you all at once. Everything from purposely distancing yourself from Joel, to occasionally ignoring him whenever he tried to ask how you’ve been—you’d made a point to be away from the house as much as possible. Most of all, it’d been foolish to pretend he wasn’t one of the only people in the world you wouldn’t be able to live without.

A stinging sensation pricks in your eyes, but no tears form. You don’t have it in you to cry. Helplessness crashes down on you in the form of frustration. 

“What do you mean came back without him?” you ask. “What good are patrol partners if they’re just gonna leave you behind—” 

“Hey. Hey.” Tommy looks at you intently. His eyes are so much like Joel’s that you look away. “This ain’t the time to be pointing fingers, alright? When you’re out there like that and shit hits the fan, you don’t know how you’ll react.” 

“Definitely not by leaving my partner behind.” 

Joel had never left you behind. Things had gone sideways time after time again, but you managed to remain by each other’s side. 

Worry radiates off of you in waves. 

“I’m worried out my ass too,” Tommy admits, trying to assure you. “But judging other people ain’t gonna bring him back any faster,” he says. 

When release a heavy exhale and slink your head down, Tommy steps forwards to wrap his arms around you. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he promises. “You eaten dinner yet?” 

“I’ll probably throw up if I do.” 

He pulls away to look at you under the soft glow of the porchlight. “Let’s at least try to get a little something in your system, okay? I’ll walk you over to the dining hall.” Tommy guides you that way, and everything around you seems to fade in and out as you walk. 

Tommy’s words manage to break through to you, “I know my brother. He’ll make it back one way or another,” 

He always did. Maybe a bite to eat didn’t sound so bad. 

•••

The unyielding weight of your nerves forces sleep to find you when you make it home. Not in your bed, but on the couch as you sit and wait for Joel’s return. Worrying has taken a lot out of you. 

Creaky footsteps arise out on the porch. Then the lock clicks. Neither of which you register. By the time Joel is walking in through the front door, your eyes flutter open. There’s a slight sway to his stride like he’s favoring one leg. Other than that, he’s still in one piece. You’re on your feet in an instant, ignoring the crick in your neck. 

“Oh my god, Dad—thank god.” 

Joel stops in his tracks as you hurry over to him. He lets you look him over as if he’s a child who just fell off a bike. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” there’s a rasp to his voice.  

Relief is written all over your face. It’s the most interest you’ve shown in him in weeks, but he’s grateful for it anyways. He’s grateful for any mind you’re willing to pay him. 

There’s so much you want to say—I thought I lost you, don’t scare me like that again, I love you—but none of it comes out. Instead, it’s all packed into the way you step forward to throw your arms around him. 

But even hugging him brings you close enough. 

Luckily, he’s so tall and broad that you settle for the feeling of being safe, cocooned in his arms. He squeezes you, not in the playful way that used to be a means of making you smile, but in a way that solidifies his presence. Assures you that he’s never going to let go. That you don’t have to worry about living without him.

As your tears wet his shirt, he doesn’t ease up or pull away. He remains constant like he’s been throughout your entire life, even on the days you thought you wanted him to disappear. 

He presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head and you’re overcome with warmth.  

“I love you to pieces,” his voice is low and thick with sincerity. “So much it hurts.” 

It’s you who reluctantly pulls away to look up into his eyes. 

“I love you too,” you murmur, cheeks glistening with tears. 

The tears gathered in his eyes finally spill over. He doesn't turn away or tilt his head back in an attempt to fend them off. They simply roll down his cheeks at your words. You can’t recall seeing him cry since Sarah passed away. Guilt, sympathy, and gratitude swell in your chest. For the years he’s been strong for the both of you, for everyone who’s ever leaned on him in a time of need. He never made it look hard. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—” 

“As long as you’re safe, I can handle being ignored.” He manages a small, sad smile. “It ain’t easy growing up during the end of the world.” Few things ever were. 

“It’s a little easier with you.” 

“Just a little?” He asks lightly. 

Both your smiles grow, and as you step back into his arms, every gripe and the the chaotic events of the evening fade away.

- 

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

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[summercourtship]

𝖍𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖞 '𝖏𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖑𝖘𝖊𝖓' 𝖏𝖔𝖍𝖓𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖝 𝖋!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 | 18+

I started writing this in fall 2020. At it's most ambitious, it was going to be a multi-chapter fic but that obviously didn't and won't happen so here: have it reimagined as a one-shot. You might be able to tell where it would have expanded into a larger story, but I tried to condense it. If anything that is here is eerily similar to something else I've written, it's because I've probably taken it from this draft lol. Also TBH I'm trying to not be as explicit in my sex scenes because I just feel more comfortable writing that way. Which seems like the opposite of a goal: for years, I've been trying to become better at writing super explicit scenes and now I'm trying to reel it in and make it (hopefully) match the rest of my prose. IDK. Happy Halloween!

brief summary: A one-shot about being stalked by your coworker who is also the serial killer terrorizing the town. warnings: slightly dubious consent due to threat of death, stalking, horror themes, knife play, PIV sex, some dirty talk | word count: 4025

danny 'jed olsen' johnson masterpost | read on ao3

You smell him before you see him. Stale cigarette smoke, coffee, and the unspecific musk of his cologne. On anyone else, you’d hate it. But with him, it’s become an almost comforting scent, indicative of one of your favorite people’s presence. When he rounds the corner and comes into your view, you can’t help the tiny smile that crosses your face.

“Hi Jed!” You chirp as he comes to a stop in front of your desk, placing his coffee on the corner of your desk to free his hands as he rummages in his side satchel bag. He gives you a smile in return, pulling out a thin file folder and flipping it open. 

“Here are those photos you wanted me to get,” He hands over a small stack of pictures, all developed and ready to go. Last week, you asked him to take the pictures on a whim, thinking you might just have to go down yourself with your crappy hand-me-down camera and snap a picture for the article you’re working on. But, to your surprise, he agreed quickly. 

The article isn’t anything special- in fact it’s quite the opposite. A filler piece for the middle section of the paper that no one really read. Despite this, you couldn’t bring yourself to bullshit the article, and still put forth an unnecessary amount of effort into the piece. No one would read it now, but perhaps it could be added to your portfolio for when you finally left this town. 

The photos are good- which isn’t a surprise considering who took them. Everything Jed did seemed to turn out well, even when he didn’t try. You wonder what he looks like doing something he’s actually passionate about.

“I didn’t think you’d have these ready so soon!” You say, flipping through the four pictures he handed over. You’d have to choose one- you’re lucky they’re even letting you include a picture in the meaningless article. “I mean, aren’t you busy with Ghostface?” 

He gives a small exhale, like he’s laughing at his own inside joke. “A little bit.” He pauses. “Maybe I wanted a break to go take some pictures of the duck pond in the park. Riveting stuff you’re writing about.”

“Excuse me, but the purported existence of an otter in the duck pond is very important news. Would be front-page worthy if there wasn’t someone else taking up the headlines.” You laugh before stopping for a moment, thinking about what you just said. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. People are dead and I’m making jokes about an otter.” 

“Don’t worry about it, everyone copes in different ways.” He smiles down at you. “Especially when you have no idea if you’re next.” 

“That’s morbid, but fair.” You say, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You don’t notice how his eyes flick to follow the movement. “Anyways, thanks again for the pictures. I will have to find a way to repay you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiles again, different this time. This is the smile that makes your stomach swoop and your heart skip a beat. Your face heats and you stop thinking for a second, but you press on.

“No, please-” 

“I wouldn’t want to put you out like that. Times are hard.” 

“I- okay.” You sit back, looking at him. He nods and starts to leave, but the part in you that insisted on somehow repaying him took over and you were speaking up once more.

“Jed!” He turns and looks back, eyebrows raised. “Um, at least let me take you out for coffee? Just as a thanks, not repayment.” He thinks about it for a moment, your heart racing as you wait with bated breath for his answer. If he didn’t say yes, you’d never be able to look at him again. You might have to leave town immediately.

“Sure, but let’s make it a date instead.” He gives you a tiny smile and a wink that you barely register, before turning and walking away. Giddy, you sit back in your chair, trying not to hide your face in your hands. Instead you focus on the pictures, flipping through them to distract yourself from the newfound excitement in your veins.

____

Despite the fact that there was a masked stalker-murderer prowling the streets of your town, you felt no fear walking home. Maybe it’s a remnant of your teenage “nothing can hurt me” years. Maybe it’s just your stupidity rearing its ugly head at the worst time. 

Or maybe you just like the thrill of it all.

You had listened to the warnings- check behind you when you walk, keep an eye out for anything abnormal, lock your windows, lock your doors, don’t hang out places alone. However, you followed them a little haphazardly. You didn’t engage in any behaviors that could be misconstrued as inviting danger into your life, but you also didn’t necessarily allow the paranoia to get to your head.

If you did, you might have died from sheer terror and helplessness. Or perhaps you would’ve been more careful, and would’ve definitely noticed that you had already unknowingly disregarded the warnings.

Someone was following you.

And they had been following you for a while.

____

You wake up suddenly. It’s like that sometimes- not gently, or gradually. You’re just... awake. Brain racing to catch up with your surroundings, you sit up. No clock around, but you’d hazard a guess that it’s somewhere around 3AM. Running a hand through your hair, you sigh, the dream you’d been having already disappearing from your memory. Plopping back onto your pillow, you close your eyes and wait for sleep to come back to you.

It’s funny how the air conditioning can sound like someone breathing, deep and slow. You vaguely register that something isn’t right here, but sleep takes over before you can linger on that thought. 

__

The best coffee shop in town is a small, cluttered shop off of the main road. It’s tucked away between a barbershop and a vintage store, far enough away from the main street that any tourists wouldn’t come by it. (Not that there were many of those now that a serial killer prowled the streets at night.)

“You okay?”

You look up from where you’d been staring into your coffee, even though it was probably too late in the day to be drinking it, the sky already darkening with the approaching evening. But your body was thick with exhaustion for reasons you weren’t quite sure and you needed to finish another pointless article when you went home. Jed had his own coffee, so at least you weren’t alone in your desire for evening caffeination. 

“Yeah, I’m just… trying to not psych myself out about everything going on. The news says it's good to be careful but I know I’d just end up taking it too far and becoming paranoid.” 

“No one knows how to deal with this.” He says, simply. You only nod in agreement and take a sip from the coffee. 

A breaking news report on the TV in the corner of the room catches your eye. GHOSTFACE STRIKES AGAIN screams the caption at the bottom of the screen. You silently nudge Jed and direct his attention towards it. For a moment, it looks like the echo of a smile crosses his face, but it’s gone before you can truly absorb it. His face is stony, and he looks back at you. 

“Are you gonna write about that?” You ask. 

“Tomorrow.” 

“What number is this?”

“Six.” He answers without hesitation. You force yourself to take a deep breath to try and calm the beating of your heart. Every time the news breaks, it feels like the first time. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to hearing about another brutal murder, and maybe that’s a good thing. It means you aren’t desensitized to it yet. You only realize that Jed is watching you carefully when he asks, again: “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Why are you so worried about me? You could be next too.”

“I think I can handle it if it comes to that.” He took a sip from his coffee to hide his smile. If you found this odd, you didn’t remark on it. “At least let me walk you home tonight.” 

You stared at him, unsure why you were suddenly uneasy, why an alarm was going off somewhere in the back of your head. Then you decided that it was stupid. You knew Jed. He took pictures of the duck pond for you. Hardly anything to be frightened by. 

“That would be nice, thanks.” 

___

After a week of waking up in the middle of the night, you were certain there was something else going on that your body was trying to tell you. When your eyes open, once again barely past two A.M., you sit up in your bed instead of trying to go back to sleep right away like you normally do. The shadows in your room seemed deeper tonight, your curtains blocking out most of the light from the street. 

You stare into the corner, hoping that the shape manifesting in the darkness was just your eyes playing tricks on you and you could go back to sleep. But you knew better. Slowly, your eyes adjust to the low light and you’re able to make out the dark figure standing in the shadows. 

“...Go away.” 

Slowly, with the creak of leather, the figure shook its head. You take a careful breath, trying not to let your fear show. But it must be palpable in the air, there's no way it wasn’t. 

“What do you want?” 

The headlights of a car driving by shined into your room for a brief second, illuminating the figure and the mask he wore like a bolt of lightning struck down outside. It only confirmed what you had been afraid of since you’d woken to see a dark shadow in your corner, as his mask was barely visible in the dark room. 

But it seems that Ghostface has, indeed, marked you as his next victim. 

You move, bolting out of bed. He must want to give chase because he lets you fling your door open and run down the hall, his steady footsteps following you. But he catches up to you quickly, his body slamming into yours and pressing you against the wall, his arms wrapping around your front. Before you can begin to struggle, the thin edge of a blade is pressed against your throat, effectively stopping you in your tracks. You can only respond with a choked cry.  

The hard length of his body presses against your back, a firm barrier between you and your freedom. He adjusts slightly, allowing you to feel the other hard length pressing against you, though you can only barely feel it through the layers of his outfit. But you know it’s there. 

You exhale shakily, and you don’t know if it's from fear or your own arousal. (Or both). 

His chest hits your back as he breathes, standing still with you as your mind tries to catch up with everything that has happened in the past few seconds.

“Let me go.” You whisper. His arms flex around you, squeezing slightly. “Please.”

To your surprise, his grip loosens. 

“Call the cops and I’ll skin you alive.” He hisses in your ear, his voice rough from the modulator he’s using. 

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing frozen in your hallway, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why wasn’t your blood splattered on the walls, why did he let you go?

Despite his warning, you did consider calling the cops. But really, what would they do? Ghostface was gone. There was no evidence aside from the thin line of red on your throat where he’d pressed the knife, and even that was fading quickly.

Instead, you return to your room, curling under the covers and staring at the wall until the room brightens with the dawn. 

___

You had no idea if Ghostface continued to watch you. You were certain he was. You’d come home to things in obviously different positions. It was like he was taunting you, begging you to do something about it.

You simply put the objects back where they belonged and continued about your day.  

___

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?” Jed asks, a few dates later when you’re sitting on your couch with him and perched on the edge of the cushion, your muscles tense like you were about to take off running, and he seems so understanding in that moment that you almost blurt out what has been happening for the past two weeks. But fear takes a hold of you, and instead you simply shake your head. 

“No, no. There’s nothing.”

___

The second time you actually see Ghostface, you’re barely prepared for it. You knew, deep down, that he’d be back at some point and yet you were still surprised when you arrived home to an open window, your sheer curtains fluttering in the hot wind as the humidity from outside filled the room. 

You drop your bag, staring at the open window like it was a rabid animal that was going to attack. Then, slowly, you turn your head to the corner, where you can feel his eyes on you. 

Even though you can’t see his eyes through the mask, you can feel the moment you make eye contact with him. 

Ghostface starts walking towards you and you don’t know why you don’t move. The door is right behind you and yet you stand there, watching as he approaches you with slow and measured steps as the streetlight from outside glints off the knife he holds loosely in his hand. You swallow thickly. 

Then, when he’s only a step away and after you’ve had ample time to turn around and run away, he grabs the side of your head, his gloved hand threading through your hair. Finally, your brain catches up to your situation and you struggle against his hold. You vaguely register him shushing you from behind the mask but your heart is racing too fast in your ears to really pick up on it. 

As a response to your thrashing, he places the flat edge of the knife against your cheek, a silent threat that stills your movement. You stare at him, stuck between his knife and his hand. (You should’ve run, why didn’t you run?)

He clicks his tongue, the noise distorted by the voice modulator in his mask as he shakes his head.

“Be good for me, won’t you?”  

Something shifts-- maybe it’s the wind from the open window or maybe he leans in a fraction closer but you suddenly catch a whiff of his scent. He must’ve been covering it up with a heavier cologne in his previous visits, because you would have easily recognized this from the first visit. Stale cigarette smoke, coffee, and an unidentifiable musk of his (usual) cologne.

It’s like being dunked in ice cold water after a warm day in the sun. You stare up at Ghostface, your brain quickly piecing together all the things you hadn’t consciously picked up on. The coincidences, the hints, the tiny behaviors that reminded you, always, of someone else. 

You pull yourself out of his grip, and you don’t know if he expected you because you’re able to make it halfway across the room on shaky legs before he grabs you again. Your legs buckle beneath you at the force of his body against yours and he follows you to the floor, roughly turning you over so you’re laying on your back with him perched above you. 

Heart racing, you reach up and yank his mask off, too quick for him to react. You blink at him, confirming what you’d just figured out. What you’d known, really, this entire time.

“Jed.” 

For a second, his face is blank. Then, he starts to laugh, pressing his weight down on your body when you start to struggle again. 

“I was wondering when you’d figure it out. Was hoping you wouldn’t, really, but.” He shrugged. “Does it make you feel better, or worse, to know that you weren’t actually cheating on me?”

“I never did anything with Ghostf- you.”

“But I know you well enough to know that you wanted to. I felt how you pressed back against me that night when you first noticed me in your room.” He leans down, getting in your face. His eyes are so cold, not at all the eyes of the Jed Olsen you knew. Was that even his name, or was that a lie too? “Did you want Ghostface to hold you down and fuck you? Was Jed not cutting it out for you? You needed the big bad serial killer, didn’t you?” 

He places his gloved hand over your throat, noting how your breath catches. “Of course you did.” His hand moves down, laying over your left breast. He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to actually touch you. It’s only then you notice the rhythm he’s keeping with his other hand, the one that’s still resting on the side of his leg. He’s feeling your heartbeat, though his eyes are locked onto yours. 

“I didn’t. I don’t.” 

“You say that, but-” He peers closer at your eyes. “Your eyes are telling me something else.” He leans back and smugly offers his explanation. “You know that eyes dilate when you’re sexually aroused.”

“I-” You swallow, falling silent. What can you say? Any denial would be a lie. He continues to look down on you, face passive. 

“I don’t want to kill you.” He interrupts your silence. Then he’s quiet. Thoughtful, almost. A glimmer of the Jed you knew coming through in his hesitation. “Not yet, at least.”

“Oh-”

“But I can’t exactly let you go on knowing who I am.”

“...I won’t tell anyone.” He raises an eyebrow, looking like he might burst into laughter again. “Promise.”

What power did you have to promise something when you were the one under him, the memory of the edge of his knife still cold on your cheek? 

“Who would you tell?” He said, causing you to furrow your brow. “You think that Jed Olsen is my real name? I’ve thought through everything before you or anyone else could even try to.”

“But-”

“Why would I let you go, when your death will be so…” he leaned down again, his hips rolling slightly against yours. It’s achingly difficult not to press up against it. “...delicious?”

“I don’t want to die.” 

“None of you do.” He tutted. His hand that had been laying on your breast moves to the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling the fabric up to expose your stomach. You shivered at the feeling of leather on your skin, goosebumps trailing after his fingers as he slid his hand back towards your breasts. 

“Front clasping bra.” He says under his breath, raising his eyebrows at you. “Were you expecting company?”

“No.” You glance down. You could offer an explanation like oh, it’s almost laundry day or I just like this bra, but you stay silent. Watching as he unclasps it.  

Jed- though that isn’t his name, is it?- removes his gloves, tossing them somewhere in your living room. You start to turn your head to see where they landed but he grabs your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him again. 

“Stay still.” 

It’s then that you notice his knife, back in his hand, and watch, with bated breath, as he drags the tip over the skin between your breasts, not hard enough to even sting. Down, under where your skin creases, back up around the right breast until he lays the blade flat against you. Your chest is rising and falling quickly with your breath, though you try to control it for fear of being nicked by the knife. 

“Are you going to kill me?” 

He hums, tracing the point of the blade around your nipple and watching as it hardens. 

“Tell you what-” He moves the knife to the other breast. “-we can postpone your death.”

“And what do you want instead?” You ask, as if it wasn’t obvious from the way he was dragging his blade across your exposed chest or the obvious erection pressing against you when he rolled his hips. 

“I think you know.” He raised his eyebrows. Was there a choice? And even if you did have a choice where the option wasn’t death, would you choose any differently? 

He pinches your nipple, prompting a shaky acceptance from you. “Fine.” You barely bite back a please before he slides down your body, his hands running down your chest to the hem of your pants. The knife returns to cut off the button (unnecessarily) and he roughly pulls your pants down your legs, his nails scratching your skin. 

He slots himself between your legs, now with only the thin fabric of your underwear and his clothes separating him from you. Even that doesn’t last long, as he takes the side of your underwear and rips through it with the knife before doing the same to the other side, ripping the fabric away from your body. 

Leaning back, he starts to fiddle with the many belts and buckles around his waist. You watch, your legs falling apart slightly. His eyes drop to your core, his tongue darting out to lick his lip at the sight of your wet cunt. 

“For someone who seemed so averse to this, you’re pretty wet.” He comments. Before you can respond, he’s pushing into you, having pulled his cock from the complicated trappings of his outfit. 

You groan at the intrusion, the slight pinch of pain before you adjust as he continues to push into you. He gives you barely a moment to breathe before he pulls out and begins thrusting back into you. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts as he fills you, his cock thick in your cunt. You can only whimper in response, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. 

He pulls your leg up, placing it over his shoulder as he continues to fuck into you, the new angle allowing him to hit deeper inside of you. You curse, throwing your head back. You’re certain that you’ll have a rash on your back and ass from the carpet rubbing against your skin but the bursts of pleasure from his cock and his fingers are enough to distract you from that for the moment. 

“Come on, cum on my cock-” He grunts, his hips rutting down against you, his fingers pressing harder against your clit as he practically bullied your body into orgasming for him. Your back arched, hands flying to pull him down to you. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his cloak, scratching against the leather as he urges you on with whispered praise and degradation. 

With a final thrust of his hips, he finishes inside of you, low curses hissed through his teeth. 

You lay, chest heaving as he pulls out, wincing at the sudden feeling of emptiness. The sweat that covers your skin begins to cool. 

“Remember what I said last time about calling the cops.” 

You don’t respond, only clipping your bra back together and pulling your shirt back down over your chest. After all, what could the police do at this point? There were very few signs of a struggle in your apartment. And, as you found out the next day, Jed had gone out after and killed someone else. At best, the police wouldn’t believe that it had actually been Ghostface in your apartment. At worst, they’d think you were in on it. 

And, when you went into work the next day to find a dark polaroid picture of you, asleep, from a few weeks ago- before you’d even asked Jed to take those pictures of the duck pond- with a red heart scrawled at the bottom, you began to think that maybe the worst assumption wasn’t that far off anymore. 

[youhideastar]

Rule of Law: Deleted Endings

A couple of folks have indicated that they'd be interested in seeing the many, many failed attempts I had at drafting an ending to Rule of Law. 😂 Truly, the ending persecuted me for days. It's like that Edison quote about learning 200 ways not to make a lightbulb. Anyway, if you are interested, read on!

There's a piece of writing advice that, if you can't write anything good to follow a particular line/paragraph, you should delete the line/paragraph. It crossed my mind many times that this advice was maybe correct and I should therefore delete the lines:

“Mn.” Lan Wangji rises to his feet, and Lan Jingyi joins him. “This person would also need a strong sense of justice. A strong work ethic. And a sense of humor.” He studies the young man before him, who was once a small, loud boy with a habit of interrupting Lan Wangji’s lessons to ask impertinent questions. “Lan Jingyi. I am proud of you.”

Because I was having a devil of a time following them. But my gut told me that I absolutely should not do that. That those lines were very, very important to the emotional core of the fic. And now that I have figured out how to end it, I'm so glad I kept them. The fic needs them.

But yeah... what comes next? The problem is that those lines have the feel of an ending to them already--but they're not quite enough to wrap up the fic, to tie a bow on it. I got the idea to have Jingyi say he was proud of Lan Wangji in return quite early, but discarded it since it would be such a violation of the norms of their society. I eventually decided to go with it anyway, but only after approximately a dozen alternatives:

#1:

For a moment, they pause on the porch, looking out over the mass of cultivators who have come for the conference: rogue cultivators in homespun and rich young masters in fine brocade; juniors looking around with awe and elders conversing in somber tones. Across the yard, Luo Qingyang is deep in discussion with Meishan Yu’s head disciple, holding Little Mianmian’s hand. Nie Huaisang is fluttering his fan; Wen Ning is crouched amid a gaggle of children, letting them trace their fingers over the black veins on his neck.

“I can take those for copying,” Lan Jingyi says, holding out his hands for the stack of papers. He smiles again. “I think you have someone to meet.”

“Mn.”

Lan Wangji entrusts the papers to Lan Jingyi and turns his steps toward the back hill.

Wrong - takes the focus off of LJY and LWJ, but the very last line would make it into the final version.

#2:

As they depart the office, Lan Jingyi asks, “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

“I do not know,” Lan Wangji replies.

Lan Jingyi smiles. “Yeah. I guess that’s the point.”

Who decides?

“Indeed.”

The proposals have been gathered. Their fate is no longer in his hands.

Lan Wangji entrusts the stack of papers to Lan Jingyi, and turns his steps toward the back hill.

He thinks he hears the sound of a flute.

The early parts of this are actually fine, but they're still not an ending, and the transition to the bit about the back hill was brutally abrupt and would not smooth out no matter what I did.

#3:

“Who knows if the rule will even make it into the book.”

“We cannot know,” Lan Wangji agrees. Now, he smiles. “But I will vote for it.”

“Thank you, Hanguang-jun.” He laughs. The sound is slightly watery. “And thank you for—doing all this just based on my wild idea.”

This material is all fine but is not getting us closer to an ending.

#4:

He coughs. “Anyway, let me take those for copying. You have a meeting with a rogue cultivator to get to.”

Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow, but hands over the stack of paper. “I was unaware,” he says.

“As your assistant, I know these things,” Lan Jingyi says, grinning. “He’s on the back hill. With his donkey.”

“Ah.”

The beginning of the phase where I thought I needed to go out on an explicitly Wangxian note. There are going to be a lot of these and they're all wrong, because the ending needs to be about Lan Jingyi. He's the heart. Of the fic, and of the reason I wrote the fic.

#5:

He coughs. “Anyway. Let me take those for copying; you have… somebody to meet, don’t you?”

Lan Wangji does not ask how Lan Jingyi knows: it is the job of a good assistant to know these things. “Mn.” He hands the stack of papers over. It feels heavier than the mere weight of the paper.

Substantially similar to the last one and wrong for the same reason.

#6:

As they walk onto the porch, he says cheerfully, “Even if no one votes for it tomorrow, I’ll always have that.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees. At the next bend in the path that leads to the Jingshi, a figure is leaning against a lantern stand. Dangling from his hands, Lan Wangji can make out two jars of Emperor’s Smile. “Good night, Lan Jingyi.”

“Good night, Hanguang-jun.”

I really wanted the fic to be canon-compliant, which would mean WWX would meet LWJ in the back hill, but by this point I was desperate and was willing to sacrifice canon-compliance if it could get me an ending that didn't suck. Spoiler alert: it couldn't.

#7:

As they walk onto the porch, papers in hand, Lan Jingyi says, “Let me take those for copying – it looks like you’ve got a meeting.”

Lan Wangji follows his gaze. There, in the bend of the path, is a figure in black – facing away, and holding two dangling jars of Emperor’s Smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong-ola.

#8:

As they walk onto the porch, Lan Wangji asks, “Are the preparations for tomorrow complete?”

Lan Jingyi smiles. “Almost. Just waiting on one last guest.” Putting on an air of innocence, he offers, “Should I go to the back hill to meet him?”

“No need,” says Lan Wangji, with a small smile of his own. “I know where to find him.”

Cute! But no. WWX shows up exactly the right amount in this fic. Any more is too much.

#9:

In silence, they carry the stack of papers out of Lan Wangji’s office, through the paths of Cloud Recesses—crowded, now, with guests for tomorrow’s conference—to the scribes’ hall.

At the door, the chief scribe greets them with a polite smile and bow. “Hanguang-jun. Lan-shao-gongzi. Is the compilation complete?”

Lan Wangji nods, and hands her the file. Her eyes widen when she takes it from him.

“It’s heavy,” she says.

It is. Lan Wangji had noticed that himself. There is more than paper and ink carried in those pages.

New direction: we're going to actually take the rules for copying, and therefore go out focusing on the rules rather than LJY and LWJ. Not a bad idea thematically! But it just didn't work.

#10:

At the closed door, they pause.

“Hanguang-jun,” Lan Jingyi whispers, “Do you ever wish we just—picked the best rules ourselves and got rid of the rest?”

Who decides?

“No.”

Then, unexpectedly, Lan Jingyi smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.”

Together, they knock on the door.

This one would borrow the first few lines of the last one - carrying the papers to the scribes again. This one is, hopefully, redundant. If you get this far in the fic and still don't understand that LWJ shouldn't pick the rules, I've failed.

#11:

As they walk out onto the porch, Lan Jingyi blurts, “Hanguang-jun knows this junior has a history of disregarding proper etiquette and seniority, so this junior hopes Hanguang-jun will forgive him for saying he’s—he’s proud of you, too.”

Lan Wangji pauses, and turns to face his assistant, who blushes.

“Everyone knows you didn’t really want this job,” Lan Jingyi mumbles. “Hanguang-jun worked hard and gave up a lot. So. This junior is proud.”

After having tried what felt like literally everything else, I decided to try having LJY say he was proud of LWJ in return, to see if it would write. It would!! Not like this, though--too clunky--so one more iteration was required.

#12 (final version):

Lan Jingyi blinks hard for a moment, then looks away. “Thank you, Hanguang-jun.”

As they step onto the porch, Lan Jingyi clutches the file of proposals to his chest and blurts out, “This junior is proud of you, too, Hanguang-jun.”

It is, of course, a breach of etiquette and seniority for a junior to speak to Lan Wangji in such a way.

But if Lan Wangji placed a higher value on etiquette and seniority than on sincerity, he would have selected a different assistant.

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji, with a rare smile. Then he turns away and sets out for the path that will lead him to the back hill.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

[bleach-your-panties]

Stuck thinking abt teasing Izuru the whole day until he just blows up and gets his revenge at home 😔😔😔😔

"Kira's Revenge"

a/n: *cackles maniacally* some of this deleted in the writing process (fuck you tumblr drafts) and i had to rewrite it.

🤍can be read in conjuction with this.

🩶cw: fem reader, exhibitionism, handjob, fingering, dirty talk, shibari - Izuru manhandles reader, but no physical harm is done. aftercare.

🤍dividers by @/hitobaby.

🩶wc: 1.9k

One would think that you'd have learned your lesson about teasing your husband in public, especially at a meeting as important as this one.

Today was the day that Izuru would officially, on paper, be instated as the new Captain of the Third Division. With you being his wife and his new Lieutenant, you both had to meet with Kyouraku before the ceremony so that the First Division Captain could answer any questions that the two of you might have.

As Shunsui talked, you sat with your hand resting comfortably on Izuru's thigh. The blonde male sent a warm smile your way before focusing his attention to the Head Captain.

"So, Lieutenant Kira and Third Seat Kira," Shunsui paused to let out a hearty chuckle, "saying that will never get old to me..."

You immediately began to zone out after the first few sentences left his mouth; right now, your husband's strong, muscled thigh was a much more interesting focal point.

Izuru jolted in his chair when you began to run your hand up his inner thigh and toward his crotch. His dick immediately twitched in response to the proximity of your warm fingers.

Doing his best to remain calm, he gently nudged your hand away before grabbing it up with his own and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. You complied for a few moments and stopped your ministrations.

He shot you a warning look when Kyouraku looked down to thumb through his stack of paperwork to grab a document that he needed to read off of.

You just smiled innocently and gave a small nod of affirmation.

“So, what I want to go over first is…”

Again, you tuned the brunette captain out and let your little hand wander back into Izuru’s lap.

A gremlin-esque smirk would be across your lips right now if you weren’t in the middle of this meeting. Instead, you let your mischievous fingers fiddle with your husband’s obi until it was untied.

Izuru clenched his jaw to stifle a moan when your hand slid into his pants and cupped his balls. 

Feeling a bit bolder, you circled your index finger and thumb around his base and slowly moved them up and down, making the blonde hiss through his teeth.

“Is everything alright, Lieutenant Kira?” Shunsui drawled lazily, his brown eyes drifting up from the papers to meet Izuru’s.

Either Shunsui was completely dense or he just didn’t give a damn about you two’s antics.

Hell, he'd likely done much worse with his own wife.

‘Kids these days,’ he was probably thinking.

“I’m fine, Captain…I just stubbed my toe on the table.” Izuru lied.

Shunsui didn’t seem too perturbed and thus continued with his spiel until he had to excuse himself to go use the restroom.

Izuru’s head was on a swivel as soon as the door clicked shut.

"How impatient you are? Can't even wait until we're home to get fucked."

All you could do was give him another sheepish little smile as he yanked your hand out of his pants.

In the blink of an eye, his left hand was wrapped around your throat - usual bright blue eyes darkened to a cold sapphire. 

He used the index and middle to pry your lips open before shoving them both in your mouth along with the ring finger. The cold platinum band rubbed along your tongue as Izuru tilted your head back.

"Listen up and listen well. This is how this is going to go. I'm going to fingerfuck you while he talks and you'd better not say a fucking word or make a sound. Understand that?"

Slowly, you nodded as your saliva dribbled down your chin.

He shook your head from side to side.

“Say. Words.” 

“Yes, Izuru…I understand…” you dumbly responded, mumbling over his long fingers. Satisfied, he pulled them out and patted your cheek roughly.

"And you'd better keep that same stupid smile on your face later, too; when I'm fucking you with your legs and arms hogtied over your damn head."

—-

Moments later, Shunsui returned to the room to both of you sitting there looking as normal as ever; though something highly inappropriate was going on beneath that table.

Since you wanted to be hardheaded and play around, Izuru would indulge you and play along; though you might not like his rules.

His entire left hand was inside your pants now. He waited until Shunsui sat down again before he began to trace his fingertips over your pubic mound through your panties.

A hot shiver ran down your legs and Izuru smirked to himself. What a devious little bastard, but hey, you started the shit, and he’s much better at getting revenge than you are.

The meeting suddenly began to drone on as Izuru and Shunsui conversed merrily; meanwhile, your blonde husband had a death grip on your inner thigh, his middle and ring fingers shoved deep inside your cunt, wedding band sliding against your outer labia while his thumb drew quick circles over your clit.

You gripped the edge of the table with force, knee bumping against the leg of it as yours shook violently.

“You’re not looking too well, Third Seat Kira. Do you need to be excused? We can always pick up tomorrow and finish.”

Shunsui began to gather his paperwork before pushing his chair out and standing. 

Izuru glanced at your face. His cold expression didn’t match his warm, jovial tone when he spoke.

“I think my darling wife might be feeling a little ill, Captain. If you don't mind, may we please pick back up first thing tomorrow morning? I know how important this entire ordeal is as it pertains to the future of the Third Division.”

Shunsui wasn't bothered and quickly agreed, 

“Sure! I just need you both to sign this document stating that you understand the terms that were laid out for you today.”

He slid the paper and two pens across the table and Izuru picked his pen up to sign, all the while still rubbing your clit and even adding a third finger to dig deeper inside your hole.

Your knuckles were white as they gripped the wooden table; you might even leave with a couple splinters.

“He's waiting for your signature, Bluebell.” 

Izuru gave you a little “nudge” below that sent you forward. 

You squeezed your thighs together to hopefully still his hand, but that somehow only pushed his fingers even deeper and made your hand shake as you signed your name on the line. 

—-

You and Izuru both gave a respectful bow to the Head Captain before Izuru wrapped an arm around your lower back to guide you in the direction of your home.

Once you had turned down the pathway leading to your house, he gripped you up again and Flash-Stepped you both to the doorstep.

—--

You knew that your husband was pissed the hell off when he bypassed the futon in the living room (one of his favorite places to have sex) and dragged you straight toward the bedroom. 

He held a firm grip on your head as he guided you; the stones in his wedding band could be felt pressing into your jaw.

“You proud of yourself for that little display?” 

He asked after kicking open the bedroom door and hurrying you inside. It slammed behind him with a loud ‘thud.’

When you didn't respond, Izuru continued, 

“Already drunk on the anticipation of me fucking you? Slutty little angel.” 

----

"You know your word, so if you need to, use it. I'm not answering to 'stop.' "

Nodding obediently, you laid your body out on the bed so Izuru could begin tying you up.

He kept good on his word by putting you up with your ankles and wrists tied together like a roasting pig. Once he was finished, he leaned back on his knees to admire his handiwork and cup your chin.

"Perfect face, perfect cunt. Tell me, are you ready to get ruined by your new Captain, darling?"

You decided to remain quiet so as not to further exacerbate your punishment, but Izuru's calculating blue eyes didn't miss how your pussy glistened from his words.

"You're fucking dripping. That's all the answer I need."

----

"Please, Izu! I'm s-sorry!" You hiccuped, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as Izuru continued to roll his hips and fuck you against the headboard.

He effortlessly held you up by your ropes as his fat cock bullied its way in and out of your overstimulated pussy.

"Is please your safe word, Bluebell?"

"N-no."

Izuru pressed his left palm into the small of your back to deepen your arch for him. The new angle allowed him to get much deeper as he rested his upper body against your back.

"Well, then that means, 'keep going, Izuru.' "

You gasped when he rubbed up against that spot, but no, he wasn't going to give you that satisfaction just yet. 

He chuckled as his warm breath ghosted over the shell of your ear and the tip of his bang tickled the back of your neck.

A soft kiss was pressed to it before you were yanked up, back flush against his chest as he began pounding you hard and fast.

His fingers curled into a fist in the ropes tied across your breasts for leverage - the sounds of his hips smacking into your ass echoed all across the bedroom.

"I-I-ZURU!" You choked out a moan/cry of his name, your body seizing up quickly with your impending orgasm. 

He was close too, but the devil inside of him told him not to give you the satisfaction of cumming inside of you.

Quickly, he pulled out and released his grip on you, making your body fall to the mattress below.

"Turn your ass around."

Izuru commanded while gripping his dick and rapidly jacking himself off. You scrambled up onto your knees as fast as you could while being bound.

You eagerly let your tongue loll out in anticipation of his release.

"Close your mouth."

In disbelief, your face fell, but you couldn’t be too surprised, especially when he was like this (because of you). You did as told and quickly shut your lips. 

Izuru let out a couple of loud gasps and squeezed his eyes shut as his nut spurted from his dickhead and over your face, landing on your forehead, nose, and lips.

Once he’d finished pumping himself dry, he opened his beautiful blue eyes to inspect you.

"That was for making me lose my cool." 

He cupped your chin again and leaned down to press a heated kiss to your lips, prying them open in the process to slip his tongue in.

“That,” he breathed against your lips once he broke the kiss, “was for being such a good girl for me.” 

—-

Izuru pressed soft kisses into your shoulders and rubbed them after he untied you.

“Are you okay, Bluebell?” 

You cuddled up to him, wrapped in a soft throw blanket with a steaming mug of tea in your hands.

“Mhm, I'm fine, Izu…”

He smiled gently, cheeks warming as you pressed a kiss underneath his chin. 

“You know what I just thought about?” 

Eyebrows crinkled and head tilted, you asked, “What's that?”

Turning those blue eyes down to look at you, he uttered lowly,

“I think that I might enjoy teaching you how to follow orders, Lieutenant.” 

💗💗🍡°taglist: @enchantedforest-network @blkkizzat @the-witch-of-one-piece @kenpachisbrat @honeybleed @darkstarlight82 @bakugosbratx @chifuyuskoneko @prettybraat

[i4bellingham]

ATTENTION: pablo gavi x reader

SYNOPSIS: in you're stumped with school works and gavi just wants you to spare him some time for cuddles.

NOTE: my first ever gavi fic hooray! *pops confetti* i literally wrote this instead of fixating my time to do my school works but i realized that school works doesn't give me a peace of mind unlike writing fanfiction does so of course i’d rather be here than do my school stuff-

If he could burn the pile of folders and papers stacked on your study table, Gavi definitely would.

But since he knows that it's important that you finish them and submit those papers to whichever nuisance gave them to you in the very first place, Gavi simply scoffed, pouted his lips, crossed his arms over his chest before the door closed right in front of his face.

You literally closed the door in front of him when he's sulking because hey! He can behave himself when you're studyingㅡ or doing those god forsaken school works.

You didn't have to shut him out, but you did. And that made the 18 year old frown even more before walking away, deciding to stay in the living room instead.

On the other hand, you began filing the papers that were due at an earlier date, placing them to your right and separating the rest to the left.

It was such a pain in the ass but you needed to graduate, at least one between you and Gavi needs to finish their studies for the sake of your future, your own future. And it's immediately concluded that it'd be you, seeing as how much Gavi already flourishes in his sport.

And you wanted to make a name for yourselfㅡ not wanting to be known simply as Gavi’s significant other when you know you can pave a way for your own success, hence why you're trying your best in college.

You are aware of Gavi's current disposition after you slammed the door shut in front of his face.

He had the tendency to be a tad bit overdramatic, clingy and just borderline possessive of your time and attention. He wants all of it to be directed to him but after a few months of competing with your resolute drive to do well in your studies, he had to make the adjustments in himself.

And as much as it pains him, he's actually very proud that you're steering your path to where you want it to. No matter if he has to fight inanimate papers for you to pay a semblance of attention to him, Gavi is happy and proud of you, knowing well that college in general wasn't an easy path to take and you're diving into it with determination and confidence.

Sighing, you began flipping through your tasks, wanting to finish a good portion of it just as much as you boyfriend.

-

It wasn’t until 4 hours later since you've started, already managing to finish 5 activities and 2 drafts for your literary essays when your phone pinged.

-

from: gavi 💛

around what time are you gonna pay attention to me?

-

You snort, pausing from stapling your papers as you lean back on your chair. You began typing your reply.

-

to: gavi 💛

i literally just talked to you not even 20 minutes ago when you brought me food

-

from: gavi 💛

SO?????

-

You chuckle, picturing him rolling his eyes at your response.

-

to: gavi 💛

just how much attention do you need pablo? 🙄

from: gavi 💛

ALL OF IT??? IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION

-

You shake your head, closing your phone before pocketing it and then turning the lights to your desk lamp off.

You stretched your body for a few minutes, releasing a groan when you hear your joints cracking before walking over to the door, twisting the knob open and letting yourself out.

Gavi was lying down on the sofa when you reached the living room, feet on the back rest with his head hanging at the edge of the seat.

“You’ll get dizzy when you stay in that position for much longer Gavi.”

Gavi turns his head to you with a sigh. “You were gone for hours.”

“Well I'm here now aren't I?” You pat his cheek, moving to sit down next to him.

Gavi lays his head on your lap, throwing his phone on the coffee table before wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I was bored.” You can almost hear the pout in his voice as he close his eyes, nuzzling his face on your stomach as you began running your fingers through his hair.

“When are you ever not bored?”

“When you're with me.” He immediately replies. “I don’t get bored when you're with me.”

You roll your eyes playfully, throwing your head back against the soft cushion. “What do you peg me for? A comedian? A clown?”

“A nice company.” He tilts his head, chuckling at the way your mouth went agape at his answer.

You clear your throat before flicking his forehead.

“You’re such a smooth talker aren't you?”

Gavi grabs your free hand, kissing each knuckles before placing it over his cheeks.

“Just with you...”

You don't say anything, you don't comment on how red his own cheeks had gotten. He doesn't say add anything too.

Gavi pats the space beside him, silently asking you to lay with him and you silently do. He reaches a hand out to brush away the stray hair that fell on your face, letting you adjust yourself comfortably beside him with your head now over his chest.

Gavi wraps an arm around you, entangling your feet together before he leans down to kiss your forehead while rubbing slow circles on your back.

The two of you don’t say anything for a while, letting the silence prevail as you bask in the company of the otherㅡ Gavi's need for attention finally solved.

[honeyatsu]

Loner 4 (Junpei x Reader)

PREV | Masterlist

TW: mention of suicide

a/n:

Hiiii ~ T_T it's been so long since i've written lol! I am sorry if its not good....im kinda rusty! I found this draft after trying to fix my laptop and going thru my things....I figured why not finish it!!! :D I loved working on this fic even tho the only thing done is the outline/draft...i missed writing so im just getting back into a hobby I once loved again ((: I am sooo sorry if my writing style is no longer enjoyable lol but only way to get better after a too long break is to keep writing :D !!!

You decide to take matters into your own hands when Junpei doesn’t return to school the next two weeks – literally.

If the empty desk next to you and continuous lonely lunches weren’t offensive enough, he had the audacity to not even open your texts anymore. Leaving your texts on delivered as opposed to the checked read notification you would often see desperately checking your phone at the end of the day, along with sending your calls straight to voicemail. Sometimes you think you would feel less offended if he just blocked you.

So, you generously speak to your school advisor, showing concern in your friends’ absence and inevitable fate of falling behind – you offer to take his missing work to him and help him catch up, not a complete lie. You weren’t one to be ghosted— ever. A shot to your ego mixed with a concern of your best friend, you decided if he was going to ignore you, you would just go to him. Even if it meant getting his address through the school, no matter how creepy it sounded, whatever context you would put it in.

“Are you taking those to Junpei?” you turn to see your underclassman and teammate, Ino, staring at you with her large doe hazel-eyes, her naturally flushed cheeks spreading from one corner of her face to another.

Cute, Ino was cute. You offer her a simple nod, the white pages your fingers were buried under slightly slipping from your grip, Ino catching it, leaning it towards you again before they could fall. “Do you want me to come and help?” Her tone was sincere and kind, you could say her voice was almost as angelic as her face.

Your stomach churned, body becoming stiff as she stood in front of you, batting her doe-eyes at you with a smile. She annoyed you.

“It’s fine. Gotta go.” You mutter, gripping onto the folders and sheets tightly, speeding your way past her.

It’s lively here, the area you need to walk through in order to get to his home. There are students, chatting, taking up the streets and shops as they lounge around after school. When you walked passed Tatsu Ramen, you tried to not let the bitterness linger around, seeing familiar (yet not so friendly) faces eating there. You flick your tongue against your teeth, wondering if Junpei decided to finally stop ignoring you, where would you two go now. You try to avoid them, quickly shuffling past them, using the stack to cover your face.

The walk wasn’t a short one, nor a long one. It was far enough to make your ankles ache, holding onto the heavy workload – you weren’t sure if you felt bad for the missing work he was going to have to do, or the scolding you were mentally rehearsing to give him.

Either way, it was a headache he deserved, you thought.

The lecture that wasn’t ready was going to have to come sooner rather than later, as you spot him walking toward his home, his clothes baggy and even from the distance you were at, he was more relaxed than you’ve seen him ever be at school. You were at the top of a small street-hill that came before his house, the slope only aiding your speed as you ran towards him, shouting his name, gripping the folder and paperwork that were fighting to slip through your hands.

The closer you get to him, the sloppier your moves are, your nerves reaching all the way to the tip of your toes, the crack on the street not helping as you trip over it. Junpei’s arms reaches out, stopping you from falling into his chest with both hands placed on your shoulder. You stare him in the eye, chest heaving and breath loud and messy, you don’t care that you’re practically blowing your breath into his face. Seeing him felt like seeing a ghost — but seeing his wide eyes turn into a small scowl felt like seeing a ghost who just punched you in the chest.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes squinting as he observed the piles of work placed on your hand. He scoffs at the sight.

“You’re not in the right to ask questions! Do you even know how a phone works?” you huff out, trying to catch your breath and put your adrenaline at ease.

A look of shame left as quickly as it came as he let go of you giving you a slight shove, his lips pouting as he faced the opposite direction of your face, “Don’t tell me you’re here because you’re worried about my coursework.”

“Well, for us to graduate together, you kind of need to pass. I just thought I’d do you a favor.” Your lower your arms to remove the work that was covering half of your face, displaying your frown even though he was refusing to look at you. You take a deep breath as you contemplate your next sentence. “Plus, I was wo –”

“Us? There is no us,” You were interrupted anyways.

Your mouth opens but no words come out, Junpei finally turns to you. Looking into your eyes, challenging you, just daring you to say something next. You feel the heat of embarrassment rise to your cheeks – or maybe it’s anger, you weren’t exactly sure how you felt at the moment. At the sight of someone who was supposed to be your best friend staring at you with such disgust, almost as if he regretted getting to know you at all.

“You’re all the same.” He started out. His eyes never left yours. “Did you know we’ve gone to the same school for years? By chance you finally noticed me, and because you were too afraid to sit in the front. You think that makes us friends?” His dark gaze was going right through you, burning. The tension couldn’t be cut with a knife as he tried reading you, scanning you for any reaction.

You give him one, taking a slight step back, mouth thinned. You’re still holding on to the stack of papers, crumpling them between your fingers. He waits for you to reply, but you don’t.

“That’s not what bothers me. Your friends, they’ve been picking on me for years. How are you just now noticing? What – because you think we’re friends you finally think I’m worthy of being saved?” He gives a dry, coarse laugh. “You’re no different from the rest. You think you are, because you became friends with poor Junpei, right? You finally decide not to turn a blind eye, barley. The same way everyone else pretends to not notice, you did too! You let them get away with it. It’s not just me that gets picked on! And unless they’re your friends, unless they’re worthy of kindness, you just let them! Everyone does! Teachers, other students, you!”

You don’t dare to speak; you simply shove the assignments to his arms. You don’t look up, you don’t want him to see your lips quiver at his words – you don’t want him to see you fighting to keep your eyes dry, fighting to tune him out. Your attempts fail you, feeling your own wet lashes against your cheek, a single, suppressed tear managing to escape.

“I never needed you. I never needed your pity, I never needed you to save me!”

Of course, he’s mad at you. You don’t know what you did, but you figure that you abandoning him when there was something clearly wrong the other day had something to do with it. You knew something was wrong, yet you still left. And you feel guilty, so guilty for being such a bad friend, just like he says. You feel guilty, thinking that you could just march to him when you’re the one who is in the wrong. You weren’t a good friend, and Junpei knew his worth. You were convinced you were in the right, that it was okay for you to be mad at your friend for abandoning you, but you abandoned him first. You’re ready to turn your heel, turn back and leave him alone for good, and you almost do.

Almost.

“What’s going on here?” A strong voice asked from behind you. You turned your head to be met with a tall slender woman, short black hair, and holding a cigarette in her left hand.

His tone changes, along with his facial expression. His eyebrow twitches when he realizes who has arrived (at the worst possible time, for him); It did not take you necessarily long to realize who she was, her and Junpei practically sharing the same face. If you weren’t so hurt and angry, you could imagine how humiliated you would feel. Weeks of begging Junpei to let you come over, introduce you to his family — and here you are, face to face with the woman who brought your favorite person into this world (even if he was being an ass right now); snotty nosed, eyes glossy, and an ugly tight facial expression because no, you didn’t want him to see you cry.

“She’s bringing my missing work, just a classmate–”

You cut him off, introducing yourself by giving your name, “I’m his best friend.” you snuck in, bowing to his mother while grabbing a work folder, pointing to it. “I brought his classwork. And being honest, I was concerned. I wanted to see for myself that he was okay.” Considering the fact that he seemed to forget how to use his phone and turned into an asshole, you thought to yourself, but you knew to leave that thought to yourself, not wanting to push any of his mother’s buttons, determined to make a good first impression.

“The ramen girl?”

Your eyebrow twitches, turning to Junpei. It almost shocks you, how after his speech of how cruel he tried to make you out to be, this is what offends you. “Your mother knows me as…. the ramen girl?” Junpei stares at you in disinterest and shrugs.

“It’s not often I get to meet a friend, let alone a best friend.” She grins in amusement, “Do you wanna come in and help him catch up with work?”

“Mom, not necessary.” Junpei mutters quietly.

“It wouldn’t be a problem at all!” You chirped in response, grinning from ear to ear as you follow them into their home, ignoring Junpei’s face twisted in irritation.

Their home is welcoming, fit for a small family of two. His mother (you find out her name is Nagi), goes straight to her fridge, taking out a bottle of beer while settling on her counter.

“I appreciate you doing this for him. I understand school isn’t for everyone and honestly, it isn’t as big as you kids make it seem. “ She takes a sip of her beer before continuing, “but I would be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate this. Or you. I’m just glad I finally got to meet the girl who’s worked wonders you’re not even aware of.”

The praise makes you flush — your body heating up. You swiftly look towards Junpei’s direction, seeing his face tinted red, from his cheeks to the tip of his ears. He was avoiding his mothers gaze along with yours, looking to the side and pouting, arms crossed. He looked like an angry toddler, and you would laugh, normally — if you didn’t feel he hated you at this moment.

“ — Oh, I’m sorry, am I keeping you guys waiting?” His mother replies with a grin, “You’re free to go on, help your best friend catch up on his work!” She takes both of you, leading your way to his bedroom with her palm on both backs, lightly shoving you through the door.

Junpei is standing beside you, sheepishly, his guilt showering his face as he sees you softly close the door behind you and fist your palms as a way to calm yourself down. You’re nervous, and you can tell he is too, the blush never leaving his face. And as awkward and unpredictable this current situation is (meeting his mom in the middle of a fight and having her throw you into his bedroom, awkward is an understatement), you still know there are things you need to talk about. You slowly take a few steps towards him, each step causing you to take a deep breath before you trap him in a tight hug.

“I should’ve been a better friend.” You mutter into his chest. Still holding onto him, you look up at him and nearly laugh at his surprised expression. “Please don’t think you don’t matter to me. Or that I feel bad for you. I mean – ouch – because of how you judge my character. You are my friend. I care about you, a lot. And I’m sorry for making you feel otherwise.”

The gold locket you usually kept hidden in your shirt was brought out, it felt so delicate in between your fingers, but the feelings and memories with what was inside laid heavy in your heart. You took one last, slow, deep breath before you opened the heart-chapped locket, revealing the photo of your deceased father. “He was bullied at work. My dad. They treated him horribly, told him he wasn’t worthy of being man of the house, or something like that.”

Don’t cry, You try to tell yourself, don’t cry.

“Well, one day it all got to him. And he decided it was easier to leave me and my mom, than to ‘burden us with his pathetic excuse of a husband and father’. At least that’s what he said in the letter. If he asked me, I would’ve said he was great.”

You sigh, closing up the locket and placing it back into your shirt, “I should’ve paid more attention, you’re right. No one wants to believe people are bad, or people with hearts can be capable of being so cruel. I always thought people were just people when my dad died. When I read his note, it was so sad. Life seemed so dimmed in his perspective. I guess I didn’t want to experience my life like that, I became ignorant to those around me, especially my shitty friends. I was around bullies and was too dumb to even see it.”

Your arms quickly found their way around his waist, bringing your head to his chest and looking up at him, the small tears that still haven’t fallen glistening in between your eyelashes. “What I’m trying to say with all of this is, I’m sorry. I understand what they do is fucked up, and I’m sorry for just staying silent. My ignorance isn’t an excuse, it was never okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you. And I’m not enabling those friendships any longer. You’re my friend Junpei, I care about you.”

Junpei wraps his arms around you, pressing his body tightly against yours. He would’ve never guessed you felt as bad as you did — he would have never imagined you having to go through something so tragic, yet remained so strong, so willing, so vulnerable to the world around you.

It’s silent, the forgiveness that’s communicated between the two of you. After the embrace you look up at him, your eyes still glistening but your smile turns into a small curve, your teeth slightly showing before you start giggling, hitting his chest. He follows you after — laughing at how vulnerable and serious you two were with one another, and he’s happy, because this is new. He hasn’t experienced a true friendship, a falling out, or making up after, being vulnerable.

The next few hours are peaceful as you two sit sprawled out on his bed with the textbooks and folders with weeks worth of school work. You promised to help catch him up as long as he promised to stop skipping class and ignoring you, especially during times he needs people most.

Junpei spends five minutes staring at a problem, not quite understanding what he was supposed to do. He calls your name for help, but you don’t respond. “I really need help right now,” he states, bringing his attention to you, lifting his eyes to meet yours; His eyes softened at the view in front of him, the world around you became a blur — you being the focus point, the soft beating his heart slowly becoming rapid, his body becoming flushed seeing you laid across his bed, your mouth agape and slight drool dripping from the side. He stares and thinks to himself, he’s always thought you were pretty, but this would have to be the prettiest he’s seen you.

He slowly lifts himself off the bed, tip-toeing around to make sure he doesn’t make the slightest noise while going to your side, being sure to not wake you from your sleep.

Junpei takes your leg that was hanging from the edge and takes the piles of work spread across his bed and neatly places them onto his desk, sitting beside your sleeping figure and taking his blanket, covering your body. He then lays beside you, on top of the covers so there is a barrier between the two of you. His eyes trace the shape of your body, looking at the little details and appreciating every blemish, every texture, every line on your face. Without even realizing he brought his face closer to yours, in awe at how at peace you look laying beside him after all he’s put you through.

He takes a moment, taking in a deep breath as he decides to swallow his pride, whispering an apology.

And to his surprise, he hears you accept his apology faintly, right before your quiet snores echo around the room. He smiles at the sight, laying down besides you

As you two fell asleep with one beside one another, close but not close enough, his mother barged in, holding a tray of tea, about to offer some until she noticed the sight before her.

She then smiled to herself, wanting to wake you guys up, or just take a picture to tease you two with it later. She decides to let you two have this moment, because something tells her there would be more to come.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

When winter comes, it comes quietly — the snow falling sneaking up on the world, the same way your feelings for Junpei seemed to. You don’t exactly remember when his presence alone would have your heart beating out of your chest, you don’t remember when you would feel heat rise in your face when he would give you a simple compliment, but it made you uneasy — and confused. Because he was your friend, later on you realized that these physical setbacks weren’t supposed to happen around your friend.

Your friendship with Junpei slowly got better, it was like starting from square one, but he got comfortable fast — you’d say things were getting to how they once were, but you’d argue that they were better. Junpei smiled more, he laughed more, he even got bold and would initiate physical contact with you. It should make you happy, that he has become more open, more willing to shed his light not only to you, but others as well. He developed a better friendship with his club members, he even started to acknowledge people that even shocked you, and it should make you happy.

It should.

One moment you’re urging Junpei to smile more. He’s president of a club filled with classmates with the same interests as him, you jokingly tell him if he can handle being your friend he should have no problem making more. One moment you’re skipping down the halls, holding a bag with a surprise for him – a gift, there was no special event coming up, but you saw the item and thought of him. One moment you’re excited to start off his day with one of his warm laughs, and wide smile you’ve come to adore – and now, you’re trying to be still as your legs wobble, witnessing something that makes your stomach turn in discomfort.

Junpei is laughing – an honest, joyful, (almost too joyful) laugh. The gift bag almost drops to the ground, but you gripped it tightly as it nearly slipped out of your palms, your jaw suddenly tensed up, and you feel like even blinking would be impossible. His eyes are practically glistening as he looks down at the pink hair, doe-eyed girl you knew all too well. She looks up at him, reaching towards his upper left arm, grabbing it after giggling something you couldn’t make out to him. Junpei doesn’t flinch, in fact, he doesn’t react at all. He accepts her physical touch as if it was the most natural thing to him, and something in you bursts. It was as if a fire was casted in your chest, as if the devil himself pushed you far enough to run into Junpei’s back, nearly pushing him further into Ino if you weren’t able to catch the back of his school shirt before he got a chance to fall.

Before you realize what you’ve done, you feel Ino’s large eyes on you, a curious look on her face quickly switching to her sweet smile that has the rest of the school on the palm of her hands, and Junpei looking back at you curiously. You remove your hand from his shirt, slowly bringing it to your side, you lower your gaze to the floor, gripping your gift, wishing to any god out there to have you disappear from the scene itself.

“We have things to go over, Junpei.” You try to state as calmly as possible, but it comes out bitter, a shaky voice followed by a nervous hand reaching for his wrist, not waiting for a response before you attempt to drag him to the opposite direction of Ino.

You peak over his shoulder when he doesn’t move, seeing Ino hold onto his other wrist, keeping him in place. You try to imagine how this looks to the classmates around you, Junpei in between of two classmates, both pulling him into the opposite direction. You try to imagine the amount of self control it would take to not grab one of the most popular first years by the head and drag her down the hall without it becoming a big scandal.

Your breath hitches as Ino looks you in the eye, her smile never faulting. You watch her with a blank stare, your eyes staring at her hand gripping his wrist until she drops it. When you look up she looks back at you innoccently, as if she didn’t just send you into an internal war with her. “I asked Junpei to the Lantern festival.” Ino announces, clear and to the point, her eyes staring directly into yours.

“Just…just the two of you?” You blink back, letting go of the grip you have on him. Your gaze switched from staring directly at her to Junpei, “Did you say yes?”

“No!” Ino laughs out, and it pains you to admit how melodic it was, how you get why Junpei is so comfortable with someone he barely knows. “Chifuyu and Hori are coming. I didn’t want to be the only girl, so I asked Junpei to come along with you. You know them right? They’re in your art classes.”

“I’d like to go.” Junpei states softly. You try not to glare at him, huffing to yourself as you mutter back “whatever.” You pull Junpei rougher, which leads Ino to let go as you drag him into the empty art club room.

The room is silent for the first few minutes. The sound of you ruffling through your bag to get things out and place them onto the desk is the only thing that echoes through the room. The two of you avoid eyecontact with one another – Junpei looking at anywhere but you while playing with his hands, you take out pictures you’ve printed, sprawling them across the desk, neatly lining them up to one another.

A majority of them were selfies of the two of you. If the air around the two of you wasn’t as heavy due to the last encounter, you probably would’ve smiled – chuckled, even. These photos were the visual documenting of the friendship the two of you shared, a visual timeline of seeing his comfortablility with you. From looking awkwardly at the camera (you were lucky if you even got a smile), to some blurry pictures of him shying away, they blossomed into him

“You know,” you started off, pretending to look into the pictures as if you were inspecting them, “When I said you should show the more open side of you more often….I didn’t think you’d do it so easily. Especially with other girls.” You try to sound nonchalant. You try to make it sound like a friend teasing another one.

“I – I just,”

“It’s not a problem. It’s just crazy. Lookin’ at these pictures, y’know? How long it took you to get comfortable with me but you talk to Ino as if you’ve known her for years.” You don’t know what you’re implying or why you’re implying anything at all – Junpei is just your friend and it’s not not fair to act like you own him, that you’re the only girl in the world he should be laughing with.

It shouldn’t bother you that he’s getting more social thanks to his friendship with you. This should be a happy moment. But you can’t help the way the memory of him laughing so easily with her causes your skin to burn, or the heavy fall you felt in your chest when you saw Ino’s hand touch him. The red flush that spread around his face didn’t make it better either.

“I feel like I should say sorry.” Junpei admits, “But I don’t know why I’m apologizing.”

“You don’t need to.” You mumble to yourself, still refusing to look up at him. You sigh as you’re shuffling through the pictures, none of them working for you. The selfies themselves were nice, two friends just savoring memories with one another. Staring at them all heeds the realization that these pictures were nothing but mere proof of your friendship with one another, the word friends sitting grudgingly in your mind. “None of these are good enough.”

You feel Junpei tower over you, his eyes similarly scanning the photos you’ve laid out. He brings his arm out, it hovers over you, lighty grazing your shoulder as he grabs a photo that’s caught his eye. Your breath hitches when his chest presses up against your back due to the movement – your body freezing, this physical contact alone having your breath to become uneasy, using every ounce of your strength to not lose the balance onto your legs. Hesitantly, you turn your head to look up at him, his dark eyes glistening, staring at what he’s just picked up with nothing less than stars in his eyes. He brings the picture closer to him, unintentionally wrapping his arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

Your eyes shift towards the picture he’s holding. It's one of the first ones where he actually felt comfortable enough to look into the camera and smile, his arm wrapped around yours and a peace sign being held up to the side of your face. Your gaze landing on him once again, you tell yourself not to overthink the small grin spread on his face, the red tint that’s just barely making itself visible to you. If you weren’t in such close proximity to him, truthfully, you wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Can I keep this one?” Junpei barely whispers to you. He looks down at you for approval, eyes widening at how close your face has gotten to his. He looks down, noticing it was him who has pressed himself to you, and quickly looks back up into your eyes – face growing redder the more you two look into each other's eyes. You imagine the two of you share the same expression, a mix of being flustered and afraid. His arm wrapped around you stays frozen, afriad that moving would bring you closer or bring your bodies farther from one another. Junpei was unsure which one made him the most uneasy between the two.

Neither of you are sure who brought their face closer to the other, his nose touching yours being the only indication that the two of you were even moving. The quiet room wasn’t silent enough, the beating in your chest too loud for your comfort, convinced that Junpei could hear the way he was making your heart jump. Attempting to break the ice, you open your mouth, closing it just as quickly when you see Junpei scanning your face, his eyes landing on your lips. He tenses up, watching the way it closes and seeing your lips subtly pout.

Seeing Junpei watch you with so much want, feeling his chest rise and fall unevenly on your back, this whole situation became overwhelming for you. Here you stand, a few moments ago trying to rid yourself of the jealousy that was clouding your mind, to now find yourself trapped against him. As close as you two are, it still doesn’t feel close enough. You slightly look away, overwhelmed. Noticing in the corner of your eye the gold sparkly bag making itself noticeable to you on the tabl besides the one with all the pictures.

Whether you were even looking for an escape from the situation or not, you took it, quickly removing yourself from Junpei’s hold. Your cheeks heat up as you shuffle yourself away from him, quickly turning and grabbing the gift back. A deep breath escapes your lips as you turn to him, ignoring the look of rejection spread across his face. You chuckle awkwardly, lifting your arms straight and pushing the bag into his chest.

“I got you something.” You announce too quickly, the sentence almost sounding like one word mushed together. Junpei blinks as he stares at the bag, hesitantly grabbing it and removing it from your hold. Whatever confusing feeling he had left for the time being as he opens it, pulling out the movie Killer Klowns From Outter Space disk.

“I thought you hated this movie.”

“I do. That’s why I’m giving it to you. You can keep it, you said it was hard to find a copy. My mom was gonna toss it anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It was my dads. I would rather give it to someone who matters to me just as much than just throw it out.”

Junpei smiles, a soft “Thank you” leaving his lips while he pulls you in for a hug. You can’t move for a moment – nor speak. Just leaving one awkward situation where your bodies were almost too close for comfort right into another one. You slowly wrap both your arms around him, feeling his grip on you tighten.

While it no longer feels awkward, to deny you felt anything other than your stomach doing flips and feeling so at ease in his grip all at once would be a lie.

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[dramaticweathergirl]

This is a draft for the gen z! Yuu fic that I was thinking of writing back then. Here's the draft of it instead of letting it rot im my laptop lol. Enjoy...?

----

Yuu swear that whatever the fuck is happening to them right now, is a punishment from god because...What the actual fuck?

"influencer pranks these days are getting out of hand" They mutter to themself, mentally done at whatever bullshit is happening right now.

Yuu's in a box. Not just any box though, it's a coffin, they're trapped in a god-damned coffin. Today was supposed to be a normal Tuesday, Yuu wakes up, eat breakfast and go to school. But instead, what happen was their sleep-deprived ass got snatched up in the middle of the streets by an emo carriage.

Yuu was kidnapped by an emo carriage and is now trapped in a coffin.

Gee, they wonder if that even is a considerable reason for them to miss the Calculus exam that was supposed to take place today. Ah, fuck it, Jason's grandma "died" literally like five times last school year and still graduated. Who's to say Yuu won't?

"Hello?? Uh, I know this shitty type of content is what getting y'all cash nowadays but what the fuck? please let me out, I promise I won't sue y'all or create a call-out post on Twitte-I mean X! X!"

"..."

"hello?"

"..."

"Fuck it, I'll just kick the door down"

---

Dire Crowley, the esteemed headmaster of Night Raven College, is in a wild and confusing predicament right now. Somehow, a month before even the new school year officially began, A student somehow arrived in of the coffins.

In all of his years being the headmaster, such thing had never happened. Great sevens, this situation had never once even crossed his mind as a potential problem! Did the Ebony carriage have a problem? Perhaps even the mirror itself? But both of that would be impossible!

"goodness gracious, where is that child" he muttered to himself, a hint of worry lacing his voice.

Dire Crowley was just finishing his stack of paperwork when a distressed and confused ghost school keeper barged into his office informing him that one of the coffins received a student. The headmaster rushed to the scene right away only to find a busted coffin and a missing "student".

This all leads to him, along with squad of ghosts, scurrying along the school grounds to find the wayward child.

"Headmaster! I found them!" Bobby, one of the ghost staff that manages the cafeteria, shouted with glee and relief "they're at the top floor of west wing's tower!"

He hurriedly rushed (again) to the scene and found the teen in a complete daze, their eyes focused on the ocean's horizon. Crowley cleared his throat and the supposed student immediately snapped their attention on him.

"The island view is breathtaking, correct?" Crowley began, trying to ease them "it's one of the boasting qualities of N-"

"..island...stein.." they mumbled something but Crowley only manages to make out a few words.

"par–"

"DON'T FUCKING TELL ME I'M TRAFFICKED TO AN EIPSTEIN ISLAND-TYPE OF SHIT"

[generational-atrophy]

Hi!!!!!!

Can I request the main 8 with a poet/writer s/o?

The main 8 find their s/o's poems or writing about them and it's like how much they love them !!!

(hopefully this makes sense :D have a nice day!

Also your writing super coolio )

hetalia allies + germany with a s/o who's a writer

1.6k words ~ gender neutral heacanons + mini scenarios

tw: swearing, thats it!

a/n: i believe this is after the cutoff so its only 6 characters sorry! also ty :)

America

Alfred may not seem like it, considering his less-than-stellar attention span, but he can be quite an avid reader if he wants to be.

In fact, when he was travelling the western frontier, he often wrote poems himself.

He loves your work, (he’s always the first one showing up on release day!) but he doesn’t love how much time it takes away from you.

Seeing you exhausted and frustrated after a long night, trash can filled with discarded drafts, just breaks his heart. He’ll make sure your office is always stacked with 

Alfred wasn’t usually so easily swayed by cheesy romances, despite his sweet soft for them. But now, reading your book, he couldn’t help flushing at every interaction his favourite couple had.

The one he was reading now, well, it just took the cake. Spending the day wandering East Potomac Park? It was something out of his dreams- just endlessly… familiar?

Wait, hadn’t he done that recently with you?

Oh.

He set the book aside, burying his face in his hands as he blushed wildly.

Guess the blue-eyed, blond love interest hero was a bit more than a stereotype after all.

England

Ah, a writer. Arthur has long admired the literary arts, having many a classic writer come from his home. Yes, he’d quite enjoy someone like that.

He loves reading your work, regardless of what it is, but he’d prefer you read it to him. Then he can get all of your silly little notes along with it. Just for him <3

Although he wouldn’t appreciate you spending all day working. He’s not needy usually, but by the time you two go to bed, he’s DESPERATE for your attention.

He tries not to disturb you, though.

From the moment he picked up your work, he could tell where your inspiration for the main love interest came from. Sandy-haired, green eyes, tall but not too tall, always how you had described him.

Of course, that made his reading even more of a joy.

The only thing that bothered him was how the protagonist described themself. Always dismissed, below-par, never worthy of his love. Now, that just wouldn’t stand.

So he began to write as well. In between the margins, on attached papers, on the sides, everywhere. Correcting every disparaging thought.

Then when he finished, he handed the book back to you, with a cheeky comment.

“It was absolutely wonderful, my love.”

Whether you ever saw the notes or not didn’t matter. He had made the book even more perfect, at least to himself.

France

As said before, Francis is a very artsy guy. Very artsy. Although he’s not always skilled at making art himself… so having another artist would help with that.

He’s absolutely the number one collector of your works. Every scrap, every trashed draft, every misprint, he’s keeping everything.

He’s also pretty ok with how much time it takes! It gives him time to relax, or maybe even join in working on creative projects.

Although he would insist on regular breaks. Fortunately, Francis is a hedonist at heart, so those breaks will always provide much inspiration.

True beauty is rare. Living for so long had proven that time and time again for Francis. It isn’t natural, it isn’t easy, and it never lasts. But…that doesn’t make the pursuit of it any more meaningless.

Even more rare than its existence, is the constant presence of it.

But when he read your poems, venerating and elucidating your own feelings, he felt as if he had found it. God, it was beautiful. Your words, unlike any other’s he had read in his many years, made him feel as if he was falling in love all over again.

Instantly, he was transported into your shoes, viewing himself in a light that had never been shone on him before.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself now. It felt wrong- wrong to not give absolute reverence to this piece of art.

If he had had access to the Louvre, he would’ve kept it there. But, well, his kitchen wall would have to do for now.

China

Finally, some good fucking talent. He's very excited about his S/O being an artist! He's not much of one himself these days, but it's good to see the youth catching up to the old masters.

As much as he loves you, he's very opinionated. Everything you write he either LOVES or HATES. Though he's always excited to show off his favourites of your works, he's very proud of you.

Though he absolutely is not stand by while you spend all day sitting around and writing. Get off the couch and come with him, you're never gonna write anything real good if you don't have any life experience!

Because of that, he's gonna be a little hesitant to cater to you while you're writing.

Your last work was good, to be sure, but nothing like this. Your newest release blew him off his feet with ease, captivating him with every turn of the page. One of his favourites, he thought to himself, that'll be one he'd have to return to.

The only problem was that it was almost over already. He wasn't that much of a fast reader, was he? Well, I guess it's easy to go quickly if you love it.

And love it he did, to the very last page. Wait, this is the last page, isn't it? Why are there three more?

He flipped through them, his eyes quickly widening as he read the last page.

A love letter? To... him?

“Is this in every edition?” He asked you shakily, looking to you for reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“That's...”  He brought a hand to his mouth, covering his blushing cheeks  trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes, “That's such a waste of paper...”

Russia

Frankly, Ivan doesn't care much what you do. The most exciting part of you being a writer to him is just that you'd need to spend plenty of time at home.

But he'd always read your work. (Especially rough drafts, he's really good at being blunt but not mean.) And as time goes on, he'll fall in love with your talent more and more. Despite his country's many famous writers, he thinks none of them stack up to you.

He wouldn't mind how much time you dedicate to your craft, but he'd make sure to take good care of you while you're writing. He's truly very worried about you withering away in that desk chair of yours...

“Oh, I absolutely loved the part where-“

Ivan had been ranting for hours, going over every single detail that had caught his eye. Every time he thought of something new, it would lead to another excited train of thought. But there was one thing they all had in common... he really loved one character.

”He's strong!“ He'd gush, ”He's kind, and loving, and I just want him to have a happy ending!“

You let him explain over and over again how much he looked up to this character, wanting to change to be more like him in every way.

But it wasn't until he calmed down a little bit that you felt it was time to reveal the truth.

”Yeah, you know... he's based on someone I know.“

”Really? Who? I must meet him!“ He clasps his hands together in excitement.

”You, you big dummy.“

He pauses for a moment, his smile fading. He looks upset for a moment, trying to figure out how.

”But... but I am none of those things.“

”You are to me. I mean, whenever I thought about you... I'd just write that character.“

He laughs awkwardly, “You are joking, right?”

“No, of course not. You're strong... and you're kind....” he shifts away from you, tears welling in his eyes, “You're loving... and... and I'll give you a happy ending, ok?”

Before you can react, he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, burying his face in your hair.

”Promise?“

”Promise.“

Germany

Ludwig would definitely love a S/O who writes. Mostly for one specific reason, though. Writers, well, they see the world in a different way. Whether that be in a more romantic, more objective, or more sympathetic way, he doesn't care. He wants to talk things through with someone like you.

He wouldn't be a total fanboy, but he'd still love your work.  Although, he might not show it the way you want... it's hard for him not to criticize. He wouldn't be too harsh though!

He wouldn't mind how much you get sucked into your writing either. He knows what it's like to be dedicated to your craft, and he won't bother you too much.

Ludwig had never been an emotional person. Never, not once, throughout his many years was he truly moved to tears by fiction. Art depicting real life? Of course, many times. But he simply never found fiction as compelling as reality.

That was, of course, until he read your own works. Now, going through what you had so effortlessly created, he couldn't help tearing up at nearly every turn of events.

The way you were about to put him into the character's shoes without him even realizing, forcing him along the same journey they had gone through. It was... stunning, to say the least.

But when one of the characters began to fall in love, it was like nothing he had experienced before. Not because of any significant jump in quality, but just because... you had written it.

For a moment he sat in silence, pondering the book when he realized.

Was this what it felt like for you to fall in love with him?

It sent a chill down his spine. No, he didn't feel any differently, not at all. But... he had assumed you couldn't possibly love him as much as he loved you. Except... now?

Well, if this was how you had felt. He couldn't possibly let you go anytime soon.

[blakelysco-pilot]

All Of Me

From the Love Letters Series

Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

Jo struggles with her response to Rosie's first letter but later finds help in an unlikely friend with shared common ground. It's his second letter back-to-back, however, that stacks her worry like wobbly apple crates, ready to tumble at a moment's notice.

Read part 2 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

October 1943

My Dearest Robbie, 

Today is Halloween, so it would be remiss of me not to wish you a Happy one. I know you won’t be celebrating; not that we are either, but it’s still heartwarming to see some of the littles in the neighborhood running up and down the streets looking for sweets. I’m saving a Hershey bar for when you’re back, so that we can share it like we always do. The leaves have all turned by now, and Prospect Park is a beautiful shade of golden hues. I’ve taken to walking with your sister, as it fills a small void in my days. She’s excellent company, and somehow always has some local gossip at the ready for when I need cheering up. I couldn’t help myself and told her the story of your bicycling disaster. Please don’t be too mad at me. I hope that by now, you’ve learned to ride a bike properly, and that poor Pappy hasn’t had to fish you out of any more ditches. Please thank him for me, because I don’t know what I would have done if he had not been there to rescue you.

If I know you at all, I know that you’ve been hemming and hawing over the weather over there, but the longer it rains in England, the better I feel knowing you’re on solid ground. I’m glad to know you’re able to find some respite in the Officers Club, even if it’s just some jazz records and mediocre scotch. Good company can make all the difference and it warms my heart to know you have that in your crew and fellow officers. I’m putting my bet in now on Nash and the Red Cross girl. Having someone is important, so if he finds that in her, I’m glad for them both. Tell Pappy not to be so pessimistic though, I’m sure Nash will make her very happy. 

Speaking of having someone waiting, I paid a visit to Harry Crosby’s wife, Jean. I thought she could use a friend, so we spent an afternoon in the city, having lunch and doing some shopping. It’s lonely enough moving to a new city, but with her husband overseas, I can’t imagine how she feels. I know how I feel waiting for you, and so she must feel it tenfold. With the holidays approaching, I’ve invited her to spend Thanksgiving with us. I couldn’t bear the idea of her spending it alone. She’s a darling woman, and I agree, we will have to double with her and Harry once you’re both home. 

Sweetheart, how you could ever think that I will not worry about you while you’re over there, is a mystery. I will worry, and miss you, every single day until you’re back home. I will be holding you to that date, Robbie, and am counting the days until we’re on the dance floor, together. Until then…

Forever yours, 

Jo

Reaching for the bottle of perfume on the dresser, Jo quickly spritzed a generous helping of the floral scent on the paper in her hand, to ensure it lasted the long journey, before folding it up and sliding it into its designated envelope. Carefully, and with a delicate hand, she addressed the letter to Thorpe Abbotts Airbase. She had received Rosie’s first letter earlier in the week, and had spent that time drafting multiple responses; all of which had ended up in the waste paper basket in the corner of her bedroom. She had spent three nights mulling it over, before deciding that she should clear her head, and write as if he was sitting next to her. Well, it was not so much her deciding as it was advice from Jean Crosby. If anyone had experience in writing these types of letters, it was Jean. And so, Jo had written as if Rosie was sitting next to her; as if he was leaning across the table and telling her the details of his latest adventure with enthusiasm, and she had written back with equal vigor. 

Picking up the letter, and her purse, she made her way from the bedroom, downstairs to where her mother was having coffee with Mrs. Rosenthal. Entering the kitchen, both women ceased their discussion to greet her, her mother holding out an envelope for her. 

“Josephine, this came in the mail for you.” 

Jo gently plucked the envelope from her mothers hand, smiling when she saw the handwriting on the front was none other than Rosie’s. Carefully, she slipped it into her purse to read once she was alone. 

“Another letter so quickly?” Her mother’s grin widened. “He must miss you terribly.”

“He doesn’t write to me that frequently,” Mrs. Rosenthal joked, sending a subtle wink in Jo’s direction. “But then again, he’s not in love with me.”

“Somehow, I think he’ll always love you most, Mrs. Rosenthal, and I’m quite alright with that.” Jo smiled. 

“Where are you off to?” Her mother asked, noticing that she had her purse in hand. 

“Off to post this to Robbie, and then to meet Jean Crosby for lunch.” 

“Oh, well then, travel safely, and let her know she’s welcome to come here for dinner tonight if she wants.” 

“I’ll let her know, mom,” Jo smiled, moving to bid her mother goodbye with a quick peck to the cheek, before doing the same with Mrs. Rosenthal. “Now, you two can go back to your gossip.”

“It’s not gossip, Josephine, if we’re talking about our children.” The older woman’s voice held a lilt to it as Jo exited the kitchen. 

“Then stop planning our wedding!” Jo called back with a laugh as she exited their home and made her way out into the Brooklyn sunshine.  

The fall air was chilly, but not unbearably so as she walked down the block to the Post Office, letter in hand and a prayer in her mind that it would reach Rosie safely. She knew that the post could be unreliable, and take time to reach those stationed overseas, but she hoped against all odds that maybe her letter would get to its intended recipient a little faster than all the rest. It was silly of her to think so, after all, she wasn’t the only woman in New York who was missing her sweetheart, but this was new to her. To both of them. Beginning a romance with thousands of miles between them. Some days Jo regretted not saying anything sooner, wondering if they would have had time before he shipped out. But, then she thinks to herself that they did have time; years together growing up, and learning the ways of each other inside and out, and for that she would always be thankful. 

A short cab ride later, and Jo was knocking on Jean Crosby’s front door. When the door swung open, Jean on the other side, the two women greeted each other as if they were old friends. A kinship that was shared in the dark times of war, but somehow found a ray of light to brighten their days. 

“Jo! I was starting to think you got lost!” Her friend teased. 

“No,” Jo grinned, red lips stretched into a smile. “I had to stop by the post and drop off Robbie’s letter.”

“Finally finished it, then?”

“I did. And just in time to reply to the one I got this morning.”

“Back to back?” Jean looked at her, eyebrow raised in what Jo could only describe as concern. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jean sighed, stopping mid way of pulling her white gloves on, to face Jo with a serious expression. 

“Well…”

“You don’t think…”

“The only time I get back to back letters from Bing, is when something bad is happening over there.”

“Jean…”

“If it came from him, he’s fine, honey.” she reached out, hand coming down over Jo’s in reassurance. 

“It’s in my purse,” Jo confessed. “I haven’t read it yet.”

“Do you want to go sit and read it before we leave?”

“I suppose I’d feel better if I knew for sure he was alright.”

Nodding, Jean pulled off her gloves, and dropped her purse back on the credenza by the door, before guiding Jo further into the house.

Once settled in the living room, Jean began to step away, to allow Jo the privacy that a letter from your man overseas deserved, when Jo’s hand shot out to stop her. 

“Could you…?”

“Of course.” Jean smiled softly, settling into the sofa next to her, but with enough space not to read over her shoulder. 

Jo carefully opened the envelope, fingers trembling as she slid the paper from its confines. Unfolding it, her eyes scanned over the paper quickly, before releasing a shuddering breath of relief. 

“He’s alright,” her hand flew to her chest as the words escaped her. “He’s somewhere called the Flak House?”

“Never heard of that,” Jean looked confused. “What is it?”

My Dearest Jo,

Sweetheart, I can’t promise this letter will be as happy as my last one. What I can promise is that I’m alright, and spending the next week in the English countryside at a place called the Flak House. It’s a place used to help soldiers rest after rough missions. Jo, it’s been three rough ones, back to back, with what felt like no end in sight. I will spare you the details, because you shouldn’t have to read about all of the blood, and horrors, but I do sadly need to tell you that we lost Herbert Nash on the first mission. It happened so quickly, it didn’t register until I had my feet on the ground again. I broke the news to Helen, his Red Cross girl, and I pray that what I saw on her face, is something no one will ever have to see on yours. 

One day, maybe, I will give you the details of our third mission, but for now, I know I should be counting my blessings. And enjoying this time, because sweetheart, this estate truly is something, but the kind of something I would want to be enjoying with you. Together, in the warm sun, reading our favorite books, or rowing on the lake. The boys are enjoying their week of R&R, but I can’t find it in me to relax. Though, I suppose you knew that already. Nobody knows me better than you, Jo, and it’s a time like this that I wish I had you near. 

I couldn’t sleep, which is the reason for this letter, and I think a part of it is that I needed to make sure you knew I was alright. The other part of me, in some way, needed to get this all off my chest. I’m sorry for burdening you with these ugly truths. I’ll try not to do it often, and I hope that it doesn’t become a habit with every mission, that I’m left rattled to my core with fear. I can hear you telling me to take care of myself, and honey, I promise I’m trying. By the time this makes it to you back home, I will be long gone from my stay here, and back on base. I’m sorry for the short letter, darling. I promise the next one will be longer, and happier. Until then…

All of my love, always

Robbie

Jo finished reading, her stomach dropping as she turned to Jean, to confirm that the other woman had in fact, been right. 

“Jo, what is it?”

“He couldn’t say much, spared most of the details, but he said it was rough up there.”

“Is he alright?”

“Robbie’s fine,” Jo confirmed. “But, Herbert Nash, is dead.”

“Oh that poor Red Cross girl!” She gasped, hand coming to cover her mouth in shock. “Didn’t they just meet?”

“They did,” Jo nodded. “I told Robbie I was rooting for the pair in the letter I just posted.”

“How could you have known?”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel sore over it.”

“I know you do,” Jean sympathized. The woman had enough sense to stand, and pull Jo up with her, knowing if she didn’t get them out of the house, her friend would likely spiral with worry. “Now come on, put that letter back in your purse, and let’s get out of the house for a bit.”

With a sigh, Jo nodded, and carefully put the letter back in the safety of her purse, before turning and following Jean towards the front door. For now, she could breathe easy, knowing that Rosie was safe. She knew that his mind was likely full of dark clouds, replaying events of the damage over and over, causing him grief and sadness; it brought with it a melancholy feeling that she wasn’t with him, and couldn’t be there for him to lean on. She knew he had his crew, and now, Harry Crosby, and she prayed that he had the sense to use that to his advantage. 

Jo was grateful that she had Jean. Their afternoon out kept her mind off of the letter that was burning a hole in her purse, and the man who was an ocean away, suffering the loss of a friend. They had stopped by the Automat for lunch, before taking the train uptown for some window shopping, and at Jo’s insistence, a new hat for Jean. By the time she had gotten back home, her mother was already cleaning up dinner. Her father was in the living room, the radio on while he listened to the nightly news. 

“Josephine, you missed dinner.” Her mother lamented at the sound of the front door closing behind her. 

“I’m sorry, mom,” Jo sighed, entering the kitchen and sliding into one of the empty chairs. “We got a late start on our lunch.”

Turning from her spot at the sink, Mrs. Harris surveyed her daughter, before promptly shutting the water and moving to sit across from her. 

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jean and I just had a busy day is all.”

“Josephine, don’t lie to me.” She spoke with the authority of a mother who meant business, and Jo couldn’t help the few tears that escaped from behind her eyes. 

“Robbie’s letter,” she swiftly wiped away the first stray tear. “Oh mom, he lost one of his closest friends!”

Mrs. Harris let out a shuddering breath at Jo’s admission. The fear she had felt at the sight of her daughter's tears made her think the absolute worst for the young man who had become part of their family, and stolen her daughter’s heart. 

“Who was it?” Mrs. Harris asked. 

“Herbert Nash. He trained with Robbie in Texas, and he was killed on their first mission.”

“May his soul rest in peace.” Mrs. Harris made the sign of the cross. 

“Robbie said it was so bad, three flights, back to back. He didn’t say much else, just that it was too much blood and horror to share.”

“Jesus, that poor boy.”

Jo fished the letter from her purse, sliding it across the table to her mother, giving a small nod for her to read it. 

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“Just the once.” Jo smiled slightly. 

“Well, alright then.”

Mrs. Harris pulled the paper from the envelope, and then the only sound in the room was the breathing of mother and daughter, and the muffled sound of the radio coming from the living room. The pair sat together until Jo’s mother folded the paper back up, and handed it back to her. The silence was growing thicker the longer they sat there, neither sure of what to say. When Jo’s father joined them in the kitchen, the two women seemed to snap out of their daze. 

“What’s going on in here then?”

“She’s got another letter from Robert.”

“Didn’t you just get one? Is he alright?” 

Jo nor her mother missed the recognition in Mr. Harris’ eyes. Having served in The Great War, he knew what could be in any one of the letters his daughter received, and he hoped for her sake, that none of them would make her cry the way she was now. 

“He’s fine. Lost a man during his first mission, and was sent to an estate for rest.” Her mother filled him in for her. 

“Jesus, already? Didn’t the boy just get over there?” Her father looked shocked. 

“He said it was really bad, dad.” Jo spoke up, finding her voice again. 

“Well, the best thing you can do is be there for him, even though you’re far away right now.” Her mother let her hand fall to cover hers, eyes filled with the understanding of a woman whose husband had been away once before. 

“Your mother was what kept me going during the war,” Her father agreed. “I can promise you, Robert will take your words with him up there when he’s flying.”

“Go now,” her mother ushered her out of the kitchen. “Clean yourself up and write him back. You’ll sleep better tonight knowing you got your feelings out.”

She felt heavy as she stood from her chair, her legs like lead as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom, numbness encompassing her until she had the door shut securely behind her. The words blood and horror swirling around in her mind over and over, like the edges of a cyclone that showed no signs of slowing down. Is that what this was? A storm that would continue to speed up, with nothing to stop it, until the last bomb was dropped, the last round fired? She wasn’t sure, but she turned the ideas over and over, words sticking together in her head as she changed for bed, removed her makeup, until finally, she pulled out the chair at her desk to begin her reply to Rosie. 

My Dearest Robbie, 

Sweetheart, I don’t think there are enough words for me to express just how sorry I am for you after opening your last letter. To lose Nash so quickly, and in such a way. I hope that it didn’t pain you too deeply to break that news to his Red Cross sweetheart, and that she is able to find some happiness again soon. Do not apologize for the length of your last letter. Every letter from you is something I treasure, whether it’s three words, or three pages. I will always reply, so long as you’ll have me. 

I’d like to hear more about the Estate you spent the week at, if you’re willing to talk about it. It does sound like the kind of place I would love to spend time with you, though, anywhere you are, is somewhere I want to be. Maybe we can escape somewhere lush and green once you return, and spend our days under the sun, with nothing but time on our hands. Until then, yes, you were right, I do wish you’d take care of yourself. I know you will, but that sometimes it takes a bit of pushing. Don’t try and shoulder the burden all alone, Robbie. You have people who will shoulder it with you; Pappy isn’t just your co-pilot in the sky. Try and remember that. 

I’d like to try and make you smile, if only for a moment. I found our mothers gossiping at the kitchen table this afternoon as I headed out. They claim it’s not gossip if they’re talking about their children; I suspect they’re plotting as usual. Speaking of your mother, try and squeeze in an extra letter for her, if you can. She misses you, though she claims to be alright with you writing to me more than her, I know she’d appreciate an extra piece of mail and to know you’re doing well. Don’t give her too much grief for the gossip, you know she can’t help it.

I’m counting the days until you’re here again, Robbie, and we can carry on as we were meant to; together. Until that time comes, I’m sending you all of my love. 

All of me, always

Jo

Read Part 4 Here

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

Tag List: @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @rosiesriveter @bobparkhurst @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @rowdy-redhead @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @basilone @at-1800-hours @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85

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summary : wilbur is a quiet guy, but there’s so much more to him than he shows. over swapped shifts, post it notes and paperback novels, you unravel him bit by bit.

genre : fluff

warnings : mentions of alcohol/drinking

pairing : musicianbur x fem!librarian! reader

pronouns : none (i think) reader is described as a “girl” and using other feminine descriptors

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, musicianbur, college!librarian! wilbur

word count : 2.6k

note : sorry this took. one million years. i had my exams and i turned 17, and then i went out of state to visit family, but i’ve had this in my drafts and i’ve been working on and off for a while. i hope you enjoy this, i’m thinking about maybe making it multi part? if people are into that? @starsyoubreaklikesugardust <333

You sincerely regret covering for your coworker. The campus library has a consistent, albeit small, staff. You work the same days every week; Monday morning, Tuesday afternoon and Thursday morning. The head librarian, Theresa, was more than willing to give you extra shifts whenever you needed. The library was where most of the richer students’ parents donated, and you were insanely lucky to get your job there. As a result of the consistent schedule, you work with two people regularly; Henry, who shares your major, and Janine, who’s one of the sweetest people you know. The rest of your coworkers, you knew exclusively through Theresa and her insistence of having staff get togethers at any opportunity.

There’s Chastity, who lives on your floor, and her girlfriend Kate. You got a front row seat to their first kiss after three months of egging them on with Janine at Henry’s 20th birthday. There are three more workers that work during the week on alternating shifts to you; Sam, the newest member of the term; Hae-Won, the only person who had worked there longer than you and Theresa; and Wilbur.

Wilbur, who was currently your new coworker as you started working five days a week. Hae-Won’s mother was sick, and Theresa had begged you to cover for them while they flew interstate to go take care of her. You’d been working at the campus library since you were a freshman, and they’d always been good to you. You had agreed, and now you were needing to rush from class to the library after every single one of your lectures. Sam, Henry and Theresa had all assured you that if you were late because of class you wouldn’t lose your job, but you felt bad leaving them with all the work.

Wilbur has barely spoken a word to you since you’d started working the same shifts. He’s not rude or angry, just quiet as far as you can tell. You like him. You both keep to yourselves, and Wilbur doesn’t snitch on you for smuggling your sandwiches out of the office when you browse the stacks during your breaks.

He doesn’t get mad at you for being late when you are, and he always puts stuff on the top shelf whenever you ask. He’s soft, and incredibly smart. You learn about him through hushed evenings in the office, both of you dead on your feet after you’ve locked the doors, neither of you wanting to leave quite yet. The low light gives his eyes an amber glow the same colour as sun as it peeks through the slats in the blinds of the office, surrounded on all four sides by large windows. The fishbowl, the kids call it when they come in on Friday afternoons. Not quite, you think. You’re both too boring to be fish, you make a joke when you hear a young boy say it. Wilbur gets a look in his eyes that he keeps for the next hour until you confront him. “Sometimes people don’t look a fish ‘cause they’re interesting,” he all-but whispers when you ask, eyes aglow and top row of teeth pulling on his bottom lip. “Sometimes they’re just pretty.”

You get to know Wilbur over campus coffees, and handmade bookmarks inspired by the paperbacks he checks out every week. Through his handwritten post-it note on the corner of the main monitor at the front desk, a stack of books with a cat perched on top, his writing slanted but mainly kept between the spines of each book. A request for a novel you’ve never heard of, but vow to search for. Theresa is the one who handles incoming books, but that’s not going to stop you from finding it yourself.

You begin to find those sticky-notes around more and more. There’s one resting on top of your backpack for you to find as you return from the bathroom. That’s a pretty skirt, the first one says. You should wear your hair like that more often, one three days later on the stack of returns he’s asked you to reshelve. There’s one a week after that forces a smile on your face. This made me think of you. It’s resting on a tiny journalist style notebook, one where you flip on the top. It’s got a quote from your favourite novel on it, and you slip the sticky note inside it gingerly, tucking it into the front pocket of your backpack. That afternoon during your lunch break, you go to the craft store instead of staying in and get yourself some post it notes. Yours are in the shape of a lemon, and when Wilbur goes into the fishbowl to grab his stuff once your shift is over, he finds one stuck to the side of his bag. Two words, ten numbers, all in your handwriting. Call me.

So he does, he calls you that very night. Despite the late time, you guys stay on the phone for nearly three hours. The next shift you two share, you tease him. “I thought you were meant to be the quiet type,” you giggle as his ears turn pink, him intentionally facing away from you to shield the smitten grin on his face as he pretends to write something on the staff calendar. “You had a lot to say the other night.”

It continues that way for a while, nightly phone calls in which you finally get to hear him talk unabashedly about the things he’s interested in. He’s in a band, he confesses shyly one night when you’re both on the verge of sleep. You don’t reply for a second, and he thinks you might have dozed off. You pipe up after a moment, voice heavy with sleep and Wilbur thinks he can’t possibly like you more. “Your first gig’s Saturday, right?” He nods, even if you can’t see him. You keep going anyway. “I’ll be there.”

He wishes you hadn’t told him, because he spends the next three days stressing. Performing always makes him a little anxious, a healthy amount of butterflies, as his friends say. But this is too much. He changes his shirt three times on Saturday night, twice because he wants you to like it, and another time because he sweated through the third one. He blames it on the intensity of the lights, when the drummer asks him if he’s okay, but they can all see the way his eyes are locked onto your frame, tucked into a little corner of the underground bar they’re playing. They play for about forty minutes, and you’re a little embarrassed to admit that you’ve never heard a single song they did.

Wilbur goes into the little backstage area after their last song, and his bandmates will swear he’s never moved so fast in his life. He’s chugging a bottle of water while trying to wrestle his guitar off his back, his glasses fogged up from the sweat covering his face. there are a few bothersome strands sticking to his cheeks, but he doesn’t care about that. He just wants to see you.

He gets to your corner and the table is empty. No, the table has things on it. Your chair is empty. There is something on the table. He reaches it and flops down into the chair you were just sitting in. A waitress brings him a glass of lemonade that you ordered for him and he gulps it down gratefully. He allows himself a few moments to bask in the post-show high. You might not be there, but that only brought his mood down slightly. He did it.

He is a little hurt that you didn’t stick around, but it’s nearing 10 and he knows you have a test on Monday. He takes another long swig of his drink, and reaches blindly for the one other object on the table; a paperback novel. It’s his favourite. He didn’t even remember telling you it was his favourite, but somehow you knew. His heart hammers inside his chest and he has to remember how to breathe for a second. He’d looked everywhere for that, even going as far as to see if he could order it online.

He flips open the cover, just to check, and he finds a scrawled message beneath the title page. Heard you were hoping to get your hands on one. I hope you enjoy. You’ll have to tell me all about it.

And he does. It takes him less than a week to read the entire book, and he comes to you on a random Thursday, eyes sparkling with a glint you’ve only ever seen that one night he was performing, and he leans over the front desk where you’re standing and before you can even process it he’s taking your head in his hands and pulling you into a firm hug. You’re not as tall, so you’re on your toes as you lean over the desk, struggling to wrap your arms around his torso as he hugs you.

And then he’s talking, loud and clear, and if the library was open people would be giving him dirty looks for how unashamedly he’s speaking to you. You revel in it. He keeps his hands enclosing yours and you lean over the desk to get as close to him as you can, wanting to absorb every single word out of his mouth. Wanting to breathe it in and keep it between your ribs.

Eventually he lets you go to go do some work, but you decide at that moment that you never want him to shut up again.

So, he doesn’t. With constant encouragement from you, Wilbur becomes more outspoken. Of course, there were the phone calls, but he was still reserved in person. He seems to take up more space over the next few weeks, unfurling slowly like an old painting, perfectly preserved with so much beauty to show once he was out in the open. It starts as small things, the way he calls out to you across the library after closing instead of approaching you to tell you softly. You’re almost in mourning, feeling like you’d lost that closeness with Wilbur that only you seem to have. The notion that once you put something out into the world it no longer belongs to you. Not that he ever did, not like that at least.

You’d feel like that and then Wilbur would do something so small, so sacred, that your heart would ache. Whispering jokes in your ear, fingers brushing yours when he passes you a book he thinks you’ll enjoy, grabbing onto both of your hands when he got so excited about something that he needed a physical tether to you to stop himself from floating away, into the air that he was now filling so wonderfully.

The others started noticing it too; Theresa mentioning to you how much more confident he seemed after he’d left the room, Sam, who brightened now that Wilbur seemed to return his enthusiasm, even the bassist of Wilbur’s band, who you ran into at a coffee shop, said he was different.

His band got another gig at a bigger bar, and of course you were invited again. This time you planned on sticking around for the whole thing, letting him wrap you in a sweaty hug once he ran off stage. “You were so good,” you gush, your breath on his ear sending shivers down his spine. His hands ghost up and down your arm, and you can’t bring yourself to let go of him. “But, Wil. Seriously, enough is enough.”

He pulls away just enough to get a clear picture of your face, shadows covering one side, the dim lighting in the venue not doing enough to take away from just how pretty you look.

“You guys need to start playing songs I know the words to.”

Your fake annoyance makes him laugh, one of the most genuine laughs you’ve ever heard from him. Warm, and thick, like caramel. Like his eyes when the two of you are huddled together in the fishbowl and he’s laughing, like there will never be enough time to spend with you. Because there isn’t.

His hands stop in their motions, and he notices your bare arms. “You’re freezing, lovely. Here.” He steps away from you and shrugs off his button up, leaving him in just a white-sleeved tee as he guides your arms in. The sleeves cover your hands and he goes as far as to roll them up delicately. His face is an inch from yours as he unwraps his hands from your wrist, and your fingers toy gently with a stray curl that bounces when you release it from your grip.

This time it’s you who takes Wilbur’s jaw in your hands, fingers running over his stubble. He’s drunk, hasn’t had a drop of alcohol the entire time, but well and truly intoxicated as he pulls you into him again, nose pressed to your hairline. “I’m so proud of you.” You mumble into his shoulder, and for a second, time is frozen.

You’re both brought out of it by rousing cheers from Wilbur’s bandmates, the guitarist and drummer both bullying Wilbur for not introducing you to them earlier. The bassist greets you warmly, and the three of them try to convince you both to go out for a drink. Wilbur’s the one who ends up ushering you out, arm around your shoulders as he placates his bandmates. Throwing a “We’ve got an early morning tomorrow at work,” over his shoulder as he steered you towards his car.

He’s only half lying. You do both have work the next day, however the library’s closed and Theresa’s hosting a party to thank everyone for their hard work. It starts at two, so you’re revelling in the fact that you get to sleep in. That doesn’t stop you from inviting Wilbur up to your apartment, though. Nor does it stop the two of you deciding to watch a movie together on the couch in your living room. It doesn’t even stop Wilbur from whispering to you while the credits roll. “You look so lovely tonight.” You flush, tearing your eyes from his face, looking down at where his hands are on your waist instead. “Can I kiss you?”

It definitely doesn’t stop you from nodding your head emphatically, your hands delving into his hair as he presses his lips to yours for the first time.

He tastes like spearmint gum and the mango of your lip gloss, his hands steadying you both and gripping onto the couch cushion. He pulls away just enough to murmur, “You’re wonderful,” and suddenly you’re so happy you’re laughing. He laughs too, taking your head in his hands until you’re kissing him again, and when he leaves nearly two hours later he’s gripping your hands so tight your breath hitches, promising he’ll see you at the party later.

And hours later, when you’re sipping on lemonade and leaning against one of the windows of the fishbowl, he sidles up to you and leans his head on top of yours. “My pretty girl.” Your hand wraps around his, and the two of you stand there for a few minutes in a comfortable silence, watching your coworkers mingle. He’d never been so outward in his affections, not when surrounded by people you both worked with. He was a reserved man, preferring to let loose around his family, his bandmasters, and you. But of course, that doesn’t stop him from pressing a kiss to your hairline, the two of you inside the library office, gazing outside into the rest of the library. “So so pretty.”

[rpschtuff]

Beta Editor Overview

This post was originally made on January 7, 2023, and was last updated on January 14, 2023.

After seeing quite a few posts expressing confusion/frustration over the beta editor, trying to understand new features and find where old options have moved to, I thought I'd write up an overview of the new editor, showing the various changes it has from legacy.

My main goal is to show people that the new editor not nearly as bad as they may have heard. You'll have a few days of weirdness and confusion, and then you'll be used to it. The beta editor does have some bugs... but so does the legacy editor. We've all just gotten used to legacy and know how to work around its quirks. After a couple weeks with beta, you'll be familiar with it and know how to do the same.

FAQ

I'm putting this part above the read more to quickly answer the questions I see asked most often.

How do I cut posts with the new editor? — You need to get an extension called XKit Rewritten and use Trim Reblogs. Once you have that installed, save the post to your drafts and click the scissors icon along the bottom of the post. This will open a window that allows you to remove earlier reblogs. If you run into funky issues, see my ginormous post here.

Where is blockquote? — Blockquote is now called indented. There are two ways to reach it. Option 1: select your text, open the dropdown menu, and choose indented. Option 2: type / on an empty line, select indented, and type your text.

Where is small text? — Select your text and click the small S in brackets. I recommend doing this at the end of writing your post, as it can be finicky otherwise. The old keyboard shortcut for small text does not work anymore; the new shortcut is CTRL/CMD + COMMA.

Where are bullets? — Select your text, open the dropdown menu, and choose bulleted list. You can also type / on an empty line and select/type bulleted list. Additionally, you can type * and a space on an empty line to autoformat to bullets, or use the keyboard shortcut CTRL/CMD + SHIFT + 8.

How do I disable reblogs on a post? — Click the settings icon in the top right, click the dropdown next to "Who can reblog?" and select "no one." (Please note that while it says those mentioned in a post can always reblog, I've found this to be broken. At the moment you should only disable reblogs if you don't want anyone reblogging it.)

Why does adding a gif to a post include the URL? — Inserting an image via link will automatically include that URL underneath the image in the final post (though it won't display in the editor). You can remove this by hovering over the image and clicking the chain link icon in the bottom left. Select the URL in the field there, delete it, and click Done.

How do I add alt text to an image? — Add your image, hover over it, click the three dots in the bottom right corner, and click "update image description."

Adding Elements

When you click on an empty line, options for things to add to your post will appear on the right, similar to legacy.

In order, these are:

Image

Gif search

Link

Audio

Video

Read more

All of these work almost exactly as they have previously, except for adding an image. Clicking that will give you this, which resembles a standalone photo post of the old format.

You can then upload directly from your computer, or paste a URL, as before. If you insert an image via URL, that link will be visible just below the image in your final post, though it won't show up like that in the editor. It'll look like this.

If you don't want this, make sure to click the link icon at the bottom left of the image and delete the URL there.

Back to the image you added in the text editor! Hovering over the image will give these options.

The squares icon in the top left lets you click and drag the image, and you can drag images next to each other to stack them horizontally. The X in the top right will remove the image from your post. The link icon in the bottom left shows the image URL, and will only appear if you inserted the image via link. And the dots in the bottom right allow you to add alt text to your image -- click the dots, then click Update image description.

Formatting Text

Now! If you type up some text and then select it, formatting options will pop up. This is similar to legacy, but now there's a dropdown menu.

Here's what's in the dropdown.

Here's what they all look like in a post.

Regular is plain text. Bigger is the equivalent of the headline option on the legacy editor. Biggest is the equivalent of the main title, but you can have more than one in a single post now.

Quote turns text into a serif font and increases the font size. If you type up a long quote, the font size will shrink.

Chat switches to a more computer-looking font.

Lucille increases the font size and is a cursive font.

Indented is blockquote. It looks a tiny bit different on the dash now, with some more spacing on the top and bottom, but it's functionally the same.

Bulleted and numbered lists are self-explanatory. You can also start a bulleted list by starting an empty line of regular text with * and a space, and a numbered line by starting an empty line with 1 and a space. Additionally, the keyboard shortcuts CTRL/CMD + SHIFT + 7 for numbered list and CTRL/CMD + SHIFT + 8 for bulleted list still work.

You can also access these same options (and some others) by typing a slash onto the start of an empty line. A menu will pop up, allowing you to either click the one you want or simply type the one you want and hit enter.

If you want to quickly add a title, an indented blockquote, or anything like that, this is the fastest way to do it.

Hopping back to the rest of these options now!

To the right of the drop down, these options are:

Strikethrough

Bold

Italics

Small

Link

Color

Most of these are self-explanatory. Keyboard shortcuts for bold and italics work as before. The old keyboard shortcut for small text no longer works, but CTRL/CMD + COMMA does.

Link works the same as it always has, and the keyboard shortcut of CTRL/CMD + K works as well. Additionally, if you have text selected and just paste in a URL, it will insert as a hyperlink from that selected text.

Color lets you change the color of your text to a few presets. Just click the paint bucket, and pick the color you want.

Post Settings

Back out to the main editor now, here's what under the settings icon in the top right.

Custom URL lets you set a custom URL for your post, if you want it to be something other than a string of numbers.

Content source is the source link and works similarly to how it did in legacy.

Post date is not the scheduler! That's under the post button dropdown and is fairly straightforward. But this option lets you backdate a post, setting the date to sometime earlier than you actually made. Gonna be completely honest, I haven't used this at all and don't entirely see the point, but if you want to play around with it, there it is.

Who can reblog? Is one of my favorite features. Opening that dropdown lets you disable reblogs on your post. The reblog button will be grayed out on the dash. (After you've made the post, you can edit to turn reblogs back on if you need to.)

While this does say that anyone mentioned can always reblog, I've found this to be broken in my testing -- I have submitted a ticket to staff, so hopefully they're working on it. It would be a godsend for roleplayers, since it would restrict reblogs to only the partner that you @-mentioned in your starter and keep randos from reblogging your threads.

Lastly, the text editor lets you switch to HTML or Markdown for your post, if you prefer one of those. They are similar to how they worked in legacy.

Community Labels

Along the bottom of the editor, you'll see the close button, the post button with the same dropdown as in legacy, and another dropdown that reads Everyone by default. Here's what that one looks like.

This is where you can manage your community labels, which is a fairly new feature from Tumblr. By default, your post will be marked as being for everyone. However, if your post contains any of the content listed, you should click to toggle that one on. This will hide your post from anyone who has that label switched off in their settings.

To check what you have on or off in your settings, look for this underneath your filtered tags:

Tags

Tags work the same as before. The only notable difference is that you can now edit inside tags without having to completely delete them. Just click on the text where you want your cursor to be.

You can rearrange tags with click and drag as before. Just be sure to click on the blue space around the text, rather than on the text itself.

Autosaving

The beta editor will automatically save your posts! It's autosaving whenever you see this pop up at the bottom of your screen, every minute or so.

If the editor gets closed unexpectedly, the last autosave of your post will go into your drafts. As someone who's lost many replies to unexpected tab closures, this is a godsend.

Just know that this only works if something external closes the editor. If you click the close button yourself, the post will disappear.

Miscellaneous Differences

You can now have more than one main title (Biggest) in your post.

You can no longer have multiple levels of bullet points.

You can no longer have paragraph breaks within your blockquote/indented text (though it's been that way for a while). To get a similar look in your blockquote, hold down shift and press enter twice (or use <br><br> in your HTML).

Previewing a post on your blog is still possible, but in a different location. Go to a post in your drafts, click the three dots in the top right, and click preview.

The editor will still remember your tags, but capitalization will be removed, which might be an aesthetic annoyance.

The editor will only suggest tags that start with your search. For example, if your ask memes tag is send me stuff ( ask memes ) — typing "send me stuff" in the tags box will suggest this tag for you, while typing "ask memes" will not.

When making or reblogging a post, your most recently used sideblog will be up by default; this is different from the legacy editor, which would always open your primary blog. Be mindful of things going onto the correct blogs!

More items may be added here as I spot them. Feel free to send any observations of your own if you have them.

Known Glitches

Because the beta editor is still known to be buggy, I thought I'd document the glitches I am aware of. I have reported these to staff using their feedback option and highly recommend that you politely do the same if these annoy you.

I've heard from several people that using CTRL/CMD + Z to undo caused their entire post to be erased. This has not personally happened to me, but I've heard it enough times that I feel I should share it here.

Using CTRL/CMD + A to select your entire post can be finicky. Clicking and dragging across the entire post is more reliable.

Typing with small text can be finicky and won't always apply correctly. I highly recommend applying the small text after everything is written, just to save some headache.

Generally, text formatting and paragraph blocks can behave oddly, especially when trying to select more than one. This is also a problem I've had with the legacy editor, but my experiences are not universal, so it may be a hindrance to you.

Customizing Beta/NPF Elements on your Theme

This is only for those of you who want to know how to change the way certain new beta elements look on their blog theme. If that's not you, you can stop reading here!

These are the elements and classes you want to customize in your CSS:

BIGGER - h2

BIGGEST - h1

QUOTE - .npf_quote

CHAT - .npf_chat

LUCILLE - .npf_quirky

RED TEXT - .npf_color_joey

ORANGE TEXT - .npf_color_monica

PURPLE TEXT - .npf_color_chandler

YELLOW TEXT - .npf_color_phoebe

BLUE TEXT - .npf_color_ross

PINK TEXT - .npf_color_niles

Colored text that isn't one of the default colors from Tumblr will just use <span> to assign a custom hex code, and can usually be targeted that way. You may need to use the !important property to override some of these default styles.

[klipgenie]

Hello! Saw you wanted requests! Idk if you write for heizou, but if you do how about needy sex with our lovely detective being the needy one? If you don't feel free to change it to kazuha or maybe xiao (of course you don't have to write this if you don't want to! Anyway have a nice day!)

author note: yess i am taking requests!! i don’t ignore them, i write them as soon as they are sent..they just sit in my drafts for about a few business days 🙈 sorry! and i love this request lol as soon as i saw it i began picturing the scenes of him being needy for us.

warnings: MDNI, dry humping, semi- public sex

“not now heizou” your eyes never left the paper work in front of you. The building you were in was so crowded today— not sure how heizou managed to get pass the guards and meet you since he works in the far east section. “pleasee. y/n let me help!” he whined as he walked closer to you. You knew that he wasn’t going to help you at all, he was just gonna be there to breath over you and distract you from finishing your work. You sighed but ignored him as you inching close to the last stack of paper.

taking a break. you stretch your back and fix your posture from being hunched over all day. Heizou saw this as an opportunity to rub against you and place his hand on your skin..just below your breast. Shooting daggers at him; he examined your face and saw the tiredness and annoyance sprawled all across your face. “aww, what’s wrong? i’m never like this when you bother me in my office” he teased, but he was right. “my job is more complex than yours” you mumbled but he heard you and chuckled “oh..alright, then it stresses you out hm? my job does the same.” you scoffed whilst rolling your eyes. Picking up the pen and finishing off the first paper of your last stack; off with your signature.

“you have pretty handwriting, not as better as mine’s though” heizou half heartedly complimented your handwriting. “ugh, heizou! stop trying to conversation me before i have my guards to get you!” heizou was taken aback as he leaned away from your desk. “tch, who pissed in your cereal today?”. he left your office to go to the lobby— finally ir was quiet— finally you could concentrate.

few minutes has passed and your looking for your briefcase to carry your finished paper work. the door to your office swings opens and it startled you so bad you knocked down one of your souvenirs on the table. When you turn around it was non other than the guards; escorting heizou to you. He had a sheepish grin on his face while you had a confused yet almost annoyed look dead on your pretty face. The door closes with a slam as heizou tip toed over to you, trying not to disturb you anymore. But how can he when you have your rounded ass up in the air and bent over the table.

steadily he makes his way to you from behind and put his hands around your hips as he brings his hardened and clothed erection to your ass. rubbing circles in your hips with his calloused hands. You chose not to acknowledge him thinking he would go away but he wouldn’t leave until you fell into him. “baby, stop working so much..and look at me: i need you.” he whispered in your ear. with a sigh you lean up “heiz-“ stopped dead in your tracks as you felt something rough and hard poking at your ass.

with a sigh you stayed upright and didn’t say anything as you you fiddled with the opening of the case. Heizou began his rut and started dry humping you through his attire as the small and needy whimpers emitted from his pretty mouth. small moans became more apparent in your ear as he grabbed at the meat of your stomach and tits, fondling whatever skin he could get his hands on through your uniform. The humping turned you on and it didn’t take much before you felt the sticky and wet slit slip through your folds making them slippery and gooey.

“y/n..” he whined into your neck; taking in the smell of soap and fresh clothes from your body. he moaned in groaned as he came in his pants— from hitting your thick ass with his hardened cock in his thick materialistic pants. with his hands cupped around your tits he pushes you down over the table as he struggles to undo his pants and pulling your panties down for it to dangle around your ankles.

the sudden movement and cold air agasint your pussy made you quiver and yelp a bit as he started to roughly rub his tip all over your wet n warm pussy before shoving it in. how tightly your pussy clamped around him like a crabs claw and how your pussy hugged his dick like he was welcomed in with open arms— was enough to internally make him feel claustrophobic but it felt so good.

lewd sounds coming from the imbalanced force of his cock against the walls of your pussy was muffled under the sound of repetitive banging on the door. before you could push heizou off he pushed you back down on the table allowing him to reach a spot in your cunt you never knew existed.

“y/n, open the door! this is important!” that demand alone was enough for you to flip heizou off you and fix yourself before shoving him under the desk as you took your seat there. “h-how can i help you boss?” you said nervously as though you felt like your boss had seen you act so inappropriatly with your lover. “we needs those papers in now! turns out: one of the interns under YOUR order got the formula wrong and if we don’t fix it..well, if YOU and YOUR interns don’t fix it then we will ALL be reprimanded.” the lust fell as the worry and stress overcame your body. “y-yes sir! i’ll talk to my group about it and fix it as soon as possible!” you spoke as heizou began opening your legs and rubbing you through your laced panties. heizou wasted now time in licking and teasing your cunt as the higher up was still in the same room as you— chatting your pretty little head off and giving you demand after demand. “i understand, i’ll look in it whenever i have the ti-“

“NO! not when YOU have the time, now! if i can’t do things on my own time then what makes it fair that you can? i’m your boss woman and you will do what i say on MY time!” the anger in his voice and rough ir was almost sounded like he shitted his words right out his ass. With a flinch you gave him and obedient yes sir before he waddled out your office leaving the secluded area with a slam. but all the whike heizou was lapping at your bud; rubbing on it like a thirst dog. “ugh, heizou get from up under the desk, now.” you demanded as you closed your legs smugly and shut so he has nothing to play with. He popped his head up from under your work area with a snarky smile.

[soulofapatrick]

Letters to a Lover - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You find a pile of letters addressed to you on Joel’s desk, your curiosity gets the better of you and you take a peek to find them 

Words: 1.5k

Warning: None, maybe a little angst

Notes: Had this one in drafts for a while

Y/N’s POV

Tommy’s set me to search Joel’s place, he’s been gone too long and we’re starting to get worried. His house is quiet, the only sound is my heart pounding in my chest like a caged bird. The late afternoon sun casts a warm, golden hue over the settlement of Jackson. My steps are quiet, reverent, as if I’m treading on sacred ground. I’ve been close to Joel for a long time now, and although we’ve shared stories, laughter and moments of quiet understanding there’s always been an unspoken something lingering between us. 

My gaze sweeps across the familiar setting, uneasy that Joel and Ellie aren’t here to welcome me into their home. The house hasn’t changed one bit: Ellie’s clothes strewn about the place; books and drawings and art supplies across all tables and Joel’s spare hunting rifles leant against the wall but they’re not there. Tommy’s concern hangs in the air like a heavy fog, and as I step further into the house, a mixture of emotions swirl through me. 

My eyes finally settle on Joel’s table, it’s rustic and he built it groom scratch himself , but, that’s not what catches my attention. No, it’s the stack of what seem to be letters sticking out from one of the shelves, my name written in Joel’s messy scrawl. I’m standing by his desk in three quick strides, curiosity gnawing at my gut. I hesitate once they’re in my hands, fingers brushing over the indentations of my name. I have to know what he’s wanting me to know but then again… it’s Joel. Sweet, humble and reserved Joel. The paper feels delicate, as if it holds secrets that could change everything. My heart races as I contemplate whether to open them, whether to dive into the depths of Joel’s unspoken thoughts. 

I place the letters back on the table except the top one and with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, I unfold it. The words appear before my eyes, elegant scrawl etched into the paper. As I read, my breath catches in my throat, and my heartbeat seems to synchronise with the rhythm of the words before me. They’re confessions. Confessions of his love towards me and how he feels like he can never tells me how he feels as I will never reciprocate. They’re confessions so genuine and pure, pouring forth from a heart that’s been hurt too many times to trust again. The ink on the page seems to vibrate with his emotions, and as I read more and more, my heart swells more and more. I finally know Joel reciprocates those feelings I’ve had towards him for years. 

I’m falling into Joel’s old armchair, the strong scent of him surrounding me and his words seeping into my bones. The sun’s glow outside begins to mellow as time stretches and contracts, and I find myself lost in a world of emotions that I never imagined could exist between us. These letters are a journey, a map of his thoughts and feeling, and I can’t help but be moved by his sincerity and honesty. 

As I reach the last letter, the air around me seems to shimmer with a newfound understanding. The truth that’s always been there, hovering just below the surface, is now laid bare before me. A quiet resolve settles within me, a sense of clarity that I’ve since long had. Closing my eyes for a moment, I take a deep breath, letting his words settle within me. His final words in his last letter imprinted into my brain. 

I love you with every fibre in my being. I have never loved anyone in the way I have loved you and it scares me half to death. You’re more than half my age and it feels so wrong but being around you feels oh so right. I’m not one for words but I could write letter after letter on how I feel for you. I know you will never see these but I want you to be mine, forever and ever. 

The sun’s golden light has almost completely fades when the door creaks open, revealing Joel’s form in the doorway. He steps inside, honey eyes locking onto me with a mixture of surprise and something deeper reflected in them. After almost four years I know what that look is: love.

My heart beats a little faster, but I hold his gaze, a smile smile tugging at the corner of my lips at the sight of him. No matter how dirty and messy he is, he still looks hot as ever. His boots are caked in mud, jeans a little covered too, his plaid shirt is unbuttoned three down to reveal tanned and freckled skin beneath. His face is flushed, tan skin tinged red, his salt and pepper hair is tousled as if he’s been running his hands through it and his eyes… they sparkle a golden colour in the last of the light. 

“Joel,” My voice comes out in a chokes whisper that has a crease forming between his brows until his eyes settle on the letters scattered across his desk and the one currently sat in my hand. He’s turning to leave when I say his name again, pulling myself up from his armchair, “Joel, look at me.” 

Joel’s shoulders raise defensively and he takes half a step away from me before he’s letting out what sounds like all the air in his lungs, shoulders and head slumping in defeat. As soon as that weatherworn face is in my vision again I’m lurching forwards, letter falling from my grip, to hold him. He stiffens before melting into the hug, beard tickling my neck and breath hot against my collarbone, a soft and very embarrassed groan leaving his lips and it’s like that small sound breaks my resolve. Before I can help myself, I’m tangling a hand in his already messy hair and yanking, almost painfully, until his chapped lips are crashing against mine with some desperation. 

The kiss, at first, is a tumultuous clash of emotions. It’s a mixture of longing and fear, passion and hesitation, all bundled together into a single moment of vulnerability. Our lips find each other with an urgency that belies the unspoken words between us. The taste of salt from tears mingles with the warmth of our mouths as we hold onto each other, desperate for some form of reassurance. Joel’s rough beard grazing my skin as our mouth move together, and his hand tentatively find their way around my waist. The initial stiffness in his body gradually gives way to a shared embrace, as if we’re both afraid to let go, as if this kiss is a lifeline that tethers us to a newfound reality. 

When our lips finally part, Joel’s forehead rests against mine, and his breath is ragged, matching the rapid beat of our hearts. He whispers, his voice trembling with vulnerability, “I was scared to tell you… I thought… I’m too old for you to want me back.” 

I brush my thumb gently over his cheek, wiping away a stray tear, and smile softly, “You could never be anything less than amazing to me. Of course I want you back Joel, I thought the flirting…” 

A soft giggle escapes my lips as Joel's incredulous question hangs in the air. "You've been flirting?" he asks, his eyes widening with a mix of surprise and amusement. 

I nod, a playful smile dancing on my lips. "Yes, Joel. Those little teases, the stolen glances, the way my heart raced when you were around... it was all because I couldn't help but be drawn to you.

Joel chuckles, a warm, genuine sound that fills the room and eases the last of the tension between us. "Well, in that case," he says, his voice filled with newfound confidence, "I guess I'll have to up my flirting game.” 

And with that, he leans in, capturing my lips in another kiss. This time, it's softer, sweeter, and filled with the promise of something beautiful to come. Our laughter and love intermingle in that moment, and it feels like the beginning of a wonderful journey together. As we break the kiss, our smiles say more than words ever could. In each other's arms, we've found understanding and acceptance, and it's a treasure worth cherishing. The future may hold uncertainties, but right now, in this shared embrace, we know that whatever comes our way, we'll face it together.

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

The Last of Us Masterlist

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