#stealing your oc tag for those two >:)

[itsbasill]

✌🏻Victory!!

Drew @anchor-naut ‘s tf oc, Solarflare, saying hello to the spectators :>

[nayiana0]

"Velvet Violence"

san is all sharp edges and rough kisses, possessive hands and dangerous moods.  he fights for you. hurts for you. hurts you. and you? you stay. but the night he brings you to that hidden, smoke-filled room… someone else is watching. mingi. quiet. calculating. dangerous in a different way. he looks at you like he already knows how this ends. now you’re caught between the boy who owns you — and the one who wants to steal you.

wc : 9.4k

i cannot stress this enough, please read with care. this story does and WILL continue to contain sensitive and potentially triggering material.

tags : toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, possessive behavior/ jealousy, SLIGHT physical aggression - e.g : san grabbing oc’s jaw, - manhandling (reader is lowk into it), verbal arguments, emotional tension, alcohol usage, mentions of physical violence/assault (off-screen), cigarettes/smoking indoors, implied past trauma/bullying, power imbalances, possessive & obsessive love themes, gang-adjacent / criminal underworld setting, lots of vague language, love triangle. oh god tell me if i missed anything.

genre : smut (eventual..) dark romance, gangster au, angst.

a/n : i literally wrote this a year ago sitting in my room, lights off, listening to the weeknd on repeat. i'm not even kidding. i was sooo into it that some lines are actually from the songs i was listening to (maybe one or two ) but it kinda shaped the whole vibe of this fic tbh. i’ve been sitting on it for way too long with doubts soooo i’m finally posting it !! excited for this one heheh ill try to fix the purple ombre for the next part idk what happened

You swore tonight would be different.

You didn’t say it out loud — never do — but somewhere between folding his hoodie the way he likes and leaving the hallway light on, you had this soft, fragile hope that San would come home before the clock hit 3AM.

He never does.

The living room still smells like smoke, stale whiskey, and him. Like leather, pine, and a storm you didn’t ask for. His ashtray is full.

Burn marks pattern the table you picked out. 

There’s a crack in the wall from when he got into it with some dealer last week and came home swearing he was fine — bleeding, shirt half off, smirking like he liked it.

And you?

You cleaned him up. Just like always.

Bandages, hydrogen peroxide, a towel for the blood that never seemed to stop. You told yourself it was temporary, just another night, but deep down you knew — this is San. This is how he lives. Hard. Fast. No apologies. And you, for whatever reason, are the only one who gets to see him soft.

Except even that softness is laced with danger.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You remember the last time. His knuckles split. Bruised cheek. A gash above his eyebrow. He slumped into the couch and looked at you like you were a goddamn angel.

“You're so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?” he slurred, head tilted. “Those titties, baby...”

You rolled your eyes. “San, stop.”

He laughed. That low, smug laugh that always pulled a reluctant smile from you. But not that night. That night, you were tired.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said, pressing a wipe too hard against his wound. He hissed but didn’t pull away. “You can’t keep coming home like this. What if one day you don’t?”

He looked at you like he didn’t understand the question. Or maybe like he didn’t care.

“But I did come home.”

He always has.

Until tonight.

The clock reads 3:42AM.

You’re sitting on the floor in one of his shirts, knees pulled to your chest, phone on the rug beside you like it might light up at any second. Like he might finally remember you're here — waiting.

And then... it does.

Incoming call : ??? Unknown Number.

Your heart stutters. You pick up, voice thick and quiet.

“...Hello?”

A pause. Then a man’s voice, official, clipped, almost bored.

“Hi, is this the lucky girl who’s apparently married to a ‘Choi San’ ?”

You freeze. “I… y-yes?”

In the background, chaos. Shouting. Loud. Familiar.

“Give me the FUCKING phone. I wanna speak to my fucking WIFE!”

Your breath catches. "W-wife???"

“Okay, ma’am,” the officer says, strained. “Mr. Choi San is currently in our holding center. He was brought in a few minutes ago and he’s been—uh—requesting you repeatedly. Loudly.”

You swallow hard. “Wh-what is he in there for?”

The officer starts, “It appears there was an altercation outside a—”

“I said let me fucking talk to her. That’s my girl, do you hear me??”

“Calm down, Mr—”

"She’s my fucking wife. Give me the damn—"

Click.

He must’ve slammed something. The line distorts. The officer sighs.

“He’s… disturbing the peace here. I’d recommend you come get him. Quickly. Please.”

They hang up.

You stare at the phone for a beat too long.

Wife.

He called you his wife.

You’re on your feet in seconds, throwing on one of his hoodies, one that still smells like him. 

You don’t bother with pants — just shorts and your keys, heart pounding so loud you can barely hear the wind outside. You speed the whole way there, running red lights, whispering, “God, Sannie, what the hell did you do…”

When you arrive, you park crooked, leave the engine on. You don’t care.

You run.

The inside of the station is cold, sterile, too bright — like it’s trying to scrub out the filth that men like San carry in.

You’re out of breath when you reach the door to the holding. One of the officers nods. “Back there.”

You move past them — and there he is.

Behind bars.

His head jerks up the second he sees you.

Eyes bloodshot, pupils blown. Hair matted to his forehead with sweat. 

There's a cut on his lip, dried blood on his jaw, his wrists cuffed in front of him like some wild dog they barely managed to contain.

And the way his face lights up…

“Baby…”

His voice is hoarse, wrecked. You move without thinking, rushing forward. 

He stands too quickly, almost trips over himself, chest heaving as he raises his cuffed hands toward you.

His fingertips barely graze your jaw.

“Stupid fucking cuffs…”

You’re so close. But you don’t let him touch you. Your arms cross over your chest as your eyes narrow on his.

He still looks good.

Goddamn it, why does he still look so good?

You grip the cold bars between you like you might break them.

“Why are you in here, Sannie?”

He smirks first — like it’s a joke. Like this is just another one of his nights. But then he sees the look in your eyes. The fury. The fear.

His grin fades.

“Okay, okay — baby, listen to me okay? I tried to tell them. They wouldn’t listen. I didn’t touch her, alright? I was drunk, yeah, but I told her — I have a girlfriend. I told her—”

Your heart lurches. "Her?"

His eyes go wide.

“No — baby, fuck — let me explain. Let me explain, okay?”

He grabs the bars, rattles them with his wrists.

“I said no. I told her to back off. Then her boyfriend comes outta nowhere, throws the first punch. So I hit back. Obviously. Beat the shit outta him. Then she calls the cops, starts saying I tried to — I didn’t touch her, baby. I swear on you.”

His voice rises with every word. His body tense. Jaw locked. Dangerous.

You flinch a little.

He sees it.

His face breaks.

“Fuck… I’m sorry, baby. I just — they won’t let me explain. Okay? I handled it. I handled everything. Like I always do. But they’re saying assault or whatever and —”

“Ma’am,” a voice interrupts. One of the officers steps up behind you. “Can we speak with you? Alone?”

San snaps. “No, you can’t. I’m clearly talking to her — the fuck?? Y/N, don’t— don’t go with them. Come back over here!”

You hesitate.

“San, stop.”

And that breaks him.

He slumps back down on the bench behind the bars, head in his hands, breathing like he might explode. 

The cuffs clink against the metal. He mutters your name like a prayer.

You don’t look back as you follow the officer, legs shaking, heart somewhere between rage and heartbreak.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The office is small. Too quiet.

The air is stale — faintly smells like burnt coffee and old paperwork. 

The officer that escorted you in is standing with his arms crossed, clipboard in hand, looking at you with this mix of pity and practiced detachment. 

Like he’s seen girls like you a hundred times before.

You sit down in the chair across from him. Legs bouncing. 

Nails digging into the sleeves of San’s hoodie — the one that always made you feel safe. Now it just feels too big. 

Too warm. Like it's trying to protect you from something it can't.

The officer clears his throat.

“Alright. Let me give it to you straight. Your boyfriend — Choi San — came in about an hour ago. According to witnesses, he was involved in a physical altercation outside of a club on 17th.”

You blink slowly, heart beating too fast. “He told me he didn’t touch anyone—”

“He didn’t,” the officer says. “Not her, anyway. The woman who approached him made some comments, touched his arm. He told her to back off. That part checks out. But then her boyfriend showed up.”

He flips the page on his clipboard.

“Apparently the guy shoved Mr. Choi. One shove. Your boyfriend responded by beating him unconscious. A cracked jaw. Broken nose. Concussion.”

You swallow. Your stomach turns.

“Security footage confirms it. He didn’t start it… but he didn’t stop either. And he didn’t walk away.”

Of course he didn’t.

“We had to pull him off. And even then, he was screaming about how no one’s allowed to touch him, how he belongs to you. That you’re his girl, his wife. Sounded more like a promise. Or a warning.”

You blink faster now. Trying not to cry.

But the officer isn’t done.

“I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear,” he says, quieter now. “But Mr. Choi has a record. And not a short one.”

You don’t look up.

“Possession of an illegal weapon. Bar fights. Threatening a witness. We’ve seen him in here before — same story, different night.”

The words sting. But the next ones crush you.

“I’d recommend you stay away from this man.”

You flinch.

“You might be in love with him,” the officer continues, voice softer, “but love shouldn’t be something you have to survive.”

That’s the line that does it.

You look down, lip trembling, eyes blurring. 

Your fingers start to fidget, playing with the frayed ends of San’s sleeve. 

Your knee bounces uncontrollably. You try to blink the tears away before they fall, but they don’t listen. They never do.

“C-Can I…” your voice cracks, small and shaking, “can I at least say goodbye to him?”

The officer watches you, something flickering in his eyes. Not pity now. Something closer to understanding.

“He’s not going away forever,” he says. “Just for tonight. We need to run some tests, check for substances, keep him until morning. Then we’ll assess what happens next.”

You nod slowly. Sniffling. Holding in every part of you that’s falling apart.

“Okay.”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You walk back into the holding area, slower this time.

The lights hum above you. Your shoes echo on the floor. You feel like you’re floating outside your body — moving because you have to, not because you know how.

And there he is.

San.

He gets up the second he sees you, towering, tense, cuffed and wild-eyed like a storm stuffed into a too-small space.

And he still looks good.

Cut lip. Shoulders pulled back like a fighter in a cage. Even now — especially now — your body reacts to him. Your heart aches for him. Your lungs tighten with everything you can’t say.

He squints at you.

“Are you fucking crying?”

His voice is sharp, confused. Protective.

“What the fuck did they say to you?”

You take a shaky breath. Try to speak. Try to lie — but you can’t. The words won’t come.

So instead, between short gasps and tear-stained cheeks, you choke out the only thing that’s real.

“I’m so tired, San.”

His face drops.

“Y/N…”

You shake your head, wiping your eyes. “I’m tired of waiting. Of bandaging you up. Of hearing your voice through a phone instead of from across the room. Of wondering if you’re ever coming back.”

His hands grip the bars so hard the cuffs bite into his wrists.

“No — no, baby. I love you. I love you more than anything in the fucking world. When I get out, we’ll go to that place you like, yeah? That shitty diner with the lights? I’ll take you there. You want that?”

You look up at him, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“Mhm, San… if you even get out.”

That snaps something in him.

“Why you got an attitude with me now?” he barks, voice raised. “I didn’t do shit wrong this time. And you’re lookin’ at me like I killed somebody.”

You don’t answer.

You just sniffle again, wiping under your eyes with your sleeve, backing up a little.

He watches you move.

“Wait.”

You pause.

“Don’t go yet. Kiss me.”

Your chest tightens.

“I can’t kiss you through these bars, San.”

His eyes flash. He looks around like he might explode again.

“Then open the fucking cell!” he shouts toward the officer nearby. “Let me touch her. Just once. I’m asking you—”

“San!”

He stops.

Looks back down at you. Breathing hard.

“You’ve caused enough of a scene already,” you mutter, voice low and tense. “Just sit down. Wait it out. I’ll be there in the morning.”

He looks like he wants to fight the whole world. But then something in his face softens.

“Fuck… baby. Okay. I love you, alright? I love you.”

You nod.

“I know.”

And then you turn.

Walk away.

The second you reach your car, your legs give out a little. 

You climb into the driver’s seat, close the door, and the silence feels like the loudest thing in the world.

You grip the steering wheel like it’s the only thing holding you together.

And then you fall apart.

No sound coming out at first — just sobs that shake your whole body. Because you love him. And he loves you.

But love, like the officer said, shouldn’t feel like this.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You’re parked outside before the sun even fully rises — engine off, hoodie sleeves pulled over your fingers, hands tight around the steering wheel. 

The building looms in front of you. Cold. Grey. Still.

Your heart's pounding like you're about to rob the place, not pick someone up.

He kept you up all night.

In your head. In your chest. In your skin.

You didn’t sleep — just sat in bed replaying everything the officer said, everything he said. 

Every version of the truth, every lie he might’ve left out. Every kiss that hurt more than it healed.

And still — you’re here.

The door opens with a buzz and heavy thunk.

You stand. Step inside.

Another officer — not the same from last night — gives you a small nod and disappears down the hallway. 

You wait by the doors, arms crossed. There’s a lump in your throat and you can’t swallow it. The air is weirdly quiet, almost heavy.

Then you hear it.

The clink of keys. The thud of boots.

And then—him.

San.

His hair’s a mess, sticking to his forehead. 

He’s shirtless — probably stripped it in the night from the heat or discomfort — bruises blooming across his torso like war trophies. 

Cuts still fresh. Eyes bloodshot and rimmed in sleep he clearly didn’t get.

He looks exhausted.

But then he sees you.

And everything in his body shifts.

The officer unlocks the cell, slips the cuffs off his wrists — San groans, rolling his shoulders back with a wince. 

He takes one shaky step and the officer instinctively reaches out to help him stand steady.

“I got it,” San snaps, pushing his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

The officer backs off without a word.

And then San’s eyes lock on yours again.

He walks to you — slow, limping slightly — and the moment he’s close enough, he holds his arms out. 

And god. You hate yourself for it. But you fall into him instantly.

Melt into the heat of his chest like he’s home and hell all at once.

His arms wrap around you, strong and tight, fingers pressing into your hips like he’s grounding himself there. Like you’re the only real thing left in the world.

You mumble into his skin.

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

He just hums, lips brushing your hair.

“Mmm. I missed your voice, baby.”

You look up at him, about to say more — but he’s already looking down at you, eyes heavy, dark, and soft in the way they only ever are for you. His gaze drops to your lips.

“Come here,” he murmurs, and he leans down, kissing you deep — slow and needy, all tongue and ache and want.

You kiss back for a second.

Too long.

And then you pull away suddenly, breath shaky.

“Let’s go,” you say. “Outside. In the car. Out of here.”

San grins — that same smug, cocky grin that always makes you want to slap him and straddle him at the same time.

“Yeah… yeah, let’s bounce.”

He turns to the officers on his way out, tossing a cocky nod over his shoulder.

“Thanks for the stay, pigs.”

You roll your eyes and look back at the one officer from last night — the one who warned you. 

The one who read out San’s whole past like he knew exactly what kind of pain he could bring.

He’s watching you.

Not with judgment. But something gentler. Almost sad.

He gives you a small nod.

And you look away.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Outside, the air is cool. Sharp. Morning wind cuts against San’s bare chest as he stretches his arms above his head with a groan.

“Auuugh… fresh fucking air.”

You scowl at him.

“You’re partially naked. Can we please get home before someone calls the cops again?”

“Anything for you, baby.”

You shake your head and walk ahead to the car. 

He hops in the passenger side, like nothing ever happened. Like he wasn’t locked in a cell hours ago with blood drying on his knuckles.

The silence is thick in the car.

You start it. Pull out of the lot. Drive in silence for a while, your grip on the wheel too tight.

San shifts beside you, lounging with his head tilted against the window, knee bouncing.

Then he speaks.

“What’re you thinking about?”

You don’t answer at first.

But when you glance over — he’s already staring.

That fucking look.

Like you’re his religion. His fix. His answer and his curse all at once. 

Lips parted. One arm behind his head like he owns the damn world. That smirk. That low-lidded gaze that never stops pulling you in.

You hate how good he looks even like this — bruised and messy and ruined.

He bites his lips once, slow, and lets his eyes drop to your mouth.

“C’mere,” he mutters, leaning over, catching you off guard.

He kisses you once. Then twice.

And then his hand slides to your jaw, and he pulls you into it — slow but messy, deep and warm and hungry. His tongue brushes yours and he groans into your mouth like it’s his first real breath all night.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I missed this.”

You gasp a little when he pulls back.

Heart racing.

But then — reality.

You wipe your mouth, fix your grip on the steering wheel, and start driving again.

“What?” he asks, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

You don’t look at him.

“Okaay,” he says, dragging the word out. He leans back, arms crossed now, watching you from the passenger seat like he’s trying to read you.

But you don’t give him anything.

Not yet.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You and San step inside together, the door creaking softly as it closes behind you.

“Oh my fucking god—” San stumbles in, groaning with a stretch. “I’m home. I’m actually home.”

He takes a long breath in through his nose.

“And it smells clean. That’s ‘cause of my beautiful tidy girlfriend, huh?” he grins, spins in place, arms spread like he’s showing off to an invisible crowd. 

“God, I missed this place. Missed you. Missed this whole fuckin’ domestic fantasy shit.”

You’re just watching him, silent.

He looks too happy. Too smug. Like he wasn’t just behind bars less than twelve hours ago.

“I gotta fucking shower,” he groans, scratching at his stomach like some caged animal. 

“They treat people like shit in those fucking cells. No soap, no space, no privacy. That sick motherfucker shouldn’t’ve touched me in the first place. Like—fuck off, bro. You don’t just touch me like that.”

And just like that — he’s gone, disappearing into the bathroom with his rant still echoing down the hallway.

You stare at the hallway for a while, letting your arms fall to your sides.

You hate how he acts. How he walks around like the world owes him softness after he starts the fire.

You glance around the apartment. It is clean. The floors, the counters, even the scent of lemon still lingers in the air. 

You cleaned it last night — right before the call. You wanted it to feel normal.

So you breathe. 

Force yourself to do something. Anything. 

You grab some things from the fridge. Bread. Eggs. Whatever you can get together fast. Something simple.

You don’t want to think.

You just cook.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

He comes out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, humming some dumb melody you can’t place. 

Hair wet and curling at the edges, drops still running down his neck. 

He smells like his body wash — that expensive, smoky one you always liked — and his skin looks flushed from the heat of the shower.

He’s only wearing sweatpants.

You hate how good he looks.

He walks straight into the room like he owns it — like nothing’s wrong — tugging a drawer open for socks. His hum breaks into a quiet whistle.

When he comes back into the kitchen, you don’t say a word. 

You just walk toward him with a plate.

“Eat.”

He looks down at it, eyebrows raised.

“Shit, baby—all this for me?”

He grins, that half-smirk sliding up his face like a reflex. 

His eyes trail over you like he forgot you were mad at him.

“Man… I’m really winning with this jail boyfriend lifestyle, huh?” he winks, grabbing the plate. “Got arrested, came home to a fuckin’ goddess feeding me. I should get locked up more often.”

You roll your eyes hard, but don’t say anything.

You're still watching him.

Then he freezes, like something clicks in his mind.

“Oh! Baby—did they give you my phone? I need it.”

You nod, wordless, and go get it from the drawer where you tucked it away last night.

You hand it to him, but before he can unlock it, you glance at the notifications on his screen.

It’s blowing up.

Missed calls. Messages. Group chats. A dozen variations of:

“u good???”

“heard you got picked up??”

“wtf san text me back bro”

And then—one that makes your breath hitch.

Mother.

You lift your eyes and hand his phone to him.

“Your mom texted you.”

San stiffens.

“God—shit. Nevermind. I don’t want my phone anymore.”

He tosses it onto the counter like it burns.

You blink. Just watching him. 

Your arms fold again over your chest. 

You sit down slowly, still watching him eat, like if you look away, the whole illusion might fall apart.

He moans into the bite.

“This is so fucking good.” He looks up at you, mouth half-full. “You eat?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I ate earlier.”

“What’d you eat?”

“Some yogurt. Granola.”

“Mm. Okay.”

He keeps eating. But your eyes stay on him. Unmoving. Just watching.

He feels it.

He looks up.

“You still gonna keep staring at me, or what?”

You breathe out through your nose. It’s not funny. It’s not charming. You’ve had it.

“Sannie…”

You pause.

He stops chewing, blinking.

“You just got arrested last night,” you say, voice low. Tired. 

“And all you do is ruin your life. You haven’t even thought to ask me how I feel about it?”

He stares at you for a beat.

Then shrugs, frowns.

“Why the fuck does this have to be about you? I’m the one who got arrested. Not you. You should be happy I even made it back.”

And there it is.

That.

That tone. That switch. That twist in the words that always finds a way to make it your fault. To make it feel like you should be grateful he’s not gone.

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

Not when he’s already irritated. Not when his jaw is clenching like that. You just watch as he finishes the last bite, then sets the plate down with a sigh.

“Thank you, baby.”

The words sound like a reward.

You say nothing.

“Can you get me a cigarette? Fuck, I haven’t smoked in such a long time.”

And again — you obey.

You grab the ash tray. The half-used pack. The lighter.

He lights one up instantly, taking a deep drag, groaning at the taste. You open the window beside him without a word, the air cutting the smoke.

“You’ve gotta stop smoking in the house,” you mutter.

“You want some?” he offers, cigarette between his lips.

“You know I don’t.”

He shrugs. Leans back, all arrogant comfort and crooked posture.

“Y’know,” he starts, “I had the wildest dream last night. Even for the like, twenty minutes of sleep I got in that hellhole.”

You glance at him, arms still crossed.

“You were in it,” he grins. “No, I’m serious—shit was wild. We were in like… fuckin’ Rome or something. Riding motorcycles and shit. You had on this tight little outfit—”

You laugh, involuntary. You try to stifle it but it slips.

“No, I’m dead serious!” he leans in like he’s about to reenact the whole thing. 

“Shit was like a movie. You were throwing knives and everything. My sexy assassin girlfriend. God, I gotta go back to sleep and finish that one.”

The laughter fades. The room settles again.

The room is quiet again, filled with smoke and thick silence.

And you're both sitting there in that strange silence — too close to normal, too far from okay.

He’s leaned back on the kitchen chair, one arm slung over the backrest, cigarette between his fingers, lips curled in some half-smirk like this is just another day.

Another mess he walked through and shook off.

You’re still watching him.

You can’t help it. You hate it.

He chuckles under his breath, low and amused.

“What?” he asks, tone lazy. “Like—seriously, what? Is there something on my face?”

You swallow, your eyes lingering on the cuts. On the swollen lip. The purple smudge near his jaw.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “There is.”

He raises an eyebrow. Brushes at his face, like that’ll help.

“Can we have a serious… conversation?” you ask softly, even though you already know how this might go. “Please?”

The second the word serious leaves your mouth, his face shifts.

“Serious?” he scoffs, almost like it’s funny. He leans back in the chair, smoke curling from his lips as he narrows his eyes. 

His smirk fades. The cigarette burns lower between his fingers.

“I just really think we need to talk,” you say carefully. “About… all of this. Last night. Everything.”

“What is there to talk about? I got arrested. I got out. I’m here. End of story.”

His tone is dismissive, almost bored. 

But the set of his jaw is tight — you can tell he’s already defensive. 

You hate how this always happens, how one inch into anything real and he starts building walls.

“That’s not the end of the story, San. You could’ve been hurt. Or worse. I had to drive out in the middle of the night to get you — again. And you seriously haven’t even ..  asked how I feel about it.”

His eyes flash.

He slowly sits forward, cigarette pinched between two fingers as he taps ash into the tray. The air’s thick with tension.

“Stop fucking trying to make this about you” His voice is louder now. “I’m the one who got cuffed. I’m the one who had to sleep in a fuckin’ cell. Not you.”

You blink, stung.

“I know that—” “Then act like it.”He cuts you off, the venom in his tone like a slap.

Your chest tightens. Your hands are balled in your lap. You bite down on your tongue, but something breaks loose — soft, bitter.

“You don’t even see how much I do for you.”

He pauses.

Then stands up.

Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.

Walks across the space between you and him — and for a second, your heart jumps into your throat. He looks down at you, jaw ticking,

You can barely get your breath out before—

His hand is on you.

Gripping your jaw — tight. Fingers digging into your cheeks just enough to sting. His face is inches from yours, eyes dark, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding himself back.

“You don’t get to fucking talk to me like that.”

Your breath catches.

Your words die in your throat.

You immediately go silent — not because you agree, not because you’re afraid — but because something about his grip makes you melt. 

Like your body short-circuits. Like this sick heat shoots down your spine.

He holds you like he owns you.

And fuck, you hate how much you like it.

But you don’t get to enjoy it for long.

“You wanna sit here and guilt me? Like I asked you to come get me?”

His voice is low, laced with that sharp, condescending bite that always hits the sorest parts of you. “Like I made you stay up worrying? You made that choice, Y/N.”

He lets go — pushes your face to the side with a light shove, just enough to make you stumble a step back.

“If you don’t fucking want this—”

He’s pacing now, raking a hand through his hair.

“—then just fucking leave.”

The words slam into your chest.

You just stand there. Staring. Jaw aching from where his fingers held you.

Stomach twisted with guilt, heat, confusion — because everything inside of you is screaming but your mouth won’t open.

You want to say something.

But you can’t.

You’re so angry. So sick with emotion. And yet somehow, your body still wants him — wants to reach for him, despite it all. Despite everything.

And he knows it.

You still want to fix him. Kiss him. Soothe him.

But now you’re shaking.

He’s not hearing you. He never hears you.

And it hurts.

God, it hurts.

He turns back to you, breathing heavy, lips parted like he’s about to say more — like maybe he realizes he went too far — but the fire in his eyes is still there.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The bedroom is dark when you slip into it.

The argument clings to your skin like smoke, thick and choking, but all you can do is bury yourself beneath the blankets. 

You curl into the furthest corner of the bed, clutching your phone like it’s some kind of lifeline. You’re not even looking at anything, not really. 

Scrolling mindlessly. Just trying to not think. Not cry.

But it doesn’t work. The tears fall anyway. Quiet, slow. They slide into your pillow and onto your screen. Your shoulders shake every now and then, but you’re silent. You don’t want him to hear you. You don’t want him to come in.

But of course — he does.

You hear the door creak. Heavy footfalls, bare against the floor. Then—

“Y/N?”

You don’t answer. Your back is to him. 

You tuck yourself deeper into the sheets, legs pulled up, one hand pressed over your mouth now. 

Like if you just stay still, he’ll go away. He’ll leave you in this pocket of quiet where it’s safe.

But he keeps walking closer.

“You hiding from me?” He says it with a half-laugh, like it’s a joke. Like any of this is funny.

You still don’t look back.

Then—you feel him tug at the blanket. Your body jolts. A small flinch, instinctual, but he catches it. His hand stops. There’s a pause.

“…Oh ” His voice is lower now. Almost unsure. “I—fuck. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You say nothing. You can’t.

And that silence makes something shift in him, because then he pulls the blanket back completely. 

Slowly. 

Peels it away until he sees you — curled up, face blotched from crying, lashes wet and clumped.

His whole expression shifts. The cocky mask wavers, just for a moment.

He sinks down onto the bed beside you and then — without waiting — pulls you into him. 

Into that bare chest, warm and solid, still smelling like cigarettes and that cheap cologne you hate but recognize as his.

Your breath stutters against him. Your hands press flat to his skin, but you don’t push him away. You can’t.

And then, quietly, broken:

“Why are you like this?”

It slips out before you can stop it.

You feel him sigh. His hand moves slowly up your back, thumb brushing your spine. Comforting. Almost like he’s trying.

“…I don’t know.” His voice is quieter now. Raw. “I guess I always been like this. Growing up, I was the kid everyone fucked with. Skinny. Weak. 

My mom was never around, and my old man?” He lets out a cold laugh.

“That man was a piece of shit.”

He’s not looking at you now. Just talking. His arm around your waist. His chest against your cheek. His voice nearly lost in the dark.

“I learned real fast you either get hit or you hit first.” There’s a pause. Then: “And I like hitting first.”That smugness is back. Like he can’t fully let the vulnerability sit without covering it up.

You sniffle, curling your fingers into the fabric of his sweats. Still not sure what to say.

Then — his voice changes again. Lower. Almost hesitant.

“…I’m sorry for earlier.”

That makes your eyes lift a little.

“For grabbing you like that ..” He swallows. “I — didn’t mean it. I won’t touch you like that ever again. I promise.”

Your throat is tight. But you look up at him. His face is softer now. No smirk. No sneer. Just San. Tired, messed-up, still with those bruises on his cheek. And for once—he looks almost… sincere.

“…Okay.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Pinky promise?”

He blinks. Then lets out a breathy little laugh.

“Pinky promise,” he echoes, lifting his hand. You hook your pinky with his. It’s small, stupid. But it makes your chest ache.

You lean back into him. Let your cheek rest against his skin again. His hand moves to your waist, pulling you a little closer.

And then, soft — almost playful:

“I know you liked it though.”

You pause. Your heart jumps in your chest.

“What?” you ask, pretending you didn’t hear him. Even though you did. Loud and clear. And your silence says everything.

He hums into your hair.

“Never mind.”His voice is smug again, but quieter now. More relaxed. He shifts a little, pulling the blanket up over both of you.

And then—you both just breathe. His chest rising and falling under your cheek. His arms holding you like nothing else in the world matters.

But in the back of your mind… You know this isn’t the end of anything. It’s just the beginning of a cycle. One you’re not sure you’re strong enough to break.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The silence lingers.

It stretches between you two like something fragile—thin ice under your weight. 

You stay curled into him, warm under the blanket, your fingers ghosting over the edge of his ribs, his breath slow and even.

Then, after a moment—

“I’m going out later.”

His voice cuts through the quiet. Low. Casual, like it’s nothing. Like it isn’t the exact kind of thing that started this whole spiral in the first place.

Your breath catches a little in your chest. You shift against him.

“Where?”

“Couple friends. They’ve been dying to meet you, you should come.”

You lift your head slightly, your brow furrowing. 

He’s not looking at you—just staring at the ceiling, like this conversation’s just a detour before he goes back to existing like nothing happened.

“You just got out of jail…” Your voice is steady, but it carries weight. “And the first thing you wanna do is go out with the same people who get you into this shit?”

You watch his jaw tick. His lips twitch like he wants to say something slick. Like that smug, too-cool mask is fighting its way back on. But he holds it in. Instead, he lets out a heavy sigh, shaking his head once.

“Do you wanna come or not?”

That cuts you in a different way. Short. Cold. Like if you say no, it’s your fault. Like he’s offering you something and you’re just being difficult.

You shift again. Pull the blanket tighter around you.

“What do you guys even do for all those hours?” Your voice is quieter now. “You leave and come back at 3 a.m. smelling like blood and liquor—like what the hell are you even doing out there, San?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then:

“You keep askin’ all these questions…” He finally turns to face you now, eyes half-lidded, voice slow and smooth. “…Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

You blink, surprised.

“I’ll even pick out an outfit for you.” There it is—the grin. That little curve at the edge of his mouth like he knows he’s already won. Like this is just a game.

You hesitate. Your heart thuds against your ribs. 

Everything inside you is screaming this is a bad idea. But the way he’s looking at you…

The same way he always does. Like you’re the only real thing in his world.

And you hate it.

“…Okay. Fine.”

You don’t say it loud. You don’t even look at him when you do. But his smile widens like you’ve given him everything.

“’Ofcourse.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring it against your skin. “Knew you’d say yes.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t pull away when he wraps his arm around your waist again, pulling you close. 

His chin rests on top of your head. You both melt back into the sheets like nothing happened.

But your mind won’t stop racing.

Because every time you get closer to him… You lose a little more of yourself.

And you’re not even sure he realizes it.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You’re both getting ready.

The kind of silence that stretches comfortably between two people who know each other too well. San’s sat on the bed behind you, just watching you.

You slip into the outfit he picked—a fitted black crop top and a skirt you wouldn’t have grabbed on your own. It clings to you like water.

When you turn to face him, your cheeks flush under the weight of his gaze.

“Holy shit…”He stands, walking toward you slow, deliberate. His hand drags up your side and around your waist, pulling you in. “You look beautiful.” He presses a kiss to your jaw, then lower, grazing your collarbone.

“Thanks,” you mumble, cheeks warm.

He grins, steps back, “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late. These people have been dying to meet you.”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

In the car, San’s behind the wheel, one hand gripping the leather like usual. The other is on your thigh. Possessive. Warm.

His thumb rubs slow circles into your skin, and every now and then his eyes flick over to you like he can’t help it.

The drive gets quieter the longer you’re on the road. 

Streetlights grow scarce. You pass long stretches of graffiti-tagged walls, warehouses that look half-abandoned, and corners of the city you’ve never dared to explore.

“San… are you sure this is the right place?”

You stare out at the dim building—no signs, no lights except a flickering one over the rusted metal door.

He chuckles, putting the car in park. “You scared?”

You don’t answer.

He steps out and walks around to your door. Opens it for you like a fucking gentleman.

“C’mon.”He holds his hand out. You hesitate. But you take it.

As you step out, he leans back and really looks at you.

“Shittt.”

He bites his lip.

“Spin around for me.”

“San—”

“C’mon. Just once.”

You sigh, spinning slowly. He watches like he’s starving.

“That’s what I thought.” He whistles low and kisses you again, his lips warm, hungry. Between kisses, you whisper:

“I’m scared,” you whisper, barely audible between his lips.

His hand rests on your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek. “Don’t be. You’re with me.”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Inside… it’s like stepping into another world.

The air is thick with cologne, weed, and cigarette smoke. Red lights hang low, casting everything in this underground haze. A speaker pumps low trap music in the corner. There’s a full bar setup with half-drunk bottles. 

Couches. A punching bag swings gently in the back corner like someone just used it.

You’ve never been in a place like this.

Three girls, two already perched in their guys’ laps. The third walks straight up to you.

“Oh my god, you’re Y/N?” She’s glowing. Excited. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Aisha!.”

You smile, unsure.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You’re even prettier than he said. Like, wow. He never shuts up about you.”

“He doesn’t?” you glance at San.

“Not even once,” Aisha laughs. She’s bubbly, kind of loud, but warm.

The other girls wave, offering names and soft greetings. The boys also introduce themselves. They seem sweet—surprisingly so.

But theres one boy in particular that won’t stop looking at you, even after his introduction…

“Mingi”.

He’s lounging in a corner seat, legs spread wide, cigarette in hand, smoke curling toward the ceiling like he’s been waiting to be noticed. And the way he looks at you…

Like you’re a prize.

You feel it right away.

San drops onto a couch and pulls you down beside him. You sit close, tighter than usual. You feel the eyes. You just… feel it.

San slips his arm behind your back. Fingers brushing through your hair like nothing’s wrong.

He starts talking.

“Man, jail was bullshit, bro. They had me locked up just cause I handled some dude that wouldn’t stop talking crazy.”

“Handled?” one of the guys across from him laughs – you think his name was something like – “Yunho”?. “You broke his jaw.”

San smirks. “Damn right I did. Should’ve seen his face. Knocked out before he even hit the floor.”

The room erupts. Laughter. Clapping. One of the guys offers him a drink.

You force a laugh, but your heart’s not in it. You hated hearing that.

You scan the room again, and yeah — this Mingi guy .. still hasn’t stopped looking at you.

You shift closer to San, almost curling into his side.

“I’m cold.”

Without hesitation, San grabs the blanket behind the couch, wraps it around your shoulders and pulls you closer.

“Better?”

You nod.

“Yeah… thank you.”

His hand rests on your thigh now, protective. But Mingi… still watching.

You don’t know how much longer you can sit there with his gaze locked on you.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Okay, come.” San stands. His eyes flick to Mingi—brief, sharp. Mingi holds his gaze for a moment, then looks away like it never happened.

San leans close to your ear.

“Walk in front of me.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.” His voice is low. Serious.

You walk, and he walks close behind you, body heat right at your back, like a silent shield.

When you reach the bathroom, he stands guard outside the door.

You wash your hands slowly, take a deep breath, and just as you reach for the doorknob —

San slips inside behind you. Shuts the door.

“I don’t like the way he's looking at you.” He leans against the sink, arms crossed, jaw tense.

“I know,” you say quietly.

“If you wanna leave early, we can. I’m not gonna make you stay here if you’re uncomfortable.”

That… surprises you.

“No, it’s fine. I can stay a little longer.”

He watches you, eyes soft for the first time all night.

“You sure?”

You nod.

“Alright. Just wanted to make sure.”

He steps forward and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I know they’re gonna start drinking soon… it might get a little hectic.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.”He smiles a little, presses a kiss to your forehead.

And the two of you walk back out—his hand ghosting over your back like a warning to anyone watching.

–

By the time you both step out of the bathroom, the entire vibe has shifted. The room’s louder now—bass from the speakers thumping deep in your chest, voices raised, glasses clinking. You catch the smell of liquor and weed hanging heavy in the air.

A round of drinks is already being poured on the coffee table. Dark bottles. No labels. You know it’s strong by the way one of the girls winces after a shot.

“There you two are,” Aisha laughs, cheeks already flushed. “Was wondering if you were gonna fuck in there or something.”

San just smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulder again.

“Nah,” he mutters, grabbing one of the drinks. “Bathroom’s too small for all that.”

Everyone laughs. Except you. And Mingi.

He’s still in the same spot—legs spread, cigarette in one hand, glass in the other. 

Eyes trailing your every move.

You settle beside San again, pulling the blanket over your lap like armor. He downs his drink in one go. Then another.

His hand slips beneath the blanket and between your thighs, just resting there, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your skin. His breath smells like whiskey, warm and sharp.

He leans in.

“You okay?” It’s soft. Almost sweet.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m okay.”

He kisses you—slow at first. But it deepens fast. You taste the alcohol instantly, thick and bitter, but his tongue is warm, his grip tighter now.

The kiss gets intense. Like he’s doing it for someone else’s benefit.

You feel his hand tighten at your waist, his body pressing into yours, and when you finally pull away to breathe, your lips are red and slightly parted.

You look across the room —

Mingi is still watching.

Jaw clenched. Eyes burning.

San doesn’t miss it this time.

“You need something, Mingi?” His voice is low. Laced with venom.

Mingi just shrugs. He’s drunk. Slouched deeper now, one leg bouncing lazily. He flicks ash from his cigarette, then tilts his head.

“Didn’t say I needed shit.”

“Then why do you keep looking at her, huh?,” San presses. He doesn’t let up.

A few of the guys glance over now. The room is on edge.

Mingi lets out a half-laugh.

“Just think it’s wild… how the dude that just got outta jail got the prettiest girl in the room. That’s all.”

The silence is instant.

Your stomach drops.

San leans forward slowly, dragging his hand off your leg as he sets his glass down.

“You got somethin’ you wanna say to her directly?”

“Nah, man,” Mingi raises his hands like he’s innocent. “Just sayin’... she’s hot. You can’t blame a man for lookin’. S’not like you own her.”

That gets a reaction. San sits forward slightly, his body tensing. But he doesn’t lunge. Doesn’t stand. You grab his hand instinctively, grounding him.

He breathes in hard through his nose, eyes narrowing.

“You got five seconds to stop talkin’, Mingi. Don’t make me lose my fucking mind tonight.”

And for once, Mingi backs off. He lifts his hands in surrender, flicks his ash into a tray, and leans back.

Silence falls again. Heavy. Awkward.

Then, slowly, the room starts moving again. The couples go back to their own conversations, someone passes a joint, someone else is pouring drinks again.

And San?

He lets it all go. For now.

He leans into you again, jaw still tight but voice lighter.

“Here,” he says, pouring something amber into a shot glass, “Take one.”

You blink. “Who’s driving us home?”

He shrugs, grinning now, some of that smugness crawling back into place.

“We’ll sleep here. Leave in the morning.”

“San…” you say, unsure.

“Just do it,” he says, softer now—voice dipping low as he holds the shot glass to your lips. His fingers touch your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek as the rim of the glass presses against your mouth.

You hesitate—then open up. Let him tilt the glass.

The liquid burns as it hits your tongue. Fire, thick and unforgiving. You cough hard, eyes watering.

“What the hell is that?” “Oh my God—”

He laughs. Loud. Proud. “This is the good shit, baby.”

He pours another one—for himself this time—and throws it back like water. The way his throat moves, the flick of his wrist, the smirk on his lips—

You can’t help it.

You kiss him.

Hard. Sloppy. You taste the liquor again, but this time it mixes with his cologne, his heat, his hand on your waist pulling you in like he wants to drink you next.

You giggle against his lips.

“Another one,” he mutters, reaching for the glass again.

You don’t argue.

One becomes two. Two becomes four. You lose count after that.

Everything starts to blur in a warm, dizzy haze. Laughter spills from your mouth without filter. You feel giddy. Loopy. Safe in San’s lap, your arms around his neck, your words pouring out like syrupy nonsense.

“Did you know I used to think you were, like, mean? Like scary mean?” “Still do, kinda. But now it’s like... hot.”

He chuckles, brushing your hair off your face. His lips graze your ear as he mumbles, “You talk a lot when you’re drunk.”

“So? You like it.”

“Mmm.”

You smile.

But after brief moment of talking — you realize something.

He’s not responding anymore.

You lean back just slightly. His head has tipped to the side, his mouth parted just a little.

He’s out.

San’s slumped. Dead asleep. Right there. Arms still around you.

“San?” you whisper, nudging his shoulder.

Nothing. A soft snore escapes him. He’s completely done for.

You laugh to yourself—just a quiet breath of amusement.

You glance around.

The couples are gone — some tucked off into the darker corners, laughing low or gone altogether. 

And then there’s him.

His voice cuts through:

“You good?”

You snap your head up.

Mingi.

He’s standing a few feet away now, cigarette in one hand, glass in the other. His eyes are still a little red, pupils blown, but the smugness is dimmed. His voice isn’t teasing anymore—just weirdly quiet.

“You been talkin’ to yourself for the last five minutes,” he says. “Five minutes straight. Thought you were telling me a story.”

You go still.

San sleeps behind you.

Mingi is in front of you.

And the room is spinning just a little too fast.

“.. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” “Its okay though, you sound cute when you ramble.”

He flicks ash off the end of his cigarette, letting it fall onto the concrete floor. His eyes drag down your body — slow and unbothered — like he’s taking inventory.

You instinctively cover yourself with the blanket.

“He always gets like that?” he asks, jerking his chin toward San.

You glance down at San’s sleeping face, lips parted, lashes dark and heavy. Peaceful. Safe.

“It been a long night,” you say softly. “We’re both tired. He barely got any sleep last night..”

Mingi chuckles under his breath and crouches slightly — still a few feet away, but it makes you tense. It's too intimate, too quiet. 

Like he wants to be close, but not let anyone notice.

“He ever tell you about the night we first met?”

You raise a brow, wary. He’s waiting for a response. When you don’t say anything, he keeps going.

“He was already like this - wild person. Blood on his hands. Didn’t give a fuck. Honestly, I didn’t think he’d survive past eighteen. But here he is…” His eyes flick to you again. “…sitting pretty with someone like you in his lap.”

You freeze under his gaze. It's heavy. Hungry.

He tilts his head, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, then exhales smoke through his nose like a dragon trying not to burn the room down.

"How’d he even pull you, anyway? You don’t really seem like the type to fall for guys like him."His smile is lazy. Challenging.

You don't respond.

Because you did fall for San. Hard. And fast. And dangerously.

But this isn’t about San right now.

This is about Mingi. The way his eyes are moving over you. The fact that San — your San — is passed out cold and this man is still standing here, trying you.

“Why’re you so quiet all of a sudden?” he mutters, voice low and edged with something darker.

“Thought you were all giggly earlier. Cute, even. Now you’re actin’ all shy.”

He takes a step closer.

You stiffen.

You feel San’s breath at your back — steady, warm — but the room suddenly feels colder.

“I don’t bite,” Mingi smirks, smoke curling from his lips. “Not unless you want me to.”

Your stomach twists. You want to say something—anything—but the words stick to your tongue.

“Can you not—”

“Relax,” he cuts in, smiling like this is a game.“Just talking. Just looking. That’s allowed, right?”

You try to shift, inching deeper into San’s lap, like even in his sleep, he can shield you from this. From him.

But Mingi just watches.

“He’s not gonna wake up, you know,” he says, voice soft but sinister. “You could kiss me right now, and he wouldn’t even know.”

The air in your lungs catches.

You look at San — completely asleep. Then at the exit — too far.

Your stomach turns.

Mingi raises a brow, leans in just a little more. “You trust him?” A beat. “Like… really trust him? To keep you safe?”

You want to say yes without thinking. But your mouth stays shut.

He tilts his head, watching you squirm. “Y’know… a guy like him, he’s gotta be rough. Real rough. Not just with guys like me — but you too, yeah?”

“... He’s not like that,” you mumble.

You know its a lie.

Mingi laughs. Quiet and low. “You sure?”His gaze drops, lingers on the blanket clutched to your chest. “You’re covered up now, but when you walked in — shit. He really let you dress like that?” He clicks his tongue. “Not what I expected. Not from him.”

You flinch slightly, tucking the blanket higher.

“But anyways,” he continues, smooth. “I know he’s not soft around you. That’s not how he is. Not with anyone.”

You look away.

“You want me to grab someone to take you home?” His voice is suddenly soft. Too soft.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

God, why does he keep asking you so many questions..

He leans back, eyes still on you. “See? He doesn’t deserve someone like you. That quiet. That careful.”A pause. “You ever just… want to see what safe feels like?”

You don’t respond.

Because in your chest something flickers — with interest, fear, and curiosity. A line you don’t want to toe.

You grip San’s hoodie tighter.

Mingi finally blinks, downs the last of his drink, and stands.

“Alright, angel.”

He stretches his arms, flicks the dying cigarette into the ashtray. “Sweet dreams~.” Then, with a knowing smile — “If he wakes up before you do, maybe he’ll realize what he’s about to lose.”

And with that, he disappears down the hall.

You don’t even realize how fast your heart is racing until San stirs beneath you.

And suddenly — you’re wishing he’d never fallen asleep at all.

Masterlist Next

[uceyliyahh]

PRESSURE

summary: she got build up pressure from her folks, her friends and her peers around her asking that million dollar question. ‘When will you get back together with Jimmy?’ It would always annoy Serenity hearing that from them when her folks knew her and Jimmy’s past. Her folks believe that they were going to get back together eventually until she found someone new hoping that she could heal those scars that Jimmy had left until that one night it changed everything.

warnings contain: explicit content, self-harming, withdrawals, depression, a lot of build up pressure, cheating, suicidal.

sooo mdni

Jimmy Uso x Serenity

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

TAGS 🏷️ lmk if you want to be tagged @pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @prettyfilmz @sharmelasworld @spiicii @formulafortyfour @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @trippiexlove @wisteria-bae

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @4milly @luuvprincess @yyaktayak @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @bookuce @sheaabuttaababyy @li-da-savage @cafeluvs @myleelovesfood @shes2real

CAST

face claim: Antonia Gentry as Serenity Cooper aka Serene

bartender

Jimmy’s ex-girlfriend (broke up with him because he cheated.)

dating Darren

best friends with Kehlani

isolates herself from her family

self harm

Instagram: serenitysdairy

iMessage - serene🤍

“I can’t do this anymore Jimmy, you’re ruining me.”

Jonathan Solofa Fatu aka Jimmy, Big Jim, Jon

professional wrestler

Serenity’s ex-boyfriend (still wants to be with her.)

toxic

possessive

jealous of serenity’s new relationship

Instagram: jonathanfatu

iMessage - J💔

“lemme’ keep ruining you until you become mine again, that fool ain’t like me Serene and you know it.”

India amarteifio as Ciara Cooper aka Cece

serenity’s older sister

actor

cool with Jey and Jimmy

single

Instagram: cecesworld

iMessage - cece💞

“It’s not my place to say sis but you and Jimmy need to work things out.”

Darren Hilton aka D

basketball player

charming

loyal

dating Serenity

Instagram: d1arren

iMessage - lova💖

“how long have you been fucking him behind my back serene?”

Joshua Samuel Fatu aka Josh or Jey

professional wrestler

married with two kids

loyal

believes that serenity and his brother will get back together

Instagram: uceyjucey

IMessage - Joshua🙄

“Serene you know he still crazy about you after you broke things off with him.”

Trinity Fatu aka Trin

professional wrestler

male centered

mess around with Jimmy a couple of times while being on the road.

single

toxic

Instagram: trinity_fatu

IMessage - Trin🍑

“Babygirl don’t be mad at me be at ya nigga, he wanted some of this and you probably wasn’t doing your job right.”

a/n: let’s hop right in shall we?

chapter one

[writerofautumnnights]

𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑹 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — 𝐉𝐎𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐌

previous chapter

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ pairing: jobe bellingham x fem!oc 

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ sumary: Jobe and Sarah finally give in to the attraction that consumes them. Amidst intense touches and unspoken promises, the chemistry between them reaches its peak, but the impending farewell leaves a taste of uncertainty.

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ warnings: NSFW, a hint of anguish and a little dominance if you close one eye.

count: 10.9k sorry!

# tags: @lonely-world3 @barcagirly @formulafortyfour @kennaskorner @anifffff @jessnotwiththemess @irishmanwhore @oceanfanatic06 @haartemis @eriks-girl @peyiswriting @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @sucredreamer @virgilsgurl @everlyjay @kj77 @muglermami @sailurmewn @goldenngt @cranberryjulce @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @amirawrah if you want it removed, let me know!

keara’s imessage: myyyyy jobe girls 🗣️ forgive me for the delay, I warned you that I didn't like what I wrote before, but I crossed the line on this one. Thanks for all the love and if you want to be tagged, just let me know. enjoy the chapter 💕

masterlist

Sarah had never planned to fall in love during her exchange program. She had always been picky and cautious when it came to relationships. She had no interest in "raising boys," especially getting involved with someone who might be younger. 

But Jobe... he was nothing like the people she had met before. The dilemma of being in your twenties is that you could – potentially – get involved with someone younger or someone older. There's always this inner conflict about what you actually want in a relationship – whether you want to deal with someone still figuring out how to handle life or someone who's already focused on financial success, because after thirty, building stability becomes a priority.

For the Brazilian, these questions had started to surface more and more each day. She was determined to stick to her original goals, trying to fully focus on her studies, but somehow she found herself more and more drawn to someone who was constantly stealing her attention. Sometimes she would catch herself just staring at him, thinking, "How did this even happen?"One look into his eyes and Sarah was completely lost. It was hard not to fall into temptation, hard not to crave being closer every day. She hoped she wasn’t rushing things, but there was something she simply couldn’t put into words. She had never met anyone like him before.

The distance between them was challenging, but somehow, they were making it work. Their daily video calls had quickly become Sarah’s favorite part of the day.

Their communication was getting better and better. Sarah’s English classes were paying off, even with all those impossible phrasal verbs he loved to use. And she had taught him a few words in Portuguese too. It was adorable how he tried to say "saudade" – equally cute and hilarious. Jobe loved saying "meu bem" and "linda demais" whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention.

And it had only been two weeks since that first call that brought them back into each other's lives.

Some people around Sarah had already noticed how distracted and unavailable she seemed; her free time was now filled with calls that somehow made the distance feel shorter. They hadn’t met again in person yet, but it didn’t matter. Some of her friends had even spotted the Sunderland shirt she got after the match and asked questions, but Sarah kept it low-key, just like they had agreed. Some things were meant to stay just between the two of them – even though she was dying to share everything with the world. To her, he was simply Jobe. But to the world, he was still Jobe Bellingham.

Sarah remembered when she used to say she didn’t want to fall in love, didn’t trust anyone anymore, didn’t want to care too much ever again. But Jobe had changed all of that. And day by day, she was letting herself fall even harder.

The Uber weaved through the streets of Manchester while Sarah nervously tapped her fingers against her bag. The improvised lie from the night before weighed heavily on her conscience. She had sent Jobe a message saying that an unexpected issue with her course was preventing her from going to the match. She could still picture his reply — short, polite, but carrying a hint of disappointment he had tried to hide.

Her surprise had almost been ruined when she arrived at the hotel where she would be staying and ran into a few members of Sunderland’s staff at the reception. For a few seconds, her heart skipped a beat as she quickly scanned the lobby for any sign of Jobe.  But it was just some staff members. She had been so close — Jobe and the other players had walked through the lobby just minutes later, coming back from their training session at the stadium.

Luckily, Sarah was already on her way to her room.  

Her own foolishness had almost ruined the moment she had carefully planned for so long. If she had just asked Jobe where they would be staying, there wouldn’t have been any close calls. But she learned her lesson.

The stadium was already visible in the distance when she picked up her phone and dialed his number. It had to be a quick call. Sarah took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. Three rings, and he answered.

"Hey!" she said, smiling the moment she heard his breathing on the other end. "I just wanted... to wish you good luck..."

She could feel the surprise in his voice, that slight pause of someone who hadn’t expected the call. Jobe said something about getting ready to step onto the pitch, but she caught the lighter tone, as if her call had softened the disappointment he had tried to hide about her supposed absence.

"Are you getting another call?" she asked when she heard another ringtone in the background.

"Yeah, it’s Jude. I need to answer."

"Go ahead. I'll be cheering for you from here. Don’t forget my goal!" she teased.

The driver announced their arrival at the stadium. Sarah zipped her jacket up to her neck, feeling the fabric of the new, autographed Sunderland jersey she wore underneath—a gift Jobe had sent her the previous week. Across her back, his name and number were printed, making her heart race in ways she still couldn't quite explain.

With hesitant steps, she made her way toward the VIP entrance, where players' families gathered. Everything still felt overwhelming; Sarah had been nervous ever since she picked up the ticket earlier that morning—managing to do so discreetly, without Jobe finding out.

The security guard checked her name on the list and gestured for her to move down the hallway. Suddenly, the full weight of her impulsive decision hit her: she was about to watch a match in the section usually reserved for the players' families.

An attendant guided her toward her seat, and Sarah found herself impressed by it all. For a second division team, today's stadium was seriously impressive.

When she entered the reserved box, Sarah froze. The first pair of eyes she met belonged to a middle-aged man whose features were unmistakably familiar—the same eyebrows, the same posture. Mark Bellingham studied her for a few seconds before a spark of recognition lit up his face.

"You must be Sarah," he said, approaching with a warm smile that didn’t quite match the stern image she had built in her mind based on the few photos she had seen. "Jobe’s going to be... well, ‘surprised’ doesn’t even begin to cover it."

"I-I... yes, I am... It's such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bellingham," she stammered, suddenly feeling like all the English words she had learned had fled from her mind. "Sorry for not... telling you I was coming."

"Mark, please," he corrected kindly. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone."

Everyone?

A man sitting with his leg stretched out over one of the seats turned when he heard the conversation. Sarah recognized him immediately from magazines and match broadcasts: Bellingham. Jude Bellingham, Jobe’s older brother, Real Madrid star — currently sidelined with an injury — was right there in front of her. Beside him, an elegant woman with piercing eyes observed Sarah with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"So you're the famous Sarah," Jude said with a wide grin, reaching out his hand. "Finally meeting the person who has my brother checking his phone every five minutes."

Sarah felt embarrassment flood every part of her body as she accepted his handshake. "Nice to meet you... sorry for showing up... without warning," she managed, her voice barely steady.

"Don’t apologize," Jude laughed. "He’s going to love the surprise."

When Sarah turned to greet Denise, the boys’ mother, a wave of nerves hit her. The woman’s gaze was intense, assessing, and for a moment Sarah was certain she had made a terrible mistake by coming unannounced.

"Sarah," Denise said simply, extending her hand with graceful poise. "Jobe mentioned you wouldn’t be coming."

"It was... uh... a last-minute change of plans," Sarah explained, struggling to find the right words in English. "I hope I'm not... intruding. It was supposed to be... a surprise."

Something in Denise’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. "Anyone who makes my son smile the way you do is more than welcome."

The tension in Sarah’s shoulders eased just a little. Jude pulled out an empty chair beside him and patted the seat.

"Come, sit here. I want to hear all about how you manage to put up with my brother."

The comment earned a nervous laugh from Sarah, and Jude seemed to pick up on her discomfort. With an easy charm, he began sharing embarrassing childhood stories about him and Jobe, speaking slowly and clearly so she could follow, occasionally repeating himself when he noticed her confusion.

The teams entered the pitch for the warm-up, and Sarah’s heart leapt when she spotted Jobe among the players. He looked focused, completely unaware of the surprise waiting for him in the family box.

"He hasn’t looked this way yet," Mark commented, as if reading her thoughts. "He’s always been like that. When he's on the pitch, the whole world disappears."

***

The stadium buzzed with the energy of 20,000 people gathered for the decisive match. Jobe adjusted his number 7 shirt and took a deep breath, feeling adrenaline rush through his veins, just like it always did before a big game. But today, there was something different. A restlessness he couldn't quite name.

His gaze swept across the crowd until it landed on a specific spot — the VIP box where players' families usually sat. His parents were there, Mark and Denise, chatting with Jude. And next to them... She.

Sarah wasn’t supposed to be there. She hadn’t mentioned anything about coming. But there she was, with her unmistakable golden curls and a smile that seemed to light up the whole stadium. Sarah laughed at something Mark said, and for a brief moment, she opened her jacket, revealing the team shirt underneath — the very same one Jobe had autographed and sent to Manchester just a few days ago.  The one she had told him she kept tucked away every night like a special gift. The thought made something flip inside his stomach.

When Sarah noticed Jobe staring, she gave him a discreet wave, her smile growing wider. He felt warmth spread through his chest. Quickly, he tore his gaze away, forcing his focus back onto the field. He couldn’t get distracted. Not today. Not by her.

"Focus, Jobe," he muttered under his breath, adjusting his shorts.

Chris approached, giving his shoulder a firm pat. "Would you look at that — the Brazilian actually showed up."

Jobe tried to keep his face neutral, but the weight on his shoulders grew heavier. "Didn’t think she would."

"And I couldn’t take one more minute of you moping around after almost scaring her off with all that commitment-phobia of yours," Chris laughed. "Good thing Eliezer and I knocked some sense into you. Must be the first girl who’s ever made you this nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Jobe replied automatically, though he knew it was a lie.

"Sure," Chris said, shaking his head, amused. "One day, someone was bound to break through all those walls, mate. Just didn’t expect it to be an older woman with that look — like she knows exactly what she wants."

Before Jobe could respond, the whistle blew, calling the teams onto the field. He took a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of Sarah to a far corner of his mind. It was game time. His territory — the place where he knew exactly who he was and what he had to do.

The match kicked off at a fierce pace, just as expected.  Jobe threw himself into the game with the iron discipline that defined him on the pitch. For forty straight minutes, he maintained laser-sharp focus, organizing plays in midfield, contributing both in defense and attack. The scoreboard remained 0–0, a reflection of the tension and balance between the two teams.

It was during a stoppage — an opponent down, receiving treatment — that his focus betrayed him. Almost instinctively, his eyes searched for Sarah in the VIP box. She was standing, chatting with his mother, Denise. Something about the sight — Sarah talking to his family like she already belonged — made his heart race.

What were they talking about? Was Sarah nervous? He could hear her Brazilian accent in his mind, the slight stumble over words when she got anxious. Was his mother being kind to her?

"Earth to Jobe!" The coach’s voice snapped him back to reality.  "I’ve been talking to you for a minute now! What’s going on? I’ve never seen you this distracted."

"Sorry, coach. It won’t happen again."

The coach studied him for a moment before continuing with the tactical instructions. Jobe nodded mechanically, his eyes trained on the coach’s face, but his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

When the game resumed, Jobe forced himself to focus solely on the ball and the movements of the opponents. It worked, for a while. Until, fifteen minutes into the second half, a perfect opportunity arose. He stole the ball in midfield, dribbled past two defenders, and seeing open space ahead, advanced decisively towards the goal. At the edge of the box, with surgical precision, he shot towards the lower right corner, leaving the goalkeeper with no chance.

The stadium erupted in celebration as Jobe ran, arms wide open, toward the sidelines. Amid the euphoria, his teammates jumped on him, celebrating the goal. When he finally managed to break free from the group hug, Jobe did something he had never done before — he turned towards the VIP box and pointed directly at Sarah.

It was an impulsive gesture, completely out of character for his usually reserved nature, but at that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. From a distance, he saw Sarah’s face light up in a radiant smile as she covered her face shyly. Beside her, Jude elbowed their father, pointing and apparently making some comment that made Mark laugh and shake his head.

"Wow, the ice man finally melted!" Eliezer joked, passing by as they headed back to their positions. "Never thought I'd see the day Jobe 'I-don’t-get-attached' Bellingham would dedicate a goal to someone."

Chris joined in the teasing: "The Brazilian must have magic powers! We need to thank her later."

Jobe just smiled, for the first time not caring about the teasing from his friends. The feeling of having scored a goal and openly dedicating it to Sarah was strangely freeing.

The rest of the game was a showcase of his talent on the field. As if freed from a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying, Jobe played with a fluidity and creativity that drew applause from the crowd. In the thirty-eighth minute of the second half, he assisted the second goal, sealing the 2–0 victory.

When the final whistle blew, Jobe felt a mix of euphoria from the win and anxiety about what was to come. He knew that, unlike other times, he couldn't simply avoid Sarah. Not after that public gesture. Not after seeing her talking with his parents.

In the locker room, he tried to focus on the team’s celebrations and the quick interviews with journalists. But his mind kept returning to the image of Sarah in the VIP box, wearing his autographed jersey, flashing that smile that seemed made just for him.

"Go on, man," said Eliezer, giving him a friendly push as they finally left the locker room. "Your Brazilian is waiting. And from what Chris told me, your parents are practically ready to adopt her."

"What?" Jobe frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Let’s just say that while you were busy here, your brother was introducing her to everyone as your girlfriend," Chris explained with a mischievous smile. "Apparently, your dad’s already in love with her accent."

Jobe felt a wave of panic. Introducing Sarah as his girlfriend? They hadn’t even kissed yet! What was Jude thinking?

"Relax," Eliezer said, patting his shoulder when he noticed Jobe’s expression. "From what I heard, people just insisted on meeting her after seeing you dedicate the goal."

"What the hell?" Jobe couldn’t hide his confusion.

"So, Mrs. Bellingham got curious to meet the woman who finally conquered her son’s shielded heart," Chris added, amusement all over his face.

"We’re not… it’s not like…" Jobe began, then stopped, not knowing how to define what he and Sarah were to each other.

"Just go," Chris said again, more softly this time. "We all saw the way you look at her. And how she looks at you. Stop fighting it."

With those words echoing in his mind, Jobe walked toward the area where he knew his family — and Sarah — were waiting. With each step, he felt his heart beat harder. It was ridiculous, he thought. He was a professional athlete who regularly performed in front of thousands of people, but the thought of seeing one woman had him panicking.

But it wasn’t just any woman. It was Sarah.

With her golden curls, her musical accent when she spoke English, the way she tilted her head when listening to him with full attention, as if every word he said mattered. Sarah, who somehow managed to see through the walls he had spent years building around himself.

When he finally spotted them in the VIP lounge, Jobe paused for a moment to watch them. His father had his arm draped over Jude’s shoulders, while his mother chatted animatedly with Sarah, who gestured as she spoke, her curls bouncing with the movement. Even from a distance, Jobe could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she tried a little harder to pronounce the words correctly — all signs that she was nervous but determined to make a good impression.

The thought that she was trying so hard for him made something tighten in his chest.

"There’s the star of the game!" his father exclaimed as he saw him approaching.

Everyone turned. Sarah’s smile, when her eyes met his, was a mixture of relief and happiness that made Jobe momentarily forget all his reservations. He greeted his father first, then his brother and mother, exchanging a few words with each of them. 

And then, finally, his eyes found Sarah’s again. Jobe couldn’t quite tell what she was feeling, but Sarah focused on her own breathing as she felt her legs tremble slightly as he came closer.

"You came," he said simply, his voice low enough that only she could hear it.

"Surprise," Sarah replied, feeling her English falter once again.

"It really is a surprise. I thought you wouldn’t come!"

"I lied, forgive me," Sarah laughed, biting her lip with a smile.

"Why are you hiding the jersey?" he asked, noticing her zipped-up jacket.

Sarah squinted, making Jobe smile openly, his dimple showing. The gesture made her smile slowly, and feeling all of his family's eyes on her, Sarah opened her jacket, revealing the Sunderland jersey.

Jobe’s eyes immediately darted to a special spot. The dedication: With love, to England’s sunshine. JB 7

The smile that spread across Jobe’s face was unlike any she had ever seen before. There was pride, surprise, and something deeper she couldn’t name.

"It looks better on you than on me," he commented, running his fingers lightly over the fabric, a gesture that sent shivers down Sarah’s spine.

Jobe then turned his attention back to his family.

"Son, what an incredible game! And that moment! I never thought I’d see you do something like that."

"Yeah, little bro, you really surprised us today," Jude added with a mischievous grin. "I barely recognized my usually reserved brother making public declarations."

"It wasn’t a declaration," Jobe protested, flashing a nervous smile, as if trying to hide his embarrassment.

"It was beautiful," Sarah’s soft voice interrupted, her Brazilian accent more pronounced due to her nerves. "No one... has ever done something like that for me before."

Their eyes locked, and for a moment it felt like they were alone in the crowded lobby. Jobe could see every nuance of emotion on her face — the nervousness about being around his family, the insecurity about her English, the genuine happiness at seeing him, the anticipation of what would come next.

"Sarah was just telling us how you gave her that jersey at the first game she attended," his mother commented, bringing Jobe back to reality. "I thought it was such a sweet gesture."

"And she didn’t mention that she sleeps with the jersey every night?" Jude teased, earning a deadly glare from Sarah, whose hands grew sweaty at the revelation.

"I don’t... it’s not exac–" she began to protest, stumbling over her words.

"It’s okay," Jobe interrupted gently, stepping closer to her. "Jude’s just trying to embarrass you. It’s what he does best."

His brother feigned outrage, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. "I'm just helping you two move past this weird dance you’ve been doing for a while now."

"Son, we invited Sarah to have dinner with us tonight," his father interjected, saving them from more teasing. "Do you mind? We thought it would be nice to get to know her better."

The question caught Jobe off guard. A family dinner? With Sarah? It was a big step, especially considering they hadn’t even defined what they were to each other yet. But when he looked at her and saw the mix of hope and apprehension in her eyes, he realized the idea didn’t scare him as much as it should.

"Of course," he answered, surprising himself with how natural it sounded. "If Sarah’s comfortable with it."

"I’d love to," she replied, a shy smile playing on her lips.

"Great," his mother beamed. "We’re heading to the restaurant at your hotel. We already arranged for you to skip the team dinner, so we’ll go with Jude. You can go with Sarah and meet us there?"

Jobe nodded, recognizing his mother’s transparent maneuver to give them a moment alone. "We’ll see you there, then."

As his parents and Jude walked away, promising to meet them at the hotel, Jobe finally found himself alone with Sarah. The silence between them was charged with anticipation.

"You played so well," she finally said, her voice soft. "That goal was amazing."

"Thank you for coming, meu bem," he replied, taking a step closer to her. "I wasn’t sure you’d be here."

Sarah couldn’t hide her smile at hearing Jobe use the Portuguese nickname she had taught him with such delight.

"I just bet it would be cool," she explained. "I thought you’d like to see me cheering for you." She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "I’m sorry about your parents... I didn’t plan on meeting them like this, it all happened so fast and..."

"It’s okay," Jobe interrupted her softly. "They seem to like you."

"Your mom is very kind," Sarah smiled, relaxing a little. "But I’m nervous about my English with them... sometimes I can’t find the right words and..."

Seeing her anxiety build, Jobe did something he had been wanting to do since he first saw her in the box. He closed the final distance between them and pulled her into a hug. He felt her body stiffen in surprise for a second before she relaxed against him, her arms wrapping around his waist.

Leaning down slightly, Jobe buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in deeply. Her scent — a mix of some floral perfume and something uniquely Sarah — wrapped around him like a warm blanket on a cold day. It was comforting and thrilling at the same time. "Your English is perfect," he murmured against her skin, feeling her shiver slightly. "And my parents already adore you. Just like..." he stopped, the words catching in his throat. He wasn’t ready to say it out loud yet.

Sarah pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, their faces inches apart. "Just like...?" she encouraged, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

Jobe swallowed hard, feeling another barrier inside him crumble. "Just like I'm starting to adore you," he finished, his voice low, almost a whisper.

The smile that lit up her face was like a sunrise — gradual, warm, and utterly breathtaking. A different Sarah appeared before him, lighter and unburdened.

"It took you a while to admit that, English boy," she teased, her hand reaching up to gently touch his face, making his heart skip a beat.

"I'm afraid," he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Of how you make me feel. Of how you seem to see through all my defenses."

Sarah nodded, understanding. "I know. And I'm not in a hurry." Her fingers traced the line of his jaw.

He smiled, a genuine smile that he rarely showed anyone. "This shirt really looks much better on you," Jobe commented, unable to take his eyes off Sarah. "Way too beautiful!"

"You need to stop making me blush, British boy. You know I can still return it... if you want," Sarah replied, playfully.

"Don't take it off again," Jobe said, surprising himself. "It really suits you."

Sarah took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "You know, Jobe, for someone so skilled on the field, you're terribly hesitant off of it."

The comment caught him by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you look at me like I'm both something you desperately want and something that terrifies you. Beyond what we feel." She tilted her head, studying him. "Am I wrong?"

Her honesty left him momentarily speechless. It was exactly how he felt, but he never expected her to notice it so clearly.

"I..." he started, but stopped, unsure of how to continue.

Sarah smiled, understanding. "It's okay. You don't have to explain. I just want you to know that I'm really not in a rush." She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers again. "And I'm not as scary as I seem."

Her touch was warm, real, anchored in the present moment. Jobe felt another barrier tremble, like an old wall finally giving way to time.

"Shall we go? My parents are going to start imagining things if we take too long."

"Oh, sure. Do you have some locker room fetish you need to fulfill?" Sarah asked, playfully, but just looking at Jobe and analyzing his expression had both of them laughing. "Joooooobe."

"What? I can dream," he shrugged, unable to hide the mischievous smile on his lips.

"Come on, for God's sake," she agreed, laughing, but keeping her hand intertwined with his. "And after dinner... maybe we can talk more about that idea of pointing at me on the field."

Jobe felt the embarrassment take over him again, but he didn't let go of her hand as they walked toward the parking lot. There were still many barriers to break, many fears to face. But for the first time in a long time, the idea of letting his guard down didn’t seem so scary.

Not when it was Sarah waiting on the other side.

***

The night had been unforgettable. Sunderland's game ended in victory, with a spectacular goal that sent the fans into a frenzy. Dinner with Jobe’s family, which had initially made Sarah extremely nervous, turned out to be an enjoyable experience, though still challenging. Jobe, on the other hand, felt like the happiest person in the world seeing Sarah interact with his family, even though she tried to mask her anxiety. Her presence in such a personal and important setting for him meant more than anyone could imagine.

When dinner ended and everyone started saying their goodbyes, Sarah took a deep breath, gathering the courage to make the invitation she had been rehearsing in her mind since the middle of the meal.

"Do you need to go back to the hotel now?" Sarah asked quietly, as Jobe finished hugging his older brother. Her English still had a strong accent, but the months of daily phone conversations had significantly improved her vocabulary.

Jobe turned to her with a smile that lit up his face. "Actually, yeah. Why?"

Sarah averted her gaze for a moment, nervously biting her lip. "I was thinking maybe... you could keep me company for a while. It's still early."

"I'd love to," Jobe replied, without hesitating for even a second. "Which hotel are you at?"

"The same as yours."

The smile that appeared on Jobe's face at that information was enough to freeze time; Sarah didn't know it yet, but she was very close to breaking down Jobe's walls.

They said their goodbyes to his family, with Denise, Jobe’s mother, hugging Sarah a little tighter than necessary and whispering something in her ear that made Sarah smile shyly. Mark, his father, gave Sarah a friendly pat on the shoulder and a meaningful look at his son.

When they were finally alone, they walked side by side toward the elevators. In the lit hallway, Sarah slowed her pace and turned to face him.

"It’s strange... finally being here... with you," Sarah commented, breaking the silence. "After so many video calls, it almost feels surreal... to just reach out and..." She hesitated, but her fingers brushed the air between them, stopping just inches from his.

Jobe stopped walking, his gaze meeting hers. Here, without the safety of the digital distance, every gesture carried a different weight. The realization that they were only a few steps away from her room, with their rooms separated by only a few meters of hallway, hung between them like an unspoken question.

When they reached Sarah’s room door, the reality of the situation hit them. They were just one step away from being completely alone for the first time, without the hum of the hotel in the background, without anyone around, without the mediation of phone screens, without the option to end the call when the silence became uncomfortable.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jobe couldn't resist. He stepped up behind Sarah and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the curve of her neck. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he took a deep breath.

"Your scent is amazing," he murmured against her skin, slowly moving to breathe in the scent of her hair. "How do you always smell so good?"

Sarah couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. "It's just regular shampoo. Nothing special."

"I completely disagree," he replied, still not letting go of her, as if he feared she might vanish if he did. "I think I’m going to stay like this forever."

Sarah felt her heart race at the proximity. Every cell in her body was acutely aware of his presence behind her, the warmth radiating from him, the rhythm of his breath against her hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to enjoy that feeling she had imagined so many times during their late-night conversations.

"Are you okay?" Jobe asked, pulling away slightly so she could turn and face him.

"Yeah," she replied, turning in his arms. "It's just... really strange, finally being like this. Without a screen between us."

Jobe smiled, and Sarah realized that his smile was even more beautiful in person than on the video calls. His eyes sparkled in a way no camera could capture.

"You were so nervous at dinner," he commented, gently guiding her to sit on his lap as he adjusted himself on the edge of the bed. "I thought you were going to pass out when my mom asked about your age."

Sarah covered her face with her hands, mortified. "Was it that obvious? I tried to hide it!"

"It was adorable," he assured her, sitting beside her. "At first, I thought it was my dad who was making you nervous."

"Well, I thought it was your dad... that made me nervous, until I met your mom," Sarah confessed, lowering her hands to look at him. "She has that look that... seems to see everything I’m thinking."

Jobe laughed. "And she loved you. Everyone did, actually. My brother has already sent me three messages asking when they'll meet you again."

Sarah felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Really? I was so worried about making... a good impression."

"You could have shown up wearing a dinosaur costume, and they would have still loved you," he joked, gently running his fingers along her arm. "It’s impossible not to like you."

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they stayed like that, absorbing the closeness, immersed in the reality of finally being together, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

"Hey," Jobe suddenly said, breaking the moment. "Are you still thinking about that theory I sent you last week? About the government using electromagnetic waves to control people’s sleep patterns?"

"Jooobe, seriously?" Sarah laughed, pushing him onto the bed, unable to believe how he had completely broken the potential mood. She laughed, shaking her head. "Of course. We spent three hours... searching for articles... in the middle of the night. How could I forget?"

"It was fascinating! You can't deny it," he insisted, propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes sparkling in that way she recognized whenever he found something to share with her.

And damn. He looked hot.

"Fascinating, yes, but completely crazy," she replied, trying to find the right words in English. The language barrier was still a challenge, especially when trying to express more complex ideas or subtle nuances. "How did you say it? That they use... what’s the word... frequencies? To make people wake up in the middle of the night?"

"Exactly!" Jobe got excited, leaning forward. "And you have to admit, it makes sense. Why else would so many people have insomnia at the same time?"

"Hmm, I don’t know," Sarah pretended to think. "Maybe because they spend the whole night talking to someone in another city?"

Jobe feigned indignation. "Are you blaming me for your insomnia, Miss Sarah?"

"Maybe," she replied with a teasing smile. "Or maybe it’s the government’s waves."

They laughed together, and the familiarity of that absurd conversation brought comfort. It was like they were back to their late-night phone calls, but infinitely better because now they could see every little detail of each other's expressions, without delay, without blurry pixels.

"Do you want to watch something?" Jobe asked, pointing to the TV in the room.

Sarah nodded. "Sure. You can choose while... I take a quick shower? I’m feeling a little... sticky after all the excitement of the day."

"Perfect," he replied, grabbing the remote as Sarah picked out some clothes from her suitcase.

When Sarah came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, wearing cotton shorts and a loose t-shirt, she found Jobe leaning against the headboard of the bed, with a mischievous smile on his face.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, drying some parts of her hair with the towel.

"I'm finally going to make you watch Star Wars," he announced triumphantly, pointing at the screen where the famous logo and yellow letters were ready to start.

Sarah groaned dramatically. "I knew you were going to take this opportunity!"

"You said you’ve never watched it. It’s practically a crime!"

"Okay, okay," she conceded, moving closer to the bed. "But I can’t promise I’ll stay awake till the end."

Jobe patted the space beside him. "Come on, lie down here. I’ll let you meet the best pillow."

Sarah furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

He tapped his chest, and she laughed. The sound filled the room, making Jobe laugh and beckon her with his finger – Sarah’s heart felt like it missed a beat, but she slowly approached.

He opened his arms, inviting her. "Like this, curled up. It’s the best way to watch Star Wars for the first time."

With her heart racing, Sarah settled beside him, letting him pull her into his chest. The sensation of his body against hers felt both strange and perfectly natural.

The movie began, but after a few minutes, Sarah furrowed her brow. "Jobe, it’s too fast."

"Oh, sorry!" he quickly grabbed the remote and navigated through the menu options. "I’ll put the subtitles in Portuguese."

When the subtitles appeared, Sarah settled more comfortably against him, trying to focus on the movie and not the feeling of his arm around her shoulders, or the warmth radiating from his body, or the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear.

As the movie went on, Sarah allowed herself to relax more and more in Jobe’s arms. The physical closeness, after so many months of emotional and virtual proximity, was both comforting and electrifying. Every small movement, every shift in position sent waves of acute awareness through her body.

At some point, Jobe began absent-mindedly playing with a strand of her hair, wrapping it around his finger. The soft, repetitive touch made Sarah close her eyes briefly, absorbing the sensation.

"Are you paying attention?" he whispered against the top of her head.

"Kind of," Sarah confessed. "It’s hard to concentrate."

"On the movie or something else?" His voice had a playful tone but also carried a hint of tension, as if he was testing the limits of what he could say.

Sarah shifted to look at him, their faces dangerously close. "On everything," she replied honestly. "On you being here with me, after so long imagining what it would be like."

Jobe’s eyes darkened, and he lowered his gaze to her lips. Sarah felt the air between them grow thick, charged with possibilities and repressed desire. They were so close that she could feel his breath on her face, each exhale sending shivers down her spine.

Jobe subtly leaned in, closing the distance between them, his lips almost touching hers now. Sarah could swear she could taste him even before the contact.

At the last second, she turned her face, and his lips brushed lightly against her cheek. Sarah closed her eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs, her breath coming in small, trembling gasps.

Jobe felt a pang of uncertainty when Sarah turned away from the kiss, but the brief contact with the soft skin of her cheek was enough to send an electric shock through his body. He pulled back slightly, giving her space, but still keeping her in his arms.

‘Maybe she’s not ready,’ he thought, trying to calm his racing heart. ‘Or maybe I misread everything.’

But there was no denying the tension between them, the electricity that seemed to crackle in the air every time they touched. The long hours of deep conversations, of shared vulnerability through screens, had created an intimacy that now manifested physically, as if their bodies were magnets with opposite polarities, constantly pulled toward each other.

Sarah, for her part, felt her chest rise and fall quickly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming her. She wanted the kiss – God, how she wanted it – but fear paralyzed her at the last moment. Not fear of Jobe, but fear of what would come after, the intensity of what she felt for him, the implications of letting herself go completely for something that had started in such an unlikely way.

'What if I ruin everything?' she thought, as she pretended to focus on the movie. 'What if, after everything, it’s not like we imagined?'

But the feeling of his arms around her, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the scent of his cologne mixed with something that was essentially Jobe – all these things seemed to pull her toward him, as if the gravity between them had increased exponentially.

On the screen, a space battle was unfolding, but neither of them was really watching. They were hyperconsciously aware of each other, of every little movement, every breath, every heartbeat.

"Sorry," Jobe murmured after several minutes of tense silence. "I shouldn’t have..."

"No," Sarah interrupted, turning to face him again. "Don’t apologize. It’s not that."

Their gazes met, and Sarah saw in those eyes all the vulnerability and desire that she herself felt. A heavy silence fell between them, loaded with unspoken words and unfulfilled wishes.

"What is it, then?" he asked, his voice little more than a rough whisper.

Sarah tried to find the words in English, but gave up. Some things were hard to express even in her native language. Instead, she slowly brought her hand to his face, her fingers softly tracing the line of his jaw. The touch was light as a feather, but filled with intention.

Jobe remained completely still, as if any movement could break the spell of the moment. His eyes never left hers, searching, questioning, waiting.

Sarah felt her whole body hum with anticipation as she leaned toward him again. This time, there was no hesitation in her movements. She closed her eyes and, finally, pressed her lips against his.

The first contact was gentle, almost reverent. A simple brushing of lips that lasted only a second, but felt like it contained entire universes. When she pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, she saw a whirlwind of emotions reflected there – surprise, joy, desire, relief.

Jobe let out a low sound, almost a contained moan, before sliding his hand to the back of her neck and pulling her back into another kiss. This one, unlike the first, had nothing of hesitation or gentleness. It was years of repressed desire, months of anticipation, weeks of anxiety – all culminating in this moment, this contact.

His lips moved against hers with controlled urgency, as if trying to hold back, but failing. Sarah felt her body respond, instinctively leaning closer to him, her fingers now tangling in the short hair on his head.

The kiss deepened naturally, their tongues meeting for the first time, exploring, tasting, discovering. Sarah couldn’t help but let out a sigh of pleasure when she felt his tongue slide against hers, sending waves of heat through her body. It was as if every nerve ending had awakened simultaneously.

Jobe’s hands, which had until then remained in safe places – one on her neck, the other on her waist – began to explore timidly. He slid his fingers under the hem of her t-shirt, touching the warm skin of her back, and Sarah arched involuntarily at the contact.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured against her lips, between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Sarah felt a wave of confidence wash over her with his words. She shifted, adjusting her position to sit on his lap, one leg on either side of his hips. Jobe inhaled sharply at the new proximity, his hands instinctively finding her thighs, squeezing gently.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his breath quickening, his lips swollen from the kisses.

"More than okay," she replied, looking at him as if she were the most precious thing he had ever seen. "This is... perfect."

They kissed again, more deeply this time, their hands exploring with more boldness. Sarah felt his hands slide down her thighs, slowly rising, stopping respectfully at the hem of her shorts, as if asking for permission.

In response, she broke the kiss just long enough to pull her own t-shirt over her head, revealing herself to him. Jobe froze for a moment, his eyes scanning every exposed inch, with an expression of pure fascination, particularly on her breasts.

"Are you real?" he whispered, almost to himself, before bringing his hands to her bare waist, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her sensitive skin, gradually moving up toward her breasts.

Sarah smiled, feeling powerful with the effect she clearly had on him. “Very real,” she replied, helping him remove his shirt as well.

The skin-to-skin contact as she leaned in to kiss him again drew moans from both of them. It was an indescribable sensation, finally feeling the warmth of his body directly against hers, with no barriers. His hands explored her back, down to the curve of her waist, up again to finally touch her breasts.

“Perfect,” he murmured, as his thumb slid over her nipple, making her arch her back in response. “Made for me.”

He met her gaze, and Sarah felt herself melt at the intensity she found there. There was something deeply intimate about the way he never took his eyes off hers as his hands explored her body, as if he wanted to memorize every reaction, every sigh he provoked in her.

The remaining clothes were removed one by one, with pauses for kisses and caresses on each new piece of skin revealed. When her hand found the obvious bulge in his pants, Jobe let out a guttural moan, low and restrained, that made her whole body tingle with desire.

When they were finally completely naked, Jobe carefully reversed their positions, laying Sarah on the pillows and hovering over her for a moment, just looking at her with reverence. He stood over her in the missionary position, allowing their gazes to remain connected.

“I've dreamt about it,” he confessed, his voice husky with desire. “So many nights... you have no idea.” Sarah reached out to touch his face. “Me too,” she replied, feeling the heat rise through her body with the intensity of the moment. “Shit. Every day.”

He lowered his head to kiss her again, more gently this time, while his hands explored her body adoringly. Every touch seemed calculated to discover what made her sigh, what made her arch her back, what made her moan his name.

“May I?” he asked in a whisper, sliding his hand between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers.

Sarah nodded, unable to form coherent words as he began to touch her intimately, slowly discovering how to pleasure her. He carefully watched every expression on her face, adjusting his movements according to her responses.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he murmured, watching her squirm under his touch. “I want to see you fall apart for me, I want to hear my name on your lips.”

She couldn't resist for long under his dedication. When the pleasure hit her, Sarah dug her nails into his back, leaving marks that he would carry with pride for days to come. His name escaped her lips like a repeated prayer.

Jobe smiled, pleased with himself, before moving down, tracing a path of kisses down her body. “I want to taste you,” he said, looking down at her from between his legs. “May I?”

Before she could answer fully, he was already tasting her, his tongue exploring every inch with dedication and reverence. Sarah buried her fingers in his hair, arching up against his mouth, unable to contain the sounds of pleasure escaping her lips. Jobe seemed lost in her, as if he could spend hours there, completely devoted to pleasuring her.

When he finally pulled out, Sarah's body was already trembling with anticipation. He reached for the protection on his pants, quickly preparing himself before turning back to her, positioning himself between her legs.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone gentle despite the obvious need in his gaze.

“I am,” Sarah nodded, pulling him down for a deep kiss.

Their gazes met as he slowly joined her, moving with extreme caution at first, on the lookout for any sign of discomfort. “Tell me if I need to slow down,” he whispered against her lips.

But Sarah only wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, an action that drew a deep moan from Jobe's throat. He set a deliberately slow pace at first, savoring every sensation, every movement, every moan that escaped her lips.

“You're so perfect,” he whispered in her ear, between restrained moans. “So perfect for me... as if you were made for me...”

The intimacy of the moment went far beyond the physical. It was the culmination of months of emotional connection, of vulnerability shared through cell phone screens, now finally realized in the meeting of their bodies. Their eye contact remained almost uninterrupted, intensifying every sensation, every emotion.

“You're doing so well for me,” he murmured, words of praise that made her body respond in ways she had never experienced before. “My sweet girl... so perfect...”

As the need grew, the pace gradually increased. Her hands gripped his back, her nails leaving soft marks on his skin, while he alternated between burying his face in her neck and looking directly into her eyes, all the while murmuring words of adoration.

“Please tell me this is good for you,” he begged, his voice almost pleading. “Tell me I'm making you feel good...”

“It's amazing,” she managed to reply between moans. “You're amazing, Jobe... don't stop...”

Those words seemed to ignite something inside him. His movements became more intense, more determined, but without losing that connection, that undivided attention to her pleasure. His hands explored every inch of her body they could reach, as if trying to memorize every curve, every texture.

When he felt she was close to the edge again, he slid a hand between their bodies, touching her in a way that intensified her pleasure. “I want you to get there again,” he whispered. “I want to feel you come apart around me... give it for me, baby.”

The climax hit them almost simultaneously - her first, with a muffled cry against his shoulder, and then him, with a guttural moan and her name repeated like a sacred mantra. Jobe stayed connected to her for long moments afterwards, their bodies still trembling with the waves of pleasure, their jagged breaths mingling in the small space between their faces.

When they finally separated, Jobe didn't pull away completely. He lay down next to her and immediately pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her back. “Wasn't I too... intense?”

Sarah smiled against his chest, feeling completely satiated and protected. “It was perfect,” she murmured, still trying to normalize her breathing. “Better than I could have imagined.”

He kissed the top of her head, his fingers now sliding down her body, touching every little mark, every freckle, every little scar with reverence. “You were amazing to me,” he whispered. “So incredible... my sweet girl...”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just absorbing each other's presence, until Jobe gently pulled away. “I'll get you a towel,” he said, kissing her softly before getting up.

When he returned from the bathroom, he cleaned her up with care and affection before returning to the bed and pulling her back into his arms. Sarah nestled against him, fitting perfectly into his embrace.

“I think we missed an important part of the movie,” he joked, indicating with his head the television where the Star Wars credits were silently rolling.

Sarah laughed, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips. “We can watch it again tomorrow.”

Jobe's smile faltered slightly. “Tomorrow... I have to go back to Sunderland tomorrow,” he reminded, a tone of sadness evident in his voice. “And you to Manchester.”

Sarah felt a tightness in her chest as she remembered this fact. After so much closeness, after finally overcoming that barrier, the idea of separating seemed almost painful.

"What time do you need to leave?" she asked, her voice small.

"We're leaving in the afternoon," he replied, pulling her closer as if trying to merge their bodies. "I should head back to my room before the night check. Actually... I should already be there now."

Sarah lifted her face to look at him. "Are you going to get in trouble?"

He smiled, gently touching her face. "It would be worth any trouble," he answered sincerely, then sighed. "But probably not. I'll say I was with my family."

She nodded, leaning back against him again. "I don't want you to go," she confessed softly.

"I don't want to go either," he admitted, intertwining his fingers with hers. "I spent so much time imagining what it would be like to be with you like this... and now it feels impossible to pull away."

"Then stay!"

***

As the rising sun began to cast its first rays through the gap in the curtain, Jobe slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the tangle of golden curls spread across the pillow next to him. Sarah was fast asleep, breathing softly, her face serene, and her lips slightly parted.

Jobe allowed himself to watch her for a moment. Her curls glistened in the touch of the morning light, creating the impression of a solar halo around her face. ‘She really does look like the sun,’ he thought, recalling the countless times he'd mentally compared her hair to golden rays.

He stretched his arm to grab his phone and noticed there were already several messages. Three were from Jude.

[07:15] Jude: Still alive, or did she kill you from exhaustion?

[07:45] Jude: You need to get back to your room before anyone notices you didn’t sleep there, remember? Your coach is going to kill you.

[08:10] Jude: Jobe, answer me. I just want to know if I need to come up with an excuse if I run into your coach downstairs.

Jobe smiled, typical of his older brother – always worried, always looking out for him, even when he pretended to just be being practical. He quickly typed:

[08:35] Jobe: I’m alive. More alive than ever, actually. I’ll make it in time, don’t worry.

[08:35] Jude: So, she’s really special then. Never seen you lose track of time because of someone.

[08:36] Jobe: She’s... different. I’ll tell you later.

Jobe set the phone aside and turned his attention back to Sarah. His fingers gently traced the contour of her shoulder, feeling the soft skin. He had never been someone for deep connections or opening up easily. But with Sarah, from the very first moment, something had been different. Like there was an invisible thread pulling him toward her, something he couldn’t – and didn’t want to – resist.

Sarah shifted under his touch, her eyes slowly opening, adjusting to the light. When she recognized him, a sleepy smile appeared on her lips.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice hoarse from sleep.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jobe replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

Sarah stretched like a lazy cat, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Were you watching me sleep?" she asked, with a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

"Guilty," he admitted. "Your curls look like gold when the light hits them. Like sunrays."

Jobe knew how to make Sarah blush, and she hid her face against his chest. He noticed how different she was in the morning — softer, more vulnerable, almost shy. A completely opposite version of the confident woman from the night before. That duality fascinated him.

"What time do you need to leave?" Sarah asked, her voice muffled against his skin.

The question brought a weight to the atmosphere. Jobe felt her body tense slightly, as if she were bracing herself for the goodbye, for the inevitable moment when their bubble would burst.

"We still have a few hours," he replied, running his fingers through her curls. "I ordered breakfast in the room. I don't want to leave here yet."

Sarah lifted her gaze to him, her eyes revealing a mix of relief and uncertainty. Jobe could see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. Was she wondering if she was just another one for him? If what they shared meant something more than just the night before?

"What is it?" he asked softly, touching her chin.

Sarah bit her lower lip, hesitant. "Nothing, just..." she began, but stopped.

"Tell me," Jobe gently insisted. "What's going through that head?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "It's just that... this was really intense for me. And I don't know what it means for you. If it was just... you know, a one-night thing."

There was a fragility in her voice that made Jobe’s heart tighten. He had never been good with words, always preferring actions. But in that moment, he knew he needed to find the right words.

"Sarah," he said, holding her face in his hands. "I'm not good at this. I'm not good at opening up or getting to know new people. But from the moment I saw you, I knew it would be different with you. This isn’t just a one-night thing for me."

Her eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and hope. "Really?”

In response, Jobe pulled her closer, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss. He felt her body melt against his, the vulnerability of the morning giving way to something hotter, more intense.

Her hands began to explore his body, and he felt desire growing again, as if all the hours spent the night before hadn’t satisfied anything, only increased the hunger they felt for each other.

"I want you," he whispered against her lips. "Again. Now."

Sarah responded with a soft moan, her legs wrapping around his waist as Jobe pulled her up onto him. The sunlight now bathed the entire room, illuminating their intertwined bodies.

There was something different about this moment — an urgency mixed with tenderness, as if every touch was both a goodbye and a promise. Sarah arched against him, her golden curls falling like a curtain around their faces, creating a world just for them.

Jobe gently turned her, placing her beneath him, his eyes never leaving hers. There was a raw intensity in his gaze as he moved, each motion deliberate, each response from her body engraving itself into his memory.

"Jobe," she gasped, her nails leaving light marks on his back.

He savored her name on her lips, the way it sounded like a prayer, a confession. He had never felt anything so right, so complete. When pleasure enveloped them, it wasn’t just physical, but something that seemed to overflow, filling every empty space Jobe never knew existed inside him.

Then, as they caught their breath, intertwined under the disheveled sheets, Jobe traced invisible patterns on her skin. "I want to show you something," he said, suddenly.

Sarah watched him with curiosity as he stood up and went to the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water, and soon Jobe reappeared, extending his hand to her.

"Shower?" he invited with a smile.

Sarah took his hand, letting him guide her to the bathroom where the steam was already beginning to fill the room. Jobe noticed how she seemed small next to him, her delicacy contrasting with his athletic frame.

Without warning, he lifted her in his arms, provoking a small gasp of surprise followed by her laughter.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked, her arms automatically wrapping around his neck.

"I’ve been dying to do this with you," he replied, carrying her into the shower.

The hot water fell over them, and Sarah closed her eyes, savoring the sensation. Jobe watched, fascinated, as her golden curls darkened with the water, sticking to the skin of her shoulders and back.

He grabbed the soap and began to glide it over her shoulders, turning the shower into a ritual of care and intimacy. Sarah sighed under his touch, her eyes opening to meet his.

"I never imagined you’d be like this," she confessed.

"Like what?"

"So... present. So attentive." Her hands slid up his wet chest. "Football players are usually known for being... distant, only concerned with themselves."

Jobe felt a tightening in his chest. Was she comparing him to others? Had she been just one among many for him in the past?

"I'm not like the others," was all he could say, his voice lower than he'd intended.

Sarah seemed to notice the change in his mood and moved closer, the water running between their bodies. "I know," she whispered. "That's why... that's why I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"That it will end the moment you walk out that door. That it will just be a beautiful, fleeting memory."

The vulnerability in her voice hit Jobe hard. He had never cared before about what was left behind. But now, the thought of Sarah thinking she was just another one made his stomach churn.

"Look at me," he asked, gently lifting her chin. "I live in Sunderland, and you live in Manchester. It's not the end of the world. It’s just a few hours away, not another planet."

A small smile appeared on her lips. "Are you suggesting that...?"

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. Breakfast had arrived.

They dried off and dressed quickly, Jobe wrapping Sarah in one of the hotel’s fluffy robes, which seemed to swallow her whole. The sight of her like that, with wet hair and a makeup-free face, swimming in her oversized robe, made something inside him melt.

"You look adorable," he said, kissing the tip of her nose as he opened the door for room service.

They had breakfast in bed, feeding each other pieces of fruit and stealing kisses between sips of coffee. The atmosphere was lazy and intimate, as if they were isolated from the rest of the world.

It was the shrill ring of Jobe’s phone that finally broke the bubble. Chris’s name flashed on the screen.

"I have to take this," he said, throwing an apologetic look at Sarah before answering the call. "Hey, Chris."

"Where the hell are you, man? The bus leaves in an hour, and the coach is already asking about you. He said you were in the room talking to your family, but he doesn’t seem convinced."

Jobe felt the weight of reality return. "I’m coming down. I’ll be there in ten minutes."

"You better be," Chris replied. "She must really be special if you're risking the coach’s wrath like this."

Jobe looked at Sarah, who was silently watching the conversation, a piece of toast forgotten in her hand. "She is," he simply replied before hanging up.

The silence that followed seemed loaded with all the unspoken words between them. Jobe stood up and started gathering his scattered belongings.

"I have to go," he said the obvious, hating the finality in his voice.

Sarah nodded, putting the plate aside and hugging her knees to her chest. "I know."

Jobe stopped what he was doing and sat beside her on the bed. "Hey," he softly called. "This isn’t goodbye." Sarah tried to smile, but didn’t reach her eyes. "People always say that."

"I’m not 'people,'" Jobe retorted, holding her face in his hands. "Look, I don’t know exactly what’s happening between us, but I know I don’t want it to end here. It’s not just distance that will keep me away from you."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, Sarah couldn’t hide her disbelief. "Do you really want..."

"I want much more than that," he admitted, surprised by his own honesty. "I want to know you. For real. All the details, all the stories. I want to know what makes you laugh and what keeps you awake at night."

A genuine smile finally lit up Sarah’s face. "I want that too."

Jobe finished getting dressed, aware of her gaze following every move he made. When he was ready, he sat next to her again, taking her hands in his.

"I need to go now," he said. "But before..."

He pulled out his phone and opened the camera. "I haven’t forgotten the picture," he joked, trying to ease the tension in the moment.

Sarah laughed and took a few portraits. During one of their long calls, he had promised he would keep a picture of Sarah to remind her how much better she would look after meeting him. A boost of confidence, but not a lie.

When he handed the phone back, Jobe immediately went to check the photos. Smiling, in a different way. But he didn’t see when Sarah took the opportunity to capture the exact moment.

"Two can play this game," she said, a smile on her lips.

"Now you have mine too," Jobe couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

Sarah had an interesting effect on him.

She nodded, biting her lower lip to hold back the emotion. Jobe leaned in and kissed her, a slow and deep kiss that carried all the feelings he still didn’t know how to express in words. He savored the taste of her, memorizing the sensation, the aroma, the texture of her soft lips against his.

When he pulled away, he saw her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Are you going to run away from me, Sarah Lima?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

She shook her head. "No. And you?"

Jobe smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his eyes. "You’re going to need a lot more than living in another city to get rid of me."

With one last kiss, he stood up and grabbed his hoodie. At the door, he turned to look at her one last time, wrapped in the oversized robe, her golden curls beginning to dry in rebellious spirals, her eyes fixed on him.

"See you soon," he promised. It wasn’t goodbye. It was just the beginning.

As he descended in the elevator, Jobe sent a message to Jude:

[09:47] Jobe: I think I just met someone who could change everything.

[09:48] Jude: Finally, my little brother is growing up. I can’t wait to hear this story.

Jobe smiled at his phone, slipping it into his pocket. For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to the future and the possibilities it brought. Sarah wasn’t just another one. She was the beginning of something new, something he was willing to explore, no matter the distance between them.

dividers by @cafekitsune

pictures from pinterest and ig

If you want to join the tag, let me know. Until next time 💋

[creatingblackcharacters2]

Did you know that the creator of #Inktober stole his work from a Black artist?

Now you do!

I want to kick off October by talking about #Blacktober, an event for supporting Black and Black biracial artists that ran from 2020 to 2023!

According to the organizers' own website:

In response to the creator of Inktober plagiarizing his art book from Alphonso Dunn, and the antiblack harassment Black cosplayers and artists face for re-imagining their favorite characters as Black in media and an art community where we're underrepresented - we created #Blacktober in 2020 in hopes to celebrate ourselves, nurture the community and create a positive, empowering space for Black creatives.

Any Black creative and/or cosplayer can tell you that creating or cosplaying beloved characters while Black will lead to vitriol. From comments as supposedly "harmless" such as "oh thats the "Black version" of [character]" (instead of acknowledging that they are the character), to more overt antiblackness like "n***er [character]" and "[character] isn't Black!" with the intent to mock both the creator and the character in question. They suggest that the Blackness is an insult to the character, that it's not accurate. Far less normalized is anyone saying "white [character]" or "cracker [character]" about white people cosplaying nonwhite characters.

Virulent antiblack racism towards organizers and participants was amongst the main reasons that the organizers had to let go of hosting Blacktober.

We've had a blast with everyone these past 3 years watching fan art to original creations be born out of a passion for seeing ourselves in media. However, we, the organizers, are no longer able to keep going with this event, especially with the current state of social media. We've had to combat a lot both on the front lines and behind the scenes. Not just the organizers, but also those participating. This, along with time, was two of the few reasons why we've decided to sunset.

While Blacktober itself is unfortunately no longer an organized event, Black and Black biracial artists might still choose to draw something for the month under the #Blacktober tag.

No, this is not for nonblack creatives to participate in themselves. Not for you nor your Black OCs!

It's a shame that racism constantly seeks to destroy what Black people create, and that it's so common to steal, take credit for, and benefit from our work. But you can avoid being a part of that by supporting Black creatives in your space! I am sure they are there, if you put in the effort to look for them! Search the tag- you might find old AND new work! This also includes standing by them when they speak up on mistreatment within your communities. When you don't speak against antiblack racism, it means you tolerate its existence. And when you tolerate antiblackness, guess what it makes you? We can't say fandom is for everyone, and then not act to make it so. Let's do better.

Happy Blacktober!

[ilys00ga]

𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

(PROLOGUE) → FIRST CHAPTER

: ̗̀➛ synopsis: you're in the wind, I'm in the water.. somebody's son, somebody's daughter..

OR: Sirens and humans were made to be at war with one another. To sear their deadly bond, not with love, not with wealth, not with rules and restrictions... but with flowing blood and torn flesh. That's what history says. That's what's bound to be.

: ̗̀➛ pair: yoongi x f reader/oc.

: ̗̀➛ tags: mute human!yoongi, half siren half human!reader, reader is obsessed (almost yandere-ish (we'll see as the story progresses)), forbidden love and relationships, middle ages/old times era theme, supernatural, slow burn, strangers to lovers (?), fluff, angst, bloody or dark themes. more tags could be added eventually.

: ̗̀➛ note: hi :) finally decided to post this! first off, I know first-person povs are somewhat "controversial" in the fanfic community, BUT please give this one a read, and I hope you will have a fun ride! second, I know this prologue is longer than it should be (?) but I had a certain idea in mind, so, who cares if it was long af, right? enjoy! I hope u like it.

★ MOODBOARD.

★ MASTERLIST.

PART ONE:

It was in the middle of a bright, warm spring day that I found the moon reading on a boat.

That day, I took the risk and sneaked Aftreen—my well-trusted and loyal maid—up to my favorite spot.

The first whispers of the fresh air brushed against our skins, and I smiled at the lovely memories it brought along with it.

And oh, how I missed those precious, precious old days.

We hid behind a large, isolated sea stack perched somewhere close to the coast line, but still far enough from the danger that a small distance could bring to the two of us.

“This is as far as we can go. Hurry up, Afreen.” I warned and watched as Afreen was comfortable in climbing the huge rock, eager to get a better view of the island awaiting beyond it.

“Woah, Your highness…” She gasped, a smile stretching her mouth. “Is that it, you highness? your village?”

I hummed in response, my mind elsewhere. She was marveling at the sight of the golden sand and the life of the village sitting at the edge of the island, while my eyes were stuck on the sight of him.

He with his arms crossed to his chest and his eyes fixed on what seemed to be a book he had on his lap, floating on a boat behind the huge rock. His hair dark and grown, its tips brushing against his broad shoulders as it danced with the gentle wind.

Calm, graceful, pale. I blinked. He glowed under the basking sunlight. So lost in his book that he didn't pay attention to anything else around himself—much less being in the presence of a siren princess and her siren maid propped on a huge rock not so far away from where he sat.

I always loved watching the moon, and I always envied the lucky stars to be in the presence of such a creation crowning the night sky. I wasn’t aware that the heavens were kind enough to put one wandering the earth for me to find.

“Afreen, get down.” I ordered, my voice hushed and stern.

Her lower lip jutted out in a slight pout, but she wordlessly obeyed and jumped off of her spot at the top of the stack and into the water daintily.

The dive made an audible splash echo through the air around us. I swiftly hid myself behind the rock right as the human's head jerked up, a soft gasp slipped me unconsciously.

Afreen didn't emerge again. I took the chance to peek over the stack and steal another glimpse of the stranger.

He wasn't reading anymore. He moved to handle the sail of his boat instead. The thought of him leaving spread a sour feeling in my chest.

The siren inside of me growled, urging me to swim to that boat myself, but I fought against it. I knew better than that. I wasn't supposed to be out there in the first place.

Yet, I could feel it. And I couldn't blame her on it. He looked so inviting to her. She was eager to see how his skin would look underwater, if I were to yank and take him deep, deep into the ocean with me. How he would feel against my skin if I were to trace his features with my thumb and caress his hair with my palms. How his face would twist if I were to card my fingers into his dark locks and pull them hard, or if I were to hold on his jaw in a tight grip and watch him writhe before me, searching to reach the surface and breathe some air into his weak, human lungs before his soul is put to rest between my arms. How my piercing fangs would feel if I were to—

I felt a persistent tug at my tail. Then, it was Afreen who popped up from underneath the water beside me.

“Your highness, what's taking you so long?” She asked.

I quickly brushed her curiosity off with a shake of my head, then led her deep into the saltwater again.

Every time I met the other moon after that, I'd talk to her about him. About how he looked more entrancing than any human I have ever laid my eyes on. About how he was more delicate and beautiful than she could ever, ever be.

About how I wish I could see him again, even for one, only and last time..

PART TWO:

A dark night sky, a tilted crescent and a pitch black ocean. Darkness cradled the four boats as they glided their way across the ocean, but their lanterns guided them towards their destination.

On each boat were three ruthless and tired sailors. Their journey almost reached its end as they approached Dogon Island.

A small boy that looked to be in his twelfth or thirteenth summer accompanied his father—after much begging pouts and determined promises—on this particular one.

While the adults were lounging on their vessels, the kid was leaning over the gunwale, watching his own reflection in the water with an intense gaze. His eyes soon perched up when he noticed a faint ripple in the image. He turned his head to glance at his father, only to find him sipping on rum, completely unaware. He darted his eyes towards the other two sailors still lounging on the other side of the boat, just as unaware as the previous one, then back to his own reflection again.

Some moments passed like that. The waves calm and steady, the wind gentle and crisp. Until all four boats started rocking from side to side in gentle motions. As if the ocean was soothing them onto the unpreventable.

The father put his rum down, a faint smile adorning his face for a brief moment, before it melted into a neutral frown as he stood up tall.

Everyone was up on their feet. Everyone looked around, alert. All except for the kid, who's hands were still holding onto the gunwale before him.

The rocking halted. A pair of hands gripped the wood right in front of the young boy. Then, it was a dark pair of eyes that locked with his youthful ones.

A soft gasp slipped his mouth at the angelic creature that came face to face with him, her wet skin bathed in the lantern lights.

He waited for her to move, like his father had told him she would, but she didn't. She just ogled back at him, her eyes carrying a baggage his young brain was unable to recognize.

More sirens rose and clung around the four boats. Each more breathtaking than the ones before.

Their lips parted as they hummed their songs to the men above the water, beckoning them closer and closer, right into their embraces.

The father held his son's shoulders and led him to the center of the vessel, his eyes not once leaving the siren at their boat. Then, he slowly approached her, bringing one knee down in front of her in complete devotion.

Without hesitation, her arms stretched out to cup the man's face in her hands. Closer and closer, she leaned her upper body forward, their noses almost nuzzled together. A wicked, yet faint smile appeared on her face when she felt the sailor's arms wrapping around her in response, pulling her towards the male.

Her deadly song was cut off with a loud, piercing shriek that erupted from her throat instead. The sailor pushed his dagger deeper and deeper into her writhing back.

Several shrieks and shouts erupted all over the area within an instant. The boats quivered violently. The small boy screamed and stumbled to the bottom of the vessel, trying desperately to hold onto something and not fall right into the freezing, salty water.

Hungry humans stabbed sharp tools into inhuman flesh. Angry sirens fought back in desperation after their feast attempt had come to be a dooming failure. And as history said and told, hundreds and millions of times all across the stars, siren blood had, once again, covered the wood and flowed into the ocean.

Victorious grins split the sailors’ faces as they pulled the small pieces of beeswax out of their ears. The father raised his rum flask in the air, keeping a firm grip on his son's shoulder as he stood next to him, and bellowed to the open ocean: “To the kingdom!”

The other men seared the victory in loud and proud roars, with blood dripping from their lethal knives as they rose them to the air, and lifeless sirens gathered on each of the four boats.

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Stalking me, Stalking you(CSI Nick Stokes)

Imagine: You never saw it coming, you never knew he was there until the moment he struck. For months, this individual had stalking you from the shadows, trying to find a way into your life. Never quite able to but in his mind, time was running out and soon enough you would be completely out of reach. This was the moment to act, to ‘rescue’ you and steal you away.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, hurt but eventual comfort. Suffering, lots of suffering, slow-moving plot, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

Pairings: Nick Stokes x Reader and Reader x OC (one-sided)

Word count:  2,240 words

Universe: CSI

Reader gender: Female

Part one of ten

Tagged: @just-call-me-the-old-hag @horsedragonllama

Next

Sunday, 10:45 am

With your acquired piping hot morning cup of decaffeinated coffee, confined to the conveniently supplied to-go cup, you were ready to head out, to head back home and get the final chores finished before your mother arrived. Tomorrow could not come soon enough, it had been way too long since your mother last visited a few years back but this would be different. 

Dinner reservations had all but been confirmed. You were awaiting the relevant information as soon as your partner had it in his possession as he had insisted on handling this little task himself. This would be the first time your mother and he would be in the same room. It was rather nerve-racking as you hoped that nothing would go wrong and they'd get on like a house on fire.

Lost in your thoughts, as you wandered through the crowded little coffee shop, one that you had regularly visited twice a week over the past four years. You only saw the stranger coming once it was too late to prevent the collision. His shoulder knocked into yours hard enough to send you spinning and before you could react, your coffee flew out of your hand, spilling its dark content all over the tiled floor.

“Damn,” You said, mildly annoyed but knowing the popularity of your favourite coffee shop. There was always a chance that something like this could easily happen. It's just your turn. You would look back and laugh about this later with your mother.

“It’s my fault, sorry about that. Let me buy you another one” An unfamiliar smooth baritone voice spoke, catching her attention. You raised her gaze to meet theirs, ready to politely decline as after all, it was just one cup of coffee nothing to cry over. With a friendly, nonchalant smile upon your lips, you open your mouth to reply…

Monday, 9 am

Evelyn had never been truly comfortable flying but when her daughter had called around two and half months back with an open invitation and her airfare fully paid, she jumped at the chance. After sending one more message to both her daughter and husband, Evelyn boarded the plane.

Driving down had been an option, Evelyn had never been the most confident driver, especially over long distances. On those long lonely straits of road, she would always worry needlessly about every little thing, even if her husband had been along for the ride. Flying had been the only option since her husband was still not back from his fishing trip. An hour and a half was nothing, it would be over before she knew it.

Just before she turned off her phone, Evelyn checked one final time to see if either of them had replied. Her dear Bob had but her daughter had not. This hadn’t been the first message that she hadn’t responded to.

Evelyn had spoken to her the previous morning to confirm what time she would arrive at the airport so that she would be prompt to pick her up but after that, it was utter radio silence. This was hardly unusual due to the nature of her daughter’s job but this felt different. For her daughter was truly a creature of habit, always calling back if she had missed more than one call that day from either parent and replying to text messages by the next morning.

She had done neither of these as Evelyn had tried calling last night and once more before leaving this very morning. She even used the keypad to text carefully a goodnight message and the one before boarding. She preferred to call over using the messaging function on this newer model of phone that had been purchased as a Christmas present. Her family wanted her to try and keep up with the times and have a way of contacting them whenever she left the house.

It had been sweet though but it wouldn’t have been her first choice of present. She knew that her daughter worried about her, but then Evelyn deeply worried about her child’s safety especially since they had not lived in the same state for the last five years. 

All she could do was wait until her plane landed safely at Las Vegas Airport and the sight of that ever-infectious smile beaming from just beyond the barrier in the Arrival Hall. The pleasant image would be enough to get through the flight as she laid back in her seat, closing her eyes and relaxed as much as she possibly could.

An hour and a half flew past and Evelyn found herself standing in the right place with a suitcase in one hand and her purse dainty held in the other as her eyes scanned the crowd. She had checked the signage on the walks to ensure that she had gone in the right direction, as it was most definitely possible that the airport had more than one arrival hall in this terminal but this hadn’t been the case.

She had been walking up and down for the last twenty minutes, her eyes passing over each of the many faces staring back at her from the barrier. None of them were the ones that she had been expecting. This was strange as her plane had not been delayed and her trip through security had not taken long. Maybe her daughter had been held up in a traffic jam, yes that had to be it.

Evelyn made her way through the crowd, all whilst looking for a seat to rest and continuing to wait as she was certain that her child wouldn’t be much longer.  

Minutes ticked past, soon becoming tens of minutes and before long an hour had passed. Evelyn was concerned as her eyes had remained fixed upon the exit doors, watching as they opened and closed as people flooded in and out but her daughter had never stepped foot across that threshold.

With one hand, she fished out that dreaded mobile phone and swiftly dialled her daughter’s number. It rang for a few moments before being diverted to voicemail. Without hesitation, she spoke knowing that she had few options in a city where knew no one beyond her child. 

‘Sweetheart. It’s your mother. I’ve been at the airport for a little while. I know you are on the way and have likely been caught up in some dreadful traffic on the way here so I’ll get a taxi as I do have your address and you head home. I’ll meet you there

She placed the phone back in the depths of her purse before heading outside to find a taxi as seeds of worry and doubt blossomed into life.

Monday, 11:10 pm

Detective Captain Jim Brass had seen it all. There was not much that shook him to the core anymore, after all the years spent with all that he had seen with the ever-loyal team of hardworking CSIs that made up the graveyard shift. 

His officers were just as hardy as he was, well maybe a few were still green and somewhat naive but in time, they would be as hard as diamonds on the outside at least. Seated in his office, he was ready to burn the midnight oil when a quick succession of knocks alerted him to the presence of someone at his door.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, to summon them to cross the threshold and enter but this individual did not wait as the door was swiftly pushed open. He frowned, annoyed at this sudden intrusion but as his gaze fell upon the familiar face of Officer Rodriguez of Day Shift, a thousand questions rose erupted within his mind.

Why was he still here? His shift ended hours ago but yet he remained within the department. His pale and drawn face was far from the usual for this stern man who lived for the badge. 

“Sir, I’m sorry for just entering but I felt that you needed to hear this” His voice lacked its normal steady tone, it was similar to that of the many terrified fathers that he had encountered over the years. “I’m listening, Rodriguez” He patiently spoke briefly, to allow the man to find the rest of his words.

“My partner and I were called to the scene of a 406, from the information that we had received from dispatch just seemed like a run-of-the-mill job. However, when Sawyer and I rolled up at the address, it was far from ordinary”  

Jim watched on silently as the story began to unravel. “A distraught older woman was waiting outside the property for us, and quickly it was established that this was the mother of the individual that owned this unit” It was plain to see the professional nature waning as the officer continued to relay his report.

“The owner was discovered to be one of our own” As he heard the name, the cogs began to turn, as he tried to make sense of what had led to this but yet, he lacked the whole picture as if only a few matching pieces had found and place down upon the table, the jigsaw was slowly coming together. 

However, this still perplexed Jim, why was a simple burglary being hand-delivered to his door, unless there was more to this than a case of a stranger breaking into the home of a member of law enforcement and taking anything that wasn't nailed down. 

A small case that dayshift would need no assistance from either swing or graveyard but this didn’t feel as if they were reaching out for a fresh set of eyes to look over the evidence. He would bite and see where he ended up.

The memory of the morning still fresh lingered at the forefront of Rodriguez’s mind. It was hard to push aside as he relived each step, trying to see if he missed any detail. No matter how miniscule it initially seems could open doors down the line.

“She’s been paid leave for thirty-six hours as her mother was due to arrive this morning. Using a few vacation days left over from last year” He relayed the information readily to the younger man. A basic set of facts that most of the department was already aware of. She had been rather openly vocal about the pending arrival of her beloved mother. 

Each shift had been part of the active countdown that drove many mad but much like any other family, they took in on the chin and revelled at the sight of her excitement. Both men remembered the smile that never faded, it didn’t matter which end of her shift they encountered her, there it would be.

The years of service had not yet tarnished and hardened her heart, but it would come eventually. That one case that they could not get past, sleepless nights and a drive to find a way to justice that went above the call of duty. Jim had his, he knew that Rodriguez had his own.

The sight of Conrad Ecklie and the click of his office door closing behind the said man spoke volumes, this was not going to be good news in the slightest. “Sir, The Detective in question never turned up at the airport to pick up her mother and has not been seen since the morning before that”

Monday 11:20 PM

Nick held his phone as he walked through the station’s front doors, his focus transfixed firmly upon the tiny screen of the device. Still no message back but then again he wasn’t expecting her to answer straight away especially now that her mother was in town. He had the breakfast date to look forward to once he finished this graveyard shift.

Tomorrow was going to be his day with his girl, meeting up with her at their regular breakfast joint and then sitting down to dinner with her mother later in the evening. Nick would message her the details later on during his first break of the night.

Nothing could easily railroad this wonderful feeling, for the first time, in a long time things were going swimmingly with his love life. He never knew that these were famous last words, ones that would haunt him in the days to come.

As his eyes rose from his screen, he could not help but notice the scene in Brass’s office. Ecklie was a familiar sight, flitting in and out whenever the need arose but an unfamiliar Officer who should have clocked out hours ago, now that was unusual.

Catherine lingered in the hallway near the locker room, leaning into the wall behind her with her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes trained upon the glass-walled office. “Evening” He greeted his dear old friend as he stiddled up beside her. “Do you know what’s going on?” He enquired curious to know if she had any insight into the strange situation.

“No, but I don’t doubt we’ll be in the dark for long. All I do know is that it’s do with one of the day shift’s newest cases” She replied, her curiosity had been piqued the moment that she entered ten minutes earlier.

In tandem, their phones beeped and the same text message was displayed on each of their devices. What a way to start a shift, Nick knew that he would have to tell about this in the morning.

FAMILY MEETING

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads ( Homelander x OC )

chapter one: first impressions

chapter directory

summary: holding the heart of a self-proclaimed god is hard work, but someone's gotta do it. who'd have ever thought it would be some nobody, a simple street level hero-branded-vigilante, who would ascend to one of the seven coveted thrones and do just that?

tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

It’s a night like any other in the concrete jungle of New York City.  A streak of red swings through the streets by lines of webbing, eyes peeled for anyone disrupting the peace in his friendly neighborhood.  Well, not his neighborhood exactly.  He was just a vigilante after all.  There’s plenty of fun to pick from, but only one instance could be so special to the city’s one and only Spider-Man– to Benjamin.

It’s not the quippy banter with the thugs breaking into the back of a bodega, nor is it the amusement he gets from webbing each of the fools in one big pile on the ground that makes this night memorable.  It’s the interruption, the anomaly that appears all too silently from the sky.

“And just what do we have here, hm?” 

The bug turns in surprise, steeling himself against the rush of anxiety that shoots through his veins.  This is no ordinary supe here to gripe about him stealing their thunder.  This is a man– a god, perhaps– in a whole ‘nother league. 

Ben would recognize him by voice alone because it was impossible not to hear it at least once a day.  Hell, hide the costume and he’d probably still recognize that face– because it’s everywhere. Billboards, magazines, fucking cereal boxes– you name it, he’s probably there.

Before him stands The Homelander, captain of The Seven, pretty much the face of Vought International.  World’s most powerful supe.

“Oh, y’know.”  He gestures.  “Riffraff doing what they do, and me doing what I do.”

“Nicely done,” Homelander says, professional smile etched into his face like he’d rehearsed this.  “You know, good work like this is why we’ve been nipping at your heels, kiddo.  Really wish you’d stop making us chase you around.”

And there it is.  This was no chance meeting– as if one of the big boys from The Seven would ever be caught dead in an alley in Harlem of all places.  Spidey cocks a brow behind his mask.  Vought must be desperate.

See, he’s been particularly unlucky lately.  

Even before he donned the mantle of Spider-Man, it was never about being in the big leagues.  Benjamin mused upon the idea of it, but he could never find himself truly taken with the idea of selling himself as a hero.  Not only was the mere idea of commercializing his ability to do a unique good revolting, it would strip away one of the only true freedoms he has.  Of course, Vought knew nothing of his reasons– not that they’d care either way– and were ardently pursuing him to fill the now vacant seat formerly belonging to Translucent.

And now, as his luck would have it, they’ve sent their biggest dog to fetch their desired toy.

Benjamin’s sixth sense tells him nothing in the moment.  No hidden danger, no tickling of warnings to bolt.  A goose chase spanning two months finally coming to a titanic head as The fucking Homelander himself holds him not-quite-hostage in an alleyway. 

“You’re still their top pick, you know,” Homelander says, nodding over to the webbed pile of crooks.  “You play by their rules without even being on the team.  A little… sloppy, but effective.  Tell me, how is it you’re going to turn down a spot in the biggest of the big leagues, hm?  You’ve pretty much skipped the line.”  Homelander scuffs the sole of his boot against the ground, kicking a pebble to the side as he meanders closer.  “What, is vigilantism more fun?  You like having all those warrants?  Vought could clear ‘em up.  Get you set straight in the eyes of the law, make you official.  Pay you for your late night troubles…”

Ben bristles as he comes closer.  It’s not the proximity necessarily, it’s… 

It’s like he’s looking straight through the mask.  

Benjamin releases a tight breath.  “My answer isn’t changing.” He says firmly, despite the anxiety cooking in his chest.  He is not a confident man by any stretch.  The most bravado he’ll ever know in his life comes from being Spidey.  Nobody can see him– nobody knows who he is when he’s got the mask on. He can be whoever he wants.  But right now he feels see through.  

Pick your words carefully,  he thinks to himself.

“I’m not a show pony for Vought to extort.”

Don’t cave– do not give him that satisfaction.  It’s what he wants.

He wouldn’t work for Vought.  He’s chosen years of barely scraping by rather than taking a tech job with them as a regular person, why the fuck would he do it as a supe?  What, he’s just supposed to ignore the endless skeletons in their closet?  The pain and suffering, all the people he’s seen online talking about how Vought threw money at them to not sue after some accident or another only to up and disappear?  

Ben idolized heroes for so long.  His powers didn’t manifest until his late teens and he grew up wanting to be just like the superheroes that made the world a better place– until he realized that those types were so few and far between that they might as well not even exist.  All of his childhood heroes were NDAs and settlements, pain and suffering, all covered with media stunts and weak, lazy apologies.  Posters were torn down, action figures tossed in the trash– he moved on and eventually became the hero he wished his idols would've been.

“Show pony? Pfffft,” Homelander laughs, blowing a raspberry.  “Please.  Look at yourself.  Skin tight red and blue suit, leaving messes of webs everywhere you go.  Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but you’re already there.”

“They parade you guys around like trophies,” Ben counters, trying to keep the edge off his tone.  “I’m not in this to make money for some rich-fuck shareholders, y’know.”

“And?  See, you told every single agent before me that you were in ‘this’ to make a difference.”

Fuck.

“You know how much fucking range you’d have in The Seven?”  Homelander splays his arms wide as if to show the scale of the world.  Agitation is starting to write itself on his face, leaking free in the twitches of his eye and those rapid blinks.  He clearly didn’t expect to have to work for this.  “You could help anyone anywhere, all you have to do is say yes.”

The worst part?  That’s not technically a lie.  And it’s not not tempting. 

“I’m sure you’ll see reason,”  Homelander smirks, sauntering just the slightest bit closer.  “Benjamin.”

The bug’s heart drops to his gut, eyes going wide and glancing in the direction of the pile of webbed crooks in the hopes they neither heard nor will a last name be following. 

Fuck, fuck– 

They have his name. 

“Don’t–”

“Don’t what?”  Homelander asks innocently, lips curling even sharper.  “You really thought we wouldn’t know who you are?  Pff– hah!  Please.”

Closer and closer, every step feeling like a lifetime.

“I can see through that mask, you know.  Can see how scared you are.” Homelander tuts as he comes within arms reach.  “I can hear the pitter patter of your little heart…”

Ben gulps, breaths coming heavy.

“And…”  Homelander leans forward, voice a whisper. “I’m sure you understand, Mister Colyer, that I could kill you right now…”  A hand falls to rest on Ben’s shoulder, gripping tight.  “I really don’t like being told no.”

Ben’s voice shakes and his knees quake, totally ready to dart as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

“I'm… not– I'm not doing it.”

His sixth sense doesn’t stir.

Homelander’s bluffing.  But, really… So is he.

It’s like the world froze.  Time stands still as they stare at one another.  Benjamin can see the anger dancing in Homelander’s eyes, but nothing comes of it.

Not even when the bug backs away and that leather clad hands falls free from his shoulder.

“Look, uh… this was nice, y’know?”

Smooth, Ben.  Smooth.

“But uh, just call me Randy Jackson, because it’s uhm... it's gonna be a no from me, dawg.”  Terrible time for humor, but something had to break the tension.  “Goodbye, Homelander.” 

And with that, Ben bolts, vaulting up and off the side of a building to propel himself into the night.  

Homelander remains in the alley, still stunned, a piercing ring deafening the world around him.  He lingers, thoughts racing.

Turned down by the bug, huh champ?

Of course, of fucking course there would be some commentary.

“Hey big guy, you gonna let us go?”  

And of course there’s some filth bold enough to interrupt him.

Homelander turns, eye twitching as he scans the pile of mud practically cocooned in webbing.  They expect him to release them.  After all, Spider-Man is a vigilante.  None of his catches are technically official, though there’s usually enough evidence for that fact to be ignored.

“C’mon, you know we ain’t done no harm!  Me and the boys were just walkin’ by is all.”  

The man in question chuckles nervously at him.

Homelander saunters closer, hands behind his back.  He stands over the man, inspecting every little detail.  The growing fear in his eyes, the way he sweats.

Putrid. Echoes the voice in his mind.  Remind them of who they’re talking to. Of the god they disrespect.

He lifts his foot, placing it dead center on the man’s chest.

“No– please, I didn’t–”

He presses down slowly, grin etching onto his face as pleas turn to tight gasps.  The others in the webbing try to scramble, but they can’t escape.

They’re at his mercy.  As they should be.

A crunching sound precedes his favorite part.  Ribs and muscle give way and a loud squelch graces his ears and the ringing– oh the ringing stops. It's serene, knowing what power he holds.  What iron fist he truly has wrapped around the neck of this world.

Attaboy.

To think they’d think him so low as to aid them.  To think they’d get to live after seeing him rejected so brazenly.

Now for the rest.

As he takes care of the others, he wonders just how persuasive he'll need to be with the little spider.  What threads must he pull to get his way?

[waywardsuniverses]

Welcome to my Creative Space

Hello there! My name is Wayward, this is a side blog for all of my creative endevours. This blog will consist of information about my Novel, my OCs and Sonas, my self inserts and my crossovers. For now this blog is small but I'm really hoping it will expand soon. I often get discouraged when I start blogs because they don't gain traction right away but I have to remind myself just to stick with it!

Also my main blog is @waywardsou2 I have some interesting stuff over there too!

A little introduction about me: My name is Wayward but you can call me Way or Brother, my pronouns are He/They and I don't mind which of those two you use. I've been writing since I was 12 and I've been drawing since I was young but I only started taking my art seriously in the past 4 years.

I'm going to be doing a university degree for Creative Arts and Creative writing so I'll be excited to post about that on this blog as well

Another thing that feel relevant is my fandoms! I'm only going to add the recent ones since I don't see the point in adding ones that have dormant interest

Marvel | HTTYD | Avatar | My Hero Academia (kinda) | TMNT

A little bit more about me can be found here

And finally some tags for the kind of work I will be posting

☁️ - Fluff

🌹 - Romance

⛓️ - Angst

🔥- Smut

💀 - Gore or really intense scenes

Keep an eye out for these bad boys

Before I introduce you to any of my work I want to lay out some ground rules for this blog

I love getting asks so send me anything as long as you are polite, there is so such thing as a stupid question and I am happy to talk about head canons, works, oc lore. Anything! Just be nice.

Under no circumstances is my art or my writing to be used anywhere else, you do not have permission to use my ocs or their backstories in your own work. If you would like to collaborate with my works please ask and we can discuss.

I do not allow the use of AI in relation to my works, my works are not to be used in training AI and you may not use AI to change any of works.

Reposting my work even with credit is not allowed and I will consider this stealing and report/block you

This is where my collection of works will be postes, you can find requests, prompts and refernces tagged here

Art Prompts | Writing Prompts | Pose References | My Art Posts

Summer of Bad Batch 2025 Master Post

[joffyworld]

Whats you favorite au of anything

My AU :3

Lmaoo no, hmmmm it's hard to say. I have a few I can't super well, like, rank them. I WILL however, use this as a chance to shout-out my current obsessions

@twooftheluckyones's AU is DELICIOUSLY fluffy and also makes me cry sometimes, especially the main storyline of the betrayal. Those two are way too powerful. Also their recent foray into more OC content with Baal and Oko has literally ruined my life and inspired me to write several poems. I will forever adore these two, go read their stuff I beg you.

@aychama's Royal AU dude I cannot even with that au. I am feral for anything medieval and Ayça has just made the sweetest lemonade out of those gay lemons. ough, so good. Plus the way it's like a mutual slowburn, but you only ever see Lambert's side of it all? AUGH so tragically well done, I can't wait for each new page. You NEED to see it if you somehow haven't yet.

@bamsara's TROD is the reason I ever got into this fandom, and it remains the only fandom I've ever been in. I've been here 4 months and met so many beautiful people, so if I had to designate a "favourite" I guess it would be theirs? But like, I love so many it's hard to choose anymore

@bloos-bloo's Toybox AU because I'm feral over Emery and also Kallamar and Nari and it's just so deliciously evil and omfg so good. It's like, sinister as hell and I can't really recommend it because it deals with some heavy concepts but omg it's good. Read it when you're older xD

@kiko---random-stuff-probably's Jewel Box AU. We talk in DM's about it allllll the time it's so good I wish I had the power to just let people log into my account and see it all xD. It's really good and the way Kiko writes tragic gays is just magnificent. I can't help it, I'm so invested into them it's tragic.

@the-artist-grimm's Crimson Angel AU has, on several occasions, had me FUCKED UP in the club. That awkward co-parenting but still angry at eachother phase? The betrayal as a whole? THE PARENTING????????????? It's so beautifully written, please go read it.

@ro-bee's Goat AU has me feral because like, Kiran is literally me. No but seriously it's so cute and fluffy and the dog is so pathetic I just need it in my veins.

@aniimoni's mythology AU. It's only had a few pieces made for it at this point, but omg the concept has me crying in the club. Anii is the master of "Here's a cute concept. Now I'm going to tear your heart out" and it tricks me into feeling safe and warm and fuzzy every time until that bastard steals my soul again /pos. Go check Anii out in general if you somehow haven't yet, very cool artist and person in general.

I'll stop gushing over my favourite shit now. There's SO many more I could rant all day. Sorry for the tags guys if you want me to remove them please tell me 😭

[cacodaemonia]

Fic Self-Recs

Fic authors self rec! List your favorite five fics that you've written, then tag at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

(Yes, this was originally an ask game, but I know some folks, myself included, have closed asks due to spam, so I guess it's a tag game now 😂)

Thanks for the tag, @elismor! These kinds of things are always so tough, haha (also, it could be kind of cool if there was an art version, since most of these tag things are focused on fics...)

My Heart's Red Muscle - (E, for one smut scene) I think this is probably my best fic, and also one of the longest. Cyborg!Waxer has no memories of his life before he came online. Paired with ARF trooper Boil, who doesn't seem to know what to do with him, Waxer has no idea how to fit in among clones when he's so very different. As he makes connections with those around him, he and Boil try to figure out who he might have been—and more importantly, who he is now.

Kinktober 2022 - (E, obviously) Set in the giant Open Skies AU. Where's that Trojan Horse smut post... Yeah so the fic is basically this for Waxer/Boil 😂

We Could Breathe Underwater - (T) What if shiny Waxer and Boil were both a bit Force-sensitive, and—oopsie, created a Force bond?

Interference - (T) Set in the RCAU/Open Skies AU, but it can be read as a standalone. It follows some OCs and canon characters as they figure out what Krell is up to on Umbara. The problem is that Torrent Company and Waxer's platoon are already on a collision course...

Fading Light and Cooling Space - (T, but heed the tags on this one) After Boil suffers through the horrifying events on Umbara, something nudges him to steal a strange necklace from Krell's body that teleports him to an even stranger place (and time?).

The last two fics are a bit older, so I'm sure they have a lot of room for technical improvement, but I still like them overall.

No-pressure tags: @lizardberries @theproblemwithstardust @come-chaos @valkeakuulas @whiskygoldwings

@marbled-polecat @petrifiedforests

[filamentlights]

It's Okay to be Green

Clone x OC Week - Day 5, Future || Hound x OC

Event Masterlist

SUMMARY: Hound is pretty sure this woman claiming to be “from the future” is crazy, but hey, he’ll go along with her if it means scaring his Least Favorite Jedi.

Word count: 2.5k

Tags & warnings: cursing, crack, so much crack, truck-kun strikes again (!), modern girl in Star Wars, and I’m kinda shitting on Anakin here. Man, he cannot stop catching strays in my one shots

“No no no, please, you have to believe me!”

Now, Hound always considered himself something of a gentleman, so hearing the distinctive high cadence of a woman clearly in distress, his feet were already moving towards the sound without even thinking.

There stood a Mirialan woman with choppy brown hair. She was arguing with a police droid, grabbing its metal arms while it just kept repeating its standard, “your concerns have been forwarded to the supervisor. Any replies may take 6-8 business days, as we are currently experiencing an influx of concerned calls and work to answer each with dedication. Thank you for your patience.”

Hound scoffed, didn’t she know those droids were practically useless? They forwarded most of their calls to the Guard anyways.

“Need some help here, ma’am?”

She turned around.

Ooooohh boy.

Wide, teary eyes pinned Hound in his place, making him instinctively comb through his hair. As he passed a hand through his neck locks, he tried to discreetly check for any B.O. Sometimes, after hours training with the massiffs, you start to get a little y’know blind in the nose from all the strong smells. Luckily, the lady seemed too distraught to notice anything.

“Oh! A human,” she cried, launching herself at him and gripping his arms.

Okaaaay, that was a bit of an odd reaction, considering they were on Coruscant; melting pot of the galaxy’s most miserable—and varied—sentients. Oh yeah, and considering the fact that she herself was a Mirialan. Hound shouldn’t judge, she probably had something internal going on.

“I can’t believe this,” she rambled. “I can’t be here, I am definitely NOT here. I don’t belong here. I- I think I got hit by a truck, oh my god.”

“Uh huh,” he said haltingly. “Okay, uhm please calm-”

“I mean look at me,” the woman wailed, burying her face into her hands. “I’m green!”

“Ma’am, there is nothing wrong with being green,” Hound comforted, patting her back awkwardly. “Coruscanti laws dictate that all employers here must be equal opportunity, regardless of species or color. If you have been discriminated against or harass-” She pulled away, aghast.

“No! That’s not what I’m trying to say- I’m not trying to be- to be-”

“Speciesist?” He offered.

The woman burst into tears. Hound panicked.

“Oh karking porg testicles, please don’t cry.”

The woman sniffed. Hound had an inkling of hope, as she hiccuped a few times and closed her eyes to try and compose herself. One second. Two seconds. She opened her eyes, and the tear streams were quickly refilled. Kriff. He didn’t know what to do. “Please…don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it,” she snapped. Seeing him wilt, she slammed her face into her palms and let out an ear-piercing screech. Kark, the lungs on this woman; Hound was beginning to regret nosing into this. “This is all very overwhelming!”

“Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” she wailed, clearly getting more frustrated with herself. “It’s not your fault.”

“Are you-”

“It’s been a shit day because fucking Mark stole all the credit for MY,” she gestured angrily, waving her hands wildly, at herself. Hound noted she had impressive explosive power for someone so…small. “MY idea. I was the one who mentioned that we should put out short interviews with the influencer brand ambassadors on Instagram reels, but then HE goes and takes that straight to our team leader and steals all the credit like a FUCKING JACKASS. I told him IN. CONFIDENCE. And then he takes my idea and breaks up with me in front of the whole damn office, so now I have to live I have to live in SHAME.” She walked over to kick a piece of trash and scream at a wall. “AND NOW I’M HERE, HAVING TO DEAL WITH ROBOT BUREAUCRATIC INEFFICIENCIES. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE HERE IS. AND I’M GREEN.”

She collapsed to a pitiful squat with an abrupt shriek.

“Shut yer trap, woman.” A voice from one of the apartments above yelled down. “Kriff, can’t even watch the holonet without some crazy bitch yapping these days.” Hound felt uncomfortably out of his depth, but went to comfort the woman when-

“Oh fuck you, you miserable asswipe,” she yelled back through tears. “Let a girl have a proper breakdown for Christ’s sake.” The man above made an offended noise.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!”

“Okay, that’s enough of that.” Hound quickly ushered the raging woman away. They were in the lower, seedier parts of Coruscant and he wasn’t eager to start any fights. Luckily the woman complied with only a half-hearted and tear-filled glare thrown his way. “Let’s go up, we can go to the Coruscant Guard HQ and maybe find you some help.” He coaxed her out of the dingy alleyway, eager to make her someone else’s problem. For all he thought himself as well-versed with nattie women, he could admit; this one had him beat.

“What’s that?” Her voice wavered as she wiped the snot from her face with her sleeve and let herself get tugged by the wrist.

“The headquarters of Coruscant’s domestic affairs clone force.” She goggled.

“You’re a clone?”

Hound pressed his lips together.

“It wasn’t obvious?” He looked down at his ARF trooper armor. She sniffled.

“I dunno, never seen one before.”

Huh. Now wasn’t that curious.

“Really? Where you from?” Hound probed, and he pushed her by the shoulders towards where they were going. Like all Mirialans, she was slight, her head barely reaching his chin. They got to the turbolift and piled inside. He watched her closely through the window’s reflection. She watched the neon levels of Coruscant zip by miserably, her eyes glued to the sight.

“Not here.”

Now, Hound was no detective or behavioral expert, spending more time among more four-legged and furrier companions, but he could tell she was lying. But given her earlier outbursts, he wasn’t keen on pressing her any further. It was in the interest of his own well-being after all, what with there only being limited room to escape from any violent mental breaks in the lift. Lucky for him though, she seemed to have a habit of muttering to herself. So, doing as any other normal being, he eavesdropped.

Hound watched her space out, watching them get higher and higher in Coruscant, and start to mumble angrily. Nonchalantly looking away, Hound strained his ears.

“Should’ve paid more attention to the movies. God, I think there were even comic books. Why didn’t I read the comic books!” She blinked, and muttered something about “everyone dying.” Huh, now Hound’s attention was fully lasered on the woman.

Abruptly, she turned to him. She took a breath, exhaled, and then looked him square in the eye.

“I’m from the future,” she burst out.

Well. Hound did not see that coming.

How did he get here. How did he get here. Hound was almost positive he’d hallucinated the past two hours, and the woman was just his sleep paralysis demon come to haunt him.

“Quickly, over here,” she hissed.

Oh, right. He was escorting around this psycho who claimed she was from the future and could tell how everyone was going to die, and that if she didn’t see Grandmaster Yoda instantly then bad things were gonna happen. It’ll be just like the simulations, they said. Don’t worry, you’ve been trained for every situation, they said.

Hound would like a refund on his existence.

The lady—Sita—had looked so distraught when she said this that he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for her. He also recognized, that if he didn't go along, that her mental state might begin to teeter dangerously into an actual break down. And he was definitely not trained for that.

The plan was to go along with her delusions, and hopefully stop by HQ and ask if there were any missing persons reports filed for crazy green Mirialans.

But this…this was getting out of hand.

“Quickly,” she urged again, snapping her fingers in Hound’s face. “Hide, he’s coming this way.”

“Alright alright, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he muttered. Sita, who was frighteningly eagle eared as Hound was finding out, glared viciously.

“Don’t talk about my panties, jerk.”

“Kriff, don’t say it like that,” he groaned, trying to placate her, “it wasn’t like that.”

“Still, it’s rude!”

“Alright, sorry!”

“If you think you can just-”

Hound heard footsteps. Grabbing her, he shoved them into the alleyway.

“He’s here,” he hissed.

No, Hound had not taken Sita to see Grandmaster Yoda of the Jedi Order. Above his pay grade. But when he told her that, she’d threatened him with teary eyes under her comically large glasses. Hells, did Mirialans even need glasses? He thought they all had crazy good senses. Huh. Anyways, with the threat of water works, he offered her the next best option: Anakin Skywalker. Despite being technically younger than the Jedi, Hound was not fond of that whiny goatkriffer.

Tagger had said that Sourdough had heard from Camus who talked to Helix and said that Denal told him that the Jedi had a habit of throwing clones off high places, just to then right in time catch them with the Force. Which, not only was that a pretty shit thing to do, Hound had to hate him on principle of injustice. If Hound attempted something like that, he’d be fried fish chum at the bottom of the Kaminoan seas faster than Grizzer could go through a yak chew. It also didn’t help that one time, while out with his “secret” wife, the karkfaced Jedi had insulted Grizzer as part of some suave pickup line to get Senator Amidala up to her apartment so they could kriff! Senator Amidala could do much better, in his opinion.

But he was the only Jedi Hound knew where to find, so he’d have to do.

Surprisingly, she’d brightened up in a flash hearing the man’s name (could not relate).

“It’s perfect,” Sita whispered manically. She paced. “How can I- oh! Wait, no. I need to-”

A question was still bugging Hound.

“You know Skywalker?”

Sita turned to him, slowly. She had abnormally piercing eyes.

“He’s about to make a series of decisions that ends with twenty years of people dying to a tyrannical fascist government,” she said slowly, advancing towards Hound.

“Huh.” Hound blanched. Definitely above his pay grade. Sita grabbed his collar and yanked him down to her level.

“Obi-wan is my favorite character,” she said determinedly, perfectly enunciating every word. “He deserves to live happily until he’s ninety goddamn years old.”

“How happy can you be at ninety,” Hound wheezed. She pinched his lips shut, making him squawk.

“Obi-wan. Will. Live. Happy. And you’re gonna help me do that.”

“Aaaaand how do we do that?”

Her hands tightened around his collar. And not for the first time, he wondered how such a tiny woman could have so much strength in her.

“I’m gonna give him a niiiiiice little dose of existential dread.” She grinned wickedly.

“Hot damn, talk dirty to me baby, I’m so in,” Hound grinned wildly, making her flush.

And now they were here.

He handed her his helmet, which had speakers that could project the sound up to 120 decibels, which, if captured right in an enclosed space with solid surfaces for the sound to bounce off of, could be pretty damn loud. She slipped her pretty green head into his helmet, and actually looked pretty cute. His head was a bit larger than hers, so it wobbled like a bobblehead, which was surprisingly endearing. In a stupid way. Huh, maybe he had a thing for crazy ladies.

She jabbed an elbow at him and pointed. Ah, there in all his bastardly glory, Skywalker. Skulking down a tiny alley to then hop a bus to find his hot (out of his league) senator wife. They hid in a nook behind a dumpster, just out of sight of Skywalker.

Okay, game on. He signaled “go” for Sita. She nodded eagerly, almost making the helmet slip off before catching it, making him chuckle softly.

“ANAKIN SKYWALKER,” her voice boomed. Projected by the helmet’s speakers, it was kriffing loud. Add to the fact that the alleyway boxed in the sound waves, making it bounce and echo throughout, it was pretty damn scary. He almost felt bad when Skywalker jumped.

The Jedi looked around, on guard, with a hand on his lightsaber.

“Who’s there.”

“I AM THE GHOST,” she paused dramatically, “OF YOUR PAST.”

“Whoever you are, you better come out now.” Skywalker snarled, his hand poised on his lightsaber.

“NO.” She boomed. “I AM YOUR PAST, YOUR PRESENT, AND YOUR FUTURE. YOUR DREAMS-”

“How do you know I have dreams-”

“Bro everyone has dreams-” Sita cleared her throat. “I MEAN, I HAVE SEEN THEM. YOU DREAMT OF YOUR MOTHER.”

“How-how did you know?” Stars, was Skywalker’s voice trembling? Hold on, were those tears? Hound was glad he had the foresight to turn on his helmet’s HUD to record.

“No,” Skywalker whispered. “No you’re just bluffing.”

“I KNOW ALL. I SEE ALL. YOU DREAMT OF HER DYING AND ARRIVED TO WATCH HER PASS. IN THE TUSKEN’S HOMES WHERE SHE WAS TORTURED-”

“NO, stop-”

“SHE DIED IN YOUR ARMS. AND IN YOUR RAGE-”

“Stop-”

“YOU KILLED THEM. YOU KILLED THEM ALL. ALL THE MEN, THE WOMEN. AND EVEN,” Hound heard her snort softly under the helmet. He looked at her quizzically. “ALL THE CHILDREN TOO.”

“No. No, no I didn’t mean to. Stop, please-”

“YOU DREAM ABOUT YOUR WIFE, DON’T YOU?”

“Yes,” Skywalker fell to his knees, voice shaking desperately, “yes I do.”

“YOU DREAM ABOUT HER DYING.”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Great Force spirit, how do I stop this?”

She paused.

“MAN, I DON’T KNOW, GO TO SOME LIKE PRE-NATAL AND POST-NATAL CLASSES. ALL PREGNANCIES ARE TOUGH ON A WOMAN’S BODY AND MENTAL HEALTH FOR MONTHS BEFORE SHE EVEN GIVES BIRTH. HAVE YOU EVEN EDUCATED YOURSELF ON THIS YET?” Hound had to stifle a snort by pressing his hand to his mouth.

Skywalker wilted. Kriffing wilted like reprimanded cadet; this was the best day of Hound’s life. Sita just scrunched her face thoughtfully.

“DID YOU EVEN GET THE TALK? LIKE, BEFORE YA’LL DECIDED TO BUMP UGLIES?”

Skywalker scowled. “Of course I did! I know all about sex!”

“Right.” Hound couldn’t resist a sarcastic drawl.

“Who was that?” Skywalker looked around suspiciously.

Sita coughed loudly, voice booming. “AHEM, NOTHING. JUST A THING IN MY THROAT. ANYWAYS YES, PREGNANCY IS SCARY, BUT THERE IS NO REASON TO BELIEVE YOUR WIFE WILL DIE JUST BECAUSE YOU DREAM OF HER IN PAIN. BIRTH IS TOUGH, BUT MODERN MEDICINE HAS COME LONG WAYS. SO INSTEAD OF NEEDLESSLY CATASTROPHIZING, GO TAKE SOME CHILDBIRTH CLASSES FOR GOD’S SAKE. MEN!”

“Ok great Force spirit,” Skywalker said in a small voice.

“AND DON’T STRESS OUT YOUR TEACHER,” Sita scolded, making his hemet bob angrily on her head. “AND DON’T TRUST POLITICIANS. OKAY, GOODBYE!”

“Wait!” Skywalker called out, but Hound and Sita were already escaping through the maze of alleyways, giggling to each other all the while.

A/N: Headcanon that Anakin, as a child of Tatooine, probably grew up on folktales and old grannies warning him abt his future and is deeply superstitious. Also we need more Hound girlies (gender neutral) in this house and I volunteer as tribute. He is the ultimate Dog Dad and would have Scrumptious™ thighs from lifting Grizzer all the time. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.  Also this is inspired by that post abt Anakin just dreaming abt padme's birth and she wasnt dying, but birth is just intense so he assumed she was, but he gets advice from Master Mundi abt it. EDIT: this is the post

@orangez3st @clonexocweek

[uceyliyahh]

PRESSURE

summary: she got build up pressure from her folks, her friends and her peers around her asking that million dollar question. ‘When will you get back together with Jimmy?’ It would always annoy Serenity hearing that from them when her folks knew her and Jimmy’s past. Her folks believe that they were going to get back together eventually until she found someone new hoping that she could heal those scars that Jimmy had left until that one night it changed everything.

warnings contain: explicit content, self-harming, withdrawals, depression, a lot of build up pressure, cheating.

sooo mdni

Jimmy Uso x Serenity

word count: 7.2k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

TAGS 🏷️ lmk if you want to be tagged @pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @prettyfilmz @sharmelasworld @spiicii @formulafortyfour @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @trippiexlove @wisteria-bae

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @4milly @luuvprincess @yyaktayak @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @bookuce @sheaabuttaababyy @li-da-savage @cafeluvs @myleelovesfood @shes2real

One

omniscient

kelani_wwe, ceceduh, uceyjucey, and others liked your post.

serenitysdiary: it’s me again 🩷😘

kelani_wwe: Gurrl you’ve been busy and booked

serenitysdairy: @ kehani_wwe ofccc

ceceduh: honey I heard mama and them having a cookout tonight

serenitysdairy: @ ceceduh girrrl they be doing this on purpose to invite wassa name 🙄

uceyjucey: mom and pops having a cookout?

serenitysdairy: @ uceyjucey Jesus…who tf told you? Don’t come if you bringing his ass

uceyjucey: @ serenitysdairy c’mon sis yk ya mama ain’t gonna like it if we ain’t there

serenitysdairy: @ uceyjucey sooo fucking annoying

d1areen: looking good mama can’t wait to see you tonight 😘

Read all comments.

Tonight.

That evening turned out to be quite surprising at her mother's house, as she encountered Jimmy and Jey there. This was all due to her mother wanting to spend time with the boys, including Jimmy, her ex-boyfriend. She found it hard to even look at him after everything he had done during their relationship. He had been seeing another girl named Trinity while he was on the road. I suppose it was her mistake for being involved with a professional wrestler who is always traveling, 24/7.

When she discovered that he had been unfaithful to her while he was away, it spread like wildfire on social media, leaving her mentally shattered. She had truly loved him with all her heart, but now those feelings have been overshadowed by anger and resentment towards him.

She believed he would stand out from the others, especially considering how devoted his twin brother was to his wife. She hoped Jimmy would mirror that loyalty, but once again, she found herself mistaken.

Serenity was feeling very low and started to harm herself with a lighter, repeatedly burning her inner thighs until there was nothing left. She eventually sought therapy and opened up about the struggles she had faced over the last two to three years.

She took her antidepressants to manage her depression, helping her stay grounded throughout the day. Yet, at night, her thoughts would often drift back to the pain he caused her. That was until she met Darren, who saw her for who she truly was and cherished every single scar she carried from her past. He became the light in her life.

 a energy boost that she needed. until tonight she had fucked it all up. she didn’t mean to. it happened so suddenly  Why couldn’t she just push Jimmy away? She had to keep it a secret

That’s what she was good at anyway, keeping secrets just to protect herself. But how long was that going to last knowing that Jimmy wouldn’t keep his mouth shut about it.

Serenity found herself pressed against the wall while Jimmy gazed intently into her eyes, attempting to decipher her emotions. He noticed her face was filled with anger, and she forcefully shoved him away, causing him to stumble slightly, yet he responded with a smirk.

Both of them noticed her phone ringing, and as she looked down, she saw that Darren was texting her, asking where she was at that moment. Guilt washed over her as she met Jimmy's gaze.

“You think he’s gonna replace this? What we got going on sweetheart?” Jimmy said.

“We don’t have anything going on anymore Jonathan that was a year or two ago,  what we did have is dead now.” Serenity replied in a stern tone.

She heard him chuckling while folding his arms over his chest, “you wanna kept tellin’ yourself that?”

His arrogant and controlling attitude was beginning to frustrate her significantly. She let out a deep sigh, massaging her temples, and then picked up her phone before heading out the bedroom door, eager to avoid any further interaction with him.

“You gon’ keep runnin’ away from this Serene?” That nickname that slipped from his lips as she turned her head toward him.

He knew her so well Too well at that whenever things like this get shaky between him and her. She’ll just run away because she doesn’t know what to do.

“I ain’t runnin’ I’m going to my man that’s waiting for me.” She said.

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her, “yo’ man? That yo’ people don’t even like?

“They do like him.”

Jimmy scoffed, “apparently not.” He kept his arms folded around his chest as she looked at him with confusion written all over her face.

She believed her family would approve of Darren, but as Jimmy pointed out, they actually disapprove of him. Their main concern is that they want her and Jimmy to reconcile, which was never going to occur after everything he had done to her.

“Maybe if my stupid ass mother didn’t invite you like you’re so god or something then they probably would’ve liked him.”

“C’mon now ma, don’t be like that.”

“They want us to get back together and I’m not letting that happen after what you did to me Jon.” She remained silent as she reached for the doorknob, but he suddenly grabbed her, pushing her onto the bed and holding her arms above her head while looking intently into her eyes.

Jimmy nestled between her legs, showering her neck with soft, wet kisses, attempting to remind her of her true belonging, despite her new relationship with Darren. She struggled to push him away, but the reality of his greater strength left her at a disadvantage.

He gently placed kisses along her jawline and then moved to her lips. She hesitated to kiss him back until his hand rested on her left thigh, where a sudden stinging sensation made her whimper, prompting her to finally return his kiss.

His tongue danced within her mouth, exploring every inch, a sensation he had longed for. The kiss was intense, reflecting his desire to assert his dominance and remind her of her place with him.

With all her strength, she struck him, the sound reverberating in her old bedroom. They locked eyes, both filled with intensity, particularly Jimmy's, whose gaze turned dark as a sinister smile crept across his face, nearly frightening her.

“You don’t fucking deserve none of this, you don’t deserve me Jimmy.” Serenity sternly.

He chuckled bitterly at her while nodding his head before he spoke, “and you think his ass do? You know you still mine Serene.”

She scoffed at him, “I was never yours when you went out yo’ way to cheat on me for the whole fucking media to hear about Jimmy you know what get the fuck off of me.” When she tried pushing and shoving him away he didn’t budge not one single bit as he just watched her struggle.

She continued to strike him and tried to shove him away until he grasped her throat, causing her to freeze in place, her eyes fixed on his.

Jimmy leaned in closer, their noses almost touching, while he felt his free hand lift the dress she had chosen for the cookout tonight—realizing that she wasn't wearing any panties beneath it, which made him smirk.

There was always something about him and that infuriating smirk on his face that drove Serenity absolutely mad. He started to rub her folds in circular motions, his eyes still fixed on hers, noticing how she began to weaken under his touch.

She made an effort to keep eye contact with him, attempting to convey that she was unaffected by the situation and indifferent, fully aware that Darren was capable of much more than he was.

That’s what she thought right? Believing that Darren was a much better match for her than Jimmy he’s a basketball player. But could he hit all the right spots like Jimmy do?

In that moment, Jimmy gently kissed her lips before withdrawing, observing how she gradually fell apart under his touch. As he slipped two fingers into her warm core, a soft moan of his name escaped her lips.

His fingers started to move in a slow yet quick rhythm, aware that he had her exactly where he desired. Watching her plead with those beautiful eyes of hers, reminiscent of a puppy, only made him smile wider.

He softly kissed her lips as they embraced in a passionate make-out session, sensing her body relax and yield to him and only him, while he moved his fingers inside her, his tongue exploring her mouth.

“You see how she reacts to me ma? Does he make you feel like that?” Jimmy murmured between kisses.

She felt the urge to hurt his feelings by claiming that Darren was better at this than he was, yet she couldn't bring herself to say it because, deep down, she still loved Jimmy.

“N-no, he d-doesn’t…” Serenity murmured back.

She sensed his smirk between her lips as his fingers expertly located her sensitive spot, something Darren always struggled to find during their intimate moments. Jimmy, on the other hand, repeatedly stimulated her g-spot, making her gasp and arch her back in response.

“Mhmm, I’m hitting that shit good. He probably can’t make you squirt like I do ma.”

He was right once again  Jimmy is always right when it comes to her.

He had gently bitten the bottom of her lip, tugging it before pressing his lips against hers more forcefully, all the while continuing to pleasure her with his fingers. Outside, everyone else was enjoying themselves, but she could feel herself tightening and relaxing around his fingers, as if she were a machine in disarray.

Jimmy shifted his lips from hers to her jawline, gently trailing down towards her neck. Her fingers were entwined in his curls, pulling him closer so she could listen to him guide her with his voice, rich and sweet like honey, a sound she adored.

However, he realized that this was insufficient, so he withdrew from her neck and positioned his face between her thighs. As he kissed her inner thighs, he kept his fingers deep inside her—swirling his tongue around her clit, which made her jolt, but she soon relaxed.

His eyes were keenly observing her response. He wanted to assert his dominance, making it clear that he was in charge and that Darren was incapable of doing even half of what Jimmy could accomplish. As he combined his saliva with her arousal, he marveled at the transformation he had brought about in her. The tough and stubborn girl he once dated seemed to vanish whenever he took control.

She longed to break free from this situation, yet she understood that it was impossible. They were far too entrenched in it—he gently sucked on her swollen clit, watching as her white essence coated his fingers, which made him groan at the sight.

“She’s dripping f’me mama, tell daddy what you want.” He groaned in the air.

Serenity couldn’t believe that she was cheating on Darren behind his back with her ex-boyfriend who cheated on her but at what cost?

“I-I…” she couldn’t form a sentence or a word out as she felt overwhelmed by his actions.

“You what baby? What’chu want huh?” His voice was taunting her in a playful manner, turning her on knowing how bad she hated him doing it.

His tongue danced over her clit and empty hole repeatedly, moistening his salt and pepper beard, as he enjoyed the sound of her sweet whimpers escaping her lovely lips. “F-fuck J-Jimmy.”

He looked up at her with his piercing eyes staring deeply into her soul.

“What? Huh? What?” His fingers quickened their pace within her warmth, the sound of his hand striking against her softness resonating throughout the room as he observed her attempt to articulate a thought.

“Fuck me Jimmy, come fuck me.” All he needed was to hear that, and as he withdrew his fingers from her, he noticed the white glow covering them before he pushed them into her mouth.

She twirled her tongue around his fingers, savoring her own taste while her gaze remained fixed on his intensely. Jimmy utilized his free hand to unfasten his belt and tear away his jeans, lowering them along with his boxers to reveal his impressive eight-inch erection, with pre-cum dripping from the tip.

He gently removed his fingers from her mouth and drew her closer to the edge of the bed by her ankles. Once he positioned himself between her legs again, he took hold of his cock and lightly tapped the tip against her pussy lips, which shimmered in the soft light of her old bedroom.

“Stroke this shi f’me mama.” She followed his lead as she took hold of him with her delicate hands, moving slowly and deliberately, which made him arch his back in delight.

Oh how badly did he miss this.

Her thumb glided over his mushroom tip, which appeared so beautiful; even more so than Darren's, if she were to be truthful with herself for just a moment. She did miss him; no, her body craved him, and there was something about Jimmy taking charge that excited her.

They both observed her fingers gliding up and down him, and as more of his pre-cum seeped out, she couldn't help but bite her lip, captivated by the beautiful scene unfolding before her.

“I missed yo’ cute ass ma, giving up what’s mine to that fool downstairs.”

She rolled her eyes at him, “what happened to shawty? Hm? And what you here to reclaim it or something?” There she go with her smart mouth that always got her in trouble when her and Jimmy was together at the time he would always put her in her place and remind her who run the show.

She stroked his cock in a fast pace hearing wet sounds coming from it as he let out a guttural moan escape his lips.

“Hmm, she wasn't you.” He continued on wrapping his hand around her throat once again. “This pussy belongs to me not him or nobody else but me.”

“She was never yours after you cheated.” Serenity was constantly going to remind him of his actions which made him smirk while chuckling—he removed her hand from his cock and brushed his tip against her moist folds.

He entered her deeply, and they both released a loud groan before he could fully move within her. His hand rested gently on her throat while her legs were spread wide, and as he began to deliver his deep strokes, she threw her head back in sheer pleasure.

Her arms encircled his neck as she savored his warm kisses trailing down her neck, softly moaning his name—while he moved in and out of her, feeling the wetness in his hair as she experienced the deep thrusts of his member inside her.

She let out a small whimper while her gaze was locked onto his deeply.

“Pretty, so pretty ma.” Jimmy whispered softly while placing a kiss on her lips.

She didn’t respond to him due to the pressure she was feeling at the moment while he watched her eyes roll in the back of her head. “How this feels ma?”

She held onto him tightly, having her eyes rolling in the back of her skull before answering his question, "It feels so good, so goood," she whispered back.

"Yeah? When I do this?" That's when Jimmy had pounded into her gushy walls deeply hearing his hips slapping against her thighs as Serenity felt this pleasurable pain inside of her.

“J-Jimmy!” 

He had a smirk appearing on his lips while they continued to French kiss each other having their tongues fighting for dominance against one another, as Jimmy continued to beat her guts in silly.

Serenity began to feel a sense of guilt and sadness about her actions in that moment, realizing she could have simply pushed him away when he kissed her or even restrained him by wrapping his hand around her throat to assert some control. Yet, she chose not to— it felt as though he was exerting control over her, almost as if he didn't want her to be with Darren.

She had a deep love for Darren and felt thankful for him, but her relationship with Jimmy was an entirely different matter. They shared a history that was irreplaceable, not even by Darren.

Their lips were turning into reddish purple color as they pulled away from each other causing Jimmy to place his forehead on hers.

“Nobody can replace what we had Serene and you know that.” His voice was low and deep when he spoke to her seeing her innocent eyes looking at him.

He was right once again  Nobody couldn’t replace what they had together  But she didn’t want to be stuck with a man like him that cheated on her so she had to move on

“But you can?”

“I didn’t replace you Serene.”

“But you did Jimmy and didn’t care but once I’ve moved on with someone new that ain’t you. Here you go doing shit like this.” Jimmy didn’t have time to hear none of that wanting to shut her up immediately 

He had wrapped his hand around her throat pumping his dick in and out of her while she held onto his wrist.

All they could hear was skin slapping against each other all over her old bedroom while the air thickened around them.

Jimmy had Serenity seeing stars at this point pummeled her inside of the bed like no one else would seeing her crumbling underneath him that's what he like to see.

It was becoming overwhelming for her as she tried to push him by his stomach to slow him down but he slapped her hand away from him digging his dick deeper inside of her gummy insides as she cried out his name.

“D-daddy!” She exclaimed.

Jimmy shook his head, “don’t run from this dick.” He slapped her left ass cheek causing her to whine. “This pussy belongs to me, her rightful owner.”

At that moment, both of them heard her phone ringing. Jimmy noticed the caller ID and saw it was Darren trying to reach her to find out her whereabouts. A wicked smile crept across Jimmy's face as he picked up her phone from the nightstand and handed it to her, while she shook her head in frustration.

“Answer it.” He said.

“N-no! Are you fucking insane?” His hand came down and smacked her left ass cheek.

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you to ma answer the fucking phone I want him to hear I’m good I’m fucking you.” 

With that she had no choice but to answer the phone as she heard Darren’s voice in the background and it hit her like a tidal wave of emotions betraying him like this. Jimmy had seen it; saw her trying to hold back her emotions while he was fucking her he knew he had her right he wanted her to be.

“Princess? Where you at?” Darren asked on the other side of the phone.

One thing about Serenity is she is a good liar and very good at it too.

“I’m not feeling well, I got sick.” She lied while looking at Jimmy.

He slowed down his strokes on purpose pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside of her hitting her cervix as he watched her crumble underneath him while being on the phone with Darren.

He had heard Darren’s voice on the phone, “damn princess you want me to come up there and take you home then?”

Home? Serenity and Him didn’t live together? Just like how she and Jimmy did when they were together. Did she double down?

Jimmy had leaned in closer so that their bodies could be touching one another while he placed wet kisses on her neck cupping both of her ass cheek from underneath her and began to speed up his pace causing her to moan out loudly covering her mouth in the process.

He had smirked against her skin hearing how concerned her boyfriend was over the phone.

“You good babygirl?” Darren asked with a concerned tone in his voice.

She looked at Jimmy who was waiting for her to answer Darren’s question.

“Y-yes I’m fine, J-just—“ Serenity was struggling bad as she could feel Jimmy’s mushroom tip hitting her g-spot over and over again feeling that coil burning up inside of her stomach.

Nobody couldn’t make her get this way

Only Jimmy could.

Serenity felt a knot in her stomach signaling that she was about to cum on this man, so she began rubbing her clit which Jimmy caught on removing her hand from her clit pinning it down as she whined some more. "I want you beg for it mama you ain't slick," at this point Serenity had tears forming in her eyes wanted this to end.

“Who was that Serenity?”

“N-nobody! Look I’ll text you later just go home for tonight!” 

With that she hanged up the phone feeling His grip on her throat tightened slightly watching her mouth parted open as he spit inside of it circling his tongue inside of her mouth. "Talk to me baby, you wanna cum?" He cooed at her as she nodded her head begging for him to let her cum.

“Fuckk, I miss you soo much daddy.” 

“Yeah? Tell me some more ma, does he fuck you better than me?”

She shook her head, “nobody can do it like you daddy, I promise daddy.”

“You promise?”

Serenity nodded her head as she kept him close to her body feeling the heat radiating off of his skin to hers as he fucked her like he loved her which he still did deep down.

He kept thrusting into her soft walls, feeling her tighten and relax around him, which made him groan with pleasure, fully aware of how much he adored it when she did that. Her creamy, sticky white essence coated his cock perfectly, allowing him to slide in and out of her effortlessly, like a waterslide.

His movements grew increasingly uncoordinated with each thrust he delivered, feeling the sweat trickle down his body as he pushed his hips deeper into her, completely losing himself in the moment.

“Fuck, I’m finna nut ma. You still on birth control or what?” Jimmy grunted.

“Y-yes, cum inside of me daddy I want it.” Serenity begged.

Jimmy had his eyes rolling in the back of his head losing control of all of his body cursing underneath his breath as he slammed inside of Serenity one last time as they both let out a loud guttural moan as they both came together.

She felt his warm seeds shooting ropes and ropes inside of her inner walls filling her up so good looking on seeing her milky cream mixed with his coating his dick so good.

He slowly thrusted in and out of her making sure that none of his warm seeds spilled out of her before placing a soft kiss on her lips.

Serenity’s legs were shaking and her mind was all over the place realizing what just happened between the two of them and how she acted while being on the phone with Darren.

That’s when she had pushed him off of her with all of her strength she had as she pulled down her dress staring at him with a stern expression on her face.

“What the fuck Jon! Why would you do this to me!” She hollered at him.

“Don’t act like that now Serene.” He said.

“I have every right to act like this! I didn’t want to do this with you! Why can’t you just let me be happy!” She managed to get up from the bed heading towards his direction and shoved him harshly causing him to stumble back.

She hit him in his chest over and over again hollering at him and blaming him for doing this—when she didn’t want this to happen but she did anyway. He let her continue to hit him in his chest watching her crash out right in front of him.

“I fucking hate you!” Serenity said.

“You weren't saying that when I was beating yo’ guts up now did you? I had you hooting and hollering. Tellin’ me that you missed me and shit.” Jimmy said 

She scoffed at him, “I only said it to boost up your ego, I didn't mean it.” Shoving him harshly until he grabbed her by the throat pinning her against the wall as her head made a thud sound on it.

She looked up at him with her innocent eyes locking into his hooded ones as they both stared down at each other for a moment—the silence between them hung heavy as they could only hear the loud music playing in the background of her parents backyard and folks laughing.

“You know you miss me Serene don’t fucking play.”

“I don’t miss yo’ ass at all Jon, you broke me and I don’t need you breaking me again.”

She removed his hand away from her throat and brushed past him until he had said something that made her stop in her tracks.

“You know I’ma run my mouth bout this.” That made her body cold as a rock when he said that knowing that Jimmy couldn’t keep his kitty shut for good.

She stomped towards his way grabbing him up by his chin while pinning him against the wall staring down at him with her eyes piercing down his soul.

“Utter one fucking word about this shit and I will fucking kill you.” Serenity could see that stupid ass smirk appearing on his face that she wanted to slap away so badly.

“Let’s continue what we need to fix Ma, and I won’t say a word to yo’ little boyfriend.” Shit was this the only way for her to keep his mouth shut?

She didn’t want to be near him  She didn’t want to kiss him Or for him to touch her the way he do  She hated it; hated it so bad it almost made her want to grab that lighter and burn all of her sins away.

She shakes her head, “no, no I’m not dealing with this in order for you to keep your big ass mouth closed.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I guess poor Darren is going to find out that his girlfriend which was my ex-girlfriend got fucked behind his back by me.”

Fuck fuck fuck that’s all she could think about she hated how he would just manipulate her and gaslight her into things like this.

She sighed deeply looking into Jimmy’s eyes once more trying to read his facial expressions to see where he was getting at.

“Fuck, fine. Fine. This is only fucking temporary to keep that fucking mouth of yours shut.” She said while removing her hand from his face, backing up in the process.

“You have my word baby, c’mere tho lemme’ get a better look at you girl.” He replied as he grabbed her hand, spinning her around as his eyes had been on her curves the way her black dress was hugging her body so good it did numbers on him.

She smiled like an idiot even though she didn’t want to show off her smile because he didn’t deserve it whatsoever but she ended up laughing at him showing it off anyways.

“You know you look good tonight ma?”

“Mhm.” 

“I miss seeing this, all of this.” That’s when he had pulled her closer to him and their eyes were locked onto each other.

She looked down at his lips and then back into his eyes as he mirrored her actions. Their faces began to move closer to one another as she felt his lips land onto hers softly—they passionately made out with each other with her arms around his neck and his hands rested on her hips.

The kiss was slow and deep as she could feel his tongue slipping inside of her mouth exploring every single part inside of her mouth—she wanted to pull away from and tell him to get the fuck out but she didn’t.

Deep down inside she missed him No, her body missed him; missed the way he would touch her and kiss her made her feel loved. It made her feel some type of way Some type of resentment she had for him

She felt her emotions slipping away through the kiss as tears began to fall down her cheeks as she struggled to keep up with him feeling her lips quivering with sadness, Jimmy could feel it as he pulled away from her lips seeing her eyes in tears and her sniffing her nose.

She backed up from him slowly not wanting to be near him anymore after having those flashbacks of the whole entire media about him cheating on her.

He stepped closer to her, “Ma.”

She held her hand up not wanting to hear anything else he had to say at the moment as she grabbed her phone and her purse that had her lighter in it which he didn’t know about her self-harming.

She looked at him one last time before heading out the door leaving him alone in her old room, she walked downstairs grabbing her keys from her purse as her mother and sister was coming up towards her.

“Serene? where are you goin?” Mrs Cooper asked.

“Home, I’m not staying for the rest of the night I have to get up for work in the morning.” Serenity responded.

“What about J-Jim—“

She gave her mother a stern look before her mother could even finish the sentence bringing up Jimmy as they heard heavy footsteps coming down the steps seeing Jimmy coming down just in time before she could head out the door.

And that was her cue to leave before he could catch up to her so she opened the door heading out towards her car that was parked outside.

She heard him calling her name but she ignored him walking as fast as she could to avoid him at all cost—tonight wasn’t her night.

“Ma! Ma!” Jimmy hollered.

She didn’t respond to him.

“Serenity! Serene!” That’s when she had stopped in her tracks turning her attention towards him as he ran up towards her.

Everyone including her mother and sister were looking outside the window seeing what was happening between Jimmy and Serenity—her mother didn’t seem fond of Darren because of how he acted whenever she was around.

He would never respond or even say hello to her when he walked in whenever he came to pick up Serenity. He was so nonchalant at times, she tried to understand that he was a busy person being a basketball player.

But for Jimmy he would greet her and even have conversations with her and that’s why she wanted Serenity to get back together with him because he was a gentleman and genuine person, she knew about what he had did and tried to convince Serenity that he was lonely but only ended up making things worse and caused a shift in their relationship.

She never talked about it with her.

“Mama, c’mon don’t be like this. Just stay.” 

She wiped her dried off tears from her face while folding her arms. “I don’t need to stay, there is no reason for me to stay here I need to go home Jon.”

“Have fun baby, c’mon.”

That’s the thing she didn’t want to do none of that after cheating on her boyfriend—and then kissing Jimmy out of vulnerability just made her look stupid feeling all of the hurt and pain that Jimmy had caused her.

“I’m good Jon, I’m leaving, I don't need folks questioning me.” She was about to open her car door until he grabbed her arm stopping her in her tracks once again as she started to grow irritated.

Serenity looked at him as she had seen him pleading with those hooded eyes of his for her to stay but she didn’t want to stay—the more she’ll stay the more likely she would head towards the bathroom to burn herself with the lighter especially being around him.

She was hurt like really hurt that he did that to her. She thought she was enough for him. She thought she was doing her job right as his girlfriend.

She yanked her arm away from him while stepping inside of her car slamming the driver’s door next to her before locking her door. She could see him still standing there as she fastened her seatbelt and placed her keys inside of the ignition before turning it on.

She checked her phone seeing messages from Darren almost breaking her heart instantly when she read them.

lova💖sent three messages.

lova💖: it’s him ain’t it? lova💖: I thought you were over him serene? lova💖: am I a rebound to you?

Her tears began falling on her face as she wiped them away quickly before texting him back.

serene🤍: it’s not like that Darren, I told you I wasn’t feeling good I promise nothing happened between him and I 🫶🏽

She placed her phone down next to her as she started pressing the button to the ignition as it began to turn on seeing Jimmy knocking on her window which made her roll it down just to hear what he had to say.

“What?” She questioned him.

“How long you gon’ keep that secret from him?” He asked.

That’s thing she didn’t know how long she was going to keep it a secret because Darren was already growing suspicious that she was messing around with Jimmy because he had heard Jimmy’s voice on the phone when he called her.

“I-I, don’t know okay? I don’t fucking know…he’s already growing suspicious…”

“Just come home then mama.”

“It’s not that fucking simple Jimmy, you fucking hurt me bad really bad and you just don’t get to walk yo’ ass in here thinking we locked in when we really aren’t.”

That hit home for him, he didn’t have anything else to say after that knowing she was right; him and her weren’t locked in like he thought when he came up in there all smiling and shit.

Thinking that he had her back and she was going to come back home with him until he saw that she was with someone else that wasn’t him.

She rolled up her window and began backing out the driveway making sure that she didn’t hit anybody's car as she saw Jimmy standing there watching her leave her mother’s house.

Once she placed her car back into drive she drove off.

That’s when Jey had come outside seeing his brother watching Serenity’s car driving off in her car.

“What happened twin?” Jey asked.

“Did I hurt her that bad?” Jimmy asked.

Jey sighed deeply while scratching his head, “what you think? I mean she seemed hurt and upset when she walked down the steps with tears in her eyes after being near you. You cheated on her so of course she is hurting badly.”

“It happened like two to three years ago Uce.”

“That doesn't matter, she could still be healing from what you had done behind her back, hell probably doing more damage to herself.” Jimmy didn’t understand what his brother meant by that but he shrugged his shoulders in the process while he and Jey head back inside of the house together.

—

Serenity was burning her skin with the lighter between her thighs over and over again feeling the heat burning her skin off as she relapsed once again—she promised her therapist that she wouldn’t do this again but she needed to do this.

To forget what she had done with Jimmy at her mother’s house and how she betrayed Darren within seconds just like a damn idiot falling for a man like Jimmy. What was she thinking? Her and Darren been texting each other and arguing at the fact that she was with Jimmy tonight.

She tried to convince him that she wasn’t with him and was just in the bathroom throwing up due to the alcohol—since she drank too much of it but Darren wasn’t stupid he knew that she was with her ex-boyfriend upstairs.

She was too tired to continue to argue with him about this so she placed her phone on DND and continued to burn her skin off—hissing at the pain that was between her thighs. As she was doing that she felt her phone vibrated which made her flinch seeing a text message from Jimmy.

She could’ve sworn she blocked his number.

She grabbed her phone unlocking it to see what he wanted even though she didn’t want to know, her curiosity got the best of her.

J💔sent a message 

J💔: mama c’mere so we can talk

She was confused as she texted him back.

serene🤍: wym? Did my fucking mother give you the address to my apartment complex? Go home Jimmy

J💔: please mama ion wanna fight with you I just want to talk please 

Serenity didn’t want to give in knowing that he was going to fuck her again but she was curious to see what he wanted to say to her—maybe an apology would be nice.

serene🤍: gimmie a sec

With that she got up from the cold tiles of her bathroom floor while putting on her shorts that she had taken off—she threw her lighter back inside of the medicine cabinet while fixing herself up before heading towards the front door.

She walked downstairs towards the door opening as she had seen Jimmy standing there scrolling through his phone while he waited on her to come open the door—he looked up at her with a smile on his face placing his phone back inside of his pocket.

She stood there with her arms folded over her chest, “you have ten fucking minutes to speak after that I’ma need you to leave.”

She stepped aside from the door letting him in as she shut the door behind them standing waiting for him to say what he needed to say.

Jimmy begins to say, “I’m sorry.”

“You're sorry? That’s all you have to say to me? After cheating on me with that whore!” Serenity hollered.

“Look I was lonely and things went lef—“ Serenity held her hand up,  shutting him up immediately.

She looked at him with a stern expression on her face not wanting to hear anything else he had to say knowing that was a damn lie that he wasn’t lonely—he was just making excuses.

“You wasn’t fucking lonely and you know it Jimmy, we FaceTime, did phone sex and everything else but I guess that wasn’t enough for you?”

He didn’t say anything, he was quiet as he looked at her with those puppy hooded eyes of his—he always did that whenever he was trying to get out of something and she hated that.

She scoffed while rolling her eyes, she was done with him they both knew that she was right.

“I fucking hate you, you fucking ruined me.”

“You don’t mean that mama.” 

That’s when she had shoved him harshly, almost making him stumble as she looked at him with a stern expression on her face—he could see all of the hurt and damage that he had done to her badly.

“I do fucking mean it, I fucking hate you now get the fuck out.” She shoved him some more with all of the strength she had showing off her pent up anger that she had been building up for years after he cheated on her.

And at the moment he could no longer bear it, he seized her by the throat, forcing her against the wall and pressing his lips against hers as if that could mend what was already shattered. She attempted to push him away by striking his chest, but he succeeded in restraining both of her hands above her head while continuing to kiss her deeply.

He didn’t like being replaced  And she didn’t either.

His tongue was swirling around inside of her mouth like he had something to prove like he wanted her to know how sorry he was—but was he really sorry? Or just bitter that she moved on and forgot about him.

Once her body relaxed to his touch, she felt him cradling her up by her thighs taking her over towards the sofa and she was now straddling his lap while having a messy make out session with each other.

“I hate you.” She murmured between kisses.

“you don’t.” He murmured back.

“I do.” The kiss was intense and chaotic, infused with a hint of roughness. Her fingers were entwined in his curls, while his large hands held her waist firmly. As she pushed her hips forward, swaying them rhythmically, it made him growl.

The way her clothed pajama pants had rubbed against his jeans did numbers on him like he couldn’t control himself whenever he was near her, it was like he wanted serenity to he his again without Darren in the picture.

She could feel his teeth pulling back on her bottom lip tonguing her down like he had something to prove—and he did. He wanted to prove to her and let her know that she was still his regardless if she was with Darren or not.

Few seconds later their clothes were ripped off of each other’s bodies like werewolves as he had her pinned down on the sofa pushing himself inside of her giving her his deep and slow strokes that she loved so much.

Her legs were pinned to each end of her hips as he pounded his way through her gushy walls while she moaned his name in vain.

She hated this But her body loved this and needed this. She didn’t want to betray Darren this way. She thought she was over Jimmy.

But damn it the way he touched her and kissed her like she mattered did something to her and that’s the thing she hated the most.

“Tell me you love me, tell me you don’t hate me mama.” Jimmy groaned as his hand was wrapped around her throat.

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t love him. And that she loved Darren. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. To say how much she hated Jimmy.

“I-I love y-you…” Serenity whimpered as she showed off her puppy like eyes at him. “Fuck, I-I Love you.”

All they could hear was their skins slapping against each other as she could feel his cock buried deep inside of her so perfectly. Jimmy leaned in closer to her face so that their faces were close together, he kissed her lips gently looking into her eyes.

“Say that again baby.”

“I love you Jimmy.”

That’s all it took as he sped up his pace causing her arch her back perfectly for him as he held onto her hips thrusted deeply causing her to moan his name loudly.

His dick hitting her g-spot over and over again until she couldn’t take it anymore and her nails were digging in his back and her begging him to keep going like she hadn’t been fucked in a while.

She didn’t even bother to hear her phone ringing in the background with the caller ID being Darren calling her.

One Missed Call From lova💖 Voice mail incoming from lova💖

“Babygirl I’m sorry for assuming I’m just worried that I won’t be enough for you bc of your ex boyfriend being around you and I want this to work out. Please text me when you wake up in the morning I love you.”

She was going to regret letting Jimmy back in.

PRESSURE.

A/N: hiiii I’m back hehe 😉 with another Jimmy Uso fic idk it just something about Jimmy that just gives me ideas especially what’s been going on lately on Smackdown he just looks good dawg like un-unn.

But I hope yall enjoy the chapter lmk in the comments below.

NO YEET. ❤️

[dudewheresmynug]

Why My OC Sucks

Thanking @rooks-dagger for the tag. This was really interesting to think about!!

Alright, here we go!

Lydia Thorne

Unhelpfully Sarcastic Okay, we love a silly guy, right? Lydia can be too damn silly. Her stupid big mouth has gotten her into trouble more than once. She often doesn't know how to hold her tongue -- she'll say whatever comes to mind if she thinks it's clever or funny. She has ruined many a serious conversation by cracking a joke or sassing the person/people in charge. Honestly, it's a big shock that she was able to talk the First Warden down from his attack, and do so calmly and respectfully. Lydia has absolutely, 100%, found herself in fights (maybe sometimes at the circle, but especially during her time with the Order), more than once in her life. She's also gotten into scraps with the other people in Crestwood during her time there. I wouldn't doubt it, either, if she's gotten into a fight or two with Davrin (though it was more of a playful fight than a serious one, since they both love sarcasm). This idea was drawn by the sheer amount of disapproval I got from Lucanis during my first playthrough lmao, and my second playthrough where I romanced Harding (that pre-tearstone convo? Harding was ready to murder Lydia).

Plays Dumb Lydia has a bad habit of withholding information from other people. Not quite lying? This is actually much more annoying. Lydia is an intelligent person who takes great delight in research. But, she will refuse to provide information or solutions to problems on topics she knows intimately, because she doesn't want to take the opportunity away from others to figure it out for themselves. Lydia is the type of person to sit in the passenger seat of a car and have a nice time looking out the window, and then smile at the driver and say, "By the way, you know you missed the exit about 20 minutes back, right?" like WHAT?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I MISSED THE EXIT 20 MINUTES AGO?? YOU KNEW??? and Lydia would shrug and say, "yeah! I thought maybe you'd figure it out, but it's okay :)." Lydia's withholding of information has stalled progress on a few missions in the Wardens and with the Veilguard. While this habit is borne out of a desire for others to get the chance to find the solution so as not to steal their thunder, it's very very VERY counterproductive. There have also been times when she's needed something, like food or healing, and has just not said anything. She's not trying to be edgy or anything! She's just like, "Eh. Adult life is already so fucking weird. This might as well happen." Idk. I'm sure her friends in the Veilguard figure out a way to make her spill.

Tunnel Vision When she sees something she wants, or a goal she thinks she needs to get to, nothing else matters to her. She will do anything to attain that goal, or that desire (okay, maybe not ANYTHING). She's gotten herself into horrible binds with this mentality -- including getting in serious trouble and having narrow escapes with death. Still, she's successful in attaining those desires most of the time, and that success unfortunately only reaffirms that whatever actions she took to get there were both necessary and worth it for the result. In that same vein, she has a lot of trouble seeing the big picture. She'll sometimes weigh the pros and cons, but she won't think about the long-term repercussions of what she's doing. She's a bit better by Veilguard, as she has more people in her corner who are willing to grab her by the arm and tell her to sit down and think about everything, rather than how badly she wants something.

Thank you again for the chance to take a crack at this with Lydi! I'm giving a no pressure tag to @trashwithvariety and @dancing--lights !!!! Though I already love your Rooks no matter what <3

[peakyswritings]

Epiphany

A/N: This is a little something I wrote very quickly to end the Celebrations. In Italy, during the night between the fifth and the sixth of January, an old lady called the “Befana” travels on her flying broom to fill children’s stockings with sweets. She’s a bit like Santa. Of course, this tradition doesn’t end when you’re a child and you know she’s not real (I’ve been eating chocolate all day🤭). And Ferrante family is no exception.

Nina Ferrante is the OC from my Tommy Shelby x OC series Heart, Body and Soul.

“I’ll give you four pieces of candied orange if you give me one of your chocolate truffles.”

“Hell no,” Nina shook her head, almost offended by Salvatore’s poor offer. It would take way more for her to give up on her precious chocolate truffles.

As was tradition in the Ferrante house, the morning of the sixth of January was one for trading. The Befana had been, the previous night, and some serious negotiations were taking place around the Christmas tree. The three siblings were sitting on the floor, emptying the delicious content of their stockings, swapping chocolates, candies and biscuits of all sorts, trying to swing the most profitable deals. And although they weren’t children anymore, Epiphany morning never failed to bring back a bit of the magic that had been lost as they grew up.

“Five,” Salvatore increased his offer. “And two dried figs.”

“I’m not switching my truffles for fruit,” Nina said firmly, shaking her head. “But,” she raised her eyebrows, observing the sweets in front of him. “I’ll give you one if you also give me two of those chocolates you’ve got there.”

“I’m not switching my chocolates.”

“Keep your fruits, then.”

“Fine,” he sighed, causing her to smile in victory.

“Wait,” Pietro, who up until then had been silently pondering his next offer, finally spoke. “If you give that truffle to me instead of him, I’ll give you three chocolates. And two biscuits.”

“Sold,” she agreed, handing him the truffle.

“That’s unfair!” Salvatore protested.

Nina shrugged, happily grabbing her sweets. “He made a better offer.”

Pietro immediately ate his truffle, knowing too well that his brother wasn’t above taking it from him as soon as he got distracted.

Slightly scrunching his nose, Salvatore handed Nina the candied fruits anyway. “Take them, I don’t like them,” he said defeatedly. “How come you always get the better stocking anyway?”

“Cause I’m an angel.”

“Yes, with horns,” he muttered, earning himself a nudge from his sister’s sharp elbow.

Despite the provocation, Nina took pity on him, and gave him three chocolates and four candies. “Anyway, if you want the really good stuff you should check mum’s stocking. Dad always gives her the best chocolate,” she said, chewing on a candy stick.

In the Ferrante family, the Befana came in the form of Vincenzo Ferrante, who had the job of filling his children’s and wife’s stockings. As for himself… he was fine with stealing from his sons when they weren’t watching.

“She’s watching it like a hawk,” Salvatore murmured, peering at Pietro’s stocking. “Is that nougat?”

“I’ll give it to you if you give me six biscuits.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Done.”

Heart, Body and Sould tag list

@zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark

@kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@gaslysainz @brummiereader @loverhymeswith @fairypitou @prettywhenicry4

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @woofgocows @girlwith-thepearlearring @goblinjnr @outlanderuniverse

@citylights31 @neonpurplestars89-blog @outlanderuniverse @red-riding-wood @evita-shelby

@look-at-the-soul @gathania93 @wonderlanddreamer @thelastemzy @meadows5

@mischievouslittlecreature @seedlings-stuff @misslittlegetou @lunarubra

[starsbook]

Nightmares and Daydreams

!! SPOILERS FOR ASRA ROUTE !!

A.N. : my first ever writing piece published publically. And ofc it had to be asra <3 the loml. Inspired by @/vesuviaweekly 's weekly prompt 'Nightmares and Daydreams' .Could also be considered a piece inspired from the ongoing prompt 'The things that changed' but I will probably revisit the prompt via another piece. Will be tagging it for both , just to be safe. VERY heavy on headcanons (I can't even distinguish between the canon facts and the facts i headcanon anymore). ← to the point it may be ooc . Anyways , the MC here will share my MC's origin story (this is to make me write faster , motivation go brrr) but will be referred to as MC only and will use they/them pronouns. This post will specifically target dreams of asra . I will (possibly) make another post in future involving dreams of my MC (Riku). Trying different writing styles in the same post. Is that a good idea ? Probably not . Would i still do it? Of course.

C.W. : He/him pronouns for asra (to avoid confusion) ; NOT spoiler free ; death mention ; mc's aunt is mentioned (oc character) ; somewhat angst ; very much self indulgent content ; lovesick asra; english is not my first language so please be kind and make me aware of any mistakes you may spot while reading this.

"By clicking on 'keep reading' , you hereby confirm that you have read A.N. and C.W. as given above and therefore I (the creator of this post) will not be held accountable for your reading experience"

Asra Alnazar

Nightmares :

• (Before meeting MC) His nightmares followed similar themes. Some of these included the glimpses of his childhood , with his parents and suddenly they are leaving. His childhood home crumbling to floor. Him getting in trouble while playing on docks . Sometimes it included Muriel - his new friend. The visions of Muriel , too, disappearing some day or being disappointed in him in some way were a great burden for him. Some others included him not getting any food for a whole day or two ( but were they really nightmares if this was his reality?) and people being mean to him.

• His ways of comforting himself during such times were very limited. He would wake up with a jolt and startle Faust too. They both would later cuddle and squeeze together. To prevent getting bullied , he would act all mean in front of bullies and protect Muriel from them too. To avoid starvation, he would resort to petty stealing via magic. He would visit his 'gate' on especially rough nights seeking comfort from his patron arcana the Magician. He would use magic to create pretty scenarios to calm himself down .Muriel started to comfort him too once he found out about his nightmares.

• (After meeting MC) He started to visit the magic shop the day after his nightmares . MC's aunt was a kind lady . Being in her presence would remind Asra of home and comfort him in an odd way. But he liked it. Once he was good friends with MC , he would randomly crash into their bedroom for comfort and cuddles. He was loved in the magic shop. But to avoid getting attached to them , he would often go on 'trips' , only to return after being haunted by nightmares making him crave for a place to call a 'home'. His nightmares significantly decreased after getting close to MC.

• (Plague Era) In the initial stages of the spread of plague , he would often get nightmares about his friends catching the plague. Mc did a great job in reassuring him initially but as the situation in vesuvia worsened so did his nightmares. He could not be reassured. Which then led to 'the argument' that caused him and MC to separate.

• (After MC's death) After he got to know about MC's demise (and after his short trip (?) to lazaret ), his nightmares would now involve those tall chimneys he saw on the island. In his nightmares, he would wander around the crematory and would hear MC's voice calling him . He would always wake up in cold sweat after such nightmares and cry himself to sleep again .

• (Post U.E. route) After the fight against devil was won , he had MC with him now. Now no matter what nightmares he would experience , he would always wake up to comfort full of love from his love. Now the nightmares were manageable and even if some of them truly terrified him , he knew he could tackle anything and anyone. He could go against the world if required now that he had MC supporting him.

Daydreams :

• (Before meeting MC) Asra is a very creative person. At such a young age his daydreams would involve a safe place , lavish meals , running around with friends. He would also daydream about his parents returning someday and taking him with them. He would often try to create these 'daydream scenarios' play out in front of him via magic. This also helped him get better at magic.

• Once Muriel and him secured a safe place in the woods , he would ask Muriel to join him while he was playing out such scenarios. Muriel would often decline , but on the rare occasions he would join Asra , he would find himself entranced in asra's daydreams. Afterall he has a very creative imagination.

• (After meeting MC) after meeting MC in his stall at one of the bazaars of lucio's annual masquerade ball, his daydreams started to include more of MC as he got to know them more. Scenarios of them practicing magic together, taking classes from MC's aunt together, going on foraging trips to gather resources for the shop together. During masquerade ball season , when he would be making new masks (to keep up the inventory) for his annual stall , he would daydream about the different styles of masks and colours that would suit them . Asking Muriel for help while carving out masks and showing him his ideas via magic (the same way he used while daydreaming). It would all be so they (MC) could have more options to choose from. He would always daydream about them dancing at ball together. When he saw other couples in the ball doing different types of couple activities, it too would feed his daydream fuel.

• While away on trips , he would daydream of bringing MC with him. To explore new places, meet new people, experience new experiences together. When the longing became too much to bear for him alone , he would return to meet them.

• (After MC's death) Daydreams were his only escape from the reality. He had no one he could rely on anymore. He would daydream about MC coming back , of him bringing MC back. He daydreamed about seeing MC again after all this time , about the time spent and what could have been. He would choose moments from his life and daydream about changing the course of how things happened, how things should have happened. He daydreamed about all that mattered to him and still there was nothing he could do to make that happen. Except being patient. Except searching for ways he could bring them back. Except daydreaming about successfully finding a way to bring them back. All because he had a creative imagination.

• (Post U.E. route) Now that everything was right , he finally dared to daydream about a future . A future where MC was present. A future where his parents were there . A future where he had people he could rely on. A future he could not wait to experience. Now his daydreams were filled with plans. Plans he would make to make his loved ones happy. Now his daydreams were not an escape, but just creative thoughts. Of course it did not happen immediately but eventually he leaned to control them. His creative thoughts help bring happiness in his loved ones lives now. His plans are always very detailed making everyone surprised when he finally decides to execute them. Why wouldn't they be surprised? Afterall he does have a very creative imagination.

That was fun to write ! I am so proud of it! Possibly my next post will be a Asra × Riku fic.

© OHKENTO . do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any platforms.