#that is also pulling on first age and third age because it doesn’t have enough to stand on

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I���d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[themology]

(au) joel miller x runaway!reader

summary: a runaway girl and a grieving man drive through the belly of a burning america—fucking, fleeing, forgetting. she’s his ghost in the passenger seat; he’s her ruin in the driver’s side. they don’t call it love. they just never stop driving.

notes: i’ve been painfully inactive in this account since 2022, and it seems i have rise from the dead because of the influx of dbf!joel miller fanfictions and i wanted to write my own rendition but with an ethel cain-esque twist. this was written in a whim and my writing may be rusty! english is not my first language. also not proofread!!!!!

disclaimer: this is au-ish, the outbreak never happened and loads of stuff has been changed for better immersion and i’m kinda lazy to research. reader is in their 20s.

warnings / contains: i don’t even know anymore, angst, strong and explicit language, allusion of sex/sexual themes.

♱

You leave like you’ve committed a crime, something unforgivable.

One night, your mama’s stirring soup and asking about job interviews. The next, there’s nothing but a note that says I had to go. Even that’s a lie—you didn’t leave because you had to. You left because staying was the loneliest thing you’d ever done. That house felt like a coffin with curtains. The town was all eyes and whispers and dust that never left your skin. Your dad works too hard overseas for a future you feel like you don’t wan’t anymore.

So you disappear.

Just a drawer emptied. A toothbrush gone. The fridge light blinks like it’s lonely when your mother opens it at midnight, calling your name into the kitchen like it might answer back. You leave your cap and gown on the back of the chair—pressed, still smelling like sweat and lilies. The perfume you wore is clinging to the collar. She keeps it hanging for weeks, like it might walk back in with your shoulders in it.

There’s a switchblade in your worn down boot, a prayer you never meant whispered to the ceiling fan. You take the money you’ve been hiding in a sock since sixteen, shove it into a cracked wallet with stickers from old bands you forgot you loved. One missed call. One unread message. You pack it all in silence, like a sinner making their bed for God.

You don’t have a plan.

You just drive until the mountains start to feel like teeth.

Oregon is quiet in a way you weren’t ready for.

A little wet. A little dead. A little his.

You find him out near Eugene, where the woods swell thick around the road like a throat about to close.

Joel Miller opens the door with a gun in his hand and a look in his eye like he’s been waiting for you in his sleep.

Now he opens the door and stares at you like a ghost.

Like you’re another funeral come early.

He’s older. Meaner. That permanent Texas squint like he’s staring into the sun, even when it’s raining. You remember his voice from that backyard once���soft Southern drawl, wrapped around a beer bottle. You were just a kid then, Sarah still alive and laughing over fireworks, your father and him laughing about something you’re too young to understand.

He hasn’t laughed since.

He doesn’t ask why you’re there. He doesn’t ask your age. He just lets you in.

You stay three nights. You never leave.

The first night, you sleep on his couch.

The second night, you sleep in his bed.

The third night, he fucks you like you’re both being punished in the kitchen table.

It’s not sweet.

It’s not tender.

It’s mouths torn open, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, a need that’s closer to violence than love. You pull him in by the belt, spit on your palm when he isn’t fast enough, whisper please like a curse against his throat.

He groans when you ride him, low and strangled, like it’s the only thing keeping him human. Like he wants to ruin you just to keep you.

You sleep on his chest after, breathing like you’re afraid to wake up.

There’s a photograph of Sarah in the hallway. You see it once and never again.

The whole house is haunted.

Not by ghosts—by absence.

By the sound of silence where a little girl used to sing along to the radio.

You don’t ask.

He doesn’t offer.

But sometimes, when he touches you, it feels like he’s begging something dead to forgive him.

You both drive.

Through America’s rotten belly. Past strip clubs turned churches. Past boys in trucker hats that whistle when you walk into gas stations. Past women with bad eyes who stare too long and smell the sin on you.

The pickup rattles like bones. The cassette deck is broken and plays nothing but static when you try. You hum instead, let your voice fill the gaps. He never sings. Just grips the wheel like he’s keeping it from slipping into the past.

You fuck in parking lots and roadside motels with cracked mirrors and cigarette burns in the curtains.

You fuck in the backseat while it rains so hard you think the world might flood again.

He pulls your panties aside, lips wet and eyes half lidded and mutters your name like it hurts.

You kiss him until your jaw aches.

You call him sir once.

He nearly stops breathing. His eyes darken.

Sometimes, you wonder if Sarah would hate you.

Would she see what this is?

Would she see the way Joel holds your hips like a lifeline? The way he makes you beg?

The way he growls, That’s it, baby girl, open up for me, like it’s your goddamn name?

Would she know you’re not replacing her—just filling in the silence she left behind?

You think maybe Joel doesn’t even know the difference anymore.

He watches you sketch him with a dull pencil on the back of receipts. You don’t show him the ones where he looks too lonely. You keep those tucked in your book like pressed flowers, like evidence.

He rolls cigarettes he doesn’t smoke. Just feels them between his fingers like muscle memory, like pain he doesn’t want to forget. You light one just to feel something warm in your mouth. The paper burns crooked. You ash it on the map.

“You’ll outlive me at this rate,” you tell him, exhaling.

“Not likely,” he replies. You don’t laugh. Neither does he.

In Missouri, you wake up to him crying into your neck. Quiet, ashamed.

He thinks you’re asleep.

You’re not.

You close your eyes tighter and pretend.

You press your thighs together and ache.

He never says he loves you.

But he touches you like worship. Like desecration.

His hands on your thighs are scripture. His mouth between your legs is a benediction. You bite your fist when he fucks you slow, like he’s unraveling a hymn. You dig your nails into his back and mark him up like territory.

“You’re not gonna leave me, are you?” you ask once, during a thunderstorm.

He doesn’t answer. Just takes your hand and puts it over his chest.

This is yours now, it says. Don’t break it worse than it already is.

You sleep in cheap motels where the neon signs flicker like bad thoughts. He pays in cash. You always take the bed closest to the window, even though you never sleep well.

You press your head to his chest in the middle of the night and whisper, “Do you think my mom thinks I’m dead?”

His breath stutters. “Maybe,” he says, quiet like an apology. “Do you?”

You don’t answer. You just close your eyes and listen to his heartbeat.

Slow. Wrecked. Steady like regret.

You don’t talk about the future. The present is too loud. Too wet. Too feral. Too hot with things you can’t name without blasphemy.

In Alabama, you fuck like you’re punishing each other. Like the world did something wrong and you’re gonna fix it with blood and spit and bruised hips.

You cry after. He watches you in the dark and doesn’t touch you.

Just breathes like he’s drowning again.

In Arizona, you pierce your ear with a safety pin in the rearview mirror. “This is my penance,” you say, more to yourself than to him. He wraps the bleeding edge with a piece of his shirt and doesn’t say anything.

In Oklahoma, a cop pulls you over. You lie. Smile like sugar rotting your teeth. Say you’re his daughter. Say you’re headed to school. He nods, lets you go.

Joel doesn’t talk for hours. When he finally does, it’s just your name. Your real name. Like it tastes bad.

You let him fill you raw. You let him press his lips to your bruises. You let him call you baby girl like it’s the last good word he knows.

You drive through states like you’re shedding skin.

You take photos of each other you’ll never print.

You fuck with the windows down.

You sleep with a knife under your pillow and his arm around your waist.

It’s not safe. It’s not holy. But it’s yours.

He calls you beautiful in the mornings, rough and ragged.

Like a curse. Like a blessing he’s not allowed anymore. You call him Joel like it’s a psalm. Like if you say it enough, he might believe in it again.

He flinches when a teenage girl laughs too loud.

You see it—the way he shuts down, turns away like smoke.

You don’t ask about Sarah. You asked about Tommy once and merely received a grunt.

But their name lives in the silence between every mile. They’re in the way he drives. In the songs he won’t play. In the way he sometimes looks at you and then turns his head too fast.

You think about dying more than you should.

Not in a sad way. Just in a curious one.

Would it hurt? Would it be quiet? Would he care?

You wonder if he thinks about it too.

Once, at a gas station in Georgia, he cups your face and says, “I’d bury the whole damn world if it meant keeping you safe.”

And you believe him.

God help you, you believe him.

You never talk about the future. You don’t dare.

You steal peaches from roadside stands.

You eat gas station pie on the hood of the truck. You kiss until your mouths taste like fire and forgiveness.

People stare at you sometimes—you, too young and wild-eyed, him, all gristle and grief and oil under the fingernails. Like you don’t belong together.

Maybe you don’t. Maybe that’s the point.

You don’t call it love. But it is.

Ugly, feral, holy.

Filling you raw with tears in your eyes and ‘I love you’ is on the edge of your bruised lips but you can’t. You really… just can’t.

There’s a kind of heaven in the rearview mirror.

And it’s burning like the end of a prayer.

♱

additional notes: if this blows up i MIGHT take fanfic requests since i’m bored out of my mind—also speaking of ethel cain, shameless plug but please follow my ig (@withlovelovi), i post arts, writings and other cool stuff there :P

[sageispunk]

What U Need (18+)

Kinktober prompt: exhibitionism (day 3)

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Teasing Joel underneath a table in a bar sometimes leads to getting ruined on the side of the road.

"Your hands trailed along the zipper of his jeans, fingers teasing his cock over the fabric long enough to make Joel Miller begin to fall apart right in front of you. Right here, in the middle of this bar."

wordcount: 2.5K+

warnings: no Y/N, preestablished relationship, age gap (early 20s + mid-40s), no-outbreak + no sarah, reader’s feeling a bit feral in a bar, joel doesn’t talk much at first, intoxication, teasing, exhibition/public play (no panties in public), over-clothes touching, cursing (obv), degrading language (he calls reader a “dumb fucking slut” at one point), unprotected p-in-v sex (WRAP B4 U TAP), foreplay, angry/horny joel, kinda desperate reader tbh, groping, joel gets a bit rough, the word “daddy” is used several times, dom/sub vibes, praise kink, CREAMPIE, reader has hair that can be gripped/pulled

A/N: follow my sideblog @sageispunklibrary and turn on notifs to be updated when i post!! 🩷

You were on your third– no, fourth cocktail since arriving at the bar with Joel about thirty minutes ago. Your body was so warm that you could feel your dress clinging to your skin from the light moisture. You looked across the table at Joel, who was silently people-watching as he nursed his second glass of whiskey. He looked so sexy tonight, dressed in a black crew neck shirt that was tight enough to show off the outlines of his chest and beefy biceps. He also wore the necklace you recently bought him for his birthday, a simple thin gold chain that you found that same night was nice to look at while he was propped up above you, pounding your pussy into oblivion.

The memory of that night began to play in your mind, making your body heat up even more. Your feet subconsciously moved around under the table as your thighs clenched, one of them bumping into Joel’s, bringing his attention back to you. “Y’okay there, darlin’?”

You looked into his dark chocolate eyes, and responded. “Mhm, just a little warm, is all…”

He could tell there was more but decided to leave it be, to your surprise. You could feel your frustration growing the longer you sat still in your seat. Then his phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up and let out a deep sigh as he began to type out a reply. “Work?” You asked, already knowing the answer. The only other option would’ve been Tommy, and Tommy would’ve just called.

Joel grunted out a ‘yea’ and set the phone back down. The lack of conversation had you feeling needy, not having seen him all day because of work, and even now at 10 o’clock, work was still getting in the way. You watched as he picked up the glass and knocked back the rest of his drink, the way his adam’s apple bobbed as the liquid slid down his throat had your brain feeling fuzzy.

You cleared your throat, deciding to down the rest of the margarita. Joel noticed you were finished too, and slid out of the booth. “Heading over, y’want another?” You nodded, making brief eye contact before your eyes nervously looked elsewhere. He lingered back for half a second, wondering what was making you act so strange, but decided to just head to the counter.

After Joel left, your neediness, horniness, whatever it was–it skyrocketed. Some part of you wanted to get up and drag him into the restroom so he could fuck your brains out in a filthy stall, but you knew he’d probably never go for it. Joel wasn’t a prude, far from it, but public sex wasn’t something the two of you ever got into.

Tonight though, you were feeling frisky and wanted to take some risks. Your booth was tucked away in a darker part of the bar, not many people were near you so you weren’t worried about being caught doing anything lewd. You briefly glanced around to be completely sure no one was watching, before slyly bringing your hands under the table, sliding your damp lace thong down your soft legs. Once you had the small fabric bunched up in your hands, you had to bite your bottom lip to keep a poker face. Excitement rushed through your system–paired with the alcohol, you were beginning to feel invincible.

A few moments later, Joel came back, both of your drinks in hand. As he slid back into the booth, he noticed the flustered look on your face and cocked his eyebrow a little. “Here ya go, baby.” His eyes were trained on your face as he handed it to you, the look in his eye a bit dark, calculating.

It turned you on, having no panties on in public, but even more that Joel didn’t know yet. However, you didn’t think this far ahead and you really wanted him to know as soon as possible, just to see what he might do. “Thank you, Joel..” You made doe eyes at him, taking in the way he shifted in his seat, obviously beginning to feel the effects of the brown liquor. “I missed you today, I feel like I don’t get to see you much because you’ve been working so much,” There was a slight pout in your voice, and it drew him in.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry,” His deep Texan accent paired with the petname sent a shiver down your spine, all the way to your lower belly. He leaned into the table more, face coming in closer and you could see the way his gaze kept moving back and forth between your eyes and your lips. “How can I make it up to ya?”

You mirrored his actions, leaning in on your left elbow with the side of your face in your palm, leaving only a few inches between both your faces. “Mm, I dunno, let me think..” You took this as your opportunity to sneakily find his hands under the table with your right hand, transferring the fabric to his hold. You innocently smiled at the confusion on his face while he pulled back to look at what you gave him.

“Wait don’t–” You chuckled as he almost brought the panties back over the table. Joel narrowed his eyes at you, trying to figure out what the hell you were trying to pull on him. Your eyes focused on his face, enjoying each expression on his face as he realized what he was holding.

He whispered your name, in a shocked but slightly dark tone, watching as you sat back in your seat with a big grin on your face. “What the hell do y’think you’re doin?!” He kept his voice down but the harshness remained. You could feel your seat getting wetter, your slick dripping down your thighs onto the faux leather.

With a shrug and another sip of your drink, you responded. “Just wanted to show you how much I’ve been missing you, is all.”

He was more taken aback than you expected. “By takin’ your panties off in the middle of a bar, like a fuckin’ slut??”

You leaned back in, faux innocence dripping from your lips. “I’m sorry daddy, do you not like it?” As soon as that word left your mouth, Joel’s eyes got darker, almost black. You had him. Your right hand snuck back under the table, finding its way to his crotch, where lo-and-behold sat a warm, throbbing, rock-hard cock in a tight pair of jeans. “If you don’t like it, I can put them back on. Might get caught though…” You slowly moved your hand up and down his bulge, finding pleasure in the way he struggled to keep his eyes open and stern.

“Seems you like it when I act like a slut, based on how hard your cock is for me right now.” You gave a gentle squeeze and smiled when he groaned, eyes fluttering shut and mumbling quietly. “Jesus Christ.”

Your hands trailed along the zipper of his jeans, fingers teasing his cock over the fabric long enough to make Joel Miller begin to fall apart right in front of you. Right here, in the middle of this bar.

“Alright, that’s enough.” He snapped out of it, eyes coming back up to meet yours with nothing but need in them. “Get the fuck up. Now.” You removed your hand, a bit thrown at the harshness of his voice but ultimately turned on and ready to do anything he asked of you. He threw back the rest of his whiskey and pulled out his wallet, as you sipped the remnants of your drink.

Joel threw down a wad of cash on the table before looking at you with a look that said “don’t make me repeat myself.” You stood, careful to keep your way-too-short dress below your ass, a gasp leaving your mouth at the wetness you left behind on the leather. As you took a napkin to wipe it up, Joel quickly stood up and roughly grabbed your arm to pull you in front of him, an effort to hide his huge boner from the other patrons. “Come on, sweetheart.” He gritted in your ear, letting you sort of guide him out the bar and to his truck.

For the past five minutes, Joel had been yelling your ear off. He was mad, mad that you would pull that shit in his favorite bar. Where everyone there knows him and his quiet but handy reputation. He was mad that you would risk fucking that all up ‘just for some dick.’

Like he doesn’t know the hold his dick has on you.

Anyways he shouted at you, driving about 15 over on the same dark road the two of you took to go home everyday. It didn’t bother you, really. You knew there was a chance he’d be pissed off, you were prepared. What was bothering you was the fact that you still hadn’t cum. You thought maybe he’d be mad and you would have the best angry sex of your life, right in the truck outside the bar, but nope.

“Are you even fuckin’ listening t’me?” His voice cut through your thoughts again, and you looked over, not even having to answer because he could read the look on your face. “Of course not, all you care about is your fuckin’ pussy. You probably can’t comprehend a goddamn thing I’m saying right now, can ya? Dumb fucking slut.”

The words he spit out at you had an unreal effect on you. The degradation had you sopping wet, surely soaking his seat. You tried not to squirm too much but you were in desperate need of some friction, you needed something or someone to touch you. Taking a deep sigh, you chose to not respond to him, focusing more on ways to achieve an orgasm without touch. Your thighs trembled slightly as they squeezed together, giving your clit a little extra stimulation. A breathy moan escaped your throat, catching Joel’s attention once again.

He didn’t comment this time, just glanced over at you with a look you couldn’t place. You saw him shake his head from your peripheral, but you paid him no mind, continuing your squeezing and looking out the dark window. Suddenly, the truck was pulling off onto some dark backroad that you’ve never gone on. Joel parked off on the side and cut the car off.

“What–” He cut you off. “Get out.”

You unbuckled, a bit confused but following orders nonetheless. Once you were out of the vehicle, you walked around the back where he stood. “Joel, what are we–” He grabbed you by your hair, pulling your face close to his, so that you could see him better.

“Since you can’t control yourself, we’re just gonna have to do this here.” His lips were so close to yours, you wanted so badly to move closer to feel them on your own, but his grip on you was tight. He tilted your head back with the fist in your hair, exposing your throat to him, other hand placed firmly on your jaw. When you felt his hot, wet tongue lick a stripe along your neck, you thought you would combust.

“Joooeellll…” You cried out, almost overstimulated by the way he was licking and sucking on your favorite spots. He groaned into your skin, the sound sending a pang to your lower stomach. God, he needs you as much as you need him.

You brought one hand down to his cock–still hard as a rock in his jeans–groping and squeezing the bulge, pulling more deep groans out of him. He took a break from his conquest on your neck and chest, turning you around to face the tailgate of his truck. “Fuck, darlin’...you’ve been wanting this all night, huh?”

You shook your head. “All day, daddy.”

“Say it again.” He ground into your ass with his cock, and you pushed back, wishing he would just take them off.

“I’ve been thinking about you fucking me all day, daddy. I want your cock so bad, I need it in me please, just fuck me please…” You rambled, desperately needing him to ruin you.

You heard his zipper open, then the shuffle of his jeans down his legs, and you felt as though you’d been lost in the desert for weeks and finally, you’ve come across a cold spring of water. “One more time for me, baby.”

“Please fuck me daddy.” You cried out, not caring if anyone could hear you, even though it was unlikely in this rural area. As soon as the last word left your mouth, Joel pushed you forward slightly, causing your dress to finally roll up to your waist, and slid right inside of you, the both of you groaning in unison. He pulled back out slowly, drawing a long wail of his name out of your throat, before he quickly thrusted back inside of your warmth. His long, thick cock stretched you out and filled you up to the brim, reaching your favorite spot with each thrust. “Fuck, baby, goddamn this pussy is so fucking wet f’me…” Joel groaned praise into your ear, one hand still in your hair and the other now gripping your hip.

You used the little energy you had left to meet his rhythm, throwing your ass back to him, occasionally receiving a hard slap or two. “Joellll, baby, fuck!” Those three words made up your only vocabulary for a couple minutes, until he got you right there, at the edge.

“I’m so close, daddy.”

“I know baby, I can feel it, let go f’me okay. Cum for me sweetheart, you got it.” The degradation from only a few moments ago paired with the sweet things he was now panting in your ear had you about to explode. One of your hands gripped onto the tailgate and the other went straight to your clit, rubbing as fast as you could.

All you could hear was your own breathy moans, paired with Joel’s deep groans and the sloppy, gushing, wet unity of your two bodies.

Your entire body tightened up as you tipped over the edge, finally getting that release that you’ve needed all day. You screamed out in total bliss, your eyesight leaving you for a few moments. Right behind you, Joel let out a longggg groan, crying out to you. “Fuck, baby I’m cumming.”

“Cum for me, daddy, fuckkkk..” You felt him pulsing inside you, filling you up until it was leaking out around his cock. His hips slowed and stuttered, eventually slowing way down, his upper body resting on your back. “Jesus Christ,” Joel panted, leaving a couple kisses on your back.

You chuckled, all of a sudden feeling very, very tired and blissed out. Joel left one last kiss on the back of your neck before slowly pulling out, trying not to overstimulate you, with his cum spilling right after. “Oh, fuck,” you shivered.

You turned around and threw your arms over his shoulders as he pulled his jeans back up, sloppily pulling him in for a kiss, needing to feel his soft lips on yours. He obliged you for a few moments, before pulling back and grabbing something out of his back pocket.

Your panties.

“C’mon baby, let’s put these back on and head home.”

AAAAAAH finally published, i know it's past midnight now its a little late (not if we count the west coast tho hehe). but my second post (and my first joel fic)!! so excited to share this with you guys, i rlly hope u enjoy it!! please like and reblog (and leave plenty of comments) if u do. feel free to send requests/suggestions!! <333

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

[belit0]

Hello,I found your blog and loved the way you write I haven't seen many blogs writing about Indra. I fell more in love with him thanks to you; Indra, we thank you because there is the Uchiha clan, could you ask Indra, Madara, Izuna, Shisui, Itachi and Sasuke to have a partner who, from a very young age, has been raised to be a very strong warrior by her father, who had no more children, and who, because of that, is a woman who follows the philosophy of you are born a warrior, you die a warrior? Her training was very spartan, which allows her to fight them for hours. She is a very disciplined woman (she would be able to do harakiri if she found herself cornered and without escape by the enemy). I love your writing.☺️☺️☺️

Thank you!!! also, this (y/n) is just insane ajdhaksdh

Indra

The sword breaks first.

Her shoulder follows.

She doesn’t cry out.

She just breathes, staggered, dust clinging to sweat on her temple as she struggles upright with her dislocated arm.

He watches from the shade of the trees, obsidian eyes unblinking.

–You should stop.– Indra says at last.

She lifts her bladeless hand, regrips the broken hilt in a reversed grip.

–I am not done.

Indra steps forward, slow. His aura is still, unreadable.

–And if this were war, and your arm could not be used?

–I would grip my blade with my teeth if I had to.– she answers. –A warrior does not yield until the heart stills.–

He doesn’t smile. He only speaks once more, voice low:

–Even warriors deserve a moment of mercy.

Then, he sets his own sword down… and begins to reset her shoulder with hands gentler than war should allow.

Madara

He’s angry.

Not at her—but at the way her fingers bleed from training, knuckles split and red down to the nails.

She’s wrapping them again, too tight, too crude.

She doesn’t ask for help.

–You’re going to ruin your grip.– Madara growls, crouching in front of her to snatch the linen from her hand.

–A ruined grip is better than unfinished form.

He meets her gaze, fingers halting mid-wrap.

–That’s not strength. That’s self-destruction with discipline as the excuse.

She flinches—just a blink.

And Madara, not one for gentleness, bandages her properly.

Tighter than necessary, but not cruel.

His voice lowers.

–Let me help you hold the sword. You don’t have to bleed for it every time.

Izuna

She doesn’t laugh.

Not even when he falls flat on his back after their third spar of the morning, gasping.

–You are… merciless.– he groans into the grass, one arm thrown over his eyes.

She stands above him, motionless.

–You asked me not to hold back.

–I meant it, but still…

When she turns to leave, he grabs her wrist—not hard, just enough to stop her.

–You know you don’t always have to fight alone, right? I can spar. I can bleed. I don’t mind. But I can also stand with you.

She stares down at him like she doesn’t understand the language.

But her fingers don’t pull away.

For her, that’s the loudest yes in the world.

Shisui

She trains alone at night.

He knows, because he’s watched—silently, from the rooftops, for weeks now.

One night, he doesn’t stay hidden.

He drops in beside her, catching her wooden blade mid-swing.

–You're going to burn out your shoulders if you keep those movements so tight.

She blinks. –Then I will rebuild them stronger.–

–Or you’ll tear something and lose them altogether.

She goes to step around him. He steps with her.

–You don't have to keep proving yourself every night.

Her jaw sets. –I’m not proving. I’m preserving. If I stop moving, I forget who I am.–

He touches her shoulder, barely.

–You are not only what you can kill.

It’s the first time she flinches.

Itachi

She holds her blade like a monk holds prayer beads—ritualistic, reverent, controlled.

Itachi watches her breathe.

Watches her move.

Watches her win.

And then he watches her hesitate—only for a second—when the fight ends and no one speaks to her.

No praise.

No name.

No touch.

That night, he leaves a folded cloth beside her gear.

Inside: a single kanzashi hairpin made of blackened steel.

Beautiful.

Deadly.

Elegant.

He never says it’s from him.

But she wears it the next morning, her hair held in a warrior’s twist—without ever letting it fall in her eyes again.

Sasuke

He hates how quiet she is.

She beats him.

Then walks away like he didn’t even matter.

So he calls after her.

Loud.

–You think pain makes you stronger? You think dying for a sword makes you better than the rest of us?

She turns. Slowly.

–No.– she says. –It just means I don’t fear death the way you fear weakness.–

He doesn’t know why, but it stings more than it should.

Later, when she sits alone beneath a tree with her blades beside her, he drops a rice ball near her knee.

Not a word exchanged.

But when she eats it, slowly, he feels something shift.

Not forgiveness.

Not affection.

But acknowledgement.

And that’s enough.

[silentmoths]

A lick and a promise

Its been *squints* Seven months since i cooked.

god damn its been seven whole ass months CRIES

Boothill got me so fkn good i cant even BEGIN to explain why he's such a comfort character for me ok he just IS.

Boothill x Reader (fem but it's really only mentioned in regards to anatomy.)

NSFW

Enemies to Lovers (kinda?), Smut, Hurt/comfort (kinda?), Oral sex, fingering, boothill is a gd kendoll (sorry boothill genatalia nation i just...wanted to write this like he was a ken doll LEAVE ME-)

7k words, NOT PROOFREAD

The first time you run into the Galaxy Ranger known as Boothill, you’re not sure what to make of him.

You were just an unsuspecting casualty, the pilot, nothing more. Flying ships for the IPC had to beat minimum wage, right? This was your first real gig with them, something a little more secure.

If you managed to make it off pier point without having a gun aimed at you that is.

A…cowboy. You’d heard about them, of course, but seeing one in this day and age was almost unheard of unless you travelled to planets far out in the west, ones untouched by the IPC and their ‘modernizations’.

Yet this cowboy also seemed to be touched by said modernizations, considering almost all of him was made of metal. Hell, all of him might be synthetic, nanotechnology was a terrifying thing, it could eat away the organic and replace it with the inorganic, mimicking skin and its blemishes, hair and all its different shades, like the curtain of black and white you see before you. 

“Han’s where I can fudgin’ see em.” He warns quietly, pistol pointed directly between your eyes. You do as he asks, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t being paid enough to put your life on the line for…whatever the hell you were carrying, you didn’t know, the IPC didn’t enforce ledger-checks- You tell the cowboy as much when he asks.

“Yeah that tracks.” he mutters with a roll of his visible eye. “Lookit’ you, still wet behind the darned ears.” 

“D-do I get a pardon i-if I told you it was my first day on the job?” you manage to squeak out, a terrible habit really, opening your mouth in times you should really stay silent…but the cowboy cracks a grin, a very sharp-toothed grin.

“Ah heck, really?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he spins his pistol in his hand and tucks it away into its holster. “Look I aint’ got no beef with ya. ya ‘ aint even wearin’ an IPC uniform-” “C-contract work.” You cut in with your explanation, only scolding yourself after the fact for, once again, interrupting the one with the gun. “The IPC really gettin that desperate, huh?” He snorts, his robotic fingers flexing as he himself goes to check the ledger, it was obvious he’d done this a few times…perhaps thats why the IPC had started hiring a third party, someone new for him to kill.

And yet he doesn’t kill you. 

He ties you up, sure, but he’s not an entire ass about it, he even apologises when he pulls the rope a little too tight and you squint.

“S’a formality.” He mumbles as he ties the knot tight “y’understand.”

“I guess…Just…thanks for not killing me I guess, Mr.Cowboy.” You shrug, perhaps you were still in a little bit of shock, perhaps you were coping with humour and ‘funny’ comments…perhaps, inside, you wanted to cry because of course of all the times to be held at gunpoint it was your first day working for the IPC.

“Name’s Boothill.” He corrects. Boothill, huh? You’d read about that…some eons old name for gunslinging cowboys who should have been dead. 

After you had been discovered, set free, and promptly fired, you decide to look up this ‘Boothill’ character; you find little other than his bounty…whoever he was, he kept himself pretty closed off…made sense for a galaxy ranger.

-

The second time you encounter Boothill, you’re working on a satellite array. It’s a shit job, it was freezing cold out here, and the welding masks given to you and your coworkers by your bosses were cheap, low quality, offering little protection from the welding torch and its bright, concentrated glare.

After your firing from pier point, no other freighting company was willing to take you on, and in a desperate attempt to get some damned food into your belly, you’d taken this job on some far out meteorite, repairing this shitty, run down satellite so the IPC could extend their reach further.

If the bosses had bothered to do a background check, they would have seen the unfortunate mark next to your name.

’Banned from all positions within IPC jurisdiction’ 

But considering the shit pay, shit hours, and shit accommodation? The old hand’s out here didn’t really care much for the ‘official’ rules; so long as you weren’t being actively hunted.

There was no sun out here, so every few hours there was a mandatory UV break, in which you all got to return to the little sleeping pods that were nothing but glorified transport containers with a wall sectioning off one third to make a bathroom; just to sit beneath a UV bulb. 

Whoever had lived in this one before you had stuck up a picture of a beach on the wall you had to stare at beneath the lamp, and faintly, you wonder if they ever made it there- or had they just keeled over dead from overwork? That seemed more likely, considering nothing had been cleaned out of your pod when you’d arrived. 

As you bask in your shitty, simulated sun, an explosion wracks the entire facility, sending you toppling to the floor as the world spins, cracks apart, opens like the gnashing teeth of some horrific space creature.

Was it a space creature? Had the meteorite collided with something it shouldn’t have? You didn’t want to find out, but you sure as fuck weren’t about to stay here and probably die once the oxygen field around the place sputtered out. The emergency guide tape’s you’d been forced to watch are nothing to help against the real thing, a real emergency. There are sirens blaring, the stark white light’s had all died, replaced by that infuriatingly anxiety inducing red as you struggle to put your space suit on. 

Just make it to a shuttle, they weren’t far, thats all you had to do.

It’s a mantra you tell yourself as the ceiling above you begins to crack and crumble, your time here was up. 

As you wrench open the door to your pod, you collide with someone. Considering you yourself looked like a glorified marshmallow in the emergency suit, you certainly weren't expecting the person you collided with to be as…hard as they were, solid like steel to the point you’re sent toppling back and unceremoniously onto your back, like a turtle.

A familiar pistol is pointed at your helmet.

No fucking way.

Boothill stands there, grin on his face and a gun in yours as he looks you up and down before howling with laughter. “Now what in the hay is that?” he wheezes as you struggle, only to stop when you push the visor of your helmet up, revealing a face he recalls. “No fudgin’ way-”

“You again!” You screech, flailing your limbs as you attempt to stand in this…ungainly suit. “What the fuck are you doing here now!?”

“I could ask you the same mother forkin’ question!” He barks back, yet despite it all, he withdraws the pistol and even shows some mercy, reaching down to pull you back onto your feet “the fork you doin here?” 

“Well, someone got me fired from my last job!” you snark at him “and now it looks like I'm out of another, what did you do!?” “Blew up tha’ satellite!” He chuckles as if he’d just won at an arcade game and not caused millions of credits in damages. You open your mouth to…you don’t even know- Shout? Scold a wanted criminal? Beg for mercy? When the world tilts again, the sound of rock cracking and metal creaking fills your senses; resulting in you simply screaming out of fear. 

This was it, this was where you died. On a rock, in the middle of space, blown to smithereens by a cowboy. Except, the cowboy reaches down, and for a moment you think he’s going to kill you, just to stop the screaming. Instead, he grabs your arm and yanks you upright without a word, tugging you along behind him like you weighed nothing in this stupid marshmallow safety suit. (perhaps, to a cyborg, you didn’t weigh anything.)

Boothill cares little for the smoke and the flames, and you are just a leaf in his wind, guided through it all with scary precision until there is suddenly nothing and you realise what he’d just done.

This fucking cowboy galaxy ranger had just leaped off of the edge of the meteorite, dragging you along with him. 

Correction; this is how you die, once you left the gravitational field, you’d just be stuck…floating in the void of space forever…no one would ever find your body-

Before your thought can finish, you crash into something hard, a ship, you realise, you had fallen into the open loading hatch of a ship, unlike boothill who landed on his feet, you’re simply a pile on the floor.

You hear the cowboy laugh as he turns to look at you, and you thank the fact that you’re face down from keeping your likely red, teary face from his scrutiny. 

“Y’alright down there?” He asks.

“Peachy.” you mutter back, your muscles ached, but the adrenaline was already beginning to wane, suddenly the suit felt…heavy, impossibly heavy as you listen to the sound of the ship’s hatch closing. “Why’d you save me?”

Boothill thinks on it for a moment. Why had he saved you? It wasn’t really his M.O, saving people, especially when they worked for the IPC…he supposes a part of him felt a little bad… you hadn’t been working for them directly last time…and because of his stunt, you’d lost that job and had resorted to working for them in this backwater shithole of an array. 

“Eh, Y’aint worth killin.” he responds after a moment “S’not like you’re the mother fudger I’m looking for anyways.” 

Something about the way he says it…stings. Not worth killing? 

Slowly you sit up, a terribly ungraceful affair in this stupid space suit as you pull the helmet off entirely and toss it to the floor, there was no point hiding the tears anymore. 

“Wh- hey now! What’s got in yer’ boot?” Boothill balks at your teary face “what’s tha’ matter?”

You hate how stupid you must look, crying, red in the face…embarrassing really. But after the scare you’d just had, you don’t have the forwithall to keep your composure anymore.

“Whats the matter?” you mutter, staring at the cold, metal floor of the ship “what’s the matter is that you have single handedly managed to lose me not one, but TWO JOBS!” 

You don’t mean to shout, really, you should be thanking him for saving your life. 

“I’m BANNED from working for the IPC!” you cry “I wasn’t even meant to be working here! But where else am I meant to go!? EVERY job is somehow overseen by some division of the IPC, I can’t work anywhere else! Now you say I’m not even worth killing!?”

Boothill stares, the gears turning as he simply takes the emotional vitriol thrown his way. It had been…a long time since he’d found himself faced with this kind of problem.

“Aw shirt…” he mutters, realising his words had only worsened the situation. He takes a knee, pulling his hat off as he watches, he sees the way you’re shaking, your fingers flexing; he might be ‘old fashioned’, but he could recognize a panic attack. “C’mere, let's get this great forkin marshmallow suit off ya.” 

You don’t even have the faculties to push him away as cold, robotic fingers begin tugging away at the velcro, the zippers and the straps. Breathing was getting harder, everything ached. Only once the galaxy ranger had pulled you free of the confines of that damned suit could you expand your chest properly. Too small, you realised, the suit you’d been given was way too small.

“Easy, easy, easy.” Boothill mutters as he sits you down “jus’ breathe.” 

Easy for him to say, did a cybernetic cowboy even need to breathe?

He could see the struggle, but what the hell was he meant to do about it? It wasn’t wrong..the IPC had their fingers in so many pies… finding a job untouched by them? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack. 

It wasn’t often Boothill felt…guilty. But somehow…you’d managed it.

“Aw c’mon, don’t gimme the waterworks.” he sighs “Look…ah’ll admit I forked up your job prospects, I’ll fudgin’ take that responsibility… will ya at least lemme see if I can help?”

“What can you do!?” You cry at him “If the IPC catches wind that I’ve somehow been caught up with you again-”

“Lemme take ya to a planet the IPC don’t care ‘bout.” He cuts in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “Been there plenty, they’re good folk, they’ll help ya.. Ya just…gotta trust me.” A planet untouched by the IPC? That seemed like a pipe dream…

“Impossible.” you mutter “any planet the IPC finds, it conquers.”

Boothill grins, that same toothy grin you remember from your first encounter with him. “I know, right? But this one? This one’s special.”

Eyama II was a small planet with little in the way of resources the IPC wanted or needed, a dwarf planet no less, nothing but a speck of dust floating through their air filters. It was a self-sufficient, homely type place…if he was being honest with himself, it’s where he would want to retire if he ever saw his goal through…living the simple life he used to know before the IPC had ripped it from him. 

He knows it’s not the most…elegant solution, but he knew some fine folk there, some fine folk who might just be willing to help the poor outcast he’d created. -

It’s a long trip. It had to be if it was out of the IPC’s gaze…but that did mean a long trip with Boothill.

In a tiny two person at most ship.

You didn’t really know what to expect, if he’d just tie you up and put you in the corner…but as it turns out…he’s somewhat hospitable… ok more than somewhat.

After you’d calmed enough to be reasoned with, he’d handed you a bottle of nondescript nature. Without much thinking, you’d taken a swig, eyes widening at the distinctly alcoholic taste. It wasn't anything strong like whiskey, but it was enough of a shock.

“Malt juice.” He clarifies as he takes a seat at the helm, setting the warp drive “figured it’d help calm ya nerves.” You blink down at the bottle before slowly taking another, more temperate sip.

It…wasn’t bad…actually it was pretty good. It burned your throat just enough to keep you in the present.

You both talk…small things, you ask him how he knew of this planet, and tells you about all the planets he’d visited that weren’t under the IPC’s thumb, how all of them were nice, simple places.

He tells you that he thinks you’d like Eymaya II, he thinks everyone would like Eymaya II. It had rolling hills and green valley’s. The people were mostly farmers, ranchers, common folk just going through the motions to get by, but not in the same nihilistic sort of way most did. Good, honest living, as he says.

Part of you wonders if there ever was a time this ranger worked a good honest life, if this whole…cowboy thing was a facade, or if it was real, remnants of a past he couldn’t return to. You’re not sure if it’s his conversation, the malt juice, or both, but you eventually begin to open up, about your home life, about your terrible habit of cutting into conversations when you were nervous, all of it. 

And when you begin to fall asleep? Your head nodding slowly where you sat, you feel a cold, metal hand rest on your shoulder.

“C’mon, you need ta’ rest.” He tells you, guiding you to the cot that looked seldom, if at all used.

For a wanted criminal who had put you out of two jobs and nearly killed you both times…he was surprisingly kind.

-

He wasn’t wrong about this planet. It was beautiful, the air was fresher than you could ever recall, living in the city.

Apparently, the look on your face says as much. Boothill chuckles, tilting his head softly as he watches you take it all in. “Told ya ye’d like it.” He hums, something in his mechanical chest whirring with..pride perhaps? Satisfaction? He wasn’t entirely sure, but seeing a face that, so far, all he’d seen from was fear and upset finally show…wonder…it felt good. He wanted to see it more, perhaps even a smile one day. 

He takes you to the inn, sets you up with Jodie, an elderly woman who had been around the block quite a few times, she didn’t put up with Boothill’s antics, more like…a curmudgeonly aunt at first as she barks at him for not calling in sooner, only for it all to melt away into an almost familial warmth as the cowboy explains himself, explains you.

“now child I know you did not lose this poor thing not one but TWO jobs!” She scolds, hands on her hips. 

There is a lick of satisfaction as you watch boothill shrink beneath the innkeeper’s rage. 

“Donchu’ worry hon, we’ll getcha set up here, somewhere this block for brains can’t accidentally getchu fired. Only thing that’ll do that around here is laziness…you aint lazy, are you?” she asks, turning to you and squinting her beady, aged eyes at you, making you stiffen up as well.

“N-no ma'am!” you bark instantly “I-I promise to work hard and earn my keep!”

This atleast, seems to settle her some, and before you know it, you have a hot meal and an ice cold drink in front of you, and you want to cry again.

You actually feel…somewhat sad when boothill has to leave…anxiety twisting in your gut… would you really be okay here? Would you survive? 

But he pats you on the shoulder and grins, and something about it is…comforting.

Something about it made you want to try.

-

It’s five years until you see Boothill again.

Jodie had grown too old to continue running the inn, and somehow, against all odds, it was you who had taken over. The entire place was yours, and you were happy. 

Not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how you ended up here, but then you recall, the enigmatic cyborg cowboy who had hijacked your ship, and then blown up a satellite array.

Somehow, your outlook on him had turned from disdain to…a strange sort of affection. The frigid anger had melted away, and what replaced it was a sense of…thankfullnes for what he’d done for you. Working here, away from the almost all-encompassing reach of the IPC had opened your eyes to just how…corporate everything felt, and how it so desperately wasn't you. 

It’s a late evening, you’re closing up for the night, the bar had emptied of all it’s usual late-staying regulars, and those who had rooms rented for the evening had already retired. 

You’re polishing a few glasses when the door swings open.

“Well now, there’s a face I ain’t seen in a forkin long time.” 

The voice is familiar, and has you turning, a small smile tugging at your lip. A mixture of feelings racing through your chest.

“Well well, come to let me collect your bounty, Sir?” you snicker, placing the glass you’d just polished beneath the malt juice tap to pour him a glass.

Boothill laughs, sauntering in with the swagger you remember as he drops into the stool closest to you. “How’ve you been, Boothill?” you ask him, setting the glass in front of him and waving away his credits. You owed him one drink, atleast, “what’ve you been up to?”

The galaxy ranger snorts, throwing some of his long hair over his shoulder “How long ya’ got there, sweetheart? S’gonna be a long story.”

“I own the place now, and we’re closed, so all the time in the world.” you hum, deciding to pour yourself a glass as well after locking the door. “Shoot, really? What happened to ol’ jodie?” He asks, voice tinged with legitimate concern as you drop into the barstool beside him.

“She’s fine, she’s fine..just old is all.” You assure him, finding a little comfort in the relief that washes over his features.

“Ah, fork don't scare a guy like that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair “thought Jodie had up n’ left us.”

“Nah, she’s got a while on her yet.” you snort, taking a sip of your drink.

The conversations run long into the night, catching up, listening to the thing’s he’d done, places he’d seen…IPC operations he’d torn apart at the seams. He listens to you too, as you tell him about how things have been here, catching him up on anyone he asked about. It was like talking to an old friend. You weren't sure…what boothill was to you…a friend? An acquaintance? It was…complicated. 

More malt juice enters your systems, you ask if it actually has an affect on him.

“You know…being a cyborg and all..” you mumble, feeling a distinct warm dusting to your cheeks as the malt settles. 

Instead of responding with words, the galaxy ranger reaches out and takes your hand into his. He feels…

Warm.

“You tell me, darlin.” He chuckles after a moment, watching you though half-lidded eyes. You barely even notice, more curious about how the alcohol affected him. Without even thinking, you run your fingers along his exposed arm; you weren’t going crazy, he was warm, almost humanly so. 

Your fingers continue to wander without much thought until they brush along his jawline; the sudden transition from steel to skin is what finally snaps you out of your own thoughts, pulling back with a squeak.

“O-Oh aeons I’m sorry!” you fluster at his face, his eyes are wide and his mouth slightly ajar. “I-I got carried away I’m-”

His hand reaches out again, clasping yours and pulling it back towards his face as he rests his cheek into your palm.

“Don't.” He murmurs, softly, softer than you’d heard him before. “Keep goin…please.”

A realisation settles across your mind.

“You…you can’t feel most touch…can you?” 

He doesn't look you in the eye, but he does sigh, only burying closer to your warm palm, worn after years of working hard…but still human.

“S’not that I can’t feel…I can…but..s’mtimes it’s so forkin dull I might as well not…but..my face is…”

“One of the few places you can feel.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling a pang of sympathy. You didn’t know how long Boothill had been like this, but you could wager long enough that he was more desperate for a kind touch than he probably even realised.

“Yeh…” he mutters, his lips turning down into a frown “sorry…ah know it’s probably-”

“Shut up.” you mutter, turning to face him fully, your other hand coming to rest on the other cheek as you watch this man, this gunslinging galaxy ranger, falter. His eyes widen before he shuts them entirely, leaning into it, starved of this type of affection.

“F’ya don’t stop this bullshirt m’gonna think you might have some feelin’s for me, darlin’..”

You didn’t know if thats what it was…but you didn’t want to stop either, a part of you wanting to sate you own selfish curiosity…another part wanting to do this for him.

“It must be a lonely existence, living like you do.” the murmur leaves your lips before you even notice you’d spoken out loud, thumbs stroking over his cheek bones. Boothill stares at you in silence for a long moment, his gaze calculating, probing. 

“I thought ya’ hated my forkin guts…” He mutters.

“Perhaps once, for a little bit, I did.” You admit “But then you brought me here, and I’ve never been happier..”

A beat passes, then another, and another. Boothill stares at you, the feel of your hands on his face something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

And then he leans forward, lips crash together and the taste of Malt juice and perhaps a little bit of oil is on your tongue.

You don’t pull back, if anything, you lean into it shamelessly. 

Robotic hands grip your waist as your own finally shift from his face to wrap around his shoulders. At some point his hat goes flying off elsewhere, but neither of you care; too strung tight, too wound up to care.

His teeth are as sharp as they look, but he’s careful with them as he nips at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the little beat of blood he manages to draw.

“Shirt-” He mutters against your lips, his eyes shut tight, you can hear his inner mechanics whirring, like a mechanical heart about to rabbit from his chest “fudge, if you don’t stop me now darlin I’m gonna keep taking-”

“Then take.” you mutter back at him, tangling your hands into his surprisingly silky hair and yanking. “Take what you want.”

“Oh trust me, I would but..” Boothill’s growl trails off, and for a moment he looks…embarrassed. You can’t for the life of you figure out why until he steps closer, your knee brushing between his legs- oh.

“Flat as a forkin’ brass tack.” he mumbles. 

You’re not sure why, it might just be the curse of your horrible humour, but your attempt at not giggling only sets you off into laughter that you attempt to muffle into his shoulder.

“Ey, watchu laughin at?” you expect boothill to be…mad at your outburst, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, feel the tremble of his own laughter “t’aint funny.”

“It kinda is.” you snicker out, pulling back to look him in the face. He looks a little sheepish, but thankfully, mostly just amused. “It’s okay…we’ll figure something out..”

His toothy grin settles back into a dangerous little smirk as the moment passes again, the kind of smirk that makes your belly twist a little. “Oh yeah, I got some other tricks up my sleeves.” 

Without much more to say, you find yourself being lifted, thrown over the cowboy’s shoulder- as you open your mouth to say something, you’re interrupted with a harsh slap to your ass, resulting in nothing but a squeak.

“Where’s yer room?” He snickers as you glare at him. 

You consider not telling him, being a brat, but the charming smile he returns to you is… yeah it does something stupid that goes right to your crotch. 

“Upstairs…first door on the left.” you mutter, flustering at the way his grin widens. 

If you didn’t know better you’d almost describe Boothill as practically skipping up the stairs, the angle for you however was a little trepidatious, and you find yourself clinging to him for a little more stability, right up until he carefully tosses you down onto the plush of your bed, landing with a soft thud.

He’s back on you, and your hands are back on him without him needing to ask; you can see the relief it brings, the way his eyelids flutter and his brow pinches as your fingers glide across his cheek, down his chest and along his arms, still warm, you note…

His lips return too, his own hands untucking your shirt just to get under it, metal fingers gliding over the smooth of your belly, up the your sides as he groans into your mouth. You wonder how much he can actually feel, if it was still dull, or if the alcohol had heightened his mechanical touch sensors somehow. You didn’t care, he looked happy, legitimately happy, like a dog being scratched behind the ears as you indulge him. 

His lips move from yours and he begins to nip and taste elsewhere, his nose brushing against your own as he leans in, nuzzling at your cheek, nipping at your jaw, revelling in the little sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you, especially when his wandering hands wrap behind your back and find the clasp of your bra, it comes undone with a surprisingly expert tug and you moan softly at it. 

(Who could blame you? You’d been wearing the damn thing all day.) 

You wished there was something you could do for him, something to pleasure him like he was doing for you, but you forced yourself to be content with touching him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at the soft strands; running your thumbs over his cheeks, tracing the shells of his ears.

Boothill however, seemed just as hellbent on touching you, but he had far more room to move, to explore, to play. 

Metal thumbs find your nipples, embarrassingly hard and sensitive after being trapped in the confines of your bra all day, and you moan as he rolls them both, back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm that leaves your breath light, and your stomach twisting in knots. 

Pointed teeth find your throat, nibbling and worshipping every inch of skin they could catch. You’d have to wear a scarf tomorrow if he kept that up, lest the regulars at the bar notice the strange bruising… but you don’t stop him; you were all in on…whatever this was now. 

A metal hand pulls away long enough to pop the buttons on your shirt, leaving the plane of your torso open and exposed to his gaze, nothing short of hungry as he stares down at you. 

“Fudge…” he mutters, his voice husky “That’s a nice view…” 

“Tease.” you huff.

“Tease? Oh ah’ll show you tease.” He snickers, his mouth returning to your skin, working lower, biting at the junction of neck and shoulder, nibbling along your collarbone before the cowboy shifts further, his tongue darting out to lap at one nipple whilst a hand works the other.

You gasp and moan, a hand quickly coming to muffle your cries, cheeks alight with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. Boothill only chuckles, his eyes trained to your face as he lays, settling between your legs as he rests atop you to continue his work, but at least he doesnt pull your hand away, too engrossed on what he could feel opposed to what he could see and hear. 

He switches breasts while his free hand trails down, over the soft plane of your belly and to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and sending the strap of leather flying across the room before those fingers return, popping the button of your work jeans and dragging the fly down. You groan softly in appreciation at the relief it brings, only to feel those metal fingers working the waistband down.

Just what was he planning? you wonder internally as he gives your nipple one last, harsh suck before releasing it, making you keen beneath your hand. 

“Feelin good, darlin?” he whispers. He sure sounded like he was feeling good as he nuzzles against your skin, nipping at your stomach and trailing lower, hands gripping at your jeans, pulling them and your underwear away in one swoop, leaving you open, exposed, and embarrassingly wet. “Y’sure look it..” he adds with a low whistle “aint that a sight.”

“B-boothill-” You mumble, an attempt at closing your legs out of embarrassment only sandwiching his head betwixt your thighs. He grins at you; it’s such an endearingly handsome thing, it makes you feel like this wasn’t a first time thing between you both, like he knew you, like he was comfortable with you, which only added to the heat in your belly.

“Aw don’t go gettin all fudgin’ coy on me now.” he snickers “After all those drinks’ ya’ gave me downstairs, I’m still kinda thirsty.” 

His metal hands part your measly human thighs with shameful ease as he leans in close; you squeal when you feel his hot tongue lave down your inner thigh, warm breath so achingly close to your cunt it was maddening.

But it seemed Boothill was just as desperate as you were, his mouth attaching to your cunt after only a moment, taking in your squeal as his teeth gently roll your clit, the added danger only serving to make you wetter. 

“F-fuck! Boothill-!” you moan out, forsaking keeping yourself silent as your own hands scramble across the sheets, searching for something, anything to ground yourself as his tongue laps at your folds with fever; they eventually find and settle in his hair before giving it a tug.

Boothill groans, the sting is only arbitrary, but he loves it, he loves being able to feel something. The warm plush of your thighs around his ears, the heat of your cunt as he sucks on your clit, only made sweeter by your cries. He’d missed this, he’d missed this a lot..

“Y’aint seen nothin’ yet, darlin.” He growls low and loving against your thigh in the brief moment of reprieve he gives you. You stare down at him with hooded eyes,your knees already trembling from his vicious onslaught; he nips the soft, sensitive flesh of your thigh with a cheeky smirk, holding up a pair of fingers, watching your face as he slowly drags them through your wet folds, collecting your slick; you gulp. “Like a’ said, I got a few fun lil’ tricks up my sleeves.” His mouth returns, lapping and pulling you right back into the overwhelming, wonderful pleasure as a slick metal finger circles your entrance, slow, methodical, torturous. You nearly sob with relief when he finally presses the digit inside, the metal actually making it easier. He hums his approval at how easily his finger is sucked in, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out; taking things at his pace- perfect.

After a little while, you feel that finger beginning to probe, to prod and search for your G-spot, and before long he finds it, signalled by a loud gasp and a sharp tug at his hair, only pulling his mouth closer, his tongue working away at your clit like he wasn’t driving you absolutely mad with pleasure.

Once he’d found the spot, he retreats, slowly adding the second finger and beginning the cycle again, stretching you, filling you stupidly well; it was an absolute tragedy that he didn’t have a dick…at this point you were so stupidly horny, you would have climbed on top of him just for a chance to ride him.

(somewhere in the back of your mind, the saying ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ reverberates) 

As you’re right at the height, right at the edge, he suddenly stops, his fingers cease their movements and he pulls his head away, resting his chin on your naval as he stares up at you with such a stupidly loving look that it makes your heart twist; his chin was absolutely drenched in your slick, but he looked so very content.

But you weren’t.

“B-boothillllll-” you whimper, tugging at his hair again, why had he stopped!? Now of all times? You could feel his metal fingers pressed against your G-spot, but unmoving, they did little to pleasure you. You clench around them, but that too, yields little results.

“Sorry sweetheart, just wanted to see your face when I did it.” He chuckles, his smile twitching up in the corner.

“D-do whAT-” your question cuts off abruptly when the fingers inside you suddenly burst to life with vibrations, the strength of which you’d never experienced before. Your body coils and you nearly scream as he rams those fingers into your G-spot, stars exploding behind your eyes whilst pleasure cuts through your belly like glass. 

“That.” He hums, satisfied as he returns that sinful mouth of his to your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. His fingers were harsh and rough, crooking into your G-spot one second, and then splaying out the next, dragging rough and harsh against your walls; his tongue however was soft, gentle, slowly and carefully rolling circles around your poor little nub. You were going to go crazy, he was going to drive you insane and you were absolutely letting him. Your body reacts on its own, thighs squeezing hard around his head, spine arched upward; your hips prevented from bucking thanks to one of his arms, wrapped solidly around your thigh and holding you down to the sheets, forcing you to lay there and take it.

You knew the walls here were decently soundproof, but even you began to question if they could muffle out your cries, made worse when Boothill suddenly sits up, pulling you up along with him, practically folding you in half as he continues to feast on your pussy like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, his vibrating fingers plunging somehow deeper.

At first you struggle for air with the new position, your knees almost at your chest, but then he switches the angle of his fingers and aeons-, you didn’t think it could get worse than this. But the pleasure this new angle brings, it’s new, its terrifying and you don’t quite know how to articulate that to the galaxy ranger causing it all. Your hands scramble clawing and tugging at any part of him you could get ahold of, his name falling from your lips along with incoherent babble, desperation and worry all balling into one feeling you couldn’t describe as he continues to piston those fingers into you, hitting your G-spot with such accuracy, the flame in your gut turning from a high heat to a near-volcanic overload as you jerk and struggle.

The final straw is when you crack open an eye, catching sight of him, staring back at you with such…love, such unbridled affection.

You scream his name as you cum, harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Your faintly feel yourself make an absolute mess of his face, arms, your back and the sheets below you as your world turns white.

–

A soft, damp cloth carefully rubbing over your skin slowly pulls you back into reality, rousing you from the soft and gauzy subspace of post-orgasmic bliss. You try to shift, to sit up…to…something- but a hand carefully manoeuvres you to lay back down on a thankfully, dry patch of sheets.

“Easy, darlin’” Boothill’s familiar southern drawl hushes you down “Nearly done.”

You crack an eye to find him carefully cleaning you off with said damp towel. Methodical but careful. You’re trembling from the exertion, but boothill looks absolutely fine, the bastard. 

In fact, he looks better than fine. A smile plastered on his stupid face as he works away, wiping sweat and other…fluids, off of you. 

When he was done with that, he wraps you in a clean sheet and lifts you, sitting you down on the trunk at the end of your bed, just so he could change the set you’d obliterated with your unexpectedly rough orgasm. You sit there, watching him, half asleep and pleasantly dozy before he pulls you back into bed, pulling you into his side. A glass of water is pressed against your lips as he encourages a few sips into you. 

You spend the night sleeping with him curled around you; the quiet whirr of his mechanical body providing a pleasing, soft white noise while hands stroke through your hair.

–

“Do you have to go so soon?” You ask as he reaches for his hat.

He’d been here a week, and it had been…for lack of a better word; wonderful. 

But all good things had to come to an end you supposed. The look on his face was enough to tell you what you didn’t want to hear.

“I gotta. I ain’t done yet.” He tells you quietly, despite this, he holds out a hand, a silent request for you to walk with him…the inn and the bar would be fine for a little while.

“I’d ask ya t’come with me, but that’d be the biggest forkin mistake I could ever make.” the cowboy admits. He wanted you to, he’d never felt so content as he had in this week, but bringing you meant putting you in danger…aeons know he’d done that enough already.

“Will you…at least come and visit me?” 

Boothill snorts as they meander their way towards his ship “O’course I will.”

“How often?”

“S’often as I forkin can.” 

You both stop beside the ship, it had a few more dings and dents than you remember, but it was still in surprisingly good condition.

“Well…” you mumble “at least you know you’ll always have a room at the inn while I still run it.”

“Y’mean yer’ room?” He snickers. “I forkin hope you intend on running the place as long as possible, I pulled in a good favor from jodie to get ya yer’ start ‘ere.”

You smile at him. Boothill thanks every aeon in existence that his cybernetic eyes had a camera function, so he could save that face and look back on it when he was drifting through the universe.

Slowly, he pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he leans down to press his lips to yours, one last time for the road.

“I’ll be back as soon and as often as I forkin can…y’hear?” He murmurs, you nod; fighting away the sting behind your eyes as you step back.

“I hear…and…Boothill?” you ask as he turns around to step onto his ship, looking at you over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

[wryuxim]

this has been in my drafts way too long, and again, i suck at writing, but i’ve really needed to say this. how the hell is millionsummers so normalized in the fandom? well i know why, but it’s honestly crazy to me how 90% of the pretty small amount of legato fans in existence ship him with knives. like do you even understand his character? sure if you haven’t read trimax (like too many people) you literally wouldn’t know anything significant about him since he’s just kinda there in the other iterations. all you’d see is evil guy x bootlicker right hand that have minimal interactions with each other. don’t get me wrong, i could get behind that. like it even. but the issue is that there’s more to it than just that. even if you haven’t gotten to legato’s backstory in the manga, it’s clear from the start that the way that knives treats him crosses the line of average evil toxic yaoi bull. like literally the very first time we see them interact knives casually shatters every bone in legato’s body bro. causing irreparable damage and rendering someone a quadriplegic(?) after they were probably trying to get you a new body for the past 7ish years is so romantic, right!! He also just disregards him as a person and is generally shitty and all that which is kinda mean of him to do ngl. yeah you could say erm actually knives does care about legato though, he’s just too much of a stubborn bitch to show it!1!1!!1!! and i agree with that (to an extent, not getting into it though) but like…that doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s literally abusive. and that isn’t even considering literally everything about legato himself. he was horrifically abused for as long as he could remember. he doesn’t know what a healthy relationship of any kind is. he chose to serve knives (despite being well aware of how he was) because he never knew a life outside of that. he thinks that’s all he’s good for and knows he won’t be anything more to knives, yet still kills himself trying to prove his worth. knives is someone he is unhealthily dependent on who causes him to become more and more self-destructive. just because knives isn’t the same as his previous abusers doesn’t mean it’s not just another shitty situation he fell into. i do think legato’s feelings towards knives could be some sort of crush, but it’s more of a one-sided obsession than anything. to think that it’s an actually good cute little pairing baffles me.

i think what i’ve said so far is enough of an argument ig, but there’s still my main point left. i held back on this till now because of the crazy amount of people say he wasn’t for whatever reason, but legato was a CHILD when they met. like do y’all SERIOUSLY think he’s an adult here??

i really don’t want to pull up panels from his backstory flashback, but you literally cannot convince me. nightow didn’t need to state it outright for it to be pretty obvious that he was a kid. we see how he draws other characters when they were younger as reference so you can clearly see the differences in proportion. i mean just compare it to how he looks throughout the rest of the manga, especially near the end. just because he doesn’t have a confirmed canon age doesn’t mean that there wasn’t an intent there. y’all are grasping at straws to justify it.

also the same applies to elendira (x knives) because of the super secret third legato flashback:

i won’t count this as proof for legato because tristamp (though a separate canon) kinda muddies it, but woah she’s not an adult. also irrelevant but knives was smiling at him 😞😞 i’d like to think he was nice to them at one point but this isn’t about that. the fact that people probably take this to fuel their millionsummers makes me very very sad.

back on topic though, there’s another side of the copium spectrum. i can’t believe i have to say this, but i’ve no joke seen people say that legato and knives were both teenagers when they met as if that makes any damn sense. the twins are both confirmed over 150 years old. in trimax, the july incident happened ten years by the date before the events of the last few volumes (cited in my last post), and legato doesn’t look all that different in the two flashbacks. and the flashbacks or any other evidence i could pull out my ass don’t even actually matter because knives is old as fuck and legato is obviously a normal human age. again, it’s just straw grasping bro so please give up 😭🙏

and if you don’t give a shit and loooove grooming mentally ill teenagers you pick up off the streets then fuck off?? you’re gross and legato would hate your ass. i probably have more to say but i can’t think of anything rn so that’s it for now. millionsummers is cringe and this fandom is a prison. but like a cartoon one where the bars have large enough gaps between them to walk through.

[ghostedglitch]

Prelude

prelude - an introductory piece of music.

The Third Movement in a Symphony of Teenage Shenanigans (Third Movement or thirdmvmt for short) is a series of short humanstuck fics centered around high schoolers and best friends Karkat Vantas and Sollux Captor as well as their friends and families. It’s a pretty simple AU and it’s loosely themed around Karkat being a choir kid, hence all the titles being music terminology.

I've pulled a lot of little details directly out of my own life. Third Movement is absolutely "Harper self-indulgently projecting, the fic" and I'm never going to apologize for that.

This post, Prelude, is where I will keep information about this world, including character profiles, headcanons, and details about the world. As such, I may change or add things as the series grows.

Last updated January 14, 2025

Individual character profiles below the cut:

KARKAT VANTAS

Age: 16 Birthday: July 12 Height: 5’3” (160 cm) Pronouns: He/him (He’s pretty apathetic about gender actually, he would probably be open to anything* but this is what people default to and he doesn’t care enough to investigate further.) Orientation: Asexual, biromantic Family: Kankri (brother), Kanaya (cousin), Porrim (cousin) Occupation: 11th grader Hobbies and Interests: Singing, theatre, film, creative writing Voice part: Tenor *For the sake of clarity, since Third Movement is written in third person instead of first or second, the narration will only ever use he/him for Karkat.

Karkat is the “performing arts” variant of your typical overachieving AP student. Instead of physics and calculus, his areas of expertise are literature and music. He holds himself to very high standards, both in his academic performance and in every other aspect of his life. Growing up with a sense that he is inherently different from his peers** in ways he can’t put his finger on, Karkat pushes himself in the hopes that his achievements will compensate for his shortcomings. He would be doing this to a degree even without all the pressure to excel that he receives from his older brother Kankri. Perfectionism seems to run in the family. **this guy is straight up autism

He needs glasses but he nearly never wears them. Fortunately his vision isn’t that bad and he can get around fine so long as you don’t ask him to read a sign on the other side of the cafeteria. 

Constantly fidgeting. Tends to bite his lips and pick at his fingernails without even noticing.

Prone to insomnia.

Because typing quirks don’t really exist for humans the way they do for trolls, Karkat doesn’t always type in all caps. Typically, he will type with proper caps and punctuation, and uses all caps for emphasis (frequently).

SOLLUX CAPTOR

Age: 16 Birthday: June 2 Height: 5’2” (157 cm) Pronouns: He/it* (transmasc) Orientation: Aroace, but romance favorable (he’s dating Aradia) Family: Mituna (brother) Occupation: 11th grader, math tutor to 9th graders Hobbies and Interests: Programming, gaming, sleeping in Voice part: Alto or tenor (contralto) *For the sake of clarity, since Third Movement is written in third person instead of first or second, the narration will only ever use he/him for Sollux. As an it/its user myself I hate to do this but it’s just so things don’t get too confusing.

Sollux and Karkat have lived next door to each other and been best friends since they were tiny. They trust each other with everything. Sollux is an introverted gifted kid, the sort who can get perfectly fine grades without really trying—which is why he doesn’t put in any more effort than absolutely necessary. His favorite people on Earth, the people he’s the most open and comfortable around, are Karkat, Aradia, and Mituna. If you’re inviting him somewhere and you actually want him to come, you’d better also invite one of those three.

Unlike Karkat, Sollux is nearly never seen without his glasses.

He is excellent at math and science, and is a year ahead in math. He’s just sort of okay at English and history, but that’s fine, he’s got Karkat.

Half-Korean. “Is he mixed-race because that’s two, or because you’re projecting?” Yes.

Karkat persuaded him to join theater tech so he could be there when Karkat performs without having to be onstage himself.

Because typing quirks don’t really exist for humans the way they do for trolls, Sollux’s capitalization and punctuation patterns are the same as usual but he doesn’t make any substitutions, except to replace any instance of to/too/two with a numeral 2, including within words like “today” or “into”. For instance: “are you going 2 come over 2night or is it 2 late?”

ARADIA MEGIDO

Age: 16 Birthday: April 4 Height: 5’6” (168 cm) Pronouns: She/they Orientation: Bisexual Occupation: 11th grader, part-time McDonalds employee for now (per Sotto Voce) but she's quitting soon because she hates dealing with Eridan. Hobbies and Interests: Singing, archaeology, media about ghosts Voice part: Alto

Though she has a tendency to unsettle people with her tone of voice or cheerfully morbid comments, Aradia is a generally cheerful and curious girl who prefers to live in the here and now rather than dwell on the past or what-ifs. She’s dating Sollux and she’s in the same choir as Karkat. 

Sometimes dyes part of her hair dark red.

On their first anniversary, Aradia taught Sollux how to make a friendship bracelet, and they each made one for the other. So now, Aradia almost always wears a dark golden yellow bracelet, and Sollux is nearly never seen without a dark red one.

KANKRI VANTAS

Age: 22 Birthday: June 24 Height: 5’8” (173 cm) Pronouns: He/him Orientation: “I’m too busy for that.”* Family: Karkat (brother), Porrim (cousin), Kanaya (cousin) Occupation: College senior Hobbies and Interests: Activism, volunteer work for charities, writing Voice part: Baritone

*He's aroace and hasn't quite worked that out yet. He just thinks he's too busy to care.

If you thought Karkat was too perfectionistic you’re not ready for this guy. His high expectations make Karkat look relaxed. The problem is that his standards don’t apply just to himself—and he isn’t always gentle about it. Karkat often clashes with Kankri over his tendency to act like a secondary, even stricter parent.

After graduating high school he got involved in a big volunteer project alongside his father (Signless, but I haven’t named any of the parents and I kind of don’t feel like it) and took a gap year to focus on that.

MITUNA CAPTOR

Age: 19 Birthday: May 29 Height: 5’10” (178 cm) Pronouns: He/him Orientation: Pan Family: Sollux (brother) Occupation: College sophomore Hobbies and Interests: Gaming, skateboarding Voice part: Tenor (loud)

Sollux’s excitable and reckless older brother. The two get along very well—most of the time. (Mituna was the first person Sollux came out to, and he’ll always be grateful to have such a supportive brother. But also, Sollux knows EXACTLY who stole his good Pokemon cards when they were kids, and has no intention of letting that shit go.) Though Mituna often struggles to articulate himself and doesn’t have the best impulse or volume control, he’s also really fucking smart and he thinks it’s hilarious when people forget that.

A few of his favorite games are TF2, Minecraft, and Splatoon.

Likes to wear bright colors. I am partly noting this for myself because I am my own illustrator and I have a pretty subdued taste in clothes colors. 

Though he shares the same two-toned aesthetic with his family, he didn’t inherit the mismatched eyes Sollux got.

As a plot point in Subito Pianissimo I’ve given him some sort of chronic illness that I haven’t nailed down any details about. I don’t expect it to come up again with enough prominence that his exact diagnosis would matter… but I hate leaving question marks!

ADDITIONAL CAST

Kanaya and Porrim Maryam: Ages 16 and 23 respectively, the Maryam sisters are the Vantases’ cousins. Porrim is only slightly older than Kankri, but she’s usually one of the first people he turns to for help. Similarly, Karkat and Kanaya are extremely close and often turn to each other for advice.

Kankri and Karkat's father: So the dancestors are siblings and the ancestors are parents so this is Signless. He's dedicated his life to putting more good in the world through activism and volunteering. Kankri very much follows in his footsteps, or tries to.

Mituna and Sollux's father: Close friends with Karkat's dad. His main job's IT but he also helps Signless with his projects.

Feferi Peixes: Age 16 (all the beta trolls are juniors). Energetic, optimistic, and impressively popular, star student Feferi Peixes is involved in so many school organizations and events that no one is quite sure how she does it. This year she’s determined to win student council president, and has recruited Karkat to help with her campaign.

Latula Pyrope: Age 19. She’s been dating Mituna since they were 14.

Eridan Ampora: Age 16. Has an assortment of internalized phobias to get over. Karkat is friends with him but constantly questions this decision. Eridan has a blatant crush on Feferi who has repeatedly rejected his advances. Sollux fucking hates Eridan and delights when bad things happen to him.

UNIVERSE NOTES

ID cards drawn January 8-9, 2025

This post would've been an entry in the series itself on AO3 but I couldn't tell which side of the fence it fell on regarding the content guidelines so I'm erring on the safe side.

I haven't decided yet if I'm going to include the beta kids; I work better with smaller casts. If an idea presents itself to incorporate them in a way that has to be them and not anyone else, I won't restrain myself, but as of now this AU is pretty centered on the Vantases and Captors (and, given my whole everything, I'm not expecting that to change much).

[bluedalahorse]

sunday snippet #2: continuing the canon divergence experiment

You also want some first year August and third year Erik, don’t you? Obviously you do.

Not going to indent this one because it’s longer.

Content note for many ideas relevant to August and Erik at this age: toxic masculinity, misogyny, bullying, drug use, traumatic grief, and disordered eating and exercising.

—

August is working out when Erik finds him in the gym. The advantage of spending so much time at the rowing machine—beyond building up muscle mass, not that August has built up enough yet, he has to keep going—is that it provides an excuse for the pain and the exhaustion. It numbs out the numbness, at least for a time.

Erik is clapping and making celebratory flexing gestures at August as he crosses the room. He’s been doing that more often since their recent rowing victory against Sprucewood. August glances sideways at the mirror, and ends up pinching at the skin of his stomach.

“I’ve got updates,” interrupts Erik, when they are standing close enough together to converse in low voices. “Your brothers are getting together tonight.”

“Tonight?” says August, turning away from his reflection. “Really?” 

Tonight is cursed. Tonight has the warped gravity of a black hole. Maybe that makes it a good night to be out with the Society, where someone might take pity on him and slip him a halfway decent pill for later.

Workouts can only do so much, after all.

“It’s Friday.” Erik shrugs. “I don’t recall anything urgent on your schedule. Unless you’ve got a hot date? Maybe with your hand?”

The jerking off gesture is expected, but it still makes August’s face burn.

“Erik,” he splutters. “Fucking—”

The usual retorts get stuck in August’s throat. It’s easier to have a comeback, with other guys. You just say no, with your mom and the whole room dissolves into laughs and rowdy chanting. But Erik’s mother is Her Majesty Queen Kristina of Sweden, and August’s cousin once removed. She is the living symbol of the traditions August’s ancestors have defended and died for. The idea of invoking her name in a your mom comeback makes August’s stomach twist like he’s about to throw up. Pappa would be furious with him for something like that.

“Relax.” Erik reaches out and ruffles August’s hair. “You know I fuck around with Wille the same way. If you do have a date, you can say so.”

“It’s just…” August pulls his shirt back on, avoiding both Erik’s gaze and the mirror. “Tonight…”

“I know.” And then Erik steps around so his eyes meet August’s, and his expression softens into something more solemn, and it’s obvious that he does know what tonight is. What it’s the one-year anniversary of this weekend.

“Look, we don’t want you to be alone tonight, okay?” says Erik. He rests his hand on August’s shoulder. “We want you to be with us. You’re family.”

“Okay,” says August. “Thank you.”

Erik’s hand remains on his shoulder. His palm is warm, and he gives August a squeeze. A question needles August in the chest: if he moved closer, would Erik hug him? He closes his eyes and pictures it, and realizes he wants Erik to. He hates that he wants Erik to hug him, but he’s never had a brother before and Erik can be an asshole to him but then Erik also says he’s the same way to Wilhelm and he calls August family and maybe August is too sensitive about stuff after all and it’s.. it’s confusing.

August says nothing. He does not move closer. Erik’s shoulder doesn’t feel warm anymore, but it doesn’t feel cold, either.

“Besides,” Erik adds to the silence. “No one else mixes the drinks as well as you do.”

Of course they don’t. August has been mixing drinks for people since his age was a single digit. If he closes his eyes he can still hear the ring of his pappa’s crystal when liquid hits the bottom of the glass.

“Vincent mixes them too fucking sweet,” August says, to shake the memory away. 

“So girly of him.” Erik laughs. 

After a moment, August laughs too. That’s hardly throwing Vincent under the bus, since Vincent was the one who recently blabbed to the third years about how August still hasn’t had sex with anyone. With all the crap August has been getting about that from Erik and the others, he’s within his rights to say a lot worse about Vincent.

Erik claps August on the back. “One more thing. We’re low on gin. I don’t care, but Rasmus will complain. Can you arrange for more before this evening?”

It’s a command more than it’s a question. August nods. He’ll text Nils, who has a guy he knows in town for whatever reason, and they’ll transfer money around until the gin arrives at Hillerska without incident.

As August gathers up his things and prepares to head back to his dorm, he notices that Erik is grinning at his phone with an unusual intensity. He’d wonder if Erik’s getting more texts from the girl who had to sign the NDA, except Erik announced at dinner last week that he wasn’t into her anymore. Too pick-me, Erik said. You need a girl to be the right amount of desperate for you. Otherwise she’s high maintenance.

“Excellent,” Erik is saying, not to August, as he types out a text. “Perfect.”

“What’s perfect?” August asks.

“Later,” Erik replies with a wink. “You’ll thank us.”

August would feel nervous, if he could feel anything other than grief and self-loathing right now.

[lauronk]

Hmm... Maybe an AU fic where ellie is a singer and joel is her bodyguard? Idk

okay so this one i just did as a ficlet but also i could fully see myself coming back and fleshing this out later, it would fit so well into alterationsverse!

chasing all those stars

length: ~1.9k words tags: joel & ellie; alternate universe - modern; brief mentions of attempted assault; brief mention of someone being killed; depression; father-daughter relationship; joel's still the best dad no matter the universe; no beta we die like david

i kind of just jumped into the middle of this one, but like i said, i might come back and make more of it at some point. hope you enjoy!

Ellie doesn’t really remember a time when she wasn’t doing this. Sitting on stage with a guitar, singing songs she scribbled on napkins. First in dive bars, open mic nights, pretty much anywhere that had a microphone and a stool for her to sit on, even places she shouldn’t have been because she was too young. Her voice wasn’t really anything to write home about - she wasn’t gonna be the next Kelly Clarkson - but it was good, and really Ellie’d always had more of an eye to being a songwriter than anything. Plus…she just wanted out of her house, wanted to earn a little bit of pocket money that her foster father couldn’t touch.

But then some record exec had happened to be at an open mic one night at the Mohawk, and before she could blink it felt like Ellie had been swept away to New York to record a demo. And the demo had been well-received, and she’d been given a contract and then she was recording an album, at the grand old age of fifteen. You’ll be the next Taylor Swift, someone had said to her, and then promptly been confused when Ellie had cringed away. She had nothing against Taylor - she had the entire Red (Taylor’s Version) vault on repeat most days- but she couldn’t think of an artist more opposite than herself.

And now here she was, twenty years old, third album almost complete, three Grammys and four People’s Choice awards under her belt, management already gearing up to promote her tour, and Ellie was just…

Exhausted.

She’d bought a house out in Boston that she never got to spend time in because she was always on the road somewhere, doing some promotional appearance, on a tour, filming a music video. Never enough time for herself, barely time to do what she really loved, which was writing songs. Half of this album was songs other people had written, and Ellie felt those songs chafing against her skin every time she sang them.

Ellie’s head rolls along the back of the chair, turning until she’s looking out the studio window to where her bodyguard sits, brow furrowed as he scrolls on his phone.

At least she’s got Joel. Through all the insanity, she’s always got Joel.

He looks up at her now, corner of his lips tilting up when he sees her already looking, and he pushes to his feet when she tilts her head. He moves a bit slower these days - he’s just turned sixty, which is well past the usual age for a bodyguard, but she’s got younger, more scarily muscular men to guard her when she really needs it.

Joel is…he’s like an emotional support blanket at this point, not that she’d ever tell him that.

“You about ready to go, kiddo?”

Ellie sighs and holds out her hands for him to pull her up, which he does obligingly. He’s still strong, even at his age, still could probably hold his own in a fight. Definitely still lethal with a gun when necessary, definitely still willing to kill for her. He’d only had to do it once - and her foster father had really had it coming - but Ellie knew he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Joel picks up her guitar case before she can and slings it over his shoulder, guiding her out of the rented studio with a careful hand between her shoulder blades. Ellie doesn’t say anything as he loads it in the back of his SUV and opens the back door for her - he never lets her ride in the front - and he starts to drive them back to her penthouse.

She stares out the window, not really seeing their surroundings, until Joel calls her name from the front seat. He’s watching her through the rearview mirror, furrow in his brow.

“Y’alright?”

Ellie blows out a breath, watching the buildings grow taller and taller around them. Nothing against New York, really, she had just never quite pictured herself living here.

“Is it stupid that I’m unhappy?” She asks, looking down at her hands. Her cuticles are already picked raw, so she leaves them alone, instead tugging at a loose thread on her absurdly expensive designer jeans.

“Why would it be stupid?” Joel flicks on the blinker, making a right. In the distance, Ellie can see her building. Her manager had said the penthouse was a good investment, prime real estate, excellent price, secure building. And it was all those things.

But it was also all modern angles, glass, dark furniture meant more to be looked at than sat on, and so many goddamn windows. Two years with it as her primary residence and it still didn’t feel like home. It was like a crash pad instead, a place she was borrowing from a stranger - not somewhere she could see herself living forever.

“Because.” Ellie pulls on the thread even harder. “I’m rich and successful and have the life a gazillion people would kill for. What’s there to be unhappy about, right?”

Never mind that she hadn’t been able to make it work with Cat, or that her friend Riley had been killed by a crazy fan who had broken into Ellie’s last apartment, or that her foster father had tried to swindle all her money and then assault her, and she’d had to watch Joel blow the man’s brains out to save her.

It’s Joel’s turn to sigh. “Just because you're rich don’t mean you don’t have problems. You’re allowed to be unhappy.”

Ellie makes a noise of assent but doesn’t say anything else as they pull into the underground parking of her building. Joel carries her guitar again - and he’s the only one she lets handle it, seeing as how he gave it to her - and then swipes the keycard for the elevator.

It’s not until they’re upstairs, her guitar carefully removed from its case and set on its stand, that Joel nudges her to sit down on the couch. He lowers himself to the coffee table across from her and rubs a hand over his chin. He fixes her with that look that he so rarely gets, the one that says he’s about to make her talk about shit she doesn’t want to talk about.

But Ellie doesn’t stop him, because if anyone’s got the right it’s him. She stopped pretending two years ago that Joel was just her bodyguard and not the closest thing she’s ever had to family, and so had he.

“Talk to me, baby girl,” he says gently, and the knot of anxiety sitting in her chest slowly unravels.

Ellie sucks in an unsteady breath, annoyed to find herself blinking back tears, and she whispers, “I don’t know if I wanna do this anymore.”

Joel doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised by her words, just nods slowly. So Ellie keeps going.

“I always just…wanted to write songs. Didn’t really care about performing them, just needed a way to get all this shit out of me. And it felt like suddenly here I was, given all this,” she waves her hand towards the apartment she hates, “over people who worked way harder and wanted it way more. And I feel like an asshole for not being grateful enough for it, not appreciating it, just wishing I could give it back.”

The tears are flowing freely now, and Ellie digs the heels of her palms into her eyes, pressing until roughened hands encircle her wrist and gently tug.

“You’re not an asshole,” Joel says firmly. “You’re not,” he insists when she starts to shake her head, “and you ain’t allowed to bad-mouth my kid like that.”

Ellie lets out a wet laugh, the same flare of warmth erupting in her chest that she always gets when Joel calls her that. “Sorry.”

He swipes at her cheek with a thumb. “You wouldn’t be the first person to achieve their dreams and find out it ain’t what you thought it would be, Ellie. There’s no shame in admittin’ that. And if it’s makin’ you so unhappy, you can always walk away, baby. All the wealth and fame and awards in the world ain’t worth you bein’ miserable.”

“Walk away to where?” Ellie asks softly, hating how much just the suggestion of it has lifted her spirits already. Logistically, of course, it wouldn’t be that easy - she’s contractually obligated through at least this third album and one more tour in support. But after that?

After that, she could just fucking leave, and the realization makes Ellie feel like she can breathe for the first time in…years.

Joel shrugs. “Dunno, ‘s up to you to figure that out. But –” he hesitates, rubs a hand over his jaw again. “When’s your next big thing? Appearance or anythin’?”

Ellie wants to tease him for not knowing when he’s the one that’s supposed to be escorting her to all these things, but it’s not like she can think of it either, so she pulls out her phone to open her calendar. There’s over two dozen unanswered texts and another ten missed calls, and Ellie’s heart rate spikes even as she ignores them.

“Looks like three weeks from now,” Ellie says slowly. “And that’s the time where I’m supposed to be getting a few more songs down for the album.”

“Well,” Joel scrapes his palms over his thighs, “why don’t you and I take a roadtrip? I ain’t been out to see my brother since last Christmas, and he’s been on my ass about it.”

Right, Joel’s brother. The one with a lawyer wife and a toddler son, who owns a ranch out west somewhere. Ellie’s never met him, despite Joel trying repeatedly to make it happen, but she’s afraid that Tommy won’t like her or won’t think Joel should still be guarding her. And what the fuck would she do then? She can’t lose Joel.

“We can drive out there,” he says coaxingly, reaching forward to shake her knee, “spend a couple weeks relaxin’, you can do all that introspection you ain’t got time for anymore, figure out what you wanna do. Maybe even get some songs written while you’re at it.”

He says the last part teasingly, and Ellie whacks him with a pillow, rolling her eyes. “Never should’ve told you I was blocked,” she mumbles, even as she knows it’s not true. She always tells Joel everything, shit that reporters would kill to find out. He was the first person she came out to - she trusts him more than anyone else.

Joel bats the pillow away and leans down, arms braced on his knees. “We don’t gotta do that, baby. We can figure out some other way, but I just thought…couple weeks out in middle-of-nowhere Wyoming might do you some good.”

Ellie chews her lower lip, mulling it over. The more she thinks on it, the more she likes the sound of it. Even if Tommy and his family don’t like her - despite Joel assuring her repeatedly they would love her - she can at least get a bit of peace and quiet.

“I’ll even let you ride in the front seat,” Joel tacks on, grin pulling at his mouth, and Ellie feels an answering one spread across her own face.

“Swear?”

“I swear,” Joel replies, still grinning, and Ellie sticks out her hand for him to shake.

“Deal.”

thanks for reading!

[futuremrsdrcullen]

This Love Came Back To Me - Chapter 2

It's Finally Here!!!! I can not apologize enough for how long this took to get out. But here it is! I hope you love it.

Summery- I was completely overwhelmed with this looming dread. This wasn’t just about Bella anymore. Though that was bad enough, this involved me now. Despite how often Edward disregarded my safety and despite how desperately Carlisle tried to protect me from this;

My life was in danger.

It was never going to end was it?

Word Count- 8,775

Warnings- Vampires- and all the things that go along with vampires (blood, biting, age gaps, sparkling, dramatics) a lot more swearing this time. There's some minor injuries and some very minor character death. mentions of vomiting (2 actual vomits, due to injury) Battle, fighting and planning. It's all very happy I promise.

There is no imprinting and there never will be <3

Notes from me- My name is Claire and this! This is finally my third love child. I started writing this on the 27th of July in 2022. I lost hope a few times but it's here and I hope you love it. Thank you, so so much for staying with me.

As always, I DO NOT own The Twilight Saga. All rights go directly to S. Meyer.

Read on AO3 <3

Masterlist <3 (Preface, Ch 1)

I love you <3 Thank you for still being here <3

I had gone home for most of the duration of the school day. I wasn’t sure what to expect when Alice called me halfway through folding my laundry.

“Is everything alright?” I barely had enough time to get it out before she was yelling on the other end of the line.

“If I lose this car because of Jacob Black-”

“Alice, could you please calm down for a second?” I could hear the sound of her heels on the hardwood floors as she paced. “What is going on?”

“Jacob Black showed up at the school and Bella ran off with him.” I had to bite back a laugh. Somehow I knew she would manage to escape. I stayed as quiet as I could manage while Alice continued, “Edward is going to kill me and take away my Porsche all because Bella wants to throw herself head first into danger.”

“It will be fine, Alice. Just… don’t call them, okay? I’ll go down to La Push and check on her and report back.”

“I don’t think that will make anything better. Carlisle will just be angry at me too.”

“He’ll… get over it.”

She sighed, “Just make it quick, okay?”

“Of course.” 

I did not leave as quickly as I could have. I stayed long enough to switch over the laundry. I did the dishes and cleaned out the leftovers from the fridge. I hoped that my stalling would give Bella some time. I wouldn’t drag her home if she wanted to stay, but I also didn’t want to ruin her time.

They weren’t at the Black house when I got there. I waited for a few moments, just in my car, not wanting to chat with Billy if it wasn’t necessary. I could wait here and hope they come by, but couldn’t return to Alice empty handed.

Of course, I wasn’t there for five minutes before Sam was knocking on my car window. I sighed but got out as he held the door for me. 

“Y/n? What’s up?” He almost sounded concerned.

I crossed my arms across my chest. “I’m just looking for Bella.” I said like it wasn’t

obvious.

“She isn’t here, but I’m sure they’ll swing by later. Did your leech send you out here to scope out the situation?”

I pulled my lips into a tight line. “No one sent me. He wouldn’t be all that excited to know I was here.

“He doesn’t know?” He smirked and I wanted to smack him. “I didn’t take you for a rebel.”

I forced a laugh. “I’m not rebelling. I can do whatever I want- Could you just drop the wolfy bullshit and tell me where my sister is?”

His grin didn’t falter. “Probably on the beach, but you don’t have to worry about her.”

I moved to get back in my car but he still held the door. “I’m not-”

“She’s safe here, you know?” I nodded. “There probably wouldn’t be a safer place if Jacob had his way.”

“She’s happy with Edward. She’s safe with him too.”

“Sure, Sure…”This time I smiled warmly at him. I knew he was being genuine. I was still annoyed but I could appreciate his efforts. “I might agree that you’re safe with Carlisle… But Edward and Bella?”

“They’re young and in love. We’ve been there.” I pushed his arm lightly; He barely moved. I did not think too much about what he’d just said about Carlisle. “Sometimes we choose what's wrong for us… Sometimes what’s wrong for us is exactly what we need.”

I didn’t mean it as a jab, I didn’t know the whole story between him, Leah, and Emily, but he winced. “Maybe you’re right.” His voice was less cocky. I might have felt bad, if it wasn’t Sam.

I didn’t have time to dwell before Bella and Jacob were pulling up. When she got her helmet off I couldn’t tell if she was happy to see me or annoyed.

She walked over to us with her hands in her jacket pockets. “If you’re here to kidnap me again, I won’t go.”

“I’m not. I’m just here to check in… And then I got caught up chatting with Sam.”

If she knew I was lying she didn’t call me out. She just bit her lip and nodded. “I’m okay.”

“I see that.” I tried to smile at her, but the rain was picking up so I only winced. “I’ll be at the Cullens, to help soften the mood before you get back.”

“Did Alice… Call him?”

I shook my head. “No, thank god. She called me and I told her I’d come check on you as long as she promised she wouldn’t call them. It’s best to try to not make things worse for ourselves.”

She smiled, “Thank you… I will be back later.” They drifted towards the house and Jacob opened the door for her.

“Have fun!” She didn’t turn back around. I pushed off the side of the car and tried the door again. Sam hadn’t moved.

“Y/n…” he hesitated but took a step back and let go of the door. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“You either, Sam.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but I didn’t stay long enough to hear it.

~~

Alice was still pouting on the hood of her car when Bella got home. She must have seen her coming because she didn’t budge, if anything the pouting only became more theatrical.

“I haven’t even had a chance to drive it.” She sighed

“Sorry,” Her words were acid.

She was soaking wet and shivering. “You should probably take a hot shower.” I tried.

“Yep.”

Alice could tell as well as I could that something happened with Jacob, but where I was more covert about it, her curiosity was plain on her face. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Do you want to go to Olympia tonight?”

“Not really. Can’t I go home?”

Alice and I both winced. “Bella…” I tried.

“Nevermind,” Bella said. “I’ll stay if it makes things easier for you both.”

“Thanks,” She sighed in relief.

Bella went straight upstairs and took a shower before going right to bed. Even Alice didn’t stay in the main living space for long. I went to Carlisle’s room and fell asleep reading in our bed.

I felt a shift in the mattress just as the sun started to peek through the trees. I smiled up at him, more asleep than not, and rested my hands on either side of his face. 

He kissed me quickly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m glad you did. I missed you.” He kissed me again. “Did Alice fill you in on the weekend's events?”

“She filled us all in on the key points. She also said you’d have more to tell me. Edward laughed. Should I be concerned?”

“Hmm~ Maybe~” My sleepy smile didn’t go away. “When were you going to tell me you bought me the Prius?”

“Oh… Well.” He laughed nervously, knowing he’d been caught. “Are you certain I haven’t told you about that before?”

“Nice try,” I kissed his nose. “but I think I would have remembered you mentioning it before.”

“I apologize for not telling you, though I think you would have questioned my sanity If I had.”

“I do that anyway, so that’s not really a valid point.”

He laughed loudly at that and kissed me again. “I promise I will tell you before I buy you a car next time.” 

I giggled against his lips. “That’s all I ask.” I could feel myself falling back asleep so I lightly pushed him so he’d lay flat. When he did, I laid my head on his chest. “I went to La Push.”

“I’m aware.”

“I spoke with Sam for a while.”

I let my eyes close as he ran his hand through my hair. “How did that go?”

“ ‘s Weird…” I didn’t try to stop myself from yawning. “I feel like we really could have been friends, but it's too complicated now to try.”

“He was nice, though?” His arms tightened around me slightly. It made my heart flutter.

“Yeah he was nice. He even kinda said that we were good together… in not so many words.”

He sighed and I placed a soft kiss on his chest.

“I know you guys don’t think it’s safe for us, but I saw her with Jacob today, I saw how Sam felt about it, and I truly think it will be okay.”

“I trust your judgment on this.” I knew he did. It was more Alice and Edward that put up a fight. “I think Edward is coming around. I think if she really wants to go back, he’ll let her go.”

“Good.” I didn’t feel the need to voice my opinion on him letting her. Carlisle knew how I felt about that anyway.

I yawned again and Carlisle chuckled. “Get some rest, Mon Coeur. Everything else can wait until the morning.”

“I don’t have any more stories to share. I just missed you.”

“I won’t have to go into the office tomorrow. We’ll have the whole day.”

I leaned up and he met me halfway. The kiss was slow and made my heart skip a beat. I wanted to stay right there forever, but I was officially too tired to keep my head up. I snuggled back into his chest and slept for a few more hours.

~~

Carlisle woke me a few hours later and convinced me to go downstairs where he was finishing up the breakfast he’d made for me. We very often had the best conversations over my breakfast, so that particular morning I used the time to bring up Bella and Rosalie's conversation from the other night. 

She had filled me in on most of her backstory in small ways throughout our almost friendship, but I was still pretty lost on his part in it all. I never wanted to press, but that morning, with it so fresh on my mind, I couldn't help my curiosity. 

He let out a heavy breath and for a second I thought he might not tell me anything. I didn't want him to feel like he had to. I almost told him to forget it, but right then he started, "I was just a simple family doctor when Esme, Edward and I moved to Rochester, New York. Our family was still so new, but I was overcome with pride in them. More importantly, I was satisfied with what we had built together. 

"At the time, I didn't see that this wasn't the life they would have chosen for themselves. I had no idea, despite the fact that I felt the same way." They had all made this very point multiple times. It's why we needed Bella to be sure; Why I needed to be sure. I never wanted to regret him.

He continued, "Edward had just returned to our little family but he was still angry. When I brought my concern to Esme she seemed to think he was just lonely and if I found him a companion to share a love like ours he would be happy." His phrasing was delicate, like he was afraid I would be upset by it. When my expression remained unbothered, he went on. "I should say, the night I found Rosalie, I wasn't looking for her. I had honestly brushed Esme's comment aside, knowing it was far too selfish to turn someone for that reason alone.

"As I was walking home that night, suddenly all I could smell was her blood. I followed it to her almost on instinct. I found her lying on the ground dying, and I didn't even consider that she might have preferred to die. I just wanted to save her." 

He sighed as he took out a plate for the food he'd made for me. "During her transition Esme's previous comment surfaced in my mind. Maybe she was the missing piece to our family. Maybe she could help Edward in a way Esme and I could not. I found comfort in the fact that I had at least given her a chance.

"That's not to say that I regret turning her. I love her and she is such an important part of this family. I could never regret her. I do wish I had considered her wishes."

My chest tightened as he spoke. He had carried this guilt with him everyday for all of these years and it made my heart break for him. Of course, I didn't believe he was entirely without fault here, but I also didn't entirely believe that she hated her existence. Maybe it wasn't the life she would have chosen, but I knew, and I think a part of him knew as well, that she had found happiness in this life too.

"Carlisle… You couldn't have known." I tried to assure him but he smiled softly at me and brushed past it. I thought he might change the topic completely, but he expertly plated my omelet and slid it across the table to me before continuing her story from his perspective.

"Edward’s immediate upset was very disheartening and now, with hindsight, probably should have been the first clue that this wouldn't work out. I wanted her to live, I wanted her to be happy. He was certain my actions would affect our lives negatively. I suppose, in a way he was just being selfish, though I’d never tell him that.

“I think that’s when the guilt set in. I’d taken this young girl with her whole life ahead of her and cursed her with this life-”

I had to stop him. I said his name,  the disbelief  heavy in my voice. Despite this, he still smiled. “It was a long time ago, Dove. We’ve all grown to think differently over time.”

“But you still hold all of that guilt. I can see it. I don’t think you’re being fair to yourself.” I was soft. I wanted to be comforting even if he swore he didn’t need it.

 “I’ve had many years to look at the whole picture. Every single one of them that I’ve turned, hate this life.”

“Emmett doesn’t” I added.

He laughed, “No, I guess not. Rose and Esme, on the other hand, never stopped longing for basic human desires. Edward still believes himself a monster. For a long time I couldn’t help but blame myself for that. 

“Eventually I came around.” He mentioned quickly, soothing just a bit of my frustration. He continued, “Rose continued to be so strong. She got her revenge on all the men who had hurt her all the while never tasting human blood.” He was clearly very proud, even if he didn’t entirely approve.

“She killed them?” I asked.

“She did…”

His grin didn't falter and for the first time this whole conversation, I smiled too. “Good for her.” I added.

He laughed. “I can’t say I was necessarily excited for her to go out and kill them, but I couldn’t fault her after what they’d done. And she never considered leaving us. Even when I told her we’d have to leave New York, or that we’d have to change our names and abandon everything. She handled it all with grace and she never expressed an interest in going her own way. I offered her that choice and she laughed and politely declined.” The guilt on his face turned into fondness.

No matter what these kids did, he loved them more than anything. They were the reason he is the compassionate family man I knew and loved. I leaned across the bar and he met me in the middle for a quick kiss.

When I sat back still smiling at him, he finished the rest of the story. “I was very surprised when she brought Emmett to me. I never expected her to want to change another human, but she looked me in the eyes and said the very thing I had said to Edward about her. ‘I couldn’t just let him die, it was too much.’

“He surprised me too. Not only did he survive some gruesome injuries long enough for Rosalie to bring him to me, he also handled the transformation like a true fighter. He hardly called out and his heartbeat was strong and steady until the very end.”

“Perfectly matched, aren’t they?” Like they were meant to find each other- as cheesy as that was.

“They brought out the best in each other and, in turn, the best in our family. I’d like to think that after all this time, Rose is content with her life. Even if she still wants more for the other still-human women in her life” The way he put that was very pointed at me and Bella- I chose to let it be. Rosalie was allowed her opinions. I, of course, wasn’t running headfirst into immortality, so most of her opinions were mostly directed at Bella.

 Sometimes though I still caught on to her lack of enthusiasm for my choices as well.

I was all too content in my life as it currently stood for any dramatic changes, so I let it be; he continued to talk about our family and the changes he began to see in Edward. He moved to sit next to me as I ate. I leaned closer to him as he finished.

I wanted to kiss him again. And this time I wanted to kiss him and get lost in it for a very long while.

But Carlisle froze in his spot. His eyes went wide before they squeezed shut. He had stopped breathing.

“When was this?” He waited a tiny second. “How?” I wondered who was answering his questions and from where- and if it was the reason for his sudden change in demeanor.

His hands tightened slightly around mine and he pulled me up. “Carlisle?”

Without answering, he pulled me into the living room where Alice and Jasper sat perfectly frozen on the couch. I tried again, “What is-”

“It’s all right, Y/n.” I sighed impatiently at his interruption. I wondered if he’d forgotten I couldn’t hear the other end, and at that point, had no idea what was going on, but I didn’t speak again. I could tell just how wrong something was. Alice sat half in Jasper's lap, leaning against him like she needed the support. Her face was in her hands.

I wondered if she had a headache. I wondered if they could get headaches. 

Jasper's powers danced in the air. I felt it swirl around me. I wished I could feel the calm it offered, but like always, I didn’t. I nodded in thanks to him anyway. 

Then Rosalie and Emmett came into the room. Rose sat next to Alice on the couch to offer her more support. Emmett stood causally on my other side. Though the reason was still unknown, his presence added a bit of comfort.

“Another day, another crisis…” Emmett joked and bumped me with his shoulder. Despite my panic, I managed a chuckle.

Carlisle hissed, “Emmett. Not now.”

He was angry- outraged really. I had never seen him like this and it really drove my worry home. I placed my hand on his arm. “Carlisle… What is going on?”

He softened immediately, as if he really had forgotten I couldn’t have known. He pulled me closer to him. “It will be fine.”

“Edward will be here soon. He wants you two to follow the scent.” Alice mumbled from her spot on the couch, vaguely gesturing to Emmett and Jasper.

“Sure thing, Boss. We’ll be back.” He leaned forward to kiss Rosalie. Jasper followed him out the door.

Carlisle led me to the couch. “You should sit.” I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t roll them, but sat anyway. He stayed standing next to me.

I felt Alice get up from the couch at the same time Rose’s hand held mine. I turned towards her as another wave of panic hit me. Even Rosalie was trying to comfort me, but no one would explain what was going on.

A blanket of silence covered the room and it made me so uncomfortable I wanted to scream just to tear it apart. I almost did. I almost screamed the same question again, but then Edward was there next to Carlisle and Bella sat next to us.

And when Edward demanded to know what happened, Alice answered him.

“I have no idea. I didn’t see anything.” She crossed her arms and chewed her lip. I couldn’t tell who was more angry between the three of them, Carlisle, Edward or Alice. I just wished I knew why.

“How is that possible?” His patience had clearly run out.

“Edward,” Bella said with quiet disapproval.

I, again, wanted to make them tell me something- anything, but Carlisle interjected before I got the chance. His voice was significantly calmer than before, as he tried to mediate. “It’s not an exact science, Edward.”

“He was in their rooms, Alice. He could have still been there- waiting for them.” my brows furrowed. My heart rate accelerated.

“I would have seen that.”

Edward threw his hands up. I wanted to do the same. “Really? You’re sure?”

I finally broke, “For the love of god! Can anyone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Alice held back a laugh at my outburst, but it was Bella who finally answered my question. 

“When Edward came over earlier, he noticed another vampire- we don’t know who- had been in the house.”

I forgot to breathe, my eyes were locked on her. “Dad-”

“Is okay. He was home but had no knowledge of the intruder. Whoever it was looked in every room, but mainly in yours and Bella’s.” Edward filled me in on the rest, clearly very annoyed- or maybe just worried. He added, “And Alice missed it.”

I was suddenly freezing cold and shivering hard. Carlisle was next to me on the couch with both of his hands clasped around mine. I let myself lean into him.

Alice’s voice was cold when she answered. “You’ve already got me watching the Volturis’ decisions, watching for Victoria’s return, watching Bella’s every step. Do you want me to watch Y/n’s too? Because we already know how well that will work. What about their rooms or the whole damn house? Edward, if I try to do too much, things are going to start slipping through the cracks.”

“It looks like they already are,” he snapped.

That’s not fair, I thought but I couldn’t make the words come out. Edward huffed a laugh.

Alice retorted, “She was never in any danger.” By she, she meant Bella, I had been here. Of course I hadn’t been in any danger, but it still sounded like she was trying to comfort both Edward and Carlisle. “There was nothing to see.”

“If you were watching Italy, why didn’t you see them send-”

“I don't think it was them,” Alice insisted. “I would have seen that.”

“Who else would leave Charlie alive?”

I winced. Carlisle squeezed my hands. “Who else would have bothered with my room? No one has been interested in me before now.”

Alice sighed, “I don’t know.”

“Helpful.”

“Stop it, Edward.” Bella whispered. I wanted to thank her. He really was being unreasonable. His head jerked in her direction. He was still so angry he almost looked like he was going to yell at her too. I probably would have lost it, if Carlisle didn’t have my hands.

But then he took a deep breath and relaxed a bit. “You’re right, Bella. I’m sorry.” He looked at Alice. “Forgive me, Alice. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you. That was inexcusable.”

“I understand,” Alice assured him. “I’m not happy about it either.”

“Okay, let’s look at this logically.” Edward took another deep breath. I was still shivering. “What are the other possibilities?”

As if on cue, everyone softened a bit. Carlisle kissed my hair and sat back leaving only one hand on mine. Rosalie got up and stared out the window. I wished I could comfort her. 

Bella and I shared a long look. I was forever hoping she knew how happy I was to have her with me in this- even when it was awful like this. I knew I couldn't do it alone, so I was happy to have her at my side.

Carlisle spoke first. “Victoria?”

I shook my head. “She’s never been interested in me before. She’s never even thought twice about me.”

“Maybe she’s considering you an easier target now.” His voice was so soft, like he was tiptoeing past a bomb. He could probably tell I wanted to scream again. 

“But I didn’t know the scent. He might have been from the Volturi, someone I’ve never met…”

This time Alice shook her head. “Aro hasn’t sent anyone to look for them yet I will see that. I’m waiting for it.”

Edward’s head snapped up. I waited for him to be mean again, but he wasn’t “You’re watching for an official command.”

“You think someone’s acting on their own? Why?” Carlisle questioned so I didn’t have to.

“Caius’s idea,” Edward suggested. His panic cracked his resolve again.

“Or Jane’s…” Alice added. “ They both have the resources to send an unfamiliar face…”

Edward scowled. “And the motivation.”

“I don’t see the point though. If they were meant to wait for me and Bella, Alice would have seen it. Obviously they had no intention of hurting us- or Dad for that matter.” I said. A small part of my panic turned to basic confusion. 

Bella winced when I mentioned Dad again. I pulled away from Carlisle to hug her while whispering, "It's going to be fine, Bella." It had to be.

"The question remains, What was the point?" Carlisle asked. I was glad he understood my confusion. 

"Checking to see if we're still human" 

"It's possible, and would explain why they checked Y/n too."

Rosalie sighed and it was loud enough to make me and Bella jump from across the room. For the first time since the boys left she turned away from the window and looked towards the kitchen. I guessed that Emmett and Jasper were back, and from the annoyed look on Edwards face, they didn't have an answer he wanted.

"Long gone, hours ago." Emmett announced, disappointed. Rosalie moved to his side and he threw an arm over her shoulder. "The trail went east, then south, and disappeared on a side road. Had a car waiting."

"That's bad luck," Edward muttered. "If he'd gone west… well, it would be nice for Jacob and the others to make themselves useful."

I kinda wanted to laugh, it always sounded silly when Edward tried to insult Jacob, But Bella winced at his words so I didn't. I just rubbed her back between her shoulders.

Jasper looked at Carlisle. "Neither of us recognized him. But here." He held out something that looked similar to a tree, just a small tree. I wanted to laugh again. When Carlisle took it from him and held it to his face, I did laugh. He turned his head just slightly away from me to hold back a laugh as well. "Maybe you know the scent."

"No," Carlisle said, serious again. "It's not familiar. No one I've ever met."

"I mean… Hypothetically, couldn't it just be some random passing vampire?" Everyone turned to look at me like I'd lost it, so I added "Of course not in that they just happened to pick our house to drop in randomly. Just maybe this person was a bit curious. All of your scents are all over us. Maybe they wanted to know why."

"Why wouldn't they just come here then? If they were curious?" Emmett challenged.

I laughed softly. "Not everyone is as brave as you can be, Emmett. But from an outside perspective, our family is huge and consists of mainly gifted vampires. They might be a bit intimidated. Dad wasn't hurt. They didn't stick around for us to get home. It could be someone who's just passing through. Someone who caught our scents and wanted to see what was going on.”

I think I was trying to convince myself that there was no immediate threat. It was an easier pill to swallow that someone was passing through rather than someone with malicious intent. I looked at Bella for backup, but she looked like she was plotting. I didn't want to know what was running circles in her mind.

"I don't think so, Y/n…" Alice interjected, pursing her lips. "The timing of it was too perfect… This visitor was so careful to make no contact. Almost like they knew I would see…"

I shivered again, pulled completely out of my false sense of security. I knew it was improbable. I knew they were trying to get to the bottom of this. Deep down, I knew that this person definitely had bad intentions.

But I had to hope, if only so I wouldn’t start screaming.

Carlisle squeezed my hand. "He might have had other reasons for avoiding contact." He reminded her and reassured me. I smiled at him in thanks. He kissed my hand.

"Does it really matter who it was?" Bella asked and I squeezed my eyes closed and placed my head on Carlisle's shoulder. "Just the chance that someone was looking for me… isn't that reason enough? We shouldn't wait for graduation."

"No, Bella," Edward and I said in unison. I didn't look up.

He continued. "It's not that bad. If you're really in danger, we'll know."

"Think of Charlie," Carlisle reminded her. I could kiss him. "Think of how it would hurt him if you disappeared."

"I am thinking of Charlie! He's the one I'm worried about. What if our little guest had been thirsty last night? As long as I'm around Charlie- as long as we're both still human- He's a target too."

"Nothing is going to happen to Dad, Bells. He's lived in this supernatural infested town long enough without problems." I tried to sound comforting.

"His daughters weren't bringing them to his house then." She clearly wasn't comforted.

"We're just going to have to be more careful." Edward added. He had faith in our family. That was comforting; at least to me.

"More careful?" Bella repeated in disbelief.

"It's all going to be fine, Bella," Alice Promised.

Bella sat back, accepting we wouldn't budge no matter how much she begged. That night at least, she would stay human.

~~

I drove home early the next morning, but I still managed to miss Dad on his way out. Bella said that he was gone before she woke up too and, knowing him, he probably left before the sun was even up.

I walked into the kitchen to find Bella and Edward discussing why he had to leave just because Jacob is stopping by. I rolled my eyes at the cliche, but appreciated Edwards diplomatic approach.

I did wonder just how far he planned to go. I doubted he would leave us completely alone, but I also knew he wouldn't stay close enough for Jacob to know. I assumed that he would lurk back with Jasper, but stay ready to spring into action if need be. He nodded once in my direction with just the tiniest smirk on his lips and I knew I had guessed correctly.

He turned his attention back to Bella. "I'll be right back." I heard him laugh as she walked him to the door.

I figured it was as good a time as any to pick Bella's brain a bit about Jacob; Even if it meant I had to interrupt her grumpy grumbling as she cleaned the kitchen.

"Hey, Bells?"

She jumped and nearly dropped the glass she was placing in the sink. "Y/n! I thought you'd gone back upstairs."

"Nope… Still down here." I giggled. and waited a small second for her to get her breathing right. When she smiled at me I continued, "So, why is Jacob coming over?"

"He wants to check our rooms for the scent of that vampire…" I cringed at how nonchalant she said it. "And I decided to forgive him. For what he said before…"

I didn't mention that she never told me what he'd said before, I knew it wasn't kind. I let it go. "I think… I guess it wouldn't hurt to have their help in this too." I pulled my lips into a line and she nodded. "Though, it would be much easier if they could just get along- if the three of you could get along in general." I paused to gauge her reaction but when she laughed so did I.

"Wouldn't it?" She bit her lip and looked at the dishes in the sink. I thought for a second that she was going to say something more, but she didn't. She got lost in her thoughts and I didn't want to bother her again. She focused back on the dishes and I started to help by putting away what was already clean.

There was a kinda demanding knock at the door and before I could go answer it, Bella was calling for Jacob to come in. I wanted to vanish. It's not that I had anything against him, I just didn't trust myself to not tell them to get over themselves. 

Despite just telling him to come in, she still jumped when he spoke. "Should you really leave your door unlocked like that?" And when he noticed he made her splash dish water on herself, he added "Oh, sorry."

"It's not like a locked door would stop anything after us anyway." I said while she tried to dry the front of her shirt.

"Oh… Good point, Y/n," He agreed before adding, "I didn't see you there."

I had to laugh. "That seems to be pretty common." I nodded.

Bella squinted her eyes, like she was judging him, clearly in her own world. "Is it really so impossible to wear clothes, Jacob?"

I laughed out loud. If they were going to discuss Jacobs nakedness, I definitely did not need to be in the room. I left them to talk and, for the first time in the hours since I'd gotten home, I went upstairs. 

I hesitated by my bedroom door. I knew that no one would be in there and yet, I couldn't make myself open the door. I stood there and looked at it and even reached for the handle, but that was as far as I got. 

Instead, I turned on my heels and walked down to Dads room. His door was already open and, of course, he was not inside. His bed wasn't made, but his room wasn't messy. It smelled like him- Warm, musky, and dusty. It smelled like home. I wondered how much it smelled like him to the others if it smelled this strongly to my human nose.

He'd never lived anywhere else in his adult life. He probably smelled like this place. It was probably one in the same. I heard Jacob's heavy footsteps as he stomped up the stairs. I laid on Dads bed in an attempt to stay out of his way. 

It was comforting in a way I hadn't really expected. Like how it was when I was a child and I'd run in there to hide from the monsters under my bed- Only this time there really had been a monster in there. I shivered and pulled his blanket up around my face. I couldn't let myself cry; I knew I wouldn't be able to stop.

It wasn't long before Jacob poked his head in anyway. He was quiet then he kinda took a sharp breath. "Hey, Y/n. I didn't know you were in here-" I laughed, he continued. "This rooms clear- No vamps in here. Is this Charlie's room?"

I nodded.

"That's good. That they didn't come in here…" He looked across the hall towards the other rooms. "Your room reeks though. Like they were in there for a while. Touched a lot of stuff too, like they were looking for something."

I stared at him, eyes wide open. "I-" I wanted to scream again.

"But it's good! ‘Cause I can really smell them in there. Bella's room reeks of Cullen, so it's hard to get only this new one. But it being all over your room… helps." I knew he was- however unsuccessfully, trying to calm me down.

I sighed and smiled softly at him. "Thank you Jacob."

He grinned wide. "No problem! Hey uh… Sam asked if I would mention that he needs to speak with you."

"Of course he does…" I shook my head, already annoyed.

"There's a bonfire tonight. You could come-"

"I couldn't." Mostly because I didn't want to deal with Sam, but also I didn't want to impose. "I've got plans with Carlisle."

"Sure. Sure. But could you at least call Sam so he'll get off my back?"

"I'll consider it."

He grinned again. "Thanks, Y/n!"

Then he left before he said anything else. I threw myself back on the bed. I didn't want to go back down there while Jacob was still there and as soon as he left I heard Edward get back. So I stayed in my dads bed trying to convince myself to go into my own room.

Eventually I decided to just rip the bandage off. I walked to my room and again, hesitated by the door. Only this time, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and swung the door open on the exhale.

Jacob was right. My room was a mess. It was honestly so much worse than I could have expected. My dresser drawers were open. The closet was open and missing some of its contents. Even my laundry basket was knocked over. 

But what shocked me the most- My entire bed sheet and my pillows were gone.

For a long moment I was just frozen in the doorway, staring at the mess my bedroom had become. I didn't notice how bad I was shaking. I kept thinking I wanted to clean up my room but it was too overwhelming. 

Whoever this was, was in my room.  They went through all of my things. They stole my bedsheet. And I could not fathom why. I think that's what scared me the most.

All this time, even though I had been running with them too, the rogue vampires only wanted Bella. So I didn't understand why they were suddenly interested in me.

I stood there for a long while until I couldn't handle it anymore. I went far enough into my room to set my laundry basket up right. One of the only things still in it was one of Carlisle's sweaters- A navy blue one he'd worn when we'd gone to the library. He swore it looked better on me and he didn't need it anyway. I agreed to take it because it smelled like home. It still smelled like him.

I threw it over my head, decided the mess could wait, and went downstairs to meet up with Bella and Edward.

As I drifted downstairs, Bella was explaining to Edward why she thought Alice had cleaned her room. "-that was lying around, my shirts, my socks, and I don't know where she put them."

As I approached Edward went rigged. 

“No, I think Y/n is right. When did you notice your things were missing?"

"When I got back from the fake slumber party…"

Then Edward looked at me, which made Bella look at me. My eyes went wide and I guessed that he wanted me to answer the same question. "Oh… I-I haven't been home. So. Today? My bed sheet is gone and some of my clothes…"

I hadn't considered that maybe it was Alice, but Bella was known for not looking at the whole picture. I didn't think that made much sense anyway.

Edward shook his head. "I don't think Alice took anything. Not your clothes, or your bed sheet. The things that were taken, these were things that you'd worn… and touched… and slept on?"

"Yes. What is it, Edward?" I didn't know how she hadn't pieced it together yet.

I couldn't tell if Edward was angry or confused. Or both. "Things with your scent?"

"Oh!"  She breathed and I knew it clicked for her. They stared at each other for a while and If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was reading her mind. “The visitor…” she muttered.

“He was gathering traces… evidence. To prove that he’d found the both of you?”

Again, I found myself at a loss for why.

Bella actually whispered, “Why?”

“I don’t know. But, Bella, I swear I will find out. I will.”

“It also doesn’t make sense. Why did they clean up Bella’s room and tear mine apart? Why do they care about me at all?” My questions were mostly rhetorical. I knew there weren't any real answers yet.

He was kind enough to entertain me anyway. “You’re right, I have no idea why their focus has extended to you as well. But the state of your room makes a bit of sense… Your scent is hard enough to trace as it is , but if you haven’t been sleeping here and because you always smell like Carlisle- I would guess he couldn’t find a solid trace of you-”

“And then he got frustrated and trashed my room?”

“Maybe. It’s just a running theory. I will bring it up with Carlisle.”

Bella sighed and laid her head on his chest. I was already overwhelmed and I’d only dealt with it for a day. I didn’t know how they had managed it for so long.

Edward pulled his phone out right as it started ringing, only briefly checking the number. “Just the person I need to talk to,” Once he answered my heart started to race a bit. “Carlisle, I-”

I could hear his voice over the phone. It was low and fast. Edward looked very focused. I hoped nothing else was falling apart. “I’ll check it out. Listen…” 

He went on to explain mine and Bella’s missing things, though it sounded like he was just as confused as we were. Carlisle sounded very concerned about my situation. I wished I could kiss him.

“Maybe I’ll go…” His eyes drifted to Bella. “Maybe not. Don’t let Emmett go alone, you know how he gets. At least ask Alice to keep an eye on things. We’ll figure this out later.”

Carlisle said something made Edward look at me. “Yeah. I’ll have Jasper go with her. I think that’s a good idea. I’ll talk to you soon.” He got off the phone, sent a quick message to Jasper I guessed, then turned to Bella. "Where's the paper?" he asked her.

"Uhm, I'm not sure. Why?"

"I need to see something. Did Charlie already throw it out?"

"Maybe…"

Then he was gone and I looked at Bella to see if she had any idea what was going on. I don't think she did. Half a second later, Edward reappeared with Jasper in tow. Despite my utter confusion I smiled warmly at Jasper.

"Hey, Y/n. Carlisle asked if I could bring you to meet him at the hospital." I wasn't sure how it would work or why exactly he wanted me to meet him there but I was more than willing to go. So I just nodded and he grinned. Any ideas to call Sam and see what he wanted went out the window.

"I'll-... just need to grab some things." I walked upstairs before anyone said anything more to me. I heard them resume making plans, I really just had to grab my keys and bag from Dads room. I couldn't even look into my own room again. 

I went back into the kitchen and they were still talking, but I only caught the end of it. "I'll have to tell you soon. When there's time. It's a bit lengthy…"

She sighed and set her head on the table "What a mess."

Both of the guys chuckled softly before Jasper turned towards me. "Ready?"

"Sure…"

I said my goodbyes to the others. I told Bella I loved her and then we drove to the hospital in silence. He drove my car with the windows rolled down, so it wasn't terribly awkward. I thought that the windows being down might help ease some of his tension, and he was breathing so I figured I'd guessed right.

Though it was a bit strange, I was grateful he was willing to bring me to Carlisle. When we pulled up to the main entrance, I thanked him before I got out.

"It's really no problem, Y/n." He was the perfect southern gentleman as always. "I'll drive your car to the house. Carlisle will probably want you to come home with him anyway."

"You're right. Thank you… again." 

He laughed, "Of course. One last thing… When I tell Bella my story, I'd like for you to be there as well. I think it might help clear some things up."

"Oh! Sure. We can make that happen."

"Alright. Then I'll see you later?" He gave me another crooked smile and I got out of the car. I thanked him again and he just laughed and drove towards his house. 

I went straight to Carlisle's office. The receptionist was expecting me and informed me that Carlisle was in a meeting, but should be done quickly. I sat in his office chair and pulled the sleeves of his sweater around my hands before laying my head down on his desk. 

He really didn't take long- Five, ten minutes tops- and when he was finally in the room he crouched down right in front of me.

"Are you alright, Dove?" His voice was heavy with concern. He placed a steady hand just above my knee.

"I'm okay- overwhelmed, but okay." I moved my head from his desk and rested it instead against his forehead.

"I am so sorry, Y/n. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

My heart broke for him. "I know you will." I whispered. I smiled softly at him to really express my point and when he pulled back to look into my eyes, I kissed him. It was really cathartic. All I wanted to do was wrap myself up in him and hide from whatever was after us this time. Kissing him felt like I could do just that.

Remembering where we were, I eventually did pull back. "How much longer do you need to stay here today?"

"We're actually good to go now. They'll call if I'm needed, but I don't imagine they will. I thought we both would feel a bit better if you were here with me. He brushed my hair back and kissed me quickly before he added "If I'm being honest, I think I would feel significantly better if you were with me more consistently." There were a lot of implications in his tone but my brain was too cloudy to decipher his meaning.

When he saw how confused I was he continued. "If you were willing… If you wanted, I would be elated if you moved in with me."

As his words processed my eyes went wide. I held up one finger so I could think. I believe he chuckled and told me to take my time, but I couldn't be sure; I was too focused.

I spent most of my time at his house, moving in with him wouldn't be a huge change- if it didn't feel like a huge change. It felt official. I wasn't ready for marriage and I think most would agree that for our particular circumstances, marriage could wait. 

But I did want to live with him. I knew that meant living in a house full of vampires, but they were my vampires. I wondered how they would feel about living with me. I hoped it wouldn't bother them too badly. I hoped it wouldn't be unbearable for Jasper.

Because I really wanted to live with them. I thought about my Dad. Bella would also move out in a few short weeks. If I moved out, he would be alone. I'm sure he knew we'd move out at some point. I still felt guilty that it was now. For now at least, I wouldn't be far.

And I wanted this.

I wanted this.

I wanted this. 

I felt my cheeks warm as I blushed. I smiled at him and realized he was speaking again. His sentences were jumbled and he hardly put spaces between each word.

"-you do not have to. I know that we've only just gotten back and I would completely understand if this is too soon. I just want you to be safe and comfortable-"

"Carlisle." He froze and saw the smile on my face. He almost cracked a smile too. "I want to. If you're serious, I would love to move in with you."

For a second, he looked like he was processing. I gave him the time he needed, just as he had with me. When it cleared he held my face in his hands and kissed me. I melted into him immediately.

Sure, we would have to tell my dad eventually, but for right that second I could just focus on him. Whatever came next we would face it together.

~~

I caught Dad right before he went to work one morning, though he was already in uniform and only had to lace up his shoes. I floated down the stairs just before he could reach for the door handle. 

I took a deep breath and rushed the words out, “Hey, really quick before you go… I was kinda thinking about moving in with Carlisle.”

He raised his eyebrows and turned to look at me. I couldn’t quite read his expression. “Oh, really? When?”

“I-I. Well, he asked me- a few days ago now. And I thought about it and decided I really did want to, so-” I stammered my way through my response a bit taken off guard. Thankfully he interrupted me with a laugh.

“No, Y/n, I mean when were you planning on moving out?”

“Oh…” I didn’t know. I hadn’t really thought past telling him. I'd basically already had started living there, without out-right saying it. "Most of my things are there, so I guess now." I waited for him to react, but he just nodded.

"Will You need help with your furniture? I'm sure Bella won't mind if we use her truck."

"No, No. I think I can leave most of it here… If that's okay with you." I threw the last bit out in a rush. I didn't want to assume I could.

"Of course, Kid. It's not like I've got plans to turn your room into an at home gym. You'll always have a space here."

I bit my lip, suddenly fighting back tears. "You're not mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" His confusion was genuine. 

"I…" I took a steady breath. " I just thought you might still be upset that they left. I mean they haven’t been back that long and I wasn’t sure you’d be ecstatic about me moving in with him right now… And also you haven’t been alone in a long long time so-”

“Y/n, Honey, It’s okay. He crossed the room to wrap me in a tight hug. “It’s not like you're moving to a different country; you’re just going across town. I want you to be happy, I want you to start your life.”

He leaned back and smiled at me before wiping a tear from my check. I wasn’t sure when I’d started crying. He continued, “Now I won’t lie to you and say that I’m all that excited for you to get this serious so soon after they hurt you but- I do trust your judgment. I know you’ll be okay.”

I nodded and said, “You’re right, I will be.” then quickly asked, “Will you be alright?”

He laughed. “I will be alright, too. And, in the worst case, you can always come back.”

It was my turn to laugh. I pulled into him again and hid my face in his chest. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, kid. I always will.”

Taglist!

@jakanddexter67 @a-not-so-poetic-poet @bridge597 @cestlavie03 @gaymazinglula @short-potato @jennyamanda8 @daisydreamingsims @arg888cam

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Elrond and Celebrian’s wedding thoughts

I’ve had this really weird idea about how the brutality of the first and second age in which so many elves have lived could influence certain traditions, especially the Noldor exiles because I think they did a very sharp u turn from ‘all I’ve known is bliss’ to ‘the world is composed of fire and corpses’ and went well off the deep end a lot quicker than the Sindar did. Because the Sindar adjusted to the darkness a lot less violently and suddenly than the Noldor did and are just generally more stable seeming, less entirely batshit insane (because of course all the Noldor exiles present in First Age Beleriand are the batshit insane ones who either burnt the ships or crossed the Helcaraxe).

So the Noldor are so focused on war that it inserts itself into every aspect of their lives including ceremonies because how is anything meant to be binding without blood spilled? Bonds are forged by saving each other in battle, avenging a lost friend with a bloodthirsty rampage, how are words meant to hold weight or impact over the life and death situations that define them? So I think that in certain factions, at certain points, it becomes tradition for there always to be some form of blood involved in a wedding ceremony.

How varies, probably it originated from people just straight up getting married on the battlefield one time too many, seems like a very Noldor thing to do (no I’m not talking about the LACE kind of wedding before anyone’s mind goes there). Then it evolves to different things, scrapes along hands before linking them, cuts on knuckles before bringing them to lips, slicing a finger and leaving a bloody mark over the partners heart or on their forehead, or (my personal favourite) cutting the lips before kissing so the blood mingles.

This brings me to the main point of this ramble which is that Elrond and Celebrian by the start of the Third Age are some of the only people who still value this tradition. Despite their extremely different upbringings fundamentally, and this of course is up to personal interpretation as we know very little about Celebrian sadly, I’d say they were both born into the world at the point of apocalypse, desensitised to violence. Very used to the sense of impending doom and willing to take any hope or joy when they can. They are fundamentally children of the first age and it shows.

Mirkwood obviously doesn’t do this because they obviously aren’t Noldor and don’t have those kind of traditions (because they aren’t that mental) and Lothlorien probably wouldn’t because it’s predominantly Sindar (and also more chill) and since a good proportion of the First Age elves are either dead or in Valinor by the end of the second age suffice it to say everyone who is at their wedding thinks it’s concerning when they pull out their ‘good daggers’ and prick their lips before embracing, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes and grinning wildly all the time as if there’s nothing messed up at all about the fact they brought daggers to their wedding.

Thranduil expected there to be at least one disturbing Noldor feature of the day, his father gave him enough vague warnings, not that he ever thought he’d end up at a Noldo’s wedding, and he’d certainly no hopes of Celebrian being a tempering influence on Elrond’s blatant Feanorian sympathies with how much she loved to wreak havoc but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of little droplets of blood smearing on their mouths as they pressed their lips together, otherwise perfectly romantically. He does not attend any more weddings in Rivendell after that.

Galadriel and Celeborn probably married in a Sindarin way but they find the gesture touching anyway, not unusual in the slightest but more quaint, a true symbolic end to the previous ages in the joining of the last descendants of Finwë in the wartime fashion before an age of peace.

Is there a possibility Arwen and Aragorn did it too? Absolutely and Legolas has thoughts on it which he will be bemoaning to Gimli the entire ceremony.

[winchestersickness]

Sorry anon I somehow deleted your ask 😔 but here's the rec! I went through my ao3 history and picked these, I hope there's something you haven't read yet and that you will enjoy :))

Gift Horse, Mouth, etc.

Sam gets accidentally stuck with a curse that can only be lifted by acting on his deepest hidden fantasy. Dean thinks it's hilarious, and why won't Sammy just tell him what it is already? It can't be anything that weird. Right?

Please Tell Me Who I Am

A/B/O AU. As a beta, Sam shouldn’t even be attracted to his alpha brother (much less be yearning for Dean to finally take that last step into claiming him officially) but, a few compatibility issues aside, they’re happy with the pseudo-mateship they’ve got going on. At least, until a hunt-gone-wrong ends up with Sam being cursed into an omega. He and Dean race to find a way to reverse the spell before it’s too late…but now Sam’s not entirely sure if he even wants to be cured.

Convalescence

Post-Cage!Sam seen through the eyes of others.

(more under the cut)

In Loco Parentis

“Sam, are you,” Dean pauses, squeezing his eyes shut for a second because his brain just doesn’t want to catch up. “Are you jerking off and thinking about Dad?” (Sam is 15).

take the things you love

The thing is, Sam’s reinforcing every bad behavior Dean’s ever had with this kind of shit. Fucking Sam stupid over the hood of the Impala? Dean’s wet dream—unfortunately also Sam’s—but more importantly the implicit validation of every claim Dean thinks he has on Sam—unfortunately every claim Sam’s lizard brain wants Dean to have. (Sam knows his brother wants to possess him. It's a point of internal conflict.)

There's An Enochian Incantation

Dean finds a spell to create a weapon to banish leviathans. It involves an Enochian incantation. The last thing Sam's already-fragile mind needs is to hear words in the language of angels.

brother only wants

Sam breathes like it takes effort, and then he says, "Wanting you was the very first thing I realized was wrong with me. It was how I knew there was something sick inside." (One of them had to fall first. A story about devotion.)

Hands Away

When you’re horny and alone with one person in one room for a long time and you’re sixteen and all you’ve ever been taught is to love your brother more than anything, it doesn’t seem like that far of a leap to start imagining what his mouth would feel like around your dick.

Squint into the Sunset | Glare into the Gloaming

The 70k-word nonlinear coming of age story that literally no one asked for. "I know you want to give him the world, Dean, but you were never supposed to give him this."

Taking Advantage

Sam is doing everything Dean tells him to. It’s weird, and Dean wants to get to the bottom of it so he pushes Sam. Sam breaks.

I'd Gladly Lose Me To Find You

Sam takes a vow of silence in order to pull Dean out of Hell, but by the time Dean comes back, Sam's lost more of himself than just his voice. Splits off completely from canon after the season 3 finale.

One Going On Eternity And Counting

Some boundaries were never meant to be crossed ...

with hearts that are guilty, not remorseful

“I’ve wanted you since I knew what wanting was.” It’s a fact, as plain as the day. The sky is blue. Their mother was killed by a demon. They hunt monsters. Sam wants Dean. “I’ve loved you for longer, I think.” “God,” Dean’s voice is barely a whisper, raising a hand to grip his own hair by the roots and pulling. He looks absolutely wretched. “I fucked you up, didn’t I?”

When You're Not Here

The third time Sam Winchester comes to school with bruises, Mrs. Davidson decides it's time to intervene - before it's too late.

Gutless

Sticky fingers, that’s what Dean always calls him.

Bullet for my Valentine

Stupid. He is so goddamn fucking stupid. Running his mouth like a fucking idiot, not knowing when to leave well enough alone. Bad enough that he just practically talked dirty to his little brother, which, Christ – he must be more stressed than he thought if his self-control mechanisms have started malfunctioning that badly. But no, no, he came up with a scenario straight out of a bad slasher film, as if that is something normal people talk dirty about, as if that is something Sam would seriously enjoy. As if – As if Dean hadn’t hunted his own brother through the maze of the bunker, eyes black and hammer raised to strike, not even a full year ago. As if Sam hadn’t, just a few weeks back, knelt at his feet, neck bared, waiting for Dean to deal a fatal blow with a fucking scythe.

I haven't been reading spn fics for long so idk if all these are well known already, but I loved all of these (a couple of them are platonic). hope you'll like them!

[scaryscarecrows]

Welcome to Camp Kill Batman

When the first batch of recruits come, it’s going to rain any minute. The skies are black, the humidity is unbearable, and the jungle is silent.

It’s no wonder the Knight’s nowhere in sight when the APC pulls into the compound.

Antoine’s the one who went to collect them. He won’t scare them, and he’s not busy; Frank, the other Good Choice, had had a breakthrough on some drone thing and had left firm instructions that unless the compound was actively going to self-destruct in two minutes, Do Not Disturb. Riley had tagged along, which maybe wasn’t a great idea, but really, Trent figures, how bad can it possibly have gone?

What he should figure, he realizes later, is how bad can it possibly go. The men pile out, already bitching about the heat. They’re professionals, though, and they get lined up fast enough despite their obvious confusion.

“These the new recruits?”

Trent doesn’t jump. He just shudders a little, that’s all. The Knight is way, way too stealthy for a guy dressed like…well…that. Antoine, who probably saw him coming, just drawls, “Yessir,” in a tone that screams, no shit these’re the new recruits.

There’s another movement, small and fast like a bug, on his left. A second later Riley’s nudging him in the ribs and going, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT. He grunts an acknowledgement. He doesn’t have to be here, but he’s a little curious, really, as to how this is gonna go.

“I want to know what I’m working with,” the boss says suddenly. He steps back, cocks his head, and Trent has just enough time to think, oh for fuck’s sake when he continues with, “Attack me.”

There’s a beat. Two. Then one of them, with a long scar down the back of his head, asks, “All of us? Together?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But that’s–”

“What you’ll be doing in Gotham. I’m giving you all an order. Follow it, or leave.”

They follow it.

About four and half minutes later, Antoine lights a cigarette, gives Trent and Riley a very, very tired Look, and gets back in the APC.

Yeah. Mark’s probably not gonna be very happy.

* * *

Honestly, Trent chalks that one up to needing to make an impression. This whole thing sounds crazy on paper. And it worked: the second and third batches are swiftly pulled aside with, “He kicked our asses like five minutes after we got here, this guy means business.”

So when batch five rolls around, Trent’s not expecting to be called over.

“Some of you are probably thinking that this is overkill,” he says. “Ages here is going to show you why it’s not.”

What.

“Sir,” he starts, but the Knight just turns to him and spreads his hands.

“Shoot at me.”

“What.”

“Your last physical said your hearing was fine.” Little shit. “Shoot at me.”

He regrets not being busy today. Oh, well. Look, this is on camera. If this goes badly, it’s on camera that he was literally just following orders.

He hefts his minigun up. Wonders, a few seconds later, why he was worried; he gets a few rounds off, sure, but the Knight just does that annoying-ass sproing, bounces off the gun like it’s a damn diving board, and probably only doesn’t use gravity to drag Trent to the ground after because that’s not the point. The recruits are suitably awed. Trent’s just annoyed. There were a thousand ways that could have gone horribly wrong and also, what the fuck.

“You owe me a fight later,” he gripes. “No guns. No holds barred.”

The Knight just laughs.

“Sure,” he says easily. “Why the hell not.”

* * *

Twice is coincidence. The third time, when the Knight opens with some absolute bullshit line about, ‘whoever kills me gets to command–and profit from–this entire operation’, Trent just sits back to watch the fun.

He didn’t know this was going to happen. Hell, the boss just got back from Gotham. Showed up a few minutes after they did, actually, roaring into base on a bike Trent doesn’t recognize.* But he hopped off, collared one of the mechanics and told them to take it to Frank, and came over to investigate. And, well, he led with that.

“There’s no way he can take on that many guys,” one of the newbies whispers. And. It’s just, well, look. Nobody is stupid enough to accuse Trent of being a fine, upstanding gentleman.

He heads over, relishing a little in the path that gets cleared for him immediately, and rumbles, “Wanna bet?” The man blanches and he clarifies, grinning, “Twenty bucks.”

Newbie looks very much like he does not wanna bet, but he also doesn’t wanna risk losing face.

“You’re on. Twenty bucks this guy gets his ass kicked.”

“Anyone else?”

There’s a few takers that agree, there’s no way this nutcase can come out of this. Trent suddenly has a wonderful, awful idea and twists over to go, “Hey, Antoine.”

That causes a ripple of worry. Apparently, they didn’t realize they were betting with one of the Top. Oh, well. Antoine shakes a cigarette out and looks over.

“What.”

“We got a bet going over here that the boss is gonna get clobbered. Wanna pick a side?”

He shrugs, flicks his lighter open.

“Twenty that one of ‘em insists they need medical.”

Good point.

“Yeah, I’m changing mine to that, actually. All right. Anyone else?”

No.

They walk away with roughly ten new mortal enemies. Better than the one insisting that he had a broken arm; it was a sprain, and Mark was not happy to have to explain this.

Still, Trent figures, rifling through his cash, he’ll be around for newbies every time. This isn’t a bad haul.

THE END

*It’s Dick’s. Jason steals two bikes from him (that we know of), presumably for use with his own tech, though he’s also such a little fucker about it. :p

[project-sekai-facts]

HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW LEAKS im crying and throwing up do you think wxs is going to disband what is happening :((((

I’m writing this the day leaks came out but scheduling it to post the day the preview drops. Sorry about the delay in answering.

(Also I won’t talk about any cards outside Emu’s untrained because they don't drop until tomorrow)

First: the title. Our Happy Ending.

I get why this is starting a panic in the fandom especially since the disbanding thing has been teased for a while and we know endings for every unit have been written in advance,

BUT

Emu’s grandad. We know parts of this event will be flashbacks to Emu’s childhood and times with her grandad. And he’s dead. I think the happy ending refers to his passing. Like I would not be surprised if the flashbacks are to him dying and the promise Emu made with him to smile which is shown in Smile of Dreamer. They did it with Nagi which means it’s on the table.

Second. Rui’s idea.

Rui had never had close friends until WxS came along. As curtain call and events since then indicate, he doesn’t want to leave them. I’ve done a few posts on this before and the truth is that he can’t stay with them forever, all of them want different things, and change is natural. I know Pandemonium just gave him some new friends at school but it would feel a bit... Wrong, I guess if they just suddenly snatched WxS away from him following chapter 8 of that event. Also they’re still in school why would the disband when they’re still together unless the writers pull a scholarship for Tsukasa out their asses but it’s been established that he’s behind other actors his age, so if anyone’s getting a scholarship it’s Sakurako. Rui getting one is pretty much off the table as well since he already turned down the offer from Asahi, so after realising that he wants to stay with wxs for as long as possible I think he'd turn down any other offers.

Third. The summary.

Is WxS disbanding.

No.

As I just said, they’re still in school together so there’s literally no reason to have them split unless one of them is forcibly dragged away. One of them needs to be on the anniversary banner and as I posted a few days ago it’s quite likely that the banner will be for Nene. Also they need a vsinger on the vsinger event they’re not getting written out of the story just yet. And Emu needs another birthday card and a mixed event which won’t be until at least October unless she gets back to back events for some reason. Nene will need a mixed event if she doesn't get the anniversary one. Oh and Rui and Tsukasa need their 4th unit events.

Here’s my personal theory for this event and spoilers for a ten year old anime I’m gonna talk about Love Live again (pretty sure I said this already before but oh well). So towards the end of the second season of that anime, the third years get close to graduating and muse have to decide if they want to continue without the third years or end the group there. They ultimately decide to disband once the third years leave because it wouldn’t be the same without them and then they cry about it and basically I think that’s probably what’s gonna happen. They know they can’t stay together but they’ve got a year left and they’re gonna enjoy it. As I said already I think all this stuff about endings and saying goodbye probably refers to Emu grieving her grandfather.

Also Asahi said he’d be back to offer Rui a job again once he’s done with high school isn’t that confirmation enough that we’ve got three years to go?

Also if it was the final wxs event you’d think they’d. Y’know. Mention it. In advance.

[halfagonyandhope]

when the skies catch fire │ch. 32

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Three days later, Obi-Wan waits in the hangar bay. He feels unsteady, due both to his arms supporting Léa’s weight - leaving his cane to lean against supply crates nearby - and the impending arrival of the Ghost from Stewjon. Chewbacca is piloting, and Ahsoka is on board.

Along with the family he hasn’t seen since he was three standard years old.

The immense hangar doors hiss, opening slowly, and humid Dantooine air rushes inside. Warmth from a different direction appears next to him, and Obi-Wan glances over to see Satine. She offers to take Léa, whom she wraps in a scarf to hold against her chest. Obi-Wan gratefully reaches for his cane. Satine shifts, leaning into him slightly, so that he can feel her arm behind his, always supporting him.

The VCX-100 light freighter comes into view and lands as directed by a Phoenix Base technician. Obi-Wan takes a tentative step forward.

The boarding platform descends.

Ahsoka is the first to disembark. Obi-Wan still hasn’t become accustomed to seeing her with her new sabers - they remind him of how much has changed, and, indeed, Ahsoka walks more like a knight than a padawan.

He realizes that she’s passed her trials. First during the aftermath of the Coruscant Temple bombing, then on Mustafar, and then again on Mandalore. Perhaps they weren’t ordinary trials, but his hadn’t been, either. Nor had Anakin’s. Obi-Wan swallows the heavy emotion that threatens to break loose. So much of the galaxy has moved on without his notice.

As though she’s following his thoughts, Satine places her hand on his shoulder and steps to him. Then they approach the freighter together.

Ahsoka has stepped to the side, head tilted slightly as she speaks with Bo-Katan, who had also appeared to greet the ship. There’s the sound of footsteps echoing from inside the freighter, and then three people appear at the top of the boarding platform.

A tall silver-haired woman, perhaps in her mid-sixties, strides down the ramp. Her cerulean tunic is precisely the same shade as her eyes -

Which are the same shade as Obi-Wan’s.

The Force seems to hum with energy.

Obi-Wan glances behind her, to a man about her same age. His eyes are green, his hair mostly gray but with flecks of blond. He’s shorter than Obi-Wan by perhaps a few centimeters, but Obi-Wan thinks that time is responsible for this because the man’s back curves slightly with age.

He doesn’t have time to examine the third person before his parents are before him. Again, he is lost for words.

“Hello there,” says the man, and Obi-Wan feels more than hears Satine chuckle softly.

This frees him somehow, and he says, “Father.” He meets Soléa’s gaze. “Mother.”

Soléa wraps him in her embrace, one arm around his shoulders, the other cradling his head. “My boy,” she whispers. “Thirty-five standard years, eight months, and twenty-seven days,” she says, pulling back and placing her hands on either side of his face. “But your eyes tell me you lived more than that in the time we’ve been apart.”

She’s not Force-sensitive, Obi-Wan knows, but her ability to see through him is unsettling.

Soléa lets her hands fall to her sides, and Obi-Wan steps to his father. Yewan, his memory supplies. His father’s name is Yewan.

Yewan hugs him with the same emotion as Soléa, though more briefly. “My heart is whole again,” Yewan says gruffly, struggling with the words as he steps back. Their accents hint at rural life, and Obi-Wan feels a slight pang when he realizes at one point he, too, must have spoken like they do, before the posh Coruscanti accent replaced his native one.

Yewan and Soléa step to the side, and the third member of their group steps forward.

He could practically be the twin of the Obi-Wan who’d first arrived on Dantooine, albeit slightly taller but with the same intense eyes and muscular build. His hair is lighter, though, and longer - long enough to be pulled back into a small bun.

“Elzar,” he says, somehow understanding that Obi-Wan hadn’t remembered his name.

“Elzar,” repeats Obi-Wan, and the name feels familiar on his lips. Obi-Wan hugs his younger brother, too, noticing his posture and making a note to ask about his military service later. Wherever he’d served in the past, he doesn’t look like he is actively enlisted - hair grows back quickly after a discharge, but the gait of a soldier remains forever.

When they part, Obi-Wan’s free hand immediately reaches for Satine, who steps forward.

“This is my wife, Satine,” he says. “Satine, this is my mother, my father, and my brother.” He pauses, then repeats their names. “Soléa, Yewan, and Elzar.”

Satine unwraps her scarf slightly so the Kenobi family can see the newborn. “And this is Léa, your granddaughter - and niece,” she says, looking from Yewan and Soléa to Elzar.

Soléa sucks in a breath. “Léa?” she repeats.

Obi-Wan nods at the follow-up question she hadn’t asked. “Yes,” he says.

Soléa wipes at the moisture in her eyes, and then she laughs. “I have so many questions that I hardly know where to begin.”

“The feeling is mutual,” says Obi-Wan, and Soléa grabs him for another embrace.

“My dear, you are too thin,” she says. Obi-Wan laughs, suddenly overcome with the normalcy of it all. 

Is this what it’s like? Having proper parents?

He decides that he wants to find out.

“My wife tells me the same,” says Obi-Wan, his tone light, and Soléa gives Satine a nod of approval. Satine beams. 

Obi-Wan shifts slightly to let his cane take a bit more of his weight, and Satine notices. “Come,” she says, gesturing to his family. “Let us move from the hangar. We will debrief in the conference room where we can speak more comfortably.”

She’s trying to get Obi-Wan off his feet, to get him to rest. She hasn’t touched him, but warmth spreads through his body.

He feels love and hope and gratitude, all mixed together and yet the same emotion. Satine catches his eye and nods her understanding.

She feels it, too.

---

Ahsoka stands in the middle of the conference room, just to the side of a holoprojection of Stewjon. She wears the Mandalorian blues given to her by Bo-Katan, her sabers at her hips. It’s still jarring, Obi-Wan realizes, this mix of Mandalorian and Jedi culture. He’d never thought he’d see it in his lifetime. He’d never dared hope to see it in his lifetime.

He looks down at his left hand, gaze caught by the light glancing off his beskar ring.

“We don’t have much intel on the attack,” says Bo-Katan, striding into the room and dimming the lights. “Chatter has been near-silent, but we think that’s because the attack speaks for itself.”

Ahsoka waves a hand and the holoprojection enlarges, focusing on the largest continent’s major mountain range. “Luxora, a relatively small city-town, was completely flattened. Luxora isn’t Stewjon’s capital. It’s not a center for trade; it’s not involved in any significant efforts to produce weaponry or resources that threaten the Empire. As far as we know, it was chosen because it was the birthplace of Master Kenobi.”

Léa squirms and begins to cry softly. Padmé, who has joined them, offers to hold her. “I’ll get her a bottle,” she whispers, taking the baby, and disappears.

Obi-Wan leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on one hand. He’d momentarily forgotten about his lack of beard, and his fingertips feel strange against the bare skin of his mandible.

“How many dead?” he asks lowly.

Ahsoka takes a deep breath. “Reports indicate most of the town’s 60,000 inhabitants perished.” She glances at Yewan and Soléa. “The Kenobis appeared to have survived because they took an unplanned trip to see Elzar, who is based in the capital.”

“We’ll need to put out words of their deaths,” says Obi-Wan immediately. He looks over at his family. “You’ll be safer if the Empire thinks you are dead,” he explains, an apology wrapping around each letter. “Your last name now makes you a target. If you return to Stewjon, the Empire will know, and you’ll be living on borrowed time.”

Soléa reaches over to put her hand atop her husband’s. She nods, her face pale but steely.

Obi-Wan looks between the three of them. “Did you have additional family in Luxora?” He leans back, wiping his sweating hands on his thighs.

Elzar shakes his head. “Grandparents died long ago, and I have no uncles or aunts.”

Obi-Wan addresses Elzar. “Did you have a partner in the capital? Children? Anyone who needs to be extracted?”

His brother seems to hesitate before picking his words. “No,” Elzar says finally. “My husband was killed years ago in the Clone Wars. We never had children.”

Obi-Wan’s heart falls.

Satine’s hand finds his under the table and squeezes. She doesn’t let go.

“I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan manages to say around the secondhand grief. He takes an unsteady breath.

Elzar nods sharply.

Satine leans forward, taking the weight of the conversation off the brothers. “You still stay here, for now,” she says. “We are self-sustaining, and we can assign each of you living quarters. If you wish, we can work on finding you refuge on a planet away from where we anticipate fighting between the Empire and the Rebel Alliance to take place. We can build you new lives.”

Soléa and Yewan look at each other, but Elzar speaks up first. “I’d like to stay,” he says. “If you’ll have me. I was a professor in military history before fighting in the Clone Wars. That’s where I met my husband - we were both pilots.” 

“We’re perpetually short on pilots,” Bo-Katan murmurs from across the room, but Satine hushes her, saying, “Even if you did not wish to fight, you would be welcome to remain.”

“Then it’s settled,” says Yewan, and Soléa nods. “We will stay.”

Obi-Wan’s grip on Satine’s hand tightens on instinct, and Satine brushes her thumb against his.

And there it is again suddenly - Obi-Wan doesn’t look for it, doesn’t reach out, but the Force seems to echo around him, a tune he’s not familiar with. The feeling, however…that he does know, and he breathes in its familiarity.

Satine glances at him, curious, and he realizes she must have felt whatever had just happened to him.

He laces their fingers together.

---

Later that evening, Satine commandeers use of the conference room with Ahsoka and Bo-Katan to start a call with two other rebel cells.

Before, she’d pulled him to the side. “Go with your family,” she’d told him gently. “I will brief you later.”

“Is there not something I can do?” Obi-Wan had asked.

Satine had rocked forward onto her toes to give him a soft kiss. “Yes,” she’d said against his lips. “Rest.” She’d pulled back. “You have gone to hells and back in service to this galaxy. Let the rest of us carry that burden for a little while. Go.” And she emphasized the final word with a slight push in the direction of his parents.

So Obi-Wan finds himself offering to show his parents the agricultural fields while Elzar remains with the command group, hoping he’d have some insight regarding local proceedings on Stewjon that would be of use.

Obi-Wan, Soléa, and Yewan trek to the fields through lavender grasses, passing some of the ag workers like Walker and Odessa on their way. Obi-Wan walks slowly so that he doesn’t misstep. He’s not at all sure how to begin conversation, but this doesn’t seem to bother Soléa, who falls into step beside him.

“Is your wife the Satine of Mandalore? The Duchess?” she asks immediately, and it’s clear she’s had the question on her tongue since the moment they’d been introduced in the hangar.

“I take it she’s known on Stewjon, then?” says Obi-Wan, amused.

“Very,” says Yewan from Obi-Wan’s other side. “Half the planet wanted to join the Council of Neutral Systems.”

“Just less than half,” corrects Soléa. “The referendum failed, and we remained in the Republic, as I’m sure you know.”

Obi-Wan nods. “I followed the referendum, but I didn’t realize the results were that close,” he admits. “Which did you vote for?”

Soléa smirks. “Our votes were split. I voted to join, and your father here voted to stay. So we canceled each other out.”

Yewan adds, “Seems not unlike the views you and your wife hold.”

They’ve reached the ag fields, and Obi-Wan rests against one of the large boulders that had been moved out of the fertile soil. He’s not quick enough to hide the way he winces, though, and his parents share a look.

Obi-Wan sighs, knowing he’ll need to tell them sooner or later. And if he tells them sooner, he won’t have to worry about their reactions any longer. “How much did Ahsoka tell you about my…condition?”

Soléa sits next to him. “She said you were gravely injured on a mission and in the process of healing. And that you probably didn’t want to be asked about it.”

Obi-Wan laughs. “Ahsoka is very wise, and that is due to no influence of my own.” He waits for his father to sit on his other side before continuing. “The mission Ahsoka mentioned was successful, with the rather large exception being that I got myself captured. I was held captive on Mandalore for many months, and I missed the birth of my daughter. But however long I was there, I’m beginning to understand that healing will take longer.”

Eager to move on, Obi-Wan searches for something else - anything else - to say. 

“Ahsoka is…was…” he hesitates, not sure if the present tense applies here or not. He decides eventually it does. “Ahsoka is my grandpadawan. That means the boy I taught as an apprentice grew up to train her. And she is better than either of us.”

“You’re a teacher?” asks Soléa.

“From a certain point of view,” concedes Obi-Wan. “My effectiveness at said teaching is…well, let us just say I don’t have the best track record.”

That was putting it mildly, but Obi-Wan wasn’t about to give further details to people who were, for all intents and purposes, relative strangers to him - even if more emphasis was on the relative than strangers.

“In fairness, teaching isn’t for everyone,” says Yewan. “I was rubbish at it, for example. Now, your mother, on the other hand…”

Obi-Wan meets Soléa’s eyes. “You were a teacher? On Stewjon?”

She nods. “Mostly music, but a little bit of everything as it was needed. You know,” she says, “the story from my side of the family was that we descended from a woman who could hear each living thing’s song. Somewhere in our line there was a professional opera singer, too.”

She stands and steps toward the field, where wheat is thriving. Then she kneels and grabs a handful of soil. She brings it to Yewan.

“It’s good soil, Yewan,” Soléa says, and he reaches out as she drops it in his fingers.

Yewan glances at Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrow. “We had a small farm, enough to grow what we needed to get by.” He lets the dirt fall to the ground and brushes off his hands.

“Your father is being modest,” says Soléa. “We had everything we needed and more. He grew various types of starflowers because he knew I liked them.” She smiles. “I wish you could see - could have seen,” she says, correcting herself. “I imagine the fields are gone now. But before the attack, the starflowers were a couple heads taller than you, perhaps. And growing season hadn’t finished yet.”

Obi-Wan, too, wishes he could have seen the fields.

“When I was thirteen, I left the Jedi,” Obi-Wan blurts out before he realizes what he’s saying. “I joined AgriCorps.”

His father looks delighted. “I’d love to hear more about it,” he says. “Though I take it your time there was short?”

Obi-Wan nods. “I ended up returning to the Jedi after a very brief stint with the Corps. If you have a green thumb, I certainly did not inherit it.”

Soléa’s laugh sounds like music, Yewan’s chuckle the harmony.

An idea occurs to Obi-Wan.

“Do you think you could grow lilies here?” he asks his father. 

“My boy, give me a challenge,” Yewan says. “No wonder AgriCorps didn’t fight for you to stay.”

Obi-Wan has to laugh at this, but Soléa eyes him seriously. “Lilies are symbolic to Mandalorians, I assume?”

Obi-Wan nods stiffly. “Satine used to wear them in her hair all the time. It’s been over a standard year since she’s had access to any.”

Soléa rests her hand on Yewan’s shoulder as he promises, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Obi-Wan nods his thanks.

Soléa steps toward Obi-Wan and then kneels in front of him. Slowly, cautiously, she wraps her hands around his. 

“Whatever you’ve lost to get here, Obi-Wan,” she says, “I’m so grateful you still have your strong heart.”

Obi-Wan looks into eyes that mirror his own. “I think I lost that, too, for a while,” he says, not quite able to stop the way his voice shakes at the beginning.

He looks at his father, and then back at the Temple.

Back to Satine. To Léa. To Ahsoka.

Obi-Wan’s voice is steady. “But I think I’m close to finding it again.”

[thebluestbluewords]

Anything You Like (the Jaylos-but-also-polyamory part)

More of my Soulmate AU! This section got wildly out of hand. Like, almost a third of my WIP-document out of hand. Loosely based on the Isle of the Lost book canon, so warning for bullying and terrible parenting.

+

"Get back here!" Jay shouts desperately at the kid disappearing as fast as his skinny legs can carry him, around the corner of the market street and deep into the maze of stalls. "I'm not--" 

Not what, his rational, thinking brain offers. Not going to hurt him? 

That's a stupid thought. Life on the island is all about hurting people. 

Jay hurts people for fun, and for class, and just because there are people in his way and he's finally starting to be one of the bigger, stronger kids who can get away with hurting other people instead of being the one who's hurt all the time. He's done his time as a little kid, and it feels... better to be the one in control, instead of the one who's always running and hiding and trying to avoid the people who want to hurt him. It's not like Jay can really run from his problems, not when they're all stuck on the same shitty island together with adults who want to leave him bleeding or dead or worse, but now that he's bigger, he can start fighting them instead of trying to run all the time. 

His soulmate isn't very big yet. Probably not big enough or strong enough to fight off an adult. 

Jay is not nice, and he is not kind, and he lives on the Isle of the Lost, so he doesn't, can't, care about other people like he cares about himself. He's not anybody else's top priority, so he's got to be his own number one. 

He's already got two soulmates to deal with, and a third one, especially a fast little third one who bites and squirms and has a knife and no sense of when he should use it shouldn't be something Jay is thinking about. He should make the smart choice, and swipe a new pair of gloves to cover the mark, and never think about it again. 

Yeah. That would be the smart thing to do. 

Conceal it, don't feel it, don't let it show. That's what they do on the mainland when they've got inconvenient feelings, and that's what Jay should do about this new soulmark and the inconvenient, annoying soulmate who comes with it. He should put it somewhere under his gloves, in the back of his mind, and never think about it again. 

He’s not going to, but it’s what he should do. Objectively speaking. It’s probably what Mal would tell him to do too, if she knew about this new soulmate. 

Jay should tell her. They’re each other’s first real marks. It’s not supposed to mean something on the isle of the lost, but it sometimes does anyway. They’re a villain-and-sidekick duo. Or, on their bad days, sidekick and sidekick. Sometimes everything goes wrong, and neither of them is feeling up to claiming responsibility for a scheme gone sideways, so they call themselves both sidekicks, trying to prop each other up without a proper villain to work around. Two useless lackeys with only each other to command. 

A pebble bounces off Jay’s head. 

Shit. If he were less lucky, the rock could have been a bottle, or a knife, or—

“Dude!” His soulmate shouts from the rooftop of the shitty cauldron store. The very easily accessible roof of the shitty cauldron store.  “Are you coming up or not?”

Right. 

One jump over the stack of third-rate cauldrons, and it’s an easy grab for the crumbling ladder on the side of the building. The momentum makes the ladder creak, but Jay’s been doing this for ages, and he’s not heavy enough to pull it out of the brick yet. He can’t quite get the leverage to do something cool, like backflip up onto the roof, but he can pull with his arms instead of his core, which is stupid and going to hurt later, but it makes his biceps pop. 

His soulmate probably doesn’t care what his arms look like. He’s probably some sad nerd who’s never looked at a guy in his life, and it’s just a coincidence that they’re marked for each other. Probably. Anything else would be almost good, and if there’s one kind of thing that never happens on the isle, it’s goodness. 

So, coincidence it is. 

+

Jay's new soulmate glares at him.  "You wanted to talk?" 

It’s probably not the best choice, seeing as the only reason they’re here is because Jay’s soulmate let him catch up, but it’s too fun to mess with him. “You don't?" Jay asks, keeping his face neutral. No point in giving anything away yet. He’s not above having fun with this. “Thought you’d want to get to know each other a bit. Seeing as we’re soulmates and all.” 

The kid glares back at him. Jay knows everyone at school, and he knows perfectly well who Carlos DeVil is, but they’ve never actually talked outside of school before. 

Actually, they’ve never really talked in school either. Sure, they’ve traded insults in the hall, and done their fair share of shouting at each other in class when Jay gets bored and starts throwing things into their weird science beaker, but they’ve never just…. talked. 

It’s weird, actually. 

Carlos folds his arms, defensive-like.  "Nothing to talk about. We're soulmarked, yay.” he rolls his eyes, somehow turning the ‘yay’ into the most sarcastic noise the isle’s seen in the last eighteen years. “You're still going to beat me up at school. I'm still gonna--" 

He stops, abruptly. 

"Gonna what?" Jay asks, fascinated despite himself. "Don't just stop there, man. What're you going to do now?" 

Carlos glares harder. "Nothing. Shut up." 

Jay is absolutely not going to do that. He's got another soulmate, and he's a fucking nerd, and he was definitely going to say something interesting. "Nope," Jay says cheerfully. His soulmate might be grumpy and nervous right now, but Jay's having a great time now that they're actually talking. "We're soulmarked now, so you've got to tell me. That's the rules." 

"We're on the isle. We don't have rules." 

"The cosmic rules of the universe. Soulmarks are like the one kind of magic we have over here, dude. Don't ruin the magic for me by saying you don't know the rules." 

Carlos looks pissed. "There aren't rules!" 

"Nu-uh,” Jay says, letting his voice fall into something light and almost singsong. “There totally are. The rules are that you have to tell me what you're thinking." 

"I'm thinking that you're a jerk." Carlos snaps. “And this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and you should’ve just bought better gloves and never fucking touched me in the first place.”

"Cool.” Jay says brightly. He’s never had someone tell him when they’re thinking honestly before, and it’s sort of intoxicating. He could get used to his kind of thing. “I'm thinking that we should stick together. I'll introduce you to Mal tomorrow, if that's cool?" 

"I know who Mal is. Everyone at school knows Mal." 

“Nah,” Jay says, not even bothering to hide his smile. He’s definitely going to introduce Carlos to Mal tomorrow, and they’re going to get along like a house on fire, because they’re both assholes.  “You know about Mal. You don't know her. Nobody else really knows her, not like me. And you, cause I'm going to introduce you." 

"What if I don't want that?" 

He obviously does want it. Nobody at school except for an idiot would turn down an invite to get out of Mal’s bad graces, and Carlos isn’t an idiot. Jay wouldn’t have spent the last sixteen years taking stuff out of his locker if he were dumb, and it’s gonna be great. 

"Too bad. I'm introducing you two anyway.” Jay says cheerfully. Having a new soulmate is fun. Having two soulmates has been great for him so far, and it’s going to be even better once they get to know each other too. “Hey, maybe cause we share a mark, you’ll share one with Mal too!” 

Carlos mumbles something mostly-inaudible. Jay can’t be sure, but it sounded suspiciously unlike the words “I’m so excited to meet your other soulmate” and a lot more like “if there’s two of them I’m going to fucking kill myself.”  

So. That’s a little worrying. 

Honesty seems to be the way to go. At least when he’s with Mal, honest questions about the gaps in their plan usually lead to less stabbing of their essential body parts, and more of them stabbing the other guys. So there’s that, and also the refreshingly honest answer he got out of his new soulmate last time, soo….

"What?” Jay asks. He’s still trying to keep his expression normal, but it’s hard to focus on that when there’s so many other things to worry about. Like how he’s going to explain to Mal that they’ve got a new gang member, and how he’s going to drag the two of them into the same space long enough to like each other. Maybe he should treat them both like the feral cats that he caught for his cousin, and lock them in rooms next to each other for a while so they can both shout at him until they get tired and decide it’s better to ally together.

Carlos sighs. It’s almost like Jay’s starting to wear down some of his prickly edges already.  "I said, I don't want to get to know Mal. You two have been tormenting me since kindergarten. Nothing is going to change just because you have a mark on your hand." 

Jay taps the new mark with his fingertips before he even realizes he’s doing it. It’s technically on his wrist, not his hand, but it’s going to be hard to hide either way. "You've got one too."

"Yeah, and my mother is going to try and cut it out of me as soon as she finds out,” Carlos says. He’s not glaring anymore, which would be cool if his face hadn’t gone totally blank instead. Like a mask, or like the thing that Evie, the pretty new girl that Mal’s been obsessed with since she showed up to school does with her face when she’s not thinking about it. “It'd be cool if you would stop fucking up all my shit at school, but I don't actually expect you to like, change or anything. We don't have to be anything because of this." 

Ouch.  "We don't fuck with that much of your shit."

"You soulmarked me by accident because you were trying to shove my head in a toilet," Carlos says, patiently. He's standing just out of arm's reach, with his back to the open rooftop. They're within easy sprinting distance to three other houses with low roofs, and Jay can count a handful of small, open windows that Carlos could probably dive through without issue, but are small enough that Jay, with his wider shoulders, would have to slow down and slip through more carefully. "I don't think you'd be able to stop fucking up my shit if you tried." 

"Hey!" 

"Just being honest. And hey, if you want to try, be my guest. I'd love to actually keep some of the shit I make for myself."

There’s a weight in Jay’s pocket that feels a lot like a handmade crossbow pen. And another one in his boot that might be a handful of tiny button batteries, and okay, maybe a third weight shoved in the secret pocket in the back of his vest that’s stuffed full of the wire contraption that he snagged without thinking right after his hand slipped and the soulmark showed up. 

It’s not something he’s gonna keep doing now, obviously. 

"We do take a lot of your shit, huh.” Jay admits. “I uh, I have some of your stuff. If you want it back.” 

Carlos’s face is still blank. "Yeah. I know. And I also know that Auradon psychology textbooks say it's because nobody loves you at home, but it'd be really cool if you could stop taking it out on me."

Ouch. That one lands, and Jay has to work to keep his face blank over the instinctive spike of hurt that wells up in the dark depths of his chest. He's not exactly his dad's favorite person, but there's the other two girls who work in the shop sometimes, and they're friendly enough. Someone to help clean the dust off the junk and swap jokes with while they're handing over their weekly cut of the earnings is almost like having a friend, and Delphine even sticks around to flirt sometimes after her shift ends.

Delphine is nearly thirty, and keeps more knives on her person than Jay's ever managed to slip out of her pockets. She's also sort of scary if he tries to slip out before she's done talking with him, but she pays attention to his new bruises, and she once brought him a cup of stew from the spicier stall two streets down, and didn't even spit in it first. So she's basically the closest thing he's got to a friend at home. 

"Mal takes her temper out on everyone," Jay points out, instead of defending his home life. It's the Isle of the Lost. They're all stuck here together with the same shitty parents, and explaining that he's got one person who usually doesn't throw anything at him on the way out the door isn't exactly a resounding defense. "I don't think I could stop her if I tried." 

Carlos rolls his eyes. Now that Jay's looking, there's a ring of old bruises around his left eye. "I know. The whole school knows. It wasn't this bad last year, but ever since you two got dumped by Uma's pirate crew, or whatever–" 

"We broke it off with them." 

"Or whatever,” Carlos repeats, rolling his eyes again. “It's not like it makes a difference what actually happened. She's been kind of a raging bitch since then."

Jay lifts an eyebrow, partially at the language choice, and partially because he’s sort of being thrown for a loop here. Everyone wants to meet Mal, and he’s not really sure if he’s got anything to offer outside of his connection with her. 

“Yeah, well,” he tries. “I bet if she had another soulmate, she’d probably be a lot less…” 

“Bitchy?” 

“I was gonna say irritable. Look, we lost half our crew when we dumped Uma’s gang–” 

“When they dumped you,” Carlos whispers. 

Jay shoots him a look. “Whatever. When we broke up, we lost a lot of our crew. And it’s not like we’re having trouble keeping things under control on our own, but we wouldn’t turn down company, if you’re interested. We have a hideout and everything. You could come and stay the night, if you want. Just to try it out.” 

There’s a flicker of interest in his soulmate’s face. 

“I guess,” Carlos says slowly. “If you’re offering, it would be not the worst thing to get out of my mom’s house for a night.” 

Bingo. 

“We’re offering.” Jay says, before he can think twice about the offer. He’ll lock Mal in their storage room, keep her out of the way until he’s got his new soulmate acclimated to the place. “Come on, if we go now we can make it home before Mal gets there, and you can give her the scare of her fuckin’ life.” 

There’s a tiny hint of what might be a smile on Carlos’s face. “Sounds fun.” 

It’s a risk, but they’re doing so well now that he can’t resist. 

Jay holds out a hand. “Come on. Let me show you the way.” 

Carlos takes it. “Lead on, I guess.”