#tried to get this into words and I hope I did a decent job explaining

[dykecubes]

I think a major part of why the the idea that men are the problem in this situation rubs me the wrong way is because it’s just weeks after Cellbit came forward with his abuse story, a man who was abused by a woman, and who’s story didn’t get nearly as much attention as this despite their similarities

To imply that all men are always the brutish, violent attackers to innocent female victims is.. well it’s archaic, it’s misogynistic, and it implies that it’s impossible for men to be the victims of abuse, immediately discrediting the stories of male victims

This is especially important considering that, from the evidence we’ve seen and from billzo’s response, it’s very clear that his girlfriends were likely not the only people Wilbur abused and he probably did have male victims too

[thetarsier]

heyyy!! i hope you’re well!! i was hoping you could write a jealous!aaron x reader where she’s basically getting hit on while she’s at girls night and maybe penelope snaps a picture of her and the guy and sends it to the BAU gc and aaron basically drives over and suprises you because he was jealous

a/n: hi! thank you for the request, lovely, i was so excited to write this one :)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/notes: drinking, asshole-type men (yes that's a warning)

<3: aaron hotchner x fem!reader, established relationship

Girls' night always - always - ended in one of your own getting hit on. Usually, it was JJ, but Emily fielded her fair share of creepy drunk men. Penelope tended to go after men herself, and you were the quiet one that laughed along with the others at the strange men eyeing them up. Rarely were you ever the target of their affections. 

It was something that the other girls constantly tried to change, with JJ repeatedly pointing you out to the men who came over to the table (which almost always ended in you ducking away to the bathroom until the guy got the hint). They didn’t know that you were more than content being an observer of their conversations, happy to celebrate the numbers Emily and Penelope received and laugh over the rejections of the men that came after JJ. 

They didn’t know, because they all still thought that you were single. You’d never told them otherwise, and that was mostly because of who you were currently dating: Aaron Hotchner, your boss. 

It was a connection that blossomed over the many years of you being at the BAU, not the same as some rushed, half-assed attempt to score during a night out. He loved you, and you loved him, and you were trying to take it slow out of the eyes of your coworkers. It’d worked for almost two years now with only a few minor slip-ups that were easy to explain away to the people who’d witnessed them. 

Not Rossi, however. Rossi had you two figured out almost as soon as you started to take things seriously, and now he acted as your protector. He changed subjects, scolded, and made those who questioned you or Aaron seem stupid. He was the perfect person to have as a secret keeper, mostly because he didn’t have it in him to care that much. 

And he’d done a beautiful job, too. It was a running joke on the BAU group chat that Penelope’s mission on your nights out was to find you someone to go home with. This was why, despite your usual invisibility, when a guy approached you at the bar, you were left alone with him, your girlfriends disappearing into the crowd around you. 

“-And so, yeah, I would say I’m self-made. I mean, my dad did lend me most of the money I used to actually start up, and all of my customers came from the family company, too, but I run the place, you know?” The guy interrupted his ramblings to take a sip from his beer, and you continued your nodding. 

You were used to listening to fast ramblings, thanks to Spencer, but usually his monologues were interesting, and you could follow them with relative fascination. This guy was just… awful. At storytelling, and being a good conversationalist in general.

“He hasn’t stopped talking this whole time,” JJ observed from their table, shaking her head, “Can’t imagine he’s particularly decent.”

“She hasn’t walked away, yet, though,” Emily shrugged, “Maybe he’s like Reid?”

“Does he look like Reid?” Penelope pulled her phone out of her bag, “Doesn’t matter. Mission half accomplished - everyone has to see this.”

She snapped a photo of the two of you, him leaning into you, you leaning onto the bar. From an outsider's perspective, with the angle that Penelope had taken the photo, it might have looked like you were enjoying his advances more than you actually were. You felt the vibration in your pocket as Penelope sent your photo to the group chat, but you didn’t look, too focussed on how you were going to get out of the man’s company without causing a scene to care about what your phone was doing.

“Oh, look,” Emily pointed to Penelope’s phone, “Morgan’s already responded-” She switched to a lower tone of voice as she read out the man’s text. “-Doesn’t count, Babygirl. Nobody’s gone home yet.”

“He’s right, you know,” JJ looked back at you and the man, “And I don’t think this is a match made in heaven.”

“I can’t keep losing this bet!” Penelope complained as she shoved her phone back in her bag and sat down, disheartened. 

“Ha!” Emily laughed, looking at her own phone, “Hotch has seen it.”

“Oh, that’s embarrassing,” JJ stifled her own laugh by taking a sip of her drink, “Delete it, Garcia. Her boss has seen that.”

“He’s seen it all - he’s in the group chat,” Penelope defended, “Maybe the embarrassment of her constant failure will lure her into a perfect match.”

“That makes sense,” Emily commented sarcastically, eyes roaming over the crowd. 

You laughed politely at the man’s joke before averting your eyes down to your lemonade. You weren’t supposed to be the designated driver - the four of you were meant to get a cab - but once you’d found out about Penelope’s plan, you’d switched to non-alcoholic drinks. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust yourself, but you studied serial killers and rapists for a living, and you knew that some men liked to take advantage. If you were drunk, you couldn’t defend yourself as well as if you were sober. Usually, it wasn’t an issue - you had your girls - but sometimes the anxiety was too much for you to enjoy a drink, and that anxiety only increased tenfold when you were left alone with a guy.

The man’s droning on was getting so tedious that when you looked over his shoulder and saw Aaron - neat suit and all - you thought you had imagined him. Then, when he started moving closer, you started to worry that he would get the wrong idea. 

But, he knew you, and you could tell by his caution that he was well aware of how you were feeling, tuned into your discomfort. Once you’d confirmed that your boyfriend was, in fact, in the same bar as you, you smiled and communicated with your eyes something that you hoped sounded like: ‘Get the hell over here right now.’

“Excuse me,” Aaron attached himself to your side, and you instantly felt safer, “What are we talking about over here?”

“Hey, back off, man,” The guy stood up straighter, and Aaron slipped an arm around your waist, “I’ve been talking to her all night.”

“Yes, and clearly it was riveting conversation,” Aaron eyed the many empty bottles surrounding the two of you and then your own singular glass of lemonade with disdain, “But it’s time to say goodnight.”

He didn’t even allow the man to say anything else, just used his grip on your waist to spin the two of you around and toward where he knew the girls were sitting. His arm left your waist once the two of you were no longer shielded by other people, and as you approached the tall table, sliding into the spare chair, you scowled at Penelope. 

“Next time you try to set me up against my will, at least make sure he’s not a jerk.” 

“Next time, my love.” She promised, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. 

Aaron stood to your right, in between you and JJ, and you gestured to him as you looked between your three friends, “Look at who had to come and save me,” You feigned annoyance, and acted as though you were secretly telling the girls of your embarrassment, “How did you even know we were here?”

“Oh, my God. He saw the photo.” Penelope gasped.

“The what?”

“Garcia put a photo of you and the guy on the group chat to try and prove that she’d succeeded in her mission,” JJ admitted, amusement swimming in her blue eyes as she looked between you and Aaron. 

“Oh, you’re asking for an HR case,” You pointed a finger at the flamboyant blonde, who smiled sweetly at you, tucking her hands underneath her chin, “You sent a picture of me at a bar to all of my colleagues?”

“If it makes you feel any better, Morgan said it doesn’t count.”

“Oh, great, so you sent my picture to my colleagues, and it didn’t even count.” You were only joking with them, and each of them was well aware of that fact. 

“Still,” Emily turned her attention back to Aaron, “Why are you here?”

You also turned to look back at him as he rubbed the back of his neck. He clearly hadn’t thought much past the initial urge to save you from your misery, and you were sure that not even Rossi could’ve lied your way out of the situation. 

“Um…” He narrowed his eyes, brain working overtime for something believable, “I was here already for, the, uh…” 

His eyes darted down to yours in desperation. You laughed at him, leaning your head back onto his shoulder and reaching your hand down to grab at his. The secrecy was on your account, as most things in your relationship were; not only because he was technically your boss, but also because he was head-over-heels obsessed with you. It was created on your account, and you would be the one to break it. 

“Okay, guys, there’s a reason why I never go home with anyone from the bar…” You grinned, peeking up at Aaron from where the back of your head rested just below his chin before you looked back at the girls. 

Penelope was shocked into silence, her mouth wide open, hands stuck out by her sides, JJ was sporting a happy smile of her own, and Emily had a hand over her mouth, eyes blown with shock. After a few seconds of silence, where Aaron squeezed your hand to soothe both of your nerves, the group sprung into action. 

“Oh, my God!” Emily chuckled, “I knew there was something going on. I knew it!” 

“Oh, this is… This is…” Penelope waved her hands around. 

“Wonderful,” JJ finished, reaching over to touch your other hand that rested on the table, “And congratulations - you had everyone fooled.”

“It’s been hard,” You conceded, “Sometimes during hard cases, it was slightly too hard, but we’ve gotten through it.”

“Oh, you guys,” Penelope tilted her head to the side, “You’re too adorable.”

“And on that note,” You smiled, picking up your purse, “I think we should probably go.”

You said your goodbyes, and Aaron managed to get out his own through his uncharacteristic blushes and stutters, and you made your way out to Aaron’s car, hand in hand. 

“Why did you come?” You asked him out of curiosity once he’d climbed into his side of the car.

“Honest answer?” He raised an eyebrow and you nodded, turning your body towards his, “Really, I saw that photo of you with the guy, and I didn’t even think about it. I just got in the car.”

“Oh, you were jealous,” You teased, poking his arm gently, “It’s okay, Hotchner, I’m all yours, anyway.”

“Good,” He leaned over the centre console, fingers gripping your chin and encouraging your face closer to his, “Because I’m all yours.” 

Each of his kisses was a seal to his promise.

It was only in the morning, when you finally checked your phone after a night with Aaron, that you realised another photo had been snapped of you. One of you and Aaron walking out of the bar holding hands. Penelope had sent it to the group chat with the message ‘Mission finally successful.’ 

The group chat had barely shut up since, question after question rolling into your inbox.  

You groaned, falling back into your pillow, where Aaron kissed a path from the tip of your middle finger to your cheek, smiling against your skin. 

“If it makes you feel any better, Dave will stop bothering us about telling the truth now,” He mumbled into your neck, and you sighed, a smile on your face as you played with his hair. 

“Very true, Hotchner. Just remember: it was your jealousy that got us into this mess, so you’re dealing with the questions we’re going to get.”

He laughed into your skin, an agreement.

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Four

Chapter Four: Learning Curve

Plot: With the prospect of both a biography and a new team member, Y/n learns more about the modus operandi of AFC Richmond.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: f!reader, language, minor innuendo, (16+)

A/N: This is really the last chapter before things start to get going, so hang tight through the filler, because we’re about to take off lol

—————

Though she spent very little time there, the KJPR office was somewhat of a safe haven for Y/n.

Working at Nelson Road Stadium had proven to bring a level of chaos Y/n wasn’t used to. When she’d make the drive across town for her weekly meetings with Keeley, she was assured the only focus would be work.

So when Y/n entered Keeley’s office and found her boss on the couch, holding two cups of coffee, she was a bit thrown.

“Hi!” Keeley greeted.

“Morning,” Y/n replied, shutting the door behind her, “What’s this?”

“I thought we could have breakfast,” Keeley smiled, holding up the cups, “I want to hear all about your first week.”

Y/n tried to hide her true feelings on the matter, knowing Keeley had all the right intentions. It wasn’t many bosses who cared so much about their employees.

“Okay,” Y/n conceded, setting her things on the far end of the couch and joining Keeley in the middle.

“I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just got cream and sugar,” Keeley explained as she handed Y/n the takeaway cup, “I hope you’re good with dairy.”

“I’m fine,” Y/n chuckled, taking a sip of the drink, “It’s lovely.”

Keeley grinned victoriously. “So,” she kicked off her ridiculously high heels and tucked her feet under her, “How’s it going? Are you loving it?”

Love was a strong word in the case of Y/n’s feelings towards AFC Richmond. She liked Rebecca, she liked Higgins, she…could tolerate Ted. Coach Beard, whose lack of first name didn’t seem to bother anyone, and Roy Kent seemed decent. Some of the Greyhounds were more friendly than others. The work was something she was perfectly skilled at. But Y/n couldn’t say she was in love with any part of the job.

“It’s…” Y/n struggled to answer truthfully while staying grateful, “Definitely a unique place.”

“It’s a lot to get used to if you’ve never been in that world,” Keeley replied, picking up on the top notes of what Y/n was saying.

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded, relaxing a little, “That’s not to say that I’m not happy there. I just think it’s going to take a little while to adjust.”

Keeley took a long sip of her drink before speaking, “Well, if there’s one thing I learned being there, it’s that you’ve got to leave yourself open to new things. I mean, when I first met Rebecca, I was fucking terrified of her. Felt like I was gonna piss myself anytime she looked at me.”

Y/n scrunched her brows in confusion.

“But,” Keeley rested an arm on the back of the sofa, “Once I decided I wasn’t going to be intimidated by her anymore, we became best friends. Now I can’t imagine my life without her.”

“That’s wonderful,” Y/n smiled softly down at her coffee cup, trying to hold her tongue as much as she could, “For you guys, but…I can’t say that I’m looking for anything more from Richmond than a decent place to work.”

One look at Keeley’s face and it was clear nothing about that answer was computing. “Why?”

Y/n slowly shrugged as she searched for the proper answer. “I just…I don’t know, I just feel like there’s your personal life and your professional life and the two don’t really go together. That’s not to say it doesn’t work for some people,” she gestured towards Keeley with her cup, “It clearly did for you. Just…I don’t see that in the cards for me.”

Watching Y/n as she sipped her coffee, Keeley felt reminiscent of the very time she’d just described. She’d cracked Rebecca open, and this felt like another grand opportunity.

“Well,” Keeley smiled knowingly, “I think it’s worth investing time in the people you work with. Like us,” she reached forwards and tapped Y/n’s knee, “I want us to be friends.”

Y/n chuckled, feeling trapped between a very pink rock and an equally pink hard place.

“Even if it takes the whole season,” Keeley continued, narrowing her eyes, “And endless weekends sat in the owner’s box together…”

“This is getting into HR territory,” Y/n smirked.

“Shows what you know,” Keeley replied smugly, “We don’t have an HR department yet.”

Unable to stop herself, Y/n joined in with Keeley’s laughter.

“Now,” Keeley bent down and slipped her heels back on, “We’ve got a meeting to get to.”

Rising from the sofa, Y/n felt like she was going to get whiplash from how fast the atmosphere shifted from work to anything but.

—————————

Keeley and Y/n made the short drive to Nelson Road and went straight up to Rebecca’s office. Y/n had daily meetings with the Greyhound’s owner and Higgins, but Keeley only popped in once a week.

“Morning,” Keeley knocked on Rebecca’s door, but entered without asking.

“Good morning,” Rebecca said in a voice Y/n had quickly learned only came out when she was stressed.

“Something wrong?” Y/n asked as she set her purse by the coffee table.

Rebecca took a breath, “Trent Crimm will be joining our meeting this morning. Apparently he has a proposition he’d like to talk to us about.”

Y/n confusedly looked to Keeley before bouncing back to Rebecca.

“Trent previously worked for The Independent,” she continued, “I don’t know if you read the article about Ted’s panic attacks last season, but he was at the helm.”

In fact, Y/n hadn’t read anything about Ted’s panic attacks until recently. And if she had heard the name ‘Trent Crimm,’ it hadn’t made a lasting impression.

“So…” Y/n started, “Do we like him or…?”

“I suppose it’s neutral,” Rebecca sighed, “Or that could change within the hour. We’ll see.”

Y/n gave a thin lipped smile, “Fun.”

By the time the three letters hit the air. Higgins was knocking on Rebecca’s door, Trent Crimm in tow.

“Good morning, all,” he greeted, “I’ve brought our special guest.”

Rebecca stood to her feet, smoothing her blouse as she did, “Trent. Always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Trent said, his voice smooth and even as he shook Rebecca’s hand.

“I believe you’ve met Keeley Jones,” Rebecca gestured to her friend, “But you haven’t met our latest hire. This is Miss Y/n Y/l/n, she’s heading up PR alongside Keeley.”

Y/n stretched her hand over Rebecca’s desk to take Trent’s.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Y/l/n,” the former journalist greeted.

“You as well,” Y/n replied, keeping an even expression.

Rebecca gestured towards the chair on the opposite side of the desk, “Please.”

Trent took a seat while Y/n, Keeley and Higgins formed a united front on either side of Rebecca

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I requested to meet with you,” Trent said, pausing briefly after, “As you know, I recently left my position at The Independent in favor of pursuing other creative avenues. However, having spent much time here, as well as other clubs, I know how unique AFC Richmond is.”

Unique. The same word Y/n had used to describe her feelings on Richmond. So she wasn’t the only one who saw it…

“Not only this past season,” Trent continued, “Being relegated only to make a triumphant return, but the team, the coaches…” Trent spread his hands, “It’s all quite special in contrast to other clubs.”

Finally, Trent paused the flattery and got to the heart of the matter. “I’m quite interested in writing a book about AFC Richmond. It would, of course, contain some of the club’s rich history, but I’d specifically like to focus on this season, which would entail shadowing the club for its entirety.”

Red lights. Big, red flashing lights went off in Y/n’s head.

“Well,” Rebecca stuttered, reaching for her tea cup, “That is…certainly a proposition.”

“Quite,” Higgins agreed, that nervous smile pasted on his face.

“It’s wonderful to hear,” Y/n added, glancing briefly over to Keeley and seeing the same panic in her eyes, “That the club’s so highly regarded.”

Trent smiled easily as he waited for an answer.

“But,” Rebecca said rather loudly, before catching herself, “I feel that the final say can’t come from me. I think it’s only right that Coach Lasso be the one who decides.”

“Yes,” Keeley interjected, “That’s a very good point.”

Speak of the devil, or whatever inhumanly cheery being he channeled each morning, The Final Say rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Good morning, Viet-“ Ted began as he strolled in.

All at once, in nervous relief, Rebecca, Keeley, Higgins and Y/n all shouted, “Ted!”

“Hey, look who’s here,” Ted grinned, pointing to Keeley, “Hi, Keeley.”

“Hello, Ted,” Trent turned in his chair.

Ted stopped in place, before shaking the man’s hand, “Trent Crimm. Are you kiddin’ me? Hey, nice to see you, man. You know, they got a big ol’ Ziploc bag full of your hair ties down at the lost and found. You should pop on down, i-if you still want ‘em.”

Ted went about placing the daily delivery of biscuits on Rebecca’s desk, something Y/n still didn’t understand.

“Mr. Crimm has requested to follow the club this year,” Rebecca paraphrased, grinning unnaturally large at Ted, “He wants to write a book about us.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ted raised a curious eyebrow.

“I think there’s a story here worth telling, Ted,” Trent said.

“Yes,” Rebecca smiled, “And we all,” she gestured to her own team, “Love the idea, but obviously as manager, we thought you should have the final decision.”

Ted sucked his teeth, “Oh, okay.”

As he began to think it over, and while Trent’s back was turned on the group, Keeley, Rebecca, Higgins and Y/n began to mouth and gesture a silent chorus of ‘no’ to Ted.

“I mean, geez, you know…” Ted stalled, his eyes bouncing between his co-workers and Trent.

It was a nightmare waiting to unfold, Y/n tried to communicate that passionately with each shake of her head. All eyes were already on Richmond, waiting for them to mess up. Waiting for some drama that could be exploited. They didn’t need someone describing every failure in graphic detail, catching every ugly moment…

Ted felt otherwise.

“Sure, what the heck? Why not?”

Y/n grimaced.

“When can you start?” Ted asked, “No time like the present. Except 11:11, that’s my wishing time. Or 23:11, if I’m at a military base or Euro Disney.”

“Right, well,” Rebecca breathed, “Decision made. Wonderful,” she smiled at the newest addition to the Richmond fold, “Trent, welcome.”

Y/n kept the same polite smile, praying her face held.

The chime of Higgins’ mobile broke the awkward silence.

“Holy shit,” the man exclaimed, “Zava is leaving Juventus.”

“Whoa,” Keeley cried, reaching for her phone in time with Rebecca.

“Wait,” Y/n paused, “‘Zava’ Zava?”

Ted gasped, “What about their kids?” He earned himself a brief glare from the foursome across from him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what any of those things meant. I thought it was like Greek mythology or something. I was just lost. I just went with that. Sorry.”

“Zava’s a world class striker who’s about to leave his club in Italy,” Trent explained for Ted’s benefit, but Y/n listened as well. She knew nothing more than the name.

“Ooh,” Ted replied, “Cacio later, Pepe.”

“Apparently,” Higgins began to read from the headlines, “He wants to play in the Premier League because his wife binged The Office and she wants to live in England.”

“I think you mean Scranton, Pennsylvania, buddy,” Ted pointed toward Higgins.

“We didn’t do it first, Ted,” Y/n replied, glancing up from Google quickly, “Ricky Gervais?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Ted remembered, “Y’all did a premake over here.”

Higgins brought them back to the original topic. “If we got Zava,” he breathed, “That would be amazing.”

“He would be huge for the club’s brand,” Keeley added, “He’s got, like, 90 million followers. One time he just posted the word ‘7 million likes.’ It got 10 million likes.”

“Yes, but he is very expensive,” Rebecca countered, “And isn’t he supposed to be a bit of a diva?”

Y/n was scanning the top search results for the star player, already not thrilled with the level of consistent inconsistency she saw. But Keeley was right, he was on his way to Beckham level status.

“Yes, huge diva,” the blonde answered, “Enormous. He goes through teams like you go through manicurists.”

“The fumes make me dizzy,” Rebecca defended, “And I overshare,” she quickly looked to Trent, “Please don’t print that.”

“We have to balance what he’d do for the brand versus the enviroment he’d create,” Y/n spoke up, “But, yes, generally speaking, he’d be incredible.”

“Zava has gone through 14 teams in 15 years,” Higgins spoke for the other side, “Leaving behind nothing but chaos and trophies,” longing developed in the man’s eyes, “Beautiful, shiny trophies.”

Rebecca sighed, “Yes, but, Leslie, who wants to deal with all that drama?”

“Apparently, everyone who can afford him,” Higgins answered, scrolling an article, “Chelsea, Arsenal, United, West Ham…”

“I say, let’s just go for it,” Rebecca said, barely letting a beat pass after the utterance of her ex’s team, “I mean, maybe he’s a handful, but who doesn’t love a handful?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re talking salted peanuts,” Ted replied, “Yes, please. If you’re talking Skittles though, no thank you. You know, the dye melts and it gets all over your fingers, makes ‘em all sticky,” Ted laughed before pointing to Trent, “And that, you can print.”

“Wonderful,” Higgins decided, “Let’s set up a meeting.”

“Great,” Rebecca cheered as the rest of the room voiced their own enthusiasm, “Let’s go get Zava. Zava-dabba-doo!”

Keeley and Y/n each collected their things and headed for the door with Higgins and Ted.

“This is exciting,” Keeley said cheerily.

“Potentially a huge headache,” Y/n replied, ever the more pessimistic, “But it could be great.”

“So, am I to assume,” Trent asked Rebecca, not having moved from his spot, “You’re going to pursue a notoriously mercurial player you can’t really afford simply because the team your ex-husband owns wants him?”

From the door, Ted, Higgins, Y/n and Keeley all gave an encore of the previous performance, gesturing wildly to Rebecca to answer ‘no.’

Following Ted’s lead, Rebecca responded truthfully. “Yes.”

A second of silence passed before Trent gave an approving smile, “Love that.”

Feeling safe leaving Rebecca and Trent alone, Y/n followed the group out and down the stairs. Keeley informed her along the way that she was off to oversee a commercial shoot, but to text her if she had any questions. Regardless of Y/n’s reservations, she admired that Keeley was a hands-on boss.

Once in her office, Y/n set down her things and tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut that she needed to speak to Ted. He’d gone forward with Trent Crimm’s book idea without even considering the possible repercussions for the club. One week on the job had shown Y/n that Ted was optimistic to a fault.

“He knows what he’s doing, he knows what he’s doing,” Y/n muttered to herself, taking a deep breath and sitting down at her desk. She’d barely made contact with the chair before she was back up, “Nope.”

Descending down the staircase with purpose in each step, Y/n made a beeline for the coach’s office, passing Keeley and Isaac. She knocked on the door twice before poking her head in.

“Well, hey there, Y/n,” Ted greeted from his office, waving her over, “Come on in.”

“Hi,” Y/n smiled, shutting the door behind her and coming to stand before Ted and Coach Beard’s adjoined desks. The latter wasn’t in yet. “Do you have a second?”

“Hey, for a fellow ex-pat, you can have two,” Ted joked.

Y/n had prayed on multiple occasions that she’d learn to appreciate Ted’s off-beat humor as everyone else seemed to. God had yet to deliver.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re considering,” Y/n gestured circularly with her hands, “All the angles of what allowing Mr. Crimm to follow us this season means.”

“Okay,” Ted replied, moving to sit down at his desk, “Speak your mind, small fry.”

“Look, I know that a book all about Richmond sounds flattering,” Y/n explained, “And it is, but…regardless of whether he currently works for a publication or not, Trent is, at his core, a journalist. And some journalists may say they’re out to capture the good, but most of them are only interested in capturing the bad. And he’s going to be here for,” Y/n shut her eyes to accentuate the point, “Every single moment of the season. Which means every slip of the tongue, every mistake, basically,” she gestured between Ted and Coach Beard’s chair, “Any wrong move you or the team make will be put into print and potentially inflated to make you look even worse. It’s just…” Y/n took a breath, “Not the best idea.”

To his credit, Ted not only listened to Y/n’s points, but seemed to genuinely consider them.

“Well, I appreciate you bringin’ all that up, Y/n,” Ted finally replied, “Really. But I’ve known Trent a while and he’s a good egg. He’s not gonna try and paint us any other way than which we are.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “This is the same man who wrote about you having a panic attack on the pitch.”

“Oh,” Ted waved the memory off, “He was just doin’ his job. Ain’t no water needs to pass under that bridge.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/n replied, her mouth hanging open at the lack of thought that was going into this.

“All that aside, I think Trent’s gonna do a bang-up job,” Ted smiled, “And if anything comes up, we’ll make sure to let him know to leave it out.”

“Okay,” Y/n clapped her hands together before holding them up, “Forget I said anything.”

“Wait, what was that?” Ted asked, pressing a hand to his ear for added comedic effect.

Y/n threw him a courtesy chuckle as she made for the door, letting the faux smile fall as soon as her back was turned. She could officially go on record of saying she’d tried to save the club’s reputation. If Ted wanted to sabotage that, it wouldn’t fall on her head…

Emerging in the hallway, Y/n was more in her head than her surroundings. A solid blonde and blue blur in her peripheral vision, Jamie Tartt, brought her back. He was laser-locked on something down the hall.

Y/n came to a stop, glancing down the way from them to see the back of Roy Kent, bobbing down the hall, and Keeley standing by herself, with a bag over her shoulder.

“What are you looking at?” Y/n asked, more confused than curious.

“Science,” Jamie mumbled, his eyes following Keeley as she turned on her heel.

Y/n squinted at the reply, “Huh?”

“I think Roy and Keeley broke up,” Jamie answered.

“They were dating?” Y/n asked, her eyes now trailing Keeley as well.

The question finally broke Jamie’s focus and he turned to Y/n, “How could you not know that? I thought you and Keeley were mates.”

“She’s my boss,” Y/n gave a sideways glance, “Her personal life is none of my business.”

Y/n turned to Jamie, who was already tuned out of the conversation. “But something tells me it’s yours so,” she clutched the rail and swung up the stairs, “Have a good one.”

Behind her, Jamie mumbled some reply as they went on their separate ways.

—————————

Later in the day, after extensive research on Zava amongst other tasks, Y/n’s phone buzzed with a text from Keeley.

Are you free for a drink after work?

She sighed tiredly, out of all the people trying to befriend her, Keeley’s efforts were the hardest to combat. Maybe because she was sunshine personified, maybe because Y/n could tell she didn’t have an dis-genuine bone in her body…all she knew was she truly didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

A second text came through, offering salvation.

Promise it’s work related.

Y/n sent a reply immediately.

Sounds good. Text me where.

Once quitting time came around, Y/n drove to the posher side of Richmond and the address of the bar Keeley had given her. It was more upscale than the Crown and Anchor, but not so much so that it would be obscenely priced.

To her credit, Keeley dove right into the business of it all when they sat down. She told Y/n how at the commerical shoot, she’d run into an old friend from her modeling days and had offered her a job with KJPR. Something along the lines of a liaison coordinator between clients.

“Okay,” Y/n shrugged, “I don’t really see how this involves me though.”

“Well,” Keeley slid her martini glass away, “I was wondering, since you’ve got so much experience, if you wouldn’t mind helping me help her get adjusted? It’s a bit of a jump from her previous jobs and I just want to make sure she does well.”

While Keeley could sometimes appear naive, she wasn’t to be underestimated. Y/n knew this already. She was never in the KJPR office for more than twenty minutes at a time. She barely knew the names of the other employees. Keeley knew all this as well.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at her boss, “That’s not why you asked me out tonight.”

Keeley held her gaze a few seconds before breaking with a small smile, “No, it’s not. I just said that so you’d come.”

Y/n rolled her eyes only in half-annoyance as Keeley cackled.

“But I really would appreciate your help with Shandy whenever you’re around,” Keeley said firmly, “She’d benefit a lot, learning from you.”

“Sure,” Y/n shrugged, not even realizing that she was smiling, “Fine. But if she’s as deceitful as you, I want nothing to do with her.”

Keeley chuckled, “Fair. How’d your day go?”

“Fine,” Y/n sighed, twirling the olive on the toothpick of her drink, “Sounds like you had a better one though.”

“Yeah,” Keeley replied, her voice dropping and her eyes suddenly turning sad.

Y/n didn’t need to be told not to pry into anyone’s life, it was a professional courtesy she wanted herself. But if the members of AFC Richmond were so personally intwined, there was a certain amount she had to know.

“Can I ask you something?” Y/n carefully broached the topic.

“Yeah, of course,” Keeley replied softly.

“You and Coach Kent…” Y/n awkwardly ran her finger along the bottom of her glass, “Were you…?”

Keeley gave an almost imperceptible nod, averting her gaze back to her drink.

“I don’t need to know anything,” Y/n held her hands up, “I-“

“No, it’s fine,” Keeley dismissed her, “I mean, it sucks, but it also helps to talk about it.”

Not the intended result, but Y/n wasn’t going to shut Keeley down. It felt like girl code.

“I don’t know, it just…” Keeley pressed a hand to the side of her face, “Really came out of nowhere. I keep thinking back and trying to find where things started going wrong, but I can’t find anything. I mean, I’m wracking my brain constantly just wondering what I did wrong.”

“Look, I don’t know the situation,” Y/n replied, “The little I know about Coach Kent, he seems like a…” she searched for the right word, “Somewhat difficult person.”

Keeley breathed a laugh, “Yeah, sometimes. But not how you’d think.”

“But…maybe things just didn’t work because they didn’t work?” Y/n suggested, trying to ease a fellow woman’s pain a little, “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Keeley replied, not yet meeting Y/n’s eyes, “I just…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Judging by the longing in her eyes, Y/n knew the next words would only reflect the love that remained on her end.

“Right, enough about me,” Keeley said, perking back up, “I just spilled my guts to you,” she poked Y/n’s arm, “Now you’ve gotta give me something.”

“I’ve got nothing to give,” Y/n chuckled and took a sip of her drink.

“Oh, there’s gotta be something,” Keeley squinted, “Have any of the players started hitting on you yet?”

Y/n nearly choked, “Thankfully no.”

“Are there any you want to hit on you?”

This time, Y/n was thankful she didn’t have anything in her mouth or else she definitely would have choked. “No,” she replied, her voice going up in pitch.

“Oh, come on,” Keeley laughed, “There’s gotta be someone.”

“Absolutely not,” Y/n swiped a hand through the air, “Unless you count Dani Rojas picking me up and spinning me around like he’d just come home from war, there’s been nothing.”

“Oh, that’s just Dani,” Keeley smiled, “He’s a sweetheart. But I’d bet you five quid, someone’s already got their eye on you.”

Y/n scrunched up her face at the possibilities of the thought. “Oh, don’t say that.”

“What?” Keeley shrugged, “You’re mad fit, you’re there all the time…someone’s gonna notice you.”

“Subject change,” Y/n shook her head,“Dear God.”

The night went on like that: Keeley trying to see how uncomfortable she could make Y/n until she laughed, which only resulted in them both laughing.

—————————

Richmond’s first match of the season arrived on a clear Sunday afternoon in Chelsea.

Y/n got herself to the stadium, clutching her Richmond badge just in case Rebecca had forgotten to put her name on the list. But sure enough, she sailed right on through security and rode the elevator all the way up to the VIP box. Coming down the aisles of seats, Y/n spotted the trio that were quickly becoming her group. Higgins, Keeley and Rebecca were huddled together in deep discussion.

“What’d I miss?” Y/n asked as they parted, taking the vacant seat next to Rebecca.

“According to Higgin’s wife’s, friend’s, sister’s airline stewardess’ massage therapist,” Rebecca sputtered, “Zava’s going to sign with Chelsea.”

“Oh,” Y/n sighed, feeling a bit deflated, “That’s too bad.”

It didn’t take long for the crowd to begin chanting, though neither team had come onto the pitch yet. Y/n glanced down at the field and spotted Roy Kent, facing the crowd and giving a reserved salute. She’d forgotten he was a Chelsea legend.

Y/n glanced over to Keeley, who was firmly squeezing Rebecca’s hand, and felt a twinge of sympathy pain.

But as quick as the crowd had been to cheer on Roy, their attention flipped as Zava himself came through the VIP section, taking a seat in the front row.

Y/n sighed, “Well, that’s a bit of salt in the wound.”

Not before long, the match kicked off. It had been a solid year since Y/n had been to a game, and even longer since she’d been remotely interested. But working for a club, she had to get back into it to some extent. She reacquainted herself with the rules as the clock ticked, her eyes bouncing between players. By the end of the first half, it was 1-0 in favor of Chelsea.

A loud gag came from Higgins, breaking Y/n out of her thoughts. “Is he okay?”

Rebecca didn’t seem at all concerned, “What now?”

“I might’ve jinxed it,” Higgins replied nervously, looking over towards where Zava was seated.

Y/n leaned forward to see an older man approaching the striker, shaking his hand confidently.

“I knew it,” Rebecca complained.

“I’m confused, who’s-“

Y/n’s sentence stopped in its tracks as the older man took off his sunglasses, revealing himself to be Rupert Mannion.

“Oh,” Y/n’s mouth hung around the vowel.

“Would you please go and find out as much as you can from your vast network of lip-reading massage therapists?” Rebecca asked of Higgins, who promptly departed with his phone.

Y/n took the opportunity to scan Rupert from a distance. He looked perfectly pleasant and somehow, that let Y/n know he was as dangerous as he’d been made out to be.

“Rupert’s gonna land Zava,” Rebecca stated.

“You don’t know that,” Keeley replied.

Rebecca sighed, launching into a story, “Years ago when I was bartending in that private club, Rupert and his then wife came into the bar,” she laughed, “He was the life and soul of the party. Buying rounds of drinks for everyone, telling stories. Just charm personified. And he left me a massive tip. And then about a week later, he came back without his wife and asked me out. I, of course, said no and then he left.

“What a dick,” Keeley replied.

“I’ll second that,” Y/n raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the dick in question.

“But then he came back the next night, and the next night, and the next,” Rebecca continued, “And he would just sit at the bar with a drink and chatted to me till close. And he just said ‘It doesn’t matter if you ever go out with me. It’s just worth it being here to get to know you.’”

Y/n and Keeley looked out at the air ahead of them, both contemplating the almost magic of it.

“It’s a fine line between stalking and romance,” Keeley mused.

“And after about six weeks of that,” Rebecca was building towards the conclusion, “He asked me out again. And I said yes without any hesitation because by that point…I just felt so lucky because he wanted me.”

Y/n gazed over at Rebecca, feeling the pang of understanding only women could share. The same one she felt for Keeley.

“He made me feel special,” Rebecca said, old emotion welling in her throat, “Chosen,” she glanced over at where her ex stood, “He made me feel like that.”

Y/n and Keeley looked over to a grinning Rupert, charming many laughs out of Zava.

While Keeley reached over and took her best friend’s hand, Y/n met Rebecca’s eyes and gave her the warmest smile she’d given anyone at Richmond so far. Through that, she hoped, Rebecca would know she was with her.

Not a moment later, Higgins shimmied his way back through their row.

“Well?” Rebecca asked as the three women straightened.

“I just got off the phone with my son’s karate teacher,” Higgins began to recall the trail of communication, “Who used to date the woman who ran Zava’s avocado ranch-”

“Would you please get on with it?” Rebecca rushed.

“He might be going to West Ham,” Higgins nervously answered.

“Damn,” Y/n fell back in her seat, more disappointed with more context.

“Shit,” Keeley exclaimed.

“I knew it,” Rebecca shrugged, entirely unsurprised. “Rupert always gets what he wants.”

The four of them sat there, wallowing in defeat, before Rebecca’s posture perked up again.

“You know what,” she pulled her purse from the floor, “If Rupert can sweet-talk Zava into joining his club, then so can I.”

“Yes,” Keeley cheered her friend on, standing up to let her out the row.

“Alright,” Y/n nodded, proud that Rebecca was willing to fight for the club. Better yet, despite her desperation, she could handle it with grace.

The second half began and the Greyhounds came out on the attack with a new vigor. Y/n wasn’t sure what happened in the locker rooms between halves, but something had changed during the fifteen minute break and it was working for them. Colin delivered the ball to Jamie, who passed it to Sam, who made a spectacular kick that bounced off the goal post, hitting Dani in the face, which resulted in an even more spectacular rebound into the net.

Keeley was out of her seat cheering, hugging Higgins before tugging on Y/n’s hands excitedly. Even though she was only getting re-familiarized with the sport, Y/n felt a pit of joy in her stomach as she watched the team celebrating on the pitch.

After the point, Rebecca made her way back down the row and rejoined the group.

“Well?” Y/n asked, extending her hands in anticipation.

“Did you sweet talk him?” Higgins asked.

“Uh,” Rebecca adjusted her coat, “What’s the opposite of that?”

The three of them thought a moment.

“Sour-yell,” Keeley came up with.

“Yeah,” Rebecca nodded, keeping her eyes on the match, “I did that.”

Keeley, Higgins and Y/n looked to one another in confusion. Any dignity Rebecca possessed seemed to disappear in the face of Rupert Mannion. But now, it had possibly cost them Zava, and Y/n felt the opportunities slip through their fingers.

The game, however, ended better than Rebecca’s conversation. A 1-1 draw and Richmond left with a goal on the board. The team was proud, and in turn, Y/n felt an inkling of pride.

“Right, well,” Y/n sighed as their section began to empty, “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Rebecca replied speedily, gathering her items, “I don’t think I can handle another run-in.”

The foursome picked up and left, heading back into the stadium.

“No one else was around for your…” Y/n fished for some better term for Rebecca’s blow up, “Sour-yell, right?”

“Thankfully, no. But I still think we need to get straight back to the office,” Rebecca answered as they climbed the steps, “It’s not safe here.”

As they made their way out, an above head TV screen spoke unavoidably loud.

“Please welcome the newest member of Chelsea Football Club,” one of the team’s staff said from the press room, “Zava.”

Keeley, Y/n, Rebecca and Higgins froze under the picture, unable to look away as Zava picked up the contract and paused before signing.

“I have changed my mind,” he told the room full of journalists, “Zava will not play for Chelsea.”

“Oh,” Rebecca sighed, “I’m sorry, I can’t watch this.”

As she left, Keeley followed with Higgins and Y/n bringing up the rear.

“Zava will play for Richmond.”

At hearing the name of their club, the group hastened back around the hall corner, mouths agape. As the press room filled with question after question that Zava would leave unanswered, Keeley hugged Rebecca and squealed. Y/n found herself laughing, pressing a hand to her chest in shock.

“So he responds well to yelling,” Y/n exclaimed.

“You did it,” Keeley grinned as she squeezed her friend, “You did it!”

Rebecca looked proud of herself, and rightfully so. This was a win for her, for the brand, for the whole of AFC Richmond. The season had just taken a massive turn in, potentially, the best direction.

“Okay, definitely back to the office,” Keeley made a plan, “We’ve got to put out a statement.”

“Right,” Rebecca smiled, victoriously leading her team out of the stadium.

—————————

After writing up an official announcement with Keeley, Y/n headed out for the night. She made it down the staircase just as the last of the Greyhounds were leaving the locker room, dressed for a night out.

“Ah, Y/n,” Sam called, giving a little wave.

“Hey,” Y/n greeted, “Congratulations on that goal today,” she looked to Dani with an awkward smile, “And…you too, I think?”

Dani laughed, “It was magnificent.”

“That it was,” Y/n chuckled.

“Listen,” Sam interjected, “The team is going out for a celebratory drink. Can we convince you to come and join us?”

Y/n shut her mouth and wracked her brain for replies that wouldn’t make her sound like an asshole. She liked the players, from the few interactions she’d had with them, but going out to a club with them was definitely not in her job description.

“That’s really sweet,” she smiled, “But I actually have plans.”

“Ah,” Sam nodded, painting his face with mock defeat, “Perhaps next time? When we win?”

“Maybe,” Y/n smiled, realizing she’d have to come up with another lie when the time came, “But you guys have a great time.”

“Oh, it is already a great time,” Dani replied as he began to make his way down the hall, pumping his fists in the air, “We got Zava!”

Sam and Y/n shared a laugh before bidding each other goodnight. Y/n waited a few minutes in the hall until the last sports car had left the lot before exiting herself.

Once back in the safety of her apartment, she changed into pajamas and flipped on the television. Keeping the volume low, she pulled out her cell from her purse and dialed a familiar number.

“Hey,” her sister’s voice came through after two rings.

“Hi,” Y/n sang as she moved around her kitchen.

“How’s the great football executive?” Caylee asked.

Y/n scanned the contents of her freezer, settling on a frozen lasagna. “Definitely not my title. And definitely not one I want.”

“What? Who wouldn’t want to be in charge of a team who score goals with their face?”

Y/n got a laugh out of the memory, “You watched the game?”

“Of course I did,” Caylee replied, an smile evident in her voice, “Still don’t fully get it, but I watched it.”

Watching as her dinner spun in the microwave, Y/n smiled. Thousands of miles between them and it felt like her little sister was just in the next room.

“Well, ‘one’ would not want to be in charge of a team that scores with their face, or allows a tabloid writer to tail them all season,” Y/n listed off the incidents of the week, opening the microwave before it could beep, “Or gets photographed coming out of a bloody sewer.”

“Ah,” Caylee understood immediately, “Still got that ten foot pole?”

Y/n could finally sigh in exhaustion without worrying anyone would catch her. “Cayl, if you spent two seconds here, you’d understand why.”

“No,” Caylee calmly said, her voice jumping an octave, “That’s never been my thing. It’s always been yours.”

Setting her dinner down on her kitchen table, Y/n took a seat. “It’s not that it’s a bad place, it’s a good gig. The people are just…a lot.”

Caylee hummed, decoding what her sister meant. It came off condescending.

“What’s that?” Y/n asked, semi-annoyed.

“Nothing,” Caylee replied.

“It’s something.”

“Nope,” Caylee popped her lips, “Just wondering if you ever get lonely up there in your cold corporate castle.”

The thing about talking to people who knew you…was that they knew you. Caylee was the only person that could see through Y/n’s barriers and knew exactly what prompted their creation. She was the one person Y/n couldn’t hide from.

“How could I ever be lonely when I’ve got you?” Y/n finally answered, reaching for the tv remote.

Caylee snorted, “Alright, c’mon, fill me in. I wanna hear everything.”

Y/n channel surfed until she hit Sky Sports, where the highlights of the match were being played. The main attraction, of course, was Dani’s goal.

“I don’t even know where to start…” she smiled, watching the replay and settling in for the night.

—————

Heartfirst Taglist

@lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield

[stargirlfics]

B U T T E R F L Y

Joel Miller x Black Latina Reader

Summary: Sometimes the path to healing starts with a reminder of what’s been lost

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, death tw, child death tw, some TLOU spoilers but doesn’t follow canon, post-outbreak!Joel, angst, hurt/comfort, trauma and violence mentions, fluff, slow burn vibe, mutual pining

Word Count: 5.6k

My mind has been stuck on the butterfly imagery connecting Sarah and Joel in the show, and in the game too! I grew up hearing from my abuelita that monarch butterflies are symbols of loved ones who’ve passed and I thought that would fit well here! This fic explores grief and pain but also finding hope through it too 🦋

To be soft-hearted at the world’s violent end, that’s where you’d decided to make a home for your heart with all its fragile beating.

Doomed is what they all said you were, surviving the outbreak this long sooner or later came with a price and they had been right, but still, half out of spite, half out of needing something to hang onto, the tenderness of you remained.

Surviving was a miracle and most could go on just grateful to wake up another day, but you’d seen how void life was lived here in the ruins of a former world, and as doomed as it all appeared, you tried your best to find pockets of light where you could, fighting the urge to shut yourself away. 

Because maybe one day those pockets of light would be abundant where they were once scarce, maybe one day, if you kept yourself open to it, there would be a sign of a changing tide to let you know you were finally safe. 

How strange signs could be, in plain sight but unseen until your brain could catch up with what your soul was feeling, and rarely did they ever come without complexity. 

In your case, that complexity came with a stern scowl that belonged to one Joel Miller. 

The first whispers you’d ever heard about Joel were that he was grumpy, stubborn, and not the kind of man to be messed with. He was the muscle behind trades done in shadowed alleys here in the QZ, illegal substances, weapons, extra ration cards, you name it. 

He was intimidating to most people, even you; having a reputation for being a man of few words and an even shorter fuse would do that but you knew there to be sorrow there too, etched deep in the lines of his face, reflecting like moonlight in his eyes. 

You’d never spoken to him, not in all your time in Boston, always seeming to narrowly avoid crossing paths, but you often saw him from afar. In the town square, catching glimpses of him waiting in line to collect a job’s earnings or in the pit, hauling bodies to the acrid cremation pyres smoldering hot throughout the day. 

If you thought about it, that’s where you saw the sorrow most.

That old, faded bandana he wore over his nose to block out the stench of burning gave you the clearest view of his eyes; sad, angry orbs fixated on the task like it was penance for him. 

All those hushed whispers told you he wasn’t a good man, that he had hurt people to get what he needed, and that wasn’t a surprise, you’d seen it enough to understand the grim nature of the wasteland you were in, how people often turned against each other if they thought it meant they’d live to see another day. 

Maybe that understanding was how it happened that day, the first time you’d meet, something in your soul already well tangled with something in his yet neither of you knew it yet. 

You’d been expecting someone else at your door that evening, a friend of yours with a bag of good soil snuck in from the outside in exchange for a radio of yours that was in decent shape. 

Instead, you were greeted by Joel Miller, bag in hand, a frown already on his face as he explained the switch up, even pointing to a note on the bag in your friend's handwriting to vouch for him. 

His voice had caught you off guard, a low, gruff bass in his careful cadence, Texan accent making the words go down smooth. 

“Okay, no problem, she did tell me she wasn’t sure if she would really make use of it. You can step in if you want, I’ll just be a second.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so trusting. 

That’s how people got robbed, taken advantage of, murdered and you weren’t going to get any sympathy from neighbors or any FEDRA soldiers in the area if something were to happen but despite that, and his reputation, you didn’t feel unsafe. 

Quite the opposite. 

Joel was certainly the grumpy type and you didn’t doubt he was capable of hurting you if he wanted but as you returned with the radio you found him just where you’d left him, his body filling your doorway in a way that reminded you of a guard dog. 

Something had caught his eye in the time it had taken you to walk back, gaze fixed somewhere behind you. 

It took you a second to realize what exactly he was staring at, eyes tracking him and following until they landed on the butterfly figurine hanging from the makeshift curtains of your kitchen sink window. 

Golden hour light warming the window had bathed the glass winged butterfly in its rays, casting fractals of color across the wall and the worn wooden floors. 

You studied his face for a moment then, a familiar kind of sadness reaching his eyes, the darkened circles underneath them a little more noticeable now. 

You wondered when the last time he got any proper sleep was. 

“I made it…” interrupting his thoughts gently you gestured towards the window when he looked at you in question, “La mariposa...took me ages to fit the glass and wire together right but I think it came out ok.”

He grunted in response, finally handing over the bag of soil when you noticed the slightest tremble in his hands. 

Oh…so he’d been caught off guard too. 

Something about your butterfly had shaken him up and you were curious, who could blame you for being tempted to cross what you were sure he would say was a line, but you pretended not to notice, trying to offer him some privacy, a second to collect himself. 

You’d appreciate it if he did the same for you in his place after all. 

The exchange was completed swiftly after, a palpable silence settling between you before he was leaving almost as quickly as he arrived, taking the fading summer sunset with him.

–

Joel barely slept that night, woken by nightmares again, a routine he was familiar with, haunted by the same old ghosts but it was different this time, the barbed wire around his heart digging in just a little extra, memories of her surfacing. 

Sarah. His Sarah.  

He didn’t realize just how long it had been since he was reminded of her this way, of what it felt like to be her father, shutting himself off to that years ago, unable to think about his life with her before because that pain was nearly unbearable. 

There is only after, the after in which she doesn’t exist, where he searches for her in his sleep and wakes knowing he won’t find her. 

Because he watched her slip away, had pleaded and begged to the skies to bring her back, had held her in his arms, hands stained red with her blood, and had to accept that she was gone and he was granted no time to say goodbye. 

Days turned to weeks, months into years and he had learned to operate on a certain level of numbness, just focused on surviving, never getting too attached, acting cold and angry, just a dead man walking. 

Until now, his chest nearly caving in with the truth that he was still breathing even after so long spent closed off. 

He wasn’t even sure why he’d considered your friend’s offer to complete the exchange at all, he knew he shouldn’t have, the radio you traded wasn’t in as great a shape as he would have liked, he knew that upfront and still begrudgingly agreed, not expecting to feel so exposed, so upended by a simple encounter.

That butterfly shining in the sunlight of your kitchen made his heart stop the second he saw it, flashes of memory surfacing, almost like his little girl was pulled to the surface of his skin again, like if he stepped inside he could reach out and she’d be there. 

A dreadful reality had washed that away after a moment, grief swallowing up the hope just as he knew it would, like it always had, but something was undeniably different this time for Joel. A difference that left an ache in his center. 

Because for those few fleeting seconds, he had felt alive again. 

–

The second time you met Joel was intentional, another bag of soil in exchange for some instant coffee this time. 

It was still early morning when he knocked on your door, quiet, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans and a sleepy kind of softness that you hadn’t seen before around the edges of his eyes which made you wish he didn’t look so inviting then. 

It wasn’t so hard to look at him as unapproachable as he made himself seem, he was handsome, the streaks of gray peppered in his hair and along his beard lending to his rugged look. 

“About the coffee, it’s not as strong as it could be but it’s the best I’ve got,” you handed over a jar, watching him open the lid and sniff its contents.

“That’ll do just fine.” 

Relief arrived at his approval, you gathered it’d been a while since he had any and you were glad your stash wasn’t a disappointment. 

You watched as he knelt down to set his backpack on the floor, stowing the jar inside and handing you the bag of fertilizer mix you had inquired about. 

It wasn’t long now before he’d be out the door again, these things were best kept short and simple but as you thanked him for the exchange and moved to store the bag with your other garden supplies, you noticed a moment of reluctance. 

Joel didn’t plan on lingering around now that you both had what you came for but then he was reminded of what he felt the last time he’d been in your space and his mouth was moving with the thoughts that were swimming in his head before he could bite back the words.

“That’s a good amount of soil you have, got some sorta secret garden FEDRA don’t know about?”

Suddenly you felt very silly for wanting to smile at his curiosity but also recognized the significance of him asking. 

“Something like that, yeah. I…actually found a spot of flowers growing through one of the QZ fences and I’ve been tending to it. It's no garden but the flowers are in bloom now, first time I’ve seen real butterflies in years.” 

You watched him perk up at the mention of real butterflies, furrowed brows hiding the flicker of emotion mere seconds later but it was too late, you’d seen it already. 

Up until now, your little patch of greenery had been a private endeavor. 

Something for you to put some love and effort in, and just a quiet, secluded place to be, to clear your head or be alone for a while, away from some of the chaos in the streets, and yet here you were, now, carefully asking him if he’d like to see it too. 

You thought just maybe, bringing him there would do him as much good as it had done you. 

And it’s there, in that moment when he says yes that you see all that hard exterior start to slip just an inch.  

It’s an inch you can work with. 

–

Early morning dew still clings to the soft blades of grass sprouting up near the fence line, the section where you’d been taking care of the vegetation noticeably more vibrant with color and growth. 

Slowly, you’d been replacing the dirt, had saved as many roots and sprouts as possible, taking care in replanting them, and from there, a shabby little makeshift garden bed had formed. 

This would be your third week caring for it and now Joel was trailing behind your steps to see it too.

His body language was tense like he couldn’t quite be sure you weren’t actually taking him to some secluded corner to ambush him, but you get it.

Being wary was smart, but you couldn’t lie that it was satisfying to let him take it in without explaining anything first, the tension in his shoulders easing, sagging when his eyes fell upon the dusky blue flowers and rich green leaves and vines growing up from the ground, searching for the sun’s nourishment. 

Joel couldn’t be certain whether it was the day’s first tendrils of summer heat making him feel warm or the fluttering orange and speckled black wings of a butterfly nestled atop a marigold. 

He glances at his wrist, at the memento that never leaves his side, a broken watch, and there’s a moment of clarity in the silence where Joel can feel it, all the shattered parts of him spilling out, and there isn’t any way he can catch it all, he’s already too late and he knows it. 

Panic works its way into his bloodstream, causing his hands to shake, not used to being so disarmed, so flayed open. 

His fingers curl into a fist, trying to steady himself, needing a moment to catch his breath, to process. 

And there you were, your gentle voice cutting through the noise in his head and that tidal wave of emotion. 

“They’re monarch butterflies, which means they’re special,” you’ve moved a little closer now, watching another one land next to its friend on the flower. 

“What makes' em’ so special?” Joel takes a deep breath and you do too. 

You thought for a second he might shut down and walk away, there wasn’t anything keeping him here after all, he had the coffee he came for and yet still took you up on your offer. That in itself was difficult not to attach yourself to immediately but there was no denying it felt good to know you’d earned maybe an ounce of his trust. 

“In Mexico, my abuela used to say they were a sign of the dead coming to visit the living, loved ones, our ancestors, the monarchs carry their souls to us. I think they’re good luck too.”

The smile working its way onto your lips is fond, sad, one you knew he’d recognize, the silent but shared knowledge of loss was a heavy burden to carry. There was no mistake about it, but being here, amongst your flowers and your butterflies made it easier. 

Orange and gold halos shimmered around the plant life softly swaying with the wind, your own features now warmed with the climbing sun, brown skin shining deeper under the light. 

Joel was looking at you now, following your words. The meaning of what you were both looking upon hitting him square in the chest when that feeling blooms behind his eyes again, that itch of something alive, something beautiful growing again amongst concrete ruins.

And it's there, standing next to you, watching you water the soil while butterflies float around you that he works out what that feeling must be. 

Salvation. 

–

After that morning, trading goods with Joel became a regular occurrence. 

Soil for another stash of coffee or a packet of seeds for a hunting knife in need of experienced hands, neither of you quite sure how it happened but eventually the trades became more like friendly favors to each other than practical transactions. 

Your ‘garden’ also became a frequent place for you both to go, so much so that on any given day you could bet he was there, a quick stop on his way back home, or in the morning before the day started, it became an unspoken shared refuge. 

Joel helped you fix up the makeshift garden beds when it became clear your tender care of the plants called for an upgrade and you were grateful for it, dismissive at first, not wanting him to feel obligated.

You could handle yourself around a hammer and a few nails but he insisted and you relented, the two of you knelt under the setting sun, working on the task together. 

It didn’t matter that it was closing in on curfew time, or that you didn’t really have anything to compensate him for his time because, the moment itself, the small inklings of trust building between you were actually far better. 

That’s when you started to see him nearly every day, sitting against bomb-scarred concrete, always facing those marigolds, the ones the monarch butterflies you’d told him about always flocked to. 

At first you kept your distance, knowing better than to pry. 

It was clear he’d been through a lot, most his age-if you were guessing correctly-had, old enough to have lived a good portion of their lives before the outbreak, the last witnesses of an old world. You wanted to respect that and as long as he was finding some sort of peace here, you were content. 

You didn’t mind his company either, he wasn’t much of a talker, but his presence was comforting and familiar and you felt safe with him near. 

Eventually though, keeping him at a distance became impossible, both of you stumbling through the uncertainty of what to say to each other yet not giving up on trying at the same time. 

And Joel had resisted too, had tried to keep his words short, always residing somewhere in between neutral and aloof but the more he watched you in your element, amongst the seedling sprouts and vines and moss, the more it made him want to talk.

It was easy to find his voice around you. 

You were soft-hearted, he could see that and it wasn’t easy to get used to the way you looked at him, like you cared, like you understood something about his brokenness right away, had let him sit here day after day watching the butterflies because somehow you knew it’s what he needed, but he didn’t mind the learning curve either. 

His usual annoyance and reluctance to speak about feelings couldn’t keep up this time surrounded by reminders of Sarah, coaxing the small part of him that hadn’t died with her out of its state of numbness, softening him again. 

‘You were never gonna do it for yourself’ rings in his ears. 

He’d never been much good at that, doing things for himself, and Sarah was always so clever about calling it out, even now, nudging him awake again after all these years. 

It’s why he decides to tell you when you ask one day, sitting next to him on sun-warmed stone. 

He merely came by to sit for a little while and clear his head and found you already sat in his usual spot, butterfly watching, your eyes telling your secret, that you had been crying before he arrived, his first instinct carrying him forward, to your side. 

He offered you some water, even sliced an apple in half to share with you, pleased with himself when he got a smile out of the gesture but remained as quiet as you were, wanting you to feel like you could just be. 

“Who do they remind you of?” your voice was small, unsure of how he’d react to the question, overexplaining in hopes it would make him recoil less, “It’s okay if you can’t talk about it, I understand. It’s just that…what I told you about the monarch butterflies, I really do believe in it you know, the people I’ve lost…they feel so close to the surface, like they’re watching over me and I think you feel the same.” 

Joel nods after a moment and you’re exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

It takes him a moment but he finds the words. 

“My daughter…her name was Sarah. They were her favorite, actually, since she was bout old enough to talk. I used to call her my little butterfly when she was a baby which, yeah, got real old when she started middle school but I liked to remind her anyways, just to see her roll her eyes at me. Just as long as she knew I loved her, you know, that I never stopped, not since the moment I held her in my hands for the first time.”

It broke your heart to hear. 

And it hurt him too, to speak about her and then remember that he had lost her, that twenty years had passed and he couldn’t remember what she smelled like anymore, and he hated the nightmares but without them, he was afraid of forgetting her face, her eyes, the coils of her hair, the sound of her voice calling out to him. 

It was only now that he was seeing how deep he’d pushed it all down, bottled up tight out of fear, and then somehow you’d entered his life, Molotov aimed straight at his heart, stunning him into remembering her the way she deserved to be. 

“I’m so sorry,” you extend all the comfort you can, knowing there weren’t any words that would ever make it right but you wanted to try anyway. 

“Yeah, me too. But you’re right, she feels close, and I know you’ve put it together by now but it’s why I’ve been sittin here every day, I see those butterflies and I see her, I remember her and it feels...good. I didn’t want it to; don’t really trust things that feel good but it does and I wanna thank you for that, for letting me have that.” 

He worries he’s said too much, or said the wrong thing, wanting to kick himself because he was never much good at words either but the sight of your lips pulling up into a small smile came as a relief. 

“She’s with you, Joel. And there’s no need to thank me, it’s been good for me too, doing all this. I think it helps.” 

He nods again, agreeing before asking you the same question, extending an opportunity to open up too; a big step when keeping personal histories to a minimum was the lay of the land around here. 

And it wasn’t easy, to talk about the things that hurt, baring your grief to Joel, and trusting him with it but you did and he had held it so gently, understanding it for what it was. 

Looking back you think maybe it’s there that things started to change, where your life and his started to merge. 

Sometime after that conversation you gifted him one of those glass winged butterflies like the one in your window, showing it to him one evening in the garden, earning you the first real smile you’d ever seen from him. 

It was after he told you more about himself, about Sarah, his brother Tommy, recounting happy memories; like the time he and Tommy surprised Sarah with her own soccer ball for her birthday one year, how he’d caved almost immediately the time she begged him to get her a polaroid camera, and you shared too, thinking on good times you’d had with the people in your life. 

It meant a lot to Joel that you spent time crafting the ornament, knowing just how deep the symbolism of it went for him. 

You were always doing that, looking out for him, planting tiny seed after tiny seed, slowly working your magic on him, ensnaring him deep, making him want to look out for you too. 

Under the fading sun again you sat with him, watching the marigolds, the calm, slow fluttering of wings, and it’s in that same spot that you find your hand in his for the first time. 

No words needed to be said, this was far better. 

A little while later you saw your gift hanging from the window in his living room, right next to the radio you had first traded him for.

The two of you had found yourselves escaping the heat here after some time tending the garden together, pulling weeds, clearing new soil of rocks and rubble, now sharing his couch, a rusty old fan that still somehow worked cooling the sweat prickling the back of your neck.

Curfew hour was nearing and you knew you would have to start making your way back home but Joel warned that he’d heard from a FEDRA officer he did trades with that they were patrolling the streets early the next few nights.

You knew why, it was hard to forget the hail of gunfire last night, a group of Fireflies going after a group of officers on patrol, a fight that neither one had won. 

Tensions in the QZ had been high all day since then and Joel suggested that you stay here with him for the night, saying he didn’t want you dealing with anything that might be going on out there.

He was being protective, a disapproving frown on that handsome face of his when you told him you didn’t want to intrude on his space but he was right, things had already started looking a little dangerous on your way back from the garden and you appreciated that he was trying to keep you safe. 

So you stayed. 

Curled up on Joel’s old, worn couch with a blanket that smelled like him tucked around you, the white noise of the fan still blowing and the knowledge that he wasn’t far, just in the next room over, carried you off to sleep.

–

One night had turned into two and then three and somewhere in the last couple months of summer that were left, you spent most of your days and nights with Joel. 

No label had been applied to whatever your situation was with him, you knew better than to ask, this all needed time, and you were okay with that, just content on holding onto this good thing with him. 

Because you liked being around, like sharing a space with him and sitting in the garden together, opening up to each other more and more every day. 

It was nice watching Joel come out of that hardened shell of his, watching him find it easier to talk about things, noticing him trying to live life more, not as reluctant to connect. 

Things were good, not to say that there hadn’t been bad days amongst all the progress made, there were plenty of them in fact. 

Days where old patterns became default again, stretches of nights where the nightmares returned, both of you trying to wade through it. 

When the aching of old wounds came knocking and the walls came back up again. 

You hated to fight with Joel when that happened, and you hated not being on the same page but he was so stubborn it wasn’t always easy to bite back your frustration. 

He had told you about his past, about the people he hurt in those early days and it’s something he wrestled with, believing in the goodness you saw inside him when all he could see were the bad things.

It frustrated you sometimes, how he preferred to shut himself off, to you, to Sarah’s memory because he felt like his hands were too dirty, too blood-stained to even try. 

“Que, no entendes?! Please, Joel! Stop trying to be something you aren’t. You think you aren’t a good man but bad people don’t get upset about being bad. Do you think you can just turn it off, the part of you that was always a good man, a good father? Well sorry, but you can’t, that’s who you are to your core, I saw it the first moment I met you and every time since then.” 

 “I’ve killed people,” his tone was mean, and venomous, another attempt at pushing you away. “Goddamnit, it’s not as simple as-”

“I get that! Look I know that you’ve done bad things but you’ve also spent every waking moment punishing yourself for it, do you realize that? All these years you’ve been paying your penance any way you can and I’m trying to tell you it’s okay live well, that you don’t have to torture yourself anymore because we have to try and make something out of all this pain.” 

It wasn’t easy to get him to see what you saw but you didn’t back down, even when it would have been easy to, Joel knew it too, guilt washing over him as you looked at him then, tears brimming in your eyes. 

“You’ve endured enough.” 

It’s those final three words from you that makes him ease up, a reminder you nudged him with often, that he could rest already, could make amends by making a choice to find the light. 

He lets you take some space from him, coming to find you before bed because he doesn’t want to fall asleep without fixing things. 

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair, talkin to you like that. You’re just tryna help my sorry ass and I haven’t thanked you enough. I’m gonna get better at that.” 

It’s the first time you ever hug him, noticing the tremble in his hands as he says the words, feeling the sincerity in his voice, unable to stop yourself from all but barreling into his arms. 

He’s still for only a moment before his arms wrap around you in return, the two of you bathed in moonlight, that butterfly still hanging in his window, pushing you towards each other again just like it had when you first met. 

–

Eventually, the day comes when the monarchs leave, the approaching fall and winter seasons carrying them to warmer places, a solemn change in what had been yours and Joel’s routine. 

The absence of the butterflies that had provided so much hope the last few months was felt, but the world was also a lot more open and wide now too. 

You no longer slept on Joel’s couch, you slept pressed against him now, and woke with your limbs tangled with his, a quiet partnership forming.

It scares both of you, knowing that you had grown to care for each other so quickly, knowing that was dangerous and reckless but also feeling stronger because you were a team. 

You think that’s why you make the decision together, one rainy fall evening when Joel comes home with a message from Tommy. 

They had gone through a rough patch recently, being apart from each other for some time and still not seeing eye to eye on Tommy’s choices but slowly, they’d started talking again and there was news that Tommy and the group he was with had gotten a hydroelectric plant that had once belonged to FEDRA up and running. 

There was electricity and a place to stay if you and Joel were interested, plus Tommy wanted you to meet Maria, said she did him a whole world of good and this was some of that good in action. 

It hadn’t been a hard choice to make even knowing how difficult the journey would be.

This was the chance you’d both been waiting for, and had talked about, a far off dream of running away from all the violence that was inescapable here in Boston, searching for something better out there, and now it was within reach. 

So you’d left your garden in the care of a friend you knew would understand its importance, and you bide your time with Joel, making deals, doing jobs, collecting and saving up supplies, and helping him map the way to Jackson. 

And then the day came when you left the QZ behind for good, watching the city fade away in the rearview mirror.

Making it to Tommy hadn’t been easy, there had been one too many close calls for comfort but the trust you and Joel had in each other didn’t waver, and here you were, finally on the other side. 

Settling in hadn’t been the easiest, especially for Joel, his guard still up but little by little, you both sank into a new way of life. 

You quickly learned how to ride a horse and hunt in the woods surrounding the power plant, even making friends with some of the families in the community. 

Joel had taken to things a little slower, but even he couldn’t hide for long, helping some of the men in the group with repairs on things that needed fixing, even cautiously attempting to make friends with you. 

Small pockets of peace started to open up the longer you stayed and the threat of raiders loomed over that peace at times, keeping everyone on alert for attacks but you all had Joel and Tommy now, always amongst the first to be out there protecting, defending fiercely.

You knew they wouldn’t let anything happen to you here.  

As spring arrived again you found a nice spot for a garden, pointing out sprouting flower buds to Joel one day, almost missing the fond smile forming on his lips, both of you knowing what this meant. 

You were happy here, and happy being with Joel, the two of you building a new garden together this time, until finally, as the chill spring breeze transitioned into summer heat and sunshine you were sat next to him like you had been what seemed like ages ago, watching the butterflies circle the flowers in bloom in what had become Sarah’s Garden. 

Joel made you a promise; to keep going for family, the family you, him, and Tommy were now. And you promised the same, not scared of how much you cared for the man by your side anymore.

It wasn’t perfect, the world was still rotten and the broken parts of you all were still raw, still healing, but this time her light was guiding the way through it and that made it all worth it.

---

A/N: When I saw that butterfly hanging in the window of his place in Boston I just couldn’t resist writing something about how he got it and here we are! This world is so dark and tragic and while this fic doesn’t change those facts, I hope it plants some gentle, hopeful little seeds of healing, because Joel deserves that and so do you as the reader! thank you for reading this, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it! 💌

some tags no pressure! @inklore @allaboardthereadingrailroad @yelenas-lova @ozarkthedog @amethystwonders11 @blkmorticia @moreofem @eupheme @obiknights @tarrenterror25 @superhoeva @buckyhoney @plumbits

[vinxhwrites]

note: this is the result of a crazy writing frenzy I was in last night, I went a bit feral over this idea and I don't know where this story is going. Also I spiraled after I read this. anywayyy hope you enjoy this drabble.

pairing: f!reader x price (x ghost - maybe eventually?)

summary: After going to work in the military you develop a weird relationship dynamic with your captain, and soon you find out you're not the only one.

word count: 2.7k

cw: 18+, daddy kink (!), probably inaccurate job descriptions/situations, pet names, a little bit of angst, a little bit of h/c; reader is kind of a crybaby; not proofread;

NEXT

You couldn't explain the story of how you got yourself in this situation if you tried. You were barely able to understand it yourself. Yet, here you were, sobbing in your captain's arms at his office, way past your working hours, calling him daddy and praying that he'd kiss you.

You had a hard day, as it was pretty common nowadays.

You certainly weren't fit for this work environment and you were painfully aware of it. It didn't matter how much you tried you couldn't get past this fact: you were an academic. You weren't used to the discipline, the hierarchy, and the life-engulfing aspects of the military.

When you had accepted the job 8 months prior, it really was the salary that convinced you, if you were being honest about it. You had been living on scholarships most of your adult life and it was getting kind of tiring. A part of you wanted to refuse out of a moral stance, but you didn't.

You were fresh out of a linguistics PhD program at the time, and you excelled as a student and researcher, but your skills were very specific and not that marketable. Your mom was probably right when she tried to dissuade you from dedicating your time to mostly dead and made-up languages, but you were too stubborn to listen at the time, although her greatest concerns were, as usual, well-founded. Needless to say, the opportunity came at the right time.

It seemed urgent and they tested you relentlessly. It was clear to you from the beginning that no one there was thrilled to resort to a civilian linguist. It was fun, though, and you passed the tests as if they were silly little puzzles you do to relax. And you were the only candidate to be able to decently decipher the completely made-up languages and codes that were used in the telegraphs they gave you.

They hired you on an 18-month contract for two different jobs: translating and decrypting intercepted messages for a task force, and also training their own linguists to do what you did. If you were good at it, you wouldn't be needed anymore.

The task force was nice enough, all four of them treated you well and didn't bother you much. At first, it was a bit disconcerting, but by now you've gotten used to how attractive they all were to the point where it almost didn't affect you anymore.

All of them called you birdie. You liked it, it made you feel included to have a little nickname. Soap was the one to come up with it on the second week you were working with them "Some birds know many languages." he had explained, clarifying: "Bird languages, ye know". The original explanation made you smile, but the addition made you blush "Plus, ye're cute like a little birdie"

The training part though wasn't going so well. You were almost 100% sure that all six of the students hated you. It seemed offensive to them to have to sit down and learn anything from you. In the beginning, you did your best to be pleasant, to do the best job you could, and maybe win them over. But at this point, you just wanted to be done with it and never look at any of those people ever again.

They were building a computer program to do your job apart from the classes. You felt offended at first at how they didn't even hide the fact that you would be used and then replaced by a more efficient machine, but you were now praying that they'd get it done as quickly as possible. The program was really good at pattern recognition, but it still wasn't good enough at semantics, and it lacked any nuance of interpretation.

The only thing that made you want to stay a little longer was this thing with Captain Price. It had started innocent enough, he took pity on you when he noticed you struggling with the new environment. He said some kind and assuring words here and there when he noticed how much the students tormented you, and he'd reprehend anyone who dared to disrespect you in front of him.

Eventually, Price casually invited you to work in his office if you wanted to, being away from other people seemed to ease your nerves a bit. He didn't mind, he assured you, it was nice to have some company. More than that, he genuinely found your job fascinating and always asked you to show him how you did it in his free time.

He sometimes brought you tea the afternoons you spent there, he'd accidentally brush his arm against yours, or touch your leg with his knee when you sat beside him. At first, he'd correct the movement, but it evolved to not correcting it, to then doing it intentionally.

They were simple touches, a little pat on your shoulder here, brushing your hair out of your face there, every single one made you shiver. One day he made a comment about how uncomfortable you looked on the chair and pulled your legs to rest on his lap while he worked. That was the first night you allowed yourself to fantasize about him to sleep.

John had a warm and comforting presence, and you were genuinely disappointed when he wasn't around, finding comfort in the fact that he gave you a copy of his office keys, so you could work there even when he wasn't present.

Ghost was there sometimes, seemingly preferring to work from Price's office as well. At first, he seemed to get disconcerted by your presence, probably a bit annoyed that he had to share the space with you, you thought.

He was never rude to you, just awfully quiet, even when it was just the two of you there. He nodded at you when you greeted him, and often sat on the big sofa on the corner or even on the floor. You offered him the desk many times, feeling a bit guilty for taking up so much space, but you noticed he only accepted when he seemed truly tired. Despite the unsettling silence, you thought he was a gentleman.

You first thought that John had somehow hypnotized you when you noticed the subtle ways in which your heart lost its pace whenever he commanded you to do something. He rarely asked without a smile, a polite inclination "dear, will you please file these reports for me?" "can you please grab me a cup of coffee?". He'd only deviate you from your tasks like this when he seemed to be in a bad mood, you noticed. It was never about anything urgent, and it was always when you were clearly already busy. In spite of it, you were never able to say no. He seemed to derive pleasure from bossing you around like that, but you knew he didn't have to remind you of the power he had over you, as it always hovered on your mind. Either way, soon enough you were painfully aware of the fact that you'd do absolutely anything he asked you to.

But you knew, for sure, that you were in trouble when you realized you got aroused anytime he'd compliment your work. Getting his praise started to be a more important goal to you than anything else. Earning a "good girl" was a rare occurrence, but it never failed to make your day.

One day he found you crying, and you couldn't quite explain what it was with words without feeling ridiculous. After what they called a "successful mission" it dawned on you that the information you were extracting out of those telegraphs really was being used to kill people. Those weren't your silly little puzzles.

"Criminals" Soap had corrected you as you tried to articulate your despair, much to your dismay. He wheezed as if your frame of thought was absolutely hilarious. "Shouldn't be here if you'll react like that, birdie" he had said and you wanted to scream.

"You'll get used to it" Gaz had assured you, sending a disapproving look towards Soap.

Later, the more you tried to express your frustration to John the more you cried, sobbing pathetically. It was the first time he hugged you, shielding you from the world around you for a minute.

"You don't understand..." you tried to explain, but you cut the sentence short at his stern look.

"I do understand," he said frowning, keeping his hand firm on your back. He took a deep breath and leaned down a bit to look you in the eyes "Listen, you do a good job, sweetie. You're doing good things, even if it doesn't feel like it sometimes" he assured you.

You nodded and tried to get the crying under control, suddenly aware that you probably looked terrible.

John cupped your face in his hands.

"Why don't you get the rest of the day off and get some rest, huh?" he suggested kindly "come to me if you need to talk."

After that, he got more and more comfortable being physically close to you. It quickly evolved, as you enjoyed being close to him a bit too much. Sometimes he'd squeeze your hand in his when you sat beside him behind his desk very casually and, sometimes, you'd rest your head on his shoulder while he worked. Saying you were in love felt like an understatement, but you'd never make it real by saying it out loud.

You once made a joke in passing about how your dad left you and your family, but he didn't laugh. He tilted his head and looked worried instead. I'm here if you want to talk he said, and it made you want to bury your head in the dirt.

Price called you many things, at first it was dear, sweetie, birdie, love, and finally, he settled with baby.

"what are you doing there, baby?" he just asked casually one day, and you almost gasped, feeling your heart attempt to leave your chest.

Although your relationship with him wasn't sexual in practice, it certainly was sexualized in essence. To you it was, at least. Oedipal if you were to be honest with yourself.

The first time he called himself your daddy it simultaneously broke and healed something in your brain. He chuckled at your reaction, how you looked at him wide-eyed and full of hope, hiding your face on his chest next.

"thank you, sir" you whispered then, pathetically.

You feared at times that your affection to him was one-sided, that he saw comforting you like this as a part of his job, a strange but effective one as well. You wondered if it made you weak, you didn't even try to be brave and deal with things alone anymore, you were aware of how childish it was to knock on his door looking for daddy's embrace at the slightest inconvenience. But you couldn't help it, it was too comforting to give up.

And that's the exact position you were in now. You had a bad day so you came running to him. He was awfully kind to you, as usual, and you prayed that it was a sign of enjoyment, that he actually liked comforting you like this.

You didn't notice when Simon came in. He froze by the door, and the captain just signaled for him to close it. John still had his arm wrapped around you, a hand stroking your hair.

"Shhh, it's ok now" he cooed at you "daddy's here."

Simon watched as you melted in his arms at the words, your breathing easing instantly. Again, you felt as if hypnotized. Your body responded to his words before your mind could catch up with them.

You wanted him even closer, you wanted to curl up on his lap, and have him rock you like a baby. Most of all, you wanted him to kiss you. You craved the touch of his lips on yours and the thought clouded your mind. Just that week you had already masturbated to the thought of him twice. Although you always reprehended yourself afterward, it didn't work to make these thoughts go away.

You rehearsed in your mind the idea of looking up and kissing him but didn't build enough courage to do it. You thought you'd die if he ever rejected you.

"That's it, you're ok," John said when he noticed the pace of your breathing ease, with his cheek pressed to the top of your head "I've got you, baby" he pressed kisses to your hairline. You sniffed, using your sleeve to clean the tears from your cheek.

"Now, be a good girl and go get some sleep," he said and you nodded against his chest, inhaling the warm smell of his shirt and suffering with the upcoming separation already "Ghost will take you to bed".

You raised your head and blinked at him, and that's when you finally noticed the tall figure close to the door, unmoved. You wiped your tears, distressed. For how long had he been there?

"Will you guide her to her room, lieutenant?" John asked him calmly, as if you didn't find yourself in the most embarrassing of situations.

"Yes, sir" Simon responded in the same tone.

The walk back to your room was painfully silent. The corridor around you was dark and empty. Your entire body was tense, and you walked fast trying to keep up with Simon's pace, hoping that he'd just say something and put you out of your angst, but he didn't.

When you finally reached your door, he opened it and waited for you to go inside.

"I'm sorry that you saw that" you blurted out, cheeks flushed pink "I-I don't know what to say. It's really not like that...-"

"It's OK" he interrupted when he noted the despair in your voice. He tilted his head a bit, evaluating your expression "I get it." there was something mischievous in his eyes, and you wondered if he was smiling at you behind the mask.

"Do you?" you asked, your voice was almost a whisper.

He nodded, and you relaxed a bit "I'm sorry you had a shitty day, birdie"

"It's okay"

"Tell me if you need anything." he said before signaling for you to enter your bedroom again, you thanked him quietly and closed the door.

Simon went back to Price's office in hurried steps, letting out a sigh when he entered. He was exhausted.

His captain was seated on the sofa, reports spread on the coffee table in front of him and a cigar put out on the ashtray beside him.

"Come here" John said, his eyes didn't move from the papers in his hands.

Simon took off his boots and mask before curling up on the sofa, resting his head on the captain's legs, and finally taking a deep breath as John started to brush his fingers through his hair.

"Don't know what to do with her" John murmured, more to himself than to start a conversation.

Simon hummed in response, his eyes felt heavy, and he could no longer keep them open.

"She's such a sensitive little thing..." John continued, seemingly lost in thought.

"She's cute" the lieutenant murmured, the drowsiness that flooded his brain making it almost impossible to form a coherent thought.

"Yeah" John chuckled lightly. "Well, don't worry about it." he assured, taking his attention back to petting Simon's hair "How are you?"

"Fine" he purred, getting comfortable on the sofa, even though it was a bit too small for him.

John hummed as he stroked Simon's cheek lightly "my pretty boy"

He watched Simon as he let his eyes rest completely and his body relax, being taken by slumber in a matter of seconds.

John continued to read reports well into the night, only waking Simon up, gently, when he finally decided to get some sleep himself. He accompanied Simon to his bedroom before moving to his own, patting him on the shoulder before sending him to bed. It was easier for Simon to fall asleep on his own then, as it usually was, after he had already been nursed to sleep beforehand.

[isaidonyourknees]

Lucky Number Five

Fives x f!reader

Word count: 2.9k

Summary: the number five has always seemed to follow you around. One day, it all makes sense why

Warnings: none! If you think I missed something, let me know!

A/N: hi! My favourite number is actually five! It always has been and when Fives was introduced I knew he would become one of my favourite characters. And he very much is. Also fun fact: the opening is based off the conversation I had with my older sister when I was little and really is why five is my favourite number. Hope you enjoy 💕

“What’s your favourite number?”

You look up from your toys to see your older sister standing over you. You drop your toys, turning all your focus towards the question.

“Five! ‘Cause I’m five!” You announce proudly. Your sister sits down next to you.

“Mine’s five too” she says. Your eyes widen.

“Really! Why?”

“When I was three my favourite number was three. And when I was four my favourite number was four. And when I was five my favourite number was five. But I think six looks funny so my favourite number is five” she explains. Wanting to impress your older sister you nod along.

“Six does look funny,” you agree with her. You really didn’t think six looked funny, yet five stuck with you anyway.

•~•~•

You’re tired by the time your ship lands on Coruscant. Leaving your home world was a tough decision but you knew you wouldn’t be able to make much of yourself if you stayed there. You didn’t know what you wanted to do with your life, but you did know that you wouldn’t figure it out on your small fishing world. Coruscant had a little bit of everything and you figured it was a good place to start. You had managed to get a small apartment in a somewhat decent area and you had secured yourself a job at a diner nearby. You had shipped your belongings to your new apartment over the past few weeks and now it was your turn to finally arrive at your new home.

Lugging your last few bags with you over the several blocks between the spaceport and your apartment was even more tiring and by the time you finally arrive you’re ready to collapse from the exhaustion.

“Almost there” you remind yourself as you muster up the last ounces of energy you have. You knock on a plain door with ‘office’ written on it. A few moments pass and you’re starting to think that maybe no one’s there and you may be stranded for the night when the door finally opens. A Togrutan man gives you a questioning look.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Yeah I’m here to pick up my key” you say, giving him your name. He closes the door on you without saying anything.

“Prick” you grumble under your breath. The door reopens and he carelessly tosses you the keys.

“Level 8. Room 5. Elevators broken” he says, closing the door on you again before you could even suck in a breath to respond. You huff, slumping a little before you grab your bags again and begin the climb.

When you finally reach the eighth level you breathe a sigh of relief. Walking down the hallway you glance at each door, checking each number until you find number five. You drop your bags and slowly reach up to trace the number on the door. Five. 5. This number always seems to find its way to you. You were the fifth name on the school register. You graduated fifth highest in your class. Your first car was a fifth generation. Now that you think of it, it took you five tries before you found this apartment. None of it was planned. The number five was just always around. You shake your head. You’re tired and are probably reading too much into it.

Unlocking the door, you’re glad to see that all of your boxes have made it here safely. You’ll worry about them later. For now you dig your bedding out of one of your bags and make your bed, ready to pass out in it. You’ll have to start unpacking your things tomorrow and then you officially start at your new job the day after. You fall face first onto your bed, looking forward to your much needed rest.

•~•~•

“Here’s your shirt and apron. You’ll need to get your own black pants. And we’re a no droid establishment so don’t try to smuggle one in,” your new manager - Nara - explains.

“Why would I smuggle a droid in?” You question. Nara rolls her eyes.

“Our last dishwasher decided that he could get a droid to do the job for him so he could slack off. He didn’t last long. Thing is, a lot of people have issues with droids for whatever reason” Nara explains with a shrug. “Because we’re droid free, you’ll see a few of clones in here. They’re usually hungover and will keep to themselves, but a few will try to cause some trouble every now and then. Just grab me or Bill and we’ll deal with them.”

“Clones?” You ask. Nara frowns.

“Yeah. They’re the ones currently fighting against the separatists. Alongside the Jedi. You do know about the war right?”

“Well yeah, but I didn’t know that the republic had clones created.”

Isn’t that a bit unethical you thought to yourself.

“It’s why it’s called the clone wars” Nara laughs.

“I guess my world is so removed from it all. We just called it the war” you shrug.

“Well next time some come in, I’ll make sure to point them out to you. Now here’s your order pad,” she hands you a small device. “It’ll take a little time getting used to, the layout isn’t the best, but you’ll be fine. To log on just press this user button and enter your login number. Yours is five I believe.” Nara clicks the user button and types in the number. Your name appears at the top of the screen.

“Remember that number. You’ll also be using it to clock in and out each day. Now for today you can just shadow me and learn the layout and order pad.”

You followed Nara around, mainly focusing on taking orders and pouring cafs. You were quick to pick things up and by the end of your third shift you were running food and cleaning tables. It wasn’t exactly fulfilling work but it kept you busy and you appreciated that.

A week after you had started, you were wiping down a table when Nara sidled up next to you.

“Here come your first lot of clones.”

You look up and watch five armoured men seat themselves in one of the booths. They were all the same height and they had the same handsome face. It was a little weird to look at five seperate men when they all looked the same. But with a closer look you saw the little ways they differed from each other - two were completely bald, while another had an intricate buzz cut. The two bald men had face tattoos. Another one had a goatee. All of their armour had different patterns all painted the same dark blue colour.

“The boys of the 501st,” Nara continues. “They’re usually a lot of fun, if you catch my drift.” She winks.

“Nara!” You exclaim, not expecting her to say something like that. 501st. There’s that number again. She just smirks and shrugs, unapologetic.

“They can be a bit flirty and mischievous, but overall they’re kind and friendly. They’re perfect for your first taste of clones. Here I’ll finish this.” Nara takes the spray bottle and cloth from you and nudges you towards the newly occupied booth.

“Good morning!” You chirp. One of them groans, causing you to falter.

“Don’t mind him,” the man with the intricate buzz cut says. “He had too much to drink last night.”

“Oh. So one caf for him,” you note.

“Make that one for each of us sweet cheeks!” The clone with a tattoo that wrapped around his head and ended under his eye said. You eye him wearily as you enter the order.

“You’re new here.” This comes from the clone with no physical changes to him. He has a hand print stamped onto the chest of his armour to identify him though.

“Uhh yes. Started last week actually” you respond. He gives you a kind smile, easing you a bit.

“It’s nice to see a new face,” he says. You look at each of them in turn, taking in their features. Their strong cheekbones and their chocolate brown eyes. Their tattoos and haircuts. It must be so weird seeing your own face over and over again.

“I can imagine” you reply with a small smile. It earns you a chuckle and your smile widens a little more.

“I like you. The name’s Echo” he introduces himself.

“Nice to meet you Echo. I like you too.”

“Echo if you’re done flirting, I’d like to get something to eat,” the clone with the republic cog tattooed on his face says, slurring slightly. Clearly he still had some alcohol left in him. Echo flushes slightly.

“I’m not flirting Jesse. I’m being nice!” Echo fires back.

“Hey I don’t blame you, she’s pretty. But can we get food first?” Jesse says. You feel your cheeks warm up slightly.

“Do you all know what you want or do you need some time to look at the menu?” You ask, trying to ignore the slight warmth in your cheeks.

“We’re ready” Jesse claims but the other clone with the face tattoo is quick to speak up.

“Wait I’m not! I don’t know what I want yet!”

“Hardcase!” Jesse groans in annoyance. You chuckle a little to yourself at their antics. They are certainly endearing.

“Well how about I go get you fellas some caf and that’ll give you some time to think about what you want to eat,” you give them the compromise with a smile.

“Thank you,” the man with the buzz cut says. “Could you make his a double. He needs it.” He gestures to the man next to him, the only one yet to say anything. He’s got his head pressed to the table, his eyes closed and his face screwed up.

“Sure thing.”

You move over to the counter, grabbing five cups and setting them down on a tray. Nara is quick to approach you.

“Sooooo, what do you think?” She whispers. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling along with her.

“They’re definitely endearing. You didn’t tell me that they’re so attractive!” You say, voice low. She laughs.

“Well I had to leave something for you to discover!” She giggles. You pour out the drinks, making sure to make one a little stronger for the man who is still hungover.

“Do you know this group?” You ask as you organise the drinks.

“I mean each time they come in it varies a little. Their captain is sometimes with them, as well as a few others. They usually spend the night at 79s - a club popular amongst the clones - which is only a few blocks away before coming here to sober up a little before they head back to their base for their training. I’ve had a some flings with a few of them, but you have to be careful with clones. They don’t always come back.”

This dampens the mood between the two of you. These poor men are born to die. You vow to yourself then and there that whenever you interact with a clone, you’ll make it a good experience.

“Don’t let this stop you if one catches your eye,” Nara rushes to say when she senses the shift in the mood. “Just be careful. Don’t get too attached.”

You return the caf pot and give her a shaky smile, not really sure what to say. She returns with her own shaky smile before you grab the tray of drinks.

“Alright boys here are your cafs” you announce, placing the tray in their table and placing a cup in front of each man, making sure to give the stronger one to the man who still had his eyes closed.

“Not so loud please” he groans.

“Oh so you can speak?” You say to him. He slowly opens his eyes and when he finally takes a look at you, he bolts upright.

“Whoa” is all he says. You blink, not sure what’s happening. Shaking it off you nudge his caf closer to him with a smile.

“This should make you feel at least a little better.” He accepts the cup, taking a drink from it, however he doesn’t take his eyes off you. Unsure what’s happening, you glance at the man next to him - the one with the buzz cut - who nudges the staring one in the ribs.

“Ow Kix!” He grunts.

“Shush I know that didn’t hurt,” Kix scolds.

Clearing your throat, you pull out your order pad.

“Alright have you got your order figured out now Hardcase?” You ask.

“Sure have! I’ll have the pancakes” he announces proudly.

“Good choice” you say as you note it down.

“Make that two pancakes please,” Jesse interjects and you nod your confirmation.

“May I please get the fruit toast” Echo requests when you’re ready.

“Sure can.”

“And I’ll get the scrambled eggs” Kix says. You look at the last clone to order. He no longer looks hungover. It seems he pulled himself together rather quickly. He flashes you a charming grin and Kix groans.

“Here we go” he mutters. The clone with the goatee ignores his brother as he leans forward.

“What would you recommend?” He questions.

“I’m not too sure. I haven’t worked here long enough to be able to give a good recommendation. The breakfast burger looks good,” You suggest.

“Perfect. I’ll get you one of those.” You add the dish to the order before sending it through to the kitchen.

“Food shouldn’t be too long. Let me know if you need anymore caf” you add, not really sure what to do while the clone with the goatee continued to stare at you. You hurried off, returning behind the counter to do some tidying up.

“Good job di’kut, you scared her off” you hear one of them chide.

You busy yourself with other customers and cleaning tables, your eyes constantly flicking over to watch the group of clones. They were chatting amongst themselves, clearly having fun and enjoying the company of their brothers. After the first few glances at their table, the still unnamed clone started to catch your eye. At first you were embarrassed at having been caught, until you realised that the reason you kept catching his gaze was because he kept glancing at you. Something about you had clearly intrigued him and you were starting to feel the same way about him.

When you were called to grab their food, you were quick to drop what you were doing, looking forward to your interaction with them. It takes you a few trips to get all their food out.

“Could we get some more caf sweet cheeks?” Hardcase asks as you place Kix’s scrambled eggs down in front of him.

“Please” Echo throws in. You smile sweetly at him in appreciation and nod.

“Of course!” You return with the caf pot, pouring some in Hardcase’s cup.

“Anyone else?”

You get a chorus of yes pleases and you go around filling up each cup.

“Careful. This is a new pot so it’s extra hot,” you warn as you top up the last cup.

“Not as hot as you” the clone with the goatee says with a wink, catching you off guard. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Uh - I -“ you don’t get much time to think of a response before Jesse is groaning.

“Come on, surely you have something better than that Fives.”

His name is Fives. That damn number.

You drop the pot of caf.

“Kriff!” You swear. Nara hurries over at the commotion.

“I’m so sorry! I was just- I just-“ you stutter out, completely frazzled.

“Hey, don’t stress. It’s fine! I’ll go get a mop. Don’t move so you don’t hurt yourself,” she reassures you before she heads out the back.

“Hey, you alright?” Echo asks, a concerned look on his face. You look at him so you don’t have to look at Fives. Because something about encountering the number this time seems different. It’s as if all the other fives have been leading to this one. To Fives. The handsome clone right in front of you.

You do glance over at him then. He looks surprised and a little concerned like the rest of his brothers. Now it’s your turn to stare at him for a little bit before you answer Echo’s question while your eyes remain fixated on Fives.

“Yeah. I am now.”

•~•~•

“Come on, if we stay here any longer we’ll get a scolding from Rex” Kix says.

“Ugh no thanks” Hardcase groans.

“Aw come on. Echo wants to flirt with the cute waitress a little more, don’t you?” Jesse teases, throwing his arm around Echo.

“Kix is right. Besides, I think I’ll leave her for Fives. He seems pretty enamoured by her” Echo responds.

“Yeah, well did you see her?” Fives comments back. Kix stands up from the table.

“Well you can daydream about her all you want on the walk back to base” he says. Fives rolls his eyes, but stands up with the rest of his brothers as they file out of the booth.

He’s following them to the door when he feels a hand grasp his wrist. He turns to find you standing nervously behind him. He gives you his most charming smile and you smile back at him. He can’t help but think that you have such a sweet smile. You press a piece of paper into his hand.

“If-if you’re interested” you stutter. Then you’re turning away and returning to your job. His smile widens as he tucks the piece paper with your comm number on it carefully into his pocket.

You’d be hearing from him very soon.

[seichira]

[ 5:23 am ] — kiss my tears away

kakucho doesn’t believe in god, but if he had to pray for something, it would be to not give you any more reasons to cry. because if he believes in anything, it’s that he doesn’t deserve you, and the least he could do is keep you away from any harm that his life as bonten’s number three could bring.

content: angst and comfort

masterlist.

kakucho slowly opens the door to the bedroom your shared apartment, expecting you to be deep in slumber at this ungodly hour.

after a day of work—which also translates to a day of dealing with insufferable bonten executives, tracking enemies to get rid of them, and keeping away from drugs—he was so ready to wash off the remnants of the day with a brisk shower and cuddle you to sleep in the little time he has left before he has to get back up again.

it was an exhausting job. there are times when he thinks about that what ifs. what if he was born privileged, went to a university, and landed a decent and stable job?

if that was so, would he have provided you a better life? sure, you have all the luxury you need—but the better life he’s talking about is a life where his pretty little wife doesn’t have to worry about losing him.

there is no point thinking about it, he decides. you loved him like this. he showed you everything he was, all his secrets, all the darkness he cradled in his soul—everything. yet, you chose to love him.

thinking about that now makes him want to have you in his arms immediately. he knows nothing he does or gives will ever be enough to thank you for saving him, for loving him, but god… he tries.

your husband inanimately freezes as soon as he heard your soft sobs in the midst of the dark lit room, with only the lamp illuminating the bed you were on.

he knows those silent wails. he is much too familiar with the sound that only you could make, that could make bonten’s number three crumble into ashes at the heartbreak of hearing his beloved cry. he fucking hates it.

“baby?” he whispered so as to not startle you.

you turned your head to look at him faster than four o’clock, and you ran up to him in order to engulf him in an embrace. he didn’t miss the way you let out a huge breath of relief.

“kaku!”

“hey, hey-“ his mind was in a frenzy and he helplessly searched his brain for words. “what’s wrong, angel? why are you up this late? you know it’s not good for you—“

“w-where have you been?”

your breathing was ragged and your cheeks were damp with all the tears you have been shedding since 1 a.m. when you realized your husband wasn’t home and there were no messages to assure you that he was alright.

“did something happen at work? did you… did you do something that could get you in danger? is—is that blood? yours? are you hurt?”

then, he understood what this was all about. he fought the urge to grab a knife and slide it down his throat in too much remorse and hatred for himself for being the reason behind your tears.

“i… i had to clean up a mess that sanzu made,” he explained when all he wanted to do was cry with you. cry because this life was much too good for him and he didn’t deserve it. didn’t deserve you.

you wouldn’t let go of him. instead, you tightened your embrace around your husband’s huge frame. he proceeded to pick you up and walk you to the bed, where he then sat down and kept you on his lap.

at the mixture of relief you now felt and the remaining grief you almost had a while ago at the thought of kakucho being in danger, your tears never faltered from escaping your eyes.

his thumbs carefully caressed your cheeks in an attempt to wipe the tears that you shed only for him. when that failed, he kissed your eyes, hoping that he could kiss away the emotional wounds and scars that his lifestyle has inflicted on you.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry, angel. i should’ve told you i’d come home late.” kakucho says like a prayer, “wouldn’t ever leave you alone, baby. would always come home to you. y’know that.”

he only realized that he started shedding his own tears as soon as you wiped them off his cheeks. his instinct was to lean on your palm and feel your care, your love, and he no longer cares if he deserves it or not.

“always… always stay safe, you hear me?”

“yeah, i do, angel. i promise you.”

kakucho doesn’t believe in god. he doesn’t remember the last time he prayed.

but in this moment, he finds himself calling all the gods and goddesses, all the angels and saints, and asking them to keep him safe if that was the only thing that could end your tears once and for all.

[vshthestmpede]

Dearly want Vash to have a little patch of red geraniums to sew on to his jacket, as a memento of Rem. And/or jewelry of red geraniums. Just something nice that'll last a long time.

closest to his heart - vash (platonic or romantic)

word count; 664

warnings; mentions of death

note; honestly this was so fun to write, such a nice little thought to have a significant remembrance of rem. thank you so much for requesting, i truly appreciate it!! <3

cross-posted to ao3

you had stumbled upon vash's little treasure when you had decided to take on laundry duty. you had saved his iconic red jacket for last, the specific garment always being an item of your curiosity - how it lasted this many fights, how it remained in such good condition.

well, upon closer inspection, you saw that it had plenty signs of wear and tear. a few patches of a different shade here and there caught your eye but what really stood out was the bright red patch of flora sewed somewhat decently on the inside of the jacket.

you sat cross-legged on the floor of the motel laundry room, the jacket splayed across your lap as your fingers gently ran over the edges of the patch. you pictured the jacket on vash and noted that this patch landed just over his heart when he wore it. you smiled to yourself as your mind began to wander, pondering the significance of the flora and what exactly they meant to vash.

"(name)? oh! you're doing laundry on the floor?"

you flinched, looking over your shoulder sheepishly to find vash in the doorway, clad in a ragged white tee and some pajama pants. he noticed the patch in your hands and smiled softly, coming in and taking a seat next to you.

"i was coming to see if you wanted some help," he explained, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. "you like the geraniums?"

you looked back down at your hands, brushing a thumb over the flora and nodded.

"they're very pretty," you replied. "what made you sew them in there?"

vash reached over and gingerly prodded at the odd stitching. "ah, so you could tell i tried to sew it myself. did a pretty mediocre job, if i do say so m'self. the reason, though, is that they remind me of. . .of rem."

you watched as he choked on his words, then took a deep breath. you put your hand over his and gave it a small, comforting squeeze, to which he gave you a small smile and continued on, his gaze settling on the ceiling above.

"rem was the woman who sacrificed herself to save humanity years and years ago. she was like a mother to me. someone who loved both nai and myself to no end. she was a beautiful person, inside and out. rem would have loved you, (name), if the two of you would have met. sometimes, you remind me of her. the way you both are so selfless, so caring, it's uncanny. rem loved red geraniums, they were her favorite in the whole galaxy, so carrying that patch is me carrying rem close to my heart wherever i may go."

when his story was met with soft sniffles, vash turned to look at you and was met with tear-filled eyes as you clutched his jacket to your chest.

"(n-name), don't cry!" even as he wiped your tears away, he couldn't help but laugh as you blubbered and wiped furiously at your eyes. "c'mon, let's get the rest of this laundry done. no more tears."

the two of you finished up and set off to your respective rooms to rest for the night only for something in the back of your mind keeping you from resting.

the next morning, vash woke to find his red jacket folded neatly on the beside table with a small piece of parchment on top of it.

thank you for telling me your story. i hope you don't mind that i fixed the stitching. i hope you know that rem would be so proud of you and how far you've come, vash.

(name)

vash smiled softly, folding the parchment up and sticking it inside the breast pocket of his jacket. he pulled the jacket into his lap and opened it up, admiring how neatly the geraniums were sewed. he ran his fingers over the stitches, his mind starting to find ways to thank you.

[angrydykeboy]

angsty barbie draft, chapter 1

There's not enough angst in the glorbie tag yet so i'm creating some content. let me know if you like it and there might be a chapter two, in isolation rn so who knows. Basically Gloria and her mother have words with one another. CW for homophobia, side bangs, and child neglect.

Gloria's hair wouldn't sit right. Usually it behaved better but today she didn't have time for her full routine. Between literally dragging her thirteen year old out of bed, forcing clothes on her, and then cleaning up breakfast, she didn’t get a chance to take a breath until she was waiting for her mom to answer the door.

Usually Barbie helped in the mornings, did the cooking while she wrangled Sasha but she'd burned the eggs twice before Gloria pulled her away. Barbie was way too nervous about the day, and even while they waited on the porch she wouldn't stop biting her nails, a new habit Gloria would lecture her about eventually.

Even Sasha seemed on edge, slamming away on her phone like she had to text nuclear codes. Gloria didn't even have the time to blink these days with her new job, and these two looked like they were about to spontaneously combust.

The door swung open and her mother swept Sasha into a hug. Sasha, allergic to all human contact, didn’t even complain. She laughed and hugged back. They were laughing together.

Her mother, as usual, looked ridiculously put together: hair neatly styled out of her face, dyed so there aren’t any of the gray strands Gloria’s working with. Her blouse wasn't even wrinkled.

Her mother caught sight of Barbie and set Sasha down. “You must be Barbara,” she said. “Keith’s sister-in-law? Right?”

Gloria held her breath and Barbie smiled and held out her hand. “Absolutely, it is such a pleasure to meet you.”

Gloria’s mother pulled her into a hug too, scoffing at the outstretched hand.

She'd begged Barbie for weeks leading up this, and Sasha had fun coming up with Barbara’s whole background, going over flashcards over dinner. It was just how her mother was, Gloria had explained. The lie was necessary, at least until her mother got to know Barbie, which would be never plus ten years.

“Come in, come in” Gloria’s mom beckoned them inside. Gloria nodded at her as she passed and went to set her bag down on the couch.

“You were a little late so you missed the lunch I prepared but I was able to give it to my neighbor. She’s such a dear, she’s an artist, you’d like her, Sasha,” her mother continued. “But I’m so glad you’re finally here. Gloria, get some of those boxes out of the attic, will you? I was hoping you could go through them before you left.”

Gloria gave the best smile she could muster. “Sure, Mamá.”

“They might be heavy—where is that Keith, his sister could come but he couldn’t?”

“Work emergency,” Gloria said. “He said to send you his best.”

Her mother waved a hand. “He works too hard! I’ll send you back with some food for him. He could probably use some decent home-cooking for a change. Barbie how are you so thin? You too Sasha? Does your mother ever feed you?”

Sasha and Barbie both laughed and Gloria tried to laugh too, letting out a “nice one mom,” before heading to the attic to lift the boxes down herself.

They were mostly old photos, a few report cards, her CD collection, she flicked through them for awhile, sneezing occasionally from all the dust. It was nice getting some peace and quiet in her old room though. Her mother used it as a yoga studio now, and all of Gloria’s stuff was packed away. All waiting for her to go through and throw it away.

“How are you?”

Gloria looked up, catching sight of Barbie and smiled, perhaps for the first time that day. It’d only been an hour or two but she missed her, like always.

“Hey Barbie, I’m okay. This is just,” she exhaled, “a lot.”

“I came to check on you,” Barbie sat beside her and put a hand on her back. “Anything good?”

“Just some old stuff, nothing interesting,” Gloria held up a report card. “I got an A in math my freshman year.”

Barbie took it from her, examining it. “It’s crazy you have all these memories and this whole life, it’s like you’re a million people all at once.”

“What? High school?” Gloria shook her head. “All those hormones with also the worst sense of style of your life? Trust me, you dodged a bullet.”

“Maybe,” Barbie said. She pulled out another photo. “Hey who’s this?”

“Rodrigo, my first boyfriend,” Gloria looked at it. “We were cute together. I only started dating him to piss my mom off but she loved him.”

“So it’s a thing?” Barbie asked. “All daughters try to piss off their mothers?”

Gloria frowned. She’d—she’d had a reason. It wasn’t just angsty teen stuff like Sasha, it was real. It mattered.

“I don’t remember Sasha with that haircut,” Barbie said, pulling another photo out.

Gloria wore a cheesy smile at prom, arm around a pimpled kid who was too tall to also be skinny, and had a side bang that covered one whole eye. Underneath her big poofy purple skirt were likely her favorite pair of purple hightop converse she wore everywhere when she was seventeen.

Gloria laughed, “it’s me, look.”

Barbie gaped at the photo. “But you’re wearing smudgy eyeliner!”

Gloria nodded. “Yup.”

Barbie laughed. “Oh, I am so showing Sasha this!” She bounced up and Gloria ran after her, following Barbie’s giggles down the stairs where Sasha and her mom were hugging on the couch.

“What’s—what’s all this?” Gloria asked, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mom,” Sasha beamed, her eyes shining a little. “I just came out to Grandma!”

Gloria’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“She said she loves me no matter what, and even wants to meet Jade. Can I bring her next time?”

“Um—“ Gloria stared at her mother, who was also beaming, at Sasha, “Great. Yeah.”

“Sasha, look at this photo your mom and I found,” Barbie bounded forward, and the two of them started laughing, talking excitedly with Gloria’s mom, and Gloria could only stare at her mother.

“I’m sorry what?” Gloria stepped forward. “That’s it?”

Her mother blinked at her. “What?”

“Mom, it’s fine,” Sasha said. “We’re not in a Hallmark movie, I didn’t want her to make a big deal out of it.”

“You’re cool with it?” Gloria asked her mom. “Really? Just fine with it now?”

“It’s 2023,” her mother said. “Who am I to judge?”

“You said it was fine, Mom,” Sasha cut in. “Do you have a problem?”

“Of course not,” Gloria said. “Sasha, I love you no matter what. You know that. I’m just a little confused as to when this happened.” She gestured to her mother.

“When what happened?” Sasha demanded.

“You can’t talk to your daughter that way,” her mother said. “They’re born that way.”

“Since when do you quote Lady Gaga?” Gloria demanded. “You’ve hated gay people since I was fifteen. You wouldn’t even let me play Ricky Martin at my quinceñera!”

“I don’t have a problem with the gays, I love Ricky Martin, and Lady Gaga,” Her mother crossed her arms.

“Is Ricky Martin gay?” Barbie whispered to Sasha.

“I have no idea who that is,” Sasha responded.

“So it was just me then?” Gloria asked. “Sending me to live with Abuelita and telling me not to come back without a boyfriend was what? A whim?”

“Whoa, Mom, what?”

“Do be dramatic. I sent you to live with Abuelita because you were forgetting your Spanish,” her mother waved a hand. “It was only a month.”

“It was three years,” Gloria said. “I had to switch schools, you didn’t even call me on my birthday!”

“Enough,” her mother said. “It’s all in the past. Let’s just focus on Sasha, huh? This is her moment.”

Sasha looked between them and Gloria tried to take a deep breath, tried to ground herself.

“You’re right,” Gloria swallowed. “Sasha, congratulations.”

“Right,” Sasha said. She looked at Barbie.

“You have a lovely home,” Barbie said.

Gloria’s mother smiled. “You are just as sweet as your brother. See, I knew you would marry into a good family Gloria, I can’t have been that terrible. You met a good man, like I said you would. And now you have Sasha.”

“What does you sending her away have to do with Sasha?” Barbie asked. Genuinely too. Gloria wanted to hug her.

“Did you really send her away, Abuela?” Sasha asked.

“Of course not,” her mother said. “Gloria, look what you’ve started now. All daughters hate their mothers, Sasha.”

Gloria looked at her phone. “It’s almost four, I have to be back home to start making dinner.”

“Let me grab you the plate I saved for Keith!” Her mother rushed to the kitchen and Gloria grabbed her bag.

“So we’re not getting takeout like usual?” Sasha asked.

Her mother came back in with the plate, handing it to Barbie before giving Sasha another big hug. Gloria headed out to the car before she had to watch it.

When the two of them got in Barbie was still holding the plate. Enchiladas. She’d literally never made Gloria enchiladas once, not even when she was a kid and her mother still spoke Spanish around her.

Gloria took the plate from Barbie, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind her. She got why Sasha did it, it was satisfying.

She walked to the driveway where the two trash cans were waiting for the garbage truck.

Barbie and Sasha watched her walk back, empty handed.

They drove in silence for a while, Gloria gripping the wheel with white knuckles. She felt Barbie’s and Sasha’s eyes never waver, burning a whole into her rapidly graying head.

“Did Abuela really send you away?” Sasha asked again.

Gloria took another deep breath. “Is anyone else starving? I could really go for some baleadas. Let’s go to a grocery store on the way home.”

Grocery shopping was silent, not like Gloria expected it be talkative but Barbie and Sasha were making eye contact the whole time as Gloria looked up the recipe.

“I’ve never had baleadas before,” Barbie sounded the word out carefully as they walked down the ethnic food aisle.

It was mostly Asian with a few cans of refried beans at the end that Gloria grabbed. She'd never noticed how lacking their local grocery store was. It had to be stocked better than this, right?

“What is it?” Barbie asked.

“What? Of course you've had them,” Gloria waved a hand. “I make them all the time.”

“They’re like soft thick tacos with sour cream,” Sasha explained.

“I made them like a week ago,” Gloria said.

“That was like, my tenth birthday,” Sasha said.

“No, there was three of us, Barbie had to have been there,” she said.

“It was Dad,” Sasha said.

Gloria knit her brow. “Oh, you’re right. I guess it has been a minute. Hope I still remember it!”

She tried to get chipper for the ride home but even Barbie was dubious, and refused to play along.

She went straight to the kitchen and got to work, blasting Selena as loud as possible. They stayed quiet all through dinner, even though Gloria totally crushed it. The food was fucking fantastic.

“You know what’s overrated?” Gloria asked around a bit of the taco. “Yoga. It’s not even actual exercise it’s just really sweaty and smelly. What do you think is overrated, Barbie?”

“High heels?” Barbie suggested.

Gloria nodded. “Totally, high heels suck.”

“How about skipping therapy,” Sasha said.

“Great Sasha, thanks so much,” Gloria threw down her napkin.

“Calling it like I see it,” Sasha said.

“‘Thanks for spending an hour on this meal Mom, this was really delicious Mom—‘“

“So I’m supposed to thank you for keeping me alive?” Sasha asked.

“God would you give it a rest?” Gloria asked. “For just two seconds imagine what it would’ve been like for me, and just imagine you were someone who felt grateful. Ever.” She stood up. “I’m going for a walk.”

She left but it was only minutes later that Barbie was at her side, as usual.

“I can walk ten feet behind you and pretend we’re walking separately,” Barbie said. “If you want space.”

Gloria smiled and took her hand, pushing down the butterflies she always got. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sasha’s just confused,” Barbie said. “She’s not trying to stress you out or anything.”

“I know,” Gloria said. “I just don’t need anyone telling me how to live my life right now. Not with Keith gone.”

Barbie hummed and they took a couple blocks in companionable silence, listening to the sound of distant cars along the highway.

“You never told me that stuff about your mom, living with your grandparents,” Barbie said. She squeezed Gloria’s hand.

“Abuelas are important,” Gloria said. “I didn’t wanna ruin it for Sasha.” She sighed. “I guess I failed at that too, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Barbie asked.

“I don’t know,” Gloria sighed. “Failed at being a daughter, a wife, and now mother? It’s like—what’s even the point.”

“You have not failed at those things,” Barbie stopped her. “You go to that house twice a month just to do chores while Sasha gets to have fun. You’re a great daughter. And Keith and you separated together, so that you both could be better parents. You haven’t failed at any of those things.”

Gloria shook her head. “I’m not sure my mother would agree with you.”

“Who cares what she thinks, she’s the failure. You’d never send Sasha away just for liking girls like she did.”

Gloria stepped back, moving her hand away. “What? I don’t—I don’t like girls.”

Barbie’s eyebrows furrowed. “But she told you not to come back until you got a boyfriend, wasn’t it because you liked girls?”

“I mean then,” Gloria said. “It was just a stupid phase in high school. Like my eyeliner.”

“Do you think it’s like eyeliner for Sasha?” Barbie asked.

“That’s different!” Gloria said. She was shouting. Why did all these deep breaths feel like she was hyperventilating? “That’s different.”

Barbie’s eyebrows stayed furrowed. “Can you tell me how it’s different?”

“I had a husband, I have a kid,” Gloria said. “I’m just a mom.”

“You’re not just a mom,” Barbie said. “You’re Gloria.”

Gloria swallowed.

“You can be anything,” Barbie said. “That’s why you’re one of the best toy designers at Mattel. That’s why Sasha always write about you when they ask her to write essays about who her hero is. That’s why only you were able to stop Ken. Who cares what your mom thinks?”

“Does Sasha really write about me?” Gloria asked.

“If you tell her I told you she will literally kill me,” Barbie said. “But of course she did. You singlehandedly saved Barbieland. You’re my hero too.”

“We saved Barbieland together,” Gloria said. She took Barbie’s hand. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Barbie squeezed her hand. “Anytime.”

The familiar butterflies came up, and Gloria tried not to squash them, just this once. “You mean that?” She asked.

“Of course,” Barbie said. “Forever.”

Gloria leaned against her as they walked, and wondered.

[deathscrivener]

Ask meme

Original question.

6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child?

((Drashok was raised by his foster mother, and she tried to do an alright job. She struggled a lot with him, they didn't have a lot, but she tried! Often brougth him to the Ilmater temple in hopes that they might be able to help him out in the ways she couldn't.

She didn't give him the tools to properly help him in the wide and dangerous world, but she raised him alright and with care.

His Deity of a father however didn't care about him what so ever besides what Drashok could do for him once he had the ability and the means to do so. Occasionally poking forth to whisper his opinions and will that would often distress, frustrate, and angered Drashok growing up from not knowing what or why he had them. ))

12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?

(( A lot here is probably a bit... off topic? But whatever. I have no idea how to explain how his education has shaped his language.

Drashok didn't get the best education in the world, he wasn't rich, didn't have private tutors, and he didn't go to magic based schools which would cost a decent bit.

He was poor growing up.

There was most likely something of a drive by the acolytes of the Ilmater temple to offer some education for those who wanted or need it, as they do a lot of different kinds of charity work around the city.

So what he does have of an education is largely self taught, and he makes an effort to try and keep on top of things. He's not awful at research, but he's not the smartest person in the world. He's a lot more practical than anything.

Normally Dwarves would have an apprenticeship type of education for their children up until their 50th birthday where they would be recognized socialy as adults. There they would do one task and become proper masters at it, think things like... smithing, baking, weaving, or any other family trade.

But since Drashok was of a shorter lived race, in a human majority city, that didn't have that kind of resources to create as strong clan structure or trade traditions... he was taken in by someone who was something of a friend\mentor figure\surrogate father figure who felt bad for Drashok and wanted to help him out at the Ilmater temple.

Drashok doesn't remember much of any of that, but his childhood and early years revolved a lot around that temple.

Drashok is also bilingual, with Dwarvish as his first language. And English\Common\Whatever the Baldurian first language is meant to be, as a second language. So he is fluid in English\Common\Whatever but with a subtle accent, that gets thicker if he's stressed, angry, or can't focus on making himself sound proper.

His vocabulary is partially from reading. He doesn't necessarily know completely the definition, just that the word sounds right in that context.

And recently as he has come across money, is kind of rich, is hiring tutors in his adult years to fill some gaps, and help in this speech to better fit among nobility.

But personally he doesn't like the whole nobility culture, frankly hates it. But he feels like he has to commit to it for more reasons than one.

Doesn't mind if he's cursing, might not always enunciate so long as he's understood. ))

13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates?

(( I think he liked learning.

Probably didn't love his teachers.

Schoolmates... I don't think he had a lot of friends. He was allowed to join in group games and activities, but he was most likely pretty lonely.))

8. How does your character feel about religion?

(( Like he said in the ask, it's his life.

He always had the Ilmater faith adjacent of him growing up, and he eventually became an Ilmater acolyte for a brief period. He looked dearly up towards the acolytes, and for all the good they had done for him all his years.

The issue was that things didn't go that way. Bhaal's influence only got stronger and stronger. His deity of a father, the God Of Murder, had other plans for him. And Drashok was easily indoctrinated into following said God Of Murder.

Out of fear of rejection, fear of himself, having broken his entire life, support system, he had nothing and no one. And his Father offered him something. Make him special...

And Drashok grabbed hold of that for dear life. And let his devotion eat him whole and make his life wholly connected to Bhaal. His Father, His Everything. A deeply codependent and toxic belief and relationship he was overjoyed to serve.

Until Bhaal threw him aside.

And he is struggling to be taken back, while hating his new keeper of a deity. His new owner who owns his body and soul.

He's scared. ))

[unusual-raccoon]

Honeybee, Horse Thief: Chapter 3

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/F!Reader, Arthur Morgan/You

Additional Tags: Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Medium Honor Arthur Morgan, Deputy Arthur Morgan, Bandits & Outlaws, Power Imbalance, Oral Fixation, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, My First Work in This Fandom, Vaginal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Multiple Orgasms, Cross Posted on Ao3, Vaginal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 6k+

Link

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Summary: After a few days out of town, you return to Rhodes to find things not as you left them. Nor a certain Deputy either.

Tagging: @enemiesandlovers @bimrsadler @delilah-grimes @midnightbeauty35

A/N: Having fleshed out this whole chapter, it seems silly to me that I had once considered cramming the events here into chapter 2. Anyway, still don’t own any characters, just the idea. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and please don’t mind any mistakes!

On occasion, contrary to most of your practices, you did manage to happen upon honest work; usually the kind that didn’t involve any kinda scam other than manual labor.

It was how you arrived in the soupy mud of Lagras, being nipped at by flies. Ace’s tail flicked animatedly where you sat on her back.

The pair of you stumbled up to the porch of an older woman in the small fishing village.

You squinted beneath the brim of your hat, regretting the additional layers of your duster and vest in that damp heat. Bronze sunlight sheared through the drooping limbs of weeping willows.

The ground hardly felt solid beneath your feet, like one step into the muck and you’d be sinkin’ straight into the marsh.

You paused in front of the lopsided shack, watching that old woman dust off her porch. She paused and gave you a long look.

“You some kinda bandit?” She called from the porch. She gave a look over your attire, deep-set eyes bracketed by crow’s feet lingered by the gun on your hip. You briefly looked down at yourself, before lifting your gaze back up and shrugged.

“Not at the moment, no.” You wasn’t sure what kinda answer she was lookin’ for, so you gave an honest one.

“You lookin’ fa’ work?” She asked, chewing on a small lump of sugar cane, fibrous and wet tucked in her cheek.

You were lookin’ a little light in the pockets and not opposed to make a bit of cash on the side.

“Suppose so.”

She waved you up the porch. You walked Ace as close to the steps as you could, before dismounting. You passed her a stalk of celery before tying her reins to the wobbly looking railing of the front porch.

Ace stood, head bobbing while contently crunching away on her celery. In the meantime you tried not to get utterly caked in mud on the short trip up the creaky steps.

Your revolver jostled by your hip up the steps, the inside of her shack was as miserably warm as the outside.

“Here”, she mumbled, passing you a tin cup of some coffee that had turned thick and tar-like. Still, you didn’t turn it down, mumbling a quiet thanks.

“Legs ain’t as good ‘s they used ta be.” She huffed, spitting out a pale brown mouthful of chewed up sugar cane, sucked free of all its sweetness. You watched as she poured herself some coffee too from a percolator that had seen better days.

One sip proved the coffee tasted like dirt, just as well it sat thick and bitter on your tongue.

“Need a young’un like ya to get me somethin’ outta that there swamp,” She explained while pulling up a weathered wooden chair.

You braced your hands on your gunbelt as you listened.

“What do you need?” You asked, sipping at your coffee, trying to hide the grimace behind each swallow.

“Treasure in these swamps,” she muttered, the sound of something valuable made the coffee nearly taste sweeter.

“If ya need someone to get it, I’m your gal.” You said chipperly, maybe you’d skim a little off the top for yourself. You didn’t make a habit of being so generous.

“Pay’s decent,” She offered, sinking down into her chair with a groan.

“Suits me just fine - what treasure am I after? Gold? Gems?” Hopefully, some pretty pale blue ones with spots of green, you mused. Weren’t like you were thinkin’ of Callahan all the time, but, more often that not you’d find your mind wandering to the sound of his laughter at the cackle of coyotes at night, the smell of his skin when yours needed washing, the roughened leather of his hat when you squinted beyond the sting of sunlight.

He’d gotten under your skin, in more ways than one.

The older woman let out a bark of laughter, “only gold in these parts is folks teeth,” you frowned, you certainly weren’t above knocking out a few of those.

“Nah, girl, the treasure you gon’ be hunting is the kind we’s can eat - crayfish.”

You let out a disbelieving sigh, greedy as ever, a true thief at heart, you’d gone and eaten with your eyes, or your ears more like in this case. However, you’d given your word and occasionally you did like to follow through with it.

“Fine,” you huffed, “where am I looking?”

She’d given you a map, some instructions and a couple of warnings.

“Keep that pretty horse a’yours away from them pink flowers, a bite and those’ll drop her faster’n a gator. Oh and mind the gators too!”

No pink flowers and stay away from gators, it seemed simple enough. You and Ace certainly had your work cut out for you.

Despite living relatively close to it for most of your life, it had been awhile since you’d ventured into Lemoyne’s swamps and marshes. Suffice it to say you hadn’t missed it.

You spent a total of two days in those swamps, your host however was kind enough to feed you and let you dry off by the small fire in her rickety home. Most meals consisted of blackened bread and a mug of warm ale to soak it in. Salted beef and coffee thick as tar in the morning. Ange was her name, colorful old soul who promised, if ya needed it, she’d always have room for you.

“Ya got a feller?” Ange had asked over breakfast, the saltiness of the tough, dried beef clashed with the overwhelmingly bitter coffee.

You scratched idly at your cheek trying to find the words to explain the image the question conjured in your head. You didn’t think of Jimmy who was your partner in just about everything for the past 3 years. Money, and meals, and if you were drunk enough you’d share your bed too.

No, your brain brimmed with the image of a Deputy with sandy blonde hair and bump on the bridge of his nose and the scar on his chin. You thought of Callahan.

“Sorta,” you replied, running a freshly burned spot on your tongue, courtesy of the coffee, over your bottom teeth.

“Sorta,” she echoed with a snort, chewed strenuously on a tough bit of beef.

Weren’t long after that that you had set off to find more crayfish, digging through the swamp on your hands and knees, praying a gator didn’t take a chunk out of you.

In a total of two days you had lugged back and forth a total of two pounds of crayfish, weren’t exactly easy work, but it was grotesquely honest.

You were a bit proud of yourself for having the stomach for it.

Ange had paid you kindly for it, you were 30 dollars richer, and the thought of robbing the kind woman churned your stomach a bit. You didn’t mention the couple of gator eggs you’d snagged while wading through the mud, knowing the fence at the edge of town paid pretty for those kinds of things.

On the third morning, you fed Ace the twisted root of a burdock plant you’d found, before setting off.

You bid Ange goodbye while she peeled crayfish into a big tin bucket on her front porch.

Ace seemed as grateful to get out of the swamp as you were. Setting off in a jaunty canter towards Rhodes.

You let your mind wander to your favorite Deputy, to his smile, to the clashing coarseness and gentility of his touch. You wondered if Callahan had spent any more quality time with Susanna in the time you’d been gone.

The thought twisted your stomach and made your mouth sour, but you pushed it away and instead chose to focus on the ride as you approached Rhodes.

You tugged on Ace’s reins as you rode into town, pulling her into a skidding stop. Your throat grew tight at the sight of plumes of smoke pouring off into the pale blue sky, distantly from the smoldering remains of Braithwaite Manor.

Tightening your grip on her reins, Ace drew into a slow trot. You could still make out the hearty curls of dark smoke beyond the faded yellow of the local fence, Clem’s trailer.

Sliding off of Ace’s saddle, you kicked up some dirt, your boots seemed to long for the loose reddish dirt in comparison to mud you’d been wading in for the past two days.

“Clem,” you called as you stride the window in his trailer.

“Clem,” you called a second time, your hand falling to your revolver on your hip as tension coiled tight like a cottonmouth in your belly.

“I know you’re in there - listen, I got a couple gator eggs, fresh out the bayou, if you don’t come n’ get ‘em, I’ll take ‘em to someone who will…”

You cocked back the hammer on your revolver while it still sat in your holster with a practiced thumb, listening for the definitive click to let you know your weapon was ready to be fired. You tensed, hand sitting on the smooth cherry wood varnish at the sound of shuffling feet.

You kept your elbow bent, flexible and ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

Soon enough you saw Clem’s face in the window of that cheery yellow trailer. His squinty eyes and dark vest, a few buttons done up wrong.

You uncocked the hammer and blew out a breath.

“You want them eggs?” You asked, letting the tail of your duster fall to cover your sidearm.

“‘Course I want them eggs,” Clem shot back, quickly motioning you over.

“Whatchu hidin’ for then?” You asked, rummaging around your satchel to procure the small parcel that you had wrapped the precious eggs in.

Clem accepted them with eager hands, inspecting the trio of eggs while hunched over the little bench built into the Dutch door of his trailer.

He paused, lifting his head to look at you with squinted eyes.

“Ain’t you heard?” He asked incredulously.

You gave him an expectant look.

“Whole town’s been shot to hell by some bandits or some such.”

Dread settled in your belly like uncooked dough, rising and swelling with every hot breath you swallowed down.

“Bandits?” You questioned thickly, your tongue felt numb, like a piece of stiff rubber caged between your teeth.

“Y’know, outlaws. Sheriff rounded up a posse and everything. More n’twenty men I heard. And the only folk that left were the ones that rode in.” Your brain was still swimming in the information when he gave some more, “Day after that, some fellers went after the Braithwaites too, burned their land to a crisp.”

Your heart sank. You held out a hand for your pay, a thick wad of bills were dropped into your hand. You could still see plumes of smoke spilling off into the sky.

If the Sheriff rounded up a posse, surely his own Deputies were some of the first men enlisted to protect the town?

That dread in your belly grew larger still, you could scarcely breathe with it pressed against your lungs.

A lump caught in your throat, you nodded frantically, stowing your cash in your satchel without bothering to count it. You even missed Clem’s wave goodbye as you hurried straight for Ace.

Stepping into a stirrup, you kept a hand on the horn of the saddle, swiftly pulling yourself up.

Tapping your heels against your little racehorse's sides, Ace gave a short whinny as you spurred her into a brief, but lightning quick sprint.

Your eyes stung and nose wrinkled as the scent of death wafted up from the town, countless bodies lining bullet-hole studded storefronts.

It smelled of sun-baked corpses, your stomach twisted painfully.

Sliding off of Ace’s supple leather saddle in front of the Sheriff’s station, you didn’t bother tying her reins to a hitching post. Climbing up the stairs, you dug your heels in at the sight of Sheriff Gray. The man laid dead on the front porch, a big hole where his face had previously been before a well placed bullet had blown it open. There were maggots writhing in the pink abyss of his open skull.

You nudged at the door, stepping over his corpse. A hand clapped over your mouth and nose to stave off the offending smell. Your eyes watered, Deputy MacGregor - you could tell it was him by the badge on his chest, laid dead inside the Sheriff’s station. His head was blown clean off, a round of buckshot if you’d had to guess. The windows were shattered, pock-marked with bullet holes but even that didn’t do anything to hide the stench.

You looked around the station with stinging eyes for a third body. A large body.

For him.

You didn’t find one. Stepping back over Sheriff Gray’s corpse on the way out.

You took Ace’s reins and led her to the saloon - you needed a drink.

Damn place looked like a ghost town. There were bodies and bullet holes everywhere you looked. And no sign of the one person you was hoping weren’t dead.

Securing her reins to a hitching post, you offered Ace a stale oatcake before heading inside.

Pushing open the swinging doors of the saloon, you paused at the sight of a single broad body sitting at the bar.

The bartender was trying to pour a shot of whiskey, his shaking hands made a mess on the bartop.

“Leave the bottle and go,” you heard a gruff voice order, your heart clawed its way out of your belly. Hope nestled dizzyingly in your chest.

You knew that voice, you heard it husky and breathless in your dreams.

Callahan.

There was the clatter of glass bottles, and the bartender flinched.

You heard the click of a hammer being cocked, you blinked and saw Callahan holding a gun on the man behind the bar.

“I said leave the bottle and go.”

He gestured with the weapon towards the back door of the bar.

“Now.” Callahan grunted, standing firmly until you heard the back door buckle open and just as violently slam shut.

The Deputy slumped into his seat with a grumble, lifting a large brown bottle of whiskey from behind the bar. You watched him drink deeply from the bottle, lips twisting with a grimace as he set the bottle back down.

He stowed his revolver back on his hip in a smooth, practiced motion.

He returned to his drink, mood terribly sour. But you couldn’t have been happier. You’d always been quite the committed actress during your numerous small time cons throughout the years, but you struggled in that moment to keep the soft giddy smile from your lips.

“You’re alive,” You exhaled, chest growing tight as the Deputy didn’t bother glancing over his shoulder to look at you, before taking another pull from the bottle of whiskey.

“So it seems.” He grunted, hand still curled around the neck of the bottle.

“Sheriff’s dead,” you announced, as you took a few steps over to the bar. You sank into the seat beside him, eyes lingering on the wiry hair on the exposed flesh of his brawny forearm. You wanted to run your fingers over the faint raised surface of veins and subtle flexes of tendons that jumped beneath his skin. Sitting in his palm was a six pointed star…

“I know.” He said flatly. He didn’t sound particularly mournful, but you supposed, the whiskey could’ve been to blame.

“Where ya been?” He asked, his voice sounded nearly resentful. A little guilt turned corkscrew in your belly.

“Made a quick buck helpin’ a lady in the swamps.” You offered, leaning your elbows against the bartop as you regarded the Deputy.

“How ‘bout you?” You asked, leaning over the bar to snag yourself a beer.

“Word is Rhodes got shot to hell, and you seem otherwise intact.” You said, cracking the top off the bottle with a swift press of the heel of your palm on the edge of the countertop.

“Where you been?” You added with a curious lift of your brow.

“Oh, I was here,” Callahan grunted, “I was here.” There was something far off in his eyes, something hurting.

You thought of what Clem had told you, about the shootout in town, about them folks, what survived. You thought of Deputy Callahan, spying the six pointed star sitting in his hand instead of being pinned to his chest. You wanted terribly to ask about the events, to get at the truth even though an honest thief like yourself never really cared for it.

Something cold and slippery twisted in your guts as you caught his stare, the heat of it made Lemoyne’s blistering climate feel frigid. Those blue eyes lingered only on you. There was an intensity there, a longing.

Your thighs pressed hard together as you took another sip of your beer.

You watched as the Deputy took one last drink from the bottle of whiskey, a deep draught, before remarking, “Good to see ya, Honeybee.”

With that he abandoned the bottle and his badge on the counter top. Standing from the plush barstool he’d been sitting on. You were suddenly gripped by a feeling you had known before, kneeling on his jacket with his spend sittin’ warm in your belly, he was going to leave again…Yet, this time felt so much more certain.

You could hear each swaggering step as he walked towards the saloon’s swinging double doors. Revolvers jostling and spurs jingling.

“So, that’s it?” You exhaled, shaking hands picking up his badge, the metal, while light, managed to sit heavy in your palm.

“That’s it,” he called back simply, unenthused.

“Yer just gonna leave?” You asked incredulously, sliding off of your barstool to foolishly follow a man you had no right chasin’ after.

“Pretty much. Look, Girlie, I dunno what ya expected-“

What you expected? What you expected? You expected him not to run off again. You had no stomach for his sarcasm at the moment, you were full to the gills with anger and hurt and exasperation. You dragged a hand over your face with a frustrated sigh.

“You can’t just-“ his expression shifted as he turned to face you, lip twitching like he was on the verge of a smile at the prospect of you telling him what to do, but you weren’t even trying to be funny, “The Sheriff’s dead!”

That twitching upper lip lifted over his teeth in a snarl as he took a step towards you.

“Who the hell do you think did that? Hmm?”

You’d never been one for book learnin’ but he couldn’t have spelled it clearer for ya. You stared down at the badge in your hand with renewed understanding. Burned hot in your palm like it had been left over red coals. Felt like you’d swallowed a fishhook and every breath was reeling that hook higher and higher, pulling all of your spasming innards with it. Feller never walked like a lawman because he’d never truly been a lawman…

Your eyes grew a bit damp, you scrubbed at them angrily, crying was for soft-hearted girls who had the luxury of bein’ soft, you wasn’t one a’them.

Your head throbbed like your brain intended to be free of your skull, pounding and pounding at its infernal cage.

Four riders came into town and four left. That fishhook gave a mighty tug at the realization that you was starin’ at one of’em. Your heart was in your throat, all swelled up you could scarcely breathe.

“Who are ya then? Really?” You asked, your mouth taste sour like you was gonna be sick, the slight tang of beer muddied on your palate helped keep the feeling at bay.

“Don’t matter,” He answered gruffly, “Why, you wanna turn me in?”

It mattered - lord, it mattered to you. He mattered to you. You shook your head, that sick feelin’ only got worse.

“No,” you answered definitively and without hesitation, “ain’t got much in this world, but there’s honor among folk like us.”

“‘Folk like us’,” he echoed in a cruel bark of laughter, “you’sa two-bit con artist and a pickpocket,” the words were meant to cut and cut they did.

“I got a bounty on my head in three states - we,” he gestured between the pair of you, “ain’t the same folk.”

You knew what he was trying to do, you’d made enough connections with people throughout the years to know when a feller was trying to cut ties. You wouldn’t let ‘em though, goddamn him, you wouldn’t let him cut and run.

“The hell we ain’t the same folk, mister-“ you paused and dug your teeth into your lower lip. You didn’t even know if Callahan were his real name.

“You don’t know me girl, quit pretendin’ you do.” His words stung and you hated how much they hurt.

Your jaw tensed tight until it hurt.

“Where you headed?” You asked, stubborn as always. You could see his exasperation begin to falter, belaying some fondness beneath.

“Some city called Saint Denis,” he answered honestly with a shrug.

Your head sprang up, watery eyes wide, “That’s my neck a’the woods, lemme at least show y’round the place.”

“It ain’t a leisure trip, Girlie, feller there got somethin’ - someone belongs to us, a young boy.”

The information made you wince, but you weren’t entirely surprised, Saint Denis had a way of preying on young’uns.

“I understand. You’re a wanted feller, ain’t nothin’ I ain’t heard before. Saint Denis ain’t nothing but slick talkers,” you motioned to yourself and saw a hint of a smile lift on his lips, “Big cowpoke like you, you’d stick out like a sore thumb. At least lemme help you find your boy?”

He let out a sigh, rubbing a weathered palm over his facial hair, making it hiss beneath his calluses.

“Why you doin’ this, huh?” He asked, this nameless stranger that had gotten under your skin.

You blew out a breath, “There ain’t nothin’ left for me in Rhodes, mister-“ you caught yourself again, meeting his gaze, something thawed in the blue of his eyes.

“Morgan,” He answered and something dizzy shot to your head at the sliver of truth.

Morgan. Morgan. Morgan.

It was more of him than you’d had before.

“Well, Mister Morgan, was you who said next folk I should go robbin’ with should know how to shoot - from the looks a’things, you and your crew know how to shoot.”

He ducked his head, the brim of his hat doing little to hide the curl of a genuine smile on his lips.

“Shit,” he grunted, eyes terribly blue, “that’s my fault, ain’t it?”

“‘Fraid so,” you added, trying to bite down your smile to keep it from growing too wide.

“I know you don’t think we’re the same folk, but, I-“ you paused trying to find the words to articulate the feelings what twisted up your innards and ripped through ‘em like a fishhook, that inexplicable draw that kept you comin’ back to him, “I know we are, I can feel it in my bones, Mister Morgan.”

“Arthur,” he grunted.

He gave a commiserating nod and a firm few steps in your direction before seizing you hard by the jaw. Your breath seized in your chest and you stared into the menacing, wild blue of his eyes.

“You call me Arthur,” he exhaled, body trembling like there was an animal caged in his chest, “Go on, say it.”

You sucked in a breath, licking your lips, savoring the occurrence like it was some fine wine or decadent meal.

“Arthur,” you breathed and the reality made you dizzy, he held you hard, grunting like an animal before kissing you harder. His mouth was hungry and savage and you responded in kind.

You pawed at his chest, tearing your nails over whatever you could feel. Running your nails, chipped and ragged from days digging around the swamp, through the fur-trimmed lining of his leather vest. You tasted blood and weren’t sure whose it was, but it was sweet. His big hands groped at ya, feverish beneath your clothes. You felt him squeeze hard at your rear and squealed into his mouth.

His mouth tasted victorious, like a triumph on your part, something hard earned. You’d wormed your way into his life, like a vine snaking up a garden wall. Stubborn and unyielding until that vine and that brick wall were one.

He sucked at your neck and you cried out, you knocked his hat from his head, tugging on his hair, it had gotten a little longer; not yet reaching his shoulders but close to it.

He pulled away from your skin, eyes dark and ravenous, hands holding you firm to his broad chest.

“We ain’t leavin’ here until you scream that name proper, y’understand?”

You nodded in a daze, sort of deranged and giddy, whining, starved for his mouth again. Then you remembered what you’d promised. It was hard to think with your pulse poundin’ between your legs.

“What about-“

“We leave for Saint Denis first thing tomorrow.” He explained, tipping back your hat gently to play with some of your hair. Since he’d gone and made you think with yer brain even though your cunt was drooling somethin’ fierce between your thighs, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking a question.

“What was you doin’ in town anyway?” You asked, head tilted back so he could leave a fiery trail of kisses down to your collarbones.

He paused, lifted his head, a few sandy blonde strands hanging in his eyes, cheeks a ruddy shade when he mumbled, “Waitin’.”

He needn’t say more for you to understand his meaning, to gather what, or in this instance, who he was waitin’ on.

You tugged at the open fur-lined flap of his vest, savagely pressing your lips to his. Your tongue wound up in his mouth, soaking up the sound of his groan.

He swept you up in his arms, the buckle of his gunbelt biting you briefly as he folded your legs around his waist.

“Arthur,” you gasped, one arm swiftly catching around the back of his neck to keep you steady.

“Don’t you stop now, Darlin’,” He grunted, starting towards the winding stairs in Rhodes’ saloon.

He hauled you up the stairs and you’re struck with the vivid memory of climbing those stairs in search of him a few days prior.

He’d trimmed his beard shorter, but each kiss against your available skin stung beautifully.

Arthur pushed open the door to a rentable room, not that there was anyone in the saloon to collect a fee. You whined when he dumped you on the mattress. You glanced around, frowning before staring back at him.

“You fucked Susanna in this room!” You accused suddenly, ire only further riled by the cocky lilt of his lips.

“Fucked plenty a’women in this room,” he shrugged, reaching for your booted ankle, sharp smile widened when you tried to kick him, “wanted you to be the last.”

You offered another kick, far weaker and more uninspired than the first. Your anger subsided as the pressure between your thighs doubled. He tugged one boot off, tossing it over his shoulder.

You huffed, “the fuck you waitin’ for then?”

He chuckled, his body eclipsing yours on the bed.

—

Your trousers were bunched around your knees, offering just enough give for you to sit on the hog of that big outlaw; and in truth that was all you really needed.

Your hips bucked a bit when the thick head poked at your sex, slippery and wet and waitin’ to be full. Your brow furrowed with concentration, hand gripped tight on wrought iron headboard. Your vest hung open, the buttons of your shirt were plucked open too, bare breasts bathed in the balmy breath of the man beneath you.

Hair clung to the sweat on your forehead. Your hips rocked experimentally, a moan bubbling up in your throat as the broad tip of his cock sank into you.

“Ain’tchu the prettiest little,” Arthur murmured, voice thick with desire, your face scrunched up, you shifted, slamming your weight down despite the burn that throbbed through your abdomen like a hot knife when you took the entirety of him down to the root, full to the brim, he exhaled raggedly, “devil.”

You shuddered, toes flexing, hips wiggling as you adjusted to the size of him inside you.

“Mmm,” you groaned between your teeth, fumbling beneath you to feel Arthur; you had managed to get his vest off, before he’d gone about attacking your clothes in kind.

“There ya are,” he hummed, full of fondness, giving his hips a rock that made you squirm with unfurling pleasure that tingled to the ends of your toes, “my Honeybee.”

Arthur gave your hip a pat, “you hold on tight now, Darlin’,”

“Rode your horse,” you shot back, “think I can handle you, Mister.”

You threw a wink at him, feeling his grip tense on both hips, jostling you a bit so you felt every goddamned inch of him. Bastard.

“That so?” He asked smugly, and you nodded, lower lip caught between your teeth.

“Uh huh,” you breathed.

“We’ll see about that.” He grinned, giving you a quick slap to the rear.

He raised you up between his palms with all the effort of someone lifting a child’s toy, suddenly dragging you back down his girth, wrenching free an ugly feral sound.

Oh you certainly would see about that.

—

Your voice had gone hoarse somewhere along the way, part from hollering your head off, belting his name to ceiling like he told ya you would, part from each commemorative cigarette y’all chainsmoked after every heaving, sweating, screaming climax.

“I need a drink,” you announced, and Arthur gave a warm chuckle against your back. A brawny forearm draped over your waist.

You started throwing off the sheets, battling with the strong arm that held you firm in bed and the warm mouth trailing wet kisses and the occasional bite against your sweaty skin. You whined at the sting of his teeth, but supposed it was only fair considering all the bites you’d left on ‘em - shoulders, chest, and forearms were all territory you had claimed.

You’d started off craving whiskey, but ended up hankering for a different taste sometime during the struggle. Something strong and musky and hot.

He wrestled you on his chest, letting out a satisfied grumble when you straddled him. Arthur trailed a hand down your bare back, your clothes were long gone. You kissed a sloppy trail down the sloping muscle of his chest, teeth catching on his hip, staring into his eyes.

You wriggled your way between his thighs, working his big, soft cock in your palm until his bloated balls were tense and he was stiff as iron in your palm.

Your tongue teased the flared slit, tasting the familiar musk of him wash over your tastebuds. Your brain were muddy and your cunt slick as you took him into your mouth. There was tang of feminine want on him too, the taste of yourself seemed all the more sinful when stained on him.

You worked the length of him, what part you hadn’t yet urged into your greedy throat, in your hand.

“Lord,” he grunted, head thrown back as a hand flew into your hair, he grumbled something unintelligible, hips urging until you felt him glide into your throat. The ache was familiar and your cunt flexed hungry, you’d missed this. Missed him.

He rumbled the words again, cadence familiar even with the rushing of blood in your ears.

I’m keepin’ you, I’m keepin’ you…

You moaned around him, dipping a frantic hand between your thighs to rub earnestly at your bud.

A firm hand held you still, your nose buried in the dense thicket of sandy blonde curls at his base, he smelled of sweat and salt and saddle leather.

“I know,” he groaned, voice tender and lulling and sympathetic, “You drink yer fill now, Honeybee.”

You urged two fingers into your mess, feeling drying slick and spend matted into your hair down there.

Keep me, you thought, dragging your wet tongue from the weight of his testicles to the crown of his cock, cinching your lips around the tip. You felt his hand in your hair and moaned a grateful sound.

—

You eventually did get yer whiskey, ‘course Arthur had gone and fetched it for you, bursting back into the room, buck nude save for his hat which had been on the main floor along with the alcohol.

It was a pricey bottle of bourbon.

You swallowed down swigs, the taste of him still in your mouth as the pair of you split a tin of assorted biscuits.

There were crumbs stuck to you, and normally you would’ve cared, but you were fuck-drunk, and halfway to drunk-drunk, and couldn’t possibly be bothered.

You rubbed your feet along his shins, twisted up in the sheets, while Arthur tapped a cheap cigarette out of its carton.

You leaned over the side of the bed to get the oil lamp off the side table, neither of you possessing the dexterity to light a match all wore out.

He lit the cigarette and passed the lamp back.

You were drawing patterns through the sweat-dampened smattering of his chest hair. Pressing a kiss to a bruising bite mark you’d left in your frenzy.

“Braithewaite property,” you hummed, leaning forward to take a drag off his cigarette when he offered the end to you, it tasted like his mouth, like smoke and whiskey and you, “you and your folks do that?”

Arthur nodded, blowing out smoke through his nostrils and some through his mouth.

“Yup.”

“Why?” You asked curiously, no malice in your questioning.

“Th’ boy I was tellin’ you ‘bout - old Catherine Braithwaite took ‘em. Realized we was dealin’ with them and the Gray’s; playin’ em both. Sold little Jack to some feller in Saint Denis.”

He took another drag off his cigarette, another bout of twin curls exhaled from his nose.

“So, we paid her a visit, showed her how we feel ‘bout folk touchin’ them what’s ours.” A possessive hand gripped firm on the plush flesh of your rear, holding you close.

“This life - our life, it ain’t easy. We’re hunted out there,” he exhaled, grip softening so his hand could stroke at you all tender.

“You’re outlaws - I got a gun and horse thanks to you, what more’s an outlaw need?” You asked.

“Loyalty.” He replied without hesitation or reservation.

You dropped your chin to his chest, head angled so you could see only him. Only the hair in his eyes and the bump on his nose and the scar on his chin. You thought, if there was ever a man you could be loyal to, it had to be this one.

“Okay…” you exhaled, pressing a fluttering kiss to his sternum.

“Okay.” He rumbled back, his hand playing with your hair as you settled your head atop his chest.

—

The pair of you were up in the late night and early morning. The sun weren’t out, but you were awake.

You washed courtesy of a wash basin in the room, refilling it for Arthur before you started dressing.

It wouldn’t be long until you and he would set out for his group’s camp, and you would ride with him for Saint Denis. You didn’t have much of anything left in Rhodes, some clothes, enough to pad your saddle bags with, a small stash of rainy day funds. You needed to head for your small room on the other side of town, the little lopsided shack you called your own.

Arthur had cleaned off relatively quickly, pouring the water out the window when he was done.

He dressed just as quietly and quickly behind you. You rummaged around on the floor for boot he had thrown into the corner of the room when you two had first arrived. You found it with a smile on your lips, the room felt more like yours now, than it ever did to Susanna.

You tugged on the boot, stomping your foot to get your foot in right.

“Won’t take me long to get what I need, meet you by Clem’s trailer?”

Arthur nodded, watching as you did up your vest over your shirt.

“Sounds good,” he agreed.

You were at the door, hand on the handle when you heard him call out to you.

“Honeybee?” He called, and you turned, head tilted over your shoulder expectantly in his direction, “Don’t forget that dress a’yours.”

And for once since you’d met the man, you didn’t have some smart reply waitin’ on the tip of your tongue…

Just a soft blush and sly smile.

“I won’t.”

[shsl-baby]

Betrayal, desire and future!

// sorry this took so long but it turns out i practically wrote a novel for each character. seriously, this took up like almost two pages of a google document. i don't know how to shut up.

// since it's so long, it's going under a readmore! i'm not making y'all scroll thru all that.

Yukiko

Betrayal- Yukiko is not the most angelic child one will meet. They’re willing to lie and steal to obtain things they need or want - it’s what they were taught to do. Being dependent on a couple of teenage girls for most of your life means fending for yourself sometimes, especially when neither of them really have your best interests at heart. 

All that is to say, while they probably haven’t been betrayed themselves at this age, they’re certainly willing to betray others. All they need is a reason they deem good enough.

Desire- The only thing they want in the world is Junko’s love. Literally. It’s their one goal, the only thing they strive for. If she says the word they will bend to her will in whatever way she wants. No matter the consequences, no matter who it hurts or how badly. Anything for her to love them. Anything to get her attention.

Future- The worst possible future is exactly the one Junko wants - Yukiko continuing to push her ideals and her rhetoric long after she’s gone. Not a carbon copy, but an off-brand imitation. The way she pictures it, Yukiko is right on track to grow into one of the worst people of all time, second only to her. 

Of course, Yukiko is aware of this possible future, and it’s exactly what they want because they know it’s what she wants. They don’t need to think too hard about their future when Junko has it planned out for them, step by agonizing step.

Yuu-kun

Betrayal- We’re circling back around to JUNKO FOLKS IT”S ALWAYS JUNKO But nah fr. Of course the biggest and most intense betrayal for them will always be her. I don’t think I can stress enough how much their entire world revolved around her in a way none of the Remnants of Despair did. They all had lives prior to her influence - admittedly shitty ones in most cases, but still. In Yuu’s case though, she was their only role model for most of their life. And now suddenly they’re expected to treat her memory like dirt, they’re expected to understand that the things she did were wrong and bad when it’s all they’ve ever known.

I mean, what kind of implications does that have in regards to them? Should they also think of themselves as a bad person? Are they as bad as she was? It’s a lot easier to believe it’s everyone else who is wrong, not her, because it implies uncomfortable things about their own morality.

Desire- Just like when they were younger, what they truly want hasn’t really changed, just slightly shifted. Junko is gone now - they’ll never have her love. They’ll never get that. So they’ll take the next best thing, and that’s anyone else’s. But they don’t know how to get it. With Junko, there was a clear goal - do exactly as she wants and you’ll be rewarded with her attention. But other people aren’t so simple, and they don’t know how to handle it.

It’s one of those wants that’s so deeply personal and difficult to put into words that even I’m sort of struggling to explain it in a way I feel like makes sense to others. Like, I know what I’m talking about. I can really only hope that I’m doing a decent job of communicating that, though.

Future- I haven’t really touched on this yet, but Yuu is… sort of a ticking time bomb. There is a lot going on in their life right now. They’re dealing with the loss of their only role model, they’re being held on a deserted tropical island with a bunch of people who have more than likely tried to kill them at one point or another, and they’re expected to flip their entire worldview on its head in order to please those around them. I cannot stress enough that they do not fully understand why what Junko did was so wrong. Because it’s Junko. There’s no logic behind it, but they still feel that because Junko did it, it had to be justifiable, somehow.

While they’re not made of glass, there is every chance that Yuu could one day decide, for one reason or another, that she was right after all and it’s everyone else who is wrong. And it wouldn’t be something particularly difficult to convince them of. A misinterpreted conversation and a little too much time spent stewing alone with their thoughts.

Hinata

Betrayal- Hope’s Peak as an entity is easily the biggest betrayal he’s ever faced. And it was a lot of people who smiled in his face as they described to him how they were going to erase his entire personality. Even Ultimates who he looked up to, the people he so desperately wanted to be. That school was his entire life and future and it turned around, took that admiration and destroyed every last bit of what was Hinata Hajime. 

Even now, memories of his life prior to Hope’s Peak, of his parents or family or friends, feel blurry and fleeting, coming to him in short bursts through other lines of thought. He can chase these loose threads all he wants, but they’re always too fast for him.

Desire- Right now, Hinata’s main desire is to be useful. He doesn’t care about the physical or emotional toll it takes on him, as long as it doesn’t affect the ones he’s trying to help. There’s a leak in your roof? He’s on it. You’re feeling sick and can’t do your assigned chore that day? You saw a spider? He’s on it.

Hinata struggles a lot with what the Kamukura project gave him, as well as what it took from him. He’s one of, if not the most powerful person on the planet, but there are days where he really, really wishes he remembered what his mom used to make him for breakfast as a kid. It’s a double sided and super fucked up coin that he’s constantly flipping. So he puts himself to work - for what he lost, he can at least use what he gained.

Future- The worst possible future for Hinata would probably be one where he gives up. Where he stops doing… basically everything. Stops striving for improvement, stops helping those around him. And I don’t mean stopping so he can practice some self-care (because the motherfucker needs it), I mean stopping because he simply feels it’s pointless. Like there is no future. 

While this is the worst possible outcome, I can’t see it happening no matter how hard I try. I mean, I know I’m the one writing him so I’m kinda biased, but it just feels like it goes against his whole personality. It almost feels like it would be completely out of character for him, like it rides the line. I think a much more probable “bad ending” so to speak would be his own stubbornness making all of his efforts have the opposite of their intended effect. The wrong word said to the wrong person at the wrong time, and suddenly it’s all crumbling down. And it’s all his fault.

[milkywaygg]

The Cosmas Revamped Chapter 4

Linnie hid behind his textbooks as he entered the classroom, sinking in his seat as he kept his eyes glued to the action in front of him. With no teacher in sight, Nora was seen in the front, clutching the white dress of a pink haired, dark-skinned fairy, who was also much thinner and slightly taller than Nora. Her teeth were also much better kept and wore a decent amount of make-up, squirming around as Arthur begged and pleaded Nora to let her go.

“Yea fat fucking chance, cheater!”, Nora yelled, before yanking the girl closer to her, “Who the hell do you think you are talking to my man like that?”

“Aye! Lemme go crazy bitch!”, the girl yelped, “I-I didn’t know he was taken!”

“Yeah yeah, that’s what they all say.”, Nora snarled, her eyes shifting focus from her to Arthur, “What the hell is your problem, little man? After all I do for you?”

“Er…I…um.”, Arthur fiddled with the top of his sweater, unable to find the words to smooth things over, “She um…N-Nora please! Just let her go! I can explain everything.”

“Heh, you better.”, Nora smirked, dropping the girl hard on the ground, earning a small yelp. Shoving the girl aside, Nora floated near Arthur’s desk and placed both of her hands in front of him, aiming her red face closer and closer, making him squirm in his seat like a worm stuck on the pavement.

“H-How did you even find out?”

“Well sweetheart, let’s just say you need to do a better job of cleaning your room.”, she snapped as she dug around in her backpack, pulling out the offending pair of underwear for Arthur to see, alongside all of his surrounding classmates.

“Nora! You couldn’t have just left those there! You’re gonna embarrass Willow.”

“As she should be! I didn’t realize you had a thing for STD infested sluts.”

“Which would explain why he was with you-“, the girl, Willow, remarked as she got up and placed her hand on Arthur’s shoulder, snatching the underwear away before most of her classmates could get a closer look.

“I…I just…”, Nora growled, fire fuming inside her body as she looked at the couple, neither of them looking sorry nor regretful. As a matter of fact, they stood before Nora as if they were a married couple and Nora was but merely their neighbor. The man that she had dated all throughout high school, who she thought would grow old with, and who she had hoped she’d have the honor of asking out to the prom that was coming up, stared at her as if she were a stranger; almost as if the last 3 years had meant nothing to him. “Arthur….if you weren’t happy, then why didn’t you tell me? I-I thought I was enough for you. Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

“Well..I..”, Arthur stammered, wishing that the teacher would hurry up and get here, “Ah…there’s not really an easy way to explain.

“Then let me, dear.”, Willow said, the word dear stabbing Nora in the heart as if she were shot. Willow’s pink eyes looked haughtily into Nora’s cyans as she smirked, her hand on Arthur’s shoulder as if he were her little prize that she had just won. “Nora, I really do hate to tell you this, but I’m afraid you’re not exactly what Arthur was looking for.”

“Which was?”, Nora growled, her fists clenching, though Willow paid no mind.

“Oh nothing in particular. Just someone prettier, smarter, sexier…and maybe a bit less..well less like my ancestors were a bunch of whales! Haha-“

WHACK!

Nora’s fist sprung to life as they slammed onto Willow’s eyes, causing her to stumble backwards and hit her head on the corner of Arthur’s desk. Linnie hid as he watched the scene, while the rest of the class cheered, whooped, and hollered over the fight that was going down. Arthur got up from his seat and tried to push Nora off of Willow before finally, Nora landed a punch on Arthur’s face that made the entire class freeze and gasp; the spark behind Willow’s eyes bursting into flame.

“How…dare you!”, she yelled as she picked herself up and shoved Nora away from Arthur, nearly slamming her into the teachers desk, “Who the hell do you think you are, hitting a boy like that?”

“Who the hell do you think YOU are? Calling someone a whale.”

Fists continued to fly as the fight began to evolve into a brawl, with a few throwing in paper balls to instigate. The screaming, shouting, laughing, and cursing kept going on and on until finally…Ms. Skylar had finally arrive to the class, alongside Principal Riverstream, holding a rather thick book of detention slips in her hand.

She thought it would never end. Clutching her ice pack close to her eye, Nora walked out of the detention room at around 5, but not without tripping Willow down the stairs in the process. Desperate not to go for a suspension, Nora detoured towards the back of the school towards a hidden staircase and left the school through a set of double doors on the backside. As much as she’d love to wallop Willow again, Nora just couldn’t find the strength to stay in the building much longer. Unsure of where to go, Nora dub her hands in her jacket pocket and began to take a walk, unsure of where the road would take her.

She had considered going back to the café once again. Even if it closed during the late hours, she’d at least be warm for a little while longer. Deciding to head towards the city center, she took a right onto a street that separated the school from some of the neighborhoods, including her own. Being a rather low-income neighborhood, it was plagued with trash along the sidewalks and graffiti, some if which was still wet, decorated some of the buildings. She held her breath as he passed by a smoke shop and a gas station that looked to be about 100,000 years old, with one pump just barely functioning.

Then, as she was about to make another right, she passed by a bar that had a cup of bronze liquid sitting casually outside the window. Out of curiosity, Nora paused in her tracks and got closer to the drink, noticing the bubbles still forming in the liquid. Looking around to make sure no one was looking, Nora took a sip of the drink, allowing it to massage her taste buds. It was a rather bitter taste, and Nora had initially grimaced at it’s lack of sweetness, but the more sips she had, the more she had gotten used to it, and the more the drink disappeared, the looser Nora felt. She felt like she was on cloud nine after the plastic cup collided with the sidewalk, replaying plummeting Willow’s stupid face on the ground.

Nora was so lost in a trance that she hadn’t noticed that she was swaying back and forth as she turned the corner and found herself tripping on some of the steeper cracks on the sidewalk. As she continued forward however, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Ready to curse out Arthur for everything he was worth, she felt her heart drop as she saw it was not Arthur’s number….

“Get your ass home right now. We need to talk.”

Feeling her heart pound furiously, Nora sobered up somewhat quickly and picked up the pace, flying through the city enter past the café, her original destination. She turned towards the cul de sac about 1000 feet behind and made her way back towards the house with the cyan roof; a poorly kept house with shattered windows and mold on the outside. Knowing that the beast was expecting her, Nora didn’t even bother digging out the key as she walked into the living room, careful not to fall over some of the whiskey bottles that lied on the floor.

Nora’s mother, Mary, a rather fat woman that shared Nora’s curly, cyan hair and bloodshot eyes, sat on the couch with the TV off for once. Instead of the remote in her hand however, Nora saw a white envelope resting in its place, with the top ripped wide open.

“Mom?? What the hell you going through my mail for?”, Nora yelled, almost immediately receiving a slap.

“Don’t talk to me like that, you little shit! I swear you and your father are both the same. Both of yous think it’s ok to talk to the breadwinner of this damn household, you got another thing coming.”, Mary ranted, smirking a little bit as small tears fell from Nora’s eyes, “Aw, don’t give me none of that crying shit. You weren’t crying when you was fucking around in class!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”. Nora asked, before remembering the detention she had receive, “Hey in my defense, that bitch was asking for it!”

“What? What bitch? I dunno what in the hell you’re talking about, but it sure as hell doesn’t explain the note that I got.”

“You mean that I got-“, Nora sassed before receiving another large smack to the face.

“It was in MY mailbox, maggot! Don’t you understand anything?”, Mary screamed, before she finally threw the letter in Nora’s face, “Read this.”

Dear Nora Cosma

We regret to inform you that the admissions committee of Wishbrook Academy was unable to offer you a spot in the fall’s upcoming class. We have received a large application pool and applications were received at a new record high in our history. Although we are not able to consider you at this time, we wish you the very best and encourage you to apply next year.

From,

Prof. Heath Caldwell

“Soo…what happened?”, Mary’s voice dropped suddenly, “Thought you were a shoo-in, like you claimed?”

“I-I….”,Nora stammered, unable to make eye contact.

“Didn’t I tell your stupid ass a million times that you needed to study?!”, Mary shouted, making Nora flinch as she clenched the whiskey bottle from the table across. Threatening to hit her with it, Mary instead took a breath and lowered it, looking at her daughter with disgust, “You know what? Pack the rest of your shit and get out. You’re officially kicked out now. Live under an underpass for all I care. I don’t raise failures.”

Already aware of this but not wanting to make her mother any angrier, Nora simply nodded as she went into her now ex-room, grabbing the rest of her clothes, schoolbooks, and anything else she could think of before walking out, managing to sneak a whiskey bottle from the kitchen once Mary had passed out. Hoping never to see this place, Nora dragged her bag behind her, unsure of where the road would take her.

[cinemassance-oneshots]

Recalcitrant - Paul Dano’s Riddler (Chapter 3)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: brief mentions of past trauma, obsessive and posessive behavior, and male masturbation

I kept looking at the clock. It felt that time was going by slower than usual. No matter how exhausted I was, the thrill of my first date in a really long time kept my mind awake. Well, actually, I wasn’t entirely sure if it was a date or not. Should I have asked him if it was? Maybe he just wanted me as a friend. Before I continued down my spiral, Bonnie broke me out of my thoughts. 

“What’s got you in a rush today?” 

I glanced over at Bonnie. I looked away and continued to refill the condiments. I tried my best to keep busy to keep my nerves at bay. 

“I have a date tonight—well, I think I do.” I did my best to suppress my smile. 

Without a doubt, I was super excited. I am nervous, though. I don't have an off feeling about Edward or anything like that, but it’s because I haven’t had a good history when it comes to dating. If anything, I'm more self-conscious about the whole thing.

“Oh, hun, that’s exciting,” Bonnie exclaimed. “Did Martinez finally ask you out?”

I knew Bonnie meant well, but I did get tired of her speculation that Martinez and I would be something more despite me constantly telling her we were just friends. He’s a very nice man, and I respect him for being on the force. I knew he was in it for the right reasons, unlike Smith. I knew Smith was in it for power and control; I wouldn’t be surprised if he were corrupted either, in all honesty. 

“No, it’s with Edward.”

I looked up at her as her mind contorted to place a face with the name. Then the realization set in, and it clicked. 

“Oh, that shy boy with the glasses?” I nodded before she continued. “That's not surprising at all. He only really talks to you when he comes in. Dorky looking but cute.”

I chuckled at her brief description of him. He had a “dorky” quality, but I didn't mind. It made him more adorable, in my opinion. 

“Just know if he tries anything he shouldn't, he’ll have me to deal with.” I smiled at her protectiveness. Sometimes it's hard to comprehend how well my relationship is with Bonnie. She's never completely judged me, but she doesn't hold back on stating her opinion. 

“I appreciate that, Bonnie. But, like I said, I don’t know if it’s a date or not, so we’ll call it a friendly hangout until further notice.”

She gave me a bright smile before walking away to do something. I looked back at the counter as my thoughts wandered. I had no expectations for tonight. Growing up, I realized it was better to have no expectations for anything; that way you won't be disappointed if it doesn't go according to plan. 

Usually, life never went according to plan. I would be an expert in that field. If life went perfectly for me, I wouldn’t have to work two jobs, barely scraping by in this hell hole city struggling to get my degree. No. If it were perfect, I’d be successful, and cover stories people needed to know about. 

The rest of my shift dragged. The business was steady; it wasn't anything too chaotic nor too dull. It felt tedious. I mainly just hoped to make a decent amount of tips that day. Bonnie told me I usually did since I was still young and had a pretty face. Then she went on a ramble explaining that she didn’t mean that as if I wasn’t a good worker. I never took anything she said negatively. She’s one of the best influences I have had in my life. 

When I walked home, I rushed. It wasn't because I wanted enough time to get ready for my date, which I did, but you never wanted to take your time walking alone, especially at night in Gotham and more so as a woman. I hated that this was a reality for me and many others. Crime rates were rampant in this city.

I've seen some of the reports on the news. Even though the city now has the Batman, a masked vigilante, for about a year, Gotham’s crime rates remain high. He may instill some fear, but it isn't enough to keep the criminals silent. 

The Batman was an interesting topic for people here. We've had a fair amount of debates in my journalism classes discussing him. There are a lot of people who think he's amazing and others who think he's a psycho hiding behind a mask. As for me, I think he's the small shed of hope people like me need. 

Without some form of order, chaos continues to spread like wildfire. A never ending cycle that only brings destruction and an inevitable end to civility. 

I let out a deep breath as I entered my apartment and locked the door behind me. I dropped my keys and bag onto my small kitchen table. It's not like I ever had people over, so it was suitable enough for one other person and me, if necessary.

I organized my place a little–more like as best as I could. It wasn't messy since I didn't have many belongings, but I gradually felt more aware of the possibility that Edward could come into my place after our hangout. 

As I got ready, I realized I didn't know what to wear. What if I dressed too casually? What if I dressed too formally? I knew if I overthought it, I wouldn't settle on anything. 

Sirens filled the streets when my phone started to ring. I picked it up before smiling once I heard the voice on the other end. It was Edward. 

“I'm, um, here. Downstairs,” he nervously spoke. Somehow it was reassuring to know he was equally anxious. I felt less alone.

“I'll be out in a moment,” I replied. Butterflies filled my stomach. I clutched my purse in my hand as I headed downstairs, inching closer to him by the second. With each step, my heart beat faster.

I didn’t know what to expect once I saw him. He dressed relatively similarly to how he looked coming into the diner. His hair looked like it was cleaned and brushed more than usual.

“Hi,” I greeted with a smile as I closed the building door. I opened my bag to put my keys in it before looking back at him. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” he softly replied. “You—you do too.”

“What’s the plan for tonight?” I asked him as we started to walk. A small part of me wanted him to reach out and hold my hand. Logically I knew it was too soon and made no sense, but my heart still desired it. 

“Do you like the movies?”

I lightly chuckled at his question. He looked at me as if he had made a huge mistake, and worry filled his eyes. I looked at him reassuringly with a smile.

“I love the movies. I haven’t gone to see one in a really long time.”

“How come?” he questions, genuinely curious.

“I barely have the time,” I started to explain. “Plus, I’m behind on what movies are even out right now. I mainly remember the theater always having horror movies as options. Is that still true?”

“Yes.” He looked over and saw me slightly disappointed. Honestly, I wasn’t a big horror movie person. They never appealed to me and made me uncomfortable, especially when I watched them alone. But I’m not alone this time. 

“We can do something else if you don’t like the idea of a movie,” Edward added.

“No, I like the idea of seeing a movie again. I’m just not a big horror movie person.”

“Oh…”

“But since it’s both of us, it’s fine,” I reassured him with a small smile. That seemed to put him at ease again. I didn’t realize how nervous I was since all my focus was on him.

Once we arrived at the cinema, we went to the box office to see what our options were. Unfortunately, the only options we had were two horror movies. I still don’t get Gotham’s obsession with horror when we lived in a highly criminal city where horrors were constantly around us everywhere. 

Edward asked if I had a preference, but I shook my head. I told him I was content with any of the options. Sure, I wasn’t a huge horror film person, but I could manage. 

He paid for both of our tickets, which was very sweet of him. I told him I could pay for my own, but he insisted. I thanked him again while we walked inside. 

We didn’t get any concessions. He did ask if I wanted anything, but I figured I wouldn’t be able to stomach anything once the movie started. I couldn’t handle very gory themes in movies, and it looked like it might be one of those. So, to be safe, I decided not to fill my stomach up with contents that might fight their way back up.

Once we sat down, he looked at me. He seemed nervous again and uncertain. 

“Are you sure you’re okay seeing this? We can watch something else.”

I looked into his eyes and shook my head. It is endearing he wanted to ensure I was fine with the movie choice. 

“It’s okay.”

During the movie, a scene came on that terrified me. Without thinking, my hand grabbed his on instinct. Before I realized and could pull it away in case it freaked him out, he gave my hand a comforting squeeze. He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“It’s only a movie. It’s not real.” His breath is on my skin, sending a warm feeling throughout my body. “They can't hurt you.”

He didn’t let go of my hand. I leaned in closer to him and pressed my head against my arm. I knew he was there due to him holding my hand, but pressing closer to him gave me more comfort that I wasn’t alone. 

After the movie, he walked me home. We talked some on the way. It didn't feel uncomfortable when it was silent between us, which was nice. Most silences between another person and me are usually very uncomfortable.

When we reached the entrance of my apartment complex, I turned to face him.

“Would you like to come up? I can make us some coffee, or I have tea.”

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” I replied, referencing the night he walked me home after my late shift. Edward gave a small nod.

We walked up a few flights of stairs to my floor and then to my apartment. I admit I was a bit anxious for him to see my place. I didn’t have many people over, so I hoped it looked at least decent. My textbooks, assignments, and notes were splayed all across my table.

“Sorry, it’s a little disorganized,” I apologized as I walked over to my table to tidy it up a bit. 

“It’s more organized than mine,” Edward softly reassured. I stacked my belongings up and grabbed some of them to move to the side. Without hesitation, he followed and grabbed the rest of the stack for me.

“Oh, thank you. You can just set it on top of the others.”

“Do you like your classes?” He asked me as we walked back into the kitchen area. It was a small apartment, so the kitchen halved as the living room. 

“My journalism classes are interesting, but they’re all a lot of work. It’s honestly a struggle to manage everything. Anyways, I can brew some coffee, or I have some teas.”

“Tea is fine.”

I put the kettle on the stove. We sat at the table as we waited for it to boil. I’ll admit it was peculiar to see Edward outside the diner, much less in my own home. I’ve been so used to seeing him sit in the same spot at the diner for weeks that I never pictured him in other environments.

“How do you manage?” I pushed some of my hair behind my ear as I took a deep breath and shrugged.

“I just do what I can and hope for the best,” I candidly responded. “I don’t get much sleep, but I want to finish this degree as soon as I can. This place is small, but it isn’t the cheapest and neither is the tuition. I use what I make at the diner for bills and what I make at the Iceberg Lounge for tuition. It’s a lot, but it’s ok.”

“It’s not okay if you’re exhausting yourself.” There was a slight edge to his voice. It sounded like he was mad. I don’t think he was mad at me but more so about the situation. “You shouldn’t have to do all of that.”

“It’s just for the time being.”

“Do you not have any family that could help?” I didn’t expect the topic of family to be a discussion possibility for the night. 

“I, uh, don’t really have a family,” I cleared my throat. 

“I’m sorry.” I could tell he regretted asking. He didn’t know my family was estranged. The water started to boil, so I stood up to pull some mugs out of the cabinets.

“You don’t have to apologize. It wasn’t something you were aware of,” I said. Before I continued, I turned to him and held up the teas I had, which were Earl Grey, green tea, and Oolong. “Which tea would you like?”

“Earl Grey.” I nodded as I put the others up and opened two tea packets for us.

“I don’t discuss my family with anyone,” I started to explain. I poured the hot water over the tea bags in the cups, allowing the water to change color. “My dad left when I was young. I barely remember him. My mom didn’t handle it well, so I removed her from the picture when I was old enough. I haven’t talked to her since.”

I placed one of the mugs in front of him before sitting down with my own. I finally looked up at him to see him looking back.

“Sorry,” I looked away.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You had every right to cut her out of your life.” His understanding and validation felt comforting. Sometimes I would wonder if I did the right thing, and now I have consolation.

“Do you have any family?” I asked, trying to get the focus off of me. I raised my tea to my lips and blew on it to cool it down slightly before taking a small sip.

“No,” he shook his head. His hands were clasped around the cup, soaking up the heat. “My parents died when I was young.”

“I’m so sorry.” I felt horrible for him. I didn’t want to imagine a younger Edward growing up in a horrible orphanage. I wanted to console him. 

“Don’t be.” We sat there in silence for a few moments, drinking our teas and trying to think of something we could discuss.

“Why did you become a forensic accountant?” I asked, finally breaking the silence. 

“Numbers make sense to me. I like puzzles.” I smiled. He liked puzzles. That’s good information to know. “Do you like riddles?”

“Riddles? I’ve never given them much thought. I’ll admit I haven’t done a lot of puzzles or anything related to those in my life.”

“I can introduce you to them,” he said. “I-if you want.”

“That sounds fun.” I could tell that made him happy. I looked down at the table with a smile on his face. We talked for a while until he noticed how late it was getting. He would have liked to stay longer but said he wanted me to get a decent amount of rest. It was nice how much he cared. 

I leaned against the door as he stood in the doorway to leave. I said I didn’t have expectations for tonight, and I agree I still don’t, even though this night would surpass the expectations I theoretically would’ve had. 

“Thanks for a great evening, Edward,” I told him. “It was nice taking a break from everything with you.”

“Me too.” It felt like he wanted to say more, but he was still too nervous. 

“Be safe getting home.” He smiled at that and nodded. I leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his cheek like I did last time. “Good night.”

“Night,” he barely got out before I closed the door. A smile stayed on my face as I went to clean up. The way he held my hand during the movie. He’s so awkwardly adorable.

I sat on the couch after setting my alarm for the morning. I usually fell asleep on the couch doing assignments, so I’ve made it a habit to set my alarm before I sit down. My eyes felt heavy. I don’t remember getting much work accomplished before I went unconscious. All I remember is thinking of Edward before I fell asleep.

< ? >

Finally getting alone time with her was more than pleasurable. I gradually got closer to having her myself. Being patient was hard, but it would pay off.

I loved the way she grabbed my hand during the movie. A gruesome scene came onto the screen, followed by a jumpscare when she did it. I wouldn’t have minded staying in that moment forever with her needing me.

“It’s only a movie,” I told her. “It’s not real. They can’t hurt you.”

I wanted to tell her nothing, and no one would ever hurt her. I wouldn’t allow it. I’d kill anyone who ever tried to hurt her.

Rage filled me when I found out about her family. What kind of father leaves his daughter at such a young age, especially to an abusive mother? She didn’t explicitly say her mother abused her, but I could tell. I’d make her mother pay for her crimes.

She wasn’t as innocent as I originally believed, which made me want her more. Her trauma tainted her. I wanted to alleviate her trauma. She deserved a better life. I can give her that.

I preserved moments with her in my mind. She should be admired like art, but she needed to be my personal art. No other man deserved to look at her. 

Introducing her to riddles and puzzles was something I was extremely looking forward to doing. Open up her mind to new possibilities. Introduce her to my first love.

I couldn’t wait for her to see the world as I did. I couldn’t wait for her to see how I was going to change the city for her and me. Gotham was a filthy place full of corrupted people. People who even corrupted her when she didn’t deserve it. 

When I returned to my place, all I could think about was her. Her hands felt calloused yet soft in my own at the movies. Her body felt warm pressed against mine. I couldn’t deny the sensation the thoughts sent down to my cock.

Images filled my mind. The thought of her hand wrapped around me, stroking me. I couldn’t contain myself anymore. I unzipped my pants and pulled my cock out with pre-cum coming out of the tip.

My hand wrapped around it. As I closed my eyes, I imagined it was her’s instead of mine. Her soft lips pressed against mine as she gave me a handjob. Her hands working skillfully, drawing me closer to the edge by the moment.

I’d imagine her saying filthy things to me about my size and asking if it felt good. I’d wrap my hand around her throat, feeling her pulse intensify underneath it as I asked her who gave her the right to have a flighty mouth like that. She would tell me no one before I told her to get down on her knees.

She’d look up at me with those gorgeous eyes of her’s as I told her to give me a blowjob. She’d be eager to please me. Her mouth would wrap around my cock, taking it as far as she could. Gurgles escaping her mouth as I hit the back of her throat. Her hands would wrap around the rest of me that her mouth could reach.

My head fell back as the euphoric thoughts and feelings took over me. I moved my hand faster as I imagined fucking her throat. My hands would pull her hair back as I got ready to throat fuck her. I buck my hips faster into her mouth, reaching the back with each thrust and making her gag.

I let out one more moan before cumming in my hand. I gave a few more strokes to drag out the high. I reached up with my other arm and wiped the sweat that formed on my forehead. 

I went to wash myself up. I couldn’t wait for my fantasies to become my reality. 

[gimme-a-thrust]

FizzarOzzie Headcanons Pt. 1

Ozzie is very fond of pet names, and has a habit of calling Fizzarolli Fizz, Olli (So they are Ozzie and Olli), Olli Baby, Baby, and Parum Libidinis (Little Lust in Latin).  

Fizz will only respond to Ozzie calling him Olli. He will not acknowledge anyone else that tries to call him that, even if they are friends.

Fizz was never as into it as Ozzie, but he did eventually start calling him Babe (he will not ever use ‘baby’ for reasons he can’t explain), Ozz/Ozz Man/Big Ozzie, Babycakes (different from baby as it implies that Ozzie eats children and that’s one of Fizz’s favorite euphemisms for blow jobs), and Hot Stuff. This has been retconned HERE.

He is also partial to calling him a slut, but affectionately. Ozzie does not return the sentiment around people for the most part.

They seem to be allergic to the ‘L’ word (Verosika often tells Ozzie that they are clearly in lesbians because she thinks it’s funny), but they show each other their feelings often through actions.

Olli is grey asexual (demisexual) and has only ever felt sexually and romantically attracted to Ozzie. Ozzie is a hypersexual pansexual who has only ever felt romantically attracted to Olli. They have an open relationship, but Ozzie is the only one that takes advantage of it. Often, Olli likes to watch.

It took them a solid ten years to come to terms with the fact that what they had was love. Olli was positive that Ozzie was going to get rid of him because of how he feels about the matter, and because of the Hell he gave Stolas for being with Blitzo. 

Ozzie could never do that, and only came to the conclusion when he and Nikiva (oc) talked about it. She asked him what he would do without Olli, and he didn’t even want to think about it. He waited for three weeks before breaking the news, to which Olli replied with ‘I hoped you wouldn’t notice.’

Ozzie also had to explain that he doesn’t think being with an imp is the problem, so much as that it’s Blitzo that he’s with. Due to Olli’s dislike of him, Ozzie dislikes him.

Ozzie adores all of Fizz’s jokes and is very invested in his creative talent. Fizz enjoys Ozzie’s dancing, singing, and entertaining talents just as much as he craves his touch.

Olli will do literally anything for Ozzie and his image. 

Some disparaging comments from a few of Ozzie’s clients prompted him to remove his own horns in order to make it less obvious. Ozzie was worried sick over it and that cemented for a few people they are friends with that they might have moved to ‘love’ territory.

The amputation and following robotic upgrades of his arms and legs was for kink-related play, and he does not regret it. Initially Ozzie wasn’t sure about it, but he wouldn’t have Olli any other way, now.

The RoboFizz sex bots are fairly accurate down to a lot of details, but Ozzie won’t give away several of them because his Olli is the best Olli.

He signed a contract with Wally Wackford to have them produced in his factory, and they have become decent business partners and friends. 

Wally still doesn’t like that Ozzie and Olli will randomly decide to have sex even if he is there, however.

Fizzarolli got his faith in the legal system from Ozzie, who is a big proponent in suing for damages/mental grief, as well as any other reason someone might sue someone else. 

When he was fifteen, his parents gave him his inheritance early and retired. However, they sued him for it back a few months later, claiming that he stole it. He hired a good lawyer (who had a thing for feet and so he happily did all the kinky foot stuff with him to help pay for his services), and ended up winning the case. 

Should Fizz need legal advice, Ozzie is always willing to give it or find him a proper lawyer for whatever he needs one for.

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright: VII. Christmas for You & Me

Previous: VI. Christmas for You & Me

Pairings: Min Yoongi x Park Jimin; Jung Hoseok x Kim Taehyung

Genre: Fluff, Non-Idol AU, SLOW BURN

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Swearing!

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: Namjoon & Seokjin decorate the tree. 

Notes: Merry & Bright this year is taking the form of one cohesive story involving all of Bangtan! Hope you enjoy this change!

           Namjoon scrambled around his apartment, tidying every visible inch to ensure he wouldn’t be scrutinized by Seokjin. If Namjoon remembered correctly, he was the roommate always getting yelled at for dirty dishes or socks laying on the living room floor. He was the one incapable of picking up after himself, while his two roommates, Taehyung and Seokjin, kept tidy homes. Namjoon used to argue that it was because his mind was so wild and never stopped moving that he couldn’t possibly maintain a tidy apartment too. Taehyung and Seokjin vehemently disagreed, but it never mattered. Namjoon was always messy.

           He had done an excellent job of cleaning, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough to lull Seokjin into a state of emotional confusion, so he went through his old boxes to find trinkets and mementos of their years together. The official newspaper with their book as number one, a copy of the first check they cashed, Christmas ornaments of their characters and odds and ends Seokjin had given him throughout the years. He placed them strategically around his apartment, giving an air of “Oh that? Oh it’s always there” mixed with “I forgot that was even there, I see it so often”. He even went so far as to light the one luxurious item they used during Christmas: an authentic Frasier Fir candle. A gift from Seokjin’s mother, they clung to its delicious scent every winter. It did wonders to boost the scent of his real tree, which frankly could be doing more to aid in the ambiance.

           Across his dining room table, which was always covered in papers and work, was cleaned off and ready for the boxes of ornaments he’d drug out of storage and frankly purchased last night. He had called his mom for a theme, and bought basic baubles and balls in accordance with her color scheme. He even bought ribbon, which he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what to do with.

           A knock sounded on his door, and he slowly went to answer it.

           “Seokjin,” Namjoon said as he opened the door. He wanted to gasp or inhale sharply, to gawk at the man in front of him… He wanted to take in the way the snow, which had just started falling, had made it’s way to Seokjin’s hat, how the cold had made his lips rosy and more plump than usual. He wanted to pull Seokjin in by his scarf and kiss him with enough heat that it warmed him up all the way down to his toes. He wanted to. But he didn’t.

           “Hey, I brought mulled wine and cookie dough,” Seokjin said casually. Namjoon stepped aside and he strode in.

           “Did you find it okay?” Namjoon asked.

           “It’s a decent sized apartment building on a busy street, next to a coffee shop, so yes.”

           “Great. What do the cookies bake at?”

           “375,” Seokjin said without looking at the package. He took in the apartment in front of him. Namjoon had clearly cleaned or had someone come and clean for him. It was obvious. But what struck Seokjin the most about the small, exposed brick, one bedroom apartment, was how Namjoon had left trinkets and art work up from their days together. He had assumed, much like he had in his own apartment, that Namjoon had completely written off their time together and tried to bury it so deep he barely remembered it. Why hadn’t he done that? It would make perfect sense, and frankly it make Seokjin a tad uncomfortable to know he was wishing Namjoon inll while Namjoon was fondly thinking about their time together.

           “You kept so much,” Seokjin muttered, taking in the book shelf.

           “I tried to,” Namjoon answered.

           “I didn’t,” Seokjin said.

           “You didn’t?”

           “Everything’s in boxes and in storage. I don’t…” he shook his head, unsure how to explain how deeply their break up had fueled his years.

           “You’ve written dozens of other books, you’re renowned in your creations. You have too many to care that much about Christmas for Me & You,” Namjoon shrugged as he put the tray of cookies in the oven. “How long?”

           “Ten minutes,” Jin said.

           “It’s okay you know, that we feel differently about what happened.”

           “Don’t do that,” Jin shook his head.

           “Do what?”

           “Come off morally superior because you have a healthy perspective on what happened between us.”

           “I don’t have a healthy perspective, Jin. I still carry confusion and hurt over us.”

           “Us?”

           “Yeah, and what we did to Taehyung.”

           “Taehyung is fine.”

           “Yeah, and supposedly so are you,” Namjoon argued. Jin stared at him, clenching his jaw. He hadn’t expected a fight between them.

           “Can we not?” Seokjin asked.

           “Not?”

           “Fight.”

           “Okay,” Namjoon agreed, a placid expression on his face. “Let’s decorate.”

           Thankfully, Namjoon had already strung lights on his tree, which allowed them to get started with large ornaments. Christmas music played softly in the background, and as they moved around each other and the tree, Seokjin felt his sour attitude deplete. The cookies also helped sweeten his disposition.

           “Remember the second year we did this?” Seokjin asked him.

           “Was that the year the tree was lopsided, and you and Taehyung decided you could saw off the bottom to keep it alive?” Namjoon reminisced.

           “Yes,”

           “What a horrible idea.”

           “It worked!” Jin laughed.

           “It did, for three days and then the thing was dead again.”

           “I believe that tree was named Susan.”

           “I forgot Tae named everything,” Namjoon laughed.

           Seokjin stole a glance at him, how the lights reflected off his face, warming his already honey and soft complexion. He looked good in his black turtleneck and loose joggers, his black hair short and slicked back. And this experience was… nice?

           Namjoon knew Jin was looking at him, it was obvious, but he was the one to reach for the branch next to Seokjin’s hand, grazing it softly as he hung an ornament. He felt Seokjin’s flinch, the slight jerk of his body as their skin connected. It felt dizzying and confusing, exactly what Namjoon had wanted.

           “So, are you seeing anyone?” Namjoon asked.

           Seokjin choked on his saliva and stared at him with widened eyes. “What?”

           “Dating, are you dating?”

           “No.”

           “Okay, just asking.”

           “Are you?”

           “No one in particular.”

           “Okay,” Jin lingered on the last syllable, not really sure how to move on from this topic, because it felt pointed and curious and conniving in a way that he wasn’t sure Namjoon was aware of. Or that Namjoon was perfectly aware of.

           “I don’t really date,” Seokjin offered instead.

           “I don’t either,” Namjoon said. Which felt… both like a lie and the truth. He did date, well he had dated one person for an extended period of time over the last few years….

           Jungkook Jeon.

Next: VIII. Christmas for You & Me