#when ao3 is back up i want you to realise that this lack of fics to read is also what will happen if they go uncommented and unappreciated

[flowercrowngods]

when ao3 is back up i want all of you to leave comments on the fics you were interrupted from reading, the fics you were looking to find, the fics you were thinking about re-reading, and the fics left open in your tabs for months now.

when ao3 is back up, i want you all to show some love to your favourite writers, favourite fics, or even just the 600 word one-shot that brought a smile to your face that tuesday three weeks ago.

when ao3 is back up i want you all to remember that comments and explicitly voiced appreciation are what keep writers going.

#when ao3 is back up i want you to realise that this lack of fics to read is also what will happen if they go uncommented and unappreciated #ao3 #and while ao3 is still down go to your tumblr writers and leave them some love too

[hirukochan]

Can I please request a snape smut fic? The reader and him have been friends since school and she is in love with him only he does not know it or realize his feelings till Sirius is flirting with her and it leads to a fight between them leading to them confessing to their feelings. Maybe some dirty talk biting and rough smut

Sooo...I got a bit carried away with this...definetly not the roughest smut I've written, but I hope you like it anyway.

Severus and his sunshine

Pairing: Severus Snape x fem!reader

warnings: Smut, loss of virginity

Wordcount: 7402 (oops...)

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

“To the youngest Professor in the history of Hogwarts!” You cheer and raise your glass clumsily into the air, spilling half your drink down your arm. “Oops-” You giggle. 

It’s not the first drink of the evening and not the first time you toast to Severus’ new job - and certainly not the last. It bears repeating after all because how fucking awesome is this? You have always known that Severus is the most intelligent and brilliant and ingenious person you’d ever meet! It’s unfair - no, a bloody shame! - how many people never realised it just because Severus’ is a bit awkward and rude and- alright he’s a downright cunt sometimes but he has every bloody right to be with the road his life has taken so far! With a father like that and that awful Potter and his stupid goons!

“We need to cut you off.” He drawls, the corner of his lips curling, and tries to snatch your glass from you. You jump off the chair you're standing on and cradle your drink protectively to your chest, firewhiskey dripping down your arm.

“Try and I’ll bite your finger off!”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not.” Severus shakes his head but doesn’t try to get your drink again, instead focusing on his own (the second of the evening - what a bore). The pub is crowded and loud, nobody pays any attention to the two of you sitting at a table in the corner.

You plop back down on your chair and take a sip of your drink. 

Severus’ eyes have gone distant again. That happens a lot lately. Like something is on his mind that he lacks the words to tell you. Social interactions aren’t his strong suit. You’re the ‘Severus-translator’ Lily used to joke when you three were still friends because you always knew what Severus wanted to say but couldn’t. You always made sure he was included in conversations, told others to shut up so he could speak or smooth over his rough edges whenever someone didn’t get Severus’ dry and dark sense of humour. 

One look at him from across the Great Hall during breakfast and you knew whether he was in a good or bad mood. You knew when he had a nightmare the night before and needed a gentler touch or when to bluntly tell him he’s being a cunt.

This you can’t seem to figure out. 

He smiles less these days. Even less than usual. The four years since you finished school have been hard, especially for him, especially with the war. 

Emotions are not Severus’ thing.

His long black hair falls into his face, hiding his grave expression from the world and you. His face has lost its boyish features. His jaw is more prominent, complementing his high cheekbones. His hooked nose suits him. It’s something about the proportions or symmetry of his face - you can’t quite put your finger on it. Most people seem to be put off by his appearance, but to you he has always held something uniquely beautiful.

He taps his finger against his glass repeatedly. His fingernails are still painted black…You made him let you paint them last time he was at your flat. It suits him.

You place your hand over his, stopping his fidgeting. You wish you’d know what’s going on in his head, clearly whatever it is puts him on edge, but you trust he’ll talk to you when he is ready. 

“You’ll be great.” You say. “I have no doubt. You’re a bloody genius, Severus! These kids are so lucky. They can learn so much from you!”

“I am certain they will share your attitude.” He says sardonically and you snort. Severus downs his drink and takes your empty glass to get another round (and probably a glass of water for you because he’s such a mum sometimes). You smirk as you watch him make his way through the crowd. 

He sticks out like a sore thumb in these new robes he got, but you think they too suit him. It’s probably the first time he isn’t wearing hand-me-downs. He’s wearing all black of course. The most colour you ever saw him wear was at Hogwarts in the form of his emerald green school tie. 

Severus looks intimidating. It makes him look older, stronger somehow. It’s such a stark difference to the beat up jeans, the The Cure bandshirt you gifted him one Christmas and the shabby leather jacket.

But not in a bad way.

He looks good. 

Maybe it’s the fact he has grown taller since graduation. He’s a head taller than he used to be and shed his bend over posture. Escaping both Hogwarts and his recently deceased father agrees with him. That and your continued effort of forcing him to eat three whole meals a day, every day.

His wide shoulders and dark hair disappear behind people and you rip your eyes from the spot you last saw him.

So much has changed in the last four years but that little flutter in your heart whenever you look at him has not changed. When it first started in your fourth year you didn’t even realise what it was about. You’d start stammering around him, earning you silent glares and raised eyebrows from Severus at which you’d blush. After an embarrassingly long time you finally accepted that you had developed a crush on your best friend. 

You’re too terrified of losing him as a friend to ever tell him though.

Severus isn’t good with feelings. They are too complicated. Too messy. He doesn’t need messy. His life is messy enough and so you swore to yourself to never tell him.

Your friendship was already a miracle. You are his polar opposite. You are outgoing and friendly, polite - too polite sometimes - bubbly and optimistic. Severus is - well Severus. He is grumpy and quiet and rude.

You decided to befriend him in your first year. You saw him during the sorting and something about him pulled you in. You really wanted to get to know him and when you heard him talk during your first potions class you made the decision to gain his friendship however long it would take.

You started by sitting at the table next to his in the library. You’d sit there everyday, quietly doing your homework and when he stopped shooting you irritated looks when he thought you weren’t looking, you moved to sitting at his table. You simply smiled at the befuddled Severus and did your work. 

You approached befriending Severus like one might approach gaining the trust of a wild animal. Over the year a truce-kind-of study group had formed between you.

Towards the end of term he asked for your help collecting some things from the forbidden forest - Lily would never break school rules, but you are certain Severus didn’t actually need help, he just didn’t know how to tell you he wanted to spend time with you.

During the summer you send him letters, even after not receiving any back from him and when you saw him by himself in the Hogwarts Express in September you sat down next to him and you’ve been friends since.

You know a romance is even less likely than your friendship was.

“Merlin! I almost didn’t fucking recognise you!” A familiar voice says and you throw up a little in your mouth.

“Black.” You say monotonous. As if he owns the place Black sits down opposite of you on Severus’ currently empty chair.

“You’re hot! How come we never snogged in school?”

“Because whenever I am forced to face the fact that you exist I want to smash my head against a wall.” You say with a honey-sweet tone of voice at which Black’s grin only grows. He doesn’t get the hint. 

“How come you’re drinking alone, gorgeous?” Black continues undeterred, a poised and arrogant grin on his lips.

“I’m not.” His grin wavers ever so slightly but Sirius Black has always believed himself so utterly irresistible that such small details don’t matter to him.

“I don’t see anyone.” He is wearing muggle clothes, trying just a tad too hard to look like a rockstar, but he talks and holds himself like a pureblood still. He might have run away from home but he is still living off of his family’s wealth and he hasn’t changed one bit since school.

Black is (as usual) utterly unaware that he isn’t welcome. Black’s eyes roam over your face and down to your chest like he is appraising you, determining how much effort you are worth putting into seducing you. 

“I think it’s fate we meet like this! You look-” He licks his lips and a shiver of disgust rushes over your arms. “So different. Bet you cut loose that tosser Snivellus. He was clearly dragging you under. A frown on such a pretty face should be considered a fucking crime.” You clench your fists under the table. You have your wand in your boot. It would be so easy to hex him-

“Someone as stunning as you- Oi! I was about to head to this club in Dublin that recently opened to meet Moony and Wormtail - You should join me!” He winks.

“As I said - I am here with someone.”

“But you could be with me!” He laughs as if he just made a joke but you know he is dead serious. He thinks you’d gladly ditched whomever you are here with for the chance of spending time with him. “Bring her too - the more the merrier.” There is a not so subtle suggestive tone to his words and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Come on gorgeous! Someone as sexy as you should not be so uptight! Let’s have some fun, let loose a little - it’ll be worthwhile to you, I swear.”

“What a compelling offer.” Sneers Severus and your heart drops. Great. “I wonder how many you made that promise to, Black, and how many you left disappointed.” Black’s grin falters for a split second.

That’s right.

Severus is different.

He stands taller. He’s fierce and strong and you aren’t at Hogwarts anymore where it’s four against one with the teachers turning a blind eye. You have no doubt Severus would pull out his nastiest curses on Black given the chance.

“Let’s leave, Sev.” 

“Come on, gorgeous!”

“That’s not her name, but one can hardly expect a simpleton like you to care for such fine details as names.”

“Sev.”

“No wonder she looked like somebody was fucking murdered in front of her eyes when I found her - how Lily could bear being close to you for so long I’ll never understand.” Black turns towards you. “Kick this dick to the curb - I’ll buy you a drink, gorgeous.”

“She does not need you for that-”

“I can buy my own drinks.” You hiss and when Severus still makes no move towards leaving, you grab your jacket and storm off. Let them duel like little children if they want, but you won’t get in the middle of that. 

The cold hair of the night hits you while you run down the street. Tears sting in your eyes and you feel so stupid and pathetic for crying. Nothing even happened. You don’t know what’s going on- that’s a lie. Severus sounded like he was about to suggest you’re with him and therefore don’t need Black to buy you drinks which…it’s not wrong. You were at the pub with Severus and you were going to make him pay (he’s a Professor now after all and from what Sev let on the pay isn’t bad) but it wasn’t a date. And Severus suggesting or intending to suggest that hurts. You want it to be a date goddamn! You’ve wanted it for over eight years!

Severus calls your name but you just wrap your arms tighter around yourself and continue down the empty street on the outskirts of London.

“Just wait!” He catches up to you. “What a fucking wanker.” He huffs.

“Mh.”

“What did he say to you? I should have hexed him! I knew it!”

“Drop it.”

“No, I will not drop it! He made you cry- come on tell me what he said and I’ll-”

“What?!” Abruptly you stop walking and spin around to face Severus. He looks at you perplexed, his cloak billowing behind him in the breeze. “You’ll go and start a duel? Why? I told you to drop it.”

“He’s a fucking cavemen! Just the way he looked at you-” Severus grimaces. A muscle in his jaw tenses and he flexes his wand hand.

“Why the fuck do you suddenly feel the need to defend my honour?! You just ignored me in there- nevermind. I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“Don’t let Black ruin our night-”

“You ruined our night! I asked you to leave, you ignored me. I ask you to drop it, you ignore me. I don’t want you to fight Black! We aren’t at school anymore - you’ll get arrested!” Something you have never before seen crosses through Severus’ eyes. Something dark. A cold shiver runs down your spine and you take an involuntary step back.

“I wouldn’t be arrested, Sunshine.” He says, voice low, rumbling like thunder, a muttered promise of destruction and ruin and heat pools in your belly. That he called you by his nickname for you which he uses very sparingly, if ever, doesn’t help the matter. Severus takes a step forward. The heat morphs into a twisting, curling mass that takes your breath away. Severus looms over you, shadows dancing over his pale skin, drawing his cheekbones into an even sharper contrast and you gulp.

“You think Luci is going to come and rescue you?”

“Lucius? I don’t need Lucius for that.”

“Do you even fucking hear yourself?!” Your voice echoes through the empty streets, thrown back off the house.

“He made you cry!”

“Why does it matter?!”

“Because-” He clenches his jaw, his fists shake with suppressed rage. His nostrils flare and for a split second a tingling sensation winds around your heart at the expression in his eyes - the softness in the middle of a raging storm. A lone, untouched, unbothered island in the midst of a roaring ocean. 

Severus exhales. Tension falls off his frame and the expression is gone.

“Fine.” He says quietly. “Let’s go then.” And he walks past you.

“No.” You can hear his steps stop behind you. Tears drip over your cheeks and you stubbornly wipe them away. “Say what you wanted to say.”

“I thought you’re tired.”

“Say it.”

“It’s- it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not moving until you say it.” You cross your arms in front of your chest. Behind you Severus sighs and you can practically hear him pinch the bridge of his nose like he does whenever you annoy him.

“You sound like a spoiled child.”

“Good practice then. You’ll have to deal with a lot of those, Professor.”

“Are you- I have the feeling you’re angry with me.” You spin around and glare at Severus. He’s not good with emotions, sure - but now he’s just being dense.

“What made you think that?” You deadpan. He rolls his eyes and his disregard for your feelings drives you mad. 

“Black’s a bastard-”

“This is Warren all over again!”

“Yeah and I was fucking right about Warren wasn’t I?” A vein on his forehead pulses, but you don’t give a shit. Warren was your first boyfriend and Severus behaved absolutely rotten towards you.

“Warren was a huge mistake, yes - but he was my mistake to make! What- do you actually fucking think I would ever fucking touch Black? Just the thought gives me an STD!” The barest flicker of amusement flashes over Severus’ features. “I just- I don’t get why you overreact like this everytime I talk to a guy. And it’s not like I was engaging Black there! The fucknugget is just to stupid to get a hint!”

“I-”

“There it is again! You did it again! What is it that you can’t tell me? Come on Sev! You can tell me everything. When did you start having secrets from me?” It’s a hit to your ego as much as you don’t like admitting it. 

You have always been Severus’ safespace. 

He told you things he never even told Lily! Something you didn’t know until third year when Lily asked whether Severus’ parents are ‘fighting again’ when you knew Tobias dickward Snape beat Sev with his belt the day before the Hogwarts Express left for the new term. You fucking healed him in you compartment because his ribs were broken and she asked whether they were fighting. 

Why can’t he tell you this?

Another tear slips over your lower lid and slides down your check. Your bottom lip quivers. You suppress a sniffle and nod. 

You have never felt further away from him than you do at this precise moment. It feels like Severus is sand slipping through your fingers and the harder you try to hold onto him, to the way it was before, the faster he slips away. Maybe too much has changed. Maybe he’s too different. Maybe this unlikely friendship was doomed from the beginning.

You know you’re about to start bawling and that’s the last you want Severus to see.

“Alright…I see.” You whisper. “Life’s different now. We’re keeping secrets now…”

“Sunshine-”

“No- no, ‘tis fine-” You roughly wipe your eyes. “See you- see you sometime….congratulations again.” You turn around to find a quiet alleyway to disapparate to your flat and break down there like a pathetic little teen that got her pathetic little heart broken without ever even working up the courage to confess her pathetic feelings. 

Your steps sound horribly loud in the dark, cold night and with every step you take away from Severus you feel like you’re losing him more, every step is another crack, another break, another insurmountable obstacle between you. The cold wind cuts through your clothes with ease and you shiver. 

“I love you.”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart skips a beat or two or maybe it forgets how to work entirely. 

Severus’ voice is quiet, uncertain like it has not been since second year when he thought you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore after he lashed out at you.

“Sunshine- I knew Warren would only hurt you. That he’s not good enough for you. He bragged in the Slytherin common room that you showed him your boobs- He said all sorts of awful things and I- I just sat there. I should have said something, defended you, made him shut up but- Warren was two years above us and…” He takes a shuddering breath, dispelling old shame and insecurity from his voice. “Black’s just like that. He never cared for you before and now all of a sudden he is dying to go out with you? You don’t even realise it, Sunshine but- you- you are stunning. You have changed so much since school, you are- fuck I don’t know- words-” He sighs and rubs his hands over his face. 

You feel numb and like you’re on fire at the same time. Of course you knew Warren spread some shit about you around, it’s why you broke up and broke his nose in the process for good measure, earning three weeks detention with McGonagall, but you wished you would have known sooner... 

And- Severus loves you? No- that can’t be right- He’s in love with Lily- it’s always been Lily-

“You’re happier somehow- you- you’re radiant and beautiful and- you’ve grown up so much and- and- I love you. I’ve loved you for years- I want to protect you. I want to guard your happiness and yes I’d go back to knock out every single one of Black’s teeth for talking to you like that. You just have to say the word - sunshine - I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. And I know I’m not bloody good enough for you- I am rude and surly and miserable to be around - I don’t expect you to feel the same…I- fuck I don’t know-”

“You love me?”

“I love you.”

“I thought you love Lily.”

“Lily is- was- still is- I have no goddamn clue- she’s like a sister. I love her. And I think marrying Potter was a huge mistake and that she’ll divorce him in about three years - if she manages to stand him that long and when she does I hope- I hope we can mend our friendship…maybe- but- but I don’t love her like that. Not like I love you.”

Severus loves you.

Has loved you for years.

Severus loves you… You swirl around and before your anxiety can overpower your heart, screaming and aching and thrashing about in your chest you cup his face with your trembling hands and press your lips against his.

Severus stiffens. For a moment you just stand there, on your tiptoes to be able to reach him, holding onto him, feeling his heat against you, your lips exploding with electrifying tingling. Your stomach clenches and twists, flip flops and gives birth to a thousand erratic butterflies and all flutter around in a whirlwind of emotions that are too colourful, too many, too intense to ever find words worthy of describing the sensation.

Cautiously Severus puts his hands on your back and moves his lips against yours. You’re still crying, tears stream over your cheeks and run along the curves of your face to your lips. 

As if woken from an enchanted slumber, Severus drags you against his chest and kisses you fiercely. One arm wrapped around your back and clutching at your waist, and one hand cradling the back of your head, long slender fingers threading through your hair. You grab the front of his robes and cling to him. 

You both stumble a few steps and your back hits the brick wall of a house. Severus licks along the seam of your lips which you happily part for him. Your kiss grows sloppy and desperate. Your tongues meet gingerly at first but soon the slight air of discomfort and wariness at this development vanishes, flies away into the cool air of the night, gone and forgotten, as unimportant as your stupid fight.

Severus is kissing you. You are finally kissing Severus. He loves you. He has loved you for years.

Everything is good.

“Sev-” You whimper against his lips between two kisses. You try to break them, to wrench an inch of air between you but Severus is like a man dying of thirst that finally found a water source and is clenching his burning thirst. “Sev-” You push against his chest. Severus releases your lips, but doesn’t move away, doesn’t let go of you. 

He leans his forehead against yours and blinks back at you, his dark eyes seemingly trying to pervade yours, to find a direct path to your deepest thoughts, a link between you and him that is untouchable by anybody else, that runs deeper than any other connection between two people.

“Don’t you want to invite me back to your place?” You murmur and tug playfully at the button just above his throat. Severus’ eyes darken. A muscle in his jaw jumps. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Needy, desperate, wanting.

He clears his throat and steps back. How the fuck does he still look put together? How can he manage to reign in that storm in his eyes so expertly, so fast and clean while you’re a panting, sweaty, needy mess after just a few damn kisses?

“You won’t like what I’d do then.” He says, voice heavy with what he leaves unsaid. You push yourself off the wall and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You trail a few chaste kisses up the side of his jaw and flick the tip of your tongue over his earlobe. Severus inhales sharply and flexes his hands again.

“I don’t break easy, Sev.” You whisper and press a kiss to his ear. “You should know that.” He takes another shuddering breath and just when you think you’ll have to deal with the aftermath of his kiss on your own while picturing him nestled between your thighs (once again), he pulls you against his chest and holds you in a bone-breaking grip. You feel the familiar pull of side-along apparition and in the next moment you smell the even more familiar, dusty scent of Severus’ house. The smell of books is new, added after Severus renovated the house enough to evict his father’s influences and put his own touch to it - namely by adding a shittone of books.

Severus doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. He grabs your hand and pulls you up the stairs. You giggle and run to keep up with him. He practically kicks the door to his old room open (you know for a fact he has not even touched the door to his parents room since his father died) and crushes his lips against yours as soon as he pulls you over the threshold.

The burn marks from where Severus used to zap flies with his wand are still on the ceiling. The little pencil sketches you made near the baseboards are as well. He replaced his bed though. A brand new double which you are being steered towards now.

“Severus-” You moan against his lips and tear at the buttons of his new robes.

“Is this real?” He whispers back and leans his forehead against yours again, watching you struggle with his clothes. “I’ve pictured this so many times- thought about how I would feel to have you here- is this happening? Or am I sleeping?”

“It’s real.” You say, lips against his recently freed throat. “I’m here.”

“You’re here…”

“Severus-” You hesitate and pause your quest of revealing Severus’ body to your eyes. “I’ve never done this-” Suddenly you feel shaky and overwhelmed.

“Warren-?”

“Is full of shit. He lied- about all of it. Have you-” He nods, but there’s a distant expression in his eyes that tells you it’s not something he wants to talk about. Probably something he’s ashamed of. You know the kind of company Lucius, Mulciber, Rosier and the other’s like to keep and don’t pry further.

“I’ll trust you then.” You murmur and sit down on the bed, pulling Severus down with you.

“I’d never want to hurt you, Sunshine.” You kiss and between kisses scoot up the bed until your head is resting on the soft pillows and Severus’ lean body between your thighs. “I’ll take care of you.” He mutters against the corner of your mouth and kisses your cheek. “Such good care.” He trails down your jaw. “Like Black or Warren never fucking could.”

“I never wanted them.” You moan. Your body moves on its own, knowing precisely what you want and need even if your mind has yet to catch up. Your legs wrap around his hips, your back arches, pressing your breasts to his chest. You thread your fingers through his silky hair. “Only you.”

“Me?”

“Only you. Always you. Whenever I thought about it…when I pictured how it would feel while touching myself I only ever pictured you.”

“Oh sunshine-” He groans and rolls his hips against you.

“Sev-” Severus draws his wand and mutters a quick spell. Something curls in your stomach, it’s the weirdest sensation and for a second you are utterly confused, but then your gaze meets Severus’ and you understand. Contraception spell. You didn’t even think of that. Of course Severus did. You smile. 

He mutters another charm and your clothes vanish. You squeak, blush and hide your face behind your hands.

You can hear the clanking of wood hitting wood as Severus tosses his wand onto the nightstand.

“You- fuck…” Cautiously you peek between your fingers. A faint pink tinge has spread over Severus’ cheeks and nose, down to his now fully exposed neck. He looks cute. Adorable. You take a deep breath and drop your hands. This is Severus. Your Severus. There is nothing to be afraid of with him. “You put to shame all great beauties of the comprehensive history of this world.” His words brush over your skin like a tender caress and make you shiver and burn with embarrassed heat at the same time.

“Severus-”

“It’s true. The old greek masters wish they would have had a model like you sit for their marmour statues. Such beauty has to be preserved for the ages - but you…you are just mine.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my stammering, cute, insecure Severus?” You tease. Severus’ eyes are still pinned to your breasts. He visibly snaps out of his thoughts and looks up to you. There he is. Flashing through his impossibly dark eyes for the flicker of a second before they return to the heavy gaze, consumed by carnal desire that has been ignored for too long and has now broken free with demanding force.

“He knows he’s about to find out how you feel.”

“Come and find out then.” You shoot him a challenging grin. Severus kisses you in response. He kisses you and settles more of his weight on you. His very much hard cock presses against your exposed cunt. You gasp and clutch at Severus.

“Shit- Severus- that won’t fit!”

“It will.”

“You sure?” He chuckles, his eyes lighting up with amusement like they do so rarely and you relax.

“I’m sure.” You trust him. You love him. You want him. He’ll take care of you. 

You let him take control. Severus kisses you more. He seems determined to cover every inch of your body with all the confessions of his love he has missed out on. All the elapsed opportunities. All the kisses you could have shared if you both had had just a little more courage. But it doesn’t matter. You are here now. You are together in his bed, skin pressed against skin, breathing the same air, staring into each other’s eyes longingly while his hand slips between your thighs.

You’re soaked and whimper when his slender fingers gather your slickness, brushing your aching cunt with featherlight touches. He draws gentle, slow circles over your clit. Pressure and heat build in your belly and deep inside your cunt fast. You cling to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin without even noticing.

“I wondered so many times how you’d look…” He murmurs. His lips brush over yours as he speaks. His breath dances across your cheeks.

“...in the throes of pleasure.” Severus’ voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. A smoky rumble that goes straight to your core.

He teases your entrance until you’re squirming and rolling your hips against his touch before finally plunging a finger inside you. “I wondered how you’d sound…how I would feel knowing it was me making you feel like that…” You give him the answer promptly. Moaning and whining, gasping for air.

“Sev!” You throw your head back and arch your back. The pressure keeps building and building, beyond anything you ever managed yourself. He adds a second finger and with it a delicious, stinging stretch. He curls his fingers and presses the heel of his palm to your clit. You squirm under Severus’ intense gaze that seems to look right through you, through your skin down to your very soul. He watches every flicker of pleasure and desperation he paints onto your face with utter, devoted, undisturbed attention to you and nothing else. Nothing else matters.

Severus knows you like no other. It feels right to share this with him as well.

He loves you.

You still can’t believe it. 

“Sev!”

“Cum for me, sunshine. Cum on my fingers. I want to know- I’m done wondering. I want to know.” You do. Crying out and panting his name, thrashing about beneath him as waves upon waves of intense pleasure run havoc over you, but it’s fine. You can let go with Severus.

“I need you Sev- please-” You gasp even before your orgasm has released you from its clutches. “Please please please- Sev-” He groans. 

“Fuck and I thought you sounded needy in my head.” Severus mutters and aligns himself with you. He takes his time, giving you time to adjust to his girth, slowly pushing deeper and deeper into your still spasming channel, forcing it to give way to him. He grunts and whispers praise, how tight you are, how good you feel for him, how well you’re taking him. You whimper and hold onto him, leaving red streaks across his back. Severus doesn’t even bat an eye at it.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and savours your every sound, every twitch and throb of your cunt finally, finally gloved around him.

“Sunshine-”

“Severus…” More words aren’t needed. He rests there, deep inside you, his body pressed to your trembling smaller one, shielding you from the cold of his room and the world itself and you know there is a promise in there somewhere.

“I can’t believe it-” He murmurs and kisses your collarbone, down to your sternum. He kisses and licks, sucks, grazes your skin with his teeth. “You feel…incredible…you’re so good for me sunshine-” He kisses your breasts, flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, licks broad strokes and teasingly closes his lips around them.

When Severus finally moves again he does so in slow, measured thrusts. He watches your expression with hidden wariness, watches your every reaction. He can’t hide from you though. He is waiting for you to regret this. To tell him to stop. He’s afraid of letting go, afraid of scaring you off, of losing you.

But he’ll never lose you.

You buck your hips and whine impatiently. “Come on Sev.” You whimper. “Fuck me like you really want to fuck me.”

“It’s your first time I will not-”

“It’s done, Sev. Bye bye virginity! That train of stupid little things society places far too much worth in has left the station indefinitely. Now fuck me.”

“Sun-”

“Severus Snape! Fuck. me. properly.” He groans. His eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fine.” Severus grunts and a rush of excitement pulses through your stomach and drenches his throbbing cock in more fluids. “I warned you.”

The bed creaks dangerously under his thrusts. His hips slap against yours with a wet, fleshy sound that drives you crazy.

“Oh fuck yes- yes- just like that- that’s-” You babble more nonsense, moaning and shredding Severus’ back with your nails. He fucks you mercilessly into the mattress, spearing you open with his cock with each hard thrust. Your entire body trembles under his thorough attention. Your cunt yields to him in wet, fluttering excitement. It cherishes the promise of soreness his thrusts leave behind. 

Any attempt at grasping for and trying to hold onto one of the many thoughts rushing through your fuzzy, hazy mind is a fruitless endeavour.

“Fuck! Ahhh- so good…” Severus mutters against your collarbone and plunges his cock into your drenched cunt again before pulling out almost completely and driving back in with such force he knocks your head against the headboard. You both laugh.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You weave your fingers through his hair and pull him down into a sloppy, passionate kiss. You gasp and moan into the kiss and drink up the way Severus continues to lose the iron grip on his emotions he had cultivated since graduation, revealing more and more of the love-starved, unapologetic, fierce man you know him as. The man that feels so freely, so intensely, so deeply that it hurts him so much.

Every thrust, every kiss, every exploring hand gliding over your sweaty skin, squeezing your breasts in testing, careful motions is a testament to how deep his feelings for you run and have been running for so long. 

It breaks free of him in violent bursts and buries you beneath roaring pleasure. 

Severus is not good with words.

But he will be damned if he doesn’t show you what he can’t figure out how to say.

“Severus-” You moan, joining the creaking bed and his grunts, the symphony of your love. This would not be a pretty, romantic, fairytale like love. You are both messy and broken in your own ways. It will be hard. It will take work and compassion and will seem impossible at moments, especially in the midst of a war, but Severus is worth it.

To you he is worth it.

He always was and will always be.

You whine in protest when Severus pulls out of you but before you have a chance to voice it otherwise or even glare at him, Severus flips you over.

“Put your hands on the headboard.” He rasps in your ear. You are shaking and struggle to keep yourself upright, but Severus’ arms around your waist stabilise you. You hold onto the headboard so tight your knuckles turn white. Severus is kissing your neck, nibbling and sucking, painting his marks onto you as if to say ‘I was here’ or maybe ‘back off’. Maybe both. Maybe more.

He fills you up again, reaching much deeper than before and you gasp at the unfamiliar, intense feeling.

“Your cunt clutches me so hard-” He grunts and bottoms out. “Sucks me in- all soaked and desperate.”

“Sev-”

“Hmm…yes. I’m here…” He sucks the delicate skin on your neck into his mouth and bites down gently, at which a loud, wanton moan breaks free of you and he bites down harder. 

You meet his thrust with your hips, his cockhead hits a spot inside you it previously missed and you fall apart. His grip around your waist turns bruising and Severus pulls you back. Your grip around the headboard goes slack. You melt into his touch, twitching and shivering, whimpering, mind fuzzy with always new, higher, stronger, more intense levels of pleasure.

Severus holds you to his chest, your thighs on either side of his, useless, hands helplessly holding onto his arms, and moves your body up and down his hard shaft. Using you and the fluttering of your cunt as your orgasm continues to coarse through you. He grunts and bites your shoulder, harder than before and a particularly strong spasm shakes your body. You drop your head onto his shoulder, melting further against him.

“Again-” You rasp and present your neck to him. A grin flashes over Severus’ lips. Sweaty strands of hair stick to his forehead, his eyes are glazed over with hazy lust.

“My pleasure.” He coos, but instead of indulging you, he kisses you. One small, chaste peck after another. You squirm against his grip, claw at his arms, painting more red streaks on his pale skin.

“You never told me you got a tattoo-” You murmur. The sight of the jet black snake and skull on Severus’ left inner arm pulls your mind out of its haze and into a brief moment of clarity. Severus hesitates ever so slightly in his thorough, teasing attention he’s paying to your neck. Something about the tattoo unsettles you, though you can’t exactly decide why.

“Must have forgotten. It’s new.”

“Hmm…very metal.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why’d you get it then?”

“I thought I would.” Severus sucks on your neck and that plummets you back into mind-numbing, all-consuming, ecstatic pleasure.

“Maybe we should go to Dublin after.” Severus purrs in your ear. “Show Black all your pretty marks.”

“Idiot.” You giggle.

“I’m going to cum-”

“Cum inside me.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Please, Sev! Cum in me.” Severus pushes you forward and you fall face first into the mattress with a tiny outrages squeal. Severus laughs at you and grips your hips, adjusting them to sit flush with his own. He fucks you roughly into the pillows. You clutch at the sheets. Severus loses more and more of what little composure he still had. He mutters things you can’t make out.

His thrusts are accompanied with lewd, wet noises and the headboard hitting the wall.

“Severus!”

“I’ll fill you up ahh- with my cum- leave you dripping-”

“Yesyesyes-” He moves your hips with each thrust, pulling you back into him as he buries his cock inside you. His balls hit your sensitive cunt. His fingers dig into your skin, sure to be leaving bruises. 

Severus cums with your name on his lips, tumbling over them in a low, reverent, lust-drenched prayer which you join with your own faint, desperate whimpers.

Feeling the hot spurts of cum hit your inner walls violently kicks you over the edge for the third time. Severus slumps above you, pressing his forehead to your back between your shoulder blades, panting and spent.

You stay like that for a while. Both of you trying to catch your breath, relishing in the buzzing glow of your aftershock and the feeling of each other’s love on your skin and warming you from the inside.

Gently Severus pulls his softening cock from you and lies down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Sorry.” He murmurs in your hair and presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. “I hurt you.”

“I liked it.” You murmur back and place your hands against his chest, nuzzling your face to his neck. “Why did it take us so bloody long to finally do this?” He chuckles. He tugs a strand of messy hair behind your ear. You look up to meet his gaze. It’s heavy with emotions, a swirling storm of love and care and fear. You reach out to him in a futile attempt of soothing it. The pads of your fingers meet his cheek and he shudders under your touch, before leaning into it. His eyes fall closed and for a brief moment he looks at peace. Content. Home.

“I-” He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again. His brows pull together into a frown, a deep crease forming between them. His lips go white as he presses them together into a thin line. His jaw tenses. “I’ve made a terrible mistake-” His voice is hoarse from unshed tears and the effort of suppressing them. He loses. One escapes from between his closed lids and slides down his cheek, meeting your fingers. You wipe it away, but more follow. 

“I’m trying to fix it- I am! But I-”

“It’s ok.” You whisper and press a tender kiss to his jaw. 

So he did it…You had your suspicions, of course you did, but a part of you refused to believe Severus capable of those horrible acts committed by the Death Eaters. And you were right. The pain, regret and self-loathing is so evident in his face. He can’t bear to look at you.

“We’ll fix it. Together. It’ll be fine.”

You are there when the Aurors storm his house to arrest him. You were sitting on the threadbare sofa in his arms as he read to you. 

You tell him not to resist, to not tell them anything.

You send an owl to Dumbledore.

You are at the trial, sitting on one of the benches. Severus looks miserable sitting in the middle of the courtroom, deep shadows under his eyes, a tremor in his wand hand. The chains of the chair are wrapped tightly around his arms. He avoids your eyes.

Dumbledore defends him passionately. Recounting Severus’ turning spy for him, reporting you-know-who’s steps to Dumbledore, how invaluable his intel had been. He recounts the dangers Severus was willing to face. He demands he is released. And he is. The Wizengamot clears him of all charges and you walk out of the Ministry with him, holding his still trembling hand in your own.

“Is this real?” He whispers and you bite the inside of your cheek to not start crying. You want to be strong for him.

“Yes.” You kiss his cheek and wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s real. You’re a free man. I’m here. I will always be here. We’ll figure this out.”

“Together?”

“Together. I love you, Severus.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

#severus snape #snape fandom #ao3 fanfic #severus snape smut #Severus Snape x reader #snape x reader #snape x you #request #dividers by cafekitsune

[stars-and-inkpots]

Could you possibly write more soft Gale fics? He just deserves so much love and healing. I really liked how you wrote Reverence. Sorry I don’t have a more specific ask, I’m not very good when it comes to fic ideas.

Absolutely I can, I love writing for Gale so much, and he really does deserve the world. Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy!

Late Night Book Club | Gale x Reader

No matter what you try, you just can't seem to sleep. Between nightmares and insomnia, you start to think you might never get a good night's rest again.

Gale seems to share the same issue.

While you might not be able to completely solve your problems, at least the two of you aren't alone in them anymore.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Cuddling, Insomnia, Nightmares, Comfort, Fluff, First Kiss, Love Confessions (kinda)

Notes: choosing a name for this was the hardest part about writing it

Ao3 Link: Late Night Book Club

Word Count: 2,150

For whatever reason, you find yourself awake far later than everyone else. This shouldn’t be too much of a problem, if it wasn’t for the fact that this was the second night in a row where sleep eluded you to the point of exhaustion. The little amount of sleep you did manage to get was plagued with uncomfortable dreams that teetered on the edge of nightmares, making sure the rest was fitful. You knew you had to sleep; you couldn’t hope to lead the group if you were barely able to stand tomorrow. It’s frustrating. It isn’t like you aren’t trying to sleep either; you laid there for hours before finally giving up and leaving your tent to tend to the fire that has steadily burnt down to the last embers. It’s here where Gale finds you. 

The look on your face only adds to his concern at seeing you up so late. You don’t notice his approach, another thing that makes Gale think something must be wrong. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks softly, though the sudden noise still startles you. He watches you turn and immediately relax when you realise it’s only him. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” you apologise, but you aren’t exactly sure what you're apologising for. Perhaps it's for letting all of them down with your inability to sleep, knowing you’ll hold them back tomorrow. Then you notice that Gale looks just as tired. 

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks. 

You’re sure your exhaustion is evident enough, you can feel the weight under your eyes. A part of you hates feeling like you need to be taken care of. You don’t want to acknowledge that help would be both welcome and useful, but you know these feelings are simply a byproduct of the exhaustion that weighs on your shoulders. You can’t fault Gale for wanting to help. 

“No, it’s alright. You need your own rest.” The day had been tough on all of you. Gale, though talented when it came to magic, was pushed to his own limits today. 

“Very well. Would you at least allow me to sit with you for a few moments then?” Gale asks. 

You only nod, and Gale sits beside you on the ground. You’ve managed to get the fire going a little stronger again, and the warmth is appreciated by both of you. You’re suddenly aware of just how close you are, knees almost touching. You blame the warmth in your cheeks on the fire. 

“If there is something bothering you, I am more than happy to listen.” There is genuine care in his words. He is worried about you. As much as you don’t want to burden your companions with your troubles, he seems adamant that he wants to hear them. 

“I can’t sleep is all,” you admit. “It’s nothing serious. Just can’t sleep, and then when I do my dreams end up waking me up again.” It feels childish to say that your dreams are the primary culprit of your lack of sleep. You’ve been through so much in the past weeks, but it’s nightmares of all things that finally get to you. 

But Gale doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease you. Instead, he looks at you with only sympathy and understanding. He doesn’t pry any further, and you’re thankful. 

“What about you? Why are you still up? If you want to share, of course,” you’re quick to add. You don’t want him to feel like he has to tell you his own troubles just because you told him yours. 

“We have similar problems it seems,” is all Gale answers. You return his earlier kindness by not pressing him to elaborate either. 

The two of you sit there in comfortable silence again. 

“I understand if you wish to remain alone, but if you ever wish for company when you cannot sleep, you are always most welcome to visit me.” He says it so quietly, hesitantly, but not unsure. Knowing you don’t need to spend the nights awake alone, at least, is a comfort, and the thought of spending the time talking with Gale is pleasant; even if that time is simply spent sitting near to one another. 

You smile. “I might take you up on that offer.” 

Gale gives you a fond look. The golden light of the fire makes him look soft and at ease, though, maybe that’s only because he’s with you. 

“I think I’ll try to sleep again. Thank you for this, Gale.” You stand, and he does the same. 

“Anytime.” 

Sleep still doesn’t come easy when you return to your tent, but eventually you’re able to get, at least, a little bit of dreamless sleep before you’re awoken again. The gaps between sleep and consciousness are still more frequent than you want, but it’s better than nothing. 

---

The next day is rough. Gale doesn’t look like he had much luck with sleep either, and you’re almost thankful because he is more inclined to ask the group to slow down than you are. Maybe the others can tell that you’re also struggling, because no one complains when the steady pace is interrupted. 

Perhaps some god out there is looking out for you, because the day’s travel is mercifully uneventful. 

Setting up camp again is a chore. You do your best to help where you can, but you can barely stand as it is. 

“Get some rest, soldier. We’ve got it from here,” Karlach says to you, voice quiet. You know she’s trying to be nice, but it feels like pity and you hate it. You swallow your pride and thank her before returning to your tent. 

Even though your body aches and your head is starting to hurt, when you lay down, you only end up staring at the roof of the tent. You suddenly just aren’t tired. You know you’re tired, because your body feels tired, but at the same time you aren’t , and it’s only partly caused by fear of the dreams you know await you. It’s frustrating to no end. 

After another few minutes of laying there with your eyes closed, you finally give in. 

Only a few of the others are still awake, sitting and talking with each other around the fire. They don’t notice you skirting around the edge of camp towards Gale’s tent. It’s not that you feel like you need to keep this a secret, you just don’t think you have the energy to talk to anyone besides the wizard right now. 

“Gale? Can I come in?” You ask softly outside the tent. You know he’s awake; you can see shadows that dance across the walls. 

“Of course,” Gale answers. Before you can move to open the tent flap, he waves a hand and it opens for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you tease, but even you can hear how tired you sound. 

“Always for you,” he returns with a smile, but there’s a truth in his words that brings a warmth to your face. 

You finally notice how cosy his tent is. There are several books, all of them stacked in piles that must be organised in a way you can’t discern. The ground is covered in plush blankets and pillows. Fluttering around the top of the tent are small, almost iridescent orbs of light, some purple and others blue. They give enough light for Gale to read, but keep the tent dim enough to be pleasant. 

“Please, sit down, make yourself comfortable.” 

You sit beside him; closer than you were last night, leaning against his side slightly. You peer over at the book in his hands, surprised to find it isn’t some arcane tome. As far as you can tell, it’s just a normal adventure novel. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you, you can keep reading.” Even just sitting here beside him is enough of a comfort; the tension already starting to seep out of your shoulders. You don’t want to talk about anything yet, and you figure that Gale shares the same sentiment. 

“Do you want me to read to you?” Gale asks, and though you almost think he’s joking, you realise he really means it. 

“That would be nice.” 

And it is. You’ve always enjoyed listening to him talk; Gale has a lovely voice. He picks up where he left off when you got there. He wasn’t too far into the book yet, but he still pauses occasionally to explain something. Eventually you close your eyes, focused only on his voice, the details of his words getting blurry. 

“Can we lay down?” You mumble tiredly. 

“That’s a good idea,” Gale says with a smile, having already noticed the way your head has begun to dip forward as sleep begins to pull at you. 

It takes a bit of coordination, but eventually you’re both underneath the thick blanket that Gale pulls tighter around the two of you. You move closer to him, your head underneath his chin, and he wraps an arm around you. He’s warm, and you feel safer than you have in weeks. He starts reading again, fingers playing idly with your hair. Within another minute, your breathing has evened out and you’re fast asleep. 

Gale folds the corner of the page to mark where you two left off and closes the book before he sets it aside with the countless others. Eventually, he manages to fall asleep too. 

Both of you still wake up a few times in the middle of the night. You didn’t expect this to be some miracle cure for your sleep problems, but having Gale there holding you when you wake up makes getting back to sleep a little easier. The same can be said for Gale who wakes up several times, only to be calmed down once he feels your arms around him. The two of you are able to get a good rest, and when you wake up in the morning you don’t feel the same ache in your bones as you did the past few mornings. 

It becomes a sort of routine between you. In the evenings, after everyone leaves for their tents, you follow Gale to his or he follows you to yours. Then he reads to you, and sometimes you read to him, and you both let sleep find you in each other's arms. The nightmares are getting more bearable, and even on the worst nights when neither of you can sleep no matter how much you try, at least you’re there together. 

---

It’s been a week since you started this arrangement. The book is nearly finished. Gale had promised to let you pick out the next one. 

He brushes through your hair with one hand, the book held open in the other. You listen while he starts reading the last few pages. The hero who’s story you’ve been following through the novel culminates in one final battle against evil. It’s cliché, you think to yourself, and then smile because isn’t this exactly your own life now? And what hero story is complete without a lover to kiss them at the end, which is precisely what happens. Good prevails, and the hero gets their true love. 

Gale feels your smile against his neck and, for reasons he understands but doesn’t want to admit yet, feels a warmth flood his cheeks. 

“The End,” he announces, snapping the book closed with a flourish, earning a laugh from you. “What did you think?” 

“It was nice. It felt more like a romance novel at the end.” 

Gale hums in agreement. “Yes, but I think that's what I enjoyed most.” He puts the book down then returns to hugging you close to him. 

“I agree, it felt natural.” You hope Gale understands what you mean. 

He does. 

The two of you have been dancing around this for a while now, neither one of you ready to acknowledge it. But there’s something about tonight that feels different. 

You lean back to look at Gale’s face, bringing a hand up to guide a strand of greying brown hair behind his ear. Your hand lingers on his cheek, thumb brushing gently across his skin. He puts his own hand over yours, moving it to kiss your palm. It’s a careful gesture, tender and nervous all at the same time. 

When you move to kiss him, he meets you halfway. It’s a soft kiss; a testament to these nights you’ve spent together. When you part, you rest your forehead against his. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell: like you mean everything to him. 

He kisses you once more before you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. He holds you like he’s scared you’ll disappear, and you tighten your arms around him as if to answer: 'I could never.'

You both sleep the best you have in weeks, still there for each other each time you wake. 

#baldurs gate x reader #x reader fic #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate gale #gale dekarios #gale x reader #gale x you #request

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Ten

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: i think this might be my favourite chapter of all.

Word count: 7.8k

Chapter Ten

Within seconds, a waitress was quickly sweeping up the broken glass. Roy glanced around the seating area, and picked up the first empty chair he could find. The gentleman sat on the other side of the table hesitantly stood and turned towards him. “That seat is taken–”

“It’s mine now,” Roy said bluntly. Lucas didn’t hear a thing, as he busied himself making space for more drinks. You raised your brows at Roy, as he sat and scooted closer to your table, like you were silently telling him off. “Found one,” he said, dropping his hands into his lap, pleased with himself. 

You couldn’t believe his behaviour. Roy never went out of his way like this, unless it was for something that he knew was right. Your degree, the article, all of that had been because he knew it was best, but this? Gatecrashing your date– after shoving just an ounce of attention your way in three months– was overstepping. He knew it, too, but couldn’t stop the way his eyes flicked between you and Lucas with the question that he desperately wanted answered–

Are you together? 

Lucas shuffled next to you, and realised you no longer had a drink. “I’ll get you a new one,” he said kindly. You turned to him, trying to eject Roy from your atmosphere. You smiled at him, and gently reached out to grab his hand softly. Lucas smiled down at you, before he glanced at Roy. “And for you, Roy?”

“A beer,” Roy said, and you shot daggers at him. “Please.” He read your face with ease. You hated that he could do that. 

“You got it!” Lucas exclaimed, before he rushed off to order. 

You leant forward immediately, adopting the same energy that your mother did when you were young and causing a ruckus in public. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you whispered at him, sweetly, honey-toned, despite feeling the absolute fucking opposite. 

“What– a mate can’t join you and your boyfriend for a drink?” Roy said, but there was guilt etched all over his face. 

“He is not my boyfriend,” you snapped. “And you are not my mate, unless you think your silence over the past three months means fuck all. Is that really the only reason you decided to crash my date, Roy?” You put him on the spot. Residual feelings were adamant, and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking back to you between his legs, holding him close, all of it.

Hurt flashed across Roy’s stoic face. He clenched his jaw, and shrugged. Your noses were inches from each other, both overcome by your own version of anger and sadness. He shrugged again, from lack of what to fucking do. You couldn’t stand it.

“Stop fucking shrugging, Roy, you’re a grown man! Grown men don’t shrug, they take accountability and reply to people’s text messages.” You lowered your voice to a hiss when you mentioned him airing you. 

“What would you know about being a grown man?” he hit back with. 

You raised your brows in competition. “I definitely have more balls than you’ve ever fucking had.”

Roy leaned forward abruptly, seriously. “I’ve been around balls my entire life and I assure you, you don’t have more than I do.” You rolled your eyes at him in annoyance, astounded that within minutes you were already bickering like children. Roy brought out a side of you that you kept hidden. The one that still acted stupid, and childlike, and competitive. “I was busy,” Roy said, coming back to the subject at hand. 

“Oh, yeah? Doing what?” you asked, seething. 

“Coaching,” he said, and you were taken aback. 

Your face squished in confusion. “Coaching who?”

“Richmond Primary School under 9 girls,” Roy said strongly. 

Curiosity was thrown out the window at his response. You tensed every muscle in your body, before you looked him face on. “That is not coaching!” you whispered harshly, trying not to cause a scene and disrupt everyone’s Friday night drinks. 

“Yes, it fucking is! Those little girls need some tough love, or they’ll grow up to become pricks like Jamie fucking Tartt,” Roy growled when Jamie’s name fell from his lips. 

As much as you were angry, ready to punch the guy, as you looked into his eyes you were struck with the inescapable pain and hurt that you’d felt for the past few months. Seeing his face again was a shock, and you were annoyed that you still noticed small things about him. He’d grown his hair out, and his beard was bushier. He looked subtly leaner, due to the lack of training, and he’d probably lost part of his muscle mass after his retirement.

You leaned back, crossing your arms. Roy’s face softened slightly as you did, replaced with the immense craving to stay close to you. He’d been an arse, fully, but he didn’t know how to make it better. Not after he’d just made things worse by butting in on your date. 

“How…” he started, but faltered at the first hurdle. You watched him struggle, and some of your anger dissipated as he did. “How have you been?” Roy got out eventually. 

Your heart lurched. You sucked in a breath, ready to reply, but you were cut off. 

Lucas dropped the drinks on the table enthusiastically. “Beer for you,” he said, reaching across and placing a pint in front of Roy. “Wine for the lady.” He placed a glass in front of you, and you forced yourself to come back to reality. As Lucas sat down, you ignored the sudden awkwardness of him draping his arm on the back of your chair, or crossing his legs in your direction. 

As much as you had no reason to be, you suddenly felt sick that you were sitting opposite Roy, next to the man that you’d been holding hands with, kissing in the dark, calling to tell him about your day. Everything was backwards; you were supposed to be doing that all with Roy, not with Lucas weren’t you? He was still an effective stranger, just someone that you’d met less than a fucking month ago. 

Everything was fucked. God, everything was fucked. 

You endured the incredibly awkward small talk. Lucas was lapping it up, so overly excited that he was talking to Roy fucking Kent. He was almost adorable, but also widely frustrating, due to his lack of realising that you and Roy were definitely not on good terms. You tried and failed on many occasions to shut down the conversation, to say something that got Roy out of your hair, but as the ordeal continued, you found yourself wanting to do so with Lucas. 

Could you pretend an emergency was happening, just so you could pick up your bag and run around the corner to get away? Could you somehow text Roy beneath the table, and get him to shut down this entire operation?

With each thought came another wave of guilt. Lucas was a good man, and it wasn’t his fault that you were innately cringing at the entire situation. That was all due to Roy. If he hadn’t come along, you’d probably be in your flat, being railed by the gorgeous man that sat next to you.

“Did you finish?” Roy’s voice hit you from across the table, and your heart dropped. For one horrible moment, you assumed Roy had read your thoughts. 

You stuttered. “U-uh, what?” 

“Your novel,” Roy said, and you breathed a sigh of awkward relief. 

“Oh, uh– no. Not yet,” you said, before realisation hit you. “You remembered?” 

Roy gulped down some of his beer, looking at you softly. “‘Course. That’s why you chose to suffer at Richmond in the first place, wasn’t it? All for your book.” 

“Suffer?” Lucas chimed in. “But, you loved it at Richmond.”

“Yes, I do,” you explained. “I just wasn’t thrilled about it in my first few weeks, but I fell in love with it all after that.”

“Yeah, well we weren’t thrilled about you in the first few weeks, either,” Roy said, sucking in a breath after, as if he was due to continue speaking, but chose not to. 

Lucas caught on, dumbly choosing to intercept. “But, then you all fell in love with her, right?” he said, with a smile on his face and a sheer lack of understanding basic social cues and expressions. You fought the urge to grimace. 

Roy’s eye twitched, before he inhaled deeply. “Yep,” he said plainly, before unceremoniously downing his beer. You looked at your hands in your lap at his reply, and your gut coiled. Roy shuffled in his chair, and stood slowly. “I should get going,” he said.

Quickly, surprisingly, you shot up. “No, don’t–” you said, before you wanted to swallow every word you’d ever said. “I mean– stay for one more?” You backtracked.

If Lucas was at all confused or offended, he didn’t show it. He sipped happily at his glass of wine, arm still draped on the top of your chair, like a burning hot poker that you wanted to douse in cold water. 

Roy tucked his own chair under the table. “Another time,” he said, purposefully, and you wanted to yell at the sky. 

That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t do that– remind you of it all, the charity ball, the interview, all the inevitable other times that you would have if you stayed in contact. As much as you wanted to protest, to yell, to kick over a chair, you didn’t. You were a grown woman, and you had a feeling that Roy’s actions had finally stuck in his mind; he wanted to get out and forget about what he’d done as fast as possible. 

So, you backed down, relaxing your muscles as you stood opposite him. “Another time,” you repeated him. 

It felt like something final was about to happen, like this would truly be the last time you saw Roy. If the past three months had shown you anything, it was that Roy was capable of cutting himself off from everyone, with no intention to start things up after an indefinite amount of time. You had this awful feeling that, from this interaction, he would leave and absolutely never contact you again. Just from feeling embarrassed, from wanting you to do better, whatever. 

That wasn’t true, not ever. You would never be able to do better than the man in front of you, even if the prospect of becoming something had died alongside his career. You still wanted him in your life, even if nothing more came from it, even if all you did was sit with a beer and tell each other to fuck off in different variations; you wanted it. 

Roy stuck his hands in his pockets and said his goodbyes. Lucas waved him off, before he looked up at you. “I was totally barking up the wrong tree. Roy’s a nice chap,” Lucas said, as you watched him walk off down the street. 

“Yeah, he really is,” you said without thinking. 

“So, did you want to grab a bite to eat?” Lucas suggested, as he gently laid a hand on your forearm. His fingers skimmed your bare skin, and on any other occasion you would have lapped up his touch. 

“Yeah,” you said, not fully paying attention, as your eyes stayed glued forward. Roy took a sharp left, and disappeared from view. You could have vomited. “No, actually,” you said abruptly. You turned to Lucas, and sat down. You smiled at him sullenly, and tried to communicate just how sorry you were. “I’m sorry, Lucas. You’re lovely, really really, lovely. Perfect even,” you said, chuckling inappropriately. 

Lucas swallowed awkwardly. “Are you– are you–?”

“Yes. I am,” you said. “I might regret it later in life, but then that’s on me, not on you.”

Lucas looked positively confused. He was brilliant, safe, everything that you’d ever want from someone stable and long lasting, but that was just it–

He wasn’t Roy Kent, was he?

As Roy rounded the corner from you, he clamped his eyes shut. His shoulders shrugged right up to his ears with embarrassment, as he cringed to oblivion. Had he really fucking done that? Butt in for a drink while you were on a date? With a nice guy, even. He had no right to feel mad or pissed off, yet he still did. Seeing you for the first time in months next to a random guy who was holding you, touching you, close to you, whatever the fuck else– it had boiled his blood. 

Roy should have been the one doing that, not him. But, now he’d probably fucked it for good. If you’d been angry at him before, you were most certainly seething now. He’d seen you fighting to get him away, to change the subject onto them going off and enjoying their evening, but he’d fought against you every second he could. 

Roy wouldn’t be surprised if you never spoke to him ever again, but he knew innately that he wouldn’t give you any chance to. He’d hide himself away, he’d cut you off, and maybe– if he was lucky– a few years down the line you’d bump into each other again. Maybe you’d be married, maybe you’d have children. It was probably for the best.

You ran down the road, almost stumbling a few times as you fought to ignore the obviously stupid way you looked. It would’ve been comical, seeing you sprinting down the street to catch up with Roy Kent of all people. Onlookers either thought you were mad, or a huge football fan. You took a sharp left, turning down a residential street as you fought to catch him. His jacket was still in view, strolling just a bit further down from you. 

“Roy!” you yelled. He didn’t pay you any mind. “Roy fucking Kent!” you screamed, using all of your energy to shout at him. 

He stopped abruptly, and turned around when he heard you. You slowed to a jog, until you’d fully caught up with him. You placed your hand in the middle of his chest as you doubled over, breathing heavily from your impromptu run. 

Roy frowned at you. “What the fuck are you–?”

You smacked him once, quickly, right in his sternum. “I am so fucking mad at you!” you breathed out, trying not to cry. You smacked him again. “Three months!” 

Roy quickly grabbed you, curling his fingers around your wrist. “I know,” he said, swallowing painfully to stop his throat from closing. 

“You owe me, Roy. Massively. Infinitely,” you whittled on, ignoring the growing glassiness of your eyes. “I won’t put up with this again, I swear. Am I clear?”

Roy nodded. “Fucking crystal,” he said, but he was smiling. 

You smacked him again with your other hand, just for good luck, and Roy grabbed your other wrist. Your heart rate slowed finally, as you let yourself relax in his grasp. You were so mad, so angry, but you wouldn’t have been able to fucking stand it if you’d just let him walk away, even after all this time. Evidently, Roy had some things going on that he felt didn’t concern anyone but himself, and you knew exactly how that all felt. 

He peered down at you with those fucking eyes. “You– fuck.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, meaningfully, overwhelmed that you’d binned off that perfect guy just to smack him and tell him you were mad. 

“You should be,” you said, but even you had a small smile plastered on your lips. “Your arsehole status has really shot up, you know.”

“Are you surprised?” he asked. 

“No,” you admitted. “You’re a prick, Roy, truly.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He squeezed your wrists affectionately, before letting you go. 

You peered up at him. You were ready to forgive him, but you wouldn’t let it be that easy. Instead, you tugged upon his shirt once. “Come on,” you urged. “You owe me a drink, two drinks, and dinner.” You started off down the road.

Roy smiled to himself, thankful that you couldn’t see. “Anything else?”

“Three drinks!” you exclaimed. 

He followed you down the road obediently, but the truth was– you were absolutely right. You did have more balls than him– more guts– and you always would. The truth was, you would rather tell Roy to fuck off a thousand times, than say I love you to anyone else. Even platonically, even anything else other than romantic, that would absolutely be the case. 

Things fell back into place like nothing had ever fucking changed, and a month later you found yourself at a very needed catch-up dinner with Rebecca and Keeley. You’d been working non-stop for the past few weeks, missing a few of Richmond’s games of the season, including– the incident. 

“I think I saw his soul leave his body,” Keeley said, remembering. “Poor Dani.”

“Poor Earl,” Rebecca said, and you huffed inappropriately. 

“I’m sort of glad I wasn’t there. If I’d seen that in person I genuinely think I would have vomited,” you said, grimacing at the image of a football hitting Earl and instantly killing that poor greyhound. 

“He’s pretty shaken up, Ted mentioned,” Keeley said. Rebecca took a sip of her wine, and hummed in agreement, before leaning forward and shooting you with her incredibly rich, incredibly beautiful, gossip smile. 

“Leslie tells me he’s hired a sports therapist for the entire season,” Rebecca started. “Apparently she doesn’t eat sugar.” 

All three of you grimaced in unison. You felt a shiver travel through your entire body, and Keeley looked positively terrified. You took one look at both of the ladies before you, and let out a deep breath. 

“She sounds fucking insane,” you said, referring to the therapist. Rebecca and Keeley nodded immediately. “Let’s make a pact– if any of us ever start talking shit about wanting to cut out sugar from our lives, we give that person a big fucking slap around the face, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Keeley said seriously. 

“Absolutely,” Rebecca added, picking up her glass, and prompting you and Keeley to do the same. The three of you clinked them together, all gulping down your wine afterwards and bursting into giggles. 

“Enough about dead dogs and sports therapists– what the hell have you been up to?” Keeley questioned, shooting you a mischievous look that only translated into one thing; did you get railed?

You put down your glass and shot them both a guilty look. You hadn’t told them about anything over the past month, due to work and due to… everything else. If anything, it was probably best that you had them in a setting like this to finally reveal all. You tapped on your half empty wine glass, stalling. 

Rebecca raised her brows at you in understanding. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” 

“Something major,” Keeley joined in. “Something that isn’t just a shag.” 

“No shag was involved, actually,” you said, knowing you just had to pull off the bandaid. You sat up straight and went for it. “I broke things off with Lucas,” you announced. 

Rebecca and Keeley both gasped. “Not the gorgeous one!” Rebecca exclaimed. 

“Without getting a shag first?” Keeley asked.

You nodded. “Without getting a shag first, yes.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?” Rebecca said, as the two of them looked at you like you were utterly insane. In a way, you were. Who would pass up an opportunity to shag a pretty man who doubled up as being lovely? It was a fucking no brainer. 

“Well, a… situation occurred.” You shot them both a wide-eyed look. “Roy.” 

The two ladies in front of you burst into varying levels of screaming. Rebecca was clutching onto Keeley’s bicep and squealing like a seagull. Keeley banged her hands on the table rhythmically, as if she was urging you to say more. You sucked in a deep breath and raised your hands defensively, trying to calm them both down as much as possible. You’d alerted other people in the restaurant to look your way, just as you had at the bar the month before.

“Oi!” you yelled. “Will you guys calm the fuck down?” 

“I fucking knew something was up,” Keeley said, pointing at you sternly. “I felt it in my tits.”

“Tell us!” Rebecca crumbled. 

“Okay– fucking hell,” you said, chuckling. “He gatecrashed my third date with Lucas–”

“Before the shag,” Keeley commented, trying to create a cohesive reconstruction in her head. 

“Yes,” you continued. “We were having drinks at the bar, the one around the corner, in the sunshine, and… well, Roy was just out for a fucking walk. It was odd.”

“It was fate,” Rebecca corrected. 

You frowned at her. “No,” you growled. “But, it was a weird coincidence. Anyway– I tried to get up and avoid him, but I knocked over my fucking glass, it smashed, and of course, he fucking saw me. What’s worse, though, is he then just sat down, and joined Lucas and I for a drink.”

“Oh, that bastard,” Rebecca said, but she was smiling. 

“I sort of love it,” Keeley admitted, hunching her shoulders up playfully.

“No, me too,” Rebecca immediately agreed, waving around her wine glass like an accessory. “That’s sort of… hot.” 

“It’s totally hot,” Keeley said, before she leaned towards you. You were trying to keep a straight face as their theories got even more batshit. “After three months of Roy ignoring you, he sees you on a date with a random guy and decides that’s when he’s finally going to reconnect. He was jealous.” 

You scoffed into your wine glass. The sides fogged up. “Don’t say stupid shit, Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered. Rebecca joined Keeley in leaning forward. 

“She’s absolutely right! He was totally fucking jealous, darling. There’s no other way around it,” Rebecca backed up Keeley. 

You placed your glass on the table strongly, and sighed. “Guys… this is Roy we’re talking about. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone else in a larger sense, doesn’t care what’s said about him, or what people think, either. He is physically incapable of being jealous, especially when it comes to me.” 

“You’re doing that thing again,” Keeley said. 

“What thing?”

“Being dumb and in denial.”

You squished your face at her playfully, and Rebecca was already chuckling. “Ouch. Jeez, tell me how you really feel, Keeley.” 

“I’m being serious,” she continued, and her seriousness somehow rubbed off on you and Rebecca. You swallowed back your laughter as Keeley peered at you from across the table. You suddenly felt extremely exposed. “You do this thing where you assume people don’t care about you, you know? You did it when you left the club, and weren’t expecting the guys– or us– to miss you. You do it with your workmates at your new job, just assuming they won’t invite you out, or anything–”

“I get it, Keeley,” you cut over her. You suddenly didn’t feel very well. 

“I’m not finished,” she said softly, and you swallowed the want to hit back at her. It was always hard when people who truly knew you, explained to you your flaws. As much as she was right, you didn’t want to believe it. “You do it with Roy the most, babes. Even after everything he’s done for you, and the way you feel about him, too, you assume he doesn’t care about you.”

You hated how much she was right. “I– I don’t think he doesn’t care–”

Keeley quickly reached over the table and grabbed your hand. She held it softly. “Roy fucking Kent took it upon himself to crash your date and stop you from sleeping with that gorgeous man, because he got jealous when he saw you with someone else– someone that wasn’t him.” Keeley laid it out for you bluntly, but kindly. Both her and Rebecca only ever had great intentions for you. “He cares about you. Part of the reason he’s been ignoring you is probably from how shit he feels after retirement, and how he doesn’t want someone like you to see him at his lowest. It all makes sense, babes.”

Rebecca followed suit, reaching over the table to grab your other hand. You squeezed both their palms, thankfully. “I think Roy has a crush on you, darling,” Rebecca said, trying to lighten the mood a little. “And maybe you still have that little crush on him, too, hm?”

You rolled your eyes at them, trying to chomp down Keeley’s hard to swallow pills. She was right, and so was Rebecca, but admitting it was a whole other ball game. You didn’t want to admit that you liked someone like Roy, your complete and utter opposite, and someone who you would never be able to comprehend having feelings for you back. 

That wasn’t on him, it was on you. 

You sighed deeply, trying to ground yourself. “Maybe I do,” you said. It was a start. “And, maybe Roy was jealous, but we’ll never know unless he says it outright– and I’m never going to ask him.”

“Why not?” Keeley asked. 

You frowned at them both. “Next to you both, he’s probably the closest friend I have.” The words chuckled from your mouth, but you meant it all. Every single word. “I know it sounds sad that one of my best friends is Roy Kent, but it’s the truth. If I spill everything to him, and he doesn’t feel the same way, this will all end.” Your lip wobbled suddenly, your frown turned into a smile. “So, he will never know. And I’m okay with that.”

That night, after a few more glasses of wine with Keeley and Rebecca, you found yourself levelling up to an entirely new realm of sad. You opened your laptop, and found yourself typing in something that only children or severely messed up people would Google– how do you stop liking someone romantically?

When the first page popped up as WikiHow, you realised what you were doing. With a scared whimper, you slammed your laptop shut and ran your fingers through your hair. It was official; you were insane. This was a whole new low for you, but you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. After twenty-eight years you’d finally snapped. You found yourself imagining it– if Roy ever knew you were truly like this, then there was no way in hell he’d ever have feelings back for you. Roy was odd in his own ways, but you definitely took the cake and ate it. All of it. 

You switched on the TV, and found yourself flicking to Sky Sports out of habit. It was a good way to pass the time, and it allowed you to keep up with the Championship and AFC Richmond, even if you weren’t able to attend every match anymore. Jeff Stelling and Chris Kamara discussed the most recent match– Earl’s sad demise. 

On top of that abrupt dog murder, it’s absolutely unheard of for a team to tie seven consecutive games. I have a feeling that Richmond haven’t even clocked in yet, Chris!

Totally agreed, Jeff. It’s a shame to see them underperforming after they were so close to levelling with Man City, their final game of last season. Seems relegation has grabbed them all by the throats.

Speaking on Man City though, Chris, have you heard about the recent revelations for number nine, Jamie Tartt?

Last I heard, he was living it up in the villa on Love Conquers All.

That’s all gone to the wind it seems, too, Chris. Tartt was voted out of the villa just today, aired over on ITV. What do you reckon will come next for the star player? He certainly made a dent to Richmond when he was recalled earlier last season.

I don’t know, Jeff. Seems to me like Jamie Tartt has messed around one time too many for Man City to take him seriously. We’ll just have to see…

Right you are, Chris. Right you are. 

“God, this is fucking dull sometimes,” you muttered, flicking the channel as soon as Jamie’s name had been dropped. You liked commentator shows, but you didn’t half find them fucking boring sometimes. You wished someone could spice things up a little, and say it all how it was, instead of clutching at political answers. 

You thought to yourself then– how great would it be if you had your own personal Roy to commentate every game for you? He was blunt and to the point, but so inherently hilarious that you knew you’d take it all in. 

Just as a laugh, you texted Roy out of the blue. You were drunk, and reeling, and mending your relationship with him, so one text couldn’t hurt. 

Here’s an idea for you– you become a Sky Sports pundit. 

It took him only a few minutes to reply. 

Fuck off. 

You laughed to yourself, before you kept typing. 

I genuinely think you’d be good at it, you know. Serious. 

Roy contemplated his response. He had an inbox filled with requests from the press, from outlets, from everyone– including Sky Sports, more recently. Did you happen to have access to his emails, or were you just making a very conveniently timed suggestion?

The Richmond Primary School under 9 girls still need me. 

You knew it was a joke, but you also couldn’t help but notice he didn’t immediately knock down your idea. You treaded forwards. 

Maybe so, but the rest of the world needs you too, Roy. 

Roy sat in his living room, alone. He thought of you, just down the street in your apartment. It was late, and he knew you’d got dinner with Keeley and Rebecca. You were probably drunk and channel surfing. It made him smile to himself. He was glad this was happening. This reconnection, all because of him being a fucking twat and you choosing to take him back. He didn’t deserve it, but now that he had this back, he wasn’t going to stop trying to make it up to you. 

This pundit gig. The cameras, the acting, the press– all of it grated on Roy so hard that it made him physically angry. But, from what he’d been told, not just by you, he’d probably make a pretty decent addition. Since his retirement, he’d hidden himself away from everyone. Maybe it was time to pack that all in, to go forward into a new step of his career, despite the game being out of the equation for him now. 

Maybe. Just maybe. 

As your week whittled on, in the aftermath of dinner, you found yourself getting cravings to be back at Richmond. Whether it was for football, or just to see the guys, you didn’t care. Your weekends had been booked up far too often– keeping you away from the Dogtrack for far too long– so when you randomly had a half day on a Friday, you knew exactly how to fill it.

Showing up unannounced was not the kind of person you were. You were rarely spontaneous, and always on time– or early– but you had the advantage of knowing that everyone at Nelson Road simply wouldn’t care if you showed up out of the blue. That was exactly what you did, practically running to the stadium as soon as you got off the tube from the city. 

You burst through the doors of the car park, following the familiar path to the lower levels of the Dogtrack. You passed your old office, and stopped in your tracks to take a look. It had been taken over by Keeley for her PR position for the boys. Around the cinder block room were washes of pinks and oranges, alongside fluffy pillows and her signature leopard statue. Anyone who knew Keeley knew that this was exactly her style, overdramatic and grossly colourful, but warm as soon as you entered. You could smell her perfume. 

As you continued down the corridor, the scent of Keeley’s office was drowned out by another– feet. Feet, sweaty men, and unwashed kit hit you like a ton of bricks. Maybe you’d been noseblind before, because you never remembered it being this pungent. Nevertheless, you entered the locker room and felt a wave of nostalgia from it all. 

The familiar reds and blues, the numbers above the players' cubbies, all the like. The only thing different– Roy’s name and number was gone. No longer was 6, Kent up opposite the door. It was instead replaced by another, as a few more players had been signed onto Richmond after the relegation. It was sad to see all traces of him removed, apart from his lifesize mural by the manager’s office that still scared the life out of you. But, despite all the change, above Ted’s office was something you knew would never leave– the bright yellow believe poster. 

You smiled at it sadly, feeling so far away from this world than before. Just being back in the locker room made you realise it had already been four months since you’d left the club. Time flew by, but your heart stayed in the exact same place.

“Oi!” a voice boomed from the hallway. Whoever it was had seen you through the gym window, and your heart raced as the pitter patter of shoes sped down the corridor towards the door. “This area is off limits to fans–” Nate stopped as soon as he entered the locker room, realising it was you. His once furrowed brow and angry expression had turned into the softest of smiles. 

“Hey, Coach.” You smiled at him, your shock turned into warmth immediately. 

“God– hello!” he exclaimed quickly, before the two of you embraced. Nate’s awkwardness from last season had all but disappeared with you. You wondered if it was because of his new coach status at the club; maybe he felt more powerful, so his confidence was easier to shine through. 

You pulled away first, looking back up to the poster above the door. “This place never gets old, does it?”

Nate copied you, and looked up. “Not one bit,” he said. “We’ve all missed you around here, though. Sam, Isaac and Colin don’t shut up about you.” He said it sweetly, but you felt a tinge of jealousy cut through his words. Like he was holding himself back, or not saying how he truly felt. It was just Nate, though. It probably wasn’t a big deal. 

You huffed through your nose affectionately. “I miss them, too.” You scoffed. “That’s an understatement, really. I miss everything about this fucking place,” you said, glancing around the room. Nostalgia seeped through the walls like honey. It was impossible not to feel the gravity that this place held for you, even more so after it had been a while. 

“They could use the boost after Earl,” Nate said, before he quickly gestured to the door. “Come on.”

You followed Nate out the locker room and down the hall, before you headed down the tunnel to the pitch. You were buzzing with excitement, not just for seeing them all but, to surprise them to oblivion. As you approached the pitch, you sped up to a jog and overtook Nate. You emerged outside the stadium, immediately hitting eyes with Colin.

His little face lit up in shock, before he quickly whacked Isaac in the chest. Before you could reach them, or even let out a yell in their direction, Sam stood in front of Ted abruptly. 

“You don’t know anything!” Sam boomed, taking everyone– especially Ted– by surprise. 

Ted tried to diffuse the situation. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out. What’s going on, Sam?” 

“You–” he started, but he choked on his words when he met your eye. He froze, and looked at you in sheer desperation. You’d never seen Sam so upset or full of rage; it was positively unheard of. 

Before Ted could even intervene, Sam started pacing it towards you at the tunnel. He shot you a pleading look when he passed, not stopping to say hello or greet you. Instead, he whisked past you and made your hairs stand on edge. As the team looked at him leave, utterly gobsmacked, you looked back towards the pitch and caught eyes with Ted. 

Ted’s frown turned to something softer when he spotted you. He turned and stepped forward once, but you could read the lines of his face like a book. 

“I’ve got him,” you announced, before swivelling and heading straight back inside. You followed Sam down the tunnel, rushing to keep up with him as he stampeded into the lower levels. “Sam!” you yelled, but he still didn’t stop. 

You sped up to a run. You’d been running a lot lately, for varying reasons– all, weirdly enough, involving fucking footballers. Sam rounded the corner into the corridor, but you bound after him as fast as you could. You reached out and grabbed him by the arm, tugging him back to you. “Hey! What’s wrong–?” 

Sam cut you off by flinging his arms around you. You held him close, and felt his chest crumble beneath you. His breaths were shaky and stagnant, as concern washed through all your limbs. 

“Oh, Sam,” you let out sadly. You squeezed him tightly, held him as if you’d die if he let go. 

“He can’t come back,” Sam said shakily, smally. You had no idea what he was talking about– who he was talking about– but this situation was obviously affecting him. He let out a long, stuttering breath when he pulled away, but you kept your hands plastered on his shoulders. One of your hands skimmed down and your fingers wrapped around his palm. 

“What’s going on?” you asked softly. “Who can’t come back?”

Sam’s eyes were glassy and upset, so far away from the usual smiles he shared with the world. “I saw Coach Lasso with Jamie Tartt last night, in the pub. I just–” He placed his hand over his chest, and pointed right at his clavicle. “I just have this feeling, in here, that he is going to let Jamie back on the team.”

You remembered last week, when you’d tuned in to Sky Sports and heard news of Jamie. He was back in the UK after the reality show, and hadn’t been taken back by Man City. If Sam had seen Jamie and Ted together, then there was no doubt about it– he was probably asking to be let back on the team at AFC Richmond. Ted was a kind man, he gave people chances, but when it came to Jamie Tartt… 

He’d made half of the Richmond team miserable. His ego, his rudeness, his behaviour, all of it. He’d brought team morale down terribly, and only when he was recalled did things really start getting into motion. You remembered how torn up Ted had been at news of Jamie’s departure, but you secretly thought it had been a silent blessing at the time. 

“I think I can speak for Ted here when I say this, but I don’t think he’d do something that rash without letting you, and the rest of the team, know all about it, Sam,” you said, smiling at him gently. You squeezed his hand. “But, I totally understand why this has got you so low,” you acknowledged. “Jamie was… how do I say it nicely?”

“An asshole,” Sam said. “What is it that Roy used to call him? A prick?”

“A prick, yes.” You nodded. “And a twat.”

“Twat! That was it,” Sam smiled a little. You copied him. “I don’t want him to ruin all of our progress as a team. I know this season has not been great, but… all of us have been. We are finding our footing after the relegation. I do not want him to change all of that.”

“Tell Ted,” you urged him. “You know he’ll listen to you.”

Sam nodded at you, thankful. “It is good to see your face,” he said. You wanted to cry. 

“Yours, too.” You smiled so hard that it hurt. This was home, and it was good to be back, if only for an evening. 

After your abrupt evening at the club, Ted and Beard invited you for a drink later on in the month. After a few more tied matches, you knew they’d be dying for a pint just as much as you were. Your job was… dwindling. The workload was intense, and the novelty of something new and exciting was fast wearing off. You pushed through, but after going back to the club, your heart was not in the right place. It only cemented how much you missed it all. 

“It got resolved?” you asked Ted, sipping on your beer as the three of you shared a packet of crisps. 

“Oh, yeah, it sure is. Seeing Jamie was a proper blast from the past, and Sam was right to be upset, but what you said was absolutely right– I would never bring back a player like him without letting the guys know first. That’s just not how I roll,” Ted explained. 

“And other than that, how’s it all going?” Beard shrugged his shoulders in response, gulping back half his beer. That was enough to tell you what was up. You grimaced. “Not good?”

“Isaac isn’t doing too hot, if you must know,” Ted said, sighing. “I don’t know how to give him a boost, you know? Even Dr Sharon hasn’t managed to make a dent, and well– she’s pretty lethal.”

You scoffed. “Not liking a therapist is probably the most Ted thing you’ve ever done.”

“Well, hey, now,” Ted objected. “I just think, why the heck would you pay someone else to do something that your friends can do for free?”

“Oh, please– can you really imagine me trying to talk about deep shit with someone like Roy? He’s my friend.” You raised your brows at Ted in question, and he glanced over to Beard for an answer. All Beard did was shake his head silently. You pointed at him triumphantly. “See? I rest my fucking case.”

Ted waved away your response and changed the subject. “Speaking of Roy, what’s he up to nowadays?” 

You tapped your glass, amused. “Coaching.”

“Coaching?” Ted exclaimed, gobsmacked. 

“Nine year old girls.”

“Nine year old g– oh, nine year old girls.” His initial awe quickly turned to realisation, and Ted’s voice lowered monotonously. “Hm. Well. That’s a start, in a way.”

You stared at him silently. “No it’s not, Ted.”

“No, no it’s not, yeah,” Ted quickly agreed with you. The three of you sipped on your beers in unison. It was simply nice to have the company, more than anything else. It made you still feel part of their world, part of Richmond. 

You’d heard trickles from Roy over the past few weeks, after your drunk texting. He was always fast when he replied now, always around to send you back an emoji or tell you to fuck off affectionately. Offhandedly, he’d asked you to get hot chocolate with him and his niece, Phoebe, at some point. Your heart had swelled to three times the size, and you’d replied saying yes, alongside a very well placed :) smiley face.

To your surprise, Roy had replied with the exact same thing. Although, he’d typed it in such an unnerving way that it had made you laugh.

>: 0)

Is that supposed to be your nose?

No, it’s my open mouth telling you to fuck off and my very manly chin underneath. 

Of course. My mistake. 

“He’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, sighing. “I reckon he would make a good pundit, don’t you think?”

“Oh, sure!” Ted said enthusiastically. “What are your TV laws when it comes to cussing, though?”

“Uhh, it’s probably not customary to swear on a Sky Sports commentary show.”

Ted grimaced and sucked in a sharp breath. “Might not be for him.”

“Or… it might be,” Beard chimed in suddenly. You glanced at him, and saw his eyes plastered onto the TV screen above your heads in the pub. Beard pointed at it slowly. “Are you both seeing that too, or have I accidentally ingested mushrooms again?” he whispered. 

You followed his gaze to the screen, and your breath got caught in the back of your throat. Roy was sat next to Jeff Stelling and Chris Kamara on Soccer Saturday. Black suit donned, stern expression on his jaw, with a newly trimmed beard and fresh haircut. He was on TV. He was a fucking pundit. You could hardly believe it. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you muttered, standing up abruptly to get a better look. 

The three of you were glued to the telly as the show kicked off. Jeff took the wheel. 

And now, the newest addition to Soccer Saturday, footballing legend Roy Kent. Great to have you here, Roy.

You watched in awe as Roy growled in response. He looked so rigid, a lot more rigid than he did normally. You found yourself laughing, utterly astounded. 

Now, onto Chelsea’s last game, Chris. What did you think?

I thought they played well, Jeff, especially after their rocky start to this season. They still have a long way to go, though. What about you, Roy?

You held your breath as Chris and Jeff turned to Roy. He cleared his throat.

I thought they were shit. 

You let out a cackle that you didn’t even know you were capable of making. 

Ah, apologies for the fruity language. But, really, Roy. Did they play that terribly?

Yeah, they were shit. Chelsea have been playing worse than the under nine girls that I used to coach, and that’s a fact. 

I think that’s mean, Roy. They’ve done a lot better than earlier this season, surely?

I guess, but they’re still performing like a bunch of circus clowns at a rodeo. Chelsea have been shit for the past few years, and with the way they’re going, they’re gonna stay shit for the rest of the season. 

Laughter broke out in Mae’s pub. You glanced around the room, eyes lit up like the sun. You spotted the three locals, all young men, who spent most of their time at the bar. “Roy Kent, you fucking legend!” the smallest one exclaimed. 

You could already imagine the outburst online. Gifs, Tweets, whatever else. This was exactly what you felt was missing from a show like Soccer Saturday– the bluntness, the honesty. You turned back to the screen, and smiled dazzlingly. You blocked out the rest of the room, utterly focused on Roy. He looked amazing, and your heart lurched just thinking about how much of a step this was for him.

Ted raised his brows at Beard secretly, bringing his beer to his lips. “Just friends, huh?” he muttered. Beard raised his brows in response, and the two of them drank together, as the happiness you felt drowned  the entirety of Richmond. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook@cluelesslilsharkie@callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax @kingleahhh @hoalkk1 @sunderland-6 @ellouisa17 @thesestrangerslikeme @elissaaa @scrumptiousroadponymoney @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @ysmmsy @seacactusplant @pedritosgirl2000 @loveslide @ryleyrooroo @hanybunch @tweasley20 @witchyanya-7 @sareim123122

#roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent #roy kent ff #ted lasso #ted lasso ff #writeblr #writers of tumblr #lightyaers #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #fluff and angst #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn #romance #take care fic #update #ao3 #wattpad #archive of our own

[mottlemoth]

So I’ve been hiding a lot. I’m really sorry. Being back on Tumblr makes me feel like it’s fine to share some of this - I’m sorry if it’s weird to hear - I’m just having a tough time and I need to be honest.

Various things are happening to me in real life at the moment. It’s been one thing after another, and there’s more to come. Usually I turn to fandom for a support structure and an escape from stress, but I’m realising that sense of comfort has been missing from my life for a few weeks now.

I came to OFMD from a small rarepair with a very close and very supportive community. I absolutely wasn’t prepared for the kind of things I’ve experienced in the last few months on Twitter. The OFMD community there has a lot of problems right now, one of the most worrying being a lethal lack of awareness that fan writers are fans. We’re writing for fun, sharing our work for free. But we’re being ripped apart by people who’ve had years of practice at criticising showrunners for creative decisions they don’t approve of. The abuse is largely motivated by jealousy - any author who picks up too much kudos or appears on too many rec lists becomes the next target, and it’s usually cloaked under a false banner of social justice. It’s happening over and over again. It’s transparent and it’s exhausting, and the things being used to justify the abuse are so tenuous that I often can’t believe what my actual eyes are reading. I’ve been accused of misogyny for writing Edward ‘Shoot-The-People-Who-Teased-Me’ Teach as reacting emotionally, therefore “female-coding” him, therefore sexism. I don’t know how to cope in this kind of environment.

I’ve been through endless rounds of coaxing myself to try to relax - to forget about the paranoia and the toxicity, and shut up and get on with writing because I have a duty to finish this fic and everyone’s waiting for the next chapter and if I don’t hurry up and post it then I’ll get Tumblr messages saying “when can we expect the next chapter” and - suddenly I realise, wait. I’m not actually obliged to do any of this.

This is my hobby.

I am 100% allowed to stop doing this at any point I want to.

“But you have a duty to the people who’ve--”

Look, I get that this isn’t something anyone wants to hear, but... no. I don’t. I’m an exhausted thirty-something sitting in her pyjamas after work, having a cry because my hobby somehow turned into a full-time job on top of my already miserable full-time job. AO3 writers don’t have a duty to do what they’re doing. Fanworks are literally a gift of time and energy from a complete stranger. I’d love to be able to ignore the people being abusive towards writers, but I can’t. And, again - this is my hobby. I’m not obliged to ignore the abuse and just get on with the task. If I’m upset, I’m allowed to stop. (Let’s say I joined a knitting club. Let’s say some of the members were routinely vicious and awful to anyone who got “too good” at knitting, and none of the other members ever hit them with any consequences for their behaviour. I don’t have a duty to stick around at Toxic Knitting Club, even if I never finished that pair of socks I started. If the club cares about its own survival, then it needs to make the environment feel safe and welcoming. It can’t just expect people to ignore the nastiness.)

OP, I blanked your name and pfp from this message because I don’t want you to get grief. But I’ve searched for your username in my email inbox, and found that this is the first time you’ve ever spoken to me. You’ve never reached out to chat or be kind or make friends, but you’ve reached out to prod me when you think that I’m being tardy with delivery of your content. Chapters 1 to 43 appeared at least once a week, sometimes twice or even three times a week. Did it cross your mind that maybe there’s a reason why chapter 44 hasn’t dropped yet? Did you think, something must be wrong, maybe I should ask if they’re okay? No, you just came to bang on the vending machine. I’m sorry if this is an uncomfortable lesson to learn, but the writers in your fandom aren’t staff. We’re guests. Tonight, when I get home from work, I have the option to run a long bath, have a cry and play The Sims until I fall asleep, or the option to sit down at my desk and write something for you, even though I might get harassed and bullied for it. You haven’t tipped the scales in the direction you meant to.

I don’t know how to even begin concluding this post.

I’ve been struggling ever since I was dogpiled back in September. I feel very lonely and very tired. Twitter is an awful bloody website and it’s structured around division and argument. I’ve been feeling better since I came back to Tumblr. My breaks at work are now spent scrolling through pretty GIFs or cool meta or funny things about Izzy, rather than drama, and it’s helping. So... I don’t know, OP. Don’t start being like this here. I’m fighting so hard to find reasons to stay in OFMD. Life is rough at the minute, and I want to spend my free time feeling happy and safe with people who see me as a friend, not a vending machine. I’m doing everything a professional writer does, but for no pay, with no protection or support from a publisher, and I’m fitting it around a full-time job. That’s... well, that’s the situation. That’s the situation all your fan writers are in, however well they seem to be handling it. It’d be great if you could reflect on that.

TLDR; this is my hobby, and I work on my hobby when it feels fun.

#personal

[frogsmulder]

When the Ice Melts

chapter 4/4, prev chapter

Mulder and Scully hook up before Mulder is locked up in storage, and she comes to believe that he was infected; 1k words; rated e; tagging @today-in-fic

Read on AO3

The metal of the door scrapes along the floor revealing the darkness inside the storage room. The light from the hall behind her stabs the shadows, showing Mulder huddled at the back against the shelving unit. He jumps to his feet, dazed by the light and startled by her presence. 

“Is it just you?” He sounds accusatory but she knows that is just the overcoat to his fright. 

She steps forward, firm. “Yes.”

The door scrapes again and she looks back as it closes behind her, eating the last slither of light as it swallows her with him in the darkness. In the moment before she reaches for the cord, everything is deathly still and drawn. She can hear his quiet, ragged breathing, placing him across from her, the howling of the wind outside and the pounding of her own heart in her chest. There's a cold metallic taste in her mouth and a weightlessness of her stomach falling. Then the light is on. 

The naked bulb swings freely between them, stretching and shaping the shadows on his face from his brow to his cheeks. His forehead shines, damp with sweat, and she can see properly now the slight red puffiness to his eyes. 

Mulder squints, offended by the sudden assault. “It's one of them”

She watches as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“No-one's been killed since you've been in here.”

He shifts his weight, edging closer to her. “So?”

The air thickens and her breathes grow heavier. She gulps and considers: seeing him again for the first time in an eternity of a few hours. She can feel the blood pumping through her veins, carrying the thrum of something thrilling. “We found a way to kill it.” He is quiet, only blinking. She moves closer to him, seeking something. His warmth? His understanding? His touch? Him? Her lips quiver around the shape of the words in hesitation. “Two worms in one host will kill each other.”

His words are flat, “You give me one worm, you'll infect me.” 

“If that's true,” she whispers, advancing with a glare, “then why didn't you let us inspect you?”

In an instant he is crouched at her level, his face just inches away from hers. “I would have,” he hisses. “But you pulled a gun on me!” There's something in his voice but it lacks the venom of their previous argument. Her eyes dart between each of his, trying to focus but between his proximity and his wild eyes, her pulse picks up pace. He has them trapped in a curtain of darkness of his own making. The heat of his breath on her face sets her whole body alight, the carnal familiarity of it on her skin fuel to her funeral pyre. “Now, I don't trust them… I want to trust you.”

“Okay,” She steadies her breathing. “But now they're not here.”

With a burning lingering look, he turns away, pulling his shirt aside, offering his bare neck. Tentatively, she reaches up, fingers circling around the cotton. The grunt he makes when she yanks the collar has her clenching around the phantom feeling of where his cock was moving inside her just hours ago. Ignoring her sudden wetness, she feels the flesh of his shoulders, grasping and pulling, her touch more ardent with the realisation that his skin is as soft and smooth as it was before. He turns around and meets her gaze as if to say see? The relief she feels is overwhelming; she can't contain. The smallest slither of a smile slips past her lips. As it grows beyond control she dips her hide to mask her emotion. One thought fills her heart, spilling over: he's okay, we're okay. 

Scully makes to leave, having only managed two steps, when a firm hand grips her shoulder possessively, halting her in her tracks. The shock knocks the air from her lungs and she gasps. Whipping her head back to fire him a questioning look, she is again stopped still. A gentle hand caresses the back of her head both calming and warming. She could break away and demand to know what he is doing. She could, but to her own surprise, she doesn't want to. Completely under his control, she melts into defenceless putty in his hands. 

Tenderly, he brushes aside the hair on her neck, covering all of her with one strong hand. One purposeful squeeze and Scully bites her lip but not quick enough to keep the whimper from escaping. Part of her silently urges him to walk her up to the wall or bend her over a shelf and take her. The other party, that would have since protested, knows all too well the pleasure that can be found with him. Fuck. She squeezes her thighs together. 

“We need to talk.”

He hums but doesn't release her. 

“Mulder…” Reaching behind herself, grabs ahold of his wrist and pivots to face him. 

An impish smirk dons his features as he twists his hand to hold hers. Learning into her space, he whispers, “Don't worry: you feel good.”

His obvious innuendo makes her blush. She reaches up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking absently across it. “Mulder,” She admonishes again. 

He shakes his head apologetically. “I know.”

Looking into his dark eyes, she stretches up on the tip of her toes and takes his lips. Being scooped up in his arms, she deepens the kiss, desperately missing that closeness they had earlier. 

Scully is the first to break away, yet she keeps close, pitting her forehead against his. Her fingers curl through the hair at the nape of his neck as she slowly licks her lips. “If it's not you or me… “

“It's one of them,” he finishes for her. 

“How are we gonna do this?”

He clasps her hands in his and squeezes. “I don't know, but we have to trust each other.”

“Okay,” she nods. “Let's go.”

#msr #dana scully #the x files #fox mulder #xf fanfic #txf ice #my writing #when the ice melts

[meatydilfpp]

Like Moth to Flame (Stu Marcher x fem!Reader)

Summary: Stu had always been followed by some kind of darkness, that most people did not seem to realise. You however, revelled in it.

In which reader is equally deranged as Stu, and suspects he had something to do with the murders of Casey and her boyfriend. She wants him to open up to her and be hers once and for all.

Warnings/Tags: Explicit sexual content, obsessive behaviour, infatuation, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampies, discussions of murder, mentions of blood, reader is equally deranged as Stu is. No use of Y/N, reader has no physical description other than being shorter than Stu. Reader has female anatomy.

Words: 4.3k

Cross-posted on ao3.

A/N: This is my first time writing fan fiction since 2018 and I wanna come back strong baby. Additionally, this is my first time ever posting on tumblr so pls be kind while I learn to navigate. I found the lack of exclusive Stu x reader fics disturbing, so I did something about it. Likes and reblogs, as always, greatly appreciated.

Guys, I want the constructive criticism, so feel free to rant about it in my asks if you want! More to come soon x

Also, not beta read 😬

Stu had always been followed by some kind of darkness, that most people did not seem to realise. A kind of malevolent energy followed his every step and action, even though he appeared like a typical teenage boy, forever shrouded in the shadow of Billy Loomis, the guy every girl in school wanted to date, and every boy in school wanted to be mates with. You however, revelled in that darkness, drawn to it like a moth to flame. It was just as well that Stu himself was incredibly social and engaged in regular conversation with you, about everything and anything. It sometimes made you wonder if he was drawn to you the way you were drawn to him. You didn’t have many friends, just a small group of people, you weren’t part of any clubs or societies, you were just there, going to classes, then home, rinse and repeat.

So when the murders of Casey Becker and her boyfriend shook everyone else to the core, you were unbelievably intrigued. And the only person who seemed to be just as unfased as you was Stu.

“I’m just saying, it seems counter productive to call the person you’re trying to kill beforehand. Gets rid of your element of surprise.” Stu said looking down at you as he leaned against a locker and sucking on a lollipop. Next period was soon, and you needed to grab a few books from your locker for your next class. “No you’re right, but-“ you slammed the door to your locker shut, “It’s more fun that way.” You finished with a slight smirk on your face looking up at him. He was so much taller.

More fun that way. Stu could feel his cheeks getting hotter and the fire at the pit of his belly growing larger at your words. You understood. You were just like him. He was sure that if you were to be let out and do something as heinous as what he and Billy have been doing, you would do just as well if not better. Billy had his own motives for what they had done and were planning to do, but he was just there for the thrill of it. Seeing someone beg for their life on their knees in front of him, while he had the power to take it all away, made him feel like a god. Stu had been speaking to you for a while now, he knew you were interested in true crime, horror movies and the like. For a while he believed that your interests simply ended there. Something that intrigued you, something to do to pass the time. But ever since the case of Casey broke out in the community, he has seen nothing but genuine interest in finding out who Ghostface was from you. Not the simplicity of finally identifying who the killer is, but something deeper. He saw how you wanted to get to know him on a more substantial level, understand his motives, his thought process, everything. Sometimes he wondered what you’d do if he told you. Even better, how would things be if you joined him instead of Billy.

He looked down at you with a smirk on his face “Oh yeah? How would you do it then?” You hummed in thought as you walked with him to your next class. You figured if you went into too much detail he’d probably freak out, so instead you simply said: “I would make sure she knew I was coming for her. Nothing personal, but you know, if I am to do something horrible like that, I should at least go all out.”

“So you’d go for something slasher-like or?”

“Slasher. The more blood the better.” You cut him off.

He could barely contain his smile, every word coming out of your mouth drew you to him even more. He had to find a way to get closer to you. He even felt the need to drop in front of you on his knees and tell you everything. You’d probably shake your head at him disappointed and berate him for his sloppiness. He hoped you’d tell him how to do it better, give him ideas, maybe even tell him who to go after next.

“I didn’t think you’d be so messy with it. Being sloppy can lead to getting caught, you know.” He said.

“How do you know Stu, have you done this before?” You asked as you rounded a corner on your way to your classroom. You didn’t know why, but you had a feeling Stu was somehow involved. Logically, you had no reason to suspect him, no more than anyone else in the school, but you felt it deep within you that he wasn’t innocent. There was a glint in his eye every time the incident was brought up, a suppressed look of pride at his actions that he wasn’t able to let out. You wanted to pull that out from him, wanted him to open up to you and only you. If he was Ghostface that is. You were aware that you might be hallucinating the whole thing, but you wouldn’t let that stop you. You wanted to draw that side of him out, and you’d try your best to do just that. The answers to his questions were genuine, and the way he looked at you made you want to fall to your knees for him and worship him; reward him for a job well done. Clean his knives for him, wipe the blood from his face.

“Are you serious?” He quipped back, a slight frown on his face, and you shrugged.

“You seem to know an awful lot Stu.” You said looking up at him suspiciously.

Suddenly, you saw his chest in front of you and you felt yourself be pushed against the wall. Stu leaned his head to look down at you, his one hand toying with the lollipop between his lips. “So do you.” His voice was low “You wouldn’t want me to think it is you, now would you?”

Your eyes danced between his plump lips and icy blue eyes. You toyed with the idea of telling him that it was you, and see his reaction to you taking credit for his work. You decided otherwise, you wouldn’t want to get to his bad side after all, even though you knew he was aware that this was a game for the both of you.

“It’s not me, Stu.” You gently placed your hand on his chest, your eyes staring up at him from underneath your eyelashes. He didn’t say anything back, his eyes boring into yours, his heartbeat a steady rhythm underneath your fingertips. You were so close to him, physically that is, that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Suddenly, you noticed how red his lips seemed, probably from the lollipop he was sucking. You wanted to take it from him, so that he would finally be able to lean down and place his lips on top of yours. His deep breathing seemed like he was about to do just that, before he let out a deep chuckle that resonated within you.

“You wouldn’t have it in you anyway.” he taunted as he leaned away to let you resume your walking. That statement alone made you want to kill him. He didn’t know what you were and weren’t capable of doing. If he gave you a chance you could prove him wrong any day, properly show him how you would’ve done it.

You shook your head at him. “Whatever you say, Stu.” You turned around to walk away before the sound of your name brought you to a halt.

“Come over to my place tonight.” He said with a look full of confidence, like he was sure you wouldn’t deny him. You were certainly intrigued, this would be the first time you’d hang out with him outside school, and you had zero inclination as to what he may possibly want from you. Regardless, you wanted to humour him, and above all you wanted to be alone with him. It was very obvious you were into him, in more ways than just physically. The darkness that drew you to him seemed to be drawing him to you equally and you wouldn’t pass that opportunity.

“Okay.” You simply said before turning around and heading to your next class, leaving him standing in the middle of the hallway, as people passed by him.

——

Later in the evening, after school, after homework, and after contemplating every possible scenario regarding tonight’s encounter, you suddenly found yourself in Stu’s bedroom, some horror film playing in the background. The room itself held a mix of horror memorabilia, along with the remnants of a seemingly ordinary life- books, movie posters, and a well-worn jacker casually thrown over his desk chair. Your legs crossed, you were sitting on top of his bed, your back against the headboard, the muted glow of a single desk lamp casting an amber hue. Stu was sat next to you, his side touching yours, the heat from his body keeping you warm. A million thoughts were racing through your head, as he hadn’t said anything profound the entire night. Just a single greeting as he met you at his front door, and a question about what horror film you guys should watch. This was all so uncharacteristic of him, his usual loud, outgoing, albeit sometimes annoying demeanour being totally replaced by a quiet, stoic version of himself. A deep sense of discomfort filled you as a result, with a strong desire hidden underneath. Somehow you knew, this was him, not the loud obnoxious guy you knew from school, but this calculating, slightly cold man that was now sat next to you.

A shrill scream sounded from the television, some girl being close to her death probably, but you weren’t paying much attention anyway. You didn’t know if you wanted to climb on Stu’s lap, or confront him about everything.

“See, in real life she wouldn’t sound like that.” His voice was low, his eyes still glued to the screen. Your head snapped at him with the sound of his voice, a stark contrast to the otherwise silent room. You felt as if this was an invitation for you to prod further.

“Yeah?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “How would it be then?” You continued, as you looked up at the side of his face. The glow from the lamp was accentuating his features, the dip of his cheekbones, and the near black of his irises as he turned his head towards you.

“Well, for starters, she wouldn’t scream like that. She’d be too panicked to make any sound.” He said in a low voice as his eyes trailed down your face to your lips. “Then, when she realises what’s going to happen to her, then she’ll scream.” His hand was trailing up to grasp the side of your face bringing you closer to him. “She wouldn’t last long though. I would end her before she made too much noise.” He finished as his breath fanned your face. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest, the way he spoke as if he was the one doing everything send a thrill down your spine, unlike anything you had ever felt before. You couldn’t know for sure, but deep down you knew this was his way of confessing to you, his way of admitting everything without actually admitting to anything. The atmosphere was so charged with the tension of your attraction to him, and the weight of his words, that you could cut through it with a knife. So many different sensations bombarding you at once, that you wanted to straight up combust. You decided that it was now or never. Stu threw the bait, now it was time for you to take it. In a breathless voice you asked, “Did Casey scream?” The smirk on his face and the way his breath hitched told you everything you needed to know. “Yeah, she did.” he said before closing the gap and placing his lips on yours, giving you a slow passionate kiss that made your heart jump out of your chest. His other hand came up to hold the other side of your face, as his kiss deepened and his breath grew heavier. You were ecstatic. You got him to admit it to you. Only you. He was now forever yours. Surely, he was aware of what you were, otherwise he wouldn’t have opened up so easily. You didn’t want to think any of that now. The only thing you wanted to focus on was the feeling of his lips against yours, the touch of his hands on your face, the heat radiating off his body.

Suddenly, you felt yourself be pushed into the bed as his weight came to rest on top of yours. You immediately closed your leg around his waist and pulled him closer to your body. His one hand trailed underneath your shirt to wander against your scorching skin. His touch set your core ablaze, as you finally got to be in the place you wanted to be the most. Beneath Stu, making him feel good. His kisses and ministrations grew ever more passionate as he leaned backwards to take your shirt off you, before doing the same to his soft sweater and discarding it somewhere across his room. The glow of the yellow light coming from the lamp next to his bed combined with the soft street lights streaming in from the window, danced across the curves of the muscles of his toned torso and arms. He was even more beautiful like this. You imagined what he’d looked like with specs of someone’s blood on him, how it would glisten in the light, how you would make sure to meticulously clean it all off, before falling on your knees and sucking him off. You wanted to make him happy, you wanted to do whatever he asked of you. He was sick and deranged, he killed two people, and then gloated about the fact to everyone, without actually admitting to anything.

His head dipped to the side of your neck to suck and lick and nibble as you ran your hands through his short hair and tugged at it. Your heavy breaths drove him crazy, he wanted to devour every single inch of you, coax every sweet sound that he could out of you. His kisses trailed from your neck to your chest, his mouth peppering kisses across your breast, as his hand came up to squeeze the other. His lips wrapped around your nipple, his teeth nipping at it making you let out a long moan. His blue eyes, dark with lust stared at you from your chest, the sounds you were making were driving him insane. He continued trailing kisses down your stomach, before he reached the waistband of your jeans. He made quick work of them, pulling them off along with your underwear in one go. His hands grabbed both your knees and roughly spread your legs apart, his eyes looking down at your glistening pussy, a wide grin taking over his features. He glanced up in your eyes, to look at your fucked out expression. He hadn’t even done anything to you yet, and you were already a mess under him.

“You have no idea the things I wanna do to you baby.” He said breathlessly as he dipped his head between your legs, his mouth attacking your clit instantly. A scream escaped your throat, as your hand instantly shot down to grab his hair and pull him closer. His breath was heavy, and he let a low satisfactory hum at your reaction to his assault on your clit. His hands held your legs open as he licked and sucked on your clit like a man starved.

“Fuck baby you taste so good.” He mumbled in-between licks and prods before going back to the task at hand. He wanted to make you cum using his mouth, and then he would make you cum again around his cock. He had always known you weren’t like the rest of them, and all he wanted was to ruin you for him even more. Mold you and turn you into the perfect little thing to be by his side and use whenever he felt like it. And he had done it. He knew you had been aware that something was up with him, but he wanted to see how far you were willing to take your own curiosity in regards to his relation with the murders. He didn’t expect you to be as bold as you were, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

The more he licked around your clit, the sweeter sounds you made which drove him insane. The finger he decided to slowly push in you slipped inside so easily, that he almost creamed his underwear at the implication. You were so wet for him. He wondered how much of that was due to what he was doing and how much was due to the knowledge that he had killed people. He hoped it was both. His finger made quick work in finding your most sensitive spot before he added a second one. He curled his fingers in and out of you harshly as he sucked your clit so hard, you thought he was gonna rip it off. He was so unbelievably turned on, he wanted to fuck you and hurt you at the same time. The sensations of pleasure and pain ignited a fire within the pit of your belly that you made sure to voice to him.

“Stu I’m gonna cum. Please. Please, don’t stop!” You whined as you threw your head back, your leg twitching and spasming as his harsh movements made you cum right on his face and fingers. The groan he left as he felt your walls squeeze him tight was almost guttural. He couldn’t wait any longer, he wanted to have you now. He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, soaked through. He pulled them apart from each other, strings of your arousal connecting and breaking from between his two fingers.

His eyes marvelled at the sight of his drenched digits, your glistening pussy, your hard nipples, the heat coming off of your skin, and your fucked out expression. He shuffled closer to you, and leaned down again, brining his fingers to your mouth. You didn’t need instructions, you stared deep into your eyes as you grabbed at his wrist with both hands and sucked his fingers clean, your tongue running between his digits, a sly smirk adorning his face the whole time.

“Good girl.” He said as he leaned back, his massive erection tenting his underwear. He quickly kicked them off before grabbing your ankle and pulling you towards the edge of the bed, you ass almost hanging out of his as he towered above you. He looked so ethereal, the glow on his naked skin, the darkness in his eyes, the expression of pure determination to fuck you silly. You were in love.

He brought your legs to rest on his chest, he was too tall for them to rest on his shoulders anyway, and bent his head down to give your ankle a peck as he stared deep into your eyes before bending down and slowly pushing his cock inside. The stretch of his dick made you shudder out a breath as he bottomed out.

“Look at that baby. You swallowed me whole.” A tremble in his voice as he stared down at his pelvis flush against yours in awe. “I thought you’d need more time but you’re such a good girl you took it so easily huh?” He said as he started thrusting in and out of you, each pump of his hips becoming harder and faster. You couldn’t reply to him, all you could do was stare up at him, at the way he was fucking you like he had been craving to do that for ages. Which he did.

His cock was the perfect size and girth, brushing all the sweet spots inside you, the lewd sound of his hips snapping against the back of your thighs filling up the room, the sounds of the movie still playing in the background fading away as the sound of his breaths took over your senses. The grip on your legs tightened as his thrusts grew harder and harder. Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, you couldn’t think of anything else that could make you feel any better in this moment, but when the feeling of his thumb suddenly resting on your clit and starting to rub languid circles in time with his thrusts came to you, you let out a guttural moan. His breaths came out ragged, sweat accumulating on his forehead and chest as he thrust chasing his release.

You could feel the familiar tickle of an orgasm forming within your belly and you told him as such. He bit his lip at the sound of you coming close to climaxing, his ministrations on your clit becoming more erratic. You suddenly felt the cord of your release snap, cumming and clenching all around his dick.

“Oh fuck, oh shit.” He said through gritted teeth, as he felt your pussy convulse around him, he couldn’t describe this feeling as anything else less than euphoric. The feeling of your tight wet heat around him was enough to send him over the edge, and he now didn’t have a reason to hold back. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and thrust into you with whatever little strength was left in him before letting out a strained groan and shooting his load deep inside you.

He stayed inside you like that, your breaths and his coming out heavy. You looked so fucked out, pride filled his chest. He slowly pulled out of your pussy, his cum following suit dripping out of you in thick strings. He trailed his hand between your folds pushing any that leaked out back into you before giving your clit one last little stroke, the feeling making you clench around nothing. You were too sensitive, and too blissed out to worry about the implications of him cumming inside you. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t mind. You wanted to be as close and bound to him as possible, this was just another way to achieve that.

You weren’t moving other than your chest rising and falling as you breathed. Stu, probably for the first time in his life, found himself at a loss of words. You looked incredible like this and he wanted more, that much he knew. He pulled his underwear up before grabbing his discarded sweater and throwing it over your head and helping your arms through the sleeves. You unashamedly pulled the collar up to your nose and took a long sniff as you stared deep into his eyes, which made him let out a small chuckle. Cute, he thought.

You scooted back to lean your back against the headboard and cross your legs as Stu rounded the bed and sat down next to you. He broke the silence speaking in a whisper, “You know, most people would run away screaming if they knew the truth. But not you.” His fingers idly traced your thigh where his hand had come to rest. You were staring at him the entire time he spoke. You tentatively shuffled closer to him, your gaze never leaving Stu’s, a silent acknowledgment of the forbidden connection that bound you together. The room seemed to close in around you, and the outside world faded away leaving you two in the shadows.

Stu’s hand reached out, fingertips brushing against your cheek, a feather-light caress that sent a shiver through your entire being. The touch held a promise, an unspoken agreement that transcended the boundaries of reason. Your heart raced, torn between the thrill of the unknown and the magnetic pull of Stu. He knew he didn’t have to say anything more. You knew, and you revelled in it. You revelled in the fact that you were right about him, about who- what he was, what he’d done.

“You’re different.” Stu murmured, his voice a seductive melody against your ears. He had you within his grasp now, and he wouldn’t let you go. “Most people fear what they don’t understand, but not you. You revel in it.” He concluded. His thumb slowly rubbed circles around your cheek as he rubbed your face.

In that charged moment, with the post sex bliss setting in, the unspoken tension crackled like electricity. The room suddenly became the sanctuary of your shared secrets, his, the things he did, and yours, the fact that you loved him all the more for it, a haven for those who dared to dance on the precipice of chaos and desire.

It was a sick and twisted thing, for so many reasons, but your infatuation with him was nothing less than love, you knew that within you. You were willing to do just as much if not worse than him if he asked for it. You were his in any way that he’d have you, and even though you didn’t know, Stu was yours just as much. He would give himself to you in a way that no one else would ever have. He didn’t believe in the concept of soulmates or even love for that matter, but he knew he would do horrible things if it meant making you happy. He couldn’t wait to see how you’d stick by his side, see you actively participate in what he did, but he was excited to find out.

In this moment, you, aware of the risks, couldn’t deny the magnetic pull that drew you closer to him, willingly surrendering to the allure of the abyss. You leaned your head against his chest. You were drawn to him like a moth to flame, you knew it, but you didn’t care, even if it meant you’d burn.

#scream (film) #stu marcher x reader #Stu marcher/reader #Stu marcher #fanfiction #ghostface x reader #ghostface #Stu matcher x reader

[rubberduckrobin]

hi there im feelin a bit blue, i wonder if u can do some belphie comfort writing? like when uve just had a terrible day feelin like everything downed on u and u came to him for console :,) hes my favorite character so if u do it tyvm! if u dont thats perfectly ok too!

Hey Anon! Tysm for this request - it means a lot to me! I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been feeling good but I hope you’re doing alright <3

Enjoy the fic! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩.

Fandom: Obey Me!

Pairing: Belphegor x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff, comfort

Word count: Around 1k. (rounded up)

Summary: After a long, difficult day you seek out Belphie for comfort, hoping that you’ll find what was missing from your day, in the warmth of his arms.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51474559

TW: Nothing I can think of.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓

Prologue:

Please love me. Please tell me you love me. Please tell me you love me and brush my tears away. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Part 1: The dark stormy clouds bring satisfied fields of flowers. 

Fortune is something you believe in. And from the moment you woke up, you knew you weren’t on cruel luck's side. 

Even your morning’s dream was a nightmare. Even the little comfort you found in the day’s rainy skies, your favourite type of weather, cannot overcome the underlying feeling of needing something more. 

Needing to let out anger, at the strangers that pushed against you, let out sadness at the loss of the day that could have been productive.

You need something.

Today was awful. Today was a day you wish hadn’t happened. 

But a part of you knows that seeking comfort in Belphegor afterwards is what would make it so…worth it. 

You hate feeling as though you’re taking advantage, and that you shouldn’t want to have such a terrible day just to be able to come to Belphie for help, but his warmth is irresistible, like a blanket in bitter cold. 

This wasn’t the first time you found yourself outside his room, staring blankly at his doorknob, a debate with two sides of your brain, the ‘considerate’ and the ‘selfish’.

Should I knock? Should I leave? 

If he denies your presence, you’ll be left empty, unloved, another reason for wanting the horrible day to end and for the earth to cave in under your feet. 

However, he could also be the one to stop everything; your memories of the people that pushed past you, the lack of effort you put into your work, the torment you endured from family, acquaintances, friends. Everything. Everything that happened.

The doorknob clicks open.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Part 2: Security Blanket

As you reach for the door, it opens from the other side.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

Your swollen-eyed gaze meets Belphegors and it only takes him a moment to realise what’s happening.

“Another one of those days, huh?”

You can’t respond.

Everything…

“Alright. Come in.”

Everything…

Belphie wraps around you by the waist almost instantaneously, cold hands curling warmly around your stomach; his warmed breath paces against the line of your neck, tickling you gently. 

He runs circles on your back whilst leading you towards his bed. 

“I was just feeling sleepy. I’m glad to have a new pillow.”

Still holding your hand, he gets under his duvet, ushering you in with soft breaths. 

Everything…

You’re pulled into the comfort of his blanket, and he repositions his arms to be around your torso again, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck. 

“Mm.”

Everything…

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” he asks, in nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s just…not a good day today.”

“Alright…do you want to stay here with me? Like this?”

“…yes.”

Everything.

Time stops. Memories stop. 

It’s only you and him. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Part 3: As gentle as mournful melodies tribute to joy. 

He begins to hum, the vibrations running down your aching body. 

The song is not one you know, but it provides a sense of familiarity. It’s similar to the feeling of completing something small, like a puzzle, or something big, like your day. 

As he runs his hands through your hair, you find your mind to be indulged in nothing but the sensation. The feeling of his fingers winding their way through each strand, the pause when he goes to start from your scalp again.

You feel pampered.

Everything.

Through newfound drowsy thoughts, you begin to speak.

“Everything today was just so…”

Before you can find the word to complete it, he speaks.

“Difficult? …mm…”

“Like the world was…”

“…Against you?”

“No. More like…crashing in on me. But yeah, that too.”

“Okay. It’s okay. That’s life…”

“Life sucks then.”

“Yeah…it really does.”

Everything.

“…what can make it better?”

“I don’t know.”

“…is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Alright. Do you want to sleep? …Or talk?”

 “I don’t…”

“Know?” His laughs are muffled against your body and your heart just melts - you’re so lucky to have him.

It’s unusual how you aren’t anything more than friends, but you are together as though more. His tenderness as he holds you seems more than just what you are labelled. 

“Hey, Belphie?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you think its weird to be like…this? You know…”

“Huh? Oh. No? You were upset. And you looked exhausted. I don’t see a problem with this.”

“Don’t you think this is something for couples?”

“No. But…”

“But?”

“It’s nothing, go to sleep. You’re tired.”

Nothing more is needed to be said, and nothing more is to be done, aside from you just staying in his arms as you dream.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Part 4: Dreams.

I dream of idle moments in your arms. The weight of your body against mine. The sink of my heart before the flutter. The stars in the sky as you watch with glistening eyes.

I think of how stupid this is, how stupid this all is. How ridiculous it is to think such romanticised thoughts.

Then I think of you.

Everything stops and all there is is my heartbeat against yours. 

Nothing less, nothing more.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓

End Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it! To whoever is reading this: please be kind to yourself and have a great day/night! :)

#belphie x reader #obey me belphegor #obey me fic #obey me belphie #obey me comfort #comfort fic #x reader #obey me #anon ask #fluff

[rochelle-echidna]

@micheladee tagged me in the "post a couple paragraphs of your WIP" share-a-thon, so figured I'd go through my Word docs and see what I could find - thank you so much for the tag, Michela :)

Truth be told, if y'all will allow me to vent a bit first... it's been a bit of a shitter these last couple years, especially wrt getting any sort of writing done. Never mind with fics (of which I feel awful I've barely started anything new, even the WIP below is from last year) - but I've also been trying to finally write a novel of my own after realising I really, really want to... and the words just aren't coming. Whether it's because of fear of ridicule, fear of failure, fear of not being good enough, fear of financial stresses, fear of whatever... it's been really fucking rough since my spouse and I moved cross-country, and I've def been feeling ashamed at my lack of creative output :(

On the bright side, I'm getting some help with therapy and I'm doing a couple workshops to get me back into the swing of being creative so that I can tackle the work-life balance and not feel like the entirety of my (and my spouse's) survival rests squarely on my shoulders. Whether that means I'll be able to post any new work soon is up for debate, but honestly just taking these baby steps is better than nothing, so I'll take what I can get (and my body + mind can give).

And I know there's no "admission fee" to partake in fandom, but I still feel I'd be remiss if I didn't offer a huge apology for not positing fics recently, and especially for not commenting on fics y'all have made in these last several months - please believe me when I say I see y'all's work and it's great and makes me feel so many necessary things, even if I'm not able to type the words on AO3 atm.

Anyhow, just wanted to share an update with y'all and let you know I'm still here, still alive... just taking it one day at a time for now in order to keep my sanity strong!

Enjoy this little snippet of a WIP below, and I tag whoever so chooses to participate in this game - even if I'm quiet, I love seeing everything you lovely people write :D

When he was thrust back to reality in his own body, there was the usual disorientation that was to be expected of someone summoned through the dark arts. After all, if the infamous Thief King from 3,000 years ago had existed as a separate being before, there was no reason Malik’s other half couldn’t, too. Except… Ryou Bakura hadn’t exactly planned for this extra passenger to crawl his way back from the shadows alongside the former spirit. And what “Malik’s other half” – the phrase enough to make said individual gag – definitely hadn’t expected was for such confusion to be tainted by a profound sadness… one that had permeated his entire being for the last six months. Or however long it had been. Malik had gotten what he’d wanted, Ryou had gotten what he wanted, the Thief King had kind of gotten what he wanted – and all that “Malik’s other half” had gotten was a sense of displacement, dysmorphia and disdain. “You know… he’s welcome to stay here, Malik.” “You weren’t conscious during that damned duel fifteen years ago, host. Just be glad you weren’t privy to his cruelty firsthand.” “He’s right, Ryou. You’ve done enough already. There’s no need to put yourself in more danger.” “But there’s not much harm he can do now. I mean—" “I can hear you all.” Three pairs of eyes had greeted him when he’d first turned over on a – soft – bed. His hands had been bound, and he’d growled and snarled so much that he’d made Malik and the Thief King back up – but not the white-haired man in-between them. “You probably have lots of questions right now. And…” The blush that formed on the man’s cheeks had sent a – strange – shiver down his spine, warming his bound wrists. “I’m sorry I don’t have many answers.” He had merely hmphed at that, avoiding eye contact with his “main personality” and the thief who’d dared face him. Instead, he focused on the wide eyes of the man who must have been called— “Ryou… it’s no use. We need to send him back before he does some real damage again.” “Snap out of it, landlord. Just look at how he’s staring at you.” But the man – Ryou – had just tilted his head and let loose a very small smile. “What’s your name?”

#yami malik #yami marik #malik ishtar #marik ishtar #thief king bakura #thief king #ryo bakura #ryou bakura #deathshipping #ygo #yugioh #yu-gi-oh #my work #text

[rriavian]

Another mini fic for the flower prompt exchange @bobbole @windsweptinred and I are doing. It's a little rough, and I might actually add more to it before cross posting to ao3. But I think I might start writing more for this pairing because I loved this.

I hope you enjoy!

Dream and Lucienne: Clematis, evergreen, Paper Ring Wedding, Prompt if you fancy, include the words, "I know it's not much... "

-

It’s only when she gives Dream the ring that Lucienne realises it’s probably a stupid idea. 

The very feeling of that is strange—this sudden anxiety foreign, bubbling up like butterflies in her stomach—insecurity like this not something she’s used to at all.

Lucienne is always certain, always sure; precise, methodical, should be equally meticulous even in gifting Dream this thing she feels may risk mistranslation, may reveal itself to be poorly worded. The feeling shifts when she tries to examine it, for all Lucienne is nervous it doesn't hurt, isn't truly uncomfortable, an investigation that nonetheless reveals a shyness she’d not expected to find. It’s not that she considers her offering poorly made, not that Lucienne thinks she isn't worthy.

It’s not that at all.

Just an awkwardness in allowing herself to be so easily perceived.

The band of the ring is slim, formed of interwoven strands of paper, improbable in the Waking World but more than possible here. If one looked closely enough it is possible to see words. If one was allowed close enough they could see it’s inscribed with words chosen from the books in Lucienne’s library. Dream’s gift to her, her gift to him; painstakingly written out—lines they've both enjoyed, quotes, little favourite phrases—these things she’d wanted to give to him to carry wherever he goes. Not weight. Lucienne would not add that. And it's not to lighten a load either.

Perhaps a grounding, perhaps reminding, perhaps she’d wanted to add reasons for the appearance of his smile.

Dream smiles now. 

He slips the paper ring onto his finger, so careful as he settles it into place, because even in the Dreaming paper is still delicate enough to be easily torn. 

Lucienne’s own ring sits gold on her finger; simplicity, elegance in the lack of intricate adornments, bland only in contrast to the crown Dream had wanted to give her alongside it. Not to buy her affections with splendor, but to forge something reflective of her worth, to smelt love into metal. Lucienne had wanted to give him something too, this exchange of rings not only a tradition to be followed, yet what could she give to him when he could make anything he desired? What unique thing could she add when Dream had made this realm, this palace, this library, all of it so achingly beautiful, so exquisite even in darkness. 

Lucienne opens her mouth—

Dream anticipates.

He knows as he always knows.

“My Lucienne,” He says softly, eyes lifting from the ring as if he’d found a palace there, a sun in her. “Your love could never be inadequate; a treasure, an oath, a gift from my first raven, a tether from my wife.”

The insecurity stabilises, relief uncurling the tension from Lucienne’s shoulders, until all that's left is what inspired her need to get this right. A blossoming of affection soft and fond at hearing Dream’s solemn but earnest tone, a love so deep her shyness only rippled the surface, a feature not a detriment. There is no lie in Dream's voice. He has no need for that; if he didn’t love her he’d say so, if she didn’t love him she’d do the same. And Lucienne knows that she should not have worried, feels pleased by the reminder anyway, finds contentment in the proof of Dream’s appreciation for small things, for paper as well as gold.

“Then you like it?”

Lucienne asks despite already knowing the answer.

Dream glances back down, smiles again, soft in fascinated distraction, as if he is reading all of the words she’d written across the band of that paper ring. He is, Lucienne reminds herself, is brushing against them to feel the curve of her pen, the time she’d taken to write this ring into being, all she'd given to it.

“I will never take it off.”

“It’s settled then.” Lucienne teases. “Eternity it is.”

“Eternity.” Dream repeats; his own tease in how he plays at testing the word as if he doesn’t yet know what it means, as if it is still a new thing for this Endless being to learn.

“Did you ever think I would give you anything less?”

#dream of the endless #the sandman #lucienne #Dream/Lucienne #morphienne #flower prompts #my writing

[scullysexual]

fictober day 3 | m | this list | ao3 | @today-in-fic | @xffictober2023

But sometimes that caring and that gentleness could be stifling, sometimes she just wanted him to let go. [Scully wants to get tied up]

Day 3: Tied Up.

She doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t gentle with her. Always caring, always looking out for her, putting her pleasure before his own. Even when he briefly lost control (if you could even call it that) he never did anything to hurt her and she loved him for it.

But sometimes that caring and that gentleness could be stifling, sometimes she just wanted him to let go.

And he did.

Her wrists are in agony. Her hands are pulled above her head, Mulder’s tight grasp wrapped around them, nails digging in. It hurt but in a good way. A very good way.

Scully liked the restraint, she liked the lack of control. When she tried to free her hands Mulder would only push on them harder, his hips slamming into her. It felt so good that even her orgasm is different- stronger, longer. She wanted that again. She wanted more.

He never did quite take her like that again. It was almost as if he’d realised just how harsh he’d been, they’re next sexual encounters were much more gentle in comparison. Scully knew that if she wanted to feel like that again, experience that again and more, she would have to be the one to bring it up.

“Mulder…?” she drawls, speaking slowly. They lay in the dark, spooned, happy and sated. “Are you still awake?”

“Hmm…”

It wasn’t much of an answer but at least it was a response.

“I wondered if I could ask you something?”

“Hmm…anything.” She feels a kiss against her shoulder, his breath shifting her hair.

“That other night…when you held my hands above my head…?”

She feels him tense behind her.

“Scully, I’m—” he starts to say, no hint of sleepiness in his voice now.

“No,” Scully cuts him off, reassuring him. “You didn’t…offend me. I suppose that’s the point.”

There’s a moments pause before he speaks again.

“What’s that point?” he asks.

She takes a deep breath then lets it out slowly. This is Mulder, there was nothing to be ashamed of.

“I liked it.” Despite herself she still speaks quietly. “I want that again,” she adds feeling brave. His hand clenches around her hip. “But I want you to use rope.”

Her heart beats a little faster as Mulder gives the ropes one last pull tight.

Being tied up in her bedroom on a Sunday night was never a place Dana Scully thought she’d find herself but here she was, exactly there. She feels herself flush.

“You definitely sure about this?” Mulder asks. He still leans over her.

“Yes Mulder,” Scully reassures him for the third time that night. “This was my idea. You don’t need to keep asking.”

He moves away from her but there’s still the look of unease in his eyes.

“What is it?” she asks, trying not to sound annoyed.

“It’s just…” He sighs then starts over. “I feel like you need a safe word.”

She looks at him confused. “What would I need a safe word for?”

“Sculleee,” he says, exasperated. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re all tied up. You can’t go anywhere.”

“Good. That’s the point. Mulder, if I want you to stop I’ll just say stop.”

“You want stop to be your safe word?”

There was only one way out of this conversation.

“Sure.”

“If you say stop I’ll untie you as quick as I can.” He leans back over her, presses his lips to hers, and silences any argument that could come out of her which was fine by Scully. It was all perfunctory; she had no intention of stopping him.

His mouth makes its usual downwards path along her body, gently tickling her skin, taking some time to suck a nipple into his mouth and mull it over with his tongue. Scully wraps her fingers around the binds, using the rope as leverage to hold onto something, her hips moving to seek relief.

“You look really hot all tied up Scully,” he says, his head resting against her stomach, so close to where she wanted him.

Scully moans at his words, feeling herself become wetter. Mulder continues on right until his mouth is at her centre. Usually she’d hold onto him, let her fingers roam his hair while he ate her out. She was unable to do that and the thought makes her delirious.

His tongue touches her and there’s a sudden hot flash that explodes through her body. She tugs on the binds only resulting in them tightening even more. She moans louder.

“You’re so wet Scully,” Mulder says, pulling his mouth away and replacing his tongue with two fingers., spreading her open and pumping in and out of her hard.

The act has her seeing stars behind her eyes.

“If I’d known you’d get this wet, I’d have tied you up months ago,” Mulder is saying but she can’t be quite sure, the ringing in her ears getting louder and louder. She can feel herself approaching that peak, feels Mulder’s thumb rubbing back and forth across her clit, his encouraging words.

She explodes. And she forgets about the ropes.

She goes to reach forward, to grab hold of him and pull him to her but the ropes hold her back, snapping her arms back down. Her comes a second time immediately.

“Whoa, Scully!” Mulder yells. He’s pulled away from her now, is rooting somewhere away. Scully’s eyes remain closed, tongue running across her dry lips as she breathes heavily in and out, fingers flexing and unflexing around the binds.

The bed dips, Mulder has returned. There’s the sound of a faint buzz and then it is pressed against her centre.

Scully springs to life at the vibrations. They’re only on low, nothing that would overwhelm her or push her over the edge. She supposes it could be quite nice if her body wasn’t already overstimulated from two back to back orgasms in less than a second.

He pushes the vibrator inside her where the feeling intensifies. Scully moans.

“How’s that?” Mulder asks in a quiet voice.

“Good…” Scully half moans.

Mulder chuckles slightly then makes his way to the top of the bed. He brushes the hair from the side of her face, sticky with perspiration and runs his finger lightly across her cheek. Scully opens her eyes and sees Mulder’s hard cock. Her hands ache to touch it.

“Not too intense?” he asks, still talking about the vibrations.

She shakes her head.

“Good.”

He grabs hold of his cock and places it against her lips as an invitation. Scully opens her mouth, running her lips down the side of it before turning her head and taking him into her mouth.

“Fuck, Scully…” he breaths, his eyes closing.

The angle doesn’t give her much room to suck. The angle doesn’t give her much room for anything.

Mulder braces himself on her headboard, thrusting his hips back and forward as the head of his cock hits the inside of her cheek. The vibrations are still rippling through her body and Scully sees the remote that sits clutched in Mulder’s hand, his thumb over the button.

The vibrations increase. She moans around his dick. The vibrations increase some more. She tries to get the vibrator to go in deeper.

She wants him to move, to straddle her so she can take his dick properly but before she gets her chance to signal her desire he takes his cock out of her mouth, shuts the vibrator off, and moves it from her. He chucks it and the remote somewhere to the side and climbs over her. He lines himself up then pushes all the way in with one thrust.

Scully moans once more. Mulder grips her hips, pulls all the way out, waits a second, then pushes all the way in again. It’s slow and hard, he keeps this up a few more times before switching to a quicker pumps.

Her wrists and arms were starting to ache from being tied up for so long but she wasn’t ready for this to stop just yet.

“You think you can come again?” Mulder asks through gritted teeth.

“Touch my clit and we’ll find out.”

Mulder doesn’t wait, his fingers find her clit instantly and begins worrying the bud in little clockwise circles. Scully feels herself clenching hard around him before her orgasm explodes. Mulder follows her soon after.

They lie there for a while, breathing heavily. Scully notices the ache again.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“Stop.”

He looks at her for a few seconds before immediately springing into action. He pulls at the ropes, untying them, and throwing them off to the side. He gently takes her arms, inspects her wrists. A little red but nothing too severe. He kisses the red marks, soothing it.

“Thank you for that,” Scully says, feeling full of love.

“Don’t mention it,” he says back. “That was fun.”

“Really, really fun.”

#the x-files #the x files #txf fic #xfiles fanfiction #mulder and scully #msr #fictober day 3 #fictober2023 #kinktober23 #iwritesmut #scullysexualwrites

[scribbling-dragon]

I know a while ago you mentioned wanting to write something more for the Red Bandit au, so maybe some kind of fic that takes place after they get together, about Tango like, resisting stealing stuff now that he's dating the sherrif?

uhm. so this might be a little longer than what you might have anticipated me writing. but. in my defence i am not normal over them

thieving tendencies

summary:

Still, old habits die hard, and he finds himself eyeing up several rather valuable items, some of which would just be so easy to steal. It’s like they're trying to convince him to steal them, he swears some of them whisper to him when he’s not looking, in an attempt to get him to steal them. But he’s not about to sneak a treasure or two behind Jimmy’s back, especially not when there are others watching them both.

But the temptation is still there, and he has to consistently remind himself not to when he considers the idea of it.

-

Or, five times Tango resisted stealing something, and the one time he doesn't.

(ao3 link)

(masterpost)

(14,891 words)

(also reblogs are super appreciated btw!)

There has been a…small adjustment period. Normally, supplies aren't an issue for him - he sees something, and he takes it, usually accompanied by a sweet grin and a few pretty words to win over whoever he’s attempting to rob. Normally, he can rob them blind easily enough, lay on enough of the charm to leave them blind to his searching hands, and the several, usually valuable, items he tucks away.

Normally, the charm also takes only a few moments to wear off, before they realise that their shop is severely lacking several items, and the incredibly charming customer they just had never actually bought anything, despite the interest he showed in several of the items.

It is usually at this point that he gets chased, though very few have caught him. And even fewer of those captures weren't purposeful; sometimes, it worked in his favour to get caught for a little bit. Sit around in a cell for a few days, get fed at regular-ish times, then melt the bars and make his grand escape.

Now, however, he stands beside one of the upholders of law. And not just stood beside him with the intent of picking his pockets and stealing a kiss before making another grand escape. No, he’s standing beside him in an I’ve-made-an-alliance-with-this-guy kinda way, in a way that makes other bandits, some of which he was rather good friends with (good friends qualifying as someone that has only stabbed him in the back once or twice), watch him with open hatred.

It probably doesn't help that he is often one of the people that helped put them behind bars; their new alliance that is actually less of an alliance and more of him gaining proper, official citizenship in Tumble Town and unofficially joining its law enforcement.

Still, old habits die hard, and he finds himself eyeing up several rather valuable items, some of which would just be so easy to steal. It’s like they're trying to convince him to steal them, he swears some of them whisper to him when he’s not looking, in an attempt to get him to steal them. But he’s not about to sneak a treasure or two behind Jimmy’s back, especially not when there are others watching them both.

But the temptation is still there, and he has to consistently remind himself not to when he considers the idea of it.

--- --- ---

I.

The Ancient Capital certainly lives up to its name. The crumbling brick and overgrown moss is enough of a giveaway to the sheer age of the place, enough so that he’s more than a little cautious walking beneath each of the archways. The apparent age of the place is also enough for him to be healthily cautious with the stability of everything here. He doesn't think Pixl is the kinda guy to live in a structurally unsound place…but Pixl is also a historian, and he’s heard more than a singular tale of a vengeful historian that chased some of the bandits he’s met.

So, it is with a healthy caution that he follows Jimmy, more than aware of how quickly places like this can cave in on your head. A singular pebble knocked out of place can be enough to disturb the careful balance the place has maintained for the past…however long; disturbing the place either through the echoing vibrations of its landing, or because it was some kind of load-bearing pebble. He’s been victim to more than one load-bearing pebble.

Jimmy seems uncaring, either because he has simply stopped caring, or he never stopped to begin caring in the first place. Either way, he strolls into the catacombs, down the sloping steps and into the underground part of the building. The lanterns along the walls only add to the creepy atmosphere, and it’s more than enough for Tango to wonder how Pixl even received the permit to make a cosy little home for himself in this place. From what he’s heard of the Guild - and experienced - they're mostly scholars with sticks up their asses, and holier-than-thou values; all of which concludes in a dislike for him and the business he runs. Ran.

He just hopes that Pixl hasn't realised who was stealing most of the valuable artefacts from beneath his nose. Or simply straight out of the Guild’s vaults. For somewhere that prides themselves on the preservation of history, their security is more than a little lacking- perhaps something to be expected when the entire populace is made up of scholars that do little more than raise a quill in their entire lives. They might have raised a pencil, if you were lucky, but that was about as far as the physical capabilities of the Guild and its scholars went.

…Maybe he should bring up some of the security concerns to Jimmy. It would be the logical thing to do, especially as he’s no longer benefitting from the easy access as he once was. It’s fine, he’ll make the decision when they return to Tumble Town. Gives him plenty of time to think things over.

The shadows stretch long around him as they descend, casting distorted shadows on the walls as they descend deeper into this Ancient Capital. A spider scuttles over the wall, legs elongated by the shadows, flickering over the fine wisps of a broken cobweb that it calls home. He’s sure if he looked a little longer, he would find several identical spiders, all clambering over the walls with their uneven and long-legged gait, disappearing into the various cracks and crevices in the walls, weaving their webs and creating thick gossamer threads of white that you never see until you've already walked into them.

Jimmy sputters ahead of him, jerking his head back and clawing at the air in front of him. “Oh, ew,” he mutters, “ew, ew, ew.” He flails a little more, rubbing his hands on his shirt, dusting his fingers off. Spiderweb still trails from his hair, glinting brightly beneath the light of the lanterns lining the corridor around them.

“You still have some on you,” he says, voice echoing around and further into the catacombs. Pixl hasn't made an appearance yet, either because he’s not here, or he hasn't heard them.

“Have I?” Jimmy wipes at his face again, scrubbing at his cheeks, before looking back at Tango. “Gone?”

“No, c’mere,” he extends a hand, Jimmy leaning into the touch as he brushes the cobwebs from Jimmy’s hair, ignoring the way they stick to his fingers as he brushes them off. They're closer like this, hidden quite nicely in the shadowed corner they've found themselves in. He grins at Jimmy, leaning a little closer, hand slipping to cup the back of his head as he leans a little closer. He can feel Jimmy’s breath on his lips as he crowds him a little closer to the wall, hand placed between the brick and the back of his head. He looks down at Jimmy’s lips, then back up to his eyes, finds Jimmy doing the same.

“See something you like?” He whispers into the space between them, hardly needing to raise his voice any louder. Any louder, and it risks becoming an echo, risks becoming something Pixl might hear and come investigate. And Jimmy has done so well with maintaining his reputation so far- he certainly won't be the one to ruin it for him.

“Certainly,” Jimmy pushes at his shoulder, pushes him back a little further, and then a little more, until there’s a respectable distance between them. “But I'm working, and so are you.” He pokes him in the chest, a grin betraying that he’s not actually annoyed with him, no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise.

“You're telling me you've never kissed on the job?” He allows Jimmy to slip away from the wall, returning to their descent into the catacomb. These stairs are far too long for it to be anything short of ominous, though he does suppose they're descending into a catacomb, you know, the place you keep dead people.

Again. He does not understand how Pixl managed to secure a permit for living out of this place. Maybe everyone at the Guild is just a little insane. You've probably gotta be at least a little crazy, to dedicate your life to something that has already happened, something that won't change no matter how many times you stare at it - it’s already happened and that’s that. Yeah, probably a little bit insane. Still doesn't explain how he got the permit though. Or why he chose to live in the same place as a bunch of corpses. (Seriously, has this guy never read a horror book? This is literally how everything bad happens; someone messes about in a crypt or a catacomb and release some ancient evil deadset on killing everyone. The tropes don't lie.)

“Jimmy!” They turn a corner, finally, and emerge into somewhere that looks a little more lived in. And a lot more like a catacombs than he was actually expecting. He was fully prepared for the catacombs to be modified in some way, for them to simply look like any other house, just…very far underground, and in an ancient place that used to hold a lot of dead bodies. Okay, maybe not any other house, but there was the chance that it looked like any other house…and less like it was still a functioning catacombs. “And Tango!”

Pixl is covered in dust, grinning at them both in such a way that implies he does not realise how covered in dust he is. Which is actually a little impressive, seeing as Tango had almost thought he was a ghost at first with all the dust. Surely, it’s getting in his eyes. Right? It’s gotta be getting in his eyes.

“Pix.” Jimmy greets with a smile, running a hand along the edge of his hat and almost tipping it forward. He rarely ever tips it properly forward, and never goes to take it off in an odd version of a bow. It’s the greeting he gives, hand dropping back to his side once he’s finished with it. “Are you aware, uh,” Jimmy stares at the archaeologist (or is he a historian? He certainly does enough digs to be an archaeologist, but whether he actually is an archaeologist, or simply doing whatever he wants is beyond Tango), unsure on how to approach telling his friend that he’s covered head-to-toe in dust.

“You're covered in dust.” Tango interjects, saving Jimmy from finding his words.

“Oh, yes,” Pixl looks down at himself as though he’d forgotten he was covered in dust. Absolutely adding to the weirdness factor. “Sorry, I did mean to clean up a little, change my shirt and stuff, but I must have lost track of time.” He gestures behind him, to a small leather bag, currently open on his desk, spilling various items over it.

“It’s fine,” Jimmy waves it off, “what did you need?”

“...Need?” Pixl stares at Jimmy for a moment. “Oh! Yes! There were a few reports from the Guild of suspicious activity around the premises, and they wanted me to report it to you. There hasn't been any further news on it, but it was only a few days ago that they sent the request to me, so nothing’s happened yet, probably.”

“Probably not,” Tango shrugs. “As lacking as the Guild’s security is, not many actually know that, so anyone wanting to do a job and steal a few priceless artefacts is bound to skulk around and check the place out. You've got someone either lacking in experience or lacking in knowledge of the area, both of which is going to make them easier to deal with.”

He walks across the room as he talks, gesturing a little with his hands as he speaks, running one along the wall beside him. A claw catches on a crack in the brick as he runs the pads of his fingers along it, feeling the worn brick tug on his skin. He makes his slow way across the room, feeling both Pixl and Jimmy watching him as he speaks.

He turns back to face them as he reaches Pixl’s desk, leaning back against it, crossing his feet at the ankle. “At least, that’s what I assume. Most of the bandits and thieves that got caught stealing from the Guild were rookies, or had simply travelled there after hearing about the numerous artefacts they're housing.” He taps a finger against the desk, looking at the bag of goods from the corner of his eye.

Several of them shine, catching his attention, sparkling beneath the flickering light of the lanterns. It’s significantly brighter in here than the rest of the catacombs, the lanterns a little better fueled, their blue flames brighter. There’s more of them, too, gathered in small clusters rather than sparsely placed- just enough to make sure someone doesn't trip down the stairs and break their neck or something.

“And…these ‘rookies’ will be easier to catch?” Pixl asks, “Or those that know less about the Guild?”

“Precisely,” he nods, gesturing towards Pixl in agreement. “If they're a rookie, they won't know what they're doing at all, the most knowledge they'll have behind them is either another thief, in which case you have a little bit more of a problem, or a book. You would not believe the amount of people that think becoming a thief is all fun and games because they read some book that glorified it.” He shifts his weight a little, forwards then back, resettles himself in front of the bag, so his body is blocking most of it from sight. His tail flicks over the ground behind him, brushing over the smooth stone. “Someone unfamiliar with the Guild and the land itself will be easier to catch after they leave the building. Lack of experience means you can drive them into a corner relatively easily, and they won't even realise it until it’s too late.”

“Oh,” Pixl nods along, looking at Jimmy. “I didn't know that.”

“Because you weren't meant to.” Tango shrugs, finger still tapping away on the desk behind him. The sound has long since faded into background noise, because neither of them pay attention to it anymore. Neither do they pay attention to the small clinking and rustling sounds from the bag behind him, focused instead on his words and his smile and his other hand, gesturing aimlessly, with no other purpose than making them look there, making them focus there. “Also, you guys seriously need to sort out your security problems. Breaking in and out of your high-security vaults should not be as easy as it is.”

Pixl pulls a face at that, looking mildly offended. He’s not sure why he’s offended at him very helpfully pointing out a security flaw in their building, but whatever makes him feel better. 

“Trust me,” he says, “I can even break in there if you want, prove it to you. I got in and out in a minute and a half once, held the record for ages. Don't know if anyone’s beaten it yet, especially not with how much those artefacts fetched for me…” He trails off at Jimmy shaking his head, widening his eyes a little.

Pixl just hums, nodding once and considering him. “I don't suppose you’d know what happened to that extremely valuable vase that had a depiction of the Dragon on it, do you?” Tango knows exactly which vase he’s talking about. Mainly because he’d almost dropped it several times on his escape out one of the higher windows, as well as the time he almost let it slip off of Revenge’s back as they rode away. It was far too heavy for convenience, and had almost been more effort than it was worth.

“No,” he says, in his best diplomatic voice. “Afraid not.” He doesn't remember the buyer’s face, at least. They’d been very particular about concealing their face, wearing a hood and a mask- the kind you’d see at a masquerade ball. Far too dramatic for the business that he was dealing in at the time. Still, the accent had been far too distinct, and the lack of bidders had been a dead give-away. Besides, the distinctive colour of his eyes was even more of a betrayal to his true identity- seriously, the guy’s gotta invest in some contacts if he wants people to stop recognising him.

His hand settles on something cool and round, fitting comfortably in the palm of his hand when he closes his fist. He draws it out of the bag carefully, ensuring he doesn't knock anything from the table, or disturb any of the things spilling from the bag already. Such a thing would be a dead giveaway.

He freezes in place, the round object in his hand weighing a hundred times more as he looks at Jimmy. Jimmy isn't looking at him, speaking instead to Pixl, offering a far more reasonable way for them to test and improve the security of the Guild, both to dissuade new thieves, and drive away the old ones that have become accustomed with the lacking security system in the vaults.

If he shows Jimmy the prize he’s currently holding, or if Jimmy finds it some weeks later, he’s going to make him return it. He’s probably also going to make him apologise alongside returning the item, like a scolded child that got caught doing something they shouldn't have been doing.

Simply the thought of having to apologise in such a manner (and the thought of returning a prize) is enough to make him set it back down, nudging it back towards the bag.

Still, he can't help but gaze mournfully back at the goods laying on the table as they leave, Jimmy’s hand clasped in his own, pulling him back up the stairs and away from what could have easily been his easiest heist ever.

Pixl waves to them as they go, turning back to his bag, brushing absently at his clothes as though that would be enough to rid him of the dust that is firmly sticking to him. Jimmy tugs him a little further up the steps, waiting until they've turned a corner to stop.

He stops, bumping into Jimmy’s back as Jimmy releases his hand, turning to face him instead. He finds his face being cupped in Jimmy’s hands, looking at the other man.

“I saw you,” Jimmy says, shaking his head. A smile makes the corner of his lips twitch before he flattens them again. “You were gonna steal from Pix, weren't you?”

“It was right there,” he defends, “how could I resist when it was basically singing my name and begging to be stolen?” Jimmy bonks him on the head, soft but reprimanding all the same, even as his shoulders shake with a slight, silent laughter.

“But you resisted anyway, didn't you?” Jimmy smiles. “Good job for that, I'm proud of you.” Then Jimmy leans forward and gives him a chaste peck on the lips, a quick brush of skin on skin with hardly any pressure behind it.

Tango makes a noise in protest, bringing a hand up to the front of Jimmy’s shirt to pull him a little closer, tugging at the silly little bandanna he insists on wearing. He goes for a better kiss, a better reward, than just a simple brush of lips.

His face meets Jimmy’s hand, and he pulls back with a frown.

“I'm not making out with you in my friend’s house.”

“You need better friends,” he grumbles, “what kind of weirdo lives in a catacomb?”

--- --- ---

II.

At this point, Tango’s beginning to feel like Jimmy is trying to forcefully domesticate him by exposing him to other empires. To the immense displeasure of both him and whichever emperor he’s visiting the empire of. They all insist on watching him with an unhealthy dose of mistrust, weirdly cautious around him as though he’s about to rob them blind of everything they own.

As if. He can hardly carry an entire empire in his pockets, can he? The most he can manage is a few valuables, and he’s more than a little likely to think twice about pocketing a few shiny items nowadays. Which is more thinking than he ever did about it in the past.

Still, he’s been working on his diplomatic tact with Jimmy over the past…however long. And he must have gotten at least good enough to be invited (forced) on the trip to Dawn. Their monthly supply pick-up isn't the most exciting of events to attend to, but it’s one that Jimmy carries out dutifully each month.

Jimmy slips off Arrow’s back as they approach the front gates into Dawn, gathering the reins in one hand and leading her forward. Tango copies, slipping from Revenge’s back, patting his neck as he gathers the reins loosely into one hand, knuckles brushing against the underside of Revenge’s head as he leads the horse into Dawn.

It certainly lives up to its name, buildings draped in the colours of sunrise, oranges and yellows billowing in the wind, overlaid with soft pink hues that should probably stand out more than they do. The pink goes rather well with the softer tones of orange and yellow.

It is just past the hour of the empire’s namesake, sun barely rising above the ocean, yet the empire is already a bustle of activity around them. A few people nod a greeting to Jimmy as they walk through the streets, sticking to the edges of the road so as to not inconvenience the people around them with their horses. Still, a few people actually stop to speak to Jimmy, either giving him a simple greeting and slipping Arrow a sugar cube or two, or to make some kind of complaint.

The complaints Jimmy receives are, mostly, petty disputes that could be easily solved if people began communicating without being forced to in a court of law. Genuinely, the amount of times he’s seen Jimmy drag two uncooperating neighbours into the courthouse to settle a dispute over who broke the fence, or who actually owns the fence bordering both of their properties- the list could go on and on; and as much as he enjoys sitting at the back and taking notes on the proceedings of the court, it does get a little unoriginal after a while.

“Sheriff!” A voice raises above the crowds, and Tango turns in the direction of the noise, ears twitching as a hand raises above the heads of the people, waving frantically to gain Jimmy’s attention. Jimmy has turned to look at the disturbance as well, noting the raised, waving hand with a smile and a quirk of his eyebrows, before turning back to the short line (line!) of people that have gathered to voice a complaint or two, firmly telling them his office hours before excusing himself.

One of the many people with a request and/or complaint for the Sheriff to deal with obviously does not realise, or does and simply doesn't care, that Jimmy is now ignoring them, continuing to pursue him. Which doesn't actually lead them very far, because all Jimmy has done is move slightly closer to the edge of the road, watching as the person that had called out to him, not yet emerged from the crowd, moves closer.

“Sheriff,” the person continues to badger, ducking beneath Arrow’s head, dangerously close to the horse’s mouth. She ignores the way Arrow’s ears pin flat back at the person invading her space, patting the horse on the neck absently as she continues to vye for Jimmy’s attention. Arrow’s hooves click against the road as she pulls back, Jimmy’s grip on the reins slackening a little, allowing her to put some distance between herself and the annoying lady. “Please, just a moment more of your time, I need some help with-”

“We’re off duty.” He interjects, stepping a little closer to Jimmy. “He’s told you his office hours already, and unless several hours have passed in the last few hours, those office hours are currently not ongoing.”

The woman stares at him for a moment, eyes wide as she gapes. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, seemingly lost for words as she continues to stare at him. He raises an eyebrow at her as she continues to remain lost for words, watching as she grits her jaw and turns to Jimmy instead.

“Are you just going to let him talk to me like that?” She asks, voice rising a little. Some people around are beginning to look at the spectacle she’s putting on, which is probably her intention, now that he thinks about it a little more. “You're going to take in someone like- like that, and then not even teach him any manners?”

“He has plenty of manners,” Jimmy says. His shoulders are stiff as he looks down at the woman. “But hardly anyone is going to choose to employ their good manners in the face of such blatant rudeness, hm?” Jimmy smiles, tips his hat, and nudges the woman away from Arrow.

She goes with little complaint, skirt swishing around her ankles as she walks away, only glancing backwards once, before she straightens her back and continues on her way, shoulders set in a straight line and chin held high.

“Sheriff!” The crowd parts, and Princess Gem emerges from it, riding atop her bear. Apollo had been a little intimidating the first time Tango had the pleasure of meeting the bear. He’s larger than most other bears Tango’s met, but about four times as friendly as any other bear he’s met, too. Which isn't saying much, in all honesty, because most of the bears he’s met have tried to claw his face off.

Apollo’s only made an attempt to attack him once, and that was because a few of the gems on his harness were too much of a temptation to resist. Too much of a temptation, at least, until he almost lost an eye and a reasonable chunk of skin while attempting to pull a few of the smaller ones loose. After that, he had only approached Apollo with offerings of food in the hopes that the bear had forgotten their first meeting.

“Hi!” Gem slides off her bear, smoothing her dress down as she lands, wings fluttering behind her as she grins up at Jimmy. “Sorry for making you wait, a few other things left me tangled up this morning, I hope you weren't waiting for too long.” Gem peeks over at him too, giving him a small wave and a smile. He waves back at her.

“We weren't waiting too long,” Jimmy assures. “Unlike you, we get up at a reasonable time, usually after the sun is higher in the sky than a few inches.”

“And by doing so you miss the best part of the day; tell me, how is it only seeing the rising sun on the occasional trips you make out here?”

“We don't see the sun until midday in the canyon,” Jimmy says. “So, if we got up as early as everyone here did, we’d be wandering around in the dark, and that’s hardly productive.”

“I suppose not.” Gem laughs, “Alright, anyway, we’ve got the supplies you need this way, if you just want to follow me.” She pulls herself back up onto Apollo in one swift movement, dress shifting in the light breeze, the gold bracelets on her wrists glinting in the early morning sunlight as she settles herself back into Apollo’s harness. The bear moves forward with little prompting, the crowd parting around them as the bear makes his slow way through, plodding along.

People occasionally stop to greet them, the bear and Gem both, offering a rub to the bear’s snout, and a friendly greeting to their princess as she leads the mini parade through her streets.

“It’s less busy here than usual,” he notes, looking around with interest. Normally, the few times he had made the trip out to Dawn, the streets had been far busier despite it being earlier than it currently is. Sometimes, it got to the point where he could hardly slip between the crowds, they were so thick. It did, however, make getting lost in them far easier: your pursuers can't follow you if they can't move through the crowd. But stealing from Dawn also ran the risk of being thrown into the royal prison, meaning he only made the trip when it was a last resort or he had an especially well-paying client waiting for him. “Normally you can hardly move through the streets this early in the morning.”

Gem hums, looking at him in something that might be surprise, but might also be interest. “I wasn't aware you had visited Dawn before.”

“On occasion,” he shrugs. “Wasn't my favourite spot to visit, I must admit- though not because of the sights, the view here is certainly impressive.” He almost stumbles over his words as Gem shoots him a sharp glare from the corner of her eye, though it softens into a laugh a moment later. “I mean no offence,” he attempts, trying to remember what else he’s meant to say when he makes a misstep like this. “It’s just that the crowds are rather hard to move through, and your prison is more than a little off-putting; not exactly somewhere on my bucket list.”

“Well, you're here now, so hopefully you can enjoy the sights more than you usually would. You might also want to consider not drifting into the main business area, I'm certain more than a few of the sellers there want to get their hands on a certain red-eyed and sly bandit. Unfortunately, none of these sellers have been able to give a consistent description, so I'm afraid nothing can be done to recover their wares.” Gem’s eyes twinkle with amusement, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You should be safe for now, though,” she continues, “most people return home at this hour for their morning meal. It’s far more common to begin the work day as the sun is rising, then return home once She has risen above the horizon to begin the day themselves.”

“Huh.” So he could have been getting easier pickings this whole time by waiting until everyone disappears for their morning meals, and then…investigating the unattended stalls. “I didn't know that.”

“Not many people do,” Gem takes a turn at the next junction of roads, leading them onto a far less populated road, missing many of the buildings that had characterised the central district of the empire. “People tend not to consider the lives of others and how they may differ from their own. But it’s certainly interesting to think about how others live, at least to me.” Instead, the cosy buildings give way to rolling fields that are impossible to cultivate in the mesa. The cracked earth, soil easily blown away by the wind and carrying away anything that could be remotely useful to growing crops makes everything far harder; and it would be even more expensive to purchase fertilisers and add the minerals back to the soil than just buying from Dawn.

Gem slips from Apollo’s back, wings pressing flat together, then fluttering back out. The sun catches on the orange and reds of the wings, causing them to almost glow beneath the sun’s rays. Gem pats Apollo on the head, scratching behind his ears, before nudging him away and continuing up the worn path to one of the many storage buildings they have scattered around the area.

“I've got your usual wagon prepared,” Gem says, as they continue up the path. Revenge nudges his nose against the side of Tango’s face, snorting his displeasure directly in his ears. It makes his ears flatten back, shoving Revenge’s nose away from his face with a gentle hand, muttering underneath his breath. “All the usual supplies are ready to go, provided you have the usual goods.”

“What do you take me for?” Jimmy asks, though there’s an undertone of amusement in his voice. He’s rather certain that the alliance between Jimmy and Dawn is one of the longest standing alliances on this continent, if only due to the reliance Jimmy has on Dawn’s produce, Gem’s kindness, and the fickle nature of the other empires. “Of course I've got the goods.” He pats the saddlebags on Arrow’s back, a small puff of gunpowder drifting out the small gap at the top.

“I'm only teasing.” Gem pushes the doors open, arms straining a little bit with the effort to shove both of them open. One of the catches as she gets it halfway open, meaning he gets a front row seat to watching her kick it the rest of the way open. He watches the door swing back on its hinges with little protest after that, a few pieces of straw scattering from the draft they let in. She dusts her hands off, turning around with a polite smile as though she hadn't just kicked the door open like that. “Feel free to inspect everything, I’ll just be a moment.”

She disappears quickly after that, leaving Tango staring after her retreating back as she makes her way into one of the fields, inspecting several of the crops growing there. “Huh.”

“She’s something isn't she?” Jimmy’s voice echoes from inside the storehouse, and he hurries to follow him inside, tugging Revenge after him. There are several scrape marks on the door, he notes, as though this isn't the first time she’s had to kick the doors open like that. “Not what you expected, I take it?”

“I’ve met Gem before,” he scoffs, “don't act like we've never seen each other.”

Jimmy hums, picking through some of the contents on the wagon, but also not really checking that everything is there. Nothing has actually been missing from their usual supply stock-ups yet, so he assumes there’s a trust between Jimmy and Gem on that one. “Gem at a meeting is miles apart from the Gem she is outside of a meeting. Tell me, what were you expecting her to be like?”

“Eh,” Revenge doesn't seem very inclined to move anywhere at the moment, so he loops the reins back over his neck and leaves him stood just inside the doorway, stepping further into the barn to investigate what exactly it is that’s lining the shelves along the walls. “I don't know, probably someone a little more uptight- I mean, she is a princess, isn't she? Unless she’s just, like, someone that gave herself a title?” He turns to look at Jimmy in question.

“No, she is actually a princess.” Jimmy laughs. “And, from what I've read or been told, she comes from a long line of some kind of royalty. Very involved with worshipping the sun and everything that entails; rising with the sun, all the sun motifs, all that jazz.”

Itt’s bottles upon bottles of honey on the shelf, each of them shimmering a deep gold that serves only to attract his eyes to the rows upon rows, stacks upon stacks, shelves upon shelves of the stuff. It would be a little worrying how much of the stuff she has, if he hadn't seen a few of the records in Jimmy’s office. Several of them detail the numerous drunken incidents in Chromia, that also technically couldn't be filed under drunken incidents due to the drink in question being…honey.

“Let me guess,” he picks one of the bottles up, turning it around as he inspects it, “Pixl gave you a history lecture on the history of religion in Dawn and its links with the monarchy?” The honey rolls around inside the bottle, slightly see-through. He turns, squinting at Jimmy through the golden substance, grinning at the way it distorts his face. It makes his disapproving frown look all the more amusing than it usually does.

“I wouldn't call it a lecture, per se-”

“I'm back!” Gem announces herself, bounding in through the doors. He shoves the honey bottle onto the shelf behind him, not turning to look, simply hearing it clink against several other bottles and praying his hasty movements don't upset the balance of several fragile bottles of honey and send them all toppling from the shelf.

It’s unnatural how much energy Gem has this early in the morning. Even if they rise with the sun, it doesn't mean that she should be able to go bounding around like some five-year-old hopped up on sugar. Actually…he considers the shelves of honey behind him, maybe Gem just drinks a bottle of honey in the morning rather than a coffee. That would make far more sense, especially with the whole…butterfly thing she has going on. (Butterflies like sugar, right?)

“Gem,” he greets, stepping away from the shelf behind him and trying not to look too guilty. He had, perhaps, considered taking a few of the bottles of honey. Just to see what they were like! Not for any malicious reason, though he would like to see what putting honey in one of Scott’s drinks would do to him. Maybe they can get the man a record with the number of drunken incidents that can't actually be counted as drunken incidents because of the substances involved. He’s certain Jimmy would have an aneurysm.

“Tango!” She zeroes in on him, which is exactly what he was trying to avoid her doing. He freezes in place, barely a step away from the shelves, and still very much looking like he was messing around with the items on them. Which he was, but Gem doesn't need to know that. “Ooh, were you looking at the honey stores?” She bounds over to him, a slight skip in her step as she draws closer.

“Uh, yes?” No point in lying at this point. He looks to Jimmy for help, who is very unhelpfully going through the wares in the wagon and ignoring his pleading stare for help. He glares at the man instead, finding far more satisfaction in boring a hole into the back of his head while he steadfastly ignores him.

“You can have some of it if you’d like.” He looks back to Gem, who is…holding several bottles of honey out towards him. She tries to push them into his hands with a smile, but he takes a step back, raising his hands slightly so he can't take them, pushing them back towards her.

“Oh, no, no. It’s fine, you can keep them.”

“Seriously,” Gem rolls her eyes with a smile, “you can take them, I promise. They're a test batch for a different kind of pollen. I don't know how they are, and the only person that buys large quantities of honey is Scott, and that’s mostly for his tavern. I don't want to sell him a batch of honey that doesn't taste very nice.”

“Different…pollen?”

Gem gasps, eyes widening dramatically as she looks back at Jimmy. “Jimmy!” She raises her voice a little, and the man finally, finally, turns to face them, a grin threatening to break out on his face. “How could you bring your boyfriend into my empire when he doesn't know anything about honey? You're a disgrace to this alliance.”

“But I know how much you love telling people about honey yourself.” Jimmy says, grin still trying to worm its way onto his lips, shoulders beginning to shake as he holds in a laugh. “Tango loves learning new things, too, don't you?”

Gem squints at Jimmy for a moment longer, wings still behind her back. “I suppose you can live another day.” She sniffs, turning back to him instead. “Now, how much do you know about the process of honey-making?”

“Uh, not much?”

Gem’s eyes light up, and he gets the distinct feeling that was the wrong thing to say. “Perfect.”

--- --- ---

III.

“And you're sure I have to be here?” They're walking, this time. Something about horses not being particularly fit for descending into the caverns of the Goblands, or something. He understands that the rocky descent might be a little bit harder on them, but they descend into the canyon that houses Tumble Town easily enough most days. “Isn't it kinda like…rubbing it in his face that he’s not your deputy anymore?”

“You're not my deputy.” Tango releases the branch he’d been helpfully holding out of the way, watching as it flicks back and catches Jimmy in the face, giving him a mouthful of leaves. “And what would I be rubbing in his face? That he no longer has the right to go around and act as a law enforcer?”

“That you've found someone better than him, obviously.” He gestures to himself, grinning as Jimmy brushes past him, onto the beginning of the path into the Goblands. It looks like a fancier version of a mine entrance, wider and a little more cavernous. The lanterns would give a far cosier feel if they weren't high above his head, swinging ominously back and forth as he steps over the threshold, into the Goblands.

“You're just here in case he decides he wants to be a little difficult. That’s all.” Jimmy stops and waits for him, pushing his hat back from his forehead, fingers fiddling with the brim of his hat nervously. “Not that he’s going to be difficult, we didn't leave matters that badly.”

“Uh, yeah, you did.” He’s all for reassurance and looking at a situation positively, but he cannot see this playing out in any way other than ending in an argument. The level of argument that may be (from petty arguments they deal with every day to earth-shattering, catastrophic levels of argument), he’s not so sure on. He’s hoping it’s not on the catastrophic levels, because he doesn't know how well a massive cavern is going to withstand whatever kind of fight would follow after such an argument. “But I'm here for damage control, apparently, so how badly can it go?”

He gestures to himself, again, as if to highlight the clothes he wears. The clothes that are distinctly not the uniform of the law enforcement department, and most certainly are the clothes of the famed Red Bandit. (he still doesn't understand how he ended up with such a stupid name- do people not have any creativity left in them these days?)

Jimmy grimaces, as though only just realising how terribly this might truly go. “It’s gonna be fine.” He repeats, steeling himself before he steps fully into the Goblands, allowing the darkness of the cavern to swallow him whole. Tango sighs, before following behind him.

If he knew that accepting Jimmy’s offer to give him a more permanent position in the Law would have resulted in him being dragged along wherever Jimmy goes (which isn't necessarily a bad thing, especially not when many of those places happen to be nicely shadowed corners just big enough for two people- but it is a problem when Jimmy insists on maintaining some kind of professionalism while “on-duty”) he might have at least though about it twice. As it is, he follows behind Jimmy, down the rickety path that leads into the Goblands.

It sways with each step they take, and Jimmy ahead of him, two of them on this bridge at once, only serves to make it rock back and forth even more. It’s the kind of bridge you read about in every stereotypical adventure book, complete with the hardly clinging-on rope that ties this precarious bridge from end to end, perfect for someone to come along and cut it loose and send them swinging. And he doubts either of them know the correct type of heroics to save them from that impending doom.

The low lighting does not help at all either, it’s bad enough that even his eyes struggle to adapt to the dimness surrounding them. He can't even begin to imagine how Jimmy’s coping, though the slightly longer moments of lingering when they come across the lanterns are enough of a hint for him.

As such, it is a relief when they step onto solid ground once more, the rock cool beneath his feet, rough in places where it hasn't been completely smoothed over by machinery and time. It’s also a relief to not have to squint his eyes so much any longer, looking out for any missing planks in the bridge across. fWhip seems like the type of person to purposefully leave a plank missing just so he can laugh at whichever poor, unfortunate soul is the first to realise that plank is missing.

The lanterns are much closer together here, casting their soft glow across the stone, flickering slightly as they walk past them. His tail flicks across the ground behind him as he walks, swaying back and forth, occasionally brushing against Jimmy's leg. He pretends not to notice when he does this, relishing in the small glances Jimmy keeps sending him from the corner of his eye, as though wondering whether the brushes are purposeful or not. They most certainly are, but Jimmy continues to put a lot of thought into the matter, it seems. Enough thought, that he looks almost surprised when they actually arrive, staring up at the village ahead of them as though he forgot why they were here.

Tango walks ahead, snagging Jimmy’s hand in his own and pulling him forward, into the village of goblins. Several of them stop to stare at them as they pass through, watching them with suspicion, and barely masked hatred that is mostly aimed at Jimmy. Though he’s certain more than a few of them recognise him too, glaring at him a little more heatedly. He has to resist waving back at them, no doubt victims of a few of his daytime robberies, reminding himself to maintain diplomatic relations, even if the ones here seem to be unsalvageable.

The path up to fWhip’s house is the widest of them all, obviously the most commonly traversed, and Jimmy walks up it like it is second-nature. It probably was, at some point; they both were at each other’s empires more often than not, working together on various projects as the two law enforcers of the server. He had almost been certain that alliance between the two could not be broken off, even if one of them tried their very best, but it had. From the few retellings he’d received, from both Pixl and Gem, it sounded like a rather messy divorce. Between two people that weren't actually married.

He’s never had the fortune (or misfortune?) of seeing the two interact, so he’s not actually sure of what to expect when Jimmy knocks on what he assumes is fWhip’s door. There’s nothing to label it as fWhip’s door, nothing to make it stand out from the other houses, but Jimmy knocks on it, holding his breath, waits a moment, then steps back.

Tango squeezes his hand once, before detangling their fingers and slipping his hands loose, taking a further step back, putting distance between himself, the door, and Jimmy. He folds his hands behind his back, ears pricked and listening as footsteps approach the door. He can hear faint grumbling, short, half-bitten off complaints as the person behind the door twists the door and yanks it open.

“Look, I don't care if the machines stop working again, okay? I just want to sleep for a few hours. Five hours, that’s all I ask, then I can-” fWhip looks up, sour expression souring even further as his gaze lands on Jimmy. “Oh.” His grip on the door tightens. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” Jimmy says back, apparently not coming up with anything better to say in response to that. Not even making an attempt at smoothing things over, buttering fWhip up a little, before he demands the badge back.

“No.” fWhip goes to slam the door shut, and he would have definitely succeeded if Jimmy hadn't jammed his foot in the doorway, preventing it from closing completely. fWhip continues to grumble at him, shoving at the door once more, as though hoping that Jimmy might pull his foot back. To no avail. JImmy’s foot remains firmly in the doorway of fWhip’s incredibly nondescript house, nestled among several other nondescript houses, all of which are crammed back against the wall of the cavern; some of them are precariously balancing on a chunk of rock and several flimsy looking stilts. It looks like a strong breeze could knock them over if it tried, which…probably a good thing that wind reaching so far down into a cave system is rare, otherwise there would be significant structural hazards to this place.

He decides to stop thinking about how structurally unsound this place has the potential to be.

“We’re just here to talk,” Jimmy says. Which is a little more diplomatic than his first few words. Decidedly neutral, but fWhip must find some problem with it, because his face scrunches up, large ears pinning back as he glares up at Jimmy.

“It’s always just talking with you, isn't it?” fWhip scoffs, pulling the door open fully. “Go on then, talk. And then maybe, maybe, I’ll decide to give you the time of day. Just,” he holds a finger up, interrupting Jimmy before he can even start, “bear in mind that I am running on less than six hours of sleep, and you are currently interrupting my break.”

“Right.” He loves the man, but Jimmy could at least make an effort at not looking so intimidated by someone that hardly reaches past his knee. Tango would make a joke about his short stature if fWhip didn't look so much like he would bite. “Uh, got it. We’re not here to take up too much of your time, I just need something from you.”

“You need something from me.” fWhip repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Go on then, what is it that the magnificent Sheriff needs from me?”

“Your badge.” Jimmy holds a hand out. “You no longer have a claim to it, though I'm sure everyone knows about your recent…departure from upholding the Law.”

“You make it sound like I go around breaking it.” fWhip scoffs. “Though I suppose you have someone else for that, hm?” fWhip looks around Jimmy at him. He waves a hand at him, fingers curling as he grins a little. He can't help it really, even if it does put fWhip in a worse mood than he already appears to be. He grins when he’s nervous, so sue him! Actually…maybe fWhip will sue him, he’s heard the goblin is some kind of lawyer; he doubts you can sue someone for grinning at you at an inopportune moment, though.

“Tango hardly counted as a criminal in the first place.” Jimmy says. Which, rude! He was an incredibly successful criminal actually, he just knew not to mix potential relationships and work, actually. Something which may have worked a little bit too well, seeing as Jimmy is still very much so unaware of the numerous underground dealings Tango was definitely involved in. Ah well, nothing a trip to the tavern won't fix. “And he’s doing a…form of community service to make up for any crimes he did commit. Besides, we’re not here about him, we’re here about you.”

The house is a bit smaller than the ones he usually sees, but the windows are still plenty sizable, certainly enough for him to crawl through, definitely large enough for him to do it without causing too much of a disturbance. It might take a little more to navigate the smaller rooms, suited to a person of goblin-size rather than humanoid size, but he could likely do it as silently as any other robbery.

“And what if I just said no?” fWhip asks. “What then?”

There’s nothing balanced on the edge of a windowsill either, not that he can see, at least. Something else that he wouldn't have to worry about if Jimmy decides that breaking in and simply stealing the badge back would be better. But then there would be the repercussions and implications that come with the Sheriff’s Deputy Badge disappearing so soon after the both of them, one of which is a well-known thief in the area, come to visit in an attempt to demand it.

Several goblins are watching them from their own homes too, even though they are most certainly trying their best to be subtle about it. He doesn't blame them, really, he does enjoy listening to a few of the neighbours get into the occasional spat, even if it means him or Jimmy will eventually have to get involved and clean the inevitable mess afterwards. Still, he’s a sucker for neighbourhood drama, so he just winks at one of them when he catches their eye, catching them peeking on the argument currently brewing on fWhip’s doorstep.

They pull their shutters a little further closed when he winks at them, but they don't stop watching, simply continuing to peek out of the smaller gap, far more hidden than before.

“I'm not giving it to you.” fWhip crosses his arms, blocking the doorway and staring up at Jimmy. He’s puffing up a little too, like a cat, trying to make himself look bigger. As it stands, there is absolutely no way they're getting past him, nor are they getting the badge off of him today.

Jimmy seems to realise this too, taking a step back, away from the door, holding his hands up in a placating manner. The same placating manner that he’s used on several criminals that look like they're either about to bolt or make a very poor decision; it’s something that has been used on Tango several times, and has only ever made him want to make that very poor choice even more every single time.

fWhip apparently has the same mindset, because he makes a low noise in the back of his throat, before slamming the door.

The sound of it slamming echoes around the whole cavern, and when Tango looks, several more goblins are now watching the ending of the altercation. Jimmy stares at the door for a moment longer, before he sighs, shoulders slumping, and turns away.

“Could have gone worse.” He tries.

“Yeah,” Jimmy laughs, “he could have actually attacked me, I guess, or something worse than that. I just…didn't think it would go that badly, you know?”

“I get what you mean,” he pats Jimmy on the shoulder as they make their slow way back towards the cavern entrance. The goblins mostly pretend as though they do not exist now, moving through their streets as quickly as possible. “You didn't think he hated you that much, hm?”

“I guess so,” Jimmy sighs, and it sounds so sad, that Tango can't resist pulling him into an awkward side-hug, both of them continuing to walk. Jimmy has to hunch over a little so Tango can actually keep his arm around Jimmy’s shoulders, but it works. Mostly. “I thought he might consider me at least somewhat of a friend still, not just outright hatred.”

“It’ll get better, I'm sure.” He reassures, patting Jimmy’s shoulder. “It just needs time. Everything gets better with time.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy sounds a little bit more like himself now, wobbling only because of the swaying of the bridge beneath their feet. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

“Besides,” he bounds along until he’s on solid ground once more, grinning back at Jimmy. “If he continues to ignore you I'm sure you’ll just annoy him into liking you.

“Yeah,” Jimmy nods, obviously not hearing what he said. His head snaps up a moment later. “Hey! Wait! You can't just-”

Tango laughs, ducking beneath Jimmy’s outstretched arm and sprinting out into the sunlight.

--- --- ---

IV.

Elytras…are odd. No matter how many times he uses one, he never quite gets used to the sudden feeling of weightlessness that encompasses his entire being. He will also never get over the unnaturalness of having nothing in contact with the ground. Being suspended in the air by nothing more than a flimsy bit of fabric is enough to send his heart racing.

His feet are quiet as they touch down against the very edge of the floating island. He almost expects it to tip towards him as he lands, spreading his weight a little more evenly to overcompensate in preparation. But the island doesn't tilt, remaining as solid as though it were connected to the ground far, far below him.

Jimmy lands beside him, decidedly less graceful than Tango’s own landing. Jimmy stumbles as he lands, hooves clopping against the quartz as he skids to a halt, elytra flaring out behind him. He reaches out a hand to steady Jimmy, catching him before he can topple over backwards and off the island. It would certainly be a way to kick off their diplomatic mission. Possibly not the effect Jimmy is going for, though.

“Thanks.” Jimmy breathes, straightening up, tugging at the corners of his elytra to make it lie completely flat against his back. His own elytra trails on the ground behind him, rather like he’s just wrapped a blanket around his shoulders in a mockery of a cape.

“Not a problem.” He allows his hand to slip away with a final squeeze. “Can't have you as a pancake on the ground before we do this, right?”

“Right.” Jimmy frowns. “I’d catch myself before I ended up as a pancake though, you know that right.”

Tango hums, not swinging either way in the decision department. Jimmy waits a moment longer, before heaving another sigh and beginning to walk away. Tango hurries to catch up with him, the elytra dragging at his shoulders, fluttering just above the ground as he jogs to catch up with Jimmy.

“Sunshine, you know I mean that in the most loving way. You're lovely, and amazing, a great Sheriff, you know? But your coordination can be really wonky,” he grins, still walking a little faster to keep up with Jimmy’s longer strides. “You know like the…oh! You know the other week when there was that creeper, and you didn't see it, and you were holding an armful of baby creepers- which is why you didn't see it, and then you just,” he throws his arms out. “All over the floor!”

“I remember.” Jimmy says, cheeks flushing a little.

“Aw, don't look like that.” Tango nudges his own shoulder against Jimmy’s. “I thought it was cute.”

“You were probably the only one.”

“I'm sure it would have been funny to watch!” A new voice joins their conversation, both of them pausing mid-step. He watches Jimmy tense up, shoulders stiffening and jaw tensing, before he forcefully relaxes himself and turns to face their new companion.

“Joel!” He greets, cheery smile and forced cheer in his voice a complete one-eighty from the resignation from moments prior. Tango turns to face the god as well, not bothering with the smile his partner gives Joel.

“Sheriff.” Joel greets, far more politely than usual. There’s movement by his leg, a head peeking out from behind him, hands grabbing around his leg, before ducking out of sight once more. Likely the reason for Joel’s sudden politeness, then. “You said you wanted to speak with me?”

The child - Hermes, he reminds himself - peers out from around Joel’s leg again, his eyes widening as he finds Tango looking at him. Rather than ducking out of sight once more, hiding behind his father’s leg, he instead tugs at Joel’s toga, demanding his attention.

“One moment,” Joel says, patting Hermes on the head. “And you just want a…peace negotiation?” He sounds a little confused, as though them approaching their most antagonistic neighbour with a treaty for peace between their empires is something unimaginable.

“Just a peace negotiation.” Jimmy confirms. “The terms must be agreed upon by both sides, and there must be room for debate upon these terms.” Jimmy crosses his arms. “You can't just say something and have it immediately put into the agreement as law.”

“Aw, damn,” Joel shakes his head. “And here I thought I would be able to add a clause excusing murder.”

Hermes tugs on his father’s toga again, a little more forcefully this time, pulling hard enough that the fabric begins to rip. Huh. Remind him not to underestimate a child’s strength again, especially not when said-child is a dubiously created child of a god. Joel crouches down to Hermes’ level, leaning a little closer as Hermes grabs onto his face, pulling his ear towards his mouth.

Joel winces as Hermes tugs at his beard, but listens as the child whispers something to him, eyes crinkling at the corners as he turns to look at Hermes, whispering something back. He strains his ears to hear what the god says. “I don't know, you're gonna have to ask him.” And Joel nods towards him. Him. Not Jimmy- him.

Hermes glances at him nervously, looking back to Joel, as though seeking permission. Joel simply nods, before glaring at him over Hermes’ head when the child turns to look back at him. The line drawn over his throat is a little excessive, but he gets the gist of it.

“Do you want to move these discussions elsewhere?” Jimmy asks, looking between him, Hermes, and Joel. “Somewhere a little more private?”

“There’s no one but us up here,” Joel says. “The citizens below can hardly reach this wonderful abode, as much as it pains me for my work to go unrecognised.”

“Everyone is aware that this is yours.” Tango says. His tail flicks back and forth over the ground, almost getting tangled up in the elytra before he flicks it back again. “I don't think anyone comes across a massive floating structure and just goes, huh, wonder who this belongs to.”

“The sarcasm is unnecessary, Red.”

“Again,” Jimmy interrupts, “negotiations? Anywhere specific you want to do them?”

“Here’s fine.” Joel gestures around them, his sweeping arm encapsulating the rather empty island, only a small patch of grass sprouting from this particular one. He gets the feeling that this one might still be under construction- both from the lacking details, and the fact that it doesn't lead to anywhere. “Hermes probably doesn't want to sit inside, anyway.”

“Can't you just leave him out here?” Jimmy asks. He follows Joel towards the patch of grass anywhere, pulling a roll of paper from his bag as he walks, quickly followed by a quill and pot of ink.

“Ah, yes,” Joel says, deadpan. “Let me just leave the adventurous, uncoordinated child unsupervised on my floating island, hundreds of feet above the ground. Surely nothing can go wrong.”

Tango snickers a little to himself, pretending not to notice the way Hermes is currently staring at him, eyes watching his tail flick back and forth. He sweeps it across the ground, curling around his ankle, before sweeping back around to the other side. Hermes fingers twitch a little, eyes almost shining as he looks between Tango’s tail and his face, then back again.

He flicks the tip of his tail, watching as Hermes almost manages to resist the urge, then fails, leaping forward to try and catch it between his hands. He sweeps it out of range, wary of the strength that a small god-child might be able to put behind that, all too aware of how painful a broken tail can be- and also how finicky it can be when healing.

He peers down at Hermes, finding the child peering back up at him. He glances over at where Jimmy and Joel are already deep in discussion, both of them hunched over the scroll of paper, Jimmy occasionally scribbling a small addition down, or crossing something out.

He crouches down beside Hermes, watching him. Hermes watches him back.

“Hello,” he says, unsure of what else to do. He doesn't talk to children. How do you even interact with children? He’s not even sure how old Hermes is- can he even understand Common yet? Or does he speak some other, ancient language that only Joel knows the translation of.

“Hello.” Hermes whispers back, eyes wide and round, looking almost scared. “My dad said I'm allowed to talk to you now. Because you're not in a cage anymore.” Hermes stares up at him. “Why were you in a cage before, Mr. Kitty-Cat?”

“Uh,” why are children so blunt? Is this a normal child behaviour, or has Joel simply forgotten to teach him manners, or not gotten around to it yet? But he also can't imagine Sausage not teaching his child manners, that man is one of the most polite people he knows. “We had a small disagreement, but we’re all good now.” He hopes. He chances a glance over at the talking pair, praying that neither of them are currently watching him. Some god must be looking down on him at that very moment, because they're both still involved in their discussion, paying no attention to him.

“Are you friends?” Hermes’ eyes are still impossibly wide.

“Uhm.” He wouldn't describe him and Joel as friends. Not in a million years. Maybe something closer to people that won't kill each other at the first sign of hostility, but nothing like friends. “We know each other.” He settles on. Vague enough that it doesn't actually say anything.

“Why?” Hermes asks.

“Because we work together on business sometimes.” Not exactly a lie.

“Why?”

“We have a creeper ranch where I live, me and him run it,” he points at Jimmy, “and your, uh, dad buys the gunpowder off of us for various items.”

“Oh.” Hermes seems to consider this. “Why do you have creepers? Why not something better, like…cats!”

“Jimmy knows how to do creeper farming, he’s done it for a long, long time. So when I came and started working with him, we just kept doing that.”

“Doesn't he get bored of doing the same thing?”

“Not really. I think he likes the sameness of it,” Tango muses. He watches as Jimmy reaches out to shove Joel away from the paper, leaping to his feet a moment later and clutching it to his chest, shouting without words as Joel makes a lunge for the paper. All he succeeds in doing is knocking the ink bottle over, spilling it over his toga.

Hermes giggles next to him, pressing a hand over his face. It’s so incredibly endearing that Tango is taken completely by surprise, overwhelmed with the urge, for the first time ever, to steal a child. “Adults are silly.” Hermes laughs, watching his father and Jimmy squabble over who tore the paper in the very corner - something that affects nothing about the final product.

“Sometimes.” He agrees, watching as Jimmy trips over his own feet as he tries to escape Joel once more, allowing Joel to seize the paper from him with a triumphant cheer. It is nothing like the enemies of a few weeks ago, ones that were almost constantly at each other’s throats. It’s certainly an interesting turn of events, but he’s also learned not to question things when Jimmy’s involved.

“Is Jimmy old?”

He’s not sure whether it’s possible to experience whiplash from something a small child says (and whether the shock of some things children come up with fade after time), but he certainly feels like it, snapping his head around to stare at Hermes.

“No?”

“Oh.” Hermes frowns. “But you said he’d been doing…creeper something for a long time!”

“He’s not old.”

“My dad’s super old,” Hermes says, with a big grin. “He’s super duper old, older than everything here. He’s a bunch older than my papa, which means that he’s a lot smarter than him too.”

“Not sure that’s how it works.”

“Totally is! My dad said so!”

“Exactly,” Tango glances up, finding Joel stood just behind Hermes. Jimmy grins at him from beside Joel, roll of paper clutched tightly in his hands. The tips of his fingers are stained with ink, some of it bleeding onto the paper already. “I'm the oldest here, meaning I'm the smartest.”

“I find that highly doubtful.”

“You don't need to think about it,” Joel pats him on the shoulder, only a little awkwardness behind the gesture. “Treaty’s been signed, meaning you two can run on your merry way.”

Tango can take a hint when he’s given one, as can Jimmy, both of them immediately backing towards the edge of the island, preparing for take-off and the short flight back to Tumble Town. Tango simply hopes that the wind currents are a little kinder to him on the return journey than they were on the way here.

“Buh-bye Mr. Kitty-Cat!” Hermes calls, and he turns back to wave at Hermes.

Jimmy snorts. “Softie.”

“As if.”

--- --- ---

V.

The tavern is loud. And incredibly busy too, busy enough for him to get lost amongst the people and pretend that Scott isn't watching him like a hawk from behind the counter. Why the man would choose tonight of all nights to man the bar is beyond him.

Does Scott just not trust him? He had been the one to come to Jimmy with concerns of underground dealings happening in his bar. What he hadn't said to Jimmy was that his concern wasn't with the underground dealings happening here, it was simply a concern of the underground dealings that weren't happening under his jurisdiction.

He gets, at least a little bit, why Scott would be so peeved about people doing such a thing. They hardly buy more than one round and Scott doesn't even get a cut of the profits from the deal going through; it’s hardly a profitable business exploit, and so, obviously, as someone that used to work rather closely with Scott he understands the other man’s frustration.

But he also would have preferred to have been kept out of this one. He can see several of his old contacts scattered around the tavern, several of which have been busted in recent months…partially due to some of his intel making it to the law department’s in their local area, but it might also be because some of their hiding spots were really shoddy.

One of them makes direct eye contact with him, eyes widening, then narrowing again as they slam their drink down to the table. Thankfully, the disturbance goes mostly unnoticed amongst the din of the tavern, as such only their companions at the table turn to ask them what’s wrong. Unfortunately, for him, several of their companions are also people he’s worked with recently. He attempts to slink away, back towards the bar, before any more of them can turn and spot him. He’s all for a good bar fight every now and then, a good one keeps the blood pumping, keeps the heart healthy, all that good stuff. But he’d also rather not get kicked out halfway through one of his first solo jobs and have to explain to Jimmy exactly why he got kicked out.

He glances back at Scott, the man still cleaning the same glass he was earlier. He’ll wear away the design at this rate if he continues polishing the same glass the entire time Tango’s here. He grins at him, a rather sheepish smile that begs for help. Scott makes direct eye contact with him, pausing his polishing, to look over at the group of patrons that are currently communicating their intent to kill through expression alone. He then looks back at Tango, before turning his back and placing the glass on one of the top shelves.

He hears several chairs scrape back at once, setting off alarm bells in his head as he looks around for potential hiding spots. Beneath a table is far too obvious, and simply diving for the closest one risks him running into another past client and/or ally that he may or may not have recently ratted out.

Several other patrons have also taken note of the clear unrest, eyeing up the patrons moving towards him, and him. He’s not sure whether they're making bets on who’s going to win, but he definitely does see some money exchange hands. So, no one’s going to be any help with that.

He glances back at Scott again, panic beginning to set in. Sure, a bar fight is healthy and all that, but he really doesn't fancy one tonight actually, maybe they can reschedule this for another day when he actually has his gauntlets on him? He glances back at the group, finding them a little too close for comfort, decides they cannot be reasoned with, and makes a dash for his best hiding spot that isn't really a hiding spot anymore.

He slips between two patrons, moving between the small gap between them, and takes a running leap over the counter of the bar, dropping to the floor as quickly as he can. He inhales sharply, and then presses a hand over his mouth, only daring to breathe through his nose, pressing his back as close to the counter as he can.

He didn't hit any glasses on his way over, which is far more successful than the first few times he used this hiding spot. The first time he jumped the bar on a whim while Scott had been working, he’d swept a whole row of glasses off the counter with his tail, sending them crashing to the floor behind him. Positive: the people pursuing him didn't want to get any closer and step on the glass, which, great! Negative: Scott made him pay for the glasses, and also lectured him, and also made him stay after the bar’s closing (which is never) and clean up the broken glass. Which, less great.

He perfected the technique, eventually, though diving behind the bar was infinitely nicer when it was Owen manning it rather than Scott. Mostly because Owen didn't give a shit and would only rat him out if he tried to steal more than three bottles of the expensive stuff. And even then he might think twice about it if Tango offered him a shot.

Scott doesn't even flinch, finishing arranging the glasses on the shelf, turning around. His acting skills are unmatched as always too, acting incredibly surprised to see several people clustered at the bar, obviously waiting for him.

“Good evening gentlemen,” Scott greets, leaning on the counter to speak to them. “Was there anything I could do for you?”

“You know exactly what it is we want from you.” The leader growls out. Ouch, so hostile, as always. He remembers working with this man, he had been rather unpleasant, the two of them butting heads at every turn of the job, despite it clearly being Tango’s area of expertise rather than his. Still, the man had insisted on doing it his way, even when it almost jeopardised the whole job. He’d made a mental note after that to steer clear of the man, and obviously, he jumped at being given the chance to rat him out.

“Do I?” He looks up, watches as Scott screws his face up, scrunching his eyebrows together as he thinks.

“Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Seeing if I’d suddenly gained psychic powers.” Scott replies, face slackening again. “‘Fraid not, you're gonna have to tell me with your big boy words what it is you want, else you can get lost.”

“We want the rat hiding out in your bar.” Ouch! Rat. Well, that’s certainly a new one, though it’s not exactly the most creative insult he’s had hurled his way. He adds it to the list, right alongside kitty-cat. Personally, that’s still his favourite.

“Rat?” Scott tilts his head to the side, nudging his knee against Tango’s chest as he steps a little closer to the bar counter, shoving him back a little further. He gets the message, grumbling and making himself a little smaller, tucking his tail in a little further. “I don't have any rats here, in fact, if you check the health registration out front, you’ll find that we scored quite high, actually. I'm offended, really, that you’d come into my tavern and then accuse me of having poor health standards, tell me, did your mother not teach you any manners?”

“My mother is a perfectly respectable woman!”

“Uh-huh,” Scott nods along, in a similar way one would nod along with a child when they got something right. “I'm sure she did, that’s certainly why her son’s whiling away his hours in a tavern and accusing the owner of having poor health standards.” Scott clicks his tongue. “The gall of some people.”

“I meant no offence, I swear.”

“Sure you didn't. Out.” Scott jerks his head towards the door, staring at the group clustered around his counter. “C’mon! Chop-chop! Haven't got all night, I have paying customers waiting behind you, now scram!”

There’s a little more muttering, but he hears receding footsteps anyway, the sound of the tavern door squeaking on its hinges - every time he asks about it Scott says he’s about to get it fixed, but he never does - as they file out. He presses his hand a little further over his mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh, pressing himself a little further beneath the counter as Scott begins to serve the next patron.

Several bottles press into his back as he leans a little further back, and he twists to peer at the labels, twisting a few of them around to get a better look.

“Don't even think about it, Red.” Scott growls out, then smiles a moment later as he accepts a handful of coins from someone, the gold clinking against each other as he counts through it, then hands their change back. “I can see you.”

“Can you?” He turns another bottle around, admiring the gold detailing on the label. The leaves on the design give it away as a Sanctuary wine. He quite likes the selection of Sanctuary wines Scott keeps, though very few actually ever buy a bottle due to the extravagant price Scott charges for them. They have a rather pleasant aftertaste, and are strong enough that you need very little to get pleasantly tipsy. “From what I heard, there’s no rat behind your bar.”

He grins up at Scott, watching as the man rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh.

“The next person to come looking for rats here is getting throttled, I swear.”

“So you do have a rat problem?” He asks, shifting away as Scott aims a kick at his ribs. “What! I'm just asking!”

“Shut up.” Scott glances up. “Oh, sorry dear, not you. What can I get for you?” Tango snickers behind his hand, as quietly as he possibly can, but Scott manages to hear it anyway, his ridiculously long ears twitching. His leg twitches next, shooting out to kick at his tail.

He yelps, hugging it a little closer, glaring up at Scott.

“Thank you so much.” Scott smiles, waiting until the customer smiles to let his customer service facade drop.

“Your customer service voice is stupid.”

“You huddling behind my bar every time you start a fight you don't want to finish is stupid.” Scott retorts.

“Starting a bar fight on-duty isn't really a good look for me.” He slumps down a little further, turning a wine bottle over in his hands, searching for the date of it. Has Jimmy ever had any traditional Chromia moonshine? He doubts it, he doubts he even knows Scott sells something with such a high alcohol content.

“Don't even think about it.” Scott tugs the bottle from his hands, setting it further down the bar, far out of reach of him. “You take that back to your boyfriend and suddenly the Sheriff’s gonna be in here with a warrant to check the alcohol content of all my drinks.”

“Hardly.” He scoffs. “He’d get so drunk off of that he wouldn't even remember to check the alcohol content.”

“Not risking it, Red.” Scott nudges at him again, far gentler than any of the previous kicks aimed at him. “You should probably start thinking about heading back to him, anyway, it’s long past that guy’s usual time to show up.”

“Damn.” He stands from the floor, grabbing Scott’s coat to haul himself up, resting his forearms on the bar counter as he looks around the tavern. “Well, that certainly is annoying.”

“As annoying as it is for you as it is for me, buddy.” Scott pats him on the back. “Now out, I don't want my regulars thinking you get some kinda special treatment.”

“You telling me you treat all your regulars like me?” He presses a hand to his chest, hurt.

“You have a boyfriend, Red.” Scott pushes at him again. “Scurry on back to him.”

“Why, jealous?” He teases. Scott holds his cloth up threateningly, lining up to throw it at him. He ducks his head, retreating hastily, shouting a hurried apology behind him as he disappears out the door.

--- --- ---

VI.

Tango squints at Jimmy, at the way his face is bathed by the flickering hues of orange and gold, reflecting in his eyes as he continues to stare at the fire. A few sparks spit out of it, landing on the ground a few feet from where they're sat, sharing a short log that leaves them pressed incredibly close, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

The sounds of everyone around them fades into a buzz that his ears barely registers, fading into white noise- background noise that is easily dismissed and ignored. Ignored in favour of something far more important.

Jimmy’s eyes seem to glow in the light of the fire, lips slightly parted as he continues to stare into the depths of the flames. It definitely can't be good for him to stare into the flames for so long and with such intensity, but Tango certainly isn't going to be the one that breaks his apparent captivation with the flames.

Someone tosses another log onto the fire, and it spits, flames already curling around the wood and beginning to devour it, bark blackening and smoke curling from wood that was probably still a little bit damp. It crackles as it settles deeper within the fire, and Tango is incredibly tempted to stick his hand into the flames, just to see how everyone else reacts. Everyone is more than a little tipsy, toeing the line between tipsy and drunk, just enough to be comfortably warm away from the fire and in the cool air of the evening.

Still, nothing quite compares to watching Jimmy. It’s become a new habit of Tango’s- okay. Maybe not quite a new habit, but certainly one that he’s found more time to indulge in as of recently. Before, he could only ever indulge himself in small glimpses of the man’s face, snatches of him as he escapes from his clutches time after time, escaping by just a hair that left him breathless and veins thrumming with adrenaline. The only times he got to look at Jimmy for a little longer were during his capture, but even during those brief moments of respite he had been planning his next jailbreak, the exact way he would be able to escape without causing too much property damage.

(He realised, after the first time escaping from one of the cell’s in Tumble Town, and after his subsequent second capture, that the place didn't have the resources to constantly be repairing the bars and locks he melted in order to escape. So he had to begin coming up with new and improved ways of escaping each time, otherwise Jimmy might have been a little more annoyed with him when he was next caught.)

So, he allows himself to indulge in the way the flames cast his face perfectly in the shadows. Allows himself to watch the way Jimmy’s eyelashes brush against his cheeks as he blinks, still utterly enraptured with the fire in front of him.

His hat is tipped back from his forehead, bordering on the edge of falling off, barely holding on. His hands itch as he reaches one out, fingers twitching, before he pulls it back again, watching Jimmy for any reaction. He gives none, only blinking once more, fingers slowly loosening around his drink as the fire continues to absorb all of his attention.

“Just take it.” He jumps at the sudden appearance of Alyssa beside him, the deputy leaning against his shoulder. She sways a little, hair falling over her shoulder in a cascade of black. “He won't mind.”

“You're joking, right?” He laughs, mostly to himself rather than at anything funny. “You've seen the way he almost throttled Pixl for touching it- Pixl! Everyone likes Pixl!”

“Yeah, but Pixl’s not you.” Alyssa winks at him, before deciding her job is apparently done, straightening up and swaying away. It leaves him with several thoughts running rampant through his mind, eyes now fixed on the hat this close to tipping off of Jimmy’s head.

He shouldn't be stealing anymore, he really shouldn't. But is it actually stealing if he takes it with the intent of giving it back? Only one way to find out, he supposes.

He gives into the itch in his fingers, scooting a little closer, hands stretching out, fingers brushing over the brim of Jimmy’s hat. He doesn't appear to notice, giving Tango a little more courage. He curls his fingers around the brim of Jimmy’s hat, a firmer grip allowing him to tug it away from his head, springing up from his seat a moment later, his prize clutched in his hands.

The loss of his hat seems to be enough to pull Jimmy from his fire-induced haze, because he whirls around with a wordless shout, lurching to his feet as he turns to face Tango.

He grins at Jimmy, watching as he relaxes a little upon seeing who it is that stole his hat. Who, exactly, it is that is currently clutching said hat in his claws.

“Tango,” Jimmy says, probably far more of a whine than he intended it to be, cheeks colouring a moment later. “C’mon, give it back.”

“What am I going to get in return?” He teases at the edge of the hat, watching Jimmy from beneath his eyelashes. He steps back when Jimmy steps closer, stepping over the log they had both been sat on a moment before. The material of the hat is worn softer around the edges at the front, no doubt from Jimmy’s habit of running his fingers over it when he gets stressed, or when he’s thinking about something, or- when he’s doing anything, really.

“I don't know,” Jimmy sighs. “A thank you?”

“Not good enough.” He dances back another step, tail brushing over the ground, voice sing-song. “Come on, sunshine, you're gonna have to strike a better deal than that.”

They have a small crowd of onlookers now, all of which are trying very hard to not look like onlookers but are also failing miserably. One of them snickers as Tango takes another step back.

“A kiss?” Jimmy offers.

“Hm,” he hums, considering it, twirling the hat in his hands. He gives into the urge and places it on his head, pushing it down a little until it pushes his hair down too, causing it to tickle the skin above his eyebrows. “I might be convinced by your offer.”

Jimmy stares at him for a moment longer.

“So?” Tango prods. “Are you going to make good on that offer, or are you going to stand there for the rest of the evening?” He smirks, watching as Jimmy straightens up

Jimmy crosses the short distance between them easily, pulling him close until they're flush, chest to chest. Tango continues grinning, tipping his head back a little to look up at Jimmy. His teeth catch on the edge of his lip, hands snaking around Jimmy’s waist to pull him even closer. He can feel Jimmy’s breath on his face, hot where the night air around them is cold.

His lips are even warmer, soft as they press against his. And then he’s pulling back, and the extra weight is gone from Tango’s head as Jimmy resettles his hat back on his head. Someone in their crowd of onlookers gives a small whoop, someone that sounds suspiciously like Alyssa, but when he looks he can't see her in the crowd.

“I thought we were working on breaking that habit of yours.” Jimmy says, smiling as Tango pulls them a little closer, into another kiss.

“I only steal from you, I promise.” He breathes out, pulling back just enough to talk. “You're the only one that’s worth stealing from, anyway.”

“Haven't you stolen enough from me?” Jimmy frowns, mock sadness almost enough to make Tango laugh at the utter ridiculousness of the man in front of him.

“Oh? And what else might I have stolen from you, sunshine?”

“My heart.” Jimmy says, with the most sickening type of grin.

Tango allows himself a moment to make sure his ears are working correctly, and that the alcohol isn't distorting his mind. But, no, Jimmy continues to grin at him in his stupidly endearing way. “Idiot,” he smacks him on the shoulder, “you're making me blush.”

#juno.writes #red bandit au #tango tek #jimmy solidarity #solidaritek #team rancher #ranch duo #trafficshipping #empires smp #empires smp fic #empiressmp #empires jimmy #empires tango #empires scott #empires pixl #empires fwhip #empires gem #empires joel #empires smp s2 #solidaritygaming #solidarity gaming #tangotek

[ailendolin]

Thomas/Captain, Angst + kiss for your Christmas ask prompts?

I am so sorry it took me so long to write your prompt but it's finally done and the Winter Prompts are thus complete! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy your angsty fic!

List of prompts is here.

Filled prompts are here, here, here, here and here on AO3.

Prompts are closed.

————

The End Of Spring [AO3]

When their courtship began, Thomas couldn’t have been happier. He had been dreaming of this for so long: of holding someone’s hand with the gentleness of a summer’s breeze; of looking across the room and finding someone already looking back at him, their eyes soft and so very loving that they took his breath away; of standing on his tiptoes to lean in for a kiss that seemed not only to be welcomed but desperately craved, as if it was as essential for living as breathing.

Of all the people he had thought – had hoped – he might find happiness with one day, he hadn’t expected the Captain to be the one who’d end up in possession of his heart. It wasn’t for lack of attraction – Thomas would have to be blind and wilfully ignorant not to notice how handsome the Captain was, especially when he smiled and the laughter lines around his eyes fanned out like ripples on a lake before he ducked his head in that shy way of his that Thomas found so very endearing his fingers always began to itch for a quill to pen down this breath-taking sight in verse.

No, lack of attraction was not the reason why he had never gotten his hopes up regarding the Captain. He’d just always been convinced the Captain would never be interested in someone like him – someone lost and broken who sparked annoyance whenever he so much as opened his mouth and received nothing but mockery and irritation for his poetic efforts, no matter how genuine they were; someone who did not bore even the slightest resemblance to that handsome lieutenant who had left his handprint on the Captain’s heart so very long ago.

For the longest time, Thomas had thought the Captain was tolerating his presence merely because he had to. That the only reason he didn’t turn around on the spot and leave the room the second Thomas entered was simply because there was nowhere for him to run to.

It took a chance meeting under a mistletoe for him to realise he’d gotten it all wrong.

The kiss they’d shared that day had been far from perfect. It had not even been a proper kiss, Thomas had to admit. They’d found themselves stopping just under the mistletoe in the middle of an argument, neither of them realising the predicament they’d manoeuvred themselves into until Julian pointed at the offending plant above them with a gleeful and rather shark-like grin.

The Captain had let out a strangled noise and Thomas had felt his cheeks heat up when he realised that everyone was looking at them expectantly. Not wanting to give Julian – or, god forbid, Humphrey – something else to hold against him and mock him for, he’d turned towards the Captain with the intention of telling him that it was okay, that they did not need to adhere to tradition and kiss, when he felt the Captain’s lips press against the corner of his mouth in the quickest and softest of touches. For a single, spectacular second, Julian’s whistling and Robin’s laughter faded into the background as his world had narrowed down to the feeling of lips finding lips by accident and the tickle of a soft moustache against a smooth cheek.

“Oh,” Thomas had breathed in awe after the Captain had pulled back with a wide-eyed, almost fearful look on his face. With shaking hands, he’d reached up and lightly touched the corner of his mouth with his fingertips, struck by how delightfully it tingled from this faintest of kisses. His eyes had found the Captain’s for a brief moment but before he could say anything, the Captain cleared his throat, turned around on the spot and marched out of the room without uttering a single word.

Unsurprisingly, things had been awkward between them for a while following that incident until Thomas, fed up with being ignored and nearly physically aching with yearning, had finally managed to corner the Captain in the library and kissed him again – properly this time. To his astonishment, instead of pushing him away, the Captain had melted against him with a sigh, almost as if he had been waiting for this moment for as long as Thomas had. Everything had changed on that frosty evening between the years for them, and the following weeks of courtship had been filled to the brim with all the romantic bliss Thomas had always dreamed about.

He sighed softly to himself. If only their spring had been eternal.   

He was happy with the Captain – happier than he’d ever been in death or even in life apart from those few, precious months when he and Isabelle had exchanged letters and a future with her hadn’t felt like such a fool’s dream. He just wasn’t sure if the Captain was happy with him.

It all started with an off-hand mention of Havers. Thomas was aware of how much the lieutenant meant to the Captain, of course. Affection and longing did not simply go away in death, not even with time. He knew that better than most. It was why a part of him still loved Isabelle and missed her fiercely; why he couldn’t help but dream about the life he’d never lived with her sometimes. She held a piece of his heart and that would never change, and Thomas didn’t want it to – just as he did not want the Captain to forget about Havers. He was glad the Captain felt comfortable enough to talk about him now and share that part of his life with him and the others. It was just the way he talked about Havers sometimes – the pure adoration in his voice and the softness of his smile when he remembered him – that made Thomas feel like he was standing in the shadows, unable to measure up.

“We used to play cricket here, you know? Jolly good times. Havers was brilliant on the field. You wouldn’t happen to know the rules of the game, would you?”

Thomas averted his eyes. “No. I never paid much attention to it, I’m afraid.”

“Shame,” the Captain said and continued to lead them on across the lawn. He made no attempts to explain the rules to him as they walked, and Thomas did not ask. But he wondered if the Captain thought he was not interested in learning – or worse, that he was unable to grasp the intricate mechanics of the game. Before he could stop himself, his mind went back to all those times when he’d watched the Captain watch Havers play, and he immediately hated himself for his aching need to know if the Captain had ever looked at him with the same amount of fondness and watched him from afar with barely concealed longing.

Little moments like that kept happening. One minute they were laughing together in the sunlight, the next Havers’s shadow would hang over Thomas and he’d find himself comparing himself to a dead man. He knew this wasn’t healthy, and that the Captain meant no harm by mentioning Havers in his presence. But it began to weigh on Thomas, the high regard the Captain held Havers in. It was something he couldn’t possibly live up to or compete with. His eyes lacked the warmth Havers’s had shone with; his voice the quiet competence Havers had so effortlessly exuded every time he talked. Instead of a handsome scar, he bore the bleeding proof of his own foolishness for all the world to see, and despite having never seen combat, a sudden noise had the power to make him shake as badly as those poor traumatised soldiers who had resided in Button House for a year after the war used to.

“Havers got wounded on this day – did you know that? As you can imagine I was quite shocked when the report landed on my desk. A grenade got him, and yet he kept on fighting, even saved another soldier’s life that very same day. Incredible, isn’t it?”

Thomas nodded mutely.  

There was nothing incredible about the way he had gotten wounded. The first time the Captain had heard the story, he’d found it so dreadfully uninteresting he’d made up his own version of it. The memory of that still stung, even now. The Captain had never apologised for it or even mentioned it again, and Thomas hadn’t been brave enough to bring it up either. But there were times when he wished he could talk to the Captain about his death, just once, instead of being rendered mute by the possibility of boring him with it.

Things came to a head five months into their courtship. Thomas had tried – god, he’d tried so hard – not to let the mentions and off-hand comments about Havers get to him. He’d told himself time and again that it was a good sign that the Captain shared those private memories with him; that there was no need to feel insecure because Havers was gone and Thomas was not. But then, just a few days shy of their five months anniversary, Pat made a comment about missing Carol and the Captain, without missing a beat, said, “It’s quite all right, Patrick. I miss Havers too and wish he were here.”

Thomas froze. A sadness unlike any other he’d ever known before rose within him as he realised he wasn’t enough – that he’d never be enough. He’d been a fool to think he could ever compete with a ghost – and the irony of that wasn’t lost on him. Havers would forever hold the Captain’s heart – all of it. It didn’t matter how much Thomas loved and cherished and held it close with all his might. It did not belong to him and never would, and there was nothing he could do about that.

Even worse was that the Captain didn’t even seem to realise the impact that his words had had on him. He kept looking at Pat with that gentle, understanding smile he never looked at Thomas with when the topic of Isabelle came up. He even reached out to clasp Pat’s shoulder in a gesture of solidarity, and Thomas’s vision blurred at the sight. It was like he didn’t exist in the Captain’s world right now. There was only Havers, only Pat – only their mutual longing the past.

Blinking rapidly, he turned away, not wanting anyone to see the pain written all over his face. But it was too late. He could feel the others’ eyes on him, could hear them holding their breaths as they waited for him to say something, to stand up for himself, to remind the Captain of his presence. Thomas did not know how, though. How was he meant to fix something that had never really existed in the first place?

“Mate …” Pat said softly, his voice as cautious as if he were talking to a skittish animal. Thomas had no idea if he was addressing the Captain or him, not until Pat added, “Thomas is right there.”

Biting his lip, Thomas closed his eyes in shame. He shouldn’t need Pat to point this out. He shouldn’t have to rely on others for the Captain to notice him – to remember him.

“Well, yes,” he heard the Captain say, quite startled. “But–“

It was that small, three-letter word that broke him.  

But he isn’t Havers.

But my heart belongs to Havers.

But I don’t love him like I loved Havers.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas choked out, unable to look the Captain in the eye. “I’m sorry I’m not him. I’m sorry I can’t give him back to you. I would, if I could – even if it broke my heart.”

“Thomas,” the Captain breathed, and for a brief moment, some small, vicious part of Thomas enjoyed that he sounded as shattered as Thomas felt; that for once the Captain hurt just as much as he did and felt the pain in his very bones.

When the moment passed, he felt hollow and ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Then, with a shake of his head, he whispered, “I can’t do this right now.”

His voice broke on the last word and he ran out of the room without looking back. The moment there was a wall between him and the Captain, his face crumpled. The tears he’d tried so hard to keep at bay before finally welled over and this time, Thomas let them. He kept running – out of the front door, across the lawn and past the birdhouse into the garden until at last he reached what everyone had taken to calling his tree. There he sank to the ground and, hiding his head in his hands, let himself break.

Deep down, he knew the Captain would not come looking for him. He told himself it was better this way – that he wasn’t easy to be around when he was like this. His emotions were too raw and vulnerable, his words too sharp, cutting and honest. It was probably one of the many reasons why the Captain had never truly fallen in love with him. Unlike Havers, Thomas had never found it easy to smile through his pain. He ran away, he hid, he fell apart in silent solitude. He needed more patience, reassurance and understanding than anyone had the right to ask for, and now he was paying the price for it.

Swallowing a sob, Thomas curled up against the tree, wishing happiness were not always so fleeting and hard to hold onto for him; wishing with all his heart that he were easier to love, and loved at all. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel like such a fool now, and he wouldn’t be alone and mourn the end of spring.

#thomas thorne #the captain #capthorne #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts fanfic #my fic #ask game prompt ficlet

[light-yaers]

Lover: Chapter One

Chapter List | AO3 | Fic Masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol and substance abuse, eventual sex/smut, mentions of death/cancer. 18+

A/N: hello hello!! so as said earlier, i have delved down a deep dark hole that i cannot get out of until i write this. this is a mini series based purely on the tv show characterisations, since i’ve not read the books! hope you enjoy xx

Word Count: 3.1k

Chapter One: reunited.

A thousand thoughts bombarded your skull as you walked around the side of the Fisher’s beach house in Cousins, but the main one was this—

Had it really been five fucking years since you were last here?

The summer you turned sixteen was the last holiday you ever spent here, only returning for Susannah’s funeral four years later, and now this. This of all things that you were still desperately trying to wrap your brain around; Belly and Jeremiah’s fucking wedding. 

There was a part of you that knew it. Susannah had always said that you and Belly were destined for her boys, but during every summer before you left you were sure that she’d liked Conrad over Jere. You couldn’t wait to hear the stories. You couldn’t wait to simply exist with them again. 

After everything that had halted your vacations here, after reeling and mourning Susannah away from them all; this was needed. 

You needed to be back in Cousins with the Fisher’s and the Conklin’s again. Even if it might be the last time. 

That was the hardest part to admit, for sure. 

The path swirled around the back of the house, melting into the rest of the patio that surrounded the pool in the backyard. You remembered it all so vividly: nothing whatsoever had changed. This was the pool where the boys took it upon themselves to throw you and Belly into the cold water in the morning. This was the patio where you and Conrad sat after stealing a bottle of red wine from Adam’s wine cellar, chugging on the bottle and then stupidly deciding to rush down to the ocean for a late-night dip when you were teenagers. 

The back door was swung open, music from the radio filtering out the back. 

“Hello?” you announced hesitantly, and within seconds Jeremiah’s face popped out from the doorway. 

“Oh my god,” he said first, before a smile the size of fucking Jupiter erupted onto his face. “Belly!” he exclaimed, before flinging himself down the back steps until you were within his arms. 

Tears began fighting their way into your eyes, but you stopped them from forming. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to make this all the more difficult and heartfelt than you already knew it would be—

I mean... you hadn’t even seen Conrad yet. If you cried with Jeremiah and Belly, then you’d probably end up sobbing when you saw Conrad’s face. 

Jeremiah held you tightly, squeezing you as if he wasn’t ever going to let go. He’d grown so much in five years, from the almost twenty-year old boy into a full grown twenty-four year old man; soon to be twenty-five. He was taller, bigger, bit still contained the same ferocious charm and love within his heart. 

That would never disappear. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered, and you swallowed back the want to burst into tears. Instead, you pulled away, holding him at an arms distance. 

“And I can’t believe you’re fucking getting married,” you let out, laughter bubbling between the both of you. “Did you get her a good ring?” you asked. 

“See it for yourself,” Belly’s voice spoke up over your reunion, and your chest all but caved in. As your gaze scattered over her, you were hit with the realisation that she was no longer a child. All the prior grace and elegance she’d lacked at age fourteen was now replaced with a sense of herself that made you jealous. 

Belly descended the steps until she was at your level; strong, beautiful, grown. 

“Fucking hell,” the words tumbled from your mouth involuntarily. “You—you, you’re so—,”

“I know,” she interrupted you, smiling at you with gleaming eyes that made your heart hurt. 

“You’re so beautiful,” was all you could say, coming towards her and taking her hands in yours. You spun her around once, before she catapulted herself into your chest. “You’re not a kid anymore, Bells,” you whispered. 

“Neither are you,” she whispered back. She smelled like sandalwood, the staple scent that Susannah adored pumping into the beach house. 

Even without stepping into the house, you could already sense her absence; this nagging emptiness that sat on a chair at the patio, on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, in the middle of the sofa clutching a cushion. 

Your eyes found the doorway then, scanning the doorframe, scuttling across the windows, just trying to have a peak into the house to see if she—if someone—was in there. Steven, maybe. Or Conrad. 

No, definitely Conrad. 

As Belly grew, her crush on the eldest Fisher brother did as well. Her friendship with Jeremiah soared, as well. They were best friends, and now soon to be married. 

You and Conrad had started off rocky. The two oldest kids in the house, butting heads and trying to one up each other, until the time you turned thirteen. That’s when the friendship had properly begun. 

Nights on the beach, secret driving lessons in the golf buggies at the country club, playing chicken in the pool with Steven and Jere. Your relationship had blossomed into much more than the frenemy situation you’d started off in. When you left Cousins every summer, you stayed in contact. Whenever you were in the States, you made sure to visit him in Boston if you got the chance. 

Those four years. Those four summers. Thirteen to sixteen years old. 

That’s when Conrad was your favourite person in this entire world. 

Maybe he still was. 

Even after all this time. Even after the fight. 

“He’s not in there,” Jeremiah said, shooting you a knowing stare. You frowned at him playfully. “He’s on the beach with Steven, and some friends,” 

You let out a scoff. “Conrad has friends?” 

“Shocker, I know,” Jere replied, coming over to snake a hand around Belly’s waist. The three of you looked out towards the ocean. “He’s been waiting for you to arrive for the past week. Everyday it’s when she gets here this and if she was here that,” he added, eyes scuttling over your face secretly. “He’s missed you,” 

You breathed out slowly, ignoring the pain in your chest. “Yeah. That makes two of us,”

Walking down the dock to the beach, the pump of music and sounds of laughter got ever present. You’d never been to a bonfire on the beach; you’d always been too young; and it was crazy to realise that this was your first ever beach bonfire in Cousins. At age twenty-five. What the fuck. 

You ignored your pounding heart as the dock slowly turned to sand, and slipped off your shoes when you stepped onto the beach. Your feet sank into the sand gently, as you strolled towards the circle of people in camp chairs and on inflatables. 

You recognised Steven straight away, standing up to the right, arm draped around the shoulders of a very pretty girl. Steven had always been a stud, in his own special way. Like Belly, he’d also matured in a way that made the breath hitch in your throat. 

You cleared your throat once, alerting some people to your presence. “Hey, nerd!” you yelled, and all eyes were upon you suddenly. Steven averted his gaze from his girl to you, and the realisation hit him like a truck. 

“Oh my god,” him and Jere were still peas in a fucking pod; they even said the same fucking things. “Oh my fucking god!” he exclaimed, giving his girl a chaste kiss on her forehead before he flung himself across the beach towards you. His snarky and boundless energy was enough to make you buzz inside, copying the way he was all but jumping as he made his way over to you. 

“You’re here! You’re here!” he yelled some more, wrapping his arms around you and bobbing you around in circles as his energy dispelled. 

“Since when did you get so fucking tall?” you chuckled into his chest, struggling against the sheer size of the man before you. 

“Same time my voice dropped,” he let out, pulling away. “It’s called puberty. You should look it up. Won’t be long until you go through it—,”

“Oh, fuck you,” you pushed him away playfully. “I was taller than you once, don’t forget that,”

“When we were twelve,” he chuckled. The inescapable feeling of happiness washed over you then, the same way the ocean washed up upon the shore. The fear you’d felt on the drive over from the airport felt silly now—

It was just Cousins. The place you’d grown up at. Surrounded by the people that saw you grow, and you them as well. It was just Belly, Jere, Steven and—

“Conrad’s swimming,” Steven said suddenly, leaning his shoulder against yours as he pointed towards the sea. “There,” you nodded once, taking in a deep breath. Steven immediately noticed your anxiety. “Five years, right?” he asked gently. 

You nodded again, coming back to reality. “Yeah, five whole years,” you repeated. 

“Take it from me,” Steven began, before gently laying his hand down on your shoulder. “He’s missed you more than he’ll let on,” 

“That’s what I said,” Jere and Belly strolled up behind the two of you, peering out at Conrad in the ocean with you. “He’s been better the past few years, though. Who knows? He might turn back into the Connie we all grew up with,” Jere added, almost sadly. 

“That would be a miracle,” Steven laughed once, crossing him arms. 

 “No,” Belly spoke suddenly. “I think you’re all underestimating him,” you shot a look at her; gently, thoughtfully, as her eyes danced across the ocean. “He’s been talking about you since we got engaged, you know?” Belly looked at you quickly, smiling slyly. 

“You guys are scaring me more than I’m fucking scaring myself,” you let out nervously. Jere dropped his hand to your shoulder reassuringly. 

“It’s just Conrad. He doesn’t bite,” he said, and you scoffed so loudly that it was lucky Conrad didn’t fucking hear you from the sea. 

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” you chuckled, until you thought you might cough up a lung. It was useless stalling more, though. You had to face him sooner or later. You had to see him—and God—you wanted to. The days since you’d last hugged or talked Conrad Fisher were too many to even count. 

You all watched as Conrad emerged from the sea, sopping wet. He pushed his drenched hair off his forehead, shaking himself off like a wet dog before he started walking up the beach. You took him in before you yelled. All soft curves and broader shoulders and a sharper jaw. He was the Conrad you’d always known, but he was also an image that you’d never know possible. 

Conrad Fisher was grown up. Both of you were. 

You whispered a peppy okay to yourself, before lunging forward playfully and exclaiming “Conrad Fisher!” through cupped hands. He looked up suddenly peering around the beach until he saw who was calling his name. “You’re late!” you added, and his gaze finally found yours. 

When he stopped abruptly, you thought you were going to throw up. You started walking towards him slowly, skirt fluttering in the ocean breeze and hair flying all over the place. You stopped when you were no more than twenty meters from each other. 

He was the first to smile. Your heart skipped. 

“I’m late?” he replied, shouting without dignity across the beach. Everyone watched with bated breath, ready to witness you and Conrad reuniting after so fucking long. Confusion covered their faces—none of them knew who you were, same as yourself. Conrad started stomping across the beach towards you. “You’re five fucking years late,” he boomed. 

 You shot him the cheesiest smile possible, hands behind your back, leaning forward slightly in the signature pose of the guilty. “Who’s counting anyway?” you said, lower this time, as he stomped his way closer and closer to you without any indication of stopping. 

“I am,” he said strongly, all eyes on him. His face was stern, his jaw clenched, his fists balled. God, maybe he was pissed off. Severely, really, angry. 

“Okay,” you said, panicking suddenly as the gap between you both was starting to diminish very fast. You raised your hands, as if a gun was pointed at you. “I can explain—you know I can explain. We can talk this out,” you pleaded jokingly, but the line between playful and real was starting to fade. 

You couldn’t read Conrad’s emotions anymore, not this soon anyway. 

Ten meters between you was all that remained. 

“It’s too late for explanations,” he replied, as the frown on his face slowly began upturning into a smile. 

“Then—a bottle of red wine with your name on it?” you suggested. 

“You’re not drinking your way out of this one, idiot,” he shut you down. 

Five meters to go. You were so close now that, if you reached out, you could touch him; soaking wet skin and all. 

“Then, then—,” you started clicking your fingers incessantly, but his strides only got longer, until he started jogging towards you. You took a few haste step backs. “Hey, now—Conrad—,”

“I have an idea for your penance,” he said, and he started sprinting.  

“Hey—,” 

“Belly flop!” 

You started running before he’d even finished speaking, but it was far too late to beat him now. He was on your tail already, just am arm’s length away from grabbing your top and pulling you into his arms—which is exactly what he did. 

He grabbed you by the waist, snaking his arms around your torso as he picked you, kicking and screaming, from the ground. He didn’t let up, not even when you squirmed in his arms and tried to push yourself off of him. 

All the while back down the beach, he laughed as you tried to beg and plead your way out of this. The others looked on in awe, bar Jeremiah, Steven and Belly immediately rushing down to the beach to get a first-hand view of this ordeal. 

“Conrad—Conrad!” you yelled, but to no avail. 

“Five fucking years,” he kept saying it, over and over again as if trying to remind himself that he should be mad at you, but the smile in his face and the chuckles on his lips were enough for you to know he wasn’t at all. 

“Put me down!” you screamed, bursting out giggles as he shuffled you in his grip, until he was holding you bridal style. 

“Okay,” he said smartly, treading into the ocean until it reached his waist. You scrambled in his grip, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and trying to climb up higher on his tree length body. He clutched onto you tightly, sending silent chuckles into your ear as you were all too aware of the cold water beneath you. 

“No, no, no—keep holding me—keep holding me!” you urged.

“I thought you wanted me to put you down?” he said smugly. 

“I take it back—I take it back!”  you begged. 

“Rules are rules,” he said finally, as you looked back at the beach to see Steven with his phone out, filming the entire ordeal. 

“You put that fucking phone down, Steven, or I swear to God—I’ll give you a wedgie as bad as the one I did when we were fifteen!” you shouted at him, and Conrad’s full laughter finally came out to play. You bobbed up and down in his arms, as his chest shot out chuckles of full belly laughter. 

He turned back to the beach, just so everyone could get a good look. “Ready!” he yelled. The three of them on land cheered instantly. 

“Fuck you, guys!” you yelled back. 

“Together,” Conrad whispered, and you internally readied yourself. 

“Wait—,” you began, but it was far too late. Conrad dropped himself to the floor, clutching you in his grasp until you were both under the water. You yelped in his arms, trying to squeeze out of his grip as you held your breath and felt the cold water cascade over every fucking inch of your skin and clothes. 

He didn’t let you loose, though, but kept holding you as firmly as when he’d first picked you up. 

Emerging from the water was the stuff of nightmares. Your hair, clothes, body, was drenched, along with Conrad himself. He shot himself back up to standing, laughing as you struggled in his grasp to get wet hair out of your face. When he started walking you back to the beach, you didn’t want to think about how heavy you’d be now—thanks to all the extra water weight. 

As soon as you hit land, you jumped out of his arms, immediately falling to the ground and breathing heavily. “It’s so fucking cold!” you yelled, but the happiness on your face was apparent. Conrad laughed behind you, clutching his torso as he bent over slightly. 

“Welcome back,” he let out breathlessly. 

You forced yourself to standing, trying to ring out some of the water in your skirt. “I bought this skirt for the wedding,” 

“Didn’t Belly tell you?” Conrad began, coming forward with a colossal smile on his pretty boy face. “You’re a bridesmaid,” Conrad glanced over to Belly on the beach behind you, winking smugly. Your eyes widened, as you turned round to her. 

“What!” you screamed so more, but the breath in your lungs was running out fast from all the laughter you’d fucking produced. 

“You’ve got a dress fitting next week,” she replied, as Jeremiah took hold of her hand. Steven was scrolling through his phone, looking at all the footage he’d just got. 

You turned back to Conrad, shivering slightly as the breeze hit your wet body. He saw you shake, and let out an abrupt scoff. “Are you happy now, asshole?” you said playfully. 

“I’ve never been happier,” he smiled. 

“Sadist,” you let out, hugging yourself as you dripped water onto the sand. He came up behind you then, placing a gentle hand on your back. That alone made you shiver again. 

He peered down at you fondly, hair covering his eyes slightly. “Come on, let’s go change inside,” 

You shivered all the way to the beach house. Halfway up the dock, Conrad draped his arm around your shoulder, prompting you to hug his waist. You leaned your head into his shoulder, relishing in this closeness after so long. 

“Five years,” you whispered, squeezing him affectionately. 

“Five fucking years,” he repeated, peering down at you softly. Nothing more needed to be said. 

He’d missed you more than you’d ever know. 

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x reader #reader insert #jeremiah fisher #belly conklin #the summer i turned pretty #jenny han #x reader #conrad fisher fanfiction #writeblr #fanfiction #tsitp #ao3 #lightyaers #wattpad #archive of our own #angst and smut #fluff #romance #love #childhood friends to lovers #taylor swift #mini series

[shearlin]

Word count: 2395

Chapter 6: Wind

First || << Previous || Next >>

A day late but it's here!

This is a silly chapter, a tiny break from having angst in the first section :) I really like it. It inverts the formula of the previous chapters but I think it turned out okay.

A bit of a behind the scene update: I... might have scrapped 5k words of the 9th chapter because I didn't like how it was turning out. I've planned out and locked a new outline for it, but yeah I am really slow to write something new (that's the reason I've prewritten this fic before posting it excluding that last chapter, because 9 weeks is plenty of time, right?) and I hope I will be able to finish it on time, but... yeah :/

Anyway, Wind chapter is here! Enjoy :D

Barely a day has passed and Legend was already fed up. Worst part? He only had himself to blame.

He was justified as far as he was concerned. Not only was Ravio clearly going through his stuff and renting his adventure gear - again - they also only had a half an hour or so to spare to make a detour to his house and allow Legend to swap his gear and for all of them to restock potions and arrows at Ravio’s shop. They were in the middle of pursuit of a group of monsters. Who knew, what would the horde do if they let them get too far ahead or if the chain would be able to go back to his house once they finish the job.

The standard argument he had with Ravio almost every time he returned home after the merchant decided to move in, about whether the rental of his old gear was a good idea or not took him… more than they realised. 

So he kind of… shoved everything in sight into his bags and stormed off.

Well, not everything everything. He had a very good and clear reason to pack every single item he did and to leave those he didn’t behind.

If he could just remember what those reasons were now, that would be great.

If he could just remember what those reasons were now, that would be great.

So here he was. In another Hyrule, a day later, in the middle of the clearing where they made a camp to rest in for a day or two after the hard battle, trying to sort through the haphazardly grabbed items and somehow make his bag manageable again. He swore to every deity he knew the name of, if he would reach for one thing only to take out something completely different that was in its spot one more time- he was going to lose it.

“Need a hand with that, vet?” Four asked, keeping his distance outside of the circle of chaos around the other hero, doing impressively well to hide his amusement at the situation.

Four, among the others, tried to appeal to his reason when he was stuffing six-adventures-worth of items into his pouches. Only the fear of possible retaliation from the man with an entire arsenal in his back pocket stopped the ‘I told you so’s from spilling out.

“Do not touch my stuff,” he growled in response, putting all his seeds with the slingshot and the seed shooter - I never use scent seeds. Why do I still keep them with the rest? - and fishing out yet another shovel from the pile on the left, from between the different rods and canes. He knew he wanted to bring a backup to avoid the awkward situation from a week ago, when they were lacking in the equipment department but by Din this was an overkill.

Maybe they had a point. Maybe talking with Ravio distracted him too much after all…

“Why do you even have this many shovels? And why did you brin-? The question died on smithy’s lips at the murderous gaze Legend sent his way. “I’ll umm… I’ll be over there if you change your mind.”

With that, Four retreated to Sky and Hyrule on the other side of the camp, the three of them watching the whole ordeal from a safe distance.It didn’t mean he was left alone. Oh no. Far from that.

Read the rest on Ao3!

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe fanfic #lu fanfiction #linked universe legend #lu legend #linked universe wind #lu wind #my writing #a piece of heart

[albertasunrise]

Stuck in the Middle of it - Part 8

Masterlist

Summary: Years after breaking up, you bump into Benny Miller again one evening at a bar. He was one man you could confidently say you had loved once but you’d both agreed you were better off as friends. When he introduces you to Frankie Morales, you instantly feel connected to the man but unbeknownst to you… You’ll get thrown into a love triangle. The two men crazy about you. Only thing is… you have no idea who to choose.

Relationships: Reader x Ben Miller, Reader x Frankie Morales

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to give any warnings. This will be an 18+ fic (You all voted… she’s made her decision!)

Series Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

No more had been said after Frankie's statement at the aquarium.

He was right. Truth was that you had allowed Ben to distract you from the decision that you needed to make. Whether he had done it intentionally or not, it had to stop. You had to make your choice.

The drive back to Ben's was tense. Frankie didn't look at you the entire time, just watched the scenery fly by as you drove. You opened your mouth a few times to speak but you stumbled each time and inwardly scorned yourself each time. Parking up in the drive, you helped Isla out of the car as Frank grabbed autumn from her seat and carried her in. Entering the kitchen, you saw Ben at the stove, attempting to cook and growing more and more flustered as he went on.

"What's going on here?" You asked as you lifted Isla to place her in her chair, your head snapping to Frankie as he entered a few moments later.

"It's supposed to be-" Ben was interrupted by the smoke alarm going off "SHIT." He yelled as he pulled out something from the oven that was charred beyond recognition, cussing as he grabbed the cloth on the counter beside him and started to fan the smoke alarm.

"Ben, do you need some help?" You asked but Ben didn't answer, he just continued to panic as the kitchen grew smokey.

"PAPI!" Isla screeched and you turned on your heels to see Frankie leaning on the wall, clawing at his throat as he tried to pull in a breath.

"SHIT... Frank?" You called out as you sprinted to his side, helping him to the ground and supporting his top half as you glanced up to Ben "Benny, medicine cabinet, grab his inhaler." You ordered and the younger man nodded before sprinting out of the room.

"Just try and calm down Francisco." You ordered as you held him "Slow your breaths..." You said as you coached him with your own breathing "That's it."

"Here," Ben stated as he held the inhaler out to you before stepping back and watching as you helped his friend.

"Here you go, Frankie." You said as you handed him the medicine, watching as he administered it as he'd been shown at the hospital "There you go." You said sweetly as you rested your brow on his, taking steady breaths with him as the attack subsided.

Ben watched the two of you and his stomach twisted with a mixture of guilt and jealousy. Seeing the two of you together, he could see that he was getting in the way. He had hoped that your lack of decision had meant that he would be able to convince you that he could do this. He could be a father. Could be the partner that you wanted and deserved.

He was realising now that he was just being selfish.

"I'm sorry Fish." He piped up finally "I was just trying to-"

"It's fine Ben." Frankie interrupted "No harm done." He finished as you helped him get to his feet, wavering a little "I need to lay down."

You nodded, watching as he walked away. You could feel Ben watching you but you weren't ready to look at him. Your show a few moments ago was enough you were sure to send his mind reeling.

"Mummy." Isla called out and your head snapped up. You'd momentarily forgotten the toddler was there "Papi okay?" She asked as you made your way over to her.

"Yes, sweetheart." You said softly as you cupped her cheek and wiped the few stray tears that glittered on them "He just needs to have a little nap and he'll feel all better."

Her arms stretched out and you picked her up without question, holding her close as she cuddled you as tightly as she could. Your gaze then finally landed on Ben who was watching you with eyes the size of saucers and you felt a twinge of guilt.

"Can we play princesses?" Isla asked, pulling your attention back to her and you gave her a sweet smile and nodded as you carried her from the room.

...

Benny was perched on the edge of the bed when you entered the bedroom you shared with him. His eyes were fixed on your daughter but you knew he was really thinking about what he was going to say to you. The whole evening had been a disaster from the moment you'd walked through the door but it had also brought things to light that could no longer be ignored.

"Benny?" You called out, your voice wobbling as you awaited a reaction from him and you were rewarded with a deep sigh.

"We're over, aren't we?" It wasn't a question. You knew that the moment his head lifted to look at you.

His blue eyes were swimming in unshed tears and you couldn't stop yourself as you sprinted to his side and pulled him into your arms. You held him as he sobbed for a while, running your hand through his hair in the way you knew he lifted and eventually you felt him calm. You lay down, pulling him with you and for a while the two of you stayed there, noses brushing as you gazed at each other a while.

"I love you." He said after a while, his lip wobbling as he spoke "But sometimes, to love someone, you have to let them go."

"Benny." You sobbed but his hand cupping your cheek stobbed you in your tracks.

"I think we could have had a really amazing life together." He continued before edging a little closer "But you and Frankie are meant to be... Not us."

You nodded. A few tears slipped free as you let out a stuttered breath. Ben's soft lips enveloped yours in a sweet kiss that consumed you. As it grew deeper, the two of your started to remove each other's clothes and you moaned when his lips travelled down your neck. His deft fingers dragged through your folds and the moan that escaped his lips was filthy when he found you dripping for him. His fingers pushed in and you mewled, throwing your head back in pleasure as he stroked that special spot within. Your fluttering walls alerted Ben to your impending orgasm and he kissed you softly as he focused on pleasuring you.

"Cum for me sweetheart." He ordered and you did, biting your lip to stop yourself from screaming out and waking Autumn who slept soundly in the corner "Role on your side." He instructed and you did, moaning when you felt his length nudge at your entrance.

The pressure was a lot but you'd not had sex in a few months. He gave you a moment to adjust before he started to thrust, slowly and deeply. He held you close with one arm and held your leg over his thigh with the other, kissing your neck and painting your skin with his love and adoration. You knew what this was. This was goodbye and your heart ached a little at the knowledge that this was the last time you'd ever be in his arms. His length plunging in and out of you though soon distracted you from that and you felt yourself grow closer to your second release.

"Touch yourself." He pleaded "I need to feel you cum baby."

You did as he asked and with a few focused rolls of your fingers, you came with a silent scream, pulling him right along with you. You felt a tear land on your shoulder and you scrunched your eyes shut as you tried to will yours away.

The two of you fell asleep in each other's arms for what you knew would be the final time and you knew that when you woke. That was it...

The love story between you and ben was over.

...

Ben was gone early the next morning. He said he had an early client at the gym but you knew the truth was that he just didn't want to face you. Frank was sitting at the table with Isla when you emerged with his youngest, giving the toddler a wave when she greeted you with one herself.

You poured yourself a mug of coffee from the pot, topping it up with milk and then made your way to the table. You positioned Autumn at your breast, smiling at how eagerly she latched and letting out a chuckle at her wide eyes.

"Someone's hungry this morning." You cooed as you looked up at Frankie who was watching her in awe.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while. The only chatter came from Isla as she told you both about how excited she was for preschool and the plans she had with her friends for the day.

"Can mummy take me?" She asked as Frankie wiped the mess of yoghurt and strawberries from her face.

Her question stopped you both in your tracks, the two of you sharing a look before Frank replied.

"I'm sure she doesn't-"

"Why don't we all take you today." You interrupted upon seeing the toddler's lip start to wobble "You can show Autumn your favourite tree that you were telling me about."

Isla nodded eagerly, giggling in excitement when Frankie put her down and told her to go grab her backpack.

"You don't have to come." He said as he started to clean up the rest of the mess his toddler had made.

"I want to." You replied with a smile "I thought after we dropped her off, we could go to the park. It's such a lovely day today. Feels a shame to waste it."

Frankie looked at you with a furrowed brow but his face softened when he saw how you were looking at him. His eyes then travelled down to Autumn who was still suckling at your breast and his lips twisted into a smile as he nodded in agreement.

"Sounds like a great idea."

When autumn was done, You burped her, changed her and packed everything she would need for the day whilst Frankie got his eldest ready for hers at preschool. Her lunch that you put together the night before was packed into her backpack along with a change of clothes and a few of her favourite toys. Then the four of you made your way out of the house, clambering into Frankie's truck and heading out.

You couldn't help but notice how quickly the two of you had fallen into a regime. Frank had taken on his father duties without complaint and had adapted to Ben being involved easily. You knew he hated how hands-on Ben had been but he had accepted it nonetheless and you were grateful to him for that.

Arriving at Isla's preschool. The toddler excitedly grabbed your hand and dragged you and Autumn to the garden to show you the 'bum tree' as it had been affectionately named by the other children. She was then ushered in by the teachers and you were finally alone with Frank, your nerves suddenly coming on, full swing.

He drove the three of you to the park and after assembling the pram and finding a nice shady spot to enjoy the day, you placed the picnic blanket you'd packed down and sat. He joined you, laying Autumn on her front along with a few of her stuffed toys and you smiled as she lifted her to look around at them, a small smile gracing her face.

You sat in silence for a while. Neither of you was really sure what to say to the other but after what felt like an eternity, it became too much for you. So you just came out with it.

"Ben and I are over."

He didn't say anything straight away. His gaze remained fixed on Autumn who was now dosing in the detachable bassinet from her pram.

"Say something." You pleaded after a while and he finally looked at you.

"What is there to say?" He asked and your brows furrowed at that.

"You told me to make a choice." You stated, sitting up straighter "I chose you, Francisco."

"Did you?" He asked flatly "Or did Ben decide for you?"

"I don't-"

"I heard you both last night." He continued and your expression morphed into something else "I heard him tell you that it was over." He paused a moment to scrape a hand over his mouth before his attention returned to you "I also heard the two of you fucking afterwards."

"That was closure." You growled, keeping your voice low "He didn't tell me it was over... He asked if we were." You stated plainly "You see, after you left the kitchen, Isla called my mummy again in front of him. That for him was enough for him to realise that as much as we love each other, we aren't destined to be together."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frank scoffed and you sighed.

"It means that I am in love with you. I have been all along and he can see that we are meant to be together. We're meant to be a family. You, Isla, Autumn and me. He knew I was going to end things. He just decided that he'd rather it happen on mutual terms."

Frankie was left speechless. His lack of response had you scoffing and you got to your feet, needing a moment to yourself. Finally, his brain caught up with his feet and he stopped you in your tracks, pulling you to him and turning you so he could pin you to the large tree you'd taken shelter under. You were practically panting as the two of you shared a fierce stare and then his lips were on yours, kissing you hard and pouring all his love and adoration into it. When he pulled away, you then both looked at each other and smiled. Finally, the puzzle pieces felt like they'd fallen into place.

"I love you too." He whispered as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear but Autumn's cries pulled you from your moment. Eliciting a chuckle from the both of you.

You watched Frankie crouch down to check on your newborn, a smile gracing your lips as you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. Finally, you had made your decision.

Now you could start to move forward.

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