#piers tried to hate her at first

[eldritch-thrumming]

is it casual now?, pt. one

pt. two

dumb love, i love being stupid, dream of us in a year. maybe we’d have an apartment and you’d show me off to your friends at the pier. i know, “baby, no attachment,” but we’re… knee deep in the passengers seat and you’re eating me out, is it casual now?

“but like… why not just tell him?” robin asks. they’re laying on their backs on steve’s floor, side by side, legs tangled together while a fleetwood record spins out the low sounds of stevie nicks’s voice. “you’re already banging, so what’s the point? you’re practically dating.”

“what? no.” steve replies, taking one last hit from the joint they’ve been passing back and forth before handing it back to robin so she can drop it into the ashtray near her elbow. “it’s not dating. it’s strictly sexual.”

“you’ve never in your life been strictly sexual with anyone,” robin snorts.

steve scowls. this is kind of a sore subject for him because yeah. he’s never done this casual thing before and he’s never really wanted to. he doesn’t even really want to now.

he’s silent for so long that robin’s perfectly capable of understanding exactly what he’s thinking. “oh,” she breathes out. “oh no.”

“stop, please. it was mutual.” steve doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

“okay. yeah. sure.” steve hates how much she sounds like she’s trying to placate him.

“it’s really not a big deal. it’s fine. we’re having fun. i’m having fun.” steve’s embarrassed by how rehearsed he sounds.

“yeah, no, totally. for sure.”

they lay there without speaking again for a long time after that.

~*~

“god, you’re so cute, stevie, cooking me breakfast.” steve’s standing in front of the stove in his kitchen a few days later when eddie comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, nuzzling into steve’s neck. steve can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.

“don’t get too used to it,” steve tells him, plating the first batch of french toast. “woke up early enough to eat before work for the first time in, like, three months.”

“well i appreciate it,” eddie says, letting steve turn in his arms. steve can’t help himself; he leans in for a kiss and eddie returns it enthusiastically.

eddie’s never spent the night like this before. usually he’s out of the house before steve wakes up in the morning. most of the time he leaves before they even have the chance to fall asleep together. steve tries not to take it too personally. eddie’s a busy guy and what they’re doing is nothing serious. eddie had been sure to make that clear the first few times they’d seen each other naked.

steve tries not to read too much into it as eddie takes the plate from his hands and pulls himself up to sit on the island countertop just across from where steve’s leaning next to the stove with his own plate. he tries not to get his hopes up but he can’t help the flutter in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach as they eat breakfast together before he has to go to work. he tries his best to ignore the pull he feels toward eddie, the way his hands itch to plant themselves on eddie’s hips and pull him in. he pushes down the disappointment that arises when eddie changes out of the sweats he’d clearly taken from steve’s dresser drawers and back into his own clothes. he ignores the tiny little pang in his chest when eddie says goodbye and leaves, even though steve has to leave for work in ten minutes anyway. he tries to ignore the little voice in his head that points out that eddie doesn’t even kiss him goodbye.

~*~

it goes on like that for a while. eddie starts spending enough nights at steve’s house that steve can’t help but become hopeful. he has his own green toothbrush sitting right next to steve’s red one on his bathroom sink. his hair has started to smell like steve’s shampoo. eddie’s stopped insisting that they’re just casual every time steve leans in for a kiss. sometimes they don’t even fuck, they just fall asleep together watching a movie, with the tv playing softly in the background.

steve’s not delusional. he knows that it’s not a relationship. but that hope is back and he’s helpless against its forces building inside him every time he says goodbye to eddie at his front door. his t-shirts have started going missing, ones with hawkins high emblazoned across the front, ones that he knows robin wouldn’t be caught dead in. eddie’s the only one who could be taking them, but steve can’t figure out why he’s being so secretive about it. he still hasn’t been able to catch him at it. but it has to mean something, right?

steve starts to let himself fantasize about what could happen if he just confessed to eddie. if he just admitted, once and for all, that he’d never wanted to do this whole friends with benefits thing that eddie’s been insisting on. he’s not totally sure that eddie would be a hundred percent receptive, but it’s only happening in his own brain, so he can have the ending he wants for now.

“jesus, dingus, what the hell is going on with you lately?” robin asks, sounding irritated as she comes to stand next to him behind the counter at family video. “i’ve been trying to get your attention for ten minutes.”

“what? sorry.” steve drags a hand across his face. “just thinking.”

“oh really,” robin snorts. “about what?”

“just…” steve sighs. “remember when we were talking a few months ago?”

robin raises her eyebrows at him.

“i mean, you know. about eddie.” his voice drops into a whisper at the end, as if eddie might be hiding behind one of the vhs displays, even though it’s a tuesday morning and the two of them are alone in the store.

“oh. yes. i remember.” robin sounds just a tiny bit apprehensive.

“well… i think something’s changed.”

“changed? how?”

“i mean, he’s started sleeping over my house a lot more. sometimes we don’t even… you know. have sex.” he whispers the last two words, looking over his shoulder. “i think he’s stealing my t-shirts.”

“okay,” robin draws out the second syllable, elongating the ‘a’ sound, making it clear that steve has to be a bit more specific.

“do you think he… i don’t know. do you think maybe he wants something more? like, maybe to date? or like, whatever.” steve runs a hand through his hair nervously. this is the first time he’s admitting he wants something more out loud.

robin considers for a long moment. “honestly, i don’t know. i’ve never made it past kissing anyone before.” steve’s shoulders slump. “but there’s only one real way to find out.”

“how?” steve grunts, even though he already knows the answer.

“you gotta talk to him, man.” steve groans. “i know, dingus. it sucks.” she reaches out to rub his back, an attempt at comfort.

it almost works.

~*~

steve thinks about it for a few days. about three weeks ago, eddie had started kissing him goodbye every time they parted ways at steve’s front door and he hasn’t missed a goodbye kiss yet. that has to mean something. it has to.

it’s a movie night—eddie’s choice—when steve finally gathers the courage to say something to him.

“can i talk to you?” steve says, sounding far more confident than he actually feels. he’s pulled his legs up under himself on the couch and turned sideways to stare at eddie’s profile.

“um, yeah,” eddie replies a bit distractedly, eyes glued to the tv screen as he reaches for the remote next to him. he pauses the film and only then does he turn to face steve. he smiles, dimples showing. “what’s up, stevie? i don’t pause the thing for just anyone.”

that makes steve feel a little less nervous. it feeds the hope in his chest. he runs a hand through his hair. “okay, well. i was thinking about, like, what we’re doing.”

“what we’re doing?” eddie tilts his head to the side just a little, looking confused.

“yeah, like. you know. you’ve said you want to keep things casual but i was thinking that maybe we could…” steve trails off, unsure of how to continue.

“we could…?” eddie prompts, but he’s starting to look a little apprehensive.

“i mean, i know you said that you don’t really do the non-casual type of thing or whatever, but i was thinking like. i don’t know, that we could, like, go on a date? maybe?” steve hates how unsure he sounds at the end, how his voice turns up at the end.

eddie just looks at him for a long moment. “i thought we were on the same page, steve.”

okay, he’s not ‘stevie’ anymore, but maybe this is just a miscommunication.

“we were,” steve responds, swallowing hard. “i mean, we are. i think.” then he corrects himself. “or, uh, thought.” he looks down at his hands for a second and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “i really like you, eddie. and i want… i don’t know what i want but i know that i like you a lot. and i don’t want to be just friends who sleep together.”

“so,” eddie speaks slowly, still looking just a bit confused, “you don’t want to sleep together anymore.” he doesn’t really say it like a question, more like he’s not really all that surprised.

“no, i mean…” steve’s feeling just a little frustrated with himself. “i like that part. that part’s, like, really good. i just… i want more than that.” he runs his hand through his hair again. “i… i guess want to be your boyfriend.”

eddie laughs then and it makes steve’s chest feel hollow. eddie must see something on steve’s face because his laugh cuts off abruptly. “sorry, man. you’re serious?” eddie sounds almost disbelieving. steve can only nod, his throat tight. he definitely does not want to cry in front of eddie right now. “oh. well. um. i don’t really…” steve’s heart drops and the little bubble of hope that had been building since that first time eddie had stayed for breakfast abruptly bursts. “i’m sorry, dude, i genuinely thought we were on the same page. i’m not—that’s just—” eddie clears his throat. “that’s just not really something i want.”

steve has nothing to say to that. he supposes that eddie had been honest from the beginning and that he was the one who hadn’t been truthful so he can’t even really be mad.

“right,” steve responds, avoiding eddie’s eyes. “sure, okay.”

“i think i’m gonna go for now. but i’ll see you around, okay, stevie?” steve’s eyes snap up to eddie’s face and eddie’s eyes are wide and panicked. he looks like a cornered deer. a part of steve can’t help but feel sorry for putting that look on eddie’s face.

“yeah, okay. see you.” steve tries to smile at him, maybe to reassure him, but eddie doesn’t even look at him as he gathers his shoes and keys before leaving.

once eddie’s gone, steve sits there for a long moment, wondering where he’d gone wrong. maybe he should have waited until a little bit later, when they were upstairs tangled up together and he could distract eddie with kisses. maybe he should have waited until breakfast, when eddie’s soft and sweet, warm from sleep. maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

steve turns off the tv and goes upstairs to bed alone for the first time in a while.

there’s a part two already half written so no worries, i only write happy endings (except that one time).

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #steddie blurb

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [THE INBETWEEN] - IN LOVING MEMORY

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.9k] A week after John B and Sarah were lost at sea, you and JJ navigate a new living situation and unsuccessfully avoid the inevitable grief process, leading to a private memorial as you honor a fallen brother.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, grief avoidance

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I think these little 3-chapter pauses between each season are gonna be my favorite things because it focuses sooo much more on just TR and JJ <3 but this first one really focuses on their grief over John B

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

IT’D BEEN A WEEK SINCE JOHN B AND SARAH DISAPPEARED. Shoupe said that the department wasn’t calling the search off just yet but you knew they weren’t looking. There’d been no updates, no boats out on the water — it was as if the entire station had retired. 

Metal clanked against wood as JJ set the wrench down on the work table — music playing lowly in the background as the blonde worked on your car. The two of you were in John B’s Surf Shack at The Chateau, the car halfway pulled in so JJ could work outside of the heat, but the sun was relentless. The hood was flipped up as the boy inspected and toyed with the parts — sweat dripping down his forehead from his damp strands of hair, shirt long abandoned as he stood only in a pair of army green cargo shorts and his signature worn-down, unlaced combat boots, shark tooth dangling from his neck.

“Are you gonna keep staring or do you wanna help?” JJ asked, leaning his hands on the exterior of the car, eyes squinting from the sun as he looked up at your figure that was sitting on top of the worktable, feet swinging as you watched him.

“When I tried to help, you told me to, and I quote, ‘sit my unhelpful ass down somewhere’.” You reminded the boy, cocking your head as you took a sip of the beer you’d retrieved from the house. 

“Maybe because when I asked you to hand me the box end wrench and you handed me a pair of pliers?” He sassed back, standing from his leaned over position and walking closer to you, snatching up his own beer and taking a long swig. 

You shrugged. “Same difference.”

“Hate to break it to you, princess, but no it's not.” JJ chuckled, leaning against the work table. His eyes drifted down to where you were scratching your ankle as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I told you like ten times to stop scratchin’ it. It ain’t gonna help.” He reprimanded, setting the beer down and taking your ankle in his hands, leveling it in front of him.

You groaned as he swatted your hand away. “But it itches, so bad.” You whined. “Probably because you did it with a needle and pen ink.” You pouted, both of you inspecting the small, scraggly ‘P4L’ tattoo on your ankle. “How come yours doesn’t itch?” You asked, referring to the matching tattoo the blonde had done on himself.

“It does.” He told you, pulling out a small thing of vaseline from his shorts and scooping some up on one of his fingers. “I’m just not a pussy.” He joked, side-eyeing you as he gently applied the jelly over the artwork. 

Just then, Marley came running into the shack, almost knocking JJ off of his feet. You bursted out into a fit of laughter as the blonde steadied himself, staring down the dog. “You fuckin’ mutt…” He muttered, letting your leg swing back towards you gently. 

“Hey,” You warned, plucking his arm. “Watch it, or I’ll have her piss on your pillows.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He waved off, walking out of the shack and into the afternoon sun. "I'm takin' a breather from your piece of shit on wheels. That thing needs way more than TLC..." He told you over his shoulder. You quickly hopped off the table and followed after him, whistling for Marley to follow your lead.

"Don't blame my car because you have the skills of a mechanic from Craigslist." You defended as JJ led you all the way down to the boat pier behind The Chateau, both of you sitting down on the wood, kicking off your shoes to let your toes hit the water. Marley laid down behind you two.

He chuckled lightly before you fell into silence. That’d been happening a lot lately. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. In the week you and JJ had been learning to live together at The Chateau, you’d grown to just sit in silence with him. Quiet mornings, lazy nights. Neither of you had to speak or force a conversation — just bask in the company of one another, knowing you still had someone. 

There were days like this — where things seemed almost normal, but only for a moment. But then it was as if you’d both simultaneously realize that nothing was normal and it probably never would be ever again, that realization never failed to cast a cloud over the atmosphere.

John B was gone. He wasn’t on another marathon from DCS, he wasn’t out cleaning boats to keep the lights on at The Chateau — he was just gone. And something inside of you felt so empty. Ever since you were kids, toddlers, it was always you, John B, and JJ. And even when you made each other mad or sad, you always came back together in the end.

Now, it was just the two of you. Sure, you had Kie and Pope but that was different. John B was their friend too but there was a deeper grief that they couldn’t understand. But JJ could.

“You remember, in third grade, when John B asked out that girl and she told him no ‘cause he had cooties?” JJ asked, a small smile on his features as he stared down at the water. You laughed, shaking your head.

“And when he tried to hug her she screamed and the teacher gave him a lecture about consent.” You laughed, looking up at the sun. “But maybe he needed it. I remember after, he apologized and shook her hand instead.”

“She still wouldn’t go out with him, though.”

“You wanna know something funny?” You asked, turning to face him as he looked at you. “I ran into her when I moved to Figure Eight. She lives on the lower end now. It’s so crazy because she ended up getting chlamydia from some guy and then passed it to his best friend.”

“Holy shit.” JJ laughed loudly, his bright smile on full display. You wished to see his smile like that more often. JJ usually tried to seem happy and carefree, but it was a sight to see when it was genuine. As his laughter died out, he had a look of contemplation on his face.

You nudged his shoulder to gain his attention. “What're you thinkin' about?”

He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, eyes scanning your face. You didn’t know what for. Then he reached into the pocket of his shorts, hand fishing around for a moment before he pulled out something — a pastel green dog collar with a heart shaped named tag. He laid the object out in his grease covered palm and extended it over for you to see.

Your eyes fleeted between the collar and his face, a look of nervousness as he avoided your eyes. Taking it from his hand to hold in both of yours, you huffed out a laugh. There were ridges on the edges, as if the fabric of the collar had been hand-cut. “...Did you make this yourself?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” He dismissed, scratching the back of his neck and attempting to seem nonchalant about the gesture. “I wasn't doing shit, got bored. If you, uh, if you turn it over-” You wasted no time, flipping the name tag to the other side, eyes landing first on the ‘if lost, please call…” note then drifting lower to see ‘P4L’ engraved in the metal beneath your phone number.

“Um, yeah that.” JJ finished. “It’s honestly nothing. It's fine if you think its stupid, I just figured-”

He never got to finish his nervous rambling as you pulled the boy into a hug. His arms staggered before hugging you back, going around your waist and almost pulling you into him. “Thank you.” You mumbled into his neck. "And it's not stupid. I love it." You could feel small tears leaving your eyes and making home on his sweaty skin, you just hoped he didn’t notice.

“Are you crying?” He asked, pulling back from the embrace and taking your face in his hands. “Oh, shit. Please, don’t cry.” He panicked, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks, leaving grease trails behind in their wake, the gesture making you chuckle sadly.

You don’t know what made you cry. You hadn’t cried in a full week. “Sorry, sorry...it's just that everything is so messed up.” You sniffed. “I wish I could go back to last year. Before my dad died, before all that shit with Rafe, before my mom became someone else, before John B...” You choked out, trying to remove your face from his hands but he wouldn’t let you. “If finding the gold means losing the only people I have left one by one, then fuck it.”

“We don’t know if he’s, y'know.. they’re still looking-”

“No, they’re not.” You scoffed. “They just don’t want to tell us that. Because if they do, they know we’ll start looking for ourselves and they’ll have four more dead kids on their hands.” You doubted, struggling to hold back more tears. JJ simply used his hold on your face to pull your head into him. Something about the gesture made you burst out into sobs, muffled by his chest. Most people would find such a genuine, serious gesture from JJ Maybank odd or rare. But in all your years of knowing him, JJ understood emotions better than most people, he just lacked the ability to show them sometimes.

He was there when they found your dad’s body, all of your friends were. The police only let you through because you were his daughter but when the wind blew the tarp off of his bloated, pale body, JJ was the only one who threw all caution to the wind and ducked under the caution tape, weaved through like ten police officers and caught you before you fell to your knees in the sand.

JJ was one of the most empathetic people you knew, but he’d never cater to his own needs as much as he did for others.

“I miss him, too.” He said solemnly, taking a shaky deep breath. “Believe me, man.” He scoffed, but his voice wavered prompting you to lift your head to look up at him, sniffling. “Bree was my brother. I can’t even tell you how many times he was just there for me. He got me out of a lot of shit and I always gave him shit for it. He would always tell me he just didn’t want me to end up like my piece of shit father and I was always such a dick about it. I knew it was because he cared but I…” He sighed, wiping the stray tear that had fallen from his eye with the butt of his palm. “I just wish I had been a better friend. I know I get us into a lot of shit and I’m impulsive and-”

“You were a good friend.” You cut off his monologue of martyrdom, sitting up straighter to look at him directly, using one hand to cup the back of his neck as you spoke. “John B loved you. Yeah, he might’ve gotten a little pissed whenever you got all trigger happy-” You joked, eliciting a small laugh from JJ. “-But he always understood that’s just who you are. He always cared about you all the same. He would’ve done anything for you.”

“And now he’s…shit, he’s gone.” He sniffed, wiping under his nose as he avoided your eyes, a frown on his face. “And I don’t have anyone like that anymore.”

“You have me.” You smiled pitifully. “I may not be a six-foot, brunette male who's oddly obsessed with bandanas but I think I can fill his spot. Make it work, somehow.” You joked playfully.

JJ scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah, you have your own spot.” He told you, his blue eyes finally finding the courage to meet yours again. “No one could replace Bree. Or you. You were the two people I never wanted to lose in life. And now he’s gone and I don’t know what I’m feeling or what the fuck to do about it because I’ve never felt it before. And sure, I want to fight for him and get the gold back but now I’m scared that that might mean we lose someone else and I don't know what I’ll do if the person we lose is you.”

You shook your head, pressing your forehead against his. “You’ll never lose me. Even if I’m not here.” You reminded, fingers scratching at the hair on the nape of his neck. “And even if John B is gone gone, he’s still here. Probably telling us to grow a pair, right now.” You chuckled despondently, both of you somewhere between laughing and crying.

All of a sudden, a wet, rough tongue hit the side of both of your faces — Marley apparently feeling left out from the exchange. The action had the two of you pulling apart, shielding your faces from the attack of dog kisses. She was like a light, her typical high energy making you feel just a little less sad inside. “Alright, alright…” You said, lightly pushing the dog back as she panted and wagged her tail so fast it made her whole body wiggle.

Just then, you realized you still had JJ’s gift clutched in your palm, peering at the object before beckoning Marley to come closer and commanding her to sit. She was still panting, mouth open and tongue out as you buckled the collar around her neck, adjusting it to fit and spinning it so the heart tag sat where it was supposed to, her name engraved in JJ’s handwriting.

As soon as your hands were off of her, she turned her attention to JJ, burying her head in his lap and rolling over on her back, wanting the blonde to rub her stomach. It was like she knew he’d made it for her.

“She must like you.” You said, voice a bit scratchy now. 

JJ shrugged, caressing the animal’s stomach with a small smile on his face. “I guess she’s alright.” He trailed off playfully. You admired them for a moment, the sight making your nerves settle in a way they hadn’t been able to in the last seven days.

For a moment, everything was calm. This was peace.

“Hey, JJ?” You piped up, the boy’s eyes leaving the dog as he looked at you in a questioning manner. “I know we’re waiting on Kie and Pope to actually memorialize JB but would you want to do something, just me and you? Not to leave them out or anything, I just thought we could, I don’t know, mourn him differently. He was a part of us.”

He pondered on the idea for a moment before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, I think he’d like that.”

You simply nodded in response, getting up from the dock to go into The Chateau, not even bothering to put your shoes back on. Entering the house, you looked around for something that sparked an idea on how you could honor John B. You spotted an empty glass bottle — write a note and send it out to sea? No. That didn’t seem right. 

Still looking around, your eyes found two tealight candles on the coffee table, untouched and never lit. You hadn’t recalled them being there before. Picking up the two candles in one hand, you headed back outside, the sun beginning to set and casting an orange hue over the water in front of you the closer you got to JJ and Marley.

Sitting back down, you handed one of the candles to JJ. “Just something small.” You told him, the blonde taking the small candle from you and reaching into his pocket to retrieve the lighter he typically carried with him. Marley had her head in his lap, less energetic than she was just minutes prior. Her big, puppy eyes just watched the two of you light the candles as the sun got lower in the sky by the minute.

“Should we, like, say something before we let them go?” JJ asked, eyes on you. 

“It’s up to you.” You shrugged. Just then, Marley got up from his lap, running through the grass and to the trees. You didn’t bother to chase her, she always came back.

JJ’s fingers of his free hand drummed on his thigh as he thought. When he finally had something, he shifted his weight and held the candle carefully in his hand. “To Bree.” He started, voice shaking. “My best friend, my brother, and the unluckiest guy I’ve ever met. I promise to not pimp your shortboard.” He said, looking at the flame swaying from side to side, before looking at you, waiting for you to say something.

Your nerves jumped a bit, not really knowing what to say. You figured something was better than nothing. “To John B. One of my greatest friends, my trauma twin, and the best DCS fugitive I’ve ever met.” You spoke, looking out at the sunset. 

“Love you, man.” JJ finished, reaching his long arm down to gently set the candle on top of the water, watching it slowly drift away. You followed his lead, having to bend down a bit further to let the candle hit the water safely. Both of you sat silently, watching the two miniscule flames drift further out with the waves. You wondered how far they would make it before they went out.

Suddenly, the patter of paws came running back, Marley wedging her way between the two of you with a stick between her teeth. The dog got dangerously close to the edge of the pier you were sitting on before letting the stick drop from her jaws and hit the water, sitting down between you and JJ as she panted.

You heard about cats leaving gifts for people of significance, maybe this was her version of a candle. The action made you and JJ look at each other before laughing and hugging the dog in sync. She reveled in the attention, tail wagging ferociously.

You and your friends had a long way to go before anything would feel okay again. But just having each other was enough, right now. You couldn’t rush grief. You’d just have to let things take their course and hopefully one day, John B wouldn’t be such a sad memory.

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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©loveharlow.

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Dan Wootton

(The video and the substack article have the same information and graphics/visuals.)

Harry has several anonymous accounts on Twitter and other social media (that he reportedly hates) to monitor how he and Meghan are being covered and talked about.

The Sussexes are fully aware of what Sussex Squad does and directly feed into it. Scobie and Bouzy are in direct contact with the Sussexes. Bouzy and Meghan's PR teams are also in direct contact with many of the Sussex Squad accounts/users. Byline Times is one of Harry's partners.

Sussex Squad has been targeting Wootton since he published Megxit. Wootton's sources include people close to Harry and people close to Sussex Squad.

Sussex Squad created KateGate and began certain rumors about William. Wootton was able to identify the account responsible for starting #WhereisKate and alleging her disappearance is because of William's temper.

Bouzy is most likely the individual responsible for Getty's flagging of KP's pictures and Kate's video statement as being edited and inauthentic.

Wootton hints that Sussex Squad somehow found out about Kate's cancer diagnosis and/or their coordinated attacks on KP (probably via the KateGate hysteria) forced Kate to announce her cancer and treatment plan before she was ready and before she had fully come to grips with it.

Sussex Squad has been spooked off Twitter and now use Discord for their collaboration.

Wootton also identifies and discusses 3 Sussex trolls:

Troll 1 is a techy in NYC who is a close Bouzy collaborator. She is one of the main accounts that have harrassed and targeted Wootton and his partner because of Wootton's critical coverage of the Sussexes. She has publicly admitted to it. She is no longer trolling because it's toxic and allegedly has quit Twitter, though not before claiming that Wootton and his people were threatening to hurt her and her dog.

Troll 2 is a business dude in Tampa. He specifically targets Camilla and has claimed that she is Meghan's main bully and has enlisted Jeremy Clarkson and Piers Morgan in her bullying campaign. He also tries to keep connecting Charles to Germany, and specifically to N*zi Germany.

Troll 3 is a British advertising executive. This individual has alleged that Camilla is responsible for Charles's cancer, because she has been poisoning him since the coronation so she can retire "young."

One of Wootton's bigger points is that if the Sussexes want to be taken seriously as advocates for internet reform/social media protections, then they must publicly disassociate from and condemn Sussex Squad's behavior and activities. He doesn't think they will.

*****************

First, I'm pleasantly surprised by this. I was expecting Wootton to be a little more sensational about his discoveries, but it's clear he's really done his homework and has really spent some time investigating this. If you're into this kind of thing, you might actually enjoy getting his updates so why not sign up for it. Use a burner email, though. You can never be too safe.

Second, I'm not really sure about using Wootton's reporting to validate some of the rumors and theories I'm tracking. On the one hand, Wootton has legit sources and a track record that makes him one of the more reliable reporters. But on the other hand, I like double-confirmation for my verification so I can be sure that it's the absolute truth.

What do y'all think?

#brf #sussexes #theories #rumors #waleses

[honestsycrets]

hi sy! first things first, you’re a fantastic writer. i am in LOVE with your western series! second, may i request an idea? it’s the 1920s, and miguel is one of the top mobsters in nueva york, while the reader is his mob wife. after an attempted hit from one of miguel’s rivals that nearly kills her and gabriella, the reader decides it’s time to her and little girl to skip town, but miguel will be damned if his family tries to leave him. cueeeee angst, drama, the whole shabang!

canary I: a threat | [miguel o'hara x reader x gabriel o'hara]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader, gabriel o'hara x reader

❛ type | double shot; 5k

❛ tags | non-monogamy, some angst, 1920s inspired piece, irish clan inspired piece, bootlegging and mention of hits, explicit, a depiction of killings, some jealousy, some trad-roles elements, f!reader, 1920s slang and Spanish not translated, time period birth control (cervical cap).

❛ sy’s notes | i have spent weeks staring at this piece. it's a bit longer than my usual works and for that reason i decided to split it up into two chapters. this piece takes on a little bit more of a generalized irish mob approach rather than italian. this chapter is more domestic than the subsequent one will be.

Miguel O’Hara hated it when his kills ran. No matter how many alleyways they ducked into, shoddily constructed fences they tumbled over, or crappy cars they tried to hitch a ride in, he always found them.

His fingers were blisteringly tight around his kill’s throat, sure to leave certain bruising if the man made it out alive. He wouldn’t. Not based on the blood that seeped over Miguel’s tanned hand. He gurgled underneath Miguel’s hand, the kill messier than he imagined. Any number of his hitmen could have carried out this contract but instead, his crisp white top was slathered in the contract kill of the week. He recalled the sudden memory of his hand on your slight waist, the kiss on the top of your head with the promise of his night. He snarled the memory away.

Should’ve just shot him, Miguel thought. Mierda.

With the fading of the man’s life, his choked grunts drifted into silence. Miguel allowed the man to slump over. Silence fractured, his world bursting with sound. The salt-laden wind whistled past his hair as ships sailed into the pier, carrying cargo, and his latest shipments. Bootlegged booze had its own benefits-- poor training and numbers among agents, for example. A crackle of an engine sped down the road was followed by the bright beams of an electric headlamp.

“¡Oye, Miguel!”

Of course. Under the bright moon that shone arrogantly in the dark sky, the figure came into focus. His polished suit was just a tad too big for his toned, but hardly muscular frame. Even in the darkness, he had the kind of smile that made people feel like they were the special ones. It matched the gentleness in his eyes behind that swoop of chestnut brown hair. If the feds published men of their color on army recruitment posters, he’d certainly make the cut. Handsome, but not too handsome. Strong, but not too strong.

“Gabe,” he breathed. “The lights.”

“Lights? The lights!” Gabriel looked back at his shiny black car. He bounced back toward the car, bellowing. “This a Spot boy? You did a number on him.”

“You sap. Could you be any louder?” Miguel threw aside. “Why are you here?”

“Thought you could use me tonight, big shot,” Gabriel said in that sugar-dipped tongue of his. It works less on Miguel than it had on you. It was oddly discomforting. As the days wore on, he loathed his brother’s silver tongue.

“I could use someone watching my girls.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I was. They're sleeping." Gabriel booted the man, more than minced meat when Miguel was done with him. “You had some beef with him, huh?”

“No.” Miguel mumbled, looking at the man’s body rather than his own, something sharp hovering there. There was nothing he wanted less than to stand in the biting cold listening to his baby brother prattle on a moment longer. He wiped his blade on his once-was-crisp slacks and slid it back into its sheathe. “Let’s hit it.”

“Jake,” Gabriel said, an annoying rendition of an okay. Gabriel was full of shitty terms from his stint in the big house. Almost as many as he picked up at Miguel’s speakeasy.

“Say. Miguel?”

Gabriel’s voice was soft, almost strained. Miguel caught his eyes, knowing subconsciously what his brother would say. He sucked in a breath to calm himself from a reaction to thin, sharp words. They balanced on the point of a knife as Gabriel spoke them into existence.

“They're our girls.”

This setup wasn't going to last. One day, you'd probably settle with Gabe. Miguel jerked up to the sensation of your fingers ghosting his chest, twiddling around his inky black chest hair, gliding across scars. He senses the source of his disquiet, your small frame draped over his side, watching him with a foreign curiosity.

“Muñeca?” he murmured sleepfully, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “What's it? Did Gabriel sleep in?”

He finds it hard to believe that his chirpy brother would do such a thing. Mornings were notoriously his favourite part of the day. Unlike Miguel, who shunned the light that streamed in from your thin curtains.

“Coppers took him in for questioning,” you murmured, leaning in to lay a small peckish kiss on his lips. That was quick. His eyes swept down to your lips, lingering there as you spoke. “Gabi said you’d come with me to iglesia.”

“Chingado. He passed the buck onto me.” Miguel groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow, weighed down by such a stupid request. You thumbed the golden necklace he’d forgotten to take off, gliding one of your legs up his hirsute thighs. He finds himself hiking your leg higher up his thigh. “That’s what you woke me up for?”

“‘Course not,” you muttered. “I missed you last night. Where’d you go off to?”

“To finish intake.”

You didn’t believe that.

“Promise it didn’t have nothing to do with what Gabi got carted off for?” He holds you in a working gaze, something that tells you he isn’t about to answer something like that. You are his woman. Yet, some secrets aren’t ones that he’s willing to disclose. It could put you in a compromised position. Most men, namely the Italian boys, had enough sense not to drag a man’s family into problems between the mob and the clan but in this world, not everyone had sense.

“Miguelito, you’re scaring me.” Your breath quickened, palpable with your chest against his. His large hand encompassed the middle of your back, guiding small, consolatory circles.

“Some things you’re better off not knowing,” Miguel worked at an explanation. Some things like the amount of hits he was getting for Spot boys. The booze going missing from the speakeasy. Some of his girls licked off the street. Just-- some things. “Got it?”

“Long as it’s not another dame,” you mumbled, fisting his necklace around your fist, dragging him forward for emphasis. A smile tugged at his lips, somehow pleased with your response. “What? You been out the house more times than not.”

“I share you with my brother,” Miguel worked the back of his neck. “Better that I skip town than hear you moaning for him. Might hem him up one of these days.”

You laugh-- but Miguel doesn’t find a lick of it funny.

“You got me now,” your hands drifted up to Miguel’s massive shoulders. “How ‘bout this. You fill me all up for church, wear that spiffy dark blue suit. Then we take Lyla out to get her some cherry coke at the apothecary’s. Maybe I’ll even sing you a whole song today if you’re lucky.”

Church, again. Miguel rattled a groan. Of course, he couldn’t have one day off from frateurinizing with people who hated the fuck outta him. Church folk. He didn’t know why you insisted on going with people who openly called you loose.

“Can do without one of those things.”

“If you want me, you go to iglesia, Miguelito.”

West-Side Violence at All-Time High! Italian Enforcer found dead! The West clan’s Gabriel O’Hara facing added charges on suspicion of--

Tch. You interrupted the scowl on his face with a well-placed kiss to his cheekbone, sliding a piping hot mug of Joe before him. Wafts of steam warmed his cheeks. You set down his morning’s breakfast, a plate loaded with fats. No tamales today, but baked beans from a few well-established Irish wives in the area. You wiped your greasy fingers off on a dirtied apron. Miguel stabbed a hunk of sausage as you spoke.

“Gabi’d never do that. They’re trying to hem him up like that capo last month,” your voice quaked, strutting back toward the cabinets. “It’s too personal. He’d… fill ‘em up with lead sure, but a stabbing? It just don’t make sense.”

Sure didn't. Miguel dropped the paper to the side of the oak table, tracing lines of worry that grew into spiderwebs of panic across your forehead. You spoke so feverishly in defense of Gabriel, whose absence was palpable. He often talked about the latest hired singer, sneaking behind your waist for kisses on your nape when Miguel could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning after pulling all-nighters.

“I have someone on it.”

“I bet Papa did it.” His daughter-- or Gabriel’s-- they were never quite sure. He glanced to his foot where Lyla sat. A full seven-year-old, Lyla was a spitfire of a thing, her hair in a bouncy bob topped by a silky ribbon. She glanced up from the dreidel she was spinning around and around. His lips pulled into a minced smile. “What? He’s a liar.”

“Miguel.”

Couldn’t even eat in peace.

“Lyla,” Miguel gestured toward the door. “Go wake up Maeve. Go on kid, get.”

That kid had a smart mouth. He watches her roll her eyes, only budging when you supply her with a hunk of pan dulce. She takes a mean bite, eyes locked on Miguel as she hopped out, somehow less bothered than she was a few seconds ago. You closed the metal door behind your daughter, a hand balled up on the bend in your waist as you watched her skip down the stairs and out of view.

“Most girls don’t talk like that about their papas,” you mumbled. Your arms crossed one over the other for support. “Does she hate him that much?”

“Most girls don’t grow up in the life.”

“Mi culpa.”

With his breakfast all but spoiled, Miguel pushed the plate away. His hand was soft on your waist, nose burrowed into your hair, tracing the notes of jasmine and rose, vanilla and sandalwood. The scent was unmarred by the stench of speakeasy smoke so early in the morning. Your hand came over his, steadying yourself from the rushing thoughts by leaning into his touch.

“I need a girl at the speakeasy tonight.”

Unlike his brother, Miguel’s requests rarely offer a tone of choice. It rolls off his tongue dry and hits your ear like a spike. Nothing about your relationship with Miguel was easy-- it was marred by the rivalry among the brothers-- and as you suspected-- interloping from your grandfather.

“Y Lyla?”

“Maeve is her nanny.”

“How can I step in there without Gabi?”

“He’d want you to. And I want to see you out of this dumb apron.”

“It isn’t dumb,” you pursed your lips, somehow more convinced despite your reservations. Most days, you spend the day in the house-- isolated from any life you came to Nueva York for. Any half-formed excuse that was on your tongue flopped. He nearly has you. “It is right dumb, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. What happened to my canary?”

“She met a pair of terrible brothers who don’t care for pulling out.”

“Don’t blame me.”

He pushed himself against your back, twiddling your fingers against the pantyhose that clothed your thighs. A smile tugged on your lips as Miguel leaned over to kick the front door shut, dipping onto his knees. It wasn’t often that he allowed you to ruin his perfect face before work. Today is a special treat.

But… if you thought back, you really should have.

Took a long time to get any mail from the island. Almost impossible.

In your hands is a sloppily penned letter-- You should be married to one of those boys-- your grandfather. He isn’t stupid enough to think that you’re opening this for the first time tonight, here and now, right in front of him. If you’re ‘reading’ it, you must be wanting him to take a hint. Miguel bent down, placed a kiss on your temple, gliding his hands over your own to place the letter onto the vanity.

He used those very same hands that were meant for maiming against the clasp of a set of pearls around your neck with gentle precision. His fingers coursed along the curls at your nape as he clasped them together.

“How long before your set?”

“Half an hour… maybe.” You stood to face him, pursing ruby-red lips, whispering in his mother’s tongue. He never liked it when his mother barked at him in Spanish, but when it's off your tongue, he knows how sweet it could be. Your hand inched its way over his chest, tracing the fat knot against his throat.

“What’s the issue?”

“I don’t-- feel very perfect. You have all these shebas out there--” women who not only knew how to sing but weren’t terribly mottled by stretchmarks or burdened by the eviscerating effect of motherhood. They’re beautiful, free canaries when they sing in his speakeasy. As much as you loved singing-- you felt shy on that ruby-red stage lately, before a dozen ruby tables and the hopping band.

“They’re to bring in the sugar.”

“Uh-huh, bring in the sugar until they take you away.”

“I’m satisfied.” Miguel took a step up, communicating the way he knew how, by settling his large hand over your jaw. His strong hand glided to your chin, urging you to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. Tied me down with Lyla as it is.”

“Words are just words. Why buy the…”

“Cow if you can get the milk for free, sí, I know what your grandfather says.” He slips into your chair. “Què quieres?”

“I don’t know, Miguelito. A promise. A marriage. Algo.”

“You want me to wife you up? Don’t remember ever talking about this.” He gestured you to come closer. You stepped up, knocking between his legs. Miguel’s gaze falters, chasing the glint of your tassels as they come to a stop.

“What’s the issue?”

“Nothing. I thought you’d ask Gabe.”

“Gabe gets around.”

“You believe those rumors.” You slap his large hands groping up your thighs, climbing over his lap like it was your throne. His massive frame eclipses the chair, suppressing your comparatively smaller frame. “And don’t think I do?”

“Do you?”

“No,” he laughs. Or, not recently. It’s hard being a father-- harder when he has a whole ass business to keep on top of. Most women wanted those things: jewels, a new pair of silk knickers, and a home. “If that’s what you want, you got it.”

“Oh Miguelito,” he suckled your neck, drawing horrendous marks to the surface. Marks of his ownership in the absence of a ring. He hears the pleased hum of your voice, low and sweet, and knows that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“I haven’t put in my cap,” his fingers danced across the outside of your thighs, slipping past your stockings to your silken shorts. He slotted his fingers underneath the fabric, grazing his fingers through your neatly kept curls. Your breath came in deeper bursts as he melded his hand over your vulva, expecting you to grind back on him. You did, ever so eager for him.

“Don’t bother me with that,” he said in a low, husked voice. “You know how I feel about your birth control.”

It was your idea, primarily. Gabe was ever too content to simply be with you-- he didn’t need a large family like the rest of Miguel’s Irish clan. Four, six, sometimes more. Unlike Gabe, Miguel wanted the exact opposite. You shifted over his thigh, obeying his desire to have you ride him. Miguel urged your hips down, working his thumb over the precious button as you did. Miguel’s leg trembled up against your slit, bursts of warm friction warming your hungry body. With his slacks freshly cleaned, you worry about soaking them, soaked in lubricant as you were.

“Come here,” you surrendered a soft moan to him, leaning forward now, less to ride his thigh than the bulge in his slacks. He does not quite care for the idea of ruining himself inside the confines of his pants, but if you want to feel him, he has no reason to deny you. You’re wonderfully spoiled, juddering your hips over him like any whore walking the streets in exchange for a coin or two. What he’d give to have this to himself.

It donned on him-- he could have it to himself. This time, he’d be certain of who the child belonged to. He adored his Lyla, though his irritation with her quips was ever palpable, this-- right here, the ability to fill you and be certain filled him with fat hunger and possessive need to burst into his slacks.

“Stop-- Muñeca-- stop,” Miguel tipped his head back, gathering his focus by digging his hand into your hair, stopping you immediately. His harsh grip loosened, followed up by loosening the button of his slacks and shoving them below the curve of his ass. His cock slapped your silken shorts, beads of his desire dripping from his cockhead. “Take those off. I’m finishing inside.”

“Miguelito,” you slipped onto shaky feet, enough that Miguel could force the shorts underneath your dress to the floor. “We agreed that babies would be--”

“You asked to be my wife. Ain’t this what wives do?”

“I know bu-- not there, deja, let me,” you stopped. His cockhead clumsily poked here and there, until finally, your hand guided him properly. Your mouth fell into a hazy moan when Miguel’s cock shoved forward, breaching your cunt with a snap of his hips. You seated yourself back onto his fat cock, reminded of the absence of your cervical cap in your cunt.

For all your talk, you ached for him, dipping your intertwined hands down to your mound. The rhythm was as sloppy as whatever singer was on stage right now, her voice giving way into a distinct crack. Whatever-- if it bought him more time to properly seed you, he didn’t mind.

He buckled forward as you clenched down upon him, holding him prisoner deep in your body. Liquid soaked his slacks-- and Miguel huffed, puffs of hot air warming your back. That was going to be fun to walk out in. His wife’s cum soaking his crotch.

“Hold still. It’s almost showtime,” Miguel’s voice was thin, his hand splayed on your waist as he used you less like his woman and more like a toy for his pleasure. It didn’t take long for Miguel to find a proper rhythm, his muscles flexing against your back. You were preoccupied as it were with the pain of Miguel’s teeth sinking on your shoulder, spiking hot as his pleasure crested. Soon enough, you felt his warmth fill your core, your head lulling back against him only after his thrusts ebbed.

“Don’t clean up, go on stage leaking.” Miguel held out his hand for you to take, allowing you to pull your shorts back up your ass, nestling his leaking cum in the fabric. It helped ease the anxiety of having you on stage, somehow, to see you in such a state.

“When you knock me up, you’re telling Gabi. I... can't.” You told Miguel, smoothing your dress over your shorts. There was a nervous flush in your eyes-- shame, he placed the emotion. He scrubbed the smile from his face. He had at least a few weeks.

“Sure thing.”

There was a certain delight in seeing you dressed up in that little black dress, all bright red lips, and sultry song. Not that you didn’t look tasty in that stupid apron you wore not to dirty any one of the pretty dresses you wore to church-- like you weren’t a heathen for warming the bed of two O’Hara boys. The people knew it. The church knew it. Damn well, the town knew it.

“Pal, that’s her on stage,” went an Italian boy. An allied family through nothing but contract killing and coin, he was safe here for the time being. One little lapse in a contract could shake it all. “That’s their kitten.”

“She married?”

Miguel turned his gaze back to you for a long moment. Your warm, sweetly lidded words slipping off your tongue, making his mind sluggish and relaxed after a long day. He captured your eyes, minding how your hands fell to the tasseled ends of an already short skirt, daring to expose your skin obscured by pantyhose to the crowd. You knew the game, how far you could lift your skirt without your would-be husband jumping his cage.

“Don’t be goofy. Miguel’d get sore if Gabe tried. She has ‘em both around her finger. Has a kid by one of them. No one knows whose. I got my money on--”

Stupid kids.

“Kid, I’m gunning for another.” Miguel cut the boy off, eyes crinkling at the edges. Something in the way you moved on stage reminded him of Lyla’s pregnancy, perhaps the glitter in your eyes when you met him at his table, instead of backstage, holding his large hands in your own. Some sparkle in your eye, a ginger announcement in his ear. Half elation, half… something else. Something, not quite fear, swirled in the boy’s eyes. Miguel watched with a keen interest as the boy flushed.

“Right on, big shot.”

Miguel brought his cigarette to his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed and his mind wander to the past. He should have known you were hands-off from the moment Gabriel wouldn’t beat it with the idea of adding another girl to their speakeasy.

The best time to tell Miguel about his new girl in the speakeasy was when he was in a good mood: catching any bootleg thief put him in a good mood. Not that he was particularly partial to grey matter and blood spraying him like a fresh pinata, but… he was more partial to money in his pocket and a good reputation. His boys cared for much of the violence in the West of this shitty little town.

“You hired a new girl?” Miguel repeated, drawing a long hit of his cigarette with blood-smattered fingers.

“Spanish girl. Like us. We don’t have a Spanish girl in this joint.”

“Gabe. Most of our clients are Irish. They don’t speak Spanish.”

“You should see her Miggy. She’s got this angelic little face,” Gabe whacked his elder brother, his grin growing ear to ear. There it was, his baby brother got blinded by his dick again. “When she sings you-- well, you get all twisted up.”

“Angelic face,” Miguel mumbled under his breath, tapping excess off of his cigarette. For the price he paid his girls, she had better have the face of Mary herself. The last few Gabe had pulled were mistakes. Some drug-addicted. Others whose husbands always caused a mean stir. He drags his hand down his face, weighing the costs. “She another dumb--”

“She’s Daniel’s littlin’. You remember Daniel? Taught you how to use a kn--”

The sigh that sat in his chest dissipated like vapor, perfusing into his tissue. Miguel looked at the paper Gabriel set in his blood-tinged fingers. He rotated it, gave it a look with his tired eyes. Talk to Gabriel. That old man knew just what Miguel would have said: get your ass back on a boat and go home to whatever rinky-dink island you foolishly sailed off of for this shitty city.

“Lemme see her sing.”

He doesn’t pay attention when Gabriel introduces you onstage for the first time, focusing on the paper ledgers Peter arranged for a review. Unlike his Italian connections, he don’t mind mixing it up with the Jewish boys. They’re twice as smart on the books and twice less likely to be hauling in trouble. Bootleg booze was one thing— the opium, the heroin, the cocaine, and morphine another. It packed too much heat from the coppers.

He hadn’t meant to look up.

It didn’t occur to him that you could have a sickly sweet voice, tempered by the rich Spanish on your tongue, only rivaled by those beautiful looks. His abandoned ciggy threw smoke into the air. He slumped back into the chair with a heavy thud, unclenched his tense jaw, and listened to a siren’s song that felt both familiar and distant all the same.

You had the sort of eyes he swore he’d met before, despite knowing he’d never seen a face like yours around. He’d remember sinking his teeth in that delicate neck that sat under pearls that he supplied most of his singers for their performances. His eyes hungrily cantering down your tassel dress. Not one he provided, no, he knew most to all the pieces in the back. There was a simple beauty in the gown.

You were trouble. He caught your eyes with an intent expression and expected you to blush and look away. You smiled. He wasn’t sure if it was for him or Gabriel, who flicked a grade-A smile, and a twiddling wave of your little fingers. He wants to feel them scratching down his back.

“--anyone home? Miggy? Miguel. Don’t tell me you’re already stuck on her.” Gabriel teased, elbowing Miguel in the arm. “You are! Told you she could sing.”

“Pipe down.” He jammed his ciggy in the dish.

“Sorry.”

He watches you a moment more, the slide of your legs to the tune of the band. The way your laugh resonated through the speakeasy when a patron stumbled onto the stage for his take on some stiff-legged swing. Most women would push them off, look to him for help in the swing, but you ran with the twirl the drunk led you into. He hated to admit that Gabriel was right. Among all the girls in his speakeasy, you brought a lightness to the life of a drunkard he’d not seen in a while.

“Gabe,” he mumbled, standing up and whirling his suit jacket over his broad shoulders.

“Yeah?”

I told’ja so, Gabriel’s voice sounded in his head. He could already feel the stiff annoyance that would be Gabriel’s fist connecting with his shoulder. Why did Gabriel have to know him so well? Miguel spoke with an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Let’s keep her.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

A hail of loud pops ruptured his sweet, distant memories. He reaches out to snatch his gun from the table, settled between the fresh flowers he plucked for your show. For an instant, his world wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t sounded out by the deafening assuredness of a kill, but very real panic under the singled out by the shrill of your scream.

They're going to push up on us, Miguel told Gabe. He never did take anything outside the speakeasy seriously.

Except tonight, there was no Gabriel. Miguel clasped his hand around his gun, whirling for the source of the flame. The barrage of gunfire is put down as quickly as it began. With a host of Irishmen in the bar, he should be so unsurprised. One of the Italian kids slumped over on his table.

There’s blood-- a lot of blood. Hysterics bound all around, some soothed by their partners or friends. The other Italian boy just stares-- lips slightly apart-- jarred by whatever horror was before him. Miguel finds it hard to believe that he hasn’t seen worse. Others burning his ears like the morning sun in his eyeballs every day you forgot to pull the curtains closed.

“God damn it, Peter.” Standing there is the scrawny little devil of a bookmaker himself, smiling cheesily.

“Hope that’s a good god damn it.”

He shoved his way from the tables, numbing out the complaint of the Italian boy. You were long since gone, probably a good thing that you weren’t here, that’s for fucking sure. It’d been the first time since Gabe’s incarceration he managed to drag you out of there and now… you were somewhere, undoubtedly frightened. Maybe even hurt.

“Boy, wonder who this kid crossed. Say, about Gabe, I got good news--”

He seized a chair, flicking it past Peter, a sure hiss for him to shut the fuck up about his baby brother in the can. Peter put his hands up reflexively, tracing Miguel’s rising shoulders.

“She ran to the back.”

The slender hallway down to his office is cold, only illuminated by the occasional pull-pin light bulb swinging overhead. He came here most days that he wasn’t on shift, taking a hit, or caring for his boys. Keeping track of everything was the best way to stay ahead. And even still-- he missed something from one of Spot’s boys.

You didn’t bother to close the door, balled up in a corner of his small office. He has a glorified cot for a bed in a corner, a heavy desk that nearly killed Gabe trying to hike it down the stairs years ago, and a rack stuffed with any number of books.

“It’s me,” his voice filled the room. You peered up from behind your arms, wrapped around your knees. What a stupid oversight, he thought, whoever was in charge of the damn door let someone in that was… going to be a problem. He was good with Lucky’s crew. Now he was gonna have to pick up that wired phone and tell him some kid was dead.

Your heels scratched across the ground, scooting back to the cool wall. You weren’t hurt-- just, sort of shocked. Maybe being conned into church with you panned out somehow.

“Muñeca.”

“That ain’t… ever happened with Gabe before.”

Gabe. Dy by day that he heard his brother’s voice, it became more of an annoyance. It wasn’t fair to make the comparison-- Gabe caring for most things that went on in the speakeasy, Miguel caring for interpersonal deals and security. With Gabe away, he’d not… it didn’t matter.

“It won’t happen again.”

“If Lyla were here--” You’re a shark-- going after the one thing you knew would hurt. The little girl back at home who he went to great lengths to make sure was safe. She was… his, even if he felt was his brother’s, putting more salt into an ever widening sinkhole that was his irritation.

“She wasn’t.”

“But what if she was?”

“Cállate,” he barked.

“Fine, I’ll beat it. You can holed up all alone down here like you like to be, you-- you-- big lug.” You recoiled for an instant, before forcing yourself up, rubbing at heavily fallen tears in your pursuit of the door. Your cheeks were kissed by raw agitation, all pink and in any other situation, beautiful. Miguel swayed to catch your elbow.

“Discúlpame,” he murmured, a rare apology if you could even call it one to begin with. There was a long pause, and he wondered if you would be upset with him for the rest of the day. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He knew he made it damn hard not to.

That was the thing about Miguel. He made it hard to get close, but even harder to leave. No matter what he did, you wanted to stay there right by him-- because he was the complicated brother. The one who… well, hell, you wanted to be about. Gabe was good and easy, your Miguelito was…

“Dios mio, Miguelito. This hinky stuff ain’t happening again. Or-- Or I’ll leave you both. Take Lyla right back to the island I came from and marry a man who isn’t in wrong with the police.”

You should have known the day that you gave birth to his daughter that something like that wasn’t going to happen.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara x reader

[rea-grimm]

Sleep protector Law

Ever since both of your parents died in the hospital, you hated the place from the bottom of your heart and you had such a fear of them that it even affected your dreams. Ever since then, you've had nightmares about that cursed place. Each subsequent one was worse than the previous one.

It was only a matter of time before you developed insomnia and a fear of sleep. You woke up in tears and refused to go back to sleep. This started to limit you so negatively that you even consulted a psychologist.

Despite all of this and all of their advice, you felt like you were stuck at a dead end. No matter what you tried, nothing helped.

You had no idea how it happened but it all happened too fast. At one point you were relaxing in the garden when you noticed a tall man in a pink shirt, red cap and black coat walking by. He was trying to light a cigarette when he tripped, fell over your fence and still managed to light himself.

Now you were at your house and you were tending to the scratches on his hand. You offered him something to drink to go with it and you two started talking. There was something about him that made you open up to him. It's like you're talking to an old friend.

When you confessed your problem to him, you immediately apologized. You didn't want to burden him.

When you said goodbye, he wanted to somehow repay you for your help. But you insisted that you didn't need anything. You escorted him to the door, and then you returned home.

To your surprise, a black teddy bear in a white cap with black leopard spots was lying on the table. The teddy bear was wearing a yellow hoodie with black sleeves and a smiley face in the centre. Blue pants with the same black spots.

You didn't expect something like this. You sat down in the chair and took the teddy bear in your hands. It was surprisingly soft with pleasant material. Plus it smelled nice. You hugged him and rested your head on him.

He filled you with such peace that your eyes slowly began to close. You decided to take the teddy bear to bed with you.

Already the first night that you had the teddy bear with you, you slept peacefully like a baby. You slept all night and in the morning you could say with peace of mind that it was a full sleep. You couldn't even remember the last time you slept this well.

At first, you were afraid it was going to be another sleepless night, having another nightmare about the hospital. You were running from something. You didn't know what to do, but it filled you with terrible fear and despair. You knew if it caught you it would be the end of you.

You ran down the hall and passed one door after another until you finally reached the corridors. You felt trapped, lost. Your heart was racing, it's a wonder it didn't jump out of your chest.

Out of nowhere, a strange sound echoed down the hall and a pale blue light surrounded you. The nightmares were slowly approaching you when you heard new footsteps from the end of the corridor and saw a shadow holding something long.

“Shambles,” you heard before appearing outside the hospital in the blink of an eye. You were standing on the beach and a yellow submarine could be seen by the pier.

Since then, you have been dreaming about this submarine and its crew more and more often. Her captain, an ice-eyed, black-haired young man in the same outfit as your teddy bear, protected you from nightmares. 

He always simply overpowered them and took you into his submarine where you felt safe. He always made sure you were okay before leaving you with his crew who then took care of the rest of your dream. And even though the captain didn't spend that much time with you, you felt he was always there for you.

As your sleep improved, you also had more zest for life and decided to spice up your shopping today. You went through a few clothing and trinket shops before heading out to just explore IKEA. Look around for some inspiration on how to improve the apartment and perhaps buy something small.

You were just walking through the stuffed animal department when you noticed a young man who reminded you of the captain of your dreams. Although he was standing with his back to you and was wearing a black coat, you would recognize the cap on his head anywhere.

Out of curiosity, you moved closer to him and noticed that he was looking at a stuffed polar bear. You stood up next to him and took one too and looked at it. He was quite cute and wore an orange overall. You looked at the young man out of the corner of your eye and at that moment your eyes met. You immediately looked away.

You heard him chuckle before he put the teddy back in the basket and left. You felt embarrassed that he caught you staring. In the end, you brought home a plush polar bear and another plush penguin with a cap, which had another tiny penguin on its head.

During the same night, you dreamed again about the yellow submarine and the grey-eyed captain. This time, however, the crew had two more members. A polar bear in an orange overall and another person in a cap with a small penguin on it. That night you dreamed of a celebration as the two of them were properly welcomed aboard.

You were even joined by the captain who seemed to be in a good mood. You had the impression that after this you were a bit closer again.

You had planned to cook the fish you bought at the market in the morning. But first, you had to remove the scales and then fillet it. You sharpened your knife to make it go like butter.

However, you didn't expect to be so clumsy. You went to work, but the knife slipped on the fish and cut your hand. You immediately dropped the knife and ran for a towel to cover the wound.

Despite your layman's treatment, that is, the hand was bleeding profusely and you were sure it would need stitches. But you refused to go to the hospital for it. You held your bandaged hand up, wondering what to do. 

You felt helpless. Your fear of hospitals was so great that even if you needed help, you couldn't go there. It felt like tears came to your eyes and your knees buckled.

"I never thought you could hurt yourself like that," said a familiar voice. You turned in surprise to see the captain of the yellow submarine from your dreams.

“Law…” his name slipped out of your mouth and you didn't understand what he was doing there. That you'd lose so much blood that you'd hallucinate?

"Sit down at the table, I won't help you on the ground," he said sternly. You just nodded your head in agreement and obeyed him. Law then sat down across from you and had a medical bag next to him that he used to dispense the necessary items.

For the fact that his voice was cold at first, he took your injured hand surprisingly gently. You watched him treat you with almost bated breath. First, he numbed the wound so it wouldn't hurt you unnecessarily before he cleaned it and started sewing it up.

You couldn't follow that anymore and so you focused your gaze on him. At his eyes, how focused he was on his task.

Once your hand was properly treated, he put his tools back into the case, which he then placed on the ground. You leaned over, but you couldn't see the briefcase anywhere.

"Are you still in pain? " he asked you. You shook your head. "Good. How did you even do that? You should be more careful. What if something more serious happened to you?” he started to scold you.

“Sorry,” you said weakly before hugging him. "Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you. I didn't want to go to the hospital…” and you felt tears forming in your eyes again. You didn't want him to be mad at you. You felt him hug you too.

"Don't cry. I just want you to be safe," he said much more gently. That gave you the courage to look up at him. A fleeting smile played on his lips now before he wiped the tears from your face with his fingers.

Before you could answer him, he leaned closer to you and captured your lips in a kiss. Now you felt like you were in a dream. In a dream, you didn't want to wake up from.

Law Masterlist

Sleep Protector Masterlist

#one piece #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar d water law #sleep protector #sleep protector Law #monster piece #trafalgar law #teddy bear

[echobx]

figure you out part 1 - jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: y/n hasn't seen her friends in quite some time and decides that it's time to pay them a visit, but her best friend JJ Maybank isn't very fond of her

warnings: hurt/comfort, verbal fighting, JJ being a bit of an asshole

word count: 4.3k

author's note: it's very much more hurt than comfort ig. I know I fucked up the southern drawl thing that JJ got going on, but I'm not very knowledgeable in that so don't focus on it too much.

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y/n hadn't been that attentive of her friends lately. She had a lot on her plate ever since switching schools, from Kildare High to KCD, and moving out of her family home and into the condo her boyfriend had provided for her after her parents had to move away for work. She hadn't minded it much. She had always been more on her own, had always known how to take care of herself. Growing up on the Southside hadn't been easy, but it had taught her a lot about life, especially to appreciate it when good opportunities were at hand.  So she said yes to the car Travis had gifted her on her 18th birthday. She had said yes to moving into the penthouse apartment with him, although he technically still lived with his parents to keep up the facade. His parents were old school, so she had said yes when he had proposed to her. "It's a good match. You will be taken care of, sweetie," her parents had told her. y/n knew it was the right choice, the smart choice. She would go to college, and then they would get married after. He would take over his parents' company, and she would play the trophy wife, raise the children and look pretty. It wasn't a bad future for someone who came from nothing. 

The only cons to the big plan were her friends. Well, if they would still call her, that was to be questioned. She had only seen them a few times at parties in the last eight months, but she had come to the conclusion that now, as the end of the school year was right around the corner, she should finally pay them a visit again. y/n missed her friends dearly. She missed hanging out, drinking beers and smoking. She missed surfing and falling asleep in the hammocks at the Château afterward.  Before y/n had switched schools, her friends had held a long discussion over the issue. The fear that she would forget them and never look back was great, especially after they had all experienced a similar situation when Kiara had had her "Kook year" like they used to call it. But it hadn't mattered what the Crew had to say, the decision had already been made. Her future was more important, getting off the island had been the only goal for her ever since her first day of High School. She had become valedictorian for this one reason and nothing else.  But the worst part had been that they had all been right about her, about the changes. 

When y/n looked in the mirror that evening, she could barely see her old self anymore. The washed out shirts and cut off jeans she had always worn had been replaced by pretty sundresses and blouses and other fancy Kook clothes. She looked like a Kook, she lived like a Kook, and anyone who didn't know her from childhood on might think she had always been like this.  She had tried to pick something that wasn't too on the nose. A white loose blouse and light blue jeans shorts. Her hair hung over her shoulders in fine beach waves, and for shoes she wore her usual gray low Chuck's.  The whole drive over to the Cut, she was plagued by fears. 'What if they hate me? What if they say I betrayed them?' were just two of the many questions that pondered her mind. 

She parked her car at the Chat. The old, wooden house still looked the same as it had the first time she had laid her eyes on it. It sat rather idyllic at the sound, and the afternoon sun was painting everything in a golden glow.  The HMS Pogue was towed to the pier and the Twinkie parked in her usual spot. y/n thought back to the many adventures she had gone on with her best friends, especially John B and JJ.  "Hey there, old girl," she mumbled and let her hands run over the metal of the little, orange bus.  "She's not that old, you know," John B laughed from behind her, and she snapped around just in time to be embraced in a hug.  "Where were you? Fucking missed you, sharky," he sighed while holding her in his arms.  "Missed you too, bird," y/n laughed, and they broke out of the hug.  "y/n!" Kiara screamed and slammed her surfboard into Pope, who walked next to her, just for her to run into y/n's arms. 

After a warm welcome from all of them, they were sitting on the porch, sharing beers and being happy about the reconnection.  "I know I should have come by sooner, but school is a lot and then my parents moved away. It was so much, and I promised myself to focus on my future. I'm so sorry, guys." y/n apologized for possibly the millionth time since she got there.  "We would never judge you for that," Pope assured her, and she gave him a thankful smile.  "We do judge you though for not texting once, and rather fucking some Kook than coming by to surf or something," JJ sneered as he walked onto the porch.  "Jay," y/n hushed as she looked at him. He was hurt, and he was actively fueling his pain over seeing her again into his rage.  "No, I get it. You're a Kook now. The car, the fancy clothes, living Northside. You've got it all, don't you," he hissed at her.  "It's not that simple," she tried to reason with him, but he didn't even attempt to calm down.  "It's very fucking simple, actually. You're a Kook now. No Kook is a friend of mine. You can go." JJ pointed towards the door, expecting her to get up and leave immediately, but she didn't. "JJ, that's enough," Sarah admonished him.  "She left us, so don't expect me to be so stupid to let her back in just because she is bored or whatever and decided to pay us a visit," JJ yelled, and it was the last thing y/n had needed to break. She had expected him to act this way, he had always been hot-headed, but this was worse than what she had prepared herself for.  She stood up and walked away. "I'm sorry. I should have asked before coming by," she mumbled before leaving towards her car.  "And there she runs again. You don't have to come back again, cheater," JJ called after her as she got in her car and drove away. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you," Kiara screamed at JJ and pushed him so that he stumbled backwards a few steps. "She wanted to come back, and you pushed her away because you can't fathom that life isn't just black and white. Get your head out of the gutter, JJ, she's not the same girl she was when we met her."  "And that's exactly the issue!" He spat out and turned towards John B. "Whatever that was, that's not the same girl we grew up with. She's not our friend anymore!" "Leave! I will not have you call her names and all that crap you are trying to pull right now. Go, and don't come back unless you apologize to her. She had a tough year, and you're just making it worse with your selfish bullshit. Because to me, she is still the girl who kept running into this very door frame because she has shit coordination skills. Maybe you can't see that, but it's true. People don't change that much, not at their core. Leave!" John B stared his best friend down until he angrily ripped the porch door open and left. 

Meanwhile, y/n cried the whole way home. She had wanted to spend the weekend reconnecting with her friends, and not just because her boyfriend and his family were out of town. No, she had wanted to do so for a long time, but she had never gotten the opportunity to. But now this was also ruined. Her best friend had ruined it. At least she had still thought of JJ as her best friend before he had screamed at her. 

JJ Maybank had been y/n's best friend since third grade. John B and JJ had saved her from a bully at recess, and since then the three had been inseparable. They had spent every free minute with each other. Had consoled one another after a heartbreak or after a fight.  JJ had been her first kiss because they had decided to not take any chances with someone who would turn out to be an asshole, at least that had been the reasoning she had used to convince JJ. What she had never known was that Jay had always had a crush on her, just a tiny one, but he was still sure that she was his first love.  He had of course never told her about that, or the fact that his heart broke a bit when she had called him crying after losing her virginity to some guy who had only pretended to like her. He had never mentioned that he had beaten the guy up the day after to teach him a lesson. He had never told her how much she meant to him, not even when it might have been the only thing that could've held her back from switching schools. 

But then again, y/n had never been that truthful either. She hadn't told him that she had always compared every single guy to him, and that none of them ever came close to how he made her feel. That he had always been her safe haven, the only one she trusted blindly, the only one who had never judged her.  Yet he had been the only one to do exactly that as soon as she had come back to her old life. And she hated him for it. They had promised each other to never hurt the other too deeply, but he had done exactly that.  She knew his mannerisms. Knew how he tended to push everyone away, the more damage the better, but she had never thought to be on the receiving end of his rage. The betrayal over the broken promise hurt just as much as the words he had thrown at her that night. 

y/n cried herself to sleep in the empty apartment that had never truly felt like home because nothing in it was like she had wanted it to be. It was white and clean and fancy. Stone and metal where she preferred wood and old shipped away tile because someone had once thrown a plate out of rage.  She missed her actual home, but no matter how much she would have worked, she couldn't afford to rent out the whole house on her small waiter salary. Besides, now that she was engaged and ready to leave for college, she didn’t need the job anymore. She had actually been advised to not keep on working. "It doesn't look good for the family," her boyfriend's parents had persuaded her and as the dutiful girl she was, she followed the orders of her future in-laws. 

On the other side of the island, JJ was driving around on his bike, trying to let go of his rage, but nothing seemed to work. Seeing her had caused him distress. Seeing her had brought back all the feelings that he had pushed down so far that he had forgotten they existed.  The first time he had seen her in the arms of the Kook, he had wanted to rip the guy's head off. He didn't deserve her, JJ was sure of that. But in JJ's eyes no one was truly worthy of her.  He had hoped that she was miserable with him, that once she came back she was crawling, begging for forgiveness, begging to be taken back. But that hadn't been the case. She had proudly presented her new Kook life as if it was the best thing to ever happen to her.  JJ had looked at her, and the y/n he had seen had looked nothing like the one he had fallen in love with years prior. He was ashamed of ever thinking that she might not turn into one of them.  His rage drove him back to his old home, a place that wasn't his home anymore, it hadn't been in a long time.  He had nowhere to go, John B had kicked him out with good reason and none of his friends would help him out, he was sure of that. So the young man drove on and on until he found himself at her old house. It stood empty, no one had wanted to rent it at the high price the owners were asking for. When JJ had heard about y/n's parents leaving, he had assumed her to go with them. And when she had stayed, he had thought she would be allowed to keep living in their house, but even that had not been the case.  Instead, she had moved in with her boyfriend, one of the most annoying Kooks he had ever met. JJ thought it was all a trick, gifting her a car, offering a place to live for free, helping her get into her dream college. The only thing he was sure she had achieved on her own was the scholarship, but now that he thought of it, it all seemed too perfect to not have been meddled with. 

JJ snuck into her old bedroom, the same color on the walls as it had the last time he was there. The old mattress lying on the bed frame he had helped fix many times. The closet they had hidden in the first night JJ had run from home, the closet she had kissed him in for the first time.  He laid down on the bed, like he had done so many times before, just that he was alone now. No one there to help him soothe the pain that he had been holding back ever since she had reappeared in his life. Or was it really a reappearance if you had always looked after her from afar? If you had made sure that nothing bad happened to her? He wasn't quite sure of it, but seeing her smile while talking about her new, pretty and fancy life had hurt him deeply. And pushing her away and hurting her had just done even more damage to himself than he had anticipated at the moment. John B was right, he needed to apologize. And it needed to be a damn good apology at that.

y/n decided to sleep in after that very emotionally turbulent night. Her mind hadn't stopped racing, though. She wanted to go back, to make things right, although it wasn't even her doing. She had tried to reconcile, had tried to get back together with the people she loved most, but he had denied her. 'No, if anything he has to apologize. I won't let him treat me like that, especially him,' she thought while making some breakfast. But her thoughts had occupied her so much that she had burnt her eggs to black goo, and she didn't even have any left to make new ones. So she decided to skip breakfast and go back to bed, turning on the TV in the bedroom. She tried to focus on the movie that was playing in front of her, but she really couldn't. 'Ten things I hate about you?' she thought. "I could give you millions of reasons why I hate him right now," she spoke up without noticing, but then she remembered that she didn't have to stay quiet. She was completely alone, no one to judge her thoughts.  y/n paused the movie and sat up. "I hate that you hurt me. I hate that you think you are better than me just because I had to make decisions that will impact the rest of my life. I hate that you never called, either. I hate that you blame me for everything. I hate you so much, JJ Maybank!" She screamed the last part so loud that she would have nearly overhead the knock on her front door.  It was already noon, and she was still dressed in her sleeping shirt. It was an old one she had once stolen from JJ, a weird coincidence really. 

"Who is there?" y/n asked before deciding whether she should open the door.  "It's me, JJ, please let me in," he begged, but she was reluctant.  "Are you gonna yell at me again?" she asked while unlocking the door.  "No. I came to apologize," he said, and she opened the door for him to walk in. Closing and locking it again as soon as he was inside.  "Better to be safe than sorry," she explained after he gave her a weird look because of her actions.  "Nice place," JJ mumbled while looking around. "That's marble, isn't it?" he asked as his long fingers ran over the kitchen island. His usual shirt and shorts combo was the same as the night before, and y/n immediately knew that John B had taken her side in the whole dilemma. He had kicked him out, and that was the only reason JJ was now standing in her home.  "Yes, it is," y/n answered while crossing her arms in front of her chest.  "Open room concept," he turned around and looked at everything. "I bet the bedroom is back there, just like the bathroom," JJ said while walking into the direction he had just pointed at.  "What are you doing?" y/n asked as she followed him around. She was well aware of the game he was playing. He was trying to find just enough clues to piece her life together; her life without him in it.  "A bathtub and a shower, that's what I call Kooky, cupcake," he noted and winked at her before turning away from the bathroom and towards the bedroom that was lying opposite of it. "That's a good movie." JJ nodded while looking at the TV screen. He jumped on the bed and tested the mattress, pressing himself into the sheets and sighing before getting back up. 

"Travis," he hissed. "He's a real charmer, isn't he," JJ mocked as he walked back over to her, looking into her eyes, but she didn't let him get to her. He didn't deserve to see her falter even a tiny bit.  "You know, I always thought you'd end up with someone who's less of an asshole, actually," he whispered before brushing a strand of hair out of her face.  "I always thought apologies didn't include mocking the recipient or someone who is close to the recipient," she hissed back at him, and he laughed.  "Fuck that, I'm not gonna pretend to like him. I should've at least broken his nose the first time he even looked at you." JJ moved past her and back into the living room.  "Two flat screens? You really are a Kook. Disappointing," he sighed, not even turning around to look at her. He was aware of the fact that he kept on hurting her, but that was part of his plan. Make her see what she actually needs instead of what everyone tells her to want.  His eyes fell on the balcony doors that were covered by big, heavy gray curtains. "Don't," y/n called out as he opened the curtains and then the doors.  "I bet he never even cared to ask, because if he did, he wouldn't have given you the fucking penthouse," he sneered before turning around while staying in between the opened folding doors. "You never told him, did you? How long has it been? Half a year since you got together, and he never even considered asking?"  "I don't like to make a fuss, you know that," she replied with her eyes closed. Even just looking out of the window at this height made her feel sick. "Can you close it again please," she begged and as soon as she heard the curtains close she opened her eyes again. 

"I don't like when you lie to me," JJ whispered after stepping closer again.  "You came to apologize," she reminded him.  "Answer me one question, and I will apologize and leave. You will never have to see me again if you don't want to, but you can't lie to me. You promised to never lie, remember?" He stared into her eyes and she in his. The bright blue that she loved so much, that reminded her of the sky, the sea. It reminded her of freedom and, most of all, of love.  "What do you want to know?" she asked, although she knew it was a bad idea to play his games. Even though they hadn't properly talked in so long, she still knew him best. Other than her, JJ hadn't changed a single bit since she had left. He leaned in closer before leaning to the side and whispering in her ear. "Has he ever made you cum?"  She gasped, not only because his words had shocked her, but because the warmth of his breath against her neck, the closeness of him to her, was completely overwhelming.  He moved away again to fully look at her, his pupils dilated and a smirk on his lips. 

"Why do you want to know that?" she pressed out while trying to not let her desire take control of her body and mind. y/n had always wondered what it would be like to have it all, to fully be his. She had always thought that JJ was the one. That he would be her first in everything, not just the first kiss, but y/n had been wrong. JJ had told her that there could never be anything between them, the rules made sure of that.  "I'm interested, that's all. He doesn't seem like the guy to know his way around a woman." He let his eyes wander over her. Well aware of the fact that the shirt she was wearing had once belonged to him. Maybe it was a sign, he wanted it to be one.  "We haven't-" y/n started to speak, but JJ just interrupted her.  "You're joking right? You have to be joking. Is something wrong with him? How can he wake up and fall asleep next to you every day and not want to fuck you?" He laughed hysterically because in his eyes it was impossible to not cherish her like she deserved it.  "He thinks I'm a virgin. I didn't tell him. And he doesn't sleep here every night," she tried to defend her boyfriend, but there was truly no reason for it other than to spite JJ.  "I see, he's not only boring as fuck but also the dumbest Kook in town," he laughed.  "We agreed to wait until-" She wanted to yell at him, but the words got stuck in her throat. No one knew that they were engaged, no one was supposed to know until the engagement party that was planned to happen a week after graduation.  "You're joking? Nuh-uh, you seriously have to be crazy to do that. You're gonna marry a guy who hasn't even seen you naked? Seen you in your most precious moment?" JJ shook his head in disbelief.  "His parents are very old school. It's a good match. A good and stable future," she argued with him.  "Good and stable can fuck off. You don't even love the guy!" JJ yelled and ran his hands through his hair as he paced the room. He couldn't believe that she was actually planning to destroy her life like that.  "You don't know who I love," y/n whispered. 

"You are so smart, so fucking beautiful and smart, and you want to throw all of that out of the window for the possibility to play housewife for some asshole that will only end up playing golf and fucking girls half his age?" JJ was disappointed in her. He had always thought that they would actually pursue the dreams they had pictured for their lives when they were kids. He had always wanted to run his own charter, or have his own garage, to do something he was good at. And from what it was looking like, he would get to have a similar enough life to what he had dreamed. It wouldn't be his own business, but at least he knew the guy that owned it, and if he did well enough he would maybe get to take over one day.  But y/n? y/n had always dreamed big, and he had never made fun of her for it because he knew she would be able to make it, to achieve anything she set her mind to. "You wanted to do law, remember? You told me you would one day be the youngest supreme court justice ever. That was the big dream, not some sad housewife who hates her life. Please, you can't really mean this, y/n." He was desperate because if she actually had decided to turn her back on the big dream, then there was no turning back. In his eyes, she would be lost if she didn't even consider not going with the plan Travis' parents had laid out for her.  "I know, Jay, but things change. I can't afford to study law." She was close to tears, but she didn't want to break down in front of him.  "I don't believe you. You can't throw it all away, not for someone who you don't even love." He was adamant about it. There was no way in hell or heaven that she was actually in love with the Kook.  "That doesn't matter," she muttered while looking at her feet. His fingers hooked under her chin as he tipped her head back up.  "It matters so much, darling. I won't let you make that mistake, not without giving you an outlook on what could be instead," he hushed before searching her eyes for just a short second. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

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please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

pt.2

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #obx #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank hurt/comfort #obx fanfiction #my writing #~figure you out #~fanfiction #jj maybank x y/n

[ourvanishingghosts]

Hello there! I’ve read your request rules!

but if this goes against them please ignore or delete this ask!

Could you do a seperate piers and raihan x reader but enemies to lovers type of headcanons or just being enemies with them in general? Nothing too explicit?

Sure thing. Sorry for the long wait. I wrote Raihan where the reader uses a Pokémon type that’s weak against his teams types. For Piers I wrote where the reader uses a Pokémon type that’s strong against his teams types.

Enemies to Lovers

Raihan

People could see that you and Raihan were enemies because he would constantly beat your team in every fight

Your friends and family suggested switching the type of Pokémon you use, but you wanted to prove that Fire Pokémon were better than Dragon Pokémon

Your partner Pokémon is Cinderace. Your team includes Scovillain, Blaziken, Pyroar, Arcanine, and Ninetales

You love your team and you don’t want to give up on them and you know that they are strong

You interned for Kabu to learn more from the best of the best and you ended up working for him after your internship ended

Kabu said that you had a lot of potential

Kabu and Raihan were talking in the Motostoke gym and you tried to not be seen by either of them

Kabu saw you and called you over and you obliged because he is your boss

He said that he was telling Raihan that he planned on passing the Fire gym to you when he officially retires

Raihan said that he is shocked with Kabu’s decision because your team can be easily defeated

Kabu quickly reminded Raihan that this gym is one of the first three gyms that challengers face and that the gyms were supposed easier compared to his gym

Before Kabu left you and Raihan he said that you were the best Fire Pokémon trainer he has ever interned and worked with and that Raihan should at least show you some respect

It was three years after that conversation that Kabu retired and you took over the gym

Everyone else was welcoming and excited that you were finally the Motostoke gym leader and they had two cakes for you and Kabu since you both combined the two parties together

One cake said “Welcome to Gym Leader Family, Y/N” the other said “Have a Fantastic Retirement, Kabu”

Raihan gave Kabu his retirement gift and everyone held their breath when he approached you

He said “Congratulations on finally achieving your dream. I hope that you can finally prove that Fire Pokémon are stronger and better than Dragon Pokémon.” and he gave you his gift

Raihans gift was a plushie of Reshiram the legendary Pokémon that has the typing of Dragon and Fire

But there was a second plushie in the bag and it was a plushie of Turtonator which has the typing of Fire and Dragon

Before the party ended Raihan said “I gave you those two plushies because they prove that a Pokémon can be a stronger Fire type with a Dragon sub type or a stronger Dragon type with a Fire sub type.”

After he said that he kissed your cheek and left

Kabu and Melony saw kiss and they will not let you live that down

Piers

You knew you and Piers were destined to be enemies ever since you two were kids

You loved Flying Pokémon and your team just happened to have typings that are strong against his team

You hated it because you wanted to be friends with Piers, but he has made it clear that he hates you

Your partner Pokémon is Butterfree. The rest of your team includes Togekiss, Gliscor, Hawlucha, Flamigo, and Beautifly.

Your gym ended up replacing Opals gym, but you kept the same concept of how challengers battle at your gym as Opals gym. You wanted to keep it the same so that Opal can still have her legacy. So the gym now has pink and pastel blue to incorporate Flying and Fairy Pokémon.

Piers refused to visit your gym because he says the colors give him migraines

When Victor, Gloria, Bede, and Marnie were doing their gym challenges and Marnie happened to beat your gym in one go by luck. Victor, Gloria, and Bede completed your gym in two tries.

When word of Marnie completing your gym in one try got back to Piers he stormed into your office asking if you went easy on her

You told him that you didn’t go easy on Marnie and that she was a strong opponent and that he should believe in her more

After you said that he smashed his lips against yours and after he pulls away he tells you that you shouldn’t tell him how to feel

Let’s just say that after that interaction you and Piers relationship started to become more lovely

#pokemon raihan #raihan x reader #pokémon raihan #pokemon raihan x reader #raihan pokemon #pokémon x reader #piers x reader #pokemon piers x reader #pokemon piers #Pokémon piers #pokémon piers x reader #pokémon raihan x reader

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Sixteen

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Strong Language, Smut, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 9.3K

Notes: Hiya pals.

“Welcome home, Mr Bennett.”

Tom looked behind the suited man and his clipboard. Beyond the small dockyard pier, he could make out the beginnings of a town still sleeping. Mist, or was it rain, was rolling in from the horizon of hills. In just a few hours, the train would take him through those valleys, along the Pennine Way and to Manchester.

“Not quite home,” Tom said to the man, who smiled in turn. “But almost.”

The boat from Gibraltar to Scotland had taken five days and, after his journey through central Spain, Tom was glad to be back at sea. In England, summer would have been making way for autumn but the heat still lingered in Spain. Days of walking, being bundled between cars, and of weeks waiting in Gibraltar for any news of his departure left Tom agitated. The heat had not helped. The days at sea had given him plenty of time for reflection. Stood on the stern of the boat, gazing as mainland Europe disappeared, he watched the surface of the water for disturbance. After the Battle of River Plate, he couldn’t shake the fear that U-boats were lurking beneath the waves, waiting to strike. Fighting for attention alongside these fears were thoughts of Bess. She had told him, before he left, that the Navy could be the making of him. In a way, she was right, for faced with the open ocean and endless sky, Tom felt freer than he ever had on land.

Home was so close now; he could almost smell it as the gentleman on the dock led him and a few other evaders towards a waiting vehicle. Roast dinners, grease from the dockyard, rain on the cobbles, perfume at the Palais and buttered chestnuts at Belle Vue. The dusty picture house, clean linen, Bess’ hair. Tom had tried to think of what he would do when he saw her, for seeing her was inevitable. For a while he thought of going to the Infirmary; she couldn’t scream at him while in her uniform. Or else, he could climb into the window of her flat like old times, but he didn’t know which was hers and hadn’t she said that the boarding matron had a strict rule of no gentlemen? Perhaps Tom could charm the woman. He wasn’t a gentleman, after all. He settled on seeking her in Longsight. Neutral ground. What he’d say he didn’t know, but that was one part of the plan he could account for; no more performing.

By evening, Tom and the other evaders that had made the crossing were trundling southwards, through Scotland and towards England. It was a supply train, and they had been given bunks by the men that worked to deliver steel, food and other resources across Britain. Tom watched as the sun set below the Pennines, knowing that in the morning he would awake in Manchester. He looked at the photograph of Bess. Almost nine months since he had laid eyes on her at the train station. Maybe tomorrow, he would see the real thing.

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Bess removed the blackouts to be dazzled by sunlight. She stood at her window a while; autumn was coming and soon all warmth would disappear from the sun. God she hated Manchester in winter. She scanned the city skyline. At least, what was left. As if in some perverse game of dominos, a few buildings that had been there last night were gone, dark smoke billowing in their stead. She had heard the first loud crashes. The air raid sirens hadn’t noticed this attack, and after the first distant explosion came banging doors as the girls of Carver Mills, dressed in nightgowns and curlers, hurried to the shelter at the end of the road.

Despite the terror of the night past, Bess found herself in unusually high spirits. The months had not been kind to her, and she could count on one hand the few times she had been truly happy since new year. Most of those times had been the first promising two weeks of 1940, sharing stolen kisses and glances with Tom. But this morning, with the sun shining through the horror, Bess felt perhaps if she couldn’t conquer the world, she could at least conquer the day.

She sat at the small vanity. She had been dancing at the Palais over the weekend and her rollered curls lingered. If she draped them just right at the base of the neck, she could hide them from Sister Stern under her nurses cap. Bess surveyed her reflection. It was a day that called for rouge. Rolling the lipstick from its tube, Bess swiped the colour across her lips and thought of the men at the hospital. She’d certainly brighten their day. The last thing to do was grab the photo from her nightstand. The paper was worn at the edges but despite this, and the black and white hue of the paper, Bess could feel Tom’s blue eyes gleaming at her. She tucked him into the pocket of her apron and donned her coat before glancing round the flat. It wasn’t much, but in the early autumn light, it felt like home. Perhaps she’d have Joan and Helen over that evening for supper and wine, if they could find some.  

The bus was just pulling away from the stop when Bess reached it, and she ran to join it. Douglas appeared at the open door and held out his hand to haul her onto the moving vehicle.

“Thank you,” she half whispered, half panted. Douglas touched his cap. A little awkwardness still coated the air after she had kissed him then revealed her feelings for his son; the month since had left little time for her to visit but she made a point to every time she was in Longsight. She valued Douglas’ friendship too much to allow her moment of insecurity and fear get in the way.

“Your father’s down the front,” he said as Bess moved to find a seat. “Looking a bit worse for wear.” Bess nodded and found her father slumped against the window behind the driver. His hair was unkempt and a little stubble was starting to show.

“Dadda,” Bess nudged him as she sat down. “Dadda!” He woke with a start and looked at her. A sleepy smile spread across his face and he took her hand in his own, patting it gently.

“I was going to pop into the hospital on my way home, to see if you were okay.”

“We’re all fine,” Bess squeezed his hand in reassurance. The Blitz was taking its toll on Fergal. More frequent air raids on the city meant that after his shifts at the dockyard he was straight into his warden’s uniform and on patrol, helping put out fires or guiding civilians to safety. Since Albie’s death, he was rarely home, his time taken up with helping the war effort and avoiding his grief. Bess laid her head on her father’s shoulder and they sat in amicable silence.

“Heavy night last night, they got Oxford Street. Palace Theatre got hit.”

“Many dead?”

“A fare few my girl, a fare few.” When they arrived at the Royal Infirmary, Fergal spoke again. “I do worry about you Bess. It’s only a matter of time before they get the hospital-”

“We’ve got a shelter in the basement, Dadda, we’ll be fine.” She kissed his cheek. “Tell you what, I’ll come by at the weekend for dinner. Stay over?”

“I’d like that, you take care.”

She waved off her father and Douglas from the stop as the bus made its way to Longsight, then hurried in to begin her shift. Sister Stern said nothing about her hair and lipstick, though from the twitch of her eye, Bess knew she wanted to. She was right too, the men loved it. She, Joan and Helen were the most popular nurses at the Infirmary with their beauty, charm and care. With every flirtatious comment, smile to her friends and patient helped, Bess felt her heart lighten. Uncertain the cause of this newfound contentedness, Bess was desperate to cling onto it regardless, and set about making plans for the evening with Helen and Joan.  

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On any other day, the walk from Manchester London Road to the Bennett house would take an hour. But as Tom strolled the streets that had coloured his childhood, his buoyance at being home turned to horror. The pub in which he snuck into for his first pint was no more than a pile of rubble. Houses of friends gone, skeletons of their childhoods all that remained. Even his secondary school, once an imposing building, had been brought down to a singular wall and the scaffold of the gymnasium. He felt sick. The war had at last come home. What if he arrived in Longsight to find it no longer existed? Walking through smoke and the rising dust of devastated buildings, he saw lines of people watching on as wardens and firemen attempted to put out the still simmering flames of the night before. At Victoria Park, a woman was trying to calm her young children, some of whom sat atop the rubble, as men scavenged what they could from the bombed-out street. A football lay abandoned in the road and Tom, taking pity on the woman, offered to kick the ball about with her sons while she rested.

By the time he had arrived in Longsight, any thoughts of happy reunions had vanished, replaced by the anxious dread that had followed him since his final days on the Exeter. The fear that around every corner, no matter how safe or familiar, life could be upended as easily as the spinning of a top. Keen not to feed his fear, Tom walked along the ginnel, avoiding the sight of the street and what it may hold. He reached the gate to the yard of his home as paused, taking a deep breath. The handle was cool in his hand, and it clicked gently as he opened it. Washing was strung across the line, mostly his dad’s shirts and a few of Lois’ small things. Instinctively, Tom took the sleeve of one of Douglas’ jumpers and brought it to his face, inhaling the smell of familiar laundry detergent. It fluttered from his hand in the breeze, and for a moment, Tom felt he could cry. It was that exact sound that stopped him. High and coarse, a wailing cry came from within the house, and Tom’s heart somersaulted.

Tentatively, he opened the door to the kitchen and stepped inside the house. A dull light streamed through the net curtains. Nothing had changed. The piano sat unused, the chairs the same, exactly where the family liked to sit. Douglas at the table, Lois by the window and Tom at the hearth. The only difference was the baby that lay swaddled and crying in its basket, set on the kitchen table. Slowly, ever so slowly, Tom inched towards the little creature. Its red face contorted as it kicked its covered legs and balled its tiny fists. He didn’t know who it belonged to, but Tom knew that somehow, he loved the little babe. Steps thundered on the landing upstairs. Tom just managed to tear his eyes away from the child when a pair of feet appeared on the stairs.

“I’m coming, I’m coming-” Lois slipped down the last few steps in her haste, buttoning the blouse she wore. “Come here then, you little bugger.” There was a moment when Tom thought he was a ghost, had died at Dunkirk and drifted home, for Lois looked straight through him with unseeing eyes. Her steps faltered as she made towards the Moses basket, looking at the space Tom occupied. She stopped and the wailing continued. The two siblings stared at each other, neither moving, as though scared they would startle. It was when Tom smiled at his older sister, dimples appearing in his cheeks, that Lois knew he was real. With a shriek she leapt at him, arms tight around his neck as she burst into sobs.

“Hiya,” he whispered with a laugh. She pulled back to look at him, taking his face in her hands and assessing him, making sure he was there. Deciding it was true, her brother was really home, she took a step back and smacked his arm, hard.

“You bloody bastard,” she laughed through her tears. “We’ve been so worried.”

“And busy,” Tom nodded his chin in the direction of the baby. Lois wiped her face with a watery smile and scooped the baby into her arms.

“Give over,” Lois huffed, unbuttoning her blouse and sitting in the rocking chair by the hearth. Tom watched as the baby’s cries turned to snuffles of contentment.

“Christ. Everything’s so different,” Tom whispered. Manchester, the war, a baby. The home he had longed for was irrevocably changed. And yet, looking at his sister cradling that little baby in her arms, Tom felt that somehow everything would be ok in the end. Lois watched Tom watching the baby and another small sob left her. “Don’t be soft,” Tom laughed, though he held out his hand and Lois took it.

“I’ve missed you,” she wiped her eyes again. “Needed you here.”

“Did you know? Before I left?” Lois nodded. “You should have told me.”

“I was scared. I’m sorry,”

Tom shrugged his shoulders, and Lois gazed back down at the baby. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” He said with a chuckle. The baby had finished feeding, and Lois held the little creature up.

“Sit down then,” she said, indicating the armchair opposite the rocking chair.

“You what?” Tom tried to sound light, but a spike of terror caused his ears to turn pink.

“Just sit down!” Tom did as he was told, and Lois lowered the baby into his arms. She laughed at her little brother, whose eyes were wide in shock. “You can relax, Tom. Lean back in the chair and I’ll put a cushion under your arm. Just take her head, that’s it-” Everything in Tom’s body stilled. His breath became deep, his racing thoughts quietened and any sound beyond the house disappeared. The baby in his arms licked its little pink lips, still milk-drunk, and looked up at him with shining eyes. “This, Tom, is your niece.”

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Language.” Lois teased. “And this, little one, is your uncle Tom.” Knowing she was in tender care, the little girl gargling in his arms took hold of the finger that had reached out to brush her cheek.

“Fuck,” Tom said again, and wiped a tear of his own from his eye. With Tom missing, Harry married and facing a world of raising a child on her own, Lois had lost all expectations for the future she once dreamed of. A little piece of hope she thought missing slotted back into the space of her heart, as she watched her brother embracing her daughter. She ran hand through Tom’s hair tenderly and he leant into the touch, reminded of their mother. After minutes of contented silence passed Tom, never looking away from his niece, spoke.

“Is she Harry’s?”

“Yes. Though what he’ll have to do with her, I don’t know.”

“Bastard.”

“Quite.”

When he spoke again, it was to his niece. “Doesn’t matter thought, does it? You’re perfect.” Lois smiled and kissed his cheek.

“Are you alright with her there? I’ve got some folding to do,” Tom waved his hand; he’d sit there forever. “Not sure what to call her yet, I thought it’d be nice to name her after mum?” Tom nodded and Lois’ heart burst with pride. Her little family would be ok.

They talked for hours. Tom told Lois about his travels around the south of Europe, and about Dunkirk. How he ended up in Paris and his escape. About Claudette and the others he met along the journey. Lois told him of ENSA, Harry’s betrayal and of adoring Vernon. Of the baby and the birth; she spared him the detail, all but one fact. “Bess helped me deliver her.”

“Oh right,” Tom’s voiced croaked and Lois smiled to herself.

“You’d better go over and see the Vaughns later. They’ll be so happy to see you.” She came back to sit next to Tom and her daughter, now sleeping in her uncle’s arms. “I don’t suppose you’ll have heard that either, God, there’s so much to tell you-”

Tom didn’t get the chance to find out what Lois had to tell him, for the front door clicked open. Douglas walked in, shucking off his shoes and coat. “Where’s my granddaughter then?” He was happier than Tom had heard him in a long time and his stomach sank a little. Was it wrong, to have hoped to find his father devasted? Maybe he was right after all, maybe things were easier if he wasn’t here.

“Dad,” Lois’ voice was soft.

“Yes, love?” Douglas turned from hanging up his coat and glanced at his daughter, before his eyes flickered to the man sat beside her, cradling his granddaughter. Tom stood and Lois hastily took the baby from his arms. Douglas looked between his daughter and son, mouth a little ajar, and swayed on the spot.

“Hi dad.”

The words were barely out of Tom’s mouth before Douglas clapped a hand to his own and laughed. He bent double, laughing, and at this Lois began crying again. It was when his father stood straight that Tom saw the tears rolling down his face. “Dad,” Tom stepped forward but hesitated. For the second time in his life, he froze. The first was when Bess fled from this very house in tears, the second was now. Luckily for Tom, he didn’t have to wait long, for Douglas staggered forwards and gripped him in a desperate hug.

“My boy,” Douglas laughed through his tears. “My boy,”

“Hi dad,” Tom said again, weakly. Douglas, as Lois had done, cupped Tom’s face to look at him.

“My brave, brave boy.” Tom laughed awkwardly, but his heart soared with happiness. At long last, he was home.

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The afternoon was reaching for evening when the Bennetts finally grew tired of chatting. Baby Bennett was sleeping on her grandfather’s shoulder, who was watching his two children with adoring pride. Tom had taken the picture of Marie down from the wall and placed her at the table, the way the Vaughns did with their mother. Sipping the last of their tea, they sat in gentle silence and simple enjoyment of the fact that their family was together again. And not just together, but growing.

“What are your plans, Tom?” Douglas asked as he placed the babe back in her basket.

“Well, I imagine it won’t be long until I’m called back.” He hurried on at the darkness that befell Douglas’ face. “But it won’t be for a while. I’m not sure how much paperwork it takes to resurrect the dead. In the meantime, it’ll be a few good meals and see as much of home as I can.”

“Speaking of which,” Lois said. “You best get over the road. They need some good news and I think you’re just the thing.”

“Must have been devastating when I left, all the good-looking fellas gone-” Lois smacked his arm again.

“Be off with you!” Tom kissed her cheek and patted his father’s shoulder.

“Save some tea for me, Lois. I’ve been dreaming of your roast dinners.” Dressing in an old jumper and clean slacks, he made for the door and the Vaughns. The air was still warm from summer though an autumnal breeze was gathering through the street. A few little girls playing in the street shrieked when it lifted their petticoats around their woollen tights. Tom laughed. That’ll be the little one someday. Crossing the road, something else fluttering in the wind caused him to stop dead. A black ribbon, tied around the knocker of the Vaughn’s front door. His blood ran cold. Surely, Lois would have told him if it was one of the girls. If it was Bess. The sensitivity of the day’s emotion caught at the back of his throat and he swallowed. Hadn’t Lois tried to tell him something before his dad arrived home? Tom watched with quiet fear as the ribbon teased him, before stepping to the door and knocking. He straightened his jumper and ran a hand through his hair. God damn it, he should have looked in a mirror before he left. Or at least washed. Tom was just shaking out his shoulders when the door opened and he snapped to attention.  

“Co-” The words died in his throat as the eldest Vaughn sister jumped at him.

“Oh my God!” Cora withdrew to look at him, then crashed into him once more. “Oh my God! Dot. DOT! Come down here right now!” She dragged him over the threshold. As yet, Cora had said nothing to Tom, and no words were exchanged further when Dot came hurtling from the back room and screamed at the sight of him. Running across the kitchen, she jumped into his arms and bounced up and down.

“You’re alive, oh thank God,” Dot turned back to her sister. “Some good news at last!”

Cora didn’t take her eyes off Tom. “Bess will be thrilled,” Tom could have sworn he saw Cora smirk.

Bess. Tom remembered the front door. “Cora. What’s happened? The ribbon on the door,” Dot stopped her giddiness, still holding on to Tom’s hand.

“Oh Tom,” Cora shuffled around the table to hold her sister. “It’s our Albie. The Siege of Calais-” Her voice died away and Dot hiccoughed. Tom looked between the sisters.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hating how feeble the words were and how they sounded in his mouth. Dot looked up and tried to smile through her watery eyes.

“But at least we have you back. And like Cora said, Bess will be thrilled.”

“I’m going over there to Manchester soon actually, Tom, taking some food round for Bess. If you want to come?”

Cora looked to Dot, who still had hold of Tom’s hand. She began to swing it, looking up at him mischievously. “Um,” he coughed. “Yes, will do.” Christ.

The journey back into the centre of town was easy. One of Douglas’ friends from the bus service gave he and Cora two free tickets on account of him returning home, and the bus detoured around the bombed buildings. Tom thanked God; he didn’t know if he could stomach it. Not when his mind was so occupied on seeing Bess within the hour. Next to him, Cora chatted away about Roger and how well he was doing with the RAF, about the memorial mass for Albie, and at that Tom tried to listen. But through imagined glimpses of the Vaughns’ grief, all he could see were flashes of Bess running alongside the train. It wasn’t until he and Cora departed the bus and arrived at an old mill building that he noticed he hadn’t been paying attention at all to the route they had taken. All he knew was that this was the old cotton trade quarter of the city. Tom looked up at the tall chimneys, smog-stained red brick and the shadow the old mill cast. Half of him thought that facing the Germans would be less terrifying than stepping in here and he laughed. Cora smiled lightly.

“Are you excited to see her?”

“Pardon?” Tom’s reaction was quick, so quick that when he whipped his head around from gazing up at the mill, he heard it crack.

“Give over Tom, I’m not stupid. I know all about you and Bess. She told me, after I caught you both kissing in the window.”

Tom grinned mischievously and rubbed the back of his neck. “I always get caught, in the end.”

“At least this time it isn’t trouble. Though I’ll tell you know, Tom Bennett. I adore you, but if you break her heart, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I think Dot’d kill me first.”

Cora laughed. “That she would. Now,” she put her hand on the door knocker. “Mrs Russo, the boarding mistress, doesn’t like gentlemen visitors so we’ll just tell her you’re waiting outside. Then we’ll sneak you in when she isn’t looking.”

“Aye, aye!” Tom saluted and with a laugh, Cora knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. There was a little noise behind the door and the two heard a pair of footsteps growing louder. It opened to reveal Mrs Russo, broom in hand and beaming, her bonny face shiny with exertion of cleaning.

“Cora, love, hello!” She pointed at the basket of food in her hand. “Got any for me?”

“Just deliveries for Bess I’m afraid,” the two women laughed and Tom sensed this was an ongoing occurrence. Mrs Russo then turned her eyes to him appraisingly and did not hide that she clearly approved.

“And who is this handsome lad?”

“Mrs Russo, this is Tom.” Cora lightly touched his shoulder. “A childhood friend. He’s just returned home this morning.”

“Ah, the missing fella!” Mrs Russo clapped her hands. “Bess has told us all about you, of course.” Tom felt a blush rise up his cheeks and Cora smirked. “Now, I don’t allow young men in the house, even ones as good looking as yourself, but would you take a cup of tea while you wait for Cora? I can open up the courtyard for you.”

“Only if you join me, Mrs Russo.” Tom winked.

“Oh, he is a charmer! I can see why you girls are so fond of him. I best get back to my cleaning but if you follow the building round, I’ll open the gate to the courtyard. Coming, Cora love?”

Tom began to walk along the red brick wall as Cora whispered, “I’ll come and get you when the coast is clear!”, and followed the lady inside. Mrs Russo had already opened the courtyard gate and hurried back to her chores when Tom reached it. Washing, bedsheets and nurse’s uniforms, hung between every window and at the centre of the small patio was a table and two chairs, a steaming cup of tea already awaiting him. No sooner had Tom sat down and taken his first sip was Cora hissing at him from a side door.

“Psst! Tom!” Tom hastily threw the tea into a plant pot and strode towards Cora. “Bess is still at work but I can let you in. You’re alright waiting for her, aren’t you?” Tom nodded his assent and felt his heart rate double. The two wound their way quietly up a few flights of stairs before Cora stopped to fumble with a set of keys. “Here we are, Bess’ humble abode.” She entered the flat first and Tom followed. It was as if he was trespassing on the room of someone recently deceased; it was so full of life yet the occupant was nowhere to be found. He half expected Bess to jump out at them.

The kitchen was miniscule. A cup and plate had been left by the sink, and Cora set about washing them for her little sister and putting away her parcel of food. On top of a rickety table was a vase, the dried flowers losing their leaves and scattering around two picture frames. One of Bess and her family, one of Etta. Tom smiled and moved to the window. Despite the missing buildings and the faint smoke rising from the air raids, Manchester looked magnificent in the late summer light. The sun was low on the horizon, piercing through chimneys, spires and mills. A little way off, Tom could make out the cranes of the dockyard. Beside him was an old armchair, its fabric faded and patched in places. Over the top lay some clothes, haphazardly draped, and a book of Nursing Practice. A little to his right, the bedroom door was askew, and Tom just caught a glimpse of the bed when Cora spoke. She was halfway out the door.

“I know what happened, Tom, before you went away. Bess has a steely mind and a sensitive soul, but she needs the truth.”

She didn’t allow Tom to add anything more before shutting the door. He was left alone.  

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“Got a bottle of wine from one of the lads,” Joan said, placing dirtied bedding into the wash bin. Helen was smoking discreetly out of a store cupboard window, carefully avoiding Sister Stern.

“How on earth did you manage that?”

“Said I’d give him a kiss,” Joan said sweetly and Bess laughed.

“Honestly,” Helen pretended to chastise her friend, but still smiled as she exhaled a plume of smoke. “What time shall we come up to yours Bess?”

“Eight o’clock, I’d say.” Bess was helping Joan to tidy away the linens before heading home to pick up some sewing work. “Gives me a chance to finish the clothes.”

“I wonder if there’ll be another air raid?” Helen worried the skin of her lip as she flicked her cigarette away.

“If there is,” Joan straightened and stretched her back from the day’s labour. “I’m glad I’ll be with you girls.” Bess squeezed her hand and waved her goodbyes.

The five o’clock sun set the city ablaze, and when Bess stepped onto the street, the glare the sun cast from the windows caused her to walk straight into somebody.

“I’m so sorry,” she held out her hands to steady herself against the person.

“Bess,”

Bess looked up, and into the sullen and scarred face of the man before her.

“James!” Bess took an instinctive step back. “How are you? The scarring is healing well, glad to see my stitching was neat.”

“Yes, I uh-” James looked nervously at her and shuffled on his feet. “I’m here to see one of the doctors about my sight. If he thinks I’m healed, it’ll be back to the front for me.”

Neither spoke for a moment, then Bess reached out to hold his arm. “The offer still stands, James. If you want someone to write to, you know where to find me.” She gestured to the building behind her. “Good luck.” She began to walk away when the calling of her name stopped her.

“Bess, if I do go back, would you come for dinner with me before I go?”

“James-”

“Please, just one last time.”

Despite his height, the soldier seemed to slouch under Bess’ gaze. His messy hair blew in the breeze and the coat he wore hung loosely around his shoulders. He looked completely lost.

“James, I’m sorry. I’m taking care of my heart at the moment, I don’t think I can handle any more heartbreak.” The man she spoke to straightened at this, seemingly buoyed by the fact that in some life somewhere, he could have the capacity to break this magnificent woman’s heart. The reality was entirely different, and Bess’ mind drew images of blue eyes and thin lips before her. Still, this little offering seemed to ease the soldier’s spirit and she smiled. “Good luck, James,” she said again, before heading for the bus stop.

Mrs Russo was exiting Carver Mills when Bess arrived home a while later. The little woman was buttoning her coat over a blue skirt Bess had mended for her when she spotted her tenant.

“How was work love?”

“Exhausting.”

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that Cora popped round a little while ago with a very handsome man and a food basket for you.” Bess smiled, imagining the fuss Mrs Russo surely made over Roger. He really was taking his time with that proposal.

“Perfect. Helen and Joan are coming up for supper later if you’d like to join us?”

“Oh heavens no!” Mrs Russo smiled. “I’m off to see my daughter, and besides, you girls don’t want an old biddy like me hanging around. No, you have your fun.”

“And you,” Bess passed Mrs Russo in the doorway and dragged herself up the stairs towards the flat. Despite her weariness, and run in with James, Bess still felt in her heart the lightness that had settled there that morning. For the first time, she smiled as she thought of Albie. Bess had never been particularly faithful, unlike her mother and father, but she wondered if this happiness and warmth came from her brother watching over her. Perhaps he was annoyed at her moping and was sending her a gift from the heavens. He always got annoyed when she was miserable, the likely cause being their twin moods. Or maybe it was because she had finally settled into her life in Manchester, away from her family. It was true, she missed them, and missed the piano, but this newfound sense of freedom gave her something she hadn’t known since she worked at the atelier. Only three miles away from where she was born, yet somehow this little world felt like hers entirely. The only thing that could dampen her happiness was Tom. She heard Albie’s reassuring and logical voice in her head. “Missing, not dead.” She reached the door to her flat, a little out of breath and pulled her keys from her bag.

“Missing, not dead.” She said aloud to the stairwell, placed her key in the door and began humming Mack the Knife. The sun painted her kitchen a brilliant gold, and Bess stood in the open doorway letting the last of the day’s warmth touch her face. She turned back to the door, still humming and locked it before removing her coat and shoes. Reaching up under her dress, she unhooked her itchy tights and pulled them off also, the cool tiles of the floor sending shivers up her legs. It was as she was retrieving the contents of her bag that the sudden and harsh scraping of a chair across the kitchen floor caused her to gasp and spin around.

A man was stood at the table. Wisps of his blond hair were haloed in the golden sunset, his broad shoulders squared, and Bess could just make out the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. Electricity hummed in her fingers tips. If I reach out and touch him, she thought, I might spark. At this surge of power, of energy, warmth welled in her bosom and her chest burned, as though taking her first gasping breaths of oxygen. Bess’ body, far before her mind, reached out to the figure, lit like a beacon in the autumnal light. She stepped forward, yet the figure didn’t move. He didn’t need to.

Bess would have known it was him had she been blind. If he’d not been a man, but a perfect ray of sun or a bird perched on her window or the chime of bells on Sunday, she’d have known. She would have known it as the air stilled around them. If he hadn’t come back until she was an old maid, and he an old man. She would have known it was him, just like she knew he was the reason for the day’s high spirits. Bess raised her hand and, shielding her eyes from the light, she saw him. The depths of those grey eyes, the sweep of hair. The strong neck that led to that stone jaw. The slope of his nose, pink at the tip and those lips, curved and oh so tempting. She edged ever closer, her hands instinctively reaching out to him.

Tom had been prepared for stony silence, a confrontation, or an affectionate kiss on the cheek and a “welcome home”. But when Bess looked at him as though he were the only man on earth, Tom Bennett could do nothing but watch. Watch, as she stood bathed in the sunlight. Watch, as she took in every feature of him. Watch, as her shock turned into recognition, and watch as she advanced on him, her dark eyes set and certain.

“Bess, I-” his voice was barely above a whisper, and the hopeful need he heard in his own was matched in the stormy eyes of the woman before him. Months of despair and self-hatred, years of waiting and wanting all came undone at the sound of his voice. Taken over by carnal desire that only he could ignite, Bess rounded the tiny kitchen table and collided with him.

“Tom,” her voice was shrouded in desperation, and no sooner had his name left her lips were they on his, warm, wanting and needy. Tom sighed, letting Bess devour him in a frenzy of lips, teeth and tongue, and in an instant his hands were at her back, pressing her body flush against his chest. Bess pushed Tom into the wall and pawed at his chest, desperate to touch any part of him she could. Pulling away from his lips, she tugged at the jumper he wore. She dropped it to the floor and pressed her body against his, wanting nothing more than to melt into his touch. Bess untangled her hands from Tom’s hair and frantically began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Her nimble fingers made quick work of the offending garment and Tom watched with proud awe as she ripped it away from his body and ran her eyes over his hard chest. When a small gasp left her parted lips his pride turned to fear however, until Bess ran gentle fingers under the skin his left shoulder. There, above his heart and below his collarbone, the puncture of scar tissue darkened his alabaster skin.

Seeing horror flash across her eyes, Tom placed a hand on hers and held it over his scar. “They shot me,” he said simply with a sad smile.

“And that’s why you didn’t come home,” it was a statement more than a question, and Tom nodded. Slowly, Bess removed her hand from the scar and placed a tender kiss to the mottled skin. Tom’s wayward heart drummed in his chest as something akin to hope anchored there.

“I’m sorry,” Bess whispered, peppering kisses across his chest, always returning to kiss the gunshot. “I’m so sorry,” her voice quavered and when Tom moved away from her she whined. Tears were forming in her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She reached out to Tom but he batted her hand away and instead took her face in his hands.

“Why are you apologising?”

“I didn’t say goodbye to you,” Bess took a shuddering breath. “What if you hadn’t come back? It’s, it’s-” Her voiced raised in pitch. “It’s so close to your heart, Tom.” She had barely finished the words before prolonged grief racked her body. She tried to hide her face but Tom didn’t let her. Instead, he ran a thumb over her cheek and committed this moment to memory. In the streaming, yellow light, and filled with tears, her brown eyes looked gold. She must have been wearing lipstick during the day, for the faded pigment lingered at the centre of her full lips, now wet with his kisses and slightly parted. A flush covered her cheeks and nose, and her eyebrows were knitted with anguish. Tom grinned with tenderness for her. Once more running a finger over her cheek, he wiped away a tear and spoke softly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he kissed her slowly, savouring the taste of her salty tears and the warmth of her tongue. “I’m here, Bess. I’m home.” At this, Bess whimpered through his kisses and clutched at his shirt. The sound sent tremors straight to Tom’s cock and he inhaled harshly, attempting to restrain his desire to take Bess where they stood. Urgent for closeness, Bess wound her hand through Tom’s sandy hair and gripped hard at the nape of his neck. When he moaned aloud, she ran her tongue along his lips before moving to nip at his jaw, down his neck and his bare torso. His head fell back and hit the wall as she ran her tongue up the length of body, skirted her hands over his chest and wound them around his neck. She bit him there once again and Tom laughed.

“I missed you so much, love.” Tom whispered, the ghost of a smirk on his handsome face.

“Tom,” Bess ran her tongue along the column of his neck and bit the pulse point there. The action caused Tom to buck his hips and Bess giggled. She did it again and this time, Tom growled. “Fuck, Tom,” once more her hands found his hair and she tugged him down in a fiery kiss, their tongues fighting to gain dominance. One of Tom’s large hands gripped Bess’ waist and pulled her towards his groin, where she felt the growing hardness beneath his trousers. Head spinning, and whining at the friction through his trousers and her layers of uniform, Bess broke the kiss and licked her lips seductively. Tom pulled forward. She pulled away.

“I dream of this every night, Tom Bennett.”

That was it. That was all it took for Tom Bennett to snap. Months, if not years of wanting Bess Vaughn burst from him as he roughly took hold of her face and crashed his lips onto hers. No longer were his kisses soft and loving, but hard and wanton. Bess mewled at his display of ownership over her and began unbuckling his belt.

“Fuck,” he tore his mouth away from hers to suckle at her neck; hot, wet kisses as she fought to free him from his trousers. When the belt was undone, still dominating her mouth with his tongue, he gripped her hips with his hands and forced her backwards until her legs hit the wood of the kitchen table. With both hands under her backside, he hoisted her onto its surface and she grabbed him for another devouring kiss. Without coaxing, she spread her legs and Tom groaned as he stood between them, grinding against her layers of skirt.

“Tom,” Bess’ head tipped backwards and he ground into her. He reached behind her back and pulled the ties of the nurse’s apron and threw it to the ground. With her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms about his shoulders, Bess clung to Tom as he fought with the buttons and zip of her bodice. Cold air and Tom’s long fingers traced the skin there when he managed to undo it, and no sooner had Bess moaned is name was Tom pulling her free of the arms and bodice of her uniform. He huffed at the sight of her brassiere, and with no warning or hesitation, ripped its satin straps so that Bess’ chest was entirely bare to him. Instantly, her pink nipples puckered with cold and Tom’s eyes blew wide. He dipped his head to kiss at the full flesh there, and Bess’ hold around his waist tightened.

“Please, Tom.” His name was all she could say. Tom was all she could comprehend. Still teasing her breasts, Tom reached beneath her skirt and roughly pulled down her knickers. She moaned with need as Tom ran a finger through the treasure he found there.

“Fuck,”

Bess bucked her hips.

“Fuck,” he said again, bringing his lips back to hers and moaning into her mouth. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined doing this to you.”

Bess laughed with the pleasure and power those last words brought her. “Yes I do,”

“Confident,” Tom smirked as he continued to kiss her and run his long fingers through her now dripping folds.

“’I’d have fucked you with my mouth, my fingers, my cock. Watched you take me.’” Bess quoted, and Tom stilled. Through lust-hazy eyes, he looked down at her. His fingers stopped their work and Bess whined.

“What did you say?”

“’I don’t want to imagine anymore what those nimble fingers of your can do.’” Bess quoted again, and she watched as his pupils dilated further and his Adam’s apple bobbed with nerves. He huffed a laugh and Bess bit her lip.

“How do you know that?”

Bess tried to drive her hips upwards, frantically trying to feel his fingers against her but he moved them away. “What do you mean?”

“I-I didn’t send that letter,” Tom whispered, his mouth close to hers. Bess frowned a little, confused but eager for their reunion to continue.

“Well, you have a guardian angel because not only did they send you back, but they sent that letter too. And I’ve read it every night and every morning since it arrived. I’m tired of using my hand and pretending it’s your mouth around me.” Bess kissed him quickly, chastely.“I could say exactly the same.”

Tom regarded her with admiring shock then, with a harsh thrust as quick as lightening, brought his fingers to dip inside her. Bess cried out but was silenced by Tom’s hot mouth on hers. Who was more wanton, neither could say, for no sooner had he touched her was Bess bucking her hips onto his hand. Faster and faster, Tom fucked her sex with his fingers. First one, then two. When he added a third he felt Bess clench hard around him and he buried his head in her chest.

“Please,” she whimpered, curling an arm around his neck for purchase. “Please, I need you Tom.” At the sincerity of her words, a singular sob rent its way from Tom’s tense body. He looked down at her, at his Bess, spread before him on the table, half dressed and flushed with lust. It was true that Tom had thought of this moment, though his dreams could never equal the excitement, terror and elation that he felt roaring through his veins. But his obsession with Bess was so much more than lust. These nine months he had carried her in his pocket, through battles and enemy-occupied states. If he did have a guardian angel, surely it was she. Surely, it had always been her. On the Exeter, wasn’t it her hair he saw in the flames? When entangled with another woman he didn’t know the name of, wasn’t it her lips he’d imagined? It was memories of her, teaching him piano, nights at Belle Vue or the Palais, the momentous occasions he had made her belly laugh, or quiet evenings sharing a cigarette that had got him through those lonely, fearful nights at sea. It was the certainty that when he got home Bess would be there, waiting for him or not, that dragged his tired and war-battered body across Europe to safety. He needed her, completely and entirely.

With a swift kiss, Tom removed his fingers from her arousal and fumbled hastily with his slacks. Bess bolted upright and her hands found his. Together, with smiles and desperation, they wrestled with his slacks and briefs until the growing hardness that had strained so uncomfortably against the hard fabric was freed. Bess’ mouth watered at the sight and she kissed Tom with a renewed hunger. Looking back to his hard erection pressed against the soft flesh of her thigh, she whimpered. A few pearlescent beads of precum were gathered at its pink and swollen tip, and the veins that travelled along the shaft to its base in the thicket of blond curls throbbed. Without hesitation, Bess gripped his wide length and Tom hissed as she pumped his arousal before lining it up with her centre. Bracing his hands on the table either side of her lips, Tom’s head fell forward against Bess’ and she ran the tip of his cock along the entrance of her dripping sex. She inched closer to the edge of the table, mouth falling open in a silent moan as the tip of Tom’s painfully hard cock pressed against her entrance. He was panting with need, and the effort to not slam his hips forward and fully seat himself inside her. Already, their kisses were sloppy. The small kitchen was alite with the heat of the sun and their bodies. Bess’ hands gripped his broad shoulders and Tom took himself in hand, but when her legs wrapped around his slight waist, he faltered.

“I-I-Christ,” he was cunt-drunk before he’d even fucked her. “I don’t have a sheath.”

Bess ran a hand through his flaxen hair. She had waited years for this man, known since the war began that it was Tom Bennett or no-one. Any consequences of loving him wholly be damned. “I want all of you, Tom,” she whispered. “Please.”  

And Tom, with a shuddering breath, inched himself slowly into the welcoming heat of Bess’ body. Simultaneously they groaned, as Tom bottomed out in the warmth of Bess’ cunt. Her head tipped backwards and exposed the column of her elegant neck. Not moving within her, Tom leant forward to kiss the delicate skin there, the act pushing him forwards so that the tip of his cock brushed that sensitive spot within Bess’s pussy.

“Fuck,” her cry sounded pained, and Tom would have withdrawn from her were it not for the piercing of her nails in his shoulders, or the plump flesh of her thighs holding him ever closer. Slowly, so tantalisingly and cruelly slowly, Tom edged out of her heat, causing Bess’ eyes to flutter shut. He paused to watch the heaving of her breasts as she raggedly gasped for air, and at his stillness she looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “Please-” Whatever she was to say next died in her throat, for Tom slammed his hips so forcefully into hers that she saw stars. Over and over, Tom thrust his aching cock into her heat as she mewled and clawed at any part of him she could reach. With every snap of his hips Bess’ body came alive for him, from the quivering of her walls around his cock to the babbled gasps of “more”, “Tom”, and “harder”.

For Tom, the tight heat of Bess around him, the image of her coming undone at his touch and the desperation with which he had always wanted her reached a feverish pitch in which the overwhelming cacophony of feeling rendered his mind utterly blank. All he knew was Bess, the sound of her pleading voice, the harsh rasps of their hot breath on each other’s bodies and the obscene sounds of their love making. Harder and faster he pounded into her, all thought of gentleness gone from both their minds, bodily need and years of craving each other taking over.

The banging of the table legs against the floorboards of the old flat was barely audible over Bess’ moans and Tom’s muttered adorations, and neither noticed nor cared. Tom was too caught up in the waves of pleasure washing over Bess, and when her body fell back against the table and revealed her parted sex taking his cock so perfectly, he reached down to circle a thumb over her needy clit. Bess gripped his wrist and Tom felt her cunt clench around him.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, and at her demand Tom felt he could continue no longer. Eager to satisfy her, he ground his jaw and with a hand at her hip and the over rubbing perfect circles over her sex, he watched as a flush of red bloomed across Bess’ cheeks and chest. Her body tensed and began to quake, and Tom knew he had never seen anything so beautiful; he promised himself he would bring Bess to pleasure as often as he was able. The shockwaves of her orgasm pulsed through her body, hard and untameable, and at the feeling of her climax Tom came undone, growling lowly as he came within her. Bess’ body went limp and he brought her against his chest, cradling her in his arms. In turn, Bess kissed the side of his forehead and laughed. When he looked at her through his loving and fucked-out gaze, he saw the surely uncomfortable position she was in; legs spread wide around his waist, leant slightly against the hard table and half dressed. Slowly, Tom pulled out of her still quivering sex and Bess gasped. The sound made Tom grin with smug satisfaction and Bess laughed. He kissed her smiling lips and pulled her to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered with a chuckle. Bess stood and, as she did so, the skirt of her uniform slid from her hips and pooled on the floor. Completely naked in front of him, Tom reached out a hand and caressed he full hips.

“Now you’re the one apologising!” Bess stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his perfect lips and feeling his cock grow hard once more at the touch of her bare body. He laughed.

“I had grand plans for when I came back to you, and fucking you on the kitchen table wasn’t one of them. I’m sorry-”

“I don’t know,” Bess cut him off with a languid kiss. “It seems appropriate to me, the course of our lives seems to have occurred in the kitchen.”

“Not anymore, love.” Bess raised a quizzical brow but her question went unanswered, for Tom bent low and flung Bess over his shoulder. She squealed and held his waist, Tom’s own hands firm on the plump roundness of her bottom. Bess could sense the shit-eating grin her wore and she smacked his arse.

“Cheeky,” Tom walked her to her bedroom, kicking open the door and dropping her on the bed. His eyes were hungry and she expected him to ravish her. Instead, he crawled atop her and rested his head against her soft stomach and curled his hand around her hips. It was then that Bess realised that hunger and lust for another person were not the same, and her heart beat with a fresh wave of love for the man clutching at her body.

“I missed you,” he said again, running his hands up her sides. She shuffled beneath him, rolling onto her side and Tom was forced to look up. Bess was reaching for the drawer of her bedside table.

“I want to show you something,” her voice was strained as she stretched awkwardly to retrieve something amongst the pile of makeup, magazines and fabric samples. Sitting up, naked and vulnerable, Bess handed Tom a bundle of paper. It was only when he looked closer that he realised they were letters. Each dated, with his name in the centre. He looked from them to Bess with wide eyes, doubting that anyone, including his father or Lois, had ever loved him this much.

“I never stopped writing, after you went missing,” she wiped her eyes and a glimmer of the old Bess, defiant and hardy, appeared before Tom. He wrapped a hand in the copper hair at the base of her neck and kissed her deeply.

“You’re some woman, Bess Vaughn.” And with dexterous fingers, he opened the first letter and began to read.

Notes: I’m sorry this took so long, hen dos and Eurovision and mega work deadlines and illness got in the way. Forgive me. Expect communication and long, sexy, heart-felt smuttiness in the next chapter! See you soon (I promise!)

EDIT: If you've read Come Back To Me, you may have noticed that in my illness-addled mind I called Bess the wrong name. All sorted now.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #ewan mitchell x reader #the seamstress & the sailor

[theexaltedbride]

Dead Island 2 Slayers X Reader Headcanons (Part 4!)

Amy:

-You once caught Amy playing with a small puzzle piece on a string. When asked about it, she was very shy about it at first. But after thinking it over she decided to open up about it. It’s actually a little gift from her twin sister. Amy’ sister actually has the other half of the puzzle piece and the two of them fit together. Since meeting you she’s actually started considering getting a third piece for you to have. *

-At the theater she tried to sneak away with a few Romero Awards that were left lying around, because when would she ever get another chance at holding one? Plus, she planned on gifting one of them to her sister as a souvenir. 

-You and Amy sometimes share gum via a kiss, which grosses out some of the other survivors. Which Amy finds kind of BS, because they are all regularly covered in zombie guts.

-Amy once wanted to go back to her old school where she taught her students, but was afraid of what she would find. You promised to be there with her the entire time when she felt ready to go back and clear it out.

-Amy has been floating the idea of scavenging one or two arcade machines for the Gameroom back at Emma’s mansion. You’ve tried to tell her that this will be a lot of work and you could just play all sorts of other games. But the fun of playing on an actual arcade machine is worth it, nothing beats the classics. Looks like you might have to raid the pier at some point to give her a nice surprise when she comes back from a supply run.

Bruno:

-Loves talking about his grandfather now and again, and genuinely appreciates when you let him do so and don’t get annoyed or tired of him geeking out over his family. 

-Hated visiting the Santa Monica peer and fighting the Autophage Apex Clown there. Bruno isn’t afraid of clowns, but that freak there almost gave him a phobia of them. When one shows up he might hide behind you because you are braver than him against them.

-Would absolutely clear out the Theater for you so that the two of you could watch movies there and take selfies with the various Hollywood stars on the Walk of Fame. 

-Has started thinking about setting up playlists for you and the group that can be broadcast over one of the radio frequencies to give you all something to listen to when going around Hell-A saving people and fighting Zeds.

-In his free time Bruno has started teaching you some concepts of Tarot cards and asking Lady Luck to look out for you.

Carla:

-Unironically loves blaring Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina” when driving around, and will get so excited if you sing along with her even if you don’t speak any Spanish. Tell anyone else about it and she will punch you in the arm (but since she loves you, you get only 5% of the normal force she’d use).

-She got pretty mad at the Santa Monica peer when she played one of those rigged claw games and tried to get herself a stuffed shark. Spent almost five dollars worth of scavenged coins to get one. She nearly smashes the machine open, but she really wanted to win one fair and square, to prove her skill to the machine.

-Would absolutely steal one of the walk of fame stars for you and bring it back to the hideout as a nice gift to you. Might not be the best plan in the world, but it’s the thought that counts.

-On the boardwalk by the beach she showed off just how much she can actually lift, and trying to bring some of it back to Emma’s mansion.

-For as much as an adrenaline junkie she can be, she doesn’t like the rush she gets when you are in danger. It feels terrible, full of fear and anxiety, rather than the world spinning rush she normally loves when doing something dangerous. 

Dani:

-When the Clown Apex roared at you both and made you jump, Dani actually roared back at it to establish dominance, but also because she didn’t like seeing you so freaked out by any kind of zombie.

-While she is more than happy to do everyone’s hair, she does not let anyone style her own hair, not even you. 

-While she’s a skilled drinker she’s not actually good at doing some of those shot glass tricks you sometimes see on the internet. She’s actually trying to learn how to do them just to impress you.

-Sometimes when you both sleep together she utterly becomes a cuddle bug and refuses to let you get up and out of bed for at least another thirty minutes in the morning.

-During days off from zombie slaying, she will sit back in the pool and drink while listening to music, though whenever you join her she spends a significant portion of that time watching and admiring you.

Jacob:

-Jacob can sometimes be a little sensitive about his damaged right eye (both because it aches in sunlight and because of how much it stands out). So you sometimes make it a point to gently pull off his sunglasses when you are alone together at night, to look at his eyes as they are and show him it doesn’t matter, you still love him.

-Likes to share his smokes with you, and its becoming common for the both of you to just pass the same one around whenever you’re nearby. 

-He shows you some of his old stuntman tricks in areas you have cleared out of Zeds, so that you can better move and fight across Hell-A.

-Has been eager to show you off to his mother, and actually changes his style of dress and hair style when taking a more ‘official’ looking photo for his mom to send to her when you can all finally get a signal out of Hell-A.

-Assures you that hanging on to the tire of a plane in midair was absolutely not the wildest or most dangerous stunt he’s ever done. But that he’d do it all over again because it meant he got to meet you.

Ryan:

-When it was your birthday, Ryan had a special surprise for you by showing you just what he used to do as a male dancer. It was a private show, but everyone knew what was going on just from how much effort Ryan put into cleaning himself up, and how loud the music was during the dance.

-You both actually found the costume shop where Ryan got his fake firefighter helmet and he went into detail about how many costumes he tried on before he was confident enough to try and pull a fast one at the evacuation zone, so of course you ask him if he’d be willing to try some of them on again just for you, and you ended up doing the same for him. 

-You found out that his brother has some teasing names for Ryan, and you have become desperate in trying to guess them. Yet he still holds strong in keeping them from you. I guess you will have to find new names to tease him with.

-If you don’t know how to dance Ryan will be more than happy to teach you. Don’t laugh! Of course he knows how to do more than just stripping. Knowing different kinds of dance styles is paramount to being the best dancer at his agency.

-When Ryan found out you always had the hots for an old 90s Pup Action hero he actually went out of his way to find a costume of it and a fake moustache. Surprisingly he can really pull it off. 

All Purpose Headcanons:

-After you evacuated Sam, Emma and Patton on the chopper your lover, and the other Slayers stood together as one force. Utterly wiping out the swarm of infected, cutting through them all like a scythe through wheat. Seeing all of you working together, the Eschaton Group realized that there was finally someone out there who could challenge them. For the first time now there was something which stood in stark opposition to their ‘Survival of the fittest’ policy, and instead put forth a ‘Survival of the United’ ideal.

-With all of the people you’ve been saving, your reputation amongst Hell-A’s survivor communities is starting to get serious, and more people are actively calling on the radios for ‘The Slayers’ to come and help them. You’re becoming the saviors of Hell-A.

-Given how big Hell-A is, and how many people need help, you can’t always move together as one massive group, and instead have to split into teams to help where you ae most needed and best suited. But when you are all together into one badass zombie slaying mob, there isn’t a single Zed out there who can stand against you.

OOC:  (*So, according to an AMA by the devs it turns out that what Amy had around her neck was a puzzle piece that matches one her twin sister also has. All this time I thought it was a little cross she prayed to or kissed when she was afraid. I never got a good look at it and kind of wish the puzzle piece aspect had gotten more focus in her cutscenes.)

#Dead Island #Dead Island 2 #Dead Island Headcanons #Dead Island x Reader #Dead Island Slayers x Reader #Character X Reader #character x reader shipping #headcanons #DI2

[tinyhuman826]

Pokemon SWSH - Piers Headcanons (General)

He's too funny lmao he had me blowing air out my nose every time he talked in the game

Lowkey just wants to go home and nap. All the time. Have you seen his dark circles????

He's the type of person that hoards Monster cans. Marnie hates going in his room because it smells like rotten battery acid.

He also doesn't clean. His floor is invisible. And he will be genuinely upset if someone cleans it.

Slipknot, My Chemical Romance, Korn. That's all I have to say.

I feel like he secretly likes to listen to Babymetal as well

Hates rap with a burning passion. Do NOT play rap if he gives you control of the radio.

Once he tried to make a SoundCloud career because he swore he was going to make it big. It got 4 likes in total. I'd argue that's what started his emo phase

His hair is probably severely matted to the point he really just can't be bothered and puts it in a ponytail. Marnie (and maybe Leon our hair king) give him monthly hair detox sessions. But sometimes it gets bad enough to be twice monthly.

Hasn't brushed his teeth in forever. But he's conscious about his breath so he always carries mints or gum. Will not share. Unless you're Marnie.

Speaking of, it's already Canon that he'd drop everything for her. So if you ever date him you first have to get Marnie's verbal approval.

#headcanon #pokemon #pokemon swsh #pokemon shield #pokemon sword #pokemon sword and shield #gym leader piers #piers pokemon

[bellafragolina]

Guzma/Piers/Plumeria see a popup concert and listens in. Cops show up to break up the concert and the singer yells "Scatter!" before vanishing into thin air. Their soulmate's first words are "Scatter!" and it's written on their arm. My explanation for why it isn't a song lyric is because it has to be directed towards the person specifically and they made eye contact with Guzma/Piers/Plumeria when they said it. Hope this is a nice start! - FTM Anon (feel free to not do all 3 of them)

Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaahh I love the soulmate AU!! You didn’t specify but I think this is all separate let me know if that’s not correct!

🍓🍓🍓

Guzma:

He loves your concerts, and always tries to attend one whenever they pop up somewhere. He drags Plums and the grunts to your concerts too, and everyone has a great time jamming out to your music. It’s heavy and hard hitting and everything the Team Skull loves. The only issue is that the police hate you and your bands, and a constantly chasing you down

And this concert is no distance. In the middle of one of Guzma’s favorite songs, the shrill of sirens pierce the air. You freeze, and suddenly, your eyes are staring into Guzma’s, pinning him to the floor. And you shout into the crowd “SCATTER” before disappearing to help your band escape the cops. And Guzma stays frozen, the words on his forearm burning furiously

He’s excited and terrified at the same time. He waits anxiously for the next concert to pop up, rehearsing lines in his head and trying to find a decent outfit to show up in. He already knows you’re so cool, but he wants you to think he’s cool too, and not that you have some dweeb of a soulmate. That would kill him if you thought that.

Luckily for him, you find the nervous “bad boy” showing you his soul mate tattoo and rambling about how you’re his soulmate cute. If only he didn’t make your own tattoo take up half your back

Plumeria:

Guzma tends to drag her along to your concerts, but she never fights. Your music is good, and she likes vibing along to the beats and listening to the lyrics. She wonders about you, the one she knows writes the songs, and tries to glean things from the lyrics you sing. You’re interesting to her, forming these pop up concerts and then disappearing into the night when the cops arrive. She’d like to know more, but there’s never time to act on it

Until one night. It’s a regular concert, with a regular police breakup. But this time, your eyes meet hers as you shout into the crowd for everyone to scatter. Plumeria feels a heat across her bicep, and her heart jumps about in her chest. Guzma is already dragging her off, though, so all she can do is watch you disappear once more. This time, however, she’s more determined to find you

When the next concert pops up, she’s there, towards the front. You make eye contact with her again between songs, kneeling down to smile and say hello. She shows you her soulmate mark, and shouts that you’re her soulmate, dipshit. The dipshit makes you realize she’s your soulmate too, and you half drag her onto the stage to kiss her in your panicked excitement of finally finding her

The crowd goes nuts, and Plumeria gets quite a few songs dedicated to her. If only the little grunts would stop begging her to meet you

Piers:

Piers always prefers the local rock scene to anything official. Sure, he’s official now, but he fights tooth and nail to make sure some company doesn’t take away the authentic nature of his music. He likes going out to these concerts, half disguised so no one bothers in as he takes in the tunes. You’re one of his favorite underground bands, if he’s honest. He likes your music a lot, and you’re not sore on the eyes either

He’s one of the first to head out when the cops eventually bust the concerts, but this time, he lags. You look him in the eyes, wild and bright, and shout for everyone to scatter over the wails of sirens. Piers chest burns, the words of his heart alighting. He tries to force his way through the fleeing crowd to get to you, but they’re too thick, and you’re already gone by the time he makes it. He slips away from the scene with a sigh, heart beating hard in his chest.

Marnie insists on following him to the concerts after he tells her of what happened. She likes your music too, and wants to meet you anyway, so you being her brother’s soulmate is the perfect excuse. She badgers him into going back to whatever concerts pop up, and when they find your band again, she’s tearing through the crowd. Piers is almost mortified, but you smile down at Marnie and greet her kindly, asking if she wants to sing the next song with you

But instead she points out her brother, shouting something at you. “Sorry about her!” He huffs when he finally makes it to you. Your eyes widen. “She’s a brat.” Any irritation is washed away by the blinding light of your smile. Piers blushes. He’s going to have to thank Marine later

🍓🍓🍓

Here we are!

Hope you have a great day, lovely!!

~Renee

#guzma x reader #plumeria x reader #piers x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon x reader #ftm anon

[catfirebrand]

oh hey, look. I wrote a thing. another sea shanty inspired fic...

Jaina stared out over the water at the ships that filled Dalaran’s harbor. Ships not just from the allied Free Cities, but from all across the Northern Kingdoms. Large and small, she’d spent her life watching them come and go from Boralus Harbor, often with her father or brothers on them, always with her waiting at the main pier to welcome or bid farewell. That much, at least, was no different this time. She had watched for a specific ship, waited for it to come to dock, and finally—finally—she spotted it.

Talah’Endal. Deathwhisper.

A Thalassian war frigate out of Silvermoon.

She’d seen it once before, more than two years ago, on arguably the worst day of her life.

“It’s just two years, Jaina!”

“But Arthas…”

His big hands gripped her biceps, fingers squeezing tightly. She'd have bruises tomorrow. “I don’t have a choice. My father made the deal. I serve on their frigate for a few years, and it strengthens ties between Lordaeron and Silvermoon.”

Jaina took a slow breath in and tried not to cry. Arthas hated it when she cried. This was fine. A good thing. “But… our wedding tomorrow. The arrangements have all been made. Your father wanted this, my parents want this—”

“We can have the ceremony as soon as I get back, I promise!”

Jaina hesitated. “We could… we could have it now?”

Arthas sighed, leveling her with a look of disappointment. One she’d seen many times before. “Jaina, that would hardly be fitting for the children of two of the most powerful houses in the Free Cities, now would it? No,” he continued, turning to leave, “we’ll be married when I return in two years. Now, I have to go. Can’t have the Deathwhisper waiting for her new First Mate.”

Jaina swallowed, refusing to give in to the stinging in her eyes. Her arms still hurt where he’d held her. “Of course. May I write to you?”

Arthas didn’t bother to turn back to her, his large hand already opening the door. “Hmm? Oh, of course. I’ll try to write back, but you know how it is at sea.”

Jaina nodded. She knew. Her whispered, “Of course,” was lost to an already closed door.

As was the deep, shaky breath and sigh of relief that followed.

#jaina proudmoore #sylvanas windrunner #sylvaina #world of warcraft #wow fic #one shot #arthas is always an asshole #shanty fic #warcraft fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic

[valiantsilver]

Pokémon Sw/Sh but it’s a British high school

Allister:

* Year Seven

* Wears a face mask everywhere

* Never speaks in class even if he’s called on

* Has a hard time talking to others so mostly just sticks around Bea

Hop:

* Year Eight

* Wants to be a linguist just like his older brother

* Sonia has seen his grades however and she knows he’s destined to be a STEM kid

* Has gotten multiple reprimands for running in the halls

Marnie

* Year Eight

* Not as shy as Allister but still pretty reserved

* Wears her leather jacket instead of her blazer (the teachers have given up on that one)

* Listens to music instead of paying attention in class but most teachers let it go since her grades are good and she isn’t disruptive

Bede

* Year Nine

* Gifted kid and absolutely insufferable about it

* Wants to go into STEM since he believes all the other subjects aren’t ‘real academics’

* Opal constantly points out how good his artwork is and he hates it (secretly loves it)

Bea

* Year Ten

* Grew up as Allister’s neighbour, sees him as a younger brother and is very protective of him

* Great at PE, not so great at other subjects

* GCSEs have her low-key stressed but she’d rather die than admit it

Milo

* Geography teacher

* The chill teacher who will just stick on a movie when he doesn’t have a lesson planned

* Students go to him for hugs when they’re feeling under the weather because Milo hugs are top tier 👌

* Super nice but low-key doesn’t know how to control his students when they get wild

Nessa

* English teacher

* Is a great teacher when she isn’t distracted by giving her students fashion advice

* Fishes outside of teaching as well as modelling - once brought a fish she had caught that morning into school and stored it in her filing cabinet

* Absolutely despises the idea that ‘maybe the curtains are just blue’ and will go on long rants about the issues with anti-intellectualism and lack of critical thinking

Kabu

* PE teacher

* Students will make fun of him for being old only to get absolutely thrashed by him in literally any sport

* Close to Bea who sees him as a mentor and confidant - as well as talking about her exam stress she also told him her worries that Allister wasn’t settling into high school well, so Kabu now keeps an eye on him as well

* Taught Raihan before he also became a teacher at the school and always reminds him how proud he is of him

Opal

* Art teacher

* Doesn’t actually show up half the time, she’ll be gone for several weeks and everyone will be convinced she’s dead only for her to just reappear with no explanation

* All of her exemplar art is pink

* She can see Bede’s artistic talent and natural inclination towards art (even if he tries to repress it), tries to encourage him to express himself more

Gordie

* History teacher

* Super young teacher, like it’s his first or second year after finishing his teaching course

* Randomly stops lessons to show his students some kind of crazy stunt he learnt like a double back flick or smth idk

* Hides the fact that Melony is his mother from students because he knows how viscous they can be

Melony

* Chemistry teacher

* Constantly finds excuses to make fake snow as an experiment

* Hate the fact that Gordie won’t acknowledge her as his mother while at work

* Once intercepted a note from her students that called her a ‘milf’, asked Gordie what it meant later that day and he lost several years from his lifespan

Piers

* Maths teacher

* Addicted to coffee, students have learnt to steer clear of his desk due to coffee breath

* Never gives homework because he knows he won’t be arsed to mark it

* He asks Marnie what ‘the kids are into’ all the time so he can slip pop culture references into his lessons to seem more ‘cool’

Raihan

* Physics teacher

* You know that ‘Welcome to Physics’ vine? That’s Raihan’s classroom

* He has a very big social media presence and new students are always flabbergasted when they find out their physics teacher is also an influencer

* Constantly sets assignments/homework which involve students having to make some kind of social media post

Leon

* French teacher

* Teaches French but knows several other languages - Spanish, German, Italian, Japanese, Cantonese, etc

* Was a former student who got near perfect grades, all the older teachers love him, most students love him too because he’s a good teacher while still being fun

* Brags to his students every time Hop has some kind of minor achievement

Sonia

* Biology teacher

* Students love her because sometimes she sneaks her dog into school

* One of the few teachers who will put Bede in his place instead of encouraging his ego and superiority complex

* She and Nessa go over to each other’s houses every Saturday to mark papers together + gossip about work

Oleana

* Deputy Head

* Does most of the Head’s work anyway

* Low-key terrifying, students only come to her with very serious issues

* Nobody can figure why she’s so defensive of Rose when he constantly seems to dump his responsibilities as Head onto her

Rose

* Head Teacher

* Shows up to important meetings wearing a shirt and suit jacket on top and nothing but underwear underneath his desk

* Actually a very hard worker - he’s just working on something concerning the school that isn’t exactly for educational purposes

* Has attempted to form a parental bond with Bede after finding out he lost his parents at a young age, has not succeeded

#pokemon #pokemon swsh #leon pokemon #hop pokemon #allister pokemon #bea pokemon #bede pokemon #marnie pokemon #gordie pokemon #melony pokemon #kabu pokemon #nessa pokemon #milo pokemon #opal pokemon #chairman rose #oleana pokemon #raihan pokemon #piers pokemon #sonia pokemon

[shanastoryteller]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHANA!! a continuation of the 'wwx and jyl run away' prompt?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

As soon as Li Shuchun sees the sea of white heading for the gates, she knows something terrible has happened.

The Lan are not unwelcome in Lotus Pier, exactly. Sect Leader Lan has been here several times and they've hosted more than one Lan disciple passing through on a nighthunt.

But this group of Lans are being led by Lan Wangji. When she gets close enough to see that stupidly elaborate silver hair piece glinting in the sun, her heart sinks.

Jiang Cheng wouldn't let Lan Wangji into Lotus Pier unless he had no other choice.

With so many foreign disciples here for the nighthunt, she's at least dressed appropriately, with her heavily embroiders silk and the gold and amethyst hair piece. She scans the disciples in dark purple, finding her brother near the back. He's expressionless to most people, but she can tell from here that something has left him shaken.

The Jiang disciples bow and then wait in front of her, showing her a deference they wouldn't bother if there weren't outsiders here.

"Lan Wangji," she greets coolly. She doesn't care that he's a war hero or whatever. Technically they hold the same rank and she's never let him forget it for a moment, even when she was sixteen and grief stricken. Especially then.

"Sect Heir Jiang," he returns. They're rude to each other in their own way. If she didn't hate him, she thinks she might like him.

Mei Fan steps forward. "Sect Leader Jiang invited them to wait here until he returned."

Well, that's interesting. Jiang Cheng wants them kept here until he comes back.

"Welcome to Lotus Pier," she smiles, stepping aside to gesture them onto the pier.

She keeps her smile on her face until her brother comes by her, then she yanks his sleeve, waiting until the last Lan was far enough away to hiss, "What the fuck is going on?"

Li Jun looks around nervously then bends down to whisper in her ear, "We - they're - in the woods, they're alive." She's getting ready to kick some sense out of him when he clarifies, "Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian were in the forest. Really them. It's not a trick."

Senior Sister and Senior Brother.

Wuxian-ge.

"Shuchun, wait," he tries, but she's already moving, running to the direction they came from.

Her heart is pounding and there's a buzzing in her ears. It's been thirteen years, and she saw Senior Sister's body, but Li Jun would never lie to her.

She sees Jiang Cheng first, stomping towards the pier alone. "Is it true?" she shouts, slamming into him and grabbing the front of his robes.

He says nothing, just stares at her. He doesn't usually look this bad unless he's coming off of nightmares or too much alcohol or some combination thereof.

"A-Cheng!" she snaps.

The first time she called him that, she was convinced he was going to be furious, going to throw her from the clan or worse. But he'd been drowning and he needed someone to be overly familiar and disrespectful and loud near him, otherwise they would have lost him to. Wuxian-ge had been with her every step of the way, from her first trembling touch of her golden core to when she'd earned the rank of senior disciple in the midst of war. In many ways, she wasn't just Jiang Cheng's heir, but his too.

Jiang Cheng hadn't thrown her out, even though he looks like he's considering it every time she does it. Usually it settles him, reminds him that he's more than just a sect leader.

He starts laughing.

She's so startled that for a moment all she can do is stare, then she shakes him. The fact that she can do it without using cultivation energy means he's not even bothering to try and resist her. "Hey! Answer me!"

"Go see for yourself," he says, sounding some concerning combination of yearning and bitter.

That's something she has to address, but for now she just lets out a frustrated yell and keeps running.

There's a group in the distance, the familiar Jin gold the only bit she recognizes this far away, but there's a couple and then two kids, then she gets closer and details sharpen and -

"SENIOR SISTER!" she shouts, remembering warm soup and gentle hands after her worst training sessions.

The man looks up from where he'd been speaking to a kid and a smile breaks out over his face. He waves at her enthusiastically. "Shuchun! Look at how big you've gotten!"

It's him.

It's really him.

"I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS!" she roars, jumping into the air to tackle him to the ground.

He yelps as he falls backwards then wheezes at the combination of getting the wind knocked into him and her weight on his chest. She makes it worse by squeezing her arms around him, then presses her face into his chest.

Jiang Yanli is laughing even as the kids start fussing around them, Jin Zixuan being useful for once by holding them back.

Wuxian-ge and Senior Sister are back.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #untamed #sorry i love my ocs #unrealistic that wwx came back #and multiple jiang disciples didn't lowkey cry all over him when jc wasn't looking

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 1: Beach Day

It’s the first real hot day of the year. Everybody in the band pack agrees to finish their chores without hassle and head down to the lake near the abbey. The sun blazes down from high in the sky, and the junebugs hum and whine. 

Rain is the first one to strip down to a pair of tiny, form-fitting shorts and take a running dive off of the end of the pier. The water, despite the hot sun, is still nearly icy. It doesn’t bother him at all. He’s in his element, he’s home. 

The ghoulettes throw a pile of towels down on the pebble beach and wade in, giggling as Swiss tosses an innertube onto the water and tries to follow, immediately hissing at the cold temperature. He gets over himself and splashes in after them. 

Aether settles down on the beach, book under one arm, another pile of towels under the other. He’s content to dip his toes in as Mountain sits down next to him, laying back onto the grass. 

Dew is the last of them out. He trods out to the end of the pier and sits cross-legged, watching longingly out as the girls laugh and try to tip Swiss out of his tube out in the middle of the lake. He tries to hang on and shrieks as he fails, landing with a splash between Cirrus and Sunny. Cumulus laughs, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes.

Rain spends a good ten minutes just sitting at the bottom of the lake, his hair and the reeds around him swaying gently. He doesn’t need to worry about being able to breathe, his gills flaring to life the moment he submerged. But he comes to the surface anyway, ready to join his pack and play. 

But when he surfaces, gasping in a breath he doesn’t really need, he sees Dew. Everyone else has grouped off. But his Dewey’s all on his own. He doesn’t even look up when Rain chirps in his direction. He cocks his head, diving back underwater and swimming back to shore. 

He pops up in front of Dew, who startles hard. “The water’s really nice, Dew.”

From the shore, Aether shakes his head, and Rain hears his voice filter into his mind. He hasn’t been in the water in years, Rainy. Not since before you were summoned. 

He waves a hand through the water in front of him, back and forth. “You don’t have to come in, but it’s nice.”

Dew reaches down to brush a strand of wet hair out of Rain’s face. His hand is sunbaked and warm against Rain’s clammy skin. “Maybe, it’s been a while. Can’t breathe underwater like I used to.”

“It’s alright,” Rain says, reaching up to take Dew’s hand, ignoring the scars where his gills used to be. “I won’t let anything happen. Just want to swim with you. I’ll take your kitchen duty for a week if you do.”

Dew, to give credit where credit is due, pretends to think about it. Rain knows how much he hates doing dishes. “Two weeks of kitchen duty.”

“Deal.” 

Dew pulls off the oversized tank top he stole from Swiss, revealing milky pale skin and pink scars underneath his pecs. He takes a deep breath and unfolds his legs, letting them dangle over the end of the pier. He winces as his toes touch the cold water. “Promise me you won’t let anything happen?”

Rain nods, reaching out and extending his pinky finger. “I promise, Dewey.”

Dew takes a deep breath and locks his own pinky with Rain’s. He shuts his eyes and shoves himself off of the end of the pier with a splash. 

Rain darts forward to hold him up, keeping his head above water. Dew slings an arm over Rain’s shoulders, even as he’s hissing like an angry cat at how cold the water feels, and they move away from the pier, into the lake proper. 

On the shore, Mountain and Aether scramble to their feet. “Rain!” Aether yells, even from a distance looking panicked. “What did you do?”

“Dew, are you okay?” Mountain calls out, less panicked than Aether but still tense. 

“I’m good, Mount!” Dew yells back as he turns to face them. “And Aeth, I went in on my own free will, asshole!” 

Aether and Mountain’s postures relax, though neither of them return to their seats quite yet. Aether cracks a smile. “Love you too, Dew!” 

Rain continues to take them out further into the lake, shifting so that he’s laying on his back. Dew still clings to Rain’s chest, resting his head right over his heart. Rain reaches one hand out and smooths it over Dew’s hair as they float. He’s honored that Dew trusts him with something as big as this, and his heart swells with the thought. They’ll head back to shore the moment Dew asks, but for now, they’re both content to float under the summer sun. 

#mushy may #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing #the band ghost #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul

[orangepanic]

Is it weird to write fanfiction of fanfiction? Maybe. But I was thinking about @kurocache's amazing No Strings Attached modern AU where, among A LOT of other things, Asami winds up living with Iroh after her breakup with Korra and Korra's subsequent reunion with Mako. As I eagerly await the ending of that fic it got me thinking about Asami's perspective and how hard it might be for her to let herself be loved again, even when it's staring her in the face. The following is in no way meant to be canon in Kuro's AU, and I hope they'll consider this little thought experiment as the compliment it was intended.

***

There weren’t any benches by the water. Standing in the cold wind Asami wasn’t sure now if there ever had been, or if she’d only imagined them. She’d done a lot of that over the years. Imagined people instead of seeing who they were—or who they weren’t. Imagined her future. Imagined love that would last a lifetime. But in the end neither people nor benches were there to support her. Asami found a seat on the edge of the concrete pier and hugged her knees up under her chin, shivering. Her t-shirt and leggings were hardly winter wear. In her hurry to leave she’d grabbed whatever was closest.

Asami tried to focus on the boats in the bay as they passed. Their colors and textures, and the little flags that showed where they were from. In spite of the chill it would probably be a nice day for sailing. But sailing inevitably brought her mind back to him, and to the conversation that had never quite stopped playing in an endless loop in the back of her mind. That, and the stricken look on his face. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Iroh. She did and always had, even before he’d taken her in after the breakup without so much as a question. Despite his tough exterior Iroh was one of the kindest people Asami had ever met. His quiet ways hid a keen mind and a depth of character that went far beyond his public pledges of honor and service. When people talked, Iroh listened to them, and he thought about what they said. He was well-read, worldly. A fantastic Pai Sho player. He made great omelets. And there was certainly an attraction there, too; not just because Iroh was a handsome man but something in the way he moved his body, and how he looked at her. Asami had kissed him first. They’d started sleeping together. He’d been good. Better than good, spirits, it had felt like Iroh wanted nothing but to please her. All she’d wanted to do was forget.

Asami dug her fists into her eyes and blew out a breath. She wasn’t going to cry. Between her father and Korra and fucking slimeball Varrick she was out of tears for this year. 

Footsteps sounded against the pier. When they stopped behind her Asami didn’t react. Go away, she thought. Alone was where she belonged. Alone and unwanted and unhurt.

The visitor softly cleared their throat. “You forgot your coat.” 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s cold out.” 

Asami laughed into her closed hands in a way that sounded too much like a sob. Boots shuffled behind her and then heavy fabric draped around her shoulders, cutting off the wind. A moment later something metal clanged gently on the concrete. When Asami cast a glance sideways a large red thermos with the golden United Forces logo sat by her side. 

“Just tea,” said Iroh. “Black with lemon.” The way she liked it, not him. “You can keep the thermos. I have two.”

“What are you doing here?” she choked out. 

“You left without your coat.”

“I can handle myself.” 

“I know,” said Iroh. “And I’m not here to ask anything of you, or to ask… anything again. But you can’t be out in this weather without a coat. Not because of me.”

Of all the ridiculous things. She’d kicked his heart to the floor and here he was out of chivalry. Asami dropped her hands to pull her coat tighter around her. She already felt warmer and hated it. Why did he have to be like this?

“Did you wanna sit?” she asked. 

Iroh hesitated, then folded himself down next to her without comment. His long legs dangled over the edge. Unsure what to say Asami unclasped her arms and took up the thermos. Warmth bloomed in her chest at the first sip, the fragrant steam caressing her face like a lover. She’d always be a coffee girl but Iroh’s tea was as good as his omelets.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” When Asami handed Iroh the thermos he took it, wrinkling his nose at the taste. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

He didn’t answer. He seemed to be studying the open mouth of the thermos. 

“Iroh?”

Iroh took another swig of tea before handing it over again. He braced his powerful arms against the pier, leaning back, not looking at her. “No. But I will be.” Frost curled from his lips as he exhaled. “These things happen. You don’t owe me a reason, Asami.” The implication being that she hadn’t given him one. Which she hadn’t. When Iroh had run his thumb across her lips and asked with shy smile and soft eyes if she’d ever consider more than just sex she’d practically rocketed out of his bed and through the front door with a string of apologies trailing behind her like tin cans on a stray dog. Not because she didn’t want him but because she couldn’t go through it again. Asami had already been left or betrayed by everyone she’d ever loved and she wasn’t going to add any more names to that list. She couldn’t love Iroh, not now, not when she was only barely back on her feet. She couldn’t survive loving him, too. Even if deep in her heart she knew it was already too late. But better to lose him now than to be shattered in a year or two when one more time she found out the hard way that she wasn’t enough. 

“I’m sorry,” she said into the thermos. 

“Don’t be.” 

“But I want to.”

“You want to be sorry?” Iroh ventured a glance in her direction. “Can I ask you something?” he said. “A different something.”

Asami tensed. “Okay.”

“Can you promise it’s me?”

“Huh?” She turned to him. “What’s you?”

Iroh stared out at the bay again, white-lipped and grim. “Promise it’s me,” he repeated, “and that when the time comes you’ll let somebody love you. Somebody else.”

Asami dropped her eyes as a knife twisted in her gut. There was a reason Iroh was so good at Pai Sho. He’d cornered her in two moves, leaving her with the terrible choice of lying to his face or saying out loud what she desperately didn’t want to say because she knew him, and he’d come all this way to bring her her fucking coat not because he wanted a second chance but because she was cold and he couldn’t stand the thought of it. Iroh would never accept that she was unlovable and better off shielded from that hurt. He was too kind, and too full of love himself. It was easy to miss but he was. Nothing inside him but marshmallow fluff. Asami snorted at the image of poking his stomach like a warm cream bun. 

Iroh raised an eyebrow. “Funny?”

“You’re such a sap.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone. I have an image to maintain.”

“I won’t.”

“You didn’t answer my question though.”

“Iroh…”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to say it.” He flashed up a hand, then picked up the cap leaned over to screw it back on the tea thermos. “It’ll get cold if you leave it open,” he added, his voice rough. Asami knew what he’d assumed in her silence. She stared at his big hands wrapped around the thermos and felt her lip begin to tremble. Her vision blurred. 

“Wait,” she sniffed.

Iroh’s head snapped up. “Asami?”

“It’s not you,” she blurted, keeping her eyes on his square chin as a single tear spilled down her cheek. “Iroh, it’s not you, never. Please don’t think that, you’re wonderful, it’s me and I couldn’t take it if you left me too, I’d—” and that’s as far as she got before he folded her into his arms and she broke down completely. Asami sobbed against his chest, his familiar scent wrapping around her like a blanket as he hugged her tight. 

“Shh, you’re okay,” he murmured into her hair. 

Asami cried and cried until there was nothing left in her but hiccups. Iroh adjusted her coat around her and stroked her hair. He said very little, just occasional soothing sounds, low and indistinct, as if she were a child with a fever. Only when she’d quieted did he pull back to face her. His features were drawn, his golden eyes full of exasperated concern.

“May I take you home?” he asked.

Asami wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded. “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

“I’ll wash it.”

“Iroh—”

“Later,” he said with a sharp shake of his head. He reached up and wiped the wetness from her cheek with his thumb, then leaned down and kissed her forehead just below her hairline. “Come on. There’s dumplings for dinner if you’re patient. We can talk after if you want. Grab the thermos, will you?”

Iroh got to his feet, then held out a hand to pull her up. When they started to walk Asami didn’t let it go.

#irosami #ficlet #a love letter to fanfiction #iroh ii x asami sato #tlok #modern au #iroh ii #asami sato