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chaiifluuf · 3 days

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Heart to heart — d. osamu

synopsis. seeing your boyfriend’s ex makes you question if you really are enough for him

content. fem!reader, ada!reader, hurt/comfort, has a made-up character

notes. a request written here ! @hyunorue, @walnutnut since you wanted to be tagged, i adjusted a few things but hope you enjoy nonetheless <3

“‘samu, we just had a lunch break..”

you mention softly as you let him lead you out of the agency office. of course dazai wants to ditch work with you once again despite all your efforts to make him do the opposite. often you don’t go along with his antics since you actually value the paperwork and don’t want to stress kunikida even further. unfortunately, today was one of those days where dazai wins.

“so? we were still working then and have every right to get a break now!” dazai tells you as if there is no problem with what he said. you raise an eyebrow and stare at him sceptically. “more like i was the one working, you just pouted and sat next to me because i wasn’t focusing on you.” you point out while both of you walk down the stairs.

“how cruel, bella! i did write on my report,” he says dramatically, holding his free hand to his chest when the other hand is still intertwined with yours. “i saw you add exactly five words.” you respond bluntly as you remember your gaze flickering to his laptop to see what he was doing from before. dazai gives you a fake offended look before opening the door for you to exit.

the cafe right below the agency was the go-to place to take a break or even have lunch. and today was no different. two of you sit down at one of the tables and order your usual. you still weren’t at ease though. “you know if kunikida happened to be at the office currently then we wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

dazai hummed indifferently, taking your hand in his again as he rubbed gentle circles on the back of it. a warm smile tugged at his lips. “kunikida this and kunikida that but how about you relax? don’t worry, i’ll just—”

he abruptly stopped speaking when he looked behind you towards the entrance of the cafe, the sound of the doorbell ringing filling the space. you feel confused and decide to call his name, but to no avail. before you can even turn around a woman’s voice can be heard throughout the room.

“oh my god! is that you, dazai?” she gasps and you saw the way his body stiffened. almost right away you can tell something is wrong. the woman walks up to the table you were sitting at, an amused grin on her face. you can’t help but wonder who she is. dazai has never mentioned knowing other women besides you and some others at the agency. what is going on?

“why long time no see! you do remember me right?” she says to him with an upbeat tone, her gaze shifting to you afterwards. the moment she did you realised something. she looked pretty. stunning even, her golden wavy hair fitting so well with her hazel eyes. while her expression seemed friendly, as soon as she looked at you, you felt somewhat uncomfortable. you felt as if she judged your whole being right now.

“i do, yuna. what are you doing here?” dazai’s voice was much colder in comparison to talking to you earlier. okay so dazai does know her. then she has to be someone from his past. someone he has never told you about. perhaps a friend, a relative or a… oh.

yuna merely hums in response. “this cafe is a public place, no? just wanted to get a coffee but ran into you instead. how have you been?” she asks dazai, mostly ignoring you and it makes you feel like you’re not supposed to be here. your suspicions about who she is make this even worse.

dazai sighs rather heavily. “now is not the time. seriously.” it’s obvious that he is trying to get her to leave but yuna doesn’t seem to get the hint. “woah you’re so tense, i mean no harm…” she says with a softer tone despite the playful smile growing on her lips, calmly bringing her hand to dazai’s shoulder as if i wasn’t even there. it’s becoming harder to not get annoyed because who does she think she is?

your lips form into a thin line as you watch her get dangerously comfortable around him. you were about to give yuna a piece of your mind but dazai already got ahead of you. without hesitation, he pries her hand off his shoulder and she’s surprised by his action.

“yuna, this is your last warning. i need you to stop acting like we’re anything more than strangers and respectfully, get the fuck out of here.” he spoke with a stern tone and looked into her eyes the entire time. you’re definitely not used to seeing him get genuinely mad at someone.

small shock crosses her face and she seems taken aback by his sudden words. a moment of tense silence passes before yuna scoffs. “fine, be like that then. have fun with your new little girlfriend,” she says mockingly, her friendly tone long gone and you were not ready for the look she gave you. it was full of loathing and bitterness, like you were far beneath her.

and now you want to sink six feet underground. you hate how much she managed to affect you and you pray that she can’t tell from your expression. you shouldn’t even care what she thinks of you but assuming that she had some type of relationship with dazai before, you can’t help but feel out of place.

yuna finally leaves the place and dazai’s eyes soften when he looks back at you. “i’m so sorry that you had to witness this,” he says with a sigh, “are you okay?” you can see it in his gaze that he is really apologetic and you don’t how to feel anymore. all of this could’ve been avoided if you just stayed at the agency.

“yeah, i’m fine. was that your ex?” you ask, ignoring the stirring emotions in your chest. dazai seems to think a little before answering. “not exactly. i haven’t talked to her in years now. i thought she moved away… but it doesn’t matter. let’s just focus on us, yeah?”

you still had so many questions but you simply nod and take a sip of your drink. a worried glint remains in his eyes but you decide to ignore it and act like you’re okay with everything that happened.

because you’re anything but okay.

yosano keeps giving you strange looks as you look through some files. you try to focus on work but the cafe incident won’t leave your mind no matter how hard you try. she can probably tell something is wrong. she’s a doctor after all.

“y/n, did something happen?” yosano speaks up calmly while she sits on her office chair. you shift your gaze from the paper to her and blink in surprise. “ah, no. why are you asking?” you respond, trying to seem clueless.

“you’ve been staring at the same page for over five minutes now and i know for a fact you’re not that slow of a reader. your thoughts are elsewhere.” okay maybe it was more obvious than you anticipated. you know there’s no use to denying her at this point. with a defeated sigh, you sit down on a chair near her desk.

“it’s kind of stupid.” you’re still a little hesitant about this because while you and her got along well, you haven’t opened up about your problems to her before. her face softens slightly as she leans back on her chair. “surely it’s not if it has you acting this odd.”

a minute of silence passes before you start talking. “well me and osamu went on a break to the cafe and then this woman appeared out of nowhere, someone who he knew in the past and…” you pause, gathering your words, “after a tense conversation she finally leaves us alone. even if she did try to look friendly at first, i could tell she did not like me.”

“so it was jealousy or something?” yosano guessed, listening intently and you sigh again in return. “i don’t know. i asked osamu about her too and i didn’t really get any answers,” you say as you think about it. why did he barely tell you anything? is he hiding something? god you’re starting to overthink again.

yosano notices your troubled expression and decides to slowly move a little closer to you with her chair. “listen, let me ask you this—how did he react when she started talking to him?” she asks while looking into your eyes.

“very irritated, in a way that I rarely see.” that’s true, there was a genuine glimpse of anger in his irises, it was surprising even to you. yosano nods and seems to think for a moment before speaking.

“do you trust him?”

you’re slightly caught off guard by the question. of course you trust him. through all the missions you have gone on with him, he always makes your safety the top priority and you know that you can trust him with your life.

without thinking twice you nod in response and a small smile appears on her face. “then i’m sure you don’t need to get too concerned. plus from what i’ve seen, he loves and cares about you more than anything else.” she tells you with a warm tone.

her words manage to somewhat ease you because she must be right. you love him dearly and he feels the same. and that’s what is important. yeah, you can’t forget that. you give yosano a grateful look. “you’re right, thank you.”

the confidence you had a few hours ago is long gone. you don’t know how long you have been sitting on your bedroom floor alone, stuck in your thoughts. you left the agency a while ago, telling dazai you were going to a case related place so he wouldn’t get suspicious. in reality you couldn’t understand yourself. why are you so upset? even yosano assured you that there’s no need to worry.

everything was fine before going to the cafe and having that encounter with her but it shouldn't matter because it’s plain to see that dazai doesn’t care about her nor like her anymore. it’s not like he’s cheating on you which you know he would never do. but you do wonder how they met, you wonder if they were actually together and on top of all, you wonder what happened between them.

because despite her cold behaviour, she was gorgeous to say the least. and maybe if you got along with her then she would have a nicer personality as well. honestly yuna seemed like everything you’re not. it makes you doubt yourself. just what does dazai see in you? you have heard his flowery and flattering comments more than you can count but what if he doesn’t mean them?

it’s such a silly thought but you can’t stop pondering over it. you’re so much in your head that you didn’t even notice to hear the soft creak of the door opening.

“love?”

your breath falters. you know that voice all too well. you can’t find it in yourself to answer, keeping your face buried in your arms as your knees are pressed to your chest. you hear him moving and you can tell he’s closer to you now.

“what’s wrong?” dazai asks gently and you can’t help but feel embarrassed since you are not sure how to answer. you wish you could act like you’re fine.

you stay quiet and after a moment he speaks up again. “yosano told me some stuff regarding you,” he says and now you really have no chance of hiding anything. it never crossed your mind that she might tell him. he knows why you are like this and you hate that.

“osamu, why are you with me?” your voice is more unstable than you would’ve liked. you raise your head and see that he’s sitting right beside you on the floor. his gaze goes softer and more concerned when you look at him. you then realise your cheeks are wet.

“why? because i love you of course,” he says so easily, a tender smile adorning his lips. you remain doubtful. “then will you tell me who she was? was yuna really not your ex?” you question him as you can feel your throat getting tighter, desperate for answers.

dazai’s smile fades and he lets out a quiet sigh. “me and her were friends with benefits at best. sometimes i could tell she wanted to be more than that but unbeknownst to her, i was aware of all the other boys she was hanging out with. we had an argument over it and i ended everything with her on the spot.”

you stare at him for a few seconds as you process his words. he is not lying, you can tell that much. you suck in a breath as your vision grows slightly blurry. “i just don’t get it. she was so pretty, osamu. out of all people you chose me when i’m barely anything in comparison to her. i—“ your voice cracks as you try to stop your tears. you have never seen yourself the way he does and at times it scares you because what if one day he will see you exactly like you see yourself?

you avoid his gaze and the fact he hasn’t said a single word makes you want to cry more. he brings his hand to your cheek and slowly guides you back to face him. what greeted you instead of pity was a warm smile and eyes full of fondness.

“my dear, are you hearing yourself right now? without any exaggeration, you’re the most breathtaking woman i have ever met inside and out. i would never love someone so much based off only their appearance. and do you know what makes you so precious?”

you sniffle as your gaze is connected to his. you can’t help but lean into his touch while his hand cradles the side of your face. “what.?” you ask.

“you make me feel human. you make life worth living and i couldn’t be happier to spend the rest of my days with you.” his tone is filled with tenderness and sincerity. it almost makes you question whether you’re dreaming but his touch wouldn’t feel so real and soothing in any of them.

and then you smile lightly. you really were overthinking it. as relief washes over you, your body moves on its own and your wrap around his waist, hugging him tightly. dazai returns the gesture and places a kiss on your head, softly rubbing your back. tears were still escaping your eyes but this time it wasn’t out of sadness.

he suddenly seems to remember something and whispers into your ear. “oh and there are some flowers waiting on the table for you.”

my writing is so weird in this i’m sorry (ㅠ﹏ㅠ)

#𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ maeve writes . 🖋️#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai x fem reader

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amourane · 3 days

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in another life

pairing: thief!seungcheol x princess!reader

genre: fluff, angst, THIS IS A SAD ENDING

w/c: 8k

summary: you loved choi seungcheol more than anything but it was a love that was bound to fail. maybe in another life the two of you could have been together.

warnings: character death

a/n: bringing one of the old ones back from httphannie, i was gonna try and improve it but i honestly already liked it so much so i just left it be. hope it breaks your heart <3

The first time you met Choi Seungcheol was when you were 12.

Sneaking around the castle wasn’t something you usually did. Technically you weren’t doing anything wrong, you were just getting some cookies. What was wrong with that? You made sure not to make any sudden movement or any loud noises. Your parents wouldn’t be happy if they saw you in your nightgown stuffing your face with cookies.

You were meant to be the perfect princess.

You were making your way down the stairs when you realised that something seemed off. There should have been a very expensive vase from Italy right in front of you that had been gifted to your mother but there wasn’t. And there was meant to be that priceless painting that was a wedding present for your parents that wasn't there either.

Then you heard the faint sound of the door creak. At first you thought it was one of the servants then you heard the hushed male voices. You had lived in the palace for 12 years and in those 12 years you’d gotten to know every single one of your servants. These two voices weren’t at all familiar to you. Their footsteps seemed to approach you, softly hitting the floor. You didn’t realise that you had stopped breathing, scared at who or what might have been around the corner.

“Goddammit Mingyu, I told you not to touch anything!” A voice hissed. “This is our first mission and we can’t afford to mess it up!”

“Remind me why we’re robbing the palace as our first mission again?” Another voice asked, slightly higher than the one before. “I mean it’s much too dangerous, we’re just kids Cheol.”

“Oh shut up Mingyu. We’ve just got to make sure not to run into anyone otherwise we’re dead-” A body bumped into you, making you squeak. “What the?! Who are you?!” The boy in front of you couldn’t have been much older than you are. There was an obvious scowl that was etched onto his face. You gulped.

“Seungcheol, that’s the princess.” The boy next to him, Mingyu you presumed, whispered as if he was afraid of you. He was younger than Seungcheol and he offered you a meek little smile.

Both of them were dressed all in black. The sacks they were carrying were a dead giveaway on what they were meant to be doing. You furrowed your eyebrows. There had been a number of incidents that seemed to be happening all around the kingdom. A gang had been set up and every night things were being stolen from all the monumental sights. No doubt these two were part of it.

“You guys are petty thieves.”

The look on their face morphed into annoyance.

“We’re not petty thieves, we’re hardcore criminals and won’t be associated with some nitwit dumbassess that can’t stay hidden.” The oldest scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“You couldn’t stay hidden.”

Mingyu let out a tiny laugh at your remark while Seungcheol’s face flushed bright red. You could only give him a sly smile.

“What are you doing up anyway, princess?” Seungcheol steered the topic away, placing you under the hot spot. “Shouldn’t you be catching up on your beauty sleep?” The two of them stifled their laughs as you looked at them confused.

“I was hungry.” You frowned. “What’s wrong with getting a midnight snack?”

The word ‘snack’ seemed to perk the two of them up. It was like they had forgotten all about they’re so called ‘mission’ and they looked at you with wide eyes. Mingyu grabbed Seungcheol’s arm, whispering in his ear incoherently. Ever so often, Seungcheol would nod and hum.

“So Miss…?”

“Seungcheol, she’s Princess Y/n, how dumb are you?” Mingyu interrupted his friend as he pinched in between his nose bridge.

“Oh shut it Gyu, not everyone studies history as methodically as you.” Seungcheol cleared his throat and he made his voice go higher when he spoke next. “Anyway, Miss Y/n, my name is Choi Seungcheol and that is Kim Mingyu. We would be delighted if you could show us your delicacies.”

He sounded oddly posh. No one ever spoke like that. Was he mocking you?

“Why do you sound like that?”

Seungcheol spluttered, his cheeks turned red once again. “Just show us the snacks, princess, I can’t wait forever.”

You shrugged. What harm could they do anyway? They'd get into trouble in about five seconds flat if they did anything to you. All you had to do was scream and alert the guards on night duty. Speaking of night duty. You’ve got to tell your father to tighten security. If two dumb teenage boys could sneak in the palace, who else could?

Softly, the three of you walked down the hallway, footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting beneath your feet. A faint glow spilled from the slightly ajar door of the kitchens as it illuminated the hallway with a soft golden hue. You heard the familiar tune of a song only one person would know. Beside you, Seungcheol and Mingyu tensed, both realising that someone else was in the kitchens.

“You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“Don't worry.” You shushed them, dragging them in the kitchen. A boy looked up at you, grinning. His soft cinnamon hair swept away from his face. “Jun’s completely harmless.” You reassured both of them.

“Who’re your friends, Y/n?” Junhui jumped off the counter. He offered his hand to both of them. “I’m Junhui, but you can call me Jun, my dad’s the head chef here.”

“Jun makes the best chocolate chip cookies and he always makes sure to keep a special stash just for me.” You looked at the boy completely enamoured.

Wen Junhui was the definition of perfection. He was a gentleman, he was polite, he knew how to cook and he was handsome. The whole package. You’d known each other since you were little. The crush you harboured for him was huge, nearly everyone could tell by your puppy eyes and how you’d constantly visit the kitchens for ‘snacks’ as you put it. Even your parents had given up asking you to stop going to the kitchens. They couldn’t stop you anyway.

Seungcheol stared as you made heart eyes at the boy. You were such an obvious person. How did this Junhui guy not know how much you like him?

"I made a batch for you." Junhui scratched his head. "But I don't think it would be enough for four people. I'd have to make more. Don't worry it won't take too long." He scurried away as he got ready to bake another batch.

You led both of them away and sat them down on the wooden table at the back. The jar you took out was filled to the brim with cookies. You hand one to both of them not before stuffing a few of them into your mouth. Soft chatter soon filled the air. The four of you didn’t really notice as the clock ticked and as hours whizzed by. You learnt a lot about Seungcheol and Mingyu despite the small bickering that would erupt ever so often.

You and Seungcheol didn’t exactly get along well.

It wasn’t until Jun had to remind you that it was nearly time for the servants to wake up that you realised how long you had actually been up. Seungcheol and Mingyu said they had to go as well and they said their goodbyes to both you and Jun.

When you were back, nestled in your bed you thought back to the time you spent with the two boys. It was nice to have friends your age again. Being by yourself was quite lonely and now since you were ‘growing up’ it was important to learn how to become a young lady.

Secretly you hoped that the two boys would come back but you could never be so sure.

You were 15 when Choi Seungcheol kissed you.

It was utterly stupid. The fact that your governess had scolded you because you had forgotten your homework was stupid. Why was homework even important? You rested your head on your hands, leaning back against the thick tree. The sun shone down and it was a warm afternoon. You ran your hands through your messy locks.

“How are you doing princess?” You shrieked when a face swung down from above. From one of the branches hung Choi Seungcheol, the smug grin plastered on his face. Blonde strands fell close to your face as he swung to and fro and you realised that his once natural black hair was now gone.

You and Seungcheol weren’t friends per se, you were more like frenemies. There were times he would be useful and you’d help him and in return he’d help you out. It was like friends with benefits, minus the sex. He’d developed a really annoying personality once he turned 15 one year ago.

A flirty persona, that is. It irked you more than anything.

The random pick up lines he’d drop out of nowhere and the flying kisses he’d blow at you. When you had first met three years ago, he was a sane 13 year old, speaking normally. Now, he was a raging 16 year old that liked to flirt with the ladies and charm their socks off. He was still a thief though. For some reason he’d always drop by the palace and occasionally you’d find your things go missing whenever he ‘visited’. Or sometimes he’d leave items that you knew were stolen.

You had been really good friends with Mingyu, bonding over your love for books. The literature in the palace library was enough to make the poor boy faint. He would often visit with Seungcheol returning the books he borrowed or to borrow new things. They both had introduced you to the rest of their ‘gang’ as they called it.

They seemed nice enough. A few of the members were cautious around you, however over time they had started to warm up to you. Seokmin had grinned so widely you were afraid he would break his jaw when he first met you. Shaking your hand enthusiastically, babbling about how much he wanted to visit the palace but he’d been assigned with some idiot to the kingdom’s museum.

They all seemed nice enough. The constant chattering and laughing always made you smile. You considered them your friends, especially since you didn’t have anyone to hang out with besides Jun at the palace.

“Seriously Seungcheol, I told you to stop calling me that.” You resisted the urge to throw a book at his annoying face. “I was doing fine before you came.”

“Are you sure about that princess? You cursing at your governess doesn’t say that.”

“How did you know that?!” You’d done that in your private bathroom, granted you hadn't been naked at that time but still! “Choi Seungcheol, were you spying on me?!”

His cheeks grew red. “Y/n! Of course not, I have some humanity and dignity in me! I just - you know what nevermind.”

He swung down, plopping in front of you, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I've got something for you."

"Listen, if it's one of your stolen trinkets again I don't want it." You huffed, crossing your arms. You'd received too many 'gifts' lately and it was beginning to worry you.

Fortunately, most of the things were returnable or either stolen from the palace. It was still worrying. You were the royal princess. It would be a disgrace to be associated with a lowly thief. But you couldn't leave Seungcheol much less leave everyone else.

He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t steal that much Y/n, you’re exaggerating.” You raised your eyebrows. “Okay, maybe I do steal but that doesn’t mean it’s part of my personality.”

“Never said it was.”

“I-” He let out a breath, shooting you an annoyed look. “Doesn’t matter, just close your eyes.”

"I swear to god Seungcheol, I'm gonna lose it if you pull something stupid." You reluctantly closed your eyes. Even though you didn't trust him one bit, he was still one of your best friends, though he was irritating.

Seungcheol leaned forward, the shadows he casted on your face made your breath hitch. You felt him slip something behind your ear. He lingered for a second, staring at your pouty lips. He really shouldn’t, not when you still had that stupid crush on Jun. Your eyes fluttered open, a gasp leaving your throat when you saw how close the both of you were. Yet you didn't move.

All you did was stare into Seungcheol’s chocolate brown eyes. Nothing was spoken. Time was frozen and you could hear your own heart beating loud and clear. You let your eyes wander down to the curve of his lips. Lips that were so pretty and irresistible.

He leaned in and you melted when his lips touched yours, letting his breath fill you up. The kiss was sweet and slow. You closed your eyes, snaking your arms around his neck. Thoughts left you, all you could feel were his lips on yours, moving against them. The both of you pulled away, no words were exchanged. His thumb brushed over your lips.

“Can I-”

You kiss him again, interrupting his words. His hands caressed the side of your cheek and you relaxed under his touch. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you indulged in his warm touch. Seungcheol felt right. He felt like everything you had ever wanted. His touch, his scent, his taste. It seemed as though everything fit perfectly.

The sounds around you ceased and all you could feel were his lips on yours. When you both pulled away, your cheeks were flushed scarlet. No words came out of your mouth and Seungcheol looked as equally perplexed as you did. Both of you didn’t say anything for a while.

You seemed to snap back in shock scrambling away quickly. Apologies fell from your lips and you left Seungcheol alone, dashing back inside your palace. He stared at the place you once were. Maybe if you’d looked back you would have seen the way he looked at you. Maybe you’d figure it out but you were you.

Seungcheol merely smiled, touching his lips. He would wait as long as it takes.

You had your heart broken at the age of 16.

Crushes lasted a few months didn't they? They would probably last for a few years at maximum. Well, you seemed to exceed that rule. How long has it been since you liked Jun? 12, 13 years? You certainly were a special case. All that time you were convinced that he liked you back. The constant cookies he had baked for you meant something, didn't it?

Well, you were wrong.

It was a normal Monday morning. You had just finished your classes and you were going to visit Jun like usual. Skipping down the hallway all jittery and excited. You had planned to tell him you liked him. You had a whole speech planned out.

All of it left your brain when you opened the kitchen door to see him making out with Kim Soojin. You could hear your heart break at his actions. Funnily enough, you had just stayed there, not taking your eyes off the happy pair. Secrets normally spread like wildfire through the palace, you only could assume that they had just gotten together.

You didn't hate Soojin. How could you?

It wasn’t like she intended to fall for Jun. He was everything anyone could dream for, you couldn’t blame her to be honest. There were times you’d notice the sneaky glances Jun would take at the girl whenever she came into the kitchens. The longing looks he would throw at her, which she would return. Deep down you knew that there was something going on. You just thought that maybe you stood a chance.

Obviously you thought wrong.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, trying to catch their attention. Tears were threatening to burst but you kept them at bay, not wanting to cry in front of them. Instead you smiled.

“Didn’t know you guys were a thing.”

Jun and Soojin turned to look at you, both of them scrambling apart. Both sporting matching red faces.

“Y-Yeah, we just got together recently.” He scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Of course not.” Your heart broke even more. Tiny pieces falling apart. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The two of them grin, thanking you profusely over and over again. The whole time you kept smiling. Soojin was nice, she was kind and smart. A perfect match for Jun. You were meant to despise her but how could you compete with that? You were better off just cheering on the sidelines.

“Oh Y/n, did you come here for something?” Jun looked at you. You noticed his hands intertwined with Soojin. A sickening feeling had begun to build up in your stomach.

“I, um, no. It’s nothing. You two enjoy your time together. Don’t get caught by anyone.” You warned playfully. They giggled. Waving you bye as you closed the door.

Your room was deadly silent when you entered. You refused to cry. The feelings you thought you had disappeared. You stared at your feet. A small voice at the back of your head seemed to tell you not to worry. Obviously Jun wasn’t the guy you were meant to be with. The right person would come sooner or later. You just had to wait.

The sound of the wind made you look up. Your window was open, you swore it wasn’t before. That could only mean one thing.

“Well, hello princess.” Seungcheol taps your shoulder and you whirled around. His bright smile was wiped off his face when he saw you. Your eyes were red and glassy, you were blinking quickly, rubbing your eyes. “Hey, why are you crying? Princess, you alright?”

A beat goes by before you let out a loud sob and hug him. He wrapped his arms around you. The words were muffled but he catches ‘Jun’ and ‘kissing’ and ‘stupid crush’. Your tears kept streaming down your face, soft hiccups accompanying them.

Seungcheol pulled you away to avoid him getting drenched by your tears also because he didn’t want you to suffocate. Your eyes were red and puffy. Your lips were trembling. He sighed, cupping your cheeks.

“You know better than to cry over some guy. Come on Y/n, you don’t need to waste your tears on something like this.” He held your hands tightly as you sniffed. The sincerity that laced his gentle tone was what tipped you over and you started sobbing again. Seungcheol started panicking. Did he say something wrong? “Hey hey hey! Why’re you crying again?”

“W-Why are you b-being so nice?”

He chuckled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Because I don’t like seeing you cry and I guess I care about you.”

You giggled, wiping away your tears. “I guess I care about you as well Choi Seungcheol.”

He simply pinched your cheeks and you slapped his hands away. “Now, can you help me return this crown I found?” The accessory dangling from his fingers made you laugh.

“How did you even manage to grab that?”

“I have skilled hands princess, I’m a thief for a reason.” The charming smile on his face had you grinning. The thoughts of Jun and Soojin were long gone. You fixed your gaze on the beautiful gems that were encrusted into your crown. The pretty sapphires glinted. You had many crowns, you could spare one of them.

“You can keep it.”

Seungcheol’s jaw fell open. You had always made him return whatever he stole and he always did. But you had never asked him to keep something. The crown was beautiful and you surely had other ones to replace it but why would you give it to him willingly.

“Keep it as a memory of when you finally admitted you’re a petty thief.” You grinned cheekily, sticking your tongue out at him.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” He rolled his eyes, pocketing your crown. “I’m not a petty thief I’m a-”

“Hardcore criminal, yeah you’ve told me.”

“Keep that in mind princess, I’ve been training ever since I was 3.” He smirked. “You shouldn’t doubt me.” You shrieked when he jumped out of the window, rushing to peer outside. When you do, he’s sitting on a tree, grinning right at you.

“Don’t do that!”

“Check your pockets!” He shouted as he disappeared, probably to meet the boys somewhere in town.

You fumbled around your pockets, confused. Your fingers brushed something and you pulled it out. A single rose lay in your palm. The colour a deep red, the delicate petals lay softly on you. You giggled.

Guess he really did have good hands.

You told Seungcheol you loved him when you were 19.

It had been the night of your 19th birthday. Your parents had thrown you a grand party in the palace ballroom, inviting all the neighbouring kingdoms to celebrate. There were so many people and you were made to go to each and every one to thank them for coming. You never asked for such a big birthday party and you would’ve much preferred not having a party but your parents had insisted.

By the time it hit 10pm the party was in full swing. Other nobility were drinking from their flutes of champagne and some were taking the floor to dance. Many had asked you for a dance to which you had reluctantly agreed. It was all a big blur. Bright lights and forced laughter.

It was way past midnight when you managed to make it up to your room. You were beyond exhausted. Your parents had made you interact with every single guest and you wanted to bury yourself into your bed so badly.

Darkness surrounded you as you entered your room and your feet automatically brought you to where your bed was. Too tired to function, you flopped down onto the covers and as you did something hissed. Your reaction is immediate and you jump up and flick the lamp on your bedside hurriedly.

Seungcheol greeted you with bleary eyes and a pained expression on his face.

“Did you have to throw your body onto me?”

“Wha-What are you doing here?!” You questioned, shocked at his face.

“I came to wish you a happy birthday.” He rolled his eyes. “But you were taking forever at that party of yours and I got tired.”

Seungcheol tugged the covers away from his body and sat up. He ran his fingers through his hair, dragging his fingertips through the knots. You watched when he finally looked up at you.

“What?”

You frowned at his actions. “You stayed here for hours just for me to get back.”

Seungcheol’s cheeks turned pink and he cleared his throat. “Well, you are my friend are you not?”

You shuffled in your position, crossing your legs on the bed. “Yes of course we’re friends, but you didn’t have to stay here for so long. What if I took longer.”

“Then I’d still wait.” He shrugged. His eyes wandered over the fancy dress you were still wearing, finally locking them with yours. “That doesn’t look too comfortable.”

It’s a weird feeling but you felt your heart pound like it did all those years ago when you first kissed him. You blinked silently, trying to steady your heart from jumping out of your mouth. Seungcheol was no longer the teenage boy you once knew. He had grown up and he had lost the baby fat in his cheeks as well as the boyish charm he once held. He was handsome and sexy dare you admit it. There were multiple occasions he would make you stare at him and you couldn’t help the thoughts that would come into your mind.

Like right now.

“Princess?” His voice was soft, a whisper and he inched closer to your face, wondering why you had suddenly gone quiet.

You gulped. “Cheol…can I kiss you?”

His eyes widened, obviously taken aback at what you had just said. You looked up at him, body already burning from god knows what. Seungcheol’s eyes flitted down to your lips and even though there was little light you could see the way his pupils widened and his eyes turned darker.

The distance between the two of you grew shorter and shorter until you were millimetres away and his hand came up to touch the back of your neck. You shivered at the sensation, breath hitching.

It was in less than a second that Seungcheol closed the gap between the both of you. His lips crashed onto yours and it was like a perfect fit. His lips were soft and the feeling of them on yours caused your body to feel light. Your arms snaked around his neck and you pulled him closer towards you. The sweet taste made your head spin and you continued to kiss him passionately.

All those days after you had kissed Seungcheol there was an unrelenting spark that never went out. Sure, he had acted like everything was normal but you never missed the glances he would throw at you. In a way you both knew what you felt but you had constantly denied it.

You weren’t now though.

The man in front of you kissed you with fire and you melted into his arms once again. Choi Seungcheol made you feel things that no one ever had and maybe this was love and if it was you wanted it to last forever.

The two of you eventually pulled away breathless and panting. His eyes locked with yours and you felt an unknown emotion well up inside of you. It wasn’t like anything you had felt before and it overtook you, consuming you whole.

“What now?” He whispered into your hair. “Are we going to forget about this or…?”

You stayed quiet before softly speaking up. “Do you want to forget about this?”

“Of course not, you’re precious to me Y/n, I’d do anything for you.”

You flushed at the sudden confession. “Well I don’t want to forget about this either. So does this mean that we’re…”

Seungcheol chuckled as he gave you a chaste kiss. “You’re mine now princess, and I’m yours.”

There was silence for a while. Pleasant and sweet silence. The two of you stayed cuddled up in each other's arms for a good few minutes, basking in each other's warmth. You could have stayed in Seungcheol’s embrace for an eternity.

“Cheol.” You looked up at the guy you had known for so many years. The tender love that filled his eyes made your heart swell and pound in your chest, begging to be free. “I love you.”

A beat passed.

Seungcheol’s face split into a grin and he tugged you closer towards him.

“I love you even more.”

Needless to say that night was the happiest night of both of your lives.

You were 21 when you were told you had to be married off.

The items on your table were scattered across the floor along with your clothes. There didn’t seem to be anything you could do to stop your father’s decision. Your tears kept streaming down your face, your soft hiccups echoing through your room. The news had been brought on you so soon, you couldn’t comprehend what even happened back there. All you knew was you were going to be married off to some man that you wouldn’t even love.

You flopped down on your bed. The bright sun outside was a stark contrast to your emotions. The world obviously didn’t realise you were upset. You were only 21, so young and not ready to get married. There was still so much to explore, so much to discover, not to mention you were in love with Choi Seungcheol. How could you get married? What would that mean?

Seungcheol stood outside of your door. He silently listened to your soft sobs. Maybe he had been eavesdropping back in the throne room. So what? He only wanted to know what seemed so important. The moment he had learnt that you were meant to be married off, it felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest. He would never admit it but he knew he wasn’t the one meant for you no matter how much he loved you.

Normally, he’d barge right in and greet you but he couldn’t. Whenever his fingers brushed the door knob he’d flinch away like it burnt him. In all the years he’d never heard you cry, that is except when you’d seen Jun sucking Soojin’s face off. The situation he was in shocked him too much. What was he meant to do?

“Is she alright?” Jun knelt down beside Seungcheol. “She hasn’t come out in a while?”

“She’s still crying.” He simply shook his head. You were 21, surely you didn’t have to get married. “She has no other option does she? She’s their only daughter, they’ll grant her whatever she wants right.”

Junhui grimaced. “Not this time Seungcheol, I don’t think so.” The boy stood up, dusting his clothes. Jun and Seungcheol had bonded over the years, the rest of the gang seemed to like him as well so that was a bonus. The two of them were friends. “Are you going to wait for her?”

“Yeah, someone’s got to be there when she comes out.”

Several hours later, the door creaked open. Seungcheol bolted up. He was greeted with your tear stained face. There was a part of him that knew it was better to leave you alone but he couldn’t. Instead he hugged you close and gave you a kiss. You wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Are you doing better?”

“I’m okay.” Your voice was soft and quiet. “You should go.”

Seungcheol frowned. “You must be crazy to think I’d actually leave you.” He grabbed your hand. “Let’s go outside for a bit, get some fresh air.” He attempted to pull you with him but you remained rooted to the spot, your feet refusing to budge from the ground as if tethered by invisible chains.

His gaze lingered upon you, drinking in the subtle nuances of your demeanour - the avoidance of his eyes, the restless fidgeting of your hands, the nervous bite of your lip. There was something wrong, something that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness like a persistent whisper.

“Listen.” You pulled your hand out of his grasp. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore. Things are a bit...complicated.”

Seungcheol's world screeched to a halt, disbelief painting his features as he struggled to comprehend what you had just said. "Y-You want me to leave?” You nodded. “Like forever."

This time you hesitated for a second but you still nodded your head. He didn’t believe you’re being genuine on this. There was no way you’d ask him to leave. He’d known you for many years but why now?

“Well, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why. I’m not giving up on us.”

Normally, you would start giggling and give him a sweet kiss and finally give in to him. All you did was sigh and look away. No emotions on your face.

“Just go Seungcheol.” You stared at him lifelessly. Your eyes were a deep void of nothingness. He opened his mouth to start arguing with you but closed it. What could he do? He’s nothing compared to you. “Go before I call the guards.”

He stood still determined not to leave but then he saw the pain in your eyes. The tiredness. You sighed, turning away to leave.

"Is this it then? You’re just going to give up on us?" Seungcheol glared at you. It was insane that you'd think that he'd leave you when you both had known each other for so long. "We both know that you’re lying to yourself."

Your eyes hardened to stone and you barred your teeth. "You're delusional."

"If I am then you are too." He snarled, stepping closer to you. His eyes softened and he held your hand, squeezing it tightly. "I love you."

You faltered at the three words. He’d say them all the time but this time it made you feel weak. Even though Seungcheol was angry you could tell that those three words were pleading for you to say them back. It was an internal fight and you looked down at your hand in his. You knew what would happen if you were caught with him and now your father was already suspicious. You couldn’t risk Seungcheol’s life like that.

"Y/n I love you and I always have, please don’t do this." He pleaded. You bit your lip, closing your eyes as you took a deep shaky breath. "Please don’t do this, not to us please. Did it not mean anything to you?"

"I-I…" You flinched when he reached out to touch you. There was a rock at the pit of your stomach and you didn’t know why but your throat was closing up and you could feel tears begin to prick your eyes again. "Seungcheol I can't…"

"Why not?!"

"You know why!"

The truth was bitter and vile. It was cruel and it was ugly. The truth that neither of you dared to voice aloud. Tears were streaming down your face and you wiped them away furiously trying to get them to stop.

"Don't you get it?" You pushed him away. "It's not going to work, it's impossible and we both know that. Just leave Seungcheol, I don't need you anymore."

“Y/n it isn’t funny when you say those things.”

You didn’t respond. Seungcheol sighed, already knowing your answer. Reluctantly, he left you alone. This time he was the one leaving you and he didn’t look back. Maybe if he did he’d see you, heartbroken, stifling sobs.

ONE YEAR LATER

"Someone was spotted last night." A guard reported to your father. "They were looking for something."

You tensed. It had been nearly a year since you had kicked Seungcheol out. One year of utter silence in your life. You didn't receive any more gifts nor did you have some chatter to fill your lonely void. You missed everything about him. From his sweet kisses to his laughter that never failed to cheer you up. When he stopped appearing so did the others and as more and more months passed you deluded yourself into thinking that they hated you. Because how could they not?

To hear that someone was nearly caught last night was nerve-wracking. However you were positive it wouldn't be one of them. They'd know better to show their face here. Your father had tightened the security around the palace, apparently you were at the tender age to be kidnapped and ransomed. To set foot in the palace was like setting foot into a death trap.

"Did you catch them?" Your father glared at the guard when he shook his head. "Did you at least find some clues to who this mystery person is?"

The guard gulped, his eyes flickered to you for a second. "They left a note." You swallowed your food thickly. "Outside the princess's window."

This time you tried not to choke on the food. Your hope about it not being one of the guys grew dimmer and dimmer.

"Well, hand it over." Your father snatched the piece of paper off the guard's hand, eyes scanning the note. His eyes fixed on you and you know what's about to happen. "Check the perimeter for any sight of suspicion. You're dismissed."

The guard scurried away not before giving you a small apologetic glance.

"What's wrong my dear?" Your mother's tone was laced with worry. "Is everything alright?"

"Looks like someone wants to meet Y/n tomorrow night." You didn’t have to look up to know that his eyes were burning into you. It was like he was trying to cook you alive for answers. "Anything you have to say?"

You kept your mouth shut, poking at your breakfast.

Your father lowered his voice. “You’re going to help capture this criminal and god forbid you disobey me.” He hissed. “Understand Y/n.”

You didn’t move, frozen in shock. “Y-Yes, father.” You just hoped that it wasn’t who you thought it was.

It was cold. Cold and windy. You were standing on your balcony, fiddling with the note in your hands. No doubt about it. You recognised the handwriting and it felt like fate was sealed. There were guards hidden everywhere possible.

Your heart was pounding and your palms were sweaty.

“Didn't think you’d actually come.”

You spun around. Seungcheol was leaning against the door. He’d grown taller since you last saw him and he had dyed his hair again. If it wasn’t under these circumstances you’d be overjoyed to see him again but all you could feel was guilt. The dreading feeling of guilt and shame.

His bright grin was wiped away when he heard a noise. His eyes widened in terror as he looked at you. It’s a pleading look and you didn’t meet his eyes.

“You did it, didn’t you?” Seungcheol shook his head.

It’s a sickening sight to see him get handcuffed. It would've been better if he had started shouting or at least given you a glare. But all he did was sigh as if he knew it was coming. You didn’t speak a word. Even when he was dragged out of your room and your father told you that you did a good job. You didn’t respond.

It’s only when you were sure everyone’s gone that you let the tears break. You slid down the wall, muttering sorry over and over again. The guilt ate you up, consuming you. The feeling was suffocating and even though your sobs were quiet you still felt like you were being torn apart. There was a new hole in your heart that’s bigger than the rest and this time you had no one to blame but yourself.

“Choi Seungcheol, you are charged with multiple attempts of theft and one attempt of treason. You will follow the normal punishment of a death sentence, you have the right to defend yourself.”

The treason bit was a lie. The royal court had made that up, like they did for everything that they deemed wrong. You blinked back tears at the sight of Seungcheol kneeling on the floor, hands tied behind his back. He was thinner and paler, being locked in a cell for days on end had taken its toll. There were dark bags under his eyes and his clothes were dirty. Yet his eyes were still bright and lively as if he wasn't about to be heavily punished. The dark orbs were twinkling with the familiar mischief as he stared at you.

“Any last words?”

He keeps his gaze trained on you, lips tugging into a tiny grin. “Check your pockets.”

Your breath hitched and your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when your fingers brushed something cold. Upon touching the object you’ve got a pretty good idea about what it was and when your hands brush a tiny rock you felt like crying again. Your parents were too busy mumbling to notice as you slipped away back into the shadows.

You pulled the object out of your pocket and you smiled blissfully. A silver ring with a beautiful diamond in the centre. It wasn’t big and flashy like the jewels you owned in the palace but it was enough. More than enough. A tear fell and then another and another. Before you knew it you were biting back sobs, slipping the ring onto your finger. You curl into a ball like you were five again, wiping away the tears that fall freely.

Once you returned Seungcheol was gone and your parents were looking at you disappointed.

"Y/n you really shouldn't disappear like that." Your father reprimanded.

"Where's Seungcheol?"

"You mean that criminal." He scoffed. "Locked away, execution is set for tomorrow."

Your face paled and your fingers brushed over the ring. He would do the same for you if you were in his position. It's a split second decision when you dashed away, your parents shouting for you to come back. You ignored their cries, running to the dungeons, a guard caught you by your shoulders, stopping you from going further.

“Stop it.” You shouted, wriggling desperately. “Stop it, let me through.”

They apologise profusely all while dragging you back to your parents. The royal court was already dismissed and it's only you, your father and mother in the room. You didn’t dare to make eye contact with both of them. It was stupid how they still treat you like a child.

Instead of speaking you simply trudged up to your room. You heard your father muttering to the guards about keeping an eye on you so you wouldn’t escape. There was no use in that, no matter how tight the security measures you were going to find a way out. You had to.

It was the dead of night and you were creeping around the palace like you once did when you were younger. You had managed to slip by the guards and now you were making your way down to the dungeons. If you had guessed correctly, the guard who was on duty tonight liked to drink so you may have slipped a few sleeping pills into his drink before bed. He should be fast asleep by now.

Sure enough when you pushed the door open the guard was fast asleep on the floor, soft snores escaping his lips. You silently walked over, plucking the keys from his belt. There weren’t many people in the dungeons, you didn’t really keep prisoners. So there was only one cell that was occupied.

Seungcheol was leaning against the dirty brick wall, hands still cuffed. There was a small rock that he's throwing at the wall as he whistled. Somehow he managed to still look stunning while in a rotting jail cell. He looked up when you grabbed the cell bars trying to unlock it as quietly as possible. His eyes flickered to the ring on your finger and he wistfully smiled.

"I see you've received my gift."

It was infuriating how he was so calm in this situation, how it seemed like he didn't care. He had a death date all set up for him and his life was in the line. How could anyone be calm in this situation?

"Why'd you give me this?" You took a shaky breath when he got up, walking closer. His eyes softened.

"Because I love you." He let out a little laugh. "Have since I met you."

You were crying again. The both of you know it's not possible. It wouldn't work. You'd drilled that thought into your head. His hand caressed your cheek and you saw his eyes were glassy as well.

"Whatever happens tomorrow, promise me you won't blame yourself." Seungcheol's handcuffs jangle when they hit the metal bars. You shake your head. "It's not your fault that it ended this way."

You were choking back tears. "Y-You can't just give me a r-ring and die you moron. I-It's not fair."

Seungcheol rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Don't think of it as dying silly." He reached out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Think of it as a long…disappearance. You can always still visit the boys in the cabin if you want. They've missed you."

"I sent their f-friend to jail." You deadpanned.

"Yeah but you also gave their friend the best years of his life. The time I spent with you Y/n are the best moments of my life.”

You sniffled, wiping your tears. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." He teased, poking your cheek. "You love me."

A moment of silence passed with you staring at the thief you grew up with, the one you had fallen in love with. The both of you had been through so much and for it to end like this. You never would have fathomed that you would be in this situation, yet here you were.

"I hate how you're always right." You let out a deep breath, blinking rapidly. Seungcheol wiped your tears away and you held his hand. He raised an eyebrow as if expecting you to say it. You rolled your eyes. “I love you too idiot.”

Once the words leave your mouth you feel like breaking down again. It just confirmed what was going to happen.

“You’re going to ruin that pretty face of yours if you cry again princess.”

“I-I’m not crying.”

“You’re not?” He let out a laugh. “Of course not, you’ve just got something in your eye.”

You nodded, sniffling some more. “Please tell me you're planning to escape. The door’s wide open.”

“I can’t risk you getting in trouble and I doubt your parents are happy you’re down here right now.” You couldn’t care less, the guy you love was about to die, you weren’t going to stay and act pretty for a bunch of obnoxious people. “Speaking of, you should probably go before anything bad happens.”

“I’m not leaving.” You stood your ground, folding your arms. The guards had no right to drag you out of here. Your parents might grow furious and your reputation would be tarnished but you didn’t care. Not anymore. You wouldn’t leave.

Seungcheol let go of your hand. “Listen to me Y/n. I’ll see you tomorrow and if I don’t just know that I would do anything in the world for you.” You heard the distant footsteps of someone approaching. He gives you one last smile. “Now go before something bad happens.”

Hesitantly, you give one last glance at the thief you loved in chains and shackles. He wasn’t crying but you could tell it was hurting him so much. You kissed him. His lips were still as soft as you remembered and he still smelt of the same soothing vanilla. Nothing seemed to matter and time seemed to stop.

You really hoped things would have turned out differently but it didn't. This was how the world worked, not everyone got their happy ending. The both of you part and you embraced him tightly.

“Maybe in another life we could be happy.”

“Maybe...” You buried your head into his chest, inhaling his scent. The footsteps started getting closer and you reluctantly pulled away. You bite your bottom lip, peering at the entrance to the dungeons. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you more.”

When you were seated on your throne, the public beneath you, you didn’t feel good. Seungcheol was on the floor, hand behind his back and a blindfold was tied around his eyes. There was nothing good about this. You felt like throwing up.

You didn’t remember much of the execution, your mind had blocked out the memories and your eyes had been shut for most of it. You only remember bursting into silent tears as soon as you got into your room. The shame was eating you up yet Seungcheol’s words stayed fresh in your head.

It was like your world had collapsed, the days after the execution you spoke not a word and didn’t eat or drink. It was only when the maids would insist you eat that you did. Your parents were too busy to notice a change in your behaviour and you couldn’t care less. The hole in your heart only grew bigger.

The diamond ring on your hand was the only thing that kept you connected with him. It made your heart hurt whenever you would think of the memories with him. The years you spent your life with him were your happiest and you knew you would never forget them.

As years went by the memories were still fresh in your mind as if they had all happened yesterday. Even though your father had married you off, you still kept the ring on your hand. You still remembered the cheeky boy who had broken into the palace many years ago and you remembered how you fell in love with him over time.

Over the years the pain subsided and you learnt to grasp at the happy moments. You found how to be happy again and you knew how he would never want you to live sad for your whole life. And as you grew older and had children of your own you finally felt the guilt wash away. The past had been eating you up and you had let it go, learning how to enjoy your life for him.

But you’ll never forget how much you loved Choi Seungcheol and how much he loved you back. And maybe in another life you both could be happy together.

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hgfictionwriter · 1 day

Text

Maybe This Time - Part Two

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: As Jessie and you grow closer, you attend your first Thorn's game, get grilled by Janine, and Jessie relives old memories of you - both good and bad.

Warnings: None.

A/N: It's been a while, so if you need Part One here it is. Depending on the appetite for this fic, I'll either wrap it up next chapter or will explore a bit more.

"Does the offer for tickets still stand?"

Jessie's smile widened as she read your message.

"Of course. Which game do you want to see?"

When she locked her phone and tucked it into her jacket pocket she caught the curious look Janine was giving her. The blonde leaned against the lockers, hand resting on her hip.

"What's that about?" She asked with a single waggle of her eyebrows and a knowing look to the phone.

"Nothing," Jessie replied in a drawn out tone as she rolled her eyes and turned to walk to the carpark, knowing Janine would follow.

"I think you mean 'Y/N'," Janine said rather smugly as she fell in step. Jessie came to a stop and shot her friend a withering look.

"Not you, too," she complained, being immediately met with all-too-satisfied laughter from Janine.

Since Jessie texted Teagan about you a few weeks back, she'd received relentless razzing from her Bruins teammates, but now it seemed word had gotten out even more.

"You were crazy about her back in the day," Janine went on undeterred. "I remember you texting her - not as discretely as you thought, by the way - and moping over her at camps."

"Uh huh," Jessie said in a flat, unimpressed tone as they began walking again. "I did not mope," she muttered.

"Oh you moped," Janine refuted. "Big time." Before Jessie could argue further, Janine went on. "And now she lives here and so do you? And she’s single? Sounds like fate to me," she said with a cheeky smile.

"Stop it," Jessie scolded mildly. The rest of her complaint dissipated as she felt her phone buzz. She pulled it out and shot Janine a dark look at the "Oooo" noise she made upon seeing your name on the screen. Jessie turned her back to Janine and opened the message, ignoring how the girl was tall enough to see over her shoulder anyway.

"Awesome! Whatever's available, really. This weekend, next, whatever works. Thank you!"

Jessie sighed irritably as she tried to ignore how Janine was blatantly looking at the message.

"I can get you tickets for this weekend. Is two okay?"

"Why are you offering her two!" Janine protested. "You want her to bring a date or something?"

Jessie rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to make her attend alone. She can bring a friend." She averted her gaze briefly before lowering her tone. "A friend who's hopefully not a date." Immediately, she went on. “Not that I care. We’re totally different people now. There’s nothing to read into.”

“Right,” Janine deadpanned. She opened her mouth to speak, but a new message popped up and both girls’ attention was drawn to it.

"Brilliant! I'll be there. Thank you so much. I'm looking forward to it! It's been too long since I've been to one of your games."

Jessie smiled before tamping it out when she remembered Janine was studying her.

“Cool. I’ll send you the tickets.”

She was going to write something further, something witty, but not with Janine hanging over her shoulder and analyzing every word and move.

“Imagine if you get benched this Saturday,” Janine said followed with a laugh. Jessie glowered at her.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” Jessie said haughtily, recovering from the dirty look she shot her friend. “It’s not like she’s here to see me specifically.”

“Uh, I think that’s exactly what she’s doing. Remember? She doesn’t even like soccer?” Janine pointed out exaggeratedly before muttering. “Which would totally be a red flag, but your Bruins girls seemed to like her, so I guess she can’t be all bad.”

“Oh my gosh,” Jessie chided. “Her not caring about soccer is not a reflection of her character or worth as a human being. God, Janine.” She rolled her eyes and Janine made a face at her.

“You know what does though? How much emotional turmoil she put you through in university. I can - and do - judge her for that,” Janine retorted, now earnest.

Jessie shot her a look as they reached their cars. They stood to face one another and she sighed.

“It’s not her fault,” she said quietly. “I never told her how I feel. Felt.” Jessie glowered at herself this time, rolling her eyes. “She didn’t string me along or anything like that. Anytime I was moody - or mopey - it was my own doing. We were really close and I wanted more, but I was too shy. And I’d get jealous of girls who did have the nerve to ask her out and date her and it was my own fault.”

“This isn’t the 19th century, Jessie. She could’ve asked you out, too,” Janine countered and Jessie huffed in frustration, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

“Well. I guess. But. I don’t know.” Jessie kicked at the ground with her sneaker. “I think she maybe was now and then? Like - not explicitly I guess. But looking back I think she wanted me to reciprocate more and I didn’t. Maybe.”

Janine arched an eyebrow at her.

“What do you mean?”

Jessie’s frustration grew, but she took a breath.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged sharply and redhead out to open her car door. “It doesn’t matter. That’s all in the past anyway.”

She didn’t have to look at Janine to know the girl was processing how far to push this. Mercifully, she relented.

“‘Kay. Well, I've push my judgement aside. And truthfully, if you like her, that says a lot - she must be pretty great. I look forward to meeting her on Saturday. And I will be nice. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Jessie said, giving Janine a grateful look. “See you tomorrow.”

“Later.”

——————

Saturday’s game rolled around and Jessie was in the locker room getting ready when her phone buzzed. Normally, she didn’t check her phone or keep it nearby when she was preparing for a game, but, you know, what if you had a question or a problem with the tickets? She clearly had to be available.

When she checked her phone and saw your name, she smiled. For the first week or so anytime you appeared on her phone Jessie felt a spark of surprise, but that had now diminished. Not in a bad way, but you two had been texting quite regularly and it wasn’t a shock anymore to hear from you.

Ready to watch a ball be kicked around and chased for 90 minutes!

She actually laughed when she read the message, but it was cut short when she saw the selfie you sent with it. On one hand, you looked beautiful and she smirked at how you’d bought a Thorns scarf and hat. On the other hand, old feelings came up when she saw you and your…friend. Whoever that may be. It was a silly notion, but it felt too familiar.

Jessie sighed.

What - no Fleming jersey?

Lol. I guess we’ll see how today goes as to whether or not I can be swayed. I mean, that’s a commitment.

Jessie's attention was drawn away when Coach announced it was time for warm-ups.

"Off your phone," Janine said dramatically with a bobble of her head. "You're so focused you missed the update to the starting lineup."

"What?" Jessie asked, eyebrows furrowed and attention now fully on her friend.

"Yeah," Janine said pointedly as she crossed her arms. "You really didn’t hear? You're not starting anymore. You're on the bench; Coach is thinking of pretty much resting you for the game."

"What?" Jessie asked again with greater intensity, sitting forward. She watched as Janine's stern expression melted into laughter. Jessie's concern and confusion immediately shifted to irritation and she stared daggers at the blonde.

"Oh my God. I can't believe you fell for that," Janine teased. "Don't worry," she went on, rolling her eyes, "nothing's changed. But now I know how much you want to show off for Y/N."

"You're ridiculous," Jessie scolded as she stood. "I'd be upset any day about getting suddenly benched. What are you talking about." Janine still snickered.

"You gotta point her out to me when we get on the pitch."

"No," Jessie said firmly as she typed out one last text.

"Time for warm-ups. It usually takes us a long time to get out of here after games, but if you're around later on maybe we can grab a drink together."

Jessie fought off the impending blush and tucked her phone into her bag before jogging after the rest of the girls.

Out on the pitch she put in quite a valiant effort to not look in your general direction. It was all rather pointless, really, it's not like you were close enough to the pitch for her to see you clearly or vice versa, but still. She also readily ignored the way Janine tracked her stare for any indication of where you were sitting.

By the time the anthem rolled around, Jessie's resolution waned. She stood there with her shoulders back, hands clasped behind her as the music echoed through the stadium. Despite her intentions, her gaze wandered over to the section you were in. Her gaze lingered long enough for her to pick out the spot you were in. Again, you weren't super clearly defined that far out, but it was you.

She bit the inside of her cheek and fought off a blush. She refused. This was a new time, a new Jessie, and she'd be damned if she'd shrink and blush just because you were here. She'd played in front of sold out stadiums on the world stage - why should she care if you were watching? Still, her mind raced back to when you first came to one of her games.

She'd played with the Bruins for over a year by the time you became friends. Jessie had really been downplaying the whole soccer thing for the initial part of your friendship - she didn't want it to define her and in a way it felt like bragging. She actually liked that you didn't know her for soccer and when someone else in class once made a big deal about her, you looked momentarily perplexed, but unfazed and you both immediately went back to talking about nanomaterials.

In fact, Jessie never actually invited you to one of her games. The concept just seemed so…egotistical. That said, she remembered when the starting whistle was about to blow at one of the games and she made the mistake of scanning the crowd. Just the memory of the shock and nerves that washed over her upon seeing you in the stands nearly caused her body to recreate the same reaction in this moment. She took a deep breath.

Jessie was so stunned to see you at the game that the whistle blew and the game started while she remained rooted to her spot for several seconds, belatedly stumbling like an idiot after the ball long after it shot past her. She was off the entire game - shots going wide, poor challenges, and somehow ending up flat on the pitch more times than she could recall in recent years. It was a game from hell for her.

After the game, she was so embarrassed she scurried off the field, showered, got changed and rushed back to her dorm. Only later did she learn you'd looked for her after the game. Next time she saw you in class, she sunk in her chair, anxiously tapping her pencil on her notebook and determinedly stared forward. You greeted her like normal, but Jessie was fidgety and gave monosyllabic answers. You eventually congratulated her on the game. Despite Jessie's less than stellar performance, the team still won. Jessie guffawed and felt heat ascending on her face. She shuffled in her seat and claimed she didn't know you'd attended the game. Despite her aloofness, you were still very complimentary.

Thankfully, in future games Jessie was more like herself. But she'd be lying if she said she wasn't nervous every time you showed up. She just never wanted to make a fool of herself in front of you.

This time, however, as the first whistle blew, Jessie charged forward, immediately winning possession and sending a long through ball past an unsuspecting defensive line for Sophia to chase down. A strong start for Jessie, followed by well-timed tackles, solid passes, deft footwork and by the end of the game - an assist. She was subbed out in the final 15 minutes, but she felt great about her performance.

After the final whistle and a 2-0 result, the team walked the pitch greeting and thanking the fans. Jessie walked along with her teammates, clapping along with the fans and waving periodically when Janine ran up next to her, nudging her with her shoulder as she did so.

"Okay, so where is she? Oh, and congrats. You put on a bit of a clinic today, so I'm sure she'll be very impressed."

Jessie rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

"You're not going to be able to see her anyway. And who knows, maybe she left already."

"Another point against her," Janine joked, ignoring the look Jessie shot her.

Jessie was about to prep a rebuttal when her eyes fell upon you. You were hanging back behind the fans who had clamoured down to the barriers and were reaching over with gear to sign. While her pulse quickened at the sight of you, an uncomfortable pit formed in her stomach when she saw you leaning in and whispering to the girl you were with. Jessie quickly shook out her head in a vain attempt to rid herself of this nagging - and totally unwarranted - jealousy.

"Wait - which one is she," Janine asked, urgency in her voice as she started pushing into Jessie to try and gauge where she was looking.

"Oh for goodness sake," Jessie muttered, though grateful for the distraction. She sighed, but described you to Janine and gestured vaguely. As she did so, you looked her way and you caught one another's eye. Jessie swallowed her discomfort and gave you a wave with a half smile, which you returned with a bright smile and an enthusiastic wave.

"Oh," Janine said flatly. "So that's why you like her."

"What?" Jessie asked, her voice suddenly high in question.

"Well, I don't play for the same team as you, but, she's a looker. I'll give you that." She gave a brief eye roll a moment later as she relented further. "And I guess she's gotta be smart, too."

"I don't like her, Janine," Jessie said through nearly gritted teeth. "Not that like anymore. She's just an old friend."

"Well, I'd like to talk with this 'old friend' of yours," Janine said, and before Jessie could react to the glint she caught in Janine's eye, the blonde was up on her tip toes and waving you down, insisting for you to come down to the pitch. You hesitated, but, standard Janine, she was very persistent. You looked to Jessie for direction and though Jessie wanted to just get swallowed up by the ground over this whole display, she channeled her energy and instead gave you an easy nod and waved you down as well.

It took every ounce of effort for Jessie to retain her composure as you descended the steps and found an opening in the crowd.

"So what's the verdict?" Jessie asked as you came up to one another at the barrier. Her eyes flicked momentarily back to your friend who stood behind you. "More or less entertaining than a Bruins game?"

You chuckled, a wide smile forming on your face and Jessie unknowingly smiled back.

"Well I don’t want to say anything negative about your Bruins days. I had fun - I know you don't believe me, but I did. That said, a game in front of like 25,000 fans is pretty spectacular. The energy in here was crazy." You gave a facetious roll of your eyes and tacked on with a smirk, "And I guess you played alright, too."

Jessie was about to riff off of your comment when Janine stepped forward and extended her hand.

"Hey, you must be Y/N. My name is Janine - nice to meet you," she said with a polite smile. You readily shook her hand.

"It's so nice to finally meet you. Jessie's always talked so highly of you."

"Ah," Janine said as she gave Jessie a lingering look before smiling back. "Jessie's always talked very highly of you, too."

You blushed slightly as you pulled a slight face, shifting your gaze to Jessie.

"That is much too generous of her," you said. "I would've expected her to talk more about how annoying I could be during study sessions."

"Nobody could be more annoying than Janine when I was trying to study," Jessie swiftly cut in. She ignored the affronted look the blonde shot her. Jessie looked back at you and quickly added, "Not that I thought you were annoying. You were one of the only people in my life that took studying seriously." Jessie took a breath and offered your companion a tight smile.

"You must be…"

"Oh!" You said as you turned on the spot. "Oh, I'm so sorry. This is my friend [y/friend's name]. She's actually been asking me to come to a Thorns game for a while, so - it finally worked out."

"Oh really?" Jessie asked, feeling annoyingly uneasy before remembering her manners. "Oh, and I'm Jessie. Nice to meet you."

"Very polite of you to introduce yourself even though you're famous," [y/friend] said with a laugh. "It's nice to meet you, too. I'm a fan of both of you and am stoked that you're playing for Portland these days. Imagine my surprise when y/n just casually drops that she got a personal invite from Jessie Fleming herself. I didn't believe her until she showed me a picture of you two from university."

Now Jessie did blush, brushing her hair back with her hand. Oh. A friend. And legitimately seemed like just a friend. She inwardly scolded herself for getting so worked up.

"Well, it sounds like we should all grab a drink or something together. Are you free tonight? I'd love to get to know you both better," Janine said with her most charming smile. You and Jessie shared a look.

"Uh, I mean, you mentioned a drink," you said as you gestured to Jessie. "So - I'm up for it if you are."

She'd really been hoping more for a drink one on one, but she supposed she'd have to adapt. She gave a casual shrug.

"Yeah, sounds good."

-----

"Another round?"

Conversation halted as the four of you looked to the server. You were the first to reply.

"Sure, I'll have another. Can I grab the pilsner this time?"

"I'll have another, too." Y/friend jumped in. "Same as before."

"Sure thing. Anyone else?"

Janine waved her off, but Jessie's eyes darted around the table as she debated what to do. A second round wasn't usually her go-to, and frankly, could be slightly dangerous territory when it came to her inhibitions. If you were anything like you were back in university, a second round wouldn't affect you much at all. Still, much like years before, Jessie felt the need to keep up.

"Sure, I'll have another."

"You got it. Be right back."

"So, Y/N, I think we must compare notes. Tell me what Jessie was like in university. I mean, I have my stories from camp and competition days, but I don't know UCLA Jessie," Janine said, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Oh come on, you two," Jessie complained pre-emptively with a roll of her head.

"Hey, why are you calling me out?" You asked, tone rising. "I didn't even agree." You dropped the offended act and leaned in mimicking Janine. "But of course we have to compare notes."

Janine clapped her hands in victory and sat back expectantly.

"You know what," you started as you reached into your pocket to retrieve your phone and started going through it, "after we ran into each other. I went through some old photos and look what I found."

"Oh sweet God," Jessie muttered as she sunk low in her seat and brought a hand up to cover her face.

You turned your phone around and held it out for Jessie first, though Janine immediately leaned right in. The second she saw the photo, Jessie's face began to burn with embarrassment.

"Delete." She shook her head, averting her eyes from the photo. "Get rid of it."

"Come on!" You protested as you drew the phone back. You looked down at the photo of Jessie kneeling in her UCLA blues with an upside down visor on her head looking comically serious.

"Gangster." Janine said with a laugh.

"Well, I thought you looked cute," you said primly. You were flipping to another photo and missed the look Jessie and Janine shared. "'Kay, how about this?" You held out your phone again, this time showing Jessie sporting a water gun at a campus party.

"Again. Delete!" Jessie said, hiding her face further, but now had to laugh.

"You were so sweet," you said. "You were taking that water fight very seriously, but you mercifully didn't shoot me. Which - thank you - cause I was getting rocked already." You gave her a smirk. "In fact, I think you even stopped a shot or two for me."

Jessie arched an eyebrow and gave a light shrug. "Maybe."

A moment later you started laughing, pulling a confused look out of the rest of the table. You waved apologetically. "Sorry - I just remembered. You blasted [y/ex] in the face so bad she was choking for like 5 minutes after. I guess that's not funny, but it kind of was."

Jessie blushed. "Oh yeah. I forgot about that. It just kind of happened - I felt bad after." She certainly didn't forget. And it certainly wasn't an accident. Though she did feel slightly bad.

"Oh, and I showed you this," you said to y/friend before turning the phone to Jessie and Janine again. "This is my favourite picture of us. Do you remember that day?"

Jessie took in the photo of the two of you sitting on the wall at the beach with your backs to the ocean at sunset. You were flush against one another, an arm around each other and your head was leaned against hers.

Jessie remembered this picture well. She'd looked at it many, too many, times. It had been one of her favourites too. Looking at it brought a wave of melancholy over her though. While she loved it, it brought her right back to when she'd stare at photos of you in the dark of her dorm or hotel room and think about the relationship she wished she had with you.

"Yeah, I remember. That was a good night," she said simply with a small smile.

"We were the last ones left around the bonfire that night," you recollected. "And you walked me back to my dorm - gosh, it had to be what, like 3 am by then."

"Yeah, I remember your girlfriend getting pissed with you about it, too," Jessie said without thinking.

Your smile faded slightly, though you held Jessie's gaze. You eventually gave a nod.

"Yeah, I remember that too." You scoffed lightly as you took a sip of your drink. "I can say this now - enough time has passed - my girlfriends always had an issue with you. Which should've been my immediate red flag for each of them. Because anyone who doesn't like you is problematic."

Janine leaned in without skipping a beat. "Okay, you can't just leave it at that. Tell me more. And yes - you're right - major red flags."

This time you were the one to blush. You fiddled with the glass a bit before shrugging, your eyes drifting to the TV in the corner of the establishment.

"I-I don't know," you stammered. "They were just insecure, I guess."

This made Jessie's ears perk up and she frowned deeply at you. Your face burned hotter as you felt the table's eyes on you.

"What?" You dismissed with a shrug and a light wave of your hand. "Is that so shocking? I mean, you and I were close. And we hung out a lot. And hello - co-captain," you shot her a momentarily teasing look, "of the soccer team, Dean's list, Olympic athlete, very charming, etc., the list goes on. Of course they were threatened."

Jessie finished a large swig of her drink, setting down the pint glass more heavily than intended on the table. Her face screwed up as she said, "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard."

Why would they have ever been jealous of her. They were the lucky ones. It was their bed you might climb into at night, their lips you would kiss and their hands you would hold.

"Jessie!" You laughed, leaning into the table again. "You are too humble for your own good. I told you. You had a lot of appeal."

"Well, not enough," Jessie muttered as she took another sip and raised her eyebrows, her gaze travelling over to Janine who was watching her tentatively. The blonde cleared her throat.

"So what I'm hearing is that UCLA Jessie wasn't all that different than national camp Jessie - just with marginally more debauchery," she interjected, diffusing any mounting tension.

It took you a moment, but you offered her a smile of agreement.

"Seems that way." A beat passed and you offered Jessie another smile. "Do you have any pictures from back then? You always had your camera out."

Your question broke Jessie out of her spiral. She wracked her brain momentarily for a response.

"Uh, no. I lost a lot of my old photos."

In reality, she deleted and threw out all of her pictures of you. All except one. It was that night at the beach, there was a moment of comfortable silence between you two and the last rays of sunlight were dipping below the horizon. You were looking out onto the sea, looking so peaceful and just so beautiful. That was her favourite photo of you.

Even when, one night in London, when she got home from a team outing and you had been on her mind all evening despite the fact that you hadn't texted her back in days; when she finally decided to put an end to this pointless and hopeless pining, she couldn't bring herself to delete that one photo.

Jessie ignored the flash of hurt that crossed your face.

"That's too bad," you said with a half smile. Jessie returned it and the mood at the table took a palpable dip. A few moments of quiet passed.

"Well, you two are in the same city again. You can take new ones together," y/friend offered brightly. You gave a light chuckle.

"I guess that depends on if you're too famous for me." You gave Jessie a smirk. Jessie was still in her head, until Janine nudged her under the table. She took a sip of her drink .

"Well, my schedule's pretty packed," Jessie said with a smirk of her own. The alcohol made it feel like she was on auto-pilot. She sat back and gave you a wink. "But I can make time for you."

You seemed caught off guard and gave a slightly awkward laugh though your cheeks blushed pink. You spoke somewhat wryly, "Well thank you."

Jessie cleared her throat and sat forward in her seat again, speaking earnestly this time. "No, seriously. Of course I'm not too famous to spend time with you. Now that's the silliest thing I've ever heard."

You propped an elbow on the table and rest your chin in your raised palm.

"Well, I look forward to making some new memories together."

Jessie held up her glass to you.

"Deal."

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #canwnt x reader #portland thorns #janine beckie

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ladylannisterxo · 3 days

Text

... the one where spence takes an interest

Pairings; Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Words; 0.6k

Warnings; one use of Y/N but this was written back before I stopped using it lol but other than that, none, just fluff!

Summary; {requested} "Not to pester you, I had this thought and wanted to share is all, but could you imagine talking to Spencer about something you're really excited about (like a movie/tv show/game or something) and the next day he starts talking to you in length about it, and it turns out he went home that night and read/watched everything he could on the subject."

A/N; goodness, I wrote this years ago on another blog and since I've been rewatching Criminal Minds, I figured I'd go ahead and post it again (cause why not?)... the one and only thing I ever wrote for Dr. Spencer Reid ajdhsakdshak

{ masterlist }

You didn't plan this. Really, you didn't. But you know how it goes when you start binging a new tv series: just one more episode... and then before you know it, it's 2:00am.

Now you're sitting in the bullpen. It's 8:00am and you're constantly rubbing at your tired eyes and chugging coffee like your life depends on it.

And Spencer is wearing a curious expression, already extrapolating possibilities as to what could have kept you awake last night.

But he doesn't mention it. Not when the team is discussing the new case, not even on the jet en route to your destination. He waits until it's just you and him, paired off to go talk to the medical examiner about the latest victim.

"Are you okay?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, just a little tired."

He smiles warmly, offering you an amused glance before fixing his eyes back on the road. "I gathered. What kept you up?"

"You know, I just..."

But then you realize you don't want to tell him, not really. To you, staying up super late to watch a tv show seems embarrassing when compared to how he most likely spent his night.

You imagine that he read around six books, most of which were probably in a language you didn't understand. Or maybe he called his mom to check in with her. Or maybe he had nightmares himself and so he thinks that's exactly what happened with you...

Any scenario you think of infinitely sounds better than oh, you know, I just stayed up super late watching some trashy guilty pleasure tv show because I have no self control.

"Nothing really," you settle on, "it's dumb."

"Try me."

So you cave, mostly because you're too tired to fight. He listens intently as you tell him about the new show you found, how it's completely ridiculous but it allows you to step out of your life for a bit and relax.

He doesn't say much, just nods along as you talk and before you know it, you've arrived at your destination and it's back to work.

Spencer actually doesn't mention your conversation again for the remainder of the case and finally, the unsub is in custody and the team is back home to enjoy a nice, long weekend.

You don't see or hear from Spencer during this time but first thing Monday morning, he's greeting you as you step off the elevator with a cup of coffee and a bright smile.

... and then he tells you he spent the weekend watching the first season of the show you mentioned and to his surprise, he really enjoyed it.

To say you're confused is an understatement but you listen as he discusses every character and what he thinks of the current story arc.

"Spencer," you laugh, resting your hand on his arm and halting his speech. "Not that I'm not thrilled to talk about this but I really wasn't expecting you to go home and watch an entire season of a show just because I mentioned it."

He smiles sheepishly, eyes lingering on where your hand still rests on his arm.

"You were really excited about it though."

"And?"

"And it seemed important to you... so it's important to me."

A smile pulls itself across your face and you open your mouth to respond when you're both interrupted by Garcia letting you know there's another case.

"Hold that thought," you inquire.

"It's impossible for me to forget it."

And just like that, you're discussing trashy tv with Dr. Spencer Reid during any downtime that you're granted. You gush about your favorite character and he theorizes future story arcs while simultaneously pointing out behavioral inaccuracies.

"People do not speak like that in that kind of situation, Y/N."

"It's tv, Spence, it's supposed to be unrealistic. That's what makes it fun."

+ Bonus: if it's a series that is currently airing, you both come into the office the next morning and excitedly discuss every single thing that happened and then theorize on what could possibly happen next.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #writing by 's'

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dxxdhood · 3 days

Text

take care

pairing: jason todd x gn!reader

summary: when you have a bad day at work, jason knows just the way to help you unwind.

tags: smut (18+), dom!jason todd, sub!reader, fingering, teasing, dirty talk, massages

wc: 2.1k

No matter what you try to tell yourself, you can’t stop crying. Ever since you woke up this morning, it feels like life has been throwing you the worst possible things to deal with– people being casually rude to you, your boss expecting unreasonable amounts of work done. After finally falling into bed, you completely lose it, sobbing so hard your body starts shivering.

Jason won’t be back for another couple of hours at least, and usually that’s enough time for you to unwind from work, but today you can’t stomach the thought of doing anything. Instead, you slip into sleep while the tears are still fresh on your face.

There’s a warm pat on your shoulder, and for a second, the bliss of sleep follows you from your nap into reality. But all too soon, you remember the day you’ve had and the tenseness from earlier sinks back into you.

“Hey,” Jason whispers, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “You alright?”

“Yeah– I’m,” You shake your head, stumbling across the half of the blanket that’s made it on the floor as you walk to the bathroom. “I’m just really tired. I’m going to shower, I forgot to earlier.”

You catch Jason’s concerned look from the corner of your eye, but you try not to stress about how you’re worrying him. As soon as the door closes behind you, you grip the bathroom counter and look at your reflection.

You’re so exhausted you look sick, but you don’t want to bother Jason with your own worries right now. When he’s not on patrol, he’s always researching more ways he can stop crime and minimize conflict. Really, he doesn’t have a ton of time of his own to relax, so you really shouldn’t burden him with your feelings.

After a half-hearted shower, you toss on a T-shirt and shorts before walking towards the living room. Jason’s lounging on the couch, and he waves you over to watch a movie– Pride & Prejudice 2005.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?” You say, trying for cheerful.

“Just thought we could use something familiar,” He says, placing a blanket on top of you before wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“I’m still going to need you to explain half of what’s going on, I can’t keep up with all the characters.”

“That’s why we’re watching it,” He kisses your cheek. “I just tricked you into listening to me ramble about my favorite book.”

You giggle, and for a second you almost feel light enough to enjoy the moment. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re forgetting something, though, and when it hits you, you nearly kick the blanket off of you.

“Shit! I didn’t make anything for dinner!”

“Hey, hey,” Jason moves his hand to rub the back of your neck. “It’s okay, I got something going in the oven.”

You settle back into your place on the couch, but you feel terrible. It was your turn to make dinner today since you got off your shift first. You can’t believe you let yourself fall asleep instead! Jason doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, he just cuddles into your side further as you both watch the camera pan around Elizabeth Bennett.

Suddenly, it hits you. You know how to make up for worrying him and forgetting about dinner. At first, you subtly try and bring your hand under the blanket, feeling around until you find his thigh. When you make contact, Jason gives you a look, trying to gauge whether or not it was intentional. You give him a cheeky smile as you continue.

Jason settles into the couch, just laying back and allowing you to do what you want, still figuring out why you’re suddenly in the mood. You run your nails against the inside of his thigh, lightly at first before digging in just a little, knowing he likes it a little rough.

You finally palm him through his shorts and he lets out a small gasp. His shoulders seem to fall back and you swear you can see some of the tension Jason always carries around leaving him. Carefully, you wrap your hand around his cock, and you lazily stroke him through the fabric as he exhales through his nose. You’re about to crawl under the blanket to take off his shorts when Jason grabs you by the shoulder and pulls you up to face him.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.”

“Huh? Don’t you want me to,” you gesture to his lap instead of letting your words trip you up. “I mean, I just started now, so I should really–”

“What are you talking about?” Jason shakes his head, his fluffy hair shifts with him.

“Look, I–” You massage your forehead, trying to work through some of your anxiety. “I was going to do something for you, Jason, so just let me–”

Jason slides his hand from your shoulder across your arm until he’s supporting your hand, bringing it in so he can kiss your knuckles.

“You’re always doing stuff for me,” He whispers. “Let me return the favor.”

The speed at which you break eye contact and begin fiddling with the blanket speaks volumes to Jason. You gulp as he lowers your hand, careful not to overstep. You know that if you say the word, the two of you can stop and go back to watching the movie in front of you. But still, no matter how much residual stress keeps bothering you, you want to know what Jason has in mind for you.

“Yes,” you say.

“What?” Jason leans in, not having heard you the first time.

“Yeah–” you try to fight against your own embarrassment at accepting the invitation. “I’d like you to… take care of me.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence before Jason bursts into giggles. You have the sense to feel offended, but he quickly wraps his arms around you and rests his head on your shoulder.

“God, lighten up, will you? You sound so serious, it’s not that big a deal.”

Immediately you fail at keeping a straight face, and although you really don’t want to give him the win, you end up letting out a snort.

“Alright, come on,” He taps your back. “Lay on your stomach.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask, even though you’re already maneuvering into position, tossing the blanket off the couch in the process.

“Just trust me, okay? Relax, I’ve got you.”

Jason’s hands are warm when they reach your back. You take in a small inhale, not quite sure what you were expecting. He moves his hands softly at first, just stroking the skin of your back and shoulders to get you accustomed to the feeling. As soon as you start getting comfortable, he starts applying the slightest bit of pressure, kneading at your shoulder muscles.

A sound escapes you that you’re not proud of, and though you’re certain Jason is smirking, you refuse to turn around and see it. Sighing into the couch cushions, you close your eyes and let yourself fade into the feeling. Jason moves downward, massaging your back in slow motions, carefully running his knuckle down the small of your back. It’s incredible, more than, but it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

“You can press harder, you know.”

He huffs, “See, I was thinking that, but if I hurt you right now I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself.”

Jason has a talent for saying things like that, things that make you melt no matter what’s running through your head. To his credit, he tries, kneading out all the knots across your back, but still with lighter pressure than you would’ve given to yourself.

“Is that alright?” He asks. “You want me to keep going?”

You hum, already starting to sink into the feeling. Jason continues, hands roaming all across your back. Your eyes start to close and you can feel yourself slipping into sleep before a hand starts to move down your body, gently feeling up your ass.

“Okay?” Jason says.

“Okay–” and as soon as you respond, he kneads the sore muscles in your upper thighs and ass, and although it causes a part of you to completely melt into the cushions, a part of you feels like you’ve just had a fire lit within you.

“Jason,” you start. “If you keep going, I might… uh–”

“No, you can say it,” he whispers as he leans in, covering your body with his own so you can feel his breath across your cheek. “Tell me what I do to you.”

“Shit–” you bury your head into the couch, but Jason carefully sets hand on your head and helps you make eye contact with him.

“Talk to me,” his voice drops low. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

He places a hand on top of one of yours resting in front of you. You flip your hand over and interlock your fingers with his. A barely audible exhale escapes from Jason as he gives your hand a squeeze.

“I want you to finger me.”

He’s smirking as he kisses your cheek, his lips trailing lower to your jawline before you even have time to register his movements. It’s like a switch has flipped in him, like he’s finally allowing himself to let loose for your sake. Like all he ever wants is to make you feel good if only you’ll allow him to.

The hand not holding yours moves from your ass to your inner thigh, softly rubbing circles only centimeters away from your slit. He catches you closing your eyes again, getting lost in the comfort around you and he gives your upper thigh a pinch.

You give a small shout, and Jason uses the opening to slot two fingers in your mouth. He doesn’t even need to give the command, you’re already sucking him on instinct. Always efficient, Jason unclasps your hands to reach for the lube in the side table drawer while you’re distracted. He pulls his fingers from your mouth with a pop.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Because I can keep going if you’re not ready–” he pretends, as if he didn’t have a perfect view of your signal.

You nod, but your head is still mostly shoved against the surface of the couch.

“Jason! Fucking go!”

He snickers as lubes his fingers before gently working one in. How typical, even when he’s being nice, he still can’t help but be a tease. His pace is slow but thorough, working himself all the way into your heat before sliding out, only to rush back whenever you seem to get used to the sensation.

Already being relaxed from the massage must be getting to you, because as soon as you stretch to accommodate his second finger, your breathing starts to quicken. He speeds up slightly, moving to kiss the spot between your jaw and neck, nibbling a small mark despite knowing it’s in the perfect spot to be seen.

He finally starts hitting the spot inside of you where he’s needed, and you almost yelp in relief.

“Faster,” you sigh, and gratefully, Jason listens. He quickens his pace, hitting inside of you with accuracy, and leaning on top of you now to better the angle. You can feel the planes of his chest against your back, and the warmth radiating off of him causes your face to heat up.

“Ah–” you start, and Jason is able to get it out before you can.

“You’re close?”

This time when you nod your head, he accepts your answer and continues the same speed and intensity. He uses his other hand to grip you by the shoulder and force your head up so he can hear your gasps. Jason moves his head close to your ear again, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he whispers, “Come for me.”

You groan, naturally wanting to bury your cries into the cushions, but Jason’s grip stops you. The casual show of his strength has you thrusting back towards his fingers, and he dutifully works you through your orgasm until you’re finished.

He flips you so you don’t end up falling asleep with your airflow cut off, and under his observant gaze you finally stop trying to cover yourself up. You flash your teeth, and Jason rubs the curve of your cheek with his thumb before slipping off the couch to get a towel to clean up.

#dc comics #gn reader #smut #dc smut #dc #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x you #jason todd #dom!jason todd #sub reader #red hood #red hood x gn!reader #red hood x reader #red hood smut #jason todd x reader

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bratzforchris · 1 day

Text

I Think You're Hot

Summary: SFW and NSFW headcanons about Matt being the golden retriever to his bisexual wife's black cat <3

Pairing: Matt x feminine!reader

Warnings: Smut, pouty bottom/bratty sub!Matt, oral (f receiving), p in v, dom fem!reader, mentions of threesomes, nipple play (none of this is overly descriptive because it's headcanons, but you're responsible for what you consume online!)

A/N: Many of these may seem like I am stereotyping bisexual people, especially women. I am bisexual myself and truly mean no harm by this <3 Every bisexual person is different! Don't fetishize us and love us for who we are 🩷💜💙 Special tag for my bff @nicksbestie for plotting with me <3 Enjoy!

SFW

✯Matt who gave his (then girlfriend, now) wife the biggest smile and hug when she came out to him

"You know this doesn't change how I feel about you, right? You're still my girl, and I love you more than anything in the world. Plus, now we get to have celebrity crushes together!!"

"That's the first thing you think of?"

"Margot Robbie as Harley Quinn is hot as fuck."

"...you got me there."

✯ He absolutely adores all of your piercings and tattoos. They make you so you. He loves to leave kisses on each one when you're cuddling

✯ Speaking of tatted/pierced bi baddie, you gotta add the colored hair to that, right? Matt adores going to the beauty supply store with you and picking out new hair colors for you to try

"Purple and pink?"

"There isn't a single color you couldn't pull off, my love."

✯ Matt who goes ALL FUCKING OUT for pride. There's a rainbow flag outside your house, he's putting pink/purple/blue hair chalk in his hair, and he is happily accompanying you and Nick to all the pride parades and festivals

"It's pride month, so I have to do whatever you say."

"Matt...you do that every month, baby. You're whipped."

✯ He absolutely loves playing games with you, even if he has to hear about how hot certain characters are. You even have matching gaming setups <3

✯ Every single one of their subscribers comments on how well dressed Matt is. Where do you think he gets his style tips? His wife 100%. You know how to perfectly balance between masculine and feminine, having your own days where you leaned more towards one or the other

✯ Matt who becomes a coffee shop enthusiast. You're rather addicted to iced coffees, and he's willing to oblige your addiction. The fans go especially crazy over photos of the two of you in cute cafes

✯ "Goddamn, I am so gay."

"Oh 😞"

✯ Matt who helps you cuff your jeans <3

✯ Absolutely jumps to defend you from bigots. He may seem shy and gentle, but the second someone even thinks anything rude about his wife, he is jumping down their throats

✯ Matt who loves the style you pull off. He thinks the way you wear flannels, jeans, and Converse one day and then full beat makeup and heels the next is so beyond sexy

✯ "Matt, look she's so hot."

"She's very hot, but not as hot as you *cheesy grin*."

✯ On days when you're not very feeling confident in your sexuality, Matt makes sure to give you extra love and attention, promising that he thinks you're amazing no matter what <3

NSFW

✯ Matt who's okay with threesomes as long as there's clear boundaries that the other girl isn't joining your relationship full time

✯ Two hot women domming him? He's folding so fast

✯ Matt who's an absolute brat because he loves seeing his dom get all worked up

"You watch my mouth. I can't see it."

"What was that, sweet boy? Fix the attitude."

✯ Showing your third partner how to control him and Matt just smiles sweetly, all thoughts that don't have to do with him being pounded into the mattress disappearing

✯ If it was just you and Matt, he absolutely loves to eat you out to show you how "sorry" he is (he will mouth off again)

"Please...I promise I won't *grunt* do it again."

"Fine. But you better use that mouth for what's it made for and make this worth my while."

✯ Matt whose wife has her nipples pierced and he loves to play with them, gently sucking over the cool metal of the barbells

✯ Matt who loves it when you're on top, riding him until he's begging to cum with tears in his eyes

✯ When you have a third partner, he can't help but to grind his hips into the mattress as he whimpers, watching the two prettiest girls he knows go down on each other

✯ Matt who has a collar with his wife's name on it and blushes when your third partner points it out

"Someone really is whipped, huh?"

*cue blushes, gentle giggles, and enthusiastic nods*

✯ Matt who loves his bi wife and wouldn't trade her for anything 🩷💜💙

tags ♡: @sturnlovr @matthewsturniologirly @pkfferoo @jetaimevous @blahbel668 @sturniolowhore @muwapsturniolo @nicksbestie @sturnlova @gxldenlush @calumsrockstar @pepsiluvr0209

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cy-lindric · 18 hours

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I wanted to vent, but also ask an honest question. Since I was a teenager, I always wanted to work on character design. And one thing that always caught my attention was how I always preferred male character designs over female ones. My first thought was that I was always more into androgynous fashion and more masculine styles. But time passed and I came to the conclusion that it wasn't just that, and it seems that male characters can always be different things: fat, thin, handsome, ugly, short, tall, young, old, etc. and female characters, for the most part, fall into two categories: cute or sexy. I wanted some tips on how I can make female characters with more interesting designs, without having to fall into those two categories. I love your work and you managed to make someone else like the three musketeers <3<3

Hello ! That's definitely a good question and something I think about a lot. The bias towards beauty is very strong in character design and it takes a conscious effort to diversify output in that regard.

That sort of advice might be a bit obvious, but one habit I picked up from the director on my first feature film gig was to actually "cast" characters. Without reference, we tend to go for the kind of symmetrical face and "average" features mostly out of stylistic habit. I like to look at character actors with distinct faces (I like this pinterest page that has a lot of faces in one place) but also just acquaintances or pictures of random crowds.

When designing a character, at first I'm always building a big reference board trying to decide what Type of Guy (gender neutral) I'm going for, trying use photos rather than other people's art, because I want to rely on automatics and graphic symbols as little as possible. Whether I'm designing a man or a woman or other, I use references of fashion styles and people across the board in terms of gender so I keep the scope open. Sometimes a character ref board for me will be a picture of one of my aunts next to a bunch of screenshots of Columbo. In my experience, a lot of the times, it's mostly about going with styles and archetypes the same way you would for a male character, and switching it up somewhere along the way by looking at real women in your life and beyond as a grounding mechanism. Sometimes that will mean changing almost nothing, because the borders between genders and how you characterize them is blurry and fluid, and sometimes it will mean using features that are uniquely tied to some sort of female experience.

I enjoy realism and I think getting more proficient at it did help me diversify my designs (I find that more difficult to do with more minimalistic styles). Still, I am mostly a fantasy artist and in my case that comes with some amount of stylization and idealization of shapes and looks. I'm far from perfect in my biases and I'm not going out of my way to draw "ugly" characters because that doesn't mean much to me ; I try to draw inspiration from the faces of every day people and I associate it with my love for fashion. It's also worth noting the work I post here for fun is a lot more hash tag aesthetic than the stuff I do professionally where diversity is much more important.

I don't know if any of that is relevant but that's definitely an interesting topic ! I'd love to know others' perspective and tips on the matter.

#replies #txt #theinvisiblescanner #character design

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netherfeildren · 17 hours

Text

FABLE OF THE DOG : 1. The Two Headed Calf

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: Welcome home and buck up, cowgirl.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol & Drug Use; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Graphic Descriptions of Vomiting; Description of a Dead Body; Death of a Parent; Parental Neglect; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Past Teenage Crush; Unrequited Pinning; Yearning and Longing Galore; Boss’s Daughter; Complicated Family Relationships; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: Disclaimer, I know nothing about Wyoming and it’s geography, ranching, or being a cowboy and just made all this up. Any and all misrepresentations are fallacy of my laziness.

The FMC tag was decided because she has a last name. It was just too difficult for me to speak in depth about her father without giving him a name, and thus her one too. After that decision was made, she kind of went away from me and devolved into her own person who I have come to be quite obsessed with. It’s still written in ‘you’ format, anyhow.

I’ve been having a whole lot of fun with this, I hope you do too.

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

1: The Two Headed Calf

“She’s been shut up in that house for goin’ on three days now, Joel,” Tommy says as the two brothers make their way across the lawn.

The ride had been long and hard, and Joel is tired—he levels a dark look at him. “Just sayin’. Nothin’ you find in there’s gonna be pretty to look at.” He raises his hands in surrender at the brooding glare, that non-confrontational shrug that’s set Joel on edge since they were boys.

“One of you’s should’a gone in there. Made sure she’s okay.”

“The housekeepers’ve been keepin’ an eye. And Frank tried to go in there and check on her himself, but she’s angry as a barn cat. Hissin’ ‘nd yowlin’, and just bein’ downright scary as hell, to be honest. You should be prepared is all I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Her father just died, Tommy. I’m not expectin’ pretty sights right now,” Joel gruffs, trying to swallow the panic that flutters in his throat as they crest the final hill up to the big house.

The beautiful stone, oak, glass monstrosity that’s stood as monument to this place, this home that is not truly his, for over a decade now. The Kelly Ranch. The sky above is still a sultry, yawning blue, deep and tired, basking in the throes of dawn as the sun just now makes its way over the crest of the Tetons in the distance so that the house sits for just a moment longer in its pool of shadowed blues.

Joel pauses on the border of that somber darkness, afraid suddenly of what awaits him inside; boots glued to the ground with the gum of cowardice. He doesn’t want to see her broken. He doesn’t want to see her hurting. But there’s no other recourse, he knows this. The death of the estranged father she’d fought with all her life, the inheritance of this world that seems suddenly too big for just one orphaned girl, all alone now.

He’s afraid that he’ll walk into that house he’s always seen as other and home all wrapped into one—that Olympus that was so far removed and out of reach even when he walked through it’s halls to the man who’d given him sanctuary and salvation, to the man he knew mistreated her sometimes, didn’t love her enough—and not have the capacity to recognize her, this girl who’d always been familiar and stranger all in one also.

Joel Miller suddenly feels afraid of the memory she exists as in his mind, in the face of the woman he knows she is now.

When he lets himself in the back kitchen door, it’s still nighttime within. The cool dryness of the AC cranked up to inhuman temperatures makes him shiver once while sprouting a damp sweat along his nape. He should’ve showered before coming, should’ve washed the ride and the days of camp off his skin before walking into her presence, but all he’d managed were his hands and face. There’d been panic to make sure she was well, if not then alive, at least. But he should be more presentable for her.

Hell, he should’ve been here for her when she came home for the first time in two years to the house where her father had died. He should’ve been here when the man died.

But the herd had needed moving. He hadn’t thought it’d all happen so quickly, thought he had more time, that they all had more time. He’d hoped she wouldn’t return at all, if he was being honest. There was nothing here for her. Nothing except memories of a gilded and loveless, already motherless childhood. The reality of all she was set to inherit. The truth of an aloneness Joel didn’t know if she was prepared for.

He moves through the house slowly, afraid to disturb the ghosts and the silence. The interior, immaculate and beautiful and solemn. Something out of a movie picture or the gloss of a magazine. Something covered not in dust but in sadness. The stairs are silent as his spinning mind makes up for the creak, the boots she’d sent him on his last birthday hit the richly piled rug at the top, and the hallway to the bedrooms yawns long and frightening in front of him. Two grand a pop, the boots—Lucchese, he’d looked them up on the iPhone she’d sent him the year before. A gift giver, generous to a fault, kind to a detriment. She sent something to all the ranch hands that’d worked for her father since she was a girl. Something for the entire ranch at Christmas. And all he managed each time was a perfunctory thank you card, like he did every year because he remembered, years ago, in her little voice, polite people send thank you notes, Joel, my grandmother told me so. Last year he’d written that they were too much, that she shouldn’t have, that he was grateful. There wasn’t much else to say.

That was the extent of their communication, familiar and stranger in one, the far removed golden child of the Kelly. They’d all called him that, the Kelly, for as long as he’d known the man. As if he was some Scottish laird of old, ruling over his clan and half the world. Egotistical, was what it really was. He’d thought himself a god among men, in the face of his only child. Ridiculous was what Joel saw it all for, a put on play, a farce.

And wonder of wonders, she was entirely unlike him because of course she would be. Of course a man ruled by nothing more than ego and narcissism had been sent his polar opposite in the form of his only child. Kind hearted, was what she was—sending him a birthday gift every year. Remembering them all here always no matter how far she’d gone. He sent her a thank you note for each benevolence in return, a word of respectful gratitude for the fact that a person like her could ever remember a dog like him.

Sometimes, Joel had wanted to go to him, the old man, Oswald Kelly, and ask him where his daughter was, why he wasn’t looking for her, keeping her closer, caring for her. He wasn’t the sort of man that could’ve ever understood such callous behavior towards one’s child.

The last time she’d been here, over two years ago: less than forty eight hours that had ended in screaming so terrible they’d all heard it down from the barn, sitting in uncomfortable, swollen silence, the spinning of tires ringing as she yelled at her father that he was never going to see her again, the man’s echoing laugh as she’d fled him.

Joel hadn’t seen her on that visit, it’d been so quick and angry. Flying down on the jet from New Haven for her father’s seventieth birthday and not even making it long enough for the festivities. This was what her life was, as he’d observed it from a distance for all these years, the singular daughter of this great house, coming to her father, attempting joy and finding nothing but disappointment at the end of him.

She’d been right, a knowing streak running through her. Kelly had never seen her again, and Joel didn’t know if the old man had regretted it or not, the anger and the estrangement and the lack of love. But the last time he’d spoken to him, hours before setting off on their move, the herd always came before everything else, the ranch was all that mattered is what the man had always said, with death scratching at the window, his frail and withered body licked down to almost nothing from the austere and imposing figure Joel had always known him as, he’d asked for her. His only child. Do you think she’ll come, Joel? The dying man had asked him. My daughter, do you think she’ll come see me? Joel had lied a lie he hadn’t known was one, said she would, that he’d call her as soon as he was back.

In the end, he hadn’t even afforded her that decency, a personal call.

He comes to her open bedroom door now, pitch dark as grief within, and the stench of sorrow and liquor seeping from the living grave. He looks down the long and empty hall for a brief second, wishing it didn’t have to be him, that again, he didn't have to see her any way other than okay. And he realizes that there’s something about her, as she will exist now, that makes him cowardly. Something about this house without the man who’d granted him the absolution of a hiding place all those years ago, who’d understood and sheltered Joel in the midst of his own past grief, that makes him cowardly. The house feels wrong without Kelly within it, wrong with only her as its holder now.

Joel steps into her dark, and it’s a battleground—

—You are silent and motionless in the blue room.

Nothing of the gleaming splendor that dresses the rest of the home sleeps in here. There are clothes everywhere, an exploded suitcase lies open and massacred in the middle of the plush white rug, a turned over bottle of red wine bleeding into your clothes. Shredded pages with scratched on writing slashed across them, the dusted white mounds of crushed pills, as if you’d smashed each one individually beneath the thumb of your grief. The sight makes him more afraid, the scent of weed and cigarettes heavy in the air, as he takes the final step towards the wrecked bed, and a single small foot hangs limply from the edge.

He stares at it long and hard for a second, afraid, afraid again, still, of what he’ll find. He says your name once, short and gruff like a dog’s bark. It’s what he feels like. Animal, bestial, lacking any sort of cognizance amidst this minefield. His heart beats against his spine, and he thinks he should do something else, shake you, check for a pulse, his bones throb inside his skin. He needs to fucking move, but the smell of smoke is so cloying he’s choking on his own tongue.

Your ankle twitches.

And Joel sucks in a sigh of relieved air without panic, saying your name again. His voice is level now, maybe gentle, no more barking dog. His eyes move up the length of one pretty leg, and then quickly, he averts his gaze when he gets high up enough he’s met with soft-creased asscheek covered in silk. Swallowing his tongue, his eyes roll in their sockets, looking for anything else to look at besides the sight of panty clad ass. He steps closer again, gripping the edge of the sheet to pull it over your scantily clad body, eyes flitting to the silver spun clock on the nightstand, the warm glow of the hall light shows that they have two hours to get you sober and presentable before the funeral.

Joel should have been here. He does not feel that he is even here now. And the guilt eats at him like acid. The fear too.

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta get up now,” he says softly, taking hold of your shoulder, scalded by the feel of fragile skin, realizing with the suddenness of a gunshot that you’ll be the Kelly now. He gives you a gentle shake, “We’ve gotta get you ready,” and his heart pumps blood like a machine. The sight of the dry liquor bottle toppled on the nightstand, the shattered glass glittering the floor in crystal, the empty pill bottles, it all taunts him. His guilt is a cacophony in his mind. He knows he’s going to have to stick his fingers down your throat, make you spit it all up, that you’ll hate him for all of this afterwards, but when his gaze meets streaked rust, dark and shocking against the white sheets, he’s kicked into terrified action.

He turns you over, your head lolling sickeningly in unconscious stupor, hair a tangled mess strewn about your face so that he has to dig for your eyes, parting the curtains of your fringe to uncover you. He focuses on your closed eyes, the too long lashes clumped together, lips cracked and parched.

He should’ve fucking been here.

Smoothing his fingers along the lengths of your arms, he keeps his eyes on your face and averted from all the skin that keeps peeking out below, searching the divots and slopes of your arms for hurts. When he gets to your right hand, battleground of a long ago broken hurt, he finds the drying crust of blood, the ragged split in the soft, small palm, thankfully shallow.

His eyes smart, looking down at the broken glass, feeling the tear in you.

Gripping you gently below the elbows he pulls you into his arms, cradled like a child, light as loss. Your head lolls again, neck crooked at an unnatural angle as he carries you into the restroom, careful of your head, knocking the lights on and putting you down in front of the toilet bowl. He pulls your camisole to rights, making sure everything is covered, and gathers your mess of hair as carefully as he can, trying his best to not snag the fragile strands in his too rough hands, but gripping you firmly in position. And ignoring the sound of your awakening cry, he sticks two fingers into your slack jawed mouth and down your throat until he feels the hot rush of vomit.

Crouching behind you, his thighs bracket you, keeping your form from slumping over as you empty the poison from your belly, flushing the alcohol soaked bile as you struggle. He wipes his messy hand on the leg of his jeans and rubs soothing circles on your back, his fingers woven through the soft silk of your hair to keep your head in place and your face clear. His heart thumps in rhythm with your heaves, your too quick, panicked breathing. There seems to be not enough oxygen for the two of you and your grief in the too small room of the commode, and Joel gasps like a dying fish, trying to swallow calm breaths.

When you finally stop your heaving, you rest your arms at the edge of the gleaming porcelain, head hung low, defeated, wracked with shivers or silent sobs, he isn’t sure, a strange and horrible keening noise, so small he barely catches it, held in your throat. There’s the finest down of peach fuzz that covers the tender slope of your vulnerable nape, and it makes Joel feel suddenly, just as vulnerable, just as unprotected. At a complete loss for how to help you.

“Finally decided to show your face,” you croak, voice ragged with your sick.

His fingers tighten once around your shoulder, a panicked tick of reminder that he’s here now, that he’s him. “I was moving the herd. It had to be done. Your father, he—” he stutters, trying explain, tripping over his own guilt ridden words. “I didn’t think it’d happen now, so fast, that you’d get here so soon. I thought we had more time.”

We.

Your skin seems to cool by the second beneath his fingertips, and then you’re shrugging his touch away, huddling closer to the porcelain bowl, further away from him.

“Get out.”

“Let me explain. I—” And he’s begging now. He can hear the note of it in his voice. Begging for forgiveness. For a chance.

“I don’t want to see you.” You don’t say his name. “Get out.” It feels worse than anything.

“I’m here now. I didn’t know— I didn’t think.” He reaches to grab for you again, but you turn to face him suddenly. Wiping the back of your hand against your mouth, pushing your heels at his shins to kick him away. Your eyes are red rimmed, the hollows beneath bruised with lack of sleep. But fire spits from the deep color, all anger and hurt.

“Go deal with your fucking ranch,” you fling the words at him. “It’s all you care about anyways.” And they weren’t shivers, he sees now, they’re tears tracked as proof of all his guilt, all his lacking, along the slopes of your fine grained cheeks.

Your, you say. As if this place and anything in it has ever been his. He’s never wanted any of it like that, only ever seen a thing that needed taking care of, and him, with the ability to care for it.

“I needed you,” you whisper as if the thought comes along on a second wind of anger, a realization that sends your voice breaking, hitching, your chest caving in on itself as the tears come faster and faster now. “He’s dead, and I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks now too. He thinks he’ll cry now too, for the man who he also lost, who despite it all meant something to him, as well. For you, who’s lost even more. For Joel’s own guilt.

But he doesn’t think you see any of that, not his apology, not his regret, not his own grief. You turn away from him again, laying your temple down again on your forearm. “Get out. I’ll be ready soon.”

And so he goes.

Your father is made small and withered in death.

One of the wealthiest men in the entire world. A stranger, a titan, a nightmare of a man.

It wasn’t something you’d ever considered, that a human body could look so colorless and frigid and not alive. Like a shock or a ringing bell, it’s a realization that you’re an orphan now. That you’re all alone.

You feel something like a memory of regret. Or something that’s like the idea that you should feel regret, that you should feel guilt for how it was between the two of you. But all that is overshadowed by the reality of what you weren’t. All you feel even more, or in actual reality, is the old loss of what you’d never been to each other. That, you realize, is the seed of your grief. That long ago wound, that child’s understanding that he wasn’t like all the other fathers, that he’d never care for you the way other children were cared for.

Looking down at the frozen face that looks nothing like the one he’d worn the last time you’d seen him, the wispy thatch of hair that hadn’t been so jarringly white before sickness had ravaged his body, you realize that this is no new loss, it is only a continuation, a reopening of a very old one.

The cavernous cathedral at your back is silent, vacated by the sea of people that had congregated here earlier. And with sickening curiosity, you uncoil an arm from where you’ve got it wrapped around yourself, reaching out to press a finger against the ice cold back of his hand. Shockingly not alive; he feels made of rubber.

Everyone that’d been here to bid farewell to this behemoth turned slip of a man, to catch a glimpse of you, packed like teeth into Jackson’s grandest cathedral; business men and heads of state from around the world, the oldest family names in the country, figures of the highest echelons of wealth and society, vipers circling the barrel—half the world here to see this person who was supposed to have been your father but was really only a stranger.

You take your hand back, and you don’t say goodbye as you turn away from his body. There’s no farewell to really tell.

And at the back of the church, hiding in a bright ream of sunlight, Joel stands propped against the face of a saint. Dark and silent and maybe even more far removed than your dead dad. Watching sentinel. Oswald Kelly’s hovering man—come to watch over him one last time.

The silk of your stockings slide against each other at the junction of your thighs, the hiss of your skirt around your calves as your reed thin heels click against the stone, and you pull your armor as tightly around yourself as you can. There’s a hollow echo inside of everywhere and everything, your mind like a gong, reverberating, and his gaze is so steady, hazel bright, deeply shaded by the lip of his dark hat, beckoning you towards him from beneath the brim.

Large and strong and steadfast, your heart gives a painful, longing thump—stupid, writhing thing—and you can only bear to look him in the eye for a second, and if you were to really think about saying goodbye to that father that never really was, lying behind you, slipping further and further away, you’d say it to the man that always stood as his shadow before the world, before you ever said it to the man himself.

The drive back home is cast in frigid silence and made all the more uncomfortable because you can practically hear Joel’s brain clicking and ticking away with worry.

He’d sent your car and driver away with a harsh word while you collected your final goodbyes and words of respect from the last smattering of people congregated and waiting for the newly birthed heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the world.

Hovering over your shoulder, he’d kept anyone from stepping too close or getting too friendly, so close you could feel the heat of his chest through the silk of your blouse, and then going suddenly full on aggressive when a reporter from the New York Times had approached, fishing for a quote on the future of the Kelly empire. Ushering you away with a hovering hand at the small of your back before the man could get half a question out, he’s opening the truck’s door for you as a haze descends over your eyes, the distant shutter and flash of cameras bursting in your peripherals, a latent hangover and sleep deprivation and not enough to eat in the last forty eight hours causing you to sag in his hold. Then it’s only his big fist wrapping around the span of your wrist as he lifts you into the truck, your eyes downcast and unable to take in sight or sound, vision all a blur. You murmur a barely there thank you with his hand fitting at the dip of your waist, big body blocking yours entirely from prying eyes trying to catch a glimpse or a stumble, and for a single second, your entire weight is suspended in his hold, allowing you to bypass the struggle of balancing your high heel on the step up, and then you’re sliding onto the leather of the seat, the whisper of your cashmere and silk rustling around you as he handles you like a child being spirited away from the scene of a crime.

The door shuts gently behind you, face turned away from the flashing lights, the watchful eyes of the whole world, and worst of all, the assessment of his concerned gaze. All you’re afforded are thirty seconds of privacy to let out a single gasping sob.

And now, an hour and a half of silent purgatory.

You slip your heels off, flexing your smarting toes against the damp of your stockings and tuck your folded legs beneath you on the seat. Paying the frantic energy of his anxiety and lodged words no mind, you consider instead: your new reality. The burden of it all means very little to you now. The last of your worries is being readied for entombing as the two of you speed down the eighty nine, zinging past the bright Wyoming green. The thrum of his truck drowns out your thoughts, brand new, probably over a hundred grand, only the best for your father’s right hand man, and the Kelly Ranch insignia emblazoned proudly on the sides. A brand for the whole world to see just who exactly is being whisked away to her old home turned brand spanking new grave.

You might be feeling a little bit dramatic. But then again— you’d just put your last remaining parent in an actual grave, surely that provides you some allowances.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his big paw gripping the leathered steering wheel in a death clutch, knuckles white with his frustration at the dilemma you pose, his own discomfort. You’re sure if he thought you wouldn’t catch him, he’d be squirming in his seat.

You do something to him sometimes, you know this. Not in any way you’d like, not in any interesting way, that of a woman affecting a man, but something respectfully harrowing. Maybe something a little bit like fear.

There has existed between the two of you, always, that strange intimacy of two people who’ve known each other for a very long time, and yet, have always remained at a far removed, arms length distance from one another.

A professional intimacy of sorts. Your father’s foreman, shadow, fixer. The man who guarded that treasure trove you’d inherit one day, today; the thing your father loved most in the world. Two people who’ve known each other a long time, and yet, don’t really know each other at all.

There has always been, however, the fact of the birthday.

The birthday. Your birthday.

The way you’d latched onto that small, immense, detail when you’d first discovered it at fourteen, when he’d newly arrived at the ranch and the true weight of your first real crush had really hit you, it was probably not entirely healthy. But you’d thought yourself in love with your father’s man, the first figure of the male species who’d ever drawn your attention in such a way.

He’d never paid you any mind; you were the boss's daughter, a figurehead or a responsibility, maybe a nuisance, although he’d never ever treated you as one. But the day someone had let slip it was his birthday, on the same day as yours, your teenage heart had swelled with the naive hope of fate. It was meant to be, the two of you were connected, so on and so forth, swallowed by girlish innocence and made buoyant by fantasy.

But you’d had something to share with someone, which was what really mattered. Something tangible, even if only in your inexperienced little mind, something to wield as comfort so that the first time your father had forgotten your special day, fifteen, and what a tender age it had been, you’d had something to cling to. That's when your gifts to him had started. It was your way of making sure there was at least one person in the whole world who’d remember that was your day too. That you were alive, that you mattered. A reminder of yourself. And as the years and birthdays passed, sometimes, when he sent those coldly gracious notes of his, you’d wished you could’ve written back with honesty. Said something like, I’m so lonely, wish you were here, wherever it was in the world you’d found yourself at the time.

And of course, he was gorgeous and older, strong and patient and capable, entirely unattainable. Impossible to forget. You’d gone so far, traveled wide, gotten yourself an overpriced education that would probably serve you for nothing, had lovers and parties and splendor, and always, you remembered your gifts for him, you remembered him. It was the single most important detail of your birthday every year.

The leather creaks beneath his fist again, chapped knuckles set to burst before he flexes his fingers out, long and straight. Thickly built hands, strong, made for working or hurting, on a man who you’ve never seen be anything but stoically patient.

He was strange in that way, neither wholly impulsive nor purposefully premeditated in his mannerisms. More so, it was that there was something extremely neutral about him, a middle buoyancy of personality. Strict with the cowboys, exacting, wielding his title as ranch foreman with an iron fist and your father’s blessing, and yet still, quiet, serious, with that patient gentleness about him. You’d seen it in the way he’d handled Ellie when she’d first come to the ranch, young and skinny with that hollow look of trauma kids who’d seen things they shouldn’t have shamed adults with. She’d been a little older than you, and with an air you’d not understood, a sort of lived past you’d been naive to the existence of, frightened when confronted by it, and yet inevitably, the two of you’d become fast friends eventually.

You’d even experienced it yourself, on two treasured occasions, that gentleness that you’d held onto for years. Nurturing the memory of him in your mind like a delusional bloom.

He stretches his hand again, wheel caught between his thumb and forefinger, cinching it there, back and forth. His nails are meticulously clean, cut to the quick, and you imagine he must spend a great deal of time cleaning himself up when he works so hard at getting himself so dirty most days.

You can see him sneaking glances at you, and he coughs once, a clearing of his nervous throat. Averting your gaze, you turn your face away so that you’ll be able to watch him through the reflection in the window. He monopolizes the space in the cabin of the truck, broad shoulders and hulking form, all the fine leather smell washed away in the scent of him. That bay rum aftershave he’s always worn, the one with the distinctive notes of bay leaf, cloves and citrus. An old fashioned scent, masculine and crisp.

You’d snuck into the bunk once with Ellie, before he’d moved into the foreman’s cabin, before Switzerland, when the two of you were still girls running rampant and free through the ranch, clutching desperately at the last vestiges of any sort of happy childhood you could scrounge up for one another. You’d peeked in his things, found a whole world of Joel shaped curiosities. The glass etched bottle of aftershave, a hole spotted t-shirt with a burnt orange longhorn across the front, Flannery O’Connor’s The Complete Stories—something you found comforting, knowing he could read about the small, the freakish, real life; thinking that perhaps he was homesick for the comfort of the South, hungering for a taste of the life he’d had then, through books. And then, in a spine cracked copy of Suttree, the pages almost falling apart beneath your fingertips, dog eared and well loved, her picture tucked between the pages.

It had been the first time you’d done something you knew you shouldn’t have and actually regretted it, looking down at that green eyed photograph.

You’d run back to your room after that, ashamed and something a little bit like jealous, desperate to know who she was, desperate for someone to keep a picture of you like that—as if they loved you. And years later, you’d found the scent for yourself. The little molasses glass bottle you still have and pull out on occasion, when you’re feeling extra bad, extra lonesome, extra far away from the whole world, just for a reminding of home.

Beside you, he sighs again, coughs again, brings you back to himself and the present. Just spit it out already, you think exasperatedly, say something, anything else besides how sorry you are.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he starts, and you roll your eyes, scoffing quietly.

“You already said that.” Sullen. Mullish. You wish you were a child who could still throw a tantrum and get away with it. Letting your eyes go unfocused from his reflection in the window, you brood at the sight of everything that’s yours now as he turns off the highway, passing below the iron eave of the Kelly Ranch entrance. Eight hundred thousand acres of pristine Wyoming land nestled into the deep valley surrounded by the Grand Tetons mountain range.

“Well, I’m sayin’ it again.” He’s driving too fast, and you refuse to turn and look at his face. Your heart beats blood in your ears, and you screw your eyes shut to the dizzying blur of green legacy, not wanting to see any of it—him.

Your belly swoops, going slightly nauseous and gurgling.

“I didn’t think you’d get here so quick.” He swallows, “Hell, I didn’t think it’d all happen so damn fast.”

“I was already in New York,” you tell him, voice clipped with breathlessness. “I left Paris last week.”

“What? I didn’t know— I—”

“Why would you?”

“I would’ve called you. I would’ve gotten you out here quicker.”

“Ellie called. It’s better like this, Joel.” Finally letting yourself say his name out loud, it feels wrong and molten on your tongue, a heaviness being spit up from the depths of your stomach. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. He’s dead now.”

“There’s no pretending. He wanted to see you—”

“Please, stop.”

But he urges on unheeded: “He told me so before I left. Told me—”

“Stop,” you snap. Finally turning to look at him and hating him for it. For how gorgeous he is, for all the things he’s always made you feel for as long as you can remember what it was to feel something for a man, for all he did or did not have with your father when you had none of it or so much of an entirely different thing. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any of it. It doesn't matter anymore, Joel.”

“But you should know. You deserve to know that—”

“What?” Because that one hurts. “I deserve to know what?” That he actually had loved you but had just never been able to show it? That now it was too late? That the only person the great Oswald Kelly had ever been able to speak to of the supposed care he had for his only daughter was the hired help? You’d read once that one should never let their parents anywhere near their real humiliations. You’d tried your damndest to follow that as soon as you’d grown up. “It’s not your place,” you seethe with teeth bared, an animal shoved into a corner and made to fight for its life, deciding you won’t ever let Joel near them either.

He spits a cursing, growled sound of frustration, but doesn’t continue. The two of you find yourselves at an impasse, and you turn back to your windowed mirror of him, eyes pinching hot, filling with tears. One of the things your father disliked most about you, your easy tears, and a single salt marred inadequacy tracks down the slope of your cheek, dripping off the edge of your jaw into the bandaged cup of your palm, and you breathe slow and measured through your open mouth, watching the fog cloud grow and shrink against the glass obscuring your vision of him.

The last time you’d missed your mother, the one you’d never known, in any sort of real and true way, you’d been eighteen. Returning to an empty house after celebrating your high school graduation in a far off school, alone.

In the midst of your sophomore year, you’d been sent away to a Swiss boarding school. It had been something worse than devastating, losing your life in Wyoming, the only home you’d ever know, Ellie, the other people on the ranch… But it was far removed enough that you couldn’t bother, where you couldn’t ask for things like attention or consideration. The education had been excellent, the upbringing desperately lonely ending on a whimpering sigh despite your many accomplishments. You’d wanted her very badly then indeed, your mother. To have been there, to have helped you pick your dress, kissed your cheek after watching you walk across the stage. To have wiped your tears when she told you that your father wasn’t there because he was busy managing the whole world, but that he was proud of you, that he’d have been there if he could. You’d wished she could’ve been there to lie to you so that you wouldn’t have needed to lie to yourself.

Peering down from your balanced perch atop the deck’s bannister, you survey the deep bed of Lily of the Valley, destroyed beneath the vindictive soles of your bare feet. He’d planted them for her all around the house after she’d died, her favorite flower.

You’d always hated them.

And that was the thing of it all, which you’d learned when you grew old enough to recognize such things like disdain. He couldn't stand you because you reminded him of her. Clichéd and old and tired. An excuse for being a neglectful father. The daughter who was too much like her dead mother, and thus did not deserve to be loved.

You tip your head back, nursing at the lip of fine aged Macallan, and the sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks. You’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended.

You’re certain you’re painting a pretty picture right now: tipsy on a bottle of your dead dad’s sacredly hoarded whiskey that probably cost as much as someone’s house, staring up at the stars in your newly inherited home with a whole unappreciated life full of possibilities ahead of you. Basking in the title of your newly minted— orphan-hood? Orphan-ness? A peer of the orphans.

You snort softly, sucking on the bottle again, letting the heat of it settle in your belly, smolder in your heart. Your head feels full of bubbles and sugar and sad.

There’s a part of you that feels a little ridiculous, despite the circumstances. You’re good at compartmentalizing, good at being objective of your realities. Obviously: sad because your father is now dead, and it’d been nine months and eleven days since you’d last spoken to him. Sad because he’d never given a shit about you. Sad because you’re alone, dumped by the stupid French jockey boyfriend who you’d not even liked very much, just a few days before this whole pathetic ordeal of acquiring your orphan-hood, yeah, that’s what you’re sticking with, had occurred. Not to mention the army of looming lawyers and financial advisors and various heads of business vying for your attention, waiting for the what next?

And Joel.

A one man army of looming Joel.

So you’re feeling morose, blue, maybe a little spoiled, but brought low and cut short. Depressed and unsatisfied with your life thus far.

Poor little rich girl. Poor little orphan. Poor little me.

What you want?

Someone to care.

Someone to love you.

Hard to come by. Impossible to buy.

The stars gleam purple silver, winking at you. The bracketing black so dark it swallows the eye. Another taste of the nutty bouquet of smoked apple oranges, and soon you’ll be tipsy enough you won’t be able to balance your butt on the bannister’s ledge anymore. Maybe you’ll go humpty dumpty over the edge and crack your skull against your mother’s valley of destroyed Lily’s.

You laugh again with sound now, not crazy, only an orphan, ha, but you think that it’s only that it feels shockingly as if you’ve fallen through the surface of your life. As if you are still falling with nothing and no one to grab on to, to help stabilize you. A really terrible, shit-out-of-luck feeling.

Your eyes continue their infernal leaking, and you blow your nose loudly on the inside of your sweater. You’ve given yourself three days to do whatever the hell you want, be as disgusting as you may. When the three days are up you’ll plan to get your act together, take responsibility and hold of your life and become the woman you should be.

Who that is? Still being decided.

You think that maybe you’ll buy another jet before that time’s up. Or an island. Something ridiculous. Maybe you’ll sell the goddamn ranch.

You eye the dark rolling hills of the valley with seething suspicion. Let’s see what Joel says about that. You, marching up to the highway entrance and spearing a For Sale sign in the dirt of the largest privately owned cattle ranch in the continental United States. Way more than that God forsaken surly frown is what you’d get.

So long, Joel, it’s been swell. I’m done with this place. It’s time to pack it up and find some new hunk of land to care about more than you care about me or anything else.

Maybe you’ll be real funny and put up a Craigslist ad.

And it isn’t that you don’t love this place, the only home you’ve ever known. You do. In a way that is passionate and consuming and irreconcilable. Everything about it, the serenity, the guarding mountains and the deep woods, the home you’d been born in, that both your parents had died in. You do love it in your way.

It’s only that every man you’ve ever loved—loved—had always cared more about the place than he’d ever cared about you.

For the longest time, most of your youth until you’d decided that you officially felt an adult, you’d thought you’d hated your father. There was just so much anger and resentment and the resound of his ever furious words and insults and endless disappointment. The echo of no mother ringing so loudly in your ears that the confounding feelings had all been mistaken for hatred. But with age and distance and life, you’d realized you didn't hate him. You never had. You thought, actually, and this was a very good and mature thought of yours, that you were the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him as only a man and not a god.

He was only a man, full of greed and grief and missing the mother of the child he’d probably never wanted. Nothing more or less.

Maybe it was that you felt sorry for him. Not in the way of pity, but in the way of one person feeling empathy for another in a clinical and helpless sort of manner. And a numb, detached sort of sadness. A longing for something that you’d never had and had always wanted but eventually learned to live without.

Ultimately, his disappointment had turned on him, and now it was all you felt you had for him at the end of it all.

But, for some reason, and an annoying one at that, you do think that, if you try very, very hard, you could bring yourself to hate Joel Miller. There’s satisfaction in that possibility, vindication—resentment that even now, as practically strangers, you know he’d be able to pull that sort of feeling out of you which could result in hatred. Something strong and overwhelming and not easily escaped.

Your stomach rumbles, and you smile blithely at all your inherited legacy, filling the hollow with more drink. Three days to behave very badly, as badly as you can. The whiskey is so good, and swishing it around in your mouth, you tip your head back further, gurgling it loudly at the back of your throat.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jerk, scrambling to keep your balance, choking a little on smokey apples and your own spit. A trickle of the golden amber liquor drips out of the corner of your mouth as you find him hiding in the dark across the deck. Accustomed to drooling over him, you wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“Having a party. Would you like to join?”

“Are you drunk again?”

Tough crowd. Ugh. “Never mind. You’re not invited. Go away.”

“You need to go inside and go to bed.”

You tip your chin at him, putting on doe eyes. “Alright. And are you going to be my new daddy also?” You say in a baby voice.

Fucking Christ, you hear him whisper under his breath, turning away to run an exasperated palm over his mouth. Frustration seethes off of him like sulfur. He’s tired. Of you maybe. Of the whole circus this place has become in the past few days—and rightfully so.

“What do you want? I’m extremely busy, if you can’t tell.”

“Just thought I’d check on ya.” Courteous, always the gentleman, bullshit. You roll your eyes at him.

“I don’t need you to check on me.” And you, ever the child. One day you swear you’ll grow up.

But it can’t be said that you’re entirely selfish either. You have considered the fact of Joel’s own grief at the loss of your father. After all, they’d been much closer than you’d ever been to him for many years. And maybe, in his own cold and removed and superior way, your father had seen this man who you’ve thought yourself in love with since you were a teenager, as something like a son.

Probably, that’s just your own wishful thinking: that Oswald Kelly had ever been capable of such tender feelings.

Maybe the fact of Joel’s own grief is the thorn beneath your nail bed that’s making you so angry with him, so needing of his attention. Maybe it’s that he’d failed to fulfill your silly and girlish fantasy that upon receiving the news of your only remaining parents death, he’d have been here waiting for you, at this home he’d guarded for you for so long, ready to take you into his arms and console and care for you.

When instead, he’d been off doing what he’d always done for as long as you’d known him. Protecting your father’s interests, his legacy.

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

“How?”

“You, being difficult.” Driving me fuckin’ crazy— he adds again under his breath.

“I’m an orphan now, Joel.” You’re becoming quickly addicted to the word. “I think I should be afforded a tiny bit of leeway to drive people fuckin’ crazy,” you mock his Southern drawl. Enough of your time has been spent in Europe over the past two years, kissing Europeans, that you’d sloughed off the last of your America twang; something of a vaguely European lilt peppering your words every now and then that Ellie likes to tease you for whenever the two of you speak on occasion.

A muscle under his left eye twitches at the jab, and you take another deep swig of the bottle, provoking him with your gaze. Wishing you had whatever it is a woman needs to entice this man. Like the fucking vet. Fucking world renowned, brilliant, highly coveted, beautiful veterinarian. You know about her. You’re sure he thinks he’s been discreet over the years with their whatever they’ve had, Tess, but you know.

Maybe you’ll be insane and irrational and possessive, taking advantage of your three crazy days, and fire her with your new found power. See what he has to say about that. Ha.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Obviously not.

Despite your current hysteria, your goal is not to send the ranch head over heels into a tailspin.

But the imagining is soothing.

“Want some?” You hold the heavy crystal out towards him in a peace offering, held precariously between two sweaty knuckles. “It’s probably worth as much as your truck. Would be a waste for me to finish on my own.” You eye what’s left of it, about half, and give him a sheepish grin. It really is very good.

He looks at you for one long, solemn moment, always so silent and pensive, this strange enigma of a man. You get to watch in real time as he loses whatever fight it is he’s trying to fight against you, victorious when he shrugs and comes over slowly, resting his butt against the bannister—a carefully respectful distance away from you.

When he takes the bottle from your swinging clutch, gripped from the base, careful not to touch you in any way, you see the real sad in his eyes. The dim lights bleeding out through the big windows of the family room without a family shine on his face in strips and bursts. A shadow here, golden warmth there. He’s got more lines around his eyes than you remember from the last time you’d been this close to him. Smile lines made bright white in the center and gold burnished at the edges from too much sun. There’s little bursts of silver threaded at his temples now too, a gleam here and there in his dark beard. Forty four years old, he’d turned on your last birthday.

You dig your nails into the soft meat of your palms, and your belly smolders as he brings the bottle to his lips, tasting the exact place your own mouth had just been moments ago. You press your knees together as hard as you can, head a little woozy with the color of his eyes; the most gorgeous green, caramel hazel.

You’d graduated two years ago with a degree in art history and had done absolutely nothing with it since. It was just that everything appeared boring and pointless and shallow. Your whole life had one day suddenly seemed just a little silly. Useless, overpriced degree, nothing to be done with extensive knowledge in color theory when your world is expecting such different things from you now.

But you sure as hell can appreciate the color of his eyes in extensive and meticulous detail. There is that.

Watching the slow slide of the amber liquor down the bottle-neck, the long pull of his lush mouth, the ripple of his strong throat, and the way his eyes go a little wider, shocked at how good it is. You laugh soft: “I know, right.”

He takes another pull, another swallow. That’s what you want to be—swallowed just like that. “Damn, that’s good.” His mouth is a little wet, bottom lip shiny with thousands of dollars worth of your father’s favorite whiskey, and his eyes are sad.

You’d said you were going to be bad, but you don’t want to be bad to him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He swallows again, tipping his head towards you, trying to catch your too soft words—he’s got a bad ear, you know why—and turns to peer at you from beneath his low pulled brow, the tip of his tongue peeking out to swipe at the drop of liquor you wish you could suck off his tongue.

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

The first time he’d shown you that gentleness of his: You’d fallen from your horse at school in your junior year. Something had frightened the beast, and she’d bucked you, sent you flying ten feet in the air, ragdoll-like, before you’d landed badly on your right arm, a comminuted fracture in your radius that you’d needed surgery to fix. At your insistence, and with only a few weeks left to spare, you’d been sent home for the remainder of the semester. Your father had been incensed but eventually allowed it. He’d been away from the ranch on business, after all, at no risk of being truly disturbed by you. But when you’d been readying to return to Switzerland at the end of the summer, arm healed, courage not, you’d not been able to get back on a horse no matter what you tried. Joel had helped you, before they’d shipped you off again. Trotted the corral with you for hours and hours before you’d finally been able to relax and sit on your own without tears and vertigo. No questions or admonishments, nothing but the quiet burr of his deep voice, guiding you and the mare along.

It had been a kindness unlike any you’d experienced in maybe your whole life.

“I’ve been bad.”

“Nah. You couldn’t ever be.”

The second time: “Did today make you think of Sarah?” Years after you’d found that green eyed photograph, he’d shared her with you.

His gaze turns suddenly sharp, but you’re not worried you’ve stepped in unbreachable territory. “Yeah.” The echo of her name rings around the two of you.

“In a bad way or a good way?” He takes another long swig, a low whistle through his teeth and a shake of his head before he’s handing the bottle back to you—again, carefully.

“Both.”

You take your own swallow, slicking your tongue all around where his just was, and you’re drunk for real now. Drunk on a man.

“Do you ever regret telling me about her?”

“Nah.” He tips his head back, looking up at the thick beams of the deck’s awning. He’s got the longest lashes you’ve ever seen on a man, thick and curling. The deepest voice you’ve ever heard too, sultry, a bedroom voice. A voice for fucking. Your belly swirls and dips, and you want so much you’re dizzy with it.

Heart beating like it’s about to burst, out of breath on the verge of hyperventilating, you can taste his mouth in your mouth, the imagination flavor of it. This is what it must feel like to die. This is what your father must have felt like three days ago, this agony.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and it’s so pronounced, the skin of his throat sun pebbled. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t all rough-hewn man. “You needed to hear about her then, I s’pose.”

Yes. “You told me when I needed you to.” After that lonely graduation, the last time you’d missed her really very badly, longed for a mother. Alone, alone, alone little girl.

“You were missin’ your momma somethin’ fierce. Needed to know you weren’t the only one that felt like that sometimes.”

You laugh a not-laugh, butt scraping against the railing, slipping off your perch, socked-feet thudding beside his gifted boots. The pleasure you feel whenever you see him use one of the things you’ve given him is indescribable.

“Silly,” you say with barely any sound, his bad ear reaches for your voice again. “At the time it felt like I was the only person in the whole world that had ever felt like that.”

“We all feel like that at one point or another, I reckon.”

“Will you miss him a lot?” You ask looking up at him, the beautiful profile, the strong jaw. You’ve always wondered how he sees you. If he’s ever thought you were beautiful. Other men do, it’s a common thing, a nothing sort of thing. There are always men, there will always be men. But this singular man—this one is not like the rest.

“Maybe. Can’t tell yet, don’t think. But it felt wrong earlier, walking through his house without him in it.” His house, not yours.

“Do you wish he’d been your father?” And he turns to look down at you at that, gaze snapping, and you can tell you’ve shocked him with the question. But you’d always wondered.

“No. Never,” he says with such assuredness, an uncompromising shake of his head.

And the answer doesn't necessarily shock you in turn. You don't think anyone could have ever wanted a father like that. But it also doesn't help you understand what it was that lived between them either.

He sighs, perhaps reading the confusion in your gaze. “He helped me at a time when I needed it real bad. Gave me a place and a purpose and a thing to do and take care of. You get me? It was gratitude—maybe. He saved me in a way, after Sarah. Nothing more.” He thinks for a moment, and then, “Perhaps it was that we understood each other about certain things.”

You gaze across the sprawl of dark land as far as the eye reaches, that point of no return where the earth shoots up into the sky, purple blue behemoths in the shape of mountains.

From this spot, rooted to the deck of your family home, it seems like the whole world is yours to keep. Also, like you’ll never be able to touch any of it with fingers or taste or meaning.

Your love for this place is complicated—tied up in the people, the memories, the could’ves and should’ves, the whole dreamscape idea of the monument of childhood and all it’d really never been. The time away had felt eternal, like you’d never really been here to begin with, like the young girl who’d grown up on this land had never really existed. But you’d not forgotten them, this, despite your distance. Your home, the father that wouldn’t want you, Wyoming and all its splendor, the people you’d left behind, Joel and Ellie and shared birthdays that meant a secret world to you. Morsels of small happinesses interloped amidst a largely lonely and sad childhood. That’s what it was at its core.

“Would you be angry with me if I gave it all away?”

He thinks for a moment, maybe you’re making him sadder, but then finally says with a swallow, “No. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

You eye the quarter of whiskey left, but your belly isn’t hungry for its warmth anymore. You want something heavier now.

“Could you even do that—legally—sell it or somethin’?”

“Probably not. He probably tied it to my fucking life. Sell and die.” You mime your name in an imitation of your fathers deep voice, frowning at yourself the way he’d always frowned when he looked at you, but it pulls a laugh from him, and the painful memory is worth it. “But I have a billion dollars to spend now. More?” You tap your chin—you want to make him laugh again. “Gotta think of something interesting to do with it all.”

His mouth slides into an easy half grin. Like the moon—that beautiful. And he turns to face you fully. “You’re gonna be just fine. You know that, right?”

You turn to face him too, gripping the bannister for dear life. “What? Will you make sure of it?”

“That’s my plan.”

“How’re you gonna do that, d’you reckon?” The American twang bleeds back into your voice, and you’re all swollen lush on the inside, heart a beating fist in your chest.

“Haven’t gotten that far, if I’m bein’ honest with you.” God. His eyes, the strong bridge of his nose, his mouth. He’s so tall your head has to crook back to look up at him. “I’ll figure something out.” And after another pensive second, and still with that soft, sloped eye smile, he asks, and nicely, “Will you stop drinking now—for me?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say with the same sort of smile in return.

And then suddenly, like vomit again but maybe more humiliating this time: “Did you respect him?” Because you don’t know all the things about him that there are to know, but you do know that Joel Miller’s respect is a thing hard earned.

He clicks his tongue, and you hear the pop of his jaw as he shifts it like he’s chewing on an honesty. His eyes, his eyes, they’re serious, mercurial, warm and deep also. You worry he won’t answer, that he wouldn’t want to disappoint you or something, but then: “No,” said real simple like.

“Why not?”

And the way he looks down at you, you know already, and it makes that falling through the surface of your own life feeling rise up inside you again, makes your ears pop with embarrassment. Ah. “He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”

This is reality right here, this is you falling through your life, this is the realization that it wasn’t only you imposing yourself, your existence, on someone with gifts they didn’t want or ask for. Joel had seen. Joel had understood.

Someone else had noticed that you exist, and it had been him.

What else had you ever wanted?

And in the blink of a desperate, yearning eye, drunk on a man still, you’re throwing yourself at him, pressing your mouth hot and heavy to his, kissing him full on the way you’d dreamt of since you knew to dream of such things.

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deliciousangelfestival · 2 days

Text

Nothing Has Changed - 1

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Words Count: 2,143

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Chp 1, Chp 2 ,-

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

The clink of the spoon against the teacup echoed in the room. Your father, Tom, stared down at the tea, trying to keep his composure, but his heart ached for you.

He looked up at you sitting across from him. You could see the worry in his eyes, yet he seemed more concerned about you thinking he needed support, when it was supposed to be the other way around.

“Eat the cookies. You need to eat. You’ve lost a lot of weight,” Tom said, pushing the plate of cookies closer to you. His voice was gentle but firm.

The cold plate touched your skin, jolting you back to reality. You couldn’t believe that you had once promised never to come back home. Your father looked so much older than the last time you saw him, seven years ago.

As you watched him, you could see the lines on his face, the graying hair, the tiredness in his eyes. He looked fragile, contrasting to the robust and indifferent man you remembered.

He used to be so distant and reserved, his eyes always seeming to look through you rather than at you. His mind was always elsewhere, consumed by his work. You remember feeling invisible as if you were never a priority in his life.

He doesn’t know that you were an outcast and bullied the whole time you grew up in this town. It was all because of his job and the house you lived in.

Flashback Starts

In this town, there was only one mortician—your dad. And the funeral home was connected to your house.

Kids your age made fun of you relentlessly. They called your father the angel of death and labeled your home as hell. The bullying started early and only intensified as you got older. By high school, it felt like there was no escape.

But then, a glimmer of hope arrived when a new kid from the city transferred to your school.

His name was Ransom Drysdale-Thrombey. He was sent to this small-town school because he was a troublemaker. The principal asked you to help Ransom, hoping you could help him.

At first, it was tough. Ransom was resistant, and his rough exterior matched the rumors about him. But you stayed patient and persistent.

Over time, Ransom began to open up to you. His academic performance started to improve, and slowly, a bond formed between you.

Because of Ransom’s improvement, you met his family for the first time. It turned out that Drysdale was a mighty name. His family owned a big bank.

This was the turning point. Ransom introduced you to his grandfather, Harlan Drysdale. “Grandpa, my friend here is a genius. She’s the one who solved the issues you’ve been stressing about. I just showed it to her to ask her opinion, and she solved it.”

Harlan, the patriarch of the company, exuded a charisma you had never seen before. He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and respect.

You felt nervous, your hands trembling slightly as you stood there. Harlan’s presence was intimidating, but there was a kindness in his eyes that put you at ease.

“Is that so?” Harlan said, a smile spreading across his face. “I’d like to hear more about this solution of yours.”

Ransom beamed with pride as he gestured for you to explain. You took a deep breath and started to talk about your idea, feeling a strange sense of confidence growing inside you. Harlan listened intently, nodding along, his expression thoughtful.

When you finished, Harlan leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. “You have a remarkable mind,” he said. “Ransom is lucky to have you as a friend.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt seen and appreciated. You glanced at Ransom, who gave you an encouraging nod.

Meeting Harlan and the Drysdale family marked the beginning of a new chapter. You were no longer just the mortician’s kid. You were someone with potential, someone who could make a difference.

The years of bullying and isolation started to feel like a distant memory, replaced by a newfound sense of hope and possibility.

He looked at you and slowly nodded. “For a high school student to solve a credit issue is amazing. I’m glad my grandson found a hidden talent.”

Your heart felt warm. You had never received such a compliment in your life.

“You will be a valuable asset in the future. Dear, are you interested in working with me?” Harlan asked.

“Yes, sir!” you replied quickly.

This was your golden ticket to leaving this town, having a better life, and succeeding.

After graduating high school, you packed your bags, said goodbye to your dad, and jumped into Ransom's car. As the car started moving, you didn’t glance back even once.

You had made your decision to leave everything behind.

You received a scholarship for college from the Drysdale charity, supported by a glowing recommendation letter from Harlan himself. You studied hard, like a person possessed, determined to graduate quickly and start working at the Drysdale company.

You graduated in two years and fulfilled your promise to work with Harlan. You gave it your all, becoming a workaholic to prove yourself.

Your hard work paid off, and you made a name for yourself in the finance world. They called you the “female Midas” because every company's stock you bought saw its price soar.

Harlan was proud of you; you could see it in his eyes.

Then everything changed after Harlan died.

The company's business structure changed too, with Ransom in charge. You tried to talk to him, but he didn’t listen.

One day, the FBI raided your office and accused you of insider trading. You hadn’t done it, but the accusation hit hard. Even without proof, you lost friends, and your trading and financial licenses were revoked.

You called Ransom, but he didn’t pick up. You tried contacting the other Drysdales, but nobody wanted to help.

You had spent seven years celebrating Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas with them, but they still hadn’t accepted you.

You had poured your sweat, blood, and tears into this company, only to be thrown away. After everything, they still hadn’t accepted you. The way they made you feel like family, only to discard you, was a sick joke.

Even a wolf would accept a dog into its pack.

You sat alone in your empty apartment, your hands trembling with anger and betrayal. The silence was deafening, starkly contrasting to the lively gatherings you once shared with the Drysdales. The warmth you once felt from their acceptance had turned cold and hollow.

You looked at the framed photo on your desk, a picture of you and Harlan on the day you graduated. His proud smile felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the harsh reality of your present.

You picked up your phone one last time, scrolling through the countless unanswered messages to Ransom and the Drysdales. Each one felt like a dagger, a reminder of the trust and loyalty you had given, only to be met with silence and abandonment.

You have lost everything. The court has taken your apartment, your car, and blocked your bank account until the investigation is done.

You feel ashamed and don’t have any close friends to turn to.

Your last hope is your hometown. With your small amount of cash, you pack your laptop and a few outfits and take the last train home.

When you call your dad, his voice sounds uncertain when he hears you’re coming home and ask if he can pick you up.

It’s late at night when you arrive. It’s just you and your dad. You’re grateful no one else is around to see you.

Tom looks nervous. He tries to ask you on the car ride home, “Did something happen?”

You close your eyes and lean your head against the window. “I’m tired. I’ll tell you tomorrow morning.”

“Ah. Right. You must be tired,” Tom says, his voice shaky.

The silence in the car is heavy, filled with unspoken words. Tom glances at you occasionally, his worry evident in the rearview mirror. You can feel the weight of his concern, but you can’t bring yourself to talk about it yet.

When you finally pull up to the house, it looks the same as when you left. The familiarity is both comforting and painful. Tom helps you with your bags, his hands trembling slightly.

You only brought one bag, but he wanted to carry it, as if carrying your burden. He could feel that you were going through something.

Inside, the house is quiet. You head straight to your old room, which hasn’t changed much. The sight of it brings a lump to your throat.

You drop your bags and sit on the edge of the bed, feeling exhausted and defeated.

Tom lingers in the doorway, unsure of what to do. “If you need anything, just let me know,” he says softly.

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply, managing a weak smile. He nods and gently closes the door, leaving you with your thoughts. The weight of your situation presses down on you, but at least here, in this small room, you feel a glimmer of safety.

Flashback End

*******

The next morning, you woke up with no desire to move on. But seeing your dad already waiting for you, you couldn’t make him wait for an answer.

So you told him about the struggle you're facing right now.

Tom wasn’t ready for this. He thought you returned because your heart was broken by Ransom or you missed home. Or, you missed him.

After hearing every word that came out of your mouth, he couldn’t believe it. His only daughter had been betrayed like this.

“I need to stay here for a while,” you said. You would stay until you heard from the court. You had sent them evidence proving your innocence.

"Why did you say that like you're asking for permission? This is your home," Tom replied. He didn’t care if you were a criminal or a murderer. If you needed a place to hide, he would provide it for you.

"Thanks, Dad," you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

'Knock. Knock.'

You and Tom looked at the door. Only he stood up. It seemed like he was already expecting someone.

He opened the door. "You're here early," he said.

You sipped your tea, assuming the newcomer was just another guest of your dad's.

"Nothing ever goes wrong when you do things early," the voice said cheerfully and friendly.

You almost choked on your tea. The voice sounded all too familiar, and you prayed it wasn't who you thought it was.

"Thanks. I'll meet you at the morgue in 5 minutes," said Tom as he moved to close the door.

"Are you having a guest?" the person asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Tom replied, his voice a little tense.

"Why are you nervous? Do you have a special friend?" The teasing tone drew closer.

You closed your eyes and clenched your fists. You knew your dad, short and not as physically imposing, wouldn't be able to stop the tall, athletic man approaching.

"Y/N?" the voice said, confirming your worst fears.

You opened your eyes and saw the new guest. Locking gazes with him, you felt a surge of apprehension and dread. He was Bucky Barnes, the embodiment of your past torment.

You, the quiet, bookish nerd, and he, the charismatic, popular guy—Bucky represented everything you had once dreaded in high school. His group of friends constantly tormented you.

Crossing your arms tightly, you couldn't mask the edge in your voice. "What is he doing here?"

Tom's hesitant introduction only added fuel to the fire. "He's my apprentice," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"What does that mean?" you asked, your tone sharp.

Tom cleared his throat nervously. "Um, well... after I retire, I'll be passing the business on to Bucky."

You raised your eyebrows, not saying anything. Tom seemed nervous, perhaps worried that you were angry he hadn’t told you about this sooner.

Meanwhile, Bucky still looked stunned to see you standing there.

Leaning forward, you couldn't contain the resentment in your voice. "Him? Are you sure? He and his group made a mockery of this business every single day, taunting me whenever I set foot in school!"

The room fell silent, the tension thickening with each passing moment.

You had hoped to find refuge here, but now you were having second thoughts. The person who had bullied you was now working with your father and set to inherit the business. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

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