#and those were what made fallout

[slocumjoe]

Remember when someone from Bethesda (Todd probably) said that the 4-choice dialogue system was actually harder to implement and write for than the previous system, because it required 4 unique responses?

[mira-likes]

I found the scene of Fan Xian and Fan Jian jumping around with the discipline ruler and putting on the anger/punishment act very entertaining, but I just saw someone’s comment that like “Fan Jian knows he can’t hit him” and that made me pause. Can Fan Jian get away with flogging Fan Xian (the emperor’s biological son) if he wants to? How much of his approach to parenting Fan Xian is down to him being well aware that the emperor is looking over his metaphorical shoulder?

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Of my 2% capacity to be attracted to anyone, my type is like 90% women, 5% pretty men and 5% men you would swear are super fucking manly, and never questioned being straight and cis, but are now suddenly *stressed* that they can't figure out why their attraction to me [fully socially interpreted as a woman and labelled that way up until relatively recently] feels incredibly fucking gay

[ragsy]

you don't know what you've got (long unbroken string of video games i pick up with no prior knowledge of them and are absolute bangers all the way through) til it's gone (just had two duds in a row and i'll never love a video game ever again)

[pucksandpower]

He Wins in Monza

Charles Leclerc x Norris!Reader

Summary: in which Charles wins his second home race, kisses you in front of thousands of people against his better judgement, and pisses off your brother (again) in that order

The roar of the crowd in Monza is a force of nature, a living thing that pulses with every heartbeat of the race. Charles can still feel it vibrating through his chest, even though the race is over and the engine’s been cut.

He won.

He won in Monza.

Despite starting fourth, despite all the odds — he’s done it.

He throws himself at his team, elation pouring out in yells and whoops as they crowd around him, slapping his helmet, hugging him like they never want to let go.

He doesn’t want to let go either.

This is what they’ve all worked so hard for, what they’ve poured countless hours and sleepless nights into, and here it is — the reward. The trophy is almost within his grasp, and for a moment, it’s all he can think about.

Until he sees you.

You’re standing just outside the McLaren huddle, clapping along as Lando reluctantly acknowledges the crowd from his P3 position. Charles sees it, the way your eyes shine as you watch your brother, but there’s something else there too — something that makes his chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with the win.

You’re proud of Lando, sure, but when your gaze shifts and locks with his, it’s like the world stops spinning.

His breath catches. It’s the same look you gave him last night, when you whispered “good luck” in the dark, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw like you were trying to memorize him. The same look you gave him when you first admitted that maybe, just maybe, you were falling for him. The same look you gave him every time he stole a glance at you during those secret moments, hidden away from the world.

It’s too much, too fast. He should be thinking about the podium, about the ceremony, about not giving anything away, but the way you’re looking at him — he forgets all of it.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Charles is pushing past his team, the thrill of victory still pumping through his veins. The only thing he can think about is getting to you, of pulling you into his arms and kissing you senseless in front of everyone because what does it matter anymore?

He won. You’re here. Everything else is just noise.

“Charles!” One of the engineers calls after him, but his voice is drowned out by the crowd. Charles is barely aware of the weight of his helmet in his hand, of the sweat still cooling on his skin. He’s aware of you, only you, and the way your eyes widen just a fraction as you realize what he’s about to do.

“Charles, don’t-” you start, your voice barely audible over the chaos, but it’s too late. He’s already there, his free hand finding yours like it was made to fit, and he’s tugging you forward, into him.

The world tilts, and suddenly, you’re chest-to-chest, his breath mingling with yours as he leans in. There’s a moment, just a split second, where everything hangs in the balance, where he could still pull back and save you both from the fallout.

But then your fingers tighten around his, and he’s gone, lost in the warmth of your mouth, in the softness of your lips that taste like everything he’s ever wanted.

The kiss is electric, a jolt of pure, unfiltered joy that sparks from his lips and spreads through his entire body. It’s the kind of kiss that makes time stop, that makes everything else fade into the background. The cheers, the cameras, the thousands of eyes on you — none of it matters. All that matters is the way you’re kissing him back, your hands slipping up to cup his face, holding him close like you’re afraid he might disappear.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only because he has to breathe, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to catch his breath. “I couldn’t wait,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I had to … I had to …”

You’re looking up at him with a mixture of disbelief and something else — something softer, warmer. “You’re an idiot,” you breathe, but there’s no heat in it, just affection, deep and unshakeable. “We’re supposed to be keeping this a secret, remember?”

“Can’t,” he says, shaking his head slightly, his nose brushing against yours. “Not when you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the only one in the world.”

You huff a laugh, but it’s shaky, like you’re holding something back. “Charles, you just won in Monza. You are the only one in the world right now.”

“No,” he says, his voice soft but certain. “No, that’s not it. That’s not it at all.”

Your eyes search his, and he knows you’re trying to figure out what he means, trying to understand why he threw caution to the wind. He doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t know how to put into words the way you make him feel. How you make everything else fade away, how you’re the only thing that matters in a world that’s constantly spinning out of control.

“Charles,” you start, but the sound of Lando’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp and incredulous.

“What the hell is this?”

Charles stiffens, his hand still wrapped around yours, and he turns to find Lando staring at the two of you like he’s just been slapped. There’s a mix of confusion and anger on his face, his eyes darting between you and Charles as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing.

“Lando, I-” you begin, but Lando’s not having it.

“How long?” He demands, his voice tight with the effort of keeping it together. “How long has this been going on?”

Charles opens his mouth to answer, but you beat him to it, your voice steady even as your hand trembles slightly in his grip. “A few months,” you admit, and Charles can feel the weight of those words, the way they hang in the air between the three of you.

“A few months?” Lando repeats, incredulous. “And you didn’t think to tell me? Either of you?”

“Lando, I wanted to, I swear, but-”

“But what? You thought it’d be fun to keep me in the dark?” Lando’s voice rises, and Charles can see the hurt behind the anger, the betrayal that’s twisting his features. “You’re my sister. And you-” He turns on Charles, his eyes blazing. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“I am,” Charles says quickly, his voice earnest. “I am your friend, Lando. This … this wasn’t meant to hurt you.”

“Then what was it meant to do?” Lando shoots back, his frustration palpable. “Because right now, it feels a hell of a lot like betrayal.”

You flinch at the word, and Charles feels it like a punch to the gut. He takes a step forward, his free hand reaching out toward Lando. “Lando, listen-”

“No,” Lando snaps, stepping back out of reach. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any of it.” He runs a hand through his hair, his chest heaving as he tries to get a grip on his emotions. “I just … I need a minute, okay? I need to think.”

There’s a moment of silence, thick with tension, and then Lando turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you and Charles standing there, the weight of what just happened settling in.

Charles squeezes your hand, his heart pounding. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I know,” you interrupt, your voice soft but firm. “I know.” You turn to face him, your eyes searching his. “But we have to deal with this now. We can’t just … ignore it.”

He nods, the reality of the situation sinking in. The euphoria of the win is fading, replaced by the cold, hard truth. Lando knows. The secret’s out. And now, there’s no going back.

“What do we do?” Charles asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You take a deep breath, your hand slipping out of his so you can cup his face, your touch grounding him in a way that nothing else can. “We talk to him,” you say, your voice steady despite everything. “We explain. And we hope he understands.”

Charles nods again, leaning into your touch, letting it soothe the anxiety that’s bubbling up inside him. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, we’ll talk to him.”

You smile, but it’s tinged with sadness, and it breaks his heart a little. “This wasn’t how I wanted him to find out,” you admit, your thumb brushing against his cheekbone. “But we’ll get through it. We have to.”

Charles closes his eyes, letting the warmth of your touch chase away the cold fear that’s gripping him. “I love you,” he says, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

He feels you freeze for a moment, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes what he’s just said. But then your hand tightens on his face, and when he opens his eyes, you’re looking at him with a softness that makes his chest ache.

“I love you too,” you whisper, and it’s like everything else falls away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, in this space.

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his heart swelling with emotions he can’t quite name. When he pulls back, his eyes search yours, and he finds the strength he needs there — steady, unwavering.

“We’ll get through this,” you say again, your voice a quiet promise.

He nods, his heart settling back into a steady rhythm. “Together,” he whispers, a small, determined smile tugging at his lips.

You smile back, and in that moment, with the chaos of the world swirling around you, Charles knows one thing for certain: as long as he has you by his side, everything else will fall into place.

[wholoveseggs]

Homecoming

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen x Reader} You haven't seen your husband since your passionate wedding night, leaving you to doubt his love. Now, three months later, you're round with child and missing him more than ever—until he suddenly returns.

♡♡ This is purely just to get all my daddy Daemon feelings out, I 100% believe he has a breeding kink. ♡♡

3.2k words - Warnings: smut, major breeding kink, slow sex, so so so much fluff, a little bit of angst and Daemon apologizing in bed...

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer

@cheneyq @fallout-girl219 @nina6708 @evasmlp @sadmonke

@deamonloverrrr @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonsleep

It was another quiet night, in a bed far too large for one. The wind was gently blowing through the curtains, bringing with it a cool breeze and the smell of the sea. It was late, and everyone was asleep, yet you laid awake, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

You rolled over onto your side, the silk of the sheets sliding against your bare skin. These days, sleep evaded you, no matter how much you tried. If it wasn't your thoughts keeping you up, it was your changing body and the ever growing life inside of you.

Three months ago you had gotten married to the prince Daemon, a dream of many girls across the kingdom. But your marriage was hardly that. The day after the ceremony you woke up in an empty bed, and hadn't seen your husband since, leaving you to wonder if you had done something wrong.

He had left you no letter, no message. Nothing. Only the memory of your wedding night, the way he touched and kissed you, his sweet whispers of adoration as he made you his. On the loneliest days you would close your eyes and remember it all, his lips on yours, the way his fingers caressed you, the feel of him inside you.

You place your hand on the small bump of your stomach, a smile spreading across your lips. Although it had only been one night, he did his duty and you were pregnant. A piece of him was always with you.

But it wasn't enough.

You longed to see him again, to touch him and be held by him, to tell him of the life growing within you. You wanted so desperately to be with him, but instead you were left with the ghost of his love, a memory that wasn't enough to fill the hole in your heart.

You sighed, trying to push away those thoughts, and attempted to fall asleep, but every time you closed your eyes all you could see was his handsome face. You opened them again and sat up, staring into the darkness.

You could see the light of a torch through the cracks of the door, and the sound of footsteps. You knew exactly who it was, the guard outside your door. His shift was almost over, and soon a new one would be out there, watching over you. There was a muffled conversation, and the sound of someone walking away.

A few moments later the door cracked open, and the torch light poured into the room. Your eyes squinted at the sudden brightness, and as the person entered the room they shut the door.

You were about to give your guard a kindly lecture on waking you up when you noticed that it wasn't the guard who had walked in, but a hooded man. You opened your mouth to call for help, but before you could get a sound out he was at your bedside, his hand covering your mouth.

"Don't scream, my love, it's me." He whispered.

You blinked at the voice, your mind taking a second to process what was happening. Your eyes widened, and you reached for his hand. He took it away from your mouth and intertwined your fingers together, his other hand pulling down his hood.

"Daemon." You breathed, looking up at his face.

The torchlight casted a warm glow on his handsome features, highlighting his strong cheekbones and sharp jawline. His hair was longer than the last time you saw him, hanging past his shoulders, his eyes were dark and clever, looking you over with admiration.

You pulled him towards you, your lips crashing into his. He let out a sigh, a sound that sounded almost pained, and returned your kiss. Then you harshly pushed him away, hitting his chest.

"Where have you been?" You demanded.

"I had matters to attend to." He told you.

"Three months!" You cried. "Three months I waited for you, and you were doing what?"

He smiled and pulled off his cloak, his eyes raking over your form. He reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin.

You wanted to be angry with him, you really did, but the look he was giving you, like he was starved, melted away your resolve. You leaned into his touch and looked up at him through your lashes, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Asshole," You whispered.

"My love." He whispered back, leaning down and placing a kiss to your forehead.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for another heated kiss. You were angry, yes, but seeing him now made all of that fade away. Your ire could wait until the morning.

His lips were gentle and loving, and you were so happy that you had almost forgotten that he had been gone. He kneeled on the bed and pulled you close, his hands cupping your cheeks.

When he pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, smiling and breathing hard.

"I thought you left me," You admitted, your hands gripping his wrists, as though you could keep him there forever by holding on to him.

He hummed, his nose nuzzling against yours and you pressed yourself closer to him, trying to get as much contact as possible.

His large, warm hands moved down to the swell of your stomach. He placed his palms flat against the bump and leaned back, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Did the maesters tell you?" You asked, placing your hands over his.

He nodded, his eyes lifting up to meet yours. "How are you feeling?" He asked, with such gentle kindness that it made your heart melt.

"Big." You answered, laughing slightly. "I can't wear any of my old clothes, and I have to have new ones made all the time. And the way the ladies look at me when I go out..."

He shook his head, a breathy laugh escaping him, his thumbs caressing your skin. It was true that you had changed since the wedding, your body swelling with his child. You were nervous about how he would react, but the softness in his eyes and the way he touched you told you otherwise.

"I wish I could have told you the news myself, it's a shame you had to hear it from some crusty old maester," you said.

"It is a wonderful thing to return home too," he smiled, leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours.

He kissed you deeply, his arms wrapping around your waist. You smiled into the kiss, your fingers weaving through his long, silver hair. You could feel his lips turn up against yours, and you both pulled away.

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes raking over your features, a smirk tugging at his lips. His hands trailed down your sides, sending a wave of heat through you.

"My prince," you said softly, your fingers brushing along his cheekbone. "We've already made a baby. You don't have to do this."

He laughed, and shook his head, a look in his eyes you couldn't decipher. "I forget just how innocent you are," he said, his hands trailing down to your thighs.

“Well, whose fault is that?” You teased, smiling up at your handsome husband.

You sucked in a breath as he leaned down, his lips trailing kisses along your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin.

"It's true, I've been away for too long, my lady wife has forgotten what it is I crave," he breathed against your skin, his lips finding yours once more.

Your hands slid down his shoulders and arms, feeling his muscles. He pulled back slightly and tugged off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

"You have gotten bigger as well," you said, running your hands across his chest, feeling the hard muscles.

He smirked, a cocky gleam in his eyes. "Oh?"

"It suits you," you said, a playful smile on your lips.

His hand came to rest on the side of your neck, his fingers caressing your jaw. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip and he leaned in, capturing your mouth with his.

"And you are more beautiful than the day we wed," he said, his voice husky.

"My prince flatters me." You breathed, a blush rising on your cheeks.

His eyes went to the ties on your nightdress, a row of pretty little bows that went down to the valley of your breasts. He tugged at one of the ribbons, the fabric becoming loose.

He pushed it aside and his hand moved up to caress your breast, his thumb rubbing your nipple, causing you to gasp.

"Still as sensitive." He said, a smirk on his lips.

He leaned down and took your other nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, before gently biting down. You tugged hard on his hair, your legs kicking and squirming as he continued to play with you.

"Daemon," you moaned.

He hummed, the vibration causing a wave of pleasure to wash over you. He let go of your nipple, and his mouth moved lower, placing hot kisses along your skin, his hand pushing up your night dress.

"Perhaps a bit more sensitive." He commented, his hand brushing along your thigh.

He hooked a finger into the waistband of your small clothes and pulled them off. You were now naked, your body on full display for him, and he leaned back and admired his work. His hand on the swell of your belly, his thumb tracing over a stretch mark.

"Beautiful." He said, a sincerity in his voice that made your heart skip a beat.

You looked away, suddenly shy. You had only spent one night with him, and now he was here again. His touch, his words, they all still had an affect on you, making your stomach flutter and heart race.

He leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your bump, his hand resting on the side of it, his lips trailing lower. You smiled softly, and ran your fingers through his hair, the silver strands smooth between your fingers.

His hand came to rest on your thighs, gently coaxing your legs open. You watched as he positioned himself between them, his head almost disappearing behind your bump.

His eyes flickered up to yours, and his smirk was all too knowing, causing you to blush and turn away. He leaned forward, his tongue darting out and licking up your slit.

You gasped, your grip on his hair tightening. He did it again, this time focusing his attention on that sensitive little spot he introduced to you on your wedding night. He placed a soft kiss on it, his tongue circling it.

"Dae-ah," you moaned, trying to muffle the sound by pressing a hand over your mouth.

You didn't know if it was the fact that you were pregnant, or maybe that you missed him more than anything, but everything felt different, his touch more intense.

His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, holding you down as his tongue licked and circled you. His mouth moved down and his tongue slid into you, making you arch and cry out. He lapped at your arousal, his tongue going in and out, the sounds he made, the hums and sighs, driving you wild.

He groaned, a sound that vibrated through your entire body, and his tongue went up, swirling around that little spot again, his mouth closing over it.

You moaned his name, your thighs squeezing him, your whole body trembling as your release washed over you.

He placed a few more kisses to the inside of your thighs before rising up, his hair messy and face glistening with you. He wiped his face with his arm and leaned down, his lips capturing yours.

You could taste yourself on him, and you kissed him hard, your hand tangling into his hair, the other reaching down to the ties of his trousers. He helped you undo them, and kicked off his pants.

His hard length sprung free, and you wrapped a hand around it, causing him to let out a shaky moan. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hand cupping your cheek, and his eyes locking onto yours.

You slowly started to stroke him, and he let out another moan, his eyes fluttering closed, his breath hot against your skin.

"My love," he groaned, his hips thrusting into your hand.

You loved the effect you had on him, the control you had. To have the prince of dragonstone, the most dangerous man in the realm, at the palm of your hand, made your heart flutter.

His hand found yours, and he guided it away from his length, a whine leaving your throat. He chuckled and gave you a quick kiss before positioning himself between your legs.

He slowly pushed himself in, causing you both to moan. It hurt a little, just like the first time, but his hands were on your thighs, his thumb caressing your skin, and he slowly pulled out and pushed back in, letting you adjust.

"My love, I'm not going to break," you said.

He smirked and gave a shallow thrust, a gasp leaving you.

"I can't be too careful with what is mine." He said, leaning down and giving you a heated kiss.

He pulled away and rested his forehead against yours, his hand sliding up the length of your leg, coming to rest on your bump, his other hand planted next to your head, holding himself up.

He started to move, his length slowly sliding in and out, the pace slow and gentle. You could feel every inch of him, rubbing against that perfect spot. A soft moan left you, and you reached out, your hands on his chest, feeling the hand planes of muscle underneath his skin.

His thumb caressed your belly, his eyes never leaving your face, studying every detail, memorizing each feature. You felt so exposed under his gaze and turned away, your cheeks flushed.

He smiled, a soft, loving smile, and kissed you.

"How I've missed you, my beautiful wife," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You looked up at him, seeing nothing but love in his eyes. It was the way he had looked at you at your wedding, the two of you standing there in the sept, whispering promises to each other. The world had disappeared around you, and in that moment you were the only people that existed.

He kissed you again, and began moving a little faster, the sound of his hips meeting yours filling the room. He groaned, his hand still gently stroking your bump.

"I can't believe such a perfect creature could bear my child," he said, his eyes trailing down to where his hand rested.

"Our child," you corrected, giving him a teasing smile.

He hummed, leaning back and wrapping his arms around your waist and helping you into a sitting position. He pulled you onto his lap, and you moaned at the way he was buried deeper inside you.

His lips left open mouth kisses on your shoulders, and his hands rested on your hips, guiding you. You braced yourself on his shoulders, his hands back on your bump as you moved. You knew he liked the feel of it, and he couldn't get enough.

Your name left his lips as you bounced in his lap, his hands cupping your ass, squeezing you. You moaned, your hands sliding into his hair, tugging at the silver locks. You were growing louder, your body humming, that feeling building within you.

"Not too loud, my love," he whispered. "I do not wish for the guards to hear,"

A moan, that was halfway to a laugh escaped you, and he cut it off with a deep kiss. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, as you kept moving, the feeling of your release building.

"For your lovely sounds are only for me," he continued, his voice in your ear.

You let out another shaky moan, his hands squeezing you. He was moving his hips to meet yours, and you could feel him shaking beneath you. His hands gripped your hips tighter, and pulled you harder, his voice soft yet commanding as he talked you closer to your peak.

Your hands gripped his arms and back, and when he said your name, a deep, low groan that sounded almost pained, you toppled over the edge, falling in a pool of ecstasy. All the pent up emotions and frustration that you had been holding in were released, and you let go of a final moan that you muffle in the crook of his neck.

He followed soon after, capturing your lips in a heated kiss and letting out a deep, satisfied moan. You clung to him, afraid that he might disappear if you didn't. His arms were wrapped around your middle, cradling you close to him, his lips pressed to your temple.

The two of you breathed in each other's air, a simple shared breath, your foreheads pressed together, your eyes closed. You could feel his lips on your sweat slicked skin, his fingertips still caressing your bump.

When you both had returned to your senses, he gently laid you back on the bed. He leaned down, the tip of his nose nuzzling against yours, and peppered your face with little kisses. You smiled and let your eyes flutter open, finding him staring at you, a sweet, lovestruck look in his eye.

He grabbed the blanket, and covered your naked form with it, tucking it around you, almost protectively. He crawled under with you,his head resting against your chest, his hand still protectively cradling the swell of your stomach.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and ran your fingers through his hair, smiling. He looked up at you, his eyes sleepy, and he pressed a kiss to your bump.

"I hope it's a boy," you said, continuing to stroke his hair. "With the most handsome features, and a true warrior, like his father."

"Mm," he hummed, his eyes closing, and his arms wrapping around your waist. "I hope it is a girl, a daughter that looks just like her mother."

He was silent for a moment, and you wondered if he had fallen asleep, when his eyes suddenly opened.

"Or perhaps both," he said, his voice serious, a glimmer of something in his eyes.

"Twins?" You laughed. "I don't think I could handle two little dragons running about."

He chuckled, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin. "I will be here to help you," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "I am not going anywhere."

"You better not," you warned, poking his chest. "You've kept me waiting long enough."

He laughed again and caught your wrist, bringing your finger to his lips and placing a gentle kiss there. He slid his arms back around you, and pulled you close, your foreheads touching, your noses brushing.

You were content, your heart filled with so much love for him, and as his breathing evened out and his eyelids drooped, you knew he felt the same. You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of what was to come. Of a big family, a happy life, and many more nights just like this one. 

[alpaca-clouds]

Some historical context for Olrox

Okay, let me prephase this with one important message: Castlevania Nocturne made me really happy by making the plot all about colonialism, as colonialism and its fallout and how it influences us to this day is a topic that I am very passionate about. We do not talk enough about it. The US does not talk enough about it because it could make white people feel uncomfortable. And here in Germany we do not talk about it, because we act as if this had nothing to do with us at all.

But the show talks about it and I love it.

And I honestly also gotta say that I love that the BI_PoC character have a concrete cultural heritage. Olrox is Aztec, Annette is Yoruba, and Drolta is Egyptian. Other shows: Please take notes!

But let's talk Olrox, because he is so fucking interesting and amazing!

We know about him that he is Aztec and also that he is 250 years old. Or roughly that old by the time he kills Julia. Which would put either his birth or his turning somewhere around 1530.

Now, the fall of the Aztec Empire has a very exact date: August 13th, 1521. But you should keep in mind that this does not mean that on that day the Aztec's are extinct. To this day there is still 1,5 million people speaking Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs, and preserving some of the Aztec cultural traditions. It was just that on that day the empire construct fell to Cortez and the Spaniad conquistadors and a lot of Aztecs went into exile to flee the genocide that Cortez was bringing upon them.

The question of course is: Was Olrox still human at this time or was he already a vampire? From his dialogue it is clear that he was at least alive and grown enough to remember the fall of the empire and the distruction Cortez and his men brought upon them. But you can bet it was very traumatic.

I also am assuming he was turned by a white man. Because so far my assumption is that vampirism is an old world thing that got brought to the new world through colonialism. (Mostly because in Dracula's court we do not see any new world vampires.)

Now, the other interesting thing is what he says about his dead lover. The one Julia killed. So, first the "town in Massachusetts" he speaks about is clearly Stockbridge. Which was the town in which many Mohicans have settled during the colonial times, as well as other people from the Iroquois Nations. Now, it should be noted that the Mohicans were not part of the Iroquois alliance and in fact went to war with the Iroquois, but by the time colonialism really geared up there was some cooperation between the Mohicans and Iroquois.

Due to this they were in an alliance with the Oneida (who were part of the Iroquois) by the time of the Revolutionary war. Now, the Revolutionary War created a lot of conflict between the Iroquois nations, because they did not agree which side they should fight on. Of course both sides promised that they could keep their land, but the Mohawk, Onondaga, Cayuga, and Seneca did not trust the colonists and hence sided with the British, while the Oneida and Tuscarora (and through them also the Mohicans) sided with the Colonists.

And the dead lover clearly was among those siding with the colonists. Now, a quick refresher for the non-Americans (and the Americans who slept to history class, which is understandable). The Revolutionary War lasted from April 19, 1775 to September 3, 1783 (which, yes, also means that Julia and Richter probably were in the US during the war the entire time and the "evil" Julia was fighting probably was linked to it). And of course we all know how it ended for the Indigenous people: The colonists won, countless Indigenous folks died on both sides, only to get booted of their land soon after. The Oneida und Mohicans were made to move westwards not soon after the war ended. So, yes, Olrox would have seen that happen.

Now, an interesting thing in his dialogue was when Erzebet said: "We will create a new world." To which he replies: "I have heard that one before." And she says: "This time we are going to make it to last."

And the big question is to what this is refering. Is it refering to the colonialization or is it refering to the revolutionary war? Or something entirely different. In both cases it would be possible. And yes, the American Revolution definitely were claiming to create a new world. But was it that what he refered to or something else?

Well, never the less: Interesting character. Really good writing.

[multific]

Mattheo Riddle's Relationship with an Innocent Girlfriend - Headcanons

This can be read as a Part 2 for This Headcanon or as a standalone. - Enjoy!

He would want to sit with you during class

And when he can't he gets jealous

So jealous

In between classes, he has to have you with him

No objections from you

He would sit with the boys, you by his side

It is where he feels at home

He loves the way you don't always get what they are talking about

It is so refreshing to see someone so innocent

When Theo mentioned his new girl for the week, you made a comment about how she is nice

"Jamie is very cute. She helped me once during potions class. You two will be great."

"I heard she is amazing in biology."

"I don't know about that, she wasn't sitting with me during Biology class."

You failed to realise the true meaning of Theodore's words

Mattheo found it adorable

The others just laughed

Mattheo loved your sweet nature and innocence

There was just something endearing about the way you saw the world

No one dared to joke about you

Firstly, because Mattheo would kick their ass

And secondly, because they actually liked you

Mattheo will take you on dates

If you liked something, he would get it for you no matter what

You liked sweets? Enjoy every single option from the store

You liked books? Here's an entire library just for you

He would be the best boyfriend

You might be inexperienced in ways he wasn't

But you are his first relationship

His first real girlfriend, not just a fling

He wants to keep you forever, so he will do his best

"You are smoking again, Matty."

"Matty?" asked Draco as he looked at Mattheo with mischief in his eyes

"Shut it Malfoy. And Darling, I only smoke one." he said with his finger raised

"Promise? Those are bad for you."

"Only this one, Sweets." he said crossing his heart as you nodded. "Wait, I will walk you to class."

"SIMP." Mattheo heard the boys behind him but he didn't care

Even if they were right, Mattheo didn't care at all

He was whipped

But he loved you

And your smile as you told him about your day so far was enough to warm his heart

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum

@asgards-princess-of-mischief @fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[probablyintensemuses]

Dating Armando Aretas Would Include:

Grumpy x Sunshine Edition

🎧- Enchanted: Taylor Swift

pairing: Armando Aretas x black fem! reader

themes: grumpy x sunshine w/drabble

warnings: mentions of trauma & abuse, strong language, and a bit of gore.

authors note: I saw Bad Boys 4 again last night and it’s really refueled my Armando obsession, so more headcannons, drabbles, and fics on the way.

✨First Encounters✨

You and Armando meet in the worst of circumstances.

He, his father, and Marcus were on the run as wanted men, and you were the first person Mike thought to turn to after the attack at Tabatha’s.

Which he wasn’t wrong, you’d give your left kidney to Mike he’s saved you so many times.

You had let them into your small apartment, offering them clothes, food, and shelter until they could get in touch with the rest of the Ammo team and sort this shit out.

Armando had taken an interest to you then. Your house was warm and cozy, lived in. A small, plush couch, next to a coffee table littered with medical books. A kitchen stacked with teas and espressos , a dresser with vintage vinyls and a record player beside it. This was the kind of house he’d like to live in if he lead a different life.

You remember walking over to him, a picture of your parents and you when you were young in his hands.

“Those are my parents,’ you say. “I was ten then.”

Armando’s gruff exterior takes over though, and he doesn’t give you as much as a word back, let alone a thank you for feeding and housing literal fugitives.

You figured it was just him though and let it roll off you back like water.

You all got some sleep and the next day Mike asks you to drive them out to Dorn’s house on the dock. You agree and begin to load up the truck with guns, water, food, and extra clothes for the drive.

This is when Armando starts to question who you are and the legitimacy of your actions. Last person Mike trusted fucked them over, and he wasn’t having that shit again.

So he pulls his father aside and confronts him on the situation: you.

“How can we trust her?” Armando says, not far out of earshot of you.

“She’s good for it, trust me.”

“Didn’t you say that the last time and we got sold out. Don’t forget there is fucking five million dollar bounty on our heads. We can’t trust no one!” He whisper-shouted.

Mikes shoulders dropped. “I saved her life when she was younger, and I used to work with her parents. Trust me, she’s not going to pull a fast one. Because if she was, she would have done it already.”

Armando looked over at you, you’re dressed in a tank top, and that’s when he notices the cuts and burns littering your left arm. He sucks in a deep breath eyeing Mike who looks at you with sympathy too. There’s a story there, he’ll piece it together later, but for now he guesses you’re his only hope of getting out alive.

✨Post-fallout ✨

After you didn’t screw them over, and got them safety to Dorn’s, Armando found himself limping towards your apartment, blood trailing behind his feet.

Mike had sent him, and for some reason, at that moment, your place felt like exactly what he needed.

With the last of his energy, he banged on your door. Shortly, you answered and immediately went into panic mode.

The moment you let him inside, Armando crashes to the floor, passing out.

You screech and get every first aide equipment you have on hand and begin to bandage him up and stop the bleeding.

It took two bloody, sweaty hours, but you eventually got him all closed up.

Armando woke the next morning in a bed he didn’t recognize. This sent him into a frenzy. He went to shoot up out of the bed, but the soreness of his injuries knocked him back down.

“Fuck,” he moaned, grabbing at his torso.

From the living room, you turn down your headphones at the sound of movement. Armando must be awake.

Two days of rest, not bad.

You move towards the microwave and reheat the breakfast you had made him, pour some orange juice, and bring a whole heck of a lot of water and pain-pills.

Tray in hand, you kick open the door and slip inside your bedroom.

“Good morning.” You smile, setting the tray on the bed by his side. “How do you feel?”

“What the fuck did you put in this.” Armando asks, eyeing the food.

“Eggs, bacon, and toast.” You snicker.

Armando lifts a piece of toast, taking a bite. “If I die from this, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted, Sarg.” You salute.

You watch Armando eat his food with a smile on your face.

Eventually he looks up at you scowling. “Why are you staring at me.”

You shrug. “I’m just happy you’re okay.” You say truthfully.

“Well,’ Armando takes a swig of water, downing the pills. “Go be happy somewhere else.”

Your shoulders drop and you let out a sigh, you knew Armando was tough, but geez, you practically saved his life. Would it kill him to be a little nice?

But still you smile when you say, “okay, well if you need me, I’ll be out in the living room studying. Feel free to roam around, I don’t mind.”

It was a couple hours before Armando had come out of your room, limping over to the kitchen and rummaging through your fridge.

“I’m making dinner right now,’ you say, pausing your television show. “It’s a roast with veggies.”

“I want a beer.” He grumbles.

“Well I don’t have beer, but I do have wine.” You say, pointing to you collection of reds and whites.

“ I don’t want wine.”

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

Armando comes over to you, cornering you into the tiny space between your sink and the counter. “Get me a beer.”

“Let’s start over,’ you stick out your hand for a shake. “I think we’re at a misunderstanding of our situation.”

Armando frowns at your response, grumbling Spanish curses under his breath and walking away, slamming your door like a toddler.

The roast was done, and eventually you got Armando to come and have dinner with you…kind of.

He sat on the couch and watched the news, for updates on the status for his search, and you sat at the table, contemplating what to do with him next.

✨Enemies, Friends, Roomates✨

Mike had told you harboring Armando would only be for a short while until he could figure something out with the D.A’s office….that was three months ago.

Eventually you got your bed back, Armando taking the couch, but not your sanity.

Living with Armando wasn’t easy. He was brash, stand-offish, stubborn, and mean.

You did everything to try and form some kind of bond with him, even buying him gym equipment offline, but it just never clicked for him.

Not until one night when you’re studying late for an exam and happen to fall asleep at the kitchen table, books all around you.

That’s when you fall into a nightmare. The man who ruined your life the star of the show, again.

It always starts the same. You and your parents living happily at the park. Your parents watch you as you swing higher and higher, giggles filling the air. Then a man appears at the edge of the park, beckoning your parents over. You scream and shout for them but they never turn back, they keep going to the man. And when he has your parents in his grip, he brandishes a knife, slicing them open.

You let out a blood curling scream, slamming awake and falling to the group. Sweat sticks your curls to your face as you cry and gasp for breath.

Armando’s up in a second, swarming you.

“Estás bien?’ He pats you down, checking you out. “What’s happened to you?”

You can’t do anything but cry. The man who’s ruined your life, he’ll never leave you…he made sure of that in many ways. His latching to you is so deep that you can’t even escape him when you sleep.

You finally are able to get some words out, tell Armando, “I had a nightmare. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,’ he helps you stand. “Maybe you should get some sleep in your bed.”

You’re shocked by his response, but you’re even more shocked by the way he helps you to your room.

“What are you doing?” You asks, confused.

“You just flew out your chair from a nightmare, what do you mean what am I doing? I’m helping you.”

“Yeah, I get that…but you never help me.”

Armando sighs, holding his hands at his hips. “You gonna tell me what it was about, or should I leave.”

You sigh. “When I was younger, my parents worked for the Miami Police Department. They were detectives and before I was born they ended up helping catch this serial killer. His name was Gunter Bennett but the media called him “The Gutter” because that’s how he killed. Years later, somehow he escaped prison. That’s when he came for my parents. He killed them in the middle of the night.’ You take an uneasy breath, finding birth relief and shock when Armando’s hand slips into yours. “And I was sure he was going to kill me too, but he didn’t…he did worse. He kidnapped me and kept me at some shithole for three years. Three.”

You rile up your sleeves and show all your burns and cuts. Armando remembers them from the first day he met you.

“It’s how I got these. That sadistic bastard,’ you cry. “He tortured me.”

Armando feels something in him snap hearing your story and seeing the ways it’s effected you, even now. He knows what it’s like to be harmed and loose the people closest to you.

So he shocks even himself with what does next, scooping you up like a wounded bird and nuzzling under the blankets with you.

You whimper and sniffle in his arms and he just hushes you, stroking your curls.

“It’s going to be alright, niña bonita, he’s gone now.”

Slowly, the exhaustion of work, school, and your tears overcome you and you both drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

✨My Lover✨

Armando was jealous.

You two had just spent the day out shopping, laughing and talking. Hell, you two live together! And yet you’re grinding on another man at the bar?!

The glass in Armando’s hand shakes and chips as he squeezes it further.

“Relax, muscle milk. You’ll break the glass.” Marcus says.

Armando scowls at him.

“I’m just saying, if you love her, tell her.” Marcus shrugs, walking away.

Armando scoffs. Love? Yeah right.

Did he feel close to you, yes.

Want to spend every breathing moment with you, yes.

Touch himself in the shower thinking about you, yes .

Oh fuck…he did love you.

Fuck! He loved you and you’re grinding another man!

Armando pushed out of his chair, it clattering to the ground in his wake.

He stalked over to you, grabbing your wrist and putting room between you and the man you danced on.

“ ‘Mando, what are you doing?” You stumble, clearly drunk.

“Let’s go.” He grabs you, chest heaving.

“Hey, wait!” You swat at him as he drags you through the bar and out the exit. “Why would you do that?” You whine.

“Because you’re drunk.” He rolls his eyes, slinging his leather jacket over your naked shoulders.

“I’m not!’ You whine, stumbling, luckily Armando catches you with ease. “I am.”

“You are. Let’s go.” He says, slinging you and carrying you bridal shower.

“Ah,’ you say, wrapping your arms around Armando’s neck and snuggling into him. “My knight in shining armor always takes such good care of me.’ You lean over, smacking his butt with a giggle.

“Shut up.” Armando says, resisting the urge to crack a smile.

Home, Armando tucks you into bed. He’s just about to walk away when you snatch his wrist, pulling him on top of you.

“Let’s play a game,” you whisper.

Armando rolls his eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Truth for truth. I tell you a truth and you do the same. “I’ll start.” You giggle.

“Tonight went exactly how I planned.”

Armando pulls back. “What do you mean by that?”

You shake your head and pout. “Uh uh. You’re turn.”

Armando sighs. “I don’t actually find you that annoying…anymore.”

“Ah, I knew it!” You laugh.

“Knew what?”

“Game over.’ You slump and snore, pretending to sleep.

“Stop it, you knew what?” Armando lifts you.

You bop his nose. “I knew that you loved me.”

Armando’s eyes get big. “What?”

“Me and kelly paid that guy to dance with me. We knew you’d get mad and that was all the proof I needed.”

“You’re a dick.” He starts to walk away, but you grab him by his belt loop.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You pull him back. “But you don’t have to be shy.” You hiccup.

Armando grumbles, nuzzling his face into your stomach. “And why’s that?”

You lift his head, angling it to face you. “Because I love you too.” You lean forward, placing a firm kiss onto his plump lips.

Armando reciprocates, opening his mouth turning the kiss fierce and hot. He climbs on top of you, mumbling against your lips. “And I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”

You giggle. “Feels good to be bad for a change.”

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

title: broken (pt. 1) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: chilling conversations prolong things even further… until everything goes to hell. note: this is only one half of what was supposed to be a whole chapter! broken, pt. 2 will come out after i've had time to make it something i'm proud of. trying to rush everything out didn't do any favors, so hilariously and ironically, broken is broken up into two hahaha. warnings: language, angst, tension, yoongi’s pov is longgg, alcohol consumption, tobacco mentions, bro🥲, yoongi in the studio😩, the studio boys make another appearance👀, …someone else makes their first appearance👀👀, scuffles, tense situations, did i say angst?, water bottles get their own warning, long hair yoongi, basketball yoongi🫠, crying, bro a ha ha, jimin has tats and he’s not afraid to show them, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, honestly he is on another level of warning here don’t perceive me💀, the fluff is fluffing here like what, backstory we’ve been waiting for😗, yoongi on the phone, hand holding :’)), kissing :’)), oh god the kissing❤️‍🩹, there’s just a lot in both parts i'm sorry y'all playlist: broken (lp) drop date: dec 3rd, 2023, 4:00pm est word count: ...19.1k 🚶‍♀️

-

-

Words abandon you.

They stand far from your form, pitying observers of your decaying state in front of the man you’ve been lying to. At once, you feel completely alone, not even Yoongi’s lingering presence helping when those eyes are piercing through time and space. Everything you’ve experienced over the past two years slings across your vision, from the first time you left your house in the pouring rain to get to Yoongi’s, to the car ride back you just took with his kiss still on your lips. 

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels. 

Your feet make lines in them when you move to close the front door, something leaving your mouth before you can judge if it makes sense, “About what?” 

Zero sense. Absolute zero sense. Which your brother has absolute zero patience for. The drone in his question hits you like a punch to the gut, “Really.” 

“Just out late, is all,” you grumble, trying your best to not acknowledge an atmosphere so tense it’s almost crowded. “Jimin had another party, remember?” 

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

Dread launches up your veins, rocketing right to your heart in the middle of a pulse. He was there? You saw his car when Yoongi pulled up close to the house. He was there? When the fuck did he arrive? Oh, fuck, if he got there early enough… did he see you… and Yoongi…

No. There’s no way. Because one, Yoongi parked far down and around the corner. He made sure not to be close just in case you two could be spotted. 

With a thought you really cannot afford right now, you also assume he stayed that distance just so that he could pin you against his car. Fucking hell, focus! Upping the strength of your resolve to match cardboard, you lamely stall in your hunt for clarification, “You were?” 

“I was.” 

The watch on his wrist glints in its twist. When aggravated veins stare back at you, it’s obvious your brother is on the edge. Because he is deathly calm. “So where’d you go?” 

You blink, not having expelled a single breath since you stepped foot inside. 

Does he not know? Or does he know and he’s just waiting for you to finally spill? With all the hope in the universe, you yearn for it to be the first one. Because you cannot deal with a fallout right now. Not right after what happened with Yoongi. 

It’s just not the right time. 

“Yuri’s,” you blurt, finally kicking into gear and strategizing how you’re gonna finesse this. “She came and got me.” 

Your sibling just stands there, eyes a solid beam before he sighs at clasped wrists. 

Here it comes. He’s gonna ask why you didn’t say anything. Like he always does because for some reason you’re still not a true adult to him and he has to keep tabs on you at all times and you can’t just sneak around with his best friend in peace—

“K.” Your eyes shake once. “Just tell me next time.” 

And just like that, your brother vacates the foyer, dark dress shoes clacking as he retreats back into his room. Leaving you standing in silence. 

All the words around you just as speechless. 

Just like that, you’re gone again.

After watching you leave and wishing you didn’t have to, Yoongi shuts his door to rest ponderous thoughts on worn wood. Eyes closed and a storm on his mind’s horizon.

Just a little longer. He hopes you’ll understand. This is just something he needs. More than anything else. 

Exhausted, he peels himself from the door, meandering through the bog of his living room. Trudge, trudge, trudge to the dining table, skirting fingers along the edge and noting that it feels different than before. 

At least something in his apartment has changed for the better. 

Who would’ve thought that table would witness both an end and a beginning. That it would see the worst and best of him. If it was ever called to stand, there’s no doubt that it could recite all his failures and shortcomings. But he hopes that it would also attest to how much he’s fucking tried. 

As much as Yoongi wants to throw it out, he hasn’t. Because despite being withered to hell, all it needed to recover was the new company of a familiar face. 

And a little bit of summer rain. 

It watches as his thoughts move on, and soaks in the blues and pinks of sunrise as he crosses into the bedroom. At the feel of your lingering presence, Yoongi gnaws on his lip. 

What the fuck does he do now? The moment you leave, he wants nothing more than to have you back in his bed. It’s the one fact that he has come to fully acknowledge. Because there are many times you’ve caught him slipping. But when you’re lost to your dreams? Visibly at peace and safe under his sheets? That’s when he can’t even think straight. 

How your serenity throws him into disarray, Yoongi has no fucking clue.

But he can’t afford these feelings right now. Because how can he want you close while being the reason for this distance? Make it make sense. Don’t be a fucking hypocrite. Tsking, Yoongi once again accepts the consequences, heading to his bathroom before going back the fuck to sleep. 

Lies. Who is he kidding? There’s no way his rest will be the same without you. Especially since he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you next. 

There is a way to remedy that. To put an end to your time apart. But Yoongi’s been so in his fucking head that it’s chaining him down and pulling taut. No matter how much he struggles, he can’t break free, and it’s driving him to the brink.

But last night? With you? Half moons mar his palms as he stands. Staring. Branding that whole memory into his heart.

After three months of questioning his existence. 

All it took was your soft hums to give him a reason. 

And you won’t ever know how much that meant to him. Not until Yoongi finally decides to tell you. Which will most likely be never. Maybe that’s why this time tears at his chest more than all the others. Maybe that’s why he stood in his doorway longer than usual. Maybe that’s why he can’t quite carry the weight in his chest.

Dumping himself on dark mountains—creations of his and your design—Yoongi buries his face in those valleys. Inhales those aromas like some hit he can live off of for however many days left he needs. 

Desperately grasping for a fading world where only you two exist. Drifting. Dreaming. Disarmed by a vibration on his nightstand.

The fuck.

Who is texting him this early. There are only a few people he has notifications on for wait it’s probably you saying you’re home.

Peeling himself off the sheets with a groan, Yoongi simply shifts his upper body to reach for his phone, squinty-eyed as he checks his screen.

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

Dumbass [07:30]: We need to talk.

…Shit.

Yoongi grips his phone in panic, ice water streaming through his veins and mind set ablaze with potential scenarios.

He’s awake. You went home. And he’s awake. Fuck, did anything happen? Did you say anything? What are the chances this text means he found everything out? 

Shit. 

Does Yoongi answer now? Or does he sleep and pretend that this is just a text and isn’t a problem at all? Think. Your brother may not even be referencing you, or him. Right? It could be something completely different. 

Why can’t he fucking move? 

Every regret Yoongi’s kept at bay floods his brain, crashing into assumptions of your mental state and creating a massive whirlpool of dread. Just answer. Don’t answer. Just answer. Don’t fucking answer. Suddenly, another alert lights his home screen and it’s a call oh fuck—wait… It’s Jungkook? 

Why not. Sure. What’s one more issue. 

Picking up, Yoongi runs hard fingers through his hair as he answers.

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

The what. The session? Oh, fuck. The session. Yoongi completely forgot they had a recording booked today because they were so hyped last night to get a date for the release party shit. Vacating his bed, Yoongi answers with a low, “Yeah, I’ll be there.” 

“Yeah, don’t be late. It’s those guys from before.” 

Fuck, it’s that one. The dudes that stopped by the studio just as things were wrapping up, shocking everyone when they scheduled some time. Highly successful musicians and performers booking something with a no name studio? Things are rolling in the right direction and coming along fast. 

But as things go. If they don’t take this shit seriously, everything can crash just as quickly.

“Heading out,” Yoongi finally says as he yanks a hoodie from his closet, and a loud vibration against his ear makes him flinch. 

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?” 

“Shit, yeah.” Yoongi grips soft material before his phone hits his desk with a thump. Hastily dressing, he grunts, “Maybe. Might be like two minutes late.” 

“Nah, come now.” 

He’s heading over? Your brother? If that’s the case, there’s no way he doesn’t know. 

Fuck, relax. Don’t overthink. If anything, there wouldn’t have even been a heads-up. Yoongi figures he’d just find out as soon as he’s thrown against a wall. Or the ground. Or right onto his coffee table that this very guy helped pick out. Shit, he needs to know but he doesn’t wanna find out. 

But nevermind him. Are you okay? Swiping his device, Yoongi quickly types a text before fast-walking out of his room, going on autopilot when he assures into his receiver, “I’ll get there.” 

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now. 

As Yoongi breaks into the dining room, he hears a rustling on the line before other voices jut through the speaker. Sounds like Hobi and Joon are already there, and the next thing said further spikes his stress level another peak, 

“We’re already cutting it close with the prep.” 

Fucking hell, the prep. The mics, the tracks, the setup. They forgot to do all of it. Something inside of him starts snarling and almost pounces through the phone, “Fuck, we should’ve been ready already.” 

“Shit, I know.” 

“We can’t keep doing this.” 

“Dude, relax, I get it.” 

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get it done but it’s gonna be tight. Hey, where’s the… Damn it, what’s it called?”

Frustrated and rummaging through his pantry, Yoongi knows he sure as hell didn’t think about anything else as soon as he heard you crying on the line. If he had remembered while leaving the studio, he could’ve spared a brain cell to rush everyone back in. “The what.” 

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.” 

Of course, he’d repeat every decision he made last night. Over, and over, and over again. But any of them should’ve remembered this step before leaving, which pisses him off. The studio’s lack of experience is showing and it’s making him nervous. 

And Yoongi still doesn’t know what’s going on with his best friend. 

“We need two overheads for drums,” he corrects while swiping a water bottle from the counter. And he’s about to rattle off where they are when he feels another long buzz. 

Dumbass: Incoming Call 

Of fucking course. 

Mind whirring so hard he can feel steam, Yoongi quickly recalls where the mics are, “They’re somewhere in the back by the amps, but I gotta take this so I’ll see y’all there.” 

“Wait, where are the—”

Nope. Kook’s just gonna have to figure out whatever he’s asking on his own. Switching calls, Yoongi answers while opening his door, hastily putting out the food and water he grabbed from the kitchen. 

“Hey.” Fuck, is his voice shaking? What the hell is he gonna be faced with in the next few seconds? Can he freeze time and rewind and keep last night on repeat? “I’m about to head out.” 

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.” 

“No, just”—Yoongi dashes back inside before grabbing his wallet and keys from the bar—“You good? I can’t be late.” 

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?” 

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling. 

“We got another project,” he huffs as he meets sunrise again, blazing a trail through his corridor and rounding the corner to his car. “A band’s coming in for a session.”

“Shit.”

There’s a pause on the line. And it’s the first bit of silence Yoongi’s had since he got the first bone-chilling text. Is his secret safe? Are you okay? Should he work extra late and run from a problem yet again? He’s very good at that. Running. If there was a medal for distance ran from issues, he’d be on the podium for both gold and silver.

“Okay, fine.” 

Relief is temporary. This could just be him biding his time in order to figure out what to do. Or maybe he truly doesn’t know what’s going on and Yoongi has a bit more uninterrupted time with you. 

Delusion is a great place to stay.

In any case, his friend’s behavior is alarming. What’s he doing up this early? And why is he wanting to swing by so bad if not to slice him into tiny pieces? Nerves slow on the downslope, Yoongi shuts his car door and lends his ear, “But serious, are you okay?”

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

He lets his friend go through a series of small sounds on the line, pulling out of the lot and hitting the road with tire squeaks. “What’s up,” he finally pushes, looking sideways and remembering the car ride home. 

There was no way Yoongi was gonna say no to you. He didn’t in this universe, and he’d bet his whole life he doesn’t in any other one, either. Not when your wings looked like you hadn’t used them in months.    

Pained, Yoongi hopes you’re completely fine and sleeping. Tucked away in a bed that captured part of his heart, visiting him in your dreams so that some version of him can be at your side. 

“Everything, Yoong.” 

But, as it so starkly turns out, he has to deal with reality. And with the fact that you’re just as far away as you were before last night. Maybe even further out of reach. 

So, so far away. 

“There’s a ton of shit, but. Fuck. Guess we’ll have to wait.”

Right now, deal with the studio prep and get through the session that will probably take awhile. After that, meet up with your brother and hope to god he doesn’t know. “K.”

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

Then, when all of that is done, Yoongi will be alone. Staring into the night and trying his hardest not to give up on himself again. “Yeah, I will.” 

“No running.”

“K.”

When the call ends, Yoongi lets out the harshest breath he’s ever let out in his life. Hoping you went right to sleep without dealing with any of that. 

“How did that sound?” 

Looking into the recording room, Yoongi raises a thumbs up as Hoseok clicks back to the beginning of the track. At their side, Namjoon hits a button on the console before speaking into a microphone, “Y’all wanna come hear it?” 

“We can move on. Wanna get the doubling done.” 

Huh? They’re gonna move onto vocal doubling already? With a few blinks, Yoongi think it’d be better if they—

“Okay!” Jungkook agrees from the couch, cutting out any other thoughts. “If any of you need adjustments, let us know.” 

“Yeah, actually, can one of you come switch this out?” 

Joon throws a suggestion over his shoulder, but Yoongi is already heading for the booth before his name is even mentioned. 

Get everything done smooth. Stay disciplined. Be professional, goddamn it.

Entering the soundproofed room will always make him want to occupy the mic instead. That feeling hasn’t gone away, and there have been countless nights where he’s spent time just sitting in this very space, visualizing what it would be like to work on this side of the glass someday. Deep down, Yoongi knows he could be somebody. But imposter syndrome runs deep. 

Avoiding cables strewn about the room, he offers his hands without a word, taking a guitar from the lead singer and making his leave—

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.” 

What? Where the hell did that come from? Did he even hear this guy right or was he just daydreaming again? Yoongi’s so thrown he can only stare with question marks for eyes. 

Amused, the singer simply points to the side of his beaming countenance. “You have an ear.” 

Huh. How the hell can this dude tell? All Yoongi’s done is indicate if a recording take was good or not, and given a few minuscule suggestions to the keyboardist and guitarist—instruments he’s well-versed in. 

Yet again, he’s so in his head that the man outright laughs, “Relax! You can talk to us like normal, you know. None of us care about etiquette shit.” 

“Shit, my bad,” Yoongi finally responds, instrument in his hands proving a little lighter. “Thanks.” 

“Of course.” Swishing long bangs to the side, the performer rests a hand on his hip. “We’re open to anything. We’d just tell you if your opinion sucks.” 

Eyes creasing with his lips, Yoongi puffs out a laugh. 

“Kidding. Only a little.”

Even though these people are world-renowned, they’re the first humble group to run through the studio. Everyone else has been either cocky, standoffish, or super opinionated, which made for unproductive hours.

Yoongi likes this change of pace. His shoulders start to feel composed, less scrunched than they had been since you left his place this morning. Comforted, he looks down at the guitar in his fingers.

Choosing not to say what he wants to. 

Should he? Nah. These guys know what they’re doing. Despite the nice offer to speak up, it’s not his place. Far from it. 

…But what would you tell him to do? What would you be proud of?

Committed to his answer, Yoongi grips the neck and decides without another thought, 

“Do the chorus again.” 

The whole studio stills. But all he’s looking at is the man in front of him, shaking his head when they ask, “Same way?” 

“Uhm. No.” As he hands the guitar back, Yoongi wordlessly checks if he can see the sheet music. When given the go-ahead, he scans the lines before pointing out a passage to note, 

“Mm. Here. Vocals are fine as is, but. Ride the build-up quicker and hit the next chord after a bit longer.” When he stops, he has to fight to ignore the eyes on him. There’s no doubt that his extended time in the recording room is being questioned, and his hand movements probably make him look stupid. “It’ll keep in time but hit harder.” 

Done. He said it. 

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame. 

Instantly self-conscious, Yoongi swears he can hear Hobi’s pants shift in the control room through two closed doors shit he took it too far. Fuck, if these guys walk out now the studio is done for and he’ll be the only reason why—

“Well, goddamn. Let’s try that then.” 

Huh. They’re gonna take that? 

As he steps away, Yoongi feels slightly awkward doused in attention. Yeah, expressions seem like looks of approval, but they could just be polite. 

The man hums the chorus with Yoongi’s notes in mind, and his eyebrows tick a bit before he addresses the others in the room, “You heard him?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

“Why didn’t you think of that, Woosung?”

Yoongi can’t keep his amusement under wraps as the singer laughs, addressing his keyboardist with a grin, “Damn, not even Sammy? Straight to Woosung, huh.”

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

Another bout of mirth spreads joy around the recording booth, and Yoongi shares a look with the singer before they both nod. 

“Let’s see how it sounds.” 

“K.”

Proud and adrenaline-filled, he turns to walk back to the door, head so buzzed he doesn’t know what to do. But when Yoongi can’t see into the control room anymore, he misses a stare through the glass.

A stare that lingers on him just a little too long. 

The rest of the session goes smooth, and Yoongi’s relieved that they haven’t asked him for anything else. 

After all. He doesn’t wanna push it, or step on Jungkook’s toes. What happened in the recording room only went down because you would have scolded him for not seizing that moment. And the suggestion he gave was lauded after the next take.

It was the first time since you kissed him goodbye that he felt a healthy pulse in his chest. Despite the chaos of the morning, amid the thoughts and worries penetrating his brain, you reached out and kept him steady in just the right moment. 

Fuck being his good luck charm. You give guardian angels shame and you don’t even know it. 

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

Jungkook holds up an arm while agreeing, “Okay! We’ll save what we got!” 

Yoongi’s scanning the tracks when he feels hovering over his shoulder, and he already knows it’s the kid without looking. “Sup.”

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

At this, Jungkook pauses before he sighs. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he clearly lies. 

But Yoongi will let him figure out whether to run with that or not. He seems a little bothered about something, and it very well could be what happened in the booth. This is work, and they’re both adults. If he wants to talk about something, Yoongi will gladly have that conversation. 

Suddenly, a vibration erupts in his hoodie pocket, and his phone is fished out without him even thinking. 

Hustler: Incoming C—

Shit. You wouldn’t call him at work unless it’s urgent. Which is quickly throwing any possible theories about your brother not knowing out the window. 

But fuck, he can’t answer yet. There’s no way. Not only is he in very close range to someone you don’t wanna speak to right now, but he’d get blasted for being on his phone during a session. Hoping you can wait just two more minutes, Yoongi turns the buzzing off within his hoodie pocket, anxiously waiting for the take to start. 

Hoping to everything that Jungkook didn’t happen to see what was on his screen. 

As soon as everyone looks pleased—three takes and thirty minutes later—Yoongi quickly excuses himself from the control room. His head practically overheats on the way out back, but the gust of morning breeze serves to soothe it some. 

It’s been chilly lately. A bit grey. But whatever the weather has been outside, it’s no match for the atmosphere of his brain. 

Pulling his hood over hair he hasn’t cut in months, Yoongi looks around before ringing you up. Hoping that you’re good and didn’t have to go through a version of his panic earlier. 

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

Fuck, still voicemail. Are you okay? On the phone with someone else? Did your brother actually end up finding out and things are worse than he thought? Clutching his phone, Yoongi glances up while giving it slight shakes, body on alert while deciding what the hell to do now. 

Maybe he can at least text you to ask what the hell happened this morning? Typing. Erasing. Retyping. Retrying. 

Yoongi [9:02]: Got a session today, doll. 

That’s what he had to say? That won’t do you any good, the fuck? Berating himself with a sigh, he takes a few steps while texting a follow-up. 

Yoongi [9:03]: Still going, but are you good?

Staring, it takes him a few seconds to decide if this is enough. If these two messages are gonna suffice to help him figure out what the hell he’s getting into later. 

It’s not. There’s too much he needs to know. 

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

When it doesn’t ring a third time, Yoongi gives up, cursing before turning and raking his hood off in distress.

Only to see Woosung materializing out of nowhere—relaxed, silent, and taking a drag. 

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

“Been there,” the man empathizes, blowing out smoke into crisp morning. After a swell of early traffic fills the alleyway, he continues, “In trouble?”

Great. With a sound of dejection, Yoongi answers to a stack of random boxes, “Might be.” 

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?” 

“I do,” Yoongi blurts without hesitation, looking right into eyes that have seen plenty more than he has. 

And it’s the first time he’s admitted anything out loud. To a stranger miles above him in status, no less. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he clarifies, “It’s just… There’s something I need to do first.” 

Wait a sec. Why the fuck is he talking about this so freely? This isn’t something he does. Privacy is practically his brand. So why is it easy to talk to this guy? It’s him, for fuck’s sake. But what’s done is done. Woosung probably won’t even remember this conversation even happened, or is already annoyed as hell he didn’t get a good read on him. 

To Yoongi’s surprise, his alley companion speaks again after another white wisp. “Mmm… Something you need to do?”

Well. Yoongi walked right into this one. Swallowing and knowing he can’t dip out, he sighs, “Some shit I wanna finish.” The smell of tobacco wafts around him when he looks at dulled skies. “Shit I need to get through.” 

An amused hum floats through empty space. “Been there, too.” 

Yoongi slowly turns to regard his client, watching as Woosung becomes very interested in wet concrete.

What kind of shit has this guy seen? Surely, he could have had some of the same experiences. The slight droop in his confident shoulders tells enough. But would he understand the exact same situation? 

No. At least, Yoongi hopes not. Quite fucking frankly, he hopes no one has had to go through the same shit that he has. 

“Let me know if you ever need help,” Woosung offers, shocking Yoongi to the point of speechlessness. As he drops his cigarette to squash it out, he runs a hand through wild dark locks. “We’ll be around again.” 

Wait. What? Yoongi can only blink. “Serious?”

“Yeah.” The man looks down the outside corridor, watching as people start heading to their jobs through a central courtyard. “Got a good feeling about this place.”

What does he mean by that. What can Woosung possibly mean by that what does he mean they’ll be back? To the studio? To the city? What’s happening. Yoongi simply lets a pause prevail before offering the only response he’s capable of,

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

That laugh has got to be top five in the world. Not as great as yours, but definitely up there in terms of what makes Yoongi feel like things are alright. Not that he’d ever admit that shit to anyone. Ever.

Mercifully, the conversation moves away from risky topics. Instead, there are talks about a tour one is planning for his band’s album, mixed in with mentions of equipment the other is saving up for. Then the rest isn’t about music at all.

Finally, it’s time for them to continue recording, so they know to head back inside. “Don’t wait,” Woosung advises as he turns on his heel. 

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else. 

“If there’s something you need to get through...” 

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

As Woosung shuts the back door, Yoongi’s gaze finds the crushed cigarette at his side. Another reminder of how things were.

And a reminder that he’s still a fucking coward.

Hours later, Yoongi’s car awaits him in the lot. 

And when he realizes that you still haven’t responded, he shuts his door just a little too hard. 

Whenever his friend comes over for drinks, it’s always the same routine. 

Both of them don’t talk much, instead opting for a quiet greeting before someone dumps themselves on the couch while the other grabs a bottle and cups in the kitchen. As soon as glasses are filled, conversation sparks as a game plays out on tv—or a sportscasting show if nothing interesting is airing. 

But this time? None of it happens that way. Because when Yoongi opens his door, he’s pinned with a shadowed visage he's only seen piercing through others. 

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

Raising a brow and giving space is his chosen course of action. Best to not disturb a beast if they’re already ready to lunge.

And his friend eyes him as he stalks into the house, scanning around in search of something—living room, dining table, even looking into the open doorway of the bedroom. 

Fuck. Relax. Don’t assume anything until things are on the table. Yoongi has got to pretend like tonight is normal and fine and that he’s obviously and positively not seeing and sleeping with his friend’s little sister. 

And that he most definitely didn’t eat you out where your brother is sitting now motherfucker he needs a drink. Or a smoke. Or both with a plane ticket out of the whole country. 

At least the television is already on. If it wasn’t for that ambiance, Yoongi’s head would be jam packed with every goddamn sound known to man. Including the adorable way you talk in your sleep, and how you strain so beautifully when you come fuck, fuck, fuck! Focus. 

What’s happened has happened. And what’s going to happen will happen. Whether it’s a consequence of his actions, or nothing to do with any of this at all. 

But when faced with everything smushing together at once? Yoongi will probably need to be revived no matter what the outcome. This is the most stressed out he’s been in years. 

Not only that, but his stress is more than obvious. Even now in the kitchen, he’s scanning through his bottles with a finger—an action he’s never done while sober since the choices are always predictable. Holy shit, he needs to pull it together. 

Has he ever been this panicked? Does he appear just as chaotic and disjointed as he feels? This is too new. This is very new and if he doesn’t regain control there’s no telling where this foreign road leads.

But the silence still remains as he turns. And apparently the road hits a dead end at his dining table. Since it’s occupied rather than the living room sofa. 

Sighing, Yoongi ambles to his friend, placing everything down with clinks and ignoring the way his furniture is getting burned through. Both whisky’s are ready. Yoongi’s already holding his. And your brother still hasn’t moved a muscle. Honestly, what the fuck is going on with—

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What. 

Don’t react. He’s staring. Don’t fucking react. Take a drink. A sip. Pick up the goddamn glass. Doing so, Yoongi slowly brings the liquid to his lips, not quite following his own instructions as he asks behind a barrier, “How was it.”

His question is met with a laugh that isn’t funny at all. The kind that drags a finger along the chalkboard of your soul. And the next question directed his way pulverizes Yoongi’s denial,

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

He’s sick. Beyond sick. The room is closing in and closing in too fucking fast. Shit shit shit. There’s no way he saw. No fucking way. He parked down the street he deliberately stopped as far away as possible and you saw your brother’s car in your driveway. Did he get there after you left? And didn’t see you while also not hearing from hi—

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck! 

Yoongi can’t feel the air in his lungs. Because there isn’t any. Just a barren wasteland of shriveled futures and cracks in the foundation of every relationship he’s had in his whole life. The millisecond before a crash and only his wheels spinning and spinning and spinning—

Your brother shoots out of the chair, making the glass in Yoongi’s palm feel infinitely more solid.

“I mean, fuck! After all the shit we’ve been through? You’re gonna go back to her?”

All the—shit, he can’t even—back to? Back to you? What does he mean by back to you? Does he know about the first ti—

Volcanic, the man interrogating paces beside the dining table. Back and forth, back and forth. A pause. Back and forth.

And Yoongi still feels frozen in time. Is this it? Is this when things come crashing down? Glass suspends in midair all around him; an orchestra trembles beneath his feet, waiting for the moment to rip into his rib cage with swift strokes and a flourish as he’s taken down. 

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

When Yoongi finally chooses to speak, what comes out only feels like a horrible attempt more than anything else, “Listen, it’s my fau—”

“What, you just decided to fuck that bitch again? Couldn’t stay away?”

Oh, fuck that. 

Wood scrapes into flooring as Yoongi vacates his chair, hard feet planted as he gets into the face of his best friend, his confidant, his day one. Only to speak so low only them two can hear, “How bout you use your fucking words already and I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” They are only a breath apart. But no one’s going anywhere now. “Need me to spell it out for that fuckass brain of yours—”

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

Yoongi’s back connects with the chair behind him, palms flinging back to brace himself through a jolt of pain. And his eyes go so wide they stretch at the edges.

…Motherfucker, what?

Your brother is not done in the slightest, but Yoongi can only stare as he’s being berated for something that is one-hundred percent news to him, too. 

“Everyone was happy when you finally left. All of us. Only for you to go and, what, get back with her?”

Nothing makes sense. This isn’t about you? Yoongi’s heart can’t even reset to start beating again. Everything is coming as shock after shock and there’s no way he can keep up at this pace.

His ex? Her? Where the fuck did that come from and why the hell does he of all people think that’s actually true?

“If you’re gonna be with her, you can count me out.” 

No. Never again. That would never, ever happen again. “The fuck are you even saying—”

“I’m not fucking joking, Yoong. If you’re seriously back with her then—”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you heard, but I’m not.”

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

He—who? Who the fuck would say that? And when how what the fuck and why? Yoongi stares, chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Because he has a choice to make. Either he trudges into this lie and rubs sludge all over his bones, or he denies it like he wants because it’s not fucking true.

What the actual fuck. It’s already bad enough that someone sent this along the rumor mill. And it’s making him sick thinking about all the implications surrounding it. But it’s even worse that his best friend believes it so easily. He’s coming at him so quick without even asking if it’s true. 

The only silver lining—the singular bright spot in this hellhole—is that he can use it as an out. An out to protect you from wrath and further fury from your older sibling because if you were the rumor? He’d be laid flat on his floor next to a broken dining set.

“You gonna say anything or what?” 

Truthfully, Yoongi feels queasy knowing what he’s gonna do. But it’s for you. You, you, you. And for that, Yoongi will do anything. 

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…” 

“No?” 

Just hurry up and fucking do it. 

Resigned, Yoongi lets the memories flood through. Every moment that’s haunted him from a distance charges forward as he surrenders to the pain of his past. “It’s—” Fuck, he can’t even begin to lie, head thundering, thundering, striking his heart in the rain. “I...” 

His friend halts. Tense before his shoulders fall back to normal. “You what.”

What the fuck does Yoongi do? What can he say when his brain is only firing up to beg him to run? Technically, he doesn’t have to say anything. He really doesn’t. But he can deflect. It’s what he’s best at, after all. He’s been doing it to you and he will do it again.

In the most defeated voice he can muster, Yoongi comes up with something that will placate his friend while still prolonging this horrid fib, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” 

“You sure?”

It’s true. More true than anything. “It’s over now.” 

A century passes. Then another. Then another. Every piece of furniture waits in silence as the television seeps back into his ears. 

Then his friend sighs, not looking back as he slumps into the same chair that you always occupy. And Yoongi hopes his sigh of conflicted relief isn’t witnessed. 

Following suit, he rubs his lower back before taking his regular seat again, not giving any shits about waiting to drink. 

His ex? 

As his throat warms, Yoongi starts to harden the more memories keep crashing into each other like jagged waves fuck he really hates how she was brought into this he swears as soon as he figures out who said this he is going to—

“Sorry.” Haze shattered, he lifts his gaze. “I’m so fucking stressed and hearing that last night just…”

“It’s done.” Yoongi reaches for the thick bottle, pouring more into his glencairn. Wanting to talk about literally anything else, he diverts the conversation, “But something else is up with you so say it.”

It works. The man inhales deep, rubbing his face with weary hands. When he rests elbows on wood, he finally talks about other things clouding his mind,

“Work is shit,” he groans downward. “They’re having me travel again.” 

“Domestic?”

“Yeah. But for longer. And I don’t…” Tapering off, he sits back, slowly playing with his glass. As if he doesn’t want to mention the next problem. 

When he finally does, Yoongi wholeheartedly understands the hesitation, “I dunno know what’s going on with my sister.”

Oh. Fuck, how the hell does he respond? Keeping his cool, Yoongi just repeats the question, taking out his phone and pretending to check his screen. “Your sister?”

“Yeah.” A sigh is sandwiched between explanations. “The past few months, I feel like.. They haven’t really been themselves.” 

A sudden crack splits him through.

“Not laughing. Not eating as much. Like even when they sound happy, I can tell it’s a front.. I don’t know.” 

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard. 

No. No, no, no. Your texts have been so positive. So encouraging. Other than a few sad calls, you’ve been happy to hear from him just as he had been relieved to hear from you. Even in the car, you must’ve put your feelings lightly. 

Your wings. You’ve been enduring all that? For him? Yoongi’s heart rears its head, snagging one of his breaths and slamming both lungs into the floor.

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

“They finally went out last night, but. Didn’t come back until this morning.” Running rigid hands through his head, the man looks so pained. So helpless. “Same clothes, dude.” 

And Yoongi can only stare, feigning nonchalance but raging and tearing himself apart inside. “Mm.”

“I just… I know I suck at this, but. I don’t know what the hell to do. Or if I even do anything.” Your brother finally takes a swig, wincing at how much ethanol coats his tongue. 

Relax, relax, relax. As much as he wants to erupt on himself right now, Yoongi has to stay calm.

Not like he doesn’t know how. That’s usually how he operates, anyway. It’s hard to tell he’s struggling unless you look deep enough. And almost no one thinks to do so because his surface is all they want. 

But right now? He doesn’t think he can sequester this anger any longer. At him, his past, and his stupid present decisions. 

“Like I tried to say something but I just.. I felt like if I push too hard, they’re gonna shut down even more. Ever since that fight with Kook, it’s like..” 

Seeing an opening and keeping a neutral stance, Yoongi asks the most ironic question to date, “Are they seeing someone?”

At this, his friend shakes his head, eyes glued to dark amber liquid. When he answers, all the breaths in the world cut at once, 

“I think she feels all alone.” 

This hit is the strongest. Straight to the gut, breath stuttering and muscles clenching so hard they lock. It’s almost severe enough to affect how Yoongi feels around his eyes. 

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

Yoongi’s heart lurches, deflating and slipping out of the crack in his chest. Piercing on the jagged edges before slumping down onto a table that continues to judge him.  

You’re hurting. Your brother’s hurting. And it’s all his goddamn fault. Why can’t he just break free and admit shit? Why is he still haunted by the phantoms of his past? Why is he still so fucking weak? It’s clear that he hurt you. For months. You’ve been cheering for him that whole time while you’ve been visibly broken and it’s all because of his dumbass decision to—

“I’m heading out again.”

Yoongi raises his eyes. Because he can’t seem to move anything else. “When.”

Your older sibling takes a slower, more measured sip. Looking towards the channel playing in the living room, he answers, “After our game. Dinner Friday, game on Saturday, fly out Sunday.” 

“Mm. We’ll still be here,” Yoongi assures, keeping things as normal and neutral as he can. “Just like last time.”

How ironic. How hypocritical. He hasn’t been there for you in the slightest so how the fuck can he say that with a straight face. 

“Thanks. I know it’s a lot for y’all but..”

Not at all. Yoongi is more determined than ever to make everything up to you. It’s the least he can do after putting you through something he decided on the fly. 

On the run.

“Don’t worry about that,” he vows into his drink. Honestly, if you’ve been having second thoughts about this whole thing, he doesn’t blame you. Absolutely doesn’t blame you if you realize you’re better than this. But Yoongi’s at least gonna apologize in every single way he can. As soon as he possibly can. “We got it.” 

“K.” The man finishes his glass and goes to pour more. “Did I ever mention that she liked you?”

Now what— Coughing on whisky is a bitch and a half. Hitting his chest while both eyes squint from burn, Yoongi croaks out his exact thoughts, “What.”

At this, his friend finally breaks into his regular smile. Setting the bottle down with a hollow clunk, he points, “Don’t you fucking get any ideas. Jimin’s already on my shit list.” He scoffs out a laugh. “But it was obvious when we were younger.”

And Yoongi can only cough some more. He shakes his head through the sting, swallowing and trying to compose himself. He doesn’t know where the hell that came from, but he hopes your brother will understand when all is said and done. Even though he’s been the reason you’ve been so…

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

“You’re a good person,” he blurts instead. Whether the guilt or last cough pushed it out, that’s still on the table. “You don’t suck at what you think you do.”

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

The hell? Does this dude really not see how successful he is? How much he’s overcome and conquered and sacrificed? Truthfully, Yoongi wouldn’t be where he is today if not for your brother. Him. Jimin. You. Anybody. Which is what makes this ongoing betrayal…��

Unprecedented.  

“You’re the best out of all of us.” 

Your brother finally looks at him, though Yoongi isn’t doing the same. But he can still tell when a fist is held out for him to bump, so he does.

And they both share a drink in respectful silence. 

After a moment of them watching the tv, the man finally sighs. “Guess we did shape up pretty nice.” When he’s agreed with, he keeps going with a grin. “We were so fucking bad.”

Yoongi can only chuckle, much better memories fighting off the terrors. “Old me was a little shit.”

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

Laughs precede big swigs of whisky and comfortable quiet. Bit by bit, shoulders start to relax with the surrounding air, and Yoongi lazily releases tension in his neck. 

After a few more pours, your brother decides to call it, using the bathroom before announcing that he’s gonna head out. Yoongi gets up from his chair to clasp hands goodbye, not expecting to hear one more plea,

“Break up with her, Yoong.” 

Shit. He sighs, and their conversation continues from the dining table to the front door. “It’s not like that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s over now.” 

“For good?” As they stop beside the coat closet, your brother pins him with a look. “I was about to drive over and break down the door.”

Even though Yoongi shares a tsk with him, he can’t help but imagine what could’ve happened if that was the case. And it sends an unwanted jolt of chills. 

“Serious. I’m gonna keep saying this, but. she was just making you miserable, dude.” He slips on his shoes, smacking his foot on the ground to push one in place. “I’m sure it was good at first, but I mean… You gotta move on. You deserve better than that.” 

Anything would be better than that. Yoongi just disagrees with the whole deserving part. “I guess.” 

“You sure it’s over?”

“Yeah,” he assures, because that is something he intends to keep true forever. “It is.” 

“Good.” Keys jingling, your sibling then points into the open area with his whole arm, seven words leaving his mouth like ice, 

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.” 

Ah. Among all the things. Of course he would bring that up, too. Jaw working, Yoongi looks away, now assaulted by all the torturous thoughts surrounding that painful reminder and fighting them off with no success. 

Get rid of it? He’s been trying. 

For three. Fucking. Months. 

“I might.” 

“…K.” 

And his best friend departs, leaving Yoongi inside and staring at the same black spot he’s kept in the corner for years. It has mocked him as he struggles. Laughed at him whenever he’s tried to throw it out. And aside from the times he’s made you feel better stinging himself on those strings, he has accomplished nothing except letting it win.

Pissed off and doused in guilt, Yoongi yanks himself away from the door, the instrument, and everything else except for his bed.

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands. 

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

But his phone exists somewhere on the other side of his bedroom door.

And he doesn’t have the strength to go get it. 

What time is it? 

All that greets him is darkness. 

Nothing new, but darkness all the same. 

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean? 

He needs to call you. He’s lying to his best friend. 

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you. 

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale. 

He needs to call you. But he’s so, so tired. 

And the darkness pulls him back under. 

Without even telling him the time. 

Buzzing. 

Faint, gentle buzzing softly lifts Yoongi’s eyelids before a loud series of smacks causes him to rush out of bed what the fuck? 

Oh. His phone fell outside. Fucking hell, his heart’s beating way too quick for that to be the only thing that happened. 

Head in his hands, Yoongi sighs deep before making his way to the dining table. And it takes all of his strength to bend down to reach for his phone. 

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages 

Chim: 7 Messages   

Chim: Missed Calls (3) 

Holy fuck. 

With only the light of his phone illuminating the dark, Yoongi rings Jimin up. His heart’s a little disappointed it wasn’t you calling just now, but it’s probably best to stay away while his brain is so scattered and torn. 

“Oh, fuck. There you are.” 

“Mm.” 

“Don’t scare me like that, bro. I was starting to get ready to drive over—” 

“It’s fine,” he juts in. “What’s up.” 

Alright, maybe he shouldn’t be an asshole. There’s no reason to let his lingering shadow from earlier control his temper now. Jimin’s just being himself, for fuck’s sake. 

“I, umm. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” 

Now that’s not what Yoongi expected at all. “For what?” 

There’s another pause on the line, and his reaction is immediate when he knows for a fact Jimin is fighting back tears. 

“I… I got so drunk last night, I—And I—”

Shit. A sinking feeling starts to weigh Yoongi down, his center pulling the rest of him in like a black hole. And he doesn’t need to hear the rest of this to know what this call is about. 

“He was looking for her, Yoong, and you weren’t there, either. He had this look, I—I couldn’t think of anything else to say in the moment and I told him—”

Jimin can’t even finish his confession. And it hits right in the gut. 

Despite his perceived persona, Yoongi doesn’t like hearing people cry. At least, if they don’t deserve to or don’t deserve to be sad—or if they’re you. He could care less about the rest.

But Jimin is one of the only people that can get him like this: eyes stinging at their edges and his chest concave. In the dark, though, no one can tell. No one can see him.

So he can openly swipe at his eyes before dumping tired limbs into a chair, catching his forehead in a damp palm. 

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

Exhaling through his nose, Yoongi tries his best to calm his emotions. Because they are still raging and it’s going to take all of him to quell this tempest. 

Jimin knows more than anyone what this means to him. To you. The time you spent apart? If it wasn’t for his friend, Yoongi may have been in a much different position. If this was the only thing Park could do, then his effort has to be acknowledged. It worked like a fucking charm.

But goddamn, Yoongi wishes Jimin thought of literally anything else. He could’ve made up some random, some fling from another city, the damn studio itself. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally rasps out. “It’s just been a fuckin’ day.” 

Jimin sniffles before cursing at himself and, judging by the sounds on the line, Yoongi figures he’s opening his fridge. If he reaches for soju, that would not be surprising in the least, and now that sounds like a good idea.

“Same. Gah, I just… I should’ve warned you. I didn’t know he went over there.” 

“He told you?” 

“I called him after you didn’t answer earlier.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I passed out after he left.” 

“Ah.” 

Something shuts before there’s a crisp clink on the line, validating exactly what Yoongi was thinking. 

“I really am sorry. What did you end up saying?” 

“That it’s done.” 

A hum. 

“That’s very true.” 

There’s a question that Yoongi thinks to ask. Context that he needs. But as important as this information is, Yoongi doesn’t feel like talking about it right now. Or ever. But now still counts. So he switches the conversation over to something less daunting, “Practice still on tomorrow?” 

When Jimin laughs out of surprise, it gives Yoongi the smallest kick of energy.

“Ah, someone actually ready to go for once?” 

“Yeah. The plan is to make this game quick.” 

A hearty swallow spills out of the speaker before a hum follows, 

“Mm, that reminds me. Got something that might help with that.” 

What the hell does that even mean? “Huh?” 

“I’ll bring it over tomorrow. You might find some good uses for it.”

Yoongi rubs the grogginess still clinging to his face. “All these years and you’ve never given me a straight answer.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Knowing the answer.” 

At least Jimin’s back in a good mood. Or a better state than puffy-eyed and regretful. He doesn’t have to share the pain in this, too. It was an honest mistake. 

“You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!” 

Yoongi’s huff billows through his nose, and Jimin’s energy almost brings enough strength for him to clear the table. 

Ehh. He’ll leave it alone. He’s been pretty good at that lately, too, no matter how early or late it is in the night. What time even is it? Checking his phone, Yoongi’s brows crease when he figures that out. Why the hell are they even on a call right now? “Wait, is it really three?” 

“Huh? Yeah. I’m telling you, dude, I was getting worried.” 

He was really about to drive over? “Sorry. I really did just pass out.” 

“Mm. Well, I’m gonna go do that now.” 

“K. Same time tomorrow?” 

“Ah, a little earlier. Just so I can give this to you before everyone else shows.” 

That just makes Yoongi infinitely more curious. “Seriously, what did you get?” 

“Relax! You will like it.” 

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

As soon as Jimin disappears from the line, Yoongi is left alone again.

Exactly where he always ends up. 

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be. 

But now that he’s done dealing with those notifications, Yoongi roams lidded eyes over his screen again. 

Wait. You called him six times? Fuck. What did you text? Were you wondering where he was, too? 

Hustler [20:01]: HOLY FUCK!! my phone died after i tried calling you this morning and i just fully woke up to charge it😭 he’s not home so call whenever  

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter. 

He very much would’ve rather been in your bed with you all day. 

That sounds like fucking bliss. 

Hustler [23:37]: tried calling but he’s home now. are you ok?? idk what’s going on with him but i think we need to be careful

Shit, Yoongi didn’t get to tell you. You’ve probably been worried about that every second you’ve been awake today. 

And he couldn’t even make it out of his goddamn room to help. 

All he comes with is worries for you. What kind of shit is this? What is he even doing? He even outright told you that you were dating only for that to be ripped from your hands for months. Why are you still giving someone like him a chance? 

Hustler [23:40]: but all i wanna do is see you

Fucking hell.

Nothing in the world can stop his heartbeat quite like you can. With that smile, or those eyes, or the simple shit like this. Not even lightning can strike him the same way. 

Despite the consistency Yoongi has with admitting his own shortcomings, and despite the way he keeps reminding himself he doesn’t deserve you…

All he wants to do is see you, too. 

You’ve been more than he ever would’ve imagined—your consideration, your intellect, your mind. And there have been times when you’d look at him as if he was the center of your galaxy. 

After all this time. All these days and nights. 

You still don’t realize that he was destined to orbit you.  

It’s been decided long before his mind was made up—at least, the part of him that doesn’t traverse the dark side. His heart had been tugging him to you ever since that rainy day, no matter where he’s drifted or which direction he’s gone in. All of them lead back into your arms. 

But just like the feeling he gets walking into the recording booth, imposter syndrome eats him alive and doubt scavenges on what’s left. 

He will never be good enough for you. One of these days, you will realize that you don’t have to settle for him. It’s good now, but you’ll only give him so many chances, which he is swiftly running through at breakneck speeds. 

How fucking stupid. Having these thoughts while wanting nothing more than to hear your voice. 

Just like everyone else, you’ll eventually be done passing through. His winter will return after your inevitable departure, all the warmth you give focused on something else that deserves it more. 

Something that isn’t broken. 

Yoongi whips his head up at the sound of buzzing, noticing thin lines of light beneath his phone on the table. 

What. No way. 

From the rapid beats inside his chest, he shoots his hopes right into the dark. 

And they burst into beautiful sparks when he reads his screen. 

Hustler: Incoming Call 

But just like the streaks of color he witnessed with you on that balcony, his brightness is short lived. Because as soon as Yoongi answers, the way your throat constricts scorches his windpipe through.

And the first thing you attempt to get through makes his eyes shut tight. 

“Are we… is this over?” 

Fuck.

“I get it, if we are. If you—if you don’t wanna do this with me anymore.” 

Fuck. Fuck everything this is not happening right now. “Hold up,” Yoongi breathes, body on full alert. “What’s going on?” 

“I thought… When you weren’t picking up, I—”

“Breathe, babe,” Yoongi softens, hating, hating, hating himself all over again. “I passed out before you called. That’s it.” 

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

“You would know,” he whooshes, syllables squeezed out by the mountain of regret on his back. After hearing what he put you through? Hearing how you sound now? There’s no way he can do that shit again. No more disappearing from the grid because he can’t fight himself. “You would know if I was done.” 

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside. 

“Are you? With me?” 

Yoongi folds, fingers digging through his hair and blocking it in hard chunks. The amount of things he wants to say to you could wrap the whole world before repeating. But he settles with a truth he can say out loud, 

“No way in hell, doll.” 

Please. Don’t cry. Because he can only handle feeling his eyes sting so much in one night. There’s only so much he can take before he’s grabbing his keys and speeding over—friends and brothers be damned. 

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.” 

That’s okay. 

Because he’s had a day, too. 

“I don’t wanna bother you with it, though, it’s so late.” 

Please keep going. 

Please don’t leave him alone. 

“Talk to me.” 

Like a gentle stream, your recap—though not ideal—washes away the weariness from Yoongi’s eyes. Lifts the weight he bears on his shoulders, even if just a little bit. 

You’re so good at that. 

“Well. Umm. He saw me coming home this morning. And, umm. It was weird. I don’t know why but I think we have to be really careful. And ugh, it—. It sucks because he’s going on a trip soon and I don’t wanna stress him out even more but I—” 

Shit, you’ve probably been holding all of this in ever since you got up. You don’t know that your brother believes something entirely different. But of course you’d be considerate, even now. That’s just who you are.

“I, umm. I feel so fucking bad about it but I don’t wanna mess him up right now. Or maybe he knows but just won’t say it? Fuck, sorry, I’m trying not—to—”  

The phone goes mute, and Yoongi’s head suddenly weighs ten times heavier. 

“He doesn’t know, babe,” he soothes, hating how he can’t be there to comfort you with more than his word and waves in the sky. 

If he was stronger, things could be different by now. Vastly different. Vastly better. You would cry less, he knows that for damn sure. Weak, weak, weak. That’s all he fucking is. 

The only one he seems to be strong for is you. “He came over earlier.” 

“Fuck, really?” 

“Yeah.” 

You pause, seemingly to roll this information around that beautiful mouth of yours, and Yoongi has the strongest yearning to kiss all your worries right out of it. 

“What did he say?” 

Shit. You’ll just have to forgive him later. Because Yoongi chooses not to tell the whole truth. You don’t need to bear the same worries as him, anyway. They aren’t yours. He will shoulder all of those on his own. Because he’s the reason for them in the first place. “Nothing about us.” 

“Oh, thank fuck.” 

Good. Your relief is all that matters. But Yoongi still feels bad for not being able to pick himself up. You could’ve known that a lot sooner if he was stronger. If he was better. “So don’t worry, doll.” 

“Okay. What about you? Are you okay?” 

Huh? Your questions catch him completely off-guard. It’s almost comical how his first reaction goes straight to a No. But sticking to his earlier stances, he won’t bother you with any of that. There is a truth that he can admit. One that’s always true and will continue to be so. “Just wanna see you.” 

And this is when his eyes slowly shut. Don’t. Don’t cry.

“Me, too, baby.” 

Hearing that? Chipped and broken from your lips? That is another thing Yoongi can’t handle. His heart beats once before it free falls, and he clutches his phone just a little tighter. 

Fuck everything. He’s gonna find a way to do this. All of it.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

He’ll figure out how to move mountains to make it up to both you and your brother. 

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

Neither of you deserve this. And he doesn’t deserve either of you. Truly, the only thing he deserves is to be alone. And judging by the way things are going, it’s only a matter of time before you start resenting this behavior and leave, too. 

“Thank you.”

What? Something in Yoongi flickers, and he lifts his whole head to eye his screen. 

“For putting up with me.”

Oh. Of course you’d assume you’re the issue. Seems like you need the same type of assurance that he does. Both of you the same? Who would’ve thought his bruised soul would sync up with a perfect one like yours. 

At this, he holds his breath before chuckling soft. “This has been the highlight of my day, doll,” he admits, finally breaking into a tiny smile and sitting back.

“Really?”

Wait. There was another good part of his day. But he wants to save that for when he can tell you in person. “One of them. But you’ll hear about the other one later.”

“Boo.”

Cute. Wait, isn’t it absurdly late? You have to be up for work in mere hours. It’s a miracle you reached out when you did. “Don’t you have to be up soon?”

“A ha… Yeah.” 

“What are you still talking to me for?” 

“I miss you.” 

Well. That’s not something that he expected. And your admittance being so immediate actually sends shivers down his arms. 

Yoongi can only laugh to himself. He knew he had it bad, but this feeling is something else. “Don’t do that.” 

“Don’t do what? Miss you? Yeah, right.”  

God. You’re getting too fucking good at this. He’s gotta fight back or else his throne will be taken before he even sees you again. “Just a bad night to say it, doll.” 

“Why?” 

Perfect. “Cus I’m willing to get in the car.” 

“Fuck.” 

Yoongi happily lets his mouth slant when you groan, chuckling into the receiver and getting up to clear the table. When he flicks on the kitchen light, he doubles down, “Wanna try again?” 

He knows you’re gonna say no. Even though your brother doesn’t know, it’s definitely not a proper time to sneak you out—as much as he fucking wants to. Fuck, to be the one sneaking you out of your house… Maybe there’s another version of you both out there that’s done it. A version of him watching a version of you creeping out to his car, face shining in nightfall and etching a permanent smile into his heart.

“I hate you.” 

Yoongi should’ve expected that. The sudden laugh that flings out into his liquor cabinet ricochets off multiple bottles, and he shuts it while sporting a wide grin. “That’s better.” 

“Ha ha.” 

You’re smiling, too. Cute ass. Just the fact that he knows makes him excited for the future, and he’s determined to make it count. Make it worth it. You deserve every goddamn apology he can give. “I miss you, too, babe,” he whispers, grabbing the glasses from the table to wash in his sink. 

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.” 

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout? 

Hell no, that’s outright cheating. That’s when Yoongi will never be able to win. Putting the phone down, he promptly states his new plan into a basin, “Nah, I’m going to sleep.” 

“Wait, huh? Why!” 

“Nothing.” 

“I swear to god—” 

“Nothing at all,” Yoongi lies, voice straight as he can muster while hot water runs over his hands. It’s a good kind of sting as his chilled skin adjusts, and he cleans one glass before he hears you ask in his ear, 

“Getting ready for bed? Or are you in the kitchen?” 

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.” 

“Kitchen.” 

The hell? “How’d you know?” 

“You’re always in there.” 

Can’t deny that. The glasses are both set to dry in the dishwasher as Yoongi’s amusement dies down, and his next comment flows out before he can think much of it, “You like to keep me in here.” 

“It does seem to be where we end up, huh?” 

“It does.” Which is fine by him. He’ll never forget all the times you’ve been in here. Your laughter and your storms, he will remember them all. 

“The world said let them cook.” 

Your giggles will be the fucking end of him one day. Fuck, he can’t wait to see you. He may even find a way to see you before the game. 

But for now, Yoongi will figure out how to talk to you, every day, no matter what. Texts, calls, whatever the fuck. The effort has got to show from now on. No more of this dark headspace shit. He needs to try harder and figure it out faster. For you. 

“Go to sleep, doll,” he huffs with full cheeks. 

After another adorable batch of sounds, you rustle on the line before sighing, 

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.” 

With a blink, Yoongi notices two things. One, he just cleared his table and cleaned up without even thinking. And two, despite feeling like absolute shit the entire day and dreading the coming of night, falling asleep won’t be an issue. 

Because of you. It’s always you. 

Maybe there’s a way out. Maybe he can finally face it all and come out on the other side. “Talk to you tomorrow, babe.”

“I’d like that. And you’re sure he doesn’t know?”

Just like that, the demons are knocking again. Closing his eyes, Yoongi murmurs into the receiver, “I’m sure.” 

There will come a time when he will tell you. But that will be way in the future, when he is ready. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he’s telling the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough for it to calm your nerves. 

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night. 

“Night, doll.”

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. 

Right towards the corner that stares back. 

It’s been five days.

But it feels like you’ve aged twenty-eight years.

Ever since your brother confronted you—after your much needed reunion with his best friend—you’ve been floating through time. Lost. Confused. Wondering why that conversation went the way it did and gnawing at your sanity bit by bit. 

And even though Yoongi explicitly told you he didn’t say anything concerning your relationship, you still haven’t shaken that feeling. No matter where you are, who you’re with, or on a pretty Friday like this one, you feel… Strange. 

When you saw your brother waiting, you for sure thought you were gonna get grilled. It was a given you were gonna break as soon as he started asking deeper and more specific questions. The fallout was gonna happen in your own house right at your door. 

…So what in the fuck was that?

You shift your legs, the chill of the office failing to comfort you in your manufactured, building distress. 

Somehow, that version of the conversation proved much, much worse. Because now you’re spiraling trying to figure out why he just took your lie as the truth. Truthfully, you feel nauseous. And as much as you need to get some semblance of closure, you still feel hesitant. Because if he’s just biding time? He’s not just thinking about what to do with you. 

He’s thinking about what to do with Yoongi, too. 

This is so hard. 

The only thing—the only thing—keeping you grounded. Is Yoongi himself. 

Ever since the call you never thought he’d answer, you’ve been contacted every night. What was once days of radio silence quickly shifted to him reaching out however he could, hours of the day be damned. Just last night, in fact, Yoongi sent you texts at four in the morning, and you beam just thinking about what he said so casually.  

Yoongi [3:57am]: That keyboard I told you about is fucking dope. Just got it today and it won’t let me sleep lmaooo

Yoongi [3:58am]: I was gonna say sorry for texting but fuck it you’re getting all the updates :) 

No matter what it is, be it a text, call, or video chat, Yoongi seems fully committed and in the moment. Present. And it’s been… Really nice. If you didn’t have your brother’s shadow hovering over your brain, life would be practically perfect. 

Forcing yourself to actually work, you manage to get some small things done. Even the meeting you attend goes smoothly and you leave any outside worries on the other side of those glass walls.

So when you get back to your desk, an awaiting paper bag makes you pause. And your whole body prepares to weep.

Only one person has ever sent you food while you’re at work. And staring inside the parcel, you would’ve been able to tell who it was from even if said person had never sent any before.

There’s a small note on top of a to-go container—one that you immediately recognize as that super good restaurant next to Jungkook’s studio. 

What the hell? How did Yoongi know you wanted some this whole week but didn’t wanna risk being so close? With careful fingers, you pluck the tiny paper from the bag, opening it with care before your eyes get so teary eyed you can’t even read.

Tonight.  

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man. 

But you’re getting what I need so here’s the list:

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. 

Seeing an actual list of food squeezes a laugh through your throat in a squeak, tears rushing out of your ducts before they’re hastily swiped. 

After five days. Yoongi really just sent you on a grocery run to surprise you with another meetup.

The gesture is so him that you cannot help but shake your head, ruefully huffing to no one and pocketing the note in your bag. And all your worries scatter even further. 

A dinner before the big game is risky, for sure, but at this point you couldn’t care less. Your brother has his own work outing tonight, anyway, and you are dead set on breaking all of this to him soon.

Even though you are very much unprepared. And he is going to lose his fucking mind if he doesn’t know already. Fuck.

You’ve had all five days to think it over. All the possible combinations and possibilities and outcomes. Some of them are extreme, some of them are hopeful. But for a majority of these projections, you have a feeling that none of you are gonna leave it without wounds. 

And you don’t know how you’re gonna save both of them if theirs are cut too deep. 

Regardless, that’s in the future. Not now. Right now, you are staying in the present and working like molasses until you can jet out the door, nary a care nor concern weighing on your heels.

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

You’ll have the first substantial meal you’ve had in months.

Even though you want nothing more than to see Yoongi, your nerves are still buzzing and bumping into each other nonstop. There’s a lot you still need to know. Like why he was radio silent for months, and why your brother has been a little weird this whole week. 

Save it for later. Hopefully Yoongi will tell you why eventually. Or that gap will stay elusive to your brain forever.

Sliding into your car, you dump your bag in the passenger seat before pulling out the list, clutching it close and taking a leap that could either calm your nerves or spike them. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call 

When he picks up, you legitimately don’t answer. Because even after all this time, you still can’t quite function when you hear that deep voice addressing you directly. 

“Hey.” 

All you have to do is say something. Anything. You could rattle off the damn list, stumbling over all the syllables just like they’re currently smushed together in your fingers. 

But you don’t snap out of this trance until he speaks again. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi,” you squeak out, clearing your throat while watching other people walk to their cars. “Hi, sorry. I just umm.” 

You just what? Somehow lost all sense of language just from him saying hi? Get it together. Stop that racket in your stomach and say what you were gonna say. “Thank you for the food. I’m off work now so I’m heading to the store.” 

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

“Get whatever you want, too. Just let me know how much it is.” 

Huh. Did Yoongi just say all those words in that order? If you heard him right, forget the damn food. You’re close to speeding directly to his place and breaking down the motherfucking door. “Oh, I definitely will,” you respond with instead of hauling ass, the words pushing through your lingering smile. “And don’t worry about that, I got it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.” 

Yoongi laughs again on the line, fuller and closer this time. Are you on speaker? 

“It’s like that? Maybe I should work there, too.” 

“Oh, you’d hate it,” you giggle, scheming hard in your head for tonight already. Pretty bubbles in your ribs lift all your spirits. “I’m actually pretty bossy here.”

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal. 

“That is literally what I’ve been wanting to see.” 

It’s your turn to chuckle as you finally make your way out of the parking lot, heading right to the market that you know for a fact has all of what he’s asking for. “I’m only that way at work, though.” 

“Do better.” 

Your immediate response makes his laugh crunchy in the speakers, and you go along with him because life is good. Life is fucking great right now. “Never mind, you’re paying. And I’m getting stuff for dessert now, too.” 

“What? Who said anything about dessert?” 

“Me,” you huff out in pride. Since he wants to see that demanding side come out so bad. With a fleeting thought, you think about what it could be like if you end up confident enough to— 

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

Liar! Your cheeks hurt as you look both ways before making a turn. “Can’t fool me. You’re excited.”

“I am.”

The way there was no hesitation sends shivers up your spine. But it’s partly because you thought you’d be faced with another joke or dig. Not a sudden one-eighty. Stopping at a light, you clear your throat before shyness puffs right out of it. “Well, good,” you state while checking your mirrors. “Cus I am, too.” 

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

Yoongi laughs before you hear the sound of cabinets, and you wonder which ones he could be touching. 

“Mm, babe. One more thing.” 

Can he stop making your heart beat two times at once? “Hmm?”

There’s a little bit of pause, followed by the clank of a pan on metal. When you hear another hum, you wonder what he could possibly—

“I think we’re out of condoms.” 

Who is out of what. If you weren’t still at a red, your foot would’ve slammed on the gas because what the fuck! All you can manage out are sounds without substance, random syllables, gibberish. Nothing is computing in your head. 

“Wait. Or are we?”

Okay, Yoongi needs to stop with that two-letter word before your behavior turns downright criminal. With as much seriousness as you can manage, you accuse, “Are you just fucking with me?”

And his response launches you forward just as the light turns green, 

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

“Alright!” you cut in, stopping stopping stopping him because for whatever reason, this conversation is too much. Despite seeing this very man naked in many, many ways, just having this talk with him is making you shier than ever before. “Guess I’ll, umm. Get those, too.”

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

Wait. If he didn’t find some why is he telling you that you don’t have to— “Oh,” you peep in realization. A very sudden, jaw dropping realization. “Goddamn it, you’re too distracting now, bye.”

And he finally breaks with laughter that’s contagious as hell. Which isn’t fair when you’re pretending to be upset with him. Even when you can’t see Yoongi, you can imagine the way his cheeks rise and his eyes crease. The way the whole room illuminates when he’s packed with happiness. 

And you want that to be the case forever. 

“You’re just lucky I’m not there with you.” 

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.” 

“Damn!” 

As the market comes into view, your teeth shine as you grin, roasting this man quickly becoming one of your favorite pastimes. 

“To be fair,” you start to amend, fingers drumming on the wheel as you decide whether or not to say what you want. After deciding that there’s no wrong answer here, you softly admit, “I really do wanna get groceries with you.” 

There’s no words that come out in response. Only the slight movements of shuffling and water running and what could be more cabinets closing. But you don’t really know for sure—

“It’s gonna happen, doll.” 

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

One of these days you’re gonna see this damn cat again. 

Foot connecting with Yoongi’s door, you grunt as multiple bags burden your limbs, pride digging divots along your arms—second trips be damned. 

It doesn’t take long for him to let you in anyway, and you swoon at the way he doesn’t even ask while taking some of your baggage. But the kiss on your cheek makes your heart bang into everything between the front door and the kitchen. It’s so distracting that you barely smell the spices greeting you, too. 

“Thanks for getting all this,” Yoongi says as you both cross onto tile.  

“Of course.” Lifting the much lighter load that you have, you revel in the small thumps and thuds on his counter. Not really knowing why. “Let’s put this up before I yell at you.”

His laugh comes out in hisses while you both start reaching into bags. “For what!” 

“Sent me everywhere to find some of this shit.” 

“You could’ve asked somebody.” 

Feeling a bit silly and high off his presence already, you repeat his words in a goofy mocking tone, and the way he blows out air sends your belly fluttering. 

And just like that, things are back to normal again. No worries about your sibling, or work, or anything else looming by the door. Inside is what matters, and the whole apartment fills with jabs and jokes as groceries find their homes.

But Yoongi finds a bag you had separated from the rest, and you snap your mouth shut when he looks inside, something rising in your core when he turns to you with an eyebrow raised. And a smirk so salacious it makes you quiver. 

“What about it,” you squeak out, crumbling when he simply takes the bag and flings it through his bedroom door. “You said you—we were out, so…” 

“That’s a big box, doll,” he points out on his way to your tightly bitten lip. Mouth slicing through your sanity, he approaches you with a glint in his eyes. “Got something you wanna say?” 

“Nope,” you whoosh out oh god he looks way too hot in those sweats wait is that a growing bulge? “Although I will say it took me forever to pick out what—”

Sparks ignite your hands when your lips are claimed, launching them into his shirt and tugging him backward because you’ve been waiting way too long to kiss the shit out of him. 

And Yoongi responds in kind, pinning you to his fridge and so, very obvious that he’s been waiting for this, too. 

Heaven probably wonders how to replicate this feeling. How to imitate this treasured yearning that only he can pull from the depths of your ocean. Deep, deeper, deepest. All these kisses. Your ascending affection. 

“As much as I wanna throw you on my bed,” Yoongi jokes, pulling away and giving your cheek a light tap. “I’m taking you somewhere.” 

And you’re so thrown from the impact that your brain mini-resets. “Huh? We’re leaving?”

“Uh huh.”

Hold on. Wait. Is this what he meant when he said he’s getting the next one? You’re going out to eat? Together? No. No, there’s no way. Yoongi knows that’s the worst possible thing to do right now, as much as the idea is sending your belly in a frenzy. “Are you sure? What about dinner? Won’t people… You know.”

“It’s ready already,” he reveals. “By the door.” 

Your head snaps to where he points out, even though you can’t see through the bar. “Really?” No wonder it smells like a cooking aftermath. All those smells twirling around your head. How did you not even catch the dishes in the sink? 

But hold up, you just bought a shit ton of food! “Then what the hell was the run for?”

Yoongi blinks. Then he does it again. Expression stone still, he responds as if you were privy to his plans this entire time, “I told you to get what I needed.” 

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

This man is going to be the death of you. Affronted, your jaw hangs before you grit through a smile that betrays you, “Oh, you—” 

“So thanks,” he quips through another tilt of his lips. “Let’s go, doll.” 

The begrudged sound that leaves you makes him kick his head back on the way out the kitchen. 

“Eat.”

The container on your thighs warms you through. “Now?”

“Mm.”

“I can wait,” you assure, watching as night paints the surrounding scenery in navy and black. “We can eat together.” 

“Just a bite then.” 

Turning to Yoongi, you don’t see a change in his face as he eyes the road. The veins in his arm catch all the streetlight, and you gulp before your gaze falls to what he made. Music fills the car, and you decide that maybe you do feel a little hungry. So you listen to instruction, popping it open and being careful as you pluck a piece to try. 

There’s no denying it. This motherfucker is a chef. “Fuck, this is good.” 

Your borderline moan sends Yoongi’s shoulders bobbing, and you will never get over those low, gravelly laughs. “Sorry.” Your hand hovers over your mouth in embarrassment. “I don’t react like that unless I’m alone.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well,” you swallow. “Course you don’t.”

A tiny peek of teeth show as Yoongi smiles, and you don’t expect what he offers next, “Just be you, doll. It’s just me.”

The next bite of food pauses on the way to your mouth. “Oh,” you murmur. “Same for you then.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Cus we wouldn’t make it to where we’re going.”

That was legitimately the worst time to put food in your mouth. Sputtering, your words come out low and chortled, “You fucker.”

His hisses are brief before he dips into silence again. As he slowly turns the wheel, you can see a glimpse of something deep in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly apologizes, swallowing as you keep your gaze. 

What is that look? Weren’t you both just having a good time? “For what, baby?” 

“Everything.” 

Your lungs flinch. This is definitely not what you expected to hear on the way to wherever the hell you’re going. “Oh.” 

Yoongi still doesn’t look your way, and with each pass of a light over his face, you catch quick snapshots of those eyes you’re still so shy of. “I, umm. I didn’t expect shit to pan out this way.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. 

After a slow motion of disagreement, his head falls forward just a bit. And your eyes find his hand clutching the gear shift in what you sadly think is frustration. “I’ve just thought about some things,” he starts, another song playing. “How worried you must’ve been.” 

You look forward. Because this is the part where you can’t face him. “I was. But not for the same reason as last time.” Without a hesitation of your own, your palm reaches between your seats. And you can tell Yoongi watches as you take his hand to hold. 

“I was worried about you,” you correct with softness. “It was hard because I didn’t know what to do.” Don’t fucking cry. You filled quite a few buckets already. “When you started not really saying much, I just… Hoped it was for a good reason, so. Yeah.” 

You feel your hand gently pulled, which is already enough to make you melt. But when it’s kissed, you don’t know what the hell to fucking do. 

“I’m sorry, doll,” Yoongi whispers into your skin, lips brushing with every syllable and painting a canvas of his reconcile. “I won’t leave you hanging like that again.” 

There’s a tiny fire in the back of your throat, the embers reaching your eyes just a little too aggressively. You attempt to squash the growing flames before they flare. “Oh. Umm. Thank you.” What else do you say? Yoongi’s being wonderful, but why do you feel… sad? Why is there lingering snow on your windowsill? “Were you worried?” 

“Me? Umm.” He stops at a light that he clearly didn’t want to stop at. Resting your conjoined hands on his pliant thigh, his jaw works as he observes them.

And you wonder if he thinks they slot together perfectly, too. 

“…Yeah.” 

Fuck. “About what?” 

“That you’d hate me.” 

Your heart meshes his fingers with yours. “Yoongi.” 

“Or that you shouldn’t be with someone that’s gone this much.” 

Fuck, he’s doing it again. Regressing. You’ve seen it happen in his kitchen and you’ll be damned if all that work, all that peeling, all that resolution amounted to nothing wait, wait, stop. This isn’t gonna be an overnight fix. And you have no clue what’s been happening, so just keep trying, trying, trying. 

“I’m used to people leaving,” you joke, but not really. “Like seasons.” 

He whips his head to you, and you backpedal because that probably sounded so random. You’ve got to think about filtering your thoughts a little more now that you’re getting comfortable. Yoongi says you can be yourself, sure, but you have to admit your quirks are a little out there. “I know it’s weird, but..” 

He’s quiet as the light turns green. And when you don’t finish, he admits, “I think the same.” 

“You do?” 

Your hand is brushed as a hum peppers it from above. “Mmhmm.” 

“Well.” That’s interesting. You didn’t know anyone thought about that stuff like you did. Now you wonder if there’s anywhere else your wavelengths sync, and if they’ve been syncing up all this time. “At least you come back.” 

Yoongi squeezes your hand tight before he holds it against his lips. Again. Fuck, this is a lot. You’re so wrapped up in his gesture that you don’t catch what he whispers. 

“Hmm?” 

He glances at the center console before putting your hand back on his thigh. 

“Always, doll.” 

And the fire you stepped on rages back with a vengeance. Heat and sting surrounds your eyes, and you don’t hide how you press your feelings into his skin. “Me, too.” 

If you weren’t lost in the surrounding scenery outside, you would have caught Yoongi’s look. But all you feel is his hand clutching you tight, and it breaks you down all the same. 

The rest of the drive is spent with him telling you to eat more, and a bunch of your sing-alongs to almost every song that comes on. It seems like the tiny bit of closure opened you both up, and you don’t even realize that you’ve been on the road for a really long time. 

But finally, Yoongi pulls up to a building, and you’re haphazardly rapping along to a song before you notice. Wait. What? He drove you to a rec center? 

Your fingers curl around his forearm before you even notice. “What’s this?” 

“Where we’re going.”

Hold on, you’re going inside? “Are we even allowed to be here?”

When Yoongi responds, his teeth make you shiver as he smirks. “Can’t say for sure, no.”

“Then why—”

He unlocks before you can finish, and you’re left in an empty car until he rounds the hood, coming over to your side and opening the door. You almost don’t hear what he says next, too focused on the jewelry swinging from his neck as he bends forward. 

But you catch it, and glance once more at the sight in front of you before biting your lip—in nervousness or excitement, you can’t decide.

“You comin’?”

Damn. Obviously, you want nothing more than to see him here. And it’s much too late for anyone to be around. But if something happens… Whatever. 

Your mouth finally unsticks. “If we get caught, you’re gonna pay for this.”

And you can’t resist his stupid grin. “Now get your pretty ass out before I put you in the back.” 

“Yoongi!”

Grinning, he leads you out, and you follow him to the trunk. After bouncing his stowed ball a couple times, he decides to lean in and reach for something else. 

Wait. Is that what you think it is? “Did you always have that in there?” you ask, pointing to the contraption that Yoongi’s using to air up his basketball.

And he does a horrible job at suppressing a smile. Which makes you burst into flutters and beats beats beats. “You liar!” Oh, you are gonna wipe those laughs from his throat. “I had to change up my plans because of you!”

Palming the ball, Yoongi tilts his head dangerously to one side. “And I got to see you,” he proudly claims. “So I’ll take it.”

You hate how the memories come packaged with what’s haunted you. What else happened during that time, and what happened after you left. But there’s no way you’re gonna bring that up. Not when the night has transformed into something so magical. 

So you just clutch your food and lean on his car, opting to compliment him to wipe the murk away. “Got to see you, too,” you puff into the brisk night. Because you harbor a bit of nostalgia in your bones. And because he still makes you shy. “You and your stupid hair.”

Another bout of hisses wisp into your side. As you turn to regard Yoongi again, he slips his chains into his hoodie before continuing, and you swoon at the veins popping out of his skin with each pump. 

How can he look so perfect doing the simplest things? So unfair. 

After seconds that feel like an hour, Yoongi’s done. And he scans the parking lot before telling you to follow him. 

What you expect is some outdoor courts. Maybe getting past a gate or two. So when you approach a back door lit by the shine of a single light, you freeze. “Are we really going in?”

Fishing something out of his pocket, Yoongi simply turns over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why not?”

“Oh.” You didn’t think you’d actually get inside the building. If there was an outside court just as accessible it would’ve made sense. Can you even bring food in here? Is that question even relevant? “No reason.”

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

“I’ve already done it a few times, so.”

“Wait!” Nerves throw your hand on his bicep before you can stop. “What if someone sees us?”

He’s so warm. And so toned. And if he plans on taking his hoodie off? You’re not prepared for whatever the hell he has underneath. 

Voice softened, Yoongi tries to placate your paranoia, “They won’t, doll.”

“Are you sure? If we get caught here they’re gonna call the police and I am definitely not… Gonna…”

The object in his hand jangles, and you clearly see he was just joking the whole time because keys—keys—stare you in the face. 

What is it with him and keys? 

When Yoongi speaks, you feel like you’ve never done anything bad in your life, and suddenly the thought of trespassing with an official way in is so scandalous, 

“You picked the wrong night to be a good girl.”

You have to admit. Seeing him so mischievous and dashing makes you wanna follow him wherever the hell he goes. Even if it gets you in trouble. Even if you were breaking in tonight, you would be all in. And that thought should frighten you, but it only does because of the wings tickling your rib cage. 

How can he make you feel rebellious and yet still so shy? The power of Min Yoongi. He’s way too good at destroying you.

When you glare, the man only grins, hisses of laughter leaving him way too happily before he unlocks the door to no alarms or sirens. He doesn’t need to throw a wink your way, too, but of course he does as he lets you in. Which causes you to float through the dark entryway instead of walk oh he did not just slap your ass!

A jolt in your cunt causes you to regard him in shock. To which he hums in a feigned question. “Hmm?”

With nothing but darkness and his cologne surrounding you, it’s only natural that giddiness takes hold. Truthfully, you’re packed with so much adrenaline that you feel a little wild yourself. “You’ve been waiting to do that, huh.” 

“So fucking long.”

You are not surviving the night. And you don’t give a single shit.

But as shy and out of control as you feel around this man, you also feel safe—even in a faraway, dark building that you’ve never been in before. That’s gotta say something about him, right? 

Yoongi feels along the wall beside you for lights, purposefully bumping your chest with his front even though he’s securing a ball with an arm. When you question his joking decision with noises, a chaste kiss on your lips shuts you right up.

“You’re in the way,” he jokes through what you think is a smile, and you’re about to move when he flicks on a switch very far away from your shoulder.

Liar! Your jaw drop must be comical because Yoongi’s grin stretches astronomically wide. But you cannot find a retort because seeing him so chill while you’re stiff from paranoia has you at a loss.

Is this how he used to be all the time? This carefree, all caution to the wind? He’s so fucking handsome like this. No wonder he’s pulled so many hearts just like yours. 

When you still don’t find any words to say, Yoongi makes it harder, stepping so close that you have to swing the plastic container away. Taking one of your hands in his free one, he gives it a warm squeeze while murmuring,

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

And Yoongi responds with lights in his eyes. “Just are.”

Your lips mesh with his as he keeps your fingers secured, and suddenly every cautious thing in your body gets launched into the skies, too.

But it ends as soon as it begins. And Yoongi backs away from you with a smile, 

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

“Eat, doll,” he orders before turning and dribbling onto the court.

When you call out that he hasn’t eaten yet, Yoongi tells you that he already did. When you look around to figure out where to even sit, you decide on the closest set of bleachers and make yourself as comfortable as you can.

Which is impossible. Because they’re bleachers. Which is now triple impossible. Because Yoongi just shucked off his hoodie and the only thing he had under it was his chains goddamn it.

If you weren’t already sitting down you would’ve fallen right into the next dimension. How the fuck are you supposed to eat in these conditions shit he’s walking over! 

Your throat seizes as Yoongi approaches, face trained as if he isn’t aware of his overwhelming presence. All he does is bend to place his sweater next to your legs. But the quick smooch on your lips makes you swoon harder than you ever have.

And the way his silver taps your chest makes you mentally hold on for dear life. Wait. What the fuck, Yoongi’s taking them off right now? Right in front of you? Just as you're supposed to eat oh okay he’s handing them to you great wonderful fantastic.

The metal links feel so warm yet slightly cold to the touch. Weighty, yet light. But you clutch them in your hand as you connect a gaze to his.

“Relax,” he orders, lightly slapping the side of your thigh. “No need to worry.” 

And with bangs swishing, he goes right back to the ball waiting for him. Leaving you starry-eyed to hell with silver in your palm.

…Did all of that just happen? Is any of this even real? Quite frankly, you fucking forgot what you were even worried about. 

No matter what he does—simple lay-ups standing in place, dribbling to different spots to shoot, or even lazily jogging after the ball—you’re so enthralled with his actions that you forget that you’re not supposed to be here. 

And it takes your last bite of food for something to finally hit you. How does Yoongi have keys to this place? Where the hell did he score those because you don’t think he ever mentioned anything about working here. Or anywhere else other than the studio. 

Yet another mystery to add to this walking, bare-chested enigma. 

But there’s another question forming behind your eyes the longer you watch him practice, the more you notice how he’s actually going hard. Yoongi’s really good right now. A lot better than what you’ve seen of him before. 

Has he been coming here more often than he’s let on? And why does he look so… serious? You’d be surprised if he even remembered you’re here. 

Setting your empty container down, you gather the chains in your hands again, deciding to slip them over your head for safer keeping. After, you grab a water before stepping down the bleachers, hanging a little ways away until Yoongi notices you’re courtside.

And when he sees you, he stops practicing immediately, jogging to you so sweaty and shining and gross and handsome and— “Wait, you’re all swea—”

You’re pulled into a kiss the same time you hear a basketball drop, salt on your tongue and damp palms on your cheeks. And you melt right into the shiny wood floor, drifting, drifting, sailing into dreamland even though you’re technically already there. 

“Sweaty,” you whisper into his hot breaths of exertion, a twinge between your legs when he kisses you even deeper—breathing, inhaling, taking you in. “Gross.”

“Thanks.” 

You flash a smile against Yoongi’s lips, giggling because this is all better than anything your brain could’ve conjured on its own. When you ask why he’s going so hard, all you get is a question in return,

“You’re perfect, you know that?” 

Huh? Blinking, you suddenly don’t remember your own train of thought. “What did I do?” 

“Nothing.” He presses a wet mouth to your nose. “Did you eat?”

Laughing, you reassure him, “I did, I did.” 

“Good. You bored?”  

“Huh?”

Yoongi leans to softly take your lips this time, and you want to say he’s approaching the legal limit for kisses tonight. “Thought you came over cus you wanna leave.”

“And stop seeing you play? I could watch this forever.” You squeeze the water bottle a little tighter. “Just checking on you.” Another strike hits between your legs when Yoongi takes another, lazier glide over your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you forward by your bottoms, fingers slick from use. 

You could do this for eternity, too.

“Well I got about five more minutes in me, so..”

This man. 

“Forever might be a stretch.” 

“Ah, shut up. Here,” you offer through a giggle, holding the water out for him to take. 

“Thanks.” When he does, he tilts his head at just the right angle to cut you through, gulping down liquid and making you do the same to your nothingness. 

So unfair. “You looked like you were going pretty hard.” 

Lowering the bottle, Yoongi shifts his jaw before taunting something a ways off. “I kinda was.” 

“It was kinda hot.” 

His laugh makes you smile, and his next swig makes you weep. “Nah, but. This is our practice gym. I can just zone out here, so. It’s been one of those things.” 

Ah. Was this one of the places Yoongi ended up during those months apart? You wish he could’ve brought you along sometimes. Or at least thought about asking. It’s nice just to be around him while he does something he likes. Gaining courage, you say exactly what’s on your mind, “You can always bring me, too. If you want.” 

And it’s true. You don’t really have to do much when you’re with him, because just being around him is what brightens your day. Lifts your mood. 

But you have to admit that watching him play basketball while shirtless is the biggest fucking win in history. 

When did Yoongi get so close? When did his eyes retreat so far away? “I didn’t wanna bother you with this,” he admits, a drop of sweat clinging onto his chin. “I don’t even put music on.” 

“You never bother me,” you whisper back. Hoping that he believes you and that he will start to accept that as fact. Because it is. “Even if you’re being annoying.” 

The bottle crinkles as he smiles, and there’s a soft kiss to your lips that has no real desire behind it. Just a nice peck that sends you careening down a hill of flowers. “You won’t be feeling that way tomorrow, babe.” 

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.” 

And he says that while half-naked? Like any look on him could get any worse. “Oh,” you scoff out, fully calling his bluff. “As if.”

Well, fuck. You don’t enjoy the smirk plastered on his face. It has you both dreading and excited for whatever demon you’re gonna run into tomorrow. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shrugs as he starts to hand the water back. “We can go soon, by the way.”

“Okay.”

But before you can grab it, Yoongi pulls the bottle from reach. “Unless,” he teases. “You wanna play me.”

“What.”

His grin shines, face glistening and turning your insides to jelly. “You told me you’d win, so. Let’s see it.”

You said that? While sober? How does he remember something like that when you can’t even recall a time or place you’d tell him something so bold. “When!”

“Right after you woke up once. Said you’re a master?”

Oh. That was ages ago. Fuck, you already forgot how did Yoongi remember? 

“Oh. Well.” Your nose turns up in feigned haughtiness. “Wouldn’t wanna throw you off your game before a championship.” 

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!” 

Water spills down your head in rivulets as you freeze, stunned and watching Yoongi jogging his laughs back to the bleachers like a punk. “Think you got something on your face, doll.”

“Yoongi!” What the hell possessed him to do that to you here? Racing after him with purpose, you slam into him just as he reaches for another bottle, shoving a laugh out of his throat and making him catch himself on hardwood. “Nu uh, gimme that!”

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

“Bitch!” You lunge for another bottle lying further away, distancing yourself to quickly rip the cap off and to avoid feeling his slick back on your hands. 

And it’s a lawless gym as both of you start spraying water, arcs and splashes of bottled liquid spewing over the court and soaking into your clothes and his bare skin. Which proves to get worse and worse for your wellbeing the more he gets soaked in your attacks. 

Running ends up being the only option to avoid getting completely drenched, and you hightail it behind bleachers before your waist is grabbed. “Fuck!” 

“Uh huh.” 

You try to wrestle out of his hold, his wet forearm digging lovely into your stomach, and you’re temporarily let go just so Yoongi can spin you around. 

Your back connects with solid wall, the impact shooting a grunt out of your throat before you laugh out of pure disbelief. “I can’t believe, you got me to do that,” you rush out, sentence punctuated by your breaths more than anything else. 

Here you are. Under bleachers. With Yoongi’s skin caging you with radiating heat.  

You can only stare as he drinks you in, no doubt looking at his silver around your neck and your chest heaving from exertion. Butterflies float across your stomach when his smile drips, and you fold as soon as he swoops in. 

Everything in your being pulses hard. It’s so visceral that you teeter on the edge of sanity and logic, and the thoughts slipping through your mind are just as wild as you feel. Before you’re even aware of it, a mischievous finger slides along the hem of his shorts, and you jump at the downright boulders rolling down your front, 

“Careful, doll.”

“Hmm?” You feel bad. And it feels fantastic. “What was that?” 

More gravel slides down his tongue, and you shake at his attractive as fuck threat, “Fuck around and find out then.” 

Your giggles add feather lightness into his murky laughs, but you’re so preoccupied that you don’t notice his hand between your legs until he slaps the inside of your thigh. “Yoo—!”

“Unless.” He leans forward. “My baby’s too scared.” 

Holy fuck, you might be. Is he really willing to do something with you? In a public place very similar to where you’re gonna watch him play tomorrow? You don’t know why the fuck that’s attractive as hell, but it is. 

Yoongi grips your chin, eyes falling to your lips and brows knitted before claiming your lips even harder. And despite your bones vibrating to hell, you put your all into the kiss, relishing in the growing hardness you feel against your front. An animal starts to wake inside your core, and you almost feel like stroking it. Feeding it. Raising it only for it to consume you in return. 

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.” 

“Huh?” Dazed, you let your vision refocus as Yoongi chuckles at your hazy state. 

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.” 

For some reason, the game makes you nervous today. Even while Taehyung strides into the gymnasium with you, there’s a lingering feeling swelling in your stomach, and you don’t have any reason for it yet. 

At least this is another rec center entirely. Because there’s no way you would’ve sat still knowing you had a clandestine meeting in the same place not even twenty-four hours before. 

But the activity already bustling around hardwood catches your attention. Not on both sides, since only one team is here, but they are active on the other end doing drills. 

Wow. They look really intimidating, matching jerseys that were clearly done professionally and warm-ups having a set routine. You wonder if this is gonna be a tough game for… Wait. That’s your brother under the basket. That’s them? 

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

Because you’ll already never get over how attractive he looks in athletic clothes.

But team jerseys? 

Seeing this man rock a basketball uniform with his toned arms and legs so visible makes you want to claw your way out of your invisible cage. 

When the hell did they even get those? And why is he already slightly drenched during the warm-up alone? 

As soon as you see him make a lay-up, you know for a fact that you shouldn’t be here. 

Yes, you’re gonna stay and yes, you’re gonna cheer for them all game. But you are absolutely gonna feel like jumping him, which will in turn make you wanna bolt and run all the way out of town every agonizing second. 

Shit, shit, shit. You’re gonna have to try your damned hardest to unstick your eyes from that man the whole time. Already, you can hear Taehyung’s teasing, and your groan is to lament your future state.

Your name suddenly rings across the gym, and four feet pause in your ascent up the bleachers. When you catch both him and Jimin waving you down from their courtside chairs, you tilt your head in intrigue. 

They want you to come over there? What the hell is this about? 

Sighing, you turn. “Guess I’ll go see what they want.” 

“Here,” Tae offers his hand. “I’ll save you a seat.” 

Your bag is transferred to his grip while you nod, and you step down onto the court, wondering if you’re even allowed to walk onto it to see them. And Jimin’s grin can be seen from miles away. “Come here!” 

You gingerly step onto shiny wooden floors, making your way over and becoming hyper aware that someone else notices your presence. But you’re so puzzled as to why there’s no one on the other side of the court yet because isn’t the game about to start? 

Where’s the other team? As you approach their row of chairs, your hands immediately find your hips. “What’s up?” 

Jimin’s eyes stay creased as your brother explains the reason he waved you down. A very stupid, very innocuous reason. “Can you keep score?” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why me?” 

Your brother uses his jersey to wipe sweat from his brow, and you wince at the brand new material getting gross already. “The girl that usually does it for us is sick.” 

“And you know the game,” Jimin quickly tacks on, rubbing at some tattoos on full display. Wait, are there more than you remember? When did he get more ink?

Your sibling asks another question you had in mind, “You aren’t gonna cover those?”

“Nah. Not today,” the man elongates in a stretch. “Just got another one. This one!” 

Ah, you were right. “I like it.” 

Jimin couldn’t look more proud. But enough of that because you really just wanna go back and observe the game from another place entirely. “Can’t y’all find someone else to keep score?” 

“We don’t think anyone else can,” your brother explains, looking over your shoulder. “At least, not the people coming to watch us.” 

Cool. You get to be met with heat and sweat from all these guys without compensation. How is this something you would say yes to? “Well. I don’t really feel like being a scorekeeper for free.” 

When your sibling laughs with Jimin, they share a look before he says so matter-of-factly, “Told you.” 

You’re sticking with that. If you’re gonna sit next to a bunch of smelly people, they’re gonna pay… you… somehow.

A ways down the row, you catch Yoongi dumping himself onto a random chair, head tilted back before he hangs it forward to wipe sweat from his forehead. 

And suddenly this temporary gig doesn’t seem terrible in the slightest. 

Because one, you can sit on a team bench that will have his fine ass right there. And two, this will give you a way to objectively focus on the game. You won’t have time to be distracted by a demon and his hair that’s gotten criminally long. 

“I’ll get us all dinner,” your sibling slices through your thoughts. “After we win.”  

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the end seat and shooting one more glance to the other side of the court. “Then I get to p—”

The air around you squeezes inward. And all sounds plunge underwater. 

Because you recognize someone you knew from a dark club walking onto the court, his team looking just as sharp and cocky as his eyes. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

You don’t notice the way Jimin’s hands flex, nor the way a familiar presence walks up to join your brother. 

All you can do is stare back. 

And without even realizing. 

You’re already rubbing your arm.

-

-

tbc. :((

-

a ha ha... so how do we feel? | taglist | discord!

a/n: okay, hello, loves. apologies this part took so damn long to post! can you imagine if i tried to post everything at once LMAOO yikes talk about too much at once. but i hope this part was enough to still be good on its own, and broken, pt. 2 will be... well. you can probably guess that's where a majority of my brainpower is going to go. a/n 2: thank you all for being here! it's been an amazing two years working on this series and i cannot tell you how grateful and appreciative i am to have such wonderful people alongside me. i hope this series continues to be there for you when you need it, bc it has become that for me, too. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[forever-rogue]

Hi babes! So I’ve had this idea running around my brain for days.

Basically Cooper Howard and the reader knew each other pre-apocalypse (up to you wether it was romantic or platonic) but after the bombs go off, the reader makes it to a vault where she is put in a cryopod for 200 years to see that the rest of her vault is dead from asphyxiation (I definitely didn’t think of this by playing fallout 4). So she escapes and later finds Cooper (she recognises him and then realises it’s him), it’s up to you how it goes from there 🫶🏻.

Anyway, I love your work! Hope you’re doing great! 💗

AN | I love this concept. Enjoy❤️

Pairing | Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x fem!reader

Warnings | language; mentions of canon typical violence

Word Count | 3.1k

Masterlist | Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind, sugar,” Cooper came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist before resting his chin on your shoulder. You made a small sound of content before leaning into him and turning your head to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

“I’m just…thinking,” you whispered before turning around so you were facing him. The warm evening breeze swirled around the two of you as you leaned against the porch railing, and looked down the Hollywood hills. He took your face in his hands, brushing his thumb along your cheek.

“You do that a lot,” he teased as you rolled your eyes in amusement, “too much thinking ain’t good for you.”

“Well, between the two of us, one of us has to use a brain cell once in a while,” he scoffed as he gently squeezed your cheeks before pressing a kiss to your lips. When he let go, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him a few more times, “I love you, you know?”

“I know,” he confirmed with a soft nod, “I love you too, sweetheart. You gonna tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“I suppose,” you sighed lightly, resting your hands on his chest, “do you think that...it seems silly, but do you think that it'll ever happen? The nuclear war. Or do you think it’s all just a big pissing contest?”

“I think,” he took one of your hands and brought it to his lips in order to press a kiss to your knuckles, “that you worry too much too often.”

“I know,” you agreed, “I know I do. I just can't help it sometimes. What if something happens?”

“If anything were to happen, we’d face it together and figure it out,” he promised and while you liked the idea of his sweet words, it didn’t totally alleviate your worries. He’d been trying to convince himself as much as you.  It had been a constant in his mind as well. He wasn’t as good of a liar as he believed he was.

“Rest assured Cooper Howard,” you whispered softly, “that I will always find you and be with you. No matter what life brings.”

He pressed his forehead to yours and let out a small sigh. You echoed the sound sweetly before kissing him again, “I promise, Coop.”

“I promise too.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Cooper?” your brow furrowed as you looked at the tall figure standing in front of you. The first time seeing a Ghoul had almost caused you to have a heart attack; you hadn’t been expecting to see someone so…crispy. Being asleep for the last two hundred years hadn’t prepared you for half the things you’d seen in the short time since you’d escaped Vault 111. Like the radroaches - seriously? Weren’t those things bad enough normal? Nature had definitely fucked up with that one. 

Some things you could get used to easily, but other things were definitely going to take time. Two hundred years had passed and you hadn’t experienced a single thing. In some ways it felt like you’d been a lamb left to slaughter. 

After you’d gotten over your initial shock at the Ghouls, you’d realized, with a heavy heart, that they were just people too. People had suffered unfortunate circumstances but they were still just people…mostly. Realistically you’d been rather lucky when it came down to it. You had a long nap while others suffered.

But you’d recognize him anywhere; you’d memorized every part of him so many years ago. You weren’t sure if you could ever forget him. 

But this…this wasn’t who you were expecting to see. Honestly, you didn’t expect to see him ever again, but here he was…alive and breathing. Maybe.

“Cooper,” you took a step closer while he took a step back, his hand brushing along the holster at his side. You held up your hands in a meek attempt to show your innocence; it still made your heart constrict to see his response to you, “i-it’s me.”

“I’m ain’t fallin’ for that one, sweetheart,” he drawled, causing a frown to tug down the corners of your mouth, “I know when I’m hallucinating and I’m not about to go feral.”

“What are you…talking about?” you watched in confusion as he reached into his pocket and grabbed a small vial before downing it in one go. He tossed the bottle to the side, letting it clink off the side of a building, “I don't ... I don’t know what’s going on! I don’t understand anything here, but I know it’s you. I’d know you anywhere.”

He made a sound at the back of his throat as he blinked a few times, still looking at you as if he was trying to decide if he’d already gone feral or whatever it was called. You wondered if he would even possibly shoot you. 

“That’s impossible,” he said quietly as he studied you. It was like you were frozen in time - you looked exactly the same as you did two hundred years ago. It wasn’t possible for you to look like that when he looked like…a monster, “you look just like her but you can’t be her.”

“Cooper Howard,” you sighed in exasperation, running a hand through your hair. You’d always done that and he’d seen that look on your face a thousand times before, “I don’t know exactly what happened to me. I-I woke up and I was in one of those weird vaults that they used to talk about and there was no else there. A couple of skeletons and a bunch of these giant cockroaches-”

“Radroaches.”

“Radroaches,” you rolled your eyes and that almost had him let down his guard, “and I got out. I don’t know what year it is and I don’t know what’s happened. I’m just here. And I have no fucking clue what I’m doing or where I’m going or what’s even happening in the world anymore. But I found you. I know it’s you. I told you that I’d always find you.”

He allowed himself to relax as he tried to put the pieces together to see if your story made sense. The worst part of it all was that it made sense. The day the life as he’d always known it stopped, he hadn’t seen you. But he knew that you’d been at the Vault-Tec headquarters that day. It made sense. It made sense.

He hated that. Hated that you were forced to experience this strange new world, and even more that you had been all but abandoned to figure it out for yourself. But he couldn’t deny that there was a palpable feeling running through his entire being at the sight of you. Your smile was just as pretty as he remembered; he thought about it a lot. Thought about you a lot, still to this day, despite the fact that it had been literal centuries. 

He’d accepted that you were dead a long time ago. But here you were, a ghost of a life that once was. 

You let out a nervous laugh at his silence, feeling like a fool, “are you gonna say anything or am I just going to keep standing here like an idiot?”

“You should turn back around and walk to the nearest vault and pray that they take you in,” was all he managed to choke out as you felt the tears start to sting at the back of your eyes. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to figure out what to possibly even say to him, “you ain’t cut out for his world. You weren’t made for it. You ain’t gonna survive up here on the surface.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you stomped your foot, an unwitting little habit that you had, “you want me to just walk away?”

“Yeah,” he pulled the brim of his hat lower, voice gruff, “I do.”

“Oh,” you scoffed, trying to hold back all that you were feeling, “and what? You’re cut out for this world?”

“Look at me,” he growled deeply, “I’m a fuckin’ monster made for this world.”

You flinched at the sound of the self hatred in his voice. He wasn’t anything like you’d remembered or expected, but he was still your Cooper. 

“You should get going, darlin’.”

You turned on your heel, ready to walk…somewhere. Anywhere other than there, left to be humiliated.

“Tell me one thing,” you turned back to face him, finding that he was still watching you intently, “what year is it?”

“2296.”

Your heart almost stopped for a moment as you tried not to panic. 

Over two hundred years since you’d last walked the world. You’d been sleeping for over two hundred years while Cooper had been suffering. You had so many questions, but more than anything your heart hurt for everything that he’d been through.

You offered him a nod before walking away, this time for real, trying to figure out what the actual fuck you were going to do.

Cooper watched you go wordlessly, eyes on you until you were but a small speck in the distance.

“Who was that?” Lucy appeared at his side along with the canine companion they'd named Dogmeat, a curious expression on her face, “did you know her?”

“It was no one,” the sharpness of his voice caught Lucy off guard and she raised her eyebrows in question, “just lost.”

“Okie dokie,” she hitched her backpack higher onto her shoulders, “we should keep going before it gets dark.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with her, finding his heart wasn’t quite in it, “get a move on kid.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was a weird world. Like really weird. There were creatures that you'd encountered that appeared to be descendants of the ones you'd known during your previous life. Roaches definitely weren't supposed to be the size of dogs. Dogs really shouldn't have been up to your shoulders. And that thing that you'd encountered that was maybe a fish? Wild.

It was all so much to get used to and it felt like you were a child all over again. You had met a kind woman that had taken you into her diner (or whatever a diner was these days) and helped to get you back on your feet. The first order of business? Getting rid of the vault suit; not'd noticed an immediate shift in how people treated you once the suit was gone. 

The one thing that hadn't changed? Men. Men continued to the worst, leering shamelessly after you. Looks like not even radiation can evolve that out of men.  

You still had not clue what you were going to do with your life or anything really, but at least now you had a safe space to learn to adapt and overcome. Now you just had about two hundred years of history to catch up on. Learning about places called the New California Republic and New Vegas definitely told you that something big had happened.

Everything else, you hoped, would fall into place over time. You did, however, have your suspicions that Vault-Tec were nothing but a bunch of liars confirmed. There was that at least. And you'd learned what a Ghoul was - what Cooper was. It didn't sound like it had been a fun reality for him.

At least if you were going to start aging naturally, you wouldn’t have to suffer in this hell forever.

You were helping around the diner one afternoon when the doors swung open to reveal Cooper, along with a young woman and a dog. Funny, you thought to yourself, Cooper had always adored dogs.

The rag dropped from your hand as blinked wordlessly at them. Neither you nor Cooper said anything, silence thick and heavy between the two of you.

“Do you have any pie?” The young woman asked, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips as she looked around, “and maybe some water?”

“S-sure,” you stammered nervously pointing at the table towards the back, “I'll get that pie.”

And just like that, Cooper was back in your life.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Without Cooper, you weren't quite sure what to do. Honestly, you had been sure what you'd do once you left the vault along, but you figured when you found him that things would fall into place…or make a little more sense anyway. But as you'd made your way through the skeletons that littered the vault, you weren't entirely convinced that this wasn't some sort of fever dream.

And Cooper had turned his back on you.

Only to come back to rescue you.

“What happened?” He asked, his voice dropping softly, almost like he was letting down his guard, “how did you end up in one of those pods?”

“I don't know,” you admitted, wiping your hands on your knees as you looked at him, “I-I remember bits and pieces but not the whole thing.”

He made a small sound of acknowledgment but didn’t say much else. You’d been wracking your brain for weeks now - ever since you’d escaped the vault - about what exactly happened before you took a centuries long nap.

“The last thing I really remember was speaking with that Maclean kid, the one that had recently started working at Vault-Tec. We got into an argument about something and he shoved me around and then…I think he hit me. The next thing I can remember is waking up.”

“Life is funny, ain’t it,” he pinched his brow before looking at you with a pained expression, “Hank Maclean is still alive. The girl I’ve been traveling with…she’s his kid. I think everyone finally found just what kind of a person he is. And it ain’t a good one.”

“He’s still alive,” you breathed out heavily, trying to decide if you were angry with him or…in a twisted way, thankful. You supposed the last two hundred years could have been a lot worse than just sleeping through them. But then again, if you’d been awake and aging, you’d have been long dead by now, “this is all so…weird.”

Silence fell over the two of you for a few bit, as you started at the roaring fire. It was dangerous, or so you’d been told by almost everyone you’d encountered. But somehow with Cooper by yourself, you didn’t feel scared or nervous. 

“I looked for you,” he said after a short while as your attention snapped to him, “for a long time. Decades.” 

“Really?” your voice cracked on the simple question as he nodded.

“After a while, I realized you were probably dead,” your heart twisted at that, “it was the only logical answer. Unless you’d ended up like me and I would never wish that on you.”

“What happened, Cooper?” you asked softly. You wanted to know but you also didn’t want to push him either. You still had so many questions about this strange new world, “you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Your curiosity was one of the things I always loved about you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, almost sounding just as you remembered, “to put it simply, radiation. I got a little bit too much of that radiation and then I became like one of them radroaches, adapting and surviving.”

“Radiation,” you repeated softly, “fuck me. Am I going to-”

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured you, “radiation levels are livable now.”

“Oh,” you swallowed thickly as you gave him a nod, “that’s good…I think.”

“You don’t deserve to have to live in such a world,” he caught your eye and looked at you intently, “in a way I wished you’d never have had to experience it. It would have been easier if you’d just…died that day they dropped the bombs. But in a selfish way, I’m glad you’re here, sweetheart. Still the prettiest face I’ve ever seen.”

You snorted in amusement as your face warmed up, “still the biggest flirt I’ve ever met Cooper Howard. In a selfish way, I’m glad you’re here too.”

“You’re telling me that you’re happy to see his ugly old face?” he asked, his voice turning gruff and bitter, “darlin’, you could be looking at a gulper and it’d be a prettier sight.”

“What’s a gulper?” your mind reeled with possibilities of what in the actual hell a gulper was. 

“I…nevermind,” you didn’t need to know about those horrors just yet, “there’s a lot of things that are prettier than I am.”

“Agree to disagree,” you insisted with a soft laugh, “I’m glad you’re here, you know. Even if it sucks and this whole world sucks. I’m glad you’re still here. Selfish or not.”

You stood up and brushed yourself off before walking over to him and plopping onto the ground next to him so you were facing him. You reached for his hand and took it in yours, giving it a squeeze so tender that it almost made him cry. He never thought he’d get to feel such a touch ever again.

“So,” you whispered softly, “what’s next?”

“You’re not ready to run for the hills and hide?” he joked, half serious.

“Nope,” you promised, “besides, what the fuck am I going to do here by myself? I know nothing about anything anymore.”

“Want to help me and the kind find Hank Maclean?” he asked as your eyebrows raised up, “it’s a long story.”

“I’m in,” you promised, “but there’s one thing I want to do first.”

“And what’s that, sugar?”

“This,” you leaned in and took his face in your hands, before gently leaning and kissing him. When you pulled away he looked at you in surprise, “that’s all.”

“C’mere,” he put his hands on your hips and hauled you onto his lap, “you should know better than to start something you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I fully intended to finish,” you grinned, “I’ve missed you, Coop.”

“I’ve missed you every day for a long time,” he sighed, “I’m not letting you go again.”

“Good.”

[girlgenius1111]

wise beyond her years

sol meets someone, and it's doomed from the start. everyone can see it, except her. ingrid tries to balance being supportive and being... a parent?

based [ish] on the manuscript by taylor swift... mostly the lyrics "afterwards she only ate kids cereal and couldn't sleep unless it was in her mother's bed"

------

You met her at one of Ingrid’s games. Mapi had gone down to the locker room at halftime, and you’d been content to sit in your seat and scroll through your phone until the team made their way back out. That was, until she slid into the seat next to you and introduced herself. 

Camila. She was a bit taller than you, the epitome of Spanish beauty. She spoke English with an adorable accent, and when you looked into her eyes for the first time, you were almost speechless. She looked to be a bit older than you. Maybe around Ingrid’s age. 

You should have known better. You should have thought about how odd it was that she’d been sitting a few rows up and only came to talk to you when you were alone. How those first few dates she took you on always ended with her getting you to invite her to the next Barça game. 

It was so easy for her. You were… healing. That didn't mean that you were healed. Freud would have rolled in his grave at how oblivious you were. Dating an older woman. Only a month or so after a huge fallout with your mother. Letting her talk you into things you weren’t quite sure about. Let her talk her way into your heart, making promises and declarations of love that came much too soon. 

She said that she loved you. And it wasn’t that you believed her, not really. You just thought that if you tried hard enough to be perfect, one day she would love you.

------

Ingrid had made her displeasure with Camila known to you from the beginning. She knew exactly what the woman was up to, it was obvious to everyone but you. She was using you because you were an easy target, and you were vulnerable and young and excited that someone was paying attention to you. 

You wouldn’t listen to Ingrid, though. Not when she warned you nicely about Camila, or when she warned you much more seriously. You ignored her words completely, dismissed them. And Ingrid didn’t want to fight with you, but she couldn’t hold back her feelings about this woman that had slipped into your life, so poor Mapi bore the brunt of the Norwegian’s rants about how Camila was not good enough for her Solstråle. 

This was the case today. You were off with Camila, and Ingrid was going crazy back home. It had been weeks, and this was still going on. The worry and concern your sister had for you was at a high, it was all she could think about. Mapi felt similarly, but she tried to keep her cool because she knew very well that telling you not to date the woman would only make you want to date her more. 

“She’s going to get hurt.” Ingrid said. 

“She might. That’s how she learns, though, mi amor. We have to let her make her own mistakes.” 

“Did you read that in your parenting book?” Ingrid asked with a slight smirk. 

Mapi flushed red, avoiding her girlfriend’s gaze. “It is not a parenting book. It is a… helping sad teens book.” She argued. 

Ingrid softened. “María, don’t be embarrassed. Getting a book to learn how to help Solstråle better… that is sweet and thoughtful. Just like you.” 

Now, Mapi was blushing again, but this time a small smile adorned her features, though worry was still clouding her eyes. “Are you sure it’s okay? I know she’s your sister, and I do not want to overstep.” 

Ingrid just shook her head. “No, you are not overstepping. I couldn’t do this without you, María, and I mean that. You balance me out. I was worried, for a while, about being too much like my mother. You’d never let that happen, though, and it’s like a safety net. I don’t need to worry as much about making a mistake because you’re always there to tell me when I’m not doing the right thing. And you don’t have to be, but you are. I don’t thank you enough for that, my love. I don’t tell you enough, how incredible you are,  for being so full of love, and so happy to share it with everyone you meet.” 

“I love you.” María whispered back. “I love you, and I love mi sol, and I tolerate her dog, but I love our family. Sol is a special kid and… I don’t know. I just want you both to be happy. I want you both to feel loved and worthy of love because you are.” 

Ingrid isn’t quite sure how this conversation about your ‘girlfriend’ had led to this incredibly mushy conversation, but she pulled Mapi into her and squeezed tightly. “ Don’t make me cry, Solstråle will be home soon and she’ll make fun of me.”

Mapi laughed loudly, quickly wiping a tear off Ingrid’s cheek as the front door opened, announcing your arrival home. When you walked into the living room, it was to see Mapi and Ingrid curled up together on the couch, which wasn’t an unusual sight. Nor was the way they were looking at each other unusual, either. Like seeing the other person smile could sustain the other for days. Ingrid and Mapi loved each other so deeply, and so easily, it was clear for anyone to see. 

You wanted that, you really did. And you thought you had it where you definitely didn’t. You’d have it one day, though. Something told you that. 

-------

You weren’t sitting with Mapi at the match today. Camila had wanted it to be a real date, and not be supervised by your sister’s girlfriend, though she still wanted to attend the match. You’d been excited about it, even though you’d spent most of your free time with her in the past couple weeks. Well, excited until she’d disappeared right before kick off to get you both waters, and had been gone for 20 minutes. 

You were really just worried that something had happened to slow her down, so you got up when an opposing player went down and headed off in search of her. 

You found her pretty easily, leaning against a wall by the bathroom, talking to a girl. A girl that looked to be about your age, that looked just like you in fact. You tried not to jump to conclusions as you froze, watching carefully from a few meters away. It was obvious, though, what was going on. Even more obvious when Camila reached out and tucked a piece of the girl’s hair behind her ear.

 It wasn’t immediately clear to you what to do. You knew you should be angry, but really all you felt was hurt. Before Camila could spot you, you headed back to your seat, and when Camila returned a few minutes later, you did what you were used to. You shut down. You answered her questions with shrugs or nods, even when she started to get annoyed that you weren’t speaking. 

You wanted to talk to Frido. Not Ingrid or Mapi, because they’d freak out. Mapi would get all weirdly protective and huffy, and Ingrid would just be furious that you hadn’t listened to her. Frido would listen to you, and tell you what to do. You couldn’t get to the Swede, though, not without seeing your sister and her girlfriend. And by the time the final whistle blew, Camila’s anger was simmering under the surface, and she practically dragged you from the stadium. You quickly texted Mapi, telling her you were leaving with Camila, before your girlfriend pushed you into the car and all but slammed the door. You winced at the sound, knowing that you shouldn’t feel guilty for how you were acting. Camila should be the one feeling bad, but you couldn’t help the nagging feeling to just apologize and let it go. 

It was like the old version of you and the newer version were fighting. Was this how you deserved to be treated? Had Camila really done anything wrong? Your brain was a mess, and as Camila pulled the car out of the parking spot, and began to drive, you decided that you just needed some space to think. 

“Can you take me home?” You asked quietly, looking at your girlfriend out of the corner of your eye. She seemed to relax a bit, now that you’d spoken. Camila didn’t look as angry anymore. Just worried. 

“Is everything okay? You’ve gone silent on me.” Camila asked gently. Or, at least, it sounded gentle. She was giving you a kind, concerned smile but there was a look in her eyes that made you kind of uneasy. You ignored it, focusing on the softness, letting yourself be lulled into a false sense of security. You told yourself to be honest, that it was probably just a misunderstanding. That Camila would make you feel better about it, explain it all away. And everything would go back to normal. 

“I just… I saw you talking to that girl by the bathroom. It looked kind of cozy.” You said cautiously. The car came upon an intersection, a red light, and Camila came to a stop before she looked over at you. The concern was gone from her face. The softness nowhere to be found. She just looked furious at you. 

“Did you follow me to the bathroom for a reason?” She asked venomously. 

You shook your head, surprised at the turn this conversation had taken. “No, no, you were gone for a while, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Camila rolled her eyes as the light turned green, looking away from you and at the road. “Sure. I was just saying hi to an old friend. There’s no need to get all jealous.” 

“I’m not jealous.” You replied, sitting up straighter in your seat, a bit of anger flaring in you. Anger you hadn’t felt in a while, but a feeling that still filled your veins with fire. “I just wanted to know why you were flirting with someone while we were on a date.” 

Camila scoffed. “I was not flirting. I told you it was an old friend. I barely talked to her, what are you being so dramatic about?” 

“I really don’t think I’m being dramatic. I just asked you a question.” You said, trying to remain calm even as your girlfriend got angrier and angrier next to you. 

“No, you acted like a child. Going completely silent and ruining our date? I know you’re young, but I expected you to act like an adult and be more mature than that. It’s honestly embarrassing.” 

You felt your cheeks burn, and you chewed on your lip for a minute, trying not to say anything you’d regret. “I asked you a question, and you just keep deflecting. I don’t think I am being the childish one.” 

“Is this the mommy issues or something?” Camila asked, a cruel smile playing on her lips. You sat silent for a moment, not completely sure you’d heard her correctly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“The jealousy, the insecurity? I know your mom fucked you up, but this is ridiculous. We’ve only been together for a few weeks, why are you being so clingy? It’s fucking annoying, and I’ll tell you right now, no one on earth is going to want to put up with this. Especially not from you, it’s not worth it.” 

You blinked, completely shocked. You hadn’t expected her to get so angry when you’d been honest about your insecurity and worry. And you hadn’t expected her to throw things that you’d told her in a moment of vulnerability in your face either. “Are you serious?” You asked, voice cracking slightly. 

Camila let out a humorless laugh, parking the car in front of the cafe you were supposed to be going to. “Are you going to cry now?” She asked mockingly. “Christ, you really are too young. I don’t want to date someone this immature.”

You stared at her, feeling like you had whiplash from the turn this conversation had taken. It seemed like she was breaking up with you. Which was probably for the best, if this was how she reacted to you bringing up an issue with her. Still, it was like you were seeing a side of her you’d never seen before. Cold. Cruel. She looked completely unbothered as she unlocked the car doors and gave you a pointed look, one that clearly told you that this conversation was over. 

She looked unbothered, and you felt  your heart shatter as your biggest fear was coming true. You were too much. It had only taken Camila weeks to get tired of you. Hot tears fell down your cheeks, ones you desperately tried to hide. You were sad and embarrassed, but most of all. You just felt so hopeless. 

As you got out of the car, without another word said to your now ex-girlfriend, you wondered how you could have been so naive to think that someone would want you. Camila was right. You were too screwed up for anyone to choose you. 

You walked right into the cafe, making a beeline for the bathroom. Locking and shutting the door behind you, the last of your resolve broke, and you worked hard to quiet the broken sobs falling from your lips. 

Stupid. You’d been so stupid. It wasn’t the first time someone had broken your trust, or said something awful to you. But it was the first time since… things had changed. And somehow, you’d forgotten how much it hurt, feeling unwanted. You had been used to it, before, numb to it. Now, though, it burned sharp in your chest. Shame and sadness and anger and frustration. And still. That persistent feeling of hopelessness. How was anyone ever supposed to want you?

-------

Mapi had a weird feeling when you called. Your text after the match had sounded odd, and you were supposed to be getting coffee with Camila. She didn’t really have any other reason to be worried, but for some reason, she was. 

“Maps?” You greeted quietly. You called Mapi on purpose. She worried less than Ingrid, and while she disapproved of Camila, she had been pretending that she didn’t. Mapi was more likely to be willing to come and get you. Ingrid, on the other hand, you assumed would be too angry that you hadn’t listened to her. Too vindicated, and too caught up in being right to comfort you. 

“Hey, nena. What’s up?” Mapi asked. 

“Can you come get me?” You mumbled, the embarrassment of the situation really hitting you full force. 

“Send me your location, I’m on my way.” Mapi replied instantly, and you really appreciated that she didn’t try to get any details out of you, was just focused on getting to you as fast as possible. 

“Can you bring Scout?” You asked after a moment’s hesitation, knowing how Mapi felt about bringing the dog in the car with her. The simple question sent another wave of worry through the Spaniard’s body, knowing you really only asked for something you needed when… you really needed it. 

“Of course. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?” Mapi asked, rushing to grab her keys, ignoring the questioning look Ingrid was giving her from the couch, having woken up from a nap. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll see you soon.” 

“Okay, mi sol. I love you.” 

“Love you too.” You whispered, choking back a sob as you hung up. 

“What is it? Where is she? Is she okay? Did something happen?” Ingrid asked rapidly, moving to get up from the couch. 

“Scout! Ven aqui!” Mapi called, rolling her eyes when the dog appeared instantly, as if he knew the reason for being summoned. “I don’t know, she just asked me to come get her. Don’t get up. Stay here, rest. I’ll get pequeña.” 

“But-” 

“No buts, princesa. Stay here. I’ve got this covered, we’ll be back soon. Don’t move from this couch, I mean it.” Mapi insisted, never one to take Ingrid’s recovery casually. 

Ingrid frowned but sat back down on the couch, watching as her girlfriend and your dog disappeared out the front door, both of them moving like they were on a mission. If there was one thing Mapi could agree with Scout on, it was that you were very important.

-------

When Mapi pulled up in front of the cafe, she saw you sitting with a to-go cup of coffee at a little table, staring at the ground. She parked quickly, finding a spot just around the corner,  before she got out to walk over to you, bringing Scout with her. Scout pulled harshly on his leash, and for once, Mapi didn’t mind. 

“Solstråle?” Mapi called when she got close enough, seeing your head whip up to look in the direction of your name. In a flash, you were abandoning your coffee and all but launching yourself towards Mapi. The Spaniard didn’t say anything, not quite sure what had happened but able to infer that it wasn’t good. 

“Thanks for coming so fast.” You said quietly, feeling just marginally better now that Mapi had pulled you into a tight hug. Scout nudged your leg with his nose rather insistently, until you pulled away from the hug and crouched down to pet him. 

“Of course, mi sol. I’ll always come for you. Did something happen?” Mapi asked, never not amazed by the way Scout instantly brought a small smile to your face, even if your eyes were still slightly wet with tears. 

“We broke up.” You said simply, though your voice cracked over the last word. 

“Oh, nena. I’m so sorry.” Mapi sighed. “Let's get you home, yeah?” 

“Okay.” You agreed, although you really weren’t looking forward to it. You wanted to go home, curl up into a ball and cry, by yourself. At the same time, you desperately wanted a hug from your sister. You were just completely convinced that she wouldn’t be willing to do that. 

-------

You walked into the house just behind Mapi, trying to take deep, steadying breaths. You were close to breaking down, and you didn’t really need to hear all the reasons that Ingrid had known this would happen. You didn’t need an ‘I told you so.’ 

Your sister was waiting for you in the entrance hall, pacing nervously, when you walked in. 

“Solstråle! What happened? Are you okay?” Ingrid asked as soon as you were through the door, ignoring Mapi’s look that was clearly telling her to be cool. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine. I want to be alone.” You said, pushing past her to head for the stairs. You heard Ingrid begin to go after you, but Mapi stopped her, telling her to give you a minute. 

-------

You collapsed onto your bed, Scout jumping up next to you like he thought it was a game. You just wished it would just swallow you up. It was only a few minutes later that you heard footsteps approaching your door, like you knew they would. A soft knock on your door interrupted your crying, and you hastily wiped at your eyes. “Yeah?”

Ingrid peaked her head in. “I know you said you want to be alone, but I just wanted to check…” she said, trailing off when she saw you valiantly fighting your tears. 

“I’m okay.” You mumbled, focusing on petting Scout, as opposed to looking at your sister. 

“Honey, you aren’t.” Ingrid sighed, moving in closer to take a seat on the edge of your bed. “You’re upset, that’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed.” 

“Well, I am. You were right. Is that what you wanted to hear?” You asked bitingly, not really intending to snap so harshly at your sister, but not quite sure you felt like you could trust her at the moment. 

“No, sweetheart, that is not what I wanted to hear. I wanted to be wrong about her, solstråle, more than anything. I am so sorry things didn’t end well.” 

“You aren’t glad that you’re right?” You asked, astonished. It didn't really make sense to you; all of this could have been avoided if you’d just listened to your sister. How could she be sorry for you when you’d blatantly ignored her advice? 

Ingrid shook her head, her face painfully full of pity and sympathy. “No, not if it means that you’re hurting.” 

“Oh.” You weren’t quite sure what to do with that. You’d been prepared to deal with this yourself. To be completely honest, you didn’t really feel like you deserved Ingrid’s support. You’d been so stupid not to listen to her. This was all your fault, really, and Ingrid shouldn’t have to deal with implications of something that was ultimately your mistake. “I’m sorry, I should have listened.” You said quietly, looking down, refusing to make eye contact with your sister. 

“Don’t be sorry, solstråle.” Ingrid sighed. You looked so distraught, but you were leaning slightly away from your sister, like you were afraid to accept any comfort from her. Like suddenly, you weren’t sure you trusted her anymore. And though that hurt, Ingrid really couldn’t blame you. Not when the universe seemed so dead set on making you miserable. “What can I do?” 

“I just want to be alone.” You mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself, completely invalidating your statement. 

“No, you don’t. Look at me.” Ingrid instructed, waiting until you raised your head to look at her, very cautiously. “You’re allowed to be sad about this. No matter what happened, no matter what I said about her before. I never want to see you hurting. You don’t have to deal with this alone just because you made a mistake. Okay?” 

You held your sister’s gaze for a few moments, before you slowly nodded your head. “I really liked her.” You whispered after a minute, leaning almost imperceptibly towards your sister. 

“I know. Come here, honey,” Ingrid said, opening her arms for you to all but collapse into them. It was familiar, at this point, being held tightly in Ingrid’s arms. It never failed to make you feel better. And while Ingrid wished that things would just be easier for you, a very critical part of herself settled when you relaxed against her. The brunette was never quite sure she was doing a good enough job with you, but when you went to her when you were upset, allowed her to help you, even if it was rather hesitantly, it felt reassuring to her. It wasn’t full trust, but you were getting there. She must be doing something right if you were making progress. 

“What would make you feel better?” Ingrid asked after a minute, smiling to herself at how Scout had settled himself with half his upper body draped across your legs. 

“Nothing.” You replied pathetically. It wasn’t the first relationship you’d had, but it felt so much more significant than any of the others had. In just a few weeks, Camila had made herself one of the most important things in your life. You weren’t really sure how she managed it, but somehow, she’d gotten you to confess things you’d told very few people, learned more about you than many people did. And as soon as things had started to not go her way, she’d used all those things against you. It was the first time in a while that you’d really let yourself be fully vulnerable with someone, and it had backfired so horrifically. You were hurt, and you were embarrassed, but most of all, you were just sad. 

You thought this was going to be a turning point for you, but you didn’t realize you’d given Camila all of the ammunition she’d needed to make sure it was the biggest setback you’d face. Not until you were lying in your bed, wanting nothing more than to disappear. You’d been nothing to her. That was a familiar feeling, something that made every cell in your body squirm with anxiety. It was happening again. 

“What are you thinking?” Ingrid asked, interrupting your rapid stream of thoughts. 

“Is it me? Do I just… make people want to treat me badly?” You asked. It wasn’t the first time you’d considered it, but that particular fear had been dormant since everything had happened in the last few weeks. Since Ingrid and Mapi had made it clear that they wanted you here with them. It was confusing and completely contradictory, your brain couldn’t really make sense of it. Your sister and her girlfriend must just be the exception. 

“No.” Ingrid said firmly. “No. It isn’t you. You just have… bad luck. You make me and Mapi want to be better, Solstråle. Better for you, so that we can take care of you in the way that you deserve. You are good, Solstråle, and you deserve good, even when you don’t feel like it.” 

For some reason, Ingrid’s words brought tears to your eyes. Good tears. “Well, I can’t have all bad luck. I get to be here with you two, and I don’t know if I would still be…” you trailed off, trying to figure out what you wanted to say. “You both saved my life, I think. The two of you wanting me here, and taking me in, that’s good luck.” You managed, sitting up and shifting so you were facing your sister, who looked one word away from bursting into tears herself. 

“It’s not good luck, mi sol. It’s what you deserve. It’s what you should have had this whole time.” Mapi chimed in from the doorway, looking fondly at the two of you. Ingrid smiled at her in thanks, humming quietly in agreement with her girlfriend’s statement. The Spaniard wandered in closer, flopping onto the free space on your bed, causing a disgruntled Scout to shift, kicking Mapi lightly in the side. “That girl did not deserve you. And you’ll find someone who wants to treat you the way you deserve. You just can’t rush stuff like that, sí? It will come to you when it does.” 

It was potentially the most frustrating advice to receive, but it made you feel better nonetheless. 

“And she was kind of ugly.” Mapi said as an afterthought. 

“Mapi!” You laughed, smiling a real smile. Both girls’ faces lit up at the sight of the smile on your face, and both of them were desperate for you to keep smiling, for your face not to fall into the sad frown it had been in for the past hour. The conversation lulled, and Ingrid’s mind raced, trying to think of what people liked to do after breakups. She’d been with Mapi for so long, she wasn’t sure she remembered. 

“Do you want to lay in bed alone for the rest of your night, or do you want to watch a movie? Or we could go get ice cream. Or we could go shopping. Or on a run. Or-” Ingrid listed, only stopping when you cut her off. 

“Sister movie night sounds good.” You said softly, unable to express in that moment how much you appreciated how hard she was trying. You knew ingrid probably wanted to talk, to hear everything that had happened, but she was learning to respect that you really only liked to talk when you felt like it. Which wasn’t often. 

“Sister movie night, cool.” Ingrid said, trying to act like she wasn’t thrilled that you’d decided to be with her instead of requesting to be alone. “Go pick a movie, I’ll make popcorn.” 

You all dragged yourselves off your soft comforter, having grown rather comfortable, and headed for your bedroom door. 

“I’ll be in the garage.” Mapi said, smiling at both of you as she tried to wordlessly communicate that she knew you both wanted sister time, and it was okay that it didn’t include her. Both you and Ingrid froze, though, turning slightly to stare at her like she’d said something absurd. 

“Don’t be stupid.” You said, rolling your eyes. “‘Sister movie night’ obviously means ‘sister and her live-in girlfriend’ movie night.” 

Mapi looked a bit surprised, though she shouldn’t have been. There were very few times that you just wanted to be with Ingrid, and those times were becoming less and less frequent as you began to depend on Mapi more and more. “You want me to watch with you?” 

“Sí.” You said, almost exasperated. “Why wouldn’t I want you to hangout with us?”

“I just thought it was Engen sister time…” Mapi trailed off, looking uncharacteristically insecure.  

“Engen León family time.” Ingrid amended, looking at you for approval. You nodded. 

“Who else is going to talk the entire length of the film?” You asked, smirking and sprinting off down the stairs when Mapi gave you an offended look, Scout hot on your heels. 

------

The movie had been a good distraction, not that Mapi or Ingrid really paid much attention to it. Instead, they kept glancing over at where you were curled up on the couch. Scout had taken his place next to you, one of his legs stretching out every now and then to kick in Mapi’s direction. 

The conversation with them had obviously made you feel better, but they were still rather uneasy. You were acting completely normally, all of a sudden. And they didn’t buy it, not for a second. They weren’t sure what had happened, because you hadn’t said, but they knew that it wasn’t good. You’d been infatuated with Camila, and now you were reluctant to speak her name. Whatever had gone on had hurt you, deeply, but in the span of a few hours, you were acting like you were completely fine. 

To you, it just felt like there was no use in thinking about it anymore. Crying over what happened, being sad or angry with Camila wouldn’t help you. It wouldn’t make you feel better. You’d very logically taken stock of your emotions, before deciding that they were completely useless. You were fine. 

Well, maybe not, but you would be fine. Especially if you acted like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t questioning every choice you’d made with Camila. Like you didn’t hate yourself. Emotions only had power if you gave it to them, you decided. Before, you might have been angry. Now, though, you just… forced it all off, far away. No feeling anything until it hurt less to think about what had happened. 

It seemed like a good plan to you, and you stuck to it. Even when you couldn’t fall asleep that night, your mind swirling with horrible thoughts as you tried to push them away. Eventually, you gave up, putting on a show and forcing yourself to focus on that, instead. 

It was obvious that you hadn’t slept the next morning, walking down to the kitchen like a zombie. Ingrid and Mapi were hoping you’d be a little more forthcoming with what had occurred today, but all hopes of that went out the window when you avoided eye contact with them, a hood pulled over your head, dark bags under your eyes. At least you there was no school, as you had the day off, but they had training, training they couldn’t miss. Neither of them felt very good about leaving you home alone, with no idea what was going on in your head. 

You were blankly shoveling cereal into your mouth when Ingrid got your attention. 

“Solstråle!” She said rather loudly. You jumped slightly, looking across the table at her in confusion. “I said your name 5 times. Did you not hear me?” 

Ingrid didn’t sound mad, just worried, and you felt your throat tighten. 

No. No. No tears. No sadness. That wouldn’t help. Self pity wouldn’t help. The only thing to do was to move forward. 

“Sorry. I’m just tired. Had coffee too late yesterday, couldn't sleep.” You mumbled, turning your attention back to the ceramic bowl in front of you. Your thoughts wandered, briefly, to the fact that since you’d moved in, there hadn’t been a single day where there wasn’t a box of your favorite cereal in the pantry. You really must have been feeling the complete lack of sleep, because that thought alone almost had you tearing up. 

“Come to training today. María is out on the grass, again, you can watch.” Ingrid suggested softly. 

You shook your head though, swallowing the lump in your throat. You didn’t want to be far from them, but you also knew that if they kept being so nice to you, you weren’t going to be able to keep it together. 

“I’m really tired, I just want to stay here.” You replied.  Ingrid looked like she wanted to argue, but Mapi nodded from where she stood at the fridge, filling her water.

“That’s okay. Stay here, have a chill day. We’ll be back after lunch.” She walked over to you, squeezing your shoulder kindly. The Spaniard said goodbye, before exiting the kitchen. Ingrid hung back, not really caring at all that she might make them late. 

Your sister stood from her spot at the table, and you mumbled a quiet goodbye, only looking up when she came to stand right next to you. Her hand pulled your hood down, her fingers tilting your chin up to look at her. Her face was pinched with concern, and you felt a pang of guilt that you were doing this again. Making them worry about you. 

“Try to sleep or something? You looked exhausted, sweetheart. No runs or hikes or climbs, please. Just stay here?” Ingrid asked, making sure to frame her request as a question, and not a command. 

“Okay.” You agreed, far too tired to even think about any of those things. You knew Ingrid just wanted you to stay where she knew you were, which was fine. You were honestly just surprised she hadn’t dragged you to training with her. 

She lightly patted your cheek, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Be good. I love you.” 

“Love you too. Play safe.” 

You were wide awake, completely wired. Even as everything inside of you told you that you should be tired, you felt like you might never sleep again. You kept your promise to your sister, though, collapsing onto the couch and putting a show on. Scout came to lay with you, falling asleep easily in your lap. You were jealous of your dog, you realized. It was an amusing thought, but all you felt was… Empty. Nothing. Because if you let yourself laugh, you were sure it would turn into sobs, and you couldn’t do that. 

You just had to be strong.

-------

You got into bed early that night, hoping that the added time laying down would help you fall asleep. You were so exhausted, truly, but as you laid in bed at 8pm, you knew instinctively that you wouldn’t be able to sleep again. Everytime you drifted off, your thoughts drifted too, and you’d jerk awake, struck with a reminder of what Camila had said. Her words were haunting you. Everytime you closed your eyes, you could see the sneer on her face as she spoke, and hear the cruel words she’d spoken. 

You were beginning to think she was right about you. How were you so screwed up after a relationship ended that had only lasted a few weeks to begin with? You thought you loved her, yes, but you were being dramatic. You shouldn’t be this devastated, and in your head, this only reinforced that idea that Camila had been right. You were too immature. You were too messed up. No one was ever going to want to deal with you. 

A soft knock on your door dragged you out of your thoughts, thankfully. 

“Come in,” you called. Mapi pushed the door open, taking in the rather unnaturally clean room around her. You’d gone crazy cleaning the night before, putting away all the clothes strewn across the floor. It was neat and clutter free in there now, and Mapi’s heart melted at the sight of the framed photo on your nightstand. It was of the three of you, a candid that Frido had taken after a match. It was little things like this that made Mapi deeply happy, and deeply sad all at once. For six months you’d lived here, and they’d given you the space they thought you needed. It was so far from what you actually needed, though, and Mapi couldn’t help the guilt that filled her at the thought. All she and Ingrid could do now, though, was do better. 

So, she entered your room, holding out a mug towards you. It was the one she’d picked out at Ikea, the one with the map and the sun. You knew for a fact that you’d used it this morning for your coffee, which meant Mapi must have pulled it out of the dishwasher and hand washed it herself, so she could bring it up to you. 

“I made you tea.” She said, taking a seat on the edge of your bed as you grabbed the mug from her. 

“Did you think caffeine would help me sleep?” You asked skeptically. 

She rolled her eyes. “No, idiota, it is sleepytime tea. There’s no caffeine.” 

You took a cautious sip, smiling a bit when you liked the taste. 

“My mami always made it for me when I couldn’t sleep.” Mapi said quietly. “Thought it might help tonight since you decided to become nocturnal yesterday.” 

Ingrid and Mapi really toed the line of parent vs. sister / guardian. It was often a sisterly relationship, you thought, with both of them. When you would tease each other, or argue about borrowing their clothes. Other times, it felt completely parent-y. When they’d make you go to bed early, or annoy you about studying for a test. 

This situation definitely fell into the latter category, and you found that you minded it less and less. 

“It’s good.” You told her, taking another sip. “And I didn’t decide to become nocturnal. It just kind of happened.”

Mapi hummed, looking around the room again. You just had the string lights above your bed on, the room lit also by the soft glow of the TV, as your favorite sitcom played. You’d lit a candle, and you were bundled up under the covers of your bed, clearly trying hard to be comfortable. Clearly trying very hard to sleep. 

You looked so tired, it made her heart ache, and she knew Ingrid felt the same. Ingrid, who Mapi was absolutely sure was hovering outside the door, not wanting to overwhelm you. You seemed… fragile. Like you were one step away from breaking at any given moment, and neither of them wanted that to happen before you were ready. Ingrid was just as worried about you, though, and she’d only agreed not to go in if Mapi promised to make you promise something. 

“Can you promise to wake us up tonight if you can’t sleep?” Mapi said finally, looking intently at you. 

With a sigh, you shrugged. “What good would that do?”

“You wouldn’t have to be alone.” Mapi said simply, watching as a flicker of emotion flashed across your face. You didn’t have to be alone anymore. Sometimes you forgot. “If you don’t promise, Ingrid is probably going to come in here every hour or something and check on you.” 

With a roll of your eyes, and a big sigh that you didn’t really mean, you nodded. “Fine.” 

“Good.” Mapi grinned. “Goodnight, mi sol. Te quiero.” 

“Goodnight.” You replied. “Tell Ingrid in the hall goodnight too.” 

The Spaniard chuckled. “I will. Sleep tight.”

With that, she leaned down, pressing a kiss onto your forehead, before she slipped out of the room. Hushed whispers came from the hall and you smiled to yourself, just a bit. Ingrid was such a weirdo sometimes. 

-------

It was around 2am when you broke. You’d tried everything you could think of to fall asleep, and nothing had worked. Worse, the lack of sleep was really getting to you and you were feeling ridiculously emotional. When you promised Mapi you’d wake them up if you couldn’t sleep again, you hadn’t meant it. Now, though, as you lay awake in your bed, tears threatening to fall, you really didn’t want to be alone. You weren’t sure how they could help, or even if you wanted help, but you knew that the indisputably healthy choice to make here would be to go to them. And you were trying to be better for yourself. 

Even as Camila’s words rattled around in your head, and you were half convinced you were an awful person, about to become even worse by waking Ingrid and Mapi up, you got up from your bed, and walked down the hall. 

There were a lot of notable moments in your time in Spain. A lot of them consisted of long, emotional talks with Ingrid and Mapi. And you knew that this was likely what you were headed for. It was naive to think you could hold everything that had happened in, keep it all to yourself. Especially when you’d kind of gotten used to sharing things with them, as horrifying as that thought was. You weren’t nervous, like usual, though. You just wanted them to tell you that everything she’d said was wrong. 

Scout followed you down the hall, slightly annoyed that you’d woken him up when you got up. He liked to sleep with some part of him touching you, so it was inevitable that when you woke, Scout did too. Your sister’s bedroom door was open, and you peeked in, half second guessing yourself. Both of them were asleep. It was a cool night, by Barcelona’s standards, which was obvious by Mapi’s sweatshirt and sweatpants that she’d worn to bed, as well as the extra blanket pulled over her. Ingrid, on the other hand, had kicked the comforter off of her, sleeping in just a tshirt and shorts. They were laying facing each other, their hands tangled together, like they’d fallen asleep talking. 

They were sleeping. They’d had a long week. They had training the following day. You shouldn’t wake them. They looked comfortable and peaceful, and you shouldn’t ruin that. You turned to go back to your room, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying at how utterly alone you suddenly felt. 

You were sure you hadn’t made any noise, but still, a whispered voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“Solstråle?” Ingrid asked quietly, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, go back to sleep.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady. It evidently didn’t work, because not a second later, Ingrid was flicking the lamp on, looking at you with a sympathetic expression on her face. Next to your sister, her girlfriend huffed in annoyance, still practically asleep, pulling the covers up and over her head. Ingrid rolled her eyes, before fixing her attention back on you.

“Come here.” Ingrid instructed, gesturing you closer to the bed. You walked over, feeling ridiculously like a small child waking their parents up after a bad dream. “You can’t sleep?”

“No.” You said miserably, roughly wiping away a stray tear. 

“How can I help? Do you want to talk?” She asked worriedly, brutally kicking Mapi in the shin as she did so, thinking that her girlfriend would be somewhat helpful in this situation, even if she was half asleep. The Spaniard grumbled unhappily, but emerged from under the covers just as you responded. 

“I don’t know, I just can’t stop thinking about her.” You whispered, truly not confident that anything could make you feel better in that moment. 

Mapi sat up, patting the middle of the bed invitingly. It was a king, and there was plenty of room, but you looked between her and Ingrid skeptically. 

“I’m not a child.” You said a bit harshly, thinking of Camila calling you immature. If only she could see you now. 

“We know. You just broke up with your girlfriend, though, and you haven’t slept in over a day. You are sad and exhausted, and it isn’t childish to need help.” Mapi said kindly, very dramatically scooching over so there was more room for you. 

You floundered for a minute, not quite sure what to do. You were an adult. An adult. And Ingrid and Mapi were not your parents. The appeal was there, though, to climb into the bed and tell them everything. To let yourself break when you knew they’d keep track of all the pieces, and put you back together. “Can I have more tea?” You blurted out, looking at Mapi. You weren’t really sure where that came from, but she nodded enthusiastically, rising from the bed, practically taking off for the kitchen in a sprint. 

“I’ll go make some!” 

You turned back to Ingrid, chewing aggressively on your lip. She rolled her eyes at you, teasingly, before she pointendly looked between you and the bed. 

“Get in the damn bed.” Ingrid sighed. It was easier, when she was telling you exactly what to do, because you didn’t have to worry about picking the wrong answer. You settled on the bed, right in the middle, and Ingrid threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to lean your head on her shoulder. 

“Ingrid?” You said after a minute, so quietly, your sister almost missed it. 

“Hmm?” 

“Do you think I’m immature?” You asked. 

Ingrid thought for a moment. “No. I think you’ve had to grow up really fast, and you’ve had to make a lot of big adjustments. You are more mature because of all of that. Why?”

You knew she would hate what you were going to say. “Camila said I was.” 

Ingrid grew tense next to you. “That’s because she was a 26 year old woman dating an 18 year old. What was she fucking expecting?” Ingrid said venomously. 

Mapi walked back into the room, taking care to be quiet, as it looked like you were deep in thought. She placed the mug of tea on her nightstand before she sat on the bed next to you, turning so she could see your face.

“Did she say anything else?” Ingrid asked cautiously. 

You opened your mouth to tell her that, no, Camila hadn’t said anything else. Instead, words flowed out of your mouth that you hadn’t decided to say, but you were unable to contain them. “She called me jealous and immature. She said the ‘mommy issues’ were really obvious, that I was insecure and clingy, and that I wasn’t worth it. That no one would want to put up with me.” 

You said it so forlornly, so resigned to what this awful woman had told you, Ingrid felt an anger she’d never experienced before rise within her. Neither she nor Mapi knew what to say right away, collecting their thoughts. You broke the silence again, though, after only a few seconds. 

“I think she’s right.” You said, your voice breaking clearly. You pressed your hands to your face, body shaking with silent sobs. 

“No, mi sol, no,” Mapi said softly, scooting closer to rest a hand on your knee. 

Ingrid took a breath, trying to swallow her anger, rubbing your arm with her hand comfortingly. “Solstråle, you are none of those things. That awful woman has no idea who you are, not really. You are not immature, you are 18. There is a huge difference. And you are so much more than what happened with mom. You are so many good things despite mom, sweetheart, and Camila doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She just wanted to hurt you, none of that is true.” Ingrid said insistently. 

“Why would she want to hurt me? I thought she liked me. I don’t understand.” You replied, still keeping your face hidden away in your hands. 

“Because she isn’t a good person, and she doesn’t deserve you. And you don’t understand because you are good, mi sol. So good.” 

“Then why do such horrible things keep happening?” You asked, voice raised slightly in frustration. You pulled your hands away from your face, looking between your sister and her girlfriend with a tearstained, bewildered face. “I’m trying to be good, I’m trying so hard, why is this so hard?”

Both girls felt their hearts break a little at your words. Ingrid wrapped both her arms around you, pulling you into her chest as you cried. “I know, Solstråle, it’s not fair. It’s going to get better. I promise you, it is.”

“I’m tired of everything being so hard.” You cried, shutting your eyes tightly as you spoke. You felt a soft hand brushing your hair away from your forehead, felt Ingrid leave a kiss on your forehead. “I’m tired.”

You meant it figuratively, and literally, and Mapi and Ingrid knew that very well. The best thing they could do for you now, would be to get you calm enough to sleep. It was happening without them trying very hard, honestly. You could barely keep your eyes open, even as soft sobs fell from your mouth. 

“It’s not going to be hard forever. I promise you, mi sol.” Mapi said, looking intently at you, though you didn’t look back at her. 

“I’m so tired.” You repeated, barely making sense. You were almost delirious with exhaustion, your emotional outburst only making it worse. 

“Sleep, solstråle. We are right here. Everything will feel better in the morning. You aren’t going to feel like this forever. Just relax, and sleep. We love you so much.” 

And even as you nodded, all the fight and worry of being too much for them flooding from your body, you wondered if they were right. If everything would feel better. 

If anyone would ever really want you. 

You drifted off ridiculously easily, curled up next to your sister, your brain going quiet for the first time in days. Once Ingrid was sure you were asleep, she turned to her girlfriend, who was tucking the blankets around you nice and tight. 

“I am going to kill that girl.” Ingrid murmured, feeling absurdly protective over you. 

“I will kill her first.” Mapi vowed. 

“She isn’t allowed to date again until she’s 50.” Ingrid said, a frown etched on her face. 

Mapi cracked a smile. “Good luck with that, mi amor.” 

Ingrid shook her head. “I can’t stand to see her like this.” 

The Spaniard turned serious again, nodding her agreement. “It’s gonna get better, Ingrid. It’s not going to be perfect, but she’s already better. She just needs time.” 

“I wish I could take it from her, so she could just be happy all the time.” Ingrid admitted, flicking the lamp off, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

“I do too.” Mapi whispered back. She and Ingrid looked at each other over your slumbering form, each seeing their exact feelings reflected in the other’s face, even with their features obscured by darkness. They just wanted things to be better for you. Easier and lighter and happier. They’d do anything, get you the moon if you wanted it. They didn’t consider if they were giving you all they could, that maybe you needed something else. They just promised themselves that they wouldn’t rest until you were happier, whatever it took. Whatever it took for you, because you were their sol, and nothing on earth was more important to them than your happiness. 

-------

my name is girlgenius1111 and i like to make my fictional kid suffer give me all your thoughts on this installment of sol ☀️

[queenxxxsupreme]

At the End of the World

(Cooper Howard x Reader)

A/N: I know absolutely squat about the Fallout universe but I like to think I’ve done my research good enough. This is my first kick at trying a Cooper Howard x reader so I am getting a feel for his character, please be kind :) Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k

Warning: nothing outside of canon, little fluffy here and there

Summary: You run into a certain ghoul and the vault dweller he’s taken as hostage.

Side Note: I called the inhaler thing that Cooper uses to keep from going feral a breather cause that sounded better than inhaler in my head??

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her temple into the wall. She licked her lips in an effort to ease the pain she felt. Her lips were so dry they had cracked again and again.

“Better get some shut eye, Vaultie.”

She opened her eyes and looked across the room to the man holding her hostage. Calling him a man was a stretch. He hadn’t been a man for quite some time. Ghoulification had taken over his features long ago, gnarling his skin and turning him into something between man and monster.

Lucy said nothing to him and put her head back against the wall. Part of her wished she had never left the vault. How could people live on the surface? There were no rules, no regulations, not even morals. It was no way to live. She leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. She knew she needed to sleep, but she wasn’t sure how much she’d be able to get.

Lucy wasn’t able to concentrate on sleep for very long. After what seemed like just seconds, the Ghoul moved. He straightened his hat and pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip. His eyes remained on the window between himself and Lucy.

“What—?”

”Quiet.” He cut Lucy off.

The vault dweller closed her mouth and tried to listen to whatever the Ghoul heard.

“This has to be where they holed up for the night.” A hushed voice spoke.

”You sure it was a vault dweller, Dart?”

”Positive. You know how much we could get for one of those if we find the right buyer?”

The Ghoul stood to his feet. The wall they were behind was the only bit of building left from what had once been a house. There wasn’t even a roof or another wall, just the piece that Lucy and the Ghoul were hiding behind.

“Looky here, fellas.” A voice came from behind the Ghoul. The sound of a hammer clicking on a pistol made him roll his eyes. “Turn around slow, buddy.”

”You fellas are askin’ for trouble.” The Ghoul warned.

“Drop the gun. Don’t want to hurt you, just want the vaultie.”

The Ghoul let his pistol fall to the dirt floor as he turned to face the unwelcomed guests. The guests consisted of three men and a woman.

“Say, you think we could get anything for a ghoul too?” The woman whispered to the man closest to her.

“It’s far too late in the night for y’all to cause a ruckus.” The Ghoul spoke. “Why don’t you turn around and go back the way you came before one of yous gets hurt?”

One of the men chuckled and shook his head.

“Ain’t no way we’re leaving without her.” He gestured to Lucy with the end of his sawed off shotgun.

Without any warning, a gun was fired once, twice, then three times. The Ghoul watched as all three raiders fell to the ground, blood pouring out of head wounds. His eyes flickered around, seeking out where the shots had come from. He couldn’t see a damn thing in the pitch black night.

Then there was a whistle. It was low and steady, lasting a couple seconds before a second whistle followed.

Lucy’s eyes were wide with panic as she strained to see where the noise came from. She searched the darkness, eyes flighting back and forth. The Ghoul didn’t seem nearly as panicked. In fact, he almost looked confused.

The wind shifted and blew a breeze directly towards him, carrying a familiar scent with it.

“What-What is that?” Lucy croaked. Her throat was so dry that her voice was raspy.

The Ghoul picked up his gun that he had dropped earlier on the ground. He brushed the dirt from it as a grin appeared on his lips.

“Oh that? That ain’t nothin’ but a little ol’ mouse.”

”Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” A soft and sweet voice came from the darkness.

Lucy watched as you moved into her line of sight. You appeared to be human, dressed in black cargo style pants tucked into worn dark brown boots. You wore a dark gray sweatshirt that was tattered around the hem and a brown jacket overtop of the sweatshirt. A dark green scarf wrapped loosely around your neck.

“Haven’t seen you for a while.” The Ghoul spoke, his eyes focused on you.

”Could say the same for you.” Your gaze found Lucy. She offered you a quick and friendly smile, but the sight of your left eye caught the poor girl off guard. It was glowing in the darkness, letting off an electric blue light. “Making new friends, Coop?”

”Ah, you know me. Always looking for a new friend.” The Ghoul’s tone was friendly and light. Lucy had never heard him sound anything close to nice.

You smiled just a little, shaking your head gently as you took a few more steps towards the two.

“Miss? Uh, m-miss?” Lucy tried to move towards you but the sound of the Ghoul pulling the hammer on his pistol back stopped her.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, Vaultie. Sit your ass back down.” He gave a stiff nod to the ground where she had been sitting moments ago.

You kept your eyes on Lucy as she returned to her seat. Her eyes found yours again and you had to look away in order to avoid feeling bad for her. The Ghoul sat down and you took the spot right next to him, shrugging your backpack off of your shoulders and placing it between your legs.

“What happened with Dom Pedro?”

”Ain’t important.” He muttered with a shake of his head. You unzipped your backpack and pulled out a canteen.

“What’s your name, girl?”

”Lu-Lucy. My name is— My name is Lucy.” She stammered, pausing to lick her dry lips. “What’s your name?”

You leaned forward to pass her the canteen. She needed it far more than you did.

“Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!” Lucy hastily opened the canteen and began to drink from it rather hastily.

“Friends call me Icy.” You answered her question. “Seems to be what I go by anymore.”

A raspy cough from the Ghoul made you snap your head in his direction. He tried to stifle the cough but it was no use. You had already heard.

“Where’s your breather?”

”Don’t got— Don’t got any vials.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aint’ no use to me.”

”Where are all your vials at?” You knew him too well. There was no way he’d let himself run out. You pulled your backpack closer to you and began to dig around inside hastily.

”Lost them in a tussle with the Vaultie.”

For a brief second, your eyes flickered up to Lucy. You decided then and there that if Cooper turned, you’d kill her yourself.

“You know, I could kick your ass for being so careless, old man.”

”Suppose you could.” He chuckled but it was cut short by another dry cough. “Wouldn’t- Wouldn’t do you any good, but it sure as hell would make for a good time.”

”Well given your current state, sweetheart, I think the odds would be in my favor.” You pulled out the sachet with vials and handed them to the ghoul. He took it from you, your fingers brushing momentarily but just enough to have your heart beating a little quicker.

“Thank ya, doll.” He murmured quietly. You offered him a smile, watching as he put the vial in his breather and took a hit.

“You two are…. Are you close?” Lucy asked. You turned your attention to her, tilting your head to the side just a bit. She tried to smile, to show that she was trying to be friendly.

“Lucy, was it?”

”Yes.” She nodded her head.

“Those kind of questions, Lucy, get you a bullet in your gut out here.”

The smile fell from her broken lips and her brows drew together in confusion.

“I-I wasn’t– I didn’t mean it– It was more just an observation.”

You turned your head to Cooper. He tucked the breather into his jacket and then his eyes found you.

“Heard you came into some trouble a few months back.”

“Just got into it with a group of raiders back outside of Targon.” You leaned back against the metal junk he was leaning against. “Just the same old bullshit. Wanted my eye.”

He stayed quiet. He wished he had found you sooner.

“You need to get some sleep.” You leaned over to push your shoulder against his.

Cooper tilted his head down, the brim of his hat covering his eyes.

“Ain’t sleepin’ tonight, doll.”

“When was the last time you slept? You look exhausted.” You reached over to put your hand on his. “You need to sleep, Cooper.”

He held your gaze for a few heartbeats, losing himself in your eyes. He had been worried about you since he crawled out of the grave Dom Pedro had kept him in. He was worried he’d never be able to find you, that perhaps you would be dead when he did get to you.

The ghoul pulled himself out of his own thoughts and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, boss. Don’t let the Vaultie get too friendly.”

You smiled a little.

“Now you know that isn’t me, darling. I don’t let anyone get too friendly.”

“You let me get a little too friendly, if I remember correctly.”

“Shut your mouth, old man.” You smiled up at him. His grin you adored so much was covered up by the brim of his hat as he pulled it down.

You turned your attention to the girl that sat across from you.

“How long have you been upside?”

“Um, I-I don’t know for sure. A few weeks, I think.” She took another sip of water and then scooted a little closer to you so that she could hand the canteen back to you.

“Keep it.” You shook your head.

“Thank you.” She murmured quietly as she settled back into her spot. “Where, um, are you from?”

“Everywhere and nowhere all at once.” You let out a soft breath. “When you live for as long as I have, you don’t keep track of that sort of thing.”

“How…. How long have you been alive?”

“Long enough to know you don’t belong up here, Lucy.”

She held your gaze, almost too afraid to look away.

“I-I have to find my dad. He got taken by-by these raiders. They took him and I have to find him.”

You nodded gently. Lucy looked to the Ghoul, trying to figure out if he was asleep yet. After a couple moments of silence between you and Lucy, she could hear what sounded like gentle snoring.

“Icy, I need to find my dad. Please, you have to let me go.” She whispered.

“Quiet down, girl.” You stood to your feet, adjusting the holster that hung around your hips. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Where are you going?”

“Keep watch.”

***

Hours later, the blistering sun was just beginning its task of boiling the earth as it came up from the horizon.

You had been lost in thought, eyes gazing ahead at the sunrise. Your left eye, the cybernetic eye, kept track of the time, the rate the sun was rising, the temperature, and how fast the wind was going.

“Mornin’, pretty girl.”

You looked over your shoulder to see Cooper walking towards you.

“You slept good.” You commented, taking a sip of water. He had snored last night louder than you ever heard before.

“Easy to do when you’re around.” Cooper came to stand beside you, one hand finding the small of your back. “You know, I was– uh– I was worried bout you.”

“Same could be said for me to you.” Your eyes flickered across the baron land before you. There was nothing to see for miles and miles except dirt and remnants of destroyed buildings casting long shadows in the early morning light. “I’d heard whispers thrown around about what Dom Pedro was doing to you. When I get my hands on him–,”

“I don’t want you gettin’ anywhere near him, Icy Mae.”

You clenched your teeth together. Fiery anger swirled in your gut. Cooper’s hand on your back moved just slightly, rubbing your back in an effort to comfort you.

“No need in grinding those little teeth, doll.”

“I’ve spent three years trying to find you.”

“I know.”

“I want to kill him for what he’s done to you.”

Cooper let out a sigh.

“Lemme see those pretty eyes, doll.”

You turned your head away from him even more. You didn’t want him to see the tears that festered in your right eye.

“Look at me, Icy.”

You took in a breath through your nose before begrudgingly turning to face the ghoul. His fingertips found your jaw, tracing the soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips. Blue eyes followed his fingertips as he brushed away the stray tear that slipped down your cheek.

“I was afraid you’d be gone by the time I got to you. So many people I talked to said that you had died.”

“You know ain’t nothin’ gonna keep me from you, doll. Not even death.” He was trying to use his voice to make you feel better. Sometimes you felt that all he had to do was say your name in that raspy drawl of his and everything would be cured.

“Stop trying to charm me, old man.”

“Oh, I ain’t tryin’ to do anything, darling.”

You turned your head away from him, trying to focus on anything else. But he took your chin in his hand, gently turning your head back to him. you had no choice but to look up into his eyes.

“Missed you, woman.” He spoke in a hushed whisper. You couldn’t stay angry with him looking at you. It was rare to see those stern eyes so bright. A smile snuck its way onto your lips. You turned your head to kiss the palm of his hand.

“Distracting me, old man, won’t make me change my mind.”

“He ain’t worth your trouble, doll.” His hand left your face and even though it was hot outside, you found yourself missing the warmth of his touch. He placed his hand on your side, drawing your body a little closer to his.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw something move. You turned your head, disappointed to see Lucy moving towards you and Cooper.

The ghoul sighed as he removed his hand from your side and adjusted his hat, pulling it down just enough so the brim covered his eyes. You turned to face the vault dweller.

“Good morning, Lucy.”

”Good morning.” She smiled lightly. She looked from you to Cooper, unsure of which of you to look at.

“We should leave.” Your words weren’t really meant for her, but instead for the large figure that stood so close behind you.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cooper grumbled. ”Let’s get this show on the road.”

***

A couple hours later, you all walked in a poor excuse of a line. Lucy led the way with you followed just shortly behind her and the Ghoul behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. Cooper kept his right hand on the handle of the gun holster on his hip. He gave you a light nod of his head, to which you smiled.

Lucy slowed down just a little to be able to walk alongside you.

“I just—,”

”Keep moving, Vaultie.” Cooper spoke up from behind you.

“Give her a second, darling.” You looked over your shoulder to flash him a toothy smile.

“Thank you.”

You looked at Lucy out of the corner of your right eye.

“For what?”

”For being so nice to me. Giving me water and-and talking to me.”

You said nothing to her.

”Can I ask you a question?”

”Depends on the question.”

”Is Icy your real name? The name you were born with?”

You almost laughed at her.

“Hardly. Icy is just a nickname I got through the years. Comes from my eye.” You tapped your left temple. You cybernetic eye was a bright blue almost icy color.

“What’s your real name?”

”Why does it matter what my real name is?” You glanced over to her.

”It-It doesn’t. I was just curious.”

”Curiosity will get you killed up here, girly. People don’t think it’s too kind and friendly to be asking all sorts of questions.”

“I-I’m– Okay.” Lucy pressed her lips into a tight line. It was so hard just to make conversation with people from the surface.

You slowed down just a bit so that Lucy would keep walking ahead of you.

“Told you not to be friendly with her.” Cooper bumped your shoulder with his. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not being friendly. Just trying to make conversation ‘cause I know you aren’t gonna be. What are you doing with her anyways?”

“Originally, I was gonna sell her for more vials. But now that you’re here, plans have changed a bit.” Cooper paused. “She’s a MacLean.”

You turned your head to Cooper, brows furrowing together. Without meaning to, you stopped walking.

“A what?”

“You heard me.”

“How?”

“She’s the daughter of Hank MacLean.”

Your fingers curled into fists by your sides. The very mention of Hank MacLean made your blood boil. The mention of anyone from Vault-Tec was enough to get you angry and ready to start fighting.

“What are we going to do with her?” You found yourself glaring at Lucy as she continued to walk, unaware that the both of you had stopped.

Cooper glanced over to you, adjusting the shotgun he held over his shoulder.

“Use her to get to her daddy.”

“They’ve ruined so many lives, Cooper. Vault-Tec has.”

“Oh, I know, darling.” He started walking again.

The anger in your stomach started to form into something else, into grief. There she was, Hank MacLean’s daughter, walking just ahead of you. Vault-Tec had ended so many lives, broken up so many families. Why did he get to have a family? Why did he get to see his daughter grow up?

Cooper stopped when he noticed you weren’t following him. He glanced back at you, taking note of your left hand that gripped the gun on your hip.

“Come on, Icy Mae.” He called for you. “Ain’t no use gettin’ worked up.”

Lucy stopped upon hearing the Ghoul say your name. She turned back to look at you. Your eyes met hers and you saw her furrow her brows together in confusion. Why did you look so upset, so angry?

“Don’t tell me how to be, Cooper.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you how to be, woman. Just telling you gettin’ mad ain’t gonna do nobody any good.”

“Is something wrong?” Lucy asked.

Your eyes left the girl to find Cooper.

“It isn’t fair, Coop.” You whispered, but he heard you just fine. He said nothing as he held your gaze. “Just isn’t fair.” You took your hand off of the gun and started walking again.

***

The day seemed to drag on for an eternity. No one had spoken very much. Everyone was tired and doing their best to make their energy last.

As the sun went away, camp was made on the outskirts of what used to be a town. The three of you took refuge inside of what appeared to be some kind of overturned bus. A battery powered lamp was on and sat in the middle of the bus, providing the otherwise pitch black night with a tiny source of light.

Lucy sat down against the roof of the bus, moving her hands around in an attempt to get comfortable with the rope around her wrist. You moved towards her, pulling a knife from its holster on your lower back.

”What are you doin’, woman?”

”Yeah, what are you doing?” Lucy shifted in her spot, eyes sticking to the knife you held. She tried to move away, pushing herself backwards. “Hey! Hey—!”

”Quiet down.” You muttered, kneeling down to cut away the rope.

“Oh.” Lucy watched the rope fall away then she rubbed her wrists. “Th-Thank you.”

“Icy, what the hell?”

”May as well let her get comfortable for the night.” You tucked the knife back into the sheath on your back. ”And she can’t go no where. We’re surrounded by nothing. She‘ll die from the elements before she gets far.”

Cooper sighed, putting his hands on his hips. You shrugged off your backpack and placed it down next to his bag. You sat down, adjusting your backpack before leaning against it.

“I’m gonna go have a look around.” He told you. “See if we’re alone out here.”

”Be careful.”

The ghoul gave you a nod, then turned towards Lucy.

“You try anything funny, Vaultie, and I won’t hesitate to skin you alive.”

“I-I won’t. I promise.”

You watched as Cooper slipped out of the overturned bus and disappeared into the night.

Once he was completely gone, you leaned forward to start taking off some of your layers. With the sun down, you didn’t have to worry about its harsh rays.

Lucy watched as you took off the jacket and placed it aside, then pulled the sweatshirt off of your head and added it to the jacket. You were left in a thin tank top that appeared to be a dark shade of brown. The gloves you wore came up to your elbows. You tugged each one off, setting them aside. With all the layers off, Lucy could now see the scars that covered your arms. They were darker than the rest of your skin and seemed to go in a gnarled and twisted pattern from the backs of your hands up to your shoulders.

You looked up, feeling eyes on you. The girl was watching you, her gaze curious but horrified all at once.

“I-I’m sorry.” She stuttered out. “What, um, what happened to you?”

”Got caught in a fire a few years back.” You rubbed your left arm, then started to rub the right one.

”Is that what happened to your eye?”

You stopped moving, her question catching you off guard.

You reached behind you into one of the side pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Then you settled back against the backpack, bringing your eyes up to meet hers.

Your cybernetic eye read her vitals and told you that she was nervous. A slightly elevated heart rate and increased breathing.

”No.” You put the cigarette between your lips then pulled a lighter from a pocket on your pants. “My eye was taken from me at the start of the war.”

”Oh.” She was quiet for a few heartbeats, looking away from you. “Do you mind me asking what happened?”

”Vault-Tec.”

Your answer seemed to surprise her. She drew her eyebrows together.

”Vault-Tec?”

“It’s a long story, girly.” Your face lit up a little as you lit the cigarette.

”Well…. We’ve got time.”

”That we do.” You sunk down a little more to get comfortable.

Lucy could tell you didn’t really want to talk about your eye or Vault-Tec or your scars anymore. She looked down at her hands, rubbing her wrists just a little more before she let out a soft breath.

“How do you know him? That guy?”

”Known him for a while.” You turned your attention to the black sky. ”Ran into each other ages ago. We’d go our separate ways no and again but somehow…. Somehow we always run into each other.”

If the man in question hadn’t been so mean and callous, perhaps Lucy would have smiled.

“But how can you…. How can you be with someone like that? Someone who-who is okay with so much murder and so much cruelty?”

You stayed silent for a few minutes, debating on what to say next. Lucy thought perhaps you were ignoring her, but then you slowly sat up. You crossed your legs and leaned forward with your elbows on your knees.

“I used to have a daughter.” Your voice was hushed, eyes cast down to the flashlight providing a little bit of light. You took a deep inhale of the cigarette. In the same moment that you breathed out a cloud of smoke, you continued to talk. “Used to have a husband too. He was a good man. He’d move heaven and earth for me and my girl.”

You paused to see if Lucy would say anything. When she remained silent, you carried on.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Miss MacLean. You’ve only ever known comfort your whole life. You don’t know what people have had to endure up here…. what good people have had to do…. in order to survive.”

Lucy looked away, unable to hold your gaze any longer.

“There are no rules up here, no guidelines, no sense of ethics. If you want to survive, you have to do things you wouldn’t normally do. Good men do bad things to make sure they survive.”

Lucy directed her eyes downward. You flicked the cigarette ashes down onto the ground beside you.

“I’m-I’m sorry about your family.”

Your gaze was drawn to the girl once more.

“About everything you’ve been through.”

A whistle made both of you turn your heads. Lucy almost started to panic, but you shook your head gently.

”It’s just Cooper.” You took another puff from the cigarette. A few moments of silence passed before the Ghoul was making his way back into the overturned bus. “Find anything?” You sat up and offered him the cigarette.

“Nah, there’s nothin’ here but us and dirt.” He sat down next to you, settling with sitting up while you stayed hunkered down with your head on the backpack.

Lucy moved around a bit to get herself comfortable, choosing to lay on her side with her arm under her head as she faced the light.

”It’s your turn to get some sleep, woman.”

You turned your head to look up at Cooper.

“Don’t know if I’m gonna be able to sleep much, darling.” You took the cigarette back from him and puffed on it a little bit.

“You should try.”

You hummed but said nothing more.

After a few minutes, Lucy fell asleep, giving you and the ghoul next to you the smallest bits of privacy.

Neither of you said anything for a long time. You passed the cigarette back and forth until it was finished up by Cooper.

You scooted closer to him, trying to get as deep into his side as you could. He lifted his arm until you were comfortable, then he put his arm down around you, his hand resting on your shoulder.

”I haven’t been able to stop thinking about killing her all day, Cooper.” You murmured.

“Oh, yeah?”

”I want to take her head to her father.”

He looked down at you, unsure if what he had heard was what you said.

”He shouldn’t get to have a family. No one at Vault-Tec should.”

”You’re gonna get yourself all worked up, doll. Best not go down that rabbit hole tonight.”

You took a deep breath, reaching your hand up to hold on to his fingers.

”I don’t want to feel that way, Coop. I don’t want to hurt her.”

”Hush now.” Cooper leaned down to kiss your head. “Get some sleep, Icy Mae.”

[bubonicc-writing]

The Rebound

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3194

Summary: It's been a long time since Cooper has felt a loving touch. Perhaps a little too long because he's not entirely sure what to do with you.

CW: Semi-slow burn, smut, P in V, creampies, loving on a crispy man who needs it real bad. Prob ooc because this is my first fallout/reader fic ever (sowwy)

Cooper was a hard man to break. Downright standoffish and a straight-up jackass. At least that was what he was like when you first met him. Charismatic, confident, an excellent shot, but god, was he a prick. That, though, you had gotten used to the longer you traveled together. As the months dragged on, that standoffishness started to shed from the Ghoul. 

It started with random small talk picking up between you two as you travel between settlements. For the first few months together, it was mostly silence or business talk traded between you. Who was the next bounty? Where were they last? Can you scavenge while I get intel? It was all just business. That was until one night, Cooper started making small talk between their travels. Then came the soft conversations by the fire when they settled for the night. Every week, the weight of that duster and those guns on his back seemed to lighten the more he talked to you. Then came the offered cantine of water on a scorching day. Already an out-of-the-ordinary gesture from him, more so because your cantine wasn’t empty and he was offering his for a sip.

You took it.

The small talk turned into jokes with hushed laughs between you. As Cooper drawled on, you watched him over the campfire's tip. The light it threw cast beautiful shadows along Cooper's features, and when that crooked ass grin warped his lips more and more, you felt a tinge in the center of your chest. A little candlelight flickering and quivering whenever he spoke in that long drawl. It blazed when his eyes flicked up at you, staring at you in a way that made it seem like he could see right through you. It was like he could see that candle burning just for him.

Now, when the two of you slept, you were no longer on opposite sides of the room. You both started to creep toward each other every night until you were only a few feet apart. Cooper never laid down when he slept. Instead, he leaned against the wall and semi-slouched. He’d tilt his hat downward until the brim hid his eyes. Finally, he would cross his legs and arms before drifting off. You, on the other hand, preferred your bedroll. While not much, it was still better than the barren floor or the questionable mattress they occasionally came across. 

Tonight, a storm was coming through, bringing billowing winds and harsh rain that pounded the roof of the abandoned gas station they had sheltered in. You had tried hours ago to sleep, but the chill from the wind crept between the broken boards and cracked windows. You tossed and turned for what felt like hours, unable to get warm in any position. You flopped over one more time, now facing where Cooper was slouched against a wall a good two feet from you. His brim was cast down, covering his eyes as usual, but from how still he was, you figured he had fallen asleep a while ago.

 Chewing your lip, you hesitated momentarily before scooting towards him and bridging the gap. Snuggling up against his hips and thighs, you sighed contently. He smelled of gunpowder and smoke, typical. Slumber tugged at your eyelids, and you finally drifted off within minutes.

A light sleeper for obvious reasons in this hellhole of a wasteland, Cooper had awoken the second you had touched his leg. He waited for you to settle before opening one eye halfway and staring down his brim at you. Studying your peaceful expression and how you pressed your nose into his thigh. Two rouge strands of your hair had fallen against your cheek, slightly curled at the tips.

A former version of himself would have shoved you away, telling you to git back to your side of the station. Except the current version of himself felt something swirling around in his chest. It was slightly uncomfortable but not all too unfamiliar.

It was a sensation he hadn’t felt for over a hundred years, something that longed for that little touch and craved so much more. It flopped around behind his ribcage, and he grits his teeth in annoyance.

Sighing and looking back down, he shifts gently. Bringing one hand down and outstretching two fingers, he tenderly brushes the hair strands behind your ear. With that, he recrosses his arms and sits back, eyes closing.

As the months continue, so do they, but Cooper is different at night. His expressions are somber, his eyes distant while he sharpens his knives. Deep in thought, sometimes it takes calling his name twice before he looks up at you.

“Coop, are you alright?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowed together in concern. You were annoyed when he smiled and chuckled softly, telling you he was peaches and cream. You didn’t push the matter and didn’t have to because he mentioned his daughter three nights later.

He spoke slowly, hesitantly, wondering if he should even be saying any of this to you in the first place. He wasn’t a vulnerable man, not anymore, anyway. 

He spoke, and you listened, night after night, as more pieces of the puzzle of this mystery man fell together. Under all those clothes and behind all those guns, Cooper was still just a man—an ordinary man.

“You’ll find her Coop,” Reaching over from where you were sitting at his side, you placed your hand on his wrist and gently squeezed it, “I know you will.” 

Cooper didn’t respond, but a smile so tiny it almost went missed curved the corners of his lips.

As you lay in your bedroll that night, you felt something shift against your front. Opening your tired eyes halfway, you watched through blurry vision as Cooper lay down next to you. His back was to you, but you scooted against his spine without a second thought. Resting your cheek between his shoulder blades, you closed your eyes again. 

Eventually, Cooper lay facing you. Without saying anything, he would hook your waist and tug you against his chest. Then, you would feel him resting his chin on your head. The first time he had done it, your face burned so hot you feared you might catch ablaze. If Cooper noticed, he didn’t say. No matter, you didn’t want him to stop, and you were sure he didn’t want you to, either. 

In truth, Cooper would be lying if he ever said he didn’t like the sensation of your small palms against his chest. He loved how you played with the buttons on his dirty shirt until you fell asleep.

Each night, you did the same thing, chest to chest, until finally, one night, you nuzzled your face into the nook of Cooper's neck. Soft and plump lips grazed across his scarred skin before placing a gentle kiss on Cooper’s jawline. 

Immediately, Cooper stiffened against you. You felt his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the small of your back pause. You heard him swallow suddenly, and your stomach sank as you expected him to push you away and scold you. 

Instead, Cooper cleared his throat and nestled his chin harder against the top of your head. 

Days in the wasteland dragged on usually, but the following days felt like an eternity since that night. Bounty after bounty, caps collected, and supplies scavenged, Cooper never once brought it up. Instead, he carried on as usual, which, in truth, made your heartache.

It was possible that even after all of this time, the candle he had ablaze in your chest was not mutually lit. 

What you didn’t know was that Cooper's heart had bounced out of his chest and into his throat that night. He didn’t think it was even possible for his cheeks to flush, but damn, they felt hot. It was alien; over 200 years of feeling the kiss of bullets, he had forgotten what a real one felt like. It was incredible but also terrifying.

 He had loved, and he had lost. 

The nights following the kiss, Cooper waited for you to make a move again, but you didn’t. You slept with your back to him and didn’t move when he pressed against you and draped an arm over your waist. After a few minutes, he felt your fingers intertwine with him in a gentle grip. 

The two of you stayed linked that night.

The following night, Cooper watched as you shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your boots, getting ready to sleep after a long day of tracking a bounty through the unforgiving sun. Reaching up, you released your hair from its loose bun and let your locks fall messily over your shoulders.

You half turned when you felt Cooper grab your hand. Watching him bring it to his lips, he kissed your palm and pressed your hand against his cheek.

The brim of his hat temporarily hid his eyes, but when he looked up at you, your heart fluttered. No words were exchanged as you slowly leaned forward, having to stand on your toes even to come close to his marred lips. Centimeters away, you paused, but Cooper filled the gap.

The first kiss was gentle, and your free hand came up to cup Cooper’s other cheek. When you broke away, it wasn’t for long. Reconnecting, your kisses became hungrier, and your hands on Cooper's cheeks drifted downward. Running over his neck, then his collar and chest. You worked your way down as he kissed you until you palmed at his groin.

“Wait,” Cooper pulled away suddenly, stepping back, “wait…fuck” He turned on his heels, pacing back and forth. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, watching him shake his head and curse to himself. “Coop?”

Once he stopped pacing, he sighed and shook his head before glancing over his shoulder at you.

“I don’t think I have it in me no more, sweetheart.” He laughed softly at himself. 

“What do you mean?” Taking a step towards him, she watched as he finally turned to face her.

“It’s… been a long time. A really long time, sugar.” Too long, really, at least, that is what he thought anyway. Nobody had touched him like this since before the bombs. Nobody had loved him. The only thing he knew now was blood, bullets, and ass jerky.

“Coop,” You said softly, moving towards him and wrapping your arms around his towering frame, “let me take care of you for once.” There was silence before Cooper rested his chin atop your head and laughed. Slowly, his hands came up to rest on your hips, his thumbs dipping under the fabric of your shirt to rub at the soft skin there. 

Looking up, you place a chain of kisses along his jawline. Meanwhile, one of your hands pressed against his back snaked back to his front. There, you worked your way down again until you felt the subtle tent in his pants. You palmed it gently, drawing out soft groans from your Ghoul. He shifted in place, sliding his chin off your head and burying his face between the nook in your neck. His hips lean forward into your touch, and you purr at that.

“That’s it,” you whisper, working the top button until it pops. Next, you slide his zipper down and slide your hand inside. “I’ve got you.”

Upon grabbing his stiffening cock, you feel him tense against you, even sagging a little bit as you start to stroke. Your thumb rubs over his swollen head, spreading the generous amount of precum around. You feel it pulse against your palm, and you can’t help but smile when Copper’s breath stutters against your neck.

“Fuck darling,” He drawls, “You know how to drive a man mad.” Bringing his hands up from your hips, Cooper knots his fingers into the back of your shirt. It doesn’t take long to have him unraveling. You can feel his thighs trembling and his grip tightening the closer he gets to release. Like butter, he is melting and fast.

Each new noise you pull from him causes a feverish heat to swell over your form. Your stomach flips, and you feel your heat clench with desire. As much as you would like to keep your composure, you lean into him, pressing your forehead into his shoulder as you stroke faster and faster. 

The choked growl Cooper lets out is the only warning you get before hot fluid coats your palm and wrist. His hips lurch in your grip twice before he suddenly sags hard against your form. Finger still twisted in your shirt, he finally lets go and lets his arms swing heavily by his sides. His legs are like jelly, and it takes him a moment to stand up semi-straight, his hat slightly crooked. He looks drunk, his eyes glossy, that stupid ass grin you loved smeared across his lips.

“That good, huh?” Stepping back to give him a little breathing room, you pluck the first few buttons of your shirt open. Allowing your shirt to part and fall from your shoulders, your breasts become exposed. With your other hand, you reach down and open the first button of your pants.

“Well then,” You coo, “come on then bounty hunter.” You shimmy your pants and panties off, kicking them off to the side, leaving your form raw to his eyes. “Come and get it.”

There was no need to ask twice. Rushing forward, Cooper grabbed your hips and slammed your forms together. Your lips crashed together again and again, and you whined into his mouth, horribly needy. You didn’t doubt Cooper had seen the slick glistening on your inner thigh.

Pushing you backward, you allowed Cooper to guide you to your bedroll. Once close enough to it, he kicked his foot out, hooked his heel around your leg, and pulled it out from under you. As you fell backward, he fell with you, landing flat on his palms. Towering over you now, eyes ablaze as they drink in your beet red face and beautiful puffy pink breasts. 

“You’ve been wantin' this for a while, haven’t yah?” Lifting one of his hands and pressing it against your soft belly, he drags it down towards your heat. Without warning, he slides his middle and ring finger through your folds, running over your sensitive clit. You gasp, tossing your head back.

“Ngh! Fuck!” Looking up between your bodies, you watch as Cooper drags his fingers up and down over and over, teasing your swelling clit. “Fuck Coop, fuck!”

“Well,” He growls, “Who am I to keep a lady waitin'?” Without warning, his middle and ring finger coast downward and dip deep into your gushing cunt. The squeal that escapes your lips has Cooper chuckling. He presses deep into you, humming as your walls grip his digits. 

Burying himself knuckle deep over and over, a squelching noise is followed by each hand thrust. You lift and twist your hips from the intense waves of pleasure. Only when you feel Cooper withdraw his fingers do you flop down, panting harshly.

Through half-lidded and blurry eyes, you watch Cooper bring his hand between you. He inspects them before spreading his two fingers apart, a tendril of thick fluid connecting them.

“You get this wet for everybody else? Or just little o’l me?”

Turning your head away in embarrassment, you feel Cooper grip your chin and return your gaze to him. 

“Eyes on me.” He growls as he rolls his hips forward, running his stiff cock between your slick folds. The head bumps your clit, and for a moment, you think you see stars. Over and over again, he grinds against you, littering your chest with kisses in the meantime. 

When you finally feel him lean back and press his head against your opening, he hesitates. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper as you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’ve got you.” Sliding both arms around his neck, you gently tug him into your warm embrace. One hand rugs between his shoulder blades while your other rubs the back of his neck.

Allowing himself to lean forward, he nuzzles into the side of your neck before biting the soft flesh. 

Rolling his hips forward, he breaches and slides into you with ease. Gasping and choking out a soft cry, you feel him bury himself to his hilt. Hip connected to hip for a brief moment, he finally drags himself out. Rolling forward, the pase is slow, perhaps even loving, before your Ghoul gets hungry.

It doesn’t take long before your hips are slapping together. You can’t stop the sobs of pleasure that break past your lips with each sharp snap of his hips. Digging your nails into his shoulder blades, you feel your eyes cross when the head of his cock punches that sweet, sweet bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, Cooper!” Your back arches off of your bedroll, “F-fuck! I’m… I’m” The hot waves of pleasure radiating from your belly to your groin all the way down your trembling thighs to your toes are winding too tight. “I’m gonna cum!” 

He didn’t slow down and instead angled himself better to strike that little bundle of nerves that had your eyes rolling back. It took two hard hits before he felt your beck snap into a tight arch. He felt your chest bump hard against him, and your hips twisted to the right as your climate ripped you apart.

Head thrown back, mouth wide open, no sound came out of you as your climax held you prisoner.

Above, Cooper's thrusts started to become sloppy, losing their rhythm as your cunt clamped down on him spasmodically. As much as he tried to hold on, it had been too long, and you had felt too good.

Grunting hard into the side of your neck, you felt a warmth bloom in your groin as Cooper spilled everything he had left into you. He slammed your hips together, holding you in place and burying himself as deep as he could, pumping you full. The sensation had goosebumps blooming across your skin as your body finally deflated back down against the bedroll. 

With eyes half-lidded and glossy, you made out the foggy shape of Cooper still hunched over you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Every other breath was a soft wheeze. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, and a droplet fell and landed on your chest.

Leaning back and sliding himself from your heat, a thick flood of cum followed. You shivered at the sensation and watched as Cooper lowered himself against your form. Resting his head between your breasts, he inhaled sharply and sighed.

Lovingly, you stroked the back of his neck, enjoying the sensation of his hot breath against your breast.

Together, you lay like that while listening to the rain from a passing storm plink against the tin roof.

When you looked down, Cooper's eyes were closed, and his breathing had finally leveled. Letting your head fall back, you closed your own eyes and smiled.

For once, the wasteland was at peace.

[rosepinks-world]

FUCK IT I LOVE YOU, I REALLY DO (cherry waves pt2)

summary: wade helps you patch things up with Logan via a party.

taglist: @justaleksss @fallout-girl219 @fandomsunited @midnights-afternoons

It had been at least a week since you’d last seen Logan.

You hated to say it but you’d been a wreck. The whole point of casual sex was that you wouldn’t get your heart broken and yet here you were with your heart broken. The fact you felt this way made you realise that you felt the same way about Logan. I mean if you were that bothered about not seeing him that had to mean something.

One weekend you were in a blanket cocoon on the sofa binge watching some shit reality tv when you heard a knock on your door.

Logan.

He was all that came to mind as you fixed your hair and outfit slightly. You excitedly whipped the door open to reveal:

“Oh. Hi Wade.” You said your smile leaving your face.

“Well fuck you!” He said inviting himself in dropping some flowers onto your counter. “I was chased by an old lady for picking those from her front garden so you better put them in the best vase you own.”

You laughed but returned to being a bit miserable.

“What are you doing here Wade?”

“I’m throwing a little get together and you’re invited! How fun is that?”

Really he came all this way to invite you to a party?

“Wade you have my number why didn’t you just text me.”

“Okay you’re really missing the point.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Logan is doing my fucking head in.” He complained emphasising the ‘ing’. “He keeps moping around the apartment like he’s been told he can’t jerk off for the rest of his life and it’s got to stop.”

You rolled your eyes, “Wade he’s a prick I don’t want anything to do with him.”

He tilted his head pulling out a stool and sat at the counter.

“Okay you had argument apparently but I need more, tell daddy the drama.”

You cringed at the nickname. “Never say that again.”

“Noted. Now carry on!”

You huffed slightly annoyed and embarrassed about explaining what Logan had said to you.

“We were gonna have sex like usual. He ate me out…”

“Yum.” Wade said interrupting.

You gave him a look and he quickly apologised holding his hands to his mouth.

“When I … finished I hit my head on the bed it was funny so I started laughing and then straight after he… finished in his pants from just that. He got up to the balcony smoked a cigar told me we shouldn’t fuck anymore, went to leave with no explanation, then told me that we shouldn’t because he’s falling in love with me and it’s the last thing any of us needs.”

Wade for the first time in forever was speechless.

“So yeah forgive me for not really caring about his moping.”

Wade shook his head laughing, “Never would’ve guessed that Wolvie was the Boston cream his pants type of guy.”

You threw the flowers at him. “That’s not the point Wade!”

“Woah! What’s the point then?”

“He made me feel like I’m unloveable!”

You sighed and continued explaining your point.

“I would’ve accepted him worrying about catching feelings but he said it’s the last thing any of us needed. Am I that bad?”

Wade gave you a sympathetic look as he placed a hand on your shoulder. He thought for a moment thinking of the right thing to say when he gasped.

“Ohhh! I know what his problem is.”

You perked up, “What is it?”

He shook his head no. “I think it’s better if you work it out yourself.”

You threw your arms out aggressively. “What the fuck Wade?”

“Y/n. You’re an incredible, funny, kind hearted person with an amazing ass! Of course Logan fell for you. How could he not? He’s a really sexy but really complicated guy which is why, like I said you should be getting your answers from him.”

You didn’t say anything and Wade sighed.

“Look come to our apartment tonight. Wear something slutty and go get your man. Just warn me if you’re gonna fuck because I really, really, really want to listen.”

You smiled at Wades weird way of comforting you. “I’ll think about it.”

Wade nodded looking at his watch, “Well I’ve got to go and pick up Als coke. See ya y/n”

You decided to take Wades advice.

It was ten pm. Loud music thumped through the door as you stood outside Wade and Logan’s shared apartment. You had a ‘slutty’ dress on and you’d done your makeup to the way you liked it. You went to knock on the door when you stopped just infront of it. What the fuck were you doing?

You went to walk away when the door swung open as if Wade could sense you.

“Y/ns here!” He screamed to the large collection of people as they cheered. He pulled you through the room whispering about how he was proud of you and something about how your ass looked great.

As Wade got distracted your eyes landed on a familiar brown leather jacket. You smiled slightly, you couldn’t help it but it quickly faded when he moved to the side slightly to reveal a woman. She had opposite features to you and she stood in front of him giggling and touching his arms and face. She then leaned up to kiss him and you quickly turned away.

You were angry.

Furious to be exact. You weren’t official but he obviously didn’t fall for you that hard if he was kissing another girl. You snatched a drink from Colossus’ hand downing it as you went to find more.

You were pretty far gone. Not on the verge of blackout (yet at least) but the type of drunk that would explain what you were doing right now. You were on top of a table with a crowd around you as you threw your hips around to the song playing. The cheers from the crowd encouraging you to carry on dancing and to go even further.

You felt yourself reaching to the strap of your dress pulling it sultrily down your arm the top of your bra showing. The cheers only got louder distracting you from the random guy who leaned very close to the table. He placed his hands on the top of your legs grabbing your thighs. He reached his hands around and harshly smacked your ass. The flashing lights around you combined with the thumping bass and cheers were disorientating. You barely saw as the guy who’d grabbed you was harshly shoved away a voice bellowing out,

“Get the fuck out of here! What sort of people did you invite here Wade?”

You squinted to try and make out what was going on when your legs were swept off the table. You were hoisted over the man’s shoulder the front of your body draped over his back your ass extremely close to his face. You got worried for a second wondering who the hell was picking you up and whether the intentions were right until he spoke.

“What the fuck are you doing y/n?”

Logan.

The happiness of seeing him quickly wore off. God who does he think he is getting mad at you? You returned to being angry.

“Why do you care? I’m not yours to worry about anyway.”

He let out a sigh and kicked the door to what you now realised was his bedroom. You’d been there so many times that the fact you could barely walk in a straight line didn’t stop you from recognising it. He put you down on the bed gently as he went to remove your shoes.

If you had been sober you would’ve shrugged him off to show that you didn’t need him but all independence went out of your mind the minute he’d picked you up. If you had been sober you also wouldn’t make yourself seem so jealous but words left your lips quicker than you could think.

“Who was the girl you were with?” You asked as you kicked off your now undone shoe.

He looked genuinely confused. “What girl?”

You threw your head back on the bed annoyed.

“The girl that was rubbing up against you and kissed you.”

He smirked slightly, he couldn’t help but like the fact you were jealous.“Never seen her in my life. She came onto me, tried to kiss me I declined. She was pretty fucked up I think she got into Als coke so I called her a cab.”

Always a gentleman.

You rolled your eyes as he went to take off your other shoe. “Why are you so nice?” You huffed.

He smiled at the compliment. “Nice? I don’t think that’s me bub.”

You shook your head rather erratic due to the state you were in. “Nope! You are nice you just don’t let other people see it.” He smiled at your compliment.“Well you were nice until you made me feel like shit.”

He frowned guiltily as he helped you up to the pillows on the bed and placed the duvet over you. Logan stood back up and turned towards the door.

“You gonna leave me again?” You asked disappointed. God sober you would be so angry.

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be here with you when you’re like this. It’s not right.”

You laughed hiccuping as you did “You’ve literally been inside me multiple times and this is where you draw the line? We’re not fucking! Just lay with me.”

He looked skeptical until you tilted your head your eyes shining brightly as you grabbed his arm. “Please?”

How could he say no to you when you looked like that? He cleared his throat and sat next to you on the bed. “You want anything?”

“Yeah. I want you.” You replied not looking at him, eyes fluttering open and closed. You were exhausted.

He shook his head. “Bub, no you don’t.”

You tiredly laughed in disbelief. “What do you mean? I really want this to happen you’re the one that said falling in love with me is the last thing any of us need? Am I that unlovable?”

You wanted him? You were drunk but they do say drunk words are sober thoughts. He wanted to tell you how he felt but there was no damn way you’d remember any of it the next morning. “I’m not answering you when you’re drunk I want you to remember what I say.”

His answer lingered in the air with no reply. He thought you had given him the silent treatment but then he heard soft snores coming from you. He laughed a little.

“And that’s why.” He whispered pushing your hair out of your face.

He sat on the bed next to you the whole night. He didn’t even bother sleeping, too worried about what he was going to say to you when you woke up. The only time he left was to prepare you aspirin, water and some food he knew you liked.

You turned over eyes opening as you moaned clutching your head. Logan gestured to the items he gathered earlier and you fixed yourself up. As you downed the glass of water he spoke up.

“You remember what we were talking about last night?”

He didn’t even bother beating around the bush. You paused gathering your memories it didn’t take you long and you felt like your brain had caught you up to speed. You started to remember all the things you had said and did and groaned head in hands.

“…Yeah.”

He pulled his lips into a straight line.

“Right well, I’m really not good with things like this but I’m sorry for making you feel like shit.”

You kept a straight face wanting to see where this was going but you were grateful for the apology.

“Y/n… you were the one that wanted a casual relationship. For me it was great because I didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone or getting hurt but I fell for you. How could I not?”

Your eyes widened. Logan was renowned for being unemotional so you couldn’t believe he was saying these things. You were also flattered you thought you had flaw after flaw but to Logan you were perfect.

“You didn’t want anyone to love you because you didn’t want to get hurt. I’m a terrible person. The worst version of Logan. And I got scared because I don’t want to hurt you. I also really don’t want to lose you.”

You shook your head ‘no’ at his self depreciation. He felt at ease knowing that you disagreed but he continued, “And I’m an asshole for making you feel unloveable because god y/n how could anyone not fall in love with you?”

Wow. For the first time ever Wade got something right. You smiled at him swinging your legs over his body so you were straddling him against the headboard. You leaned forward studying his face whilst the pads of your thumbs gently rubbed his rough skin.

“Logan you’re worried about hurting me but you’re the first person I’ve met that’s made me feel the safest. And I’m not going anywhere- unless you kill me or something.”

He laughed at your joke. Another reason he adored you. He leaned into the touch of your hands.“So, fuck it Lo, I love you too.”

He grabbed your face with urgency as he kissed you. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. God you two were so stupid. Why didn’t you just tell each-other this ages ago? You went to tell Logan what you were thinking when a bang on the wall pulled the two of you away from each other.

“Guys! That was so much better than listening to you fuck!” Wade yelled through the very thin walls of your apartment.

“Have you been listening this whole time prick?” Logan shouted back.

The two of you were met with a silence that strongly suggested that the answer was yes. You laughed leaning your head onto Logan’s shoulder.

“I’ll kill him.” He announced pointing to the wall. Logan was half joking but you could tell he was a little embarrassed. To open up to you clearly made him feel very vulnerable, it was understandable he didn’t want Wade to see that side of him. You tried to make him feel better by playing with the tufts of his hair. “Kill him later. Just stay here for a little longer.”

He nodded obeying you as he drew random patterns on your back. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world. You who looked beyond beautiful at six am in the morning, you who brought light to his life and you who loved him no matter his flaws.

He really did love you and you loved him. Feeling slightly giddy he reached for his cigars and lighter with you still buried into his shoulder.

“Baby..” you started pulling away from his shoulder.

He paused a cigar hanging from his lips. “Yeah?”

“Do I look like a clown?” You asked referring to your messy makeup that hadn’t been removed from last night.

“Yeah. Sexiest clown at the circus.” You cackled hitting his chest jokingly. He went back to his cigar when you started speaking again.

“Also.”

He quirked a brow up pausing in lighting his cigar bringing it away from his mouth. You leaned forward seductively inches away from his lips and paused.

“Don’t even think about smoking one of those fucking things in here.” You ordered smirking as you plucked the cigar from his lips placing it back on the table.

He rolled his eyes chucking the lighter next to the cigar saving it for later. He acted like he wasn’t but really he was happy. Now, he could put your hatred to cigars to a happier memory. He cupped your face. “That’s my girl.”

[enby-jellyfish]

The Incident

Prologue of Managing the Mystery Shack

Grunkle Stan X GN!Reader (POC friendly)

Pronouns: You/Your

Summary: You and Stan meet under unfortunate circumstances.

Warnings: Angst, canon typical paranoia, insomnia, cursing, descriptions of a fresh wound, amnesia

Word Count: 4099

A/N: the old man virus tm has caught me again...

Getting hired as a research assistant by Ford when you were fresh out of university seemed like a dream come true at first. Moving to this strange town in Oregon called Gravity Falls, leaving behind everything you had ever known, was hard, but worth it. Gravity Falls is absolutely fascinating, filled to the brim with all sorts of mind-blowing anomalies.

Upon your arrival Ford had explained his plans of building an interdimensional portal. To do this he needed the help of you and another scientist named Fiddleford McGucket. Your job would be to support Ford and Fiddleford in the collection and analysation of data and samples.

The first few days you, Ford, and Fiddleford spend excavating the alien Crash Site Omega to gather materials and technology. During this time the three of you find all sorts of oddities, Ford continuously scribbling away at the journal he keeps with him at all times.

The more time passed, the more progress you made on the portal and the more creatures you discovered, some more violent than others, Fiddleford often taking the brunt of the first, causing him to become more and more paranoid. It got to a point where he asked Ford not to continue the project, but Ford declined, too hungry for the knowledge he was gaining.

Another thing you had been noticing is the odd behaviour off said boss. The yellow sticky notes always covering his workplace read odd messages, like a conversation. Ford also never seemed to sleep. Several sleepless nights you had seen him awake as well, always working. You couldn’t fully explain it but he doesn’t seem like himself in those moments. The morning after he would rave and rant about the things his ‘muse’ had enlightened him with, always refusing to reveal this person’s identity, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The first test run for the portal brought some clarity though. When. The portal was activated Fiddleford got partially sucked into it, speaking a language you didn’t understand when he came out before giving a warning about ‘the beast with just one eye’.

Fiddleford told you that the portal was too dangerous and urged you to destroy it, but when Ford refused his pleas once again, he quit the project and left. After this you demanded that Ford explain himself, to stop with the lies and secrets and to straight up tell you what he’s been keeping from you all this time.

He caved and confided in you about the demon called Bill and his plans with the portal to merge his so-called ‘nightmare realm’ with ours. The two of you decided that you wouldn’t let that happen, so you shut off the portal and built a machine to keep Bill out of the house and your minds.

The tension kept rising, Ford becoming increasingly paranoid. He started writing his journal entries in invisible ink, but that wasn’t enough. With Ford’s fear of Bill’s inevitable return growing stronger, he made the decision to abandon his research and hide his journals. He hid the second and third journals first, not telling you where to protect yours and the secret location’s safety. The two of you also converted his offsite laboratory into a fallout shelter, just in case, before he finally contacted his brother.

Ford was never one to share his personal life with you. He never spoke of his family, you didn’t even know he had a brother, but Ford insisted he was the only one he could trust besides you. And so, a postcard was sent whilst Ford started going borderline insane with paranoia.

It was difficult living with him those next few days. Ford had boarded up all windows, putting up ‘keep out’ signs outside, barely acknowledging you when you tried to speak to him, muttering to himself.

You hear knocking and move to open the front door, only to almost get trampled by Ford wanting to get there first. You look past him when he opens the door to see a man outside, he looks an awful lot like Ford, but a bit fuller, without the cleft chin, and with a mullet. This must be his brother. “FORD, is the crossbow really necessary?”

He didn’t respond to you but lowered the crossbow. “Stanley, did anyone follow you, anyone at all?” Ford hands you the crossbow for you to put away. “Uh, hello to you too pal. Who’s that?” Ford didn’t answer him and pulled his brother inside, shining a light in his eyes. “Wh- HEY, what is this!?” You gently pull Ford back, giving him a look. Ford turned his gaze from you, back to his brother and let him go. “Sorry, I just had to make sure you weren’t- uh, it’s nothing. Come in, come in.” Ford leaves, gesturing for you both to follow him.

Stanley enters, taking in the dishevelled shack. You close the door and introduce yourself as Ford’s assistant. “Sorry about him, I’m sure this wasn’t the reunion you were expecting.” Stanley looks at you. “Call me Stan, and no, it isn’t.” The two of you follow Ford further into the house. “Look, are you gonna explain what’s going on here? You’re acting like mom on her tenth cup of coffee.” Ford grabs his notes and journal exclaiming that there isn’t much time, that he’s made a huge mistake, and he doesn’t know who else he can trust. You watch awkwardly from a distance as Stan tries to calm down his frantic brother.

“I have something to show you, something you won’t believe.” Ford claims. “Look, I’ve been around the world, okay. Whatever it is, I understand.” Stan says confidently, making you feel the need to butt in. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that…”

You and Ford lead him to the lab underneath the house. You open the door for the brothers with a monotone ‘tadaaa~’ and let them enter before you, revealing the portal. “Whelp, you were right. There is nothing about this I understand!” Ford immediately starts explaining how it works, why he created it, and the terrible destruction it could cause.

“That’s why I shut it down and hid the journals that explain how to operate it. There is only one journal left, and you are the only person I can trust to take it.” Ford hands his brother the journal. “I have something to ask of you, remember our plans to sail around the world in a boat?” Stan seems to start glowing at the mention of his childhood dream, a smile decorating his face. You feel bad for what is about to happen.

“Take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can! To the edge of the earth! Bury it where no one can find it.” Your heart breaks for the poor man as you watch Stan’s happy expression fall. He looks at you for a moment as if to make sure he heard his brother right. You can do nothing but grimace at him, shrugging your shoulders apologetically.

Stan’s expression then changes from hurt and shock to anger. “That’s it?! You finally wanna see me after ten years, and it’s to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?” Ford tries to tell Stan he doesn’t know what he’s up against, what he’s been through, but Stan won’t have it, rebutting that Ford is being selfish by hoarding his college money and only caring about himself.

Not liking where this is going you decide to speak up but are interrupted by Ford. “I’m selfish? I’m selfish? Stanley, how can you say that after costing me my dream school? I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won’t even listen!” You attempt speaking up again. “Guys, let’s not-” But are interrupted again.

“Well, listen to this. You want me to get rid of this book? Fine, I’ll get rid of it right now.”  Stan takes out a lighter, going to light the journal on fire but Ford stops him. “You said you wanted me to have it, so I’ll do what I want with it.” Stan holds the journal to the small flame again and in a panic, Ford tackles him in an attempt to stop him from destroying the research he’s been working on for years.

“Ford! This isn’t-” You feel helpless as you watch them wrestle for the journal, physically intervening could only make things worse. “You are both acting like children! Can’t you talk this through like adults?!” They fall through the door of the control room, Ford pushing Stan onto the console in the process.

Suddenly the lab came to life, lights blaring. They must’ve accidentally activated the machine. Shit. “Guys! Stop it! The portal!” You rush to get to the control room but are pushed aside when Ford kicks his brother. You fall to the ground as you hear Stan scream in pain.

“Stanley! Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you-” Ford’s apologies are interrupted by Stan punching him square in the face. He stumbles back onto a lever, fully activating the portal.

“Some brother you turned out to be. You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family. Well, then you can have ‘em!” Stan shoves the journal back into Ford’s hands with enough force to cause Ford to lose his balance. He stumbles over the caution line on the floor and starts floating towards the portal.

You run to lever, attempting to stop the process. “Whoa, whoa, hey. What’s going on? Hey, hey, Stanford!” Stan is shocked out of his rage, rushing to grab his brother but you manage to stop him before he can get sucked in too. Ford calls your name “, Stanley, help me!”

“Oh, no! what do I do?” Stan panics while you try to get to the control room, but you are too late. “, Stanley, do something!” Ford throws the journal at his brother, calling his name one last time before getting fully sucked through the portal.

With that the portal produces a blast that pushes you against the door frame, knocking you out.

You wake up to a gruff voice and rough but gentle hands touching the right side of your face. Weirded out and uncomfortable you try and move away from the person touching you, your body feeling sluggish, not fully obeying your commands. “No, no. Don’t move. Just let me patch you up.” You recognise the voice but can’t fully place it.

You force yourself to open your eyes, immediately regretting it when a piercing pain cuts through the side of your face, blooming out through your collarbone and into your chest. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut and writhing in pain as two hands force your shoulders down onto what you are laying on. “No, stop it. I know it hurts, just try to stay still for a few more seconds.” The hands return to your face, seemingly bandaging the source of your pain. You take deep breaths through your nose in an attempt to calm down until the hands move away and the pain slightly subsides.

“There, all done. You just had to wake up when I change your bandages, didn’t you?” You open your eyes again, taking in your surroundings. It takes a moment of sluggishly looking around before you recognise where you are, Ford’s room. “Ugh, what happened?” You clutch the uninjured side of your head in an attempt to sooth the throbbing. “That bastard’s stupid machine blasted you against a doorframe. Don’t you remember?”

Machine? Blast? What? “I don- agh!” You make an effort to sit up, but everything hurts. Your face. Your brain. Trying to recall anything right now makes you want to curl up in a corner and die but you yearn for answers. “Hey, take it easy. You hit your head pretty hard there, gave you a nasty gash. You lost a lot of blood, and I am about the furthest thing from a doctor you can get, but I managed to stop the bleeding and stitch you up.” One of his warm hands hesitantly comes up to your back to steady you. “Do you have anything for the pain?” You breathe.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t think it’s gonna cut it but there should be some aspirin or something in here.” He rummages through a messy looking first aid kit, taking out the strip of pills. “Here. I’ll get you some water. Don’t move. Or erm, y’know what I mean.” You listen to him continuing to mutter to himself as he leaves. You press your temple against the colourful window, the cold glass feels soothing. When you look outside you notice it’s snowing.

You look up when Stan re-enters the room, handing you a big glass of water. You take the meds, chugging the whole glass after, only now realising how thirsty you are. “I needed that, thank you.” Stan nods, rubbing his neck with one hand, the other on his hip. You look around the room, catching your breath, waiting for the meds to kick in. The room is dark, a pillow and a red jacket are strewn over the carpet, other than that it’s still the same messy room.

‘Yeah, uh, you hungry?” “Starving.”

As the two of you finish your respective can of miscellaneous food, you start feeling slightly better. “So, how long was I out for?” Stan shrugs as he takes your and his can and puts them on the small table next to him. “About 2 days, I think.” Fuck. “And Ford?” Stan shakes his head, not meeting your gaze. “He’s gone, and that stupid machine broke when he went through.”

Stan stands up, picking up the journal from under the jacket on the floor “I’ve been trying to fix it so I can get him back.” He sits next to you, flipping through the thick book. “I’ve been using this but there are mostly a concerning amount of notes on mushrooms in here, not the portal.” He taps the page that shows then incomplete blueprint before flipping to the end. “I need the other journals, Stanford said he hid them. You wouldn’t happen to know where, would you?”

He looks at you with a hopeful expression. “No, I’m sorry. It’s all fuzzy.” While the pain is now bearable, the gaps in your memory haven’t disappeared yet. “Damn, you really hit your head hard huh, fuck. I’m not sure if I can fix it without help."

“I can try, I’m part of the reason he’s gone. If I had been faster he’d still be here.” He laughs humourlessly. “Hey, at least you did something. I just stood there like an idiot.” He looks so sad and tired, tears welling up in his eyes. You grab his hand in an attempt to comfort him. “Hey, it was an accident. It’s no use beating yourself up over it.” He sniffles, looking at your intertwined hands instead of meeting your gaze. “It’s getting late, how about we try and get some sleep and tomorrow we’ll go over everything together.” He clears his throat, letting go of your hand and wiping away the tears he refused to let fall. “Yeah, okay. Um, I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the spare room upstairs, just yell if you need something.” You bid him goodnight and he leaves, taking the journal, a pillow, and his jacket with him.

That night you have a hard time getting to sleep, the guilt over what happened plaguing your mind, ruining the sleep you do manage to find with nightmares. Ford might be dead right now, or worse. You know that machine is dangerous, but you have to clear your conscious and get your friend back.

The next morning you wake up to the sunlight caressing your face through the window. Groaning you stand up, head throbbing, you stumble over to the bathroom to take some more medicine. Wiping your mouth, you dare look in the mirror above the sink. Bandages are covering most of the right side of your face, there is no blood leaking through, which is good. The flesh underneath feels swollen and tender though, you can see bruising peek out from underneath the bandages. The rest of your skin looks about as dull and lifeless as you feel. You debate taking off the bandages to fully inspect the damage.

Your curiosity getting the better of you, you gently wet and peel back the bandage, cringing at the sight. The gash is long and deep, reaching from your temple, just above your eyebrow, to your chin, crossing your lips and the side of your eye. Thankfully, aside from the swelling the wound didn’t seem to have damaged your vision. The stitching is done crudely, yet effectively, and the wound looks clean.

“It’ll probably leave a scar.” You see Stan behind you in the mirror holding two mugs of coffee. “Yeah, probably…” You don’t necessarily care about your appearance, but oddly enough, having a permanent reminder of the day your boss got sent to an alternate dimension isn’t exactly a pleasant idea.

You turn around to face Stan. “Yikes! You look even worse up close.” He grimaces playfully as he holds a mug out to you. “Ha, ha.” You deadpan as you take the mug, rolling your eyes and instantly regretting it when the pain returns. You lean against the sink as you sip, taking some weight off your shaky legs.

After the two of you finish your coffee Stan gets you a change of clothes and helps you to the lab where he shows you his progress. The two of you go over the machine and the journal together, him sharing his theories and questions and you elaborating and explaining where you can. This, however, proves difficult due to there still being considerable gaps in your memory.

Days pass and you develop a routine: wake up, drink coffee with Stan, work in the lab or search the house for more information until you physically can’t, scarf down some food, and end the day by getting some sleep, or, rest more like. The guilt and stress make it hard to sleep. Working with Stan is nice though, despite the circumstances. His stubborn and devoted spirit keeps you going. He’s funny too.

Weeks pass and with food running out the two of you decide to venture into town. Arriving at the small store Stan takes a loaf of bread while you grab some instant coffee. The nice-looking elderly lady behind the counter rings you up. “Just this then, there strangers? That’ll be $ 4,99.” You reach to take out your wallet before realising you spent your last penny during your research and Ford can’t exactly pay you now. You look at Stan, he checks his pockets and sighs when he only finds some junk.

You’re about to apologise and put the stuff back when a voice interrupts you. “Hey, those’re no strangers! They must be the mysterious science duo that live in the woods. My, what happened to your face!” You cringe and hide in the hood of your jacket. This has got to be the last thing you want to have to deal with right now. Stan evidently feels the same as he pulls the strings on his hood and tries to tell the lady she’s got the wrong people.

Alerted by the lady’s exclamation the other customers gather around you, saying how they heard strange stories about that old shack, something about mysterious lights and spooky experiments. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans the two of you get up to in there!” The elderly man behind the counter says. “Oh, me too! Do ya ever give tours?” The first lady adds.

“No, really, I-” Stan stops himself, realising he can make money off this. He shares a look with you, as if to ask for permission. The two of you are gonna need money to keep this up so you hesitantly give him a nod. “Yes! I do give tours! 10- nah, nah, 15 bucks a person!”

Stan immediately visibly brightens up as people excitedly start cheering and waving their money at you. You take some of the money they are throwing at you and slip away to get some more groceries. As the old couple bags up your groceries the first lady taps you on your shoulder and introduces herself as Susan before asking what your name is. You tell her and she smiles kindly at you before turning to Stan.

“Sir! What did you say your name was, you man of mystery?” Stan stops counting the money before introducing himself. “Oh, uh, Stan… ford. Stanford Pines.” You then gather everyone up and Stan leads them to the shack.

The tour started out as a slight disaster with Susan getting injured from one of Ford’s machines and people demanding their money back, but Stan’s charisma and showmanship saved the day. There is truly some great potential here.

That night the two of you share a full meal together, the first in a long time, and the first of many to come. The two of you enjoy your meal in comfortable silence for a bit, savouring the meal, before Stan speaks up. “So, I was thinking. We’re not fixing that portal anytime soon and we need money, for food and to pay the mortgage. Now, this town thinks I’m Ford, so I’ll continue living under his identity so we can keep the house.” He moves his hands excitedly as he speaks. “We’ll fix up the shack, make some new attractions, cuz those knick-knacks lying around here ain’t gonna cut it, maybe we can even have a gift shop!” He takes another bite and continues explaining his plan with his mouth full. “By day I could keep giving the tours and you could do the logistics side, like make sure everything runs all smooth-like y’know, and by night we could keep working on the machine.”

You think about it for a second, taking a sip of your drink. “So, we’re going full on tourist trap, okay, do you have a name in mind?” He smirks, leaning back in his chair, one arm above his head, the other on his stomach. “I’m thinking ‘The Murder Hut’! Playing into the mystery part of it, people love that kind of stuff.” He uses his hands to frame the name. “Not a bad plan, but if you’re gonna be Stanford, who’s gonna be Stanley? You can’t be in two places at once.”

Stan clears his throat, sitting up straight. “Um, I was thinking of faking my death? I know some people who won’t ask questions, don’t ask. How about a car crash?” You sigh. This is all becoming very real right now. “Are you sure about all this? It won’t be easy to come back from this.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? I need to get my brother back; to get him back I need to keep the house, to keep the house I need to become Stanford.” He smiles sadly at you. “Look, I get it if you don’t want to get further involved in all this, and you can leave if you want to, no hard feelings, but it’s gonna be a hell of a lot harder without you.”

Stan gives you a pleading look.  “So, what do you say? Partners?” He holds out a hand for you to shake. You take a deep breath, thinking it all through. Agreeing will get you in a whole lot of trouble, but refusing would weigh more heavily on your mind than you think you can take.

So, you shake his hand. “Partners. But I’m telling you, the ‘Murder Hut’ isn’t going to stick.” Stan lets out a loud laugh, squeezing your hand before letting it go. “What? of course it will! I’m somewhat of an expert at naming things, y’know.” He proceeds to tell you all about his failed salesman career with the same eccentric manner of storytelling he used during the tour.

The two of you talked and shared stories the whole evening through. Until you called it a night and the two of you cleaned up and head upstairs for bed. You stop before entering your respective rooms. “Tomorrow we’ll start planning the renovations for the house.” You tell him. He nods. “Sounds good, partner.” You smile at that as he turns around. “Stan?” He turns.

“We’ll get him back, I promise.”

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