#it's so lovely to listen to when the sun has set in winter

[gracieheartspedro]

Somewhere With You

Part 4 of How Long

pairing: f!reader x brother-in-law!joel miller

FIND Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 HERE!!

description: sleeping with your exes brother is one thing, but envisioning a whole life with him? that's a dangerous game. but you did it. now you're here, and tommy is fucking pissed.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, pre!outbreak joel, there is smut in this part!! fear of being caught by sarah?, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), joel is a CONSENT KING, dirty talk, overstimulation, titty fucking (yw caly), light violence, tommy is literally evil.

author's note: jesus christ i'm so glad I am finally here with this. I feel like finishing this is my greatest success in life lmao. I will probably continue this series but this is the last part for a while. I appreciate everyone's love on it and I can't wait to get more stuff out to y'all!

“Are we going to have a celebration when we get home?”

Joel laughs, “Yeah, we can. What did you wanna do?”

You just listen to Sarah list off all the possible ways to celebrate winning the tournament. The movies, going to the mall for new jeans, going to the local ice cream parlor every night of the week. Joel shakes his head at that one as he turns the truck onto the highway. You have your knees up to your chest, the zip up Joel let you borrow hanging off your shoulders. You had complained about how cold you were all weekend, so Joel shut you up by tossing you his zip up. You haven’t taken it off since. 

The sun was setting over the horizon, drawing the Sunday to a close. You had to work in the morning and you were dreading concluding the weekend you spent with Joel and Sarah. 

Everything with them seems natural. It felt like family. 

You did not want to face tomorrow, especially when there was no set plans as to when you would be hanging out with them again. 

Luckily, Sarah has not mentioned much of anything about what she saw early Saturday morning, so there was no awkward tension. The only time it came up was when you all were tired from Saturday’s events and you arrived back to the hotel room.

“You two sleeping together tonight, too?” She asked, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She wasn’t even trying to be rude or demeaning, she just wanted to know if she could fall asleep in one of the beds without being stirred. 

“Yeah, you can have that bed hun.” Joel answered. 

Sitting on those horribly uncomfortable bleachers and cheering Sarah on had taken a lot out of you, so you were ready to throw yourself into the plush mattress, too. 

You watched Sarah throw herself onto of the comforter, sinking into the pillows face first. It makes you giggle while you grab your pajamas to change. 

Joel nudges you while you dig through your duffle, “No funny business tonight, ma’am.” 

You shake your head, his comment making your stomach turn upside down with nerves. You smack his chest with the back of your hand, “No duh, asshole.”

Sarah puts her headphones on, drowning out Joel’s humming to an old country song. You just stare ahead, watching him speed pass car after car. His truck revs every time he does it which makes you clench your knees a bit tighter. 

“In a rush, dear?”

The nickname makes his heart race.

He taps his fingers, trying to act like that nickname doesn’t drive him insane. “Want to make sure to get you home so you can be rested up for work in the morning.”

“That’s mighty sweet of you, but take your time. I’m in no rush.”

He eases off the gas a bit, taking your advice. 

“You talk to your Mama lately? She still likin’ Maine?” 

It wasn’t a question you were expecting coming from Joel. You had told him about your mom around the time that she moved away, however long ago that was. You truly didn’t expect him to even remember.

“We talk every week, she likes it there. Wants me to come experience a winter there, so I may go up for Christmas,” You explain, remembering back to conversation you two just had last week. She wanted you to feel what fluffy snow felt like and maybe go skiing with her. 

It makes Joel’s heart sink a bit. Not because you would be visiting your mother, but instead you would not be here to spend Christmas with him and Sarah. He had already planned on making a spot for you at the dining table. 

“That’d be nice,” He licks his lips, contemplating if he should say what he really wants to say, “‘M bettin’ she misses seein’ your beautiful face everyday.”

You smile, your cheeks burning hot at Joel calling you beautiful. You knew you had to throw him off and give him a sarcastic response to keep him on his toes.

“Gonna freeze my ass off there. May have to borrow some of your flannels.”

He chuckles, tilting his head towards you, “You already havta’ have about four of my t-shirts, now that hoodie. You wanna raid me some more?”

“If I’m remembering correctly, you said I just had to “get with you” to get clothes,” You’re whispering, leaning into him. You don’t want Sarah to hear the words you’re speaking to her father, “How many times do we need to go at it before I get one of those denim jackets you own?”

He peers over at you. You smirk, quirking one eyebrow up.

“You with me to get my clothes or somethin’?”

“That and other things,” You tease, pulling away, leaning your back against the seat again. 

Joel peers into the rear view mirror. Sarah is asleep, her headphones blasting her favorite pop album. He tilts his head towards you, his eyes not leaving the road, “You’ll havta remind me of those other things when we get home.”

He could get used to always having you in his passenger seat. 

-

Sarah was dead asleep in the backseat, so you both decided to get all the stuff from the back inside before nudging her awake. You quietly shut the door, grabbing Joel’s one bag from the driveway and slinging it over your shoulder. 

You follow close behind him as he unlocks the front door and places Sarah’s stuff on the staircase. 

The idea of having to leave made you want to scream. You didn’t feel like driving home and laying lonely in your own bed. You didn’t want to resume your boring life at work. You just wanted him. 

This weekend made you realize that you really couldn’t live without him. You’re not only comfortable around him, but he’s exciting. He cracks jokes and compliments you when you don’t expect it. Those couple of months without him were still months he was plaguing your mind, even though he wasn’t physically around you. 

You snap out of your thoughts quickly. You start watching Joel’s muscles restrict over his gray t-shirt and it’s enough to send you to your knees. You didn’t even realize how crazy he was driving you. His messy curls that were trapped under a hat most of the weekend are finally loose and curling up his neck. And the way his jeans hugged his ass while he walked away from you? You didn’t know how long to could refrain from telling him you needed him, right this second. 

“I may call out tomorrow. Too tired to sit on my computer all day and run reports,” You say while he wonders back to you from his bedroom down the hall. You’re hoping it leads to an offer.  

He nods, tossing his keys on the entry table next to you,“Yeah, I am off tomorrow. Have to get this house in order and make sure Sarah actually wakes up for school in the morning.”

No offer. Maybe you could propose it?

“Maybe I could just spend the night.”

The air is thick instantly with tension. You can hear the hitch in his throat. Once you say it, you realize how desperate you must sound. But you want to be able to lay next to him again. You want and need him. 

“If that’s what you wanna do, sweetheart. I don’t mind none. Love havin’ you here.”

He grabs your waist lazily, pulling you into his chest. The connection sends chills down your arms. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to you to think I’m being needy.”

He doesn’t even hesitate, he just bows his head to capture your lips with his, giving you a slow sensual kiss. You move your hands up to his neck, pulling him down further into you, eager to be close to him. 

When he realizes that’s where it’s going, he pulls up for air. 

“Lemme go get the last couple bags and get Sarah inside.”

As he says that, the door flings open behind you. A sleepy Sarah blinks at both of you, shaking her head instantly when she sees her Dad’s arms wrapped around you. You push back, flinging yourself backwards and away from Joel. 

“Can you lovebirds do that somewhere else,” She groans, while rubbing her eyes, “Don’t need another sibling created right in front of m-”

“Sarah Jane!”

-

You smile when Joel drops onto his mattress with a huff. 

“So…” You drift off, crawling onto Joel’s lap, “You come here often?”

He chuckles, his hands beginning to trail your waist.

“Come here quite often, actually,” He jokes, his hands resting right under your shirt and on your hips. “How about you?”

You hum, “Not really. Maybe a couple times. Would love to come around, more though.”

“That so?”

You lean down, using your fingers to pull back his brown locks and pivot his head upward. You kiss him gingerly, smiling at his small groan.

You pull away, “I’d love to come to your bed every night, Joel Miller.”

The guttural moan he makes sends a rush to your core. He grabs the nape of your neck and brings you back down to his lips. He takes control of your movements, switching positions by gently laying you back. He leans over your body, his lips carrying the weight of his emotion. You’re scrambling though, tugging at his shirt, trying to rid it off his body. He pulls away to throw it off his body, motioning you to do the same. Soon, you two are completely naked.

“I never get sick of this view,” He rasps, his eyes raking your body. 

You smirk, “Back atcha, babe.”

He positions himself on top of you, his lips lingering on your neck and collarbones. 

Joel’s kisses are always intentional. It’s like he knows every pressure point on your body. His lips are always wet and supple, dragging across your soft skin. 

When his mouth reaches the skin around your breast, you start to arch up for more contact. He grabs your stomach, pushing it softly down onto the bed. 

“Patience, baby,” He mumbles, kissing the same area on the other breast. You jerk up again, absentmindedly.

“Can’t help it,” You whine, trying not to sound so desperate. 

He clicks his tongue, “You can and you will.”

His lips wrap around your nipple and you just watch with hooded lids. His eyes are closed, so focus on teasing every inch of your body. You can feel the slick pool between your legs at the sight. 

“Joel, please.”

He releases the pink nub, “What, baby? Use those words.”

“I want you all over, Joel.”

“Yeah? Where? Here?” 

He grabs your breast roughly, making you mewl. 

You finally gesture down. Your hand slides between your legs, dragging up and down your own slit. You gather as much slick as you can, bringing it up to Joel’s surprised expression. 

“I see…” He brings your fingers up to his lips. You gape at his next actions, amazed that he’s so filthy. He takes your two fingers and licks them like a popsicle. You audible sigh as he sucks on your fingers like a man starved. 

“You goin’ to be extra good for me?” He asks when your digits escape his mouth. 

“Always am.”

Your voice is shaky when you say it. It makes Joel smirk. He loves when you sound ruined.

“Love hearing those words come out of your pretty little mouth.”

He crawls down your body, peppering kisses from your stomach down to your thighs. You watch him closely as he props your thighs over his shoulders. He does not waste time, diving straight into your divine center. You try to refrain from screaming his name, knowing Sarah may not be asleep yet. You clap your hand over your mouth while he licks your sensitive clit. He lays his tongue flat, pressing into you as he shakes his head back and forth. When he does that, you yelp into your palm. 

“Mmm, baby girl wants to be loud so bad,” He chuckles darkly, using his fingers to spread your lips, “You wanna be loud for me huh?”

“Yes, please, God,” You pant, “Need you in me, Joel.”

“Yeah? Lets stretch you out a bit,” He doesn’t even give any warning when he sinks his fingers inside your pussy. “Gotta make sure you’re nice and ready, baby girl. Want you to cum before I stick this cock in ya.”

You swallow, letting him take the lead like usual. You liked it this way, when he ravishes you with his abilities and you get to cum several times. You never had sex like this in your life, especially consistently. 

His fingers curl inside you, pumping in and out. You can hear how wet you are, the wetness sequelching against Joel’s fingers. Your pussy is graced with his tongue again while he fucks you with his digits. It’s like it’s pulled out of you. The orgasm sends white hot flashes to your vision. You know you’re saying something, but it’s no word in the English language. 

When you come back down from euphoria, Joel’s ontop of you again. He’s kissing your cheeks, mumbling something about how beautiful you are when you cum. 

“Joel, please,” Your hands grab onto his biceps, “Want you inside me.”

His cock drags along your navel, as he situates himself between your legs. 

“Yeah? Always so eager,” He grabs his cock with his free hand, “Wanna try something a little different?”

Your stomach drops, “Like what?”

He toys with your nipple with his pointer and thumb, “Always wanted to fuck these.”

You smirk at the thought, your stomach finally at ease.

“You want to fuck my titties, Joel?”

“If you’ll let me,” He squeezes your boob gently, “Think these things are perfect. Want my cock right between them.”

You nod, “Fuck ‘em then, baby.”

He pulls you up, practically shoving you on the ground beside his bed. He wasn’t being aggressive, just guiding you to follow his lead. You sit on your knees, watching up at him as he pumps his cock over you. You use both hands to push your tits together. He grins as he touches the head of his cock to your hard nipples. 

“So good for me,” He groans, slipping his cock between your cleavage, “Obeyin’ me and doin’ everythin’ I want. My fuckin’ dream girl.”

He starts to fuck your squeezed together tits as you stare up at him with a completely spent expression. You dribble some spit down between the break in your breast to lube up the area. Your pupils are blown and you feel the wetness of you slit soaking the skin of your legs. You can tell by the look on Joel’s face that he could cum at the sight of you. 

But he stops and instead, grabs your bicep and tosses you back on the bed. You watch him crawl up between your legs, his face untamed and filled with anticipation. 

“Need to cum in that pussy,” He pumps it a couple times before slipping in between your pussy lips, “Do you need me to put on a condom or anything? I don’t have to fuck you raw every time.”

You bite your lip, “I like feeling every part of you, Joel. I promise.”

“Mmm,” He hums, sinking his cock head inside you, “Love to hear that, baby.”

You circle your hips, practically fiening for him to sink all the way into you. He takes the hint, plunging into you with one snap. Once he’s finally sheathed in you, you groan out which only instigates him. He draws out and back in, his pace painstakingly slow. You grip onto his forearms, digging your nails into them. Maybe he will take the hint that you need it faster. 

But, no.

“Words, darlin’. Tell me what you need.”

You choke out the words, “Faster. Harder.”

He kisses your lips, shushing you as his tempo picks up. He wants to feel the vibrations of your moans. He knows if you’re too loud there may be listening ears, so kissing you will hush the sounds of pleasure. He sits up and repositions, grabbing the back of both of your legs, practically folding you in half. You smirk in delight, watching his furrowed expression focus on your body’s reactions. 

“This pussy is mine,” He huffs, watching himself plow into you, “All fuckin’ mine. Ya know that?”

“Yes,” You manage to peep out, “It’s yours, Joel.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” He spreads your legs, opening you up nice and wide. His thumb finds your responsive clit, circling it with the momentum of his hips, “Cum for me, baby. Soak this fuckin’ cock.”

Your body reacts in the way he finds so satisfying. Your hips lift up as the climax takes over, your whole body shaking at the ecstasy he brings you. He doesn’t let up, chasing his own bliss. You are so overstimulated, you are just gasping for air. He starts to falter, his pace slowing as he coats your insides with his cum. 

You start to chuckle when his body practically collapses onto you. His sweaty curls stick to your perspiring cheek. You find yourself kissing his temple, practically thanking him for fucking you so good every time.

He stands up, his half-hard dick slipping out of you pain-stakingly slow. You whimper at the feeling, still a mess from your orgasm. 

“God, you are perfect,” He mumbles, his hand slipping down your bare thigh, “Could fuck you every day for the rest of my life.”

You are still awestruck by the interaction, you don’t even know you’re saying it, “Why don’t you?”

He smiles while he helps you sit up, “I will. Now let’s get you all showered and ready for bed, huh?”

“Yes, please.”

-

Luckily for you, your body naturally wakes up at 5:30AM. You creep out of the bedroom, making sure not to stir Joel awake. You find the house phone and call your boss, letting her know you were “sick” and needed to use a sick day. She just mumbled a “whatever” and you hung up, heading back to the warmth of Joel’s bed. 

Joel wakes up as soon as you crawl back into bed, but he knew he had to get up and make sure Sarah got ready and off to school, anway. He cuddles you for a bit, watching you nod back off to sleep. He let you sleep in while he cleaned up the house a bit. He tries his best not to much too much noise, not wanting to rattle you awake. 

You did wake back up when you heard the vacuum. You pull yourself together, putting your hair up into a bun as you stumble out of the bedroom. Joel stands in the living room, not even aware you’re behind him. He jumps when he notices you in the threshold, turning off the vacuum. 

“Mornin’ sleepin’ beauty,” He laughs as he wraps up the vacuum cord. 

“Mornin’ handsome.”

You watch him roll the machine back into the hall closet before taking note to how nice and clean the house looked. 

“Looks good in here,” You mumble, noting how every surface looks dusted, “It’s missing one thing. You have a vase?”

He silently nods, looking at you confused.

“Go fill it with water, I’ll be back.”

You walk towards the front door, swinging it open as you begin tip toeing to Joel’s side garden. He had started it with Sarah years ago, and for the most part, it was completely overgrown. Some flowers still bloom in the Texas sun, so you pick the prettiest from the dirt. Once you have a bundle, you practically jog inside to show Joel your bouquet. 

“Hmm,” He smirks, “Didn’t think we needed flowers.”

“Well, you do.”

He shows you the vase on the coffee table, letting you take on the responsibility to make it pretty. He watches you carefully, your tired eyes trained on the task. 

You were his dream girl, truly.

Once you’re satisfied with your arrangement, you make a grand gesture. 

“Beautiful, baby,” He beams, wrapping his arms around your waist. He drops down onto the couch, pulling you into his lap. 

“Who me or the flowers?” You joke.

“Both.”

You give him a lazy kiss, smirking into it. 

This part of life with Joel is so domestic and perfect. You two could create this little world and live in it forever. He appreciated your silly antics, knowing how neglected this side of you must have been with Tommy. He didn’t care about the small gestures like Joel did. 

It was so reassuring being with Joel. He praised you like you had never been before. 

As you pull away from his lips, you hear a door slam outside. Before you could even react, the front door swings open into the house. You sit on Joel’s lap, turned away from the front door, completely dumbfounded.

“What is going on here?”

His voice scares you. You don’t even want to turn around in Joel’s lap to face him. Joel slowly helps you out of his lap, his eyes never leaving Tommy’s. 

When you finally turn to face Tommy, his eyes are wild and bright red. He looks like he hasn’t showered in days, his longer hair greasy and standing in all sorts of directions. It’s not his appearance that scares you, it’s the energy he’s brought into Joel’s living room. It’s the same scary tension you experienced when he lashed out on you before. 

Joel finally speaks up, clearing his throat. “What do you mean?”

But Tommy isn’t talking to Joel. He’s looking at you. 

“Are you fuckin’ my brother?”

He’s pointing at you, his finger waving at you like an adult who’s scolding a child. You open your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your throat is dry, the shock and terror taking ahold of your vocal chords. 

“Tommy, we aren’t doing this.”

Joel puts himself in between Tommy and you, ensuring he doesn’t creep closer to you. You want to believe Tommy would never get physical with you, but the way he looks now, you’re not one hundred percent positive. 

“That’s not what I fuckin’ asking, Joel. Are you two sleepin’ together?” 

His voice is booming, bouncing off every corner of the room. It makes you shrink three sizes. 

Joel places his head up, warning him silently not to get any closer, “Tommy-”

“Answer the fuckin’ question!”

You want to curl into a ball. You knew this would fucking happen. You knew he’d go insane. 

You look at Joel finally. You realize your eyes were trained on Tommy in terror, unsure on how to console him. Joel licks his lips, rolling his eyes a bit. You just nod, trying to answer Tommy’s question without saying anything. You didn’t want him to realize how shaky your voice was. 

Once he gets confirmation, all hell breaks loose. He’s pushing on Joel with his chest, screaming expletives at him. You stand in the corner of the living room, your body practically wedged between a lamp and the couch. You want to become one of the dustbunnies on the floor boards, not wanting to be apart of this situation.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole! You fucked my girl-“

Before he can even finish the statement, Joel becomes a brick wall. He’s staring down at Tommy now, all the while snot is running down at his little brother’s face. He looked pathetic. As he nudges Joel’s chest, he hardly moves a milimeter. Joel doesn’t even hesitate when he says the next words. 

“Not your girl.”

You truly cannot believe the words coming out of Joel’s mouth. You knew what he was insinuating and it brought chills up your back. Tommy’s movements completely halt and he stands there in a stunned silence. Joel’s jaw is slack, his eyes trained down at Tommy. It’s a stand-off. 

Tommy crooks his head to the side, like he’s stretching it. “You want to pull that shit now, Joel? I knew you wanted my sloppy seconds the moment you told me she was at your house that night.”

Being referred as “sloppy seconds” makes your blood boil. It’s so dehumanizing. 

“Stop talking about her like that,” Joel warns, his voice a whole octave lower. 

“No,” Tommy growls, his gaze finally falling on you again, “You’re a whore. Just like your stupid sister.”

You swallow hard. It’s finally your moment to shine. The burst of adrenaline chorusing through your veins finally propels you forward, pushing Joel out of your way. 

“You’re the town whore, Tommy Miller. You fucked your way around Austin and then came home to me every night,” You are shaking. Luckily, your voice isn’t wavering, “You lie. You cheat. You are a decietiful little shit. And I’m so glad you are because if you hadn’t slept with my sister and told me, I would have never realized how terrible you were to me all these years. I wasted so much time on babying you.”

The vein in his forehead is bulging and it makes you smile a bit. 

“If I could go back in time, I would’ve saved my fucking tears and ran the other direction.”

He has the audacity to giggle, “Instead you ran right into Joel’s arms.”

You don’t hesitate, “You never gave a damn about me, he actually did. I should’ve taken the hint the moment he brought me flowers for my graduation, and you showed up with a flask.”

“You graduated college! Big fuckin’ deal! Get over yourself!”

Now you’re laughing. 

“Bite me, Tommy,” You reach out and grab his t-shirt, pulling him into you. It makes Joel super nervous how close he is to you. He knows Tommy’s temper and how easily he will snap. He doesn’t know the next words about to come out of your mouth. 

“You cheated on me, you fucking loser. I told you then we were done that night, did I not? What I did after that point is not your business. I’m not yours anymore. And your brother, he treats me real good. Way better than you ever did. He can actually last, unlike you,” You smack your lips together, “He can fuck me better than you, that’s for sure.”

Joel’s eyes widen at the words. Tommy looks completely dazed, but as soon as the last line leaves your mouth, he pushes you backward, right into Joel. You squeak at the contact, your brain registering that he actually put his hands on you. Joel quickly grabs you from tripping over him, and places you behind him quickly. Tommy reaches out for you, but Joel stops him meer inches from your face. 

“Fuck you!”

Tommy tries to throw his hand at Joel’s head next but it’s quickly stopped by Joel’s forearm. Instead of Tommy continuing the fight with you two, he takes it out on the new flowers and vase you just put out on Joel’s coffee table. He uses all his force, grabbing the vase and launching it towards the wall. The glasses shatters, water splashes on the wall, and pieces of flowers litter the floor. 

The action sends Joel pushing Tommy backward and against the wall. You want to yell out for them to stop, but all that comes out his Joel’s name. 

When he pins Tommy to the wall, he finally turns to you. 

“Don’t.”

It’s the only word you can say. You’re shaking, your eyes welling with tears. Joel knows you don’t want to see him demolish Tommy with his fists, so he thinks quick. He grabs Tommy’s collar, dragging him out the front door. 

You follow far behind, not sure what Joel’s gameplan is. 

Tommy is yelling, telling Joel to unhand him. Joel just tightens his grip. 

“Coming into my house, talking to my girl like that. Fuckin’ disrespectful little shit.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” Tommy yells, his voice probably waking the neighbors. Joel launches Tommy’s body into the front yard, right near the flower bed. You watch from the doorway, wanting to keep your distance from the confrontation. 

“Remember when you had temper tantrums when Momma told you no as a boy? Nothings changed. You’re an immature little brat.”

Joel reaches down into the flower bed, grabbing the hose. Tommy is still on the ground, scrambling to get up. Joel does something so unexpected, it makes you yelp. He starts soaking Tommy with the hose. 

“Yeah, like the girl said before,” He aims towards Tommy’s face, “bite me.”

Tommy starts to spit up water, jumping up and away from the stream of water. Instead of tackling Joel like you anticipate, he just shakingly wipes his hair out of his eyes. 

“You two are sick. Fuckin’ sick. And everyone will know about this.”

It makes your heart sink to your stomach. You don’t really care if anyone knows anymore. You knew this was going to be the worst part, but its the way he makes it sound like a threat. 

“I bet they will, I just don’t give a damn.”

Joel sprays him while he stands up, making Tommy groan and yell out in annoyance. Joel just smiles, sickly. 

Tommy storms off to his truck, dripping wet from the shower Joel just gave him on his front lawn. Joel tosses the hose back into the garden, satisfied with his work. You two stand there, watching Tommy do a burn out and speed off down the road. You breathe out loud, your hands finding your face. Joel glances between his neighbour’s houses, ensuring there is no one outside watching the events unfold. He did not care if they did watch, but he knew you would probably care. 

He grabs ahold of your shoulders, guiding you back inside the house. Your eyes instantly fall on all the shattered glass and flowers as you walk inside. Joel ignores it and brings you into the kitchen. 

Your mind is racing. You knew every word you said to Tommy was right deep down. But the girl you were, she wouldn’t have instigated his rage. She would’ve sat there and took every word he said to heart and believed them. 

But the girl you are now, that girl is completely ruthless. You are petty. You are harsh. You are angry. 

You kind of scared yourself. 

“Joel-”

“No baby,” he mutters, “You better not say what I think you’re gonna say.”

“Joel, we can’t d-”

“We can. Because fuck Tommy. Fuck everyone,” He grabs your hips, letting his hands settle softly on your curves, “I want you. I want you so bad. I am not lettin’ you get away. Tommy can tell everyone in the fuckin’ world about us, and I won’t fuckin’ care. What he says doesn’t reflect you. You did nothin’ wrong. Okay?”

You swallow. You know he’s right, but you’re so scared of all this fallout. You don’t want it to scare you away from Joel, but it’s nervewracking to wait around and anticipate all of the chaos that will follow this incident. You did not want to tear apart a family. It’s the same feeling you had the morning after you first slept with Joel.

You’re scared to have him because of what it means for him. It means weird holidays and weird stares at grocery stores. It means you will be known as his brother’s ex girlfriend never just his girl. 

You don’t realize it, but you’re staring past Joel. He tilts your head towards him, making your eyes connect. 

“I love you, okay?”

His words make your heart flutter with relief. Maybe that’s what you needed. You needed him to finally say those words. Because those words were hanging in the back of your mind, simmering, waiting to be said.

“I love you, too, Joel.”

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Marilyn Monroe (How to Marry a Millionaire, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Some Like It Hot)— Ngl I thought you all were lying about sexual attraction until I saw Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Shelley Winters (A Patch of Blue, A Place in the Sun)— She was originally set up to be like a classic bombshell, but ‘got tired’ of those roles and instead went for more interesting, complex characters. And she’s sooooooo good, her performance really makes A Place in the Sun for me, she brings such a quiet dignity to a character that could so easily have otherwise been this unkind caricature. Other fun facts: she was Jewish! She claimed that her ‘chutzpah’ was the reason she had so many affairs (including w notable hot men burt lancaster, william holden, and marlon brando)!

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Marilyn Monroe:

She's amazing!!! A classic bombshell, as well as a strong women who overcame so many obstacles. She also advocated for others, like Ella Fitzgerald.

That fucking saxophone that cuts in whenever she appears on screen in Some Like it Hot

I mean, it's Marilyn Monroe. She's adorable. She's gorgeous. She funny. She's the total package

She's the original American sex symbol, an iconic beautiful woman with eyes you could get lost in, legs for days, gorgeous hair, and a cute tummy. Her voice! Just listen to her voice!!!!!

She is considered one of THE sex symbols of the 1960s and one of the greatest actresses of all time! She HAS to be on this list!

no vintage movie woman is more iconically hot

People are most familiar with pictures of her in the white dress or the Happy Birthday Mr President one, but imo she is at her most beautiful and looks most comfortable when she is photographed by women like Eve Arnold

It’s Marilyn Monroe. If Aphrodite was an actual person, she’d be Marilyn. Do I really need to say more?

What can I say that hasn't been said? Marilyn's legacy is so much bigger than she was in life. She's a defining symbol of 50s and 60s Hollywood sex and it's obvious why. She was absolutely stunning and the camera loved her.

Shelley Winters:

started her career as more of a glamorous bombshell type and gradually transitioned to more of a (milfy as hell) character actress type but consistently slayed no matter what she was doing

[silv3rswirls]

Hound

Summary: What did a suffering lamb even accomplish? Who did it save, when would it end? 

Warnings: serial killer/yandere jk, kidnapping, stalking, references to death, suggestive scenes, delusions, religious themes/trauma, minor description of sick/rotting bodies/animals, murder, reader goes on a weird little adventure with killer jk?? She dies at the end

Note: idk I kind of lost the original plot of this one and this is what it turned out to be. Please mind the warnings and as always, hope ya’ll like it. ALSO, I didn't have it in me to edit this, so mind that. I might come back to this

There’s something in the corner; watching. It’s been there so long, you couldn’t remember when it invited itself in. It’s starving and sickly, black fur clinging to bones and eyes droopy and white. You stopped feeding it a long time ago, but still, it lingers. In every facet of your life, it lingers. You’ve lived like this for so many years, have you always lived like this?

What time was it?

Your eyes shifted from their fixed position on the wall to the clock, passing over the thin, gold cross mounted just beside it. Your eyes strained to read it against your bedroom's dark wood panels and dim, ugly yellow light. Whatever time it was, you knew it was time to get out of bed and start dinner before your husband got home from work. You make your way to the kitchen, the house dims now that the sun has set. You avoid flicking many lights on, it’ll save money your husband insisted. You hated fumbling around a dark house but had given up arguing with him a long time ago.

You peek through the sheer curtains, the sink running and steaming water burning your hands as you finish that morning's dishes. It was dark, and windy as the tree in your front yard shook and branches brushed against the roof. It was the cusp of winter, very cold but snow hadn’t started to fall yet. The neighborhood was quiet, street lamps harsh against the dark backdrop of houses. You stare hard outside, it's there. Standing there, watching you. That sick dog, with hackles raised and tongue hanging from its mouth. 

The curtains fall back into place as you turn the water off and dry your hands. You pass the phone, that’s been ringing for the past five minutes. You don’t answer because it's just your parents again, all they wanted was to guilt you into going to church with them on Sunday morning. They went every day, once upon a time you had gone as well, but now you could only stand to give them Sundays. Last week you had pretended to be sick to get out of it, your husband went along and you were sure he spent most of the day badmouthing and complaining about you not coming.

The last time you found yourself in a church you were standing at an altar listening to a man feed the room empty vows. You stood stiff, draped in satin, with eyes downcast. This is what everyone wanted; this is what you wanted. What a waste, as he fumbled the paper with his crudely written vows. What a waste of a man who couldn’t memorize a few short promises. What a waste of a man who couldn’t stand there and pretend to be in love with you, to dare to call himself righteous, the perfect match to keep their daughter in line with a faith you had stopped believing years ago. 

You didn’t want to get married. You had stopped liking the fantasy of having a husband years ago, and around the same time, you began to feel a sour taste over your parents' religion. What happened to you? What happened to our beautiful girl? They would ask, more so plead with you for answers. Truthfully, you had stopped believing in god. It was restricting; days to weeks to months to years. It was always the same. The same scripture, the same ravings of the pastor that drove such fear of doing anything wrong into you, leaving holes in your body that oozed with guilt and shame; you didn’t know why.

You had begged god to save you, even after all the terrible things he must’ve seen you do. Still, on the morning of your wedding and every day after that, you begged. Knelt until your knees were raw and aching, your hands clasped so tight until your nails pricked your aching skin and drew blood. You begged, for something, anything, you weren’t even sure what anymore. But nothing ever changed. When would god find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

That night you refused to go inside, letting your feet go numb buried in snow in the backyard. Looking into the treeline, you’d rather be fed by the creatures lurking there than by some angry boy playing dog inside. You wanted to hurt him, for him to feel how you had the past year. He didn’t think you could, but you wanted to show him you would. 

But when you looked down at your trembling hands, stiff and half frozen from the cold, you knew there was no way you could show him. How you felt and how you acted were two different things; forever separate as much as you wanted them to be the same. You could talk a big game, think about how so badly you wanted to hurt him, and that was all. It had to keep being enough.

Something in you wanted more, so much more. You could rest because of it. You had stopped fighting your parents now, you were hoping things could change. Maybe you’d find peace again, though you weren’t sure how. You grew weary, tired of hating god and resenting your parents. You wanted so badly to be separate from it all. To no longer have a feeling of guilt hounding you. To no longer hate the church and everyone in it, the teachings and echoes of preaching lingering in your mind. The years you lost there; lost to fear and manipulation. How you hadn’t been able to enjoy a single thing in your adolescence. How after your first kiss you had gone home and sobbed until throwing up. As you were on your knees cleaning it up, trying to hush your cries to not wake your parents, you closed your eyes and pleaded between gasps and hiccups for god not to hate you. How you trembled and sat there until your skin was rubbed raw against the carpet, 

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face and looking around the dark living room from the kitchen. You felt like you could see it; that creature lying on the sofa staring at you. Mouth parted, teeth pointed, its soul-bearing into your own. You turned away with the familiar feeling of guilt washing over your body. Your gaze rested on the floor, but the faint outline of shoes made your brow furrow; your husband wasn’t due home for another hour. Very slowly you pick your gaze up to see the man standing in the hall. Faint light from the open backdoor pooled in behind him. You stared at the young man longer than probably should have. Maybe you should've screamed sooner and ran before he got that close to you but you had frozen in place.

Break-ins didn’t happen around your neighborhood, let alone kidnappings.

What horrible luck that you’d be the first? 

What had you done? What had you done to deserve this?

He carried you out of your house, but still, you couldn’t bring it in you to scream for help. You wondered deep down if anyone would help you. He puts you in the back of his car and drives, the windows down and bitter cold pouring in. You’re lying in the backseat, wrists bound tight. He’d been eerily silent through this whole ordeal.

“How come you haven’t begged me not to kill you yet?” He asked, looking back at you. His voice came jumbling from his mouth fast, a bit irritated. Like he had been frustrated with your lack of struggle.

“Were you going to kill me?” Your skin crawls with goosebumps from the cold. 

He pauses and stares at you, “Do you want me to kill you?” He turns back to watch the road, neither of you answering his question. A long stretch of silence follows, he doesn’t look at you again, not even a glance from the mirror. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. I’m going to give you what you want, and then I’m going to kill you.”

You’re throat dries and your face pales. “You don’t know what I want.” Watching you? You felt an uneasiness come over you as you thought back to what you had done the past few weeks. Nothing to be honest. You had barely left the house. You imagined him peeking through windows, hiding in the yard, and watching you collect groceries and throw the trash away. Had he been in your house before? You look at him, he didn’t seem familiar at all. You’d never seen him around before. 

He dragged you from the car, you didn’t struggle but you remained limp, dead weight for him as he covered your eyes and drug you inside. When inside you feel his boot on you, pressing into your shoulder. Pressing into you, your eyes trail over the shine of leather and then up to him. He was standing above you. Taller, stronger, better than you; that's what he wanted right? You’d stare at him, was this what you wanted?

The house was messy, recently abandoned you assumed. It was clear he had been holding up here for a while. He shoved you on the ground, circling around you as you looked up at him. “What are you going to do?” You ask.

“Gonna kill you.” He admitted earnestly. “I know you, I’ve been watching you for a long time- really, I’m just helping you.”

Was he your savior? Was he doing you a favor? Would he do to you what you had never been brave enough to do yourself? Is this what you truly were? An animal built to serve? To be depraved, to crawl across glass and pour blood for someone like him?

“But I…I don’t want to die.” He gives you this pitiful look; his lips pout and his eyes soften for a moment. As if telling you you didn’t know what you were talking about, and how pitiful it was you couldn’t accept it. “What’s your name?” You ask, feeling silly for being hopeful you might be able to get any information out of him. “Jungkook.” You lower your head, wondering if trying to collect any information for authorities was even worth it. Everything about this man was intimidating. He was larger and stronger, it didn’t matter if you fought or not he could drag you around like a ragdoll all he wanted.

Jungkook gets up and walks around the living room, rummaging through piles of what you assumed were his things. “I’ve been watching you for over a year now.” He admits, “Since you went on vacation for your friend's birthday. You were so drunk at that bar, I was going to kill you then, but something told me not to.” He turns back to you with a small bound notebook in hand. “So I followed you back here and got to know you more. Imagine my shock when I realized you were getting married. Was that trip your last night of freedom, is that why you got so messy?” You stare up at him, unsure of what to say. Yes, it was your last night. You came home and your parents pushed you into marriage sooner because of it. He hands you to the notebook, urging you to open it. “I’ve been watching you since. Your life turned out to be so interesting, I couldn’t just kill you after everything.”

You flip through the pages slowly. Pictures of you and your family. Pictures of you at the altar. Scribbled paragraphs about things he heard others say about you, quotes of things you were sure you had said. Notes and bullet points of every piece of information he got. “So, what do you want to do first?”

“Can I take a bath?” You ask, mind going a bit blank and voice flat as you set the notebook down and try to take it all in. 

He let you. The water was hot and steaming when he pushed you in and closed the door. No windows, no way to get out. You settle into the water, the sweat from stress and anxiety washing off as you try and fail to relax. Could you be forgiven for things not of your control? You sink further into the water. You could hear him outside in the hall pacing. His steps were heavy and loud, ringing in your ears as you stared up at the night, fluorescent bathroom light. They did this to you, they all did this to you. Why were you being punished? Why had Jungkook laid eyes on the most pitiful woman in town and decided it was to be her? You thought about your wedding day, and your husband back home. Maybe if you had just settled, stayed with them, and did your duty as a wife Jungkook wouldn’t have stumbled into your life. Yes. you should have wanted less, you decide. Because it seems Jungkook was ready to give it all to you.

You raise your hands out of the water, the deep imprints of the zip ties he had kept you bound with were still there. Angry and a pale red color. The bathwater around you, swirling unpleasantly around you. The hot, humid air inside the bathroom, the hum of the lights, and the moths flying around them. 

You felt rotten like your teeth were falling out, hanging just barely to your gums. Truly, you felt disgusting. 

Jungkook is in the hall waiting when you finally get out. You looked up at him and saw nothing. No starving dog trying to pretend. No confusion, or games, or lies. He knew what he wanted to be and he was exactly that. He wasn’t lying, pretending, or trying to make you believe his actions were right. He said it outright; he wanted to kill you. He was going to kill you.

“I want my wedding dress” you slowly say.

“You don’t like the one you wore at your wedding, you cried the day you tried it on.” Jungkook glances at you, watching you silently agree with him.

“So you won't get it for me?”

“Don’t you want more?” He asks, “I’ll get you a new dress, whatever one you want.” 

Jungkook stares at you the same way the beast that lingered in the corners of your house did. An eager stare, unrelenting, you couldn’t move out of its sight. “I just want that dress.” You repeat, clasping your hands together and pursing your lips, “You said I could have whatever I wanted…”

A smile stretched his lips, “I’ll get it for you.” 

You lay down on the floor of the backseat of the car. Your hands are zip-tied again, and you can’t see Jungkook from your position. What an odd turn of events to say the least…you had fully expected to die the moment he dragged you out of the car and into that house, but now you could see faint glimpses of familiar landmarks leading to your neighborhood from what you can make out from the window. You think about the day of your wedding, and the events that even led up to your parents making a match for you and pushing for it so hard. Despite how vocal you had been about your unhappiness with everything about your childhood, how much you never wanted to step food into their church again; they held a firm belief that you’d come crawling back. If they shamed and argued and pushed enough you’d come back.

For as much hate you felt, twice the amount of guilt weighed you down. After a while, it all became so hopeless. It was exhausting. It made you sick, you couldn’t do anything without guilt nipping your heels, chasing you down until you drowned in it. You couldn’t live, so you came home. Let them talk you into marriage because it would fix everything, they insisted. You just needed a husband, the stability of it, someone to care about other than yourself. Have a few kids and you’ll start walking the right path again.

You waited, but it never came. You never felt better about any of your choices. Deep down you had known you wouldn’t, but you had spent so much of your life blind. Going back to it didn’t help, it wasn’t even familiar anymore. Nothing ever changed. When will God find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

You weren’t even sure why you wanted that stupid dress. You weren’t sure if you cared what happened to you, or feared what Jungkook was going to do. Maybe it is comforting, in a weird way. No one paid attention to you, no one bothered with you. They wouldn’t until you changed, and deep down you didn’t want to change. But outside of your life now you had no idea what you would do. You never had higher dreams than staying local and marrying within your church growing up. You didn’t even attend college. You never aspired for more, now it felt like it was too late. Jungkook was talking to you from the driver's seat but you couldn’t hear him. Too enveloped in your head to focus on him, he was spouting things he had found about you the last year or so. How he’d never felt a need to stalk the people went after before, let alone this in depth. It was “life-altering” and you were going to be special to him.

The car stops and you feel a weight on your body; the canine-like creature is standing over you. Paws pressing to your stomach and legs, its breath hot, its ears perked up as Jungkook gets out of the car. You feel an immense guilt weighted on you and you consider stopping Jungkook and telling him to just leave and kill you. 

You didn’t want this. You did want this. You weren’t sure. Your husband was home, he wasn’t going to just let Jungkook in to take what he wanted. 

You lay there for what felt like an eternity until he came back, opening the back door and pulling you out of the car. It’s still dark out, chilly, and unmoving as he hooks his arms under yours and drags you back inside. He sits you down in the entryway and locks the door. You look around. “Where’s-”

“Don’t worry about him.” Jungkook shows your husband's wedding band now on his hand. “Come one” he scoffs, “you knew what I was going to do.”

You stare at him, glance and the very faint outline of the body on your kitchen floor. Had you known? You feel a bit sick, deep down you had hoped for it. He leaves you there to find the wedding dress. Jungkook smiles at you one more time before going towards the back bedroom.

When Jungkook saw you, he had every intention of following you out of that bar to kill you. It was his typical hunting ground. Every few months when the desire struck him again he would wait patiently for the right girl to cross his path. You were hard to ignore that night; annoying, he had half a mind to kill you just to shut you up. But when he followed you outside, watching you slump against the wall and fiddle with your phone he took a moment to watch. Turning away and nursing a cigarette on the opposite side of the entryway. 

The way you sniffled and cried on the phone with your mom, asking if there was any other way than to get married. You were too drunk to give him a coherent story of what you were going through, but apparently, you just hated the dress and the groom so much. He crept closer as you hung up, making some lighthearted comment about how rough you looked, and offered you a cigarette.

You talked a bit more about your ass of a fiance and how you felt like you had no other options anymore. He asked where you were from and you told him. He left you there once your friend found you and would see you again a month later. He’d been crammed in his car for days, a map of the town and surrounding forests resting on his steering wheel as he scribbled out the last few leads he had gotten on where exactly you lived. he looked up and there you were, walking with a group of older women into a boutique down the street, exiting with a pretty wrapped box a bit later. He followed you home, and everywhere after that. Watched you walk down the aisle, the wedding open to all members of the church, and allowing him to walk right in. he watched you go home and cry in the backyard, watched you talk your dress off through the window, watched your husband fuck you for the first time. He watched you sit restless every day after that.

Jungkook found your dress backed away in that same ornate gift box on the top shelf of your closet. He smiled and smoothed a hand over the box. All he knew was that he wanted you, wanted to make you happy, and then he wanted to kill you. Put you out of your misery. You’d be better off, he told himself. Clearly, you needed to be saved, so he’d kill for a better reason this time. 

You were crying when he came back. Looking up at him with red, water eyes and pressing your lips together to try and keep quiet. Jungkook set the box beside you, kneeling in front of you and tilting his head. But all you can see before you is that beast, sitting with flattened ears and tongue hanging from between rotting teeth. Staring at you with those eyes, like they were reflecting everything upsetting right back to you.

“All this guilt, there’s no use feeling it.”

“I can’t help it.” You choke out. “I can’t stop it, I see it- feel it everywhere.” You rubbed your eyes, looking at Jungkook and trying to stop your trembling bottom lip.

“Crying won’t won’t make things different. Just because you’re guilty won’t make this better. Your guilt won’t purify you.” He clicks his tongue, reaching to push your hair out of your face. “You wanted me to kill your husband, and that’s okay.”

“Thank god, the psycho thinks everything is alright. How comforting.” You weep.

“Stop holding back, come on. You want things to change, doesn’t matter how they change right? You hated him, I heard you say it myself so many times. Say it.”

“I wanted him to die.” You admit quietly. Something in you wanted this to happen. Asking Jungkook to come back here, a part of you knew the possibility. “It’s just not fair. It's not fair. I’ve done nothing but what I’m supposed to do. My whole life, I’ve been trying so hard my whole life to be what I’m supposed to be, but I don’t understand. Everything was supposed to be better, but I hated him. I hated him so much. Then you got here and I…I just wanted to feel all the pain that he’s caused, but I can’t even stomach it. I wanna be cruel, don’t I deserve to? I can’t stop crying though.”

Jungkook coos, pulling you into the chest and wrapping his arms around you. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s why I’m here, I want you to let go, want you to just do what you want. I watch you every day. You’re so miserable, it’s so weird. I felt bad for you.” Jungkook muses, “I’m here for you now baby, we only have a few hours left though.”

“Can I put the dress on?” Your voice was low and tired. Jungkook nodded, shifting over to take the box's lid off and peel back the tissue paper wrapped around your wedding dress. He takes it out, unraveling it carefully as you watch. 

Your wedding had been a disaster. You cried through most of it, though no one seemed to care at the time. Your late husband was glad just to have a woman to take home. He wasn’t romantic at all, nothing about him attracted you to him. He was one of the slimier men you had come across in your time in the congregation. He interpreted things how he wanted to, and often reminded you of all the things in your life you had done wrong and had yet to be forgiven for. This was the man your parents hoped to whip you back into shape. It worked in a sense, you supposed. You had been forced to settle. Your hate faded each dull day that passed, you grew weary and unhappier. 

The dress was modest. Long-sleeved, high neckline, mane with heavy ugly satin. You put it on there in the hall, feeling too numb to worry about any shame you had in front of Jungkook anymore. He zipped it up for you. Jungkook was kneeling, fixing the skirt, and letting it fluff out. He smooths it down and looks up at you. Despite the heavy eyes and tear-stricken face he smiled, “You look pretty.” 

No one told you that on your wedding day, no one told you that the day your mother chose the dress for you. You smiled, feeling a small ounce of joy for the first time tonight. “What do you want to do now?” 

You ignore his question, “Is that why you’re doing all of this, are you obsessed with me or something?”

“I guess in some sick way I am.” He wanted to kill you, but at the same time, you were the prettiest girl he’d seen in a long time. Something about the repressed guilt and how you teetered on the edge of breaking completely just got him he supposed. “I watched you the night of your wedding, you were so perfect. Everything was perfect until he came in.” He scowls at the thought, “It’s a shame.”

“Do you want to…” you trailed off, your voice a bit nervous. 

Jungkook’s fingers twitch, he's playing with the trim of your skirt. “I do” he murmured, “I’ve thought about you every night since I met you” He raves, “you’re the only one- why? Why do you make me so crazy?” He asks, brushing off any answer you try to give him. “Want you, need you” He breathed, the fabric of your wedding dress bunching up as he pulled at it.

“I can’t-” you grabbed at his hands. You could feel it, the guilt creeping in. Your eyes land on your wedding ring. Torn with morbid want and a last shred of gut-wrenching guilt, you looked into his eyes. Tempting dark pools stare back at you he grabs at your hand. “We’ve come so far already, don’t stop now. Besides” he makes it a point to flash your late husband's wedding band. “I’m your husband now.” you flush, the words twisting in your ears are wrong; everything about tonight was wrong. It felt like a dream more than reality.

“I know you think I’m attractive” he pushes through the layers of the dress, his hands cold as he rests them on your thighs. “It’s so wrong of you baby” he purrs, “you know I’m gonna kill you, but you want me don’t you?” 

“I know” you whimper, chest heaving as you watch him. His fingers trace against your skin, his hand moving between your legs. 

“When’s the last time your husband touched you?” He asks, “This is what you want, right? You want someone to want you?”

Your fingers twist in his hair, gripping tight as if you were about to fall. Your legs trembled under the weight of guilt and need over what was happening. He was right though, it had been a long time since you felt wanted at all. The moment you had sex the first time those years ago, you knew no one would want you. Not in the church, not here. Impure, a whore. Your mother had even said it when you sobbed and told her. 

Your back arches, your thighs tremble, and you let your grip on his hair loosen. You fear toppling over, your breathing a bit ragged. You felt his lips trace your inner thigh, leaving half-hearted kisses and sinking his teeth into your skin. 

“You look so pretty in your dress.” Jungkook reappears, kneeling before you a minute longer. Fixing the skirt of the dress, smoothing the fabric down then reaching for your hand. He traces the wedding ring a few times.

“Where do you want me to do it?” Jungkook’s question falls on deaf ears. You’re sitting in the passenger side of his car, still wearing a dress and still trying to steady your pounding heart.

Where did you want to die?

Did you want to die?

You were scared of living as much as dying; but was there anything left for you anyways? 

Jungkook you supposed, there was a weird want for him. Maybe it was messed up, he was into you. He took all this time to watch you and wanted you to be happy before you died. You weren’t sure if you were happy. 

Before you got out of high school the town church moved to a new building. A bigger, newer, and nicer one. The old one was small, typical of what you would imagine a small, secluded town’s church would look like. He took you there, unprompted. It was fitting maybe. You walked in front of him and listened to Jungkook load the gun and mutter under his breath. Once inside you stand in place, waiting for him to turn and shoot. You look around the familiar space, your stomach turning, memories of the past playing in your mind. 

The cross mounted above you is entrancing, draped in sheer black fabric, and its shadowy outline is stark against the moon's light. Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook, who seems to have caught onto your staring and also happens to stand before you draped in the moonlight. 

Your last moments would be here. Everything around you felt distorted, and unreal as you looked around another time. 

Staining his hands red and tearing into something clean was all he was. All he wanted. You were both ugly in a sense, he was just more open about it. You look up at him. It’s scary now. You had known what was going to happen from the moment he took you. You knew. You knew he wouldn’t give you a happy ending, only give you a temporary release from everything. He killed your husband, it made you happy. He let you prance around in a wedding dress and pretend one last time you could do it all again. He played well with you, you had been able to push aside the dark truth of your situation for a time. But now he was standing before you, reveling in some kind of glory of it all. Did glory taste different to him? You couldn’t imagine- but was letting him kill that man no different than this? In a way, you had killed your husband, was this all some kind of long, drawn-out punishment for that? For lifelong confusion and defiance?

You hoped someone would find you when you were. Find your carcass and see, understand that you had been, still were, always being ripped open. Torn to pieces and dragged to muddy waters, you hoped they’d know you hadn’t been scared, maybe even welcomed it. Let them know this was love; in some twisted way. Love from Jungkook, or god sending him your way. You stopped believing in god a long time ago, grappled with it for so long, but you hoped he had loved you; at least once. Make the struggle worth it, prove you wrong. Or maybe it was love from yourself for closing your eyes and accepting it. 

Please, let this be love. Let your body be stained with love for once.

taglist: @aft3rhrs

[blossom-hwa]

the words I say, and the words I mean | h.k

pairing: Huening Kai x gender neutral!reader genre:  fluff, a touch of angst, high school!au, childhood best friends to lovers!au warnings: cursing word count: 2.5k notes: this was originally a story for jay written for chip as a lovely birthday present, I've repurposed it for hyuka because I think he'd fit the lovely lovestruck trope just as well :) hope you enjoy! On a cool golden afternoon on the cusp of winter, Kai falls for you again. 

Jay (Enhypen) Ver. | TXT Masterlist

At precisely five fifty-three on a Friday afternoon of a crisp fall-turning-winter day, Kai comes to this conclusion:

He says a lot of shit.

Which, in hindsight, any of his friends could have probably told him. Taehyun for certain—and Beomgyu too just by virtue of him being a paragon of evil or something. But there’s that whole saying about having to realize things about oneself by oneself, or whatever, because you’ll never listen to anyone else, not for real.

Or maybe there isn’t a saying. Maybe someone just told him that and he’s remembering it now.

Doesn’t matter. The point is, Kai walks into the coffee shop where you work at exactly five fifty-two pm on this wonderful Friday afternoon in the crisp intersection between fall and winter where the sun is beginning to set noticeably earlier but not so much so that it fucks up his entire brain, locks eyes with you behind the counter, and says:

“Hey, doofus.”

Which is certainly a substitute—if not a very good one—for what he says in his brain:

You look really beautiful in this lighting, and I kind of want to kiss you.

You roll your eyes and it’s still beautiful, somehow, in the golden afternoon sunlight spilling through the cafe window, and once again Kai is reminded of how hard he’s fallen for every single bit of you—the childhood best friend who lives next door, who’s seen him from his grubby little toddler days to his ratty pre-teen years to his ungodly mess of existence in this last year before college. You’ve seen everything about him, he’s seen everything about you, and if Kai hadn’t realized it before (a year ago, you fell asleep in the passenger seat as he was driving the two of you home from school and he got a slap of cold reality from God Herself when he looked over to see drool trickling down the side of your face and the first thing he thought was cute) he’d certainly realize it now, at five fifty-two pm on a Friday afternoon at the cusp of fall-turning-winter where the sunlight shines so warm on your half-annoyed, half-fond expression that Kai can proudly say is reserved solely for him.

But it’s kind of like a second realization of love, he guesses. Because apparently once wasn’t enough. And it comes in the form of him calling you a doofus when he just really wants to kiss you instead.

He really, really says a lot of shit. More specifically, a lot of shit he doesn’t mean. Mostly because you don’t know how he feels, and he’s too scared to ask if you might feel the same way.

“Good afternoon to you too, doofus,” you snip, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter. He hands you the exact amount for the drink like clockwork because it’s a routine at this point, and then, also in routine, he eyes it exaggeratedly.

“There’s no poison in this, is there?”

There it is. Again. There’s no poison in this, is there?

How about this instead:

Thanks for the drink, I really love you.

You roll your eyes again and he has to curb the smile on his face, in case it betrays the way his heart is pounding in his chest like it does a lot these days at the sight of you. “No, asshole,” you intone. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d make sure there was blood.”

“Aw, so you don’t want to kill me?”

I’d probably let you stab me for free.

“I’m waiting for the right time.” You snicker. “You know, Beomgyu already offered to help me hide the body.”

Kai would respond, and if he did he’d probably say something equally dumb that he didn’t really want to say because his heart keeps screaming for him to tell the truth of his emotions but his mind keeps telling it to shut the fuck up, but the door opens again with a little ring of bells and even though it’s now five fifty-four pm, six minutes from the end of your shift, six minutes are still six minutes and he’ll have to wait those six minutes to walk you home.

Your manager’s a bitch.

So he parks himself at a table, idly scrolling through his phone while sipping at the bitter Americano you gave him (perfect for keeping him somewhat awake for the late night studying that will definitely happen tonight), and also sneaking glances at you when he’s more or less certain you’re busy. He does good today, doesn’t manage to get caught staring even once before you disappear into the back, presumably to strip off your apron and clock out.

Soobin sends him about five cat pictures in the several minutes it takes for you to change. Kai giggles into his drink and hearts them all right before a shadow looms over his seated figure.

“What’re you laughing at?”

In response, he lifts his phone and watches a smile bloom across your face at the cat pictures. “They’re adorable,” you coo.

Kai’s brain reacts before his mouth does, which sucks because it only gives further proof to his realization earlier which he’d kinda hoped was a fluke but was pretty sure it wasn’t.

So are you.

He doesn’t say that, because he doesn’t have the guts. “Yeah, if only I could convince my parents to get one,” he pouts instead, pocketing the phone. “Let’s go home.”

The bells above the door chime merrily as the two of you walk out into the golden sunshine, a subtle warmth that curls even through the sharp bites of wind that nip at his nose and cheeks. When winter comes with its snow and ice, you’ll switch to taking the car home—him driving over to pick you up instead of walking in the snow—so he cherishes the walks for now, a bit of peace and calm in the silence of the neighborhood air.

Well, not exactly peace and calm. Because the two of you are best friends, and so you bicker, and most of that bickering gets pretty loud and your neighbors probably hate you both even if they haven’t said it out loud yet, but to Kai it feels peaceful anyway. Calming. A breath of fresh air, a moment in which he can forget about the stress of school and college applications and just focus on being here with you.

You’re telling him a story about work today, gesticulating wildly as you reenact some woman telling you that her drink wasn’t frothy enough, that she expected two full fucking inches of froth so you’d better shake it again or remake it. Kai laughs, and cackles, and commiserates when you say you’d like to hunt her down and put her six feet under, and all the time his heart feels like it’s blooming, blooming under not the sun itself but the light of your smile as you laugh with him.

Like a sunflower, he thinks. A sunflower, always chasing the sun across the sky.

Holy shit, Yeonjun’s poetry is rubbing off on him. This is terrible.

And then you laugh again, this brilliant sound that’s like a cross between a pig’s snort and wedding bells, and yeah. Okay. Whatever. Maybe Yeonjun’s poetry is fine. Because at least it’s getting things right.

“I never want to work in the food industry again,” you complain, shaking your head. Your scarf seems to be slipping around your neck and Kai’s fingers itch to rearrange it, but he keeps his hands to himself because you’ll notice it, right? You’ll notice the slipping scarf instead and then he won’t have to risk having you feel the tenderness in his fingers that isn’t supposed to be there because he’s only supposed to be your best friend, not someone who has a crush on you. “All the horror stories are so real.”

“Okay, but have you considered...” He pauses dramatically as you look at him, eyebrows raised. “Maybe you’re the problem.”

“Kai Kamal Huening—”

“If everything’s happening to you, I’m just saying, maybe there’s some correlation there—”

You punch him in the arm. Hard.

He wails.

“Oh my God, you fucking baby,” you hiss, all the while also holding your sides that are shaking with laughter as Kai flops to the ground, gripping his arm like you just attempted to cut it off. Good. Because he’s exaggerating, clearly, but only for your sake—so you can laugh. Just a bit. Enough to bring light back to your face that isn’t just from the sun.

“You punched me,” he whines, “and you’re calling me a baby?”

I’d let you punch me any day. And if I deserved it, I’d probably punch myself in the face, too. For you.

He’s going insane, he really fucking is, with the disconnect between the shit he says and the shit he wants to say. But the banter comes so easily, too easily—maybe that’s the reason why he can’t speak the words buried in his heart. Because it’s so much easier, so much simpler, to just pretend. To just bicker his way out of ever revealing anything to you.

“Oh my God, just shut up.” You haul him up and—holy shit, maybe he’s just some Victorian woman in disguise or whatever because he could swoon into your touch. He really could. But he doesn’t, because even to his dumbfuck lovesick heart, that’s overkill. “Come on, punch me. We’ll call it even.”

Kai stares at the arm you proffer to him, covered in the coat you’ve worn for several years at this point. He doesn’t know why, but for a moment, he can’t move. Can’t bring himself to.

Which is dumb as fuck. Because this is a thing you two have always done, jokingly hit each other at one point and when the other complains loud enough to cause a neighborhood ruckus, let them hit back to call it even. It started with your first fight as kids and it just...stayed. Until now. At this moment at sometime past six pm on a Friday evening, now, on a crisp fall-turning-winter day where wind has mostly carried away the coffee smell from your job and Kai is having a crisis about punching your arm.

But he has to do it. So—

He punches you.

Very softly.

Nothing at all like you punched him.

You blink. So does he.

“What the fuck was that, dude?” You narrow your eyes at him playfully, though something uncertain dances in your gaze. Alarm bells start ringing at full force in his brain—fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—“Are you going soft?”

He’s looking at you and you’re looking at him and a gust of wind blows the scarf around your neck and fuck you still haven’t noticed that it’s loose and he wants nothing more than to grab it and fix it so you won’t get too cold but he can’t, now, because he’s already revealed too much by not punching you the way you (and he!) expected and the uncertainty is still there in your expression and FUCK he needs to say something, he needs to say something—

No, it’s because I like you so much it hurts.

“No, it’s because you’re weak and you wouldn’t be able to handle a real punch.”

You screech and Kai screams and then you’re chasing him down the block, one fist held high as you yell something like I’ll give you a real fucking punch to whine about and even as he runs away from you he can hear the laughter in your voice even as you spout bloody murder and promises of revenge behind him, your screams blending with his gasping laughter as he stops, sides heaving with cackles, and you bowl him onto the cold sidewalk that still feels warm, somehow, warm with your giggles as you slap him in the shoulder, threats of violence still dripping from your lips—

“I give up,” he gasps, tears squeezing out of his eyes as he tries to stop laughing. “I give up.”

In other words:

I’ll let you win, always, because your happiness means everything to me.

You collapse to the ground beside him on the cold concrete, and there has never been anything more beautiful, Kai thinks, than the medley of your cackling laugh fading in the air and your expression scrunched in giggling happiness as you sit up to face him. “Good,” you sniff, eyes sparkling in the fading sunlight. “Glad you know your place.”

Kai watches you stand, then extend a hand to help him up. His eyes linger on that hand, the hand he held so much as a kid, the hand he stopped holding in middle school because it’s icky and we aren’t dating, the hand he’s wanted to hold for several years now and even more so since last year when he saw you drooling in the car and thought you were so, so cute. He reaches up, takes it, and in the moment where your palms are connected, his heart aches, aches so much for him to just say—

I love you.

But you let go of his hand, still smiling, so oblivious to the way his heart sags and cracks with the weight of those three words he can’t say as the warmth of your palm leaves his, and he knows—it isn’t meant to be, you loving someone as ratty and messy and damaged as he. You’re best friends. Nothing less, but certainly nothing more.

So he leaves the words in his overflowing heart, locks them away with a cold key made of the sudden absence of your hand’s warmth against his. “Come on,” he says instead, smiling the crooked smile that you always say makes him look like a stupid little rugrat on the streets. But he gets the patented Kai Kamal Huening smile on your face in return, annoyance and exasperation and fondness all mixed into an expression that nearly explodes the box where he keeps those three words, eight letters, carefully locked away, so it can’t be too bad. Not really. Not if it gets him the sunlight of your smile on your face.

Nothing’s so bad, really, not even the weight of all the words he means but can’t say, not when you smile at him like this under the shimmering golden sunlight of a fall-turning-winter evening, not when the two of you are alone in the street glowing warm with laughter, not when it feels like nothing in the world can tear the two of you apart. It’s enough, really. Having you here, and knowing you’ll always be here, even if it means keeping secrets locked carefully away in his heart.

“Come on,” he repeats, and his smile isn’t even that strained as he jerks his head towards the end of the street. “The sun’s setting. Let’s get home.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[wh0re43van]

Baby fever Pt 3 (Evan Peters X Reader)

Summary: Theres been tension between you and Evan for months due to your struggle to conceive. You guys decide to go out for a nice dinner to get your mind off of things.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: mentions of wine?, small argument?

A/N: I’m sorry guys I thought I uploaded this like two hours ago 😭 this will probably be the last part of this little series <3

Pt1 , Pt2

It’s been about three months since Evan and I have started trying for a baby. We know that it takes time, but that doesn’t take the sting out of the 10 negative tests we’ve gotten.

I sigh, resting my head on the window glass as I see the elementary kids at the bus stop awaiting their ride to school. A few are chasing each other, a pair of kids are sat down on the sidewalk as they share the same set of earbuds, and one kid stands quietly as they hold their backpack close to their chest. The warm hues of the morning sunrise cascades down on the group of tiny people. Orange and pink sun rays bounce of their coats, hats, and laughs that come out as puffs of condensation.

I smile to myself as I hold my herbal tea up to my lips, the steam coming from the beverage fogging up the cold window. I imagine what Evan would look like as he walks our child to the bus stop. What kind of silly dad pajama bottoms and stained hoodie set would he take our child out in. The image of Evan holding our little one’s hand makes my heart swell.

The click of the deadbolt unlocking grasps my attention. I turn to see Evan walking through the door with a few bags of groceries. He gives me a small smile as he sets the shopping down on the table.

“I still think it’s a bit early for grocery shopping,” I giggle as I pull him into a loose hug. He rests his head on top of mine, his hand instinctively twirling my hair.

“I know. I’ve been up since 5:00 am so I figured I might as well get up and do something,” he sighs. Evans been more beaten up about this than I imagined. I’ve tried to explain to him that it takes time, and you have to wait at least 3 weeks before you can get a positive result, but he doesn’t care much to listen. He’s just so ready to be a dad; to have that little bundle of joy in his arms. He already has so much love for a child that hasn’t yet been conceived.

“Would you like some coffee?” I ask as I look up at him with a small smile.

“That would be very nice,” he grins, leaning down to place a small kiss to my lips. I turn, reaching for the coffee grounds as he unloads the groceries.

“What did you get?” I ask curiously.

“Oh just some staple foods we were running low on: peanut butter, bread, butter…” he explains as he put each item away in their rightful home. “Oh and I found these pregnancy tests that let you know a week early!” He beams as he shuffles over to me, pulling six ‘Clear Blue’ pregnancy tests out of the canvas shopping bag.

“Evan,” I giggle, looking at him in confusion. “Why did you get so many?” I ask as I pour the fresh brewed coffee into his favorite mug.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. Just want to be prepared I guess,” he shrugs before turning back to the shopping bags. “Oh y/n look at this,” he says excitedly. I turn, handing him his coffee when I see the little bear onesie in his hand. “Isn’t this just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” He asks genuinely, the biggest, goofiest smile on his face and pure joy glinting in his eyes. This man melts my heart.

“It’s adorable,” I giggle, walking over to examine the outfit. It’s a brown, fleece, hooded onesie with bear ears and bear feet attached. I notice that its size newborn, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that even if I were pregnant right now, the baby would get here in August and we would have no use for this winter outfit. I just smile to myself and kiss him on the cheek before walking back over to the coffee pot to prepare my own drink.

“Woah! Is that caffeine free?” Evan asks urgently as he sets his mug down, spilling a bit before he rushes to me.

“Uh, no?” I look at him confused. He takes the coffee out of my hand.

“I read online that you shouldn’t consume caffeine while pregnant,” Evan explains. I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Okay… well I’m not pregnant yet,” I try to laugh it off and grab the pot out of his hand. He yanks it back, holding it up and out of my reach. “Y/n I’m serious. It’s not good for you or the baby,” he furrows his brows. I can feel my blood pressure start to rise out of anger.

“There is no fucking baby, Evan! I took another test a few days ago, and guess what? It came out negative just like all of the other ones! So please give it a rest!” I shout, surprising myself at how aggressive that came out; I guess I was holding that back for a while. Evan takes a step back, betrayal creeping into his face.

“There is no need to shout,” he says lowly, gritting his teeth. He doesn’t break eyes contact with me as he sets the coffee pot down. I know I’ve angered him. He has this calm demeanor when he’s pissed off; He never raises his voice or puts his hands on anyone, but when he’s mad the look in his eyes will strike the fear of god into you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I furrow my brow back at him. I’m not sure where this sudden anger came from, but now I can’t stop it. Now that I think about it, there’s been a bit of tension between us after the first few negative tests. It’s almost like he gets upset with me every time we find out that I’m not pregnant. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it that way and that he doesn’t blame me for our struggle to conceive, but I can’t help the thought from creeping in.

“You’re the one that snapped on me out of no where,” he says sternly, clenching his jaw. “Come on, what’s your problem? You’ve been cold towards me for months,” he asks seriously. I scoff, feeling my ears burn red.

“Me? Evan you’re the one that won’t talk to me for the rest of the fucking day every time that goddamn stick only has one fucking line!” I scream, not believing what I’m hearing come out of his mouth. He steps closer to me, intimidating me with his proximity. There’s no need for him to shout; He knows his glare speaks much louder.

“I’m going to our room. Come talk to me once you’ve calmed down,” he says through tight lips before silently walking away. I let out a frustrated sigh, pushing a box of frozen waffles off the counter as I flop down on.

‘I’m a fucking idiot’ I kick myself. We needed to talk about these feelings, but it’s just been so tense between us. The past few weeks I’ve been so emotional and there’s just been a tension hanging between Evan and me.

I sigh, standing up straight then finish putting the groceries aways. I decide to make Evan pancakes from scratch as a poor apology.

About an hour has passed and I’m taking the last pancake off the stove as footsteps sound down the hallway.

“You never came to talk,” I hear Evans’ sad voice as he comes around the corner.

“Well, I thought I would make you breakfast first,” I give him a small smile. Guilt rushes over me when I look into his eyes that are glistening with sadness. ‘How could I have yelled at him like that,’ I think to myself as he looks at me like a disappointed puppy. “Evan I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I’ve just been so on edge lately. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that… I know you’re just excited for the baby, but I feel like I’m disappointing you,” I sigh I pull two plates out of the cabinet. Evans hands quickly wrap around my waist, pulling me into a hug.

“You could never disappoint me, y/n,” he says sweetly, placing a kiss on top of my head. “I just got a bit carried away, I’m sorry. All I’ve been thinking about is starting a family; I don’t mean to put any pressure on you.” he says genuinely as he rubs his hands on my back.

“I love you, Evan,” his words make tear up but I keep my head pressed against his chest so he can’t see. He always manages to melt my heart with his kind words.

“I love you baby,” he pulls away to look at me. “Why don’t we go to that Italian place you like for dinner? We can have a nice night out to destress,” he offers with his award-winning smile. I sniffle, nodding my head.

“I’d love that,” I say with a grin. He grabs my hand, placing a kiss on top before helping himself to the pancakes on the table.

•

•

The rest of the day went pretty smooth. We didn’t speak of the baby at all, just spent some time together; it was lovely.

I get ready for our date, picking out a simple black dress. I slip it on and examine myself in the mirror. A frown creeps onto my face when I see my reflection, suddenly feeling insecure. As if on cue, Evan walks into the room sporting nothing but a pair of black slacks.

“You know, that’s one of my favorite dresses on you,” he says sweetly. I watch him through the mirror as he lays down on our bed, propping his head up on his hand to admire me.

“I was about to change. I feel like you can see how bloated I am in it,” I scoff, turning to look at him. He sits up from the bed, drawing his brows down.

“Y/n you look stunning. What the hell are you talking about?” he asks in disbelief. I trudge over to him, plopping down and resting my forehead on his bare shoulder.

“I don’t know,” I sigh honestly. “I just feel like I’ve been swollen and bloated for the past few weeks and it’s not even time for my period,” I groan into his arm. He chuckles, placing a warm hand on back.

“You need to be nicer to yourself. You look just as beautiful-if not more- than the first time I ever saw you,” he says softly before placing a kiss to the top of my head. I sit up, looking at him with awe.

“How do you still make me blush, even after all these years?” I giggle as my cheeks burn pink.

“I just have that effect on women,” he laughs as he stretches his arms above his head, purposefully flexing his biceps. I roll my eyes.

“Whatever,” I laugh as I stand from the bed. “Get dressed, Casanova,” I tease as I walk to the bathroom. He stands up without saying anything then gently slaps my ass. I can’t help but laugh to myself as he runs out of the room like a child who’s just stolen a piece of candy.

•

•

The car ride was full of jokes and positive energy. Now we sit in this lovely restaurant with a live orchestra and decorative fountains. It’s a bit flashy for my taste, but the food and service are so good that I can’t complain. Evan sits across from me in his signature formal wear: a white button-up and black slacks. He took the time to slick his brown curls down and away from his face and trim his beard and mustache a bit to better fit in with the black-tie atmosphere.

The waitress soon approaches our table with a bottle of wine (which looks much more expansive than any bottle that I pick up at Target) then sets the glasses on the table and opens the wine. Evan speaks up, asking her to leave the bottle as he wants to pour it himself. She smiles before walking away.

“I got this especially for you,” Evan laughs as he picks up the glass bottle. “So if you don’t like it, you owe me $500,” he teases as me pours me my drink. I almost choke on my breath.

“Evan are you crazy?” My eyes nearly pop out of my head. He chuckles at my expression as he pours his own serving.

“Crazy for you,” he winks, knowing that was insanely cheesy. “Plus, I’ve been kind of persuading you not to drink and eat certain things incase we conceive without realizing it, so this is my apology for trying to control your body,” he grins sympathetically, holding his glass of wine out. With a smile, I grab my glass and meet his with a clink. He takes a drink, but when I hold the earthy liquid up to my mouth, I pause. I consider his words about possibly being pregnant. I took a pregnancy test just a few days ago and it was negative like always. I shrug it off taking a sip of the bitter drink.

The night goes on, lovely as ever. It almost feels like an anniversary date with our reminiscing and sharing of old pictures, the high class atmosphere, the expensive wine. The night was perfect, honestly. Evan seemed to have been stressed because he drank nearly the whole bottle of wine on his own in less than an hour.

“God, you’re just so- and you’re such a… and kind! You’re so kind Y/n!” he stammers out with boyish giggles as he pauses every few words to manually sort through each of his thoughts. I laugh at the wine drunk man slouched in his seat

“Thank you, Ev,” I place a hand on his face from across the table.  He leans into the touch as he closes his eyes, his lips curling into a small content smile.

“Hey how come you didn’t drink yours?” he queries as he picks up my mostly full glass of wine, sloshing some of the dark liquid out of the vessel onto to the stark white tablecloth.

“Evan!” I whisper, snatching the glass from him. “Well, someone has to drive you home,” I giggle, shaking my head at the 36-year old child in the seat across from me. I give him the excuse of being the designated driver, but it was actually almost instinctual as to why I haven’t had much to drink. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time to go home,” I raise my eyebrows at Evan who’s got the wine bottle up to his eye, searching for more of the rich liquid. I snatch the bottle out of his hands. He stands from his seat trying to grab it back, but stumbles backwards into his chair. “Jesus Christ, Evan! You aren’t supposed to get trashed in a place like this,” I scold him as I motion around at the elegance of the building. He just shrugs his shoulders.

“Hey! I paid to be here just like everyone else,” he rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist, snapping his fingers.

“I hate when you get wine drunk,” I sigh, shaking my head at the pure sass radiating off my husband. He just smiles at me with droopy eyes. I laugh, then call for the check.

•

•

After arriving home, I force my drunk husband out of his dress clothes so he can put his pajamas on. Evan is standing in the middle of our room in just his boxers as I sort through our dresser for his sweat pants and an old t-shirt. I carry the clothes over to him, then he suddenly grabs my hips pulling me into a kiss, swaying a bit on his feet.

“What if we try again tonight?” he asks lowly in my ear, catching me off guard, his energy now much different from his giggling self.

“I think maybe we should just get ready for bed,” I whisper back as he places small kisses down my neck, his strong hands pulling my body closer to his.

“That’s no fun,” he looks at me, frowning.

“Come on Ev. You’re drunk and I’m still sore from the other night. Let’s just get you in bed,” I smile, leading him to the mattress. He begrudgingly allows me to dress him before he lays down on our bed. Once he’s settled, I head to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

As I reach over the counter into the cabinet to grab a cup, I see the bag of the fancy pregnancy tests that Evan bought. I get my water and take a few sips while staring at the bag, contemplating whether I should use one. I shrug, taking one up to the bathroom with me so I can get ready for the night.

I set the box on the bathroom counter before taking off my makeup. As I walk to the toilet to use the bathroom, my eyes glance back over to the blue and white box.

‘You’re supposed to do it in the morning, it wouldn’t be accurate right now anyway,’  I think to myself as I pull up my dress, sitting down on the toilet, but in the same breath I think, ‘Evan bought like half a dozen, wasting one won’t hurt,’ I convince myself to hop up, reaching for the blue and white box, reading the directions quickly. I do as directed and allow the test to sit for two minutes. I turn away, brushing my teeth anxiously for the longest two minutes of my entire life. ‘I don’t know why I’m so worked up this time. I know it’s going to be negative,’ I think to myself as I put my tooth brush back in its holder. My heart drops to my stomach when I see the result of the test. I turn the other set of lights on in the bathroom so I can see it clearly. I blink my eyes as I hold the plastic closer to my face. I don’t believe my eyes.

‘pregnant’ is staring back at me in the small digital window of the pregnancy test. I smile, holding it to my pounding chest.

‘This could be a false positive. I’ll have to take another one in the morning,’ I rationalize in my head. ‘Should I tell Evan? If it’s a false, he’ll be crushed,’ I frown. As if Evan knows every time I’m thinking about him, he stumbles into the bathroom.

“Holy shit baby why do you have the LED’s on,” he hisses as he covers his eyes, trudging to the toilet in a drunken stupor. I stand still, just staring at the test in my hands, unsure of what to do. Evan yawns as relieves himself in the small room that the toilet is in.

“This could be false,” I start as I look at his backside. “But this test is positive,” I say quietly, unsure if he can hear me over the gallons he’s pissing. “Jesus, Evan,” I raise my eyebrows at how much he’s going.

“What?” he asks after a pause while turning his ear towards me, seemingly unsure if he heard me correctly. I wait for him to finish. Once he adjusts his pants and turns around, I take a deep breath before handing him the test.

“Now this could be false but-“ I begin as he tries to focus his tired, drunken gaze on the small letters on the test.

“Pregnant,” he reads aloud slowly. He looks up at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw before pulling me into a tight hug.

“Now like I said Ev, it could a false positive,” I remind him as I giggle against his chest.

“No way,” he looks at me with tears of joy streaming down his face. As soon as I see his tears, my own roll down my cheeks. He places a gentle hand on my stomach, using the other to wipe his eyes.

“How long until we can feel it kick?” he asks genuinely with pure joy glinting in his eyes. I giggle at his eagerness.

“It’s gotta grow legs first,” I snicker as he rests his forehead against mine. He laughs when he realizes how silly of a question that was before placing a gentle kiss to my lips.

“Lets get you to bed, Mama,” he picks me up, seemingly much more sober now, to carry me to our bed.

[clouisluvr]

i need a part 3 of sean diaz hc IM STARVEDDD‼️

ask and (11 months later) you shall receive!

- deep conversations always happen whilst laying on the floor. he’ll lay on his back with an arm propped under his head and listen intently to everything you have to say

- hangs on to your every word if youre talking about something important like .. his eyes will go kinda big because he’s so focused on you he kinda forgets to blink LOL

- grabs onto your hands when hes nervous, like just clutches onto them and squeezes. likes when you rub the back of his hand with ur thumb for extra reassurance

- sean sees the world so artistically and beautifully so a feature of yours you’ve never noticed before is accentuated in his art. a beauty spot you didnt notice, a dimple you never knew about. he loves every little detail about you

- faye webster enjoyer! indie pop lover in general tbh. loves listening to music with you (earbud user because he hates how headphones feel on his head) and will always think of you when he listens to certain songs

- i think if you told him you like his hair long he’d let it GROWWW. like so long he can tie it into a bun, but it would annoy him after a while and he’d cut it to like ep1 length. will let you and daniel put his hair in pigtails with bows (he’ll joke about being coquette)

- loves going on drives with you. sometimes daniel tags along but he prefers when its just the two of you. definitely likes listening to frank ocean whilst the sun sets (it reminds him of gta😭)

- has a bad habit of putting on this cynical teen front (like his journal entry about trump winning LOL) and you give him an outlet to be sincere and sensitive which leads to him opening up about his mom

- sean feels a weird sense of guilt when he criticises karen in front of daniel because he knows he’s too young to really remember and feel upset about it. but he feels even worse doing it in front of his dad because he feels like his emotions take up too much space. like it overshadows the betrayal his dad must feel.

- so instead he adopts a mostly indifferent, partially angry attitude towards his mom leaving to disguise the genuine sadness and resentment. the inability to understand how she could just up and leave. when you give sean the space to actually .. feel everything, he breaks down. it deepens the bond he has with you, he feels theres no judgement to be cruel, selfish, or upset around you.

- seans newfound sensitivity from dating you also lets him be unashamedly happy about the holiday season. he is done pretending to be over christmas, bring out the ugly jumpers and candy canes!!

- esteban is in SHOCK. sean is up early during his winter break to *checks notes* decorate?? convinced it must be crack.

- not sure what the american equivalent of winter wonderland is, but he saves up money from his part time job to take you, his dad and daniel to a winter festival! he kinda breaks the bank but has no regrets!! gets you hot chocolates and treats, also spends an embarrassing amount on game tickets trying to win you a prize😭 you tell him its ok but he will keep trying until he gets you SOMETHING!

- at some point he’ll sneak off with you to give you the sweetest kiss ever. will hold your chin in his hand and tilt your head up to kiss you. he’s not huge on pda (especially with his dad in the vicinity) BUT he’s in such a good mood he cant pass up the chance. starts smiling through the kiss because he’s so happy

- that definitely inspires art of you looking flushed with slightly swollen lips but a look of warmth in your eyes. probably gives it to you as a christmas gift! tells you its one of the many many moments he felt himself falling even more in love with you

- he hates the cold but loves the excuse to cling to you constantly. “sean.. i need to pee.” “pretty sure if i let go of you i’ll instantly get frostbite soo..”

- nervous and geeky when you guys first start dating, but gets SUPERRR suave as time goes on it kinda makes you weak in the knees. will cup your cheek mid conversation and stroke your cheek with his thumb. will backhug you and kiss your neck. will kiss the back of your hand if hes feeling VERY romantic… whore activity tbh!

- hickey enthusiast omg its BAD hes an addict. but god forbid you give him one because he will freak about lyla seeing and giving him grief over it. has a thing for marking you and knowing you like how it feels

- loves when you wrap your arms around his neck!! gives him this super strong sense of security, he’ll always wraps his arms around your waist.

- HATES when people talk at the movies. you, sean and daniel all went to see fnaf and daniel would not stop turning to both of you to explain the lore incase you were confused😭 not even whispering mind you! infuriates sean but its him telling you and daniel to stop talking that gets the reaction of an angry parent asking him to “be quiet or leave!” his eye twitches when you and daniel start laughing at him LOLL

- ushanka hat bandit. will wear them even during SUMMER! always paired with a tank top and jeans or a striped hoodie. i think sean has slutty hips so u love the tank top x low rise jeans combo he wears in summer LMAOO :P

- likes to cuddle with your back facing him so he can kiss your shoulder.

- likes to post discreet pictures of you on his main ig but his spam account is like 90% you LMAO. posts photodumps filled with dumb text messages between you both and candid pictures of you

- gets overprotective of you in a similar way to how he is with daniel, sometimes you have to remind him you’re there to protect him too

- will lay his head on your shoulder when hes in need of comfort. also a subtle way of asking you to play with his hair (he will melt)

- likes if you put your hands in his jacket pocket when it’s cold so he can hold it in there!!

- goes through phases where he ALWAYS wants to be on the phone with you. like you could be on the way over and he’ll stay on call until you’re in his house

- has a bad habit of getting into petty arguments with you that start off playful, like debating over what the best chocolate bar is but he’ll end up taking it too far and getting legit mad LMAO. you both end up cackling about managing to argue over chocolate

- plans his future with you in it. knows he always wants to be in close proximity to you, daniel and his dad no matter what! he can’t imagine life without you and tbh he doesnt want to.

not sure what hits me at like midnight that makes me wanna write hcs but as always im too sleepy to proofread so ignore any mistakes! also sorry if you dont celebrate christmas, i was projecting a little LOL

hope u all enjoy!💗

[daylightdabbles]

Winter Mornings

It's the time of year when snow covers the ground, and the icy winds leaves your face stinging. How do your loves act during the darkest and coziest season?

SFW

Featuring: Thoma, Tartaglia, Kaedehara Kazuha, and Kaveh

Thoma, The Protector From Afar

Winter in Inazuma tends to be rather mild. It doesn't reach the same freezing temperatures as Mondstadt and, while it does snow, often is easy to manage overall. It is the first winter you and Thoma are spending in your new home.

It isn't uncommon to go to sleep with Thoma in your arms and wake up with him gone. It's just the nature of his work, it requires him to be at the Kamisato Estate before the sun was. He would do his best to not disturb you as he got ready for the day ahead. On his way out, he would set up the kettle and leave a teabag in a cup, just to make it easier for you to get your morning drink.

He's gone most of the day, but you can occasionally run into him as he does errands for the Kamisato Clan. A chance meeting by the food vender during your lunchbreak becomes and invitation for you to accompany him as he gathers the items on his list. Thoma makes sure to get you a small treat before heading back to work, wishing you a good rest of the day at work.

By the time he comes back, Thoma's boots are caked in snow and his face rosy from the cold. He took some additional time before coming in to make sure the sidewalk in front of your home was shoveled and salted. He is tired, but seeing your face again puts the pep back in his step.

He helps prepare dinner with you, chopping up vegetables as you two chat, catching up with eachother. You find the feather light touch of his hands on your hips and his chin on your shoulder while you stir the pot, him listening intently as you talk about what you did that day. He doesn't get to spend much time with you during the day, so evenings hold a special place in his heart.

Thoma's body is warm, both naturally and because of the pyro vision on his belt. The two of you wind down as you sit on the couch doing your various hobbies. Thoma loves physical affection, so often times he's leans against you as he knits, simply enjoying your company.

Bedtime comes all too soon for his liking, but it's better than when you weren't living together. Now, he gets to go to sleep cuddling you every night. There is no more sneaking around the Kamisato Estate to spend the night with you or cold nights where sleep evaded him. Your nights are now just the feeling of his arms around you and your shared warmth ensuring a comfortable rest after a long day's work.

Tartaglia, The 11th of The Fatui Harbingers

He's begged, damn near pleaded, that you come to Snezhnaya for the winter holidays. He has been with you for a while, and he wants more than to spend time with both his family and you. The mental image of you opening presents alongside his siblings makes his heart swell. Plied with honeyed words and the promises of him warming you up personally (which earned him flushed cheeks and a halfhearted scolding for saying that in public), you agree to go to Snezhnaya in the middle of winter.

The first thing he does when you two arrive in Morepesok was introduce you to his family. Teucer is practically glued to your side as Anton asks you a dozen questions about what it's like where you are from. Tartaglia's mother welcomes you with open arms, telling you all about how excited she is to meet the person her son wrote so much about. It's a lovely time and Tartaglia enjoys every second of it.

Tartaglia eventually says goodbye to his family and, hand tightly holding yours, walks you to the cabin he rented for the duration of his visit. It is already filled with goods, everything needed to make your favorite meals and to keep you both entertained during the evening.

He has planned out several activities for you to do together. He shows you how to ice fish one afternoon with Tonia. Another evening is occupied with dinner at his family's house. Morning, however, start the same. Wrapped up in thick, soft blankets, the two of you have a slow morning, enjoying the breakfast he made. He finds you so cute when you are all bundled up.

The Holiday Market in Morepesok market is a wonderful sight. Lights are stringed up around the town and people hawk their wares. Tartaglia leads you through the market, arm wrapped around you as you both delight over the festivities. He buys you anything he sees your eyes linger on, finding satisfaction in how much you like the hand pies an older woman sells.

He's a perfect gentleman throughout all of this, chatting with people he grew up with, showing you where he went to school or the shop where he got his first fishing pole from. There is the wisp of nostalgia in his words, eager to share every part of his childhood with you.

Eventually, the cold starts to get to you well before the dancing starts, so Tartaglia goes to get you a cup of something warm while you wait by a torch. You were looking around the street when you made eye contact with an older man across the street. He looks like your love but battered by a hard life. His heavy gaze lingers on you, carrying a sense of pity that left you more unsettled than it should. It lasts just for a moment before he turns around, walking away.

Later, when once more dining with Tartaglia's family, you see the strange man again. This time, its him when he's younger, smiling in his wedding picture. Tartaglia's mother apologizes for her husband again, saying a fisherman's work is never done.

Kaedehara Kazuha, The Scarlet Leaves Pursuing Wild Waves

As a traveler, the experience of winter is something that varies wildly for Kazuha. Captain Beidou's ship will brave any storm and any ice float. With an experienced hand at the wheel, the Alcor continues its watch over the seas even as the rest of the world hides away from the ice.

You joined the Alcor's crew during this journey to Mondstadt's harbor.

Either with you deciding to travel with him full time, or if this is a rare occasion that you can accompany him on the Alcor, mornings with Kazuha were slow. Despite his penchant for waking up with the sun, Kazuha still makes sure you wake up with a kiss on your lips and a soft-spoken greeting.

Even though he woke up before you, winter inspired him to keep an ear out for when you were getting closer to waking up. A few minutes before you finally open your eyes, Kazuha sneaks back into your shared hammock in the crew quarters. You wake up with his chin on the crown of your head and his steady heartbeat, almost as if he was always there.

His smile is endearing as he coaxes you out of bed. The ship is already busy by the time you wake up. The deck is cleaned, and the crew is making themselves busy, checking to see if the ship has any minor damage from stray hunks of ice or the daily tasks to keep the Alcor running. With ease, Kazuha helps you get breakfast and talking about what he was doing while you were asleep.

Kazuha, with his soft manner and warm touch, manages to convince you to join him in the crow's nest as he keeps an eye on the Horizen on Captain Beidou's request. When you get up there, you realize that his beloved wind is colder up here. You have once more been bamboozled into being his personal heater as he drags you close and sticks his hands up your shirt.

Despite him stealing your warmth, your time with Kazuha is relaxing. Up in the crow's nest, it's so easy to have intimate conversations with your love. From poetry to hobbies and even him trying to teach you to listen to the wind, you feel closer than ever to him.

There is so much teasing from the crew when you two finally come down. Kazuha just smiles, happy to have you here with him. Kazuha's home is the world and the open sea, but having his heart with him brings him a warm feeling that he cannot describe. The look on your face when you saw the northern lights for the first time is something he wrote many poems on in an effort to immortalize it.

Kaveh, The Empyrean Reflection

Kaveh has never seen snow in his life before, so when you showed him you had rented a cabin in Northern Fontaine, he was very excited. Winter has always been a large inspiration to architectural design, with buildings in colder regions taking on unique design features to keep their inhabitants warm. However, when he got there, it was a completely different story.

Kaveh is another lover who would cling to you like you were the last ember left in the hearth. It doesn't matter if it's barely sbelow freezing or if the temperature is in the negatives, Kaveh will act like he'll get frostbite if he's not sharing your body heat.

He's rather active once he gets comfortable with the cold. Bundled up in various jackets, scarves and layers of clothing (some of which he definitely stole from you), he's ready to explore the wonders of winter.

The snow-covered trees, frozen water, and even your footprints in the snow are really inspiring to Kaveh. While he has studied architectural styles from colder nations, being out in a snowy winter allows him to contextualize them. You're treated to long explanations and theories he has about why certain styles were developed and how he could take inspiration from them in his next work.

Kaveh's favorite part about this trip is just how long you stay in bed. Back in Sumeru, he would have to beg and pled for you to stay in bed to keep cuddling him. With it so cold outside, he wakes up long after sunrise with you still snuggled in his arms.

With your head resting against his chest, shielding you from the cold, Kaveh feels so wanted and comfortable. Please press a kiss into his skin, his heart will overflow.

Kaveh loves simple domestic moments with you the most and winter gives him the perfect opportunity to snuggle with his muse and enjoy the serenity of a quiet winter morning. He misses the rainforest and the calm of the desert, but he can see the unique beauty of a winter day.

[anonymousbeefriendfanfics]

Hiii hello there lovely human! Saw your spring prompts and i need to make 2 requests. Tighnari/Reader with a few prompts, basically a day in nature (let's imagine Teyvat has seasons like winter and spring bc we've never actually seen them lol). Prompts: 3, 10 and 18 + 24 after night falls. 1/2

Thank you thank you thank you, this was so much fun to write! I love Tighnari so much, he's everything to me <3 Now I want to write more about Tighnari and the seasons, hehe~

This is actually my first ever drabble, too!

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Character/Pairing: Tighnari x Reader

Warnings: Very fluffy, just like his tail!

Prompts: Spring Prompts; Nature Walk, Kisses, Animals, and Chilly!

"Nari, look!" you hiss, one hand catching his wrist while the other stretches out, pointing. His ears perk up as he follows your gesture, his gaze softening when he spots what's caught your attention. An avidya leopard is stretched out on a rock, warming herself in the sunlight, while two half-grown kittens play nearby. As you stand silently and listen, quiet little mews and growls reach your ears as they tussle together. One kitten baps the other on the head with a paw too big for its little legs, and the other kitten hisses indignantly, trying - and failing - to bite the retreating paw.

"They remind me of Kaveh and Alhaitham," Tighnari murmurs, and you stifle a laugh, nodding in agreement. The slightly smaller second kitten launches at its sibling, who easily sidesteps the attack, looking rather pleased with itself for dodging.

You watch on together as the kittens play until they tire themselves out and flop down near their mama for a nap. She affectionately licks the nearest kitten on top of the head, and you're surprised when Tighnari copies her, leaning over and kissing your cheek. He gives you a soft smile when you look at him, a playful look in his eyes. "What? Would you prefer that I licked you?" You give his shoulder a small shove, and he stifles a laugh, both of you careful not to disturb the little family.

"C'mon," he says at last, his gloved hand finding yours. "We should keep moving. It'll be dark soon, and we've gotta get home."

You don't make it home before the sun sets as you'd planned when you set out on the nature walk this afternoon, a fact that is made very clear as the warmth from the sinking sun retreats. It's quickly becoming chilly, and you shiver slightly, wishing you'd brought a jacket.

"Are you cold?" Tighnari asks, attentive as always. You nod, knowing better than to try and hide anything from him - he knows you too well.

"Come here, I'll warm you up," he says, dropping your hand and opening your arms. You gratefully step into his embrace, sighing happily as his arms close around your back, his fluffy tail curling around your legs. He's delightfully warm, and he smells incredible as you nuzzle into his neck. He always smells good, a combination of his natural scent and the various plant-based products he uses. It has a naturally calming effect on you.

Once you're warmer, you pull back slightly, ready to continue on, but Tighnari doesn't let you go yet. One hand cups your cheek as he leans closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Thank you for taking this walk with me. You mean so much to me," he says quietly, and your heart skips a beat; that's practically a love confession. Before you can respond, his soft lips press against yours, capturing your mouth in a gentle, yet passionate kiss, showing you just how much he truly cares for you.

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[ladytesla]

Cowboy Halsin

I saw @aerynwrites musing about how Halsin would be as a cowboy or rancher. I thought I'd throw in my two cents, since I live on a farm myself.

There's more to it than just seeing Halsin speaking softly to horses, as awesome a sight as that would be. There's more to living out in the country than horses, believe me. This kind of morphed into Country Halsin and not Cowboy Halsin, but I hope y'all like it anyway. Let's go through a day in the life, shall we?

Halsin would probably be up before dawn, kissing your cheek before getting out of bed as carefully as possible, trying not to wake you. You have your own goals to accomplish today, he wants to let you wake up on your own.

Besides, he loves the stillness just before the sun rises. The nocturnal creatures are seeking their nests and burrows, the diurnal ones have yet to wake. This solitary commune with nature is one of the highlights of his day, listening to the wind in the leaves, the crickets and the frogs. It is a very referent time of morning that seems to stretch for ages and at the same time end far too soon.

As he reaches the barn, the day officially begins. Animals need to be fed. Mostly they graze in the pasture, but some need special treatment. An old swaybacked mare needs a little something extra to keep her weight up. Maybe there's a colt who managed to hurt himself somehow, and the wound needs to be tended to. Maybe it's cold outside, so he throws out alfalfa with the hay. Alfalfa is also called 'hot hay' because it raises an animal's body temperature, which is a great trick for winter.

He speaks to the horses as he works, maybe fondly berating the colt for being so clumsy in his excitement, or encouraging the mare to eat everything he's set out for her, smoothing a large hand down her side and smiling to himself when he feels her ribs much more faintly than he used to. One of the horses who is usually waiting in the mornings isn't there... that's a bit odd. He'll turn up eventually. The chickens milling around outside have heard his voice and know The One Who Feeds Them has arrived, so they peek around and wander into the barn themselves, waiting very impatiently. The goats in another small paddock nearby are just as impatient. They start yelling and bleating as if they're starving to death and He Is A Cruel And Unjust Father And They Are Going To Scream.

He likes hearing the chickens chatter as he scatters out feed for them. They don't have anything of real importance to say, but they never stop talking. Mostly it's "Food! Food! Food! Bug? Food! Scratch. Peck. Scratch. Bug!" in a dozen warbling little voices. He brought a bag of veggie scraps from last night's dinner with him to throw to the goats, which stops them yelling. "I don't think the neighbors heard you yet," he would say dryly as he throws hay to them as well. Sometimes they headbutt each other for access to the best morsels, and while he wants to prevent this to keep anyone from getting injured, he knows it's in their nature. He keeps an eye on the smallest and oldest, however, making sure they get their fair share. The twin kids born last week toddle after their mother like baby ducks. It seems like she has enough milk for both of them, though he still has powdered formula and bottles from the last kidding season, just in case they're needed once more.

Now that everyone's been fed, it's time to walk the fences, looking for that missing horse in the process. A lesser known but very important job when it comes to country life. Any breaks could not only let animals out, but predators in. He'd keep an eye out for signs of predators nearby. He hasn't seen any today, but he heard coyotes crying out in the darkness the night before. By this time of morning, though, he has company. You've made your appearance, bleary-eyed and handing him an insulated cup of coffee. You're already on your second.

The fog from earlier hasn't been burned off completely by the sun yet. It's a quiet time for the two of you to walk the property lines together. Halsin is a bit concerned about that horse. He hasn't shown up yet. Soon, though, he sees a silhouette in the last bits of fog, and sighs with relief. The horse isn't lying down from illness, he's just... trapped. The two of you look at this big strong chestnut gelding, eyes rolling and sides heaving, barricaded in the corner of the pasture because... there's a rabbit in the way. A fat little gray-brown bunny, nibbling delicately at the grass without a care in the world. Truly a terrifying sight to behold.

"Arthur we've spoken about this," Halsin sighs as he walks closer to the horse. "Rabbits can't hurt you. They eat plants, and they're tiny. Look!"

Still, Arthur isn't convinced. Halsin soothes him, stroking his nose and smiling to himself at the absurdity of it.

"My heart," he glances to you, "please convince our visitor to release Arthur."

You smile as you shuffle closer to the rabbit, gently shooing it back through the fence. Now that Arthur is out of mortal peril, he happily walks off towards the barn.

"They're majestic creatures," Halsin admits, "but sometimes..." He shakes his head, then keeps walking the fence. "Come on, my love... we're only halfway."

~~~

A round bale is delivered around lunchtime. The thing is as tall as you and just as wide and weighs an ungodly amount. But it needs to go out into the pasture somehow. Moving a round bale is a two-person job. Your job is to hold the gate open and keep the curious horses at bay... and to watch as Halsin, sleeves rolled up and muscles bulging, easily rolls it into the paddock as though it weighs nothing. He barely has time to set the feeder ring around it before the horses are nosing greedily at the fresh hay.

"I wish I could help more," you say as you close the gate.

"You help plenty," he replies, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Besides..." There's a faint glint of mischief in his eyes. "I've flattered myself into thinking you like to watch."

You grin and say he's being ridiculous, but you both know the truth.

~~~

As active a man as he is, Halsin isn't content to spend the heat of the day indoors. There are still so many things to be done. Bird feeders to fill. Eggs to collect from the chickens. The vegetable garden to water and weed. Water troughs to top up. Finally, there's a little time to take a break. Sometimes you have other things on your schedule, but today you decide to join him. The two of you find a shady spot under a tree and settle in with a book, some whittling, perhaps a snack, and you let yourselves get lost in nature. The afternoon sounds are different from the early morning ones. There are no crickets or frogs, no reverent stillness. Now there are raucous little songbirds fighting over birdseed, the chatter of a squirrel, the crow of the rooster, maybe even the far-off braying of a neighbor's donkey a quarter mile away. The windchimes you hung from the back porch. And underneath it all, the wind humming in the trees. Halsin leans back against the rough bark of the tree, closes his eyes, and feels the undercurrent of life running through all things. You can't help but admire the sheer expression of peace and happiness on his face, and set your little diversions aside to lean your head on his shoulder. His arm instictively wraps around you to pull you closer against him, and you enjoy simply existing as part of nature for a while.

~~~

The sun is about to set, casting mile-long shadows and lighting up the fields like gold. It's nearing time to go inside and help make dinner. But first the old mare and the colt need to be tended to once more. Another helping of special feed for the mare, sequestering her in her stall so that she can eat in peace without a certain someone (whose name may or may not be Arthur} attempting to share. The colt's wound is healing nicely, and Halsin digs in his pocket for a cookie in exchange for the colt standing still enough to be treated. He tosses another cookie to Arthur who protests that he too needs special food because he is a special boy.

He comes inside to clean up and help with dinner. He'll need to go back out in an hour or so to let the mare out of her stall, but in the meantime he's happy to be in your company as you maneuver around each other in the kitchen. If you're cooking, it may be a bit difficult with those big arms around you from behind. The two of you have been busy all day, and now that you're done with your work, he has decided to make things a little difficult.

"Love, please, I need to get to the spice cabinet." "I can reach it just fine. Tell me what you need."

"Halsin, I can't work with you right behind me like this!" "I fail to see how this is a problem, my heart. I'm having a wonderful time."

Halsin is normally a mild-mannered type, but his sense of humor sneaks out in sly ways from time to time. At least he hasn't broken out the horrible puns yet. And you have to admit, it's nice to be able to feel his deep voice resonate against your back.

Halsin is ready to sleep when it's time for bed (as long as you are too, of course. He's always up for 'extracurricular activities' if the mood is right). "We did well today, my heart," he says quietly in the darkness, pulling you close. "Pleasant dreams." He can hear the faint sounds of frogs and crickets outside your window, and that coupled with your soft breathing is enough to lull him into a deep sleep.

Was it a long day full of hard work? Yes.

Would he trade away any of it? Never.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello! May I please have a Ruby for Commander Blackout or Neyo (whomever's the grumpiest lol) x female reader scenario set in Winter where he keeps hearing about her from a lot of the the shinnies and his vod gushing about how lovely and wonderful she is and it pisses him off for some reason/or he just gets sick of hearing it; until he meets her himself and then he realizes immediately what they mean and finds himself swiftly falling deeply and passionately in love with her because there's just something so bright, warm and alluring about her and he just wants her for himself. Feel free to either make it steamy/smutty or not. I'm just happy with him being super passionate with his attraction and pursuit of her and she reciprocates? And maybe they kiss? But just go with whatever inspires you the most; I know it's gonna be great whatever it is! Please and thank either way! \>v</

Brighter Than The Sun

Summary: The new IT girl at the base Neyo is Marshal Commander of is a thorn in his side, and he hasn’t met her yet. If he has to listen to one more person sing her praises, he’s not going to be responsible for what happens.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1200

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Hihi! I decided to go with Neyo because I love him! I also, for the first time, went over my word limit. Only by 200 words, but still. Anyway! I hope you like it!

Neyo is not in a spectacular mood.

He woke up in a foul mood, largely due to the sheer amount of snow falling from the sky. And it only became worse when he went to check what was on the schedule for the day only to see that his datapad wasn’t working.

And then he went to the mess hall for some caf, and had to listen to a group of shinies sing the praises of the newest civvie who came to the base. They weren’t saying anything he hasn’t heard before: she’s stunning, with a body to die for, and a smile that feels like the summer sun-

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the sheer amount of paperwork it would take, he’d seriously consider stunning them and throwing them in the brig for being sheer annoyances.

Needless to say, Neyo was not in the finest of moods when his General came over to find out why he was glaring at his datapad.

And her suggestion of taking it to IT to have them take a look at it was not appreciated.

Still, Neyo is realistic. He can’t fix it, and none of his vod can fix it, which is why the base has an IT department in the first place. So he finishes his caf, and the breakfast that he’s forcing himself to eat, and he makes the long walk through the base to the IT department.

There’s only one person in the room when he arrives.

The new girl.

She’s clad in long pants and a vibrant yellow shirt that reminds him of Bly’s tattoos, and she’s standing on a desk while her arm is buried in the room’s heater.

Now that he’s paying attention to it, it is freezing in here.

He clears his throat, and the woman pauses, before she twists slightly on the table to see who’s there. She blinks at him, and then flashes a bright smile, “Marshal Commander Neyo, yes?”

He arches a single brow, “In the flesh.”

“Oh, wonderful! I’ve been hoping to-oh, hold on-” There’s the sound of something hitting something and then she rips her arm out of the heater and shakes her hand out, “Ah, well. I’ll have to try and fix it later.” She mumbles, and then she hops down from the table, and hurries over to him, a blinding smile on her face, “I’ve been hoping to meet you, but you’re a hard man to catch!”

Neyo blinks at her, stunned.

Now that he’s met her, he can understand what his brothers meant. She is stunning. And now he can’t help but think that the way his brothers talk about her is grossly inappropriate.

“Well, I’m here now.” Neyo finally says, “My datapad isn’t working.”

She holds her hand out, even her nails are painted yellow with little white flowers on them. She’s karking adorable. “May I?”

“That's why I’m here.” He presses the datapad into her hand and he watches as she moves to sit at a table overflowing with flimsy. “Are you working alone today?”

“Oh. I’m the only one who works in IT.” She replies, “The previous guy who had my position quit.”

“I…see.” Neyo pokes around the room, there are parts of the room that are very neat, but the majority of the room looks like there was an explosion. “And the heater?”

“Broken.”

“...it’s freezing outside.”

“Well. Yes.” She admits, “But I have a jacket,” She gestures to a winter jacket lying on a table nearby, “I took it off to work on the heater.”

“That’s not your job-?”

She looks up, “Um…well, apparently this base has a manning issue? Maintenance quit too.” She tilts her head, and her hair shifts enough to see that her earrings are little white flowers too. “Did you not know?”

“I don’t generally handle civilian employees.” Neyo replies. 

“Oh, that makes sense.” She messes with his datapad for a moment, “Um…you need a new datapad.” She smiles at him, “If you give me a couple of hours, I’ll get the new one for you by the end of the day.”

“Thanks.” Neyo pauses, “I’ll get one of my brothers to come and fix your heater. Can’t have our IT girl turning into an icicle.”

She flashes a blinding smile in his direction, and Neyo averts his gaze. She has no business being so pretty.

It’s the beginning of a slightly odd friendship.

Neyo finds himself in her office more and more often, it’s quiet, and his presence keeps even the most pushy of his brothers from trying to pressure her into a date. And she is good company, warm and welcoming.

It doesn’t take long before Neyo finds himself yearning for her. 

It’s almost two months later, in the middle of the worst snowstorm that he’s ever seen, when Neyo gets the chance to make a change to their relationship. He’s sitting at a free desk in her office, his feet kicked up on “his” desk, while she’s working on formatting a datapad at her desk when the lights flicker, and then cut out.

Neyo pauses and glances at the lights, and then sighs when he hears the generator kick on. The heat comes back, but the only lights that come on are the emergency lights.

“I guess the storm won,” She jokes with a quiet laugh as she sets the datapad down.

“Guess so.” Neyo tosses his datapad on the desk and leans back to look at her, “No point in even bothering to work now-” He grumbles.

“Well, you deserve a break.” She replies, and Neyo glances at her.

“You work just as hard as I do.” He drops his feet to the ground and pushes to his feet.

“Well…yes. That’s true.” She brushes some of her hair out of her face, “But, well, let’s be honest. It’s not like I can hang out with anyone other than you. Your brothers tend to be kind of…weird, when I’m around.”

“And I’m not?”

“You’ve never made me feel like a walking steak next to a starving man-” She replies, “Not that they’ve ever done anything inappropriate, before you fly off the handle. I can manage a few uncomfortable looks.”

Neyo sighs, “I hoped that they would stop.”

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been dealing with looks like that since I was nine.”

“...that’s sickening.”

“That’s being a woman.” She smiles at him, “Anyway, I guess I’ll just return to my quarters until the power comes back.” She pauses when Neyo’s hand comes out to cup her cheek, “...Commander?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He can feel her cheek heat under his hand, and he can’t stop himself from lightly stroking her cheek.

“You…want to kiss me?” She squeaks.

“I want a lot more than that, but, for now, I’ll stick with kissing. With your permission?”

“I…yes…please-”

His lips land against hers in a kiss that starts out soft and sweet and slowly grows more heated. 

And when he sits her on the edge of her desk, and moves to stand between her legs, with his lips moving to her neck to leave an obvious mark on her sensitive skin…well, he has to stake his claim somehow, right?

[dawndelion-winery]

Apricity

[The warmth of the sun in winter] - their favourite person and solace

Ft. Childe, Dottore, Scaramouche

Childe:

He think about how lovely you are every time he looks at you

The way any lighting is flattering on you in his eyes

It's like you've consumed his every waking thought

And he wants you to take full responsibility for it

It's why he can't resist touching you in some way or another, craving the contact to remind him that you really were just right there with him

He's giddy at your warmth, dizzy at the thought of holding you and being yours

Ajax has always thought you look loveliest surrounded by the glittering snow in his homeland, an undulating white as far as the eye could see, like a blank canvas that held only your splendour. He adored how even in the freezing cold, you seemed to glow - his personal warming seelie, as he had dubbed you affectionately. His feet lead him to you before he even realises it, and his arms move of their own accord as they wrap around you, pulling you into a loose embrace.

"As far as my ventures may take me, it would seem my path will only ever lead straight to you."

Dottore:

It's no exaggeration to call you the only warmth in his life

The doctor himself had always been a cold person

Yet there he was, all warm inside at the me thought of you

He loved noticing you in his peripheral vision as he worked, content with the knowledge that you were close

It's nice, he finds, to have someone listening intently to him voicing his thoughts even if he didn't need a response

That someone being you specifically because god forbid anyone else irk him with their presence

"Perhaps an actual human liver might work better here..." Zandik muses to himself.

"You really think so?" you chirped, admiring his thoughtful expression. How intently he analysed each component, disassemblimg and reassembling them, his pretty face scowling as he only grew more dissatisfied with each variation.

"Dearest, get over here," he instructed, setting his materials down. He pulled you into a tight embrace and tucked your head under his chin. When you tapped his arm to tell him you could barely breathe from how much he was squeezing you he told you to bear with it and suffocate for a bit until he felt better.

Scaramouche:

He'd never expected to be so successful in starting a new life after erasing his own existence

He's almost afraid to let you know the true extent of his devotion to you lest he jinx it and it all comes crumbling down again

But he can't hide the softness in his gaze whenever he sees you

Nor can he conceal the longing in his smile when you're so near, just close enough to touch

You can feel his eyes on you, intent in their observation. There's a melancholy in his stare, though not nearly as much as there is affection. His love is silent, like wordlessly draping a blanket over your shoulders as the night falls and taking a seat beside you.

He doesn't think he'll ever tire of you. As he lays his head on your shoulder, his eyelids begin to feel heavier. And as they flutter shut, his petty need to have the last word arises as always.

"Tell me that we're fine...and that you'll still be mine even if I lost my mind..." And then silence, his porcelain face still and tranquil - the only indicator of him not being a statue was that he'd occasionally shimmy closer to you.

Taglist: @myluvkeiji @aqui-soba @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @yuzuricebun @chaosinanutshell @heizours @haliyamori @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating @missesclaus @cxlrosii @miss-fantazmagoria @astrequa @kokomist @lemonswriting @eowinthetraveller @ajaxstar @boundedbyfate @the-lost-anime-dad @ash-astrophel @moonbyunniee @greyrain23 @heavenlyfloof

[cricket-reader]

Safe and Sound

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

Summary: Bucky finds you. Everything goes wrong so quickly (yet again). Can Bucky forgive himself for something he blames himself for?

Warnings: language, canon level violence, death, kidnapping, captive, torture, injuries, Bucky’s self-hatred/negative thoughts, fluff

Word Count: 1830

Prompt: "At least it can't get any worse." | Stairs | Concussion | Hammer

A/N: Day 16 of June of Doom by @juneofdoom

Part One

Bucky swears up and down that he’s losing his mind.

When he went to find you in the rubble and ruin of the small restaurant, you weren’t there. He practically tore the place apart looking for you before remembering the necklace he gave you. Anyone else would have deemed it controlling. And in any other circumstances, Bucky would have to agree. Giving your significant other a tracking necklace is a shitty and controlling thing to do. That is unless you were a POW for an extremist group hell bent on making your life suck.

And that is exactly what he is, unfortunately. So instead of ripping him a new one like most people would if the person they had only been dating for a few months decided to get them a fucking tracker, you were willing to hear him out. Right now, he thanks every god above you were willing to listen.

He doesn’t even want to know the lengths that Hydra will go to make you suffer for making the mistake of loving him. If he can just get you home safe, everything will be fine.

He hops on his motorcycle and drives to the spot your tracker is. Worries claw at his brain. What if they discarded the necklace? What if this is a set up? What if he doesn’t make it in time? He forces himself to push those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Worrying won’t save you. Worrying won’t bring you back. He can’t let his emotions get the better of him.

The man that had been delivering punches to your gut and slapping you around froze upon hearing a rumbling sound. Knife in hand, he frowns. “I guess this means we don’t get to finish what we’ve started. Bummer.”

He actually has the nerve to sound disappointed. He sets the knife down along with the other torture devices he had one of his goons bring—which to your horror includes a pair of pliers, a hammer, and many different types of sharp objects. You hear him yell at the men watching to prepare for the Winter Soldier.

You would have corrected him had it been any other circumstance. He is not the Winter Soldier. He is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. A man worthy of much more respect than it seems they’re willing to give him.

You see your boyfriend stomp down the creaking stairs. He’s pissed. You definitely don’t envy the men surrounding you.

“Let them go, Warrenson.” Bucky’s voice calm and collected, not betraying any emotion. He hasn’t looked at you which you figure is probably a good thing. You don’t want him to lose his cool just because you’ve gotten a good beating.

“We will. As long as you come peacefully in return. Hydra wants their Soldier back.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. He knew that someday you’d be used as leverage. This is why he should never have agreed to go on a date with you. This is why he doesn’t deserve happiness or love. This is why you are better off without him ruining your life. He destroys everything he touches with his dark, infected soul. Nothing good comes from knowing Bucky Barnes.

“I’ll do it,” he mutters. The heart wrenching protest from you begs him to look your way. You sound destroyed and distraught. No, he can’t look at you. It will demolish any and all of his resolve—what’s left of it anyway.

“Bucky, no! Don’t do this, please! No! I’m not worth it, okay?”

His heart shatters like the most fragile glass or porcelain, his soul crushed with the weight of a thousand suns. How could you say that you aren’t worth it. He’d burn the world for you.

“Shut that bitch up!” a man orders. A sharp throbbing pain erupts at the back of your head. You cry out, and Bucky loses all of his resolve. No one fucking hurts his babydoll and gets away with it. No one.

Bodies dropped like flies in the blink of an eye. Now you have always known that Bucky is skilled, but… well, let’s just say you are surprised.

He rushes over to you and releases you from your restraints. He looks over your body, relief nearly palpable to see that you had no major visible injuries. He had seen the hammer and pliers along with a plethora of knives. He’s just glad he got here in time because if he didn’t… he doesn’t want to even think of what they could’ve done to you.

You saw the far off look in Bucky’s eyes. You knew he is probably coming up with some way to blame himself for all of this. Your hands reach to grab his face. His eyes refocus on you, feeling your gentle hands with their delicate touch. You smile at him, not paying any mind to the throbbing of your skull.

“I’m okay, Buck, it’s fine.”

He frowns. His brows furrow deeply. Nothing about this is fine. He’s sure that your ribs are coloured purple and he can hear a sight slurring in your voice.

“Baby? I need you to tell me if anything is hurting real bad. Did they hit your head real bad?”

“Hmm?” You think for a bit. Maybe they did, you’re not really sure anymore. “I think so?”

“How does your head feel?”

“Mmm… kinda like someone is takin’ a hammer to it. It hurts, Buck… I wanna go t’sleep.”

“No, no, no, stay awake for me, c’mon. Let’s get you outta here.”

He hauls you up onto unsteady feet. You kinda just wanna stay there, maybe take a quick little nap. That should be fine, right? But Bucky told you not to. You frown. This is a dilema.

You stumble your way up the stairs and say, “At least it can’t get any worse.”

He smiles, or at least tries to… it’s more like a grimace, at your attempt to brighten the situation.

Turns out you spoke too soon, however.

The stairs groan under you before both you and Bucky are plunging through the wood. You hear a high pitched scream. Then you realise it’s you making that god awful noise.

Bucky curses under his breath as the wood gives way to both your weight. He wraps his body around yours, taking the brunt of the fall. He can’t let you get hurt more.

The wind is knocked out of him as his back collided with the ground. A piece of wood stabs through his torso, and he grits his teeth as you come down on top of him.

“Baby?” His voice is breathy. You whimper, terrified out of your wits. “I’m so sorry, doll. Can… can you reach in my pocket? Grab my phone and dial… dial Sam.”

You reach down and accidentally hit the wood post that’s sticking out of him. His groan is so guttural, even in your haze, your brain panics. You try to look down, but Bucky can’t let that happen. You’re only going to panic more. “Keep your eyes on me, m’kay?”

You nod, instantly regretting it. “Babe?” Bucky questions, seeing you wince.

“’m fine,” you insist, lowering your hand, being more careful this time around.

You make contact with the brick that he calls his phone and pull up Sam’s number. You make a joke about not knowing how to work the old thing, but Bucky thinks you’re serious. He goes to grab the phone, but you indignantly pull it away from his grasp. “Was a joke, Barnes. I’m perfectly capable…”

You were gonna say more, but it is so much work to talk. Maybe you should have convinced Bucky to let you nap. Then you wouldn’t be on top of him in a hole under some stupid stairs.

“Bucky? What’s up? I thought you were on a date.”

“I’s me Sammy,” you giggle. Why are you giggling? Nothing makes sense anymore.

The man on the other end of the phone groans. “Please tell me he didn’t get you plastered. Did you try to out drink him? Cause I tried that once… that was not a fun morning.”

“No… we’re under the stairs, Sammy.”

“Under the stairs? What stairs? Why—“

“You ask too many questions,” you mumble, half of the sentence jumbling together. Black starts to creep into the corners of your vision. “Think I gonna take nap now.”

Sam furrows his brows, hearing Bucky yell at you to stay awake. “Sam! Listen to me, you need to come help we’re both injured—“

You gasp, “Bucky hurt?”

He can’t stop you from looking down. Your gasp is so loud he can barely hear Sam muttering to him over the phone.

“Doll, hand the phone to me,” he demands. Tears form in your pretty eyes, seeing the wood sticking out of your boyfriend.

“But.. you hurt.”

He sighs, “Yes, but I need the phone so someone can save us.”

You nod, tears dripping down your face. Your heart is beating like a hummingbird is in your chest. You press your hand against it, crying out in pain. Your head hurts so bad. So does your stomach and ribs. You just want to go to sleep.

You don’t remember exactly when Sam showed up. But he is here now with a full team of firefighters and medics. The firefighters extract you both, though it takes more work to get Bucky out.

The next thing you know, you’re waking up in a hospital. Sam somehow convinced the medical staff to let you and Bucky share a room, knowing that you both need each other.

When Bucky wakes up, he is panicking. His panic settles when he sees you safe and sound in bed. His gut twists seeing the ugly purple bruises on your face. This is all his fault. He should have never got himself involved with you. Your life was better without him in it. He ruined you like he ruins everything.

“Bucky?”

He focuses on your voice. Tears blurring your figure. “Yeah?” He doesn’t deserve to call you any pet names. He doesn’t deserve to call you his. He doesn’t deserve you.

“You can stop that negative self-thinking right now.” You glare at him.

“But—“

“No buts!” you interrupt. “I’m too selfish to let you leave me cause you’re scared you’re gonna hurt me. To be honest, I’ll be more hurt if you leave me than if someone were to kidnap me again. My abandonment issues can’t take much more, so if you–”

“You deserve better–“

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I want you god dammit! Why can’t you understand that I love you?”

His eyes grow wide at your outburst. And your words. That was the first time you said you loved him. He thinks he could get addicted.

“You… you love me?”

“Yes! I didn’t think you were that oblivious! I’m in love with you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Tears form in his eyes. “I… I love you too…”

You smirk at him. “You better.”

Bucky Taglist: @harleycao

Story Taglist: @cjand10 @marvel-stories33 @casa-boiardi @drunkbirdbug

[bignostalgias]

Hello!! Listen i have GOT TO KNOW what the White Winter Hymnal AU is about???

like??

It looks amazing?? The art is GORGEOUS and i am foaming at the mouth for more information about the story behind it!! And i LOVE the song by the Fleet Foxes!

But yeah pretty much im obsessed and i'd like to know more about what im obsessed about. Hope you're having a wonderful timezone and take care! <3<3<3

Thank you so much for the ask and interest in Hymnal!! ☺️❤️ it’s a slow burn of an au that’s mostly based on vibes and drawing/writing them has been so cozy for me. Have a wonderful day/night as well!!

Gonna take the lazy route and post of screenshot of me summarizing it from a little earlier this week:

Aaaaand here’s a little snippet of how the forest Hymnal is set in feels:

The forest bordering the sturdy little hamlet of Berk was rich with wonder. This was known. The dark, twisting vines and roots of the wild ended shy of the ring of protective runestones, and if a vein was cut open, it seeped glittering green sap. When venturing past Berk’s protections — which should never be done alone — the sun-dappled ground of the forest was laden with moss and lichen, ethereally soft to the touch. On fortunate endeavors, gatherers returned with newborn lambs bundled in their arms, harvested like fruit from the branches of trees. However, as beautiful as it was, the wild threat the forest posed was ever present in the minds of Berk’s people. At night, lights twinkled from the depths, will o’ the wisps casting their lures. Bobcat yowls startled children from their slumber, mistaken for a human scream. The blinking eyes of wolves, reflecting torchlight, lurking between tree trunks. The forest was hungry and wanting and demanded to be satiated.

Every so often, it was.

Hiccup knew he worried his father, his friends, the farther he strayed from home, the longer he dared to be absent past sunset. How was he to tell them the once unnerving black eyes of birch trees were keeping careful vigil over him, that the bracken and tangled foliage gently parted for him instead of barred his path?

It was well known that to avoid losing ones way, a warrior must wear his tunic inside out, watch where he stepped for stray sods, and never trust trails of weathered cairns.

Hiccup had trouble recalling the last time he’d been lost.

Eventually when Hiccup is out exploring with Toothless he meets Jack, and the plot gets ✨homosexual✨

Something something something, Jack gets his head popped off and this short comic is the result

But wahoo everything turns out fine in the end!

And here’s Kai’s extremely lovely post-canon drawing of them recovered and happy 🥹

❄️ the entire hymnal tag ❄️

[twogyuu]

be here with me || ml

Pairing: Mark Lee x fem!reader

Synopsis:

And I keep saying okay (Okay) I never listen to my own heart I do whatever they say (They say) While looking like you're happy as hell (Oh, I) I really hope that you feel the same (Oh, I) Tonight

– 7PM, BooSeokSoon ft. Peder Elias

Alternatively: a series of events in one night that made Mark and you realize maybe you loved you each other more than a cherished childhood best friend.

Genre: Fluff with a good smattering of angst (DA NILE IS A RIVER IN EGYPT), crack, BFF-2-???, inspired by BBS's 7PM, clumsy heir!Mark, heir-to-normie!reader, struggling grad student!reader, secretary!Doyoung

Warnings: Profanity, mentions of food and alcohol, brief mentions of underage drinking, themes of social inequities, unhappy ending (kinda? up to reader interpretation), reader has long enough hair to be put in a bun

WC: ~8.9k

Taglist: @niinjo @dropsofletters @matchahyuck

A/N: A special thank you to @wooahaes for beta reading and keeping me company as I wrote my first Mark fic! 💙 In the words of Mark Lee, "This one's for you!" (and hopefully, he doesn't miss again 😭😂🏀🧺)

the playlist: anywhere but home (seulgi) >> 7pm (bss) >> sure thing (miguel) >> believe (paul blanco ft. crush) >> fallin' all in you (shawn mendes) >> with you (jimin and ha sungwoon) >> raise y_our glass (yunjin) >> abyss (woodz) >> cough (onew)

Winter was Mark’s least favorite season. 

Winter meant shorter days. The sun barely peaked over the city skyline when he arrived at the office. Despite all the windows letting natural light into the building (his father’s insistence on creating an eco-friendly company), he hardly looked outside, busy tapping away on his desktop, eyes trained on screens with bland PowerPoints, or scrawling his signature on the umpteenth document with words that started to blend and blur together into streaks of black ink. When he left with his trusted secretary, Kim Doyoung, the glass building a seemingly lonely and empty ghost of the busy life it held during the day, the dark night sky with a heavy gray haze had swallowed the sun and he was greeted by with what he’d like to think were stars (they were just blinking airplanes and signal towers in the distance he’d come to learn as he got older). Seldom did he leave before his hundreds of employees and catch the last few rays of sun. 

Winter meant the cold weather. His polyester suit sets already felt heavy on his thin frame. To have another layer and all the accessories that came with it was cumbersome. He had to watch how he turned his body so his wool coat wouldn’t accidentally take out a cup of coffee sitting on the table. He made a point to tuck his scarves into his chest, so the ends wouldn’t catch on the spinning doors of the entrance. He had an image to upkeep, which meant beanies that kept his head warm were not allowed for work attire. The tips of his ears would grow numb on the coldest days, just stepping out of his private car into the office. He felt bad for making Doyoung carry his leather shoes so he could change out of his snow boots while he was in the office.

There was one thing to look forward to in the winter though. 

(Autumn, really.)

With winter, also came you: his childhood best friend. 

Every year since the two of you were in high school, you’d spend your summers in Busan with your grandmother, helping her with her strawberry farm. In the fall, you’d return to the city for school, which also meant, Mark got to see you – when you weren’t busy with homework and your various part-time jobs, and him with his duties at his family’s company, that is. 

Peering out his back tinted window of his black Genesis, his eyes skimmed across the other vehicles and their drivers sluggishly passing by. He wasn’t sure why, but traffic seemed to be stalling later than usual today. Most nights, Doyoung seemed to whiz down the highway without a problem. 

A tired mother and her rambunctious daughter shouting and kicking in the carseat in the back. A taxi driver and a lonesome young boy sleeping on his seatbelt. An elderly woman with a fuzzy bucket hat pulled down over her eyes sitting in the front of the bus right behind the driver.

Despite the titles behind his name and the way his father’s business partners and employees praised and pampered him, Mark liked to think he wasn’t so different from all these people he was passing by on the drive. Life had its bright spots, but today was one of those seemingly dreary ones for everyone, glum and tired expressions painting their faces. It matched the dark, heavy gray clouds that loomed over the city. 

Tugging at the knot of his tie loose, Mark shook his head and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to shake the fatigue off his eyes. He slumped forward, pressing his forehead into the cool glass, hoping the cold would jolt him awake like after a couple sips of an iced Americano and the caffeine started coursing through his veins. A patch of fog formed from his breath and Mark raised his hand to trace a childish smiley face in it. For no good reason other than it brought him the smallest amount of joy, his expression mirrored the doodle as he smiled lazily at it.

Sometimes, it felt satisfactory to just let things be and exist. 

“We’ll arrive at the convenience store in about ten minutes, sir,” Doyoung announced from the front. 

“We’re off duty,” Mark caught his secretary’s watchful eye in the rearview mirror, “I told you could just call me by my name when we’re not in office.”

Mark peered outside again, quietly counting the cars he passed like the seconds until he reached you. 

“Right . . . Mark,” Doyoung huffed. “Sorry, force of habit." He cleared his throat, eyes flickering from the road back to his boss again. "Uh, but um . . .” his voice trailing off, blending with the car horns going off in the distance. 

Mark knew he had more to say than announcing the ETA. He always did on nights like this – it was like clockwork at this point. 

The older man glanced in the mirror again. He cleared his throat and asked, “Does your father know yet?”

Mark didn’t bother to look back up at him. 

“No,” Mark replied curtly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing well that a mini-lecture was coming. As great as Doyoung has been as a secretary, older brother figure, and a companion these past few years, he was a stickler for rules, structure, and tradition – something the two didn’t always see eye-to-eye on.

Doyoung sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You do know you know this . . . arrangement between you and Miss Y/L/N is only going to hurt you in the long-run, right? Your father –”

“‘Would be very upset with you associating yourself with anyone with ties to the fallen CEO of Choi Electronics, especially the former heiress, herself,’” Mark cut him off, quoting his secretary. It was not anything new – Mark knew this lecture like the Queen Mab monologue from Romeo and Juliet he was forced to memorize in high school: boring and long, but dramatic when it came from other people. 

He continued, “‘It’s not good for your reputation if this gets out you’re still seeing her’ – I know,” he looked up at the rearview mirror again, a bored look in his eyes. “I know, but I can’t just . . . let her go like that. Not yet, at least; she’s . . . been my best friend since forever.”

“Mark,” Doyoung warned, though there was a hint of sympathy in his tone. Doyoung has been around long enough to know how fond the young heir was of you. Being one of the few children in the elite corporate world, the two of you were quick to befriend one another, becoming attached at the hip before anyone could blink. Despite the way your friendship waxed and waned as the two of you grew older, at the end of the day, you’d always find one another, some way, somehow.

The fall of your family name a few years ago didn’t seem to break that habit.  

Doyoung knew, none of it was your fault. You didn’t deserve any of the misfortune that you had faced and were coming your way when you finished graduate school. You were merely a collateral piece of a larger, cruel game. 

“It’s not my intention to guilt trip you, but do keep in mind, this is . . . much bigger than just you,” Doyoung sucked in a shaky breath. “If this goes downhill, she might get hurt – a lot more than you.”

Though Mark didn’t reply, the way his eyes dropped to his limp hands in his lap was enough to give Doyoung the slightest ember of hope that deep down, Mark knew. On the surface innocent meet up between friends, but the weight of the situation felt like a firework lit aflame, the wick starting to burnout towards the blunt and explode. 

The facts were plain ans simple: the two of you were childhood best friend.

However, the media had a way of twisting facts into truths for the public.

If he was being honest, it was guilt, and perhaps justice, that gave Doyoung the will to bring Mark to meet you at least once per week. As much as his father pushed it and as much as he tried to hide it, Mark had never quite settled into his role as the future CEO of NCity, Inc. If Doyoung could characterize Mark, he was like a mural on the side of buildings in Hongdae: hidden, yet loud, colorful, and bright. He was clumsy and bluntly outspoken, speaking his mind and curiosities at the wrong times though with good intentions. This predestined career path forced him into a plain and gray box that veiled the majority of his personality. He grew hesitant of his words and thought twice before acting. Every now and then, you’d see flecks of his quirkiness that charmed the company staff and board of executives, but that was all that was allowed. 

As fond as Mark was of you, Doyoung was just as fond of Mark, but in the sense of a younger sibling. Though he rooted for Mark’s success as the future CEO, there was a piece of him who also wanted the young man to be happy. From Doyoung’s perspective, happiness always seemed to stem from you. If he could give Mark just that much, Doyoung would risk breaking the rules. 

The neon green, red, and white sign of the convenience store you worked at spilled into the interior as the vehicle neared. To a bystander, the black Genesis felt out of place in this neighborhood. The buildings were short and small, but cramped against one another. Small alleys offered uneven stone paths to travel between them. The concrete was cracked, the decade old coat of paint was chipped nearly bare. Dogs howled in the distance and a few construction workers, their cheeks stained with dust and soot, were seated outside the convenience store on the picnic tables enjoying ramen from white plastic cups and cheap soju, slurping at the noodles and moaning in satisfaction like it was a five-course dinner. 

Doyoung parked the car at his usual spot: on the side of the hill leading up to the store, where Mark could see you, but you could just barely see the head of the car. Mark’s face visibly lit up as craned his neck to catch you smiling and handing change over to a middle-aged woman. He wondered if the woman was a regular customer who you were friendly with, based on the way you laughed at something she said and excitedly waved ‘good-bye.’ Loose strands of hair fell out of your bun as you bowed, your expression gradually falling to a calm when the women left and you returned to organizing chocolate bars at the side counter. 

[Mark]: Dark or milk chocolate?

[Mark]: Grab one for me if it’s milk chocolate – employee discount pls :P 

He peered out the window, watching your reaction. 

Your phone buzzed, halting you in your task to fish it out of your back pocket to swipe at the screen and read the message. There was a moment of surprise that flashed across your face, quickly followed by a soft smile. You spun around, shielding your eyes and squinting out into the dark to try and make out his car. 

You must’ve seen the black Genesis – your smile only grew as you turned back to your phone, tapping away at your screen. 

“She’s coming,” Mark confirmed aloud.  

Mark unbuckled his seat belt and fumbled with the loose knot around his neck. He hastily pulled off his tie and haphazardly threw it onto another seat and pulled on his trench coat. Folding the collar down and patting away any wrinkles, he quickly turned to Doyoung. The young man excitedly slapped the driver’s seat twice as if the older man already didn’t have his attention.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, bro! You can go home – I’ll get back on my own,” Mark explained. 

“Mark–”

“Don’t wait up!” he waved Doyoung off, clambering out of the car. 

You were already walking down the steps. Your faded yellow vest was traded in for your black puffer jacket. A white plastic ‘THANK YOU’ bag hung on your forearm, presumably containing the chocolate bar Mark asked for, amidst other snacks you got for free from time to time. You were trying your best to keep cool, but Doyoung could tell you were beaming. There was an extra pep in your stride and your lips were pressed into a tight line, but it looked funny because you were trying to suppress a grin. 

“You’re here,” you greeted him. You stopped a landing above Mark, clasping your hands together in front of you. You rocked on your heels, your composure slipping, letting the corner of your lip quirk up at the way he looked at you. His dark orbs were wide, reflecting the LED lights of the convenience store behind you. Unlike you, he didn’t try to hide his excitement, a grin spreading across his face.

“I’m here!” Mark sang. Immediately, his arms flew open, welcoming you for a hug. 

You rolled your eyes, but continued to descend towards him, settling to his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. The plastic of the convenience store bag crinkled and crackled between the two of you. Your cheeks already hurt from smiling so much. Though you saw each other frequently enough (though at strange hours), Mark was always a breath of fresh air in your routine; the warmth of the fire on a cold winter day.

“God, I missed you,” he muttered, his voice muffled. 

“It’s only been a week,” you retorted.

“Still too long.”

Just as you scoffed, the honk of the car behind Mark tore your attention from one another. You turned to see that Doyoung had rolled down the window giving you both stern, knowing looks. 

Doyoung was more than happy to arrange for the two of you to see each other at these hours, but he had two rules: (1) Don’t draw attention to yourselves and (2) stay safe. 

“Be careful,” Doyoung warned. He turned to Mark, “Let me know when you get back, okay?”

Mark nodded and shooed him off. 

“Why are you sending him away?” you exclaimed, peering over his shoulder as Doyoung drove away. “No Doyoung today?” 

Sometimes the older man joined the both of you – as a good friend rather than a secretary. You all grew up together after all. 

“Just you and me,” Mark sighed, letting you go. “We have a flight and long day tomorrow – he wants to prep.”

“Flight?” you frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Milan,” he replied, “New business partners – dad wants to establish a holding in Europe.”

“Mark, you should’ve told me.”

“I want to be here,” he remarked. “I’ll be fine! Let’s just . . . enjoy the night. “You and me – quality alone time. It’ll be fun. I need it.”

“Ew,” you wrinkled your nose jokingly, “Don’t say it like that – you sound greasy.”

“But I do!” he scoffed. Hands stuffed in his coat pockets, he bumped your shoulder playfully. “I need it, it’s been a long week.”

“Company drama?”

He kicked at the invisible pebbles along the pavement and nodded. “It feels like a whole k-drama sometimes. He said this, she said that, you should go on this blind date."

You ignored the way your heart ached for him. As glamorous as it seemed on the surface, what lied underneath was complicated and overwhelming – it was like a knot unwilling to untie itself. With a heavy sigh, you nodded and turned to link arms with him. You led him down the street. Mark’s footing faltered at first, but was quick to fall in sync with your own. 

“You know what tea is best served with?” you asked, staring up at the sky.

“Um,” Mark furrowed his brows together in confusion. “Honey biscuits?”

You jokingly shot him a disapproving look at his answer. 

“Mrs. Jung’s spicy noodles.”

. . . .

The walls were thin – quite literally. 

Only a faded blue tarp with an opening that flapped in the winter breeze defended the customers from the cold. Round metal tables were scattered inside, customers were scattered, seated on multi-colored plastic stools, sniffling and slurping on steaming bowls of noodles. There were no barriers between the kitchen and the seating area. A grill sizzling with meat and pots boiling on a fire stove greeted visitors. Spice and the smell of smoke wafted freely over the stainless steel edges, settling in the crevices of people’s coats and sweaters. The scrape of metal tools against one another clanged loudly and thwarted conversations, forcing people to shout to hear each other. Every now and then, Mark would bend over the table and ask loudly, “What was that again?!”

Mrs. Jung’s noodle shop was a street restaurant Mark and you stumbled upon in high school. You both were coming home from your first day of cram school – the “elite” one your mothers had tittered about just weeks before. It was in a part of the city neither of you were particularly familiar with and putting full faith in your navigation skills, Mark willingly followed you off three stops too early from home. Eventually, Mark ended up reaching out for his mother’s driver to rescue the two of you, but while waiting, you both grew hungry waiting and wandering around. Unfortunately, you only had 1248 won worth of money pooled together from the depths of your pockets – couldn’t even afford triangle kimbap at the 7/11 nearby. 

Taking pity on the two of you, Mrs. Jung offered the both of you dinner on-the-house – apparently, you reminded her of her daughter who had left for university a few months ago. Since then, Mark and you made a point to visit at least once a month (with adequate funds, of course). You were especially regular customers during the depths of finals season, when you clung onto your last brain cells and hardly had the time or energy to cook. 

Despite the less than luxurious conditions he was accustomed to, Mark liked dining here most. He felt at ease, like no one was watching. It was just him and his best friend, enjoying a simple meal under the stars (or so he’d like to imagine there were in this hazy city). It didn’t matter if he had sauce on his face. He could slouch, snort at a stupid joke, and slap his knee when someone said something funny. 

“So,” you started as you leaned over, placing the last slice of beef in his bowl, “How was the blind date?”

Mark stopped mid-chew and peered up at you, harshly swallowing down the wad of rice in his mouth. 

You sat back and waited attentively. 

“Blind date?” he asked slowly as if he didn’t know what you were asking. 

You nodded. “The one with the heiress of Jung Cosmetics – He . . . Hera? I think was her name? Her parents named her after the Greek goddess.”

“Ah, right,” Mark sniffled, returning to his food. He wondered why you were suddenly interested about it. “Hera – it was fine.”

“Did you like her?”

Mark paused mid-bite and glanced at you again. “She was fine.”

“Fine as in ‘she’s so fine’ or like fine as in she’s ‘meh’?”

“She was alright,” Mark explained, shoving the soft noodles in his mouth. “Didn’t like her, but didn’t hate her.”

“So . . . you wouldn’t marry her?” you asked. 

He looked at you strangely, but answered you nonetheless. “No – I don’t think so.”

He faked a cough, hoping to change the subject, but he wasn’t sure what. 

 "So . . . uuuhhh," he wiggled his shoulders back and forth, eyes trained on a Sharpie stain on the table, refusing to look at you. "How about you? Meet any boys yet?”

Immediately, you scoffed and scowled at him. 

Mark peered up at you playfully, dipping his spoon in his broth. “What?”

“Mark Lee.”

He raised a hand in surrender. “Hey, innocent question – you asked me, so I ask you. Plus, you’re cute, people are looking,” he shrugged, “And it’s university – according to Jeno, that’s like . . . the hot soup recipe for dating and all, ya know?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at his stupid analogy, pretending as if your heart didn’t skip a beat at his unintentional compliment. This wasn’t the first time and if anything, it was a term of endearment.

“Hot like this soup!” Mark exclaimed. “Well, was – it’s kind of lukewarm now.”

"You know I don't have time for dating, Mark," you grumbled.

Despite what he just told you, he blew at the broth on his spoon as if it was scalding hot and inhaled the liquid. 

Within seconds, his eyes widened in horror as something caught in the wrong pipe. His lips pursed momentarily as he tried to keep his mouth shut to swallow whatever was left and prevent himself from spraying you. Mark finally started coughing up a fit, pounding at his chest. He turned away from you, covering his mouth with a napkin.

“Oh my god, you idiot – are you okay?” you asked. 

“Hot!” he repeated in between coughs. 

“About to be on your deathbed and you’re still on about that stupid joke,” you grumbled. Though you sounded upset, the way you adjusted yourself to hover over him suggested different. 

“No!” Mark waved. “The broth was hot!”

“You said it was lukewarm?”

“Hot! Spicy! I choked on a pepper flake or something!” he stuck out his tongue and fanned it. 

“Oh,” you settled back down in your seat. 

You paused momentarily before the pieces clicked. You reached into your plastic bag, pulling out a short bottle of banana milk and handing it over to him. 

“Here,” you pressed the drink into his hand. 

He peered down at it curiously then back to you. “You sure?”

“Of course,” you chirped. 

“It’s yours though.”

“I have more,” you fibbed. You split a pack of three with your coworkers earlier, each person getting one. You made a point to pull off the straw wrapped in clear plastic and puncture the top. “Drink,” you pushed it towards him. “It’ll help with the spice.”

Mark finally complied, taking a long sip. He let out a small sigh of satisfaction when he pulled his lips off with a pop. His eyes flickered from the drink to you. 

“What?” you asked bluntly. 

He giggled to himself like a drunk, shaking his head. “It’s been forever since I’ve had banana milk, you know?”

“When was the last time you had some?” you asked. 

“High school,” he reminisced, “When Chenle bought all that alcohol and snuck it into our hotel rooms on the school trip? I woke up hungover and you gave me one saying it’d cure it.”

Your eyes widened in horror at the memory, causing Mark to laugh even harder.

"I . . . lied about that," you told him, monotonously.

"No shit," he took another sip, "But I believed you and still drank a full eight pack."

"It's all I could afford from the 7/11!" you defended yourself.

"Lying about this helping with spice now too?" he ignored your comment.

"I'm a little more skilled in the art of drinking and hangovers now that I'm older, thank you," you turned your face back down to your noodles to ignore him.

Mark snickered, relishing in the memory. Even though he felt like shit and probably a whole lot of work for you taking care of him, it was a pleasurable moment for Mark – a time when things were simpler and not much mattered. 

Simple. 

Like now. 

These were small bits of his life he liked to keep close to his heart. 

First hangovers, banana milk overdoses, and all. 

. . . .

“I got this for you, by the way.”

Mark waved a small black gift box tied with a pink bow in front of your face as the two of you were exiting Mrs. Jung’s noodle shop. You stopped abruptly in your tracks, rapidly blinking at the item in your line of vision. 

You wondered why you hadn’t noticed it before. It was simple, but the pink bow was hard to miss. Was he holding it all along? It was no bigger than his hand – you figured he might have put it in the pockets inside his coat, which is why you didn’t see it. 

Your eyes flickered to him, though not with the excited expression he was hoping for. Contrary to his own bashful yet teasing and excited smile, your brows were furrowed together, a small frown tugging at the corner of your lips. 

Eyes beaming, Mark shook the box gently – just enough to hear a quiet rattle inside the box. 

“Mark, what did I say about gifts?” you sighed, pushing his hand down. 

“Y/N,” he dragged on the last syllable of your name, “C’mon – please!”

“I thought we agreed ‘no gifts’ – unless it was the holiday or our birthdays?” you reminded him. 

Mark was quick to press the box into your hands, wrapping his own around yours as to secure it and not let it fall to the ground. Your breath hitched a little at sudden touch and the warmth that encased your hands. You hadn’t expected him to be so . . . “aggressive” about this. 

“I wanted to – for you,” Mark insisted. 

You frowned, unconvinced. 

Mark knew you didn’t like gifts – especially from him after your father lost his position at the company. He couldn’t completely understand it, but he knew enough that it lied within a feeling of guilt and discomfort. You didn’t want to feel like some charity project. On that same note, you didn’t want to be a burden to your childhood friend. After all, it was partially his father’s doing for what happened to your family. 

The milieu surrounding your friendship of over twenty years was not the most ideal – not that it was either of your faults. A part of you always wondered if he still only hung around because he pitied you. You felt bad for even having such a thought – Mark had been so kind and understanding of you all these years. However, you couldn’t help, but question it when most have abandoned you. You didn’t dare push him away for you held onto the small sliver of hope that maybe he wasn’t like that. 

To lose him was a reality you didn’t want to know. . 

“Take it,” Mark pushed the gift closer to your chest. He took a step back. “If not for you,” he pointed to himself, “For me.”

Though you only answered with a heavy sigh, the reluctance evident in the way your shoulders slumped and your arms fell to your side, you took it nonetheless. You flipped it over in your hand, studying it with your eyes and examining it with your finger pads, grazing across the smooth velvet material of the box.  

“Open it,” Mark urged. 

You looked up at him again, feeling nervous.

He only nodded at you, gesturing with his hand for you to do so. He wanted to see your reaction. 

You caved – never had you seen someone so excited to see another person open a gift before. Gently, you started pulling at the pink ribbon, the satin cool and smooth under the pads of your fingers. With ease, it slipped off – its once pretty and neat form now collapsed into a lifeless thread. Pulling off the lid and pushing aside the white tissue paper, a small beige wallet with cushion-style stitches and gold painted metal clasp sat inside.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your mind immediately flashed to last week’s outing when the two of you had gone window shopping after hours when all the storefronts had grown dim and the doors were locked. 

“ That’s so ugly,” Mark giggled, his mouth half-full with red bean bungeoppang. 

“I like it,” you insisted, reluctantly turning away from the glass display, the wallet sitting on a sterile white stand surrounded by purses and backpacks of similar styles. You joined him, continuing down the sidewalk.

The streets were quiet at this time of night. Nearly silent enough that you could hear each other’s breath and the click of your shoes against the pavement. Only a few lonely souls walked the streets, phones pressed to their ear as they chatted with their loved ones, hurrying to the comfort of their own home. The street lamps lit your pathway, casting a soft orange glow across everything, your shadows were long and slanted, accompanied by that of trees. 

“It looks like something my grandma would use,” Mark tried to explain. He handed the bungeoppang over to you for a bite. The wax paper crinkled under his hold. 

“Your grandmother is a woman of good taste!” you retorted. 

“Is she?” Mark asked, thinking back to her last outfit choice at the art gala downtown. It was a bright pink business suit – she almost looked like she was a piece of artwork instead of the paintings and sculptures instead. 

He threw one last look over his shoulder. Indulging in your treat, you failed to notice the way his eyes lingered a while longer, making a mental note of the store name. 

“It’s classy,” you huffed. “Simple with sophisticated detailing.”

“Whatever you say,” he muttered. 

Roughly, you handed the treat over to him, nearly wacking him in his chest. Unfortunately, Mark wasn’t fast enough to catch it; the bungeoppang slipped out of the wax paper and splattered onto the sidewalk. 

“Dude!” you both groaned at the same time. 

“Mark–”

“Ah!” he raised a finger at you, already anticipating your protest. “I don’t wanna hear anything except ‘thank you, Mark.’”

You closed your mouth, pressing your lips together. Your hands tightened around the small wallet, suddenly feeling heavy in your hands. 

Once upon a time, goods like this were a ‘given’ to you – if you wanted it, you could have it. Not to say that you were a spoiled brat and received everything at a snap of your finger, but you didn’t have to think twice about the cost of it. It’s funny how things you once took for granted were now a privilege to even hold like this. 

“Don’t think too much about it,” Mark finally said, breaking the silence. Hands stuffed in his pants pocket, he took another step closer to you, knowing your mind was reeling with thousands of questions, your heart twisted in every which way. He wrapped his hand around yours again, giving you a firm squeeze. “It’s alright to want it . . . to have it, to be given it.”

Sometimes, you hated the way he was so generous.

Sometimes, you hated how he knew you so well – even more than yourself.  

. . . .

“Doyoung’s getting married at the end of summer.”

You stopped pumping your legs and let them drag against the pile of wood chips underneath you as you drifted backwards on your swing, skidding to a halt. The two of you stumbled upon an empty playground nearby, opting to loiter around and found yourselves on the swingset. Your bones creaked a little too much for the jungle gym and the seats of the seesaw were much too small for either of you. 

Your jaw fell slack at the sudden news – it wasn’t bad news. It was actually really good news given what you’ve heard about Doyoung’s special romantic situation throughout the last couple years in passing. Though you wished your reaction could have been happier, it was the reality of the circumstances that made your heart feel heavy. 

This was the first time you were hearing about Doyoung’s wedding. You had figured that if they already had a date set, that meant the plans were in process: invitations were made, venues were picked, wedding dresses and tuxes were tried, cakes were tasted, and seating charts had been laid out.

Yet you heard none of it. 

You wondered why Doyoung and Mark had kept this from you on purpose on the few occasions you’ve met over the past few months or so. The last you heard about him and his partner was simply that Doyoung thought she was “the one” and thinking about getting engaged. 

Perhaps they forgot to tell you about it with the new business deals and product launches Mark had talked about over dinner? 

But was the answer really that simple? It was a wedding after all – one of the biggest events in a person’s lifetime. 

You hoped they had good intentions, but the fact was you were no longer a part of their world despite your years of friendship and history together. It was as if the pluck of your dad’s name plaque at his office desk and you were suddenly a distant commoner among the crowds watching kings from aways on their pedestal. Of course, these kinds of affairs are never done without family politics. As lovely as she was, Doyoung’s mother was superficial – her only son’s wedding had to be pristine and fairytale perfect. You could only imagine the number of renowned names on the guest list, including Mark’s family.

If that was the case, you were on the blacklist.

There was a time where your parents were on the list of VIP guests – and you were dragged along. Not only weddings, but birthday parties, graduations, retirements – rich people always found a reason to celebrate. Then, Mark and you were twelve you were pesky wedding guests, trying your best to sit still for once while brides and grooms walked down the aisles, eyes wandering to the cake, your minds wondering about the dinner and the music selection for tonight. 

You always knew, but with Doyoung being the first one to go, you realized you were getting to that age of business “proposals” and marriage. Now you wondered what twelve-year-olds would be watching Mark walk down the aisle. 

When? 

And with who?

You couldn’t put a finger on why, but your heart ached a little at the thought. 

“T-that’s great,” you said softly, you looked away from Mark. “Congrats to them – really,” you choked out a half-hearted chuckle, “it was a very long time coming.”

Only the wind answered you. It nipped at the tip of your nose as if to tease you and seeped through the openings of your outerwear, sending chills down your spine. Your mind spiraling with questions that you didn’t have the answer to (or rather didn’t want to know the answer to), you failed to notice the longing and wistful expression on your companion’s face as he stared off into dimly lit streets.

“Do you ever think about us?” Mark finally blurted. 

You whipped your head towards him. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, still refusing to look at you. “Like . . . when we’re going to get married.”

When we’re going to get married.

His last few words echoed in the chambers of your mind. Of course, the practical part of you knew that he meant when you were going to get married – separately. Him with someone else and you with someone else. 

Yet for some reason, the way he said it, his tone laced with sincerity, made you want to believe he meant otherwise. 

“Y-you and me?” you asked to confirm. 

“Yeah,” he replied, drawing out the word. 

You didn’t think he was understanding your question. 

“No, no, no – as in . . . like,” you sucked in a shaky breath, “You with me?”

Finally, he tilted his head to look at you. You could hardly make out his eyes in the dim lighting, only remnants of the streetlamp slipping though the bare trees and past the jungle gym, reflecting off his face. However, perhaps it was for the better as the way his eyelids hung heavy made you nervous. It did not appear “heavy” in a sense that he was tired, but that mix of giddiness and bittersweet look of nostalgia that some people got when they were drunk. 

Mark didn’t have any alcohol tonight though. 

Could it be . . .?

He smiled cheekily, resting the side of his head on his thumb wrapped around the chain holding up the swing. 

“You? Wanna marry me?” he asked. 

“Mark,” you huffed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“If Doyoung and Emmy are enemies to lovers, we could be childhood friends to lovers,” Mark teased. He let out a heinous cackle, sounding like one of those hyenas in Lion King. 

“Mark,” you gritted your teeth. 

“I’m kidding!” he chuckled. “Geez, calm down – would it be that bad to get married to me?”

You didn’t answer him, pretending you didn’t hear his question and started pumping your legs again. 

“What kind of story trope do you think your love life is gonna be like?” he continued to muse. “I think I’m an enemies to lovers kind of guy too.”

“If that was the case, you would’ve loved Hera already,” you remarked. 

“Nah,” he shook his head, shoving his hands into his trench coat. “Didn’t hate her enough the first time.”

“Mark,” you whined, accompanied by an annoyed chortle. You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics sometimes. “Why are we talking about this?” 

“Ey,” he got up from his swing and stood a safe distance from you. You weren’t moving that fast, granting him the chance to punch you softly in the shoulder when you swung by. “I’m just pondering and trying to make conversation.”

“Let’s talk about something else?”

“Okay,” he paused. “I’m curious – who was your first love?”

“Mark Lee,” you groaned.

“I think you’re a first love kind-of-girl,” he rambled on. “I know your first kiss was Haechan – gross, by the way, but your first love. I don’t think you ever told me.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “There’s a reason why I never told you.”

His interest piqued, Mark grabbed onto the chains holding up your swing, bringing you to a halt, nearly knocking foreheads with him. For the second time that night, your breath hitched, your faces so close to one another. He was too close for comfort – too close for best friends. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes – one that you don’t think you could handle for too long, tearing your gaze to the side. Unfortunately, he was quick to adjust his position and tilt his head to maintain eye contact with you. You couldn’t help but notice the way your lips were a finger-width away apart, and if you just tilted your chin up – god, you shouldn’t even be thinking about kissing him right now.

You let your hands slide down away from his own, tightening your grip around the rusted metal, somehow, finding solace in the way the rough and uneven surface of the metal dug into your palms. You let out a shaky breath and broke eye contact with him once more. 

"H-Haechan," you replied softly. 

Silence. 

“My first love,” you cleared your throat and continued a little more confidently, “Was Haechan.”

Your answer came a beat late – enough to tell Mark that it was a lie. His lips quirked up, eyes still trained on you.

“I knew it,” he whispered, equally quiet, a hint of melancholy in his tone. 

The delicate moment was suddenly interrupted by his Super Mario ringtone, his device vibrating violently in his pocket. 

You let out a small, shaky breath and turned away – Mark noted the way your feet stuttered, pushing your swing to the left, further away from him in an attempt at courtesy of letting him take his call. 

Cursing under his breath, he fished his phone out of his pocket and swiped at the screen. 

Kim Doyoung. 

However, rather than answering it right away, he stared at the name flashing across the screen. The green ‘answer’ button and the red ‘ignore’ button pulsed with each vibration, urging him to make a choice before Doyoung hung up or was sent to voicemail. It reminded him of the Matrix when Neo had to make a choice between the red pill and the blue pill. 

Did Mark want to continue living in the reality he was born into?

Or to feign ignorance and live in the bliss you gave to him?

He knew if the older man called this late at night, nothing good would come out of it. He could come up with multiple scenarios right now: An emergency at work. Perhaps his father had found out and was furious, urging him to come home.

Or worse, the reporters and paparazzi. 

Mark chose the latter.

He swiped at the ‘ignore’ button and readjusted the volume to mute all notifications. 

Was it such a crime to crave happiness? Even if it was just for a minute? An hour? An evening?

“Let’s get out of here,” Mark said, breathlessly. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood up to face you, a strained smile stretching across his face. 

His footsteps stopped when he was just a few inches from you, the toes of your shoes nudging against one another. 

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” you asked. 

He shook his head, extending a hand out to you. 

“But it could be important,” you protested, your grip slipping off the chains. 

“I promised,” Mark replied, “Just you and me tonight.”

You seemed unconvinced, however. 

Mark let out a heavy breath, taking your hand in his own and gently tugged you off the swing. It didn’t take much – it’s not like you were trying to resist. 

There was that sense of guilt surging in your chest again, but you tried your best to ignore it as Mark took off in a jog. 

Though it was never said, you both knew, neither of you wanted this night to end just yet. 

. . . .

It’s funny, isn't it?

When the two of you were no more than five, reaching for his hand, and him yours, was second nature – no questions, no hesitations about it. Whether it was him seeking your comfort after being chased by Renjun on the playground or you merely trying to catch up with him after seeing him down the red carpet at yet another lavish event, your chubby fingers would interlock like two adjacent puzzle pieces snapping in place. 

It was comfortable. It was easy. It was fun. It was friendship. It was love – not romantic, but something innocent and untainted. 

Yet as the two of you grew older and you were introduced to the concept of "cooties" at the end of first grade, unknowingly he and you slowly began to unlearn the habit of linking hands when you were with each other. It started when Jaemin teased you for holding Mark’s hand during a game of hide-and-seek. This was the first moment you were quick to let go of him under the watchful eyes and mocking snickers of your classmates. As second grade started, you grew bashful and more hesitant to keep doing so. With the two of you being in separate classrooms, however, it made the process easier and neither of you questioned it. Rather than at school, you’d find yourself falling back into old habits at company dinners where the two of you were bored and ran off to play, or when his father brought him over during a meeting with your parents. 

However, these moments became less and less frequent until it was nothing. 

The rule was simple and it had finally solidified when the two of you were ten.

Boys and girls didn’t hold hands.

Therefore, neither did you and Mark. 

It was an unspoken agreement and has remained so until this day. 

It didn’t faze you when he offered a hand earlier – the adrenaline and euphoria overtaking your consciousness and your senses to think properly, you willingly took his hand and ran wherever he wanted to lead you. However, when the fleeting and short-lived emotions had passed and you had fallen from cloud nine like a rain drop from a heavy gray cloud, your nerves were starting to get the better of you. Even if it was something so normal when you were children, it’s why now, even the ghostly brush of his fingers against the back of your hand brought heat to your ears and made your throat constrict as you stood next to Mark, shoulder-to-shoulder on a train to Cheomdangdong. 

Bellies full and conversations fell quiet, but unwilling to part ways, the you both decided along the way for one last walk along the Han River. Having sent his driver home, there was no way to get to the other side of the city, except by train. Mark scanned his neon orange metro pass for the first time in months for a ride in comparison to your worn and scratched green one that you used daily. 

The evening rush hour had long passed. Your cart was fairly empty sans the elderly businessman dozing off in the corner and the few bleary-eyed high school students in crumpled navy and white uniforms with Airpods jammed in their ears, returning home from cram school. There were an abundance of seats for either of you to sit, yet Mark and you opted to stand, holding onto the worn velvet straps tied around the stainless steel poles. 

Only the rhythmic chugging of the train wheels rolling across the rusted tracks, rushed through your ears. The silence that settled between the two of you was comfortable, but the growing tension was deafening – at least to you. 

You wondered if he felt the same. 

When the train halted at the second to last stop on the line, the sterile white doors hissing open, he and you trickled out with the last few passengers into the dreary tunnel. Perhaps your steps were too wary and slow, hoping to fall in sync with Mark’s, because the elderly businessman was suddenly wide awake and hastily squeezed his way between you and the door, pushing you into your best friend. Reflexively, his arm came up to wrap around your shoulder, turning and pressing closer into his body, while the man grunted something under his breath before taking off in a speed walk down the strip. 

It didn’t quite hit you, the position the two of you were in until Mark muttered, “Geez . . . asshole. Where does he have to go this late at night anyways?”

You turned in his hold and leaned away to look at him. Your best friend scowled at the stranger’s figure fading in the distance. 

As if on cue, he peered down at you. He shifted his hands onto your shoulders, eyes scanning up and down your figure.

“You okay?” he asked, finally catching your gaze. Though it wasn’t his fault, he offered you what looked like an apologetic smile. 

It wasn’t a rough shove, but Mark figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

You nodded, muttering, “It’s fine.”

Letting out a small breath, you readied yourself to take off towards the stairs that led to the streets and took a step or two backwards. Mark’s hands slipped off your shoulders, one of them falling a little faster than the other, just in time to graze against one of your own, sending heat to your ears again – though you tried your best to ignore the steam that were probably coming out of your ears out of embarrassment. 

He was your childhood best friend for heaven’s sake. 

Yet this time, instead of just letting it be like on the train, Mark didn’t let the opportunity pass this time. He was quick to lurch for your swinging hand, encasing it in his own. He feigned ignorance and courage, not paying mind to the look of shock and terror that flashed across your features. He gave your hand a small squeeze, marching forward into the night, not daring to let go. 

Rather than looking forward, you continued to look at him, searching his face for any hint of anger or regret – any reason that would explain why he would suddenly hold your hand like this. 

No, it was far from scandalous. It wasn’t like he kissed you unprompted or planned on taking you home to warm his bed. 

Nonetheless, this seemingly familiar act from your childhood felt taboo and wrong. Something that once felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together, now felt like putting a spherical block through a square hole. 

He was Mark Lee of NCity, Inc and you were Y/N Y/L/N of rented, tattered textbooks and the less than quarter full tip jar at the alley convenience store. 

As hard as you looked, however, Mark’s nonchalant expression didn’t budge. Eventually, to avoid tripping on the stairs, you forced yourself to divert your eyes. 

Only then, did his lips quirk into a small, gentle smile for a split second.

For tonight, he wanted it to be simple. 

Just Mark Lee and Y/N Y/L/N. No titles, no obligations. Just childhood friends enjoying the little time that remained of the fleeting night, slipping through your fingers. 

. . . .

Water lapped gently against the shore as Mark and you walked along the Han River in blissful silence. The half-moon casted a pearl-like glow across the waters, turning it blue. You’d like to imagine the two of you looked like you were silhouettes in the distance stuck in the Starry Night Monet painting. Black shadows blending into the night – seemingly unimportant to the critical eye. 

Mark’s fingers still woven with your own, the weight and the warmth of his hold grew familiar and comfortable with each step. It was as if he were imprinting himself  in your own hand, and yours, his. You’d both catch each other’s eye every now and then, only exchanging soft smiles before continuing your way to no end. No words were exchanged, but the both of you knew, the feelings, whatever they were, were there, wrapping around the both of you and settling on your shoulders like a fleece blanket on a cold evening. Friendship, love – you weren’t sure if you could even label whatever it was between the two of you, whether it be in the past, right now . . . what would be.

Tonight, however, selfishly, you just wanted to indulge in this moment: where it was just you, him, and the Han River. There were no expectations, no roles that neither of you needed to fill. 

Though it seemed like the two of you were walking for hours, when the ring of your phone interrupted the peace, it felt like minutes cut short. 

“Don’t,” Mark warned as you halted in your steps, already reaching into your coat pocket to grab for your phone.

The device, untouched for the past hour or so, felt cool against your fingers as you looked up at him. 

“It could be important,” you muttered. “It could be my parents or my younger brother.”

“Or Doyoung,” Mark said, his lips crumpling. 

“And if it is?” you gave his hand a firm squeeze. 

“I don’t want to go back – not yet.”

You sighed, pulling out your phone nonetheless to look at the time, but inevitably also revealing the caller ID. 

1:34AM. 

Kim Doyoung. 

The call ended, but started up again within the next few seconds, Doyoung calling again. 

You glanced back up at him, a conflicted look flashing across your eyes. 

“Y/N,” he said, breathlessly though he hadn’t run. Mark knew though, at the end of the day, you were a practical person and knew your place in the world too well. The urge to rip the device out of your hand and throw it into the river itself was strong. 

“It could be . . . important,” you muttered reluctantly, finger hovering over the green ‘answer’ button. “Doyoung would never bother if it wasn’t.”

“I don’t want this night to end,” Mark blurted. “I don’t want this to end.”

But the both of you knew – with every night, came a dawn. 

You smiled sadly, breaking away from him and answered the call. 

“Y/N? Is Mark still with you?” Doyoung asked hastily. He was clearly worried. 

“He is,” you replied, trying to stay calm. 

“Send me your guys’ location right now – I’m sending a driver,” he urged. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, peering at Mark. 

Doyoung paused, letting out a huff into the receiver. “Y-You’re trending on Twitter – there are pictures and his father is furious.”

Your jaw grew slack – something both you and Doyoung feared finally manifesting itself into reality. After listening to his instructions on how to proceed, you handed the phone over to Mark as the older man needed to talk to him as well. The two argued, Mark not letting down his guard until Doyoung said something that brought about a look of devastation into the peaks and valleys of Mark’s sharp features. After a few nods and words of ‘yes,’ the younger hung up, handing you over your phone. 

Silence engulfed the two of you again, but this time out of discomfort. 

Nonetheless, Mark couldn’t quite let this night go just yet. Not caring if there were reporters around to catch this on camera, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed his lips against your forehead, letting his lips linger for a few seconds more before pulling away. 

“This isn’t over,” Mark reassured you, giving you a firm squeeze. “We’ll talk about this, hm? I’ll find my way back to you.”

But just because it felt right, doesn’t mean it was right. 

You belonged to two different worlds now; two worlds that were never intended to mesh. 

Perhaps in another life, simple nights like this could last a lifetime instead of the seemingly few hours of dark.

[thebigsl33p]

A Safe Pair of Hands

Aleksander Morozova X Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic. Neutral grisha Fem!reader)

Winter in Ravka comes fast. And it stays. It blankets the ground in thick white snow, freezes the soil and puts frost on window panes. The only time it seems to stop snowing in the city is the early morning, just before the sun properly rises, there is always a slight reprieve in the falling snow.

That's when he wakes. Like clockwork, every winter morning. He finds the fire from the night before has long died in the hearth, and the Palace floors are cold beneath his feet, even as he cleans himself and pulls on his dark Kefta and heavy boots in preparation for the day ahead.

By the time the rest of the city wakes, he's already working, his hands meticulously writing letters and commands with a face like stone.

As the early morning sun rises the city swells with sound and smells, of mulled wines and drinking chocolate, sweet nuts and cinnamon. On one street you can hear both the sounds of celebratory folk songs and the wails of an ill child. In the streets and the homes people bundle up as well as they can, food turns from being light and easy to being warm and hearty.

And still, he works.

That is until, his study door is pushed open in a familiar creak and a H/C haired woman walks in with a lazy grin. She's soft and smiling, her E/C eyes are so very alive with a blatant love for life.

"Y/N," The Darkling says her name softly, setting down his quill as she enters the room. She's holding two cups of hot chocolate, one for herself and one inevitably for him. She sets it down on his desk and comes to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder at his work, "Thank you," he uttered.

"No problem." She says nonchalantly, and she leans forward, her fingers gently pulling a map out from underneath the letter he's writing, "Working already? it's barely 8:30, Aleks." she says with a fond, exasperated, sigh.

He responds with his own amused huff, "You know how it is, Y/N." He says simply, running a hand through his dark hair - pushing it off his face in doing so. He feels the chair he's sitting in shift slightly as she rests her arms on the back of it - the only person who could get away with such a thing.

"You working all day?" She inquires, eyebrows raising slightly as she sips her drink.

"Perhaps." His hands reach for his own cup, barely feeling the warmth of the mug for his thick leather gloves, "Depends, really." He says.

"On what?" She tilted her head around to get a better look at him, her eyebrows narrowing in playful inquisition.

He knew her well. Knew, she only ever asked if he was working all day, when she wanted to do something. Something with him, inevitably.

"Depends what it is you want to drag me into now," He said, in mock annoyance, but mostly amusement.

"Oh, cmon it's a lovely day Aleksand-"

"It's snowing."

"A lovely winter's day, then." She folds her arms, leaning down to his ear to teasingly whisper, in a persuasive sing-song lilt, "Os Alta will be a wonder to see in the cold. And you don't get out enough."

"We'll both be stared at like art exhibitions," he answered, gruff and dryly, "Everything we do-"

"Not in the market we won't." she challenged, "Oh, come on Aleksander. One winter market. It'll be good fun, promise."

And that's how he ended up here, his arm linked with hers as they walked through the annual Winter Market. His boots crunched the snow beneath them, his large dark cloak creating a striking figure of darkness in a crowd of bright festive colours. And her beside him, in her (Grisha Colour) Kefta, and her cloak. Without thinking much about it he tucks the hand around his arm into the crook of it and murmurs, half-scoldingly, "I told you to bring your gloves."

She simply hums a soft, half-listening, "Yeah." She's so distracted by the market, the foods, the people, the jewellery, the clothes, the music. It's something she's seen all her life, every winter, but it takes her breath away nonetheless.

"Y/N," he huffs, shaking his head in mock sternness and disappointment.

"What?!" She laughs, turning to face him with a smile, "I'm sorry. I forgot, okay? Besides, I'll be fine. I'll survive." She says with a grin.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, but absentmindedly caresses her hands in a slight attempt to keep her warm... or warmer than she is.

As the day progresses, he finds himself being dragged to various stalls and stands, Y/N already with coin in her hand to pay for whatever sweet treat she's decided they'll share. ...And for once, he lets her.

And so, they walk back to the Little Palace, arm in arm, with a paper bag of sugared nuts between them, having spent the day snacking on various hot chocolates and mulled wines, reviewing different wrapping papers and potential gifts, trying different meats, vegetables and cheeses with soft laughter as the snow fell upon them.

And now as the sun sets early, they walk back. Her hand is still tucked into the warm crook of his arm, and they're laughing together about something or other. In that moment, he's glad the street is empty. No guards, no nobles, no royals or other Grisha. It's just her and him, and for once, in the snow and in the soft winter dusk, he can simply exist as her Aleksander. Her Sasha.

He knows, that when they get back to the Little Palace, she'll kick off her snow covered boots by his study door - despite his insistence she doesn't need to - and she'll enter his study. She'll throw a few extra logs into the hearth as he takes off his Kefta and hangs it up, before they both take their places on the loveseat by the fireplace.

She laughs at something he says, the snowflakes catching on her eyelashes, in her hair, on her nose. For a moment, he allows himself to feel sentimental - a sudden rush of relief and appreciation for human connection. He leans down, and as her eyes and nose wrinkle in her laughter, he presses a soft kiss to her cheek.

it catches her slightly, and she finishes her laughter with a soft content sigh, gives his arm a slight squeeze, and they continue their winter walk home.

A/N: HI I HAVEN'T WRITTEN IN SO LONG!! finally got a new laptop so I am working today, working. Working hard so I can please you. (I'm really sorry if you don't know what this is)

[ofdarkestdesires]

Alright! So, now that we have the full line-up of the Level 10 Bell’s Hells artwork, I think it’s about time I sat down and gave my personal opinions that nobody asked for about everyone’s styles.

Chetney Pock'o'pea

While I appreciate the more active pose and visible armor as opposed to his more unassuming original design, I am very off-put that he completely abandoned his original color scheme and all shreds of his original aesthetic. I also think the tracksuit is a bit much—listen, I’m a fan of toeing the line of what fashion belongs in a fantasy setting, but I’m pretty sure this fully vaulted over the it and did a full backflip and three-point landing into ridiculous. 3/10

And unfortunately, the same must be said for his Lycan form. This artwork feels like a serious downgrade from the original Chetwolf, which honestly filled me with a shock of horror each time he popped up. The only reason it is higher than base-Chet is that Chetwolf is still a werewolf, and werewolves are badass. 4/10

Laudna

Laudna, on the otherhand, is a total glow-up from her original design. Everything about her design ties together and brings in perfectly her aesthetic and backstory, from the haunting tree embroidery on her dress (akin to the Sun Tree she was hung from) to the little Pate birdhouse backpack (an homage to the Baba Yaga forest witch imagery she picked up), all the while looking so much like the elegant and imposing Delilah Briarwood. Easy 10/10 for me.

Fresh Cut Grass (F.C.G.)

F.C.G.'s new art...isn't bad, but I'm not as wowed by it as some others on this list. Something has clearly changed here in the choice to include his new blue jacket, and I approve! I'm also a fan of the wires having more definition and appearing more purposefully stylized, as if he's taking better care of himself...but the pose and the style just feel a bit lacking to me. 5/10

Fearne Calloway

Honestly, my only gripe with this outfit is the upper-half of her bustier. It feels very cluttered and like there is a lot of fine detail that just ends up being all meshed together. That would be my other only other gripe, too—there's a lot of small, fine details here that makes her feel cluttered. Which, honestly, fits her as the sneaky little hoarder that she is! But yeah, I would've done something else, something cleaner, with the upper half of her bodice. Also, while I know she is a Druid, I don't think she needs the plant growth on her legs... 8/10

Imogen Temult

I would just like to point out that this outfit was unveiled to us as Imogen's choice for winter-wear while traveling through the Crystal Sands Tundra. Is it sexy? Definitely. Is it my personal taste? Mm, not really, but I can see the appeal. Am I upset that even after the semi-canonization of her needing glasses, this bitch is still not a sexy glasses-wearing nerd? Absolutely—but the biggest sin this outfit does is fail to be climate-accurate. -1/10 for improper environment protection, and 7/10 for the outfit itself.

Orym, Savior Blade of the Tempest

I am incredibly torn here. Because, when it comes down to the armor itself, this is a clear winner. Orym's new uniform is a perfect upgrade from his original more humble and simple apparel, becoming much more about function and protection, while still retaining his svelte and limber appearance. The noted upgrade to Seedling is also nice, though I wish it was a bit more pronounced. What pulls me back from really loving this design, though, is his proportions—I feel like his head is way too big, or his limbs are way too skinny. Over all, I have to give this an 8/10.

Ashton Greymoore

Remember at the start how I said I'm all for toeing the line of what fashion belongs in fantasy settings? Yeah, this fucks! From the first episode, we knew that Ashton was a punk, and this just picks that up and runs with it in such a cool, fun way. I legitimately want this entire outfit—fuck cosplay, I'd just wear this irl! It leans enough on his old design to be recognizable, but pops out as truly his own. And the hammer looks wild—I can't wait to see that thing really pop off like crazy in the next fight. Definitely a 10/10 from me!