#looks like they only started consistently calling it that last year

[tabloidweather]

16 February 2024

DAMP BLIZZARD STRIKES NOW (just as people are travelling for winter break)

[crumbledcastle28]

Joel Miller: Stay Down

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Joel thought he had grown accustomed to fear until he finds you covered in blood.

Excerpt: He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Warnings: stitching of a wound, kissing, blood, blood loss, so much yearning, unestablished relationship, probably incorrect gun talk, Joel is scared of feelings.

A/N: This is me coping with the fact that we do not get more last of us in January. Also partially inspired by my favorite song maybe ever.

Pedro Masterlist

All my writing

Joel had found his hands becoming more and more susceptible to the cold as he got older.

They would crack and bleed, flaking dried skin within his decades-old gloves before November had even begun. This not only hurt like hell, but forced him to slow down and think about what he was doing to his body for once in his life. He had a harder time gripping the reins on a horse or fingering the trigger on a shotgun. Noticeably so. And living in a small town with a little brother foaming at the mouth to make old man jokes didn't help matters.

This is what led him to you.

He wouldn't call you a hoarder. Honestly, he would be the first to admit that you were one of the smartest people in Jackson. You had somehow become one of the most materialistically rich people in the town. You consistently managed to find the most randomly useful items on your patrols, things that people before the outbreak would never have even thought to miss.

Things like shoe insoles, ball point pens, Chapstick.

And luckily for him, lotion.

You never charged anyone for taking from what you had. Furthermore, you actively asked people if they needed anything. Even offering to scout around the area in search of specifics. Joel hadn't been around that kind of softness since...

Well, a long time.

This made him uncharacteristically nervous when he first approached your doorstep, but he knocked anyway. He had never in a million years expected to leave that house satisfied in more ways than one.

He blamed it on that stupid crinkle the skin underneath your eyes got whenever you smiled at him. He couldn't help but fall into your light.

This started a... friendship. Of sorts. He would come over when he needed you, and you would happily oblige. As time went on, the visits to yours became more and more frequent, frequent enough that the rest of the town seemed to be catching on. At least, that's what his brother had been hinting at through jabs and side comments.

"You smiled at me the other day, Joel," Tommy had said. "Actually smiled."

Joel responded with a gesture he was hoping Ellie would not pick up anytime soon.

Joel was...happy. Happy with the arrangement. He had a warm body – a fucking gorgeous warm body – to get his energy out with, and the woman inside the body seemingly had no issue with his lack of strings attached.

And yet, for some reason, this annoyed him.

There was some undetectable, bruised part of him that wanted you to…what exactly? Fight him on it? Confess your undying love for him? Pull him back into bed to cuddle?

There had to be either pheromones or crack cocaine in that honeyed floral perfume you always wore. You were beginning to drive him this insane. Unfortunately for him, the place he went when he was beginning to toe that line into insanity was always you.

Joel had checked the schedule posted in the main square, assigning every able-bodied person shifts of patrol. You had a shift earlier in the day, which usually kept you busy until noon. You would then shower, eat, and spend the rest of the afternoon doing whatever the hell you wanted.

Overtime, these mental gymnastics became muscle memory to Joel.

He huffed as he lugged his aching legs up your steps, their typical milk white now coated in an ugly muddy brown. Winter had begun, apparent by the puffs of Joel’s own breaths, and the snow in Jackson was trying desperately to keep up.

Joel balled his hands into fists as he planted both feet onto your porch, blowing into them quickly, before knocking three times. Spaced out enough, but not too much. He envisioned you smiling as you heard his signature knock, but cringed at himself internally, burying the thought instantly.

It fluttered back to the surface when he heard the pads of your footsteps somewhere in the house begin but extinguished itself when they dissipated.

He waited a few more seconds, the rational part of his brain saying that you must be in the middle of something, but the man part of his brain imagining you putting on your silky red robe he loved so much, only for him to take it off you so slowly it made his own fingers shake. He breathed in deep, the laundry detergent from his nylon coat mixed with the beginnings of December filling his nose, and cracked his neck while rocking back and forth on his heels.

His eyebrows came together when he heard another rustle, then nothing.

He knocked again.

Still, nothing,

He knew you were in there – he could hear you, clear as day, and he knew you could hear him – but for some reason, you weren’t coming to the door.

His much too weathered mind began to race, thinking of three possible explanations. One, you heard him knocking, and were ignoring him. Two, you somehow were not hearing him knock on the door. Or three, you for some reason were not able to get to the door.

Meaning, there was a possibility you weren’t alone in there, and not by choice.

“Y/N?” he asked loudly. “Y/N, are you in there?”

Nothing. A bit more rustling, maybe a slight groan, but nothing.

Joel’s fingers began to tingle, and it wasn’t from the cold. He knocked again, harder.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” he said loudly, “just…just tell me you’re okay.”

Silence.

He gripped the doorknob and jiggled it, hard enough for the wood to groan underneath his fingertips, but it was locked from the inside. He huffed, knocking again, his hot breaths now clouding his face. He felt an ache in his wrist.

He said your name one more time, hearing the beginnings of a voice he knew better than he should have muffled by the wood, and the door was flat in front of him before he could think twice.

He stomped his way inside, coating the ground with mud and snow, and his eyes darted around the familiar living room. His vision was tunneled, scrounging for the shape of you on the floor, draped over the couch, held at gunpoint. His heart pulsed in his ears.

You weren’t in the living room.

He stomped into the kitchen, the bathroom, the basement, nothing. All that was left was the bedroom.

There was no way in hell you were still asleep.

He practically sprinted to the room, preparing himself. He had seen what men did to women, the remnants of it anyway, and despite his state of denial, he could never in a million years handle the sight of you that way. In your own bed. In your own house. Likely one of your own friends.

He pulled open the door anyway, and was met with gold.

The room was dim except for the lamps you loved so dearly, spreading their warm, glowing, honeyed light across the room in streaks. He blinked his eyes to adjust, focusing in on your body on the bed. You were facing him, skin painted with similar golden streaks, highlighting the tears culminating under your eyes. You were sat crisscrossed, upper body totally bare, back slouched tightly, your body practically folded in on itself. Your right hand was pressed against your left shoulder blade, while your other was filled with wine-colored rags.

Blood-soaked rags.

His eyes met yours quickly, and despite their dampness, they still had that fucking crinkle.

You chuckled, your shoulders dropping up and down quickly as they always do.

“You know,” you said, voice curdled and tired, “if someone doesn’t answer the door, that’s usually them saying ‘leave me the hell alone.”

You chuckled again, this time finishing it off with a wince.

His hand slid slowly from the doorknob as he took a hesitant step towards you, his body tearing itself in half. One side begging to fold your body into him, bubbling you in a cocoon. The other, itching to tear whatever did this to you apart ligament by ligament.

Your eyes slowly drooped from humor to something like shame, like a kicked dog or a broken child, and he stepped forward again.

“Don’t,” you countered weakly. “Just…just don’t.”

You scooted away from him slightly, refusing to look at him, and applied more pressure to whatever was expelling that much blood from your shoulder. Pain was suddenly present in your face.

“You want me to leave?” he quickly countered.

You said nothing.

He walked to you, removing the hand you had pressed against your wound, and sucked in a quick breath.

“Probably the first time you’ve seen a revolver bullet in about twenty years, huh Joel?” you asked, chuckling once more.

He barely heard you.

You had gotten the bullet out, but it had sunken in deep. The skin around it was red and welting, so swollen that Joel had to guess you had already been working on it for at least an hour. He winced, imagining what kind of pain you were in, and the fact that you were dealing with it all yourself.

He swallowed grimly.

“Hand me that rag,” he said. He could tell how little strength you had left to fight him by how quickly the rag flopped into his hand.

He pressed it to the wound, and you hissed.

“Fuck Joel,” you whined, squeezing the covers of your bed so tightly your knuckles went white. He held his pressure, forcing himself to think straight.

He might as well have been feeling the pain in his own shoulder.

He finally eased his pressure, wiping away as much blood from the area as he could.

“You cleaned it pretty well,” he said softly, voice thick in his throat, so thick it was hard to speak. “But…it’s gonna need a stich or two.”

“Or seven,” you said, grabbing the first aid kit sat in the middle of the bed. You opened the bag with shaking hands, taking out the needle and thread. You attempted to begin threading the needle, but with your hands quaking so fiercely you only produced frustrated grunts and sighs. He moved to the front of the bed, the front of his body facing yours, and took the needle and thread from your hands, setting them to the side. He then held your hands in his, squeezing them slightly, before using one to tilt your chin up at him.

He sighed at the storm in your eyes.

“What happened?”

“Did you kick my fucking door down?”

“What happened?”

“I was stupid, that’s what happened.”

He sighed again. “You’ve never once been stupid.”

“Today I was.”

“How?”

“It’s how I always am.” Your voice cracked. “Thought I could pick some apples for Mrs. Lawrence down the street. She always talks about how much she loved that as a kid – a freshly picked apple. Went out too far. Felt a sudden burning in my shoulder and ended up having to take out six hunters all by myself. Six.”

A single tear dripped from your left eye, the gold from the lamps turning it to sunlight.

“I could’ve died. All for a fucking apple.”

You turned away from him again, and it took everything in him not to cup your face in his hands and turn you back to him. He had never seen you like this before. So… raw. Beaten. Trampled. Doused in self-hatred. He hated it.

And yet, he didn’t want to look away. He was slowly realizing that this was the part of you he had been desperate to see. Truth. Undercarriage. Weakness.

Human.

He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Slowly, gentler than he ever had in his life, he brought his mouth to your cheekbone. You exhaled a prolonged breath, the heat of it cascading down the left side of his neck. It only prompted him to kiss you more, and more, and more. His lips traveling up into your hairline, across your forehead, down your nose, and finally onto your lips. His kiss there was tongueless, rather a soft press, and yet it meant more to him than any other one you had ever shared.

He could tell by your breathing that you agreed.

He pressed his forehead against yours, swallowing thickly. “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t know…I don’t know what I would do if you did.”

Your stormy eyes turned into a sunrise, and Joel straightened his aching back to slowly remove his coat and boots. He placed them on the floor beside your bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. You watched him just the same, mouth propped open slightly.

He smirked as he set his things down. He then picked up the needle and thread while using his free hand to frame your face.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, his thumb stroking your chin. “I promise.”

You nodded. “I know you will.”

His lips wanted to meet yours so badly it hurt, but he needed to stitch you. Quickly. For a wound as deep as the one you had, it should have been closed up hours ago.

He wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t.

He walked to the edge of the bed and turned you around, leaning you into him slightly to give your pretzeled back some support, and began.  

You were surprisingly unreactive when he first inserted the needle, taking it as delicately as he possibly could. It wasn’t until he began to tug the skin together that your body showed signs of pain.

“You’re going too slow,” you mumbled softly after he finished the second stitch. “Please go faster.”

His hands began to shake at your request. He didn’t blame you. Speed would make it hurt worse, but be over with quicker. He squeezed the top of your shoulder in response, threading the needle quickly and stitching over the center of the wound.

You let out a high-pitched whine, gripping onto the comforter at your side, and he couldn’t help but kiss the back of your neck.

He let your breathing steady, then stitched again, this time kissing your shoulder blade.

Another stitch, a kiss across your shoulders.

Another stitch, a kiss down your spine.

Another stitch, a kiss on your lower back.

After every stitch, he planted one. Something in him couldn’t help it.

He made his final stitch and cut the thread quickly, sealing it with a kiss on the side of your face. He tasted a mix of salty tears and heat from your skin. He watched your throat bobble as he moved away, finishing off the wound with a final cleaning. Alcohol and blood filled the air, along with undertones of sweat.

He had a feeling that last aroma came mostly from him.

He threw the needle and thread away into the small garbage can you kept near your bed before turning back to face you. You rested on the balls of your palms, leaning back to look at him as he walked back towards you. There was pain visible behind your eyes, he could see it, but they were coated in something else. Something somehow rawer than before.

“You should rest now,” he said, scruff evident in his voice from lack of use. He cleared it quickly. “You took a hell of a hit.”

You didn’t move. Joel moved to the first aid kit still sitting in the middle of the bed and used the (what had to be decades old) wet wipes on his hands. He tossed those as well, but you still hadn’t moved.

“There somethin’ on my face?”

You cracked a small smile. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly.

He hummed. “Don’t mention it.” He then leaned forward and scooped your body into his arms. You involuntarily rested against him, eyes fluttering already, but he set you down beneath your sheets and swiftly pulled them over you.

He laughed at your fight against your own exhaustion, pushing stray hairs away from your forehead. He pulled away from you, beginning to walk out of the room. A fierce grip pulled him backwards.

“Stay,” you mumbled weakly. “Please stay.”

He inhaled deeply. The sweet cocktail of your voice mixed with those words fucking inebriating him, so much so he was surprised he was still standing up straight. He felt physically winded.

He squeezed your hand. “I’ll be right back. Stay down.”

You smiled, loosening your grip, letting your hand fall back into the bed.

Joel walked quietly out of the room but would be the last to admit how he practically sprinted to your kitchen and scoured your cabinets like a man being chased. He found your pain meds, pouring two into his hand, and filling up a small glass of water. He gave a slow, silent jog back to your room.

He felt equally as winded when he caught the view of the setting sun between your windows, glazing over you like a statue in Rome he had once seen on a traveling magazine. The streaks of leftover tears were highlighted in the light, as well as a small crease in your brow.

That is what told him you were not quite yet out cold.

He brought the meds and water to you, tucking your hair behind your ear to alert you of his presence. You opened your eyes and practically inhaled the medicine before laying back down on your side.

Joel removed his shirt in a blink and tucked himself in behind you, ensuring your stitches were not firmly pressed against him, but pressed just enough to ease soreness. You curved into him perfectly, as he did to you. He wrapped his arm around your frame, taking your hands in his and massaging them gently.

You hummed. “Promise you’ll stay?”

He knew your voice like that better than any man in the world.

He pressed a final kiss to your shoulder. “I’m stayin.’”

Tag List: (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

@untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @daphne-turner @leeeesahhh

[yaoyaobae]

Its been awhile and i have another OC to share LOL gotta draw brain rots instead of keeping them in your head forever ☺️💖

Name: Aurore Dormir

School: Royal Sword Academy

Pastime: Escaping school to wander in the nearby forest, spending time alone

Hobbies: Sightseeing, Gardening, Fencing.

Family: Father, Mother , *Brother ( silver, please refer to the last note regarding my own theory)

Aurore is a third year student at RSA, currently house warden of the sleeping beauty inspired dorm.

Aurore is also the next king of the Kingdom of Heroes, which naturally made him the center of attention in RSA.

Unlike Malleus whose powerful aura pushes people away from him, Aurore draws people towards him as they feel a sense of security around him.

He was only recently enrolled into school during his second year as his family brought him back from isolation for training, far away from the world’s eyes.

At first glance, Aurore may seem like the ideal dream prince: Kind, Polite, Courageous, Strong and Smart as he is consistent in securing top grades across his cohort. But deep down, he isn’t exactly the perfect prince most of his peers think he is.

Aurore is actually afraid of strangers and overwhelming attention ( he was raised in isolation so meeting humans are.. yeah) He is skilled at hiding his weakness but starts blanking out if there are too many people crowding around him.

As a result, he finds happiness in spending time alone in places where no one recognises him. He usually takes a short stroll around Sage Island’s various forests when his caretakers aren’t looking.

Strangely, Aurore mentions that his enjoyment from lonely strolls only existed because he would suddenly find himself in unknown places as a child…as if something or someone was calling him. But he became mentally stronger as he got older and knows how to guard himself during his impromptu walks.

Bonus personal theory/lore:

Hi! So if you have been following me since i started creating twst ocs, you would be familiar with a certain comic i drew for an Aurora Oc ( its not exactly Aurore because i didn’t flesh him out) . But to sum up my theory for that comic:

There was once a powerful kingdom that clashed with briar valley, humans and fae did not get along as well back then.

Somewhere in between the war, both of the queen’s sons were cursed by a powerful magician and separated at birth. The queen initially wanted to send her two sons far away from the castle, but only managed to send one tucked away in a casket that drifted on a hidden river which led to a forest.

The war ended a few days later, with both fae and humans forming a truce. The queen fell into depression after realising that her second son probably did not make it and blamed herself for not keeping him a little longer had she known he would have been safe and alive in her arms.

Time heals wounds, and with some reassurance from the King the Queen got back up on her feet stronger for the sake of her people. Of course, sometimes the servants would catch a glimpse of the lonely Queen staring into the far forests wondering if she will ever see those small pair of Aurora coloured eyes again.

Because the Queen conceived her two sons alone away from the servants, only she and the King were aware of their other missing son. The three fairy advisors who had protected them from the very start told the Queen that if word of two cursed princes were to spread, the kingdom would be doomed to fall . The Queen had no choice but to accept this decision, and so they entrusted their only son to the three fairies in case the curse within him acts up. Hence Aurore was raised in isolation away from the world’s attention and only enrolled in his second year to prevent the curse from possibly manifesting.

In this story I created Silver is the missing prince in question who drifted far into the forest and eventually picked up by Lilia. His only proof of his royal status is a ring with an aurora coloured gem (Book 7 mention).

Regarding the curse: Silver was cursed to feel drowsy all the time while Aurore was cursed to follow a voice in his head which leads him to sleepwalk into dangerous places alone. Silver’s hair colour reminds me of the spindle/needle, so in a way he contains the sleeping curse. Like Aurora, Aurore is drawn into strange places by a voice and eventually to the spindle. Hence these two will always feel an unfamiliar sense of closeness to each other.

“Yao why do you think Silver would have a brother? Much less the RSA guy inspired by Aurora? Doesn’t Silver already have Aurora’s traits?”

In general this is just my own fun theory to think about, but my reasons are because i think it would be interesting if Silver canonically had living family member(s) from a royal family( that ring kinda tells all). It would also put him in place wondering if he should return to his biological human family or stay with his Briar Valley family as he feels a stronger bond with them. With the way TWST tackles issues about fae/human like Sebek from example, i would love to see Silver’s resolve for his found family.

In my old comic, the Aurora OC actually dislikes Fae because of the war. He especially hates Lilia because he believed the war criminal took his own brother away and is promoting peace despite his past.

I feel Aurore would dislike Lilia but eventually learns to see the war from both sides as humans aren’t all that great either, he is still a naive prince with much to learn about the world. So while Silver does have Aurora’s trait, Aurore may have some of King Stefan’s from Maleficent/OG film. TWST tends to combine diff character traits anyways🌝👍

Anyways I adore these two so much and am looking forward to Silver’s past in the future updates! Thank you for reading about Aurore, till next time 💖

[hellodropbear]

like she used to

alexia putellas x sister

i have been writing this for ages and it has just sat in my documents folder since january. i don't usually post stuff i write so this will probably get taken down at some point. i've written 13k words so far but this is just the first 4k.

~~~~~~

I hadn't expected to get the call up, not at all really. But Mapi tore her meniscus and apparently the first team found themselves in need of a backup centre back and I was the best option from the B team. It's a compliment, really. Mami is very proud of me and she is excited for me and my sister to play together in a few weeks, even though she is still recovering from her surgery and I will probably not make it off the bench. I am only 15 and 10 months, usually they wait until you are at least 16 and a bit before you can play. 

But, I don't really know how to feel. Thankfully Alexia won't be in training with me for now and I try to avoid thinking about what will happen when she eventually gets better and I have to face her again.

Alexia is my older sister by a lot. There's a 14 year age gap between us and I used to completely and utterly idolise her. She and Alba were two superheroes, always by my side when I needed them. I put them on a pedestal like they were the greatest human beings to ever walk the planet. To me back then, they were. 

I was only four when my father died. All I remember from that time was the big black invisible sheet that hung outside his study and the dark and scary emotions that swallowed our house whole. Alba and Alexia would argue about who got to cuddle me at night and I was so unaware what was happening that I would happily agree, wiping away their tears when it all got too much. 

The death of our father made our family unit stronger. Mami, Ale, Alba and Elena - it was all any of us needed and we supported each other in whatever ways we could. 

Mami had to pick up more shifts at her job, so she couldn't pick me up from school. Alexia had just got her license so she would come in a break during training and pick me up in her training gear. 

Alexia didn't have time to drop me off at home so I would sit and watch the training with whoever wanted to give me company when they were injured. 

Most days, Alba would come and pick me up and take me on the bus all the way home. She would play cartoons on the TV as she sat at the table and did school work. Some days, when she had the time she would sit with me and watch Alexia's training and we'd all go home together. Alba used to say she enjoyed the training. Looking back, I think she just wanted a free ride home and an excuse to not do her homework. 

As I grew up, everything just worked. Alexia and Alba were still living at home as a support to Mami and everything was perfect. My sisters were my idols, my Mami was my shining star. She still is. She would do anything for her daughters, as long as it meant we were all happy. 

That is why it has been so hard for her over the past two years. 

I have not been happy, not really. My football has been thriving, I have represented my country in the under 17 age group and I am a consistent starter in the Barcelona B team. I spent two years in La Masia before they sent me to the B team last year and I have only been improving since. Everything is going well. Mami says I have had a better start to my career than Alexia did. 

Maybe that is why Alexia hates me. Maybe Mami is just saying that to make me feel better about it.

Alexia and I, despite the 14 year age gap, were always inseparable - for the first 12 years of my life. She was at every single school event, football game, she picked me up from trainings when she could and would train me herself in the garden. We shared a common passion that Alba was not interested in at all - we both love football, we eat, sleep and breath it. Football is everything. She was the one who gave me that mentality. 

"Football is life, Lena, you are lucky you are so good because now you also get to live football and hermanita, it is the most incredible thing." 

She had whispered that to me when I was 11. We were sat on the beach, a place we visited frequently throughout my childhood, both of us staring out at the reflection of the moon on the sea. Alba was fast asleep, her head in Alexia's lap as she snored lightly, completely oblivious to our conversation. 

It all fell apart over three years ago, although I don't have the first clue as to why. 

It was not an explicit event that ruined everything, more my older sister growing up and flying the nest that was so secure and established over years and years of shared success, happiness, failure and grief. She moved out of home long before that, but her split with Jenni upset her, I think, a great deal. I wouldn't know because she didn't really tell me anything - that was strictly Alba's business. 

I didn't even know they had broken up until 5 months after it actually happened. 

"Mami, why does Jenni never come over any more?" 

It was an innocent and normal question, but the look on my mother's face told me everything. Everything about Jenni and everything about my sister. 

I think that was the first knock. She hadn't done anything wrong but I had loved Jenni and Jenni had loved me. I would have thought that she would have told me they broke up. Maybe she didn't want to, maybe she just forgot. She does a lot of that these days. 

Before she and Jenni broke up, she still came to all of my games. She never missed one game before I transferred to La Masia and would insist on taking me out to ice cream after every one. She would tease me for not scoring like she does, even though I play as a centre back. 

"You need some training from Mapi, she is a centre back and has the most lethal free kick, hermanita! She is the best defender I have played with, but don't tell her I said that. I think you will grow up to be better than her." 

She was excited that day, I had made a few good saves and I think that was the first time she really saw that I had the potential to be great. 

I remember the first game she was late to. I noticed immediately but we both pretended she was on time - she only made it to the last 10 minutes but I put it down as traffic or being caught up at training. She was busy, it takes a lot to be La Reina. 

I remember the first game she missed entirely. She wasn't there at the beginning and she wasn't there at the end. I was 13 and I didn't have a phone yet so I couldn't call Mami and ask her to come pick me up because Alexia was too busy. I told myself it was because she was too busy. I didn't want to say she had forgotten because that was too hard for me to handle. 

I remember vividly sitting outside the stadium as the sun set. My coach had asked where my sister was, I was a bit stuck with what to say but I managed to convince her I was fine and she could go home. 

Alba came and picked me up after work that night. It was dark and she looked sad but when I asked if she was ok, she just shrugged her shoulders and said everything would be fine. 

I found out from Mami a few weeks later that Alba was sad because I had never once been forgotten anywhere. Alba saw that as the destruction of our strong family. I suppose she was not wrong. 

Alexia never said anything about that game but she was at the next. She didn't take me out for ice cream after, instead patting my head and telling me she would drop me off at Mami's work. 

"I have things to do, Elena, I am very busy. Hopefully soon Mami will let you catch the bus on your own. Maybe Alba can take you soon so you know the correct routes." 

Her words hurt more than I could admit to myself, I told myself to stop being pathetic. Mami asked why I was crying when I walked into her office. I told her I had played terribly and she comforted me. I think she knew I was lying. I think that is why she had tears in her eyes when she released me from her grip-like hold.

Since that day, Alexia has been to 3 of my games. She went to one more of my old club games but she was sat beside Alba, her eyes glued to her phone the entire match. I was so unfocused that the ball deflected off my face and we conceded. I was taken off with a bleeding nose but when I looked up in the stands, my sister was still staring at her phone. Alba had run down the stairs and was by my side when I entered the little sick bay. 

I cried then too. Most people thought it was because of the bleeding nose or the conceded goal. Alba knew that wasn't the real reason. 

The penultimate game she watched was the final of the under 15s Catalonia cup. I don't know what she did during the game because Mami told me not to look up. She said she didn't want me to get distracted but I think she meant to say she didn't want me to get hurt. 

I think I still idolised Alexia at that point in time. She was still my older sister and she was still the best player in the world. She still had weekly dinners at home, although she wouldn't sit next to me and sneakily take all the food I didn't want off my plate anymore. She stopped staying to watch a movie after dinner even though my favourite part of the week was falling asleep in her lap as her hands combed softly through my hair. 

I remember when I was accepted into La Masia, Mami held a nice big dinner. It was right in the middle of covid so it was technically illegal, but we had a lot of my family over. Mami invited a few of the Barcelona girls as well and Mapi and Leila reminded me of what it used to be like before Alexia stopped loving me. 

The reminder of the before was more painful than I liked to admit, and the night ended when the tears that had been burning in the back of my eyes finally spilled out as I was talking to Mapi. 

She immediately pulled me into her arms and asked what was wrong and I struggled to find a lie that would be believable. 

I settled on saying I was upset about everything changing - which I suppose was true. 

I remember Alexia looking mortified and breaking eye contact as soon as I looked at her. She told me off that evening when Mami was in the shower and Alba was talking to someone else. She told me I needed to be grateful for everything I have been given and that she paved the way for me. 

It was even worse when she said I would never achieve the things she has. She said it was because I didn't have the mentality that she did, that I had it all so easy. 

It hurt the most when she told me she was disappointed in the person I was. 

"I hope we never share a shirt, Elena, because the day you play in the first Barcelona team is the day that we have run out of players. It will mean that football players are week and female footballers can not be weak. You do not have it in you to be like me, to do what I have done to get to where I am."

The venom in her voice sent a cold shiver down my spine and I felt like I had been stabbed. I didn't cry that time. I waited until I was in my bedroom to sob my heart out. 

The last time she ever watched me play was the next day, but she didn't have an option not to. I played terribly, my first game as a La Masia student, my sisters words repeating over and over in my head. 

That was really what tipped the relationship I once shared with Alexia on its head. The pedestal I had put her on was destroyed and suddenly she was just another player. I barely saw her as my sister any more. She couldn't love me, you wouldn't be able to hurt someone you love so much. 

I have barely seen her since. She still comes to our family dinners on Thursday nights - she still very much loves Alba and our Mami. But I tell Mami that I have training with Barcelona B late on Thursdays. It finishes at 6 and dinner starts at 7, but I just organise to go to my friends' houses for dinner instead. 

Sometimes we both have dinner together at home, but it is awkward and I hate it. I think she has probably forgotten about what she said to me in June of 2021, but I don't think I will ever be able to. 

She doesn't like me, but it's ok because I have learnt to accept that. But I will never not love my sister because she was once everything to me. 

~~~~~~

"Pequena Putellas!" Patri's excited shriek is what welcomes me into the dressing room on my first day. She tackles me into a hug and squeezes me tight. "It has been such a long time, mi favorita!" 

The last time I saw Patri was only last year at the champions league final. I had sat with my whole family but I went to the bathroom when everyone else went and spoke to the players. I don't think Patri would have seen me. 

I can only smile as she continues. 

"I remember you as the little 8 year old who would sit and watch our training sessions after school! I was so confused by you when I first arrived here, you know. I remember the first time Ale let you play a game with us and you were so good!" 

"Nobody doubted that you would be on this team one day!" A new voice entered the conversation.

"Marta!" I hugged the brunette closely. She was always one of my favourites. 

"I am proud of you, pequena putellas." 

Her words are familiar as I have heard them out of my mothers voice time and time again my whole life. But they seem foreign coming from Marta and it is an unwanted reminder of my sister. I don't know why - maybe it is because I have always associated this Barcelona team with her. I don't remember the last time she said she was proud of me. 

I don't remember the last time she said anything to me, really. 

"Gracias, Marta, I have missed you." I bury my head into her neck and she holds me closer. 

"You have not been around as much since you transferred to La Masia. I wanted to come and watch but Ale never extended an invitation and I didn't want to overstep." I shake my heads at her words and she frowns. 

"Alexia doesn't have time for my games, she hasn't for a while. It takes a lot to be La Reina." 

Marta's frown deepens at my words and the attention of a few spanish players is captured. I should have spoken quieter, I forgot how many people in here speak catalan. 

"It is ok, she is very supportive, but she just can't come to my games. She makes it up in other ways." I am lying through my teeth but Marta will never know. 

"I am sure, she must be very proud of you, being selected in this team for the first time, it is a big deal, you are very young."

All I can do is nod, my energy is all being put into holding back my own tears. I don't know if Mami told her. I don't know if Alexia even knows that I was selected. 

"Get changed now, I am sure Jona will want to talk to you before the session, especially with the game tomorrow."

I nod again as Marta pats me on the back and walk over to the cubby that says my name. It feels a bit surreal, really. 

I never really thought I would see my name on a Barcelona cubby, accompanied by my new number that I chose in the meeting a few days ago. It was always a dream, but I never thought it was achievable. Alexia always seemed like a superstar, a superhuman of sorts and I would never reach that kind of level. 

But here I am in the team that I always wanted to be in - in no way am I anywhere near my sisters level but I am on my way to being like her. I just wish she cared. I wish she was proud of me like Marta is. 

Her cubby sits across from me and I try to tear my eyes from it but it sits and stares right back at me. I feel like an intruder in Alexia's space, this is not for me, she would not want me to be here. 

I tie my laces quickly after that and head out onto the pitches to begin training. 

I have trained with the first team twice before, but the Barcelona Bs were always slightly seperate and we could keep our distance from the first players. Jonatan is a familiar face and I feel comfortable as he smiles and me and motions for me to follow the others to the gym. 

It is weird, being promoted within my own club. I am not so much a new signing, but a replacement - I am not good enough to be in the first team but they had no other options when Mapi injured herself. 

I used to worry that people would say I only get opportunities because my last name is Putellas. When my sister told me I was weak all those years ago, that idea sort of cemented in my head, I suppose. 

I never told my Mami what her daughter said to me because it would upset her. I told Alba half of it when she found me crying in my room a few days later but made her promise to not tell anyone. She couldn't say anything to Mami, Alexia, anyone at all because it would only make Alexia think I was weaker. 

She was furious and tried to tell me it was untrue but it had already been said. I believed Alexia's word more than anyone else. To me, she was a superhuman. 

But when I spoke to Jonatan a few days ago he made me feel like I was wanted within this squad. He made it clear that he wants me to integrate completely into the squad in the next few years and that he can see me playing soon even though I am only 15. 

I told him I didn't want anything special because of my surname. 

He told me that he chose me because of my first name. 

"Elena Putellas,"  he said with a grin, "you may be as good as her, but you are not your sister. This is a professional environment. As long as you perform, which I know you will, nobody will care what your name is."

It was a big boost to my confidence. 

Aitana Bonmati caught up to me quickly as I walked to the gym. 

"You are big now." I chuckled but did not look over, I didn't need to really. "But not that big. You are only 15, si?"

"Yes, I am 15." 

I met Aitana when she first joined the club. She always used to say that she would steal me and take me home with her because she thought I was adorable. It is strange that I am now sort of in the same team as her. 

She started playing for the first team when I was 8. I was older then, I played my own football and liked staying with Alexia so I could kick a ball around with her teammates when they were done. 

Aitana was one of the few who would stay every time I was there. When Alexia didn't want to wait she would drive me home herself, all the way to the other side of Barcelona. We would always stop for ice cream on the way home. 

"I have not seen you in too long, Lena. I have missed you a lot but you have been doing very well in the B team. I am very proud and I take credit for your abilities." She spoke in such a dead pan voice but it was somehow still filled with emotion. 

"I have missed you too, ABC." It was a nickname I gave her the first time she drove me home. I had been learning about the alphabet in English class and had the little song stuck in my head when she told me her full name. I used to sing her initials in the tune of the song but it quickly merged to me just saying the three letters. 

"I have been to a few of your games, you know?" 

I look at her in confusion, I have never seen her there. She just nods. 

"Alexia never invited any of us but she was never at the ones I went to so I would sit in the stands with a hat and glasses so people wouldn't recognise me, but I was there. I went to your La Masia games as well. You have become a phenomenal player, Lena."

She has always spoken with such sincerity. I have missed her a lot. 

"Maybe you can drop me off at home again tonight? I have missed you."

She chuckles and pulls me into a side hug. 

"I was waiting for you to ask, little Lena. Oh you are not so little any more!"

I chuckle as well and let my head fall onto her shoulder as we enter the gym. My eyes scan the room, looking at all of the players on their equipment, nerves quickly settling inside me. 

"Don't worry, it's all easy." Aitana seems to read my mind. "Just come with me and I will show you how to do everything. It will become second nature in the next few days."

The gym session went quickly as I was taught all the different exercises. I was familiar with most of them, having done a very similar program in the past with the B team. 

We went out onto the field to do some drills and I played well. Jonatan was impressed and so were the first players. My teammates? Maybe, not quite, I don't think. I still haven't been in a team list, so I suppose I'll be their teammate when that eventually happens. 

It wasn't until we reached the ice cream shop that Aitana started asking me all the awkward questions. I should have seen it coming. 

"Why do you never come to our games anymore, Lena?" I was very grateful for the scoops of gelato in my hands. Eating it delayed my response as I tried to come up with something to say. I shrug as I eat.

I can not say it is because I do not get along with Alexia. It is too hard for me to say now, even after all these years. 

"I'm not sure. I suppose I got busy with my own training and school. I have been to a few but I usually go home with Alba pretty quickly after they finish." It is only half a lie but she just shrugs, apparently not believing my words. 

"And why is it that I am driving you home from your first ever first team training? I thought Alexia would have wanted to." I anticipated a question like this but that does not mean I wanted her to actually ask it. 

"Alexia is busy." I hope that Aitana understands I don't want to talk about it. I haven't spoken about my broken relationship with my sister to anyone. I think she can sense something is wrong though, because she puts her spoon back into her ice cream and grabs my arm so I am staring right at her. 

"If you ever want to talk, I am right here, Lena. I know you don't like people knowing what is going on inside that crazy head of yours but it is good to release your feelings." 

She definitely knows something is wrong so I appreciate her not pushing. 

"I have outlets, I play football, I play the piano, I am ok, aitana, I really am." 

She eyed me as if to say she didn't believe me but dropped the topic anyway. 

"When did you get so good?"

chapter II

[barcaatthemoon]

be like water || fridlona rolfo x reader ||

you try to pull away from frido when your feelings become too much to handle.

you didn't think it was possible for you to be so stupid. there had never been a doubt in your mind about following frido and ingrid from wolfsburg to barcelona. they were your best friends, and it made ingrid feel a lot better if she was close enough to really look out for you. what you couldn't believe was how quickly you managed to fall for frido once mapi came into the picture.

in all actuality, you had always had feelings for frido. she was kind, caring, and gorgeous. however, she had always ever spoken about boyfriends. you knew that didn't mean your crush was completely hopeless, but you also had trouble imagining a reality where frido liked you back.

you could think of a million reasons why frido wouldn't have felt the same way about you. there would always be so many things standing in the way of your happy ending. you were fairly certain that frido was straight since she had never shown an interest in any of your other teammates before. if it wasn't that, then the age gap was sure to get you. you had been barely 18 whenever the two of you had met, and it didn't help that ingrid had introduced you as "the baby" of the norweigan team.

'baby norway' was what they had been calling you since your call up to the national team at the tender age of 15. you had been a super sub back then, but it had only taken you a year and a half to become a consistent starter. you'd been blessed with practically no injuries, none that required rehab or surgeries at the very least. however, all of that came crashing down around you at barcelona.

it had started with a little tweak of your ankle during practice. frido cursed herself for not noticing it earlier whenever you went down at the next game. you knew that it wasn't her fault, you had already begun to pull away from her. still, she sat with you in the trainer's room while it got checked out.

"frido, you don't have to stay here," you told her. ingrid was out on the pitch and mapi was sitting in the stands with the rest of the injured players. you had hoped that frido would have stayed on the pitch, but instead, she had been insistent on coming with you. it was hard for you to avoid your feelings whenever frido openly showed how much she cared for you.

"jona has already subbed me off. am i just supposed to leave you here all by yourself?" frido asked you. you opened your mouth to tell her that was exactly what she should do, but she cut you off first. "don't be ridiculous. you and ingrid were there for me whenever i got hurt. i want to be here for you too."

"frido, please. this is the last thing that i need right now. just, go take a shower and calm down," you said. frido couldn't come up with a reason to argue with you, so she reluctantly left you in the trainer's room. once she was gone, you laid back and took a deep breath. it felt like a weight was lifted off of your chest once she was gone, only to be replaced by guilt clawing its way through your throat. frido just wanted to be there for you, but you couldn't get over your stupid feelings for her long enough to let her.

…

"so, tell me again why i'm the one picking you up from the hospital when i know for a fact that frido asked to do this?" ingrid asked you. she had been around countless times when frido offered to take care of you or escort you from appointment to appointment.

"we haven't gotten to spend much time together lately, and i missed you, that's all." it wasn't a complete lie, but ingrid knew that it wasn't the whole truth either. she pulled down a side street and turned her car off. you couldn't get out on your own, so the two of you were trapped there until ingrid got the truth out of you.

"did something happen between the two of you?" ingrid asked. you shook your head as you pulled your good leg up into the seat in front of you. you rested your head against your knee to keep it turned away from ingrid. "you still love her, don't you?"

"of course i love her, she's my best friend. i came all the way from germany for her, ingrid. i just didn't know that i couldn't be around her alone," you confessed. ingrid paused as she took in your words. you had always been adamant that you came for both of your friends, even if ingrid knew otherwise. she knew all about the secret feelings you kept for frido, just like she knew how conflicted frido felt about you.

"mapi is going to kill me for this, but i want you to stay with me for the next week or so, okay? neither frido nor i want you to be alone, but i won't force you to stay with her if you can't handle it," ingrid told you. you thanked her quietly as she started the car up again and drove off towards her apartment.

she didn't tell you about frido already being at your place. ingrid didn't tell you a lot of things, just like she didn't tell frido anything either. she kept both of your secrets until one of you were ready to come out with it. she wanted to help you desperately, but knew that it wasn't her place to put it all out in the open.

…

"i don't get it. did i do something?" frido was practically tearing her hair out as she sat on the couch next to ingrid and aitana. your stay with mapi and ingrid had ended over a week ago, but you were still dodging all of frido's texts and calls.

"it's not you, i promise," ingrid reassured the older woman. "the baby just has some things to work out, that's all. this is a difficult time for her, she's going through a lot."

"but why is she pushing me away? i could help her, but she won't let me." tears sprung to frido's eyes. you had always seemed closer with ingrid because of your shared nationality, but it had never been an issue for frido before. "i need a minute."

"frido, wait!" ingrid shouted. frido was standing, but she didn't make a move to leave her place. "let me drive you to (y/n)'s. i think you two realy need to talk."

"she doesn't want anything to do with me. i'm not you, it's okay," frido said. ingrid sighed and pulled frido outside. the drive from your place was pretty short, usually just a ten minute walk.

ingrid felt bad about blindsiding you, but this conversation couldn't wait any longer. both you and frido were tearing yourselves apart trying to navigate feelings and your friendship. ingrid knew how easy it could be for both of you, and that was all she wanted. she just wanted her friends to be happy, even if the thought of making a move terrified the both of them.

you hadn't expected any visitors, so ingrid and frido's arrival had taken you by surprise. ingrid shoving frido through your front door and closing it for you was an even bigger one. ingrid knew practically everything, and yet, here she was forcing you to be alone with the person who had been giving you so much grief for the past few months.

"i think we need to talk, but i don't know what to say to you," you told frido. you hobbled over to your couch and sat down. frido just stood in front of you and paced around your living room. "fridolina, calm down."

"no, i can't. i am sick and tired of being calm about this. you've got me worried sick. i care about you so much, and i want to help you through whatever this is, but you won't let me. i know that i'm not ingrid, and i'm sorry, but fuck! let me help you." frido's voice grew as she spoke, but she never really got close to shouting at you. "talk to me, please. i miss the way things were in germany, it felt so much easier back then."

"trust me, it was never any easier. we just weren't alone back then like we are now," you told her. frido glanced down at you, a look of confusion on her face. "i don't want you to be ingrid, frido. i love you for you, and that's the problem."

"your problem is that you love me?" frido asked you. you nodded, unable to look up and meet her gaze. you kept your eyes down as you felt her approach you. the couch dipped down as frido sat down next to you. you shuddered when her arm wrapped around you, even though you had been craving her affection since you started to distance yourself. "look at me, (y/n), please."

"i can't," you whispered. frido sighed as she pressed a kiss to the side of your forehead. "i can't do this. i have to talk to jona. i have to go back to wolfsburg or just somewhere else."

"don't run away from your feelings. just look at me, please," frido pleaded with you. she was on the verge of getting on her knees and begging you to look at her. you didn't know why, but something in her voice compelled you to go against your instincts.

your eyes met tearful blue ones, and you nearly broke because of it. frido gently caressed your cheek, rubbing her thumb along your cheekbone as she stared at you. there was no disgust or pity in frido's eyes, which caught you by surprise. all you could see was relief. your friendship didn't implode on the spot because of your admission, which filled you with a relief that you couldn't even begin to describe.

"i love you too," frido told you. she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against yours. her eyes flicked down to your lips before coming back up to meet your eyes again. "can i kiss you?"

frido barely managed to finish her sentence before you were lurching forward. she caught your body in her arms, allowing for you to practically lay on top of her as the two of your lips met in a passionate kiss. frido began to push you back a bit to catch her breath. you let out a whine as her lips moved off of yours.

"i've wanted this for so long that i don't ever want to stop," you said quietly. frido smiled as she pressed a quick kiss to your lips. "i thought you'd hate me if i told you how i felt. i had tried for so long to be cool and casual, but i couldn't. the more time we spent here without ingrid, the harder it became."

"i wish that you had told me how you felt, but i am not sure that i would have accepted it at first. i think we were both going through something, but that's over now. we have each other, and if you're willing to give me a chance, i'd like to see where this goes." frido's words made your heart swell a little with happiness. it was an odd feeling, finally having your feelings reciprocated. you didn't know what to do with yourself. you didn't know where things were going, but you hoped that they flowed as easily and naturally as your friendship with her had.

[alastor-simp]

Alastor with a female reader who is Selectively Mute Part 3

❥Summary: A certain overlord intrudes on both you and Alastor. This situation is going to become very tense, once you realized who exactly this is.

❥Tags: Selectively mute reader, fluff, fluff and romance, friends to lovers, demi-romantic alastor, alastor frowns, vox being vox, alastor is not used to feelings, comedy, alastor and vox rivalry, spoilers of episode 2, protective alastor, confessing feelings, fem reader.

❥Notes: This is the final chapter of this series. I hope you all enjoyed it :).

"Well well well, if it isn't the Radio Demon." You felt Alastor tense, and the static in the air began to increase. Turning around, you noticed there was another demon standing behind the both of you. He stood as tall as Alastor, sporting a dark blue tuxedo and large red bow tie. The most striking thing on him was his head. It resembled a tv screen. On the screen was a pair of striking red eyes and blue colored teeth. His eyes were filled with immense hate, while sporting a cocky grin.

Alastor slowly turned around, smile strained immensely on his face, which you noticed. Did Alastor know this man? "Ah! If it isn't Vox! The piece of shit television himself?" Alastor snarled back at the TV, teeth sharpening the more he spoke. Ohhh this was Vox! You never saw what he looked like, but you knew about the rivalry between him and Alastor, especially since you heard Alastor mention him in his last broadcast. He was part of a group called the Vee's, which consisted of overlords Valentino, Velvette and Vox. The only Vee you knew about fully was Valentino since he was Angel's boss and you really didn't like him. Vox's eye twitch at Al's insult, but the grin was still present on his face. "HAHAHA! Even after 7 years, you still remained an a**hole. Took you a while to show your ugly face back here. Finally decided to join my team?" He approached closer, arms crossed in front of him, as his eyes were locked on Al, ignoring you. Al's head flew back in laughter, before it snapped back into place, as he let out, "HA! No!"

The both of them were locked in a stare off, with the sounds of static and whirring penetrating the air around you, making you a tad bit nervous. Soon Vox broke the stare, and turned to look at you, eyes widen a tad in shock, before they gazed at you, sensually. "My my! Quite a looker, aren't you! May I know your name, sweetie?” His clawed hand had grabbed yours, as he was leaning down to give it a peck. It felt like a hole had opened inside your stomach. Something about the way he acted made you very uncomfortable. You were use to actions like this from Alastor, as they made your heart skip a beat, but coming from Vox, you didn't like it. A small growl was heard next to you, and another clawed hand had grabbed Vox's wrist, removing his hand from yours. "It is quite rude to touch a lady without her consent, you know! So, H̶̱̞̗͈̮͛̓̔̄͐̉a̴̯̜̗̝̠̰͌̈̋̚͝ͅn̸̖̝͙̜̩̳͆͋̿̃ͅd̸̡̤̅̈̐́̎̐̕s̵̭̀̏͛͐̅ ̷̡̢̩͉͔͍̹̐̃̉͌́̕͠ȍ̸̳̗̰̻͚͔͎͒̄ff̵̘̻̠̗̏̆̚." Radio dials flashed on Al's face, along with his shadow demons poking out a different corners, ready to strike. Scoffing, Vox just pulled his hand away, annoyed that Al had the nerve to touch him, before wearing a sinister grin.

"Heh! Who is the little hottie? A new toy for you to mess with?" Now that pissed you off. You were about to start typing your response on your phone, but Alastor had spoken for you. "She is none of your concern! Now, I believe its time for the both of us to head back! Hope you have an unpleasant evening, Vox!" Al wrapped an arm around you again, ready to leave, but he was stopped by a very loud cackle. "HAHAHAHAHA! Oh this is rich! You running away again?!" He was hunched over, holding his stomach from laughter. Your eyes looked over at Al. His smile was completely strained, to the point of it almost breaking. He was trying very hard to maintain his composure, and not rip off Vox's head, but Al didn't want you to see that side of him, his true side that bathed in carnage and gore, while he danced on the corpses of the demons he slaughtered. Alastor had developed a soft spot for you during his time at the hotel. He hated it immensely, that the more he conversed with you, the more vulnerable he got. He was the radio demon, the most feared demon in hell, who broadcasted the deaths of many overlords to all the residents of hell, but you are able to change him, so he made a vow to himself that he would protect you and help you whenever you were under distress. Last thing he wanted to see from you was your eyes gazing at him in fear, after witnessing his true self.

Vox had finished his laugh session, before he stood back, placing his hands on his hips. "I figured after seven years of disappearing, you would be back to terrorizing the streets, but instead your acting like a little pu✪✪✪ bit✪✪, doing absolutely nothing! You have become such a fossil that barely anyone even remembers you, but they remember me, they always do, since I AM ONE OF THE V-SMACK!" Vox's speech was caught off by a strong slap to his screen face, stunning him a bit, before turning back to look at the both of you. Alastor was gazing at you in shock, not expecting that reaction from you, and slapping Vox across the face. Your face was red with anger, and he could almost see steam coming out of your ears. Grabbing your phone, you began to speed type what you wanted to say to Vox, before turning it towards him, voice speaker volume at full blast:

"𝙾𝙼𝙶 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙷𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝚄✪✪ 𝚄𝙿!!?!? 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙾 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚄𝙻𝚃 𝙷𝙸𝙼 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂?! 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝙳𝚄𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝙼𝙽 𝙱𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂, 𝚂𝙾 𝙵𝚄✪✪ 𝙾𝙵𝙵!!!!"

Vox was put off a bit by your strange method of responding back, but he shook his head and began to walk closer, peering down at you. "You crazy bit✪✪!! Do you know who I am?! His response earned an eyeroll from you, as you continued to type what you wanted to say:

"𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎! 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝! 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚝, 𝚏𝚞✪✪-𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎! 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜, 𝙸 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝-𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚗𝚘, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚊 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖? 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙷𝚎'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚜𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝!"

Vox's eyes widen, as he stepped back at what you said, stunned. "I'm...I'm not......I don't..." He fumbled with his words, unable to give a good comeback. Alastor continued to gaze down at you in awe, wondering where this side of you has been. Typing a final message, you played it out for him:

𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊✪✪ 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏! 𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚒𝚖𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜!

Grabbing Al's hand, you pulled it and began walking back in the direction you were going, leaving behind an open-mouth Vox, screen flashing to blue, as his brain couldn't compute that he just got owned. Alastor said nothing, and followed after you, as the both of you continued to walk back to the hotel. The walk was silent, neither you nor Alastor uttered a word to each other. Arriving at the doors to the hotel, you let Al's hand go, knowing that the others would ask questions if they saw the both of you holding hands. Entering inside, you were greeted by the others, asking how was the show and yada yada. You gave a thumbs up, while Al gave a lengthy response saying that the performance was spectacular. Alastor then urgently insisted that he needed to attend something, before snapping his fingers, disappearing from sight.

He hadn't looked at you the whole time, when the both of you came back. Had you upset him? He didn't appear angry when the both of you started to head back, but maybe he was hiding it from you. Thinking back to what you did, you realized that you maybe shouldn't have done that. Alastor was a powerful demon, the fearful gazes he got from others was proof of that. He was fully capable of defending himself against Vox, he didn't need you to do it for him. Your body wanted to head to where Alastor ran off to, but you decided not to, as he maybe needed time to cool off.

**12:00 AM**

It had finally reached midnight, and you had seen no trace of Alastor. He wasn't present for dinner nor did he return to the lobby. Heaving a sigh, you realized that you must have angered him very badly. You hoped you would see him tomorrow and apologize. Exiting your bathroom, you had finished brushing your teeth and put on your apple themed PJs, a gift from Charlie. Heading over to the bed, you took a sit on the fluffy covers, before falling back, cell phone planting on the bed as well. Too many emotions and thoughts were floating around in your head, preventing you from falling asleep. "Knock knock", a soft knocking noise was heard against your door. Getting up from your bed, along with grabbing your phone, you peeked into the peep hole, to see Alastor standing on the other side. Unlocking the door, you softly opened it. "Good evening, my dear! Sorry if I had disturbed your rest, but there is something I needed to discuss with you." His smile was still enlarged as always, but you couldn't tell if he was back to normal or still enraged. It was so hard to read him at times. Nodding your head, you moved your body to allow him in. He walked inside, standing at the center of your room, with his hands placed behind his back. He didn't turn around to face you, making you feel nervous. Suddenly, sounds of static-filled laughter erupted from him, causing you to jump up in shock.

Alastor turned to face you, still laughing with slight tears in his eyes. "Oh, apologies for the sudden laughter, but your little confrontation with Vox was highly entertaining, my dear! In all my years in hell, I have never seen that expression from him! HAHAHA! What a sight!" Alastor was still giggling with glee, wiping his eyes, that were leaking with tears. The laughing quickly stopped when he saw the look on your face, tears streaming down. Panicking, Al walked closer, wondering why you were crying. Pulling your phone up, fingers shakingly typing your message to Al"

𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢. 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍. 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛��𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝙸…..𝙸

Unable to type, due to how hard your hands were shaking, you dropped your phone, hands flying to your face, wiping away at your tears. Alastor was silent, having not said a word after you dropped your phone. Two hands had grabbed yours, pulling them away from your face, allowing your eyes to look up at Al's. His expression was soft, wearing a small grin. "Why would you think I was angry with you, my dear?" His voice had dropped into a soft whisper, containing no traces of static. You casted your eyes down, still feeling ashamed. "Y/N. Look at me." Goosebumps appeared all over your body. He almost never addressed you by your full name. Peering back into his red irises, you looked straight at him. His eyes always held so much emotion, and the emotion you saw was pure warmth. His fingers wiped at your cheeks, cleaning the tears "I was never upset with you. Frankly, I was quite in awe at what you did. You defended me without hesitation and even called me a "friend." It has been many centuries since someone has addressed me that way, that it stunned me to my very core. Please don't cry, my dear. Tears don't suit your adorable face."

He rubbed your cheeks up and down like you were a cat. His sweet words felt like they were caressing your skin, causing shivers to flow through your body. Alastor leaned forward, placing his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "You....you are quite a special one, aren't you. Being with you makes me feel things I thought had died long ago. Only time I felt anything like this was when my mother was still alive. These things....these feelings are changing me, you are changing me. Part of me wants to push them away, but the other part of me wants to embrace them, embrace this." His everlasting smile had dropped, causing your eyes to widen. He was frowning!! Alastor, the demon who always wore a smile, was frowning?! This was the real Alastor in front of you now, not the radio demon persona. Rubbing his forehead against yours, Al opened his eyes, staring back at you.

The both of you stayed in that position until Alastor spoke again, "All of this...is entirely new to me, my dear. But, I want to explore more of this with you. What say you, Y/N? Would you like for this to become something more?" The butterflies in your stomach were going haywire, as the color of your cheeks dyed a deep red. Alastor wanted to be with you? Have a relationship more than this? Your thoughts were filled with all of the moments the both of you had. The pleasant conversations, the sweet gestures and the looks he would give you. The answer was clear to you. Wanting to grab your phone, you realized you had dropped it, making you unable to tell Alastor your answer. No no. You didn't need the phone. Feelings of nervousness began to overtake you, as you bit your lip. Alastor noticed your expression, and pulled back.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I'll take my leave. We can discuss this another time." Alastor's smile had come back, but it seemed almost somber. Shaking your head, you didn't want him to leave without hearing what you had to say. Clenching your fists, you took a deep breath. Grabbing his coat, you pulled him down, back to your level. Alastor bent down. letting out a small gasp, not expecting your actions. Before he could speak, a pair of lips had attached to his. His crimson eyes widen in shock, his body becoming tense. His mind slowly began to piece together that you were kissing him. It left him shook, but he slowly eased into it, reciprocating back. The kiss lasted for a full minute, before you pulled away, and stared at Al. Biting your lip again, baring through the anxious emotions, you opened your mouth.

"I-I love you Alastor. I-I want to be t-together with you"

Alastor nearly gasped, legs almost buckling from what just happened. Did you just speak?!?!?!? You had spoken for the first time, in front of him. Your voice was so precious and soft, almost like an angel. His eyes sparkled with excitement, as he grabbed you by the waist, spinning you around in joy. Grabbing on to him, you let out a small chuckle, at his reaction. The spinning slowly stopped, as Al set you back down, placing his gloved hand on your pink-tinted cheek. His own face was similar to yours, flustered, yet he was wearing a love-struck expression. "I-I adore you as well, my doe." Seems it was still difficult for him to say I love you, but you were content with that. Alastor then leaned in to kiss your forehead, as he pulled back. "I believe it is past our bedtimes, my doe. I must, unfortunately head back to my quarters, but I will be here first thing in the morning." Listening to him, you nodded your head, letting out a soft "okay". Patting your head, he wished you pleasant dreams, as he made his way to your door, exiting your room. Watching him leave, you walked to the door, and placed a hand on it, before you turned around. Sliding your body down, you placed a hand on your chest as you gave a love struck sigh. It was official, both you and Al were going to be more than just friends. It made you nervous, but so excited at the same time. Getting up from your position on the floor, you went over to your bed, placing your head on the pillow. Grabbing the other across from you, you planted your face into it, squealing while kicking your feet in joy.

**Alastor POV**

Having left your room, Alastor still stood at your door, back facing it. Letting out a shaky sigh, he placed his back against it, letting his head fall back against it. His emotions were springily like crazy. All of this was still so new to him. His memory flashed back to what he said to you, annoyed that he couldn't say the three simple words, but he remembered the smitten look on your face, happy with that he said. The black heart in his chest was still beating a mile a minute, and his cheeks were still flaming hot. Sighing again, he moved from his position and walked down the hallway to head to his room. Tomorrow was going the be the first day of the both of you being in this kind of relationship, and he honestly couldn't wait.

~END~

Part 1 of Series is Here = X

Part 2 of Series is Here = X

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi , @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @pawstrey , @futureittomainn , @christinaatyourservice92 , @littledolly2345 , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 , @mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow , @madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel , @ainsliemac ,

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Richard actually preferred to spent his Spring Break lounging around his quaint and peaceful university town. But, since his Uncle drove all the way down to pick him up unannounced, simply because Richard is in the same state now, not like he could just shush that man away so he lazily packed his bag and hit the road with the 43 years old hulk of a DILF

They didn't talk much throughout the long trip into the farmland as Richard pretended to fall asleep before eventually really falling asleep on the way there. But he's dead wrong to assume that his Uncle is unaware of his avoidance. In fact, that very attitude is the sole reason why his Uncle came all the way down to pick him up. It's time to mold Richard into the perfect Dawson boys, and Spring Break provides the best timeline in order for Richard to hit his final alteration right during summer

When the pair arrived at the sprawling farm, Richard realized how stinking rich his family must be with all these acres of land under their possession. It's been more than a decade since he last visited the family farm, but clearly this visit will leave him with the memory about the family farm much more clearly. His uncle let him rest for the remainder of the day, he even fell asleep right after his quick dinner and cleaning himself. But Richard didn't expect that he needs to do some hard labour the following morning!

"Your cousin Adam is spending some time with his sickly wife while Steve took off for the entirety of this Spring Break to spend time with his kids. So I need your help, boy,"

"Wait, Adam is married?"

"Yes, a year ago, don't you remem--- oh yeah, you were on your gap year trip,"

The tone his uncle used irked Richard a bit, gap year trip, but he let it go. His mind is focused on the fact that Adam is the same age as him, and he's married? At 20? 19 if he considered the fact it happened a year ago.....what a totally different life the two of them have. His uncle snapped Richard's out of his mind as he told the pale, gangly-looking Richard to put on the boots before helping him around the farm and the ranch. Richard at first doubted that he could fit into the boots, but somehow it fits him just right. So, off he goes with his uncle

Day after day, the routine remained the same. He will wake up at around 5 or 6 AM, have his loaded breakfast and head out with his uncle. He surprisingly found himself enjoying the routine, he even started to address his Uncle with "Sir" and cooked the breakfast for the two. He simply didn't notice the change in his reflection on how his skin tanned on its own, how his form straightened rather than hunched per usual, how all his clothings somehow altered to solely consist of black t-shirt, jeans and some plaid shirt and he just didn't bother to ask his uncle for the whereabouts of his other clothing. He also failed to notice how his uncle has been subliminally planting in his subconsciousness that he enjoyed working in the farm, that he preferred to be called Dick since Richard sounded too posh for him, that Dick has always been interested with farming and the idea to continue the family's business, that Dick wanted to recruit some good trusted friends of his to join the family's business and how he needs to pivot to study about agriculture or farming in uni.....well, scratch that, he will probably drop out later in the summer and learn better about farming or agriculture by working with his Uncle.

Imagine the surprise his roommates got when Richard went back from his Spring Break 30 lbs heavier and looking like a Southern farm stud with his outfit and the way he got this drawl out of nowhere. And he apparently have a souvenir too for them

"Got these from my Uncle, now, try to put these babies on and tell me how it feels,"

---

Fast forward to summer, not only Dick really followed through with his drop out plan, he brings along his now much-more fitting roommate to join him in the farm

Hey there, a bit rushed with this execution but hope it's still an enjoyable read

[dotster001]

Can I ask angst when they break up with reader to try date other person just to notice they still in love with reader, but now reader is with someone else (i hope is not confuse) with Jade, Floyd, Vil, and Leona?

A/N: normally, I'm not a huge fan of writing angst...but I had way too much fun with this 😁

3k followers masterlist

"I've got everything I can from you. So it's time for me to let you go. Good luck to you."

Jade said it with a cruel smile on his face, a smile you had grown quite familiar with the six months you'd been dating. In pure confusion, you'dasked him to clarify what the fuck he just told you. He bowed politely, and gave an "of course" before saying it in an even colder way.

He had used all your connections. He had gotten all the information he could with your relationship. So it was over.

Naturally, this was a shock, and absolutely devastating. But he didn't care about your dropped jaw, or the tears slowly starting to pick up in speed as they trickled down your face. You left the room, and that was that.

He returned to his room to call his next target, a first year student who was a prince of a small nation. As he sent a quick message, Floyd stopped tossing the basketball he was playing with, and asked, "If you're finally done with Y/N, can I have them now?"

Floyd had been in love with you months before Jade was even interested in you as a target, but had held back upon both Jade and Azul's insistence. While his brother was one of them, he had nothing but innocent puppy love for you. A part of Jade figured you'd say no to him, considering they shared a face. So he gave his consent, not even thinking twice.

Three months later, he watched you drop Floyd at the lounge, and press a kiss to his cheek, before slowly pulling away and leaving him to his work. His date, the Prince, asked him if everything was alright, and it was only then he realized how stiff he was. He smiled and gave some excuse that he bought with zero effort.

And while his date continued to prattle on and on about things he should never share with someone he's only been dating for three months, Jade found himself unable to do his job for the first time.

Floyd was happier than he'd been in years, and consistently able to do his job, on the promise of you giving him goodbye kisses. You were happier than Jade had ever seen you. The love in your eyes was something deeper, something stronger, than anything he'd ever seen when you looked at him. And something in him broke when he realized that. 

You never looked at him that way. Was it because a part of you always knew he was using you? Was it because you sensed he didn't feel that way about you? Or was it something worse?

Was he never as good as Floyd?

"I'm bored," He groaned, standing up from the place he was resting his head on your lap.

"Okay, what do you want to do then?" You asked him.

"Nah. I'm bored of this," he gestured between the two of you.

A part of you had known this was coming. Not because you'd wanted to know, but because your friends had warned you. Especially Riddle, who had evidently been through his own relationship of sorts with Floyd. But you were hoping they were wrong. Your Floyd would never hurt you like that. 

Still, even you couldn't ignore the way he watched the exchange student from Noble Bell. The way he was handsier with them than he'd ever been with you. The way he whispered in their ear when he thought you weren't looking. The way he'd nearly kissed him, but stopped at the last second when he realized you were there.

Instead of letting him repeat it, you stood up, and left your own living room, hellbent on reaching Heartslaybul, where you were in for an "I told you so" speech, but if you sat through that you'd get pity cuddles. You heard him call after you, angry that he wasn't getting the last word, but you couldn't stay there anymore.

Riddle knew when he saw the tears on your cheeks. He sighed, and instead of a lecture, he opened his arms to you, letting you sob in his shoulder, as he gently rubbed your back.

A day later Floyd was dating the exchange student, and all your Heartslaybul friends were helping you avoid the two of them. You'd lost a boyfriend, but had been made aware of the best support system in any world.

Months had passed, and you could almost forget how Floyd had seemingly used you for a fun time. Especially when the resident Queen's arms were always open to you, and his eyes always had hearts in them when they looked at you. A man who would give you the larger half of the strawberry tart, despite you knowing full well how much things like that meant to him.

Floyd, meanwhile, was bored again. He had thought he was bored of you. But after the months of not even seeing a glimpse of you, and doing everything he could to get any emotional stimulation from the exchange student who hadn't realized what he was getting into when the hot second year had slid into his life, he was realizing his blunder. There was just nothing but physical attraction, and even that was fading quickly for Floyd.

But you'd always given him the stimulation he needed. You were always fun. You were always adorable. So squeezable. But now goldfishie was the one squeezing you. He wanted to squeeze goldfishie until he popped. You were his to squeeze!

But when he saw you resting on Riddle's shoulder, his chest ached as he realized he didn't deserve to.

You and Rook had always joked that he'd steal your boyfriend one day. Vil always rolled his eyes when the two of you would snicker about it, and give you a soft kiss on the cheek, while  smacking the back of Rook's head.

So when the two of them had stood nervously before you, tightly gripping each other's hands, you were devastated, but not surprised.

You didn't want to hear their explanations or excuses. Sevens, they tried, but you knew it would be better not to hear it. You could feel vindicated, not giving them a chance to apologize for hurting you, and it would also spare you the painful details that would only break your heart further.

So after shutting the door in their faces, you'd called a certain someone for a sugar pick me up. Trey arrived with a three tiered cake, and held you gently as you cried and told.him your woes. It wasn't until you started dropping self deprecating comments about how you'd never been worthy of Vil, how you'd always known he would leave you one day, that he shuts you up with a kiss. His jaw drops and he apologizes immediately, telling you he knew it was way too soon to be making any move, he just couldn't stand you talking about yourself that way. It wasn't fair to you.

When he leaves, he apologizes again, and tells you not to worry about him. If you don't see him that way, he'll be fine. If you do….take your time. He's willing to wait for you to be okay again.

And he really is willing to wait. And when you tell him you're willing to give the two of you a shot, a month later, he smiles softly and offers to start with a simple cooking date….literally right then because he has an unbirthday party he has to prepare for, but he also wants to be around you.

While you are slowly slipping into a life of domestic bliss, the cracks are beginning to show with Rook. Anytime Vil isn't perfect, he hears about it, and now….well, Vil isn't stupid enough to miss the way Rook's eye has been wandering over to Neige.

He didn't have to be perfect with you. As he eats the flavorless salad Rook made for him, he watches Trey feed you a chocolate covered strawberry, and playfully kiss away the chocolate that stains the corner of your mouth. Rook says something bitter when he notices, and he always notices, indicating his hypocritical jealousy. 

It's amusing, in a painful way, how Rook pretends he wants what you and Vil used to have. But what he really wants is to keep his pretty doll on its shelf, and all to himself.

When he'd first expressed interest in you, you had asked him. "Will I be pushed to the side in favor of an arranged marriage, or even just someone with more power?"

And he'd laughed. Nah. No one wanted to be trapped in a marriage with him (his parents had tried), and he didn't want more power. He wanted you.

But his pride was something even he couldn't get past. And when a fae duchess with similar image issues in her own nation had come to him, proposing a marriage of convenience, he had agreed without a thought.

"You're overreacting. We can still be together.' "I don't want- no, I can't be your side piece." "For sevens sake, she has a whole harem at her disposal. It's a marriage in title only." "I don't want that. What happened to what we had being enough?" "You're being selfish, and childish." "I'm being selfish? We could settle down in luxury with what you have!" "If you can't see fit to share me, only nominally, mind you, then go." "I will!"

He was furious. You knew his life. You knew a marriage like this could change life for the both of you. What the fuck were you on about?

Over the next few months he'd begun the courtship process with the duchess, going to boring political events to cement his position within that fae court. He kept expecting you to come crawling back. He'd sneer at you and make you prove you deserved him. At least, that's what he thought at first. But the more time passed, the more he just wanted you back in his arms where you belonged. He even has arranged for his room in the fae kingdom to have an extra large bed, so that you would always be comfortable.

One morning, he heard murmurs throughout Savannahclaw. He saw the side glances, and the hasty hushes as he passed. And he knew.

He stormed over to Diasomnia. Surely you were trying to make him hurt. And the best way to do that was for you to start seeing Draconia.

But when he started yelling at the lizard, he had nothing but confusion on his face. Yes, he found you very attractive, but no, he wasn't courting you. Leona was about to yell at him, tell him he couldn't lie to him, when you entered the room…on Vanrouge's arm.

Your eyes widened, and flickered between him and the lizard, before you groaned and rolled your eyes. You whispered something to Lilia, and the two of you were about to leave when he got the urge to yell at you. 

"That scrawny twerp will never be able to love you like I can!"

You slowly turned to look at him, and sneered, before saying, "Thank God for that."

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Body Like a Back Road

Request: Joe Burrow and reader go on spontaneous road trip during off season.

Warnings: smut (fingering, intercourse), language, mentions of a funeral

A/N: my second stand alone Joe fic! Enjoy!

"In 500 feet, turn right". The voice of the GPS startled you out of your nap, your head knocking against the window as the car went over a pothole. "Ow!" You pressed a hand to the side of your face, grimacing at the sharp pain. Joe snickered as he glanced over at you, his hands flexing open and closed as he balanced them on the top of the steering wheel. "Good, you're awake."

"Where are we?", you grumbled out as you stood up, stretching your arm over your chest in hopes of getting the knot out of your shoulder from sleeping against the door. There were no signs to indicate your current location, and for the past eight hours, everything out of your window looked the same, nothing but trees along each side and the open road.

"We're just outside of St. Louis. At least according to the GPS, but I think I made a couple wrong turns about an hour ago, so I know fuck all where we are." Joe bit at his thumb nail, something he always did when he was stressed. "Great." You whispered, leaning your head against the window. The vibration of the car was lulling you back to sleep, your eyelids growing heavy.

The season was finally over, and after a less than stellar year, Joe was going stir crazy sitting around with nothing to do. He could only hit the gym so many times a day and watch game tape over and over before it started to get boring. When you mentioned to him that you had to travel to Denver to attend the funeral of one of your distant cousins as a favor to your mom, he offered to tag along with you, and against your better judgement you said yes.

Going to a family funeral was something that a boyfriend did for their girlfriend, not for their fuck buddy. You didn't want to give Joe, and honestly, you're own heart, the wrong idea about where you stood, but the thought of making a 17 hour drive alone sounded like torture.

Your relationship with Joe was...complicated, to say the least. You had been friends through college, and for the longest, it was nothing more than that, but when you both ended up in Cincy, Joe was drafted to the Bengals and you had just settled in the city with your first big-girl job, it became something more. You were both lonely, living in a new place, and you leaned on each other for support.

The first time you slept with Joe, you considered it a fluke, a slip up that could easily happen between friends. After months of consistently ending up in bed together, you realized that the two of you were in too deep. Now, a couple years later, it had become more habit than anything else, and you weren't even sure if you could call yourself friends as much as you had become a source of comfort for one another. You knew it was best to end it before anyone got hurt, but for some reason, you just couldn't.

Joe slapped your thigh, making you jump. "Hey, I need you to stay up. This GPS is useless."

"In 200 feet, turn left onto Franklin Street."

"Franklin Street?!" Joe gestured wildly to the left of him. "There is no fuckin' Franklin Street! Does she want me to drive into the woods?" Joe scoffed as he leaned back in his seat. You leaned forward to see there in fact was no Franklin Street, chuckling to yourself. "Don't let her get to you, J. You know she's not real, right?"

"Ya know what...its not even the GPS, its your damn car. Piece of junk." He slapped the console, the volume dial falling out of place. You grabbed it, shoving it back onto its slot. "Hey, Darla has been there for me since I was 16. She is a classic." Truthfully, Darla was hanging on by a thread, and the last time you brought her to a mechanic they offered you $200 for her to use for scraps, but you didn't have the money for a new or gently used car right now, and as long as you didn't go over 50 mph, she drove fine.

"A classic piece of shit", he mumbled under his breath, earning a slap on the arm from you. "Shit!", he rubbed at his chest, "do you wanna drive? 'Cause I can pull over right now."

"Funny, because she wasn't a piece of shit all of the times we were doin' it in the backseat." You propped your feet on the dashboard.

"Yeah, good times." Joe's ran his fingers through his hair nervously, his face starting to heat up. He was glad you went back to sleep so you couldn't see him start to sweat.

"Wake me up when we get to Kansas." You grabbed Joe's hat from the dashboard, pulling it over your eyes to block out the evening sun.

****

The next few hours went by like a dream as you went in and out of consciousness, listening to Joe's terrible singing along to the Hamilton soundtrack as he managed to eat through all of the snacks you packed for a two day drive.

You took in a deep breath as you woke up to darkness, the overhead light blinding you as you rubbed your eyes to try to focus your vision. As soon as you noticed you were alone, the driver's door was wide open, and Joe was gone, you began to panic.

"Joe! Joe, where are you? This isn't funny!" All horror movie protocol went out of the window as you unbuckled and climbed out of the car.

"Joe!" Silence. You grabbed your phone out of your back pocket and turned on the flashlight as you rounded the back of the car, illuminating the eerie thicket of trees you were parked next to. "Joe, I swear to God, if you're hiding somewhere I'm gonna kill you." You took a step forward, jumping as you heard a twig snap beneath your feet. You held your breath, feeling your pounding heartbeat in your ears as you listened for any sound of life. Again, silence.

"You know what? I'm just gonna assume you're already dead and keep it pushing." You called out to the open. You had seen Friday the 13th enough times to know there was no way you were going to outrun anyone. You turned back to the car, noticing a figure flash by out of the corner of your eye.

"BOOO!!" Joe jumped out from behind the car, his arms swinging above his head to appear terrifying. You collided with him, bouncing off of his strong frame, and landed on your ass.

"Ha! You should have seen your face!" Joe bellowed over with laughter as you stood and dusted the dirt off of your pants, a scowl on your face. "Fuck, that was so worth it." He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

You shoved him, hard, making his back hit the car. "What the hell were you even doing? Why did we stop?" You opened the trunk and grabbed a sweatshirt out of your bag, feeling the chill on your skin as the temperature dropped after dark. "Had to take a piss."

"I feel like we've been driving forever. How far to the motel?" You were beginning to get cranky, your empty stomach contributing to your sour mood. "Still got another two hours until we get to Kansas City and stop for the night." You both got back into the car, but as Joe tried to turn the engine, it only sputtered a couple of times before dying out.

"C'mon", Joe groaned, cranking the key again to no avail. 'Fuck!" He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, hitting the horn. "Your piece of shit car died, Y/N."

"Its not Darla's fault, you probably made her mad stopping in the middle of nowhere."

He pressed his forehead to the wheel. "Please tell me you have roadside assistance."

"Um...define "roadside assistance"?" You had AAA at one point, but let your membership expire when you couldn't afford the monthly payment anymore. "Y/N! What if I wasn't here?! You would have been stranded in the middle of Kansas by yourself with no way to get help!" Joe didn't mean to yell at you, but just the thought of you being out here alone was stressing him out.

"Good thing you're here, then." You harmlessly placed a hand on his thigh to reassure him as you scrolled the internet for tow trucks. Neither of you realized that Joe had grabbed your hand in his, interlacing your fingers. As you rose your head, feeling him massaging your fingers mindlessly as he stared ahead, you felt your stomach flip. "Joe", you uttered out, waiting for him to look at you.

"Oh, sorry." He snatched his hand back, running his fingers through his blonde locks. He didn't even realize he had done it. You were his safe place, and touching you brought him comfort in a way that he really didn't understand himself. You were no stranger to his touch, but it was always in the name of getting off.

"I think I found a place a couple miles away. ETA is...2 hours." You let out a frustrated sigh. Waiting two hours for a two truck meant you weren't going to see a shower or bed anytime soon. You desperately wanted to wash this road trip off with the hottest water a hotel shower could produce.

Joe leaned his seat back, the worn leather creaking underneath him as he sunk down, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. "What are you doing?", you asked, shifting in your seat to face him.

"What does it look like?"

"You can't fall asleep. What if some monster comes and snatches me out of my window?" You were partly kidding, partly terrified that would actually happen. "That's not gonna happen", he huffed, "I'm not that lucky." You scoffed, throwing your feet over his lap. "You need to stay up and keep me company. Those are the rules of the roadtrip."

"Please. I just drove eight hours, five of which you were asleep."

"Joe, please. Just until the tow truck gets here."

"Fine. Tell me about your cousin. Were you close?", Joe hummed, scratching his nose. "Technically she's my mom's cousin, and no, I've never met her. My mom was close with her at one time, but they lost touch years ago. I'm just going to represent the family."

Joe opened an eye to peek at you. "You're going all the way to Denver for someone you've never met?"

"Why do you sound so shocked? I can do things out of the kindness of my heart." You clutched your chest dramatically, but Joe just chuckled, dropping his shoulders in a sigh. "It's just... ya know what? Nevermind."

"What? Tell me."

"Its just...are you sure that's all that it is? In all the time I've known you, you do things out of comfort. I'm not saying its a bad thing, but this isn't like you." He was looking at you know, his blue eyes illuminated by the orange hued overhead lighting. He was staring into your soul, like he was trying to pull something out of you, and you squirmed underneath the scrutiny.

Your head snapped when you saw a pair of headlights coming down the road, but it was just a passing car. "We have had sex in this car so many times, because you don't even want to come to my place most of the time." You turned back to Joe, whose eyes were closed again.

You bit at your bottom lip. You never realized anyone was paying attention to you that closely, especially not Joe. "I've been thinking a lot about the things I've settled for in my life, and this felt like a breath of fresh air, something different. I'm going a funeral, but I'm also getting out of Ohio for a minute."

Your words hit Joe like a ton of bricks. He quickly sat up. "Are you thinking about leaving Ohio?"

"Eventually", you shrugged. "You didn't think I'd be there forever did you?" you giggled, playing with the hem of your sweatshirt. "I mean, I guess, I- didn't give it much thought." Joe let in a sharp breath to stop his fumbling. He did think you'd be there forever, or at least, he always thought you'd be there as long as he was.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find a new fuck buddy", you said in jest, crossing your legs one over the other. Joe felt his throat go dry, his skin crawling in the silence. He was desperate to change the subject and get his mind off all of the terrible possibilities. "How much longer?"

You checked your phone. "Still got another hour. I'm starving. Did you really eat all of the snacks?" You sat up and crawled into the back of the car to search the bags you packed. "Really, Joe, even my Cheetos? Aren't you on some sort of athlete diet?" You threw the empty bag at him, the plastic hitting him in the face. "I was hungry." He tried to go to the sleep to the sound of you rummaging behind him.

"Hey, look what I found." Joe opened his eyes to see a gold-wrapped condom dangling in front of his face. "I have an idea of how we can pass the time", you whispered in his ear, making him shiver. "If you're not too tired."

"Fuck it." With a grunt, he ripped the condom out of your hands, and took it between his teeth as he unbuttoned his jeans. You frantically climbed to the front, stripping off your sweatshirt before climbing over him to straddle his legs. You turn off the overhead light, moonlight pouring over both of you through the window.

Goosebumps rose on your skin as you pulled him in for a messy kiss, your skin on fire even though seconds ago you were freezing. As you made out, his hands trailed around your waist, inching closer and closer to your spine before his large hands slid down the small of your back and grabbed rough handfuls of your ass, his fingers digging into your delicate skin as your back arched.

He began to move your hips slowly back and forth, making you grind against his pelvis, but he was going too slow for your taste, so you grabbed at his hands, circling your hips against him with an eagerness that had his hips bucking from sensitivity. You could feel him grow hard quickly against your inner thigh, letting out little moans into your mouth as your lips lingered together.

'Y/N, honey-", Joe could barely get the words out, his chest heaving with each breath. "What?", you huffed out without losing your pacing. "What's the rush?", His brow knitted together in pain as his cock rubbed against his zipper. "The tow truck is gonna be here any minute." Joe nodded, holding you in place. You backed away from him, pushing the hair that was stuck to his face with sweat out of his eyes. "We're having sex. I'd like to have use of my dick afterwards, okay?"

You giggled, pulling him by the collar of his shirt for another kiss, alternating between sucking on his top and bottom lips. You moved your hips again, this time with more control, focusing on the friction against your clit with each movement. "Better?", you questioned, only earning a moan from Joe. You could feel yourself growing wet, your panties soaked as you built your orgasm off of friction alone. Joe fumbled with the button of your shorts, sliding his hand down your front, feeling the wetness pooled against the cotton fabric.

"Shit, I didn't realize you were so ready." He toyed with the band of your panties, snapping the elastic against your skin. "Take these off." You lifted yourself off of Joe's lap, settling in the passenger seat, and shuffled your shorts and panties down your legs, kicking them into the back seat. Joe pulled you back onto his lap, eliciting a squeal from you, and in a single breath, he has you writhing on top of him again, his thumb pressing against your clit as he draws agonizingly circles around the sensitive bud.

"Fuck, fuck, don't stop." You hiss, guiding his fingers to drag through your drenched folds, humping against his hand. He slides one of his large digits inside of your pussy, feeling you clench around him, your muscles pulsing as he begins to thrust in and out of you. He slips another finger inside, and you feel the stretch, taking deep breaths as he hooks his fingers and strokes against your cushiony ceiling.

Watching your face contort with pleasure, your chest bouncing in front of him with your head thrown back has him at a loss for words, desperate to get his hands on every inch of you. He helps you get your shirt off over your head, reaching behind your back to easily unclasp the hooks of your bra with his free hand, exposing your budding nipples to the cold air.

Joe leans forward, flicking his tongue against your nipple, and ghosting wet kisses between your breasts. You move back instinctively when he nips at your skin, but he pulls you aggressively back, hungry to feel you in his mouth again. "Feels so good, baby." Expletives are rolling off your tongue as he sucks harder on your nipples. Your hands find the back of his head, your fingernails raking against his scalps as he moves down to your stomach, pressing a kiss right above your belly button as you lean against the steering wheel.

He pulls out of you, your wetness glistening on his fingers. Without hesitation, you take both of his fingers into your mouth, pressing them against your tongue. "You look so fuckin' beautiful like this", he grunts out, his mouth slightly agape as he watches you. Instead of your usual bashfulness at his dirty talk, you hold eye contact with him, your eyelids heavy with lust as you lick him clean, popping his index finger against your lips as you pull them out.

"Fuck, lift your hips." He instructs, racing against his internal clock, like he'll cum in his pants if he doesn't have you now. You do as he says, cupping your chest as he fumbles for the discarded condom, finding it in the cupholder. He unbuckles his belt and pushes his jeans and boxers down to his knees, his pink cock springing free and resting against his lower stomach. You salivate at the engorged vein that travels from the base of his cock to the tip, which is leaking pre-cum.

"Hurry up!" You playfully push him, turning to look over your shoulder for any tow trucks or stray cars, but its obvious the two of you are alone out here. He rips the foil wrapper with his teeth, and removes the condom, rolling it down his length. He wraps his hands around the base of his cock as you slowly sink down on him, taking him inch by inch until you bottom out with a loud moan. "Oh, fuck."

He pulls at the manual recline handle and goes flying back, landing against the backseat with a thud, hitting the back of his head against the headrest. "I fuckin' hate this car", he mumbles, quickly forgetting about the ancient vehicle and his injury as you begin to bounce on his dick, the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs audible, quickly drowned out by the squelching of your wetness as he slips in and out of you.

Joe can't focus on anything but how good you feel and how good you look on top of him, your silhouette illuminated in the moonlight, his hands grazing against the curve of your waist and hips. You feel your legs start to fatigue so you lean forward, resting your hands on his chest, feeling the contours of his muscles underneath your palms.

He takes the opportunity to worship your body as you ride him, placing kisses on your arms and chest while you're too blissed out to even notice. "So fuckin good, baby. You're doin' so fuckin' good", he praises you over and over, which has you hurdling toward your orgasm, feeling the coil tighten in your core.

"Joe", you whimper out, your pace slowing as you tire. "I've got you", he remarks, sliding his hands underneath your thighs to hold you up while he snaps his hips into you, making you take him to the hilt each time. He strokes your g-spot in perfect succession each time and you're sure you won't last much longer. "I'm-I'm gonna cum." You bite out, your words vibrating through your bouncing chest, your nails digging into his pecs, leaving red marks. He increases his pace, hitting against your cervix, the car squeaking and shaking side to side as you come undone, your release washing over you with waves of pleasure.

Joe's right behind you, his face scrunched tight as he feels every muscle in his body contract, "Fuck, I'm gonna cum", he warns just in time, and you pepper kisses against his jawline as his hips stutter. You try to kiss him, but he can only draw in sharp breaths as he releases into you, residual muscle pulses from your orgasm milking him for every drop.

Completely spent, he draped an arm around your back, pulling your weight down on his body. Your chests heave in succession as you come down from your high and try to catch your breath. You lazily kiss his cheek with a smile. "Fuck, that was-"

"I love you." You both were silent, the declaration hanging in the air. Joe was shocked at the words as if they didn't come out of his own mouth. You lifted your head to look at him, your hands still clamped around his face. "What did you say?"

"What?" Joe responded, in immediate denial. He tried to look away, but you turned his head back to you. You heard your phone vibrating in the passenger seat but you ignored it, unable to take your eyes off of him. His face was soft, genuine, his eyes very telling. He meant what he said.

Your phone vibrated for a second time. "Its probably the tow truck. You should get that." Joe was desperate for a reprieve. "Yeah." You shook your head and climbed off his lap, grabbing your phone to answer it. "Hello? Yes, we're around mile marker 152. Okay." You hurriedly put your clothes back on, Joe watching you through the rear view mirror the entire time. He could physically see you trying to process what had just happened, and he honestly wished he'd never said anything. He wasn't sure if he loved you, he was too lost in the moment, thinking with his dick instead of his head.

"They'll be here in five." Your words jogged Joe out of his trance. He nodded and got out of the car, desperate for air. You needed to talk about what happened, but right now, you just wanted to focus on getting your car towed and getting to the nearest hotel so you could get some sleep.

The ride in the tow truck was uncomfortably quiet. You rested your head against the window, your arms crossed over your chest to create as much distance between the two of you as possible, desperate to close your eyes even for a few minutes. Joe glanced over at you multiple times in the short five mile ride to the hotel. He raked a hand through his messy hair, moving to stroke his jawline, the guilt of catching you off guard and professing his love for you in the heat of the moment, gnawing at him.

The hotel was very basic, no amenities and didn't even a continental breakfast, and wasn't really up to Joe's standards, but it was the only one in town, so he'd settle for it just for the night. He stood in the lobby and watched you as you checked in, making light conversation with the desk attendant.

Maybe if he just denied it, or avoided talking about it, you two could move past this, and it could all be a bad memory.

He felt a lump build in his throat as you walked toward him. Seeing the distress on your face, he knew there was no way you were getting over this anytime soon. "Look, Y/N-"

Your face was stoic as you threw your bag over your shoulder. You shoved a key card in his direction without a word. "Goodnight, Joe." He watched you walk away, flipping the key card in his hand.

What the hell had he just done?

Tag-List:

@wonderlandiswhereitsatyo

@bernelflo

@wickedfun9

@brrbrina

@zobellagio

@tallrock35

[gammija]

idly thinking about an AU where Jon and Martin do manage to land in the same world, in roughly the same location, but separated by time.

Lots of time.

Jon arrives in Britain, in 1988. Martin also arrives in Britain, also in the 80's - the 1780s. Maybe it's the Web putting the pieces in new starting positions, maybe it's just happenstance. Who can say.

The first thing Martin does is look for Jon, of course. Unfortunately, he realizes pretty quickly that, if Jon is here, he's not anywhere near him. But Martin's not giving up that easily. If he's going to find him, he needs resources. So, with a knack for lying to wealthy old men, and using a minimal amount of historical knowledge, he makes a modest name for himself. Hopefully enough so that Jon will be able to find him, when he looks for him -

Because Martin hasn't been able to find a trace of him yet. Not as a real person in the world, and not as a reference in any old texts or stories about odd appearances of men with alien clothes, lots of scars, or piercing eyes.

A few years pass, without Martin finding any sign of Jon. Slowly, he has to come to terms with a few facts:

Firstly, that the Fears are definitely also in this world. In his search for Jon, he's come across far too many accounts that sound eerily familiar. Though they seem to have popped up in the world around the same time he did; He doesn't have any earlier records that consistently line up with the patterns he's familiar with. Which most likely means that they - he - are responsible for their existence in this world... Martin tries not to think about it.

Secondly, thankfully, this must mean that Jon didn't arrive centuries before he did, living and dying without anyone taking notice, which Martin had gotten more and more worried about. He wouldn't have arrived without the Fears being there too. No, if Jon is going to appear in this world, (and Martin is not going to think about the alternatives), he'll arrive in his future.

Maybe so far into the future that Martin won't even live to see him. In which case, however much he'd like to avoid thinking about it, Martin has to create something here and now. Something that will last beyond his lifetime. Something Jon will be able to find as soon as he looks for Martin, so at least Jon won't have to wonder what happened to him, will know that he did not arrive completely alone, that Martin did not abandon him.

Thirdly... through his search for Jon, Martin has amassed quite a little collection of esoteric and weird stories. And, though he did it 200 years in the future, he does have some experience running an organization that ostensibly researches the supernatural, which would also be a good way to keep track of any potential new Jon leads. He thinks of naming it after Jon, of course, but it's not like Jon is going to look for his own name first, is he? And it'd raise more questions than if he named it after himself.

Cue the bittersweet ending where Jon falls out of the sky on a sunny day in the middle of London, asks for someone named Martin Blackwood, and finds Blackwood Organization, a public collection of ghost stories dating back to the 1800. He is given a set of personal letters from the founder, to be hand delivered only to a man called Jonathan Sims as soon as he would walk in the door.

...Or -

After yet another few years, in which Martin has set up his organization and is part of a decent network of people with similar interests (though he dislikes most of them), he bumps into someone. Jonah Magnus. It's an incredibly odd experience, though in hindsight, it was bound to happen, considering the information he's after. Martin has the urge to kill him right there, but the man doesn't seem to be from the future. He's just a creepy guy. Younger than Martin, too, which is also weird. But he manages to shake it off, and doesn't see him again.

Though he does keep tabs on him. Seeing him has set Martin thinking. He's been getting older, and his modern constitution isn't faring great in Georgian times. The organization is doing okay, but he's not sure yet if it's really going to survive after he's, well, gone, which would defeat the whole point. With a few more years, could he make it stronger? Could he maybe even reunite with Jon in person?

Furthermore, with the Fears being now well established, it's only a matter of time before someone tries a ritual. No, Martin isn't going to try and do one first, that'd be really stupid, not to mention evil. He just has to make sure that the world actually survives for Jon to appear in it.

A plan begins to form. One he really doesn't like. But one that, the more he considers it, is very possible. He's quite sure now the Fears mostly operate on vibes. Sure, he's maybe not a full avatar, but through letting the public read stories about the fears, hasn't he kind of spread awful knowledge? Hasn't he seen a lot of terrible things in turn? The Eye was already fond of him, according to Jon.

And even if it were to go wrong... Martin would die in either case, and the only other person suffering would be Jonah. He can't find it in himself to feel too awful about that.

Jon falls out of the sky on a sunny day in 1986. After a short and panicked search, he walks through the doors of the Blackwood Organization, Hilltop Lane 148, Oxford. The receptionist greets him. She seems somewhat shocked as she does so, tells him to take a seat as she makes a call. He doesn't know what else to do, so he sits. The chairs are surprisingly comfortable.

A few minutes later, someone he doesn't at all recognize enters the foyer. He looks at Jon, stops, freezes. Jon stills as well.

The man is unfamiliar in every way. He's short, for one, his skin a darker complexion, hair curling in a way his never did. But those eyes, as soon as he sees them, he recognizes. Those are the eyes of the man he trusted to kill him.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Coffeenette

For the record, they blame Alya. All of them do. No question. They will never NOT blame Alya for this.

Even Nino, who is her boyfriend and supposed to support her. He’s agreed with her about almost everything. But not about this.

Even Rose, who is the sweetest girl in their class. She’ll apologize and be really nice about it, but she still blames Alya.

Heck, even Chloe did, which was a surprise. She was a bully sure, but as such, anyone would have thought this sort of thing would be beneath her. Though it could simply be that she just liked having any excuse to make fun of someone.

…Or so they thought until they saw Chloe scramble away to hide as soon as she saw it happen.

But none of them blamed Alya more for this situation than Marinette, who could only swear all unholy vengeance and glare daggers at her soon to be ex-best friend as she took her sole reason for living in this cold and terrible world and threw it in the garbage!

“Marinette, come on. It’s not that big of a deal!”

“It was innocent…”

“It was a cup of coffee!”

“The perfect cup of coffee. The coffee to end all coffees. Brewed to perfection and at just the right temperature. I could have died happily with that coffee. No other cup of coffee will ever compare. Ambrosia was in that cup and you threw it away!”

“Are you serious?!”

“Shh. Shh…I must mourn.”

“Get off the floor!”

“Mourn, I say!”

Oh sure, some had shrugged it off at the time. Alya had just rolled her eyes and dragged Marinette to class—coffeeless. Others had simply laughed a little at the dramatic display before moving on.

But those who knew better were panicking.

Some were already looking up therapists. Two were immediately calling their parents to ask about a school transfer. A few had given up on life and were writing up their wills.

It should be made clear: Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a kind girl. Sweet. Dedicated. Dependable. If you needed help, she was there. She was the one to look to for a solution to any problem. She was the first to put forth an effort and offer an olive branch, even if you hurt her. And of course the last thing she ever wanted to do was upset anyone. And if she did, she would be the first to apologize and try to make up for it.

…the problem was that this was all when Marinette was in a good space. And while her good days exceeded her bad days, that was not to say that there were not bad days. And when she had her bad days, they were…bad.

The thing that few knew about Marinette Dupain-Cheng was that there were…times, you could say, when she was not her normal friendly self. Times when she was…

…Grumpy.

Kind of mean.

Downright brutal, actually.

It only happened when she was either very angry or very stressed.

Which, unfortunately for everyone, has been increasing quite a bit since Hawk Moth made his grand entrance into the world of supervillainy.

Marinette had been stressed for a while and it showed. She’d been losing sleep. And they could tell she’s been more groggy given how frequently she’s been walking into walls and doors. They had thought this was cute at first. They had even laughed about it.

They hadn’t realized that this was actually only the first stage. Not until she started coming in with coffee—something she hadn’t done in years.

Marinette struggled when she was tired.

Thanks to Hawk Moth, she had lately been very tired.

And with her consistent lack of sleep, coffee had been her best friend. Or at least her best consumable friend. The sort of friend that brought her relief and made living bearable.

…until Alya took it away.

It turned out that Marinette’s parents had become…”concerned” about Marinette’s caffeine intake and had forbidden her from the beverage. Normally, they could only keep it away from her at home by either keeping her from the coffee pot or when necessary, switching to decaf. But Marinette had found ways around that by getting her bitter bitter life-saving paint stripper juice outside, usually on the way to school.

Or at least, she used to. But this was a new year and THIS time, Marinette had a new friend—and a BEST FRIEND at that in the form of Alya Cesaire, whom Tom and Sabine had chosen to enlist in their plot to protect their daughter from things that weren’t good for her.

Like coffee. Her precious life-preserving coffee.

And next to the Ladyblog and her secondary role as Rena Rouge, Alya had never jumped on anything faster.

Marinette’s morning coffee run? Done. A thing of the past as Alya would walk her to school and ensure they made no other stops along the way.

Marinette’s stash of coffee and energy drinks? Ransacked. Alya searched her locker, her desk, her bags. And being Marinette’s best friend, she knew ALL of her potential hiding spots.

Marinette’s emergency chocolate-covered espresso beans? Taken. Alya practically treated it like it was radioactive given the gloves and goggles she wore as she removed them. And in her defense, they very well may have been. Marinette was very tight-lipped over just where she had gotten them. She had tried to hide the fact that they WERE espresso beans, but Alya still wasn’t fooled.

Alya was on the hunt and there was NOTHING that could stop her. For her best friend’s “greater good”.

…as far as Marinette was concerned, the “greater good” could shove it.

She saved Paris on a daily basis! This was the LEAST it could give her in return!

Sadly, it appeared that Alya—and by extension Paris, cared not for Marinette’s sacrifice. Thus she was left to stew in her growing rage…stew like the precious brew she was being deprived of.

Up until that point it was clear that Marinette had been surviving on coffee and sheer spite. And now she only had one of those two things left.

But it would be fine! Really!

…so long as no one earned her ire.

Chloe had been one such unfortunate recipient of that ire some time ago in her younger days. Though Marinette had profusely apologized to her afterwards, Chloe never forgot and has held it against her ever since.

...well, after her several month sabbatical from school, at any rate.

So the fact that Chloe was suddenly trying to convince her father to let her take a vacation in the middle of the school year should have been a major red flag.

…or the way Marinette slammed her bag on her desk to get the class’s attention when they started getting off task and too loud in class.

……or the death glare she gave Kim the instant he tried to poke fun at her state with a literal poke to her cheek to try to wake her…and the injured finger he received for his trouble when she grabbed the offending object and bent it back.

…………or how most of the teachers were conveniently refraining from giving them any homework assignments they knew they should have been getting. Or not acknowledging Marinette’s grumpy behavior and sleeping in class. Or avoiding even looking in Marinette’s general direction.

The point was that it was evident that not all was right in the classroom and especially with their normally kind and happy Everyday Ladybug.

To their credit, the classmates had tried to bring Marinette coffee in order to help restore her to her usual state...or at least avoid her wrath.

But all their attempts were for naught, as Alya herself had become something of a bloodhound for caffeine. And having appointed herself as enforcer of the coffee ban, she would confiscate any form of the substance they tried to bring in and dispose of it in short order—much to the classmates’ horror and Marinette’s growing displeasure.

As far as the class could figure, it seemed that coffee was either simply useful in keeping Marinette awake and aware, or it was a comfort to her when she was feeling stressed.

Probably both.

And Alya, in all her misguided concern for the girl’s health, had taken it upon herself to remove the one thing keeping Marinette stable. Stable and happy and not inclined to traumatize anyone unfortunate enough to get in her way.

So yes, everyone in the class did blame her. They didn’t do anything about that resentment, of course, but they did still blame her.

Not that Alya seemed to care.

“Alya.” Nino knelt—literally knelt before her, his hands clasped as if in prayer. “Please. I’m begging you! Just let the girl have her coffee!”

She only rolled her eyes before throwing away yet another cup Marinette had managed to procure from the teacher’s lounge—somehow completely ignoring the daggers the other girl was glaring at them all with from the window of the classroom.

Alya was unmoved.

And seemingly oblivious to the scratch marks on the window left in the wake of Marinette’s pawing.

“It’s for her own good.” Alya insisted, much to the growing horror and frustration of those around her.

“What about our good?“

“You’ll be fine.“ She said dismissively.

“She made Kim cry!” Nino exclaimed, gripping his hat. 

“You’re exaggerating.“

“She brought out the Vial. Do I need to tell you about the Vial?“

“The what now?“

“Marinette has a special Vial she carries during…these times.” Max explained as he helped the despondent Nino to his feet.

Alya blinked.

“Okay?”

“She uses that Vial to collect the tears of anyone who so much as annoys her while she’s in this state!”

“That’s a little weird, but—”

Nino cut her off.

“She uses those tears to flavor her coffee.”

Alya stared.

“What?”

“She flavors her coffee with tears, Alya!” He continued, gripping her shoulders. “Not cream! Not sugar! Not cinnamon or chocolate or pumpkin spice like normal people and Americans! TEARS! OUR TEARS! What does that tell you?!”

“That tells me you’re exaggerating.“ She replied, looking decidedly unimpressed. And thus cruelly ignored his whimpering as she tossed the rest of the coffee into the trash bin.

She shot them a look as she slammed the bin lid closed, as if daring them to challenge her.

Nino looked on the verge of a breakdown.

Max sighed and texted the others.

To everyone else, the slamming of that bin lid was akin to a signal…one that indicated the sealing of their fates.

Some cried. Some prayed.

Most chose to stay out of the way.

…that was likely all they could do.

Other than blame Alya, of course. Which they did.

As Marinette’s antics changed from funny “walking into walls isn’t she cute” to less funny “eviscerate your soul with words”.

As whispers from the rest of the school followed the classmates, offering them sympathy and prayers.

As the very atmosphere changed from a sense of melancholy to ever growing unease and outright paranoia. As if her presence itself brought with it something seemingly eldritch in nature.

And through it all, Alya ignored the warnings and insisted this was for the best.

To be fair, it was perhaps her friendship with Marinette that offered her some protection from the worst of it.

…others were not spared.

Timothy—everyone remember Timothy? Prominent student and good friend to the rest of the class. Top of his class. Fellow swimmer and athlete to Kim and Odine. Was one of the few people Chloe would listen to. Tried to help Nino throw the party during Bubbler and the only one to notice Sabrina hadn’t appeared in a while in Antibug. Remember? That Timothy. Had totally been there all along and was well liked by everyone. Possibly as much as Adrien.

…until he admonished Marinette for bumping into him and not looking where she was going.

And.

Marinette.

Snapped.

It was the moment Marinette finally had enough. Both of the lack of coffee and of holding back her frustration about the situation.

It was also the last time Timothy was seen at school. Or anywhere for that matter. Given how abrupt it was and how people actively avoid mentioning him again, some question if he had ever really existed…

Eh, probably not. It was likely just a rumor.

What wasn’t a rumor was how Chloe (after being denied being allowed to ditch school) presumed that a new year and being Queen Bee meant she was stronger than she had been before and thus strong enough to put the caffeine-deprived version of Marinette in her place. She would prove to Marinette, to herself, and to everyone that SHE was the head bitch in charge.

Marinette was abruptly woken out of a nice daydream that either involved Adrien or coffee or Adrien AND coffee to find herself being yelled at. And find herself face to face with Chloe.

Oh wait, Chloe was the one yelling at her.

She had a hard time making out what Chloe was saying, but the fact remained that it WAS Chloe. Which was never a pleasant place to begin any realization.

It would help if she had coffee.

Was there coffee?

Marinette looked at her depressingly empty hands.

No.

"Well?! Do you hear me?!" Chloe shouted.

Marinette looked up at the blonde and took a slow breath before opening her mouth to speak.

...

…thirty minutes later, Sabrina found Chloe catatonic under her desk and took her home early.

To be fair, she had brought it on herself. After all, she really should have learned her lesson from the last time. But still, it was hard to forget the scene as Sabrina gently guide her out of the building as Chloe mumbled to herself, her face pale, her mascara running, and her eyes wide and haunted.

She was out for the rest of the week.

Bustier was...no help. In her ever rose-tinted fashion, she attempted to speak with Marinette early on what had been a particularly bad morning.

“Marinette, I heard you’ve been having some trouble with your classmates.”

It took a minute for Marinette to realize Bustier was there, much less that she was trying to have a conversation.

“—argument with Chloe the other day. It seems like whatever you had said really hurt Chloe’s feelings.”

Marinette blinked, trying to comprehend what was being said to her.

“—was uncalled for. Chloe didn’t deserve that.”

Bustier. Something about Chloe? She hadn’t seen her in a while. She thought things had been quieter lately…

“—you know how Chloe is and that she needs help. Surely whatever she said couldn’t have been that bad, and—”

These were clearly words, but they weren’t making sense.

“—remember what I said before about the Marinette’s of the world? It’s important to show love to people, even if they aren’t nice. So they can learn from your good example and—”

Marinette.exe needed coffee to continue this conversation.

“I think the two of you can talk this out. You can apologize to Chloe and model the right behaviors.”

Was there coffee to continue?

“—and who knows? Maybe the two of you will even become the best of friends!”

No.

“—what do you think?”

Marinette frowned at Bustier and opened her mouth to speak.

...

...it would be the first and only time Bustier would make such an attempt to speak to coffee-deprived Marinette. Nobody knows exactly what happened, as the students had come in when class started only to find Bustier in the aftermath, sobbing over her desk and completely inconsolable.

No class was had that day.

[bonny-kookoo]

OT7

The Twilight State | Freezing

What will your place be?

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Bangtan, OT7 x Reader, cold climate, a lot of physical affection/contact, angst, romance, fluff, more warnings TBA

Length: 4.4k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

When Jungkook was nothing more than a child barely able to walk, he had already been named Unjha- a word of the old language meaning ‘Cobweb Child’.

His mother passed when he was born, his father long gone as well, leaving him with nothing but the group she used to be a part of. And due to the fact that he was never nursed, he became sickly- always causing trouble with his health, soon just named a burden to any group to ever take him with them.

He was nine when they left him one night.

But he had survived long enough to be picked up by another group- who at least brought him to the nearest town to stay at and recover some of his strength. When the people there left, he left with them as well- his journey never consistent, always with someone else until he became fourteen- and met a young man by the name of Seokjin, who had a group of his own that he was travelling with.

That’s when he found something called home.

He thrived a few years after realizing that this group was now his family- becoming the exact opposite of who he was as a child. Now strong and healthy, he’s now there wherever help is needed, and takes over any task that needs taken care of. And he’s also known as one of the kindest person around- most likely due to his past.

“There’s a fire there.” Jimin notices, pointing towards a small, orange light in the distance. “They should start moving soon.” He worries, getting Jungkook’s attention as he leans over Taehyung’s shoulder, who’s holding the reigns of the Sarril they’ve been travelling forever with. “Maybe we should check of everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, let’s see if they might need something.” Namjoon mentions from the back of the carriage, closing his book. “Remember how the last group spoke about Vrax attacking again. They might be in trouble.” He mumbles, as Taehyung steers the large animal to pull their carriage towards the little fire.

But the closer they get, the odder the scene becomes.

There’s no sign of a group at all- though Ros becomes more and more hesitant to walk any closer to the spot, most likely due to the clear signs of a fight now visible in the snow, though no blood is to be seen. “It must’ve been an attack. She’s becoming uneasy.” Taehyung offers, noticing the behavior of the Sarril now standing still, uncomfortably lowering her head as she instead scratches on the snowy grounds until her claws hit the ice.

“It’s fine like this.” Jungkook says, jumping down. “We’ll be right back.” He says after running a hand over the neck of the beast, before he and Hoseok walk towards the fire to investigate.

Jungkook almost trips over your body.

“Oh..!” He gasps out, caught off guard as Hoseok walks closer as well. “Hey.. Where's your group?” He wonders towards you, a bit quiet and almost fearful as he squats lower to move your face, and check if you’re alive at all.

You are.

“She most likely doesn’t understand.” Hoseok observes. “Look at her neck.” He points out, the thick leather collar around your neck also having the metal plate with your ID on it- the group plate that should be hanging from the front gone, only a few silver rings remaining where the tag would’ve been.

Ripped off. You’ve been thrown out.

Jungkook offers help to at least somewhat turn you over and look for any injuries. “She’s human, Kook.” Hoseok reminds him. “She’s probably dying from the cold. I’ll go ask Namjoon what we’ll do.” he offers, before leaving to get back to the group and figure out the situation.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to do.

He’s never encountered a human so closely before, has no idea what he can do to help other than run back to the carriage to get some spare blankets and string. You’re cold- so maybe warming you up could save you? He could wrap you up for now and carry you back, have you warm up inside while they figure out what to do.

Yeah, that’s a good plan. Anything but leave you here.

“Her group-tag has been removed. There’s nothing on her but her clothes and her ID on her collar. They didn’t even leave her any food or water.” Hoseok sighs, explaining the situation to the rest of the group.

"She was used as bait, in that case." Yoongi dryly explains. "Gives an explanation as to how she survived an attack. Vrax don't eat humans- but other groups use them as distraction to avert attention anyways in case they encounter them along the way." He says.

"That's horrible.." jimin whines, watching how further away at the pitiful fire, Jungkook tries to help move you. "Well, at least she got away.."

"She most likely won't survive." Namjoon hums darkly, having seen you after all. "We don't know how long she's been out here, but her state is more than worrisome." He shakes his head.

"We should at least bring her to another town-" Taehyung wonders.

"For what? So that we'll be excluded from trading because we brought another mouth to feed instead of anything valuable?" Yoongi snaps. "We can't afford that. The long night is approaching, we shouldn't be stopping in the first place.." he argues.

"I doubt he'll give her up like that." Hoseok sighs. "He seems very attached already.."

"Then he'll have to detach himself quickly." Namjoon agrees with his other friend. "We can't afford to care for her." He shakes his head.

Jungkook, meanwhile, is busy fastening some rope around the blankets he'd rolled you up in, in no way thinking about just leaving you here all by yourself. He knows what it's like to be left alone and behind just because you're considered nothing but weight- he won't be letting you feel that. You deserve a place and group just as much as he did, back then.

Your eyes are barely open as you look at him, now all bundled up in multiple blankets. "You.. probably won't understand what I'm saying, but I'll bring you to the carriage now." He tells you. You want to answer, want to tell him that you do, somewhat, understand him- but you're just too tired. You can't really even think very well- as if your thoughts are about to freeze, everything slow as he turns around and moves you onto his back to be carried towards the large carriage.

"Jungkook- do not get your hopes up with her." Yoongi tries, but Jungkook shakes his head as he lays you down where he usually sleeps.

"I'm not. I'm aware of what might happen." He says, shutting the entrance. "But she deserves to have a chance." He worries. "And even if she's too far gone, no one should die alone." Jungkook shakes his head, sitting close to you, Jimin placing another blanket over you.

"…Let's go then, for now, so we don't fall behind any further." Namjoon sighs. "We'll need all the time we can gain to bury her appropriately later." He simply informs Yoongi, who moves to sit up front with Taehyung, to control the reigns and move the carriage again.

And Jungkook watches you with worry, hoping that you won't need a burial.

Hoping that you'll stay.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“Is that okay?” Jungkook worries, watching you sleep amongst all the blankets and pelts, rope undone by now since you don’t need to be carried anywhere anytime soon with the way they need to travel for now. Time isn’t on their side- in order to escape the long Dark a bit longer, they need to catch up a bit more distance. “She’s not eaten anything yet..”

“Humans don’t typically eat or drink when they’re severely sick.” Namjoon explains. “their metabolism slows down, as well as most bodily functions. It’s like.. they go into an emergency state, only letting the most crucial processes continue.” He mumbles while he makes sure the concoction he’s making is clear in the bottle. “She most likely won’t like the taste of this, but she’ll need to hydrate soon. But for now let her rest.” He tells the youngest of the group, who nods, while Namjoon moves to the side again to read.

He’s surprised you’ve not passed yet. If anything, you’re regaining a bit of color- your shaking having spooked most of the group pretty badly, thinking you maybe got possessed or infected with some disease- but Namjoon and Yoongi explained that it’s a normal reaction of the body to try and heat up quicker.

Now, you’re still. Only occasionally moving a little. And when your eyes open, it’s usually not for very long before you fall asleep again- so Jungkook has to wait for a chance to get some of that drink into you. It looks and smells like what he himself drinks whenever he’s not feeling well- meant to help the body in gaining enough energy to work properly.

The moment you open your eyes again for a second, he takes his chance, carefully helping you somewhat sit with all the blankets around you. “I know you’re tired but- ah, you don’t even know what I’m saying anyways..” He chuckles a bit faintly, before offering the glass bottle with the lukewarm drink Namjoon made. You accept it, though need a bit of help from his hand supporting yours as they hold the bottle to drink from it.

When Jimin enters the carriage, he smiles.

“Looks like someone’s up again.” He says, sitting down in his sleeping corner. “Namjoon’s apparently wrong. She looks a lot better already.” Jimin mentions, watching you from his spot.

“She’s still very tired, but I think she’s getting back.” Jungkook agrees. “What.. What do you think they’ll decide?” He wonders towards his friend, as you set down the bottle for now, stretching your legs for a second before you continue to drink some more. You don’t understand all of what’s said- but enough to somewhat connect the meaning of the sentences spoken.

“I’m not sure. We don’t have enough time to divert to another town- considering how far behind we already are.” He explains, before he moves to open a wooden chest he takes some clothes out of. “Yoongi told me she can wear some of his clothes for now, so she doesn’t have to stay under the blankets all the time.” Jimin says, putting them on your lap with a smile.

“So we won’t leave her again?” Jungkook wonders, when a low voice speaks up, entering the carriage as well.

“No.” Yoongi responds, boldly sitting next to you to move your face a bit to check up on you. “But she’s your responsibility.” He tells Jungkook, after leaving you alone again, making you look after him for a moment, before everyone else enters as well, ready to go to sleep most likely.

You’ve woken up already, occasionally, so you know how they all manage to sleep in here. They all kind of follow a behavior similar to penguins- sleeping closely together to share body heat. You’re always somewhat moved into the middle, currently the most vulnerable member of the group.

It shows that this group actually cares, even if they act like they don’t. Or.. Some do.

Jungkook doesn’t actually seem to mind at all that you’re now his ‘responsibility’, as he moves the blankets to help you slip into a thick sweater. “There. You look a lot more awake!” He smiles, and you nod, surprising him.

“Thank.” You say, not very fluent in his language- but he understands.

“So you do understand!” He says, and you shake your head, making a pinching motion with your fingers.

“Only bit.” You explain. “Listen- well. Speak- no.” You tell him, and Jimin chimes up at that, coming closer together with Hoseok, who’s interest got sparked as well. You know their names by now from listening in on conversations you couldn’t drown out.

“That’s amazing.” Hoseok nods. “That makes things a lot easier for us.”

“Did your past group not teach you proper language skills?” Namjoon questions, and you can hardly really make out what he means- so you shake your head after a while.

“She was a slave, not a member.” Taehyung shrugs as he takes out his blanket to get his own spot ready to sleep. “It’s not surprising.”

You tap at your collar at the mention of that, but Yoongi shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that, for now.” He simply says with very simple words so you can understand a bit better, probably aware of the fact that you want to know what your position in this group will be. “Just.. Heal. I guess.” He mumbles, before he gets his own spot ready, Jungkook smiling kindly before he helps you crawl into the middle with all your blankets, basically carrying you halfway instead when he notices your legs being still a bit shaky.

You’re not really used to sleeping in the middle of a group- but you’re starting to really enjoy it.

Especially when, despite everyone’s hesitance, Jungkook and Taehyung end up basically hugging you- even Yoongis legs touching yours beneath all the blankets.

Maybe this could become your final stay.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You’re not sure for how long you’ve slept- but it can’t have been long, considering that everyone else is still fast asleep, huddled together.

You’ve never really witnessed this whole scene- everyone still resting, cuddled together and only sometimes moving a little while they dream. It’s a serene moment, a sight you almost feel like you shouldn’t be able to see-

But there’s something off.

You sit up, slowly to not wake anyone, listening to your surroundings. The wind has picked up quite a bit, pushing against the wooden carriage every now and then, and you wonder if the group’s Sarril is holding up against the change in weather. You know they’re very resilient and can withstand much more than just some bad weather, but still, you worry. Maybe you should check?

You’re not sure why you feel such urgency.

You pick up someone’s sweater, thick fabric able to keep you warm enough for a short bit, as you pull the hood of it over your head, tying the strings to keep it from being blown off right away. And you’re surprisingly able to somehow sneak out of the cuddled up group as well without really waking anyone- they’ll most likely only notice once your spot becomes colder.

So you have to hurry to not alarm anyone.

Quickly opening the back door and tarp, you jump down and almost tumble to your knees- having underestimated the height of it all by quite a bit. Their kind is way taller than humans after all, so it shouldn’t be surprising- but you’re lucky down the line, not having hurt yourself in your little fall.

You walk towards the front where the Sarril is curled up but curiously lifting her head to look at you coming closer, in no distress. Snow is piling up against her big body, but her wooly sheep-like coat shields her from the freezing temperatures. You reach out to pet her-

When you notice it.

She must’ve accidentally pulled the reigns down and gotten her back pair of legs tangled- unable to move without shaking the entire carriage. It wasn’t the wind that was moving the thing- it was her, in an effort to get free. “Let’s see..” you mumble to yourself, before you carefully assess the situation, slowly untainted the leather reigns to not startle her.

A Kick from those thick, clawed hooves could be deadly after all, even if it’s not her intention.

“What are you doing?” a menacing voice asks you, one you’ve come to connect with Yoongi- bit you’re too close to freeing her to answer him right away, as you hear him get closer. He looks over your shoulder to observe your hands gently pulling the reigns away now, his own on your shoulder to pull you away if you were doing something bad-

But suddenly the Sarril is stretching her legs almost in satisfaction, flute-like sound emitting from her throat before she nods her head, happily turning towards you as if to offer her thanks. It’s clumsy, the fact that she doesn’t know that she’s much bigger and stronger than you almost ending in pushing you over, but you instead accept the gesture, while Yoongi watches.

“How did you know?” yoongi demands to know, watching you pet her, your hands already red from the cold.

“Uh..” you point at the carriage. “shake. Weird.” You mention, pointing to your stomach. “weird.. feel. Emotion.” You try and explain, searching for the right word. “Instinct?” You say, and he watches you, before he nods, understanding.

“hm. Thanks.” He mumbles, before he helps you up and pats off the snow from your clothes. “now come back. You caused worry.” He huffs, helping you back into the carriage where both Jungkook and a sleepy Jimin exhale in relief almost at seeing you again.

“where was she?” hoseok asks, yawning while Namjoon simply moves the blankets to welcome you back beneath, without any words.

“outside. Ros had somehow gotten her legs tangled in the reigns.” Yoongi explains while Jungkook helps you back next to him where he eagerly moves the blankets back over you to warm you up again. “She said she.. felt weird? That’s how she noticed.”

“Humans call it a gut feeling.” Namjoon yawns. “though.. it doesn’t have anything to do with their intestines..” he mumbles, laying back down while Taehyung looks at you.

“thank you.” He offers, and you nod. “I must’ve not put the reigns up properly..” he tells himself mostly, before he too lays back down to resume his rest.

And as you now find yourself back in the warmth of the group, knowing that the loyal animal outside is well too, you can finally find some sleep as well.

Dreaming of nothing but snow and winds.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You’re sitting next to Taehyung and Jungkook up front, dressed in clothes not your size, but somewhat adjusted with strings Jimin had helped tie in some places. Jungkook checks in with you often to make sure that you’re not too cold- but you don’t want to just be uselessly existing around.

The next small outpost is up ahead. They all seem oddly eager to get there- as if something’s or someone is waiting for them there.

Time is tough to calculate. You’re not sure why you can’t just exist like the rest of them with no feel for it- time doesn’t really matter to them as much as it does to you. But that’s because they all grew up without focusing on it too much- you didn’t. “we need to buy her some proper attire.” Yoongi mumbles walking next to the Sarril moving the carriage.

Jungkook smiles a bit impishly. He’s aware that the grumpy looking friend must’ve changed his mind about you.

“An outpost would be a bad place to leave her- you’re right.” Namjoon agrees from the other side, reminding him that not all share the same views however. Namjoon still clearly does not have you in mind as a permanent part of the group- and he can somewhat understand it. A bigger group is safer, after all- but it’s also harder to feed.

But that doesn’t mean he agrees with him.

The moment you arrive at the camp, you spot someone familiar- someone the group walks towards as well, before they hug him. “where did you find her?” he wants to know, disbelief clear in his face and voice as he looks at you standing amongst his group.

“She was left by a fireplace.” Yoongi informs his friend. “do you know her, Jin?”

“not personally, but fleetingly.” He offers, before he walks closer to you. “they said you got killed during an attack?” He questions you, but you shake your head.

“She was injured- but very mildly. She was mostly freezing.” Namjoon explains. “But she recovered, much to my surprise.” He adds, watching how his older friend kindly runs a hand over your head, a common gesture for older members of a group to greet the younger ones.

“I’m glad you made it then.” Seokjin tells you, and you smile, with Jungkook right behind you now. “I assume you must be happy to finally not be the youngest anymore? After all I can sense she’s not quite the same age as you.” He jokes, making Jungkook instantly look over to Namjoon.

“She’s not part of the group.” Namjoon states, though his tone is a lot softer than when he’d say that before. “We’re simply.. Trying to find a place for her to stay.”

“Oh, I see.” Seokjin nods. “Well, until we find that place, I will still treat her as part of the group.” He almost teasingly states, before taking your hand in his. “So, I shall find my groupmate something proper to eat.” He smiles charmingly, before he walks off with you towards the several fires and people making and selling food. “He will warm up. Don’t worry.” Jin tells you more quietly now that he’s with you alone, the rest of the group having held back Jungkook to instead help lift some heavy crates of food rations.

“It’s fine.” You reassure, slipping on the icy frozen puddles here and there- though Jin’s hand on your back always steadies you, while also being unable to not laugh at your clumsiness. “Why.. You, here?” You ask, and he nods to himself.

“I was visiting relatives.” He explains. “But I will return to You and the others from today on. Maybe I can help you soften up the tough shell of some of the groupmembers.” He jokes, and you smile, nodding.

You really want to stay with them- so hopefully, Seokjin can help you achieve that.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“She sure has an appetite.” Yoongi mumbles, as he sits down next to Jungkook who’s just dug into his own second serving of soup, while you still spoon yours into your mouth.

“Thats good, isn’t it?” Jungkook chirps happily. “shows she’s healthy.” He says, looking at you- who nods, before eating more slowly. Jungkook frowns a bit at that, though understands that you might’ve misunderstood what little you could translate for yourself. “you can eat well here! Since Jin’s family stays here, we eat in exchange for less money.” He tries to explain it in easier words, and you nod.

Still, you feel a bit odd about it. What if they don’t take you with them? You don’t want to just.. use their money just to end up not actually offering anything in return. There has to be something you can do for them as well.

“its getting cold.” Yoongis voice is heard, and you look up at that, noticing he means your food- and you nod obediently, returning to your meal. “I feel like she might need a task.” He says, and you look up at that, before you nod eagerly.

“Huh? No, she doesn’t-“ Jungkook wonders, before Yoongi shakes his head.

“She does. Everyone in a group has a task.” He says, and at that, Seokjin joins you at the table.

“How about she keeps the carriage organized and tidy?” He offers, sitting next to you. “She could help put away the blankets after we sleep, or keep track of all the things we carry around. It would certainly take some weight off of my shoulders, and Namjoon wouldn’t have to be scolded for his messy habits every time we forget or misplace something.” He chuckles, Jungkook laughing as well.

“I agree with that idea.” Yoongi nods. “do you?” He asks you, and you think for a second, before you realize what he’s asking. So you nod- of course you can take on that job!

“we shouldn’t give her a task just yet.” Namjoon intervenes, sitting down next to Yoongi while the other’s also join in at the table with their food. “That’s up to her future group, not us.”

Everyone’s silent at that- understanding, but there’s also a slight wave of disappointment going around, especially when looking at Jungkook- who suddenly boldly so, gets up as he notices you’ve finished eating. “come- you must be tired. I’ll show you how to make a proper sleeping place.” He offers, as he helps you off the bench. But surprisingly, Yoongi also gets up- making Namjoon look at him with question.

“Someone’s gotta stand watch over them.” He simply says as a poor excuse, following you and Jungkook back to the carriage.

You’re surprised to see Taehyung following as well, the tall alien not having interacted with you much- but his interest is certainly caught at the sight of the most quiet member of the group visibly growing attached to you. Jungkooks behaviour is understandable after all- his childhood having shaped him into someone who aims to help whomever he can. And he most likely sees a bit of himself in you.

But Yoongi? That’s certainly new.

Yoongi has always been easy to talk to, and he himself is someone who can talk anyone into anything it seems like- but he’s only ever been loyal to his own group, and never interested in anyone in such nature that he’s now clearly portraying. To anyone else, he might not have changed much- but Taehyung notices the difference in how he carefully helps you into the carriage, making sure Jungkook has a good hold on your hands before he lets go of your legs. Only once you’re in does he get in himself- and once they all find themselves in their ‘home’ again, he’s already ‘showing off’; making a proper sleeping spot for you, as an example to follow once you’ve memorized it.

It’s really not necessary, technically. You’re human, yes, but even humans know how to prepare a nest, somewhat.

But Taehyung watches, amused, how the both of them basically bury you beneath blankets before getting underneath them as well, ready to sleep even though they’re not tired. You definitely are- as a creature who usually needs at least eight hours of rest, you’re a lot less active than they are on average. They only need three or four, maybe a nap here and there- but it’ll be fine.

Because with the way you’re basically shielded from the outside world by Yoongi and Jungkook, Taehyung is sure you’re already part of the group.

And soon, Namjoon will realize that too.

[ichorai]

airbag ; steve rogers.

track one of OK COMPUTER.

pairing ; steve rogers x reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; five time steve tries to propose to you, and one time he actually does.

words ; 4.3k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, kind of avengers tower au?

warnings / includes ; mentions/descriptions of injury, alcohol, lots of lovesick fluff, rest of avengers are mentioned, natasha and tony Meddling, reference to spider-man & sandman :)

main masterlist.

Steve considered himself a romantic of sorts. Call him old-fashioned, but he liked bringing you flowers, he liked taking you to the theater, and he liked walking you home—all the way up to your door and listening for the lock, so he knew you’d be safe in there. 

It was only fitting how cliché it felt when he realized he was in love with you. Firework-igniting kisses and butterfly-filled tummies and face-splitting grins. Everything described in those movies you enjoyed watching—but so much more.

Steve Rogers wasn’t a man to waste time. After all—enough of that had been done while he was frozen in the ice. If he was going to start something, then he was most definitely going to go all the way and finish it, too. 

Almost immediately after your first anniversary, he bought a ring. It was simple and classic, maybe a bit out of style but hey, you seemed to be into that. You were dating a century-year-old. 

It was December then, soft snow lining the streets and piling upon naked tree branches. During the drive to the fancy restaurant he’d found (courtesy of Tony), there were children building snowmen and sledding down shallow hills. You smiled watching them, eyes rife with fond warmth, and Steve knew then that he had to do it. He had to propose to you tonight. 

Inside, you wouldn’t stop telling him how underdressed you felt, but Steve reassured you by saying a simple, “You look perfect, I promise.”

And he wasn’t lying. You did look perfect to him.

Dinner consisted of several decadent courses, with the waiters serving platters the two of you could barely even pronounce. It was delicious, nonetheless, and the chef had even come by to shake the hand of the Captain America.

During the last course—a silken slice of chocolate cake for dessert—Steve slipped his hand into his suit’s pocket, the velvet box smooth beneath his fingers. He replayed the question over and over again in his head, rehearsed a million times prior to the dinner.

Will you marry me?

And just as he was about to pull the ring box out, another diner pushed his chair back just far enough to accidentally knock into a waiter passing by, holding a plate of spaghetti. Completely sauced, to top.

To Steve’s horror, the plate tipped, almost in slow motion, and fell with a wet, splattering noise all over your outfit. You’d let out a small yelp of surprise, the spaghetti was hot, but not enough to burn. Steve stood up a second too late, hand falling away from his pocket as he rounded the table and placed it on your shoulder, asking if you were okay. 

“I’m okay,” you told him gently, reaching over to grab a few napkins at the center of your table.

You didn’t get mad, of course you didn’t—it was part of the reason Steve loved you so much—instead, you were kind and patient, reassuring the flustered waiter that it was alright. “Mistakes happen,” you said. Another waiter came by a few minutes later with a few damp cloths so you could wipe the rest of the spaghetti sauce off.

Needless to say, the chef insisted that the meal was on the house that night, much to Steve’s chagrin.

The drive back home smelled of marinara sauce and oregano, but the heavy weight in his chest at the failed proposal seemed to lighten when you joked about how the five course meal ended up being six.

Natasha knew about the ring. Steve wasn’t quite sure how—he’d never explicitly told her—but then again, he wasn’t surprised. Nat seemed to always just know things from the smallest of details. It was why she made such a brilliant spy.

“So,” she’d said once she stumbled across from Steve in the Avenger Tower’s lavish gym, a sly grin stretching over her lips, “when are you popping the question?”

There was a pause to his movements—the dumbbell he’d been curling hovered in the air, his muscles tensing. He thought about it for a little longer, considering asking her how she knew but—he seemed to sense that Natasha would wave it away with a laugh and a light, “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

Instead, he told the red-head, “I’m working on it.” 

Natasha leaned against a treadmill, arms crossing over her chest. The smile on her face seemed to grow even wider. “Uh-huh. How long have you had the ring?”

Steve resumed doing his reps. The burn felt nice, even if it was only barely there. “Long enough.”

There was a soft tenderness to Natasha’s eyes, and she bumped a fist into his bicep. “Take Y/N hiking. Far away from the city, where it’s quiet.”

Again, Steve paused his exercise. Slow, he put the weights down, thinking over her words. 

“That’s actually—that’s a good idea, Nat.”

“Of course it is.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Thanks, really. I just want things to be perfect.”

She dipped her head once, before climbing onto the treadmill. “Send pictures. I’ve got a bet going on—Clint would want proof.”

Steve spared her an amused roll of his eyes. With a wave and a hurried goodbye, Steve rushed out of the gym to take a quick shower. The weather app on his phone (that he took an embarrassingly long time to find) told him the skies were going to be clear that afternoon—perfect for hiking.

Maybe, hopefully, perfect for proposals.

Half an hour later, you were ready to go, too, bouncing on the balls of your feet excitedly.

“I packed us sandwiches.”

“Did you? Oh, great—thanks, honey. We could have them as an early dinner.” He rubbed your shoulder and nudged you into the car. 

“I packed a bunch of snacks, too.”

Steve arched a brow. “Like?”

“Gummy worms, popcorn, chips, cookies. Oh, and Wanda actually made something for us, I’m not really sure what it is, but it smelled nice—”

Your words died away when Steve laughed, loud and chesty. Of course you’d pack just about the entire pantry. How you managed to stuff all of that into your travel backpack with room to spare was beyond him. You couldn’t help but break out into an infectious smile when he leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead. 

The drive out of the city to the hiking trail was long, and you nearly dozed off if not for the road getting progressively bumpier the closer you got. 

The sun was high in the sky by the time you arrived. You slipped out of the car with a pleased hum and stretched out your limbs, ready to get the hike over and done with. You might’ve been dating a superhuman, but you had no powers of your own. The pressure to keep up was something always in the back of your mind.

And that’s how the hike went—you were determined to stay on par with Steve, no matter how grueling the terrain became. Even when he suggested a break to have some of the many snacks you’d packed, you tossed him your bag and kept trekking on—you were worried that if you stopped, you would never get back up again. 

Really, you shouldn’t have overexerted yourself this quickly—the two of you were barely halfway done with the trail. Your feet were starting to drag, and your pace grew staggered. Just as you turned around to face your boyfriend and ask for a breather, your foot caught on a tree root that poked up above the trail’s surface, and you stumbled forward. 

Thankfully, Steve’s quick reflexes came in handy, and he darted forward to grab you before you could go rolling down the steep hills. 

He tugged you close into his chest, not yet registering your wince of pain. “Are you okay? That was a close one!”

When you pulled away, you gingerly tried to test your wait on the foot, but quickly lifted it back up with a grimace. “Oh, God. I think I’ve rolled my ankle.”

Steve stiffened, glancing further up the trail. It was maybe another two hours, but that was only with two fully-functioning pairs of legs. 

The proposal would have to wait another day, then.

He cupped your face, soft and gentle. “Wrap your arms around my neck from behind. I’ll carry you down to the car.”

“You sure, Stevie? I can try hopping down on one foot.” You tried to demonstrate, but nearly lost your balance again. All the jostling sent bolts of pain down your foot, which surely wasn’t a good sign, either.

He snorted, huff-laughing, other hand slipping over your waist to keep you still. “I’m sure. Come on.” He leaned down expectantly.

Relenting, you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and hooked the inside of your thighs over his waist, careful to keep your injured foot extended so it wouldn’t bump into him. It was beginning to throb.

“‘M sorry,” you mumbled, resting your cheek over his shoulder, one of your hands lifting to toy with his short, blonde hair. He began to walk down, and you tried your best to ignore the pain in your ankle. “Ruined our hiking trip. I was so excited.”

“It’s okay, honey. It was an accident! We can always go another time. Maybe a different trail, though.”

You apologized again, the whole way down, in fact, despite his assurances that he wasn’t at all tired. He really wasn’t—barely broke a sweat during the descent. Besides, he quite liked the feeling of your holding so tight onto him, your nose pressed into the side of his neck, your soft laughter brushing over his skin in one moment, your slight winces in the next. 

“I love you,” you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He felt a shiver traverse down his back, and briefly wondered if you felt it, too.

“I love you, too. That tickles, though.”

Your laugh was abrupt and ever so heart-warming. “Sorry.”

The movie, you’d told him, was a cult classic from the seventies. Steve couldn’t really remember what it was called. Callie? Cassie? It was an awful lot of blood. The arm he had wound over your shoulder squeezed you every time someone screamed in the film—which was… startlingly often. 

Proposing in the middle of a gorey movie wasn’t exactly the romantic vision Steve had in mind, but since the previous attempts really didn’t work in his favor, he wondered if keeping it casual was the best way to go. So when you asked if he could come over for an abrupt movie night, he readily agreed—and brought the small, velvet ring box with him.

It was tucked safely in the pocket of his slacks, on the side you weren’t pressed up against. The weight was a constant reminder of what he wanted to ask you—occupying his mind away from the movie he should’ve been paying attention to.

He’d propose once the credits started rolling. Yes, that’d be best, right? Wouldn’t want a horrified scream interrupting his profession of undying love to you.

And so he watched. He watched and watched, absentmindedly wondering what on earth the movie was even about. He dragged his knuckles up and down your arm. When a particularly gruesome scene unfolded, Steve glanced over at you. 

To his surprise, your features were softened with sleep, only barely illuminated by the crimson glow from the television, your lips slightly parted and eyes shut. 

With gentle movements, Steve reached over to guide your head onto his shoulder. Your hair tickled his cheek, and he let out a soft puff of a sigh before smiling. He kissed your temple, nose resting over your forehead. 

The proposal would have to wait another day.

Tony’s parties were always an affair that Steve looked forward to. He wasn’t a party-goer by any means, but he found that the grand events were a great way for him to catch up with all his colleagues, acquaintances, and work associates he otherwise wouldn’t have spoken to for months to come. 

And, of course, your excitement always seemed to rub off on him. You were buzzing about the room with what looked like twenty different outfits hanging off of your arms, holding them between you and the mirror with a scrutinizing look.

“Tucked or untucked?” you asked, more to yourself than him. He wasn’t given the chance to respond, anyway, since you chucked the shirt somewhere behind you and promptly started looking for another.

When you’d finally settled for appropriately formal attire, and Steve slipped into a button-up dress shirt (which was his one and only option, much to your envy), the two of you set off for Tony’s.

The party was already in full swing by the time you got there. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what the event was for—an anniversary or birthday, maybe? Fundraising gala? A celebration of some sort of scientific breakthrough Steve couldn’t even begin to comprehend? It was always a toss-up with Tony.

You were greeting people here and there, stopping to chatter amicably about what you’ve been up to, how work was going, the latest shows you’ve been catching up with…

And then you kissed his cheek and told him you were going to go grab some drinks. Steve watched you go with fond eyes. You looked incredible tonight. 

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his reverie, and Tony Stark’s smug face came into view. 

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, sly and knowing. What did he know?

“Hey, Tony. We only just got here. What’s all this for, by the way?” Steve crossed his arms and glanced around for any telltale signs.

A smirk flitted across his expression. “Just thought we all needed a bit of social activity pumped into the team. It’s a great place to… get your courage up, hm?” Tony smiled, and Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Did Natasha tell you?”

Tony snorted. “We all know.”

“Great.” Steve slid his hand into his pocket and traced the smooth grooves of the ring box. “Is everyone expecting me to propose tonight?”

“No, pfft—we don’t want to pressure you or anything…” Tony pointedly glanced at a stage conveniently placed front and center of the room. “But if you need some, what should I call it… assistance, the stage is all yours to use.”

Steve balked. Proposing at a party was one thing, but proposing on a stage in front of hundreds of people was completely out of the question. 

Or was it? 

“I’m not going to propose on a stage. That’s more your style.”

With a shrug, Tony rolled his eyes. “I mean, Pepper hasn’t left me yet, has she?”

Steve chose not to grace him with a response, but frown-smiled when Tony grabbed a flute of champagne and shoved it into his hands. He was gone the next second, off to greet a new round of guests. 

Thirty seconds later, you appeared by his side, positively beaming, but slightly out of breath. There were two chilled glasses clutched in your hands, almost sloshing over with how quickly you bounded to him.

“Oh, you already got a drink?” you asked, grinning. You clinked both glasses against his, chiming, “Cheers!”

And as you were downing the sugary alcohol in your right hand, Steve ran a finger along the ring box again. 

Maybe… maybe it really wasn’t a bad idea. He looked back at the stage. There was a microphone stand on there. Has it been there since the beginning?

He turned his head back to you, and you told him about Banner inviting the two of you over for dinner some time. Just as he was about to reply, his phone started buzzing in his other pocket. Deftly, Steve slipped his hand away from the box and went to pick up the phone—Sam’s caller ID staring up at him.

His friend’s voice sounded strained through the phone, and Steve gripped your hand and led you to a more quiet hallway, away from the crowd and the thrum of music. 

Sam hurriedly told him that there was trouble downtown—something about Spider-Man and a very sandy guy. 

“Sandy?” 

“Yeah. Dude’s made of sand.”

“Oh.” Steve paused, brows furrowing. “I’ll be there in twenty. Can you keep it together till then?”

“Don’t have another choice, do I, Cap?” 

With that, Sam hung up. Steve looked to you, crestfallen.

“Honey, I gotta go.” 

Your voice was light and airy, despite your slightly crestfallen and confused countenance. “Sam’s in trouble?”

“Yeah. I’ll—” There was an uncertain pause. Steve leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you at home. I love you.”

Your brows pulled together. “I love you, too. Stay safe, Steve.”

It was something you just had to accustom yourself to—when your boyfriend was a superhero, his priorities encompassed far more than you. But you understood, as you always did, and let him hurry away with a stiff lip. 

The hospital was packed. Claustrophobically dense. You hurriedly wove through the crowd of anxious people hovering around the information desk, having already gotten the text which room Steve was in.

A few twisting hallways later, you pushed through a door and just about collapsed with relief when your eyes landed on Steve. 

He was badly bruised. Hues of deep purple and faint blues were blossomed all over his face. One of his eyes was swollen, his sandy-blonde hair was tousled, and his bottom lip was split. He was wearing a hospital gown, and you felt nauseated wondering just what other injuries he was hiding beneath the fabric. 

But he was alive. That was the least you’d hoped for.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you only then registered that Bucky was there, standing by the bed, expression grim and steeled. His blue eyes darted away from his best friend’s face to meet yours.

“I’ll give you two some space,” he murmured with a tight edge to his voice. Bucky patted your shoulder and whisked off before you could say anything. 

“Steve?” you croaked, drawing nearer to the bed. Your throat felt tight. “Oh, God…”

Despite his entire face aching, Steve managed to tug one of the corners of his lips up into a meager smile. “Hey, honey.”

His voice sounded hoarse and overused, but was still utter music to your ears. You just about collapsed onto the side of the bed, reaching out to gently brush the back of your shaking knuckles over what little of his face wasn’t bruised.

“I heard what happened on the news,” came your tearful whisper. “I was so worried you…”

Something softened within the blue of his eyes. “I’m still here.”

You dipped forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and his tired eyes slid shut. 

“Has a doctor checked on you yet? Any permanent damage I have to look out for?” You pulled away so you could roam your eyes over his form once more.

“Just a few bruises. Bone fractures. Nothing I can’t recover from,” he replied, though he winced when he tried to shift and sit more upright. You placed a hand on his back and helped him move, cautiously slow.

“Take it easy, old man,” you warned. “Don’t want you to pop a hip.”

Steve wheezed out what seemed like a laugh. Then, his eyes darted to the bedside table, where some spare clothes were neatly packed in a bag. Bucky had brought them, making sure to hide the ring box safely underneath a few layers.

Should he? Now, when he had the chance?

“I have something to ask you…” he began, tentative, dragging his eyes back onto you. You tilted your head pointedly, beckoning for him to go on. 

Just as he was about to say the words, there were three rapid knocks to the hospital room’s doors and they creaked open immediately after, two nurses shuffling in, clipboards in hand.

“Hello, just here to run a few more check-ups!” one of them chirped. “It’s not often we get a super admitted in here.”

Steve just about physically deflated. Your brows kinked, and you patted his cheek fondly.

“I’ll come by later—gonna go see if Sam is okay. You should rest, Stevie. Love you.” With one final kiss to his cheek, you got up from his bed and made space for the bustling nurses. He barely managed to lift his hand to wave you goodbye before you hurried out of the room, back into the packed hallways.

A month had drifted by since he wound up in the hospital (and discharged the very next day). It was pleasantly breezy that day—gusts of wind tousling his now-overgrown hair and whistling sweetly in your ears. 

Steve bent at the waist to place the bouquet of flowers down in front of the headstone. If it were any windier, he was sure it would’ve blown away. But it stayed put, the petals only barely swaying to and fro, and he righted himself back up.

“Sarah Rogers,” you whispered, eyes trailing across the smooth grooves of her name indented into the slab, voice thick with fondness. “What did she look like?”

Your arm wounded over the small of his waist. The two of you had visited the cemetery a few months prior, where you helped him scrub all the moss and dirt from her headstone. He told you about many of his adventures with Bucky before his time frozen in the ice, but very little about his mother. 

A wistful smile touched the corner of his face. Now fully healed, much to your relief. 

“She was blonde. Blue eyes. Crow lines, I think. Really faint, but they appeared every time she laughed.” There was a nostalgic warmth to his tone. 

“Took after her, then.” You beamed down at the grave. “She must’ve been beautiful.”

Steve leaned into your grasp and kissed the very top of your head. “She was. She would’ve loved you, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“She would’ve thought you were perfect. She saw a lot of terrible things in her lifetime, but you—you would’ve made her laugh a lot.” A pause. The wind hummed a disjointed tune. “She always believed in me, even though she was terrified for me all the time. Worried herself sick. If only she knew I’d end up here…”

Your head landed on his bicep. “She knows. She knew from the very beginning.”

The blonde smiled at you again, and you couldn’t help but notice his crow lines, too. It was comforting to know that there was so much of his mother in him.

“You ready for lunch?”

“I’m starving.” you told him, before blowing a chaste kiss to the headstone. “See you soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

Steve began to lead you away, and he couldn’t seem to scratch the smile from his lips. The two of you started walking back home, taking your sweet time. You were saying something—something about a nice lasagna you had frozen in the fridge—

But Steve could barely hear any of it. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He had to tell you now.

“I love you,” he interrupted. The words died on your tongue and you regarded him curiously, as if he’d grown a second head. 

Apparently, there was a near manic look to his eye that prompted you to worriedly query, “Is something wrong, Steve—?”

Instead of answering, Steve stopped walking. He dropped down onto one knee, brandishing the ring box from his pocket, flicking it open. The realization broke across your features just a second later. Your eyes widened, and you reared back in shock.

And the words—the words just came tumbling out. Not at all what he’d scripted for months on end, but something entirely different. Something raw and unfiltered—purely from his heart. “I love you, more than I can ever put into words. You’re just—amazing, perfect in every goddamn way. I don’t want to go another day without calling you mine. I want to be yours, honey. All of me, every single bit of me, with all of you. It’s been an honor being your boyfriend. Really, it has, but I’m… I’m ready to be your husband, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

There were tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You were only but a streak of color before you were yanking him forward, practically burying his face against your chest. He didn’t care that there was a rock digging into his knee. Barely even felt it. 

The next moment, you were pulling away to yank him back up, kissing him like he was the very air you needed to breathe. 

“Is that a yes?” he asked against your lips, slightly muffled. He was smiling, because he already knew your answer.

You nodded into the kiss, refusing to pull away. “I’d marry you a million times over, Steve. Again and again and again, until you get sick of me.”

“Could never get sick of you,” he whispered, forehead leaning over yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two of you broke apart minutes later, reluctantly, though you had permanent smiles etched across your faces the entire way back home. The ring fit you perfectly.

When the news broke to the rest of the Avengers, they all erupted into an array of groans and cheers, and multiple wads of cash were passed around. Natasha sent the two of you a pleased wink. You two just landed her a combined total of a hundred bucks, but some secrets were simply better left unsaid.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Three. Four. Five. || Toxic!Husband!Price

For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:

30. "I hate you but if anything happened to you I'd burn the world" vibe.;

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years;

78. Give us a "That's my Wife!" moment.

Rating: E Words: 3.3K cw: toxic couple, VERY toxic, insults, death wishes, smut fade to black, pregnancy. Tags: f!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, miilitary/court martial inaccuracies, very bad family dynamics?, dark humour??. Summary: John and Reader are in the worst fucking marriage ever. A collection of moments, dialogues and scenes from their terrible relationship. a/n: They are SO fucking toxic and dumb, I cannot- This is also very different from the stuff I usually write. This is ALSO not particularly angsty, more so dark humour.

There was a time when you loved John Price.

With all your heart, all your soul (and all your pussy).

That time was when you were young.

Ages 14 to 21, you loved him. He was your first kiss, your first time. High school sweethearts, you supported him through the academy, he supported you when you went to university. 

You stayed together through his first and second deployments. It was like an old-timey WW2 romance. 

So many letters exchanged back and forth. All lovey-dovey, with faint pen ink and smudged blotches on the pages as you made plans for the future.

Phone calls with spotty service and loads of static, only five minutes per soldier, 5 minutes which he’d spend only ever spend talking to you, asking you to relay any other messages to his mum, dad, siblings so he wouldn’t have to hang up with you. 

Polaroids clipped on the inside of envelopes which he would then slip into the breast pocket of his shirt, keeping you over his heart… one he’d often pull out and look at during transpo, thumbs tracing your eternal smile.

Polaroids of yours, a bit more risqué, which he would keep tucked into a journal under his pillow, for his eyes only.

John would walk around overseas with a smile on his lips after getting a letter or a call from you, brag to his teammates about his “bird back home”, never going out to bars to find one night stands like they did…

But sometime after his second deployment and joining the SAS, the puppy love that had lasted for years started to dwindle. 

Slowly but surely, you found that you were both growing distant.

You assumed you were both growing a bit ‘comfortable’, perhaps complacent… like all relationships tend to get after a while. 

By that time, John and you had already moved in together and you were no longer consistently alone for months at a time waiting for him to return from deployment. You blamed it on that. Plus, you’d been together for years by then!

But it felt different. There was distance, emotional and physical. Whenever he cuddled up to you, you felt cold and so did he. The kisses to your forehead were meaningless, the dinners at home eerily silent.

And between the distance and the inability to make proper plans, proper dates, celebrate milestones together, forgotten anniversaries, overlooked birthdays… It turned into arguments. 

And one argument turned to three, to five, to seven… hundred.

You found yourself growing bitter, angry, hateful.

It wasn’t a sudden shift or anything.

Not like you woke up one day and the one thought in your head was “I hate him”...

But you remember hating him longer than you ever loved him.

You tried breaking up. And failed. 

Some… bastardised feeling of guilt came to the forefront of both your minds at the idea of throwing away 5 6 7 8 9 10 years together, and giving up on your first love… and maybe even fear of having to start anew with someone else.

So, you simply continued going through the motions. You got engaged, big shiny rock on your finger, all big smile, but no tears came when he proposed. Your families were ecstatic, not quite able to see through the thinly veiled deceit.

For the wedding, you pulled out all the stops, stressed yourself out preparing the ceremony and reception with the women in your family (and his! His mother and sister were so happy that John was getting married!), going wedding dress shopping…

You had a beautiful ceremony, John wearing his full dress suit, army green, with the beige SAS beret. You were both 27, and together for 13 years.

Then, came the honeymoon, which was cut short. Not that it was a true honeymoon. Just three days in a coastal town in Northern France, having to be within a day's drive of Hereford lest he get called out for a sudden mission, which he was.

Not that you expected any different from him. So the distance continued growing, as did the arguments.

You hated him. He hated you.

Then came the predictable “So, when can we expect some grandkids?”. You put it off for a couple more years, blaming it on your high-priority careers, the law and the military, so similar and so different; his lack of time at home and how regrettable it’d be for you to be alone through the pregnancy; the want to be ‘more present’ for the future kids, needing to wait for things to settle down a bit more…

You’d been together for so long at that point, 15 years under your belt, starkly aware that neither of you is going anywhere. The world keeps spinning and your relationship hasn't ended. Fuck it, might as well go for it.

And now here you are.

It’s been eighteen years since you met. Aged 32, you no longer have arguments, you have throwdowns. You pull out every weapon in your arsenal. Neither of you plays nice.

Insults are traded often. Death wishes even more so. And, more often than not, they’re delivered with such a deadpan nonchalance that you’re sure people would think you both psychopaths.

“Going on a mission. ‘ll be back in a few days.”

“‘Kay, hope you die.”

“So do I.”

-

“Just had a fender bender with a stupid bloke. The car’s at the shop. Taking an uber to the base to get your car.”

“Okay. Shame you didn’t die a fiery death.”

“Don’t remind me, already cried about it.”

-

"I'm getting discharged."

"Why?"

"Shot."

"And it couldn't have killed you?"

-

“Can you get out of the damn toilet? I’m bleeding.”

“Period, accident, or just part of your satanic rituals?”

“Period.”

“Tough luck. Hope you bleed out.”

It never gets physical, never violent. John would rather die than lay a hand on you and you’d never DARE lay one on him. It’s just a lot of yelling, a lot of insulting, a lot of throwing things around, and, especially, a lot of revenge plans being executed to drive each other crazy.

Like recently. You found out John had gotten a grey-haired wig about the same length and texture as your hair, and has been snipping off a few hairs at a time, planting them around the house to blame you for leaving your hair everywhere, while simultaneously making you feel like you’re going grey. So, you put grey hair box dye in his shampoo and beard oil, to make him think he’s going grey.

Or three months ago, when you replaced all your lightbulbs with dimmer ones and lowered the brightness on all electronics, to make him think his eyesight was starting to go bad. You drove him so mad that he had voluntarily signed up for sniper assessments because he was worried he’d become a liability for the team.

Or eight months ago, when John had to return home in the middle of the day wearing a ruined uniform and just about ready to blow smoke out of his ears, having ripped holes in the uniform midway through a meeting all because 2 or so weeks prior you had painstakingly undone part of the stitching on it after an argument, and that had resulted in him baring his hairy thighs and armpits to a boardroom full of officers.

It’s bad. Very bad. You’ve had your windows and doors insulated to make sure the neighbors don’t hear your screaming matches and call the cops on the “domestic violence” happening next door. 

You probably shouldn’t have kids with this man. And yet-

He drives you insane.

And you’ve TRIED to fix it! You did. Marriage counseling, rage rooms, axe-throwing, paintball matches, yoga, meditation.… Nothing worked! In fact, it only infuriated you more because:

“You’ve got a tactical advantage, you need to play with a handicap!”

“Tough luck, sweetheart. Get good or get shot!”.

-

“You can throw harder than that.”

“Oh, I’ll show ya throwing hard, you gobshite!”

“Okay, when are you planning to start?”

-

“My back hurts-”

“Because you’re getting old.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just telling you the truth. Face it, John, if the downward dog hurts your back, then you’re old.”

-

“Can you breathe any louder?”

“Yes, I can. Wanna see?”

“Just shut up. I can’t hear myself think.”

“Not much to hear either way, pretty hollow in there.”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetness.”

There are only three occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats. Other, then, of course, when John’s working, especially when he’s overseas. You can’t fight if he’s both a) not home and b) unreachable via calls or texts or e-mails.

When you need a favor from the other, something you can’t quite do, or that falls in the other’s ‘jurisdiction’ in house chores.

“The washing machine’s leaking.”

“Turn off the water main, I’ll go check in a sec.”

“Mkay.”

-

“Here. Popped a button.”

“I don’t have any more army green thread.”

“Then use brown or black or whatever.”

-

“Where are your car keys?”

“What for?”

“Going to get it washed and detailed.”

“My purse.”

-

“You’re not gonna wear that, are you?”

“Why?”

“Besides the fact that it’s wrinkly? That’s a ‘house’ shirt, not a ‘going out’ shirt. Wear this one instead.”

2. When you’re both complaining or dealing with an outside force, a 3rd party, together.

"Excuse me, hi, I'm sending this back it's not cooked the way I asked."

"Ma'am that's exactly what you-"

"Are you calling my wife a liar?"

-

“Oh, fuck no. Why the fuck is he winning the Great British Bake Off?"

"Hm? Oh- oh! Yeah, why the fuck is he winning?"

“Bloody hell, he rolled his pastry too thin and had watery pie filling-”

“Wankers. This is not fair.”

-

“John. John!”

“What?”

“Look-”

“Blood hell, he’s back early-”

“Yeah and her boytoy’s car still there. They’re definitely still going at it.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

-

“Excuse me! Hey, excuse me! Pick up after your bloody dog! NO, don’t you start with me, you keep leaving your dog’s shite right by our garden, don’t you see the sign my husband’s posted up?! Pick it up or I’ll do it and then drop it in your garden.”

3. During sex.

Marching into the bedroom after breakfast, you find John combing through his hair in the bathroom mirror. The room is steamy from the hot shower he just took. 

“Take your trousers off. I’m ovulating.” You warn him as you wave your phone in the air, showing off the period tracking app.

“I literally just showered.” John replies as you’re already shrugging off your robe and pajamas.

“Well, believe or not, I don’t control my ovaries, John.” You reply. “Now take your trousers off.”

“Already on it.” He replies as he already starts taking off his shirt and sweatpants, leaving them on a pile on the floor, before his boxer briefs follow suit.

His hand palms his cock as you’re getting comfortable on the bed, tugging on it lightly as he watches your fingers do the same between your legs. 

“Can we try to enjoy it this time?” He asks you in earnest.

“Sure.” You reply simply. “Been a while since we’ve had proper sex and not…”

“Not a breeding session?” He quips as he kneels on the bed between your parted thighs. His hand replaces yours and he starts rubbing your clit for you.

“Shut it…” You quip, while your own hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly. John lowers himself onto you and his lips slowly brush against yours before he kisses you.

No, as it turns out… There are actually four occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats:

4. The Kid

In a day like any other, you’re lying in bed, reading a book. It’s a lazy Sunday morning, your big, round belly feeling particularly heavy. You’ve stolen every other pillow in the house to try and find some comfort, which you fail remarkably at.

“I think I’m going grey.” John states to no one in particular.

He’s in the en-suite bathroom, applying beard oil across his mutton chops like he tends to do, about three times a week.

“You are.” You remark in a bored, dismissive tone as you read a book in bed.

“That’s not funny. I’m not that old.”

“You’re getting up there.”

“Look who’s talking, we’re the same age.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Jonathan?”

“It means you’re there yourself, darling.”

Raising your eyes from the book in your hands, the bottom of which rests atop your pregnant belly, you cock a brow at your ‘beloved’ husband.

“And this is coming from Santa Claus?” You retort swiftly.

John peeks his head out of the bathroom door to look at you. “You think you’ve got a leg to stand on, you crone?”

Grunting under your breath, you glare at him, and he glares at you, complete silence in the bedroom. 

There’s something in that face of his, the look in his eyes, those STUPID fucking mutton chops that you’ve told him to shave and he refuses…

Grabbing your book and rolling it into a cylinder, you hurl it at him, putting as much force behind your arm as you possibly can. It misses the mark, but only because he had the presence of mind to duck. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ knobhead!” You insult him, tongue dripping with bitterness.

“Wel, not like I can be anything else, really, when I’m married to such a raging cunt.” He retorts.

“OH FUCK YOU!” You retort.

“ALREADY AM MORE THAN FUCKED, SPENDING THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU.”

“OH, PLEASE, YOU’RE MORE MARRIED TO YOUR BLOODY GUN THAN YOU ARE TO ME!”

“YEAH CAUSE AT LEAST MY GUN DOESN’T DRIVE ME FUCKING MENTAL!”

“OH PISS OFF!” You shout, your face twisting with a scowl.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this. It’s not good for your blood pressure. Or for John Junior.”

“First of all, it’s not gonna be a boy. Secondly, even if it is a boy, we’re not naming him after you. And thirdly, how about you die, then I won’t get stressed.”

“And why would I do that, when I can stay right here, perfectly alive and healthy, and watch you give birth to John Junior, and have the pleasure of rubbing a ‘I told you so’ right in your face?”

“Oh fuck you. It’s not going to happen.” You sulk and cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against your mountain of pillows.

“Someone doesn’t like the idea of having a son that takes after me, hm??” John teases as he comes up to the bed, a brow cocked.

You trail him with your eyes as he sits next to you on the bed. “Absolutely not. I wanna have a child I actually am able to love, and not one that I have to lie to.”

“A mother’s love knows no bounds, huh? What a load of crap.” John quips.

“Oh, that’s 100% true. I love this baby to bits already, but if it takes after you… I’ll probably die.”

“Good.” John remarks, causing you to roll your eyss. “Much better than if our child takes after you. Spawn of Satan, he would be.” John’s hand slides up your leg and slowly cups your swollen stomach.

“I should probably address the fact you just called our child ‘Satan’s spawn’, but I’m more concerned over the fact you keep calling the baby a ‘son’.” You murmur as you uncross your arms and watch him caress your skin.

“I feel like it’s a boy, I don’t know what to tell you.” He replies as his calloused fingers drag over the stretch marks and linea nigra on your stomach.

“What if it’s a girl?”

“What about it?”

“I’ve seen enough men online getting pissy over havin’ a daughter.” You quip and cock a brow up, looking him in the eyes.

John’s eyes lock onto yours. “Not me.” Then they return to the belly as he continues rubbing you. “Would love a little girl too.”

“Hm.” You remark and slowly, your hand rubs over the belly on the opposite side, where John’s hand isn’t. “We’ve gotta promise not to yell or argue in front of the baby.”

“Kind of hard to do that when I’m married to the Devil.” John quips, causing you to look up at him, eyes narrowed.

“You’ve gotta promise. We’ve gotta promise.” You murmur as you look at him.

For a moment, his usually grumpy face softens and he nods. “I promise.”

Nodding as well, you echo the sentiment. “I promise.”

No, wait, five:

5. When you have his back.

“General, that is not what I asked you. I would ask that you stop beating around the bush, feeding me, the jury, and the people watching at home, fabricated information and embellished words in a sorry attempt to save your credibility. Stick to the questions being asked and stop wasting our times.” You warned the man as you paced the space in front of the stand.

“Me and everyone else in this room are looking for nothing but the truth, or must I remind you that you are under oath and also live on television?” You ask outloud as you turn to look at him.

“No, counselor.” The General, a heavy-set, older, mustachioed man replies, through gritted teeth, his face showing a polite expression while the man himself was seething on the inside.

“Very well, then, I’ll repeat the question. Were you or were you not aware of the aforementioned, unsactioned operations being conducted in the Al-Mazarah and Urzikstan border, involving CIA and MI6 operatives?” You asked, eyes glaring into the man’s eyes as you leaned into the stand near him.

“Well, as with most operations...”

“A yes or no is enough, General.” You told him sternly.

“Yes.” The man grits out.

“And did you, or did you not, give permission for these CIA and MI6 operatives, working under the guise of NATO, and I quote, from the transcript: “Authority to use any means necessary” on the enemy forces?” You confronted him.

“Well-”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“And did you do that while being aware that the teams involved would interpret such command as permission to execute an operation in which they’d use ‘extreme physical persuasion’ or, in other words, torture to achieve their goals?”

“I-”

“Did you or did you not, General?”

“Yes, but-”

“And did you, or did you not, not only demand the censoring of the clear and transparent reports received in the aftermath of that operation but also sign off on them yourself, to circumvent the proper channels of evaluation, which would force an internal audit to be conducted?”

“Yes-”

“So, in short, you just confirmed that you authorized your troops to, essentially, wipe their asses with the Geneva convention and comit war crimes on the POWs under their care?”

“Counselor-” One of the judges called out.

“Withdrawn. No further questions, Mr. Chairman.” You told the Chairman and the jury panel that sat above you, as you swiftly turned around and marched up to your table, high heels clacking on the polished floors of the court room.

Your eyes locked onto John’s as he sat in the back of the room, wearing his full regalia, his eyes locked onto yours with a strange shine to them… Almost like he’s proud of you.

As soon as you sit on the chair and the Chairman once again takes over, addressing the room, the General, calling other witnesses, your phone’s screen lights up on the chair next to you.

Picking it up quietly, you spot a message of John’s:

John: that’s my girl. knew you could do it. you: you owe me big time. John: i do. saved my arse there. you: of course. it’s what I’m here for.  John: almost making it sound like you love me. you: no but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. you: no way in hell you’re leaving me alone with 3 children. John: i see. selfish woman. you: shut up.  you: and try not torturing POWs next time. John: yes, ma’am.

Five occasions seem to be enough to keep a 23-year marriage afloat.

a/n: Big thanks to my beloved @crashtestbunny for helping draft/plot all these interactiions and just the general toxicity! And also @mothymunson your beloved Toxic!Price is here!

[ O, Captain! Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

[unforth]

I had a day off yesterday.

And I can already practically hear the assumptions that such a statement is prompting the reader to make. Those assumptions are wrong. I don't mean I didn't work. I did, for about 8 hours. That's not at all what I mean.

I mean my wife took the kids out at 9:30, spent the night with her mom, isn't back yet the next morning.

There are things I NEED people on this website to understand about parenting. And I've talked about it before, and I'll talk about it again, because honestly the way that Tumblr as a cohort talks about parents makes me sick. Multiple polls have shown that only about 2% of people on here are parents. We're a huge minority, and we're constantly talked over, ignored, or accused of being bad parents (like, personally, I have had people reply to my comments or come on to my posts and tell me I shouldn't have my kids). In my case, being a parent means I'm almost 41, I'm married to @ramblingandpie, and our children are inching up on being 8 and 6 years old.

My entire day, and therefore my entire life, revolves around them. I'm up most mornings at 5 AM, because that's the earliest they're "allowed" to wake up, and so my brain just defaults to being awake around then - better to wake up before them, at least then I get a few minutes in the morning. Between 5 and 7, I sit with them, do my social media, work on side blogs, study Chinese. Then it's helping them get ready for school, then my wife or I or both get them on the bus, and then I work until the last possible minute, which is either when I need to go pick them up for an after school activity or when I need to go down and meet them off the bus. My afternoons are after school activities, chores such as washing the dishes and cleaning up toys, talking with them, working with them, playing with them. Their bedtime starts at 7:40, and my son gets scared if I leave before he falls asleep so I sit with him until about 8:15. As soon as he's asleep, I go fall on my face, sleep as best I can, then wake up and do it again. Overnight, it's hard to sleep deeply, because about once a week someone will wake up in the middle of the night and need help. That could be as minimal as a hug or as complex as having to completely change the bedding on a bunk bed at 2 AM while also comforting a child who is afraid they'll be in trouble, or afraid they're sick, or afraid of their nightmare, or, or, or. Further, if a child is awake, there is always noise. I usually study Chinese with two or more competing sources of noise. I read the same way. My life is loud, and active, and consists of constant interruptions.

I adore my family, and I love my children, but this is terrible for me.

I do all of this as an neurodivergent introvert. My clinical depression is at least medicated, mostly because post-partum depression after I gave birth the first time nearly drove me to suicidal in under a week (we were expecting this and were prepared, fortunately, getting help was as simple as a phone call). The constant noise and interruptions and forced socialibility are about the worst combination of home-life I could be subjected to. I spend far too many early mornings just breathing deeply and gearing myself up to be subjected to the wall of Loud, Boisterous, Needing-My-Attention that is every minute when anyone else in the house is awake.

So what did my day off look like?

I helped get the kids ready to go and did some morning chores. I'd been up at 4:30 AM so I also had already social media'd and studied. Then, while my wife finished the preparations, I started work, and I worked from about 8 am to about 4 pm, straight. I didn't get hungry so didn't bother stopping for lunch. No one interrupted me, no one asked me to look at anything they'd built, no one broke my concentration, no sounds could be heard except those I'd chosen myself.

I'd been out the day before at a local shopping street and listened closely to the things the kids said they wanted, so at 4 I grabbed a couple orders I needed to ship for work and drove to our local downtown, dropped the orders in a post box, then went back to the shops and did some Christmas shopping in the 45 minutes or so before everything closed. I think I'm basically done with what we'll get them - other bigger things will be left to grand parents - so that's a load off, I literally had a stress dream earlier this week about it being 12/24 and having forgotten to do the shopping and having to go to (oh horrors) the mall on the day before Christmas. (Reminder: I'm a Jewish atheist. It's just virtually impossible not to Holiday in the Culturally Christian Hellscape that is the US. Also, my wife is Christian. So.) Found something cute for my wife, too, even tho I already know the main thing I'm getting her. Then, I realized - one of my favorite restaurants is on that block. So. I went there. I sat by myself at a table, only the indistinct restaurant hubbub around me. I read four or five chapters of my book, and ate a savory crepe, and drank lovely fruit tea, and got a scone to-go that I'll eat for lunch today. It was more than I probably should have spent on myself - about $25, including tip - but fuck it. I only get maybe a handful of days off all year, and I'm allowed to indulge a little.

Then I came home. There were no lights on. There was no noise. I had considered doing some more merch work while watching TV on the actual television (my kids are too young for subtitled shows, so usually if I want to watch My Shows I either have to do it on my computer when they're not around, or put them on and read all the subtitles aloud while trying to keep up and process the actual meaning of what I'm reading). But when I got back, the quiet and dark was so goddamn NICE that instead I curled up on the couch and read more of my book. I did that until bedtime - still about 8:15, because I'm exhausted. Then...I went to bed. And I slept long and deep, knowing that there was no chance I'd be interrupted and woken up, I didn't have to be, even in sleep, alert to every noise and possibility that I'd be needed.

I'm still exhausted and burned out, but even one night to myself felt really, really nice.

Saying "Tumblr does X" as a universal statement is doomed to failure, but generally speaking, the parenting posts I see on Tumblr, the ones with tens or hundreds of thousands of notes, speak what's apparently widely seen as a truism on here: that unless someone wants to spend 24/7 with their kids, to be 100% emotionally available at all times, is always kind and patient and perfect, they are a bad parent, maybe even abusive. I remember when covid started, there were multiple posts actively mocking the "oh god, my kids are now home all the time, how am I supposed to do this?" attitude that a lot of parents posted in despair. WhY dId YoU hAvE kIdS iF yOu DoN't WaNt To SpEnD tImE wItH tHeM?

Look at what my usual day looks like.

Look at what my day off looked like.

Do you really think I don't want to spend time with my kids? Do you really think I don't love my kids?

But I'm not a fucking MACHINE. I'm a PERSON. That's what people on Tumblr seem to forget. PARENTS ARE PEOPLE. The same tumblrinas who post ~uwu be kind to yourself rest if you need to, you should forgive yourself for that mistake you made~ will turn around, with zero sense of irony, and post "you're a bad parent if you ever raise your voice around a child."

Expecting parents to be perfect means expecting parents to be inhuman. It also means that a parent can't be poor (can't spend all your time being the perfect parent if you have to work multiple jobs or weird hours!), can't be introverted (can't be a perfect parent if you're not completely emotional available, god forbid socializing is exhausting for you), can't be on the ADHD or autism spectrum (what do you mean you forgot to get your kid to a doctor's appointment once? what do you mean over-stimulation can make you angry? how dare you get angry at a kid!), can't be depressed (gotta get out of bed every single day, gotta always be upbeat, patient, happy, or else that's Evil), can't be (like my wife) physically disabled (what do you mean your hands hurt too much to hold a child's hand? are you denying them touch?? CRUEL). And when the only answer you can offer to that is, "if you can't be that perfect you shouldn't be a parent," then you're saying people who aren't middle class to wealthy, people who aren't neurotypical, people who aren't physically able, shouldn't have children.

And honestly...what the fuck is your problem?

I'm not perfect. I tell my kids to just leave me alone sometimes. I raise my voice, especially when one of my kids starts punching the other, but also sometimes just cause I'm exhausted and Can't Anymore. I've forgotten an appointment by accident and felt like a total fucking idiot, and I've skipped an after school activity because I just wasn't up for taking them. I've served them more unbalanced, unhealthy meals than I can count. I've made many, many mistakes, but I've also done my best, and I love my kids, and I hope that when they grow up, they'll still love me even as they recognize that I wasn't perfect, just as I've come to accept my own parents' short-comings while still loving them very much. They're people, too, and the older I get, the more I understand where they were coming from.

When I fuck up, I apologize.

When they tell me they're unhappy with something I've done, I apologize, and I try to do better. Sometimes I even succeed.

This shit is hard, yo. And it's getting harder every year.

I'm BEGGING Tumblr: you need to start seeing parents as people. The way y'all talk about parenting on here is toxic, and genuinely harmful, and frankly exhausting. You have no idea what the reality of raising kids is like, and you need to shut the entire fuck up.

I had a day off yesterday.

I might get one more before the end of 2023.

I already can't wait. I am so, so, so tired. sigh

(if you actually read this whole rant and even a single word of it resonated for you, please reblog it. I'm tired of never seeing positive posts about parenting while I see negative ones with a bajillion notes.)

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

imagining ghoul just being completely dazzled by vaultie reader….their beauty, their clean teeth and nails, their skin…the softest, smoothest skin he’s seen in hundreds of years. he could hardly remember how it looked til now.

he’d watch over you while you slept by the fire he made with such fascination, studying your features like this when he knew you wouldn’t be able to raise an eyebrow at him and he could allow himself to be relaxed and let down his tough guy wall (after all, you only just met a few days before).

and when you roll up the pants of your suit one day in the heat and expose your legs…he sees they’re perfectly waxed (who knew they had that in the vaults?) and it takes everything he has not to just reach out and touch them.

Smooth Skin

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Vault Dweller

Word Count: 3,109

Warnings: smut (18+), sexual tension, masturbation (male), mild somnophilia, very mild angst.

Summary: Cooper's new companion is beyond distracting.

Notes: Another excellent submission! I have had VERY similar thoughts about how people in the vaults would still adhere to so many old grooming practices that had long disappeared from most of the Wasteland. It would be such a weird thing for non-vault dwellers to see, and not being able to maintain them would be quite the shock for vault dwellers.

Also, this poor old man wouldn't consciously recognize the feeling of "arousal inspired by a specific person" if you beat him over the head with it. It's been about 200 years since he felt it.

Cooper was beginning to wonder if he'd been screwed.

Holding the deeply familiar vial up to the light once more, he gave the liquid contents a shake, examining the consistency, the color, the weight. For the half dozenth time that hour, he lifted it to the open cavity in his face where his nose once sat, inhaling deeply, testing for any unfamiliar odors, ultimately finding none. Lifting the solution to his lips, he tasted it, once, twice, rolling it around in his mouth with deep suspicion.

Everything seemed to be normal about the latest bunch of vials he'd acquired, at least on the surface. However, he was beginning to worry that he'd been given some sort of dud batch, and now he was starting to dissolve into some sort of ferality.

But this didn't feel like the dozens of other times he'd cut it close over the years, when his chest constricted, fighting for every breath as his mind began to cloud with aggressive thoughts, making him feel ready to lash out at anything that moved. No, he could breathe just fine, and he didn't necessarily feel aggressive, but he did feel oddly tense and ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. It didn't seem like anything had changed about his treatment.

Then again, something else had changed pretty drastically over the last few days.

Standing in the baking sun, he waited impatiently for the little vault-dweller he'd inexplicably managed to become attached to to finish her business, infinitely more fidgety than usual. He scanned the horizon with uncharacteristically anxious eyes, his boot tapping in the dirt.

"C'mon, Vaultie! Move your ass!" he called, harsher than he intended, but when the girl came scurrying up out of the ditch, he offered no apology, simply jerking his head in the direction they'd already been headed down the road, waiting for her to get a step or two ahead of him so he could follow, watching her closely.

Very closely.

The old cowboy prided himself on his ability to analyze people, to figure things out about them long before they were disclosed. It had proved an immensely useful skill over and over again. This girl, however, confused him. The pristine cheeriness of her was unsettling, making her stand out clear as day against the dingy, angry, consuming Wasteland.

He didn't trust it, frankly. It had been a long time since he'd met anyone who was genuinely selfless and kind simply because they felt it the right thing to do. She was definitely hiding something, concealing her true nature, but at least she was good at it. Besides, he'd be lying to himself if he said part of the reason he allowed her to tag along with him wasn't that he didn't want to walk past her pretty little corpse on the side of the road in a few days...as if there would be a corpse leftover. At least, a recognizable one.

Ahead of him, the girl caught her boot on a crack in the ancient asphalt, sending her stumbling; his quick reflexes kicked in almost instantly, and he yanked her back by her suit sleeve, sighing when she cast a sheepishly apologetic glance his way. He rolled his eyes and gave her a small push to keep it moving, watching as her hair swished back and forth with her movements.

How many decades had it been since he'd seen a woman with long hair? Maybe it had even been a century, or more. Most women in the Wasteland kept their hair cropped fairly short; easier to care for, less for someone to grab onto if you were attacked. Shampoo was still fairly easy to acquire, but only because most people didn't have consistent access to enough clean water to bathe with. Hair could also be sold in some cases, and many people found themselves desperate enough to do something like that in this world, unfortunate as it was.

But this girl, her dark curls hung down to her waist, flowing down her back and shoulders elegantly, or laid along her spine in a neat braid when she got especially red and sweaty. It was so shiny; he wanted to run his fingers through it for some reason, so badly that when she'd bumped into him their first day of travel, her view obscured by the dark curtain, he didn't even think to scold her, too busy willing himself to not thread his fingers into the soft strands. When he was close enough, he noticed that it smelled like wildflowers.

He'd met her just outside Filly. Where she was headed, a few settlements northwest to find an aunt or a sister or a grandmother or something, wasn't the most perilous route she'd shown him on her Pip Boy (in a very surreal conversation where she'd treated him like he was any other man), but she was already showing that she wasn't truly equipped to make it there intact. Hell, she had flagged him down for directions, in a move that had made him genuinely wonder if he hadn't done too much Jet that morning. That little maneuver wouldn't get her killed with him (at least, on the right day) but it would quickly get her robbed or worse with many others.

His first instinct had been to leave her to her fate, but he found that he just couldn't leave her there on the side of the road, that blinding white smile, those big, round eyes, her basically pristine vault suit making her stand out like a sore thumb. Begrudgingly, he had agreed to let her walk with him to where she was going.

She tired rather quickly compared to him, his condition making thermoregulation much less of a concern. His soft new companion, however, was unaccustomed to the sun, to the heat, and was often too exhausted to continue in any real capacity by the time the sun set. The nights got cold, colder than it seemed she'd anticipated, and she chattered her way through that whole first evening; each subsequent night, he'd built a small fire to keep her warm through the coldest part. It annoyed him immensely, having to expose them in the dark like that, but, oddly, he found that he equally disliked watching her shiver on the ground.

"Do you think we could stop for a while?" she asked suddenly, stopping in her tracks to turn to him and nearly slamming into his chest in the process. His hand braced on her shoulder, slightly shoving her aside so they didn't collide; the hand that touched her tingled when he pulled it away, and he cast a quick glance at his palm.

"You're really pushin' it today, kid. You know that?" he growled, his tone dripping with unconcealed irritation. They could easily get at least a few more hours of walking in before the sun went down, and once she stopped walking for the day, it was hard to get her going again.

The way her eyes widened at him before dropping to the ground actually made him feel guilty, flooring him just a little. He held his face in its usual neutral mask.

"I'm sorry." she murmured, chastened. "I'm just not used to walking so long in the heat."

Immediately, he rolled his eyes, though whether he was rolling them at her or at himself, he genuinely didn't know. Casting his eyes further down the road, then around where they'd stopped, they fell onto a clutch of old, dead trees and rocks, a small amount of shade gathering there. It was well concealed enough, he supposed.

"Fine. We can stop over there. But we're gonna get a few more miles in today, at least, so don't get comfy."

Flashing him those perfect teeth again, she quickly made her way off the road and threw herself down at the base of the largest tree, hiding from the sun as best as she could. He took the opportunity to dig some food out of his bag, have another smoke or two, and reflect on his choices, his back to her by and large as he watched the road.

"I didn't know the sun was so bright." she huffed after while, her tone almost petulant. "Or so hot."

He turned back to her, a slick reply about her general naivete locked and loaded, but he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of her sat there on the ground, tugging off her boots and socks. Folding each sock into a neat little ball, she tucked them into their corresponding mate and sat them aside, stretching her legs out in front of her. Quiet, he watched her roll up each pant leg to her knee, as high as the cut of the material would allow, reclining back in the small patch of shade she'd found.

Those toned, smooth calves that peeked out at him were the most intriguing thing he'd seen in a minute, his eyes practically glued to the exposed skin. There was a softness to her that he thought didn't exist anymore; in her supple body, the way she actually held a little extra fat from years of being fed and safe in a vault, the soft, clear expanse of her skin, her clean, manicured fingernails. Oddly enough, he found himself deeply wanting to reach out and wrap one of his hands around her ankle, the other running up the taut muscle of her leg. He shoved the feeling down and turned back to the road, fidgeting.

A while later, the sun was dipping behind the horizon, but still frying everything it touched when she finally spoke again.

"Do you wanna get going soon?" she called, tone much more relaxed than before.

He turned to look at her again, having avoided doing so for over an hour, her sleeves rucked up to her elbows as well, and shook his head.

"Nah. Might as well just bed down here and get some sleep. Good a place as any, I guess. I wanna cover some real ground tomorrow." he replied, keeping his tone noncommittal. "Get your rest, princess. If you can't keep up tomorrow, I'm leaving your ass behind."

She shot him a look, somewhere between evaluating whether or not he was serious and rolling her eyes as his continued unpleasantness, but she didn't respond outside of a simple nod, sinking back down onto the ground and closing her eyes. Once the sun went down fully, he went around gathering up dried sticks and brush to build a small fire, setting up near where she was obviously quickly falling asleep, curled up on her side and using her backpack as a pillow.

Cooper kept watch for a few hours as it quickly darkened, the girl falling soundly asleep as he sat polishing his guns. Eventually, he grew bored of weapon maintenance, and his eyes were drawn to the girl lying a few feet to his side.

He leaned closer, allowing himself to inspect her face closer than he'd had a chance to thus far. Walking behind her all day allowed him plenty of time to study her silhouette, her gait, the dancing length of her hair. But her face was always hidden, and when she turned to face him, he felt unable to look her in the eye for too long without that itch creeping into his brain, sending him searching through his pockets for his inhaler.

Now that he could take a long, uninterrupted look at her without worrying about being caught, it finally dawned on him, though, not immediately:

Fuck, she was beautiful.

And she was, and would have been if he'd met her in another life, too, each feature of her more appealing than the next. That long hair had been braided back away from her face, the length of it coiled like a snake along her back as she snored ever-so-lightly, her head sitting crookedly against her backpack. Before he could even think about it, his hand had already been tugged loose of his glove and reached out to softly pet at it, the strands silken under his bare fingers.

When did he get so close to her?

He thought back to her exposed legs, now hidden back away beneath her pant legs, kicked most of the way back down to assist in keeping her warm, and thought about how there had been no hair there. Many aspects of grooming that had once been normal were long lost to him, but that was certainly one of the biggest ones. He had completely forgotten that women once generally shaved the hair from their legs, and how big a deal it was considered when they didn't. He'd thought it was a silly thing to expect then; now, it just seemed like a sad thing to fixate on, with all that had been going on at the time.

However, that didn't stop him from imagining how smooth, how silky her legs would feel if he ran his hands along them, how high the smoothness would go until he would be able to feel the presence of downy little body hairs, the likes of which he hadn't had himself in centuries. Would they start at her knees? Or would he have to feel all the way up to the tops of her pillowy thighs to feel them? He remembered, vaguely, that some women would shave between their legs, too, and wondered if she did that as well.

Why was he thinking about what was between her legs?

His brain was so foggy the longer he looked at her, his one free hand quickly moving to dig his inhaler out of his pocket, taking the longest drag he could take off of it. It didn't clear his mind, didn't stop him from feeling like he wanted to touch more of her, to lean close and smell her, taste her. A hard shudder broke down his spine, and his cock set to throbbing in his pinstriped pants, his teeth gnashing. He was anxious to get to the next big settlement so he could buy new vials; he was convinced there was something wrong with these ones.

Regardless, he could breathe fine and didn't feel like a threat to the girl, necessarily...so his attention shifted, rather sourly, to his aching erection, now straining against his thigh.

It wasn't that he never masturbated; he was still a man beneath all the rads and rot, and his sex drive had never fully died, only dwindled down to a single flame whose presence didn't usually draw any attention from him. But it wasn't something he relished in, no more than eating food he couldn't really taste anymore to sustain himself or feigning sleep to allow his legs and back to rest. It was simply another need that had to be met on occasion; a quick tug at himself, not thinking of anything in particular, until he spilled onto the ground and went on with his life. It never needed to be more than that.

Now, however, his entire gut was aflame, the smell of her filling the air and further intoxicating him, his still-gloved hand moving to press against his cock through the fabric, the feeling leaving him arching his hips slightly up into his own touch. He wanted so badly to touch more than her hair, but knew that it wasn't advisable; the girl slept more soundly than anyone in the Wasteland, it seemed, but if she were to wake up and find him touching himself beside her, who knows what trouble there would be?

He couldn't touch her, but that didn't mean he couldn't study her, running his eyes over each part of her over and over again as the light and warmth of the fire slowly died down. He was tracing curve of her breasts and the way it flowed into the little roll of her belly for the umpteenth time, grinding hard against his hand, by the time the flames died down completely. She'd curled almost completely in on herself, hiding her face against her hands, and he wished he could look closer at it again as he slunk closer and closer to the edge.

As if she could read his mind, she suddenly rolled onto her back, resettling quickly as her head slid fully off of the bag. The mild highlights of the moon played along her face and torso, her plush lips parting in a soft, dreamy sigh. Fleetingly, he wondered if she would make that sound for him if he touched her just right, and, embarrassingly, that thought was enough to put an end to him.

The orgasm that washed over him granted some mild relief, his spend pooling in a sticky mess in his pant leg as he let out a few quiet heavy breaths, the hand that had been touching her hair scratching lines into the dirt, but it was bittersweet. In the haze afterwards, for the first time in a long, long time, he thought about Barb, about the way she would sigh his name when she came apart, about how soft and warm she would feel against him when he held her close after they made love. The deeply buried pain behind his breastbone that had started the day he'd found out the truth about her kicked up once more.

Sitting in the dark silence, a hard edge of discomfort and annoyance steeled up his spine, leaving him still in his ruminations until the uncomfortable feeling of the mess in his pants became intolerable. Letting out a huff, he shifted away from her and walked a few steps away as quietly as possible to clean himself up as best as he could, shame thick in the crisp air. When he finished, he dug into his pocket for an angry cigarette, jamming it between his thin lips and turning back towards her to face away from the breeze as he lit it.

But when he looked at her once more, really let himself look at her, he felt that pain in his breast soften, her soft skin almost glowing in the moonlight as she slept, peacefully unaware of anything but her blissful rest. It wasn't something he saw often. When he sat back down beside her, grabbing for his loose glove in the dark, he sat close enough that the outside of his thigh touched the arm under her head, pulling on his lit smoke absentmindedly as he continued to study his little companion. Her even, steady breathing was quite soothing to him, actually.

He was still going to buy a new set of vials.