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studioghibelli · 4 months

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fade in to you- a joel miller x reader

summary: love can often times be unrequited... until it isn't.

warnings: tommys!girlfriend reader, kind of a jerk!tommy, pining!joel, soft!joel, 00's joel/era, implied age gap, some angsty angst, no smut this time y'all i'm in some sort of babygirl mood tonight or something idk.

notes: this is a short lil' somethin' for my sweet twizzy @ilovepedro <3 <3 <3

Cherry red lips stained the rim of the glass, the sides sweating beneath the heat of the summer moon. The lights on the back of the porch illuminated the grill, and the half busted radio in the corner crooned out whatever the radio was deciding to play that night. The canopy of stars twinkled down upon the bungalow, crickets nestled in the blades of grass in the backyard chirping and igniting the atmosphere aflame with the reminder that nature was all around.

Inside, a baseball game was flickering across the screen of the television, and people funneled in and out of the sliding glass door that whined and ached each time it was moved. Grabbing beers, swaying to the music, shouting at the game- anything they wanted to do, really.

Joel stood to man the grill, his broad shoulders stretching the seams of a heather gray shirt, tanned arms glimmering with sweat beneath them. The sleeves almost seemed too tight against his thick biceps, but that only made them more appealing.

As he flipped the burgers, steaming and sizzling against the grill top, Joel tried to remind himself not to look at those cherry red lips. He tried to urge himself to have enough resolve to not become intoxicated by your soft, plump, red mouth, that was just right there in the corner of his eye sight.

It was the least he could do, seeing as you were his brother's girlfriend.

When you walked in that night for the barbeque, he couldn't help but stare, couldn't help but take in your beauty. You wore a sundress the color of azaleas, accompanied by a floral scarf tied around your hair and those sticky, sweet looking lips.

Those lips that haunted him

Did they taste like cherries, too? Joel immediately shook that terrible thought away, it was gone almost as soon as it had entered.

And thus began his usual routine when you were around. The cold shoulder, the short responses, the purposefully-trying-to-avoid-you maneuvers that he had become quite masterful with. Despite this, there was still that tug deep in his belly, that draw towards you and your aura.

"Joel?" Your sweet voice filled his ears.

"Hmm?" He winced at how curt he sounded.

The sinking tone of your voice made him swallow thickly with guilt. "Do you... do you have anymore of that margarita mix?"

"Above the kitchen sink." Joel explained, his voice now a bit softer.

He couldn't turn around to look at you. Not when your hips swayed so femininely against your dress, not when your dewy skin glistened beneath the dusty golden light, not when those lips looked to tantalizing, so delicious.

Joel was so lost in thought, he burnt one of the burgers.

The night went on, smooth and happy, everyone chatting and talking amongst themselves. Joel had sat himself on a patio chair farthest from you, eating the burnt patty with furrowed brows. His eyes were glued to the ground, his mind once again, for the millionth time that June evening, wandering with thoughts of you.

The backdoor slid open with that familiar creak, and he heard Tommy exploding with excitement at the ongoing baseball game.

"Hi, baby." Your voice rang through Joel's ears. He looked up, watching Tommy give you a quick, uninterested kiss. His stomach churned.

Tommy went to the beer cooler, grabbing a fresh bottle of Modelo. At the same time, the radio cranked out an all too familiar song.

I want to hold the hands inside you

I want to take the breath that's true

I look to you, and I see nothing

You gasped, jumping to your feet with eyes wide, cheeks thick with your sticky sweet smile. "Oh, Tommy! This is my favorite song. Dance with me?"

He shook your hand away, turning to you with a scrunched up face. "You know I don't dance, woman. I got a baseball game to get back to." Joel felt his jaw clenching with annoyance, but before he could say anything, Tommy spoke once more. "You comin' in to watch it?" He asked his big brother.

Joel's eyes followed you. He traced over the fallen expression that had sunk into your cheeks, he watched the way your eyes fell with embarrassment, the way your lips pressed into one another.

"No." Was all Joel said, before he glued his eyes back to the ground. He knew Tommy was rolling his eyes, and before he knew it his brother was stomping back inside, leaving him alone with you.

An awkward silence hung in the air, before Joel stood up so quickly, it caused you to jump. "I, uh-" He was rubbing the back of his neck now, taking notice of the incredulous look that had grazed across your face. "I'll dance with ya."

Your smile, sunshine and flowers, ignited the dark air around. "Really?"

He nodded, holding a hand out for you. "It's now or never, darlin'. This is a short song."

An angelic laugh escaped your throat, and you took his hand, standing to your feet. You weren't an oblivious fool. You knew Joel was handsome, and you knew every woman in town was pining after him.

How could they not?

His umber curls, thick shoulders, curved nose- he was a work of art. Tommy was handsome, it ran in the family, but there was something about Joel that was so gripping, so hard to forget. You had noticed his eyes the first time you met him. Those chocolate eyes, so deep and mysterious. They had pulled you in the moment you saw them.

And when Joel had seen you for the first time, he experienced what could only be described as a religious experience. He felt the kind of emotions that one felt when looking upon Van Gogh's Starry Night, or Monet's Poppies. The kind of awe that struck your chest hard with a kick, the kind of awe that settled upon your soul with no hopes of ever letting out, the kind of awe that a man could never forget.

Each time he saw you, you only grew more beautiful. Perhaps that was just a symptom of him falling deeper in love.

"I didn't take you for the dancing type." You whispered as his hands found the curve of your waist, strong and sturdy as they wrapped tightly around you. When your hands moved to his shoulders, you felt a breath of air get stuck in his throat.

"I'm not." Joel's eyes looked down, peering in to your own. You cursed the butterflies which erupted within you.

"Then why are you now?"

There was a short moment of silence, the kind that made your skin crawl with anticipation. You had no clue where this quiet would lead.

"Because I can't stand seein' my brother treat you like that." Joel's voice was earnest, genuine, and you saw those hardened eyes cross over with a feeling you had never seen on him before. Softness. Gentleness. Love.

You live your life, you go in shadows

You'll come apart, and you'll go black

Some kind of night into your darkness

Colors your eyes with what's not there.

"Treat me like what?" You whispered, voice barely there against the backdrop of the radio.

"Like you ain't the most beautiful girl in the world." Joel's grip tightened around you, and he instinctively pulled you close. "Like he ain't the luckiest bastard I know, gettin' the chance to be with you. To kiss you, feel you."

With furrowed eyebrows, you closed your eyes tight, too scared, too unsure of what to say next. You had spent months trying to stop it, you had spent months trying to swallow that horrible, awful feeling that crept inside every time you saw Joel. Despite this, you knew. You had always known.

You were with the wrong brother, and you always had been.

The quick glances, the hidden smiles, the wandering eyes- Joel thought he hid it well, but he could never fool you.

Both of you knew you were in deep shit, both of you knew the water was rising, heating, but you were both helpless, unable to stop it.

And stop it, you had tried. Many, many, many times.

When Tommy was on top of you, moaning your name, feeling your skin, you couldn't help but think of Joel. When Tommy ignored you to watch his baseball games, you couldn't help but daydream about Joel, and how you knew he would dote upon you more than a stupid sport. When Tommy stayed out too late with his raucous friends and came home drunk, you wondered what Joel's arms would feel around you, behind you in bed as his mouth planted kisses on your shoulders, blanketed by the sweet cover of nighttime.

Finally, you spoke. "I don't think that I know what to say, Joel."

Joel took in a deep breath of air, and you felt his chest vibrating against you. "I know. I don't expect you to say anythin'. Just knew I had to tell you sometime."

You swayed together slowly, beneath the canopy of the summer sky, eyes fluttering shut with every movement of your bodies. Joel tensed when you pressed your cheek to his chest, your bodies molding together in harmony.

He liked this. He could get used to this.

Your chest rose and fell against his, your hands moved up and down his arms, caressed his shoulders, felt his body. You touched him like you loved him, you ignited something deep within him. Joel felt wanted, he felt loved, he felt appreciated.

Your tenderness reminded him that he was alive, that he was worthy. You had lit a flame deep within him, a new appreciation for the beauty of the world, a new outlook on life.

He would fight for you if it came down to it. Anything to keep that dazzling smile and those perfect eyes in his life.

Strange you never knew

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew

"Do you love me?" You asked abruptly, voice caught in the back of your throat. You don't know what came over you or why you felt the need to ask, but you couldn't help yourself. Your gut had always told you something was there resting between the both of you, and tonight you were going to find out.

Joel's fingers gently dug into your sides, and you felt the beating of his heart quicken against your cheek. You wondered what he was feeling, you wondered if he had ever felt this way before, if he was even feeling what you were. An inexplainable feeling that washed over you wordlessly, a feeling you were unable to express with words.

"Yes." His fingers crawled up your back, tangling into the ends of your hair. "More than I probably should."

You nodded against him, arms digging in to his shoulders tighter.

You craned your neck to look up at him, eyelashes fluttering against your rosy eyelids. Those cherry lips sparkled in front of him, and Joel wanted nothing more than to lean down and feel them, taste them, explore them.

Joel had never seen a more beautiful woman.

If there was one thing for sure he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, it was that he had never seen anything as beautiful as you in the entirety of his life. Not even the sunsets above the ocean or the wild flowers in the valley, not even the stars at the Grand Canyon or the clear water of a river compared. You were prettier than them all. Serene, celestial, ethereal- he had never known a face like yours, nor had he ever gazed upon a beauty quite like the one you owned.

His thumb slowly traced the height of your cheekbone, and your eyes darted to his adams apple that bobbed up and down with the breaths he was swallowing. No doubt nervous, you thought.

"I-"

"You don't have to say anything." His thumb moved down the length of your cheek until it was resting on your jaw. "It's okay. I know."

"Kiss me."

Joel's eyes darted to your mouth, and he let out a quiet sigh. "I wish I could."

"You can."

"I can't do that. Not to Tommy."

You smiled a sweet, ever so saddening smile, your soft hand creeping up to cup his cheek. The bristles of his patchy beard scratched against your palm, a feeling you wanted to get used to.

There were lots of things you wanted to get used to with Joel. His arms wrapping around you from behind in the kitchen, his arms around your waist as you slow danced to music, his beard pressing in to your skin as you held one another.

Maybe in another life.

"You're a good man, Joel Miller."

"I ain't." He mumbled, shaking his head. A dry laugh crept past his lips. "You don't know half the things I've thought, all the things that make me a shitty brother just for thinkin' 'em. All the things I'd do to you if you were mine."

"I can be yours." You whispered, lip catching between your teeth. "I can be."

"You can't. Ain't how this works. Believe me, darlin'.... you don't know how bad I want things to be different." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your throat hitched around itself, the feeling of his kiss on your skin igniting a volcano of yearning which erupted within your chest. All you could do was hold on to him tighter.

A stranger's light comes on slowly

A stranger's heart without a home

You put your hands into your head

And then smiles cover your heart

"That's all I'm gonna get from you then, Miller?" You asked with a smile, your fingers tracing out the outline of his jaw. His kiss still lingered on your forehead.

"For now." He responded, and you watched the ghost of a grin plant itself upon his lips. "Who knows, maybe the world will end and we'll get our chance."

And Joel, as he so often was, was right.

The world would end in three months time, and perhaps your own time together would soon follow. But until then, you both returned to the shadows, eyes colored with what wasn't there.

#joel miller x reader #studioghibelli #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fic #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller au #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fandom

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headspace-hotel · 2 years

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A lot of people don't know about why lawns are so disliked outside of how they are a waste of water, so here:

carbon emissions put out by lawn mowers (and other devices like leaf blowers). Lawn mowers produce significantly more greenhouse gases per hour of use than cars, and majorly contribute to smog.

Fertilizers get into bodies of water and cause algae blooms, converting all the diverse water plants to homogenous green slime.

Pesticides kill fireflies, bees, and all sorts of other beneficial insects, and many can kill or harm fish, birds and even humans.

Herbicides can have negative effects on the wrong targets too, but they are also causing common agricultural weeds to evolve resistance faster, increasing our dependence on pesticides.

Watering lawns does waste a lot of fresh water.

Lawns replace areas that once could have contained 100+ plant species with monocultures of frequently invasive species. Butterflies can't find host plants this way. Bees can't find food. Thousands of insect species rely on specific plants for food, and no other plant will do. A huge amount of the land is taken up by these wastelands.

Lawns also create dead, compacted, lifeless soil that is hard to grow other things in or near. The root systems of turf grasses are not robust enough to allow water to penetrate in. No matter how much nitrogen and phosphorous you dump on a lawn, it will still be lacking in the organic matter needed to create lush, absorbent dirt.

Dirt is supposed to be full of fungal mycelium. Scientists have discovered recently that the vast majority of all plant species are dependent on a network of symbiotic fungi attached to their roots for 80% of their phosphorous needs and 90% of their nitrogen needs.

Yes, this means that when you put a fungicide on your lawn, you've just nerfed that plant's ability to absorb nutrients by up to 90%. And you've also devastated its ability to absorb water, because plants are partly dependent on their fungi to get water out of dirt.

But fungicide isn't the only problem. Every plant in a natural environment is attached to multiple species of fungus, and most fungi are attached to multiple species of plant (though some are specialists). Trees literally use this system to send nutrients to other trees. We discovered recently that trees in deserts in California can survive extreme drought because they're attached to fungi that can break down rocks and extract water from the rocks.

If you don't have a good variety of plant species and rotting leaves and sticks and stuff, it doesn't matter how much fertilizer you put on it, your soil isn't "healthy" because it's not alive.

Vegetation that has been cropped extremely short doesn't hold in water, so a heavily maintained lawn is likely unnaturally dry for your climate, and a flower or bush in the middle of a lawn without tall grasses, shrubs and weeds nearby is getting pounded by the sun much harder than it's meant to handle.

Yeah, gardening isn't hard, most native plants are falling all over themselves to grow, it's just that the standard suburban backyard is ridiculously hostile to life.

Of course at this point you may be wondering

"What do I do instead?"

Well, here you go:

Stop weeding, spraying and fertilizing. Seriously. Stop it!! Stop it!! Chemical intervention in your lawn traps you in a vicious cycle of creating problems that need to be solved with more chemicals.

"Weeds" are a perfect example. Plants commonly considered "weeds" are adapted to take over areas that have been cleared out of other plants. Many "weeds" are actively harmed by the fungi that other plants depend on, meaning they can ONLY thrive in disturbed or devastated areas. The harder you work to eliminate biodiversity in your yard, the harder nature is going to bomb your yard with weeds.

By the way, google the "soil seed bank." Seeds can stay dormant in soil for years or even decades. If you want a "weed-free" lawn, get ready to apply herbicides for the rest of your life.

Mow less often. You really can't go wrong with this one.

Don't try to grow grass where grass doesn't want to grow. Lots of shade? Try moss. Extremely dry? Try drought-adapted plants. See what wants to grow there and let it do its thing.

It's fine to have a lawn area that you actually use. But if no one walks or plays on a stretch of your lawn, it should be something else. A wildflower patch, a stand of prairie grasses, some large shrubs, a grove of trees.

By the way, the idea that shrubs or flower beds are higher maintenance than lawns is wrong. The neat thing about native species is that once they've gotten settled, you literally just do nothing.

People think flower beds are high maintenance because people almost always underpopulate them. They think that there should be big spaces of mulch in between each plant. In a full sun flower bed that's actually filled to capacity, you shouldn't be able to see the ground. If your plants aren't babies anymore and there's still space, more plants.

if you live in an area that was once forest, PLEASE, plant some trees, and not just one tree. Trees are somewhat like guinea pigs, actually, they don't want to be alone. They send each other nutrients through their roots and screen each other from wind damage.

By the way, the "mature spread" of a tree as told on websites means when you plant it by itself. Trees can generally be planted 6-10 feet apart and be perfectly happy, they'll just grow taller and straighter instead of spreading out. (Look at pictures of forests.) HOWEVER large trees like large oaks should really be 25+ feet from structures and septic tanks

(Trees pop up by themselves in lawns. Constantly. Search for them in a woodland biome and you will likely find baby oaks and maples and other cool guys.)

Trees introduce competition for light into the areas you plant them, helping eliminate the "weeds." You know how fast your lawn grows up and gets weedy when you don't mow it? Yeah, that's partly because it's getting a CRAP TON of sunlight dumped on it with reckless abandon.

A shade garden gets "weedy" WAY slower, and unlocks all sorts of gorgeous flowers that don't thrive in a full sun garden. Fallen leaves serve both as compost and mulch. If you live in the right area for it and have room, you cannot go wrong with trees.

#lawns #anti lawn #biodiversity #native plant gardening #reposts encouraged #gardening #plants

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littlejuicebox · 3 months

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Camping for beginners.

Written to sort of kill two birds with one stone. @coyote-mint this isn't Astarion soothing a baby, but it is Astarion giving Tav a break as she goes on a little, well-deserved vacation! @davenswitcher I also worked your storybook prompt in! Hope you two both like it; thanks for prompts! Special thanks to @chickywickers for helping me name the twins. :)

Summary: Tav/You are out of town and Astarion is full-time daddy duty without the nanny. In an effort to keep three children entertained, he decides upon camping in the backyard.

Tags/Warnings: all fluff, parenthood, children, dadstarion, the mildest reference to sexual encounters, mildest reference to bg3 events and trauma

Word Count: 2.5K

Astarion is pitching a tent in the ground, cursing to himself every few moments as he goes about the task. Once upon a time, he’d had Tav or Karlach… or perhaps even an unenthusiastic Lae’zel or an overenthusiastic Wyll to assist him.

But now, it’s him and three little boys in the midsummer heat. Tav won’t be back until tomorrow morning, after a week away visiting Shadowheart and Lae’zel in the Dalelands. It’s a sunny Sunday, and Winifred, the nanny, has weekends off.

So it’s all up to papa for a day longer. He’s sweaty, tired, and pulling from deeply hidden reserves of patience he didn’t know he had until now.

Astarion thinks he has never missed his wife more in all their time together. One more day. He can do it, right?

“Gale, hold this for me,” The frustrated father directs, guiding his ever-obedient and sometimes now shockingly stoic six year old to one of the tent poles.

Gale nods and follows his father’s instructions as his little brothers scream and run around the orchard with toy swords, wreaking havoc as usual. The younger Ancunins are a tornado of scraped knees and sticky fingers at any given time. Their parents consider it a win if the twins make it an entire day without breaking something.

Evander and Finnick are naturally more wild and unruly than their older brother ever was. Astarion is painfully aware that the streak of disobedience in the duo comes entirely from him. The twins test his patience far more than Gale ever had, and in the absence of their mother, the two have become almost completely unhinged.

Tav is the twin wrangler; they are softer with her – but then, she’s always had a way with the more surly, roguish types. Her unique charm somehow soothes them into compliance. Astarion lacks the same skills and is, unfortunately, paying for it this weekend.

The younger boys are straying too far away for Astarion’s liking, and as he hammers a stake into the orchard’s fertile earth, he shouts at the twins, “Evan and Finn, you two had better get your little behinds back—“

He stops and sighs; the twins are too interested in their make-believe and paying absolutely no mind to their father and his chastisement. Astarion resumes his task and without even looking back up at his eldest asks, “Gale, will you please contain them for a moment until we finish this?”

A lazy wave of Gale’s hand, reminiscent of Astarion’s own flippant movements when he speaks, and vines spring from the earth. The tendrils wrap around Evander and Finnick, holding each of them by the torso. A second tendril springs to life from the soil and wraps around the brothers, pulling them into its embrace just as the first tendril recedes. This process continues in a domino effect until the twins are but a few feet from their father, struggling against the vines and expressing their displeasure with grunts and screams.

Astarion lifts his head from the stake and watches the scene in a mixture of amusement and amazement, and when the boys are sufficiently contained he turns to smile at his eldest, “You really are exceptionally talented, you know that, don’t you?”

Gale smiles and nods before he looks down at the ground, unable to meet his father’s proud gaze as he says, “I know, Papa.”

The eldest Ancunin boy struggled in school all last year. His fragile confidence took a huge tumble, which his parents were working to restore to the best of their ability. Gale always required softer hands in comparison to his brothers; Astarion was still learning how to navigate this difference.

“Let go!” The twins shout in unison, short limbs flailing against the vines gently containing their three year old bodies.

They look like mirror images of one another, down to the dark wavy hair parted in opposite directions and vitiligo patches splattered across opposing green eyes. Evander’s is on his left eye, Finnick’s is on his right. Together, they look like a Rorschach Test.

Astarion’s patience is gone; part of him considers leaving the duo trapped in the vines until Tav returns. He narrows his eyes at the youngest Ancunins, pointing accusingly at them with the hammer, “You two asked to camp outside, and after very insistent pleas, I agreed. So if you don’t want daddy to pack up this entire thing and take you both back into the house, you are to stand there. Quietly.”

Finnick, the younger of the twins by a few minutes, wrinkles his nose in displeasure at his father, “Mean, daddy.”

A slow, long exhale escapes Astarion as he stares at the surly three year old with furrowed brows.

“My child, you have no idea how mean I can be, now hush so that your brother and I can finish this,” Astarion instructs, and then returns to work pitching the tent, ignoring the frustrated whines and protests from the twins all the while.

Around the small campfire, the Ancunin boys roast marshmallows on sticks as Astarion reads a tale from one of their story books. Apple is, as almost always, curled up next to Gale. The eldest Ancunin boy sneaks the dog marshmallows and his father pretends not to notice.

If that’s the most rebellious Gale ever is, so be it. The twins are a different challenge, entirely.

The story is all about slaying dragons, knights in shining armor, damsels in distress… the usual. The topic is exceptionally boring to the father of three, given all he’s experienced, but he’s gotten used to pretending this ridiculous droll is highly entertaining and throwing his voice for his kids amusement.

And, plus, if the twins are entertained, they aren’t causing mayhem, which is all Astarion can ask for tonight. Tav will be back in less than twelve hours, he reminds himself.

All hail his wife, Lady Ancunin, the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, and the hero of this household.

This weekend has Astarion regretting any moment he might have taken her for granted or not shown enough appreciation for her.

While the father of three continues to read, a sudden rustling at the edge of the orchard catches everyone’s attention. The three-year-old twins instantly cling to one another in fear and Apple’s head snaps up to peer towards the possible threat.

“Werewolf!” Evander shouts.

“Vampire!” Finnick continues.

Gale giggles and shakes his head, “No… it’s a raccoon. I can hear her. She smells the food.”

Astarion’s nose wrinkles in distaste as his silver-haired son takes his plate of leftovers and meanders toward the edge of the property, but he chooses to remain silent and let his son feed the vile creature. With Gale around, it’s a wonder they aren’t overrun with vermin and rodents galore. Though, the feral cat colony the little boy single-handedly created is likely keeping the other animal population at bay.

Gale places the plate down, whispers something to the raccoon, and returns back to the campfire, nestling his head into Apple’s side as he settles back into the dirt.

“Papa… there aren’t really vampires and werewolves out in the woods… right?” Gale questions, his eyebrows shooting up into his forehead in concern as he thinks.

“Perhaps not in the woods right here…” Astarion responds, trying to figure out how to be honest with his children without frightening them entirely, “But they do exist… I’ve killed a vampire before.”

At this the two younger Ancunins gasp and Gale shoots back up to sitting, his green eyes widened in shock as he asks, “You’ve killed a vampire before?”

Astarion chuckles. Sometimes he forgets how little his children truly know of his past. He shuts the storybook in his lap closed and nods, a small smile crossing his face, “I have. Your mother helped me. Would you three like to hear about it?”

“Yes!” The boys all shout in unison, all coming as close to their father as they possibly can.

“Very well,” Astarion agrees with a grin, and then he launches into the tale of fighting Cazador, mindful to keep everything as child-friendly as a gorey battle can possibly be and leaving his enslavement entirely out of the picture. The children will learn about that later, he thinks, but now is not the time.

The boys are wholly captivated by their father’s tale until the twins begin to drift off, slumped against one another. Gale is the only one still awake when his father finishes the story. There is a moment of quiet at the end as his eldest reflects upon all that was revealed to him.

“Were you scared, Papa?” He finally asks, his fingers threading into the curled fur on Apple’s back.

Astarion nods in response, “Of course, Gale. But… I think you cannot be brave if you don’t feel a bit scared, first.”

The eldest Ancunin boy sighs. He has feelings about this that he has not yet been able to put into words. Gale’s general kindness and gentleness is such a stark contrast to many of the kids at school; he’d gotten himself into more than one scuffle. He was perceived as an easy target, because he knew better than to use his powers on the other children. As a result, Gale often simply let the other children attack him, not ever wanting to hurt anyone, even if it was in his defense.

Astarion had, more than once this year, gone to the school and threatened to retract their donations if the issue was not resolved. One of the child’s parents had been hit with a lawsuit after Gale returned home with a black eye. But come the start of next term, there was a strong chance this behavior would continue.

He and Tav had both lost countless hours of sleep over this very topic.

“How do you know…” Gale starts, and then stops with another sigh, staring up at the stars as he tries to find his words, “How do you know when it’s time to fight back?”

There is a moment of silence as the older elf considers this question. How do you know?

“If someone doesn’t listen when you ask them to stop, that is how you know, Gale,” Astarion responds, finally, his hand coming to ruffle the curls upon his eldest’s head, “And if someone is hurting you or someone you care about, and they refuse to stop when you ask them the first time, that is all the permission you need. Your mother and I will always agree with you if you are protecting yourself or your brothers in defense, little prince.”

The silver-haired six year old nods with a yawn, his fingers still curled in Apple’s fur.

“Now come on, let’s get you and your brothers inside the tent for the night,” Astarion directs, picking up one of the twins and holding the flap open for Gale. He gets the two boys settled before returning to retrieve the remaining one and calling for Apple to join all four Ancunins.

The fire is left glowing its final embers as the men all drift off to sleep.

You find the tent in the orchard after returning to a house filled with only your regular employees. Winifred, the nanny, and Pascal, the steward, are both clueless as to where your children and husband are this morning. When you enter the backyard, a snuffed fire and Apple keeping guard outside the tent not more than ten feet from the manor signal you’ve found your family.

You crouch and open the tent flap, only to be greeted by an adorable image. Astarion is on his back, one twin clinging to each leg and Gale nestled into the crook of his arm. All four of the Ancunins are still sleeping, seemingly exhausted from the night before.

“Good morning, my little loves,” You greet in a soft murmur.

Astarion is the first to open his eyes and smile at you as he sits up, expertly maneuvering himself around three sets of other limbs.

“Welcome back home, Tav. We missed you. I think that perhaps I missed you the most.” Astarion greets, leaning forward to press an affectionate kiss upon your cheek and grabbing your hand to give it a squeeze.

“No, me!” Evander protests through a yawn as he scrambles to wrap his arm around your arm.

“No, me!” Finnick echos, sitting up and pushing a cluster of curls from his face to grin at you.

“I think it was me, mama.” Gale calls softly, his head still resting upon the pillow, eyes still shut.

You chuckle in response to this ridiculous argument before standing and lifting the tent flap entirely, “I missed you all, too. Alright everyone, let’s get inside for breakfast. I’m making pancakes.”

A clamor of excitement from the Ancunin boys fills the orchard as your children exit the tent and begin the short journey back toward the house. Apple is running after them, her tail wagging excitedly because she knows she will get whatever leftovers the boys cannot finish.

As the children disappear into the house, Astarion grabs your hand with a mischievous grin, insistently pulling you into the tent with him.

“My love, the boys–” You begin to protest, but your husband cuts you off with a kiss pressed against your lips as his nimble fingers quickly shut the tent behind you.

“It’s Monday, surely Winifred is already in, hm?” Astarion questions, his mouth already trailing kisses along your neck, “She can handle the trio for… oh, twenty minutes?”

You gasp as the elf’s fingers slowly trail under your dress and up your thighs to grip at the flesh around your hips. And then you turn to meet your husband’s face as he pulls you into a kiss. Being in the tent reminds you of old times out on the road, all those years ago, and you quickly fall under the Astarion’s spell, just as you had back then.

Your husband breaks away from the kiss and begins to pull your dress over your head. He grins and roams his eyes over your body when you’re left in nothing but your underclothes, “And… not that it’s a competition, little love. But I maintain I missed you the most.”

He doesn’t leave room for response as he pounces upon you, eager to show you just how much he missed you this past week.

Less than twenty minutes later, the twins are back outside the tent, screaming impatiently for pancakes as an apologetic Winifred calls after them from the porch. Astarion groans and is forced to throw his trousers back on with a whispered, “We’ll finish this later tonight, hm?”

And then he’s climbing out of the tent, corralling the two younger Ancunin’s back into the house and buying you a moment to throw your dress back on before exiting yourself.

When you enter the kitchen, Astarion has thrown his crumpled shirt back on and is already starting the pancake batter among a chatter of excited storytelling from the boys. Winifred is forcing the twins to wash their hands as they speak about the raccoon they thought was a monster and Gale asks you to confirm the two of you really killed a vampire.

At this last part you shoot Astarion a questioning look and he shrugs while flashing you an apologetic smile. He looks like the twins when they’ve been caught breaking something. You know you’ll have to follow up later, but for now, all you want to do is focus on your little loves.

They all missed you, and you missed them just as much. Perhaps more.

But it’s not a competition.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #dadstarion fic #dadstarion #papastarion #astarion headcanons #domestic astarion #astarion fluff #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female reader #astarion reader insert #astarion reader fluff

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athanza · 1 month

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Starlett - Part 3

Cooper Howard/fem!OC (not self-insert)

Tags: Hurt/comfort (sort of?), non-allowed romantic connection, lots of tention, pre and post war drama, some fluff

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse (no graphic scenes or descriptions of that nature), angst, canon wasteland violence

This branches out from canon but I thought it was a cute story idea so I had to write it. Enjoy! ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Final part

2296

Suddenly Irene looked unsteady and she held a hand to the wound on her side.

"Fancy seein' you here." She chuckled painfully.

"I know, I haven't changed a bit."

She laughed but immediately regretted it, groaning in pain.

"You uh," she said, blood dripping down her leg. "you wouldn't happen to have a stimpak on you would ya? I'm uh...I'm not feelin' too hot."

He looked her over, the gash was deep, she'd need more than one stimpak. "Unfortunately I don't think I do."

Suddenly her legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed.

"Whoa." He said, catching her before she hit the ground.

Irene woke up hours later, lying on her back in what looked like a small cave, her head resting on a saddle bag.

She didn't look any different than she did before the war, albeit a little dishevelled, Cooper figured that however Moldaver survived must've been how she did.

"Coop." Irene croaked.

He looked up from cleaning his revolver and saw her try to move.

"Easy there Starlett, you're pretty banged up."

She winced in pain again and lay back down. "I thought you were dead." She said, weak from the blood loss.

"I should be. So should you."

"Fate had other plans I guess."

Cooper scoffed quietly. She didn't press it, even though she wanted to know if Janey made it.

"You're gonna need some proper medical attention." He said. "Ain't much out here though."

"Eh, it's just a scratch." She joked, swallowing a mouth-full of blood.

Cooper got up and handed her a flask of water, half empty. She took a few sips and handed it back.

"I'm lookin' for Lee, you know where I can find 'er?

"I've been looking for her myself, I'm afraid I can't help you there, I've found nothing but dead ends. The bitch is hard to find even in a fucking desert."

He smiled a little at the very different tone coming out of her mouth than he remembered; she must've been in the wasteland for a little while, at least.

"I'm glad I found you cowboy. You're about the only fond memory I've got left. I needed that right about now."

"I'm not the man you remember."

"Doesn't matter. You've reminded me of something I haven't seen in years."

"And what's that?"

"Kindness."

2077

The doorbell rang and Cooper opened it to find Irene looking remarkably understated compared to her shows, but she still had that aire of grace that she always carried with her no matter where she was.

"Come on in." He smiled, stepping aside for her.

"I can't thank you enough for letting me stay, I know its a lot of ask of someone you just met."

"It's the least I can do."

He closed the door and took her suitcase for her.

Janey appeared with Roosevelt, having been playing in the backyard and Cooper gestured to her.

"Irene, this is my daughter Janey. Janey this is Irene, the friend from work I was telling you about."

"Irene Taylor!?" She said, her eyes sparkling. "I've seen you on TV! Your voice is sooo beautiful! You definitely should have won the award on last month's show."

Irene and Cooper both laughed.

"Looks like you have a fan."

"That's very kind of you." Irene smiled sweetly.

"Janey, why don't you watch some cartoons while I show Irene to her room?"

"Ok." She beamed and sat down with Roosevelt in front of the TV.

Irene followed Cooper to the back of the house where the guest room was and looked at all the family photos as they walked through. Wedding photos, Janey's baby photos, a puppy photo of Roosevelt. When they finally reached the room she felt even more uncomfortable.

"This is you." He said, placing her suitcase on the bed.

"I'm so sorry to put you in this position Mr. Howard, I do appreciate it very much. I didn't know who else to come to."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled warmly. "I'm just glad you decided to leave."

"So am I. You made me realise the cause wasn't worth the abuse, no matter how much I told myself it was. Lee won't be happy but it'll be worth it in the end."

"I'm sure it will."

She smiled softly at him. "I'll let you get back to your daughter. You'll barely know I'm here."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're joining us for dinner, plus I'm sure Janey would love to spend some time with you."

She got choked up a bit at that. Everything she had done since getting into show business had been for other people, someone doing something like this for her was something special.

"Thank you Mr. Howard."

"Cooper." He replied.

2296

Irene lay sleeping and Cooper sat wondering what to do with her.

He couldn't spare any resources, and he didn't need stimpaks, so he had none. Could he carry her to Filly and get her to a doctor? Sure, but that was in the opposite direction of where he was headed, where they were both headed.

It would be more humane to shoot her now to save her the pain, but he couldn't bring himself to do it and it angered him.

"Fuck." He said, getting to his feet and picking up his gun, walking out of the cave in search of supplies.

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bonny-kookoo · 9 months

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Jungkook x Reader/ Yoongi x Jimin

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓣𝓸𝓸𝓽𝓱 [Strawberries]

Yoongi and Jimin are each proud owners of hybrids, and these days, slowly falling in love with one another. And everything could be so perfect- if it wasn't for you absolutely resenting Jungkook- for no reason?

Tags/Warnings: Human!Yoongi, Human!Jimin, Rottweiler hybrid!Jungkook, Cat hybrid!Reader, Enemies to friends to lovers, mentions of past traume, some Yoonmin here and there oops, Main story focus are MC and Kook though

Length: 3.5k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook and Yoongi have been living together for years by now.

The older producer had taken the young dog hybrid in back when the system was a lot more complicated than it is now- requiring a hybrid to actually have an owner as a legal guardian in order to work anywhere, no matter in what field. And after getting to know the back then rather unsure dog hybrid, Yoongi had simply found it unfair that he couldn't proceed any sort of proper education for the kinds of jobs he was dreaming of. So he'd filled in the spot of a legal owner for Jungkook- giving the Rottweiler hybrid the chance to take those chances and make something out of himself.

And nowadays, he's happy- still staying in Yoongi's care, even though he technically doesn't have to with his own job. But he likes Yoongi a lot, sees him as a brother rather than just a friend who helped him, and Yoongi feels the same way. Living with him is comfortable, it's home- it's how he wants things to stay, maybe even forever.

But.. things have been changing, recently.

A couple of weeks ago, the sign stating that the house next to the human-hybrid home of the two was for sale got taken down, signaling that it was finally in the hands of someone new. This caught both their interests, as they watched over the next few days how furniture got delivered, old fences taken down and exchanged for newer one's, and how the overgrown garden in the backyard got finally mowed and put back into a more proper shape- though at the moment, still bland. And then, they moved in. The new neighbors finally showed up, and introduced themselves. Or rather.. one of them did the introducing, while the other simply glared from a distance.

Park Jimin is the name of the friendlier one, a dance teacher very well known in his profession, or so Yoongi had found out by googling his name that same day. The man with the soft facial features owns a hybrid- and from what Jungkook has seen, you're a feline hybrid, a cat with the softest tail he's ever seen. You're always wearing the prettiest, most princess-like clothing, bows and frills and delicate lace decorating all the sleeves and hems of your dresses and skirts. You're pretty, adorable really-

but you're not very friendly, at all, to put it mildly.

When Yoongi had visited Jimin together with Jungkook for a simple dinner (Jungkook has noticed right away that there's something going on between his owner and Jimin), and you had locked yourself into the bedroom the entire night, refusing to come out despite Jimin's constant tries to coax you out. It had made the young man a little uncomfortable, having constantly apologized for your behavior, despite Yoongi's words of comfort and that it didn't bother him.

Jungkook had felt a bit odd, that night. Maybe you were just a little scared? He knows from his job after all that some cat hybrids have a natural fear for dog hybrids that they can't control. Maybe you were one of those?

It took weeks for you to finally sit at the same dinnertable as Yoongi and Jungkook- tonight finally attending, though you glare at Jungkook across the table whenever Jimin isn't paying attention to you. And something both Jungkook and Yoongi notice is just the way the human cares for you.

You're absolutely spoiled rotten.

From getting endless treats and snacks before dinner was even on the table, to the glimpse Jungkook got into your room while passing by towards the bathroom. It's full of plush animals, white and pink furniture, a canopy bed with frills and lace and endless pillows and blankets. It's clear to both Jungkook and Yoongi that your behavior might not just be your own fault- but could also be the result of Jimin's clearly spoiling behavior.

You don't just look like a princess- you're clearly used to being treated like royalty as well.

And Yoongi just watches for tonight, not saying anything because he's simply not in any position to do so. After all, Jimin and him are really just getting to know each other at the moment- and while yes, there are some emotions growing between the two, it's not yet to the point where he'd say that he wants to jump into a relationship yet. And neither does Jimin.

And maybe that's gonna have to stay this way for a while longer- because if you and Jungkook won't get along, there's simply no way that Yoongi could ever be truly happy with Jimin.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook is currently busy picking the strawberries from the bushes in his garden when he feels eyes on him, like lasers on the back of his head. One look over his shoulder confirms his suspicion- you're currently peeking over the fence of your own backyard, thinking he cannot see you. Your gardens are so close together that only a small fence really splits them apart, so he has to swallow down a laugh since you're not really being very slick with your blatant staring.

He stands up now, tail wagging in a relaxed, friendly manner, and at that you flop down from your tip-toe position, ears slowly moving backwards in a more defensive manner. "Do you want to try one?" He asks you, and you seem to take a breath to say something, before your eyes spot the ripe, red berry in the rottweiler hybrid's hand. It does look good- probably sweet, and fruity, and delicious- but your eyes keep snapping back to his face.

Maybe you really are scared of him? He feels his heart fall a bit. He really doesn't want to scare you.

"I'm not gonna do anything, promise." He tells you, slowly walking closer with the small basket in his hand. You're taking a step back, but you're also only doing that once- staying at the fence, just making a bit more space, it seems like. "Here- you can have those, and share them with Jimin?" He proposes, and your lips move into a slight pout as you clearly start to contemplate.

You're so cute- even more so up close. Jungkook hopes that you're someone who needs a bit more time to warm up- that you just have to get used to him, maybe.

"Jiminie!" You call over your shoulder, and moments later, the man in question looks out of the back door, greeting Jungkook with a wave and a smile. "Can I have the strawberries?" You ask, and Jimin nods, walking closer now.

"Sure. Are you sure it's okay for us to have them?" He says, a hand on your head making you instinctively purr- and simultaneously Jungkook blush a little, as he realizes his slight feelings of jealousy at seeing you so at ease with the older human.

"We have more to pick, don't worry! But you can have them! They're really sweet." Jungkook says, noticing from the corner of his eye how Yoongi seems to observe the interaction from behind the window.

"Alright then, Thank you." Jimin smiles brightly, before he looks at you expectantly- but you just take the basket without any words, observing the large berries in the basket. Jimin sighs- before he speaks again. "Oh- Yoongi, hi!" He beams, and at that you look up and at the man being greeted, who looks at you with a gaze that shows an entirely different form of expectation.

It looks more demanding than expecting, and you feel yourself shrink in on yourself a bit, ears tilting backwards.

"Jungkook cares for the plants pretty well. He puts a lot of effort into them." Yoongi says, not taking his eyes off of you- as if he's pressuring you with the info of his dog hybrid's hard work. You know exactly what he wants- but he's not your owner. He's got no control over you. So you simply stay stubborn, glaring at him- making Jungkook watch a bit uncomfortably.

"Ah- it's really fine. I get lazy with them sometimes, it's more like a hobby than anything serious." He tries to lift the mood a little, and Jimin nods, before he looks at you now as well-

"…thanks." You huff under your breath, before you quickly turn around with a red face. "Jiminie can you help me wash them?" You instantly ask, jumping a little as you make your request, and Jimin sighs a little, nodding.

"I'll be right with you." He promises, watching you run inside the home, successfully escaping the situation. "I'm sorry about that.." He mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"She can't wash them herself?" Yoongi asks, facial expression a lot softer now.

"I mean she can- I just tend to do those things for her." Jimin says, while Jungkook walks off to pick the rest of the berries, Jimin looking after him for a moment. "She- ah, she comes from a pretty bad background, I'm just trying to give her what she deserves, you know?" Jimin quietly explains.

"I had a hunch." Yoongi nods, crossing his arms. "But don't you think you're spoiling her quite a bit?" He asks, and the younger man nods.

"I'm aware. But it's hard not to." He laughs. "I've gotten used to it. I don't really know how she'd react to change." He offers, and Yoongi shrugs.

"Well, things are about to change if you want us to get anywhere at any point." Yoongi says. "You know this won't work if she keeps her behavior up." He says, though his voice is gentle.

"I know. But it's hard." Jimin whines almost, looking over his shoulder for a second.

"Well, let me ask you this." Yoongi says. "Do you want this?" He gestures between himself and Jimin, and Jimin nods almost instantly. "Then let me help you."

"How?" He asks, unsure.

"Listen, Jungkook might seem like an angel, but he'd act the same if not worse than her if I was to treat him the same as you do her." The older man laughs. "I can help you with her. I won't take over as an owner, absolutely not- that's your role after all, and it's gonna stay that way." He explains to Jimin.

"Yoongi.." Jimin sighs, crossing his arms now as well, while he thinks for a moment. "Okay." He nods after a while. "I want this to work out- and I know, really, that I need to change how I'm doing things right now." He agrees.

"Alright." The older man smiles. "Then let's make it work. Hopefully she'll get over her hatred towards Jungkookie too." He jokes, though Jimin sighs a bit sadly.

"She really doesn't hate him, you know?" He offers. "She's just- you know, back at her first home, and in the shelter, she was bullied quite a lot. And the.. things that happened to her made her awfully defensive towards everything and everyone around her- and she just tends to lash out whenever she feels scared, or you know, upset. She used to yell a lot of mean things at me too, when she was younger and I had just brought her home with me." He explains, and Yoongi nods, now a lot more sympathetic.

"I see. It makes sense then that you've become so soft with her." He offers in understanding. "But Jimin, she's not the same girl you brought home all those years ago."

"I know." Jimin nods. "But it's hard to forget that." He admits, when suddenly, you squeak out, running out the door. "What happened princess?" He worries, as you look at him with wide open eyes, pupils tiny slits.

"There was a bug in the berries!" you yell, and at that, everyone laughs-

Jimin letting go of a big sigh, before he says goodbye to Yoongi to help you fight the evil insect.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

As part of Yoongis plan to make you grow more comfortable with both him and Jungkook, you've all decided to go on a vacation together. A camping trip- something everyone found a great idea, Jungkook all excited since he loves camping- though you had been way more reluctant, considering your fear of bugs and fire, and your distaste for long car rides and anything dirty.

But this time, Jimin had apparently put his foot down- because he'd informed Yoongi not even a day later that it was a great idea, and that him and you would definitely come along. What Jungkook however didn't knew until right now, is that he's gonna share a room with you-

alone.

"But she hates me!" Jungkook complaints, as he stands in the cabin Yoongi is currently unloading the groceries in. "There's no way she'll sleep in the same room as me." He huffs, and Yoongi sighs.

"Well, she has to learn. I already talked to Jimin about it-" He says, putting everything into a box that doesn't have to be stored in the fridge. "-and he agrees that he's spoiled her quite a bit until now. She needs to learn to be a bit more independent." He explains calmly, though he's internally very well aware of your distaste for his dog hybrid. He knows exactly why- but he also respects Jimin's decision to not tell Jungkook anything about your past trauma, claiming that that's something you need to tell, no one else.

And Yoongi agrees with that- but he also feels for Jungkook, who's been really trying to make you warm up to him. He already struggles to find friends due to his intimidating hybrid side and sometimes rather chaotic personality. Seeing you so defensive against him does clearly hurt, no matter ho much Jungkook tries to play it off.

But for once, Yoongi also wants to be a little selfish. He wants to spend time with Jimin, alone time away from you both, just to properly figure out where he truly wants this to go from here on out. It's why he's organized this trip in the first place. To find out if this could truly work out.

And he fears, deep down, that it won't. Because if you and Jungkook don't get along, there's no way Yoongi can ever be happy with Jimin.

A few hours away from the Cabin Yoongi and Jungkook are already setting up, you're pouting next to Jimin in the car, slumped down and with your arms crossed. "Making that face won't make me turn around, princess." Jimin says, voice light- but inside, he's torn. This is going to be tough for you, considering that you're gonna have to stay with Jungkook during the night- and the poor dog hybrid has no idea that you don't actually hate him. You don't hate at all, in fact.

Your defense mechanism when confronted with something you fear however, is to lash out. And that is most of the time taken out of context, making you appear rude and arrogant, when in reality you're just trying not to seem weak or vulnerable.

Because in the past, that would immediately make you the perfect target. Pushed aside and scolded for everything that wasn't ever your fault in your first home, used as a punching bag for other hybrids in the shelter later on, you had to somehow make up a tough façade so you wouldn't end up in those positions ever again. You learned to keep yourself safe by being the one who bites first- and it took Jimin years to truly gain your full trust.

He fears that that's all you can do though. That he's going to forever stay the only person of comfort for you.

And that's an issue. While he himself had been a bit defensive about his treatment of you with Yoongi, he knows that the older man is right. Jimin has been wrapping you in layers of bubble wrap, has spoiled you and nursed your bad habits into what they are today simply because he always saw the scared, shaking hybrid back at the shelter.

But that's not you anymore. You technically have no reason to be scared of anything anymore- but Jimin understands now, after talking numerous times about it with Yoongi, that he's partially at fault for your lack of social skills.

Jungkook had come from a good household- had been raised well, so Yoongi had never really experienced anything like Jimin did with you, but nonetheless, his advice still counts, and is still valid.

You need to learn at some point. You have to realize that there's nothing to fear anymore- and that Jungkook isn't an enemy ready to eat you alive in your sleep.

"Come on, stop pouting now, hm?" He tries, running a hand over your head once at a red light. You just look out the window. "Is Jungkookie that scary?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"He's dumb." You deny, putting your legs up and onto the seat.

"Hey.!" He scolds gently. "Jungkook isn't dumb. He's trying hard, okay? You could be at least civil with him, sugar." He tells you, and you sigh at that, leaning against the door.

"I don't want to." You say defensively, tail angrily flopping around. "You just say that because you wanna be with Yoongi." You huff.

"Partially, I admit that." Jimin nods. "But I also agree with him that you need to be nicer. Jungkookie is really trying to be friends with you, you know?" He sighs.

"I don't care.." You mumble to yourself, angrily looking out the window. You know that Jungkook isn't a threat- but he's still scary to you. He's tall, and a lot of muscle, and he's loud, and energetic, and just.. scary. Intimidating. Potentially dangerous. And that potential alone is enough to make you feel threatened.

Jungkook and Yoongi are currently ruining your perfect life you had with Jimin. So you've got enough reason to be absolutely pissed.

And so you refuse to exit the car in front of the cabin- rather taking a nap inside, until Jimin breaks through Yoongi's advice to just 'let you have your tantrum', unable to right away just let you be. It's unsurprising to the older human- so he doesn't really take it personally, letting him go out and talk to you so you finally come inside.

"Maybe she should sleep with Jimin tonight." Jungkook says, having rather reluctantly brought your luggage into your shared room with him.

"No, she's staying with you tonight, and that's final." Yoongi shakes his head, coincidentally saying exactly that when Jimin walks inside the cabin with you holding his hand. It earns him an angry glare from you, before you let go of Jimin to instead dash past Yoongi and Jungkook and into the room, door slamming shut. Jimin sighs.

"I'm really sorry about her." He shakes his head, sitting down and running a hand over his face. "Ah, this is so uncomfortable!" He laughs a bit, trying to lift the mood, as Yoongi sits down next to him, running a hand over his back.

"It's fine." He simply says, before he nods towards Jungkook, who reluctantly walks away after saying goodnight, opening the door to the dark room.

He gets ready for bed, but he notices that when he returns to the room after brushing his teeth and washing his face, you're still under the blanket in your day clothes, not having moved at all. Assuming that you're in one of your tantrums again, he quietly turns off the lights, and gets into his own bed across from yours, closing his eyes-

when he hears it.

Quiet sniffles, scent of distress coming from you filling the room. It makes him sit up again, eyes having adapted to the dark by now, a little light bleeding in from under the door as well. "You okay.?" He carefully and quietly asks, but you don't answer, instead simply curling up a little tighter. "You.. your bag is next to your bed-"

"Leave me alone!" You hiss, sitting up now and glaring at him with glossy eyes and a runny nose, tail angrily slapping around behind you. "This is your fault! Yours and Yoongis!" You snarl at him, and he's taken aback.

"What did I do?" He asks, unsure, and you scoff.

"You're taking Jimin away from me!" You say, new wave of fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. "He's gonna see how fucking perfect and nice you are instead of me, and then he's gonna bring me back to the shelter so he can be all happily-ever-after with you and Yoongi! Hope you'll be happy then.!" You growl, before you turn around and throw yourself down again, pulling the blanket over you before you quietly continue to cry.

Only now does Jungkook realize that Yoongi was right- you don't hate him. And you're not scared of him either-

you're scared of being left alone.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #yoongi imagine #jeon jungkook imagine #yoongi fanfic #jimin imagine #jimin x reader

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topguncortez · 2 years

Text

Baby On Board- B.Floyd

pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife!reader word count: 6k (its a long one) type: angst warnings: top gun shit, child birth, near death experiences, cursing. synopsis: being placed on a top secret mission weeks before his wife's due date was not what Lt. Floyd had imagined married life would be like.

note: thank you so much for 600! it's crazy how much this blog has grown in such little time! keep sending in requests!

She was his highschool sweetheart. From the moment Bob laid eyes on Y/N their freshman year of highschool, even with braces and acne and a ridiculous haircut, he knew that she was going to be his wife. She was perfect, smart, popular, kind to everyone and he was. . . well he was just Bob. A dork, a nerd, sweet and kind and too pure for this world. He could remember how badly he was sweating and shaking as he approached her lunch table, some cheesy valentine’s day card in his hand and asked her to the school dance. He thought he would get laughed at, but his heart filled with even more love as she pulled out a valentine of her own to give to him.

Bob had shocked everyone when he decided to go into the navy, including Y/N. They had talked about their futures, and Bob had briefly mentioned going into the navy, but he wasn't certain. So when he came home and told her he enlisted, she was shocked but proud of him. Her heart broke when he left for boot camp, and would wait by the phone or mailbox for a call or letter from him. When he came home with a buzzed cut, a bouquet of flowers and a ring, they both knew they didn’t want to be apart from each other. They got married in a small ceremony in his parents backyard, it was like a fairytale for both of them.

Both Bob and Y/N had agreed that they wanted kids. They weren’t ever too keen on actively trying for kids, but they weren’t doing anything to actively prevent it either. At first, they were going to let nature do its thing, agreeing that it’ll happen when it happens. But after two years of nothing, they knew that it was time for some intervention. It broke Bob’s heart when the doctor told them it was going to be nearly impossible for them to have a baby of their own. He watched as the light in her eyes diminished. She told him that she was okay, that it would be fine, but Bob could hear her crying in the bathroom when she thought he was asleep.

Bob stood by her side though, never leaving her. He held her hand in doctors appointments, when they had decided on doing hormonal treatments, Bob was always on track with timing, and keeping track of everything. When he noticed that her body had started to change, and her mood was different and her period was late, he went out and bought every kind of pregnancy test there was to get. He sat by her side on the bed as they waited for the timer to go off, and was the first to look at the results.

Seven months later, Bob and Y/N were glaring at each other from across the kitchen. Her belly had popped some weeks ago, and she was now supporting a nice round bump. She looked on the verge of tears as Bob had explained the document that was sitting in between the two of them. He was being called back to TOPGUN, something that he never thought would happen. The first time around, they had been married for only about a year, and Bob was excited to be chosen to go. He got permission to take his wife with him, and that was all he needed. Now, things have changed.

Y/N was not thrilled at all about Bob being called back. There was no other information on the document other than time and place to be. They had arranged on base housing for the both of them, but they both knew that Y/N couldn’t leave Lemoore. It wasn’t a good idea for her to be far away from her doctor, not when time was ticking away closer to her due date.

“Why can’t they send someone else?” Y/N asked, running a hand through her hair, “Can you tell them I’m pregnant?”

“Did,” Bob sighed, “Technically the baby isn’t born yet so I don’t get any sort of paternity leave. I would still only get 21 days anyway.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, of course he didn't, “There’s nothing you can do?”

“It’s non negotiable. You can come with-”

“Come with!? Bob, look at me, I’m the size of a water buffalo-“

“No you’re not-“

“Shut up,” Y/N said, getting angry. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and turned on her heel and left the kitchen in tears. Bob sighed, knowing the majority of this was caused by pregnancy hormones but it still didn’t make it any easier. He knew that there was a possibility of him getting a last minute deployment or special detachment, like this one, that could take him away from Y/N and his unborn child. He just didn’t think it would ever come true. Bob grabbed the sheet of paper and read it over again. Doing the math in his head, he should be back in time before Y/N has their baby, but it still didn’t bring him any comfort.

He pushed himself from his spot, walking to the freezer to get an orange crush popsicle for Y/N, and then walked down the hall. He found her sitting on their shared bed, looking out the window. Bob sat down next to her and offered her the popsicle.

“Thanks,” She murmured.

“I know it’s not ideal-”

“No, it’s not,” Y/N sniffled as she opened up her popsicle.

“You could come with. . .”

“Bob, I’m seven months pregnant. I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“It’s also not a good idea to have you here alone either,” Bob said and Y/N sighed, “At least, if you’re in Miramar with me, I’d be there in a matter of minutes if something happened,” He grabbed her free hand and intertwined their fingers, “Up here, yeah we are alone, but you’ll be even more alone if something happened and I’m seven hours away. It would bring peace of mind to me, if you came with me.”

“Well,” Y/N sighed, “Looks like we’re both going back to TOPGUN.”

Bob smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek, and then slid off the bed to kneel in front of her, both hands going to her growing belly. It always made her giggle at how Bob’s large hands could cover her whole bump, but it also brought her a sense of security.

“You, my little one, can’t make any surprise appearances while we are there, you hear me? You stay right in here for the next six weeks and we won’t have an issue,” Bob said to her belly, and got a small kick in return, “I think they understood me,” He said looking up at you with his lopsided grin.

“I’m sure they did.”

— — —

It was almost too hot to do anything, even by the ocean in Miramar. Y/N had told herself when she got pregnant, she didn’t want to be pregnant during the hot months, but living in California, it was always hot. The drive down had been awful, having to stop almost every hour so she could pee, or being constantly uncomfortable. Bob felt bad, knowing that she was only doing this for him, but he let her complain as much as she wanted to. Bob had heard that everyone was gathering at the Hard Deck, a local bar that he and Y/N had frequented the first time around at TOPGUN. Y/N had opted not to go with him, as she wanted to just stay in the air conditioning of their tiny on base house.

Y/N had done what she could to make herself comfortable while being in Miramar. She went grocery shopping, to the beach a couple times, met with one of the OB’s on base (which Bob had gotten out of training early to do), but for the most part she kept a low profile, trying to stay as cool as she possibly could in the southern california heat. Her favorite part of the day was when Bob would come home, and lay his head in her lap and tell their child all about his day. His eyes always lit up as he talked about the simulations and the dogfighting. He would get so animated about it, it was adorable.

Y/N knew bits and pieces about the mission. She knew it was dangerous, that there was a lot at stake. Bob didn’t want to worry her too much at this stage in her pregnancy, but she had kind of gathered that them all being called back meant that it was serious. She tried not to think of a world where Bob Floyd wasn’t alive and she hated it. But Bob reassured her as much as he possibly could that he would make it back to her.

The team didn’t know much about Robert Floyd, other than he was a WSO and Phoenix’s back seater. He was quiet, kept to himself, and would speed off after showering at the end of the day. Phoenix had tried to pry some information out of him, but got nothing more than his full name, where he was from, and where he was currently stationed. Bob didn’t talk much about himself, and Phoenix kind of liked that. He was different from the usual cocky, arrogant (hangman) pilots she was used to working with.

“So Bob, what do you plan on doing when you get out of here?” Phoenix had asked him, as they were headed to the trial run zone. It was day four of doing the trial course, and no one had successfully completed it.

“I bet he is going to have himself a cold glass of ice water,” Coyote joked and Bob rolled his eyes.

“Oh shut it,” Phoenix laughed, “I bet he’ll go home and watch the office or something.”

“I prefer ‘friends’ over the office,” Bob said, thinking of his wife’s favorite show.

“Alright, dagger 1 easing in, time starting in 3, 2, 1,” Phoenix said as she started into the simulation.

Bob looked down at his radar, watching as Phoenix and Coyote made the twists and turns of the simulation, feeling his body jostle from side to side. It never got easier, the more that they ran the course, it seemed to somehow get worse. His body felt heavier, his lungs felt like they would explode. He would find bruises on his sides from hitting the side of the cockpit at such forces. Bob eyed their time, seeing that they were keeping up a good speed, until he caught another plane on the radar.

“Oh no, it’s Maverick!” Bob said.

“What?! Where is he!?” Phoenix called out, and Bob looked around the clear canopy into the sky, trying to see if he could spot Maverick.

“Lost him in the sun!” Bob called out, “Coyote, you see him!?”

“Man, he’s on my tail,” Coyote said, “Line it up, Bob.”

“Roger!” Bob said, controlling his laser to line up the shot, except he couldn’t get control of it. He swore under his breath as he tried but it was no use, “Dead eye! I can’t get it to lock!”

“Dropping in blind then,” Coyote said, and tried to line up the laser the best he could.

Bob could feel when Phoenix shifted the trajectory of the jet, sending them into a steep incline upward. Bob fought against the Gs being pushed on his body as he tried to keep his eyes open and himself conscious. Maverick had somehow shown back up, and stimulated a dogfight with them, until they realized they had lost comms with Coyote. He had gone into g-loc, and Maverick moved quickly to line up a shot, sending a loud buzzing sound into his cockpit. Bob took a sigh in relief as they got Coyote back, but the relief was short-lived when Maverick called out the bird strike.

“We’re on fire!” Bob called out, looking to see the left engine ablaze.

“Extinguishing!” Phoenix said, flipping a switch, “Lost hydraulics, losing altitude, I-I can’t control it!”

“Right engine on fire! We’re gonna burn in!” Bob’s voice was filled with panic, as he felt their jet start to drop from the sky.

“You have to eject!” Maverick called, “Phoenix, Bob! Eject, eject, eject!”

“Fuck! Eject, eject, eject!” Phoenix yelled out, as she hit the button to eject both of them. Bob covered his head as the canopy shot off, and he felt himself get pushed out of the cockpit. The next thing he felt was his feet hitting the ground.

— — —

The last thing any military wife ever wants is a call from the hospital saying that their husband had been injured. When Y/N arrived at the hospital, frantic with tears in her eyes, a nurse had guided her down to the room her husband was in. She felt the confused looks and stares of the aviators in the hallway as she passed by them on the way to Bob’s room. She had even heard one of them ask who she was and another say they didn’t know. Bob was busy flipping through the tv channels when she got to his room, he looked over at her and smiled weakly.

“Hey baby,” Bob said and Y/N rushed to his side, as Bob engulfed her in a hug, “Shh, I’m okay, I’m okay.” He soothed her, while rubbing her back as she cried as she sat on his bed.

“Jesus Christ Robert, don’t ever scare me like that again,” Y/N said, pulling away from him, and wiping her tears, “What the hell happened?”

“Bird Strike, lost control of the jet, had to eject. Nothing but a couple bruises and a sore tailbone,” Bob smiled, and Y/N shook her head, “Are you okay?”

“You’re asking me that?”

“You’re the pregnant one.”

“You’re the one who just ejected from a plane at 500 feet in the air.”

“Touche,” Bob said, as there was a knock on the door. Y/N turned her head to see a brunette woman peeking her head in with a shy smile on her face.

“The guys said you had company, I hope you don’t mind me coming to check on you?” The woman said, looking between the two of her.

Bob looked at you and you smiled, “No, not at all,” He said, “This is Phoenix, the main driver,” Bob said introducing the two of them, “Phoenix this is my wife, Y/N.”

“Oh- wow, Bob never-”

“Stealth pilot,” Y/N smiled and held her hand out to greet Phoenix, “It’s nice to meet you. He’s told me all about you. You’re pretty cool from what it sounds like.”

“You flatter me,” Phoenix said with a slight blush, “How far along?”

“Eight months. Not exactly my ideal location to be in, but,” Y/N shrugged and Bob smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her to sit back down on the bed, “How are you doing? I can’t imagine what it was like.”

“I’m okay, a little shaken up. I’m more concerned that Bob has hidden you away from us and made me suffer with the rest of the testosterone freaks out there.” Phoenix said and sat down in a chair by the bed.

Bob knew it was no use hiding Y/N from Phoenix, so he had told his pilot all about his wife, how they met, how he proposed, their wedding, their house, and even about their baby. Phoenix was surprised at how talkative Bob could be when he was talking about something he loved. She knew he could rattle off information about an F-18 and missiles and flight trajectory, but when it came to talking about his life, Phoenix was surprised. He had hardly let Y/N get a word in and Phoenix would laugh at how Y/N just looked at him.

Y/N would’ve liked it if Bob would’ve been able to stay home after having to eject from his plane, but the mission was still a go. It was only three days after the bird strike that he was packing his bags and headed to get on the carrier. Y/N had driven him to base, much to his dismay since he didn’t want her driving with her belly in the way. She tried to hide her tears as she put the car in park and looked at the daunting aircraft carrier.

“It’s only three days,” Bob said, looking at his hands, “Three days and-and I come home to you and our baby.” He placed his hand on her bump, feeling their little one move around.

“I know,” Y/N said, “Swear to God, if you don’t-”

“I will,” Bob said, cutting her off. He leaned over the console, holding her face in his hands and kissed her. It took her breath away, the type of kiss that is supposed to be a constant reminder. It left her lips tingling as he pulled back, “I’ll see you in three days.” Y/N nodded as Bob got out of the car. She saw Phoenix waiting next to her car and sent her a small smile and wave. Phoenix gave her a nod in response and hugged Bob.

Y/N let out a shaky breath as she watched the two of them walk towards the ship, “Three days little one, no sudden movement for three days.”

— — —

Y/N tried to keep herself distracted but she couldn’t help but stare at the clock, knowing that any second her husband’s plane would be taking off from the middle of the pacific ocean and would be flying towards a certain death. She knows that he promised to come home, but nothing is ever promised in this life. Y/N looked down at the hot mug of tea in front of her and felt a stray tear run down her cheek. She had gotten to the point in her pregnancy where she didn’t even know she was crying until the tear hit her shirt. She sniffled and placed her hand on her belly, just as she felt a cramping sensation.

“No. . .” She mumbled to herself and let out a shaky breath, “Please stop, don’t do this.” Y/N had been feeling contractions since Bob left. She knew that braxton hicks were common and had been feeling those since month seven, but now, these felt different. These felt stronger and she could feel her stomach dropping.

Y/N pushed herself away from the counter and slowly started making her way towards her bedroom. Laying down usually helped subside the contractions and the pelvic pain. Y/N paused as she felt the warmth of a liquid rushing down her legs as she stood in the hallway. She closed her eyes and clutched her stomach, hoping that maybe, just maybe this was all a dream and she had just peed herself in the hallway, rather than her water breaking. But when she opened her eyes at the feeling of a contraction, she knew it was very much real.

“No, no, no,” She felt tears in her eyes as she moved down the hallway towards the kitchen where she had left her phone. Her first instinct was to dial Bob’s number, which she did, but when it went straight to voicemail, she panicked even more. She gripped the counter as another contraction ripped through her body. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was not how this was supposed to happen. The next number she dialed was Penny’s, which the older woman had given to her after getting to know her at Iceman’s funeral.

“Hello?” Penny’s voice sounded through the receiver.

“Penny, I-I need your help,” Y/N’s voice cracked, “My water broke.”

“Oh my god,” Penny said, and Y/N could hear her get up and grab her keys, “Stay where you are, I am on my way. If you need to push, do it, don’t try and fight it.”

“I can’t have this baby alone!” Y/N cried.

“I know, I know, I’m on my way, just breathe okay,” Penny said and Y/N nodded.

Penny arrived after a short time, and helped Y/N get to the on base hospital. They had admitted her right away, and Y/N was thankful that Penny had decided to stay by her side. Penny had once been in Y/N’s shoes. Her now ex-husband had been on deployment when Amelia was born, and Penny was by herself in the delivery room, no family, no friends, just her and the nurses and doctor. Penny wasn’t going to leave Y/N alone, knowing very well she would’ve wanted someone to stay with her.

“Breathe through it, there ya go,” Penny said as she dabbed at the sweat collecting on Y/N’s forehead, “I left a message for Maverick and Hondo. I called in a favor from an old friend to hopefully contact the ship and get a message to Admiral Simpson.”

“I can’t have this baby without him,” Y/N cried, out of pure exhaustion. Even though her water broke, she was still going on hour eight of labor, waiting for her cervix to dilate and the baby to drop down even more. The nurses all shared a look, and Penny could read their faces. She had heard them say something to the doctor about being worried about maternal exhaustion.

“I know you don’t, but you might have to,” Penny said, and Y/N shook her head as another contraction hit. Y/N groaned in pain as she gripped the side rail, her knuckles turning white. Penny grabbed the white bucket next to her and placed it in front of her incase Y/N was sick again.

When Y/N felt her body relax, she let out a small cry and leaned back against the bed. Penny had hoped that the call she put in with her father would somehow reach the ship. She wished that Iceman was still alive, knowing he’d stop at nothing to get Bob from the ship and straight to the hospital. But all Penny could do was hold Y/N’s hand and wipe the sweat from her forehead. Y/N’s mind was wandering as she thought of the mission Bob was on, and prayed that he was alive and not dead somewhere in a European mountain range.

— — —

Life or death, Bob had seen the flash of death right in front of his eyes as Phoenix had navigated them through Coffin Corner. He felt his heart sink when he watched Maverick’s plane get shot down, and he felt like his heart stopped hearing Rooster go down too. Bob did what he could to comfort Phoenix as they flew back to the ship, placing a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off. They hadn’t been on the carrier long, when they heard that Rooster’s beacon had been turned back on, and Hangman had been instructed to go on the flight mission to bring them back.

The second Maverick buzzed by the tower, the tarmac broke out in cheer, as he landed and both of them had a large smile on their faces. Bob and Phoenix rushed over to Rooster, hugging him tightly. Bob had a bright smile on his face as he celebrated with his team.

“Lt Floyd!?” A voice called out for him. Bob turned around to see Admiral Simpson running towards him.

“Yes sir?” Bob asked, his heart racing slightly.

“You need to come with us right away, it’s a family emergency.”

Bob felt light headed as the Admiral’s words hit his ears. Bob had just escaped death with his team and now he felt a sudden rush of doom. Fanboy and Payback shared a look, confused on what the admiral had just said. As far as anyone knew, Bob didn’t have any family, Bob was a lone ranger. But the look on Phoenix’s face said otherwise.

“Go!” Phoenix said, pushing him towards the admiral. Bob stumbled on his feet but took off sprinting, trying not to let his mind go to the worse case scenario. Phoenix looked over her shoulder and noticed her fellow aviators looking at her confused, and sighed, “He’s married, and has a wife, who’s very pregnant.”

Hondo was waiting for Bob when he entered the tower, and relayed the information he had gathered from Admiral Bates. Bob couldn’t digest most of it, but what he gathered was that his wife was in labor and he was stuck on an aircraft carrier in the middle of nowhere after almost dying. Hondo directed him to the admiral’s office where they gave Bob some privacy to call his wife. Bob sat down in the chair, his hands shaking as he picked up the phone and dialed her number, something he memorized.

“Bob, thank god,” Penny answered.

“H-hey Penny, how is she?” Bob asked, trying to bite back tears.

“She’s getting checked by the nurses right now, I stepped out when I saw you call. She’s,” Penny sighed and looked down at her shoes, “They are worried about maternal exhaustion. She’s in hour 12 of labor, eight centimeters dilated and trying to fight it. She says she won’t do this without you.”

“She has too,” Bob said, feeling a tear run down his cheek, “She has to do this. And I swear to god, she will never have to do this alone again. I need to talk to her.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Penny said, and walked back into the room. Her heart broke seeing Y/N in such pain as she laid on her side. The nurse gave Penny a look, and she nodded, “Y/N, it’s Bob. I’m putting him on speaker.”

“Oh my god, Bob?” Y/N asked, her voice wavering in pain. Bob felt his heart break as he bit back a sob. He buried his face into his flight suit before speaking up.

“Hi babe,” Bob said, “This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

“No, not at all,” She sniffed, “God, why can’t you be here. Why now? They’ve been stubborn this whole time, but now?”

“I know,” He laughed, “But love, you have to stop trying to fight it, okay, you need to let them help you. It’ll only make things harder for you, for the baby.”

“Bob, I can’t do it,” Y/N protested and closed her eyes, feeling a contraction. Bob heard her suck in a breath and let out a whimper in pain. Penny grabbed her hand and helped her breathe through it. Bob wished so badly he could be there with her, all he ever wanted to do was be a father and he is completely missing it.

“She’s at ten,” A nurse said, “She keeps putting it off, she won’t be able to push.”

“Baby, you need to listen to them,” Bob said, sitting up straighter in his seat, “You need to do this okay. I’m right here, Penny is there. You need to bring our baby into the world.”

“No!” Y/N sobbed and Penny felt tears in her own eyes, “No! I won’t! I want to go home, let me go home!”

“You’re elevating your heart rate, Y/N,” Her nurse said, walking over to the bed and looking at the EEG reading, “If this continues we’ll have to do a c-section. Y/N, it’s time to push.”

Bob felt his heart stop. That was the absolutely last thing he wanted her to have to do. It was bad enough she was in labor by herself, he didn’t want to have her go under the knife alone. The nurses and the midwife started to move around, getting everything set up for delivery. Penny helped Y/N get to her back and sit up in the bed. The midwife put Y/N’s feet in the stirrups.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Bob said sternly, “You have to listen to them, you have to push, okay. I’m right here, I’m doing the best I possibly can.”

“This isn’t fucking fair,” Y/N cried, and gripped Penny and the nurse’s hand as she felt a contraction and what felt like the baby’s head dropping lower in her birth canal.

“I know,” Bob answered, “But you can do it okay, listen to the doctors.” Y/N nodded and Penny wiped her forehead.

The midwife looked up at Y/N and gave her a sad smile, “Alright, Y/N on the next contraction, I need you to push okay. You know your body better than any of us.”

Y/N nodded and let out a shaky breath. She felt the cramping of a contraction and sucked in a deep breath. When the contraction hit, she pushed, closing her eyes and letting out a groan. Bob closed his eyes, not being able to imagine the pain she was in. With every push that the midwife would count out, Y/N’s groans and cries got louder. He could tell as the time went on that she was getting more and more exhausted.

“Jesus Chrsit, I can’t do this,” Y/N said breathlessly as she leaned against the back of the bed.

“You’re so close, Y/N, I can see the baby’s head,” The midwife said, “Next one push as hard as you can.”

“You got this babe, come on,” Bob said. He heard the midwife tell her to push, “Come on sweetheart, push hard, you got this, come on love.”

“Crowning!” The midwife called out and Y/N let out a loud cry, “This is the hardest part, you are right here, you can do this. Give me a big push and bring this baby into the world.”

Y/N moved slightly, and beared down as she pushed hard, feeling a burning sensation as the baby’s head was pushed out of her birthing canal. She closed her eyes tightly, gripping on to Penny and the nurse’s hands for dear life. Bob was saying encouraging words but it was all drawn out as the pain subsided and Y/N felt her body relax.

“One more, give me one more,” The midwife said, “The hardest part is over, you can do it.”

“Bob,” Y/N’s voice shook.

“This is it, you can do it, bring our baby into the world.” Bob said.

She clenched her jaw tightly, she was surprised that she didn’t break her teeth as she pushed with all her might. It was like white hot pain, almost like breaking a bone, as she felt the baby being pulled from her womb. She let out a broken cry as she felt a weight being placed on her chest, a loud cry filling the room. Y/N’s hands went straight to the squirming newborn on her chest and looked down to see their big brown eyes. Her mind was so overclouded with stimulation that she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“It’s a girl!” She heard the midwife say and Y/N cried even harder.

Bob wasn’t fighting back tears anymore as he held his head in his hands and sobbed, hearing the cry of his daughter over the phone. This wasn’t how he expected the delivery of his rainbow baby to go. He always expected him to be right by his wife’s side, holding her hand, sitting behind her as she pushed, encouraging her, seeing his daughter the second she was brought into this world, being able to cut the cord. Instead, he was hearing her loud cries from the middle of the ocean.

“We’re going to weigh her and clean her up, then we’ll give her right back, okay,” The nurse said to Y/N. She was still so exhausted all she could do was nod, “Congrats momma, and you too, dad!”

Bob nodded, and wiped his tears, “I love you so much,” He cried out, his voice breaking.

“I love you too,” Y/N said.

“I’m going to let you go, okay, I promise, I will be there as soon as I get docked in Miramar. You need to sleep, you did so good, so good, I am so proud of you,” Bob said, knowing he was probably talking to her sleepy self.

“I love you, Bob,” Y/N said, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

They said their goodbyes and Bob hung up. He sat there with his head in hands for a bit longer, looking down at the ground. The events of the day started to hit him all at once, and the tears fell down his face uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop his body from shaking as he cried. He didn’t even notice Phoenix walked into the office. Phoenix’s mind went to the worst possible thing as she walked over to him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. Bob looked up at her, his brown eyes wet with tears.

“Bob-”

“I’m a dad,” He said, “I’m a fucking dad!”

“Oh my god!” Phoenix said, pulling Bob from his seat and hugged him. She pulled back from the hug and looked at him, “Is everything okay? Y/N? The baby?”

“A healthy little girl,” Bob smiled, “Y/N’s okay, the best she can be for having a baby on her own. But . . I’m a girl dad.”

— — —

She knew she had slept too long, even though she had been a mom for less than a day, she knew she still slept too long. Y/N groaned as she opened her eyes, squinting at the harsh light above her head. Her body was still sore, especially her lower region. Penny had been a godsend helping her through the night when she had to get up and pee or wanted to walk around. Y/N rubbed her eyes as she looked towards the small basnet that was placed by her bed, to find it empty. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked around the room frantically to hear the sweet voice she had been waiting to hear.

“Looks like Mom is up,” Bob said, walking over to his wife. Y/N’s heart settled back down as she saw the small bundle of blankets in his arms. He hadn’t even change18d bbout of his flight suit and it looked like he hadn’t slept in hours, but Bob still looked amazing, “You were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you but the second I saw her I knew that I-”

“It’s okay,” She said, her voice still gravely from screaming during labor, “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Bob said and sat down on her bed, “And you will never have to do that alone again, I promise.”

“Bob, I can’t ask you to give up what you love.”

“But I love this more,” Bob said, looking between his wife and his daughter.

“She looks like you,” Y/N said, “Those eyes are exactly like yours.” Bob smiled as his daughter opened her tired eyes, “She doesn’t have a name yet. I was waiting for you so we can name her.”

Bob studied his daughter. Names were something that the two of them had spent some time going back and forth on. Neither one was quite set on a certain name, agreeing that once they saw their child they would be able to know what their name should be. Bob ran his finger gently down her face as she yawned.

“Eleanor,” Bob said and looked at his wife, “Eleanor May Floyd.”

--- --- ---

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froot-batty · 6 months

Text

(most of) The sewer squad!

Surprisingly, Clay and Croc were super fun for me to color. Rat was the one that kicked my ass this time

(P.S. sorry about the lore being so long down there)

Waylon Jones was originally born in Louisiana. He was born into a relatively low income but very big, very loving family. He was also born with Epidermolytic Ichthyosis, which caused patches of his skin to blister or thicken, sort of like scales. This would be the first thing he'd be bullied for as a child, and it would only grow worse as he went through school and his undiagnosed ADHD and dyslexia would make it ten times harder for him. He would eventually decide to drop out of school, both because of his learning difficulties and the bullying.

One thing Waylon had always loved was boxing. His father had taught him and all of his siblings the basics of boxing, and Waylon was one of the ones who really took a shining to it. It helped that he was a naturally bulky guy who could put on muscle pretty easily. So now that he was out of school, he decided to put his free time towards participating in amateur boxing matches. It didn't rake in very much money, and usually took place in some guy's backyard or a junkyard, but he thought it was a lot of fun - and, most of all, he was good at it.

He made the choice to move to Gotham after he'd collected enough money to start a life somewhere else. He loved his family, and it hurt to move away from them, but a big city like Gotham provided more opportunity than backyard brawling. And indeed, it did! He graduated from probably illegal homemade boxing matches to actual, professional matches - still nothing above amateur, but it was something, and it made a lot more money!

It was during this time when he'd gain the nickname Killer Croc, from a combination of his skin condition, how big he was, and where he'd been born. (He didn't actually kill anyone though, he was a sweetie. He's just killer at boxing).

Things started going downhill for him when he finally won enough matches to go up against another relatively popular name in the amateur boxing league. This opponent, not wanting to lose against what was still a fresh face in Gotham, conspired to cheat in order to win. Because it's Gotham, and anyone can be made to look the other way, no one caught the man as he mixed plaster of Paris with his hand wraps (which hardens into something similar to concrete) before the match.

Safe to say, Waylon lost the fight pretty badly. While he would have been a good sport about it, he knew that who he'd fought had cheated, and he was pissed. As soon as he was out of the hospital, and his face was healed enough for it, he caught the other boxer as he was leaving the gym. He tried to convince him to admit that he had cheated and forfeit his win, but they'd end up getting into an argument that'd turn physical when he tried to punch Waylon.

When the cops arrived, instead of breaking up the both of them and taking them both in, they instead arrested just Waylon. Because the other boxer chose to press charges, Waylon was shipped off to BlackGate Penitentiary after a hasty trial. But he didn't stay there for very long.

Doctor Hugo Strange, head of Arkham Asylum, had followed Waylon's arrest closely in the news. He took an interest in the boxer specifically because of the irony of his nickname. Strange would go on to convince the superintendent of BlackGate that Waylon was unfit to be housed in a regular prison because of how dangerous he might be - Arkham would be a much better fit for him.

Strange promised Waylon that being in an asylum would greatly reduce how long he'd have to spend incarcerated, as he could get out of an asylum when he was proven "sane". But Waylon was given a cell in the lowest pits of Arkham - in the basement, where Strange made his monsters. And he would become the living test subject for what would become Kirk Langstrom's own bat-serum; his nickname, Killer Croc, once a source of pride, becoming a cruel prediction of what he'd become.

Unlike Kirk, however, Waylon is permanently trapped in this new form; shunned from society and now living as Gotham's monster in the sewers. Forever a Killer Croc.

??? (Nickname: Rat/Rats) was born in....Well, actually, no one really knows where it came from. Rats was there the first time Waylon escaped into the sewers, and it seemed it'd been there a long time before that, too.

Rats is like a cryptid to most of the Gotham population. But, like, the kind of cryptid where everyone knows it's real, you just don't encounter it that often. 12 year old rat child in the sewers? Yeah, everyone knows about that

They're shy, unnerving, and tend to be nonspeaking, their only appearances to most of the public coming from brief glimpses in the sewers or, occasionally, guiding people lost within them back out.

To the rogues, though, Ratcatcher is a source of information. It seems to know far more than it should, due to communication with the all-seeing eyes of it's many rats. But how much it's willing to help depends on how much it trusts you, which is usually not very much at all.

And if they don't want to talk to you, then Waylon will be sure to escort you quickly out of the sewers.

(Fun fact: Rats communicates mostly in ASL!)

Basil Karlo was born and raised in Gotham. A lover of performance from the moment he could join the theatre club in school, he was dead set on pursuing an acting career after he graduated from college. His first experiences were small background roles or roles in commercials, but even then directors could see the acting potential lurking within him.

Small roles grew into more major roles, as they grew from background actor, to minor actor, to eventually starring in major roles. And they were a popular guy! Pretty face, charming voice, they became Gotham's own star!

In one of these movie roles, Basil would grow very close to one of his co-stars. Their relationship would move very quickly from friendship to romance, as it does when you work so closely with someone. It might have even moved a little too fast, as they decided to get married the moment they returned to America from their filming location. She moved into his home in Gotham, and things were good, for a little while.

But a lot of cast romances end up not working out, and this was one of those cases. Basil and his wife began to drift apart, focusing on their own careers and neglecting one another in the process. Their relationship began to decay, and with the nature of Basil's career, there began to be...people on the side.

They thought he kept these escapades a secret. They did everything they could to not let their wife or the public know about their cheating.

Of course, this was a pipedream.

This all happened around the time J's Red Hood Gang was at their peak. They figured out Basil's secret, gathered material, and would present the evidence to Basil himself. To keep their secret safe, Basil was forced under the Red Hood.

Basil...did not take well to what he had to do as a Red Hood. But he was desperate to save face amongst the well-to-do of Gotham, so he continued doing the bidding of J and her gaggle for a good while.

Until the day, with no interference from the Red Hoods, their wife left them. She had apparently been contacted by one of Basil's partners, and now they were going to leak that to the press during the divorce proceedings.

Basil's life was ruined. His reputation was in shambles, and he was doing more work for criminals than directors. But he decided he was going to change that. What was the point of working as a Red Hood if they had no way to blackmail him anymore?

So they attempted to leave. They confronted J and demanded that she let them go, and without waiting for her response, left.

Red Hoods were waiting at their home when they got back there. They kidnapped them, dragged them to Ace Chemicals, and proceeded to pour an experimental chemical onto their face. This chemical made flesh like clay—moldable, which the Hoods used to their advantage as they toyed with Basil's face. Morphing it into different shapes and expressions for their own amusement.

When they were done, they dragged him to the vat where they were developing that chemical and threw him into it, expecting him to die.

Unfortunately for Basil, they did not.

#frootverse #waylon jones #killer croc #ratcatcher #basil karlo #clayface #batman #rogues gallery #my art #rogue design

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httpspedri26 · 1 year

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Hii, can I request something for Gavi, maybe a little enemies to lovers , him and the reader “hate” each other but reader gets hurt and Gavi rushes to check on her (sort of angst to fluff maybe)

Thank youu.

Unexpected connections- Pablo gavi

Thank for requesting! Hope you like it <3

Pairings: Pablogavi x reader

Fluff

Pablo and Y/N had always seemed to have a natural dislike for each other. Their personalities clashed, and they rarely saw eye to eye on anything. It was as if they were destined to be at odds with each other forever.

One sunny afternoon, their group of friends decided to gather for a friendly game of soccer in pedri’s backyard. Y/N, despite her lack of enthusiasm for the sport, reluctantly joined in, hoping to avoid any awkward encounters with Pablo.

As the game progressed, Y/N's lack of skill became apparent. Frustrated with her own clumsiness, she attempted to kick the ball with more force, hoping to prove herself. But her efforts were in vain, as she ended up tripping over her own feet and falling hard onto the ground.

The pain shot through her leg, causing Y/N to cry out in agony. Mikky, and Sira rushed over, concern etched on their faces. Amidst the commotion, Pablo's expression transformed from indifference to genuine worry as he knelt beside her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with unexpected concern. Y/N, still wincing in pain, managed a nod, her eyes tearing up. Pablo's usual cold demeanor seemed to melt away as he gently examined her leg.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N murmured, her voice strained. "I shouldn't have tried to play."

Pablo's features softened, and he shook his head. "It's not your fault. Accidents happen. Let's get you some help."

With the assistance of their friends, Y/N was carefully lifted and supported. Pablo took on the role of ensuring her comfort, offering words of encouragement along the way. As they made their way inside, Y/N couldn't help but notice the genuine concern in his eyes, a far cry from their usual animosity.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and asked Pablo, "Are you okay?" Pablo looked at her, a hint of confusion in his eyes, before nodding in response.

"Why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. "I mean, you're never this nice."

Pablo's expression softened as he took in Y/N's words. He realized that his usual cold demeanor might have given her the wrong impression all this time. "I guess I've always been guarded," he admitted. "I’m sorry”

Y/N nodded, understanding his point. "Yeah, it's funny how a single moment can change everything. I appreciate your concern, Pablo."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Pablo's lips.

In the following days, as Y/N recovered from her injury, Pablo surprised her with small gestures of kindness. He brought her favorite snacks, helped her with schoolwork, and even made an effort to engage in friendly conversations. Slowly, the walls between them began to crumble, revealing a surprising camaraderie.

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inhaledpie4 · 4 months

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Is there any way to cope with the fact that women's natural skill set and role in society is so.....boring? We don't have men's strong will, courage, intellect, or creativity. It seems like all we will ever be good at is doing chores but there's no room for any creativity in women's work.

Whatt?????

This sound like someone who hasn't had the opportunity to joyfully run their own home for their own family. Or the chance to explore how wonderful it is to be a woman in general. The woman's natural skillset is amazing.

Don't get me wrong, cleaning is not necessarily fun, especially the daily chores like dishes. But ALL jobs have some sort of catch-22. Even if you get your dream job, there's at least one thing you don't like about it, whether it's the pay or the people, or a specific task. As someone who worked my dream job before becoming a homemaker, I know I'm not the only one with this issue.

Next, I get to use my creativity all the time! Women are blessed with the ability to make a home. Without a home, nobody can thrive. I get to design and decorate my house. I make my household reflect who I am, both in look and feel. And I get to turn this building into a sanctuary for my husband and children and anyone else who walks through my door.

Next is children. The children are first influenced the mother, THEN by the father. Because we are most often the first point of contact. We deal with the mess and the ruckus but we have a choice to make about that daily. You can either relish in the world of children or let it destroy you. You choose how you interpret it. Is their mess curiosity or chaos? I believe I have the most fun job because I get to stay home and play with my little ones. Not to mention, my oldest loves to help me clean so I'm not doing everything by myself all the time. And I get to teach my kids the way I want to. I know that the most important thing I can teach them is to love work. That is a skill most people lack nowadays.

I get to control almost every aspect of my world. I get to invent my own recipes and learn how to knit cute things and turn my backyard into a beautiful place that the birds love. I love watching the birds from the window on cold days. I get to have a husband who recognizes all the effort I put in to make the house beautiful.

Women are the best at creating things. That's why women were historically foragers and crafters. We make food and medicine and breathtaking artwork of all mediums including the written word. We are musicians and dancers and community-formers. These things (and the joy of them) have been stripped from us over time via the feminist movement but we can return to the full joy in our role when we see the fullness of what we were made to do. We were NOT made -just- to watch children and clean. We were made for so much more.

YHWH bless you.

#add more if I missed anything!

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shalotttower · 5 months

Text

Pholcus phalangioides

Title: Pholcus phalangioides

Fandom: The Collector (2009). Can be read as an original inspired by the source, because I took some creative liberties.

Summary: There's a spider in your bathroom, it lives under the mirror cabinet and you a) don't want to kill it, and b) are too scared to touch it, so now you can either keep giving it one side eye after another, or ask your neighbour for help.

Word count: 4000+

Characters: Asa Emory x Reader

Notes: yandere Asa, spiders and insects descriptions, stalking, voyeurism of sort - Asa watches Reader without her realizing it, kidnapping, vague hinting on body horror, non-con touching, Reader is socially awkward. Asa is not 100% in-movie-character Asa (he actually talks lol), a huge chunk of him is based on my headcanons.

You have this problem - a spider problem, to be precise. Not that it's too big of a deal, but...it also is.

Spiders are generally okay.

They eat unwanted guests, like flies and mosquitos or even other spiders. Make cool webs, which is probably one of the most complicated forms of art, not to mention a mathematical pattern to it - a combination of radial and circular symmetry. The golden ratio in nature.

In general they're important for keeping a backyard ecosystem nice and intact.

But.

But there is a spider in your bathroom, right under the sink cabinet, with thin legs, a long body, and of course - eyes. Quiet, kept to itself, really chill spider who doesn't move much except to crawl around a little and sometimes look at you when it catches you looking.

It probably lived in hiding somewhere, before deciding that dark spaces weren't up to its standards anymore and making an appearance. You haven't swatted it away, caught it, struck it with a paper - mostly because you're not good at killing living creatures, and secondly because the spider isn't doing any harm, just observing your every step, and generally being present.

When you check your makeup bag, it watches. When you brush your teeth, it watches. When you close the cabinet door it wiggles and your heart goes "ee" as if someone shocked it with a static charge. This yellowish-brown witness of your everyday activities, silently approving and judging, lately makes you feel like a nuisance in your own bathroom. You desperately wish there was a way to make it move to another corner. A less centralized one, less straight in your face. Yet the thought of touching it makes you cringe inwardly; your mind conjures images of different scenarios involving spider-related unpleasantries - accidentally squashing it, or getting bitten and dying a slow, miserable death.

It's gotta go.

Because the more you see it, the more your brain tries to assign it human features. And the longer it stares, the bigger the chance it might grow a pair of lips to say "get out of my bathroom".

The thought comes to you in the morning while setting a breakfast plate on the kitchen counter. The house is quiet, all windows are open and you stare through one of them at your neighbour's fence. You rarely see him, though the parked car is always a giveaway of his presence. Emory, that's what the mailbox says, and he has a neat garden, not an extravagant type, but everything is carefully trimmed and arranged into simple patterns.

There's even a stone bench by a small tree. Does it actually get used on sunny days? Probably no. He seems like a loner, from what you've seen so far: tall and pale, with wire-rimmed glasses and still grey eyes. Very focused and put together, a turtleneck and dark trousers kind of Mister. Never waving when passing by, though he does glance sometimes - sharp and attentive.

Once you caught him leaning over a bush with back straight and head hanging low. Your stomach gave this funny, nervous twitch, like when a stranger tries to start a conversation in public. He looked your way and then resumed whatever he was doing.

"Whatever" appeared to be something small, sharp limbs and a shiny body. It looked like a beetle, stretched to an absurd degree, and the way he held that thing felt strangely intimate. The same way you'd cradle a baby animal in your hands, rubbing its forehead with a fingertip. Emory put it in a plastic box, sealed it, and went into his house, not sparing you another glance.

This particular memory - of long fingers and a careful grasp - is what makes you think that maybe, possibly, theoretically, he could handle one pesky spider for you. You've seen him with insects a couple of times after, no doubt Mr. Emory is one of those who glue bugs to display boards. The creepy friend in the bathroom must be right up his alley then.

Five minutes later the two of you are staring at each other in awkward silence. Bothering barely acquainted neighbours isn't usually high on your list of priorities, especially if said neighbours look like they prefer being alone. You know it's odd, you know it probably crosses some boundaries, yet here you are.

With a crease on his brow and a tight mouth, Emory isn't thrilled at this sudden visit. Maybe he was in the middle of something, or is just uncomfortable with people invading his space. In any case, you clear your throat.

"Good morning. I live in the house across the road. The white porch? With-"

"I know," it's a dry reply. Not rude, more matter-of-factly; his eyes are fixed on you with a hint of unsettling peculiarity which makes you shift from one foot to the other.

He's not pest control, you think. Or obligated to help in any way. Emory can tell you to kindly fuck off right now and close the door, why did you even come here? It's stupid and intrusive. You're almost ready to take it all back and go home, pretend like nothing happened and just deal with that spider yourself, when he speaks again.

"What do you need?"

He has a quiet voice, a very even direct tone that doesn't encourage small talk, but prompts answers. Now and without pointless filling.

"I know how it's going to sound," you start, cringing inside, "and apologize in advance for bothering you, but I had an impression you collect...bugs."

"Insects. Arachnids."

"Right. So I was thinking if you'd mind removing a spider from my bathroom. I don't want to kill it, but I can't- I can't touch it."

His gaze slowly shifts from your face to the house behind you. As if Emory has an x-ray vision, or a complete mental map of your household layout. Ha, this would be ridiculous. There's no apparent disapproval in his pale face, but something else, a different kind of assessment. Evaluation of how much it is worth spending time on someone with an overgrown lawn? His eyes return back and you feel pinned down.

The longer he stays silent, the more you wish for the ground to open and swallow you whole.

"If you can't I totally understand-"

"What kind of spider?"

It's your turn to stare. How are you supposed to know, you've never studied spider biology. It looks like any other common variety, except creepier because it refuses to leave its spot and stay in the sewer where it belongs. "I...light-brownish, with long legs. Thin? Slender," there's more you could add but any further description will probably make you sound like a total dunce who can't recognize basic arachnids. "Kind of big."

You expect a 'sure', maybe 'I'll be there shortly' or 'no'. What you get is Emory moving past you and walking up your front porch. The scent of laundry detergent and soap, very clean, hits your nose before you rush to open the door.

"Uhm. Second floor," you explain, awkwardly shuffling after him. For the first time since the day you moved in, you worry about what someone might see inside the house. As far as clutter goes, your place is acceptable, perhaps a few forgotten cups around and yesterday's sweater thrown on a couch. Surely, it's not too bad.

Emory, however, doesn't seem interested in the surroundings. The staircase doesn't even creak under his weight, despite the house being around a century old. He steps over the little border which always makes you trip if you walk too fast, like it's not there. Like the corner you often bump your hip into doesn't exist either. He navigates your home with effortless precision, an inward kind of certainty that makes your eyebrows rise. Maybe...the houses on your street have the same blueprint.

Either way, he walks into your bathroom without hesitation, turning on the light. You hover by the doorway, unsure: should you offer something to drink, ask him if he needs anything else or just step away and leave him to do his thing?

The spider is there, hiding under the cabinet, when Emory leans over to observe it. He's probably seen many different specimens, you think, and this isn't interesting at all compared to the ones who have an intricate design or unique behavior.

"She's a part of the Pholcidae family," Emory says suddenly. Just like that there's 'she', instead of 'it', and the spider twitches and shifts. "Daddy long-legs. Harmless."

He puts his palm up close to its back. At first, it seems startled, but after a moment slowly calms down, and moves a leg - left then right - getting familiar with his hand.

"Docile creatures," Emory continues, while the spider walks along the edge of his palm. No running around, no random leaps, stick-like limbs touch and probe him with curiosity, much like you'd study something new. "They stay in the dark, hide in the corners while feasting on smaller things. Your intruder is a useful tenant."

It makes you feel slightly nauseous, how nonchalant he is about holding something that prompts recoil on instinct.

"Do you want to hold her?" Emory turns to you and there's a faint, strange smile on his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes and makes him look like an alien who tries to mimic human expressions based only on observation. His pupils are so dark that you can barely tell the difference between the irises and the rest. They seem bottomless, absorbing all light, but reflecting none in return. You take one step backwards, shaking your head.

"I'll pass."

He keeps staring at you for what feels like forever before returning his attention to the spider crawling on his skin. Emory reaches into his back pocket for a small container.

"Are you not setting her outside?" You ask. "She...she doesn't look like, uh, a rare species."

Not that you're an expert.

"No," Emory closes the lid with a quiet click. "She isn't one. But I'm going to keep her."

And he does. The little captive spider rests at the very bottom of a plastic case when you send the man on his way and thank him for the help. Emory accepts it with a nod, no further words, and then there's only his back when he leaves. The morning air rushes in, crisp and fresh, smelling like grass, tree leaves and soil.

It feels like you blink, and three days go by. You still keep an eye on the bathroom cabinet by some sort of habit, however there's nothing out of the ordinary lurking there, no creepy critters and definitely no thin legs scattering in multiple directions. All is well, now you can brush your teeth, take care of business and even lean close without fear something might fall on your head.

It's just a spider. You googled it later, and how common it is around the continents should be a bit ridiculous. Keeping it might equal to going on a beach and picking the most unremarkable pebble you see; Emory certainly could find hundreds more Daddy long-legs wherever he pleased - parks, gardens or forests.

So...why?

The question gnaws at you, together with that smile and cold grey eyes hidden behind glasses' frames. The weirdest part wasn't the expression, it was how you couldn't read it. Despite the obvious display of human emotion, however misplaced and alien, it failed to reveal anything. The smile was there, and yet nothing broke through it, not amusement, nor politeness - or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

Your neighbour is odd.

Not necessarily scary, though there's a sense of mystery surrounding him, it makes you feel like standing next to an iceberg and only seeing its tip. Or you've just read far too many psychological thrillers and your imagination likes to conjure up the wildest scenarios, trying to turn each and every thing into something sinister.

Maybe you should just chill and get some tea, and stop being so dramatic about a guy who came over and politely removed a spider for you.

They're not a unique species. Not even remotely uncommon.

He taps the container gently with his index finger, making the spider move back and forth. She doesn't have venom, no poisonous chemicals to injure and kill. Hiding in abandoned corners she does, patient and careful, waiting to catch the wrong fly.

You're just like her. Nothing exciting. Not unique.

Your movement patterns are similar, concealed in a different package you're still predictable: getting home from work, cooking dinner, watching TV shows. Everyday routines.

Fear is a part of your nature. Awkwardness which comes with socializing: you shuffle when uncomfortable, avoid prolonged eye contact and don't like confrontation, he noticed this right away. A quiet type, keeping mostly to yourself unless you need something urgently; and then you rush, like a scared Daddy long legs. There's this shiftiness, an inner desire to be less visible, but also a yearning for recognition because the lack of it hurts. And he saw all those small things, catalogued them one by one, as you moved into his street and became a constant presence.

Asa has never thought about keeping something - someone - so mundane before. Never. He likes rare things, spectacular, and those collected in the basement, they all are, especially when he's finished with them. They're extraordinary, displayed under glass cases and preserved for eternity.

He doesn't collect common species. Daddy long-legs are abundant everywhere around him.

But.

There's the way you linger by the kitchen window during the morning routine, slowly sipping hot coffee. When your lips purse and eyes lose focus for a moment. Or how the corners of them wrinkle sometimes when you have a genuine, amused laugh. It's something like warmth. There's no label for the feeling - positive, negative or neutral, it just is, like one single, meaningless element in an ecosystem.

He shouldn't want someone so average.

And yet Asa watches from the corner of your living room, crouched on the floor by a plant.

You don't hear him, too invested in your personal bubble. Well, he had enough time to polish his craft and figure out how soundless he can be when moving through spaces, how much weight he needs to place onto soles to avoid creaking wood and floorboards.

It's interesting to see you interact with your environment, unaware of being watched. There's an invisible pattern behind each action, even if you think everything is randomized. The web you wove around yourself is cozy, and Asa follows its threads while you check the phone and frown at whatever notification pops up. He is considering. Contemplating this impulsive desire he has yet to identify.

Would it be worth it? Keeping you. Adding you to the collection and seeing what comes out of it, how far his usual approach might take him with you in the same conditions. You're just a face with features. So...ordinary. He wants to pick you apart and look inside to make sure it's not some strange sort of mimicry, camouflage of a different nature hiding something else entirely.

There's this vague idea how those features may feel when touched. He can recall them accurately, even when you've never stood too close. Asa watches quietly from his hiding place, memorizing a displeased mumble and then a frustrated gesture.

You seem so alive.

Those below who are frozen in time now were too, before Asa decided to give them a purpose and make something special and worthy of his attention. They were alive like you, but now they're something better.

What purpose you have remains to be seen.

Asa decides then.

A plain trunk is nestled in the corner behind a coat hanger, no fancy latch or keyhole needed, only an ordinary padlock. You'll fit in nicely, squeezed in the cramped space, it won't be the most comfortable experience, but it's not for long and then...then he can show you the room where others stayed before, and where you'll be next.

Asa looks around one last time: the front door is locked, blinds down, lights off - you get up from the couch and head upstairs, right on the dot. Your house is easy to navigate despite the darkness; Asa knows his way around it, having been here already more than once. A step after a step he follows the soft padding of your bare feet, and when the steps halt, he pulls out a cloth. It's a heavy kind of pleasure to be able to stand right behind and admire your nape, there's a strange sort of vulnerability to it.

Something raw and very exposed.

It takes only a few movements, he catches your yelp into one of his hands and holds it clasped tightly as you thrash. Your nails dig into the fabric of his turtleneck but fail to leave any marks. He's never tired of it, the initial fear of his specimens realizing that their secure habitats are ruined. He doesn't mind this fight for survival.

"Shh," Asa breathes into your ear. "Shh."

The struggle doesn't last long - you're not a fighter - and when your body goes limp, he picks you up. Your perfume is surprisingly light, a very sweet and pleasant aroma, not overwhelming at all like he'd expect it to be.

It's nice.

He puts you in the trunk, a boxy space barely big enough to fit you curled on the side, it's going to take around thirty minutes to reach the hotel and another three to put you in the right cell. You'll sleep the rest of the journey, which is fortunate for everyone. It's always easier to deal with a specimen if they're resting.

The lock clicks softly - it's time to go home.

Something runs down your cheek - a drop, a bead of sweat, a touch - and you blink, trying to make sense of it. The surroundings are unfamiliar, blurry shapes with undefined outlines that stretch and wobble before your eyes. Your jaw hurts, clenched so hard that teeth grind together, and it takes a conscious effort to relax.

Where...what?

The living room, a TV program, a soundless whisper that froze the hairs at your nape, then someone was behind you. You remember a sickly sweet smell, and after that nothing but a haze and the dark, and the sensation of being squeezed into a shape. Your legs feel numb, arms too, like you spent hours immobile in one position. Slowly the world sharpens back into focus, but instead of relief there's only dread.

You're in a room.

No bigger than a regular bathroom and void of any furniture beside a cot-like bed, a toilet in the corner and a sink. The walls are a bluish-gray with thin cracks, tiny fissures that create uneven lines from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

And there's a man, observing you quietly through the thick glass.

You don't notice him immediately, too busy assessing your new location, and when you do the air feels heavier, difficult to move past your throat. He's wearing a mask. Black rubber or something, covering everything except his eyes. He presses two palms against the barrier separating you, the silence stretches into an eternity.

'Who are you? What do you want?' - these are kind of questions you should be asking, but they don't come out. You remain glued to the spot, counting the passing seconds by their painful tick-tock-tick-tocks. One minute turns into two, and he...just stares without moving a muscle in a beyond unnerving manner. Your gaze dips lower to check his clothes, perhaps find a pattern to identify this person later.

There's none. Everything is plain black, like a uniform made to be invisible - turtleneck, pants, even gloves and boots.

It seems that your silence somehow pleases him, because a few moments later he leaves without looking back.

You don't know how much time passes; there's not a window around, only a bare, stark bulb, yellowish in its brightness and casting unpleasant shadows all over the floor. Not a single sound. Traffic, voices of distant passersby or birds - all is absent and doesn't provide even a bit of understanding where the hell you are.

In the end, you...sit down on the bed and wait, because what else is there? Everything is eerily silent and very, very uncomfortable: this emptiness, the absence of noise, the endless ticking of an invisible clock. It's difficult not to cry, but you try your best, somehow it feels important to remain composed. There has to be a reason behind this. There must be one, and you repeat it over and over, like a mantra to soothe the nerves and present your mind with some semblance of logic: once you figure out what's going on, you'll figure out how to get out as well.

Pulling loose threads from your sleeve is poor entertainment, if anything, the strain of boredom and unease gradually grows into anxiety so sharp that you almost miss the sound of approaching footsteps.

He's back again, the masked stranger who stands in the doorway with hands clasped behind his back. A pair of light grey eyes is a splash of different color, but they are blank. They watch with distant curiosity of an animal trainer monitoring a newborn cub. The comparison makes something ugly squirm inside you. A part of you wants to make a run for it, the other keeps yelling that it would be immensely stupid.

One, two, three, four steps he takes into your cell. Your back meets the wall, the chill coming from its solid surface cuts right through the layers of clothing. Five, six. He stops only when there's less than arm's reach between you, then leans to brush away loose strands of hair sticking to your temples. Your stomach goes taut. This scent. Laundry detergent mixed with soap. The turtleneck, grey eyes, very collected kind of Mister.

A sickly shiver of revulsion shoots down your spine, making you curl tighter into a ball. Emory cups your jaw with both hands - they're cold even through the gloves material. This is too close, an unwanted and unpleasant violation of boundaries, and yet he continues to examine your face, like you're some sort of an object he can handle however he pleases.

Your cheek gets a light pat. Any theories about his identity stay unvoiced, mostly because you fear the reaction they might prompt. Something tells you that screaming is a bad idea too. 'Be quiet,' an insistent whisper says deep inside your skull, 'be still.'

His thumbs press to the corners of your mouth. "Open," he orders, and you can't not, even though the whole thing sounds and feels bizarre. "Wider."

There's a quiet click. A flashlight, of those small ones you can easily hold in one hand, shines right into your eyes, making them water from the unexpected brightness. "Don't bite or I'll remove all of your teeth."

It's a simple threat, delivered with such a calm tone, there's no need for yelling when words are that clear and straightforward.

He inspects your mouth, the edges of teeth and gums, your inner cheeks, and you let him, clenching your fists. There's not much you can do, at least that's what you keep telling yourself to ease the heavy, sinking feeling of powerlessness. Your mind chants 'too close' on a loop, urging to wiggle away; you stay. It's unclear what exactly he's looking for - dental or oral diseases, a sore throat, cavities, or the lack of them?

It lasts forever until he straightens back up and puts the light away.

"Good," Emory states. There's another pat to your head before he turns around to leave. "No biting."

The door panel slides with a soft hum, locking shut. And the silence, and the waiting, and the mind numbing monotony is back again.

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #the collector #the collector (2009)#asa emory #asa emory x reader #slasher fanfiction #slashers

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cosmal · 1 year

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐭 — 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

day three of my christmas drabbles advent calendar

summary — you bring remus home to visit your family for the holidays. he grows to love spending christmas in summer.

warnings/tags — fem!afab!reader, she/her pronouns, reader goes swimming, reader has hair long enough to be tied back

note!! — this is a totally self-indulgent fic. and for all my aussie/kiwi marauders fans!!

“This is weird,” Remus murmurs, handing you a tray of prawns. Along with the water dish.

“They’re gross, I know,” you giggle. “My dad loves them.”

Remus shifts in his seat, “No, not that,” he’s smiling, “It’s hot. It’s Christmas. It’s Christmas and I’m in a t-shirt.”

"You can take it off if you want," you giggle over the top of your bottle, sitting back in your chair.

"I will not," he gasps.

You love this look on him. He's been here for a week and he's all sunkissed and glowy. If you weren't spending the holidays at your parent's house, you'd have already jumped his bones.

"You'll go swimming with me, though?"

The backyard is full of your family members. Cousins running around with sticky, red iceblocks in their hands - your aunty's chasing them in turn, with wet paper towels. They're loud. Really loud and they really love Remus.

You're not surprised, he's perfect. You think they might love him more than you do. Impossible, obviously. But your dad had sat down with him in the lounge room and seemed genuinely interested in whatever Remus was telling him about his work. Your father has never read a book in his life, but for your boyfriend, he'll listen to him ramble about writing processes and workshops. In turn, your dad will force him to watch the boxing day cricket match tomorrow because Australia's playing England, so Remus must know a thing or two about cricket test matches.

"I told your mum I'd help her with the desserts," he leans over to kiss you on the cheek. His lips a burning heat over your already warm skin. It feels nice.

"Then you'll come for a swim?" you ask hopefully, lips pouting. You know he will, he'll do pretty much anything to make you happy. Sometimes you despise him for it in a totally loving girlfriend type of way. He's already in his swimming trunks. His legs looking fucking lovely.

He gets up from his seat at your outdoor table and it scrapes along your deck, "I'll be 20 minutes," he says with one more kiss. Quicker than the last but still as fond. You think maybe, even more, when he presses his fingers into your scorched skin.

You let him and your mum dish up trifles and a pavlova that always seems to be bigger than the year before. Remus says something really stupid and it makes your mum laugh. A full-on, hearty chuckle that is usually only produced at the cost of your own father. You smile all the way to your room.

Once in your swimmers, a set that you know Remus loves, modest enough in your own backyard, surrounded by your own family, but enough that you'll expect to be stuck to your boyfriend's side for the rest of the day. You walk back out to your backyard to find him in the middle of your lawn.

A cousin wrapped around his leg, another climbing their way up his torso. He's laughing, you're not sure how, because they both keep kneeing him in bruisable areas as they climb him like a jungle gym. Eventually, they pull him to the soft grass and it ends up in a sort of tickle-fight. It's more giggling than anything.

Your chest fills with as much warmth as you think it can allow without you feeling the urge to cry. Watching him get along with your family so well is more than you'd ever expected. He keeps surprising you and then he doesn't because he's Remus. Your boyfriend Remus, and he treats you with so much love and respect that you know that's just him. It's second nature to him and you'd expect nothing less for the people he knows you love also.

You know you're staring, you can't help it. Your cheeks ache with how wide you're smiling. Remus walks up to you once he's toddler free and pokes you in the cheek. You snap out of the little lovesick bubble you'd found yourself in.

"He's strong for four years old," Remus laughs, kissing you on the cheek again like he can't help it. You know he can't because you kiss him just as often.

"My aunty thinks he'll be good at rugby," you giggle.

"Or wrestling."

You lean in to wrap your arms around his waist, he doesn't let you. You startle, confused.

"I've never seen this before," Remus can be smug when he wants to be, sliding a finger under the strap of your swimmers, snapping the tight material against your skin.

"Yes, you have." You go too shy under his loving gaze. His eyes droopy but still full of mirth. You can feel a heat eat its way up your chest. If he makes fun of you for it, you'll be sure to blame it on the sun.

"Right," he runs the material between his fingers, distracted.

"Remus, stop it," you mumble. Completely melted.

"Stop what?" Still smug.

"Just take your shirt off, please. I wanna go for a swim."

Remus doesn't have to be asked twice. He takes his white button-up off, a gift from your family, and you try to ignore the feeling you suddenly have to stare more than would be acceptable in your setting. You also ignore the wolf whistle your uncle let's out.

Remus genuinely blushes.

"I think my family really likes you," you tell him, tracing a scar in the hinge of his elbow.

"I'm really happy they do," Remus pulls the hair tie from your wrist, moving to tie your back from your face. His fingers tickle your neck and you shiver despite the temperature. Remus grins. "I didn't just spend fifteen minutes decorating a Pavlov for no reason."

You snort. "Pavlova."

"Hmm?"

"It's a pavlova."

"Right..." he chuckles.

"Pavlov was the guy with the dog theory."

It's Remus's turn to snort. "Dog theory."

"Yeah."

He traces a knuckle down your cheek, "You're adorable."

"Stop it."

"Really."

"Remus..."

"That's why I'm really sorry." He says. Suddenly serious.

"For what?" you ask. Also suddenly just as confused as he is stern.

He doesn't respond.

"For what, Remus?"

The squeal you let out when Remus throws you over his shoulder is loud and pretty, in his own opinion. That's why he has no problems when you tug at his hair to stable yourself. You're suddenly dizzy, blood rushing to your head. Remus feels worse when you giggle in his ear.

"Remus!" Your protests are broken up by peels of laughter.

"I said I'm sorry!" he laughs.

"Don't! I'm serious."

He jumps in the pool, pulling you under with him and you both come up, smiling like idiots. Your family roars with adored laughter and your smile widens.

You swim towards him where he's standing just before the deep end. His laughter dies down as you pull him down so the water's up to his neck.

"I hate you."

Remus lets you wrap your legs around his waist. Content with holding you up. "No, you don't."

"We're breaking up."

Remus gasps, "Don't tell your dad."

"I think he'd die," you giggle.

"I think I would too."

You press your face into his wet chest, "Don't die."

"Never," he sighs. He has zero problems with kissing you over chlorine-soaked hair.

Christmas in the summer is better, Remus thinks. But only if he gets to spend it with you.

#remus lupin #resmus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fan fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #marauderx reader #marauder fanfiction

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grapejuicestyless · 5 months

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i have had this idea for so long, but i really think you could do this justice. sort of like the film the holiday!!! but not really set in Christmas and more so through the seasons. harry moves out of the city (doesn’t need to be a singer and could just be a CEO) into a small village in a lovely cottage where all of the furniture is mismatched and there’s sash windows which are always open. He’s there for a few months before he starts to feel lonely so decides to bring in a lodger! He hand makes posters and puts them on the village hall board and … he finally gets a taker! It’s a quirky girl who is totally all over the place and she moves in .. the seasons change and so does their relationship.. friends to lovers OR ACTUALLY maybe it could be so interesting for it to be enemies to lovers! That could be fun to write. But idk I’ve been thinking about it for so long !!! They could organise a dinner party for friends one night or maybe Harry goes away to the city for a meeting and that’s where y/n realises how much she misses him / likes him. Definitely has to be fluffy but also needs to have some drama. I haven’t figured that out yet 😭😭😭 I’m so sorry for this really long rambly post but I wanted to give u as much of my brain as possible lol. I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to see what you would do with this / if it’s something you’re even interested in. Have a gorgeous evening / day / morning xxx love you!!💖💖💖💖💖

Bad People

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Harry and Y/n met by pure luck. Sharing secrets and laughing like little kids, ribs and cheeks hurting. Y/n is sure Harry is destined to be in her life forever. She’s just not sure when that became a bad thing.

FLANGST/FRIENDS TO ENEMIES TO LOVERS

The pale blue sky looked gray from certain windows. The glass was cracked and the stove stained with boiled over soup broth and old sprinklings of spices.

The birds sang solemnly, humming the tune to what I believed sounded like something you’d hear at a funeral. Here, the pavement was cracked and the stars were consistently covered with clouds. Snow, more often than not, fell heavily. From October to April. The nearby ocean nearly always too cold to swim in. The backyard pool cold and clean, still with nobody to inhabit it.

All the beauty ripped from the earth, and replaced with another kind of it. I wouldn’t mind it half as much, if I had someone to enjoy the snow with. To enjoy the polar plunges, the visible breath and numb fingers.

Like old times sake, snowmen and snowball fights. Sledding or fort making. Rosy cheeks and icy hair a memory of the past. Cheeks hurting from smiles, not the winter chill.

The laughter of my mother was long gone, and my brother outgrew his desire for a sibling as soon as he turned sixteen. Few friends, not any at least, that would enjoy the activities the white powder offered.

So now, I look out the window, nursing a glass of wine propped up on the windowsill. I don’t see the snow day ahead or pray for a white Christmas. I pray that one day, I’ll find someone to enjoy it with me. To soothe the pain little eight year old me suffered with the absence of her father, her distant mother and her selfish brother.

“Looking at it won’t make it fall any faster, Y/n.” The puff of air coming from my nose fogs up to cool glass, and my fingers leave prints along the center.

He’s not looking at me, he rarely does when we aren’t fighting. It’s like I disgust him. I feel like a fool every god damn time.

“Have you always naturally been an asshole or did you grow into it?” I don’t look at him, but I feel his gaze settle on my reflection in the glass. His voice alone urges me to take a large drink from the wine glass. The ruby red staining my top lip. I spread it around and taste the bitterness of it on my tongue.

He begins to leave, almost succeeding without a passing glance, but biting his tongue is something Harry nor I have ever been able to do. So it’s natural how he goes for the last word.

“Theres only so much wine, Y/n.” He teases. I down the rest while he walks away. The sigh that leaves my mouth after I feel the ghost of him leaving me isn’t only for air, but because suddenly the room feels lighter.

It’s funny, how someone so special can leave such a disgusting taste in your mouth. Hatred doesn’t just happen. It creeps, seeps, saturates. It’s a pesky little thing that starts small until finally you can’t ignore how bothered you are. It’s vile and cruel. A poisonous little thing that no one is immune to. It’s a sad yet funny thing. To remember that it wasn’t always like this. I didn’t always hate my old friend, bounded to me through the home we share. I once enjoyed the company of Harry styles.

It was nearly a year since I’d moved in. A year since the slow turned to thick ice and roads became bare with people too afraid to try and navigate through the harsh winter.

Nearly a year since I first saw the house at the end of the road, with a neat front lawn and a tree with hanging branches ready to snap.

A red scarf and red mittens is what I wore. With a faded brown coat and worn blue jeans. A hat on top of my head and a journal tucked underneath my arm. He had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. The stars in the night sky didn’t quite shine as bright as his eyes, I swore it to myself.

He had an english accent, one that I wasn’t familiar with. Peach fuzz and dark chocolate curls a mess on his head. When I told him my job, he laughed, but something about his shocked expression after told me he didn’t mean it cruelly. Rather, that he was shocked, or just piecing the puzzle together.

“I’m my mother’s daughter.” I told him, “She always had a thing for poetry. The sappy ones with the tragic endings. I got it from her and I’m damn good at it.” I smiled at him then, and he smiled back bigger.

“It’s just funny. Moving somewhere so quiet for a job all about fantasy and adventure.” He explained, already guiding the two of us through the wide doorway. I set my boots in the old entryway which it seemed he had turned into a mud room. I admired the shade of green on the wall and nodded along. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

That night, while settling into my new space, I shared with him my life. My goals and dreams. With his toothy smile and boyish eyes, he made it so easy to trust him. I sat on my newly made bed and he sat in my spinning chair by my desk. Moving it back and forth, swaying slowly. A cigarette started dangling from his pocket, I still remember the way he took it between his thumb and his index finger. Rolling it around, debating whether or not to light it. It was like he didn’t know he had it.

“I didn’t take you for a smoker.” I laughed at him, he laughed back. Shy almost, only looking at me for a moment.

“M’not. A few here and there. Helps to wind down.” When he ran his hand through his hair, I remember seeing all his rings. A rose and two with his initials. One looked like a lion. That one was my favorite.

Other than his charming smile and infectious laughter, I knew nothing of him, I had come to realize. Here he was, knowing about my family and friends. My job and my hobbies. All I had asked him was his name.

When I asked him, he was just as talkative as I was. A sparkle in his eyes when he talked about his job. I remember specifically, how they lit up extra bright when he mentioned his mother, Anne, and his older sister, Gemma. I learned about his job too. Harry had everything he could ever truly want. The money, the power, the glory. His office at the top floor overlooking the bustling city that never sleeps. Families dancing around the square and traffic backed up into the city line.

The sad thing was, that even with all this pride he got to carry with his reputation, the city was no home to him. The summer held no comfort. Not the same now that he was long out of school. The heat was simply uncomfortable. His lavish suit sticking to his skin. Even the air conditioner couldn’t soothe the pounding of his head against the strong New York heat.

His nose stung in the summer. The warmer it got, the worse it smelled. Garbage littering the streets no longer covered by thick snow. Tourists and their children filling up all his favorite places of relaxation. Each carrying their own scent from home. The calming pine from the North or the tangy citrus of the west coast.

Harry felt no true love for his home anymore. No real attachment. There was no smell of home, and there certainly wasn’t any old faces with their gravelly voices and thick accents. If it weren’t for the business there, he would’ve fled somewhere else long ago. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere that felt like home. If he could, he would have tucked himself back into the small home his mother raised him and his sister in. He would’ve curled up happily in his twin bed and looked out the same crooked window each night and feel happy with only that.

He tells me that when he got in the car waiting for him at the airport, he was tempted to tell the driver to take him home, to see if it would make him smile. He’d seen the gag used in all the old rom-coms he and his mother used to watch. The short blonde running from the love of her life only to be led back into his arms. But Harry know’s better. He tells me so. So when the driver asks him where to, he tells him the address.

He told me about his work life. How there was a branch out in the UK. The one that started it all. And as his success grew, so did his aspirations and his needs. London no longer provided him with the luxury and opportunity that New York could. So he swapped out his office for a penthouse and acted like the smell of burning garbage and mysterious wet spots on the sidewalks didn’t bother him.

It’s a vicious cycle. To outgrow, to long for, to move, to hate all over again. Thats how he decided that London has just what he needed. His business within reach and smaller towns surrounding its borders.

“And what about now? Are you happy?” Harry crinkled his eyes then, smiling a nodding along. He didn’t even mind it then, when I would interrupt. In fact, he welcomed it. Claimed he loved hearing me talk.

I agreed with him when he said that the grass is greener down here. The stars are just that much brighter and theres not a single car honking their horn past nine. All things that left him feeling a whole lot calmer than the chaos of the city.

Here, Harry told me he didn’t mind not living in a lavish penthouse just a few blocks away from his work. Here, he was hours away from the city. He stays in a medium sized cape cod styled house, pre-decorated from the past owners who didn’t care to take their things when they left for something bigger. It sticks out from the rest of the homes nearby. He wonders how something so different ended up within the same area. And he smiled and sat on the floor when I laughed and told him he’d already lived quite the life for a nearly-thirty year old man.

When silence took over after over an hour long conversation, I bit at my nails and looked at the floor. Suddenly, it came to me.

“Harry?” I had asked. He hummed, looking at me. Even if I hadn’t looked back, I could still feel his eyes on mine. “What made you want a roommate?” When my eyes flickered up to his, I saw no hate, or disgust, or shame. Nothing that I am familiar with now in Harry’s eyes. I saw curiosity, warmth and happiness.

“I like the quiet. I like being able to sleep without someone yelling down the hallway. I like how green it is over here.” I nodded, waiting for him to continue. “But the quiet get’s lonely. And while I like the quiet, I hate being alone.” And it made me smile back then. Maybe it still does thinking about it know. He had been helping me in finding a home, some place warm to stay. Meanwhile, I had been able to give back. Give him what he wanted. At the time, my heart warmed.

For a long time after that, Harry made my heart beat fiercely. He brought me flowers and made us pancakes. Freshly picked blueberries from the local market. He cracked jokes and I repeated them back between our broken laughter, imitating his english accent.

He was a charming man, with an energy that invited and kept you drawn to him. Everyone wanted to be around Harry. The men and the women. Always wanting a piece of the pie. I felt rich in life, that while others had to work for a lifelong friendship with him, naturally, we fit together. We worked.

He entered my life by some kind of coincidence. I needed a place to stay and he was offering a room up.

When he brushed his thumb over my knuckles and kissed the skin, I believed we would be like this forever. Just the two of us.

When he whispered to me that he loved me that same night, I thought it was something he would never take back. Something that would never change. His warm breath and glistening eyes. He was red and shiny. A bottle of the cheap champagne sat on the table and an empty glass beside him. I let his lips trail around my hand and laugh at his antics.

“Harry.” I mumbled into the darkness, he doesn’t move. I silently giggle again after he puffs air out of his own nose onto my hand playfully. His shoulders shake with his own fits of laughter, “Harry.” I call out again, and my eyes are met with his dazzling emerald ones. I almost got lost, forgot how to talk looking at him.

My palms were sweaty with nervousness then. My heart beating out of my chest. I wanted more than anything to tell him everything. As a poet, it should have been easy to put my thoughts out in the open air. But they hadn’t sat within me for long enough to curate a straight forward answer.

How would I even manage to start on how beautiful I thought his brown hair was? Perfectly colored like milk chocolate treats that curled over his forehead. Or his toothy grin which pulled butterflies from the pit of my stomach and made me feel lighter? I couldn’t find just one thing to focus on. And the words that came out of my mouth tumbled out quickly.

“You’re my best friend.” I hoped that he would’ve been able to see how much love I held for him in my face. How even in the dim lighting of only the fireplace and the fading lamp in the corner, he could see how they sparkled just for him.

He pulled his hand away after that, clearing his throat and nodding. But he smiled so softly after that I didn’t see how his eyes welled up with tears. I only saw his perfectly pink lips and his rosy cheeks. For once, I wasn’t focused on his eyes, and I paid the price.

He never made pancakes for us after that night. Nor did he ever pick flowers from the fields or crack jokes until our stomachs hurt. My hand was never slotted between his and my head didn’t rest on top of his shoulders. His was colder, more distant. Quiet.

But the quiet grew old for us both. And the slipping away hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced. I was everyone else in his life. Fighting for a spot in the light so he would see me, smile at me, acknowledge me.

Part of me wondered why he never asked me to leave. To pack my bags and find another innocent man to love because he wouldn’t tolerate it anymore. But he never did. Harry hated being alone and I knew better than anyone else. I knew it because I was his best friend at some point. We shared the same breaths and drank from the same glasses. I wore his shirts and he used my hair clips. He kept me around not because he still wanted me, but because he still needed me. And the realization of it all hurts worse than the silence because it’s then I know that I’ve really lost him. It leaves me with the question, ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

I think back on that night when our world shifted on its axis and I go over every word that was said. I check for any signs of discomfort or anger and I find nothing. It plagues me with a new insecurity.

Maybe it wasn’t something I’d said, maybe it wasn’t something I’d done. Maybe the warmth from the champagne grew cold in his blood and the false euphoria from it all cleared from his peripheral vision and he realized that I was no longer enough. I was not what he wanted. The idea of his roommate becoming his only friend too pathetic for a man with such power.

Soon after, I stop putting up a fight. I stop fighting for a spot in his life and I stop trying to win back a man that was never mine. I figured at least if he could never be mine and I would never be his, at least I still got to see his pretty face everyday. And I could imagine that we never drifted.

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost. The tears running down my cheeks are hot, burning my skin until my throat dully aches and my chest is red with flakes of nail polish and the dragging of my nails clawing at my chest.

I am sobbing, broken and tired. I dream of a life that is not as miserable. I dream of a life where I no longer doubt the things I love. Where I don’t have to question my friend’s loyalty.

He knocks on my door, leaning against it in only his flannel pants. He has tattoos that compliment his skin so well. He looks like a painting. I’m relieved to see him again. Even if it’s under these circumstances.

I wait for him to speak, even if it’s merely a mumble. Even if I cannot understand.

“Can you stop crying? I can’t sleep.” He requests. My lips part and I swear my lungs collapse within my chest. I can’t breathe and somehow I remain composed.

“Okay.” I say quietly, nodding along and trying to find his eyes. They look at the floor, and his face is contorted like it pained him to say that to me. Like it was against his will. But he doesn’t even look at me.

When he leaves, I collapse, shoulder shaking with rage, sadness, confusion instead of the contagious laughter that once rang out through the halls.

I decide then, July moon shining through the sash windows of my room that I couldn’t continue holding onto Harry. My heart still beats for him and my eyes still sparkled when his own lingered for just a moment longer on me, but I couldn’t like him.

Hatred doesn’t just happen. It creeps, seeps, saturates. It’s a pesky little thing that starts small until finally you can’t ignore how bothered you are. It’s vile and cruel. A poisonous little thing that no one is immune to. It’s a sad yet funny thing.

After that night, his selfish wishes turn to bitter comments which turn to vicious attacks at my confidence. And my resilience and devotion to silence, to ignore the cruelty of it all is worn thin. My bitten tongue is freed and I am betrayed by my own words. My own comments targeted at his deepest hurts. It’s a mutual hate between us, a mutual dislike.

We live within the same four walls, the same windows and creaky roof over our heads. We cook in the same kitchen and we sit on the same couch, but we cannot stand each other anymore. The house is no longer filled with love, and the warm heat turns to bitter cold. And yet, neither of us have the guts to leave.

We sit here, in a life thats so mean to us just because we are afraid of the loneliness that is surely to come with the other’s absence.

We are here, but we aren’t present. It makes me laugh, it makes me wonder.

Who could ever leave me? But who could stay?

The candles burned down to the floor, wax melting over the wood as the lights set a warm, homely mood for the night. The late December rush throughout the town turned to the few and far between searching for last minute supplies to ring in the new year. It’s peacefully still outside, and the dining room looks so nice I forget why the candles burn and our nicest plates are set out.

Harry insisted on having a small gathering with some of our friends to celebrate the new year before he went away for sometime for work. Being roommates, despite our lack of interest in establishing our own friendship, his friends become my friends and mine become his. It’s a fairly large group that was once two. But have now become so closely intertwined that it seems hard to differentiate who was friends with who first.

There was wine, pastas and breads. Hams and potatoes. Drinks and endless desserts. It felt nice, to have all those people we cared so deeply about chip in and help to create such a lovely meal for the few of us.

Hearing that first doorbell ring to see all of our friends stood proudly on our crooked doorstep made my heart flutter. Sarah, Mitch, Pauli, Elin, Charlotte, Nyoh. All holding various foods to add to the never ending supply on the multiple tables set in a row.

“Harry! Y/n!” The enthusiasm from our friends seemed to lighten the mood, letting the heavy feeling of heated arguments and constant anger slip down my back and into the farthest part of my brain.

It was times like these where I’d forget how to hate. How to spread anger and disgust to someone who clearly showed none of it in return in these times. Here, Harry was talkative. Always plastering on a fake smile and wave.

He was good at pretending. And while the walls of the house had seen a different story, those around us were innocent, forever unknowing of how Harry constantly belittled me, bothered me. Of how I was no better. How my tongue was sharp and my words shot to kill.

Nobody minded the difference in height of the dinning room table against the kitchen table. How one was round and the other a rectangle. Both covered by one long table cloth. Nobody minded the soft music in the background or how the light wasn’t the brightest. The soft flickers never mentioned.

We let the candles burn until they had nothing left to give, and we ate until it was bare and our stomachs hurt. Here, I never felt like I was trapped. Here, I remembered by I came to live with Harry in the first place. And I was thankful. It was times like these I couldn’t help smiling like an idiot. Cheeks sore and eyes crinkling. I would laugh at just about anything, trust anyone and agree with everything.

“When are you going to tell him?” An elbow to the ribs pulled my gaze from the end of the table, my smile dropping for only a moment at the sudden shock.

“Sorry?” I mumbled softly into Sarah’s ear. Her eyes glimmered with something mischievous, like she knew something that I didn’t. She licked her pink lips and looked briefly back to the end of the table. All the way over by the dining table, sat a few feet away and a couple inches higher, was Harry. Laughing and talking with Pauli and Elin about anything and everything. I couldn’t quite make it out over the soft chatter of Mitch and Charlotte and the clinking of forks on plates.

“Harry!” She called softly. When my eyebrows furrowed she rolled her eyes, sighing heavily.

“I don’t get it.” Forking another bite of vegetables into my mouth, I watched her fight for the right words to say. Her lips finally settling on the soft smile I knew very well.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/n. I know that look. Better than anyone. Thats how I look at Mitch.” She playfully nudged my shoulder. Did she believe that I held any romantic feelings for Harry? I couldn’t, it was impossible. Right?

His rude remarks and his mean demeanor. Sure, at one point my heart beat for the brunette with an infectious smile and shiny green eyes, but now it was a memory of the past. Another pretty face who had thrown away all of his charm and care and exchanged with unwavering cruelty.

“Oh, no. Sarah, I don’t think about him that way.” I tried to wave her off, trying to sound the least amount disgusted by her assumption. I couldn’t help but wonder why she thought that.

“I don’t believe you.” She sounded smug, crossing her hands on my thigh and giggling. “You don’t have to. I believe myself.” Brushing her off, I take another bite of any remaining scraps on my plate. Trying to avoid conversation.

“Come on, you seriously don’t see it?” She sounded exasperated now, even more so when I nodded carelessly. She was getting tired of my avoidance to the conversation, my disinterest in her false discovery. Still, the longer she pushed, the more I felt the heat rush to my face. The more my cheeks burned and my skin tingled.

“I’m serious, Sarah. I don’t look at him in anyway. He’s just my roommate. Nothing more, nothing less.” I lean back, volume brought down to a mere whisper with the dying laugher at the other end of the table.

“Well, he’s your friend at least, right?” The lump in my throat was unswallowable. With the growing tightness in my throat and the clamminess of my palms. I wanted nothing more than to slip away and pretend this never happened. So, I bite my tongue and nod, eyes flickering to Sarah while I do so. I pray that she doesn’t see the tears welling in the corners and how glossy they’ve gotten in such a short period of time.

“Yeah, he’s my best friend.” The lie stings, burning as it comes out. Partially because I hate lying to my dear Sarah, but mainly because at some point it was the truth.

Harry was my everything at one point in my life. He might as well have hung the damn moon and stars. I thought the world of him, wanted nothing more than to feel his arms wrapped around mine all the damn time. And it killed me that we’d gotten so far away from that idea that I had to lie about even being acquainted with him.

“Word of advice.” She started, eyeing Harry carefully. My eyes remained glued to the table, fork wobbling between my pointer finger and my thumb. “Best friends don’t look at each other that way.” And when she finished what she wanted to say, I swear my heart just about stopped. All color draining from my face and my eyes rapidly blinking away the tears by now.

Setting my fork down, I ignore her playful smile and the nudge of her shoulder into mine. I look for another face to converse with, to make me begin to forget everything I was trying so desperately to escape. When I search the table, it seems like each person has found themselves in deep conversation with the other. All but one.

And his green eyes capture mine in a way I haven’t known in so long. I’d forgotten what it was like to be the center of his gaze. How thrilling it was. With my eyes, glossed over and heart beating through my chest, it seemed impossible for me to ever consider looking away. His chocolate brown curls and sweet pink lips in a gentle smile. It was consuming and alluring. Irresistible even.

A face that once disgusted me, shattered my heart, angered me and knocked me down with no air left to breathe seemed not all that frightening anymore. And the warmth that spread in my chest scared me more than anything.

I begin to realize, maybe Sarah was right. Maybe that was why I hated him so much. I didn’t hate Harry Styles. And thats why it hurt just that much more. I didn’t hate him at all, in fact. No, rather my poor heart couldn’t handle the heartbreak and deflected in the most malicious way possible. I missed my best friend.

“Y/n.” Sarahs voice pulls me from my haze, and my eyes are flickering over to hers quickly. Lips still parted and eyes still wide.

“You’re crying.” I hadn’t felt the salty heat dripping down my cheeks until she announced it. My skin too numb from embarrassment to even understand what was happening.

My tongue is tied, and my throat is killing me. I feel like I might vomit if I stay here any longer. I can’t be here any longer, I can’t do it. Not when I’ve just realized what I did. I feel what I felt all those months ago when Harry told me to stop crying. When he shut me out for good and became bitter. I feel all air leave my lungs and my knees wobbling. I am going to collapse.

“I just need air.” I say all too loudly, pushing out the chair clumsily and stepping back. The loud scratch of the wooden legs of the wooden floors turns heads and my heavy breathing tells me to get the hell out.

I pardon myself after that, waving off any concern from Sarah, and making sure nobody else saw my escape. Everyone’s still deep into conversation when I turn the corner. All but Sarah and Harry. But neither of them make a move to reach me. I let myself collapse on my bed, mascara running down my white sheets and back aching from how stiff I became at that table. I silently pray that I’ll sleep through the rest of winter.

When the dinner got cold and we’d all run out of things to say, we all look around and silently agree to part ways. It was nice to have some company, I enjoyed being around these people so much. My heart should have been full, yet it felt heavy and empty all at the same time. Littered with a guilt I wasn’t even sure was mine.

I’d seen the way she looked at me. Really looked at me. Glossed over eyes and a quivering lip. She was red with the rush of adrenaline in her blood. Anyone could see how quickly she began to breathe. It was like she was stuck, consumed by something so strong that it left her powerless, weak, crumbling quickly under an undetermined pressure. She started to cry, biting back a sob by biting harshly into her bottom lip, eyes shaking while she searched my face. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. Who had said what, and how I could help her.

I wanted to yell at whoever hurt her this bad. And the feeling of that in itself was unsettling. How my heart still longed to comfort, protect the heart of the girl who once shattered my own with her own words. More than that, I wanted to scream when nobody followed her when she ran. How nobody cared nearly enough about why she was so upset.

I couldn’t understand why I was so invested in her. Someone I was sworn to hate. Someone I had teased and fought for months and let hurt me constantly in retaliation.

But then again, we were no better than one another. We never were. Always saying too little and not opening up quite enough. Creating issues instead of solving problems. We were explosive, nobody could hurt me quite like she could and yet, I felt horrible that she was so upset.

Like the day I’d found her pacing restlessly across the floor. Skin blotchy and eyes puffy with tears. Throat sore with the violent sobs ripping through them. I’d wanted to hold her then too, but I was too bitter to do anything but tell her to quiet down. I felt the same guilt in my bones. And I make the same mistakes I made the first time. I watch her break down and sit with the uneasiness of it all.

Mitch lays a hand over my shoulder, his other arm wrapped around Sarah as he leads her through the door. His eyes look sad and tired. But his smile is genuine and filled with concern.

“Check on Y/n for us okay? Sarah thought it would be best to leave her be for now.” His hand left my shoulder and the door shut quickly after. Leaving me with the unbearable silence and loneliness I felt so frequently nowadays. It breaks down my walls and scares the shit out of me.

Maybe thats why I make my way to the kitchen, shuffling slowly along the floors and leaning slowly over the makeshift tables. A bottle of rouge in one hand, a pack of cigarettes in the other. I stuff them in my pocket and hold the bottle close to my side.

I’m slow, delaying the inevitable question. When I knock on the door, it’s quiet. Almost like I’m hoping that if it’s soft enough, she won’t hear and I can pretend she was ignoring me. But, she does hear me, and she calls out a raspy, muffled welcome, signaling for whoever was hidden behind the door to come through and take in her puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

My throat tightens when I smell her perfume. Something that I would have drowned in not so long ago. She has clothes thrown on a chair in the corner, the same one I sat in so many months ago. I’m tempted to push them off and just sit in the silence with her like we once enjoyed doing.

Her head is in her pillow and her arms are underneath her. She is unaware of who she has let in, but her silence and unmoving body tells me she’s lost all ability to care. I want to leave. I want to turn around and convince myself it was all a mistake. I’d checked on her and she was still alive and well. I’d done my part and I could go on guilt free and forget about how crushed she’d looked just hours before.

When I begin to turn on my heels and pray for this day to be over, I see something unforgettable. A small Polaroid from last year. Just weeks after she’d moved in and charmed me with her beauty and whit. She’s sat with her legs over my lap and my arms around her body. We couldn’t be any happier, and the memory makes my chest sting.

She still cared enough to keep up the old memories of us, even after all the fights and mean glares. Why did she have to keep the damn photo up?

Guilt consumes me once again, and I am faced with the sad woman in front of me, still in the same place as before and just as sad as before. My feet betray my mind, and soon I am stood beside her bedside table with a bottle of wine dangling between my pointer finger and my middle finger.

The glass knocks against her shoulder in a silent invitation. My eyes wordlessly asking her to follow. Her eyes are red, and her lips still shake. She looks completely torn apart, desperate and distraught. Disheveled even. But for some reason in my blurry head, all I can think about is how absolutely beautiful she is in the pale moonlight.

“Come on.” I ask her softly, offering her my hand. When she takes it, she’s nodding already. Trusting a man who deserves no second chances, no trust whatsoever for his cruelty and his inability to communicate. But she follows regardless.

I can’t help but realize how having her so close feels good.

He lights the cigarette for me and watches as I let it burn. My lips twitch as they wrap around the end, tasting the bitterness of its contents and the dry paper.

“How did we end up here?” I ask him, looking over the horizon. The waves are calming over here. They almost silence the ringing in my ears, despite the distance between where we sit, feet dangling over the empty pool edge and the large grass behind it.

He shrugs, snagging the cigarette from my hand delicately and taking a long drag from its end. We swap, my hands wrap around the neck of the wine bottle. It’s tinted green and nearly full.

“Unlucky people, I guess.” He looks at his feet. They dangle in the pool beside mine. You can see just how close we are in the turquoise tint. How the lights make us look less vibrant.

“I wouldn’t consider us unlucky.” I look at the sky, and I can feel his eyes on my face. It makes me swallow, how intense his gaze is. It almost makes it feel that much more real.

“Why’s that?” He asks, twisting the bud out on the cement. It stains the freshly cleaned grey stone an ashy black, but I bite my tongue.

“We had each other. Maybe we aren’t the best people, maybe we’re cruel, but I’d rather argue than live in solitude, right? Company can’t be bought. Even the most painful of it. That’s something real. Something without a price. And we’ve got it.” And it’s true. We fight and we throw shit. We stain the walls and rip the curtains. We start fires and try to blame the other. We make a mess and make amends. But a house isn’t a home without someone to share it with. And at least if we had to suffer to get there, we got it.

“Thats some of your poet shit.” He laughs sadly into the silence, looking at his feet. I laugh along, though I can tell he was only half joking. Then, I let the silence wash back over us. Forgetting how we almost had a full conversation.

“I’m not a bad person. I don’t know why I’m so mean.” He says sincerely. It’s sudden too. I can tell from the rawness in his voice. How his eyes tear up and his lips quiver. His voice cracks. Our feet hang off the edge of the backyard. It’s a quiet life. Even now. With our fights and all the fraud. But it’s never a lonely life, and we only have each other to thank for it.

I want to tell him I know, and I’m so sure of it. I’ve seen the real him, we might just not mesh together. But we once had, and that fact alone holds me back. He takes the lack of response and an opportunity to excuse himself. Pulling his body up by the arms and grunting through the sliding back door. I sit alone in the backyard for hours, body curling up into itself and layers of clothing becoming less than enough after some more time.

“I know.” I whisper into the silence. I know he’s not a bad person, I know it so well and I am so certain of it. I knew Harry once. He’s loyal and kind and the smartest man I’d ever met. And I miss knowing him like that so much.

I thought for a second tonight, I’d gotten part of him back. And maybe I had, but he left so soon I couldn’t really tell all that well. He’s left me back in the silence, wondering what happened to us, and what will happen to us. Why he came to get me, and why he even bothered to open up to me. But he never gives me the time to properly ask, even if I planned to.

I ring in the New Year alone.

The next morning he’s gone. Back to New York for his business in the big city and I am left to sit and think about what was said. A half empty bottle of wine stained with my red lipstick and glitter on the floor from old party poppers Charlotte and Elin had made sure to use before making their exit. I repeat his words.

He’s not a bad person, so why is he so mean? It’s best left unknown. Because if theres one thing I fear more than anything, it’s the realization of rejection.

Even from a man I hate so entirely, it consumes me. That I could not stand to be faced with the fact that Harry and I do not get along simply because we do not work and not because of some other underlying reason.

After all, we had it all. Gave each other everything the other had wanted. Food, shelter, company. There was really so explanation for the bitterness between us.

After all, all this time, despite his anger and hatred, he never left me to the wolves. And despite my heartbreak and sadness, I never left him with an empty home.

A wise man once said to never bite the hand that feeds it. Yet, here we are. Ripping skin from bone until we are left with nothing. We are the ungrateful, the selfish, the cruel. And we both believe that we are in the right.

I am so scared of rejection from this man who I claim to hate because he is the hand that feeds me and I am the hand to him.

We aren’t bad people, so why are we so mean? We recognize all we have to be grateful for, so why do we bite the hand that feeds us?

I guess the vulnerability of it all must have scared us. And while facing the storm, we did what all people do. We let fear consume us and we bite.

Somehow, through all of this. The realizations and the tears and wine and dusty ashes, I love him. Even with my teeth sinking into his skin and his own in mine, drawing blood, I love him. I love Harry Styles. He is my best friend and I am his. That is why I am scared and that is why it hurts so bad. Not because I simply missed him, but rather because my heart was devoted to a man who did not want it.

My fingers fumble over the pad on the phone. I type up his phone number by heart and let it ring. He answers quickly, still waiting for his plane at the airport.

“Y/n?” I can hear the bustling crowds around him and the loud engines taking off from other terminals. I imagine he is plugging one of his ears and mentally cursing the noise for making it so hard to hear.

“Come home.” My breathing is unstable, and my hands run through my hair so much I create new tangles by my neck.

“What? No, Y/n, I have to go. People are expecting me.” He starts to explain how important this is for his business. How it would be so much simpler to be there rather than over a computer screen.

“Fuck them, who cares! Harry, I need you, and I want you, please just listen to me for once. Don’t scoff, or…or roll your eyes or leave! Listen to me this once and if it’s not worth it to you, I promise you’ll never have to listen to me again. Please, it’s important.” I ramble, endless pleas met with silence. I can feel the rejection coming, I can hear the way he chokes on a breath, debating what I said.

“Okay.” The phone goes dead with his promise to come home. With the continuous beeps, I slowly come to terms with what I’d just done. But I do not feel panicked, or scared. I feel lighter with the fact that I am about to tell the moody boy something I wished I told him a long time ago.

The door opens with a creak, keys jingling in his large palms. I’d spent the morning pacing the kitchen. Leaving a trail of confetti behind in my wake. I hadn’t cared enough to clean with my endless thoughts and extreme amounts of adrenaline.

“Y/n?” His voice was unsure when it rang out. As if he didn’t know what to expect. The door shut behind him not long before I came rushing around the corner, fingernails bitten to the skin and hangnails bleeding profusely.

“God, Y/n what the hell…” Taking my hands into his, he examined the redness of my irritated skin stained further with dry blood.

“I know.” I looked at him, and he looked back at me like I was crazy.

“What?” His thumbs bent over the backs of my palms, holding me in front of him.

“I know.” I breathed out again, looking at him with such sincerity, praying for him to understand. “You’re not a bad person, and I know it because I know you. Because we fight and we tease and we scream and cry. But I know you because once we didn’t do all of that. And I needed you to know that because it wasn’t fair of me to make you believe that to be true after everything you’ve done for me.” My voice shook with how vulnerable I felt myself becoming. Harry’s hands only tightened the further I explained.

“But what about all I’ve done to you. Y/n, I’ve been awful to you and I never even told you why.” He tried to argue. I shook my head, biting my lips.

“I haven’t been much better.” I smiled sadly. He shook his head back.

“No.”

“Yes.” I blinked hard, pushing back the tears that formed watching his own gather by his waterline.

“No, Y/n, I’ve been horrible. I’ve been mean.” He tried to push away everything I was trying to ignore.

“And so have I.” I tried harder to make him understand.

“But you only did it because I had. And for what?” He finally spoke, voice raised with so much desperation behind it, I froze under his touch.

“Because I loved you so much it drove me fucking insane? Because I still love you and I’m afraid if I can’t get you to hate me I’ll never be able to stop.” He was crying now, pleading with me to make me see his side of things. All I could do was shake my head.

“Harry I could never hate you.”

“But you could never love me.” He argued.

“Thats not true, Harry tell me you know that it couldn’t be true.” I rip my hands from his grip to rest them on his cheeks. I try to wipe away his tears, but his hands cover my wrists and pull them back down.

“How could I? You said it yourself. All those months ago, I told you. I held you close and I told you I loved you. You told me I was your best friend. You couldn’t even pretend!” Neither of us could tell if he was angry or just sad. Maybe both, but no amount of denial would calm him down.

“I didn’t have to, I still don’t have to pretend! Harry, I only said that because I was so fucking scared. Scared of us, of me, of you. Of losing you if it didn’t work. And I lost you anyways, I would’ve just said it if I knew I’d lose you like this.” Our chests bumped and his fingers slipped between mine.

“Y/n.” He whispered into the silence, over our heavy breathing and salty tears.

“I love you, and I miss you.” He didn’t say anything. I could feel him slipping away as soon as his response never came. Not a single word left to say between us. Not a single amount of energy left to fight.

And then he was kissing me. Hard and sweet. Like I was everything he’d ever wanted and more. Like he was hungry, needing more and more of something he had always wanted but could never have. And at the same time, it was soft and tender. Like he never wanted it to end. My back arched within the grip of his wandering hands and my fingers tangling in his curls. I swore I would never let him go.

But it was a swear I couldn’t keep, because air dwindled quickly and spit strung between our lips. Something I would usually gag at, but didn’t mind at the moment. His forehead against mine and arms gripping the fabric by my hips so tight if I moved he could have ripped it.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized in between his heaving breaths.

“Me too.” Looking at him, I could see the red staining his lips from the makeup I’d slept in. It made me laugh, which in result made him smile.

“What? What!” He laughed along cluelessly, letting me back away for a moment.

“You have something-“ I pointed again his mouth and smiled.

“Oh do I? Do I?” He kissed my cheek, smearing the remnants of our kiss across my cheek. “Still there?” He asked with a sly grin. Like he knew he was winning.

So I kissed him hard again, smearing red around his skin and his pink lips with so much love, there was no denying my feelings anymore. There was no hate left to give.

“Yeah, you do.” It was yet another fight, but not one I minded.

After all, thats what we did for so long, it was what we were good at. The teasing and the fighting. Only now it wasn’t bitter, it was playful. And we didn’t coexist with the sole purpose of it.

Because now I was his and he was mine. And this knowledge answered all my questions, all my doubts I’d had before about our relationship and our shared insecurities that led us down this scaring path.

Harry was my best friend, and I was his. And there was no love greater than that.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry x reader #fine line harry styles #harry styles #yn x harrystyles #yn x harry

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topguncortez · 2 years

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Opposites Attract III- J. Seresin

pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x shy!wife (mentioned Bradley Bradshaw x Trace!Female) word count: 3.5k synopsis: the Dagger Squadron has become an official squadron at North Island, meaning Hangman and his wife have relocated. pt. I, pt. II masterlist based on this request:

She never wanted to be pregnant in the summer, or at least not heavily pregnant. When Y/N and Hangman talked about kids, all those years ago under the stars on a beach in Pensacola, she told Jake she didn’t want to be pregnant in the summer. She had watched the women in her life deal with uncomfortable times while pregnant in the heat of San Diego. She would be damned if she would be one of them.

Flash Forward five years, as she sat in the cool pool in the backyard of their house. Her belly was on full display as she tried to get some sort of relief from the heat. She tilted her head back, her eyes covered in a pair of Jake’s aviators she had stolen from his car, and felt the unforgiving sun on her skin. It was mid July, and being eight months pregnant was not on her to-do list. And on top of that, she had a rambunctious three year old tearing up their unpacked house.

After the team had successfully completed the mission, they all got permanently relocated to North Island, becoming the Dagger squadron. Y/N was beyond ecstatic at the news of moving back to San Diego, being closer to her family. Jake was already planning on putting in for a transfer after the TopGun mission back to San Diego. While Y/N was sleeping he would be looking at houses. It did make her somewhat emotional to leave the area she had learned to love. The small community that had helped her through hard times while Jake was gone.

“Momma!” Alex said, and Y/N lifted her head up, just in time to see him jump into the pool.

“Wow! Look at you!” Y/N smiled and walked over to him. Alex loved the water and she was happy that Jake had agreed to getting a pool for the summer. It was one of the first things they had got when they moved to the house.

“Sissy in there,” Alex said, putting his small hands on her bump. It always made her heart flutter seeing Alex so enthralled with his unborn sister. Y/N and Jake were a little nervous at first, worried how Alex was going to take not being the only child anymore. But, true to his mother’s nature, he went with it, and was always begging to see the ultrasound pictures of her.

“Yes she is, a couple more weeks and then she’ll be here.”

“She be in my room?”

“No baby, your sister will have your own room,” Y/N ran her hand over his blonde hair, “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

— — —

“God he’s just so damn cute,”

“I know I am.”

“Not you Bagman,” Phoenix said with a roll of her eyes, looking at the pictures Jake was showing them of Alex and Y/N. After the mission, Jake took them on a trip to Washington state. They had fallen in love with the rainy state, being able to explore and hike in the woods, almost completely turned off from cell phones and technology, “How is she doing?”

“Pregnant,” Jake sighed and sat down in his usual spot, up near the front of the room.

“Still?” Rooster asked.

“Very, very pregnant,” Jake answered, “She made me buy a pool last week, claiming ‘the baby needs it’. She told me when we first got together not to knock her up before summer. Only during summer.”

“And clearly, you failed,” Bob added and Hangman rolled his eyes.

The day was long, as the team sat and listened to various briefs about what their squadron was going to be doing. Their next possible mission was a couple months out, and Jake knew that he wasn’t going to be a part of it. He had already talked to Maverick, Jake would do what he could to plan and help train his team for it, but he wasn’t going to fly it. Jake wasn’t going to miss the first months of his child’s life like he did with Alex. Y/N would have Jake’s balls if he did.

At the end of the day, Jake invited the team over for a couple drinks, knowing that they would probably like to see Alex, Y/N and their new house. Y/N had also been asking relentlessly when she was going to be able to see the team again. It had been a long eight months of texts, phone calls and snapchats. Alex would still ask where his ‘Uncle’ Rooster was.

Jake could hear the squeals of his little boy and the yell of his wife’s voice as he stood outside his front door. It brought a smile to his face as he unlocked it, and saw his child run down the hallway with a toy plane in his hand.

“Alex! I’m not telling you again, pick your toys up!” Y/N yelled, waddling into the entryway, her hands on her hips, “Oh! You’re here, now you can parent your son.”

“Why is he always ‘my’ son when he’s not listening?” Jake asked, setting his keys on the hook and slipping his sunglasses off his eyes. He greeted his wife with a kiss, his hands going straight to her bump.

“Cause I listened to my mother,” Y/N smiled, draping her arms around his neck.

“And you’re saying I didn’t?”

“I heard the stories of you knocking over the Christmas tree,” Y/N leaned up and kissed her husband’s nose, then pulled away and made her way towards the kitchen, “I made a grocery run for tonight. I got fruit, veggies, hamburgers, beer-”

“It was just supposed to be a small thing babe,” Jake said, following her into the kitchen. His eyes widened at the sight of grocery bags all over, “Did you do this all yourself? Bring all this in?”

“Well yeah, I wasn’t going to let it spoil.”

“You’re not supposed to be doing this,” Jake sighed, “You’re about to pop, you need to be resting.”

“This is resting!” Y/N said, “I didn’t go on a walk today-”

“You went to the grocery store by yourself and with a three year old.”

“Daddy!” As if on cue, Alex came running in with his f-14 in his hand. Hangman picked him up in his arms, and spun him in a circle, making the little boy burst out in giggles.

“What did you do today?” Jake asked his son.

“Shopping!”

“Did you help your mommy?”

“I felt sissy kick.”

Y/N smiled and rubbed a hand over her bump, feeling her daughter turn. The baby was getting more and more rambunctious as time went on, and Y/N could feel her feet starting to kick her in her rib cage. Based on their last appointment, Baby Girl Seresin was proving to take her time on wanting to come out, still sitting up high and sideways in her mother’s belly. Baby Girl was already taking after her father too, already trying to be the center of attention and she wasn’t even here. There were times where the only thing that would get her to stop kicking her mother’s bladder was Jake talking to her. Jake was already wrapped around her finger.

“It’s cool, right?” Jake asked him, placing a kiss on his cheek before setting him down and going back to touch Y/N’s bump, “Like an alien.”

Y/N scoffed and hit his chest, moving to get the groceries organized before the team came over. Jake changed quickly out of his flight suit and began helping his wife. Slowly the team started showing up, Bob and Phoenix first. Y/N giggled as Phoenix walked into the house and Bob scolded her about knocking first.

“It’s not like they didn’t know we were coming,” Phoenix argued back as they walked into the kitchen, “I thought you said it was just drinks!?”

“It was! I didn’t know she went to the store until I got home,” Jake responded.

“Well if we would’ve known, we could’ve brought something,” Bob said, placing the pack of beers on the counter.

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, walking around from the counter. Phoenix walked right over to her and hugged her the best she could with the growing bump.

“Look at you! Oh my goodness, you look ready to pop!”

“Feels like it too,” Y/N smiled and then greeted Bob.

The house slowly started to fill up with the Dagger Squadron, and Y/N was finding herself uncomfortable by the amount of people in her house. For the past eight months it had just been her, Jake, Alex and their growing baby in her belly. Occasionally her mother would stop over but it wasn’t for very long. Y/N felt even hotter than she had before, and tried to put on a smile, but Jake could clearly see through it.

She was bringing out a bowl of fruit to their outside table that she had set up. Phoenix had helped her but the pregnant woman sent the pilot away to go share drinks and laughs with her friends. Jake watched his wife as she moved things around the table, Alex trying to pull at her arm to get her attention. She sighed, turning towards him and helping him out with whatever he asked for. Y/N handed her son a small bowl of fruit and watched as the little boy went running back to Bob, who was standing by Rooster at the grill.

“You look stressed,” Jake said walking up behind his wife, causing her to jump.

“Not stressed, just. . . uncomfortable? I don’t know, there’s just a lot of people and I feel increasingly huge and-”

“I’ll kick them-”

“No,” Y/N cut him off, knowing what he was going to say, “I’m just being the dramatic pregnant woman, it’s fine, they’re fine.”

“You’re nine months pregnant, you are allowed to be dramatic,” Jake said and placed a kiss on her neck. Jake trailed his hands down her belly, trailing down underneath it. Y/N sucked in a breath and leaned back against him, as Jake gently lifted up on her belly. The second Jake had seen the trick on tiktok he was running to find Y/N to try (even though at the time Y/N was only four months along) and ever since whenever he could he would lift up her belly to relieve some of the weight.

“Now that’s the cutest shit i’ve ever seen,” Phoenix said looking over at the two of them. Rooster looked over his shoulder and smiled at the two of them. After their last mission, Rooster and Hangman had become close friends. Rooster would text them or facetime them, he even flew to Lemoore to watch Alex one time. Rooster couldn’t help but be reminded of the sparse memories of his parents while watching Jake and Y/N.

“Yeah, they’re pretty damn cute,” Rooster said, “HEY! TAKE YOUR CUTE SHIT ELSEWHERE THERE’S KIDS AROUND!”

“Screw off!” Hangman yelled back and caused Y/N to giggle. Jake kissed her cheek, “I’m gonna set you back down.” Y/N let out a whine in protest and Jake chuckled, gently setting her belly back down, “Soon, very, very soon.”

“You can carry the next one,” Y/N said and Jake looked at her with wide eyes, “What?”

“You want another one? A-After this one?”

“Well yeah,” Y/N smiled, “I’m pretty sure it was you who said ‘i want enough kids to fill a football team’.”

“I love you,” Jake said, and leaned in to kiss his wife but was cut off by Rooster making gagging sounds.

“Go help the other kids we have,” Y/N smiled and patted Jake’s chest, moving to the side and heading back inside to grab something else.

Three days later, Rooster found himself driving the streets of San Diego at 2 in the morning. He got to their house pretty quickly, being one of the only drivers on the road at the time. He took a deep breath as he parked on the street, making sure to not be in the way of their car. He quickly ran up to the door and Jake opened it before Rooster had the chance to knock.

“Thank you for coming,” Jake rushed out.

“No problem, anything I can help with?” Rooster asked, walking into the house. Jake disappeared back down the hallway towards his shared bedroom.

“No,” Y/N said as she let out a breath, clutching the back of the couch, “Alex is still asleep, he sleeps until about eight in the morning, for breakfast there are frozen waffles in the freezer, I think we’ll be home by lunch-”

“You think?” Jake said, rushing back into the living room with two bags in his hands and out the front door.

“Alex came quickly and, oh Jesus,” Her speech was cut off by another contraction. Bradley’s eyes widened as he saw Y/N’s belly tighten underneath the tank top she was wearing. He quickly walked over to her, and placed a comforting hand on her back. Y/N released a breath as the contraction subsided and she looked up at him, “I’m pretty sure we’ll be back by lunch, if not he can have pizza rolls or a PB&J, no strawberry jelly! He’s allergic. Jake! Did you call my mom!”

“Yeah! And Phoenix!” Hangman called back as he walked back through the open front door, “Your water hasn’t even broken yet, Alex’s water broke when we went to the hospital.”

“Yeah, and he came an hour after that cause I contracted at home,” Y/N said, “Now come on, I’m not too keen on having a baby on my brand new hardwood floors.”

“It’d break in the new house,” Rooster said and Y/N rolled her eyes. Bradley helped Y/N walk to her car as Jake waited there with the door open. Once she was situated in the car, Bradley shut the door, “Well I would say have fun but I'm guessing it won’t be.”

“Not in the slightest,” Y/N said. Bradley smiled and leaned in to give her a hug and kissed her cheek. He then moved and hugged Jake, “We’ll call you when you can bring him up.”

“Sounds good, good luck,” Rooster smiled and stood in the driveway watching as the couple drove to the hospital to bring their new baby into the world.

It was closer to dinner time when Bradley had gotten the call from Phoenix that the Seresins wanted him to bring their now oldest child to the hospital. Bradley had spent the day watching cartoons, going to the beach, spending lunch with Maverick and Penny, and taking a nap. Every so often Alex would ask if his sister was here yet and Bradley kept checking his phone all day waiting for the moment he could tell him yes.

Bradley walked down the brightly lit hallways with Alex’s small hand in his. Alex clutched a teddy bear in his free hand (he insisted on bringing it to give to his sister). Bradley stopped outside of the correct room number and kneeled down in front of Alex.

“Alright, you look good,” Bradley said and fixed the blue patterned button up he put Alex in, “Hair looks good, shoes are cleaned, brush your teeth?”

“Yes!” Alex nodded.

“Good shit,” Bradley smiled, “Remember what we talked about in the car?” Alex nodded, “Your mommy is going to be very tired, and really sore. You have to be quiet, okay, your sister is probably going to be sleeping a lot at first.”

“Will she like me?”

“Yeah,” Bradley said, “You’re going to be the best big brother ever, I know you will.”

Alex launched himself at Bradley, hugging him tightly. Bradley grunted at the weight of the small boy hitting him, “I love you uncle Rooster.”

“I love you too, kid,” Bradley kissed his forehead, “Now come on.”

Bradley stood up and knocked on the door, hearing a faint invite to come in. The second the Seresins saw their little boy, both their faces lit up. Alex grabbed Bradley’s hand feeling a bit nervous. Bradley gave Alex’s small hand a comforting squeez and Jake climbed off the bed and walked towards him.

“Daddy!” Alex said, and Jake picked his son up.

“Hey,” Jake said, and kissed his cheek, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Alex said and leaned his head on his father’s shoulder, “Sissy?”

“Right here,” Y/N said and Jake turned around so Alex could see his little sister, “Hey Rooster.”

“Hey, congrats,” Rooster said, “I’m gonna step out, go annoy Phoenix for a bit.”

“We gotta stay the night, doctor's orders, so we’ll have you take him back if it’s okay?” Jake asked.

“Totally,” Bradley nodded, before leaving the room.

Jake sat down in a chair next to his wife’s hospital bed and let Alex look at his baby sister. Y/N carefully moved over and made room for Alex to climb up on the bed. The little boy sat next to his mother as she very carefully put the baby in his arms. Alex’s green eyes were wide with fascination as he looked at her. Even compared to Alex, Ella was small. Jake snapped all the pictures he possibly could of the three of them cuddled into bed together. Jake was all smiles and loved being with his family.

It was just nine months ago he thought he would never be able to see this moment ever. The night he had come home to see his wife asleep, dried tear streaks on her face and the open manila envelope on the bedside table. The Uranium Plant mission was the mission that almost took more than just Jake’s life, but Maverick’s and Rooster’s. Even though it had only been a short amount of time, both Rooster and Maverick had become important parts of Alex and Y/N’s life, it would have been devastating to lose all three of them in one go. For a moment, Y/N thought she would be doing this alone, bringing another Seresin child into the world by herself, but the second Jake had woken her up and held her in his arms, all doubt fell away.

Rooster sat down next to Phoenix in the waiting room, and she smiled at him. She looked tired, having been at the hospital since last night when Y/N and Jake first got here. Phoenix and Y/N had quickly become best friends, so it was a no-brainer that Phoenix would be there when she gave birth to Ella.

“You see the baby?” Phoenix asked him.

“A glimpse,” Rooster sighed, “I let them have a moment after I dropped Alex off.”

Phoenix looked at her friend, and knew there was something else he wanted to say. His body language said more than what he was actually saying, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bradley said, and felt his throat close with tears, “I remember when I was about four maybe, before my dad died, I heard my parents talking about having another kid. My mom said, I would’ve been the best big brother. I wonder if my dad lived, if they would’ve had another.”

“Rooster-”

“Hangman’s lucky he found his one,” Bradley looked down at his hands, “Think I’ve missed mine.”

“What about Dragon?”

“Your sister?”

Phoenix sighed, “As much as I despise it. . . I can see the way you look at her. And she’s annoying, but maybe there’s something more than just looking across the tarmac.”

Bradley opened his mouth to rebuttal but was cut off by Hangman calling his name. Hangman gave Phoenix a nod, and she smiled, patting Rooster’s arm as he stood up and walked towards him. They walked back down to their room. Y/N smiled up at them as they walked in. Jake clapped his hand down on his friend’s shoulder as he walked over to his wife.

“Wanna hold her?” Y/N asked Bradley.

“Yeah,” He nodded, “I don’t really know how-”

Jake took his daughter from his wife and walked over to Bradley. The aviator held his arms out as Jake carefully put the baby in his arms, explaining to support her head and her bottom. Rooster held her against his body and smiled at the baby in his arms.

“How does it feel to hold your goddaughter?” Jake asked him.

“My what-”

“Alex already calls you ‘Uncle Rooster’, so we thought why not make it official,” Y/N shrugged, “Only if you-”

“Yes!” Bradley said, cutting her off. Y/N giggled and leaned against her husband, watching Bradley hold their daughter. For once, Bradley felt like he belonged to a family. He wondered, is that what Maverick felt, all those years ago, watching Goose and Carole with Bradley? For years, Bradley had been searching for a family, finding love in the wrong places, having his heart broken repeatedly, but now he finally had it. Bradley cleared his throat, feeling tears in his eyes as he looked at his family.

“Hey kid, I’m your uncle Rooster,”

--- --- ---

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note: thank you for 700!!!! it's crazy how fast this blog has grown! thank you thank you thank you. I am also opening my characters to include Maverick and Iceman (I'm on an Iceman kick rn so send in requests pls)

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